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writingformyblorbos · 2 years

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It's cloudy above (Part 4)

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Jake Lockley/Steven Grant/Marc Spector × gn!Reader (hints of Layla × Reader in the future?) Summary: Harrow is alive, which means Ammit is as well. You have to find him before it's too late. Warnings: Things are going to get a bit angsty. Canon typical violence (guns, stabbing, wounds, murder in general), mentions of DID and anxiety. A somewhat grafic wound description. Not proof read (I don't know if I don't get my things proofread because I'm too lazy to ask or because I'm afraid of being judged by others. Guess we'll never know) Word cound: 4.3k (don't ask me how I did it, idk either) a/n: I want to thank Jennifer Saunders for making the I need a hero cover for Shrek 2, otherwise I would’ve had no idea on how to vizualize the action scene, which would’ve led me to give up on ica altogether. Also it’s probably going to be bad, but I beg you to please cut me some slack, it’s my first time writing a fight scene. Anywho, please enjoy!!!

If you had asked yourself a few days ago what you would be doing Wednesday evening, your best guess would’ve been watching a movie, reading a book, perhaps going out for some drinks with Colt if you were feeling a little bold. However, getting ready to infiltrate a cult to try and get some information on its leader’s whereabouts who posed a worldwide threat was definitely not something you planned on adding to your schedule.

You’d had your fake story revised by Layla, Steven, and Marc: your name was Sunny, and you had just been kicked out of your flat because you couldn’t afford rent anymore. You were one of the many people lost in the Snap, and once you’d returned, your life had been turned upside down. Your job? Terminated. Your parents? Dead. With no support system, you were an ideal target for a cult. You only hoped the fanatics would find it convincing enough.

Marc and Steven had stayed back at their flat, most likely coming to terms with the fact that there was another alter within their system, Jake. While they were doing that, Layla was driving you to your home to change into different clothes.

“I had a feeling,” Layla revealed to you as the doors of the elevator closed, “About Jake’s existence.”

You pressed the button to take you to the ground floor, “How so?”

“In Cairo, Harrow’s men were shooting at me, and he was about to kill Marc. But then, something changed in him. It’s like… he wasn’t holding back anymore.” The elevator dinged and its doors opened. “He took down everyone, including Harrow. After things died down, he said he’d blacked out,” Layla stepped out of the elevator alongside you. You opened the door for the both of you and exited the complex. “I only hope the three of them figure things out.” You nodded in response.

Layla walked to a motorbike parked next to the building. She grabbed one of the black helmets and handed it to you, “Put this on, you’re gonna need it.”

The air was hitting your face as you drove through the streets, gripping Layla’s shoulders for dear life.

“How did you meet Steven, anyways?” she looked at you through the rear-view mirror.

You proceeded to explain the whole Tesco situation, how that led you to get Steven’s number and going out on a date with him.

“A date?”

“It was going well, actually. Best date I’d had in a while. That was, of course, until he got stabbed.”

She laughed, “I wouldn’t want my date to be stabbed, either.”

Her motorbike came to a halt as you got to a red light. Layla quickly glanced back at you, “You’re gonna fall off if you keep holding onto my shoulders, you know.”

You knew hugging her from behind would be more efficient, but you didn’t want to be inappropriate. “Wait, can I…?”

It was obvious what you were proposing, and Layla nodded, “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You carefully slid your arms around Layla’s abdomen, feeling the warmth emanating from her body. “I’m happy for Steven,” she looked at you once again through the mirror, “You’re quite the catch.” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks in light of her comment. The traffic light turned green, and you were both once again on the move.

Once you arrived, you led Layla into your small flat. Signs of the hurried escape you made yesterday were evident, your suitcases still laid out on the couch.

“Sorry for the mess,” you apologized to Layla, “Last time I was here, I was in a bit of a hurry.” She shook her head and insisted you not to worry. You frantically started clearing the couch for her to have somewhere to sit, “Would you like some water, tea?” you asked, not wanting to be impolite in front of your guest.

“(y/n), I appreciate it, but we have to be quick.” That stopped you dead on your tracks. Right, you weren’t there to clean up. Her words stung, but you knew she wasn’t coming from a place of malice. You apologized and hurried back to your room.

You opened your closet and got to work. After a while, you managed to combine some old clothes you hadn’t worn in years along with dirty clothes in order to make an outfit that would fit ‘Sunny’. You exited your room and saw Layla examining the shelf behind the armchair, fixated on a particular picture frame you knew all too well. She noticed you out of the corner of her eye and jumped, excusing herself for prying. “It’s ok! I’m sorry for startling you,” you told her, trying to soothe her worries.

You looked at the picture as well. It was a family photo, a much younger version of your parents holding your baby self. You remembered the many lonely nights you’d clutched the frame tightly to your chest, crying your eyes out, hoping that maybe your parents would someday return.

“I lost them to the Snap,” you stood next to Layla, “That day, after seeing many of my co-workers disappearing into thin air, I called them to see if they were okay. When they didn’t answer…”. You felt your heart sink into your chest as you said the last sentence, yet you couldn’t quite put your pain into words. The hole you felt in your heart when your calls went unanswered. Opening the door of your childhood door to be greeted to the heart-breaking silence. You knew it was over, that they were back, but the gaping wound that remained open five years was only beginning to heal. A tear ran through your cheek, “I kept it to remind myself that they would’ve liked me to go on with my life.” You were thankful you had stuck with that philosophy, otherwise you would’ve never moved to London.

You could sense grief in Layla’s honey eyes, as if she empathized with your feelings, but couldn’t quite vocalize her sorrow. Nevertheless, she eyed you from head to toe and reached for your forearm, “Looking good, Sunny,” she smiled and headed to the door, “Let’s go.”

You were a few blocks from where the neighbourhood started, standing next to Layla’s motorbike while she was on a call with Marc. She hung up and made her way to you.

“Marc and Steven are on their way,” she grabbed a flip phone from her pocket, “If you get in trouble, call us or text us. This phone has both of our numbers” she handed you the phone and you took it from her hand.

“What about my phone?” you thought it would be easier to add her number to your phone and take it with you.

“They might try to take it away, it’s better if you use this one” She offered to keep your phone in the meantime. “Be careful. They are armed and dangerous. Never let your guard down.” Her warning gave you chills. Were these guys really that bad?

After walking a few blocks more, you arrived at the place, expecting to see everyone dressed in the same attire, maybe people sitting in a circle, chanting something in an unknown language around a fireplace and whatnot. Instead, you were met by some kids playing football on the streets, neighbours chatting in the stairs of their apartments and tending to the small community garden out on the street. By all means, this seemed to be a pleasant place to be at, not quite the cult-like environment you’d expected. Regardless of everyone acting normal, you stuck out like a sore thumb as you walked through the street. You seemed to have caught the attention of many of the people there, staring at you like as if you were carrying a grenade in your pocket. Despite this, a young lady appeared to have pitied you, approaching you tenderly.

“Can we help you?” she examined your face, “You seem… lost.”

You took this as an opportunity to begin playing the role of the lost lamb. “I am,” you nodded, “I… I need help.”

“That’s alright, love,” she stroked your back, “Come with me, I know someone who can help you,” she beckoned. You felt guilty for abusing the woman’s generosity, but you kept telling yourself it was for the greater good.

She ushered you down the street and asked you your name. You replied with your fake name, not wanting to give away your real identity. She nodded and walked towards a small pen where a man was tending to goats. “Marvin, do you happen to know where Bobbi is?” she patted your back, “Our friend Sunny here needs help.”

“Lynn!” the big man greeted the woman, “Yeah, she’s in the diner, I believe,” he said as he scratched the goat’s head. She thanked him and led you to a few steps further to a large brick building.

When you entered, you could spot a communal diner, more potted vegetables, and an area with a makeshift cinema. With her hand still on your back, she walked you to a tiny gathering of people. You were able to make out a bit of the conversation they were having “… need to find a way to get our hands on that Stela. Also, make sure to keep sending money to Chicago. We need to make sure that maniac doesn’t get to—”

“Bobbi!”, Lynn called out. “I believe we could use some help,” she squeezed your arm, “right?”

Bobbi gave some orders to the individuals she was talking to and they scattered. She walked towards you, reading your every move. “Don’t be scared,” she beckoned you towards a table, “Let us talk.”

You both sat across each other, Simple Twist of Fate playing faintly through some speakers. “Tell me, what’s your name?” she crossed her hands on the table.

“Sunny.”

“And what brough you to us, Sunny?”

You tried sounding as miserable as possible, “I… feel lost. Ever since the blip, really.” You continued telling your pre-made sob story, trying to channel some of the very real feelings you’d felt, hoping it would make your story more believable.

Bobbi listened carefully to your every word, clueless to the fact you were lying. “It’s still baffling I lost five years of my life.” You tilted your head, facing the plastic tablecloth of the table you were fidgeting with.

“You won’t have to worry about material things anymore, Sunny. We have clothes, warm food and a place for you to sleep,” Bobbi stood up from the table, encouraging you to do the same, “Just one thing, before I show you around, Can I hold your hands?” she held out her palms so they faced upwards. The tattoo of the crocodile scales on her forearm was now visible, tormenting you. You reluctantly agreed, placing your hands inside of hers. She held them tightly and you saw the tattoo begin to move. Panicked, you tried pulling away, but Bobbi made sure to keep you in place, “Shh, it won’t take long, I promise.”

The tattoo finally stopped moving, turning green and returning to its original state. Despite you thinking this was something good, Bobbi looked wearily at you. “Why don't you come with me?.” You had a bad feeling about following her, provoking you to quickly send a ‘SOS’ text with the flip phone. You walked through a set of wooden stairs and arrived to a storage room worthy of a horror movie. It was full of what you hoped were mannequins wrapped in cloth and plastic, but knew deep down were most likely dead bodies. A man pinned you to a wall and started emptying out your pockets, including the phone Layla gave you. He then pushed you into the floor, and the doors slammed shut behind you, leaving you to your own devices. “Enjoy your stay, ‘Sunny’.” Bobbi mocked you through the door, and you could hear the sarcasm in her voice when she mentioned your made-up name. How had she found out, though?

“No, no, no, wait!!” you began banging your hands on the wooden door, hoping someone would be able to hear you. You leaned into the door and heard Bobbi giving instructions to the people outside the door. “… with Khonshu’s avatar. Whatever happens, make sure they stay there. Station people outside that window as well. You two, come with me. We need to find Khonshu and Taweret’s avatars.”

You were at least glad you’d managed to warn Layla before they took the phone away.

You began scanning your surroundings, tying to find an exit in case neither of them arrived. The giant window was sealed of by wooden planks, and the stairs that lead to the terrace were far too high for you to reach. You came to the scary conclusion that the only way out would be through that door, otherwise, you were trapped there for good. The ambience of the desolate and eerie room started making your anxiety flare up; you could only wish they were already on their way.

Every minute gone by felt like an eternity, awaiting any sign of their arrival. You were sat in a fetal position, your head between your legs. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, your breathing increasing in pace, when suddenly sounds of a fight on the outside became evident. Then, BAM! The door flung open, the masked figure with the formal white suit coming right through it and greeted you with a “Hello there.”

“Steven!” at this point, you could’ve easily recognized his voice, even if it was miles away.

He ran to you and offered his hand to help you up, “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” Two men entered into the room and stormed at you. Steven kicked one of them in the chest, and he knocked the other one throwing his baton at his face as you watched from a safe distance. He then went to the door and locked it from the inside.

“How are we going to get out of here?” you turned to him.

He eyed the sealed window and looked at you. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Steven began ripping the wooden planks off the window, grunting as he did, leaving the glassless window exposed. “Marc?”

Almost as soon as Steven asked for Marc, the suit vanished and turned into the mummy-like costume.

“On it,” Marc exits through the broken window, gesturing you to do the same. You do so and stand on the window ledge next to him. He grabs you by the waist, positioning himself to jump off the edge. “Hold on tight.”

“What?!” Before you get an answer, he leaps down the building, with you hugging him as tightly as you can.

Harrow’s people notice your landing immediately and start shooting. Marc shields you with his cape. He finally pulls away and throws one of his moon-shaped darts into one of the man’s chest, charging and punching the other one.

“Come on, let’s go!” he turns around and grabs you by the arm, running off with him. You made your way down one street, only to find it barricaded by men with guns. “Over here!” Marc shouted as he dragged you down the other street, except there were more people. You were surrounded from both sides.

You thought that would be the end of you, until a pair of golden wings pierced through one side of the armed crowd.

“This side is clear!” Layla yelled as the bullets bounced off her wings. The three of you headed that way. You could feel your heart leaping out of your chest as you ran. The rest of the mob was catching up with you, though. You grabbed a crowbar laying on the street to defend yourself. As the swarm of angry fanatics got nearer, Layla looked at Marc. “Right?”

“Left.”

Soon enough, both of them began taking down the group of people, Marc occasionally switching to Steven and vice versa.

Someone charged at you, and out of instinct, you fiercely struck them in the head with the crowbar. You paused to look at what you had just done. The man laid there, unconscious.

BANG!

You began feeling an intense burning on your thigh, the pain so intense you fell against a wall. You’d never felt anything like that in your entire life. The stinging sensation didn’t cease even when you pressed your hand against the source of pain. Your eyes grew wide as you freed your grip from your thigh, your palm now covered in crimson red. Layla swiftly ran to your aid.

