#Well come back to all this when I have a solid grasp of the premise of the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruvviks · 2 years

Note

my liege what abt "rampage" with either vitali or vincent,,,,,,,

RAMPAGE [x] chapter >> 3 [x] characters >> vincent mayer (oc), vitali dobrynin (oc), [redacted] total >> 4.4k words (SORRY) warnings >> blood, brief mention of attempted sexual assault, injuries, torture mention, violence

‘Checkmate.’

It was dark.

Vincent lay unmoving, arms hooked in an uncomfortable angle behind his back. His head felt heavy; a dull, constant thrumming filled his ears and numbed his brain, putting painful pressure on the back of his eyes to the point he feared they could pop out of his skull at any given moment.

Checkmate.

God, he had been stupid- naive, but most of all stupid, believing Dupoint would let him walk. He should have known- he could have known, from the moment his gaze had caught that of the Frenchman- whatever was going to happen would not end well for him.

A quiet whimper left Vincent’s throat as he tried to move and he sank back onto the floor, unable to push himself up against the wall. His muscles were stiff, exhausted from the pain he’d had to endure, and each tiny move felt like the equivalent of a sharp knife carving away at his skin and flesh.

He had won. Of course he had. It had seemed dumb to him, even- why a game of chess, of all possibilities? But it did not matter. What mattered is he had won, which had meant his friends would get to walk away- with all limbs attached- and so would he.

Checkmate.

But of course Dupoint had refused to give him that satisfaction.

Vincent's stomach turned as the events of a few days before flooded back into his mind, a tidal wave of memories slamming itself violently into the inside of his skull.

‘Let them go. You can keep me- I don’t care, just- Please, let them go.’

Tears burned into the corners of his eyes. He had meant it. Of course he had. All he wanted was for his friends to be safe, to be as far away from that place as possible, and- well, rules are rules. Someone like Ravager would not understand- but Dupoint had to.

So he had let them go. A consolation prize, even though Vincent had won fair and square- but he had accepted it anyway, knowing the only alternative left at the time was far worse than what would have happened if he had lost.

And they had fought- had tried to, at least. They had screamed and begged Dupoint to let Vincent leave with them, and Ravager had needed to call in extra forces to remove all of them from the premises without anyone getting severely hurt.

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut when he remembered Vitali- kicking and screaming, held back by at least five men- perhaps six, or seven- and still nearly managing to escape their grasp; how he had tried to lunge at Dupoint, a bright fury in his eyes Vincent had never seen in them before, how he had sworn to come back- I’ll come back for you, душа моя, if it’s the last thing I do- and how he had warned for the violent rampage he would unleash on them once he would find his way back inside-

A quiet sob left Vincent’s throat.

It had been days. And he was terrified.

A sudden alarm cut through the deafening silence, blaring and echoing through the room and causing Vincent to bolt up; his body protested at the unexpected move and he winced in pain, muscles cramping up and the heavy thudding of his heartbeat rapidly filling his head. He sobbed again and crawled backwards, until his back hit solid wall- only then he noticed the sharp, cutting pain in his wrists, caused by the ziplock ties keeping them together.

Even now that his eyes had gotten plenty of time to adjust to the deep void surrounding him, not much had changed- either a room deprived from light entirely, or the horrifying possibility of Vincent’s eyesight no longer being with him.

He pulled his legs closer to his chest and pushed his head down onto his knees, the overwhelming noise burning through his skull- it hurt, and the longer it went on the louder it seemed to become, flooding the space around him until it felt like he was drowning, unable to keep his head above water-

Christ, V. Pull yourself together.

It wasn’t the first time Vincent had had to endure torture. Certainly not the last time either- it was something to be expected in his line of work, especially as someone prone to being captured by the enemy. An occurrence that happened to him, every now and then. A lot more often than he was willing to admit.

Though this was different. This was personal- Dupoint’s little power fantasy, starring no one other than himself, Vincent, and each and every single fucked up tool in Night City he had managed to get his hands on.

Still, Vincent endured. He had a decent pain tolerance, and was able to zone out on command in nearly every situation if desired- though the longer it went on, the wearier he became and the more he struggled holding himself together, and he feared he was going to have to rely on himself alone if he ever wished to see sunlight once again.

Similar to the alarm cutting through the silence, a sudden beam of light broke up the dark and nearly blinded Vincent- he squeezed his eyes shut and winced again, partially relieved he could still see, but most of all terrified of whoever had entered the room.

‘Alright, pretty boy- get up.’

A strong hand grabbed his upper arm and dragged him to his feet, giving him no time to adjust; a familiar voice, though all but the good kind of familiar, and Vincent struggled briefly as he tried to pull himself out of the grip of Ravager’s right hand man.

‘Relocating the merc to sector C-6.’

A second voice- female, unfamiliar. She sounded on edge, voice slightly unstable as she continued to exchange some words with whoever was on the other end of the comms.

The alarms were nothing new. A scare tactic- effective at that, but common enough for Vincent to have grown accustomed to it; though his earlier anxiety was entirely replaced by alertness, now, as it finally dawned on him something serious was going on inside Ravager’s facility.

Perhaps-?

‘Ready?’

Vincent blinked and lifted his head; he quickly realized the woman had not spoken to him, but instead looked expectantly at the man still holding on to Vincent’s arm, her jaw tightly clenched and her eyes restlessly darting around, scanning the man’s features as she waited for an answer.

Silence followed- a nearly agonizing hesitation, somehow frighteningly similar to the brief moments before combat Vincent sometimes shared with his friends, including the reluctant looks painted on their faces as they slowly realized it could easily be one of the last times they would look at each other-

Fuck- for your sake, I hope it is.

They left the room.

Vincent squinted as he was pushed into the hallway, the bright light causing his headache to flare up again. He was dragged through the hallway at a brisk pace; his legs could barely keep up, though he forced himself to continue, knowing whatever would happen to him were he to collapse to the floor would not be good.

He recognized the hallways. He had been there before- three times, to be exact, each a different occasion though all for the same reasons.

He had not been the first to end up in Ravager’s captivity, unfortunately; had managed to meet the same fate as Mikhail- ironically enough while on a path of revenge for what Ravager’s people had done, and had tried to do, to his friend- and had then been forced to deal with the consequences.

Dupoint was a new player, however- a somewhat unexpected turn of events. An important asset; though still merely a pawn in the game the Broker was trying to play with them. Like chess, almost- though Vincent was unsure if his opponent was still playing by the rules.

Something about it all felt wrong, somehow. For Ravager, it was the eddies; for Dupoint, it was personal, a burning hatred for Vincent over something that had happened long enough ago he had honestly already forgotten about it. But the Broker- what was in it for him?

The rook, the bishop, the king.

Who sat at the top? Who was looking down on them from their throne of bones and corpses, watching their every move, hunting them down like prey?

And why- Most of all, why-

Why a fucking game of chess?

Vincent clenched his jaw as he was yanked forward, his pace clearly too slow for his escort’s liking. The further they had walked, the busier the hallways had become- people gathering, yelling at each other, readying their weapons and putting on whatever makeshift armor they could find.

‘They started a fire in the lower levels,’ the woman suddenly said, slightly raising her voice to be able to carry it over the chaos surrounding them. ‘Partial lockdown’s been initiated to-’ A clearly audible sucked in breath, followed by a shaky exhale. ‘- to keep it under control.’

‘What-? Keep it under-’ The man cursed under his breath and momentarily slowed his pace. ‘Jesus- Boss cut off the fuckin’ oxygen?’

Killing his own people? Bold strategy.

Vincent watched the blood drain from the woman’s face as the harsh reality dawned on her. She opened her mouth as to speak; but no sound came out, and she quickly closed it again, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly as she averted her gaze and continued walking.

He nearly felt sorry for her. Nearly.

Until he remembered how they had found Mikhail- broken and bruised, hair thin from stress and fingernails torn and bleeding- how he had been screaming and begging for it all to stop only moments before they had entered the room he was being held in, hands tied above his head as three of Ravager’s people pushed him down over a table-

Had they found him only a minute later, had they taken any longer fighting their way through the facility, had they taken any wrong turns- they would have been too late. And Ravager’s men would have- they would have-

A wave of panic rushed through Vincent and the ziplock ties around his wrists suddenly felt a lot tighter than before. He sucked in a breath and felt new tears well up, stinging in his eyes and blurring his vision until he could barely see where he was going.

Hey- Keep it together, kid. Nothing’s happened yet. Eyes up.

Right.

Focus.

Vincent clenched his jaw and his gaze moved back up, a single tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek- though his previous panic was now replaced entirely by boiling rage, suddenly vividly remembering the look of pure relief on Mikhail’s face when he had noticed them enter, and the way he had clung to Vincent the moment his hands had no longer been tied together-

He was going to make them pay.

That’s why he had come back there in the first place, right?

Now that’s the V I know. Get ready.

Gunshots. Nearby. A few hallways away, perhaps- but they echoed through the entire facility, startling Vincent’s escort, and he was dragged out of the hallway into a side room. The man was squeezing his arm painfully tight now, to the point he could feel a bruise take shape underneath his fingertips; and the woman was cursing, turning her back toward the both of them as she stood in the doorway, gun at the ready, waiting for anyone to cross her path-

Now.

Vincent turned around and forcefully kicked up his knee, placing it right between the man’s legs and causing him to buckle over- a second knee kick, right to the nose, followed by a third kick in the stomach to send him flying backwards, tumbling over some machinery. Vincent immediately steadied himself again and ran toward the woman- he rammed his entire body into her before she could lift her gun, causing the both of them to crash onto the white tiling of the hallway floor.

He scrambled to his feet, struggling- without his hands he could barely get any grip, and by the time he’d positioned his legs underneath his body again the woman was already up as well; she grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him toward her, reaching for something in her belt-

Vincent used the momentum to launch himself directly onto her again, headbutting her on the nose in their fall- he landed on top of her and her head bounced off the floor with a loud thud, and a single shriek of pain left her lips before she lost consciousness.

Good. Now get out.

Get out.

Get out. Get out, get out, get out-

Vincent pushed himself back up, panting and gasping for air as he stumbled away from the room and quickly made his way through the still-empty hallway, begging for it to stay that way. He was running out of adrenaline- his only source of energy, the events of the past days having drained him entirely from his reserves, and his entire body felt heavy as he dragged himself around the corner.

Where to go, where to go- the monotonous hallways all looked the fucking same and he was not entirely sure what floor he found himself on and which way he had come from in the first place, and the narrow side hallways he was moving through were a disorienting clusterfuck to the point he believed he was just going in circles.

Another turn, another turn- Vincent lost his footing and the world spun around him as he crashed on the floor again, whimpering when his head collided with the cold tiles and he momentarily lost his vision.

Get up.

‘Fuck all of this fuckin’ bullshit,’ Vincent whispered to himself, barely able to force the words out of his throat as he pushed himself back up, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

Alright, potty mouth. Done feeling sorry for yourself?

Shut the fuck up.

Kiss my ass.

Vincent grunted and continued to walk, listening closely to the distant gunfire and trying to pinpoint where it was coming from; he stumbled upon another t-junction and turned left, putting as much distance as possible between him and the ongoing armed confrontation.

He knew what- and who- he could possibly find there. Still, walking face-first into battle with his arms bound to his back sounded like the dumbest idea that had ever crossed his mind, and even though he knew he could stumble upon allies he preferred his body in one piece, rather than shot full of holes.

He just- he had to get out. He would find his way back home once he would set foot outside again.

Staircase.

Vincent pushed the door open with his shoulder and began descending- he tripped over his feet again and tumbled down the stairs, unable to catch himself in his fall and crying out in pain when a sharp jab shot through his shoulder, all the way down his spine to his hips.

Careful.

‘God damnit, Johnny.’ Vincent let out a strangled sob as he rolled on his side, carefully moving his legs to feel if his bones were still intact.

It felt weird to say his name out loud.

Vincent knew he wasn’t there anymore.

He forced himself back up on his feet, grunting as his knees nearly buckled under his weight again- nothing felt broken, but everything felt battered and bruised and the burning pain in his hips was still there, clawing away at his muscles. He carefully straightened his back and glanced at the sign above the exit-

Ground floor. Good.

Vincent pushed himself back into another monotonous hallway, ducking behind some lockers just in time, only barely able to jump out of line of sight of an entire armed-to-the-tits squad of guards; Dupoint’s backup, he could only guess.

Another rush of panic. He had to get out. Get out of the building, and quick- Ravager’s men were one thing, a poor excuse of a street gang with lousy combat training under their belt and the aim of an eight-year-old on a sugar rush at the fair; but Dupoint’s people were something else, serious business, a selection of top-shelf quality hired guns who would, upon spotting him, riddle Vincent with bullets before he could even turn around.

Hallway. Corner- turn left. Hallway. Turn right. Another right.

It was a fucking maze- designed specifically like that to trap people inside forever, and the longer Vincent walked and the more he had to jump back around corners or dive behind any piece of furniture he could get cover behind in order to stay out of sight, the more he began fearing he would never find his way out-

Another squad.

Vincent immediately threw himself into a room, muscles cramping up the moment his shoulder came in contact with the door. He did not bother to close it properly behind him- the squad continued their hurried pace either way, unaware of him hiding right around the corner, right in arm’s reach had they bothered to pay a little more attention.

He exhaled sharply as he took a moment to catch his breath, allowing his heartbeat to settle down.

BANG-!

The room had not been empty.

Vincent flinched involuntarily upon hearing the noise, freezing as he listened to the sounds of someone whimpering and gasping for air, barely audible over the still blaring alarms of the facility. His eyes slowly trailed the room- and with that, the nauseating amount of corpses scattered across the floor, Ravager’s men and Dupoint’s security retinue alike, and he quickly found the perpetrator, in the midst of adding another body to the pile.

Vitali.

He sat with his back toward Vincent- though it was unmistakably him, his bleached hair tousled and white shirt torn and stained with blood and sweat, sleeves rolled up as he leaned heavily on his arms with his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of one of Ravager’s people, his knuckles whitened underneath the dark bruising decorating the back of his hands.

Someone else walked in through the door on Vitali’s right, gun at the ready- though before they could do anything or Vincent could call out, Vitali was already back up on his feet, hand reaching for the knife in his belt while he dodged out of the guard’s line of fire and threw his body at them at full speed.

He worked fast- he always did. Vincent watched as he knocked the gun out of the guard’s hand and ripped their helmet off, revealing a pale, sweat-covered and most of all terrified face- and a single cry left their lips as Vitali plunged the knife into their throat, blood spraying into his face as he dragged the blade through their artery.

The alarms around them finally stopped.

Silence fell over the room like a sudden vacuum as the guard clawed at the gaping wound in their neck and sank down on the floor. They reached out, a bloody hand grasping at Vitali- he simply stepped back out of their range, spitting on the floor as he rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck.

Vincent was too scared to make a sound.

He watched Vitali drop his head as the guard spluttered incoherently before drawing their final breath, and a knot took shape in his torso as Vitali suddenly walked forward toward the door, getting ready to leave the room without as much as shooting another glance at the massacre he had left behind-

‘Vito?’

Vincent’s voice was barely audible, hoarse and weakened by the amount of screaming he had been doing- though Vitali heard him, loud and clear, and he turned around while steadying himself, knife at the ready, as if he was expecting more enemies to show.

He had the look in his eyes again.

The bright fury- the wild, blinding rage that had overtaken him once before, and Vincent could barely hold his gaze as the knot in his chest painfully tightened.

Though the moment Vitali realized it was him, his eyes softened, and he mouthed Vincent’s name in a relieved sigh- and he stood motionless as Vincent stumbled over to him, legs barely able to carry his weight anymore and knees buckling with each step but he did not care and it did not stop him, repeating Vitali’s name- once, twice- and crying out when his ankle twisted and he fell-

A soft landing.

Vincent buried his face in Vitali’s chest as he sobbed, exhaustion washing over him as the stress that had built up inside his chest finally released. Vitali spoke to him in Russian- it’s okay, I’ve got you; you’re safe, my love, you’re safe- and he dropped the knife, blood-covered hands trembling mid-air as he held Vincent in his arms.

Hesitation. Again- but still, still, he carefully cupped Vincent’s cheeks- hands that had choked, and carved, and killed- but ever so gentle and patient as they cradled his face, fingertips softly brushing over his skin and instantly easing his pain.

‘Look at me- V, please- please…’

Vitali’s voice broke.

Vincent sat unmoving. The situation had forced him to his knees; literally so, his hands still bound tightly behind his back, wrists and head bleeding, eyelids heavy and breathing shallow as he listened to Vitali’s pleads.

He forced himself to lift his head- and he felt vulnerable. Vulnerable and exposed, unable to defend himself would circumstances call for it, and he could not help but feel a rush of terror when Vitali’s hands moved dangerously close toward his neck as they caressed his jaw to tilt his head higher-

But Vitali merely kissed him.

Vincent was starving. But Vitali’s lips only softly brushed past his, a careful and hesitant gesture; a question, almost- May I? Will you still let me?

Of course, baby. Of course.

Vincent answered by leaning closer, gasping for air into their kiss as Vitali’s grip on his face momentarily tightened- and Vitali’s lips quivered as they finally parted, his hands dragging down Vincent’s neck and gently pulling him closer as he allowed Vincent to sate his hunger.

Vincent’s chest filled with relief and he collapsed further into Vitali’s arms, their kiss messy and entirely out of sync- but for a split second he was home, no longer in the facility, no longer in pain and no longer tied up, and no longer worrying about people running in and finding them there-

Sounds like you kinda should be worried about that, though.

But it wasn’t enough yet. Vincent wished his hands were unbound; oh, how he would have clung on to Vitali, then, like he was afraid if he would let go he would disappear- how he would have gently held his head, how his fingers would have explored each and every inch of his bare skin and how he would have tugged softly on the back of his hair in an attempt to pull him closer-

They broke the kiss, both gasping for air as their foreheads collided and Vitali dropped his hands on Vincent’s thighs. Vincent’s eyes fluttered shut again and he allowed Vitali to softly and reassuringly kiss his cheek- leaving a trail all the way down over his jaw and neck, like bandaids on his wounds.

Their gazes met again. Vitali’s eyes were hazy- a single tear rolled down his cheek, mixing with the dark red blood decorating his freckled skin. He hesitantly cupped Vincent’s cheek once more; and Vincent leaned in to his touch, resting his face against Vitali’s palm and exhaling slowly as the tension in his upper body finally released.

He still sometimes wondered how he had found his way to Vitali. Even more so, how he had managed to find his way to his heart- utterly convinced from the moment they had met that Vitali already had everything in the world and Vincent could never be someone he would long for or would want to be with.

Falling in love with him had been terrifying, in a way. Vincent had just been a merc- small, nearly insignificant compared to Vitali, or to anyone else in his inner circle for that matter. Just one from many, not close to him like Mikhail was- a lifelong friend, someone Vitali trusted with his life- and not nearly as powerful as Vitali himself to be able to call himself an equal.

Rook, bishop, king.

But it was worth it, right?

Vitali reached for the knife again. A sudden move that caught Vincent off guard; he froze, and held his breath, yet still allowed Vitali to move closer and lean over Vincent’s shoulder-

He carefully cut through the ziplock ties around Vincent’s wrists.

‘You came back for me,’ Vincent quietly said, embarrassment rising in his chest as he watched Vitali lean back and quickly push the knife back into his belt.

‘Of course I did.’ Vitali paused, and visibly clenched his jaw. ‘I… I am sorry it took this long. We did not waste any time- please know that.’

Vincent nodded, unable to speak.

He was unsure why he had doubted him before. He had watched how Ravager’s men had struggled to contain him- if Vitali’s rage alone had been able to kill, he would have left the entire facility littered with corpses right then and there.

Vitali reached out for him again- carefully, as not to startle him- and gently pulled him toward his chest once more. Vincent gratefully allowed him, eyes closing momentarily when Vitali’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his hands found their way to his hair.

Of course he had come back. Of course. Had it been the other way round, Vincent would have done the same for him.

‘We should go,’ Vitali mumbled, pressing a soft kiss on Vincent’s hair. ‘The others are waiting.’

Vincent slowly sat up again, exhaustion overtaking his body- but he paid it no mind, smiling up at Vitali as he scanned Vincent’s face, hands softly running over his shoulders.

Nearly over. Nearly safe again.

Vitali pressed a kiss on his forehead, and he carefully helped him back up on his feet, voice slightly shaking as he spoke again.

‘Let’s get out of here, my love. Let’s go home.’

