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canarydarity · 3 months

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(mooooooooooore DL rancher angst. because what else am I good for </3 /j)

No matter how you looked at it, the knock was startlingly out of place; it was late, late enough that a truce-like state should have fallen over the players, late enough that no one would want to risk running into more mobs than they could handle; it was peaceful, they hadn’t accrued more than a single pair of red names so far, and he didn’t think they’d given Ren and Bigb a reason to come after them—at least, not more than anyone else had; it was also them, all season people had been coming and going from the ranch as they pleased, not an ounce of courtesy in sight. If someone really wanted to come in, they woulda just done it.

So, all in all…a knock?

Tango was already up and halfway across the room by the time his brain had synthesized these as the reasons why.

Behind him, Jimmy called a wobbly and worried “Tangooo?”

“Just,” Tango threw a hand backward towards the bed in hopes of staving off Jimmy’s shadow until he figured out what was going on. “Stay there, for a second.”

Like some cut-off had been reached, the second he was close enough to wrap his hand around the handle all haste had vanished—the feeling of urgency holding a negative association with his proximity to the door. He’d had the nerve to get up, to get himself there, but getting his hand to turn and push was an entirely different thing.

The door not yet having been opened, the possibility of what was waiting for him on the other side yawned and stretched towards endless. In a way, not knowing but speculating was worse than just opening the damn thing and facing the one singular scenario that was, but that was why he struggled to do it. Schrodinger’s danger—this was stupid; Tango opened the door.

No one was there.

He blinked in the face of its emptiness for a moment. Of all the situations he had considered, absolutely zero of them included opening the door to nothing. The one definite thing a knock spoke to was the presence of someone—something. So, what, they risked the middle of the night in peace times to come to the ranch they all loved barging into anyway to ding-dong ditch? That seemed, like, a gazillion times more unlikely.

Tango moved to shut the door, trying to shake off the adrenaline, the too-familiar feeling of someone else being a step ahead of him and bemused by it. He ducked to turn back to Jimmy, play the brave one, laugh it off in hopes Jimmy would follow, and then, he saw: just a glint in the corner of his eye, something small and shiny on the doorstep.

A golden apple.

Tango stared at it the way you’d stare at a car crash you hadn’t the chance to get out of the way of in time, the look a doctor had in their eye when they announced your prognosis was bad, abysmal, terminal. It was the brightest thing for yards—a glowing, unignorable fixed point; the kind of bright that in tree frogs usually indicated poisonous, the kind of glowy cartoonists made chemicals when they wanted you to know falling in would reduce you to bones. And it just sat there.

“Tango,” behind him, the bed creaked. “What is it?”

Urgency returned, and, with renewed purpose, Tango moved once more. Fear flooded his senses again—it hadn’t really gotten very far to begin with—but this time it was of a different breed, born from someplace else. He tried to both square himself in the doorway, block the view out, and regain nonchalance, affecting some sort of behavior that would convince Jimmy to just leave things be. “Nothing, don—”

But Jimmy was already behind him, and Tango wasn’t tall enough to obstruct his line of sight.

“Oh.”

And it sort of felt like Tango had failed. Failed what he didn’t know but by the stone in his stomach he knew that he had. He tracked the feeling all the way down his throat and through his middle, getting hooked and snagging on his organs as it went, pulling them with it until he was completely out of alignment, rearranged all wrong; the moment where you opened a test booklet and realized you didn’t know a single answer.

He shook his head, an aborted no becoming no more than a breath that passed his lips at just the right angle to whistle or whine. He bent down and picked up the apple, and, no sooner than he stood again, lobbed it down the hill towards the ravine in some effort to rectify even a modicum of his uselessness. The apple thunked hard into the dewy late-night grass, probably rolled somewhere out of the way; he didn’t know, he couldn't see it anymore—he’d have to grab it and dispose of it at some point, but he could do that in the morning. He had other things to attend to.

Tango shut the door and turned to assess the damage.

Jimmy’s arms were goosebumped where they were exposed—just his white undershirt left on to sleep in—and his head was tilted down, the top of it visible to Tango more than anything else, his hair not mused enough yet to be called bedhead though it was certainly a start. Tango took a step towards him, crowded him just a little, placed one of his hands on Jimmy’s waist, skin warmth bleeding through the thin cotton, and the other on the junction where his shoulder met his neck. Jimmy stayed looking down.

Tango couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say.

After a few seconds, Jimmy sniffled, pulled up one of his hands and ran it across his nose, mushed it into his cheek.

“Hey,” he ventured softly, in the absence of any other thought. Jimmy only glanced up slightly. “Let's…go back to bed, yeah?”

If it hadn’t already been clear that all chances of sleep had been banished by the panic of a late-night knock, it was by the way they both responded to that statement by sitting on the side of the bed rather than lying back down. A haze had fallen over the room, a trance-like state prompting them to move in the way they thought they should, in the way it seemed they were being directed; their actions pre-determined, someone else's hand on the joystick. Robotically, they maneuvered onto the bed side-by-side, silence still reigning, eye contact (from one party) still vehemently denied.

And it just…wasn’t fair. The way there was no period of wondering between the discovery and the understanding, the way Tango didn’t see the apple and question why it was there, but rather knew, innately, what was being poked, prodded at. He hadn’t stopped to doubt, he hadn’t been confused, and maybe that’s what was the most upsetting—not the presence of the apple alone, but the way the person who left it was confident its message would be interpreted without fail. The way Tango was complicit by letting it.

It was the fact that he hadn’t opened the door to a trap or an ambush, but to a taunt; the apple not left behind as some sort of distraction, someone waiting to break in the back while they looked out the front, but as something else entirely, something completely unrelated to the game and its progression. There were no hidden motives, no ulterior plans—only the sadistic amusement that came with throwing a rock into a pond just to see the fish scatter. It didn’t put whoever did it ahead, it didn’t force them to fall any more behind. It just was, and it was cruel.

Jimmy was still silently staring at the opposing wall, the both of them not even bothering to pretend they weren’t dwelling, and the more Tango sat in the discomfort that had fallen over the ranch, the more he thought, the angrier he got. He couldn’t just be here anymore and not do a single fucking thing about it. He leaned nearly entirely off the bed in his reach for his shoes, shoved his feet into them without precision or care about their security, and was up, diverting on his way towards the door to scrunch the fabric of his vest and pull it off the back of the chair it rested on, before turning on his heel and then he was off—

He was stopped with a hand gripping his forearm in its passing by, came to with Jimmy shouting “Tango!” for what he knew likely wasn’t the first time.

Tango looked. Jimmy hadn’t gotten off the bed, but he’d leaned forward to latch onto Tango and stop his campaign, his eyebrows raised in misery, his lips downturned in upset. He wasn’t looking away, just around; his eyes landing on the wall behind where Tango was standing, on the door that had remained quiet since they’d shut it again, on Tango’s chest, or his hand around Tango’s arm. It was the closest Tango had gotten to eye contact in minutes.

“What are you gonna walk around in the dark ‘til you find who put that there?”

Yes, if he had to—if that’s what it took. But before he could even begin to open his mouth, Jimmy pled, “Tango…” like he hadn’t really been asking, like he’d been hoping saying it would confirm Tango knew that idea was nonsense, not that Tango had been meaning to try regardless. It begged for common sense, it betrayed its wish to concede.

Tango let out all the air he’d reserved for his returning argument as a heavy breath, almost a sigh, a huff. Its frustration was clear. He knew he wasn’t going to find them, he knew there was no conclusion to be had, he knew the joke had already hit and the moment had already ended. He knew that. But he also knew that complacency wasn’t the answer, and that Jimmy deserved to be fought for.

He could’ve gone out anyway, walked around until the sun started coming up and all the mobs turned to ash—hell, he could’ve knocked on goddamn doors, inspired the same kind of fear in everyone else that a late night interruption in a game like this did them, and then demanded answers, no more Mr. nice guy. At least that way, he wouldn’t have had to lay back down, to have the conversation he hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

But Jimmy said, “Can we just go back to bed? Please?” And knew it was a request that couldn’t be denied, knew the power in this interaction that being the victim afforded him, and knew how to play his cards to get Tango to fold.

Tango took his shoes off, again, kicked them out of the way of the bed, gestured behind Jimmy with the hand that wasn’t being detained. Jimmy scooted backward on the bed, Tango’s forearm still in hand like the moment he let go Tango would dash immediately out the door, or dematerialize entirely, maybe; or even…run down the hill in search of something shimmering gold, and find himself unable to resist just one sweet bite. Tango followed him, nudged his shoulder until he complied and laid back down, allowing Tango to pull him closer as he did too.

Jimmy still didn’t look at him. They were nearly eye to eye, only one pillow to share between them both, face to face in the dark; their foreheads leaning against one another, shifting away only to find each other again after any and all movement.

Tango watched the sentence form on Jimmy's lips, watched his face rearrange throughout the composing of the question, the stringing of the words in a line, packaging them to be delivered. He swallowed as he awaited its transmission.

“If it weren’t against the rules, would you…?”

And Tango said, “It is against the rules,” before that could get any further. The wrong answer. He knew immediately after he said it that it was, and he’d kick himself for it if he could any feasibly at all without getting Jimmy in the crossfire. He knew better than to give a non-answer, but he hadn’t been responding to the actual question, his first thought only stop—a futile hope he could head off Jimmy’s negative feedback loop by undermining it at its core. Another failure on his part.

Jimmy closed his eyes, shook his head, “But if it weren’t—”

“No.”

Tango placed one of his hands on Jimmy’s cheek, tilted his head back up towards his, but Jimmy’s eyes remained trained down. “No,” he repeated—he insisted. He didn’t need the eye contact to know Jimmy didn’t believe him.

He leaned up and kissed Jimmy on the forehead, slid his hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and held him closer, but neither of them fell asleep for a while.

#this was just that. small moment. i fabricated for the second lim life one shot i wrot eform tangos pov #and its haunted me ever since and i wrote. half of it randomly like 3 weeks ago. and just finihsed it tonight on a whim #so pls enojy but know it was also written in haste aksjdhga it probably could be a bit better #i just want it to be done thoguh tbh so i can feel less unwell about this scene </3 #worm writes #team rancher #team rancher fic #solidaritek #trafficshipping #double life smp #jimmy solidarity #tango tek

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1997yakul · 6 months

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chapter 3: The Wolf

Men With Cold Exteriors and Kind Hearts, Among Other Great Sights

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥

summary: After getting a handle on things at your new job and putting your deposit down on your first apartment, you finally feel like you're proving your worth to the adult world. Only, is your catlike, hot, new boss (that smells too good) going to be an issue? Or, will it be the buff, delicate-mannered, heavy lifter that somehow just became your roommate? Either way-- this is fine, everything's okay, because you're grown now and you can figure it out....

Right?

(masterlist) ☆ (monsta x masterlist)

.｡.:*♡ Pairing: boss!changkyun x gender neutral reader ('pretty girl' is used once…sorry I simply couldn’t resist)

Word Count: 5.4k (chap1, chap2, chap3)

✧ Tags: chose your ending!, angst, humor, kissing, swearing, almost sexy time, absolutely broken changkyun iykyk, self doubt/worry/fear, alcohol consumption

✧ Notes: changkyun's ending !!! yippee enjoy

initially published on ao3 on july 11 2023

✩ fic is below the cut! enjoy ✩

Right as the door shuts, you wag your finger repeatedly at Hyunwoo and he throws his arms up in an accusing manner, bobbing his head saying “He did not hear me!” before getting interrupted with your hand clamping over his mouth.

“He literally turned around! And you are too loud! Still!” He laughs, backing out of your hand.

✱

Kihyun and Chaeyoung meet you at the bus stop the Monday after and are cracking up at videos they took of each other at karaoke. There’s a small pang of sadness, courtesy of FOMO.

And then it swallows itself with warmth at the memory of a ride home from Changkyun.

Sitting alone in the seat across from them, you ask to see the videos. Kihyun is belting out some sad ballad and Chaeyoung is recording, creating a very unstable video that trembles with each one of her bouts of laughter.

Kihyun’s eyes widen after you share some of your night with Changkyun to them. Chaeyoung gasps, huddling close and in a hushed voice says, “No, dude— you’re literally dating at this point.” She points to you, shaking her head slowly. Kihyun agrees, mumbling about how shocked he is that anyone could get Changkyun to loosen up.

“I don’t know, I think we are like… friends now. He told me to call him by his first name.” You say, fumbling with a zipper on your bag. Kihyun and Chaeyoung laugh, shocked beyond words. “I’m serious! I’ll show you, I swear.”