“Leave me here! You two go!” you cried out to her.

She instantly shook her head, “What?! Not a chance!” and dragged you to a corner. Marc seemed to have noticed her since he followed the two of you.

As soon as Marc spots you and Layla on the ground, something seemed to have snapped inside of him, as if the gravity of the situation was dawning on him. He throws his head back and, once again, his costume switches to the version you were very familiar with. Jake's costume. A cult member tries to ambush him from the back, but he throws him on the ground and immediately slices his throat, blood gushing all over his costume.

Layla shares the same dumbfound look in her eyes as she sees Jake hurries towards you. He lifts you off the floor bridal-style, and asks Layla, “Where’s your bike?”

“We’re almost there.”

He adjusts you in his arms, and both of them start sprinting out to the street. Fortunately, Layla’s motorbike was close enough. You were hastily sandwiched between Layla and Jake, with Layla at the wheel. You dashed through the streets as you held onto Layla with one arm, you other hand preoccupied with your wounded leg. You began feeling a cold spot where the breeze was hitting your blood-ridden trousers.

After some time of going through twists and turns all over the place in what you assumed to be an attempt to lose anyone following you, you deicded to speak up.

“We’re going to the hospital, right?” you asked Layla, the pain from your leg refusing to die down.

“We can’t. Harrow has people all over the place,” Jake interjected, “Imagine this, you're hooked up to an IV. One of Harrow’s followers cranks up the morphine and boom, you’re a goner. Let’s just get back to Stevie’s place and I’ll patch you up. You’ll be good as new on Friday; you have my word.”

He could be right, but you didn’t want to die from an infected bullet wound, “Thank you, but no thank you. Please take us to a hospital, Layla”

“Don’t! This whole plan’s going to shit if you get killed,” he yelled.

“I won’t! I’ll notice if they mess with my dosage!”

“Oh really? What are you now, a doctor?” he teased.

“No, but I’d rather be treated by a professional, not Mr. Mercenary over here.”

Jake scoffed, “Now that’s real nice of you. Remind me who dealt with the guy that mugged you on Sunday? That’s right, Mr. Mercenary himself! Now Layla, would you be so kind as to—?”

“Will the two of you just shut up?!” the motorbike brusquely stopped on the side of the street next to an apartment complex. She stood up and made her costume disappear, whipping out a set of keys from her pockets. “We’re staying here for the night. I have things to treat that wound upstairs.”

You both stayed silent from the shock for a moment. Layla unlocked the main entrance of the building, “Are you two coming or what?” she shouted from the door.

“Yup, sorry,” you muttered

“Sí, señora,” Jake replied soon after, “O bueno, más bien señorita,” he said under his breath

He made his costume vanish and carried you once more bridal style through the entrance. After an uncomfortable elevator ride, you finally made it inside Layla’s apartment. Jake waited for Layla to place a towel underneath the leather couch. After she did, he carefully laid you down. He took off his jacket and threw it on the other couch.

“I’ll get the med kit,” Layla announced.

Jake followed suit, “Yeah, I’ll go wash my hands.”

You took this moment alone to scan your surroundings to distract you from the pain. Unlike Steven’s place, Layla’s home was all tidied up, although it still carried the maximalist aesthetic, having many trinkets and books placed neatly on shelves and bookcases. On the sideboard near the entrance, you spotted a framed polaroid picture of who you supposed to be a younger Layla besides a man you assumed was her father, with some sort of archaeological site behind them. Perhaps that’s why she was drawn to the family photo you had on your bookshelf. Next to it was another picture. This time, it was Layla with a flowy, white dress, holding a bouquet, and the person next to her wearing a tuxedo was… Steven?

Layla appeared from the kitchen with a box and a glass of water, her hair now tied up. “Sorry I couldn’t take you up on that water back at your place,” she handed the glass to you, “It would’ve been nice to simply sit there and chat,” she placed some pills on your other hand and muttered, “This should help with the pain.”

You took the pills and watched Layla as she knelt on the ground to lay out the contents of the med kit on the coffee table. The photo of Steven and Layla kept nagging your conscience, so you decided to do something about it. “I know it’s none of my business but…” it was sort of your business, since Steven did agree to go on a date with you, and if he was married, it meant he had either cheated on her, or they just had open relationship, “A-Are you and Steven… married?” you couldn’t help but stumble on your words.

She diverted her focus from placing things on the table onto you, smiling and shaking her head, “No, I was married to Marc,” she stood up, “And we officially ended it about a week ago. Although we had been separated for a few months now.”

She went on to seat next to you on the couch . “We realized we needed time alone to figure things out.”

Before you could reply, Jake came bursting out from the bathroom. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

He knelt next to you and inspected the wound. “Luck seems to be on your side today.” you would argue otherwise, but at the very least that meant he had good news, “The bullet doesn’t seem to have hit any arteries, it’s mostly superficial.” He sprayed you with lidocaine, “Let’s fish this little bastard out.”

Layla offered her hand for you to squeeze, but you refused, not wanting to hurt her. “The lidocaine won’t do much,” she insisted, “Wanna see who’s stronger?”

You acceded to her proposal, unsure as to what she was referring to, and began squeezing as soon as Jake started the recovery efforts. To counteract you crushing her hand, Layla, tried to squeeze as the same amount of force you were. That’s what she meant by finding out who was stronger.

“In the meantime, tell me: did you find anything?” she asked. You had almost forgotten the reason you’d gotten shot in the first place.

“I did,” you managed to say through gritted teeth, “They said something about getting their hands on a Stela.”

“Did they specify what Stela?” Layla inquired. You shook your head.

“They also said something about sending money to Chicago to— Ouch!” you angrily turned to face Jake.

“Can’t you speak without moving so much?” he argued for himself.

You carried on, “To keep some maniac away from someone.”

Layla concluded, “That’s probably where Harrow is.”

After a while of doing who knows what, Jake, at last, recovered the bullet from your thigh with a proclamation of victory. “Congratulations!” he announced as if he was talking about a new-born baby, “It’s a bullet. And his name will be… Carlos!” You couldn’t help but giggle at his silly comment.

After Jake stitched and bandaged you up, Layla excused herself to her bedroom. Even though she’d offered her bed to you, you had declined. It’s not like you could’ve moved much, anyways.

Jake, on the other hand, had occupied the spot next to you on the couch once you were sitting. He sprawled out his limbs and closed his eyes. For a while, you thought he was asleep. That was until you heard the faintest ‘I’m sorry’ escaping his lips.

"I'm sorry for earlier," he paused, "And for threatening you yesterday". Jake didn’t look like the kind of guy to be very open and vulnerable about his feelings, which made his apology appear even more sincere.

He most likely wasn’t expecting you to hear him because of the look he gave you when you replied, “It’s okay,” he straightened his position on the couch, scooting closer to you. It seemed he doubted what you were saying.

“Besides, you’ve saved my arse twice now,” you smiled and moved closer to him as well.

You hadn’t noticed how little space had been left between the both of you; you could practically feel his breath on your face, hear his quickened heartbeat. Warmth and desire were radiating off you both, it was only a matter of either of you closing that gap with a kiss.

You could imagine every ounce of him pressed against your body, every strand of hair on his head brushing softly against your forehead, his lips pressed up against yours.

It would be easy, really, just to close the gap, easy to give in.

The dream like trance you were on dissipated as quickly as it had appeared when Jake stood up from the couch and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” you mentally ask yourself if you did something wrong.

“I have a car not far from here. I’ll sleep there,” he turned off the lights, opened the door and left, not even saying goodbye.

Alone in the darkness, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve felt like kissing him.

Another a/n: I'm sorry I left you guys hanging there!!! I promise a kiss will be coming soon. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading!!! Taglist: !!IMPORTANT!! The crossed out usernames are ones Tumblr wouldn't let me tag. Please check your visibility settings, since that may be the reason I can't tag you. @dont-feel-so-good-peter @stilllivindue2spite @dreamtogether2000 @simonsbluee @sunnysidesidra @harrys-tittie @n0ripeaches @soggumm @victoriacourone @beebslebobs (Btw, if you want to get removed from the taglist, feel free to dm me and I'll do it right away, no strings attached.)

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rachelbethhines · 2 years

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Tangled Bonus Marathon - Let Down Your Hair (Tangled the Series Comic)

Introduction

We got the second IDW graphic novel, which collects the next three issues of the Tangled the Series comic. And just like before, I’m just going to give a quick review of each story.

The Content

Guarding Against Adventure

A pair of thieves are robbing people at night and King Frederic enacts a curfew until the villains can be caught. This angers Rapunzel because she sees this as yet another encroachment upon her new found freedom by her father. Unable to make him change his mind, Rapunzel and Cassandra sneak out to catch the thieves themselves, and it’s up to poor Eugene to keep Stan busy so that they aren’t discovered.

The main villains are kind of weak and don’t pose much of a threat, but the internal conflicts on display here are fascinating and a good continuation of season one’s themes. Frederic means well, but his actions arguable do as much harm as good. Rapunzel is doing the right thing but for selfish reasons. And both are too stubborn to see how their actions negatively effect those closest to them.

Sadly though neither seem to learn anything because this was made while season one was still in production, and of course the comic book writers can’t develop the characters too much without contradicting the on going plot of the show. Unfortunately, the show itself won’t ever give a satisfying ending to Rapunzel’s and Frederic’s arc so of course the ending to this story leaves you wanting.

It’s not bad, by any means. The premise is fun and the character’s dialogue is good... it’s just that it could have been so much more.

Occupation Princess

Now this story is stronger, in my opinion. Rapunzel still isn’t sure if she wants to be a princess (or at least, she doesn’t want to be solely defined by her title) and goes around the kingdom trying out different jobs. She winds up failing at most of them for one reason or another, and seeks advice from her mother. Who comforts her and reassures her that she has plenty of time to figure out who she wants to be.

Why wasn’t this in the show? It’s such a good concept!

Of course Rapunzel would want to try her hand at new things! Of course she’s would disregard classism and try to tend a field side by side with the rest of the farmers! Of course she’d be bad at most jobs because she has no experience! And we absolutely needed more Rapunzel and Arianna content!

If I have any criticism of the comic is that Rapunzel try's out trades that she should already be good at, like baking and weaving, so it make little sense that she would fail at these crafts... now if it was customer service at the bakery that was hard for her, that would be different, but that’s not what happens, so at points the conflict does feel a little forced at times.

Eugene’s Surprise

Perhaps the weakest story in this collection, in that it’s barely a story.

Rapunzel finds a secret passage behind the bookcase in her room. It leads her to a spy hole that over looks the dining room, where she and pascal find Eugene supposedly flirting with another woman.

Only it’s quickly reveal that he’s not and that the woman is just Shorty in a wig. Eugene asked for his help in planning a date for him and Rapunzel. He was practicing a romantic speech to surprise her with. Anyways, Rapunzel has to rush back to her room, so that he doesn’t figure that she knows about his surprise date.

The only conflict in this story is so paper thin that it hardly exists at all. It’s painfully obvious from the get go that the person Eugene is talking to isn’t real. Not to mention that the idea of Eugene flirting with anyone other than Rapunzel is so out of character, that not even Rapunzel herself believes that he’s cheating on her. She barely even reacts at all.

In fact, it’s only Pascal who assumes the worst and in his anger reveals removes Shorty’s costume. He of course feels embarrassed afterwards when the truth is revealed and that’s it. The story just ends.

Like, what was even the point? It was only two pages of conflict, with like four pages of set up, and then only two pages of a rushed resolution. It’s better than the nothing two paged stories of the last comic, but that’s not saying much.

Stuck with C.U.D.D.L.E.S

This is perhaps my favorite story in the collection, and it’s also our first appearances for both Lance and Trevor in the Bonus Marathon.

Eugene and Lance design a new armored carriage for the royals to ride in when going on long trips. With some interior design input from Rapunzel. Frederic agrees to try it out when he has to meet with King Trevor to negotiate a new peace treaty with Equis. Only the key gets stuck and Lance and Eugene are unable to open the door to let him out again.

Frederic has to discuss the details of the treaty locked inside the buggy, which Eugene and Lance have to haul into the castle hall. The good news is, Trevor agrees to sign the new treaty solely because he found Frederic’s embarrassment amusing. The bad news is that Frederic was super embarrassed and takes out his frustration on Lance and Eugene.

The other good news though is that Frederic was spared a case of the common cold that wound up infecting everyone at the peace negotiations. Unfortunately, both Lance and Eugene caught it and Frederic has them quarantined inside the carriage.... which ironically makes him a better ruler than the entire Republican party... so there’s that for him, I guess.

Snide jabs at the worst political party in the history of America aside, this comic was super fun. The combination of Eugene, Lance, and Trevor all just ruining Frederic’s day is a joy to read.

Taking the Cake

Rapunzel sneaks Pascal into a royal banquet. He shouldn’t be there because the guess of honor is afraid of lizards. He promises to stay hidden, but things go awry when Pascal gets too hungry.

He tries to steal food without being seen, but Arianna spots him... and gives the best shit eating grin I’ve ever seen.

I love this panel.

Anyways, instead of turning him in and getting onto Rapunzel, as Pascal begins to fear, Arianna instead causes a distraction in order for Pascal to find a safe place to hide again.