#asks #coffeebucko #writing asks #nuclearwriting #so. how are we feeling besties #this has to be my favorite thus far aauuauaugh i could talk abt this one all day actually!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#hope i added enough warnings shjghfgdkl lmk if i missed any ;-;#it's about the. it's about the chess pieces. the fuckignn. it's about vitali's rage. it's about the HANDS. THE HANDS #it's about vincent and vitali both yeeting themselves in combat. literally. these men don't throw hands they throw bodies #vincent has the excuse of Hands Being Bound but vitali is literally just like that. ok king #i will voluntarily go to blorbo jail for this one <3 also yes mikhail is okay he is currently wrapped in a blanket eating soup #i will be so annoying with the self rbs on this one. on god #ch:the broker

21 notes · View notes

saudade-mayari · 3 years

Note

💜Heeeey Luna, congratulations on the 500 followers🎉🎉🎉 you are incredibly talented and deserve much more🥰🥰🥰, well i would like to know if i could get nsfw 4,10 and 23 from the prompt list 3 for my baby Kashi, please?

Stop being a Brat

Kakashi x fem!reader [NSFW]

warnings: 18+ content, mentions brat and slut, voice/size kinks, spanking, possessiveness, pwp, unprotected sex, dirty talks, choking and please minors dni

He did try to maintain all the composure he can, but he knew he couldn't. Not anymore. Kakashi furiously held the grip of his dango in a manner that you would notice how mad he is. You are talking to your so-called coworker, and he must have been saying jokes as you never stopped laughing. His eyes widened in response when your hand brushed against his thighs. It was his cue. He couldn't take it anymore and started dragging you out of the premises.

Every step Kakashi did was filled with anger. He couldn't and wouldn't rule your life with his possessiveness. When you both reached his apartment, he slammed the door behind him, throwing himself onto the couch as he stared at the ceiling—trying his best to compose himself.

"What was that?"

No answer. Just the deafening silence of his apartment.

"Kakashi."

Still no answer from the man. Annoyed and frustrated from the tension you and Kakashi aren't used to deal with.

"You know what, stop being a brat! I've got no time to deal with your cold shoulders, Hatake."

In an instant, a pair of solid arms pushed you by the wall; it was not exactly painful, but the aggressiveness is entirely evident in his sudden actions. A smirk formed in his masked face, his mismatched eyes filled with anger and possessiveness.

"Me? A brat? Why don't you stop being a brat y/n. Stop flirting with him, stop laughing at his jokes and stop touching him like he goddamned owned you."

Your hands snaked up to Kakashi's tensed shoulders, looking at his clenched jaw while his eyes were constantly fixed to yours. "Make me."

The lump in your throat disappeared when his belt unbuckled. A clang was heard as it fell onto the floor. Your skirt was hiked up around your waist while his hand slid between your legs. Moans left your mouth the moment his fingers caressed your clothed cunt.

In an instant, both of you are in the bedroom half-naked. He bends you down, making sure Kakashi has full access to your ass. He traced the laced panty you wore while he bites your butt cheek. He's profoundly rough today, and you can't even say you dislike the idea of it. Kakashi destroyed your undies with the kunai hidden under his pillow, shifting the position and making sure you're under him, feeling his bare length teasing your entrance.

One grasps your hand in a painful grip, and the other slides around to pinch your clit. "Kakashi..." You cooed, hearing your voice completely enthralled him but just as he wanted to listen to your erotic moans, your neediness to hear his groans near your earlobes doubled the frustration. Kakashi worked on your entrance, pushing his fingers in and out while he aggressively bit your earlobe. "You want to hear me, kitten?"

You nodded in desperation, but Kakashi gave out a more possessive bite in your neck, going back to your earlobes as soon as he hears no answer coming from your mouth. "Say it, kitten. Be clear."

"I need you already, Kakashi."

"You're going to cum in my cock then"

He stopped thrusting his fingers and never gave you a chance to have your first release. Your hands wildly held the headboard when his shaft entered your wet entrance, and a loud moan escaped in your mouth, definitely a music to Kakashi's ears.

"You like that, y/n? You love my cock taking and owning your pussy?"

You nodded in response, resting your forehead to his shoulders, but Kakashi never allowed your frustrated nods to escape. “Answer me, kitten.” His hands held your waist and gave out one soft thrust, making you scream in both pain and pleasure, feeling your cunt being suppressed for your first release. "Yes. Fuck.."

At your admission, Kakashi's thrusts become harder. He loves it when you submit to him. With the ego enhancement he had, his hands leave your waist, your core begins to spasm, and his hand tightens on your neck. The way you exploded while he keeps fucking you hard through it was beyond pleasurable, and when you finally came, he slows his thrusts and releases your neck. He sits back on the bed at your side and immediately pulls you back to sit on his lap.

Kakashi’s hands were possessively on your hips as he spun you around to face him. Catching you in his arms and taking your lips with his, owning them, owning you while you feel his cock ached to be touched and fucked...anything.

You felt an aggressive bite on your lip when his fingerless gloves smacked your butt cheek. The first impact always stung the most. You breathed through the pain. With the second impact, your mind began to focus on the stinging sensation, and by the third impact, you're able to slowly drift away, immersed and lost within the pain. The red marks on your butt cheek were clearly evident. Kakashi licked your earlobes as his freehand caressed your neck, slightly putting pressure but enough to give room for your erratic breathing.

"C'mon y/n show me how much of a brat you can be."

And so you did, slowly entering his shaft, more profound and completely feeling his entire length. The deeper it goes, the tighter he held your grip, releasing a hard grunt that only you get to hear. Mustering your strength, you grind harder, pushing yourself up and down while his face rested on the headboard, wholly enticed by the feeling of riding him this way. You leaned closer to his toned body. Your hand caressed his unruly silver locks while you licked his earlobe.

"Is this what you wanted, Kakashi? Come home angry, throw your brat down, and fuck her? Tear half of her clothes like a slut and dump your cum into my pussy."

You whispered in your most sultry tone as possible, once again enticing Kakashi with your bewitching voice. He guided your hips up and down, making your paces faster while he caressed your h/c locks.

Your core automatically clenches, wanting to give him what he wants. Kakashi's hard grunts made your body convulses as the most intense pleasure jolts through you. The pleasurable moan rushing through his ears is loud, and you can barely hear him anymore.

Lights and stars flash behind your eyes, and the world just stopped. His own release filled up and ran down your cunt. There's always so much... So much of him and as soon as both of your breathing slows down, he pulled you to a one passionate kiss.

"You're mine. All mine y/n"

Requests for 500 followers event status: CLOSED

Event Masterlist

228 notes · View notes

rapspud · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet

Bittersweet A/N: Decided to rewrite this one. Please enjoy.

Yoongi looked at your friends as he sneered at your prone form sprawled out on the ground, your fingers scrambling to find your glasses.

“Aw what’s the matter? The poor baby can't see?” He purred as he picked up your glasses and dangled them in front of your face before throwing them into the dumpster. “Have fun diving!” He cackles as he slides past your prone figure, cruelly stepping on your hand as he passes.

You could hear the snickers of his friends behind you. You watched as his best friend, Seokjin clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, and whispered, “Oi, I get the whole I hate “y/n” thing but seriously—that was a bit much don’t you think?”

Yoongi couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “She ratted us out! So I fixed it-and now she can’t see to snitch! And shouldn’t you be on my side? You’re in just as much trouble as I am!”

Seokjin could only look at Yoongi like he had a third head, “ Yeah I guess, but still...there is-” at Yoongi’s raised eyebrow he swallowed what he wanted to say, instead choosing to leave rather than to help Yoongi’s victim, “Hey I gotta go I’ll catch you later okay?”

Yoongi smiled and waved good-bye before walking away from the group. How could he possibly explain how much he hated Y/N? No one here knew the truth about your families-how he had to share a home with you, your family serving his. He had no respite from you. Yeah, Y/N deserved everything she got, he thought as he got into his car. Plus it's not like you wouldn’t rat him out when you got home about what happened. This time as he drove past you and saw you hunched in on yourself, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he saw you clutching your injured hand, staring resolute at the dumpster, knowing full well that you would go in after the glasses. After all, he knew how hard your mother worked to buy them for you, he knew how you worked 2 jobs and also kept track of your younger brothers. Deep down, he really hoped that maybe this time you would finally explode and tell everyone about all the horrid acts he committed against you.

Except that you never did tell on him.

In fact, you avoid Yoongi like the plague. After finally scrambling into the dumpster and reclaiming your glasses, you clambored back out, hand still screaming in pain. As you stand there wiping the garbage from the lenses and picking off random refuse from your clothes you honestly don’t think you can sink any lower than this. You swipe grimey hands at your cheeks as hot tears run down them, thankful that you are alone. And as you walk away you begin to make plans. You couldn’t keep doing this. And with renewed energy you begin walking home, not didn’t looking back choosing instead to forge ahead, putting one foot in front of another until finally you were in your mid=twenties, and had your own little place. You were happy with your life. But you should have known. All good things must come to an end eventually. You hadn’t thought about him in years, attending school, graduating, opening up a bakery with your best friend. Essentially you were hiding, but not really.

And then by some ill stroke of luck, he found you.

You awaken to the blaring of your alarm with a groan. Was it really 8 am? The flashing numbers of your clock inform you that it was in fact 8:59. Shit you were late. Cursing your snooze butten, you scrambled out of your bed and grabbed the cleanest clothes you could find off the floor and stumble as you attempt a whole new balancing act: pulling up your pants while holding a hot cup of coffee and a piece of toast dangling precariously from your teeth. As you run down the street towards the bus, slinging your backpack over your shoulder while you scramble to tuck your shirt in you promptly run into a solid wall and fall on your ass. Your hair is covering your face as you look up at what you had plowed into, an apology already leaving your mouth when you got to the face. “Um…hi, uh…sorry about that.”

“Y/N. From YHSN?”

“Yes?” you become wary, no one around here really knows you as you chose to keep to yourself…“Do I know you?”

The grin that spread across the man’s face could be described as nothing less than cruel and vicious. “Yeah, Y/N L/N right? I am here to inform you that you have 24 hours to vacate the premises. Good luck.” He stated before unceremoniously dropping an envelope onto your lap and turning on her heel to leave you in a stunned heap on the floor.

What the hell had just happened? Maybe you were still dreaming?

You were dazed for a moment as your brain tried to compute the absolute absurdity of what had just happened and then you were on your feet chasing the man, yelling at him to stop but he just kept on walking.

Finally catching up to the man, you grab her arm, “What the fuck man?” you yell, “this is illegal as hell! Thirty days is the minimum!” You shove the notice back at the man, hitting him in her (very solid) chest hard.

“Y/n, Y/n, I see you're still full of venom huh? It’s completely legal actually-you see I” he leaned forward, “own the building now. And to my delight, what do I learn? I find out that Y/N L/N happens to be a tenant! Guess how happy I was to finally find you again after all these years and then get to have you vacate your home.” he laughs as you gape at him like a fish.

“Min fucking Yoongi, I do not have time for your petty ass childish bullshit! ” you hers, voice laced with venom.

“Aw kitten you remembered! I am truly honored! But alas I cant stay and chit-chat, and well, neither can you. Tata chica!” With that he jerks her arm from your grasp, sending you back to the ground in shock for the second time that morning, before climbing into an expensive black car and driving away.

You scream curses to the sky, because after 8 peaceful years, the man you had spent so long running from and then finally forgetting, had found you. But of course, the sky only decides to rain. And as you trudge back home to call into work, (because seriously fuck this day) you can’t help but wonder how everything came to this moment. After a shower and change of clothes, you fall into your bed, allowing yourself one moment of respite before you begin to tackle this new problem, closing your eyes.

You were back there again, trapped both in a small body and the cave that haunts you as you watch helplessly at the rising water. Your tiny voice is raised, tinted with fear, “I told you we shouldn’t come here! My mama said-“

The boy next to you cut you off, “Crying ain’t gonna fix it, I will save us”

“You can't even swim,” You yell, unable to remain calm.

“I AM GONNA SAVE US!” the small boy shouted, “so don’t cry Y/N.” He gave you a small smile, one that made you feel slightly safer and he took hold of your hand. “Follow me and don’t let go no matter what.”

“Okay,” you say, for some reason feeling braver after placing your faith along with your hand into the boy’s hand. He said he would, so of course he would save both of you. After all, he was your best friend and you don’t pick losers.

It was a lot harder though, when all was said and done. Yes, the two of you made it out of the cave alive, but not without nearly drowning, and you had slipped and injured your ankle along the way. Luckily, you did make it out, and while the two of you spent a cold wet night huddled together on the beach, you were alive. In the morning, you were rescued further as the search teams found. And while your mother had you wrapped up in her warmth and was crying and thanking the people over and over that had saved you, the same welcoming was not happening to the young boy. You could hear screaming as a woman in a fine dress and her husband yelled at the boy, your tiny hero, before there was a loud smack. You watch as the boy falls, hand clenched to her face, tears streaming down her face as her mother continues to land hard blows upon her body until she is dragged away. You cried out for you friend and as the two of you met eyes, for the first time you saw hatred reflected back at you. That was the day Min Yoongi stopped being your friend and became your tormentor.

He followed you everywhere, taunting you, breaking your things, and ultimately breaking you. Your mother finally quit working for her house the day he’d thrown your glasses into the garbage and you had come home, broken glasses in hand, face streaked with tears and reeking of garbage -you had finally confessed what had happened, what all had been happening. You had moved away, your mom working several jobs and then as well as yourself working, then you working to pay your way through chef school and finally moving out into your own place. And all of it had just been destroyed because he found you.

You sigh looking up at your ceiling letting your anger consume you as you curse Min Yoongi to a lifetime of diarrhea. And an itchy butt. And you hoped her eyebrows fell out, just for good measure.

You look around your apartment one last time before closing the door with finality. this asshole, you think to yourself. “Just wait” you say as you look down at the address your brother had just texted you.

An hour later you stand before a gated house and ring the doorbell. And ring it. And ring it. And continue ringing it (after all it was nearly 6 am, and as you had learned that morning, if you want to ruin someone's day, do it first thing in the morning) until a sleepy figure stumbles outside and smacks your hand away. You take this opportunity to dart inside the gate and into the house carrying your things with you.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Yoongi yells at you from outside, beginning to stomp back to her front door. You could only grin as you take in the pajama bottoms and robe, while you stand there like a goddamn Amazonian queen, “You took my home. this is payback.” and then you dialed the police, “Yes? Officer? There’s a half naked man on my lawn, please send help! I’m so scared”

You couldn’t help the grin that covers your face as you smile at Yoongi, “Good luck asshole.” You say sweetly, before slamming the door in her face. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet as the sound of the lock turning over, followed a second later by desperate pounding at the door. And Yoongi could only pound on the door until the cops showed up and he explained that this was, in fact, her home, as well as that the intruder was actually you. The officers had asked him if he wanted you arrested and for once he let it go, telling them that you were having a lovers quarrel and apologizing that they had to come out over something so silly. As the cops pulled away, he went to the back of the house and slammed the sliding glass door open only to find the house seemingly empty. As he walked from room to room he couldn’t help but get angrier and angrier. But when he found you passed out on her bed, he paused, somehow her anger dissipating instantly. He stood there, looking at your sleeping body and wondered if you would ever know her real feelings for you. If he would ever be able to tell you. And the real question: could you forgive him? He knew it was asking a lot, but he could only hope. He sat and thought about how to express to you the things he needed to say. He wondered how exactly did one explain how guilty he felt about how he treated you, how he didn’t really understand why he went out of her way to make your life miserable back then…and then you had left him. How, when you left he realized just how broken he was inside. When he bought the building he couldn’t believe her luck when he saw your name as one of the tenants, but her old ways came back hard and for some ungodly childish reason he couldn’t control himself. That he should have been apologizing that morning and telling you how thankful he was that it had also brought you back to him. He guessed that it was far too late for him to ever have your forgiveness and he couldn’t help the smile that played on her mouth as he approached the bed. He reached out a hand to smooth back some hair that covered your face when you wherpered, “Yoongi...” he stilled, “…I’m sorry” you mumbled. What could you possibly be sorry for? He couldn’t help it, but it made him angry that you would apologize to him after everything he’d done and especially while in such a vulnerable state that the next thing he knew he was grabbing the blanket and ripping it away from your curled form. It’s momentum sends you over the edge of the bed to land in a heap on the floor. You sit up cursing her very existence,

“What the hell Y/N?!” He yells right back, while you could only manage to stare up at him from where you sat on the floor. But this time you weren’t having any of her bullshit. You jump up and get in her face “ What the hell? What do YOU mean what the hell? Who the hell buys a building solely to evict one person?! Are you that rich? Do you hate me that much?”

Yoongi yelled back, “Hell yeah I do!“

"You have issues, Min Yoongi! I did nothing to you except be born! Do you know how hard I worked to forget what you did to me? And you come just back,” you pause, swallowing thickly, you would not cry. Not here. Not now, “But not anymore! I won't let you break me again Yoongi. I am worth so much more than that!”

Exhausted, you move to push around him but he grabs your wrists instead and pins you against the wall.

“Let me go you asshole!” you yell at him fighting back for once in your life, all while trying to hide your face and the tears that were no longer just threatening to spill over. “Can't you just hate me from a distance? I’m sorry your mom was a horrid cunt to you! I’m sorry, okay! But please, just let me go! Leave me alone” And then her hands were gone, and you were free. You couldn’t help it, you looked up and stared him in the eyes, for once determined to make him see how he wrecked you.

Yoongi could only stare at you, watching as the tears fell, tears once again caused by him, and then he heard the five words that ripped open her wounds, words he knew he deserved, said in a voice so broken he didn’t know where he should start to even attempt to repair it.

“I hate you Min Yoongi.“

He couldn’t stand it, he knew he deserved them but he just couldn’t stand there and just accept them. Accepting those words would be like giving up, and giving up probably the only pure thing he still had in her life. Had. And so he moved, not thinking about consequences, only a desire to cleanse those words from the air around him. He grabs you again, pushing you against the wall, capturing your face in one hand, forcing you to meet her eyes, while he brushes your hair away with the other, "Good. Never forget it.”

And then he crashes her mouth against yours.

You didn’t know how what was happening was happening and some stupid part of you was excited to have him pressed against you, mouth was moving against yours and then you were responding and for some reason it felt so good–like coming home. It was like your body suddenly was against everything you wanted-you found yourself wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, a giggle bubbling up when you nipped at her lip and he groaned. and then you both were tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. And then the world stops making sense. You and Min Yoongi, enemy of the state #1 were having sex. And it was good. It felt so right, like you two had been made to fit each other only. When it was over he lay behind you, placing gentle kisses along your neck and down your collar bone. The last thing you remember before falling asleep in your enemy’s arms was Yoongi gently wherpering a muffled “I’m sorry” into your ear over and over.

When you wake, you are surprised to find an arm wrapped around your waist and you freeze as the memories of the night before come rushing back and you begin to mentally beat yourself up as you carefully slide out of the bed and grab your clothes, making a mad dash out of the house, dressing yourself along the way.

No way had you slept with Yoongi and enjoyed it. You were an idiot of the highest order. You slept with the man who wanted you homeless because he hated you.

You let out a deep sigh as you did a very new special walk of shame to your job, where your boss, Mandi greeted you by yelling, “Oi ! What cat pissed in your cheerios?”

Causing the other workers to laugh until you pinned them with your patented Crazy-eye ™, at which point they scurried away except for that moron Seokjin who slung his arm around your shoulders jovially, “So why is my favorite girl doing the walk of shame?”

You glare and shrug his arm off, “None of your business.”

“Dude its obs-you’re like a whole 4 hours late-and you are never late. So what happened? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll just call me an idiot if I tell you.”

“I swear on cake I won't.”

You raise an eyebrow before saying a name you never thought you’d say just to see him eat his words. “Min Yoongi.”

“Shut the front door! You’re an idiot”

“The cake is ashamed of you and asks that you keep your distance.” You say as you move to the back rooms to put away your belongings.

Not giving up, Seokjin follows you, even going so far as to hand you your apron, “Seriously? Didn’t he like-”

“Terrorize me to the point of moving? Then find me years later and evict me? Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” Seokjin asked worriedly, For the shit talking between the two of you, you smile to know he does really care.

“I have to be.”

“Did you at least use a condom?” He asks.

“Oh my god.”

“You really are an idiot. But don’t worry…you know I’ve got your back right? Well, we’ve got your back.”

You could only stare at Seokjin as your mind whirls through the consequences of last night, “It should be fine right?” you ask.