By the time you arrive at work with Kihyun and Chaeyoung, Changkyun is in his office, only the top of his head visible upon entry to the floor. It’s the first time since he transferred here that you’ve come in and the shades have been drawn open on his office windows. His head ducked down so you can only see the slicked black hair slide down the back of his nape, feathering out before the collar of his shirt. He wears this grayish suit, a shade of purple peeks from under his ironed suit jacket. It’s powerful, maybe a muted prussian. The light enters the office from behind him, a window perfectly positioned for a view of the entrance. You’re sure it comes with a direct line of vision to his car. You wonder if Changkyun is one of those men that calls his car his ‘baby’ and boasts about it to other higher-ups using explicitly feminine terms in a grimy sort of fashion. You hope he doesn’t. You decide definitely not, but eventually remind yourself that men always seem to; slowly but surely— ease you into their very secretive misogynistic tendencies only after you’ve started really getting to know them. You’ve had your fair share of Tinder dates fall off the deep end because it turned out that ‘non-political’ just means ‘extremely right leaning, but I know if I set it as this I would get absolutely zero pussy. I’m compromising. Surprise! Let’s talk about Ben Shapiro for an hour at this janky pizza place.’ But, he’s certainly not like that… Well… Okay. Chill out. You don’t really know him, stop assuming. This is what happens when you let yourself indulge in your imagination.

You sit down, logging into your computer and clocking in. Chaeyoung says something about waiting for your ‘bestie’ to pop over, and just as she finishes her sentence, the door to Changkyun’s office swings open. He kicks down the door stopper and makes a b-line to your desk. Chaeyoung scrambles to sit down in time, gripping at her arm rests and accidentally launching a pen into the air.

It falls to the carpeted floor with a sad patter at Changkyun’s feet, a shiny pair of black oxford’s. He presses the toe of his shoe on the tip of the pen, flicking it up. He leans over and grabs it midair, his thumb and palm envelope it. Without ever looking Chaeyoung in the eye, he sets it on her desk. “Good morning.” She mumbles out, “Thank you, Mr. Im.”

He turns, laying his forearm along the divider between your cubicle and Chaeyoung’s. “Hello.” He greets, leaning over a little to meet your eye level better.

Your heart fills your chest, thumping hard enough that it reaches your ears. You swallow hard and turn to him. “Hi, Changkyun.”

He cocks his head a little, straightening up and adjusting his sleeve around his wrist. “Mr. Im, right?” He smiles, it’s a little too proud, and now you feel weak again. Kihyun’s expression grows weary. “Can you follow me to my office?” Suddenly, the calm sound of hushed voices and rustling papers halts, and a few heads turn to face you and Changkyun. Your mouth feels dry, and your palms begin to sweat.

“Sure, Mr. Im.” You stand slow, waiting for him to back up a little so you have more room to move— but he just holds his ground. You shuffle around your spinny chair until he starts making his way to his office, then you shove the chair aside and glance at your friends. They are both making crazy eyes, and Kihyun offers a shrug. You shake your head unknowingly.

“Close the door behind you, please.” He says, his voice always grumbling lowly, and you follow his cologne like it comes with a leash. He gives his shades a few twists, just to give a little more privacy. The room gets darker, and he pulls out the chair for you. “So,” he points to your seat before fixing his belt. He leans on the side of his desk, his name plaque new and shiny, gold. “I was wondering if you had any ideas for a company outing.”

“This isn’t about me calling you by your first name?”

He blinks a little dumbly before glancing out the windowed door, heads fire back to their computers at his silent command. “No, I mean. That too, but this means more to me.” He feels up and down his right arm. “Don’t call me that in the office, I’d prefer if we kept it formal at work, you know…” His eyebrows thread together, fighting as he tries to find the right words. “Please.”

You nod, two times very firmly. “Company outing, um…” Checking over to your right, Kihyun and Chaeyoung are peering over their dividers at you. “Well I know some employees really like karaoke.” He nods in agreement, his fingers brushing softly at the tip of his nose.

“And that would be fun, for everyone to go do karaoke?”

“Maybe, like, eat and then do karaoke? Just so it’s an easier warm up.”

He nods, motioning to the door. “Okay, thank you. I’ll take that into consideration.” You stand up, kind of bug eyed, and push the chair back in, leaving with your hands close to your sides. You let the door close quietly before speed walking back to your cubicle. Kihyun and Chaeyoung both lean in to hear what happened, and you wave them off, peeking back at Changkyun. He is nervously pacing around his office, his face adorning a stern, thoughtful look.

✱

It doesn’t take long for the plans to become final, Changkyun sets up a company outing for that Friday, saying it will boost morale and help him get to know everyone better.

Changkyun is about four shots in when he says he is done drinking. He’s got a red flush across his nose bridge and cheeks, and his jaw is looser than usual, not clenched or as serious as he usually keeps it. He says something along the lines of… “Finish this on your own, this is the best I’ll feel all night” or “This is the end for me, I’m perfectly tipsy.” You can’t exactly recollect the wording, but it does something to your stomach nonetheless. The IT guy who sits next to Changkyun laughs hard, obviously more drunk. He unbuttons the top two buttons on Changkyun’s shirt, saying it’s too hot for him to still be wearing his full suit. Changkyun agrees sheepishly, wiggling off his jacket and folding it over the back of his chair.

He runs his hands from his forehead to the crown of his head, stopping there for a moment to scratch a little at his scalp. His mouth fills up with hot air, releasing it through his nose. He rubs his knuckles over his top lip, catching any sweat forming and leans back in his chair. The front legs lift off the ground ever so slightly, and he unbuttons the third button of his shirt on his own. He grabs at the bottom of his papery button up and tugs firmly a few times, enough to get fresh air. His cologne trickles down the table, it’s warm now, usually cold. Humid, and slightly tepid. The room smells of alcohol and heat. Stuffy and masculine. Kihyun and Chaeyoung pass you a shot each, and you take them before your brain can conjure up a reason not to.

The guy sitting across from Changkyun laughs heartily before getting his words out, pointing a hand up in the air. “I have an idea.” He is as drunk as one could get, hiccuping embarrassingly between syllables. “Let’s just do, uhm… let’s all play Smash or Pass.” Changkyun wordlessly shakes his head ‘No,’ lifting an arm from his lap onto the table.

“I organized this, thanks to Y/N” Changkyun starts, his words soft and tender, hand movements flow wistfully. “This was meant to be a way for me to get to know you guys a bit better, I don’t want—”

“Okay, we all know who you’re smashing!” Someone shouts out from your end of the table, and Changkyun shouts back before he can process what he is getting himself into.

“Who would that be!?” He points at the guy asking, his eyebrows uneven and mouth loose. It’s quiet for a second, and Changkyun scans up and down the table to see if anyone really has the gall.

“Y/N.” Someone says obtusely, it’s a statement rather than a question or a suggestion, and a few other people laugh in agreement. Now the table has a weird air of uncomfortableness as people wait for Changkyun or you to respond. The only reason it’s not unbearably awkward is because you can assume not many people will remember this tomorrow. Chaeyoung laughs the absolute hardest, and Kihyun grabs at her shoulders to calm her down. Your body freezes, mid-sip and you blink once, eyes shifting to Changkyun.

His face slowly droops, eyebrows furrowing in a hurt way.

“You couldn’t get mamas in your dreams!!!” Chaeyoung yells, grabbing a wad of dirty napkin and throwing it limply in his direction. Her cry jumpstarts the ruckus once more. The tissue barely makes it an inch towards him, and he only evinces a weak snarl, recoiling ever so slightly.

“Chaeyoung!” You shout, setting down your glass hard enough that it splashes in the cup. “Stop that!” You are tipsy too, and the words can’t come like they would if you weren’t. You feel limp and defeated, and Changkyun’s expression is heartbreaking.

His jaw juts out slightly, his cheeks hollowing as he thinks, and the table grows quiet once again. His eyes scan back and forth down the table at the plates and glasses, shaking his head in disapprovement. “That is…” He stands up, pushing his chair back and stumbling around in his spot, the girl next to him puts her hands up to protect herself as he stabilizes, rocking back and forth slightly between his wobbly legs. He bites at his lip, finally scanning the faces at the table until he meets your eyes. You weren’t thinking about your expression before now, but from his reaction you can tell it was obviously some form of disgust. He shakes his head, “I’m really so sorry.” He says, and a few other people mumble out apologies around you.

He stands up, grabbing something from his pockets as he pushes the exit door open, and the table is met with the most awkward silence you have ever experienced. Two girls whisper amongst themselves, standing up and walking to the bathroom together. Tears spring just slightly at your eyes when you realize the importance of what just happened, and the effect it will certainly have on Changkyun and your friendship. The nice buzz is just setting in, and you stand up and force yourself to follow him out.

“Hi.” You say, gentle as you let the door fall closed behind you. His wide shoulders greet you before he can turn around, the few clicks of a lighter sound out before he turns to face you. A cool gust of wind passes you both by, and his shirt flaps harshly against his chest, his hair ruffled and fucked from him rutting his fingers back and forth through it. “It’s nice out here, wow. Less stuffy.” You smile the words out, hoping he’ll wordlessly agree to forget about the whole thing. He’s got a cigarette between his fingers and he looks down at you, silently. He huffs, exhaling towards the street so the smoke doesn’t hit you, but the wind brings it to your face anyway. You cough a little, eyes tingling as you lift your face up to see him. Tears have filled up his eyes to the brim. His face is dark, and he smirks slightly around his cigarette, using a free hand to untuck his shirt.

He chuckles, dropping his wrist to his thigh, holding his cigarette below. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, wiping his sleeve twice at each eye. You pull his arm down, fingers gripping at his sleeve. His eyes are red, cheeks still rosy. You run your thumb along his waterline, and he wets his lower lip. He taps a little at his cigarette, holding it down by his side.

“Shouldn’t I be the one crying?” You smile up at him, and he finally smiles back. You feel fuzzy. Light on your toes, you run your hand down his cheek, and he melts. His eyes close and his shoulders droop, face sinking into your palm, warm and calm. Two tears run down his cheeks onto your hand, splitting off down into the delicate texture of your skin. “You need this.” You whisper, and he smiles so slightly, face so tired and gaunt. You reach, slow around his waist up to his back, and run your hand down until his spine curves. He leans into you, folding over your shoulder limply. He says nothing, only settles into your body as his breathing slows. He uses one forearm to prop himself off of you, pressing his arm flat against the glass with a sharp 90 degree bend at his elbow, careful not to lean anymore weight on you. You would worry about your coworkers seeing you, but your buzz is perfect, he’s lovely, and the sheer curtains are doing enough for your own level of comfort.

He mumbles, folding an arm around your waist. “There’s so much I want to say, in another setting.” He’s heavy, but gravity feels fake, and there’s a lightness that encapsulates the both of you. “Just— just for now,” He exhales the last of his uneven breaths. “Please take your time with me.” His voice crumbles a bit, like he’s ashamed or knows it’s wrong to ask for this or behave this way with an inferior. The forearm pressed flesh against the glass drops, and he huffs, face craned next to your ear. He’s tired and mellows out over your shoulder, maybe it’s the first time he’s been this honestly exhausted with someone. Like the act is done and over. He’s not unapologetic about it, he’s just ashamed and tired. As if he doesn’t want to be perceived this way, but has realized he has no choice.

You can’t remember the last time you held someone who needed to be held as much as Changkyun. You wrap your arms around him too.

✱

A lot of the employees are missing when Changkyun and you return to your table in the restaurant. Kihyun is patting Chaeyoung on the back as she downs another noodle side dish. Changkyun’s demeanor is completely different, the last second you checked on him before entering the restaurant again, he was bent over and worn looking, like a worn teddy bear with not enough stuffing. Now he was tall and powerful, chest puffed slightly and eyes just a little puffy (he assured one of your coworkers it was the sodium). “So, karaoke?” He says, broadening his shoulders, finishing his suggestion by cupping his hands together. Kihyun mumbles something to Chaeyoung, but she yells out many mushed words of approval before processing anything he says.

“Shhh! It’s fine!” She fawns, twisting around to face Kihyun, who’s worried expression releases into satisfaction.

It’s not a karaoke session in Korea without Big Bang. Kihyun chooses something cheesy and melodic and Chaeyoung tells him to skip it before he gets a word out. They battle over the tambourine and Changkyun only joins in to break them up when Bae Bae comes on and he’s had another few drinks in him, he sings everything flat and his eyes bore holes into Kihyun as he helps Chaeyoung pull off her cardigan. The room is musty and hot, and there’s at least 8 or 9 of you smashed along the couch, exposed skin sticking to the sweating leather seats. Changkyun’s cologne still envelopes the room, and even if you close your eyes to calm down your bouncing heart rate, you smell him and the lavishness of his skin. The dry tobacco scent from his cigarette at the restaurant clings to him. He folds his fingers one at a time over your wrist to get you to stand, a limp tug like he wants you to get up, but isn’t telling you to. You get up anyway.