It’s a cute story. Nothing amazing, but fun nonetheless.

Lend a Helping Foot

Now this story is really interesting.

Feldspar complains about Rapunzel never wearing shoes, claiming that she’s hurting his business because people look to royalty for fashion trends and folks are copying her.

Frederic, for once, agrees with Feldspar and rightly points out that Rapunzel has an extra level of responsibility in how she presents herself because she is a public figure now and her choices impact a wider range of people than just herself.

Rather then fall flat on her face trying to ware shoes, and conform to something that she’s not, Rapunzel tries to actively set new trends, now knowing the outreach that she has.

At first this seems to go well when people take interest in her art hobby. Yet when she tries to share her love of cooking she once again negatively impacts Corona’s businesses, namely Monty’s.

Rapunzel gives up trying to be a trend setter and helps Monty repair a hole in his wall, without him knowing of course, as a way of an apology. Only this itself becomes a new trend as people start doing anonymous good deeds, inspired by Rapunzel selflessness, including the king who figures out a way to help Feldspar’s business by hosting a public dance festival.

This story is cute, but what I really like about it, is that it’s basically how I wish Rapunzel’s character was handled in the original show. Her learning from those around her, while also making a positive impact by breaking blind tradition.

Sadly, that’s not what the series gave us, and so Rapunzel’s actions towards the end feels out of character, but that's a fault of the show as a whole not this particular comic.

The Lost Letter

The mailman quits and Rapunzel volunteers to be a last minute replacement for him. She thinks it would be a good opportunity to meet new people and explore the wider kingdom. Her first job is delivering invitations to a royal ball... only to get the invitations mixed up and accidently invites Big Nose.

The ball is supposed to be for nobility only, but Rapunzel doesn’t have the heart to tell her excited friend that he can’t come. So she and Eugene give Big Nose a crash course in high society etiquette. A series of lessons where Eugene does most of the crashing.

There’s a good idea for a story here, but it feels rushed. It needed like another five or so pages to really bring all of the various plot together in a way that made sense. As is, the ending just kind of happens... there’s nothing there to resolve conflicts naturally and nothing for the mains to learn, so the happy ending feels unearned.

Hair Raising

This is, essentially, a delated scene from What the Hair. It shows how Eugene and Cassandra came up with the wig idea and Rapunzel struggle with trying to make it work.

Once again, it’s a cute idea, but I don’t know why it’s here. Surely it would have made more sense to put this in the last graphic novel, or even better, incorporate into the comic adaptation of the pilot itself. That alone would have elevated things. Yet here on it own, just shoved into the back of this release, it feels very tacked on.

The Presentation

The art here is just as good as the last entry. Lots of flow and interesting framing. The coloring is a little different, losing the watercolor look the first book had, but the more cell shaded stuff isn’t bad at all, just different.

Would I Recommend It

Yeah, I would. This is an even stronger collection of stories than the last graphic novel. Not every entry is successful, and it’s not anything super deep, but it’s an entraining set of side adventures, which is what a spin off should be.

Next Up

I’ll be looking at the only issue of the annual Tangled the Series Magazine that I could find. So stay tuned.

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #comics #idw comics

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j-a-smiths-blog · 1 year

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0421 30Mar23: last work day of this week as tomorrow I have to film a retirement ceremony.

I received the new body for my oldest phicen action figure yesterday. It's kind of crazy to think that figure has been with me for eight or nine years. But over those years the joints started to wear out, little cuts in the silicone started to form and well being one of the original bodies it was almost completely seamless with just the neck and wrist connections being seams. The feet were taking a toll. Its nice to have the seamless feet if you are going to pose them, not standing up and without shoes on.

This weekend, I might make an Instagram post showing the upgraded body compared to her original body. I went from S02 to S23 as an upgrade. Basically, the body got toned, added a few pounds, got a more defined butt and it seems the boobs got perked up a bit. When I say the body gained a few pounds, it's not like a bad thing... It's more like her thighs gained some plumpness, which allows for it to define out the thing muscles too. But quick notice is that her waist seems to have gone down a little bit because the underwear I put on her used to fit the old body just nicely, now it stretches over the butt checks and then is a bit lose around the waist. So it's in all a nice change.

Well. With it being early. I am going to eat my breakfast and then pack up my stuff so I can go workout and then shower and change so I can work.

Today, I have 2 meetings, and I have been appointed an investigator for a command climate case.

First meeting is at 0930 with a JAG over the phone in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina to talk about the case I have to investigate and then around 11 or 1130 I have a check in with the Command Master Chief. Somewhere in there, I need to contact this command where I have to investigate and let them know I need to speak with these sailors and when I want to speak with them. I would like to finish up this investigation next week so I can finalize the report by Friday. Hope everything works in my favor.

Ok done talking

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insertdisc5 · 3 years

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Hi!! I wanted to ask, in celebration of Deltarune CH. 2, do you have any updated thoughts and head canons about the game?? Like, y'know, similar to a previous ask about Kris in your Deltarune tag? Thanks!

thoughts on kris part 2 i guess???? (part 1 from ch1 here lol)

spoilers for deltarune like woah. this wont be kris focused just random thoughts on everything. thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk

not that many thoughts for this chapter tbh! EDIT LOL: this was a lie i have a lot of thoughts

-just in general i feel like the player isn't the only one controlling kris... like yes the player forced kris to do what happened in the snowgrave route but AT THE SAME TIME idk it feels like there's someone else too. just because of the terrifying voice i suppose. and also the jerky movement kris does every time they get their soul out? unless there's another reason for it... maybe getting your soul out means you walk weird lol

-BUT ALSO i feel like kris is 100% in control when they create fountains. idk it just makes sense kris would create them. to create another world, a better world, A WORLD WHERE THEIR BROTHER IS HERE PERHAPS? i do wonder why they get their soul out then though. i'm all for it sweetie! do whatever! i support you!

-(i am and will be playing deltarune with only kris' best interests in mind. i will not hurt anyone unless kris wants me to. dont worry my little meow meow im on your side! talk to me! no? okay ill stay under the sink its fine)

-speaking of asriel. SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER (starts crying) V-VACATION COLLEGE WHEN

-kris misses their brother so much it's so sad. if you make kris steal 5$ from asriel they take it "reluctantly"? talking to asriel online so often even alphys knows?? the google search?? GOING INTO ASRIEL'S GOOGLE SEARCH ROOM WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED BECAUSE THEY'RE CONVINCED THEY ALREADY KNOW WHATS IN THERE? THAT ONE IS LESS OF A MISSING THING BUT IM LIKE OH MY GOD

-the city walk with susie at the end makes it clear to me that kris really values susie's friendship... kris even sits with her if you spend long enough near the lake like aaaaah ;_;

-and even in snowgrave you spend your last acts with the final boss calling for your friends like YES there's a way bigger creepy aspect to this (kris as more of a Leader who Commands and commands their subjects to come) but still :'0 (and then noelle answers oh my god noelle im so sorry for the trauma)

-berdly. listen. listen. listen. liste

-berdly sucks but [berdly hurts his arm in the battle against queen if you don't save him because he doesnt want to hurt you] [berdly realizing smg's wrong in snowgrave and immediately taking steps to save noelle] berdly is my little crumb nugget. i will protect him.

-noelle. noelle. girlboss!

-like ooooh listen. hearing about the genocide path for undertale. made me go "that is SO COOL. i HAVE to experience it myself this is great. hehehe killing time" and like no regrets. i was fully enjoying the experience knowing i was an awful person. SNOWGRAVE THOUGH. i will never try this myself its too fucked up. casually grooming your childhood friend to murder people <3 and also acting like a weird stalker towards her <3 stockholm syndrome speedrun i will get all the info i can about this but i will never do this myself

-people remarking the kris/player>noelle relationship is similar to the relationship between player>chara in genocide path is like yes. chefs kiss. don't worry we just are making you stronger and everything will be fine "you made me kill my friend? and for what?" this is fine sweetie don't worry about it!!!!!!

-like the amount of details added to snowgrave, like if you equip noelle's watch she notices later? and her battle animations change as time goes on, she gets an ice shield and stops sighing in relief after battle? oh my god? oh my god.

-(berdly is not awake.) JUST KILL ME RIGHT HERE I HAVEN'T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT BERDLY NOT BEING AWAKE!!!!!

-also why didnt he turn into dust. so many possible reasons. is magic a thing in the normal world and perhaps no magic means no dust (theres graves). maybe he isnt dead. maybe hes braindead. maybe he'll come back. either way that boy is now in the closet big enough to put someone in

-also dess' name probably being december AND THATS WHY NOELLE LOST THE SPELLING BEE?!?!??! FUCK ME UP!!!!! JUST FUCK ME UP!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!

-also so many good pixel art this chapter. too many? i didnt need pixel art of cardboard noelle falling on the statue. like thank you but please. please it hurts my game artist brain.

-the expressions in this chapter were also top notch. all the unsettling noelle expressions like (i fall over face first)

-i threw away the ball of junk (which i already tried in ch1) and this time the game was like "ARE YOU SURE BC THIS IS A BAD IDEA" and kris felt bitter :'( (it deletes all your items in the dark world)

-i uh fucked up and skipped the susie+noelle scene bc listen last time ralsei mentionned seeing what susie is doing we missed some PRIMO LORE. turns out it just makes you skip the scene and you dont get anything new. welp

-speaking of ralsei well you know. he exists. but im stuck on him going "i just wonder what being ralsei-like even is...?" ralsei my dude there's so much i could say about this. do you feel like you can't be ralsei-like because you feel like you have to be asriel-like

-but also that makes no sense bc susie hasnt even mentioned ralsei looks like asriel. and i cant imagine asriel being so meek. so WHAT GIVES

-ralsei as kris’ “i wish i was a monster just like my bro and family and i’d look like asriel but with red horns [THE HALLOWEEN COSTUME] and my name would be something cool like ralsei instead of a boring human name like kris and im sweet and cute because thats how i act with asriel because ASRIEL MADE ME” theory because that would be cute.

-ASRIEL GOING TO THE CHURCH TO CONFESS HIS "SINS" WHEN "SINS" AREN'T A THING IN THE ANGEL BELIEF LIKE I KNOW THIS INTERACTION WAS TREATED AS A JOKE BUT WHAT THE FUCK ASRIEL?

-kris definitely has a connection with the big red door in the city, judging by what the kids say they probably went there... i feel like this place's dark world will be the Final Dungeon you KNOW some shit happened there. also the sounds you hear when you go there is the phone dark world call's sound slowed down? AND AFTER SNOWGRAVE APPARENTLY YOU CANT HEAR IT ANYMORE? HUWAH?

-speaking of songs the songs were all so good, My Castle Town rules, the berdly snowgrave music is stuck in my head, flashback is uwah wuahah, Until Next Time is so good, AND ALSO A FRIEND NOTICED THE DARK WORLD CITY THEME IS JUST tHE SONG 74 (MOST NOTICEABLE WITH THE SNOWGRAVE VERSION)?????? WHAT DOES IT MEAN????? it might be just "hey its just reuse" BUT MR FOX YOU KNOW WE'RE GONNA READ INTO THIS IS NOELLE THE ONE SINGING IDK BRO!!!!!!!!!!

-asgore dreemurr fired from the force what happun!!!!! game theory is that asgore is related to dess' death/disappearance but eh who knows

-you start the chapter at lvl2 and get to lvl3 after the final boss, a friend mentioned this is probably because we destroyed a world and im :0

-to go back to kris it's still so interesting to figure out who they are based on how they act/people mention them. like kris shaking the ferris wheel car? yeah makes sense i can imagine a pranking kid do this. kris' dance? yeah thats a little silly but i can buy it. doing cool anime poses? well i dunno this doesnt line up PERFECTLY but sure. BUT EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS IN SNOWGRAVE... especially >proceed like that is such a weird thing that i can't imagine them doing, but i can't completely see the "player" doing either (compare with going to sans -which kris doesnt know- and going "SANS!" because of course the player would know sans), like THATS one of the reasons i feel like there's someone else in there. the weird robotic merciless actions. if im going super meta it feels like there'd be someone else like writing the choices into existence for us to pick you know? gaster probably? god i need to read more gaster theories i completely sidestepped the gaster shit bc i wasnt interested. anyway just spitballing

-(looks at big shot guy) please dont make him the next tumblr guy i beg you

-obligatory "queen was great" mention if only because this part made me laugh a little bit too hard

that was a lot. thank you for letting me talk

#ask tag #deltarune #deltarune spoilers #snowgrave spoilers

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septembercfawkes · 3 years

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Getting Passive Protagonists to Act

Many beginning writers struggle with protagonists who are too passive. The plot seems to constantly be happening to him or her, but the protagonist doesn’t take an action to make the plot happen.

Ideally, when an event happens to a protagonist, the protagonist responds by taking an action that influences the next event, which then influences the protagonist, which then influences an event—and on and on. But that can be easier said than done. Especially if you have a protagonist who prefers to live life passively.

This could all get confusing, though, because in story structure, almost all protagonists will more or less become more proactive. But for the sake of this post, I'm talking about protagonists who are characteristically passive. A protagonist who may want to kick up his feet in a hammock with a glass of lemonade and watch the world deal with its own problems. How do we write a story about that guy?

Many people will tell you that you can't--you must change the character.

But that is not wholly true.