“Sure, cupcake. Keep telling yourself that”

There is a ding from the door and you see your brother Jungkook shuffles in with your other brother Namjoon, and giving Seokjin a look that clearly says “Keep your mouth shut if you want to live” you take a deep breath and head behind the counter to wash your hands, greeting them as you go.

“COFFEE. COFFEE NOW.” Namjoon grunts demandingly, taking a seat and burying her head in her hands, while Jungkook adds a half-hearted “Please…and a raspberry jelly for me.”

“Rough night?” You ask as you pour the two men coffee and grab Jungkook her donut and slide it in front of them.

Jungkook grins, “Nah, Joon thought he could out drink me. He thought wrong.”

“Shhhhhhhhh!! You’re so loud,” hersed Namjoon, shoving a hand at Jungkook’s face and missing entirely.

You grin and speak extra loud, “Shouldn’t you know by now to let the kids drink and you go home and sleep?”

Namjoon just glares at you, “I have a gun.”

“I aint scared of you.”

The shop bursts into laughter as Namjoon buries her head in her arms on the counter, “Why do you hate me so much?” He whines.

“Mom likes you more, and I’m a petty bitch.”

Jungkook grins, “But she likes me most!”

Both you and Namjoon glare at him, “Shut up!”

Yoongi wakes up to an empty bed and he frowns, crawling out of bed and pulling on her boxers. He wanders around the house looking for you, hoping that you haven't run away and when he can’t find you, her heart sinks. Was he that awful that you would still run away from him even after what you had shared? And worse, what if he had gone too far this time?

He makes her way back to her room and grabs her phone, calling her secretary.

“Yo.” Answered Hoseok.

“Really that’s how you answer the phone? You do know that I am your boss right?”

“Debatable today.”

Yoongi rolls her eyes, “Anyways, I need you to find someone…”

“Well you know Imma need a little more…”

“Y/N. You remember her right?”

“You mean the girl you tortured in school because you didn’t have the balls to tell her how you lurrrrrrrved her.”

“I see you wish to die today.”

“No, not today. So you wish for me to find your wayward love?”

“Yeah.”

“Mandi’s shop.” Hoseok cheerfully replied, as if this should be common knowledge.

“Oh yeah, great idea bring me some coffee please?”

“No, you idiot, Y/N works there. She is actually her partner” Hosoek irritatingly says matter of factly.

“The hell?! Why do you know this but I don’t?”

“Dude, seriously? You do know they were friends growing up and just because you made her run away by being a complete ass doesn’t mean they stopped being friends.”

“My best friend and my sister have been lying to me.”

“It’s not lying when you never asked. But Yoongi…you should let her go. It’s been a long time and I know you had feelings but with how you treated her–“

"She was here.” Yoongi grunted, running a hand over her face as he stood in her closet trying to think of what to wear. What says “I come in peace”? Maybe he could get Hoseok to dress up as Spock and talk to Y/N before he does.

“What? And you’re alive?”

“Yeah. We…um…she was gone this morning,” Yoongi sits down on her bed, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh…” and as realization hits, Hoseok intones sagely,” ...oh my god you’re fucking moron.”

“You know I can fire you.”

“Please bitch, I know all your deepest darkest secrets you ain’t gonna fire me.”

“Just…shit…what should I do?” Yoongi asks, finally letting go of her big bad boss act.

“Dude, I don’t know. You slept with her…maybe you should just…”

“I um…fucked up more than that…” He thinks about how you had felt, how he had felt...how absolutely perfect it had been for just one night, A flicker of fear strums through her heart at the thought that this was not salvageable at all.

“No. no way. Our friendship is over.” Hoseok cracks from the other side of the phone.

“Just help me okay?”

There was a long pause before he heard a heavy sigh, “Fine, but no games. She has a good thing going on and you-”

“I swear it's different this time!” Yoongi pleads.

“Whatever. I should warn you though.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Her brothers.”

“Namjoon and Jungkook? We were old friends, what about them?”

“You were old friends until they found out how you treated her. And bonus points-they are both cops now. Partners even, so you should probably pray for your soul.”

With a groan, Yoongi finally gets up and begins to get dressed putting Hoseok on speakerphone. “I’m so dead.”

“Yep,” affirms Hoseok, “So does that mean I can have your stuff?”

Rolling her eyes and thinking he really needs a new assistant, Yoongi growls out“See you at the office.” only to hear Hoseok laughing before he hangs up the phone.

Yoongi finishes getting dressed, and running a hand over her face as he contemplates this new information. You’d been right under her nose the entire time and everyone had kept it a secret. He guessed he deserved it though, he was a complete and utter ass to you. He also guesses it’s time to make it up to you and hopefully, you would forgive him and let him into your heart, where he belonged. After all, you’d always been in his.

2 months later

Yoongi stands outside her (former) sister’s shop watching as you serve your customers, and realizes sadly that it was the first time in a long time that he’d really ever seen you smile. He wanted that smile for himself and himself alone, but he wasn’t sure how to get it. When he had remodeled your former apartment, expanding it through the two vacant units on either side of you, you just got mad at him for evicting you, when he was just redoing the apartment and you claimed it was far too large for you by yourself now. But that was the point wasn't it? He was hoping that somehow you would just...come back to him on your own and he wouldn’t really have to put any work in. Yoongi realizes then that he is an absolute dumbass.

After all, nothing he’d done so far had managed to make you smile at him or hell just give him the time of day and he was beyond frustrated. Couldn’t you see how hard he was trying for you?

Mandi pokes her head out of the shop interrupting his train of thought,

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps at him.

“Wow, do you greet all your customers like this?”

“Yoongi. Listen. Whatever it this is about now isn’t–”

Realization hits for the second time that morning, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Mandi pauses, looking him up and down, “There’s nothing to tell if you already know.”

He could almost feel the metaphorical walls slamming down around him as Mandi went on guard. “Mandi!”

“No. Not about ther.”

“I’ve known for almost a month.”

“Then you should go know somewhere else.” Mandi stepped outside, becoming a most effective blockade. If someone was to ever wage war against his sister, his money, hell, his entire fortune would be on Mandi.

“Listen, you’re my brother and I love you and I know you know what you did wrong, and really it's sweet you want to make amends but …Yoongi, sometimes things…”

“I slept with her.”

“Do you want a trophy?” Mandi snapped, her fists clenched, before she shook her head, “you have five seconds or I’m opening ther door and I’m calling her brothers out here.”

“We didn’t use protection.”

“Well then I guess today you die you little fucking weasel.”

“I love her.”

That’s when he remembered his sister’s left hook and then the lights went out.

Mandi stomps into the store grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs ignoring your protests, shoving you into the bedroom and giving you a look reserved for her son’s Taehyung and Jimin when they are acting up. “Stay.”

Mandi goes back downstairs and motions Namjoon and Kookie over, “Listen, I know you hate Min Yoongi with like the passion of 7 fiery suns but I need you to hold that rage in and help me get his ass inside.”

Namjoon was already up and out the door at the sound of Min Yoongi’s name, and seconds later was dragging a barely conscious Yoongi in by the collar. While Kookie held open the door, Namjoon made sure Yoongi purposely whacked his head on the door frame and when Mandi winced he gave her a look that clearly said “sorry not sorry” before dropping Yoongi on the shop floor like the sorry sack of shit he thought he was.

“I’m sorry folks,” Mandi announces, “due to my crazy family, the shop will be closing early.”

The patrons all scrambled out of the shop while Jungkook handcuffed Yoongi to a chair and dumped a cup of ice water on him.

Yoongi jerked back, fully awake now and met by 3 pairs of eyes. 3 very angry pairs of eyes. He shook his head and tried to move but found himself handcuffed to the chair and he gives Mandi a look that says “Really?”

“Kook uncuff him. Seriously. And you and Joon leave.”

“No.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Okay, but we get dibs if you decide to kill him.” Jungkook, grumbles as he undoes the handcuffs.

“I’m not going to kill him. Today.”

“Fine.”

Jungkook finishes unlocking the cuffs and Yoongi immediately rubs at his wrists and watches warily as Jungkook and Namjoon leaves the shop, rolling his eyes when Jungkook gives him the international sign for “I’m watching you” while Joon drew his thumb across his neck. They were dramatic as fuck, but then again he might just be dramatically fucked.

Mandi pulls up a chair and sits across from Yoongi and stares at him for several long moments until Yoongi breaks the silence, “Just say it.”

“Why?”

“It just happened like that.”

“Bullshit.”

Yoongi sighed, “I’ve grown up since then. I no longer want to pull her hair.”

“Clearly. And you didn’t just pull her hair, you did a lot worse.”

“Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

“I am fucking Switzerland.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the anger that swelled up and choked him, “Clearly not. You knew where she was all these years and you never said anything. This is why you never let me come to the shop then? You knew I was looking for her, that I wanted-”

“Of course,” interrupted Mandi.

“Why?”

“Because you are an idiot who doesn’t know how to communicate. Look at what happened--when you did find her, your first action was to take her home. Who fucking does that shit?”

“You’re right, I was. I was cruel and spiteful. Keyword: was.”

“Bullshit. Taking away her home wasn’t because you were being spiteful. You wanted what she had. That’s called envy. She left because she wanted to live, and the only way she could was to leave. You made it like this. I almost lost my friend. So of course I kept it a secret.” Mandi sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “Look I know. I know what y

our mom and dad did. How they treated us. We were mere points on a checklist of creating a picture perfect family. But you had no right-”

“I was stupid. You think I don’t know? That I don’t regret it? I love her. I always have.”

“Actions-”

“Speak louder than words I know. I’m trying to fix that now!”

Mandi closes her eyes, debating her next few words "Can I trust you? That’s the-“ ”

“Yes. I swear I'll spend my life…”

“Doing what?” You interrupt, “Sorry, since you seem to be discussing me I couldn’t stay put,” you say to Mandi. “Yoongi I don’t want your money and if you are worried because we didn’t…,” you swallow before continuing with a brave face, “....I’ll be fine. but you really have to stop sending me presents. I don’t want them. Can’t you just stay…”

“Y/N I’m sorry. I was an ass.”

“Still an ass.” Mandi interrupts, “Look, you two clearly need to talk this out so I’m out. Come on Seokjin, let’s go see a movie.”

With that Seokjin and Mandi beat a hasty retreat leaving the two of you alone.

“Your jaw is swelling.” You say after noticing the blossoming bruise that marred his handsome face. Handsome? What the hell were you even thinking?

“Mandi hit me.”

“Why?”

“I told her what happened. She’s very protective of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…that night…I shouldn’t have that.”

“I let you. It wasn’t just you alone.”

“Please, just listen. I’m sorry. For everything. And I’m sorry for not saying that when we met again. It's just…”

“It's just..what?” You questioned, meeting his eyes.

“I don’t know. When I look at you I want you. You are so good and pure and you deserve the world. I wanted you to myself but I was scared…”

“Scared of?”

“You.”

“Me?” You scoff at the idea of anyone being afraid of you.

“Yeah,” Yoongi stood and walked over to you. “You had everything even though you had nothing. Brothers who worshiped you, a mother who did everything for you…what if I ruined that? What if my mother-”

“How would you ruin that?” You ask, finding patience from who knows where.

“I was messed up…and the older I got the worse…things got worse. You saw, you can’t pretend you didn’t. I took out my suffering on you because nothing good could possibly exist and you were just hiding your real nature. But you never retaliated. You kept reaching out to me over and over again. ”

“But I did retaliate.”

“By locking me out of my house after I took yours? Not really. I mean…I deserve far worse,” chucked Yoongi. He wanted so badly to touch you, to pull you into his arms and just...feel you.

You stare at Yoongi. This broken version of Yoongi with tears in his eyes. Could you trust him? You wanted to give him a chance.

“Let’s….go on a date.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What?”

“You like me right?”

“Well–I mean–I did when I was—I do”

“Take me on a date, final offer going in one–two..”

“Fine! I’ll take you on a damn date,” Yoongi smiles.

“No fancy shit tho. $100 limit.”

“I’ll take you on the best damn date of your life!”

“Good.”

Yoongi didn’t know why he was being snippy now, but as he left the shop he couldn’t help but do a little cheer when he got into his car. Hoseok rolled his eyes and politely ignored him.

Yoongi stood at the door of your apartment, and for the first time in his life he hesitated, hand poised to ring the doorbell, and then you swung open the door and suddenly the world stopped. You looked amazing. Your hair was curled, makeup accenting your eyes perfectly, wearing black skinny slacks, a hound’s-tooth patterned sweater over a white button down and pink heels. He took in the perfection that was you and thought, “She was made for me.”

And the fear was gone as he smiled at you and he took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah let me grab my purse,” you say as you try to let go of his hand to grab the bag on the chair beside your front door but he wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t help the blush that blossomed over your cheeks as he stepped inside and grabbed the bag for you and waited for you to lock up so you both could leave.

He pulled you along, never letting go, until he reached his car and opened the door. It was only enough time for him to run around and get the car moving before he was locking fingers with you again.

“What’s up with you?” You smirk.

“Just…making up for lost time.”

“What?”

“I just…I should have been doing this for years now.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “So…are you always this cheesy?”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide, “I mean…I’m not…no…,” Yoongi stuttered and then stopped, “I guess I am cheesy it's just…I can tell you I’m sorry but…”

“Actions speak louder than words?”

“I see you have met my sister,” he joked softly, “And we’re here.”

“A movie? Really?”

“I always had wished to take you…”

Yoongi’s eyes stared into yours, “Yoongi…” you say timidly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not her anymore you know? I grew up…you grew up…let’s leave it behind us and start fresh yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

You stick your hand out, “Hi, my name is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yoongi stared at you you’d suddenly sprouted a third eye on your nose before awkwardly taking your hand and shaking it, “Min Yoongi…the pleasure is all mine.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stunned expression, not knowing he was just in shock from receiving your smile. To him, your smile in that moment could have powered a thousand suns.

Yoongi was quiet but still took your hand and you entered the theater with a smile on your face, happy that things were getting better, that you could almost believe you had your first love back.

2 hours later.

“Yoongi, why are you pouting?” You ask as you take his hand.

“Look no matter how I look at it, it's just not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“Mandi. Seokjin. They have spent years with you…years that should have been with me.”

“I thought we were moving forward.”

“But.”

You sighed. “Look. You want to know the truth?”

Yoongi stopped and stared at you, “yes.”

“Okay then.” You face him, “You crushed me in every way possible. You were my world. I followed you everywhere. I trusted you, and you were always there and then you weren’t. The night we got stuck in the cave I gave you my faith—but it also is and was the moment I gave my whole heart to you, willingly, without any doubt. And the next day when we were found…you stomped on it. And you continued to stomp on it. I cried so many tears everyday because I hoped that one day my hero would come back. But he never did. He became a villain.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, “And even through all that I still…” you sighed. “I can't do this Yoongi. I can't. I’m sorry, I was wrong to try.” You turned on your heel and ran away, ignoring him yelling after you, you just ran until you couldn’t hear him anymore.

And then you found the alcohol.

You sat at the outside bar drinking as you thought about the past two months. All the things you had done with Yoongi , and how disgusted you were with yourself for letting your old feelings come back so easily. You knew it wasn’t the right choice, but it was the one you wanted. You had decided to drown yourself in alcohol, and you were on your third bottle when the object of your conflicting emotions, sat down across from you.

“Y/N.”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking!” Your giggle turns to a frown when you hear the heavy sigh come across from you, “Are you judging me? It’s not nice to judge you know! “

“Why are you drinking Y/N?”

“Because,” you leaned forward, whispering conspiratively, “I’ve been bad.”

“Bad? How so?”

You sigh dreamily, a wistful smile playing upon your lips, “There’s this guy…”

“There always is.”

“Shhh! This is my story!” You shout.

“Sorry.”

“Where was I?”

“Something about a guy…”

“SHHHHHH! So rude interrupting me! Anyways…I’m supposed to hate him but…” you thump your chest hard as tears prick your eyes, “But…”

“But what?”

“I can't…I remember him before…and the him that I remember…he’s still there…and all the warning alarms are going off and I’m so scared to love him but I…I think…”

“You think?”

You lay your head on the table, mumbling, “Think it’s too late…think I love him. Think it has always been too late for me. Even after all the bullshit…you see…he’s still here” You thump your chest hard and sigh as you feel the tears slide down your cheek to land on the table, “ I love him and I don’t want to…I didn’t mean too…”

“Mean to what?”

“To love him, but…”

“You do.”

“Yeah” you whisper softly.

“Yoongi…” you can feel the man smile, you don’t know how you know but you do, “why do I have to love you?”

“You love me?” He asks, the hope wrapped in fear in his voice twisting your heart even more than all the past crap that had happened. You wanted to let it go. You wanted to love him. You can only nod your head as your eyes slide close, and you struggle against the darkness when you hear him whisper, “I love you too Y/N…I’m just scared…I’m not good enough…I was such an ass…and I know you said to let it go…but God Y/N…I should have treated you like a princess…because the truth is…”

Those words cause you to sit up, eyes squinting hard as you try to make out his face, “Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

You lean forward and his face comes into focus, a smile spreads on your face and you lean forward to press your lips to his, softly at first, and then he responds, a hand sliding up your arm to cup your neck as you express to him what you can’t say in words. This was so much better than petty arguments and revenge pranks.

You pull away, breathing heavy as you rest your forehead against his, “Yoongi,” you whimper, keeping your eyes firmly on the buttons of his shirt, scared to look up, scared to see the fear in his eyes. Does he not know? “Can I…can I be yours?“ You ask in a voice so quiet it is almost lost in the noise of the world that surrounds you.

"Can you forgive me?” The pain in his voice was sharp. “I forgive you.” You whisper into his mouth as you make promises with your lips.

He pulls away for a moment, and you lock eyes finally. “Then believe me when I say, I was always yours, and you were always mine.”

“I was?”

The amount of disbelief in your voice causes Yoongi to tear up as he pulls you into his arms, “Kitten?”

“Yeah,” you say as you rest your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

This time it was his turn to ask, “Am I yours?”

“You always were Yoongi. I was just waiting for you to remember where home was.��

Yoongi places the softest of kisses on each of your eyelids, and then he kisses away your tears and finally his mouth was on yours, and the kiss was full of yearning. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” You ask, sad he had pulled away.

“Don’t leave me again…I love you too.”

“Okay.”

#bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #bts enemies to lovers #bts smut

48 notes · View notes

mogsk · 3 years

Text

So I watched an anime called “Violet Evergarden” recently, the elevator pitch of which is basically “feral girl is taken in by military man, turned into a child soldier, military man dies, but not before telling her ‘I love you’, but she doesn’t know what that means, so after the war she becomes a ghostwriter with the ostensible aim of figuring out what ‘I love you’ means through other people’s expressions of love via letter-writing.

It’s a good little concept, and while I enjoyed it, it’s also stuck in my brain as being profoundly odd from a storytelling perspective.

Like, the initial premise is v strong, Violet’s driving objective is to understand the last thing she heard her father figure, “The Major”, say to her before she blacked out and woke up with no arms. She was a feral orphan child with little grasp of language or expression, and so she is burdened with not understanding what this very important person to her was trying to convey before they parted ways. Good shit.

And it seems to carry this fairly well at first. Each episode varies in how much it advances the central plot, but each boils down to Violet having to learn a lesson about how people express their feelings for each other, how they express love through words, or how they fail to do so, and so slowly she goes from only being able to produce very precise and terse letters which read more like military reports, to being able to swoop in and fix people’s interpersonal problems with the power of a well-dictated love note.

Where it kinda falls apart for me is about halfway through the series, where we see that Violet has more or less grown into her role as protagonist in an anime about the power of letter writing and the meaning of love (-ish). She’s gotten so good she’s tasked with facilitating one half of a romantic correspondence between the nobles of two nations whose relations are still tense after The War (which Violet fought in), and so have decided to arrange a marriage between their noble children -- a 14-year old girl and a 24-year old man.

Now up to that point, the messaging around the central theme felt odd, but it made sense, like, Violet is growing to understand love, and so how the show does this is by giving her a lot of weird and fraught situations around that theme: we have a woman who is in love with a man, but she wants to play hard to get which Violet ruins by writing a letter that just directly states ‘I have no feelings for you, please stop calling on me’. So then she goes to letter-writing school where one of her classmates has an alcoholic brother who she wants to express her love and thanks towards, but doesn’t know how to pierce the barrier of grief surrounding him due to the death of their parents in The War.

It keeps on like this p consistently, the central question “What is love? What does someone mean when they say ‘I love you’?” is addressed fairly cleanly, but then, once the issue of Violet’s struggle with being able to convey people’s emotions becomes effectively resolved, we kinda start to leave the rails!