He points to you, singing T.O.P’s verse like he really means it, kind of wobbling around flimsily. He’s all goofy and sways around the hot room, and taking his free hand to touch those on the couch like he’s a genuine celebrity. You smile big, laughing every once in a while when he fucks up the lyrics and has to stop in his tracks and look back at the screen, having to hang up the charismatic facade as he figures out the words. Once he gets back in the swing of things, he acts like he never stopped in the first place. He’s hypnotic and beguiling like he has always been and rocks his head back and forth, exposing his neck, slicked with sweat like a sacrificial offering. He glances over at you just slightly when he sings “My body wraps around yours so perfectly” and you think it’s all profusely nostalgic, like maybe you dreamt of this as a dinky tween. The only problem is he breaks eye contact two seconds later and grabs hold of another employee and tugs at her sleeve to stand, but it's not like what he did with you earlier, this tug is demanding. He’s desperate. The irrepressible urge to scream grows in your throat, and you whisper to Kihyun that you’re going out to get some air.

It’s a good few breaths you take outside, like finally the cool air can hit you again like it did outside the restaurant. You pull out your phone to mindlessly scroll, just for a minute or two. The clock reads 22:27. Hyunwoo texts you a peculiar gif not a second later, it’s a very specific reference to a conversation you had with him earlier. It feels nice to know he listens so carefully. A gray bubble pops up before you can type a response. ‘How’s it going? Havin fun?’ You smile, your heart tugs a little and you feel grounded again. “Soooo much fun.” A voice grumbles behind you, and Changkyun leans over your shoulder, craning around your back and slipping his arms under yours, his hands folding over yours, fingers aligning as he begins to type for you. “Good?” He breathes out, and you have to turn your head away from him to calm down. Your heart thumps heavily, so heavy and powerful that it hurts, a low droning pain.

He doesn’t send the text before you can turn back around to face him, and he steps back a bit to stabilize himself. You hold your thumb on the backspace until each word disappears, and your eyes meet Changkyun’s for a moment before you look down to your feet. They’re heavy-lidded now, and his hair is still all sorts of fucked up. Your heart pumps at an unbearable rate, and you can hear your pulse through your ears. “Stop being so…” he exasperates, threading a hair behind your ear. Leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle, “…scared of me.”

You have to stretch a little to shake off the haze that’s settling over your mind, and his hands drag from under your arms down to the top of your hips, and they settle along them like they were made to be there all along. You open your mouth, but nothing that your brain skims through can accurately reply. “Okay.” You nod up at him, like you only know obedience.

He dips his head back down, his bottom lip drags over your neck, and he kisses you there once or twice. He lets out these soft little sounds like he’s too excited for words. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Fuck, so good. So pretty.” Your hand grazes over his neck and slides down until your thumb traces over his collarbone. He kisses less sloppy this time, on your neck again, on your cheek, on your jaw. Avoiding your lips like he’s saving them for later.

He’s been doing shots, you think. “I’m so grateful that I met you.” He whispers over your ear, and his arms wrap further around your waist, inching back up. “You know, earlier…” He starts, carefully, like it’s a sensitive topic that he doesn’t mean to offend with. “Thank you for understanding.” It’s weird, you think. He’s being endearing, or at least he’s trying to. You can feel him in his suit pants and he’s just growing harder. You push him off slow. “It’s okay, yeah?” He’s so drunk he’s barely awake. You can only bite at your lip and look away. More than anything in the world, you would like to fuck Changkyun. Even just once, even if it made your job so much harder and so much more awkward after. You just think it would be so good that it would all be worth it. But he’s too drunk, so you can’t. “I’m drunk, I’m drunk. I really like you, if you like me…” His words get sloppier and guilt pits in your stomach heavier than you can handle. You push him with two fingers back further like you’re really annoyed now, he has to stabilize himself by gripping a railing. You head back inside.

✱

Changkyun is an enigma. It seems with everything in his career, he faces it head on. With you, he’s careful, would never expect a clear answer or decision unless it's statistics on a file. Ever since that night at karaoke, he's cowered away in humiliation. You’re sure he wants you both to forget the whole thing, but it's so difficult with the words he spoke to you circling your head like the last drops of water down the drain. It takes a week before you realize that he’s not going to address the situation on his own, and if you want something to give, you're going to have to be the one who initializes the first push.

You fake overtime, knowing he usually stays later than the rest of you, you text Kihyun and Chaeyoung that you’ll call them after you speak to him and let them know all of the details. As soon as your last coworker wishes you a good night and the elevator doors close before her, your stomach pits like you've just thrown yourself into the lion’s den. It's the worst mistake you've made, and terror envelopes your entire system. You tell yourself in 15 minutes you’ll go knock on his door, sliding headphones on to calm yourself down. Shuffling a playlist a few times, you focus on your breathing while putting some stray pens and papers back into your filing drawer. When you hear Changkyun’s office door open way sooner than expected, your throat dries in an instant, your eyes glued to your desk and you work on trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

His voice penetrates the wall you've desperately tried to build, and you turn quickly to face the direction it comes from, pushing off your headphones so they can fall around your neck. It's only then you realize that your music was never connected to them. You stand out of your chair suddenly. Changkyun looms, his silhouette shaded, one of the few light sources in the room is a lamp behind him. You cock your head slightly at him and he repeats himself: “Narcos.”

Your eyes flicker to your phone, and he's right. You were listening to the Narcos theme, outloud. “Sorry. I thought my headphones were–” Changkyun’s lips frown, and he shakes his head in disapproval, his arms folded over his chest. So you cut yourself short, grabbing your bag in a rush to just get out because the whole thing felt like a mistake.

“Do you know what the lyrics are about?” He doesn't try stopping you from packing away your things or help you clean up, he just watches with arms crossed. You shake your head, slowing down movements, trying to process the situation. “Drowning fear with love.”

“Why didn't you come to talk to me?” You surprise yourself with your sudden outburst, pinching yourself in the thigh.

He sighs like he’s been preparing what he’s about to say. “I overstepped. If anyone was going to reach out again, it should not have been me.” Your heart tugs because he's thought it out and was respectful and right. He was right.

“Why'd you have to drink so much?” Your eyes trace over the darkness that has hidden him so well.

You can hear him smile, and the song still plays behind you. “Because I’m smitten for someone I shouldn't be.” His head tilts down to his shoes on the carpet, a few strands of his slicked hair fall forward. Your heart feels like it's on a linear path to explosion. “Someone I have too much power over already.” He inhales deeply, and you move slowly to face him, releasing the pen in your hand.

“They make me nervous. I care a lot about how this person sees me, and I was worried they saw me as too uptight. So I did the only thing I knew would make me less uptight. Like a jackass.”

“Well doing that to me was the most jackass thing you've ever done, so you’ve got your worries in the wrong place.”

”Smitten” lt tingles in your stomach.

“I’m sorry. I know.” He steps forward twice until he can be illuminated by your desk light, and he looks magnificent. His eyelids hang heavily and he has dark bags under his eyes. The curve of his back as he looks down, his dress shirt flexing over his shoulders as he reaches to put the pen in a cup. “It was gross. I’m a dog.”

“No, idiot. No. You’re so stupid.” You pull the pen back out from the cup and slap it back onto your desk. His eyes light up, widening at your reaction. “You’re not a dog. You made me want you when I couldn't have you.” Changkyun has to tilt his head back slightly to give you room to come closer. “You made me worry for you and then disappeared like you didn’t need me. You’re a cat.” The song slows to a complete halt and the office is completely silent besides the air conditioning stuttering to keep up.

“I do.” Changkyun whispers. “I do need you.” His fingers float around your head like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch. “You wanted me.” He says, and you’re unsure if it’s a question. You don’t care, you nod anyways, pulling his hand to your face like he did to you a week ago. “Pretty.” He mumbles, tilting his head to get a better view. You can barely keep your eyes open, and he places his other hand on your cheek before pulling you close to him again. Back into his embrace, where his cologne suffocates the air around you. You’d be happy to only breathe this air forever. “You’re so pretty.” He wraps an arm around your waist, holding tight enough that your hips push into each other, colliding dully. This time his words aren’t slurred, they’re just kept quiet, like a secret meant to keep between the two of you. “I’m your cat.” Your heart pounds against him, and he pulls both of his arms around to your back so he can take off his watch, sliding it off and setting it on your desk behind you. He lifts you up by your thighs and rests you next to it, your fingers brush the cool metal as you stabilize yourself.

He backs up for a second, just so he can scan over your face for any implication you don’t want him. “I’m, really…” He laughs, looking at his feet before centering himself on you again. Feeling at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’m really smitten.”

“Prove it.” You whisper, and Changkyun steps forward again, smoothly sliding a palm around the side of your neck, leaning in slowly, eyelashes hiding his pupils.

“I did already. Don’t you remember when I tried to fuck you after singing?” He smiles, proud of himself now for being able to keep his impulses at bay. You let your head loll from side to side like you’re deep in thought.

You hum a note of approval, “I would’ve let you if I knew you could’ve kept it up for more than a minute. It never lasts when you’re that drunk.” Your fingers brush down the side of his cheek, and Changkyun’s eyebrows thread conspicuously. He situates himself deeper between your legs.

“Let me make it up to you.” His palm lands on top of your thigh, brushing up and down. “You’re too perfect.”

You stare at him, angled down just a little from your seat on the desk. “What did you say earlier…” You prod, pushing Changkyun back an inch with a hand on his chest. “Called yourself a kitty. My kitty”

He shakes his head this time, whatever to get his point across, he’ll take. You drag your nails down the side of his neck, leaning in to press kisses on the opposite side, and needy noises fall from his lips. His shoe twisting into the carpet, he leans further in again, grabbing a fistful of ass as compensation. You make your way over to his lips, finally fulfilling the need. He nips quickly and sharply at your bottom lip, his hand forking through your hair. “Fuck” he groans, “fuck me.” “Please.” His voice mellows out as his phone starts buzzing in his back pocket. You sigh deeply, dropping your face to your hands, his face hot and legs tangled up in his. You pull away at the same time he does, checking it quickly before ending the call without ever picking it up. His pupils are blown out, cheeks are a bright pink, lips plumped and a little shiny from your makeup. You pat at his hair, rutting through knots with your fingers.

“I made dinner reservations for us because I had planned to apologize. Like a boss would.” He catches the hand on his head with his own. “Not how I expected today to go.”

“I’m hungry.” You shrug with a smile, and he eyes you completely baffled. He stares for a moment before shrugging.

“I’m with you.”

“Let’s go, Kitty cat.” You slide yourself off the side of the desk, fixing your skirt as Changkyun fixes your hair.

He halts his hands before letting them fall with a pinch of one of your cheeks. “Don’t let that be a thing, please.”

✱

chapter 1 ☆ chapter 2: "The Bear"

(masterlist) ☆ (monsta x masterlist)

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for-a-longlongtime · 4 months

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IV. Wild card

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Marcus Pike

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Words: 1315 (idk, I'd better put this under a cut now) A/N: Well. I thought the helicopter blowjob from the prev ficlet was all done, but Frankie decided it was far from that. So I take zero responsibility, this is all on him. Unbeta-ed. Good Boy™ reference courtesy of @theywhowriteandknowthings 😘Dividers by @saradika.

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Frankie is so hard he can barely breathe. Knees bruising on the metal floor of the chopper, sounds from outside warning him that he’s screwed if anyone comes in here, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all worth it. The way Marcus cries out his name, the taste of him in his mouth, trembling fingers in Frankie’s hair. Fuck, the way he’s pulling at his hair, just as Frankie had told him to.

“Fra- fuuck, Frankie, I’m gonna…”

“Good.” His voice is muffled by Marcus’ dick in his mouth, but Marcus twitching under him makes it clear he’s heard him. Frankie presses the heel of his hand against himself, hissing at how hard he’s throbbing from the adrenaline. He’s not gonna last much longer himself, more cock drunk than he’s been in months. This isn’t something he normally does, give blowjobs in a chopper while he’s on assignment. But the moment he had laid eyes on Marcus that morning he knew this was going to happen.

Right now, he has to fight his instincts in order to stay on his knees, reminding himself that he can’t take this further on base. He can’t pull Marcus down to the floor and spread him out, use his tongue to explore more until he feels him pulse around it. Until he can take what he’s been wanting since that day at the gym and just bury himself into that tight heat, fuck him until Marcus comes hard against his belly - hopefully pulling even more at his hair than he’s doing already. He can’t do that, not here, not now, but his heartbeat thudding loudly in his head is trying to convince him otherwise.