It's true in a good story, we need the protagonist to act--especially at key moments--but that doesn't mean he innately yearns to act.

Often the best solution in dealing with a passive character is to strengthen the stakes. Let me explain.

Anyone will Act with the Right Stakes

The stakes are potential consequences; they are what are at risk in the story. We often think of them as negative things (someone's life may be at risk), but they can also be positive things (the opportunity to be taught by a professional in your ideal vocation).

Stakes are important because if there is nothing at risk, then what happens, doesn't really matter, which means what the protagonist does, doesn't really matter, because it doesn't change any outcomes. The story only matters insomuch as we understand potential outcomes. The protagonist's choices only matter if they affect the outcomes.

For example, we only care about Frodo destroying the Ring because we know doing so could rid Middle-earth of Sauron’s evil. If we didn't know that, what happened with the Ring wouldn't really matter. And what Frodo did wouldn't carry any weight. (You can learn more about stakes in my article "How to Write Stakes in Storytelling.")

When struggling with getting a passive protagonist to act, (almost) always look at the stakes.

No Stakes

Make sure that you’ve at least laid out stakes. Sometimes writers feel like the stakes are obvious, so they don't mention them. Just as bad, if not worse, the stakes may be too vague. And definitely worse: nonexistent.

If the protagonist doesn't have anything clearly to gain or lose, why would she act? If what happened to the Ring didn't change something, why would Frodo go to Mount Doom? Why would any of us do anything if it didn't make some kind of difference?

In a case like this, clear stakes need to be on the page.

Let's look at some examples of what one might consider passive people within the context of their stories.

Shrek wants nothing more than to live alone on his swamp. If there is nothing at risk, is he really going to go on an adventure to rescue a princess? Probably not.

In The Edge of Tomorrow, I think it could be argued that the protagonist, Bill Cage (played by Tom Cruise) is somewhat passive in relation to the main conflict. The story is about him fighting in a war against aliens, but he has absolutely no desire whatsoever to enter combat--in fact, he's a coward. You think he would sign up to be the first in combat out of the goodness of his heart? No way.

In Trigun by Yasuhiro Nightow, protagonist Vash would rather spend all day, every day eating donuts, playing with kids, and helping out the person down the street. He'd rather live life under an alias than face the fact he's the only one capable of standing up to the antagonist and saving the human race.

If none of these characters ever had anything at risk, then they would have never taken the actions they needed to, to move the story forward. They would have been forever passive.

In short, they only acted once there were stakes.

Wrong Stakes

If there are stakes on the page, and the character still isn't acting, then chances are they are either the wrong stakes (things she doesn’t care about) or the stakes are too small (the potential consequences don’t pose a real threat or a meaningful gain).

If they are the wrong stakes, you need to think about what the protagonist cares about and put it in jeopardy. We all care about something--whether that’s a reputation or a pet.

For a passive person, you might need to dig deeper and brainstorm longer to figure out what it is. And if you are having trouble, keep in mind that it's also possible the passive protagonist wants something for someone else or his environment. Maybe she's satisfied drinking lemonade and getting picked on, but she's not okay with her kid getting bullied--that's not something she can let happen.

Shrek mostly cares about living alone on his swamp. If his distant neighbor is at risk of dying in loneliness, Shrek's likely not going to do much about it. The best way to get him to act, is to put his home and lifestyle at risk. He will be willing to take action to save that.

Bill is afraid of dying (it's part of what makes him a coward). If he's put in a situation where he could die, he'll be forced to act.

Vash is obsessed with saving people. Children, friends, innocents, criminals. It doesn't matter who. He doesn't want anyone to die. If no one is at risk of dying, then it's unlikely he will be drawn to fight his antagonists. Almost always he is led to act because someone's life is at risk.

Small Stakes

If the stakes are too small, you need to make them bigger by making them broader or more personal.

Even the most passive person is unlikely to feel passive with a gun pointed at them. Unless they have a death wish, in which case, you could have the gun pointing at a loved one, or you could threaten torture. Even people who have a death wish don't want to be tortured. Almost all of us will act if the stakes get big enough.

Alternatively, you can promise an opportunity that is too good to pass up. If all I want is to live out my life on a hammock by the beach sipping lemonade, then maybe the best motivation is the promise of getting that. Maybe I'd be willing to act, if it ensured that.

It's bad enough for Shrek to have a few creatures come on his swamp, but the fact that countless numbers of them will be exiled to his swamp, is even worse. This is a big enough issue to get him to act--he decides he must visit Farquaad, which moves the story to the middle.

It's bad enough to die once, but it turns out for Bill, that he has to die over and over and over again. He also has to go on the battlefield over and over and over again, too. He keeps repeating the same events. This is enough to get him to try new tactics (and really, what other choice does he have?).

It's bad enough that Vash can't save everyone. But when it turns out the antagonists plan to destroy the whole human race, well, he can't live out life in donut-filled peace, playing cops and robbers with tykes. He has to act.

Inaction Stakes

If your passive character still really does not want to act, it's worth keeping in mind that inaction is an action--it just needs significant stakes. There needs to be negative ramifications for the protagonist not acting. Ideally, eventually these negative consequences get so big or so personal, that the protagonist has to do something about it.

For example, at one point, Vash decides to live under an alias and do nothing. He decides to be inactive. Unfortunately, this results in an entire town getting wiped out by the antagonist. Doing nothing has steep consequences. He needs to at least try to do something.

This can become a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation--where "damned if you do" at least carries a small chance of success over "damned if you don't."

At one point in Edge of Tomorrow, Bill decides to do nothing. He even goes to a bar to drink in the middle of the day. Guess what? He still has to repeatedly die. Whatever he does, he ends up dying, and having to repeat that time frame. He can either be endlessly in a tortuous loop where he dies, dies, and dies, or he can keep trying to fix the situation. On the surface, it seems like he has a lot of options, since he gets to make different choices each time he repeats the day, but 99% of them lead to the same outcome. So in reality, he has very few choices. Act and maybe die. Or don't act and keep dying.

Limit Options

Related to the last one, one way to push a passive character to act, is to limit her choices and the outcomes. In fact, if we want to take this to the real world, studies show that the more options people have, the less likely they are to make a choice--or even make a good choice.

Like Bill, when there aren't really any options, the protagonist will be pretty much forced to act. Either keep reliving the same torture or try to do something about it.

Add to it some kind of countdown or convergence, so that the protagonist has a very limited window to act, and she'll have to do something.

Stakes Reveal Character

How the protagonist acts when there are things at risk, will reveal what kind of person she is.

In this sense, one might argue, that by strengthening the stakes to get her to act, you are changing her character after all.

Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that you are now revealing who she truly is.

Whatever the case, it can become an argument of semantics.

Similar things can happen with the term "passive."

Just understand the concepts and the tools.

The Reluctant Hero

In most, if not all cases, a characteristically passive protagonist will create a reluctant hero. Shrek doesn't want to save Fiona. Bill doesn't want to win the war. Vash doesn't want to confront the antagonist. They just want something to not happen, more than they want to do The Thing™️.

In this sense, while the passive protagonist will ultimately still be acting within the plot (which is necessary to write a good story), he or she may still yearn for passivity.

Of course, the character's arc may possibly shift that yearning by the end.

And it should go without saying, that pretty much all these same tricks will work for passive side characters, as well--when you need to get them to act. For example, in The Office, Stanley is characteristically passive. He pretty much sits in silence and does crossword puzzles. But when pushed far enough, he will back talk his boss. And when he wants something bad enough (like a free pretzel on pretzel day), he'll actually act.

#Writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #writer problems #writing reference #protagonist #fanfic

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #you may want to reread previous chapters to get caught up

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dudeandduchess · 3 years

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Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, Modern AU, NSFW Series)[Chapter 7]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Pussy Spanking, Thigh Fucking, Shallow Fucking, Creampie, There’s Only One Bed Scenario, Dark Themes

||Sugar and Spice Masterlist||

***

With how beautiful the sunset had been, and how romantic Kyōjurō had been acting, (Y/n) never expected that the night would take a turn for the worse. It was so bad that she was stressing out about it, even though she was completely taken care of at the Rengoku clan’s mountain villa.

She had a nice yukata to sleep in, and all the food that she could want in the kitchen, and people at her beck and call— if she even chose to ask for their help with anything.

The only problem was that she knew her mother was going to be furious once she got home.

Kyōjurō had taken the liberty to call her mother while (Y/n) was taking a shower— ‘to relax’ as the blond had said, before practically pushing her into the bathroom— to explain that he wouldn’t be able to bring her home, since it had begun to rain heavily. Heavy enough to pose as a hazard for driving down the dirt road.

If he wanted, he could have an off-roading vehicle sent to get them, but he wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to risk getting (Y/n) into an accident, when they could just wait things out until the morning.

That, and he figured that it would be nice to actually spend the night with her… and maybe give her a bit of pleasure, since they had been disturbed earlier.

Safe to say that (L/n) Akari wasn’t happy with how the situation had panned out, and had been about to lash out at Kyōjurō. Until, of course, he finally lost the polite and cheerful façade— after checking if (Y/n) was still in the bathroom.

Slowly, Kyōjurō sat down on the end of the bed in his room, before loosening his tie and stretching out his neck. He took his sweet time in making the older woman wait for his response to her threat of having (Y/n) fetched; especially when the venom in her voice suggested that a lecture was the least that she would give (Y/n).

He feared that Akari might even keep heaping on more political tasks on to (Y/n), all to keep her from seeing him. It wasn’t a secret that she didn’t like him for her daughter, after all.

“Don’t forget, (L/n)-san, I…” Kyōjurō began softly, with a sharp edge to his tone that warned his future mother-in-law to listen well to his words. “…can take away everything you love, if you break our agreement. It would be best if you remembered that the moment that my family put you where you are, you signed your life over to me.”

Silence reigned over the line for a couple of minutes, with Kyōjurō relishing in how he had managed to slowly protect (Y/n) from her own mother.

Of course, he knew just how horrible and selfish the woman was. It was why he wondered just how his cute future wife turned out so well. And maybe it was his own fault, but he had delved even further into the file he had on her, and couldn’t help but be completely enamored.

However, he was ill-prepared for the intensity of the real thing. She was so much more than he had thought she would be, especially after he had hung out with her a few times.

“I think it would be best if you cleared my wife’s schedule, and start letting her get to know her future husband better,” Kyōjurō continued after fully undoing his tie— letting it hang around his neck, as he finished up his conversation. “After all, she won’t be living under your roof in a few months.”

With that, he dropped the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. He then heaved a heavy sigh, letting the air fill his lungs, as he closed his eyes and exhaled all of his tension away.

He didn’t want (Y/n) to see that side of him; ever, if he could help it.

“Kyōjurō?” The aforementioned woman’s soft voice rang out from the bathroom and when he looked up, he had to immediately make an effort to not let his tongue hang out like a dog, as she looked so enticing in that red yukata that he’d had someone to get for her. “I’m done. You can take a bath now.”

And with that sweet smile she aimed right at him? Partnered with how cute she looked with her hair still a little damp? He really had to try to keep himself in check.

After all, he didn’t want her to think that he was a monster; in all senses of the word.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up the way she had, but it was too late to ask that question. Especially with Kyōjurō smelling so good behind her, while his right arm was wrapped around her middle— with his feet intertwined with hers.

She had tried to ask why they were sleeping in one bed, but all she had gotten from that was a simple ‘the other rooms are locked, and I already sent the head maid home’. It was a poor excuse, but she chose to just buy it— instead of fighting Kyōjurō and dampening the good day that they’d had together.

After all, it was all innocent cuddling… at least at first. As the minutes ticked by, Kyōjurō’s hand had begun caressing up and down her stomach, until it drifted lower to her pelvis.

She could feel his fingers toying with the seam of the yukata— slowly bunching up the material, until she could feel her pussy get even more exposed than it already was; what with her going commando beneath the garment.

“You’re not asleep. Are you, princess?” Kyōjurō whispered in her ear; the words making her feel warm down to her bones, even though the air held a biting chill that came with the rain pouring outside. “I want to make you feel… amazing.”

The way that Kyōjurō breathed out the last word had her clenching her thighs together— and the movement didn’t go unnoticed like she had wanted it to. So, she found herself paying for it with Kyōjurō leaning in even closer and teasingly nipping at her ear.

(Y/n) had it in her mind to say no at first, only to change her tune when the blond finally let his hand cup her pussy; dragging his middle finger up her slit and finding that she was already wet.

In her defense, it was because he smelled so good and felt so amazing against her— especially with his erection brushing against her ass every once in a while.

“Oh? Did I already make you this wet, baby?” Instead of answering, however, (Y/n) merely bit down on her tongue and closed her eyes— especially when Kyōjurō pressed two fingers to her clit, before beginning to circle them around the sensitive nub.

The action had (Y/n)’s hips bucking involuntarily, which brought a grin to Kyōjurō’s lips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Come on, baby girl. Tell me that you want to feel good too.”

But when silence kept hanging in the air, the blond lifted his fingers from her cunt— all so he could bring them down on her sensitive flesh. The spank was weak, compared to what he could have done, but it elicited his desired reaction.

He wasn’t done though, and landed another light spank on his lover’s cunt. It had her hips bucking once more, while a quiet and breathless moan escaped her lips. And finally, a really enticing, “Please make me feel good, Kyōjurō.”