Back to the mid-point episode, so, through trying to properly convey this 14yo princess’ feelings, Violet learns what her true feelings are. No, it’s not that she is discontent with being forced to marry a man ten years older than her because, you see, they already secretly met at a royal party when she was, like...10?? And he found her crying and was, like, “Hey kid, you okay?” and that was the first genuine expression of human emotion outside of her dutiful maid she’d ever gotten. You see, what her discontent is is that she knows the man she met, with a heart so simple and pure he feels compelled to comfort a crying child, would never write these letters, and so Violet conspires with the prince’s ghostwriter to allow them to have a more honest correspondence (which is then reprinted in all the newspapers around both countries.)

What got me about this episode is how it, like, throws all these different narrative threads in the air around this central theme of “What is love?” -- the concept of arranged marriage, the idea of confusing appreciating someone’s kindness for having other feelings for them, the MAID who is, like, the princess’ closest friend and confidant, but who has to explain that, once she’s married off, they will have to part ways because she doesn’t serve the princess, she serves the royal family and there’s this great scene where the princess is weeping after she says that and the maid is like “I cannot accept that command, I will continue standing here right by your side” and it’s really intense!

But then...it all gets dropped in the interest of the final note being...yeah sometimes you have to marry a guy in his twenties when you’re just a teenager, but love’s just funny like that ig!

Which sounds ungenerous, and like, I wanted that to be the case, I wanted it to be setting up something, like, “Despite Violet gaining proficiency in letter writing, she still is struggling to understand the more nuanced dimensions of love and so her shortsightedness will come back round to bite her in the ass” (it does not, we even get a montage of all the people she’s helped including the newly married royal couple smiling happily at the camera.)

We then get more episodes like this, where Violet’s done learning about Love and is now in effect teaching it to others. She does this by...sitting and looking pretty with a guy while they wait for a comet to go by, imitating a playwright’s dead daughter so he can be inspired to finish his play, and...writing a bunch of letters on behalf of a mother dying from anime mom disease, but who wants to be able to speak to her daughter as she grows up through a series of pre-written birthday letters.

And, like, in isolation, it’s all very moving! Each story has a very touching emotional drive to it, but it seems like the question of “What does ‘I love you’ mean?” p much falls to the wayside, even after we get the big 3/4s of the way through reveal that the Major is dead and Violet didn’t know! So we’re treated to flashbacks of their relationship, including the moment where he repeats that damning phrase!

But then we really don’t pick it back up again? It kinda superficially grows in relevance as we approach the conclusion, but it’s never again properly addressed until after a sudden spat of military drama breaks out with people trying to reignite The War and Violet suddenly having to put down her typewriter and pick up her combat knife, but now, for some reason, she refuses to kill people because...she isn’t just a tool?

And I think this is what ultimately frustrated me, is that those are two great themes “Discovering what it means to love” and “Can a person conditioned to fulfill a specific purpose ever be free to choose their own path?” but the problem is, the series really has centered itself on the former while kinda sorta implying the latter, but in the final scenes, we are suddenly given a resolution to the latter (which is basically Metal Gear Solid, “You are not your DNA”, “Just live Snake” that’s been done beautifully and with more thought already by, well, Metal Gear Solid) whereas the former, what was the entire driving force behind Violet’s character development is kinda sorta hand-waved off as “What is love? I still don’t think I know, but maybe that’s just how it is!” which is fucked up coming from someone who by the midway point is basically counselling or facilitating love between people!

So, like, I enjoyed it a lot, there were some great moments and the supporting cast, while mostly one-dimensional save for Violet herself, made for at least nice scenery, but I’m just so blown away by how they seemed to manage to forget (or ceased wanting) to tell the story they laid out in the beginning in favor of some p uniform military drama that suffered precisely because most of the series was dedicated to developing the central theme that it ultimately seemed to abandon, or perhaps came across as being burdened with having to carry into the conclusion.

Also it was super fixated on dads, like, The Major is basically Violet’s dad, his best buddy who goes on to hire Violet as a ghostwriter has a big reveal in the end that he’s been writing letters to his hypothetical future child, the sad dad playwright with the dead daughter -- I dunno what to do with all this besides the usual base level of suspicion I have for all dead-heavy content, but yeah!

There’s two movies, a side story from mid-way through the series and a sequel, and I feel like I almost have to watch them at some point, just so I can tie a neater bow on how I experienced this whole story, but yeah, Violet Evergarden, come for the cool metal typing hands, stay for the heartfelt explorations of what it means to love people, shift nervously in your seat when dads suddenly become involved!

#spoilers

12 notes · View notes

whenimaunicorn · 4 years

Text

A Favor - Charles Vane Smut

Vane x female!Pirate The crew finds out her secret, and she's ready to finally give it up. And who better to trust with this than her handsome captain? If she can overcome her awkwardness long enough to ask him for the favor, of course

Loss of Virginity, First Time, Requested premise: I would adore you if you could create one in which he relieves the reader of her v-card. -- awkward and friendly, like a favor that suddenly turns really, really hot... the reader is already comfortably a member of his crew, and during a night in port it comes up in the group’s bawdy conversation that she’s actually still a virgin... after some ribbing and teasing she picks Vane to “take care of this problem”

Full Fic:

She comes to him slowly, her steps uncharacteristically hesitant. “You heard what the crew was talking about.”

Captain Vane sits alone in the sand, a little down the beach from the bonfire the crew had constructed for their night of carousing. He’s facing the waves, one arm propped up on his knee, the other braced over a bottle. He lifts his eyes to her, a glimmer of softness in his rugged face, and doesn’t move another muscle. “I did.”

She stands there awkwardly, the toe of one boot digging a hole in the sand. She’s made up her mind, but she’s still daunted at the thought of asking.

“You want to talk about it some more?” Vane asks, lifting a brow and his bottle to her.

It had been mortifying. Of course she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. She grabs the bottle and drops her butt unceremoniously to the sand. She sighs, rather than answering his question.

“Aren’t women usually proud of that sort of thing?”

She peers at him sideways while taking a pull from his bottle. It’s rum, strong stuff, and she instructs herself not to sip too deep. “I suppose it has been an achievement, to remain chaste so long, among so many sailors.” She passes the bottle back to him, and tries to decide if his thin lips are laughing at her. “But the crew talks like…” she grimaces. “Well, they said a lot of things. But they make it sound like I’m missing something. Some essential experience of a free life. Even Anne seemed to pity me.”

Vane releases the bottle from his lips with a satisfied little sound that warms something in her belly. “I’m inclined to agree with them.”

She flushes. It’s what she wanted to hear from him, and yet it still embarrasses her, makes her dig her toes deeper into the sand rather than turning to him. “I suppose I just… haven’t had much opportunity. Yours is the first crew I’ve been with where I haven’t had to pretend to be a boy.”

Vane grunts, offers the bottle back to her. Because she doesn’t dare to look at his face, she can’t tell if he’s listening, or just hoping she’ll leave him alone soon.

She’s usually more courageous than this. First one up the ropes, first one over the side in the vanguard (behind Anne of course), always pressing forward and proving herself more than competent. But this, to open herself to rejection, to failure of an entirely different kind, how does she do this?

“I’m sure you’ve had offers.” Vane’s throaty voice carries the conversation forward for her.

She rolls her eyes. “Tonight, sure, you heard the kind of crudeness those fuckers were spouting. How could I resist?”

“Everyone puts on a show. There are men that would be gentler once you were alone.”

That gets her attention, pulls her to finally look straight at Vane, to see if there’s even a chance he might be amenable to what she came here to ask. One side of his face is lit warmly by the bonfire up the beach, the other is colorless and angled more coldly by the light of the waxing moon. “Not those men.”

His face softens with a playful quirk of his brow. “Maybe not those men. Though I’ve known some of them to go sweet on a girl, from time to time.”

“Can you be sweet?” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it, and now she has to ride out whatever comes next.

Vane looks startled; he tilts his head and looks at her somehow more… deeply. Then an arrogant smirk covers whatever else might have been stirring in his mind. “I know how to treat a lady.”

She looks down the neck of the bottle, forgotten between her hands. “Not sure I’m one of those.”

Vane grunts. “You think your only option is to be treated like a whore. No wonder you don’t want to go to bed with anyone.”

“I want to,” she protests, cheeks heating up. “I know it’s not always like the whorehouses.” Now’s the time for another swig of that strong rum. “I’ve heard…heard Jack and Anne together…” they only spare one cabin on the Ranger for the female crew members to have a measure of decency to themselves, and so she’s been subjected to many a sleepover by her bunkmate. “And sometimes, when they think I’m asleep, I’ll confess I’ve watched.”

Vane’s eyes are lighting up, in amusement at least. “You never asked to join?”

Scandalized, she covers her face with her hands. “It’s not like that!” She lifts them away and glares up at her captain’s sparkling eyes. “I’m just saying, I know I want it. To feel that. I’m tired of putting it off, and waiting… I know I’m ready, if I can just find a chap that cares enough to…”

Vane finishes when she trails off. “To handle you carefully?” He leans a little closer, and her heartbeat starts to race.

She nods.

“You don’t want it to be Jack. But you want someone you can trust.” His raspy voice, pitched so low, sounds almost like the purr of a cat, and she finds herself mesmerized by the look in his eyes. He takes the bottle from her fingers without looking and sets it somewhere in the sand off to the side. “So you came to me.”

Nervousness spikes and she can’t help but babble. “I don’t know if you would even want to, I don’t know the things the whores know, or—” she cuts herself off before saying Eleanor’s name; nobody mentions the Guthrie woman if they want Vane’s mood to remain pleasant.

Vane picks her hand up and threads his fingers between hers. “You really think that I wouldn’t want you.”

She tries not to tremble at the rush that goes through her entire body at his touch. “I’m no courtesan. I’ve seen the kind of women you choose at the brothels. I’m not—”

He cuts her off by raising her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss between two of her knuckles. “I’m your friend,” he answers her. “I’m happy to help you out with this sort of thing.” He tugs at her hand, drawing her to lean a little closer to him. “How about I kiss you, and we’ll just see what happens after that.”

She looks up at him, her captain, respected and feared, and one of the most handsome men she has ever seen. His stony brows have softened, and those lips that she has imagined pressing her mouth to a hundred times part in anticipation. She can barely believe he’s really saying this.

She lifts her chin. That’s all he needs. Vane tilts his head and melds his lips against her own, a sweeter kiss than she had ever thought the ferocious pirate would give. The sounds around them, the roll of the waves, the barking laughs of their drunken crewmates carried on the breeze down the beach to them, those sounds start to fade away as her awareness favors the sound of his breath, and her own, intermingling while their lips explore how many ways they can combine together.

He covers her cheeks with his hands, guiding her to lean in, to let him lead the kiss. She’s nervous to touch him, but she wants to. A tentative grasp just above his wrists leads her to slide her hands up his arms, following the corded muscle along to his broad, solid body. His hands grasp around the back of her head as his tongue flicks, lazy and tantalizing, inside her mouth.

She’s done this before, kissing, back home before she put on a pair of borrowed trousers and ran away to the sea. She hadn’t liked it quite so much last time as this, and never let that boy do what Vane was doing now, tracing his lips across sensitive skin behind her ear while his arms pull her in tightly to rest more and more of her weight against him. Her body starts to feel heavy, thick with something that must be called lust, an energy that slows her and quickens her both at once. When his lips come back to her own she opens to him eagerly, her tongue ready for his next lesson.

There’s a heat building between her legs. She doesn’t know what to do with it, a pleasant aching that bids her to relax but not to stay still, either. Vane’s strong arms pull her in closer against his body and a sudden urge to spread her legs and rub her sex against him makes her moan a wanton little sound into his mouth.

She’s embarrassed to hear herself like that, but a pleased sort of rumbling answers her from the back of her captain’s throat, and his arm pulls tight around her waist. “Come up into my lap,” he suggests, and though it makes her cheeks burn hot at the impropriety, she finds herself bold to straddle her leg across his hips and sit astride him like she’d seen many a whore do at the tavern.

He is a solid, tantalizing heat between her thighs. Now when she kisses him her head is higher, he is the one lifting his chin, and yet with one hand buried in her hair and the other running heavy up and down her back, underneath her jacket, Captain Vane is still the one firmly in control. “There’s a good girl,” he breathes when he lets her come up for air. No one talks to her that way, not here, not since her hands were callused by rope and salt, and yet to hear it from Vane only melts her further.

She presses her belly against him, curling herself into him as tightly as she can while still being able to reach his mouth for increasingly frantic, hungry kisses. The more she touches him the more she wants of him, his body all coiled power and surprisingly welcoming heat.

Her breath catches when his hand slides under her shirt, rough palm gently scratching at the tender skin of her flank. She kisses him deeper, too shy to find words of encouragement, only hoping that he will feel the way her body flushes as she finally experiences the touch she’s been dreaming of.

He strokes her like he’s just as eager as she, to make this connection, to know what she feels like underneath her clothes. His gentle sucking at her lips slows, both their attention fading to the conquest of his hands across her virgin skin.

He finds her breasts and she sits up straighter, sucking in air like she’s about to go over the side. His thumbs run slowly along the fullness at their very bottom edges, and he watches her face closely with eyes that glitter with reflected starlight. “Not too much for you already, is it?” he asks, and the phrasing is a challenge but his tone is soft and steadying.

She remembers to smile, enjoying the rush of this, and tosses her head. “I like it. I want you to keep going.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off her face as he slides his fingertips up over the peaks of her breasts, circling back down to find her nipples, tracing them carefully until he’s drawn them into stiff, needy peaks. She has to close her eyes before he’s even close to through with it, the unexpected pleasure stealing her breath and sending pulses of arousal straight between her open legs.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” Vane curses under his breath, and her eyes fly open to see the edge of rapture in his eyes that she had heard on his voice. “How could you not think I’d want to see you like this, to be the one to do these things to you. First.” His fingers tighten, only slightly, plucking at her nipples, drawing a soft moan from her throat, so he does it again, harder the second time. “To show you what—” he cuts himself off as his fingers flick across her peaks, bending his ear to better hear the swallowed little cries she can’t help making under his expert handling.

She’s burning up. Her own hands scramble uselessly over Vane’s shoulders, his neck, his scalp, the open edge of his shirt. She doesn’t know what to do with them. She doesn’t know what she needs, and yet it seems that her body does, tensing and bridging her hips in closer to his warmth.

His head ducks into the crook of her neck, lips scrambling across whatever bare skin he can reach. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” he murmurs, the movement of his hands across her breasts showing where, exactly, he means. “Come with me to my tent?”

“Mhm!” She moans in the affirmative, already aching for what they’ll be able to do when they have real privacy. Her awareness comes back to their position on the beach, the flickering light of the bonfire maybe twenty paces away, and she wonders if anyone noticed them yet. If any of the crew saw her with her legs wrapped so wantonly around their Captain out here in the sand. Her face grows hotter.

Vane’s hands are still moving along her waist, rubbing back and forth under her shirt, waiting for more of a response from her.

“Yes.” She’s loathe to separate her body from his, though. They probably hadn’t been seen, not yet, since they had not been interrupted by jeers and catcalls. But that would be coming; there was no way they’d make it up the beach and into Vane’s tent without being noticed by the revelers. She gives her about-to-be-lover a nervous smile and moves to dismount him.

His hands trail somewhat reluctantly out of her clothing as she recedes from him, then he’s following to stand up from the sand as quickly as she is. She feels awkward, standing on the beach beside him, but while neither of them are saying anything the heated look in his eyes says everything. Then his fingers are twining between her own and he’s pulling her toward the firelight.

Her face is still burning in apprehension of the comments she’s about to face. But it feels good, too, to know that Captain Vane is not trying to hide what he’s doing with her, that he’s evidently proud for his choice of bedfellow to be known. This “favor” that he’s doing her is not a secret he will try to hide and deny.

Faces turn at their approach, drunken smiles lighting up at varying paces as some of the crew are quicker on the uptake than others.

“We wondered where you disappeared off to,” one of the gunners leers. He’s sitting on a log next to Jack and Anne. “I was about to go looking for you myself, offer you some help with your little problem.” Anne turns to him with furrowed brow.

Jack interrupts, speaking a bit hastily. “It appears the Captain has that situation well in hand.”

Vane’s grip around her fingers squeezes tighter, and he barely slows his strides past the gossiping crew.

The gunner’s grin is wide and ugly. “Make her squeal loud enough for all of us to hear, Cap’n. Some of us—”

Whatever foul thing about to come out of his mouth next is smashed back into his teeth by Anne Bonny’s fist. The blow is hard enough to make the gunner slump off the back of the log. She scoots down, occupying the space she had just made him vacate, and pulls a wicked hunting knife out of her belt. “It’ll be a lot worse for anyone I catch creeping around the Captain’s tent tonight,” she announces to no one in particular, using the knife to start paring down one of her fingernails.

Well then. That’s about as close to privacy as any lady could expect on this beach. She flashes a grateful smile at Anne as Vane tugs at her to keep on walking past.

But Anne’s not done. “As for you, Captain,” she barks from under the brim of her wide hat, her one visible eye fixing him with a baleful glare, “you better make it good for her.”

Vane tucks the blushing virgin in against his side, his hand grasping broad against her waist. “If she has any complaints after,” he growls toward the protective Anne, “she should feel free to tell you.”

And then he’s steering her decisively up the beach, away from the fire and into the makeshift neighborhood of tents that houses the crew on the shore of Nassau town.

She can’t see much in the filtered moonlight when Vane ushers her into his tent. It’s low, not really any bigger than anyone else’s on the beach, but as she ducks inside she’s able to make out a collection of carpets, cushions and blankets arranged into an enticing bed.

Of course, the most alluring thing about it is knowing who sleeps there. Vane has started working his boots off, and so she follows suit, sitting beside him on the edge of a carpet. Their arms brush in the darkness, then their shoulders, and then his hand finds her face and pulls her in for a kiss before she’s finished wriggling the last boot over her ankle.

He breaks the kiss to pull his shirt over his head, and his fingers scramble at the hem of hers before he forces himself to slow down, breathing hard. She looks at him in the dim, the skin of his bare shoulders almost glowing as it reflects the thin light that filters in through the tent walls. She runs her palms across his broad, chiseled chest. She’d already memorized the look of it, as her captain had a propensity to parade about without his shirt, and his impressive physique has favored heavily in her more sinful thoughts. And now, now she gets to touch it.

The firm muscle beneath her palms is warm and solid, and it twitches as Vane raises his arms to embrace her, pull her in tighter against his fast-beating heart. His lips seek hers and then he is drawing her down, pulling her to fall against him into the nest of cushions that make his bed.

Her heart races faster than it did on the beach. There is something more sinful, more real, about lying on her back in the dark, the length of her body being pushed flat and open by the weight of a man, than anything else that had come before. But she knows she really is ready for this because the thought only enhances her pleasure, draws out her own eagerness for the experience.

As he continues to kiss her, he works the bottom of her shirt up, while his knee plants more and more firmly between her legs. She lifts her torso to help him undress her.

The ends of his long hair hit her bare skin first, as she lays back into the pillows, naked from the waist up, and Vane bends his head over her. She feels his breath next, hot and heavy, and then his devouring mouth. They’re not quite kisses, not quite bites as Vane works his lips and teeth across her chest, starting at her collarbone and making his way down to more tender flesh. One strong hand scoops up her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple once before the heat of his mouth envelops it.

She listens to her breath, already panting in the darkness. She listens to the soft, wet noises of Vane’s mouth traveling along her body, the occasional rumbling sound of his own enjoyment, and encouragement. She realizes his leg has reached her sex, that she’s rubbing herself against it, and pleasure blooms when she angles her hips and crushes some sweet, tight spot of herself against his powerful thigh.

His mouth comes back to her lips and he rolls his thigh between her legs while kissing her deeply. He plants his knee in the blankets and brings his hand to the outside of her hip, encouraging her to rock herself into him however she likes. “There’s nothing more enticing than an eager woman,” he purrs along her cheek. “Show me how you want to ride.”

She’s sure that she doesn’t understand the nuances of what he’s talking about, but she moves against his solidly planted knee anyway, wrapping her legs around his wide thigh and rolling that sweet spot at the front of her hips in tight little bucks that send wave after wave of joyful heat through her entire core.

His face is hovering over her own, and when she opens her eyes she can barely make out a glittering satisfaction in his eyes. It’s still awkward, and she can still barely believe she’s doing this, with Captain Vane of all people, but the moment is turning into something now that feels absolutely, terribly right. She parts her lips, looking up at him with abandon, and he bends to kiss her with steady passion.