Frankie pulls his mouth off Marcus, hushing his surprised groan of protest. A quick lick over his fingers before he slides them behind Marcus’ sack, earning himself another gasp as Marcus’ jaw drop in pleasure, hips bucking from the pressure on his taint. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Something about that earnest Good Boy™ composure just coming apart riles Frankie up even more.

He fumbles to open his khakis with one hand and hisses in relief when his fingers meet his cock, starting to jerk himself off fast and hard. “You gotta come for me,” he barely manages, his voice sounding so rough that he hardly recognizes it. “Else I’m not gonna be able to stop myself from fucking you on that floor.”

“Jesus,” Marcus whimpers as he shakes his head, almost in disbelief as he stares down at Frankie. “You can’t just fucking say that, you…”

It’s too much to look at Marcus' face right now - way too much. “I can’t say that, huh?” Frankie tries to stop his moan as he fucks his own fist, pressing his face against Marcus’ stomach as he inhales the heady scent. Flattens his tongue as he licks over the warm skin, musk and salty sweat and something else, feeling the muscles contract in pleasure, and then Marcus’ hand is suddenly back in his hair.

“Think you like it though, Marcus… all of it,” Frankie groans, pushing his head up into the touch as he waits for Marcus’ tug to come, his own fingers pausing on his cock. When the tug happens, harder than expected, it feels like electricity running down his spine, shooting straight for his cock and short circuiting his verbal filter. He laughs hoarsely, then decides to just take his chance as he lets his fingers slide all the way back between Marcus’s legs. “I think you want just that, for me to fuck you right here,” he runs a finger tip over the rim, and Marcus’ stuttering breath speaks volumes about double entendre. “Right here. And on the floor.”

“Fuck, please,” Marcus’ voice breaks on a sob, and Frankie doesn’t think anymore - he just slides his mouth back on Marcus’ cock, taking him in all the way. He accepts the few rough thrusts into his mouth, hears the way Marcus whines because of Frankie's knuckle rubbing against the tight muscle, and then it’s over - the taste of white hot heat flooding his senses, and Marcus’ body trembling hard in that pilot chair.

Frankie leans back as he takes a few breaths, taking his time to drink in the sight of Marcus’ afterglow - the Standard Heating Oil cap still resting on his head. “So fucking pretty,” he says quietly without thinking, then laughs at how cockdrunk he sounds while gazing at the man. Fuck. I like him. Don’t go there, Morales - not a good idea.

The blush that promptly reddens Marcus’ face makes Frankie laugh again. He looks away before he feels too much like a foolish grinning idiot, turning his attention to his leaking cock in his right hand. So damn close from only blowing Marcus. He tugs his foreskin gently up over the head, whimpering by the sensation as he strokes his balls with his other hand, searching for the quickest way towards release, suddenly very aware of how anyone could walk in on them here. When he looks back up at Marcus, he sees him hungrily staring down at him, breathing still heavy and his eyes possibly even darker than before he came.

“Let me give you a hand,” Marcus says, but when Frankie tightens his grip on his cock, jerking himself hard under the observing gaze, Marcus whimpers as he licks his lips. “Fuck. You look… God, you look gorgeous like that.”

“A voyeur, huh?” Frankie tries to make a joke out of it, but he’s preening by how unabashedly Marcus is admiring him, despite how messy he must look at the moment.

“Not always. But I like watching you, yeah.” Marcus smiles, and once again something tugs inside of Frankie, something that really shouldn’t be getting to him this much - not for a hookup with a guy who is clearly also seeing someone else. But the attention is nevertheless exhilarating.

“Come here.” Marcus takes off the cap and places it on the console as he moves to the edge of his seat, pushing back some of the sweaty hair on Frankie’s forehead. Frankie closes his eyes as he feels the fingers combing through his hair, playing with his curls, and can barely hold back the sigh.

“Feels good.”

“Yeah? Good. You really like that, hmmm?” Marcus’ voice is quiet and lower now, fingers brushing over Frankie’s scalp towards the back of his neck. “Like it enough to help you get off?”

Frankie nods, almost too eagerly in response, and he feels the precum slicking him up even more, fueled by the exploratory caresses through his hair. “Yeah,” he breathes, then holds his breath when he feels the tightening grip of Marcus’ fingers on him.

“Look at me.” Marcus’ voice is steady now, demanding, and Frankie obeys without hesitation. He's met by Marcus leaning forward now, his face a lot closer than it was a moment ago, eyes intense. “You wanna come?”

Frankie nods wordlessly, too focused on the fingers in his hair to think of anything else at all - and then Marcus tugs, and tugs, and give a third tug that makes Frankie cry out as the flashes of blissful pain shoot through him. “Fuck,” he gasps as he’s shaking, and a pleased smile plays over Marcus’ lips.

“Good. You’re gonna come like this, all over your hands. Sitting on your knees in front of me, because... yeah,” he hears Marcus’ voice tremble for a moment, can tell how much it’s turning him on too. “Got that?”

Again Frankie nods, his balls almost uncomfortably tight now as he jerks himself off faster and faster. Then Marcus’ fingers tug so hard at his hair that there’s no further warning from Frankie’s body. He comes right there, gasping for air as his head is pulled back all the way, feeling like his scalp is on fire and blasting the flames through his body. So consumed by how hard his orgasm hits that for a moment he forgets where he is, that he really should not be this loud here, but - fuck.

Fuck, it’s SO good.

Main masterlist | < Previous Part | Next Part > Follow @longlongtime-updates for fic updates!

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #marcus pike #frankie morales x marcus pike #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #tim rockford #maverick series #my writing #wip

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nalanzu · 1 year

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Weiss Kreuze Episode 13: Bruch

So we've reached the halfway point of the series. We get a brief recap of Omi's family drama, and from the title the heavy drama isn't slowing down any time soon.

We do get the lovely sight of Takatori beating the shit out of Schuldig and Farfarello with a golf club for killing his daughter. Crawford redirects his rage to Weiss, which works incredibly well despite Schuldig having literally fired the gun.

The cases of the week aren't going to stop either, as we see a para-military type by a burning warehouse followed by a news report of a military base being broken into. Weiss, however, is more worried about the fact that there is a telepathic assassin who knows who they are. Ken and Yohji think it's time to fuck off into the sunset. Aya, of course, is still hellbent on revenge and will hear no talk of breaking up the team.

Omi and Persia have a conversation in a lovely cemetery off the bay, in front of Ouka's grave. Omi has come to the conclusion that Aya is right and Takatori must be stopped. They're interrupted by the man himself also showing up to pay his respects to his late daughter, but before we get the fallout of Takatori potentially recognizing Omi, we're going to rturn to the case of the week.

On the news, the stolen military weapons have been used to commit acts of domestic terrorism, which have been signed Weiss. Our heroes, of course, are furious that their name has been slandered. Not that anyone outside Kritiker knows who Weiss is, but they're still pissed about it. They do, of course, recognize that it's Takatori's assassins who are behind these shenanigans, and Kritiker takes the very reasonable step of not sending Weiss directly into the very obvious trap. Weiss does not appreciate this concern, especially Aya, who just wants to murder Takatori Reiji and will straight-up leave Weiss and Kritiker to do it.

Just in case it's not already clear, we get to see a soot-stained Schuldig cackling at news of the bombings. He doesn't want to reveal their identities to the public, either, he wants to play with them and so does Farfarello.

Manx and Persia think they're being watched, as the election approaches, and Persia - the police commissioner - arrives for a meeting with Takatori - vice prime minister. Takatori wants Persia to deal with this rogue group, Weiss, who is rampaging around the city. Or, he says smugly, is there some reason the commissioner doesn't wish to address the issue? They are playing very ridiculous cat-and-mouse. Persia's counter is a military special forces group that Takatori had formed while he was apparently in charge of the defense force (I - I'm not sure how politics work but I don't think this is it). It has gone AWOL. They clumsily dance around the idea that this AWOL special forces unit is Takatori's secret army before Takatori asks what he really wants to know, which is who Omi was. All he gets out of it is that he's Ouka's friend, an obvious lie.

Omi, in the basement, is trying to figure out what to do about the terrorists. Aya is cranky and accuses him of spying. Omi is also cranky and lets it slip that Persia is his uncle. More Omi family drama incoming, my friends.

Aya, who has zero chill, immediately runs off to threaten Persia for the terrible crime of being a Takatori and not letting Aya murder his nemesis. He gets a gun to his temple, courtesy of Manx, and demands to be sent out on a mission immediately. Not only does he have no sense of chill, he has no sense of strategy or timing. When he doesn't get what he wants, he threatens to take his toys and go home, by which I mean he threatens to quit Weiss. Persia reminds him that the only reason his sister's medical bills are being paid are because Kritiker, his employer, is paying them. Aya's only answer for this is that he's not going to take orders from a Takatori. Oh, Aya.

This entire conversation, by the way, was observed by a shady government-type in a suit and sunglasses.

The next terrorist attack involves more explosives, killing multiple people. Persia still doesn't want to send Weiss into an obvious trap. Manx points out, quite reasonably, that they can't just keep doing nothing, even if their opponent is military special forces. I can't help but feel that there's a middle ground between Do Nothing and Send Weiss To Handle The Terrorists. I'm pretty sure that middle ground is Collect Information And Develop A Plan. Nobody on the show agrees with me, though, and they're just going to point Weiss at the problem and say, Fix it.

Aya, meanwhile, is having flashbacks of the day his sister was run over and being told that she would almost certainly be braindead and comatose forever. I have some thoughts about quality of life here. we get a dramatic scene of Aya folding an earring into her hand, while he wears the other one of the pair. Back in their assassin basement, Omi has tracked the location of the terrorists probably, and everyone but Aya is set to go kill some dudes. Omi tells them Aya has quit the group, although he really has no solid basis for this.

Instead of going straight to the dramatic fight, we get another flashback to the night sister!Aya was hit by a car and a scene of them at a festival. It kills the pace entirely. Just kills it. Kills the pace and the mood. We learn that the two of them found their parents dead on the floor at home, suffocated by gas, and Aya notices the gas and a tiny bomb right before the house explodes. Aya, trapped in the wreckage, watches as his sister is run over after she escaped the house. We also learn that Aya's father was suspected of having participated in an embezzlement scheme, so the gas leak is possibly suicide, according to the papers. Ah, the plot is thicker than we have been led to believe.

Aya, of course, is absolutely convinced that his parents were murdered. There is a cute bit with the earrings, which sister!Aya bought at the festival, and Aya vows revenge. He gives his sister the one earring, which she has apparently been holding for years (what hospital staff member is going to leave the earring in her hand? omfgggggggggg), and puts the other one on. Did he just pierce his ear with the earring? The fuck, Aya.

We finally get back to the present, where Weiss attempts to sneak into the very obvious trap and is immediately caught by the terrorists with a giant floodlight. Good job, guys. Aya, for his part, sees Takatori's car driving down the road and leaps on top of said car. He attempts to stab Takatori through the roof of the car, with his sword, and all he is going to do is ruin the damn sword. Takatori isn't even IN the car, it's Crawford being smarmy.

So we've got 3/4 of Weiss running away from rocket launchers and Aya facing off against Crawford's gun and Farfarello's knives. Manx, in a car with Persia, thinks the fact that Aya isn't with the group is affecting their performance. Guys, I do not think that's the problem. That is really, really not the problem. Persia is also aware that his brother knows about his little side project courtesy of the spy from earlier.

With the kind of dramatic timing we expect from this show, Takatori calls Persia to gloat about almost certainly being elected Prime Minister in the election the next day (weren't there noises being made a couple episodes back about supporters he absolutely needed to win the election being murdered by Weiss? istg), but also to say that he knows who's behind the terrorist group, Weiss. He threatens Persia with Consequences as soon as he wins the election.

I feel that, with reasonable people, this would just be giving Persia warning and enabling him to prepare and develop a strategy. We have seen, however, that despite apparently successfully running a paramilitary shadow organization of spies and assassins, Persia has zero concept of strategy and he's not going to do anything useful with this information. As expected, Persia concludes that the best course of action is to go find Aya. Just. No. A prettyboy ball of rage with a pointy stick and no sense of perspective is not going to solve your problems, Persia.

Also, several episodes back, we had a whole-ass scene with A Kritiker Agent who had been set to watching Masafumi who turned up mutated and dead. This clearly indicated that YOU HAVE MORE PEOPLE THAN WEISS. Why the fuck are you not mobilizing them? Why?