“Good girl.”

His dick could only get harder once he pressed it up against (Y/n)’s ass— relishing in the feel of her warmth beneath the yukata, as he bunched the hem of it up. And once it was already out of the way, Kyōjurō gently wedged his calf between her own calves— if only to lift her leg up the tiniest fraction for what he wanted to do.

Once that was all settled, the blond freed his cock from his own yukata; holding his length at the base and guiding the tip up to start rubbing it up and down her slit.

He smeared his precum all over her pussy, focusing on circling his head at her clit, and really drinking in the quiet and pleased moans that kept flowing from (Y/n)’s mouth— which only got louder when he pressed the top of his dick flush against her pussy to coat it with her wetness.

And, knowing that was barely enough lubrication, the blond lifted his right hand up to (Y/n)’s mouth. He then pressed the tips of three digits to her lips, prompting her to open her mouth— which she did. All the while, he kept rubbing his dick against her pussy, so tempted to just push into her pussy, but wanting to make her extra needy for him before he gave in to his own urges and fucked her.

“Get them nice and wet, princess.” He’d have tried to make her wetter by playing with her nipples, but he had slid his arm under her head earlier— for her to use as a pillow— so it was laying there, much to his regret.

When his fingers were already wet, he pulled them out of her spent mouth and pressed a kiss to her cheek once more. All while he brought his hand down and used his spit-laden fingers to get his cock even wetter.

The moment that he had managed to get his cock relatively wet, he removed his leg from between (Y/n)’s own pair— moaning aloud when her thighs clamped down tighter around his dick. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

Kyōjurō wasted no time then, placing his hand back on (Y/n)’s clit and playing with it— circling, rubbing, pinching, and gently tugging on the sensitive nub— while he moved his hips to start fucking her thighs. It was made hotter and easier with how her wet she kept getting for him— enough to coat his cock and her thighs entirely with her juices.

That wasn’t the best part, however; it was when Kyōjurō pulled back a little bit too far and had accidentally pushed the tip of his cock inside her pussy— out of reflex.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Kyōjurō cursed through breathless moans, deciding to torture himself even more and push just the head of his cock inside her tight pussy. And he begun to thrust shallowly in her, losing himself in ecstasy just from that.

And he almost lost control and pushed in to the hilt, until he felt (Y/n)’s legs beginning to quiver, while her moans steadily got shakier and shakier. “Please, Kyō! Please fuck me!”

He had half a mind to finally give in to his own needs, but he managed to sway himself from that decision at the last minute. Instead, he began to rub (Y/n)’s clit faster— which had her ultimately coming apart around the head of his cock.

Her entrance was clamping down on him so amazingly, and he could feel her walls fluttering around what part of him was inside her, which made it so hard to pull out and only thrust in only up to the end of the head of his cock.

Kyōjurō felt himself getting so close to his orgasm, losing himself so much in (Y/n)— that he had even leaned down to start sucking hickeys onto the spot behind her ear just to last a little bit longer.

However, the pleasure finally got the better of him and had him instinctively pushing his entire length inside (Y/n)’s sopping cunt. All sorts of curses ricocheted within his head at that, but he didn’t regret what had happened.

Especially when he came so hard and filled her up so well, with his dick buried in her to the hilt.

There went his plans of making her crazy for him but, oddly enough, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened just felt right to him. If she got pregnant from it, then he was prepared to raise their child together— no other thoughts or trepidations swirling around in his mind, like they had before.

With (Y/n) next to him, he felt that he could conquer the world.

Besides, little did he know that she was well on her way to getting positively crazy for him. Addicted: heart, body, and soul.

Especially with the way that she had overheard him standing up for her against her mother.

#rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku kyoujurou #kyojuro x reader #kyojurou x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #demon slayer imagines #kny imagines #jen writes

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theodora3022 · 3 years

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Selfish Deeds (Yandere! Gojou Satoru)

Summary: Satoru just wants you to be free of danger. If you are so knowledgeable why can’t you understand that he only wish the best for you?

A/N: This is just one snippet of many out of a collection(haven't decide the name just yet)...Since I have not read the manga(anime-only for now) so I just got a vague impression of what Gojou has been through, but that does not stop me from writing him like the cocky bastard he is. Hopefully it is not too OOC(as if yandere variant itself is not OOC enough pfttt) The reader is a stubborn psycho because that is what I am :) Will there be some future pieces that involves nsfw elements? I got a few ideas but no promises.

I blame @popi-the-fatui for my Gojou brainrots. You got your revenge on me by making me attracted to this dubious man. Word count: 1.6k

Banner credit

Warnings: Female pronouns, Possessive behaviour, DELUSIONAL behaviour, non-consensual touching, power inbalance, general yandere content, slight mention of confinement and violence(This is not a healthy relationship dynamic!!!), reader is not a soft UWU girl, kthis is so self indulgent *buries myself into the bottomless pit of shame

It has been nearly fifteen minutes since the headquarter disconnected the call, yet you are still staring at your phone screen with disbelief.

You were supposed to travel to another city for a mission tomorrow, they had notified you of this mission a week ago.

You already got your luggage packed, and your theoretical research on the objective is thoroughly done. Then they dare to inform you: they have found a more suitable candidate! Right on the day before your departure too.

Your curse techniques have already limited you to more of a supporting role for most situations. There are not plenty of missions available for you to begin with. While you are content with educating the fresh blood of the community in classrooms the majority of the time, you still long for field actions every once in a while. It is an essential part of being a Jujutsu sorcerer after all.

Both you and the soft-spoken secretary who made the call know this is nonsense. The higher-ups recognize that you are one of, if not the best sorcerers available when it comes to reconnaissance and espionage.

Letting out a sigh of immeasurable frustration, you swore to yourself that you will find out who is the conductor of this humiliating turn of events. This is going to be difficult since you do not recall having any issues with any of the administration staff recently.

There is no reversing this misfortune, but at least you can be aware of who is responsible for such violation of conduct.

He is only doing this to protect you.

Gojou Satoru tells himself as such, at least.

He is aware of how unfair it is, to make someone less capable to take on the job. But he cannot risk your safety. The man has already got used to your company, and he is not willing to just let you disappear from his field of view for more than a week. Sure, you might have not admitted how much you like him yet, but it is just too endearing to see you flustered at his flirtatious words.

Although there have been some difficulties with rescheduling, he managed to use his connections to exclude you from that first-grade mission at last minute. On the bright side, the sorcerer cannot wait to lend you an ear to vent about how conservative and unfair the higher-ups can be. Maybe you will even say yes to a trip to the newest local bakery! You need some sweet treats to cheer yourself up, don’t you?

But Satoru has never thought about how you specialize in putting two and two together. (understandable since he never saw you in action before).

------------------

Strange, you are not near the usual area in the library.

Sensing his footsteps, you opened your office door before Satoru had a chance to knock.

“We need to talk, Gojou-san.” That expression is new. This is the first time he sees you genuinely angry, which is to be expected.

But somehow he got a bad feeling about this.

You did not even invite him to sit down, instead just standing next to the floor window, arm crossed, with your back turned to him.

“Why would you do such a thing?” You have to use up all of your self-control to prevent yourself from having a full blow-up right at Gojou Satoru. Maintain composure. But it is easier said then done.

Does he think this is funny? To sabotage someone else's sorcerer career like this? You knew you should have kept him out of your daily life, as he is nothing but trouble to you. But you made the mistake of choosing to tolerate him, and some superficial part of you might even enjoy his dallying words a bit too much.

To the extent, you overlooked some red flags. This is a grievous error indeed.

Shit, now that he vaguely remembers what role you play on missions.“(y/n)-chan, what are you saying-” He knows you always act in supporting positions, however, he has overlooked your actual abilities and curse techniques. You collect intel and spy on enemies, how could he forget that? “Don’t play dumb with me. You got your ways, I got mine. There is no use denying what you have done. I thought you out of all people would understand what it means to be a sorcerer.”

This is a violation of protocol, changing mission assignments at the last minute. However, you know this man would not be receiving any solid punishment should you decide to report this. They would say there is “no harm done” and you would just receive a pitiful apology. Suppose you cannot blame them though.

They need Gojou Satoru, the Jujutsu community needs his prowess to keep innocent people safe. He will remain in the system no matter what.

Why are you questioning his motives? Does he have to spell it out for you? Letter by letter?

“You are not a skilled combatant, (y/n)-chan. What if you got yourself hurt?” Or even worse, killed. It scares him to think that you could be gone one day, how he would walk by this office corridor and never sees you sitting behind the desk ever again.

Not much in this world could send Gojou Satoru a chill down his spine, yet the thought of you dying is now on the list. He knows how petty this is, you wouldn’t be the one doing the actual exorcising after all. But the if, the slight possibilty.

He cannot allow that to happen, not ever. Even that means angering you and getting yelled at.

“What am I, some normal lawful citizen? I am a sorcerer just like you, Gojou-san. Putting ourselves on the line for innocents is part of the deal.” You let out a few short, sarcastic giggles, narrowing your eyes at him with fury. “It’s funny that you, out of all people, fail to understand that. If I am needed I will do what I must. If this is some sort of sick joke, stop it already, not funny. ”

Blunt, unrelenting stubbornness. Not like that’s news for him, Satoru has lots of experience with that since the day your path crossed. Although he finds this quality to be adorable most of the time, it can pose major problems like the present.

Oh, he is not angry at you. Satoru is more outraged at himself, don’t you worry. On the contrary, he is rather intrigued by your sarcastic remarks! However…

Instead of walking towards where you stood near the window, the man decides to take a turn towards the door.

That flashing panic within your eyes did not escape his sight.

The illusion figure you were projecting near the window dissipated instantly once he got your left wrist in his hand. Concealing yourself and projecting illusions, a rare techique indeed.

“Clever tactic. Making yourself invisible, projecting a faux illusion to distract me, leaving the door open and staying close to the exit. Your curse techniques are impressive. I almost got fooled, job well-done (y/n)-chan.”

The grip on your wrist suddenly tightens, you have to bite your lip to hold back a hiss of pain. How can he still flash that casual, playful smile when committing such atrocity? Those damned cerulean blue eyes too, you are ashamed of how you tremble and (internally) swoon at it at the same time.

Efforts to get away would most likely be futile, but you have to try. “See, you underestimated your opponent. I do see why you are good with lurking in the shadows now. Do you have any idea what I am capable of though?” Such delicate hands, it would be a shame if they were to bruise.

It’s unnerving how easy it looks for him to maintain a solid grip on your wrist while you pull back with all of your might. You know Gojou Satoru is strong and all, but this simple demonstration of strength is devastatingly effective. “Let go of me, you bastard!”

To your surprise, he softens his grip and you finally distanced yourself from him, panting and guarded. “Who are you to decide what I should and what I should not do? I made it crystal clear on the first day that I do not like you for the slightest.”

You know the walls are thin and coworkers might heard you, but you will have to worry about it later. It is, sadly, a matter of fact that you are somehow attracted to him, but that does not give him the right to use it against you. You must not give in to the temptation.

“You are pretty slow on the uptake for someone so smart. I was thinking of doing this naturally, we can go on normal dates to coffee shops, amusement parks, or even the museum if that is what you wish for. But now I see you do not know how much you mean to me.” Do you think Gojou-san is only flirting with you for the fun of it? It might have been the case in the beginning, but that is not the case since...recently.

He did not stop you again when you turned away, giving him one last menacing look and disappeared from his sight, even if he could see the faint trace of your curse energy. You will return to him and apologize after you calm down, he is confident about that. You value your job way too much to quit.

Then he could finally pull you into his arms, saying he does not mind and forgive your childish tantrums. Satoru does not plan to lock you up in a cage or anything(yet)! The students adore you and they need your guidance. Your clan is insignificant compared to his, your influence? Does he even need to consider that?

Gojou Satoru would always achieve his goals by whatever means possible. You are no exception to this.

#yandere fanfiction #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojou satoru #yandere x you #yandere gojou satoru x you #*screams into the sea of Quanta #I was a clown when I said I won't simp for him #tw: dark content #tw: yandere

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

Text

... All right, let’s do this.

Under the cut bc there’s SO MANY images, and I’m sorry, and I know the cut is worthless to mobile users but, well, here we are. Please don’t unfollow me for this post specifically.

^^ I can’t decide if this woman holding the Tesseract is impressive or not bc, I mean, she’s wearing a glove - but, Red Skull probably was, too? Also the TVA are obviously not humans, so “impressive” may be generous. On the other hand, “only beings of enormous power” can wield the Tesseract/infinity stones, so.

Loki looks pissed.

“I know what this place is.” I like this, bc it provides us with some narrative evidence that Loki has always known much more about the universe and How Things Work than anyone cared to realize. Loki’s always known what’s going on; that he isn’t ignorant to the existence or inner functions of the TVA feels in-character.

Inception!

Lokiception!

Why does every shot of the TVA’s headquarters look like the inside of a poorly-lit DMV? Though I guess it fits with the “timelessness” of it all as, after all, time ceases to exist or have meaning once you enter the DMV.

But I digress.

I’ve already remarked on the “I’m smart” comment, but I do like this shot.

I really love what Loki’s hair is doing here, I don’t even care. For better or for worse, his hair’s doing it’s own all-natural thing and I dig it. Let it move, let it dance, let it fall into his face and obscure his features as fanfic has allowed so many times.