The pleasure between her legs feels incomplete. Riding just behind the enjoyment is a screaming, clawing need, a hot and bewildering feeling that something else is supposed to happen, something that the man above her is keeping from her, and her eyes sharpen, her hands clamber and scratch along his shoulders and his broad back. He slides his own hand down her body, caresses her belly, is stopped by her belt.

“Trousers,” she pants, finally realizing the problem. “Off.”

Vane chuckles against her skin and pulls his knee back to make room for her furious scramble to loosen her belt and strip off the clothing that suddenly feels so oppressive to her. He rocks away further and she hears him shedding the last of his own clothes in the dark.

But the air is cold without him pressing against her, and some of the rush drains away from her head as she works her trousers down off both of her legs. This is it, now. With both of them naked in this little tent, it’s really going to happen.

He reaches for her in the dark. Kisses her again, taking his time with it, before touching her in any other way. Waits for her to melt her body back into his, by slow degrees, until the heavy trance of skin on skin takes over, and she pulls him down to lie flat beside her so she can better indulge in that feeling of so much bare skin touching all at once.

His cock is a solid line pressing into her upper thigh, foreign but not unwelcome. Something she’d been taught to fear, but now finds only fascinating. She lets her hand drift down to find it. Her fingertips trace along the side of it, smoother, silkier skin than the rest of him, and Vane emits a rumbling, encouraging sound and pulls his hips back just far enough to give her more room to explore.

Her fingers curl around it, touch still light and tentative. There is an iron firmness underneath that silky skin, all the way up until the thicker, spongier tip. He moans when she slides her thumb across that head, so she does it again, and he clutches her tighter around the shoulders.

She makes a circle with her thumb and first fingers, running her grip all the way down his length and up again. It just seems so… big. “Will this really fit?” she blurts, unable to hide the apprehension beginning to bloom in her belly.

Vane makes a delicious sound and pulls her hand away, flipping his loose grip on her wrist to push it into the pillow above her head as he moves his body on top of hers. “It will,” he promises, looking down on her with hooded eyes. “After I warm you properly.”

“What—” she asks, cut off by the surprise of Vane’s quick retreat down her body, mouthing his way past her navel and along her hip bone. He pushes her legs apart and settles his body into the blanket between them. His hands run broad and soothing up and down the insides of her thighs. Her face burns as he lays a kiss directly on her mound.

His gravelly voice comes up from the darkness below her hips, where she can no longer really see his face. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

“No,” she breathes.

He starts gently, cupping her sex with one hand, letting her get used to the warmth of that, rocking his palm in a soft imitation of the way she had been riding his thigh earlier. Then she feels one finger tickling, sliding up and down the seam of her sex, parting those lips and pressing in between. Her breath catches at the delicious invasion, and he goes no further, only gliding back and forth along the very edge of her.

She lets herself moan, a tiny sound, just to encourage him.

His finger sweeps deeper, bolder, and then his whole hand is angling differently, one finger between her lips becoming two that spread her wider, that dance over hidden folds and rub together around that nub of a sweet spot that makes her pant and moan and catch fire.

And then his mouth, oh God his mouth presses firm upon that spot and the heat of his tongue stokes the fire further, until she no longer feels an ounce of shame in letting her knees fall wide, and her hips buck up to meet him and that glorious tongue. His fingers come back to her entrance and a sweet, crystalline “yes” drops from her lips as he pushes one slowly inside her body.

So this is what makes the whores sing, the sensation that makes Anne pant and whine, clench her teeth and groan. Vane’s finger sinks and sinks and then he works it in a dance that coordinates with his tongue somehow and steals the breath right out of her lungs. There’s pressure as he starts to add a second finger, a tightness that can’t be called pleasure but doesn’t really count as pain, either. His two fingers work inside her, imitating fucking now, and she knows he’s getting her ready for what he really wants to do to her.

She wants it. Oh God she wants to be able to take it for him, that whole thing that even two of her fists probably wouldn’t be able to cover, that his fingers could not possibly prepare her for. But the sense of stretch is easing at her entrance and in its wake is nothing but ecstasy. “I want you,” she moans as she rolls her head back in the pillows. “I want you to take me, Captain.”

Captain Vane makes a guttural sound against her sex, the vibration mixing with the other delicious feelings to make her moan again. He draws his fingers slowly out of her body, spits on them and returns extra wetness to the coating on her sex. He rises, handling himself in much the same manner, and then climbs over her body so that their faces are aligned.

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask her to repeat herself, or make her beg for it, or question her resolve. He looks down at her with pure hunger, the spill of his hair curtaining them both, and then she feels the blunt tip of his cock lining up with her body.

The difference between that and his fingers is apparent immediately, her entrance stretching wider as he slips his slickened tip in, satisfying the primal craving that had been irking her from the moment her body had started to awaken to him. This was what she wanted, for the man smothering her with his scent and his mouth and his wild eyes to Take Her, to press where no one had ever—

The intensity he reaches when he’s few inches inside shocks her with a burning peak that steals her breath and her thoughts. Her body tenses against him, and Vane drops his lips to her cheek and pauses his progression. “There’s going to be pain,” he murmurs to her, reaching up to stroke her cheek with his fingertips, “no way around that. But it won’t last.”

She nods, looking up into his eyes, softening at the care and concern she sees in them, which overpowers the needy trance of his lust. She can trust those eyes. Vane starts pressing in again, and the pain transforms, becomes something holy all on its own, a rite of passage perhaps, a glorious experience of submission, of sublimation. The sharpness of the pain recedes, the burn becomes a stretch, a feeling of fullness, one that deepens and deepens until Charles Vane is fully inside of her.

He pauses there, letting her catch her breath, staring down into her eyes. She’s never seen him look so handsome, his face softened, his eyes and his thoughts focused, only on her. His fingers trace down the side of her face again, and then he’s kissing her, a melding of lips that says everything about how much he’s holding back, just to be still for her, just to keep from overwhelming her.

His hips start to move. He reverses the gains he’s made, drawing himself out almost to the tip, then slowly sinks back into her, the slide of every inch almost as intense as the first time, and she tries to remember to breathe against his cheek as he rubs his face against hers in his struggle to keep himself gentle. Every repeat of his conquest inside her hurts a little less, and after repeated strokes the burn becomes a passionate bliss, ache becoming hunger deep inside her body until she finds herself rocking her hips in time with his rhythm, both of them moving faster now, urging each other on.

His grunts in her ear are sounding less restrained. And while his cheek is still pressed against hers, his upper body is pulling away, slightly, repositioning to add more power to his thrusts. Slowly, still; she can feel his intensity raising and lowering in time to the rhythm of her own breaths, to the gasps and tiny cries that his ear is positioned so carefully to hear. His hair is spilled across the lower part of her face and she is suffused in the smell of him. “Charles,” she all but sobs. She is so glad that it is him, showing this to her, taking her now to planes of pleasure she had barely imagined existed.

He makes a pleased noise in response to the sound of his name, pulls back far enough to look at her. He doesn’t say anything back but that’s fine because she’s never seen a smile quite like the one that’s spreading across his face now, something more innocent and joyous than she had ever expected. He leans all his weight on one arm, not stopping the steadiness of his thrusting into her cunt. Thick, heavy pleasure is brewing there between her legs, like a thunderhead rapidly roiling in from the coast. His freed hand spreads her leg a little wider, coaxing her to relax and let him in a little deeper, and then he reaches down to once more rub on that pearl hidden just above where he’s fucking her and makes the storm break.

She throws her head back at the mind-numbing sensation that erupts just a few moments after his fingers began their spiral. She feels like her body is a bell Charles Vane has just struck, and that she might be torn to pieces by the brilliant note he’s wringing from her. She arcs against him, which only deepens the sensation, and vaguely she hears him groaning his approval into her ear as he fucks her right through this dizzying climax. “That’s it, love, oh, such a sweet—” his rambling stutters and then so does his body, cock pressing harder in short little bursts while her pleasure is still ringing its way down in ebbing waves. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and then moans, grinding against her as deep as he can go until his breath and energy run out.

He sinks against her, mindful not to crush her completely, and his fingers stroke softly along her hip. He stays like that for a while, cock still stretching her insides, but much less intensely than when they started. Her pleasure is a shimmering haze, a fog clearing only slowly with every breath, with each tiny movement of their bodies as they settle into comfortable rest.

Charles Vane’s fingers dance up her side, coming to trace along her face and turn it softly toward his. That soft smile is still there on his face, intimate and joyful.

“So that’s what I’ve been missing,” she blurts when the silence between them becomes too much. They both grin.

“Satisfied?” his gravelly voice rumbles, and he finally shifts off of her, settling his weight more comfortably by her side.

She looks up toward the roof of the tent, the little holes where the moonlight is filtering through. Her limbs feel heavy, the heat in her core burning down to banked embers, and everything in her being feels peaceful and slow. “I don’t think I remember how to move.”

Vane lifts his upper body with a soft chuckle, and reaches for something behind him. He comes back with a soft cloth that he wipes slowly between her legs, removing the sticky wetness he’s left behind there. She feels him cleaning himself with it too, and then he’s settling back down beside her, tucking her in under his arm.

The night air is just cool enough for her to appreciate the warmth of his body beside her. She turns in, laying one leg across his thighs, and he shifts invitingly, letting her entwine her limbs with his.

He tips his face to make sure she’s looking at him, his hand stroking along the top of her head. His expression starts fading into that air of command that she is more used to seeing from her captain. “I want you to come to me whenever you need to experience this again,” he orders. They both grin, and he pulls her in closer as their exhausted bodies begin to succumb to sleep.

~*~

It’s been a pleasure to create this for you, “Charles Vane Anon.” Hope I captured what you were longing for. A note to all readers: I love a good first time kink, but please don’t take this story to mean that there should be any pressure on anyone to “go all the way” and submit to p/v sex or any of that nonsense. I just think those problematic messages can be kind of hot in a fantasy like this one. Hope you enjoyed.

Taglist and requests are both open for Vane! Next up is some sparring that turns sexy, and maybe some more plays on the theme of choosing Vane to be your First. Tagging: @acebreathesfire @kind-wolf @ladyhubris @summertimesadness101

More sexy Vane here

#charles vane imagine #charles vane x oc #charles vane x reader #captain vane #charles vane smut

266 notes · View notes

yuzukimist · 3 years

Note

5 & 13 for the OC Ask meme, please?

Thank you so much for the ask! I have so much fun doing these, I always really appreciate it when someone sends an ask in. :D

5: Shakespeare famously wrote that we should ‘fit the action to the word, the word to the action.’ Do you find that you create a character and then find a story for them to inhabit, or does the story or premise come first and the character follows after?

Oooh, this question is a fun one! In the case of Nasrin from Legends Are Made, Nasrin herself definitely came first, before the actual plot of the story. Nasrin came into being because I really wanted a Haradrim OC, and to explore the vast untapped potential that is Haradwaith in general. Specifically, when the idea for Nasrin first popped into my head, all I had was the vague image of a Haradrim woman in Rivendell (at the Council of Elrond) with no solid grasp of anything beyond that.

At the time, my thoughts could basically be summed up as “ooh, wouldn’t this be neat?” and then it sort of spiraled from there once I realized how much fun world-building I could do relating to Haradwaith and the people who live there. And of course, I still had to figure out why in the world a Haradrim woman would be halfway around the world in Rivendell! Thankfully, once I started brainstorming on that, a lot of things started to come together in my mind and the actual plot of the story (including the instigating event that kicks off the whole thing) started to take shape. :D

13: Characters have to come from somewhere before the story starts. Tell me about someone they trust before the story begins and why that trust exists.

For Nasrin, the answer to this question has to be Aijaz, another Haradrim OC that features in the beginning of Legends Are Made. Nasrin is currently Tiger’s Claw of her tribe (a position that makes her a leader among them) and Aijaz has been what is effectively Nasrin’s second-in-command for quite some time, which of course means they are very good friends with a lot of trust between them. Ultimately, they’re very close friends and have had each other’s backs in many tough situations in the past, and Nasrin trusts him so much that she’ll be counting on him to look after their tribe in her absence while she journeys to Rivendell (a trip that will take quite some time, given the sheer distance involved as well as the events that will transpire).

#oc ask meme #writer ask game #Legends Are Made #yuzu answers #my writing #oc: Nasrin #oc: Aijaz #harardrim #lotr

1 note · View note

for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years

Text

tame your demons

the wench and the witcher

"tame your demons”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Geralt keeps pieces of himself locked away and sheathed in ice. Sooner or later, the ice does have to melt.

Warnings: Possibly hard teen - we get a little smexy towards the end of this one, but nothing graphic. We are definitely getting into some angst now, kids.

A/N: I have a lot of feelings about these two. Basically, Hozier’s quote about “trying to love a damaged person” stuck with me and I refuse to give it up. Lyrics and title for this one come from “Arsonist’s Lullaby”, which was actually one of the first Hozier songs I ever fell in love with.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty

When I was a man, I thought it ended When I knew love's perfect ache But my peace has always depended On all the ashes in my wake

Gods, you should be used to the cold by now. For his kindness and warmth, your Witcher is capable of it. Biting cold, harsh as freezing rain. You try to insulate yourself against it, hoping that you can somehow bear the winter of his moods when they roll through, but it never seems to get any easier. You brace against the ice-cold of his silences and the way he draws himself away from you – steel your spine, try to smile when the flint in his eyes chips away at you.

Geralt can drop the temperature of a room without so much as a word. It’s remarkable.

And it fucking hurts.

He won’t look at you as you carefully clean the blood from his split knuckles. You kneel at the edge of the tub he soaks in, focused on the task at hand and swallowing back what feel like chips of ice caught in your throat. Even with the hearth fire at your back and the slight humidity from the steaming water, you feel like you’ve been thrown in a damned snow drift. It aches down into your bones.

The hunt had gone badly. Some alderman and his cronies unwilling to pay up for services rendered – and speaking up would have meant leaving town on the end of a rope. Geralt had blown in two weeks ago with an arctic cold around him, frosted over too thick for even you to break through, and then…

And then, there were those backwater pricks from Hagge.

You’d tried to be firm, but polite at first. The Witcher was your guest, and you didn’t take kindly to anyone speaking ill of the people under your roof, but they’d turned their drunken cruelty on you without so much as a second thought. Nothing new, there. You bore the insults when they came without flinching; it was just how it worked. They were the sort of men that didn’t much like being told what to do by the likes of you. A woman – stupid tavern wench.

‘The Butcher’s Bitch’, they’d called you.

And in all the time you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Geralt so furious.

You’d managed to pull him away before it devolved to a full-on tavern brawl and crushed aside the hurt when the Witcher had ripped his arm from your grasp. The instigators were summarily banned from the premises; the rest of the night had drawn to a close without incident, save for the fact that you’d practically had to snarl at Geralt to let you tend to his wounds.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break a finger,” you mutter.

Silence. The cold of it sinks in deep. You bite your tongue, standing and letting go of Geralt’s hand in favor of packing your healer’s kit up once more. The bottles clack together with a little more force that necessary as you grit your teeth; under the sting of your ego, you can feel your own anger bubbling just under the surface. Gods, you want to shake him – shout him down, throttle him around his stupid, thick head.

‘Let me in’, you want to scream.

“I’ll be downstairs,” you tell him instead, tone short and hoarse. “Need to settle the accounts for the week.”

He doesn’t stop you until you try to skirt past the tub. One big, scarred hand reaches up from the water and grips at your wrist, halting you in your tracks. His palm burns on your skin.

“Do you know why they call me that?” he growls out.

“No,” you snap. “And I don’t fucking care – “

“Well, you should.”

Geralt looks at you. Finally – finally – meets your gaze and you’re shocked to see those bright eyes have lost the ice behind them. He just looks tired; tired, and angry, with something that could be sorrow hidden just underneath. The firelight dances over his wet skin, reflects off the hammered copper of the tub to give the Witcher a gilded look about him. Pale and broad, tinged with gold. You study him, taking in the fall of his damp hair around his face. He looks so much younger.

You turn your wrist in his grip, shift to lace your fingers with his, and kneel at his side again. He stares at you and nearly seems to lose his nerve, shifting his gaze to the surface of the water. “Do you know of the Curse of the Black Sun?” he mumbles.

His other hand spins lazily over the bathwater, rippling it with a soft noise against the edge of the tub. “Heard it was shit,” you tell him. “Gave a lot of men the excuse to hurt a lot of young girls.”

The Witcher’s soft mouth twitches up, just for a moment – barely a smirk. The line of his jaw goes tense, same as it does when he’s biting his tongue. “Renfri… she was one of those girls,” he says after a moment. “I met her in Blaviken.”

It feels like the bits of ice at the back of your throat have started to melt and you find you can swallow again. Geralt’s hand is warm over yours, both from his own body heat and the steaming water. He’s silent for a long stretch, the quiet broken only by the quiet whisper of the water and the occasional crackle of the logs on the fire. His gaze stays where it is, but he finally begins to speak again.

You learn about Renfri and her men. How she called them off when they were ready to hang Geralt in the woods outside Blaviken. He tells you of Stregebor, and you can hear the sneer in his voice when he mentions the sorcerer by name. How the old man told him that Renfri was a monster, something mad and deadly that needed to be put down. He tells you Renfri’s story. He tells you about the marketplace.

Renfri’s death.

The stoning.

The Butcher of Blaviken tells you his story in a low, even, almost monotone voice. He doesn’t glance at you, not once. But neither does he push you away.

“That’s where the name comes from,” he says at the last of it, and it’s so quiet you’re not sure if he’s meant to say it out loud. “And with good reason.”

You inhale slow, taking in a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. It catches in the back of your throat. You half expect him to shrug away, but when you lean against the edge of the tub – when you grip his hand tight and press your lips against his temple – Geralt seems to relax into the contact. He smells of your soap, and oiled leather. You nuzzle softly into his damp hair.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “I’m so sorry you had to make that choice, dear heart.”

The Witcher lets out a slow breath, shoulders sinking further into the warm water surrounding him. He lets you take gentle hold of his chin, lets you turn his face until he’s meeting your eyes. You study him, carefully, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the slope of his nose. Your thumb brushes gently over the stubble at his jaw. He leans into your hand, just for a moment.

“You are not the Butcher here,” you tell him, and your tone is fiercely gentle. “You were never the Butcher here, not to me. You are just Geralt – my Geralt.”

Pretty gold eyes flash back at you. There’s a curiosity behind them, something sharp that makes your stomach drop towards your knees because you realize the implication of what you’ve just told him. Shit – shit. Your face goes warm. You bite your lip, but don’t drop the Witcher’s gaze, and you see his soft lips tilt up at one corner. “Yours, hm?” he mumbles.

Your face feels too hot, but you nod regardless. “Aye.”

He stares. Studious, intense, and the heat in your face flushes downward, prickles over your skin until you feel sweat begin to bead at the back of your neck. You duck your head. The Witcher lets you break the spell, lets you escape and stand to grab the large bath sheet hanging by the hearth. You hear water slosh when he stands and steps out of the bath; you feel oddly shy when you hand him the warmed fabric, chewing at your bottom lip as Geralt rubs the water from his pale skin. Shadow and firelight play over the cut of his torso – you watch a bead of water slick its way down the side of his thick neck before it catches on the dip of his collarbone.

All the while, he watches you. You try not to fidget and fail. Gods, you can’t stand it when he looks at you like that – it’s curious heat and shameless, open desire. It makes you feel like you’ve laced your bodice too tight and you clear your very dry throat.

“Are you hungry?” you ask weakly.

The Witcher shakes his head. He stalks towards you – for that’s the only way to describe the movement – dropping the bath sheet as he closes the distance, all pale, naked skin and solid muscle. You can feel the beat of your pulse in your throat when he crowds close and he cups your face in his scarred hands before slanting his mouth over yours. The kiss is deep, but unhurried. Geralt licks your gasp out from behind your teeth, growling in return when your hands grip the solid plane of his back. He kisses you until you feel dizzy, until your heart thunders hard against your ribs and your legs go weak.

“Are you mine, then?” the Witcher growls, low and ominous as summer thunder. He keeps one hand at your jaw; the other trails sweetly down your neck. His fingertips skate over the smooth, polished wolf’s tooth of your necklace. He tugs the laces at the top of your bodice.

“Hm? Does that make you mine, sweet girl?”

The lacing whispers free of its grommets and though the tension on your bodice goes slack, you still find it difficult to catch your breath. You can barely remember how to fucking nod, but you do it. “Yes,” you whisper.