Aya, meanwhile, is getting his butt kicked by Crawford's ability to see where he's going to strike and just step out of the way. It's pretty funny, honestly, although Crawford is incredibly smug about the whole thing. Crawford tells Aya it's pretty sad that he can't see the future. Aya snarls that you're not supposed to see the future, you're supposed to make it. To be fair, that's a pretty good line.

Weiss is not doing well facing off against rocket launchers and helicopters, what with not having any ranged weapons except for Omi's darts, and Ken may or may not have a broken leg. We end the episode on Farfarello pointing a stabby weapon at Aya's face.

Honestly, for all of my bitching, this is a pretty fun episode. Nobody is acting reasonably. Nobody. The actions one would expect to be taken given the circumstances that must exist due to what's been laid out in the plot are not taken. There is a hyperfocus on the men in Weiss despite the fact that Kritiker has been stated to be a larger organization. Nobody understands that information is a valuable commodity. It's incredibly juvenile storytelling as it gets into details that were previously only implied and absolutely fails to create any sort of cohesive or believable narrative.

I have no idea why it's still somehow a lot of fun. Honestly, it's entirely possible that I just like yelling at the television that the problem they actually have is not the problem they think they have and either way Aya is 100% not the solution.

#meta commentary #episode summary #weiss kreuz

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sabraeal · 3 years

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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mariana-oconnor · 3 years

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Could you please write medieval king!clint/prisoner!bucky

Since you asked so nicely, nonny.

This was a weird one. It turns out it's difficult to get into Clint's head and to keep a medieval sort of tone. My characterisation of him has a very modern voice, and I'm not sure how well I translated it. Also, I'm not sure this is exactly the dynamic you were looking for... But it is medieval, and Clint is a king and Bucky is a prisoner.

This… was not exactly unexpected. King Francis III of Brooklyn, known as Clint to his friends, which at the moment was a number approaching zero, did not know what he had expected from being king. He hadn’t even expected to be king in the first place. The younger son of a youngest daughter, betrothed and shipped off before she was fully grown, he should never have come nearer to the throne than kneeling before it.

But war, sickness and a childless marriage had paid their toll and now he was king.

Well, now he was being marched down to the dungeons surrounded by what was supposed to be his royal guard, so he’s not entirely sure whether he is king anymore. It’s one of those thorny legal issues that either get solved by the executioner’s axe or a long bloody civil war.

But no, this isn’t entirely unexpected. Clint had really tried to be a good king. He’d put in the effort, he’d worn the silly hat and sat on the uncomfortable chair. He had listened to his advisers, even when they seemed interminably stupid and made decrees and tried to help his people. Unfortunately it seemed that people didn’t really like that. His advisers, particularly. His second cousin’s wife especially, and so now he is (maybe) not king anymore.

He won’t miss the crown, or the throne. He definitely won’t miss the advisers, but he can already see where this is going. The greed he knows is hiding there, behind courtesy and protocol, will eat the land alive. They are not a large country, the treasury is stretched already, but they will borrow and spend and tell themselves, as they told Clint, that spending more will bring more money and Clint might not have paid much attention to his lessons, but he doesn’t think that makes a lot of sense.

Oh… and he’ll miss his head. Not that he’ll be in much of a position to think about that, but he’s watched the executions, he knows that sometimes the heads blink even after they’ve fallen from the block. He imagines in those last couple of seconds that he’ll really miss his head. Or his body…

A door is swung open and the guards step back. One of them even looks a little guilty. Clint peers into the darkened cell. There is straw on the floor, a wooden pallet with a moth-eaten blanket, a chamber pot and not much else. The window is high above his head, a narrow slit that cuts out a thin strip of the sky for him.

“Get in,” one of them says.

“I really think I’d prefer to stay out here,” Clint says. “Do you have any other options?”

A hand is planted in the middle of his back and for a second Clint considers twisting to the side, letting the man fall forwards and into the cell.

It is possible he could take these guards out. He knows how to fight, probably better than the guards are trained. He could take them out and run - but where would he go? It’s not like anyone in the castle wouldn’t recognise him immediately. There are guards all over the place and servants, too.

So he lets himself be shoved unceremoniously into the cell, and sighs as the door is slammed shut behind him and there is the rasp of the key in the lock. Then the guards’ footsteps fade away and he’s alone. In his own dungeon.

As Clint surveys his new home, a rat scuttles across the floor.

“Well, at least I’ll have some company.”

“Talking to yourself already?” a voice asks and Clint jumps, grateful that there’s no one around to see him.

“I was talking to the rat,” he says. “But apparently I am hearing voices now, and I don’t think I’m a prophet or a witch, so that’s slightly more concerning.”

“Well, I’d hope I’d be better company than a rat,” the voice says. “I’m in the next cell. Welcome to our humble abode. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“The company is already better than the last place I stayed,” Clint says, sitting on the hard wooden bed, and thinking about the thick mattress and silk sheets of the royal bedchamber, high above.

“A rat and a criminal?” the voice says. “Your previous company must have been terrible.”

“Well, they’re the reason I’m in here, so…” Clint sighs.

“Ah, innocent, huh?” There is a note of amusement in the other prisoner’s tone.

“Aren’t we all?” Clint asks. He certainly doesn’t remember many prisoners who admitted their guilt.

“Not me,” the voice says. “I did it, and I’d do it again.” He sounds so certain that Clint blinks. He’s not sure he’s ever been that certain of anything in his life. Except that he doesn’t want to have his head chopped off.

“What did you do?” Clint asks.

“Punched Baron Zemo in the face,” the voice says.

Clint blinks and stares at the wall, towards where he thinks his new companion must be. He knows Baron Zemo, had seen him only a short while ago in the throne room, supporting the coup. A man with strange ideas about bloodlines and national sovereignty, as he recalled, a man who stared at you without saying anything and always left an unsettled feeling in Clint’s stomach. He recalls the two dark black rings around the man’s eyes, always so disdainful. It was a lot more difficult to look down your nose at someone when your nose was broken. Clint bursts into peals of laughter.

He laughs too long, until he cries, until amusement turns to desperate hilarity at the ridiculousness of his situation.

“Are you alright?” the voice asks. “I didn’t think it was that funny.”

“Thank you,” Clint says after he’s managed to regain control of himself. “I needed that image.”

“The good baron is not a favourite of yours then?”

“Definitely not.” Clint screws up his face in disgust. The only reason he hadn’t stripped the man of his title was because it turned out that was a lot more difficult than it seemed, even for a king.

“Then you and I should get along. I’m James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

“I’m-” Clint pauses, because he doesn’t know how his full name will be taken down here. He doesn’t want to put off his only company so early on. “People call me Clint.”

Some people. Most of whom are dead.

“Well, I’m likely to be in here a good long time,” Bucky says. “So it’s good to have someone to talk to.”

“The rats aren’t good enough for you?” Clint asks.

“They tend to scurry off when I’m telling them my worries,” Bucky says. “And they eat my food. It’s very rude of them.”

“Not the best dinner guests, then?”

“They don’t make good conversation.”

“Sometimes people talk too much,” Clint says, thinking of royal dinners and at court, listening to people talk on and on for hours, until the noon bell and evening bell had both rung, and still they argued petty points of order while ignoring anything actually worth doing.

“I can shut up-”

“Not you,” Clint says. “Just often at dinner, people talk about nothing for hours.”

“Honestly, after three weeks in here, I would give my eye teeth to talk about nothing,” Bucky says.

“There’s nothing and there’s nothing, though,” Clint says. “There are different types of nothing.”

“You know, most people are in here a bit longer before they start talking like that.”

“You’ve only been in here three weeks, what would you know of that?”

“How long is your sentence?” Bucky asks.

“That depends,” Clint says.

“On what?”

“On whether they schedule my execution before I manage to escape.”

There is a pause that hangs in the air. No one has said the word execution, but Clint knows what happens to kings who aren’t king anymore. He even manages to say it easily enough, just another word that rolls off his tongue. But in the silence it falls heavily to the floor and sits there.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and he actually sounds like he means it. How strange that someone he’s never seen, who has known him so short a time, should care more for his fate than the people who have known him all his life.

But perhaps Bucky’s opinion would change too if he knew who it was he was really talking to.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Escaping is going to take time out of my busy schedule of talking to rats.”

“What are you-” Bucky pauses. “What did you do?”

Clint stares up at the darkness of the ceiling and the faint wisps of cobweb he can see clinging to it.

“Tried to be good at my job,” he says.

“Sounds about right.”

No one has ever escaped from The Tower. That’s what everyone has always told him, but the way Clint sees it, just because nobody ever has, doesn’t mean that nobody ever will.

Of course, with a window that’s too small to climb out of, a door with a lock on the other side that he has no way to pick, and walls six foot thick, he cannot say that escaping is easy.

Some of the guards seem sympathetic to him, but many of them see his fall from grace as way to take out their frustrations with the world and to ingratiate themselves with the new regime. Clint doesn’t really blame them. But they treat Bucky just the same. For every guard that gives him an extra chunk of cheese, or a cup of wine or ale, there are two that tip his food out onto the floor and mockingly bow as they sneer at him.

Clint imagines taking his longbow and shooting each and every one of them through the eye. That takes up a few hours of his time.

It’s not a terrible life, really, he supposes. At least he is mostly left alone, and Bucky in the next cell is good company. They teach each other bawdy tunes - the kind that kings are not supposed to sing, and tell each other stories of better times. Bucky, Clint learns is no mean shot himself, and they compete over who had bagged the best prize at hunting. It also seems that Bucky was not above poaching on the king’s land, but Clint supposes that it isn’t exactly his land anymore, so why should he care.

He knows Bucky thinks that he’s exaggerating his stories, but he’s pretty sure Bucky’s exaggerating his.

It’s strange to have a friend he’s never seen. Who doesn’t know who he is. Clint carefully edits his stories to avoid anything that might give himself away. He is not Francis, King of Brooklyn, just Clint. He hasn’t been just that since his brother left him to travel to court when he was twelve years old. Maybe he never really was.

There is a curious freedom to their conversations as well. Whether it is the darkness, or Bucky’s lack of a face, Clint talks freely, and Bucky talks freely back. About his friends - Steve the baker, Tony the smith, Sam the falconer, Natasha who has half the men in town begging for her time but who never gives them the time of day. Clint feels like he almost knows them.

Every morning he wakes up and wonders if this will be the day the priest comes to his door and takes his last confession. And so far every day he has been granted a reprieve.

One evening there’s a noise in the corridor and Clint looks up to the tiny barred hatch in the door to see one of the guards grinning at him.

“Someone sent you a gift,” the guard says, and Clint sits up a little straighter. He wonders who and what it could be. “Nice little cask of the best wine.” Clint frowns. He doesn’t know anyone who would send him that, except perhaps as some sort of power play. “Me and the others just wanted to say thank you for being so kind as to share it with us.”

The door opens and an empty cask, still leaking red, is thrown in at him. Clint dodges out of the way as the door slams shut again, and looks down at the cask with interest.

It might be possible to take it apart and use the pieces to make some method of unlocking the door. Perhaps.

Prying apart a cask is a lot more difficult than he would have thought. If he ever does get out of this cell, he will have to commend the royal cooper on their skill.

His fingers are bleeding, and the cask is stubbornly unhindered by his best attempts.

“Foiled by a barrel,” he mutters.

He hears the sound of the key turning in the lock and he hefts the cask in one hand. If it won’t be useful in other way, perhaps he can use it as a weapon.

The figure silhouetted in the doorway isn’t wearing the uniform of the guards, and doesn’t clink with the ring of chain mail. Clint squints and sees a man as filthy as he is, with a tangled beard and long greasy hair that hangs around a face that might be handsome.

“...Clint?”

“Bucky?” Clint says, staring at him, and then at the cask he had been intending to throw at his head.

“You…”

“What?”

Bucky stares a few seconds more, and then fumbles down onto his knee. “Your majesty.”

“Oh. Right... that,” Clint says. He had almost forgotten he was king (sort of). “How did you get in here?”

Bucky stands up and holds out a strange looking key.

“My friend baked this into the loaf they gave me,” he says. “And the guards are knocked out with drunk wine that they sent to the ki- To you.” Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Clint looks down at the cask again, considering that it did indeed have its uses, although possibly not as a lockpick.

“I know the way out,” Clint offers. Bucky nods and steps back.

“Should I call you-”

“Clint. Call me Clint. I wasn’t really lying about that. Everyone’s always called me Clint since I was a boy. They insisted that I had to be King Francis, though.”

“Right,” Bucky says.

They slip down the corridor as quietly as they can, and come across the guards slumped over each other, snoring heavily. Clint considers himself for a second, then goes for the guard that looks closest to his size and starts to tug off his uniform surcoat and armour, pausing only when the man comes a little too close to waking from his stupor.