I’m not a fan of the exaggerated jump or “wtf” expression along with “this is absurd” but THIS moment? Classic Loki. He looks 500% done and we’re only 51 seconds in. Also, I refuse to believe that stack of papers is everything Loki’s ever said. I know we all complained about the “you love to talk” line but, I mean, certainly he’s said more than approximately the total sum of Ulysses in his 1000 years of existence.

Here’s what I want to know:

1. How does Loki taking the Tesseract result in so many new timeline branches? Surely he’s only responsible for one new timeline? I really, really hope they address that this is all the Avengers’ fault.

2. What timeline is WandaVision and TFatWS taking place in? The main one, I presume? How do we know it’s not one of these alternate ones?

3. Which timeline is Agents of SHIELD in and will they be addressed? Bc they got up to all kinds of Time Shenanigans in seasons 5, 6, and 7 to the point where I’m pretty sure they split off into their own universe (which is why they weren’t affected by the Snap or that whole thing, or so I’ve heard). If Loki crosses paths with Coulson & crew, I may pee my pants.

4. So where does Jessica Jo - ah, forget it, I’m not even going to ask.

I wonder what it is about this “unique Loki perspective” that Mobius is interested in recruiting. (Incidentally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen Wilson in, like, a real role - wherein he’s not playing some version of Owen Wilson, that is. He’s got a costume and everything here. Fun to see!)

This is a bamf shot, okay. The way it’s framed is pretty intimidating.

“You listen well, brother -”

“I’m listening.”

^^ I figured out what kind of energy this moment has, lmao.

“It’s adorable that you think you can manipulate me.” I mean, do I even have to comment? I am here for narratively validating the “Loki is ten steps ahead” (heh, and I quote) canon. Here’s another place where I feel like Tom was involved, since I’m pretty sure that somewhere, he’s literally said “Loki’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

That said, I’m not crazy about the delivery of this line; the over-confident tone of it smacks of “here’s someone about to get knocked the fuck off their pedestal” and I’m not here for that.

That said, these next scenes -

- not only show Loki with the upper hand but, also, it’s clear that Loki goes rogue at some point, possibly early on, and I do like that. Drag me if you will, but I want to see Loki scheming and being manipulative, in his own interests.

I think that Loki being the protagonist will allow them to portray his manipulation in a way that the audience is on his side. I don’t think that the TVA is being framed as the “reliable narrator” through which the audience should view Loki, or “good guys” at all; I think that maybe they’re not evil, but there’s probably a lot of morally-grey shenanigans and goings-on.

I also think Loki is capable of outwitting them; Loki, being ten steps ahead, has probably figured out something that the TVA has not even thought of yet, so he’s going to fix things his own way, according to his own plan. And I want to see that, because I think that this will give the narrative room to really explore both how Loki thinks and what he does when his plans go awry (as I’m sure they’re bound to do); like, how will he fix it and still remain on top in the end?

So, I mean, I’m pretty intrigued (and still cautiously optimistic).

Lots of action shots happening, I won’t add even more images to this post, but this magic is still giving me life.

What is this, a food court? (Speaking of which , what’s up with all the action in the mall earlier?)

“I’ve studied almost every moment of your life”

(^^ Missed opportunity)

“and you’ve literally stabbed people in the back like 50 times.”

Receipts or it didn’t happen, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that line right now.

Thanks, I hate it. This is all wrong, this whole thing - just awful, scrap it, toss it out. Tom, I love you, but this was the wrong delivery and an all-around bad acting decision. It’s too over-the-top, too earnestly “well I never!”, too comical (as in, feels like it belongs in a comic with a speech bubble as opposed to funny).

Once more, with feeling. From the top!

I like that we get to see Loki doing a wardrobe change, as I don’t think we’ve gotten to see that before. He always just shows up in a new outfit or illusions one on.

That’s one ugly ass outfit, but you make it look passable, Loki. You’re beautiful, in case no one’s told you that today.

The remaining shots are very visually pleasing and action-y and I dig them, except the volcano one (stop posing with your arms outstretched every five seconds, Loki, it’s kinda cringe. In the above still, it works; in front of a volcano, it’s just tonally off. I say this with love, don’t @ me).

Overall, I think I maintain my 7/10 rating. I think that the trailer hints at a lot of potential in the story that I will enjoy seeing, and I think that the nature of it being a trailer means that it’s a little tonally hyperbolic (this is kinda the format for Disney shit; show the flashy bits, the funny (”funny”) bits, to draw in the casual viewer. Save the story bits for the show. (Case in point: there’s a lot of great material in TFatWS that happened just before or after the one-liners shown in the trailer.)

So, yes. Sorry this is such a mammoth post, I just needed to explode my feels. If you think the trailer’s awesome, kudos and I love you. If you’re disappointed and upset, I’m sorry and I love you. If you’re hovering in the middle, still in cautiously optimistic territory, pull up a seat and have some popcorn with me.

That is all.

#loki on the small screen #long post #image heavy post #loki pokey artichokey #mood gif #i honestly don't know if i should tag spoilers?#i don't think a trailer counts as spoilers personally #but ymmv so #loki series spoilers

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talkfastromance4 · 3 years

Text

when i’m dreaming--calum hood oneshot

yeah so i’m going through something so this is very, very self-indulgent.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: drinking linked a little with coping, going through a depressive low, best friend!calum

feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

***

Calum notices something is wrong the minute she steps outside. He was about to take a drink of his white claw, but his eyes went to her nails when she pulled Crystal in for a hug. She typically paints them to match her mood and today they’re opalescent pink, barely noticeable but still there. In plain sight but still visible while she secretly wants to be invisible.

She smiles and cracks jokes with everyone she says hello to then when she steps in front of Calum, he sees the sadness in her eyes. They’ve been best friends for awhile now, they’ve shared secrets, stories of first loves and heartaches, their fears, their wildest dreams. But there was always something she kept hidden, tucked away in a box welded shut.

“Hey bud,” she sighs.

“Hey short stuff,” he grins playfully pulling her in for a hug. Her arms wrap around him and he makes sure to give her an extra tight squeeze.

“I’m not that short,” she grumbles in his chest.

“You’re shorter than me,” he reminds rubbing her shoulder with his thumb. Although her arms are loose around him he can feel the tension in her shoulders that she’s carrying.

“Stop hogging her! I haven’t seen her in weeks!” Ashton exclaims and Calum pulls away.

He knows it was too soon to break the hug but to keep up with her own façade he doubts anyone else sees, he does it.

“Hey, you’re the one who disappeared into the desert for all those weeks,” she jokes rising on her toes to loop her arms around Ashton’s neck.

He gives her a big bear hug that lifts her a few inches off the ground, Calum sees her nails digging into her arm as she squeezes him.

“Had to recenter myself, you should try it sometime,” Ashton teases right back. As if she was shocked, she removes herself from the hug then accepts a bottle of Mike’s from Luke.

“I can take something stronger than this, Hemmings,” she takes a large chug regardless.

“Yeah? Like tequila? I got some limes,” he jerks his thumb behind him towards the drink table.

“I said stronger not deadly. You know I can’t handle tequila,” she scrunches her nose.

Everyone else laughs but alarms are going off in Calum’s head.

“Yeah, the floor of my Tesla doesn’t like tequila either,” Michael chimes in with a tray of shots.

“I told you to pull over,” she shrugs lifting up a shot. She takes a whiff and nods in approval at his selected alcohol choice.

“I was going 75 on the freeway!”

“And that’s why I threw up. Ready?” she lifts her glass.

Calum meets her eyes as over the hands of their friends as Ashton gives an impromptu speech about friendship and long rides. He wasn’t really paying attention because when their eyes locked, he saw the panic, he saw the fear of whatever was going on in her head.

The next time he sees her is at the movies. Her eyes are darker along with her nails that are now a hunter’s green; camouflaged but still visible. While they’re waiting in line for snacks, he lifts her hand in his and runs his thumb over the color.

“This is a pretty color, I’ve never seen it on you before,” he says.

“Yeah, um…wanted to try something different,” she shrugs. “Do you want the blue icee?”

“Is that even a question?” he raises a brow, and she laughs.

Once they’re settled in the seats the previews start. Calum opens up the bags of sweet and sour treats while she opens the boxes of milk duds. The large bowl of popcorn (with extra butter) is settled between them, long red straws sticking out of their frozen drinks.

Throughout the whole movie, it’s an action romantic comedy, Calum keeps glancing at her. He watches her fingers disappear in the popcorn bowl, her hunter’s green nails appearing black in the dark theater. Calum’s seen enough movies to know this moment is foreshadowing the darkness she’s slipping into. He’s preparing himself for the fall but he’s not entirely sure she is.

Two weeks have gone by and he hasn’t seen her since the movie. Their schedules didn’t align so he decided to surprise her with takeout from her favorite Asian restaurant and chocolate cake from her favorite bakery.

When he opens the door, he hears Friends playing on her tv and he finds her horizontal on the couch. The hood of her sweatshirt is over her head, her arms wrapped around her torso, her black nails clutching the fabric.

Calum braces himself for what he’s walking into, sets the food on her counter and crouches in front of her. He pulls her hoodie back a little so he can see her face a bit better, her eyes are distant and staring off behind him.

“Hey,” he says softly then touches her hand. It’s very cold. “Y/N.”

Upon hearing her name does she finally look at him. Her eyes have filled and spilled with her tears in a matter of seconds. He links her fingers through his.

“Hi,” she mouths, her voice barely registering.

“Is this about…him?” he asks delicately.

About a year ago he chipped away at the welding on the box. He knows it involves a guy. He knows it’s about bad timing. He knows it’s about deep emotions.

She nods and the tears erupt more. She buries her face in her hands then adds another layer by hiding in the pillow.

“Nope, nope, hey,” he tugs on her arms. She’s pliant and allows him to drag her in a sitting position. He takes the place where her head was then brings her onto his lap. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He murmurs and pulls her hoodie down so he can rub at her hair.

She sobs loudly into his neck. Calum holds her as tight as he can, murmuring comforting words in her ear. Her sobs would subside, but he wouldn’t let go until she did. She’s very good at keeping her emotions at bay and even better at keeping people further away from her harbor. She doesn’t ask for help often, she doesn’t open up too much and when she does it’s always the footnoted version.

Three episodes of Friends later, her hold lessens, she gives a big sniff and peels herself away from Calum. He uses the sleeves of his shirt to wipe at her tears and nose.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “I brought food. I’ll heat it up for you.”

She nods and falls back onto the couch. He rubs her knee then heads into the kitchen. When the food is prepared on plates he brings it to her and she takes it, scarfing down the first few bites heartily.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally speaks when her plate is empty.

“I know,” he nods looking over at her until she meets his brown eyes. “It’s okay.”

Calum ends up staying the night, his mind reeling from what the history is with this mystery guy. His thoughts get away from him as he stares at the ceiling above the couch. Was he some celebrity that kept her under the radar and broke her heart repeatedly? A Prince from some far-off country that got her hopes up and crushed them again and again?

He’s tossing and turning until he hears the shower turn on. Sad songs play over and over on her speakers, her voice singing along with the yearning words. Ghostin’ by Ariana and When the Party’s Over by Billie replay one after another.

She’s really hurting.

Calum bounds off the couch and opens the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he makes sure his voice is a little louder than the music.

A sniff. “Yeah?” her voice is thick.

“Just want you to know I’m here,” he shuts the door and sits next to the shower.

His heart aches when he hears her crying again, the vocals echo and bounce off the tiles. Her sadness fills the room just as it’s filled in the hidden box of the guy who’s making her feel this way.

Four more repeats go by and the shower is finally shut off. Calum scrambles off the floor, sees her tug the towel from the door of the shower. Her shadow figure wraps it around herself and she opens the door. Her skin is red from the hot water, as are her eyes and cheeks from crying more tears. He grabs another towel and helps dry her hair while she stands there avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

“It’s been five years, why do I still feel like this?” she asks quietly.

“It hurts the most when it meant something.”

He left the bathroom after he dried and brushed her hair then waited for her in her bedroom. There’s pictures on her desk from high school. Her and some guy at prom. Her and the same guy a little bit older posing in a selfie on a couch, drunken smiles on their faces. Her and the same guy a little older again posed outside.

This must be from that box. She’s cracked it open and Calum is staring at some of the pieces that have broken her wholly.

“His name’s Henry,” she explains suddenly behind him.

Calum turns to her voice. The drastic change from the happy girl in the photos to the sad girl before him startles him. He remains silent to let her speak or to go into silence again. She moves onto her bed, sitting in the center and tucks her legs against her chest.

“We never dated. But we were always…together. Together in the physical sense for four years,” she continues. Calum joins her cautiously on the bed and listens. “Back and forth always. After every relationship we fell back into each other. He’s the longest relationship I’ve had, and it wasn’t even a real one.

“We cared about each other, and…I think he loved me. Time wasn’t on our side. It was too much or too little, I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Just when I think I’ve let go; I dream of him. Then he’s on my mind for days. And now this time…” she shakes her head and Calum pulls her against him. “I went on socials and I found out that he um…he’s a dad now. And I feel so stupid because that could have been me if we kept what we had. I feel stupid because a part of me wanted it to be me.”