Geralt kisses you again. The heat of it scorches.

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x poc!reader #geralt x woc reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #tutu scribbles #the wench and the witcher

149 notes · View notes

cordonian-literature · 4 years

Text

Reluctant Reunion

Part Two

Summary: Olivia reflects on her relationship with Vivienne

Premise: majority of TRH thrown out the window, but some elements are present. overall, this isn’t canon. the MC’s name is Vivienne (nicknamed Vivi). her and Liam have two children: Eleanor and Evangeline. the gang hasn’t seen each other much

A/N: doing a @wackydrabbles again! this week’s prompt is don’t be stubborn. try it. and will be in bold

A/N 2: i also used Prompt #638 in this fic, but the wording is changed a bit :)

Word Count: (+/-) 1140

Warnings: angst (i think. feel free to call me out if im wrong)

Catch up here

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Olivia wakes in the palace. Her driver had brought her here the night before, and even though she wanted to ignore Vivi’s invitation, Olivia decided that attending the ball would do her no harm. The work she had to do in Lythikos could wait a few days; she had worked tirelessly these past few years. Maybe she deserved a break.

She walks out of the guest room, allowing the yellow glow from the dawn outside to warm her skin. There’s the gentle conversation of servants getting ready for the evening, the light dust dances in front of her eyes, the drowsiness that comes with the quiet and emptiness of morning. Her first thought to try and wake herself up is to go into the training room and do some drills, but Olivia is too emotionally exhausted for that. Deciding that a walk would be better, she heads towards the nearest exit, which was in the kitchen.

Olivia knew this palace like the back of her hand — though not as well as she knew the interior of Lythikos Keep: there were a few secret passages in the palace that Olivia had never managed to find, but she had some solid guesses as to where they led.

She flows through the small groups of servants who were cooking and cleaning, ignorant of the Duchess who paid no mind to them. When the fresh air grasps Olivia, she takes a fulfilling deep breath, one that didn’t get stuck in her lungs and force her to exhale before she wanted to.

The hedge maze was within sight. She begins walking towards the greenery unconsciously, the soft colors of the garden enchanting her. They were the same flowers that Liam’s mother had commissioned decades ago. Olivia doesn’t want to calculate the time that had passed, because not only did the time encompass what was no longer her’s, but it also represented what had been wasted. What had led to nothing.

Olivia knows that the hedge maze is where Liam and Vivi would sneak off to in the middle of events. She wonders about that, about the intimacy of being so thoroughly understood that one glance can have you lifted away from your worries and temporary stressors.

She takes a seat on a stone bench, the cold attacking her warm skin. The bench is next to a statue of a young woman with flowers in her hair, her eyes downcast. Olivia notices that it resembles the late Queen Eleanor in her young age. She can’t remember if she’s seen it before or not.

There are shouts from the distance. Olivia knows that those people are not nearby, but wonder what they are doing. They can’t be nobles, since most were still asleep or had just woken up. Olivia knows that it can’t be servants, either, since she had seen them diligently working. The volume of the yelling becomes quieter, but there is more chatter in the same direction.

A press event is going to happen, Olivia realizes. She wondered what issues Liam planned to address, and knew that Crown Princess Eleanor would have to make an appearance, too.

Time passes on. The sky has drained itself of the pinkish-red color of the morning and has settled on a vibrant blue. Olivia stands and walks back towards the entrance, turning away from the sound of the crowd forming on the front lawn. But the closer she gets to the palace, the sound of conversation increases. Olivia glances around her, mentally noting which knife from her dress would be the quickest to grab and stab someone with, and realizes that the voices are coming from inside the palace.

She’s under Princess Eleanor’s bedroom window. At least she thinks she is. Olivia believes that the room should be a bit more north towards where she was standing, and she couldn’t tell if she was closer to the east wing or the west wing, but the sounds of the princesses are loud enough for Olivia to know it’s them.

Evangeline’s voice was the loudest; she must be closer to the window. “For once in your life, take my advice. Your appearance matters most when you’re in front of so many people.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Eleanor responds. Her voice is a bit farther off. “What matters is what I say and what I do.”

“Looking nice can’t hurt. You know what Duke Bertrand always says.”

Eleanor gives a loud sigh. “I don’t care what he says. If you want to go play dress-up with him, go ahead. I’ll be here, trying to figure out what I should wear. I need to look calm but in control. Assertive… but also unaggressive and loving.”

There’s a pause for a few moments before Evangeline continues, “I brought you this dress from my closet. It’s similar to what Mama wore after that anti-monarchist group attacked the palace.”

“During the Five Kingdom’s Ceremony? After they were engaged?”

“Yes, I think so. This should make you look assertive, but also like a kind and loving princess who cares for all her people and wishes the best for them.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Though it was not Olivia’s place to say, she believed that Eleanor should take her sister’s advice. There was no harm in looking nice, especially if it was to pacify Cordonians and their fears. These past few years Cordonia had not been very stable. Many blamed it on the monarchy, leading to a rise in revolutionary groups, and thus keeping Olivia occupied and away from her friends.

“Come on, Ellie,” Evangeline's voice rings out again. “Don’t be stubborn. Try it. You’ll look nice for a change.” Evangeline’s voice begins to fade away. “I’ll be right outside your door. Come out and show me how it looks.”

Olivia wonders if Vivienne was going to be at the press conference as well. She continues down the path and back into the palace, the halls more lively now that more people are awake. Olivia makes her way towards the King and Queen’s Chambers, hoping that she would have a moment to talk to Vivienne before the conference.

Princess Evangeline walks past Duchess Olivia, offering a thin smile as a greeting. Olivia wonders if she was done helping her sister, but doesn’t dwell on it and walks on.

She turns a corner and sees Vivienne walking towards her. The Queen’s attire was formal, but not fit for a press conference. Olivia thinks that she should ask about it, but her heart flutters in her chest as Vivi smiles at her. I’m reading this wrong, Olivia thinks to herself. I’m projecting, just like yesterday, and looking foolish. But Olivia can’t help herself. She stops when they are barely a meter away. Olivia reaches for Vivi’s hand slowly, the words she had been hiding about to tumble out of her chest.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

tagging: @queen-arabella-of-cordonia

i only tag those who asked since i dont want to bother others. if you would like to be added/removed, let me know :)

#wacky drabbles #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #choices the royal romance fanfic #trr au fanfic #trr fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #the royal heir fanfic #choices the royal heir fanfic #trr mc x liam #liam x mc #trr olivia x mc #olivia x mc

18 notes · View notes

treatian · 3 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 60: Not Part of the Plan

He didn't go back to the shop after claiming the egg for himself. He couldn't. He had a gun, but he didn't have magic, and that meant that at the end of the day, Emma and Regina were still faster than he was. The elevator wouldn't hold Emma up for long. She'd climb out, she'd free Regina, and they'd come looking for him, for the egg. The first place they'd look would inevitably be the shop. And so that was undoubtedly the one place he could not go.

The trouble was that he needed to go into the shop. He hadn't planned as well as he thought he had. And he realized it too late.

In a perfect world, he would have removed the potion and gone up into the woods with it right then and there, avoiding Emma and Regina, keeping them firmly one step behind him. But in his planning, he'd forgotten something important. The key. He knew where it was in the shop, but before he'd left for the library he'd been so concerned, worrying about his plan to get the egg that he hadn't worried so much about what he'd do after getting it. He hadn't thought this through well enough. If he could go back, he would have thought to slip the damn thing into his pocket before going to the library, but there was no use whining over his own mistakes, not when he was closer than he'd ever been in his life. A small delay in his morning hike wouldn't be a terrible thing. In fact, it might even be helpful. The sun beginning to rise reminded him that he hadn't thought to bring a flashlight with him when he'd left either. At least this way, by the time he finally got back into the shop and got the egg open, it would be morning.

So, instead of going into the shop to fetch the key, he hid himself. In the alley on the other side of the shop, close to the back door, he stood, and he waited with the understanding that if he could manage to avoid the women when they searched the premises, then the second they were done, he could go back inside and finish what he'd started. But in the gray morning light, as he carefully concealed himself in the alley with his prize, he watched from a distance as something unexpected happened.

Emma and Regina left the library together. But they didn't cross the street to his shop. Instead, he watched as they hurried away, down the road, toward Granny's. He waited where he was, not daring to move even a little bit closer for fear it was some kind of trick. And then he saw Emma's yellow bug speed down the street away from him and his house and any inkling they might have of where he'd be.

That was unexpected.

Completely.

Egg in hand, he let himself sneak away from the back of the alley and slowly approached the street. When he looked down, Emma's bug continued to speed quickly out of view, but he was able to make out that both women were in the car. They were going in the direction of the hospital. He glanced down at the egg in his hand, took a breath, and then nodded to himself in determination.

He didn't know what was going on, but he knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Speeding away like that gave him at least a few minutes to get into the shop, get the key, check the potion and go. Sooner was better than later. He had to take his chance.

Inside the shop, he hobbled quickly into the back room. The sun had risen, letting bright light into the room, but he still turned on his overhead light and set the egg down on a clean velvet mat to examine it like he might any valuable antique. It was untouched. Unbreeched. Which meant that if he opened it up…

He swallowed as he reached over into a small tool kit he kept on the table. Inside one of the top draws, the golden key gleamed. A key he'd kept for twenty-eight years because Mr. Gold had always worried the moment he threw it away, its lock would reappear. Funny, it was almost as if the Curse wanted to be broken. He tried to remain calm, to still his racing heart as he inserted the key perfectly into the lock then gave it a few twists until he felt the mechanism inside click. And then he opened it…

It was perfect.

The bottle, the potion, even the felted protective covering. Everything was just as he remembered putting it in decades ago, years before Emma had ever been born, all for this moment. He could have wept with joy.

Ever so carefully, with hands as steady as he could make them, he removed the bottle from its home for these past many years and examined what was left.

It wasn't much. As he held it up to the light, he realized that was perhaps the only difference. The Curse, it seemed, had gotten to some of it, been able to use some of it as its battery, but not all of it. There wasn't a lot of it left, barely a single swallow, but if he could put it in the right place, it wouldn't matter. It was the most powerful potion in the world. It would do its job.

He flinched at the sound of the bell ringing in the front of the shop. Then paused for a second, certain that if Emma and Regina had come back, they would have called out his name. No name meant it might not be them, but there was no promise of that. Quickly he swallowed, pocketed the potion for safety, then turned his back to hide the egg and the key in a small trunk he had on the table behind him. If it was Emma and Regina, they might see him get away without the egg and search for it. That might buy him some time to-

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?"

He sighed in relief. It was neither Emma nor Regina's voice. Probably just some stranger out for some early shopping who hadn't taken note of the "closed" sign on his door. He probably should have locked himself in when he arrived. That was his own fault. He'd lock it on the way out.

"Yes, I am. But I'm afraid the shop's…closed…"

He turned.

The world stopped.

Heartbeat.

Breath.

Time.

Pawnshop.

Everything was gone. Obliterated.

It was gone because what he was seeing couldn't possibly be real.

"I was uh…I was told to…to find you and…tell you that Regina locked me up," the girl stuttered awkwardly with an accent and voice his ears recognized but hadn't heard in decades. His blood had chilled in his veins, and his fingers and toes were numb as he took her in. The last time he'd seen her…it had been longer than the potion had been around. Her hair was unkempt. She wore some awful hospital gown and sneakers that had to be too big for her, a coat that reeked so badly of mothballs he could smell it even from this distance.

But it didn't matter. None of those things mattered.

She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld in his very long life.

"Does…does that mean anything to you?" she questioned hopefully.

Belle.

His Belle.

But...how?

He stared at her slack-jawed, feeling slowly returning to his body. It was only then that he realized he was moving, step by step closer to where the person stood.

It was a trick. It had to be. What he was seeing wasn't real. It was magic. To see her again, like this or not, was magical, so there was no other explanation besides magic.

Except for the problem that magic still wasn't in Storybrooke. To create an illusion like that…that would require great magic. Magic this world didn't have, magic that this Curse would have swallowed up to keep itself running. If not magic, then…hallucination? A ghost?

He swallowed hard. He hesitated. His hand was shaking as he hadn't allowed it to when he uncovered the potion, and his mouth was dry. But finally, he forced himself to reach out his hand and grasp her shoulder.

He was worried, half expected that his hand would go straight through her; that he'd find she was a ghost or a trick, a person in very convincing make-up. He was afraid she'd disappear again.

But no matter how hard he squeezed, she remained in front of him, a solid, living being, looking nearly as baffled as he felt.

He felt dizzy. There was no explanation.

Except…

"You're real…"

It had to be real.

She was real.

He didn't have his magic yet to try and sense any kind of Dark Magic on her, something that would have been necessary to create what a trick as convincing as she was, but he already knew that she wasn't a lie or a trick. There was no Dark Magic this strong available during the Curse that would conjure her.

She was real. She had to be.

"You're alive."

There was no explanation for it outside of her being here, alive, living and breathing in front of him.

She wasn't a hallucination. If she were, she would have appeared before him as he knew her to be, in a blue dress with a beautiful smile and perfectly groomed hair.

She wasn't a magical illusion. If she were, then he wouldn't have been able to touch her, to squeeze her shoulder as he had.

She wasn't made of magic. There wasn't enough magic in the town, to begin with, and there also was only one person in the town that knew about her and could have had the power to conjure her. That was Regina.

But he knew it wasn't Regina.

First of all, when Belle appeared, he'd just seen Regina drive off with Emma in the opposite direction. There wouldn't have been time to access her magic and create this. Second of all…there was what she'd said. "Are you Mr. Gold," no mention of his true name. "Regina locked me up. Does that mean anything to you" because it meant nothing to her.

If Regina was going to create her from magic to torment him, there was no reason to dress her as she was and leave her with no memories of him, not a clue who he was or where she was, in a clearly Cursed state. And then there was the implication of the words she'd said. "I was told…" She'd been told to find him. Told her to tell him that Regina had locked her up. That was the nail in the coffin, though, wasn't it? She wasn't a lie or a trick. Someone had released her to get revenge. Someone had released her from someplace she'd been where she'd been…what? A chess piece? A card to play?

He didn't know who had released her, but he knew who had kept her like this all these years.

Regina.

"She did this to you?"

Regina had her. How could he have not known? How could he have been so stupid! It was Regina who had told him that she'd died all those years ago knowing he wouldn't explore it; knowing he'd believe her father was as awful as he believed; knowing that he wouldn't find her because the very woman who had told him all that was the very woman who had her locked away. From him! Probably ever since she'd left.

Where?

How?

All questions he didn't have answers to yet. She'd kept her locked up, probably in the hospital from the looks of it, after the Curse had taken effect, waiting for the right moment to play this card. But someone had gotten to her first. Who had freed her, who had told her to say that Regina had her, that he'd protect her…he didn't know. Judging by the state of her, they'd done her a great favor.

They'd done him a great favor.

He wanted to know everything.

"I was told you'd protect me…"

Her hesitant words forced him out of his brain and back into what was right in front of him.

Right in front of him…

Just as she'd been once before! Before he'd…

Oh, he'd had the opportunity to prevent this, to protect her once before. He'd given it up, and now this…this was all his fault.

Not again. Never again.

"Oh, yes," he choked. And without giving himself permission, he did the one thing he'd never done in their time together. He flung himself at her, pulled her into his arms, and held her against his chest. "Yes, I'll protect you!"

He wept with overwhelming joy. Because she was real. Because she was alive. Because she was here. He'd never let anything happen to her again!

This time he wasn't going to let her go.

But suddenly, he felt her go stiff against him, felt her push and step away, not out of his grasp but just enough to break his embrace.

"I'm…I'm sorry. Do…do I know you?" she questioned, squinting at him confused and hopefully all at once again.

Suddenly he recognized what had just happened in a most uncomfortable way. They'd been here before, several times, when the tables had been turned. How many times had she hugged him in the Enchanted Forest? How many times had she reached out in joy and thrown her arms around him? And how often had he stood there stiff as a board? Uncomfortable? Unsure of where to put his hands or how to respond because he didn't know what she was to him?

Every time.

He'd denied her every single fucking time.

He had to fix it. He had to fix it now, and it all started with the potion in his pocket.

"No," he whispered, trying to give her a gentle and reassuring smile. Everything she knew about him was based on these moments. For now. "But you will."

He wanted to know everything. He wanted her to know everything. He wanted to stay and hold her, stare at her, memorize the features he hadn't seen in decades, have a moment he'd only dreamed about. But not now. His heart had stopped when he'd seen her, but he was suddenly ever aware of a clock ticking behind him. Time had started again.

Regina and Emma had driven away, but he had no assurance they wouldn't come back. He wanted to be long gone by the time that happened.

He brushed his hand over his pocket again, making sure he had what he needed. Then on instinct reached for her hand to guide her out with him.

But she pulled it free. She dug her heels in, stubborn as ever, just as he remembered her.

"Come with me," he muttered before placing a hand on her back instead. She obeyed his touch and followed him back out into the shop. "There's something we have to do, but everything…everything will be clear soon enough. I promise, I'll answer all your questions soon."

It was unfair of him to ask that he trust her so soon. But it had to be done. They had to go. He was so close to succeeding. He could make this work. He could protect her and finish this plan.

He had to.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #Emma Swan #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

3 notes · View notes

loyalflutist · 5 years

Text

Together (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Rating: Teen and Up Audience Archive Warning: N/A Category: F/F Words: 1,796 Summary: The war is over, the Adrestian Empire won, peace fell upon Fodlan, and both Byleth and Edelgard are happily married. However, not everyone agrees with the end result. A simple trip down to the marketplace becomes violent for the retired professor.

A/N: Something short for Edeleth. I actually wanted to do a bit of exploration with the negative aspects of war during the aftermath of it. I’m sure not many are too pleased with the results... I would love to expand upon it in the near future if I could. Hope you enjoy it! I enjoyed writing this.

It was late in the evening. The sun is beginning to set, the soothing winds acting as an air conditioner in this pleasant weather. Throughout the united Fodlan, the country stood tall and proud, its bloody history still fresh in many people’s mind. Those Who Slither in the Dark were still active in the background. War criminals hide amongst the population. Plenty of work was required for the two new royal figures from the Adrestian Empire. Yet an age of peace descended upon the land.

Byleth Eisner freely patrolled at the marketplace. The Sword of Creator comfortably resided on her waist, the sheathed blade faintly jiggling in spot as she slowly paced through the busy premise, albeit with an abnormal gait. Many civilians purchased goodies for various reasons. Some got food for themselves. Some got merchandise for their children. Some got good luck charms for their spouses. Some got supplies for another trip into the woods. They’ve all kept themselves occupied at each station while she passed by.

A smile scrawled on her face as she hobbled past the crowd. One foot that was a little slower than the other occasionally dragged on the solid ground. Specifically, it was the left foot. Byleth walked as if there were leads holding it down. Unnaturally, it was already a normal part of her routine. It was simply one of the side effects of surviving the final battle against the Immaculate One with Edelgard von Hresvelg, the other being her weak heart due to fibrosis.

The retired professor stopped by one of the stalls. She leaned down to observe the floral object. Scarlet carnation… Gold and silver coins poured out of her small pouch as a bouquet was purchased. She eventually transitioned over to another stall. More gold and silver coins were emptied as an armored teddy bear was retrieved. Both of her arms occupied by the new products, Byleth’s eyes shone with glee, now standing by the exit.

‘ These would be wonderful gifts for my wife. ‘

They were always busy. Ever since the disappearances of the Crests and the requirements to wield the legendary relics, many of the alumni and warriors were able to enjoy their longevity and freedom in this new world. The same could not be said for the two, especially Edelgard. Their times together were scarce after the final battle. The least she could do is provide her something.

Byleth sighed.

‘ I wonder if we’ll have time for another date… ‘

Ushered silence abruptly fell upon the marketplace. This tickled the back of Byleth’s neck, the hair standing from her exposed skin. She was forced to drop her recently purchased items and whipped around. Her navy hues widened at the growing shadow.

“Get out of here!”

Byleth raised her arm just in time for the iron axe to slam into it. She grimaced and felt an explosion of hot pain flash throughout her nerves. Blood poured forth from the shredded epidermis as the blade lodged into the fresh wound. Had it not been for the dull ends, it would’ve dug into her sturdy bone and shattered it.