He glances over to see Bucky has done the same. Except for their wild beards, they look enough like guards to pass muster. Clint fastens a belt around his waist, sword hanging from it, and grabs a crossbow.

“My friends are meeting us at the Eastern gate,” Bucky says. “You are welcome to join me, if you wish. Although I can’t guarantee it will be what you are used to.”

“I’m used to a dark cell and mealy porridge,” Clint points out. “Whatever your friends have to offer, I’m sure it is far better than where we have been. But, I should go my own way. You and your friends don’t need the kind of trouble that I would bring to you.”

Bucky looks at him as though he’s a madman, driven past his edge by his imprisonment.

“I may not be noble,” he says. “But I would call you my friend, too. You’ve been the only thing keeping my mind intact in this place.” He holds out a hand and Clint looks down at it, then grins.

“Friends, then,” he agrees. “I’m even more against dragging my friends into my trouble.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bucky says, then adds “sire,” as an afterthought.

“My brother always said I wasn’t born an idiot, but I’d die trying to become one.”

“Your brother,” Bucky says. “King Charles.”

“Barney,” Clint says. “We always called him Barney.” Bucky shakes his head letting out a breath.

“We should go,” he says.

The Eastern gate is the closest, which Clint is grateful for, because it seems the castle is buzzing with people, despite the late hour. Luckily, the darkness is enough to cover their faces and as long as they stride as though they know where they are going, people are eager enough to leave them alone.

There is one risky moment where another guard - drunk and off duty, thinks he recognises Clint, but then declares him to be Edward, and apologises for not yet repaying his gambling debts. Clint barely manages to extricate himself with assurances that he does not care about the money.

They finally reach the gate and the gatekeeper looks at them curiously.

Clint angles his face into the shadow, hoping the beard and the helmet will hide him well enough. To come so close to freedom and then falter at this point - it would mean death for both of them. He realises his is holding his breath as the gatekeeper considers them, then nods and shuffles to open the gate for them, which swings open with an almighty creak.

Clint steps through the gate and into the world outside the castle and he feels as light as a bird. They are not free yet, but he feels freer than he has in years. He shoots a smile across at Bucky, who stares at him for a second, then tugs him along the road to where a wagon is waiting.

A woman with long red hair eyes the pair of them as they approach.

“I don’t remember us saying anything about bringing friends,” she says.

“You must be Natasha,” Clint says. “I’m-”

“Not here,” she says, cutting him off. “Get in the wagon before-”

The clanging of the Tower bell is bright and clear in the night air.

“I think someone has discovered we’re missing,” Bucky says.

They jump into the back of the wagon, pulling down the cover and it is seconds before Natasha urges the horses into movement.

“There are some clothes back there and some things to make yourselves more presentable,” she says.

The whole time Clint is changing, pulling off the guard armour and bundling it into sacks, he is waiting for someone to stop the wagon, to demand to know where Natasha is going and to see inside the back of her wagon. No one does.

There is a sharp knife, an oil lamp and a small silver mirror, tarnished and dented, but useable, and they take it in turns to trim their hair and beards down to a more manageable length.

Clint looks over at Bucky and stares at the change a few clothes and a knife have wrought. In the prison he had looked half wild, but now he has shorn himself down to something that could be called handsome, his beard all but gone - as clean a shave as could be managed in the circumstances, and his hair short, the chaos of it serving to hide the unevenness. He is watching Clint sharply and his gaze feels piercing.

Clint is reminded suddenly of how much of himself he revealed through that wall between them. Not his title, perhaps, but himself.

“What will you do now?” Bucky asks, and Clint just keeps staring. The thought had not crossed his mind. He supposes that is what he needs to think of now.

It is tempting to hide away in obscurity. To live out his days well rid of the court and its greed and power plays.

“You’re welcome to come with me,” Bucky says. “We can find somewhere. It won’t be much - certainly not a castle. But it will be better than a prison cell.”

Clint wants to believe that’s possible. He remembers Bucky’s stories and he can see how he would fit into them. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be simple, and he thinks that maybe that would be better.

But he knows what will happen if those now in charge are left to run things. As much as he hates the crown and the thought of being king again…

He scrubs a hand over the back of his head, feeling the odd sensation of freshly cut hair against his fingers.

“I wish I could,” he says, with complete honesty. “But… you know when they put the crown on your head you swear an oath. The thing everyone remembers is that people swear fealty to the king, but when you become king you have to swear this oath of fealty to your land and… And I swore that I’d protect this land and its people, and I’m not very good at it, but that doesn’t mean I get to stop. It’s my country. And if I thought it would be better off without me, then I’d run away and never look back, but I may not be good at it. But at least I’m trying. Someone has to try.”

Bucky is staring at him, like Clint is speaking another language, and he shifts uncomfortably on the wooden bench.

“I mean. I’m king… sort of.”

“You really are,” Bucky says. “Nat, did you-?”

“Hear that you made me an accessory to treason?” Natasha says. “Yes. I heard.”

“He was king first,” Bucky says. “It would have been treasonous to leave him in there.”

“My life was simple before I met you and Steve,” Natasha says. “I have a feeling it’s about to get even more complicated.”

“You can just drop me off somewhere,” Clint says.

Both Natasha and Bucky scoff loudly.

“We’ve already committed treason,” Bucky says. “We might as well see it through.”

“You can’t just-” Clint begins.

“You know what happened to the last nobleman who said that to me?” Bucky asks, and Clint frowns. “I broke his nose.”

“I just don’t want anyone-”

“If you want to be king, you’ll have to get used to people being in danger because of you,” Natasha says.

“I can’t ask you to risk your lives for something that isn’t even your problem.”

“I mean, we live in this country,” Bucky points out. “It is our problem.”

Clint stares at him and Bucky stares back, a small smile on his face.

“You’re never getting rid of him now,” Natasha says. “Him and Rogers, they’re like limpets. Once they’re stuck on you, they never come off.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky says, grinning even wider now.

Clint looks at him and thinks that maybe that doesn’t sound too bad.

#winterhawk #Winterhawk fic #Bucky Barnes #Clint Barton #historical AU #medieval AU #I wrote something #my fic #my writing #King!Clint #Prisoner!Bucky #Natasha Romanoff #because they needed a getaway driver #For those of you who are interested #Tony made the skeleton key - his father was the locksmith for the castle #Steve got a job in the kitchens and baked the key into the bread #and Sam used Red Wing to get a message to Bucky #Steve also drugged the wine because he knew the guards would drink it themselves #Natasha may also have bribed some people #She isn't telling #The others made themselves scarce earlier and are currently waiting nervously for Bucky and Natasha to show up #They are not expecting the royal plus one #The guard uniforms will be in sacks weighed down by rocks and thrown into the river #That's it for details that didn't make it into the fic

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amethysttribble · 3 years

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General, 10 18 8 2

Thank you so much for this prompt, it got soooo far away from me!

Prompts were: “Do you not remember me?” “You’re weak.” “At least I kept my promises.” “Is that a threat?” (I combined them all into one for Curufin and Finrod)

You know, I originally planned for this to be them screaming at each other, but Curufin decided he'd had character development off screen and wouldn't be goaded. Good for you Curvo!

And I finally got my Finrod voice down the way I want it, and I'm so excited!

Curufin made Finrod go to him, which was rather rude. Inconsiderate, quite frankly. You would think that turning a kingdom’s people against its king and then actively undermining the mission said king embarked and died upon would deserve at least a courtesy call after the fact.

And say what you want about Curufin, usually he was quite good at courtesy. If not always anything deeper.

But he’d been reborn… Finrod would guess it was five years now, and not one visit, not a single hello, no poking his head in official meetings or events where he might not be wanted. Not unless you counted one failed attempt when Finrod was away on business, which Finrod didn’t. And that did concern him, just a little bit. The Halls… he knew as well as anyone the effects of the Halls of Mandos on a soul, even if Angrod did tease him for ‘treating rebirth like a footrace’.

It was very easy to come out from the Halls of Mandos cleansed, but also… reset to zero. Feeling a little hollow, a little empty. A little devoid of any rough edges and jagged bits that truly made a person’s personality.

Finrod had felt stripped bare when he first exited the Halls. And it had been in time to give any advice and information he could, to warn his parents about where Artanis would be, to wish his loved one’s well, to see them off to war and have some hand- any hand- in Morgoth’s defeat. But it had come at the cost… most of what Finrod would consider himself.

“You are not wicked in how you play,” his mother had idly mentioned over a hand of cards once. “I miss that little streak of wickedness to you.”

It had been hard, trying to drag back the pieces of who he once was without letting those aspects lead back towards the mistakes that got him killed. Trying to find the self-indulgent bits without letting them hurt others. Being a little wicked.

Finrod would hate it if Curufin had been reborn only to be utterly devoid of those aspects of his character. So, when he set out to have a little chat with his cousin holed up in the mountains northeast of Formenos, it was with the intent of being a little wicked. He was going to pick a fight.

And he had always been very, very good at picking fights and having it look like the other person started it.

Curufin was easier to rile than most, but also more fun to spar with. That was why- everything else aside- Finrod was still fond of him. The wars of the old days were over, and Finrod would very much like his cousin and friend back.

The joy Finrod got from Curufin’s gobsmacked face when he opened the door didn’t hurt either.

His mouth tilted into an amused, sly smile as Curufin continued to stare, though eventually he managed to shut his mouth. Curufin shifted his stance to partly close the door and stand in the doorway, shoulders coming up defensively. Finrod would have been offended by the wariness had he not known for a fact that Galadriel had smacked him across the face when he first emerged from the Halls.

“Come now, no greeting?” Finrod asked mildly. “Do you not remember me, Curufinwe?”

Curufin let out a high-pitched, strangled noise, and then pushed forward. He shoved gently at Finrod’s shoulder, herding him back and closing the door behind him. Then Curufin made for the grove of olive trees in the distance.

“Let’s not do this here,” he sighed, uncharacteristically subdued, “Aikanaris is working, and I’d rather not crush the bluebells.”

Wasn’t that charming!

“No, naturally, of course not,” Finrod said, jogging up behind him. “But I don’t see any reason why we might be doing anything to hurt your flowers, unless you want to play a rousing game of football, but I think we could still easily avoid them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Curufin groused, coming to a stop in the shade of the trees. This mountain area kept the air cool, but the sun beat down so harshly here. This was a nice little spot, among the leaves with the light weaving between them, the rising peaks in the distance.

It was all lovely, and it seemed a good place to settle down, especially for one like Curufin, who’s been even less keen on the city than his father, and perhaps any of his brothers besides the twins. But this complete and utter isolation… No, it would not do. Even Celegorm had stuck his head from his hiding in Orome’s forests at least once.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Finrod informed him, reaching up to toy with a sunlight illuminated leaf. “It's been so long since we’ve sported together after all. Nargothrond in all her glory still owns my heart, but there was never enough room for such things. I had been considering investing in a sporting atrium, next to the bathing one? But, well, those flames did come up suddenly, and I had other things on my mind.”

“If you want sport, just skip the pretense and choose wrestling,” Curufin said, and though Finrod refused to look down from the leafy veins he was inspecting, he could easily imagine his cousin crossing his arms in indignation.

“Do you truly think,” Finrod asked slowly, finally turning to look at Curufin, “that I am here to hurt you?”

Curufin, his arms as rigidly crossed as Finrod had expected, paused for a harsh moment, glaring. Finrod had to give Curufin this, he never looked away. His eyes, as well, were as well guarded and private as ever, not giving away anything about what he was thinking.

At length, he said, “No. No I do not. But I wish you would.”

Finrod whistled.

“I do believe that is information best kept between you and your wife.”

Curufin jerked as if he very much wanted to hit FInrod, but he restrained himself. It was not a surprise, if Curufin were truly violent he never would have been released from the Halls. But it was nice to see that self-reflection hadn’t totally drowned his fire.

“Begone,” Curufin spat, “begone if you are just here to… gloat or feel superior. I have no time for it.”

“Celebrimbor tells me you have nothing but time, though,” Finrod declared, and rather than further rilling Curufin up as he suspected, Curufin’s shoulders sagged and his eyes softened. How interesting. “Aikanaris I know is working on a new chandelier for the Aqualonde Music Hall, but you wile away your time fitting horseshoes, making tack, and fixing local farm equipment.”

“And why not?” Curufin turned his nose up to sneer down at Finrod, despite being significantly shorter. “It is important work, and I am not above it.”

That made Finrod’s brows furrow. True enough, Curufin had never been one to shy away from the simpler aspects of being a blacksmith. He would say to Finrod sometimes, Just as being a king is more than just sitting in a chair and making grand pronouncements, being a smith is more than just our legendary swords, with that sly grin of his.