Calum doesn’t fully understand the ins and outs of their relationship, but four years of physical affection and a rock to lean on, that’s a lot of history. He also doesn’t fully understand how this guy didn’t make it official with Y/N. She’s the perfect best friend with a big heart.

Calum wishes he knew her in school because he would have been the one to take her to prom. He would have been the one take her to movies and dinners and surprise her with flowers. He would have made it official rather than keep her guessing.

“I’m really going through it and I don’t know how to get out,” she whispers sadly.

“I think…” Calum heaves a big sigh and kisses her wet head. “I think you’re just cracking the surface of breaking free. I can tell he meant a lot to you and you meant a lot to him. Even if he never said it, you’ll always be a part of him just like he’ll be a part of you. Someone that important won’t just poof away.”

“But I want him to, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart. I’ll help you in any way I can, okay?”

“You’re so understanding and you’re so good, but I don’t want to cry over another guy when you’re here.”

“That’s what best friends do.”

She turns her head and gazes up at him. He notices the storm in her eyes aren’t as dark, her lips are chapped from the cracking of memories she spilled out.

“Calum, you’re more than my best friend.”

He hears a deeper truth in her statement, and it causes his breathing to quicken. The subtle yet very noticeable flick of her eyes to his lips causes him to react. He gives her a quick peck, but that smallest touch sent an enormous shock through his system.

They settle against her pillows, the kiss wasn’t awkward, but it filled them both with questions. Questions that will be answered at a different time because right now he wants to hear this most vulnerable part of her life. She takes his hand in hers first and plays with his fingers while she talks.

He makes comments and asks questions to try and understand a bit more. Calum kisses her head when her voice starts to shake. Hours go by and the sky starts to lighten, birds are awakening.

“Hey,” she says right as he’s about to fall asleep. They talked all night, but she quieted down about twenty minutes.

“Hm?” he opens his eyes.

“We match.”

He looks down at their intertwined fingers when she taps on his nail. His polish is chipped away from chewing on a hangnail then smiles at the black color. He lifts their hands and kisses their knuckles.

“I feel what you feel.”

“What exactly do you feel?”

“I felt you slipping. I can sense your emotions when no one else can, and I guess I painted my nails subconsciously because I didn’t want you to be alone in the dark,” he explains. She’s quiet for a moment and he thinks she really fell asleep this time.

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be this bad again.”

“If you are, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“Cal?”

“Hmm?” he sighs. It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want her to stop talking. He doesn’t want her out of his arms.

“When I’m dreaming tonight it will be of you.”

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#best friend!cal #calum hood oneshot #calum hood angst #calum fluff #calum hood fluff #calum 5sos writing #calum 5sos #5sos writing #calum hood 5sos #calum fic #calum hood fic

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alovevigilante · 3 years

Text

We were at the pool today. My ma took a few of the worst pics of me, as of late. I hate posing for photos. I look at them, and judge myself harshly. I looked nothing like I look here, when I have control of the camera. I don’t show you my extra, I got going on all around all over here, on me. The quarantine…. Let’s just say I ate my way through it… and it kinda snuck up on me and hit me like a ton of bricks when I couldn’t put on my old jeans comfortably without the additional muffin top, because I favored my spandex instead of them. (See next post for details…)

I was trying to figure out how to change my negative thought process about how I see myself physically. How do I look at ass photos of myself, without judging myself harshly? I’m asking. Seriously. It’s not a rhetorical question. Well, maybe I can start by not calling a picture of me, ass.

The other day I thought I’d try to find something to love about the things on my body I don’t. And I thought I’d try my hand at writing a love letter 💌 to my cellulite and extra lbs. but I can’t just say nice things and lie. I have to be completely honest, and choose things I can say that I will believe. That’s a tall order. How do I change the way I perceive this situation when ever since I can remember it’s been a really tough thing for me to appreciate? And if I lie, I’ll know about it. And I won’t buy into it, and I’ll feel worse. So, this is a great exercise for me, without busting my ass any more than I physically already have today. Ok?! Ok! So join me, won’t you? Here goes:

Dear cellulitis and other extra lbs on me,

Hello darlings…

Ok, I’m already in trouble, as I am not fond of cellulite or extra pounds, so they are not darlings to me. But saying, “hello assholes” isn’t nice to me either. What do you do, when you have things you can’t immediately control, about yourself that you don’t appreciate? Can you appreciate them? How do you focus on fixing what you deem as a problem without getting lost in “the problem”?

My, this is a conundrum… well, I did what I could do for today. What the hell else do I want from myself?! I can’t change it overnight! Jeez! Come onnnn, me! Give me a break! I went on a walk with my son, I did the brutal but eventually effective “Tracy Anderson” murder mat tape, which I could define better. I will call it, “yay tough for now but easier later sooooo good for me probably will not be able to walk or move for a week afterward but god bless here’s hoping I will feel less pain eventually and work out the lactic acidosis well Tracy may be wee, but she’s fiercely strong for a small woman, but that’s her job, she ducking MADE it her job, and she’s successful. Why don’t i make it my job too?! Cause I’m not built like her, and being a fitness expert isn’t me. Why don’t i get a job?! I can’t figure out what to go back to. Why aren’t I a success too?! I don’t have a good answer for that. And why doesn’t she have rolls like me when she sits down I sometimes have to tuck my belly into the elastic of my underwear when I decide to wear it. yes! I do that, harsh judges of me both internally and then subsequently externally! Do I got a problem with extreme honesty about myself?! Huh?! Huh?! Yeah! Yeahhhhh that’s what I THOUGHT (holy crap)” tape. And I did think that. So, I can choose to once again, think differently, and more positively.

Seriously… she looks amazing! Tracy is a woman whose exercise videos are great, and are challenging for me to do on the daily because I’m out of practice. So Tracy Anderson isn’t the issue. The issue is me. The issue is what and how I feel about myself. I went on the treadmill after I saw this photo…. Inspired action, yes. But what was the inspiration? Fear of rejection or self love? A little mixed bag, I think.

So, because I feel the way I do, I am also avoiding grains and sugar like a mother that I am. And I’m drinking so much water that I’m spending 20 out of the 24 hours, peeing! What more can I do?! Well, maybe I can give myself a ducking break in the meantime. Maybe, I can do something else and not think about my bigger arms, stomach and thighs. Breaking from that train of thought will allow me a brain vacation away from judging my extra pounds and cellulite, and from hurting my own feelings. Maybe, in the meantime, I can appreciate my new boobs, which grew a whole cup size with the weight gain. Yay boobies!!!!

Well, that’s one way to look at it. Another, is not to look at it for awhile. Maybe I can go listen to music, or dance, or learn how to play the accordion or buy up all the tickets to a blue grass concert and give them away for free like some super cool people do. Whatever I decide, I’m going to choose to do something that is actually good for me, that I can enjoy and appreciate while I change for my more desired results! I can decide to think better about myself, so I can make choices, that will lead to better options to aid in my happiness down the line.

Now, I was just reminded by myself, that my ass is bigger too. That is a subjective thing whether it’s good or bad, but since we’re trying to make better thought choices let’s say, like Martha Stewart says hopefully about her ass, that it’s “a good thing”. Since my boobies are now huge, I’m now balanced. Bigger boobies, bigger culi too. Stands to reason. Ok! Great! I’ll start my letter again…

Dear extra on me that I once didn’t appreciate,

Guess what?! I like my bigger boobies! You’re still pretty perky. Also, to my culo, yes, you are bigger, but now we can wear tighter clothing with a greater effect! Yes! We are more pronounced in our lady regions…. Nice! And I’m actively toning the rest nicey nice like to match the other parts I enjoy, so, that’s cool too! Healthy me? Yes please! Ok! Great!

Hugs n kisses,

See?! I’m going to figure out how to get right with me now if it kills me! No. We don’t want it to kill, we just want to be happier, right ladies who judge their bodies on the regular like me?! Don’t let this happen to you! Choose to find something about you to appreciate, and bolster the crap out of that until you notice that you’re happier. The rest will fall into place. But don’t let it fall too far down, otherwise you’ll need a bra, and I’ve given up bras for quarantine. And I’m not mad about it. There are positives to everything. Yes. And if you deem a photo of yourself ass that people take of you, don’t look. That’s one way to lose the weight. You can also make healthier choices, which includes thinking kinder thoughts about the things that you aren’t wild about in your life, or not wild about in you. 🙈🤷‍♀️😉🤣💕

Appendices: Openness to experience, is one factors of the 5 factor model, aka the 5 main personality traits in psychology. And there are 6 facets of openness (see below). I enjoy stretching my brain, and stretching my own blocks to honesty about myself, and my own personal blocks to love. Thank you, for coming with me on my journey to becoming more open about myself only. 😊

(The pie charts above and below are not mine. The openness chart below does not represent me. It’s only meant as an example of the 6 facets of openness to experience that I enjoy experimenting with on myself in a rudimentary way in my life.)

P.P. S. For those of you like me interested in learning more about how your brain structures affect your personality and how your experiences affect it as well, check out this article about how the 2 are linked. Cool stuff! It won’t let me cut and paste from safari or add the link, but the article is called, “brain structures correspond to different facets of personality” from psypost.org.)

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one-boring-person · 3 years

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Ooh okay i might have figured something out!(this is kind of related to that ask before! So it’s the reader but before the first kiss and everything. )

How about Since Rambo has to fix everything back up in his home and ranch, what about the reader showing up and helping him do so- and asking the man on a date at their own Home? How do you think(headcanon or story wise either way) that date and day would go down?

I feel he’d be very kind of, nervous. But the reader would be very excited and adore him, and i think if would be very cute to see rambo flustered because the reader keeps reminding them how cool they think he is, and how excited they are to see him around more. (Basically just the first date AT the readers ranch home. You decorate or design it to look however you want!!)

Thank you!! And if not, thats fine. (I just crave a good cozy date with old rambo that preferably ends in smooches and him staying over)

Dude, your asks are giving me life at this point! I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it!😊💛❤

I Admire You More.

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of death

Masterlist

The sun already feels harsh as it beats down on John's back, his body drenched in sweat from the nearly unbearable heat of it, allowing dust and dirt to stick to him in some places as he hauls timber around the place. Doggedly, he ignores the discomfort of his shirt sticking to his back, focusing instead on getting the heavy materials to the place where he needs them, his muscles straining from the exertion. His hands are somewhat grazed from the rough wood, calluses lining his palms from his years and years of work, each one telling a different story of how they came to be.

Emerging around the front of the house, John drops his load, grunting with relief as the planks clatter against each other, his arms glad to be free of their burden. Stretching out his back, the veteran glances over at the veranda, where the floor has completely rotted away - he'd been meaning to fix that for a few days now, but necessities like water, electricity and gas had to come first, even if he didn't actually have a bedroom or anywhere totally safe to sleep yet. Having now found time between laying tiles on the roof, which he had tried and found incredibly difficult, John intends to address the problem, so he no longer has to worry about breaking his ankles every time he tries to get in the house.

Sighing, he moves to the frame of the veranda, taking up a hammer and crowbar as he gets to work pulling up the rotted planks already there, grimacing at the sight of the foundations underneath. Even in the slight shade provided by the roof over him, he finds himself heated far too much, beads of sweat rolling down his back with each movement, though he doesn't pay them any mind until a familiar shout pulls him from his thoughts.

Looking up, he has to bite back a smile as he sees his new friend, (Y/n), riding up the driveway towards him, a broad grin on their face as usual, a hand raised in greeting. Acknowledging them, John lifts his own hand, flicking dark hair from his eyes as he watches the young rancher pull their horse to a halt, the animal instantly responding to their instruction. Once stopped, (Y/n) climbs down, leading the horse behind them as they come nearer to John, still smiling at him as he puts on the most approachable expression he can, still a little uncomfortable about smiling freely at people.

"Mornin' John! How're you doing?" They call out, flicking their Stetson back from over their eyes, a habit he's noticed they do frequently.

"Not bad." He responds, knowing his gruff voice doesn't sound too friendly, though he does try. He likes (Y/n), a lot, and wants the friendship to work out properly, despite the fact he's already managed to develop feelings he thought he'd lost the ability to have for them.

As they grin back at him, he feels a small flare of fondness go through him as he recognises the youthfulness in the expression, a need to protect that near-innocence accompanying it.

"Good, good! What're you up to today? I see you managed to fix the wall up." They remark, gesturing to the patched panelling to his left, where a large hole had appeared in the wall.

"Just fixing the veranda here." He explains, using the hammer to show them what he means, "Yeah, I managed to finish the wall up at some point yesterday."

"Looks good. The wall and the veranda, that is. Is it gonna be a tough job?" They question, head tilting to the side curiously.

"Shouldn't be, but this heat ain't gonna help." John replies, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

They're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. Coming to a conclusion, they open their mouth to speak.

"Do you want any help? I'm quite handy with a hammer and nail." They offer, looking somewhat tentative.

Now it's John's turn to stay quiet, his dark eyes fixing the younger person in place as he regards them, thinking it over.

"Some help would be nice, thanks." He finally concedes, going over to them to help with the horse, which he lets loose into the nearby field with his other.

The smile returns to its place on their face as they follow him back to the veranda, taking up the hammer he offers them, waiting for his instruction as they approach.

"Just pull up the old boards for now and leave them over there." John instructs them, an odd sensation he hasn't felt in years swelling in his throat as they attentively watch him, following his every move with a look of pure admiration.