Without a peep, the professor lowered her arm and stared blankly at the assaulter. The merchant released his hold on the wooden handle. His features were twisted with scorn. The same could be said for those nearby. Other forms of weaponries were in their grasps, their eyes piercing her isolated figure. These were not the people she had met earlier. Were they from another nation? Byleth grunted as she tore the axe out of her arm. The axe now in her right hand, her jawlines were outlined, the turbulent hurricane swirling deep within her core.

“…”

She raised the blade high above her head. In response, the villagers and merchants violently trembled in spot, their weapons readied with tears and snot. Squeaks and whimpers spilled from their direction as their knees knocked upon one another. One child even exclaimed,

“Ashen Demon!”

The war may have concluded and her heroic deeds were accounted for, yet so many still knew of the mercenary that she once was. A deadly warrior that tore apart the land with incredible skills as a child of Jeralt. A fearsome foe against those who went against the Adrestian Empire. A heartless tactician that struck down Dimitri and Rhea. A powerful figure that had once been granted divine power by the goddess.

She was best known as…

“Ashen Demon!”

Byleth bit the bottom of her lip. Knowing full well of their actions, she violently tossed the axe down to the ground, its tainted blade bounced a couple of times on the rough pavement. Blood trickled from her arm and down to her fingertips as the ex-mercenary narrowed her eyes. Not everyone adhered and accepted the new changes that came after the war.

“Ashen Demon!”

The chants were starting to grate on her nerve. Normally, the suppressed emotions that she was stunted with at a tender age would have helped her here. Sothis might also pop her two cents at the situation. But she is not like her past self. Byleth is no longer the past Byleth. She is the present Byleth that has been molded after the war. A Byleth that sided with the Adrestian Empire. A Byleth that has married to Edelgard. She gritted her teeth.

“Ashen Demon!”

She crouched down to pick up her belongings. They were, luckily, unsoiled by her injury. However, one of the villagers promptly ran forward and lurched a foot upward. It came into direct contact with her nose.

“!”

A burst of agony jolted from the heavy smack. That sent her down to her knees. Byleth immediately felt the tears spurt from the corner of her eyes as she instinctively covered her face. Crimson colored her palm upon retraction, the throbs embed on the cartilage. She softly groaned and raised her head. The guilty individual flared her nostrils, her sharp gaze stabbing heartlessly at the fallen fighter.

“If it hadn’t been you, I wouldn’t have lost my younger sister to the war!”

“…”

Byleth lowered her head. She had nothing to say about the matter. Rather, she wasn't sure of what to say. Any one of the enemies she could have struck might be her sibling. Or it could be a comrade from a battalion that died in the line of battle for the empire. Byleth wasn't sure who it was. Everyone's face outside of Jeralt's battalion and the staffing and students from Garreg Mach Monastery were a complete blur. However…

“Her loss was an unfortunate one.”

A gentle hand rested on top of Byleth’s head. She didn’t have to look to see who it was. The vermillion emperor stood by the older woman and frowned at the civilian. Standing with conviction, she continued,

“She was a noble soldier. I thank her for her service.”

“She was with the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus!”

Without allowing Edelgard to speak, the villager marched up to the emperor and attempted to slap her. The lord caught her wrist in a swift motion. Red armored fingers crinkled on the soft skin as Edelgard murmured, “I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t ask for forgiveness, but I ask that you please refrain from harming my wife.”

“Wife? Hah!" she tore her wrist away. "I’ve forgotten that you’ve gotten married right after the war.”

Grumbles came from the small crowd. It appears they were not too pleased with the turn of event for their new lord. As they were used to serving and staying under the rule with the Crest social system and Dimitri’s guidance, they were clearly opposed to their new ruler and the “Ashen Demon.” It offended them to no end that the two warriors were greeted with their happily ever after. What about the collateral damage from the conflict?

Edelgard shook her head.

“I won’t ask you twice. Leave us alone.”

Seeing that they weren't going to budge from their position, she glared.

“NOW.”

The disgruntled and violent mass scrambled away from the white-haired. They knew better than to cross with Edelgard von Hresvelg. Unlike Byleth, a mere tactician, placing a finger on Edelgard would warrant a death sentence. That left the two alone by the entranceway of the marketplace. Remaining bystanders that watched the scuffle resumed to their duties and responsibilities after Edelgard motioned to them. Her features immediately softened once she turned towards the older female.

“Oh, Professor…” the emperor knelt and supported Byleth up to her feet. “You know you don’t have to hold back whenever you’re in danger…”

Edelgard proceeded to pull out a handkerchief from her pocket as the ex-mercenary shook her head.

“They’re not aiming to kill me.”

“Even when they did this to you?” she patted the clean white cloth onto her nose, its fabrics soaking up the magma color. “It hurts me to see you get hurt like this.”

“They’re just frustrated.”

“Still—”

“El,” Byleth extended her uninjured arm and cupped the young woman. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

A faint tinge of pink discolored Edelgard’s cheeks. She muttered incoherently under her breath. This amused the wounded warrior, making her chuckle. Byleth leaned forward to plant a fleeting kiss on her wife’s lips. Once Edelgard managed to cast white magic and seal the now-scarred arm, the two left the premise, though not empty-handed.

Edelgard hugged the armored plushie. She buried part of her face into the stuffed bear as her hands kept ahold of the bouquet. The distance between the market and the palace was not far. It would take about half an hour on foot at their current leisurely pace. Lilac hues flickered to the teal-haired.

“The country that we’ve united and protected… Are we faced with this unbearable pain?”

Peace may have fallen, but that did not mean everyone agreed to it. Some wished for a different ending. They were sided with the enemies and spared from death. Others mourned for their lost, whether it be familial or friendly. All of their fury aimed at the two prominent figures in Fodlan history: Edelgard von Hresvelg and Byleth Eisner. Scandals and rumors spread like wildfire in desperate attempts to pull them down to their level. Assassination operations were acted out to eliminate their power in Fodlan. Then, there were brutal harassments like earlier today with Byleth. Those were the more daring ones that had hoped to drive them off… especially the ex-mercenary. The “Ashen Demon” has no place in this country! She must leave! She is the one that acted as a vital operative in the dreaded five-year war!

Byleth huffed. She reached over to her wife and pulled her into a hug as they walked. Leaning her head onto Edelgard’s head, she said,

“So long as we’re together, we can face this pain… together.”

#loyalflutist #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #edeleth #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #os #edelgard von hrevelg #edelgard #byleth #byleth eisner #f!byleth #f!byleth x edelgard

52 notes · View notes

boundinshallows · 5 years

Text

The ever wonderful @mintjamsblog asked for some of my favorite books, so in no particular order:

1. Passing - Nella Larsen

You know, it’s been years since I’ve read this novel/la, but it’s one that’s left an impression. Passing encapsulates the complexities of early 20th century race relations in America through Clare’s racial (and sexual?) passing. There’s a lot happening in such a short book.

“Money's awfully nice to have. In fact, all things considered, I think, 'Rene, that it's even worth the price.”

2. Call Me By Your Name - Andre Aciman

I first read this back in 2011/2012, and I didn’t think it could ever be adequately adapted into a film. (I was wrong). Aciman has this incredible ability to articulate the most difficult to express emotions/yearnings, particularly those associated with young love. I also love the impossibility of it all (which the film as conveyed). Happy endings are great and all, but give me realism almost any day of the week tbh. I have fan fiction for the curtain fic.

“Did I want him to act? Or would I prefer a lifetime of longing provided we both kept this little Ping-Pong game going: not knowing, not-not-knowing, not-not-not-knowing? Just be quiet, say nothing, and if you can't say "yes," don't say "no," say "later." Is this why people say "maybe" when they mean "yes," but hope you'll think it's "no" when all they really mean is, Please, just ask me once more, and once more after that?”

3. The Winternight Trilogy - Katherine Arden

Technically three books, I suppose. Winternight is a great series for people who are uncertain about fantasy, but who are fans of historical fiction. The series features a lot of magic on the periphery of the real world, which is a trope I LOVE. And the magic isn’t high fantasy magic, but comes in the form of Russian folklore. The heroine is lovely and the romantic subplot satisfying.

“All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.”

4. The Book of the Ancestor Trilogy - Mark Lawrence

Oof, THIS SERIES. This series is in the same vein as Harry Potter in terms of premise in some sense. However, instead of a wizarding school, our heroine goes to a nunnery where they train assassin nuns. Magical assassin nuns. LOOK, it’s just good, okay? The first two books were perfect. The final book could have been another 100 pages or so, but still felt like a solid conclusion. Also, girls in love.

“IT IS IMPORTANT, when killing a nun, to ensure that you bring an army of sufficient size. For Sister Thorn of the Sweet Mercy Convent Lano Tacsis brought two hundred men.”

5. Mysterious Skin - Scott Heim

This book is a trigger-palooza, so be warned. I mentioned this book at some point last year. It’s been a few months, but whenever it pops into my mind, I automatically think “fuck”. The thing that Heim pulls off masterfully in this novel is the reader is more knowledgeable than one of the main characters in the WORST way possible. As Brian slowly starts remembering bits of his abuse and thinks it’s alien abduction (but you KNOW it’s not it at all and can piece what really happened in this alien abduction scenarios...fuck), there’s this overwhelming sense of dread. I need Heim to write a sequel to this book where Brian and Neil get loads of therapy. Like, so much therapy.

“It was a light that shone over our faces, our wounds and scars. It was a light so brilliant and white it could have been beamed from heaven, and Brian and I could have been angels, basking in it. But it wasn’t, and we weren’t.”

6. The Masquerade - Seth Dickinson

This is an in-progress series, so I’m not sure what the final book count will be. It’s non-magical fantasy that digs deep into issues of colonialism and sexuality. There’s a war going on, and we see that war happen through the eyes of the most unlikely of all fantasy POV characters: an accountant. Yes, a whole epic series about war told from an accountant in service of the empire who settled her island home. The narrative is so complex that sometimes it makes ASOIAF feel as straightforward as Dr. Seuss. I struggled to keep up at times. It’s one of those books that you just have to let happen and try to hang on for the ride. I promise twists and turns like none other.

“Honor,” Apparitor murmured, “is just a credit rating for violence.”

7. American Gods - Neil Gaiman

Much like Winternight, what I love best about American Gods is the folklore and magic-at-the-periphery. As the title suggests, this feels like a uniquely American story to tell where Gaiman asks the question: what happens to the gods/beliefs of all those who immigrated to America? What happens when we no longer believe in those gods? (The STARZ adaptation does some stuff I really like, but drops the ball in other areas).

“Back in my day, we had it all set up. You lined up when you died, and you'd answer for your evil deeds and your good deeds, and if your evil deeds outweighed a feather, we'd feed your soul and your heart to Ammet, the Eater of Souls"

"He must have eaten a lot of people."

"Not as many as you'd think. It was a really heavy feather. We had it made special. You had better be pretty damn evil to tip the scales on that baby...”

8. Angels in America - Tony Kushner

So this is a play, not a book. However, I think it’s one of the most important pieces of fiction of the 20th century. Angels follows the story of Prior Walter, a gay man newly diagnosed with AIDS. I can’t quite explain exactly why I love it or why it’s so important really. I think it combines the uniquely American story (that I’ve mentioned in American Gods and even Passing) with complex storytelling and emotions (a la Call Me).

Harper: In your experience of the world. How do people change? Mormon Mother: Well it has something to do with God so it's not very nice. God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out and the pain! We can't even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn. It's up to you to do the stitching. Harper: And then up you get. And walk around. Mormon Mother: Just mangled guts pretending. Harper: That's how people change.

#book rec #books I've read

10 notes · View notes

luna-rainbow · 5 years

Text

Recommended jdramas last decade

Given that the ratings list isn't exactly diverse and lots of interesting dramas didn't make the top cut, I thought I'd come up with a recommendation list. I remember back in the 2000s J-dramas were all the rage but now there seems to be much less interest in them outside of Japan, but that doesn't necessarily mean the quality is less! My preferred genres are more on the tense and action-packed side, and I rarely watched rom-coms or slice of life dramas until more recently. Nevertheless there are some very topical ones that are worth mentioning. Police procedurals 1) BOSS 1 & 2: another one of my perennial favourites. Set at the pace of American procedurals, equipped with snappy humour and quirky characters, it is the perfect amalgamation of funny, touching and gripping. 2) Strawberry Night: the original series with the gorgeous Takeuchi Ryoko and Nishijima Hidetoshi is leagues above the remake. It's much darker than BOSS but perhaps more resonant because of it. 3) Kinkyuu Torishirabeshitsu seasons 1-3: similar to BOSS, this cast consists of veteran supporting actors who play off well against each other. The cases range from satisfying to acutely dissatisfying, just as in real life. 4) Keiji 7-nin: similar to KinTori, the cast consists of some solid veteran actors, and the cases range from triumphant to depressing. There are some interesteing back stories to the characters, but it's not as well developed as you might hope. 5) Zettai Reido season 3: I tried to go back and rewatch the first 2 seasons, but it's a completely different story. Consisting of mostly a young green cast, somehow the actors have fit the roles so well that it doesn't irk. The cases mostly end on a note of despair and helplessness, as the system rolls over and quashes anyone in its way. 6) CRISIS: for the longest time I confused this with BG as the set-up of the characters are quite similar. It's very well-made, but again the characters function in a morally grey territory and is an interesting digression from the usual straight procedural. Crime solvers 1) 99.9 seasons 1 & 2: quirky and humorous, but also full of heart, and with Kagawa playing the straight foil to MatsuJun's insolent lawyer, it is almost perfect except for the lack of insipration in its cases. 2) Unnatural: I still consider this to have one of the best developed back-stories and characterisations of any crime-solver or police procedural. The script is by Noki Akiko, and it has a sensitivity to it that is not often seen in this cerebral genre. 3) Galileo seasons 1 & 2: released back in the day when Fukuyama Masaharu was still hugely popular, this was long enough ago that I don't actually remember what I liked about it, except that I do like and recommend it. 4) Kagi no kakatta heya: out of Arashi, I've never thought of Ohno as the best actor but when the role fits him, it fits like a glove. Based on a manga, it has the occasional unrealistic plot holes that comes with this genre, but overall it's well-produced, funny and the 3 main characters play off each other to hilarious effect. Medical dramas 1) Code Blue 1 & 2 - Hayashi Koji has a remarkable grasp on the mentality of young doctors. The first two seasons of Code Blue are on my perennial recommend list 2) Black Pean - I hesitated about whether to put this down, but there's actually very few medical dramas I recommend even though I watch a lot of them. I did enjoy Black Pean for its production quality and the dedication of the actors, but the script is an absolute let-down. 3) DOCTORS seasons 1-3 - this subversive drama straddles medical and comedy, and Sawamura's character slowly turned from a straight, obliviously helpful do-gooder, to an outright calculating manipulator but with the best of intentions. It is a fascinating premise for a main character and I'd recommend it purely for that. Rom-coms 1) Nigeru wa haji daga yaku ni tatsu - I really shouldn't put something I couldn't keep watching as the top, but apart from the fact I couldn't stand the 2 main actors, the story was an interesting philosophical exploration of what a live-in relationship means in practical terms. 2) Hotaru no Hikari 2 - again this was so long ago I couldn't remember much of it, except it was nice and sweet, although I think the first season was better contained. 3) Watashi ga ren'ai dekinai riyuu - I'm not quite sure this qualifies as rom-com as the characters didn't all get their happily ever after (which is actually quite rare in Japanese dramas). The story revolves around three women, each progressive yet conformative in their own ways, and how they dealt with the social expectations of courtship. A nice watch and probably a realistic window into how romance works in Japan. Underdog victories 1) Doctor X series 1-6 - Look, as much as I HATE this series as a medical drama wannabe, it is the defining story for the underdog against a conservative hierachical paternalistic world. It is full of impossible triumphs, no bad outcome ever happens and the main character never loses. 2) Shitamachi Rocket 1 & 2 - arguably the series that started the Ikeido Jun craze, it turned something boring and nerdy (rocket and machine engineering) into gripping rollercoaster drama. Well-acted and well-scripted, it made you cheer for the characters even as your real boring self acknowledge how ludicrous their victories are. 3) Grand Maison Tokyo - this is a story of redemption through the shared love of food, brought together by a team of great actors who clearly had great fondness of each other. There are some silly moments, but a lot of it was touching, sweet and highly rewarding, just like a beautiful meal. 4) No Side Game - I tossed up putting Riku-Ou in as well, but in the end I thought No Side Game was slightly better. Both based around sports (marathon and rugby, respectively), it's full of hot-blooded idealism about loyalty, teamwork and dedication, a shounen manga fairytale for adults. Slice of life 1) Gibo to musume no Blues - I'm really not a "slice of life" person, but this drama exceeded all expectations. It starts off odd and a little slow, but each episode will make you laugh and then cry a little about what it means to be family, all the silly moments, the frustrating moments and the tender moments that we share. 2) Ie-uru onna (season 1) - I'm not too sure this quite fits in "slice of life" or comedy, because the main character really is rather odd, but the first season had some beautifully reflective stories, again about what it means to be family and what home means to the different people in society. I don't know what happened in the 2nd season, but it's definitely lost that evocative touch. 3) Jimi ni sugoi! - maybe because the publishing industry interests me, but I thought this was a very cute series with some good inside tips about publishing, but also can be drawn to reflect on how people should view their vocation. Almost a rom-com, not quite a comedy, but a really nice light-hearted series with Ishihara Satomi at her most radiant. 4) Watashi, teiji de kaerimasu - this was a surprisingly sweet take on difficult problems that aren't necessarily unique to the Japanese workplace - the clash of generational values, the internal sense of inadequacies and the people who are deterimentally unable to say no. The main character, rather than being the focus of growth as often happens in these dramas, turn out to be the mediator as she uses her previous painful experiences of burnout to guide others through their own struggles. Suspense 1) 3-nen A-gumi: while prone to hyperbole and melodrama, this was a very nice fable of adulthood and the idea that once you are an adult, you must take responsibility for the consequences of your own actions, told through the microcosm that is Class 3A. Highly recommended. 2) BG: slick and well-produced, as many of KimuTaku's dramas are, it had action and suspense in good measures but unfortunately wasn't quite carried by the plot. Each individual case was interesting enough, but the main plot was rather convoluted and disappointing. 3) Ouroboros: almost similar to Toma's earlier Maou, it was cerebral, suspenseful and full of a sense of inevitable tragedy. The ending was more than it could chew, but it gave a good effort. 4) Kazoku Game: one of those rare dramas that really suited Sakurai Sho, where he was the intelligent and highly sociopathic and slightly psychotic home tutor for a highly dysfunctional family. A fascinating watch. Comedy I have to say this is a genre I struggle with. I'd happily watch slapstick and screaming in an anime, but live action is just awks. There's been some popular ones that I haven't watched but have heard good things about: - Tami-Ou: the sleazy prime minister accidentally swaps body with his extremely introverted son, and they both have to try and continue the facade. - Kyou kara ore wa: high school kids pretending they're better than they're really are, we've all been through that. This is not an exhaustive list by any means. There's a lot of well-reviewed dramas that I hadn't been able to catch, especially in the first half of the decade. There's a bunch of highly popular dramas that I hadn't been able to continue, but clearly they've got their appeal to the Japanese audience. I think in general Japanese dramas do human drama very well, especially the various relationships we have in our lives and how they interact. It's not great at doing the K-drama fairytale romance. I hope the list helps people try out some new things, or you could check out the top ratings list for other safe bets.

#jdrama #jdorama

13 notes · View notes

twilightknight17 · 5 years

Text

So roughly...jesus, Tumblr says it was two years ago, was it seriously?? Anyway, roughly two years ago I made my very first Hours post about categorizing the dungeons and Palaces in Persona with context from all the games, because I needed to make sure I was being consistent in my canon. Since that post, I’ve written... something like 315,000 more words in the series? And I want to try to organize what I was saying better, and go into some more detail about a certain part, because I feel like I need to explain a choice in the most recent Hours bit. So, as always, lots of rambling under the cut.

And also, no P5R spoilers.

So the general idea of what I said in the other post is that the difference between a dungeon, a Palace, and any other kind of cognitive area is the mental state behind its formation. So for the purposes of this post:

Dungeon – a distorted cognitive area that can form around a suppressed part of yourself, imprisoning traits that you don’t like or can’t accept as part of you. The P4 kids and Futaba had dungeons, suppressing parts of themselves until they were able to confront their shadow and accept themselves completely. The warped appearance of a dungeon is based on a distorted view of yourself. You lock away the part of you that feels like an imprisoned princess, the dungeon warps the place you feel trapped in into a castle. You lock away the good part of you because you think you deserve to die, the dungeon warps your surroundings into a tomb.