But Curufin had always been fueled by one thing: ambition. They had that in common, even if Curufin’s ambitions had not been to be the best- unlike Finrod, with that endless, gnawing drive in his gut that had characterized his younger days- but to simply stand besides who he saw as the best.

His father, obviously.

Finrod couldn’t help but wonder what it meant that Feanor still sat in recrimination in the Halls, while Curufin wondered free, using his considerable skill to make horseshoes.

“True enough, Curufinwe,” Finrod said slowly and carefully, letting his eyes grow half-lidded and a lazy smile creed up his lips. “But you were given a second life to live.”

He could see how Curufin bit his lip to keep from snapping and hissing. Oh, what had he been about to say? Finrod wanted to know.

What he got instead was, “Why are you here, Felagund?”

“Why, to visit with my dear cousin.”

“Orc-shit. Try again.”

Finrod laughed. He tossed his head back and laughed, and Curufin flushed over it.

“Fair enough, fair enough,” he said when he looked down again. “I suppose I am here for the reason you first suspected, though nothing violent. I simply want to… clear the air. To close some unfinished business and accounts with you.”

“Then clear it,” Curufin said, “I have little and less to say to you. Would you like an apology? You can have it, I’m sorry. I tried to tell you as much five years ago, but your sister turned me away.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Finrod insisted, bringing up a hand to rub across his own cheek, where he knew Curufin had been struck. “Artanis… she has not found the same peace as us who passed through the Halls-“

“I know how it works.”

There was a finality in Curufin’s voice that brooked no room for argument. Finrod was happy to drop it, Curufin would know ‘how it worked’ very well, he suspected. After all this time, Maglor still did not look wholly well.

If Curufin accepted the apology, he did not voice it. His inscrutable face was as poised and imperious as ever, making Finrod want to break it open like always. But he did have something he came here the say.

“On that subject, though,” Finrod said softly, being sure to pick his words carefully, “I need you to know, at least in regards to your conduct towards me, there is nothing for me to forgive.”

Curufin narrowed his eyes, and then said, “I’m sorry?” in a tone that sounded almost fragile to Finrod.

“There are no apologies necessary. Not between you and I, or Celegorm and I. I knew… I knew from the moment Beren invoked my oath that we would come into conflict, and I do not begrudge you that. I will not say that I have not had moments of anger, as that would be a lie. I do believe as I lay bleeding out, that was a particularly low moment, and as I thought of the adoring subjects, and glittering kingdom, and grand future to be won that was taken from me, I cursed your name. But I know better than most how the bonds of oaths bind us, and I never- even when it frustrated me- disapproved of people disagreeing with me in my own kingdom. You petitioned my people, and they followed you. That is not a crime.”

Finrod’s hands were shaking ever so slightly when he finished his speech. He had composed it several times, but what had actually come out of his mouth was a wholly new composition, all the same. He knew he’d be playing those words over in his mind all week, trying to make sure they were satisfactory.

Curufin, for his part, might as well have been made of stone he was so still.

Hopefully if Finrod poked, he wouldn’t shatter.

“That being said, everything involving your assaults on Beren and Luthien, and later Doriath, that was most certainly a crime.” Finrod shrugged broadly. “It is also not mine to forgive.”

Curufin gave a rather loud huff of indignation, then looked away. He kicked at the ground, like a nervous child or a bashful maiden. That brought a smile to Finrod’s face.

“Is that what you came all the way out here to say?” Curufin grumbled. “Would you like me to retract my apologies? I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Finrod raised an eyebrow.

��No, I won’t. Say what you want, but I know the truth. It was jealousy that drove my actions in Nargothrond, not anything as noble as a fated tragedy or as pitiful as a binding oath. You know as well as I do,” Curufin said, sliding his eyes over to fix Finrod with a piercing glare, “we all had choices, even within the parameters of our words.”

Finrod gave a long blink.

“Did we?” he asked, words carefully blank.

“Don’t give me that,” Curufin hissed, “You could have fufilled your oath to Beren by sending a paltry force with him, or just gifting him a sword and a meal. You needed not go yourself. But you did.”

“I did,” Finrod agreed, this conversation having taken quite the turn.

“What I never figured out, though,” Curufin said, and the words seems to be spilling out of him now, the control falling away as curiosity took over, “was whether you were suicidally brave or vainly scared.”

Finrod drew in a slight breath and laughed a little, looking back up at the leaves. Trust Curufin to have been the one person who figured him out.

“Mostly the latter,” Finrod breathed out, “I was frightened of what people would say of me if I did not live up to the image I’d created of myself, noble and good and kind.”

“Funny. I’d pinned it on the first.”

Finrod looked down, the question writ all over his face. Curufin cracked a triumphant smile.

He said, “Isn’t it brave to pretend to be better than you are, and succeed in being that good along the way?”

Wasn’t that a thought. A surprisingly positive one for Curufin, but Mandos and Nienna must have had some influence. Celebrimbor, too, given the reports of how truly mended their relationship was.

Finrod knew from experience that trying to be as good as Tyelperinquar thought you were could be a powerful motivator.

Still, Finrod had to confess.

“And did it never occur to you that I might just have been simply naive? That I saw no way out, or that I might have believed just a little bit that we could do it and come home heroes?”

Curufin uncrossed his arms to consider that one. Then he licked his lips and said, “The thought did occur to me, in my lesser moments.”

“Lesser moments,” Finrod mused, but before he could say anything more, Curufin spoke up.

“Why are you here, Felagund?”

“I think I already told you-“

“Because I don’t actually believe you came all the way out here to exonerate me from some guilt I never gave you an indication I was laboring under. Nor do you have any reason to hang around discussing your sins and motivations, if that is the case. So I asked you again: Why are you here, Felagund?”

Finrod hummed to buy himself time, chewing on that thought. He even stole an olive to eat in the meanwhile, before spitting out the pit.

Curufin waited patiently. That had always been his surprising virtue.

“What if I told you, I simply missed you?”

“Bah!” Curufin exclaimed, wrinkling his nose and looking away. He looked so much like a disgruntled cat, that Finrod had to laugh. “You are not half as sentimental as you try to present. Try again.”

“It is true, though,” Finrod chortled, “I have! Though maybe not simply for your charming personality. Perhaps it is simply… I wanted your perspective on the whole affair. You always saw me far more clearly than most others.”

Curufin raised both eyebrows, and then leaned against a tree. The leaves shadowed his face like that, making him look sharper and more sinister. The slight, wicked smile on his face suited him as he shook his head and muttered, “Weak-willed.”

“What was that?”

“I said: you’re weak. Seeking my approval, or maybe my rapprochement. Weak. But do not condescend to me by implying I swindled the kingdom of a fool or coward.”

That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Finrod thought, delighted, but dared not say. He didn’t know why, but it felt too early for such sentiment. Maybe the day sooner than he’d feared, but not yet.

Instead he said, “So I am weak, but not a fool or a coward. I will take that among my virtues, and wear the title proudly cousin, thank you. Not a fool or a coward, I think we have that in common. Perhaps we share the weakness too, but there is a difference between us. At least I kept my promises.”

Curufin scoffed at that, and said, “I do believe part of the problem was me keeping my promises too stringently.”

“No, no, that’s oaths. I’m talking about promises. You promised me something in Nargothrond that you never made good on.”

“And what would that be?”

Finrod took a moment to lean against a tree, let the sunlight stream down onto his face. Then he grinned. He held up his bare hand for Curufin to see.

“You promised me once,” he said, almost giddy, “that you would make me a ring to replace the one I gave Barahir, one that not only rivaled but exceeded that ring’s beauty.”

“Not going to happen,” Curufin scoffed, but Finrod was far from done.

“But Curufinwe!” he cried, “That is why I’m really here, as you keep asking! To make sure you make good on that promise. And if you do not indulge me now, I will just have to come visit again.”

Curufin’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.”

Curufin barked a laugh, and Finrod’s eyes widened in wonder. He had not heard that sound in a long, long time. It made a smile, more real than the other ones, come to his face.

Arda Marred truly had begun to heal.

“Very well then,” Curufin said, sitting up and walking towards the house. He did not gesture at Finrod to follow, but he was not disinvited from doing so either. “We can start drafting designs over lunch. Aikanaris will be furious if you keep interrupting her work with visits.”

Finrod followed behind more than pleased with himself and this trip. He was glad not only to see that Curufin had come out of the Hall still Curufin- if a little reserved- but that this was still fun. Finrod enjoyed the chance to tease and bully and be a little wicked to crafty, wicked Curufin again.

#curufin #finrod #the silmarillion #tolkien #fanfic #sep. requests #Tribble Post

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milfgyuu · 3 years

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Romantically Challenged → Pairing: Jackson Wang x Fem!Reader Tags: 5.7k, AU, Humor, Idiocy, Fluff, Angst, Roommates, F2L. Summary: You live in a happy little delusional bubble with your best friend and soulmate, Jackson, but your friends are tired of you both being blind to one another, and sh!t goes down at function.

Warnings: language, alcohol use, suggestive themes but nothing explicit or detailed, this is pretty mellow.

“Ah, thank you,” Jackson winked at the waitress, earning a blush as she hands over your drinks. You watch from your little booth in the corner as she giggles to her co-worker while he’s making his way over to your table.

It’s like this everywhere you go. Jackson smiles and women just lose their minds. Being his friend may sound exhausting to some but for you, it’s a source of entertainment which might be kind of...fucked-up considering these women fall over themselves when Jackson has zero interest in them.

He doesn’t do it intentionally nor is he a bad guy by any means. Jackson is just a natural charmer. He can make a stranger fall for him in an instant with his charismatic smile and warm personality.

Shit, that was how you met, except for some reason, instead of him floating in and out of your life, he stuck around, forever a pain in your ass. In all the years you’ve known Jackson he’s never once had a girlfriend or even so much as brought a girl home to your knowledge and your surprise. He was a menace when it came to his flirtatious personality though.

You met him in your freshman year of college as the bubbly next-door neighbor. He came over to introduce himself the very day you moved in, even staying to help unload the rest of the boxes from your truck. He was so handsome and charming you immediately warmed to him which was abnormal because you didn’t instantly warm to anyone.

Jackson was polite and sweet, he even made you a little flustered with his endearing smile and contagious laugh. You didn’t have very much, your whole life packed into your explorer but he insisted and you shared Chinese take-out on the floor of your empty living room, best friends ever since.

And for the last year and a half, roommates.

Locking eyes with him as he neared the table you fought a smile, rolling your eyes half-heartedly. He was well aware of the two waitresses giggling and staring at his retreating form. Instead of sliding into his seat and passing your drink over, he stopped at your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek before handing you your cup like a doting boyfriend.

He was such an absolute shit. He sat across from you and you both sneaked a peak at the girls behind the counter who looked significantly less enthusiastic. As one, you swiveled your heads back around to look at each other with a stupid grin adorning each of your faces.

“You really need to stop flirting with every woman you see,” you told him teasingly, taking a sip of your piping hot cappuccino made with extra love courtesy of Jackson’s fan club.

Jackson’s hand flew to his chest, “I don’t just flirt with every woman I see…” He trailed off looking offended before sipping the foam off the top of his latte, “I flirt with every man too.” He finished quietly and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of you.

“You’re an idiot, Jacks,” You tell him, shaking your head lightly.

“Yes,” he agrees before adding, “But I'm your idiot and you can never get rid of me.” His smile turns smug and you swat at him from across the table, missing as he easily scoots back and dodges you.

“Never?” You ask with a raised brow, “Not even when I meet a nice boy and get married? What if he doesn’t want you around, kissing me in coffee shops, hmm?”

Jackson just laughs and raises his comically dainty cup to you, “Well, jokes on you because you’ve already met me and I’m going to be your husband so I think we will get along just fine.”

“That was a terrible proposal,” you scoffed playfully, “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

You should know by now not to challenge Jackson, even jokingly. He suddenly came around the table and knelt down in front of you, tugging behind your knees to scoot you to the edge of your seat. Your eyes widen, slightly embarrassed but you’re accustomed to his theatrical public displays of idiocy.

“Jackson,” You whisper through a false smile, as the two of you start to attract an audience, “I’m not finished with my drink yet, can you save this for-”

“Baby, love of my life, my little honey bun,” Jackson damn near shouts while gripping your hands tightly in his, a slick ass smile on his face because he knows just about everyone in the room is staring at you now.

“I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” He proclaims dramatically and the women in the room begin to swoon, the men taking mental note of his smooth sweet-talk.