"Got it." They nod, moving to a corner to do as they're told, instantly crouching down by a loose plank. With a sharp movement, they jam the hook of the hammer underneath a loose edge, the wood creaking quietly as it is forced out of its original position, nails pulling from rotted beams with some ease. Under their T-shirt, John can see (Y/n)'s arms tensing with each jerk of the hammer, his throat feeling tight as he swallows, mentally reprimanding himself for the unbidden longing that springs to his mind.

Shaking his head, he gets down to work, the two now lapsing into a comfortable silence as they tear up the boards together. The going is faster than he thought it would be, both he and (Y/n) meeting somewhere in the middle of the frame after only an hour of working tirelessly, their brow now coated in a sheen of sweat, just as his is. Their arms are doused in a layer of dust and dirt, smears of grime adorning their forehead from where they've wiped their hand over the damp skin. John once again has to bite back his smile at the sight of the young rancher looking somewhat dishevelled after only an hour of work, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly.

"What? What is it?" (Y/n) interrupts his thoughts, their expression mildly concerned.

"Oh, err, you have a little dirt on your forehead." He clarifies, gesturing to the correlating spot on his own head.

"Oh, whoops." They laugh, lifting a hand to rub at the marks, only making them worse.

"You've made 'em bigger, now." John chuckles, unable to stop himself as he feels a smile cross his face at his friend's antics.

Noticing the change in mood for him, (Y/n) makes a point of wiping their hand more deliberately over the dirt, leaving long striping marks over their skin.

"Maybe that was the point." They grin back, striking a brief pose.

Laughing softly again, John rolls his eyes and shakes his head, the veteran starting to feel a lot more relaxed as (Y/n)'s cheerful demeanour rubs off on him.

"If you say so, Tiger." He comments, briefly moving to grab a nearby cloth that he had placed out exactly for the reason that it is now needed, "C'mere."

Ignoring the butterflies in their stomach from John's clearly more laid-back mood, (Y/n) steps closer to their friend, taking the proffered cloth from him. Wiping it over their forehead, they pull it away again after a moment, looking up to him for reassurance that they got it all.

"You missed a spot." He points out, amused.

Repeating their actions, they once again return their gaze to his, curious. He only shakes his head, taking the cloth from them. Without thinking about what he's doing, John leans in and presses it to their brow, gently rubbing away the stubborn mark, somehow managing to miss the way their eyes widen in surprise. They have to consciously hold themselves back as they go to follow his hand as it withdraws, having enjoyed the older man's touch much more than they should've.

"There, now you're all clean again." John murmurs, eyes flicking back down to theirs.

With a small smile, (Y/n) thanks him, ducking their head down to avoid letting him see the blush dusting their cheeks.

"How'd you wanna do this decking, then?" They ask him after a moment, looking to the pile of timber nearby.

"I'll show you what I had in mind." He says, leading them over to the wood, mentally cursing himself now for being so personal with them, unaware of their true reaction to his actions.

The day passes somewhat quickly, the two working tirelessly to get the veranda as complete as possible. As the time goes on, the sun only gets hotter, leaving them both drenched in sweat and dirt until around five, when the temperature finally starts to drop a little. Having only stopped briefly to eat some cookies that (Y/n) brought with them, the two find themselves incredibly hungry as they finally come to a halt, muscles aching under sun-warmed skin, in dire need of something to drink and a shower. Taking note of his friend's somewhat worse state, John finally stops, putting down his hammer as he pushes his slick hair from his face.

"We should call it a day, we've done enough for now." He says, watching as (Y/n) straightens and stretches before turning to face him, briefly revealing a strip of skin on their abdomen to him as their shirt rides up.

"Sounds good to me." They respond, sounding a little breathless as they crack their knuckles, flexing their wrists.

They seem to consider something, head tilting to the side as they pick their Stetson up from the step they left it on, having taken it off when it got too hot for them. A conflicted look crosses their face, before they seem to shake it off, as if steeling themself.

"Would you, err, would you like to come to mine for drinks?" They ask him, rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly, "You don't have to, I just think it might be, err, nice, seeing as I like your company, and we're both on our own. I have food, too, but you don't have to eat or anything…"

(Y/n)'s voice trails off at John's expression, the veteran somewhat surprised by the offer.

"You like my company?" Is all he manages, eyebrows lifting.

"Yeah, I do!"

"But...why?" He asks, confused.

"Because you're always friendly, you don't mind listening to me, I hope, anyway. You're kind, caring, funny when you want to be, you're cool as hell and you're really smart, too! I feel safe when I'm around you." (Y/n) gushes, only to slow towards the end when they realise they've gone on a bit, face turning red, "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be." John says, stunned by the compliments, unused to receiving friendly comments like that.

"But yeah, I like your company, and I'd like if we could talk a bit more over drinks or something." His friend explains, looking hopeful.

The veteran finds himself rendered speechless for a long moment, his heart screaming at him to go to (Y/n)'s, to further their relationship, but his brain is telling him no, so he doesn't mess up what they've already got. Internally, he weighs up the options, regarding the younger rancher as they wait patiently for his response. Eventually, it's that that makes his decision for him, the older man knowing that his friend will always be patient with him.

"I'll take you up on the offer." He finally says, unable to help the small smile that creeps onto his face as a wide grin splits (Y/n)'s, their gaze lighting up in happiness.

"You will? That's great! I'll go get stuff ready." They reply, body practically buzzing with excitement, only for them to glance back after a second, "Do you have a working shower, or do you wanna use mine? I don't mind if you do, I've got plenty of hot water."

"I don't wanna intrude that much…"

"You're not, don't worry." They reassure him, smiling.

"Ok, then I'll take the shower, too. Mine isn't working so well yet." He agrees, glad that he can finally have a good clean in a working shower.

"Ok, that's fine. Let me just catch Leo, then we can go." They say, heading off to the field, where their horse is grazing idly, having spent the entire day alone as John's other horse was taken inside the stable due to the heat being bad for its underweight body.

"Alright, let me just get some clean clothes." John nods.

Ten minutes later, the two reconvene, starting off on the walk over to (Y/n)'s ranch, the horse trotting quietly beside them as they talk amongst themselves, discussing the animal in question. It doesn't take long for them to reach the main house, (Y/n) briefly tying Leo up outside, saying something about putting him away again in a moment.

"Welcome to my home. Sorry it's a bit messy." They chuckle, opening the door for the veteran, allowing him inside.

It is messy, but the small room looks cosy, the somewhat cramped space giving him a familiar sense of comfort.

"I like it." He compliments, gruff voice soft.

"Thanks." (Y/n) smiles fondly as they look over the area, "The shower's just through here. Take as long as you need, I'm just gonna put Leo away. Oh, and get yourself a glass of water or something if you want it."

"I will do, thanks." The veteran watches as his friend leaves the house again, before he moves off into the shower, choosing to clean himself first, so he can get his racing thoughts in order.

It's been a long time since anyone showed him the kindness (Y/n) is now showing him, and it's started rubbing off on him, his feeling towards the young rancher steadily getting more and more affectionate. He admired them, their youthful vigour mixed with some past difficulties having combined to create a mature yet fun person, something that reminded him a little of himself when he first joined the Special Forces, all those years ago. They don't quite have the same innocence, but the optimistic view of the world and the people living in it have definitely started to chip away at the barriers around his heart, a defence he built up some time ago to prevent unnecessary pain, but he's not unhappy about it. He hopes they won't escalate, but he knows the friendship is helping him recover from decades of trauma.

Showering quickly but thoroughly, he changes into his clean clothes, before he goes back into the main room, where (Y/n) is waiting for him. Swapping with him, they smile as they go past, disappearing as he takes a seat on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of the room. It smells distinctly of his friend, and reassures him, settling the nerves racing through him. They only spike again when he hears (Y/n) come back into the room, his body tensing as he stands, unsure of what to do.

"You don't have to stand on my account." They chuckle, waving him back to the sofa as they go to the fridge and grab a couple of beers and some food, joining him and handing him a bottle.

Taking it, he waits for them to crack the cap off, taking a deep drink of it as he reaches for some food, the two of them simply eating at first, too hungry to talk much. The food doesn't last long, but it leaves them satiated, the beers soon replaced by more as they start to talk again, both much more relaxed now.

"Did your family always have the ranch?" He asks them, regarding his friend from his comfortable position on the sofa across from them, lidded eyes fixed on them.

"Yeah, it's been in the family as long as I can remember." (Y/n) replies, glancing around the lounge with a proud smile, "I've never left it."

"Really? Didn't you go to university?" John inquires, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.

"No, no. Never had time for it." They explain, biting their lip, "Always had the ranch to run."

John doesn't say anything, watching them closely as they seem to fade into their thoughts, clearly reliving a memory.

"My parents died the year before I was supposed to go. Left the ranch to me because my siblings left for New Orleans and some place in Kansas, so I had to forget about going to university." They reveal sadly, sipping their beer with a grim smile.

"I'm sorry." John says, frowning at the change in mood, having never really seen (Y/n) appear as dejected as they do now.

"Don't be, there was nothing anyone could've done. Besides, this has been the best thing that ever happened to me." They cast John a sideways glance, "I met you, after all."

Cocking his head to the side, John smiles gently, battling with the urges in his head.

"I'm sure your parents would be really proud of you." He murmurs, leaning over to clasp their shoulder lightly.

"Thank you, John." They smile back, their bottle forgotten now as they find their eyes fixed on his, getting themselves lost in their dark depths.

Somehow unable to pull back, John finds himself staring at (Y/n), his body sending him all kinds of urges, his hands practically itching to just wrap around their smaller body and-

Suddenly, a pair of lips are on his, tentatively pressing against them. What feels like electric shocks go through him at the unfamiliar touch, his eyes widening as he instinctively draws back, his body running on instinct, even as he instantly misses the sensation. Terrified eyes find his, horror etched into a face he's come to love and admire.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was doing, I fucked up, I'm so sorry!" (Y/n) instantly apologises, scrambling to pull out of his space, convinced they made things awkward, when John knows full well it was his own fault, "Please forgive me, John, please! I'm so sorry-"

"Don't apologise, (Y/n). You didn't do anything wrong. You just caught me by surprise, is all." John tries to reassure them, but they don't seem to hear it, only panicking more as they try to get up.

Knowing they won't listen to him now, John swallows, before he swiftly leans out, wrapping his hands around (Y/n)'s waist. They have split second to look surprised, until they find themselves being pulled onto the veteran's lap, lips connecting again.

This time, the touch is much more desperate, John pressing as close as he can, relishing in the contact as he feels his friend relax into his touch, melting against him as their hands slide round his neck into his hair, pulling his head closer. Groaning lowly, he uses his grip on their hips to press them flush together, kisses becoming more insistent as pleasure, relief and love fill him, his body feeling like it hasn't done in decades. He can feel them everywhere: their hands in his hair, their lips smoothing against his, their legs wrapping around his waist, their scent enveloping him as he kisses them. Under his palms, he can feel their muscles tensing and relaxing, the veteran hesitantly pushing his hands past the hem of their shirt to feel bare skin against bare skin, keeping them at their hips as they moan quietly. As the sound escapes them, their mouth opens slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue in, sliding in alongside theirs.

John presses closer, eventually pushing them back onto the sofa, (Y/n)'s body cradled underneath him as he continues to explore their mouth with his tongue. Breaking apart for air, they stare at each other, a familiar smile creeping onto their lips as they look up at him, love and adoration flooding their gaze. Gently, they card their fingers through his hair, taking one hand to trail their index finger along his cheek, tracing over the scar on his cheek, a fond look on their face.

"God, you have no idea how much I've dreamed about kissing you." They confess, voice quiet.

"You have?" He questions, his rough voice resonating through (Y/n) where their chests are touching.

"Yeah. I admire you so much, your bravery, your courage, your strength, both mentally and physically. You're too good to have been treated as poorly as you have been, and I've always wanted to show you that, but I never knew how." They murmur, cupping his face as he goes to look away, blushing, "It's true. You're a better person than I'll ever be, and you must've proved that hundreds of times. There's no one else I'd rather have as a friend, or even more than that if you'll have me."

Eyes wide, John doesn't know how to reply initially, his head spinning at what he's hearing, every fantasy he's ever had since he met his new friend suddenly flashing past his eyes in much higher clarity as he realises that they like him as much as he likes them - loves him as much as he loves them.

Unsure of how else to respond, John dips his head back down and connects their lips again, pouring all of his unspoken words across connection, feeling euphoric as he once again relishes in the knowledge that they are actually there, and it's not his imagination. Kissing back, (Y/n) smiles into his lips, pressing closer.

After a moment, John pulls away again, looking over (Y/n)'s face one last time before he drops down beside them, pulling their smaller body into his. Instinctively, they curl into him, hand resting on his chest as their face presses into his neck, smiling contentedly. Wrapping his arm around their waist, John holds them close to him, burying his face in their hair as they both feel fatigue starting to envelope them, pulling them both into a comfortable sleep. Just as they go to drift off, John whispers to (Y/n).

"You don't admire me nearly as much as I admire you. I love you. So much." His voice is husky, lulling them sleep.

For the first time in years, John does not jolt awake halfway through the night, his sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

#rambo imagine #rambo x reader #rambo #rambo 4 #rambo 5 #rambo last blood #john rambo x reader #John Rambo imagine

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