Palace – a distorted cognitive area that can form from a warped view of the world. The Palace’s “treasure” is the source of the distortion, the thing that caused their thinking to go out of control in the first place. The P5 antagonists and Adachi had Palaces, seeing the world around them in a way that it wasn’t. The warped appearance of a Palace is based on a distorted view of the world around you. You view the world as a stage on which you perform your role, the Palace warps it into a Theatre. You see the town where you live as a worthless, empty ruin, the Palace becomes ground zero of a calamity.

“Heart World” - a Wild Card-specific cognitive area that can contain multiple elements of other kinds of areas, as well as multiple shadows, to reflect a Wild Card’s nature as someone with many personas. Mostly fanon, based on P1. Maki’s Heart World in P1 is the only canon example we have of a Wild Card’s cognitive area, because we’ve never had another one break far enough to form one. And as an important note, a Wild Card could still have a Palace or a dungeon without it necessarily being a Heart World. It depends on what makes them break, and how severely.

I’m sure you could also come up with other variations of things. The differences are subtle, but there. Wakaba mentions a “cognitive stronghold” in Intermezzo, protecting someone’s greatest desire, which could describe a Palace, but also has the potential to be something else. A Palace isn’t really protecting your desires, it’s manifesting how you view the world because of some sort of desire.

But that gets into a lot of headcanon and nuance that’s probably not necessary, and really the point of this post was that I wanted to talk more about the relationship between Shadows and personas, and having a persona while also having a Palace, because Adachi having a persona is the first thing that anyone is going to notice is inconsistent about my whole “Magatsu Inaba is a Palace” thing. So the first thing I want to get out of the way is that I think Morgana knows a lot by observation, but he doesn’t know everything. (Hence calling Futaba’s thing a Palace when really it’s much more of a dungeon.) So “persona-users can’t have a Palace” is only valid up to a certain point. Yeah, you’re not going to have a dungeon/Palace/whatever if you have a solid grasp on your sense of self, but you could absolutely break down and revert your persona to your shadow. Or, in the case I’m going to argue, your persona could end up corrupted.

A Palace ruler isn’t suppressing their true self, because their true self is distorted. The premise of a dungeon is that you’re imprisoning and denying your inner shadow, and accepting that shadow instead brings it back under your control as a persona. But a Palace ruler’s shadow is how they see themselves as part of the distortion. It’s not something they’re ashamed of or denying. So theoretically, were someone to enter their own Palace (like Adachi) and accept their distorted shadow, it would give them a corrupted persona (like Magatsu Izanagi). That’s how you end up with a persona and a Palace at the same time, because the distortion still exists, you’ve just accepted it.

And this is all just interpretation, but it’s based in canon as much as I can, so hopefully it all makes sense. Now please enjoy the mental image of Shido wandering into his own Palace and summoning that giant gold lion as a persona for his boss fight. :P

#Hours!verse #Hours!lore #meta post #headcanon #so much headcanon #no spoilers

16 notes · View notes

sparda3g · 5 years

Text

Gintama Chapter 703 Review

youtube

This chapter is amazing. I don’t need to review it; just leave it like that and you already know why. Joking aside (not really), what is there to say about it? It’s not the chapter I thought I wanted, but it’s the chapter I didn’t think I needed. It’s Gintama at its finest in its serious tone. It’s the finale that surpassed the last Utsuro battle. It’s the finale that surpassed my expectation, and trust me, it was pretty high. It’s the finale that the fans will forever remember.

Right from the beginning, it’s a knee-jerking experience with a sheer amount of intensity in the air. Gintoki and Utsuro are not even fighting, yet I got goosebumps just reading their dialogues. Speaking of which, Utsuro continue to be the most sinister villain in a long time for Shounen Jump. I know it’s technically not part of it anymore, but it did spawn from it. The point is, Utsuro is intimidating as always, drawing the aura of sinister that have outsmarted everyone.

He retells the whole story on why and how all the events led to this moment, in case if you are confused. Above all, it does add the shivering feeling because of how right he was about everything. The line about the path makes a callback, which makes me happy, because I reflect this many times before on how important his words were. That means I didn’t overthink it; Sorachi acknowledged it. Also, it adds more to the theme of Silver Soul; a necessary conflict to challenge. Lastly and more importantly, it adds more to Gintoki’s character; a man who can’t escape the tragic path that happened to repeat itself. It’s a mad world.

The showdown between the two have been on-point and stellar, and they haven’t yet to attack to make it so. Even Gintoki grasping his sword got me chills; that’s how unnerving it is. He may have gone through hell, but he will forever keep his words with his friends. No matter what happens, they will find their way to regroup. The conversation is so compelling. It doesn’t resort to power of friendship in blatant terms. All of their words felt meaningful because it relates perfectly to their characters. Those words about Takasugi made me feel so good, but it ultimately segue to a twist to Utsuro’s own game.

The twist is great because it finally put Utsuro in his own mind game, and rightfully deserved. It turns out that he was the one lying down and Shouyo was never there. It was confusing, of course, but the explanation is pretty rewarding. We last saw him about to kill Shouyo, but it actually never went through. He was stopped by Oboro because his blood was also consumed. This makes sense, especially when we just learned about how everything works. Not only that, but it’s even better with him being the one to stop. How can Sorachi make a dead guy, who was once a villain, become so likable in after life? That’s amazing.

I got so gleeful when Gintoki takes the role of a tyrant, looking down on Utsuro. It’s like I have foodgasm without taking a bite. The mind game on Utsuro is awesome; that line delivery about what he sees is superb. Takasugi stabbed himself rather than on Shouyo; that commitment cannot be broken. Gintoki’s strike is so well earned, along with the parallel. To recap, Shouyo is saved (for now) and he’s going to be helped by Yorozuya. Those moments were stellar enough, the next scene is downright masterful, but it comes with a heavy price.

It’s really tough to choose the best scene of this chapter. It’s interchangeable to me. Regardless, the next scene is perhaps the moment I never expected. I was so hung on the idea that the final battle must be explosive, literally or not, tons of action, and a solid storytelling. Maybe because plenty of writers thought bigger means better. That is not the case, and that’s a great thing. What the fans get and thankfully understand the nature and premise, is a wonderful climatic end.

Just before the final exchange, there’s one more conversation; preparing you for the greatness. The bone-chilling feeling that I have comes from Gintoki posing like a true Samurai, ready to fight. That cold stare only increase the chill factor. Utsuro’s words are hurtful, especially when he more or less guilt tripping Gintoki. Words about losing a master and a friend; those are stabbing to the heart pain. The narrative is whether the end path for Gintoki will forever be an empty void. Shouyo is saved, but will Takasugi be saved as well? The answer is yes; just not what you’re hoping for.

It’s badass enough for Gintoki to pose as a Samurai; it’s even more so when he doesn’t move at all to all of Utsuro’s hit. None of them connects; he stands as he knows he will never be empty. The ones he wanted to protect are right there, in his soul. That panel with Takasugi preventing Utsuro’s attacks is pure awesome. That’s friendship at its best. The next scene…is mesmerizing. Everything is impactful for one main reason: the storytelling. If Utsuro was just himself, it would have been pretty cool, but that would be the end of it. It would have been a high-five victory only. However, this is Takasugi’s body, so the story has changed. It’s a heartbreaking story that will pain the fans. It’s a tragic story that must be done. And I love it.

I love every single panel. It’s all one-sided, but it’s incredible. Much like how One Punch Man is brilliant at one-hit gag, this is brilliant at finishing the fight in a one-sided beat down with a crushing soul. I love how every hit slowly eats Gintoki’s calmness, closing in to kill Utsuro, but above all, kill his best friend. The memories begin to surface, causing me to feel the agony. I can’t do it justice here, but it’s simply gorgeous. My favorite part is the sword reflection. No matter what happens, no matter if Takasugi has to die, the reflection shows true color: he is proud of Gintoki. This is unfair. I don’t want to cry.

The way how it was paneled is amazing. It is an emotional roller coaster and each passing panel draws closer to sad fate. It aches me when it zooms in Gintoki’s eyes; understanding the pain he has to go through, but it has to be done. That roar as he holds Takasugi’s sword is chilling. The sad part is, I wanted to cheer and celebrate, but instead, I found myself pleading to stop. The double page spread says it all; epic but heartbreaking. The deed is done. I love Utsuro’s end as he truly learned the lesson as he dies; the lesson of humanity staying strong in the soul. It speaks well to his character and it’s better than simply meet people with strong willpower. It’s a great moral that captured the theme. I honestly didn’t do justice on the scene, but it’s one I often go back dozens and dozens of time; no exaggeration.

The scene with Yorozuya and Shouyo is something I thought I would never see, but undoubtedly welcoming. It makes completely sense for them to interact; it’s simply the past meet the present. It also works out well to give Shouyo a better light that his action has its upbringing and that is giving Gintoki the life he has. The panels with Gintoki looking down at Takasugi with a line about saving or protecting is quite telling. It’s very fitting for Shinpachi to be the one to thank Shouyo for meeting Gintoki. Who knows what would have happened instead if they didn’t meet. It’s such a nice moment of two generations bonding. Now, here comes the hardest part.

I wasn’t so sure what to prepare for, but it’s not the writing fault. It’s me hoping for a quick asspull or something people despise in Shounen genre. The series may be at the end, but to see a very popular character to die is hard to accept. Rarely that happens. Maybe, Takasugi would receive the Sasuke treatment, even if it was bull crap. Sadly, Sorachi doesn’t play that way. In short, this is it; pay respect one last time.

It’s as everything you can expect; it’s downright sad. I find it morbid to think the wins and losses count was a huge indication for their end. It was designed for one to receive the win to decide it all, but at a price of a life. Not like this. Even so, it’s touching that Gintoki doesn’t want the victory, even if Takasugi finds it pity. I love their last share of conversation, talking about how they were bitter with each other since youth, but they could have been best of friends. Scratch that; they always have been. What hurts me the most is the fact Takasugi had lived in the past for so long and what could have been show plenty of possibilities; but his death means it wasn’t meant to be. If that’s not tragic, I don’t know what is.

When I read the chapter’s title, I was speculating that it could mean a good thing. Technically, I was right, but not like this. Sorachi truly knows how to make something simple, complex, small, or large absolute meaningful, and by God, this is no exception. Takasugi’s left eye’s final vision was the tear of his best friend. The right should see Gintoki as the man he knows very well; the man he can called an eternal rival. That’s his final wish, and Gintoki grants that with a smile. The eye slowly closes; God, it’s hard. He vowed to get his win one day in Hell, and Takasugi will be waiting.

He’s gone. Gintoki cries. Powerful. Simply powerful.

Everything from this scene, let alone the chapter, was masterful. I don’t know how my face looked like, but I know my eyes were watery. Let me tell you, listening to Unravel acoustic was a massive mistake. It had me pouring. You can complain all you want about not wanting to end, but if it result to this pure quality, why fight it? This is what the fans truly deserved. Not exactly killing a beloved character, but the top level of writing that one would say, “It’s been 84 years.” I know it’s a joke, but I have to lighten up after this. The next chapter will be the last. By all means, end it. We are satisfied enough.

This chapter will go down as the best of the series; most likely the best I have read this year. It will likely to have the best ending in a long time. I am seriously considering to buy all volumes in one sweep. There’s no need to repeat on why this chapter is the best. You read it and you’ll know it. If only this was posted in a magazine; I will buy it in a heartbeat. Here’s to the final chapter. Takasugi won’t be here next time, but the soul will go on forever.

Rest in Peace, Takasugi.

#gintama #chapter 703 #review #spoilers

24 notes · View notes

warlordgab · 6 years

Text

NaLu analysis: Context, Substance, and Chemistry

Many FT readers find, one way or another, multiple moments that showcase the strength of NaLu and highlight their chemistry.

However, not everyone is capable of perceiving how the story nourishes this relationship, not only by means of obvious moments but also by the context of several scenes.

This is one of the reasons why wankers are prone to ignore or completely disregard context to fabricate something to make implausible premises (cracks) seem as solid as a semi-canon pairing.

For example, some use the following scenario as a sign of a rising romantic relationship: the female lead slaps a character she and her partner are familiar with because he trash-talked the values the guild stood for, something that hurt her a lot.

Granted it was all an act and the guy apologized at the end, but the slap and apology are still overhyped by wankers as something as big as what NaLu may offer.

However, when this scene is put in the context of what Lucy’s character was going through, the story points in a different direction.

The scene was painful to Lucy because she was struggling against the fear of the FT guild, which she considers her family, not coming back, and having a member of that family bad-mouthing the guild only confirmed her fears... until it was revealed that was all an act. And this isn’t just speculation; right after everyone returned, Lucy expressed to Natsu, Happy, and Wendy this fear she had

But the context also offers something else. Let us ask, what gave Lucy the strength and hope she needed to, at the very least, fight this fear?

Instead of “what” we should ask “who.” The answer? Natsu, who not only provided Lucy with the hope she needed in a passive way. He also took action in response to her desire to get the guild back together and brought her to an adventure to reunite their scattered guildmates.

Again, this isn’t mere speculation. Natsu worked in the idea of getting the guild back together right after this scene:

While not explicitly romantic, these actions are far more meaningful than an overhyped slap/apology.

It’s safe to say that this element is quite unfriendly with less likely premises. Still, context not only refutes non-sensical arguments, but it also enhances NaLu moments when factoring it into the equation.

For example, the movie storyboarded by Mashima himself, Dragon Cry, features a moment previously analyzed in another post. The moment by itself looks strong, but it’s the context that further solidifies the scene as “NaLu.”

At the beginning of the story, we get Natsu asking Lucy in a curious manner “What do I look like?”. This line will be repeated at the end in the form of a "meaningful echo" as Natsu beats the bad guy with a new transformation (which made him look more like a dragon and less like a person for a while).

So, the context now gives the scene a deeper meaning as it shows how much Natsu values the perspective Lucy has of his person and how it affects his character the way she sees him.

More often than not, context allows readers to grasp the substance of a relationship and, in some cases, even individual characters.

On the other hand, there’s another underrated element many either disregard or misinterpret. It is something we already considered in an earlier post, but given how wankers try to twist this concept to downgrade NaLu, we’re going to touch this subject once again: Chemistry

As we explained before, many readers can admit NaLu has several moments throughout the author’s works, but wankers or haters still deem this bond as something lacking in “real chemistry.”

Some of you probably read my previous “rant” before and realized, one way or another, wankers promote arguments to say “implausible” premises can easily match what NaLu has. And one relatively new argument relies on the claim of certain cracks having “real chemistry” while NaLu doesn’t have any...

Does this claim hold any merits?

Short answer: No. Logic and evidence refute such arguments

First, let us consider the term “chemistry” once again. To truly understand this concept in the context of literary works we need to what true chemistry is not

True chemistry is not about commonalities. Usually playing the straight man or woman in crazy situations doesn't automatically makes you a match for someone who may do the same.

True chemistry is not about saving the girl or getting rescued by someone. A typical advice about writing chemistry indicates that it should never be implied that a character owns the other a relationship because of favors done. Saving the girl is not enough to claim a pairing has the "superior" chemistry.

Now that we cleared that up, we can answer the question: What is chemistry?

In the context of relationships, chemistry is related to mutual trust/faith; it’s a natural connection, "a bond, or common feeling between two people." In fact, "real chemistry between characters happens when they affect each other in big ways."

So, we can measure chemistry, not by commonalities, not by the characters' overall intelligence, but by how the moments they share leave an impact. When meaningful gestures and significant moments result in an emotional attachment.

But, despite all of this wankers may insist on their premises being just as solid as NaLu. What do they use as “evidence” for this claim?

The first thing many of these shippers tend to use is a “Freudian Slip” to prove a Mr. Fanservice character is seeking a romantic relationship with Lucy. The line goes something like this: “She’s kinda cute.”

Does NaLu have something better than that?

He deemed Lucy as “precious” to him as he battled the one who killed Lucy’s future self. His tears along with his actions made his words far more meaningful than a mere “Freudian Slip.”

Another moment that wankers may use involves this setting: Lucy powering through a great deal of danger and pain to save Natsu’s life with the assistance of the guy wankers promote as her would-be lover.

Does NaLu have an answer to that? Yes! All thanks to the context

The epicenter of Lucy’s emotional and physical struggle is Natsu and his potential fate after releasing him from the one thing that ties his life to Zeref’s existence.

What wankers used to justify their premises in this point of the story, turns out to be more supporting evidence of the strength of Lucy’s bond with Natsu when we factor context!

All that these shippers have left are very occasional “saved the girl” scenes and a few displays of “concern.”

We already mentioned how the reasoning “saving the girl means she owns her savior a relationship,” doesn’t match what a natural chemistry between characters should be. But, for the sake of debate let’s consider these moments anyway.

Wankers use these few showings to claim their favored character should get the 1st spot in Lucy’s heart. Because he shows “concern.” Doesn’t Natsu show a lot of concern for Lucy?

He’s pretty open about it and displays “concern” for her pretty often too, sometimes becoming hard to contain when it comes to the prospect of saving/protecting Lucy

So, if “concern” is the factor to claim a guy should be the girl’s lover/boyfriend/husband, then why wankers hype other characters over Natsu?

What about “saving the girl” scenes?

Natsu protected and saved Lucy...

...multiple times

If saving the girl = we’re a thing now, then why wankers still say their favorite option is the one who has the romantic relationship with Lucy instead of Natsu?

When all arguments are exhausted all that remains is one overhyped instance of Lucy teaming up with a cool sexy guy to parry several sand projectile attacks and claims of “wonderful friendship.”

If teamwork is a factor, then why the “most compatible team” as stated by the manga doesn’t get the same hype?

When analyzing the author’s works, we can see Natsu and Lucy displayed how well they worked together several times

When it comes to their relationship, in a previous post we also considered how their companionship and their potential to become a canon pairing can easily be described as “wonderful,” or as Lucy said: it’s always more fun when we’re together

At the end of the GMG arc, we could see how their bond, the “common feeling” between them could transcend time and space

So, why cracks are the ones deemed as “wonderful” while NaLu gets discarded?

The point is that even when several shippers claim the “saved the girl” scenes from their favored premises hold more merit, NaLu casually matches and surpasses the best they have.

This comparison is not meant to imply that saving the girl cannot be used to advance or enhance the romantic potential of a relationship. Some stories may resort to such a trope to build particular bonds, but what makes such scenes stand out is the context.

For example, one of the first NaLu moments seen in the series is when Lucy gets rescued by Natsu during the Phantom Lord arc. NaLu benefits from this scene not because Natsu was saving Lucy, but for the overall context of her situation...

...as some readers may realized by now, hearing Natsu’s voice as all that Lucy needed to jump off, taking what we could consider a “leap of faith.” This scene helps to stablish a great trust that’s growing between the characters involved.

It becomes even more meaningful when considered as part of a much bigger whole; this “whole” being the progression that created the emotional attachment that Natsu and Lucy share for one another.

Still, despite everything we’ve seen in the author’s works, even some NaLu shippers use this flawed logic to throw Lucy to the bed of a “better-looking” character or having her marry someone “cooler.” All while keeping Natsu, in the case of those who still remember he’s there, as the “other guy.”

This little exercise is meant to illustrate how, even when playing with some particular shippers’ “rules,” NaLu remains as the choice that makes the most sense and has the better chemistry. Unlike what some wankers/haters may say or think, NaLu is more than just a bunch of lovely fanarts.

Some shippers may disregard Natsu as the logical option because of his personality. He’s a good-hearted thrill-seeker; someone upbeat with a fondness for pranks and collecting mementos, as well as someone who’s prone to let out his emotions.

Several shippers don’t find such traits attractive or “worthy” of Lucy, while they favor the archetype of a stylish Mr. Fanservice character who has a cool, calm, and collected personality.

But, a potent relationship is not about what shippers consider “worthy” or “best boi.”

A potent relationship is about meaningful gestures, multiple impactful moments, consistent bonding, and a solid emotional chemistry.

One last thing to consider is this little detail: Some wankers decided to use the cover of chapter 379 not only as a sign of their crack being “semi-canon” but also as a tag for their premise.

When a hater tried to use the cover to attack rival shippers, even casual readers laughed at how delusional was claiming that cover contained anything that could support a pairing.

Then again, if we play by these wankers rules, we could mention two little pieces made by Mashima himself that when put together give us a pretty obvious message:

And as that MJ song says: “Who’s bad?”

#fairy tail #fairy tail dragon cry #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #nalu #otp: it's always more fun when we're together #defending nalu #chemistry #potent relationship #potent pairing #logic #analysis #recently edited

560 notes · View notes