“Even if the baby isn’t mine…” He adds and this time your jaw drops. He went there. He really raised the bar this time. Jackson’s eyes are locked on yours and even he is fighting the urge to laugh his ass off at his clever plot-twist.

“I will still love it and raise it as my own,” He says kissing your knuckles and you let him because the quicker he finishes, the quicker you can leave.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, offering you a ring he secretly slipped off his pinky finger while everyone was busy gossiping about the baby bomb.

You leaned in close as if you were going to kiss him, but instead whispered into his ear, “I’m going to fucking kill you,” before pulling back and smiling brightly. You nodded your acceptance and the room was filled with cheers and applause.

Jackson pulled you out of your seat and picked you up in a hug, twirling you around as you swatted his chest. He grinned cheesily and politely thanked the other patrons who came over to congratulate you. You wanted to reach across the table and strangle him but you liked this shop and it wouldn’t do to cause a scene and get kicked out.

As the excitement over your totally fake engagement settled down, you packed up your things and made your way to the door hand-in-hand with Jackson who was going to play out his part until the end but was stopped by the shop owner, offering you free slices of pie to congratulate you. At least one good thing came out of this.

“Oh man, is that the blueberry pie with the crumbs on top?” Jackson asked hopefully when you exited the shop, heading back towards your shared condo.

“It doesn’t matter because you aren’t getting any, but yes it is, your favorite.”

“Wait, why can’t I have any? There’s two pieces!” He whined, swinging your hands between you wildly because he still hasn’t let go, not that you mind.

“Yeah, one for me and one for the baby.”

You and Jackson live in almost complete harmony. You rarely ever argue and you both do your share of household responsibilities. He occasionally eats your precious cookies you hide on the bottom shelf and you may have accidentally died an entire load of his laundry pink when you washed it with a pair of your red underwear. Though the actual argument was about how your underwear ended up in his laundry basket. That lasted all of two minutes because you were both too embarrassed to talk about it.

It could be the fact that you’re both so similar and creatures of habit, but you share the exact same schedule as well. You wake up at the same time, often brush your teeth together, and you cook and eat next to each other before heading off to your respective workplaces. When you come home he is already there, waiting for you to go to the gym or to make dinner plans. Outside of work, you spend all your time together and naturally, people think you’re dating.

There is always the same look of confusion when you both laugh it off and explain you’re just very good friends, no romantic relationship here. You’ve been living in your joint condo for just over a year and your sweet elderly neighbors still think you’re married though you’ve told them you weren’t. They refer to you as ‘that gorgeous newlywed couple’ but you’ve been called worse, so you just roll with it now.

It’s not that you aren’t attracted to Jackson, because you weren’t blind and he was indeed incredibly good looking. It also wasn’t because you were interested in anyone else either. You and Jackson had such a comfortable relationship that neither of you ever really questioned if there was something more than friendship in the cards for you.

You just went about life as roommates and best friends, and neither of you would admit that your intimate behavior was solid evidence that you were both oblivious to your own feelings. Your friends, however, we not oblivious.

Once a month you typically invite over your friends for a few drinks and after a particularly long week, you were due for one of those nights. Jackson sent a group invite out and you stopped by the store on the way home to pick up drinks. Mostly beer but you did grab some mixers and a few snacks.

When you got home Jackson was busy tidying up but he met you at the door with a smile, taking the bags out of your hands and you followed him into the kitchen, setting down your keys and purse.

You watched as he reached up into the cabinets to grab some glasses, his shirt riding up a bit and you pinched his exposed side playfully once the glasses we’re safely out of his hands. He turned to you in surprise and you had all of a two-second head start as he chased you out into the living room. You squealed when he caught up to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly and tickling your sides as you laugh and beg him to stop.

He had you in complete hysterics so neither of you noticed someone coming through the door until they cleared their throat and you both froze, finding a familiar face in the foyer. “Am I interrupting something here?”

You playfully pushed Jackson away by a palm to the forehead and threw yourself at the man in front of you. “Park Jinyoung! The love of my life, you’re here!” You shouted, leaping into his arms.

Jinyoung thankfully caught you and squeezed you to his chest. His perfect, warm, solid chest you might add. You remained in his arms as he set you back down onto the floor, leaning back to take in his stunning smile. “I missed you!” you pouted, smacking his chest, just so you could touch it again.

Jinyoung had been out of the country for the past month due to work and missing him was an understatement. Jackson and Jinyoung grew up together and have been best friends since childhood. They were a package deal but you adored Jinyoung from the moment you met him and the three of you spend a lot of time together. He even had his own key to the house which is how he let himself in.

Jackson pushed his way in between you, picking your hand off Jinyoung’s chest with a look of distaste. “Hands off the merchandise,” He said to you, and Jinyoung laughed before Jackson turned on him, “Same goes for you.” Jinyoung just leaned around Jackson, blowing a kiss in your direction which you pretend-caught in the air with a wink.

“So disrespectful, my fiance and my boyfriend. How could you betray me like this?!” Jackson exclaims dramatically, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh, it’s fiance now? So you both finally admit you’re-” Jinyoung started snarkily before you cut him off by grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the kitchen, “Best friends? Yep, you caught us!” You finished, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, just remember, you’re the one who said yes!” Jackson called after you, walking to the door to let someone in.

“How could I refuse? You offered to love my fatherless, unborn child,” You shouted back as you opened the fridge.

“You’re having a baby?” Jinyoung asked doubtfully with a raised eyebrow when you popped the top off a beer and passed it to him.

“Who’s having a baby?” A smooth voice questioned as they entered the kitchen, Jackson trailing behind.

You smiled wide at Jaebeom’s handsome face, walking into his open arms and kissing his jaw, “Oh look, Jackson. My baby daddy is here. Want your ring back?” you smirked at him, leaning with your back against Jaebeom’s chest, his arms draped over your shoulder’s tauntingly.

Jackson’s jaw dropped to the floor and he tugged you right out of Jaebeom’s hold. You laughed as he grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up onto the counter. He stood between your legs, arms bracing your thighs protectively as he faced the other two men in the room.

Jackson glared at them before lifting his chin to look up at you over his shoulder, “You are my fake fiance and that is my fake baby. Stop flirting with our friends,” he pouted.

You dropped an arm across his chest and the other played with his hair, which looked stellar today, by the way. “Jacks,” you cooed to him sweetly, “You’re just mad because I got to them first.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fuck,” he patted your hand over his heart, “You’re right,” He agreed and you released him so he could greet them properly. After a ridiculously over-the-top, intricate handshake with Jaebeom, he launched himself into Jinyoung’s arms bridal style, kissing him on the cheek and you can’t help but crack up at Jinyoung’s face.

You were suddenly scooped up off the counter and thrown over a broad shoulder. “It’s getting too romantic in here for me,” Jaebeom sighed, carrying you into the living room and away from the increasingly emotional bro-fest in the kitchen.

You’ve known Lim Jaebeom since your freshman year of high school. You were both two socially awkward teens that got paired together in your home econ class to raise an animatronic baby together. He’s been one of your closest friends and your ‘baby daddy’ ever since. He and Jackson hit it off immediately when you introduced the two, not that you were surprised.

The doorbell rang and Jaebeom set you down before he plopped down on the couch and started messing with the remote. You went to open it without looking which was a terrible idea as you were immediately scooped up and sandwiched between Yugyeom and Bam. They squeezed and bounced you until you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“Down boys! Put her down before you break her!” You heard someone else shout over the laughter.

You peeked your head around Yugyeom’s broad shoulders to find your friend AJ standing in the doorway with an amused smile on her lips and a hand cocked on her hip. Her signature ‘YugBam discipline’ stance. That typically did the trick but the terror twins were in rare form tonight and moved in on her right away, ignoring the protests as they surrounded her.

“You asked for it, baby,” her boyfriend, Youngjae, laughed as he moved around them into the house, hugging you politely before wandering over to greet Jaebeom.

You laughed at your friend, flailing around, shouting expletives at the two rowdy boys to put her down while her boyfriend straight up abandoned her to her fate. She was suddenly saved by Mark, who shut your door a little too loudly, garnering the younger boys’ attention.

They dropped AJ who braced herself, hands on her knees trying to catch her breath while giving Youngjae serious side-eye, and started creeping towards Mark who held his hand up threateningly. “If either of you idiots touch me, I will throw you off the upstairs balcony.”

You giggled at their immediate submission to Mark. Both backing away, heading toward the kitchen with matching mischievous grins and you thought maybe you should have bought less alcohol. Just as they went in, Jackson and Jinyoung emerged.

“Are you two finally done making out?” You asked teasingly, letting Mark wrap you up in a quick side-hug before he helped AJ straighten herself back up.

“Shit, did we miss it? Can you guys do it again?” AJ flicked her hand between the two, still heavily panting and trying to catch her breath. She pointedly ignored Youngjae’s eye roll. Serves him right for leaving her defenseless.

“Sorry, but this show ain’t for free, ladies,” Jackson taunted and Jinyoung added, “I don’t care what you pay me. I’m not making out with him.”

The seating in the living room is just barely enough to accommodate everyone. Jinyoung finds a spot by Bam and Yugyeom, while Mark plops down on the opposite couch between Jaebeom and Youngjae. AJ makes her way over to sit on the arm of the couch next to Youngjae and despite all their teasing, she leans down to kiss his forehead as he wraps an arm around her waist. Jackson’s the odd man out but decides to settle down on the floor between your legs where you sit in the armchair, propping his arms over your thighs comfortably.

Jaebeom finally settles on a channel that mostly serves as background noise for the first half of the night as everyone talks, laughs, and drinks until their heart’s content. The room was in hysterics after Bam re-enacted Yugs embarrassing himself in front of the cute new receptionist in their office which ended with Yugyeom blushing furiously and putting Bam in a headlock. Rightfully so.

After a few hours of swapping funny stories and venting about work and life, everyone started to settle in, getting comfortable on the couches as the conversation started to die down. The effects of alcohol and the fatigue of the workweek wearing everyone down. Mark was the first to head out, a slick grin on his face when he explained his fiance just arrived home from a two-day work conference.

“So, how long should we wait to go home?” Youngjae asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Mark asked with an adorable look of confusion.

AJ chimed in from Youngjae’s lap, her back comfortably laid against his chest, “The walls between our apartments are thin neighbor and I don’t need to hear about how b-” The rest was muffled by Youngjae’s hand-thrown over her mouth, and Mark’s face went bright red before he sputtered out “Two hours, please.”

He stopped halfway out the door before turning around, “The walls are just as thin on my side, neighbor, and I have heard down-right filthy things come from your mouths,” he shuttered dramatically and let out a high-pitched laugh while shutting the door quickly before AJ found something nearby to throw at him.

The room was silent for a moment before everyone busted out laughing at the couple’s expense. Youngjae grinned widely while AJ curled further into him, burying her head in her boyfriend’s neck as he held her close, still struggling to contain his laughter. She muttered out a quiet, “Remind me to kill him tomorrow,” while Youngjae pressed his lips to her temple.

You smiled at the sight. Sometimes you are a little envious of their sweet, laid-back relationship but you’re just so happy for them. You sit up in the chair a bit further, one hand propped under your chin against the arm of the chair, the other absent-mindedly carding through Jackson’s hair while he leans his head back into you, delighted in the feeling of your nails on his scalp.

“Ewwwww! It’s so coupley in here,” Bambam squealed, startling you out of your short reverie.

“First of all, you scared me you nut-job,” You started with a stern look in his direction, “Secondly, there is only one couple here and they are always doing ‘coupley’ things,” You finish with an eye roll.

Jaebeom snorted and Jinyoung raised a brow at you sarcastically. Even Youngjae and AJ were looking at you now. Jackson must have noticed your fingers cease their movements and looked back up at the group. “What’s everyone looking at?”

“You guys are seriously delusional,” Yugyeom scoffed and your hands dropped to the tops of Jackson’s shoulders, a confused look on your face.

“Who is?” You asked, feeling a bit anxious, which was odd because you had an idea of where this was going but the confrontation has never bothered you before.

“YOU AND JACKSON! Hello, ‘Just Friends’ my ass!” Bam shouted, standing up and waving his arms between you.

“Dude, why are you yelling? We’re right here,” Jackson said nonchalantly, leaning back and settling further into you to help calm your nerves.

“Are you really telling us you guys aren’t romantically involved, in any way? After all this time?” Jaebeom asked in a serious tone.

“No,” You both replied in unison, “Why are you all so convinced we’re lying to you?” You asked, getting flustered with everyone’s focus on you.

“Well, let’s list the key points. Number one, you live together,” Bam chimed back in.

“So do you and Yugs, what’s your point? Are you dating?” Jackson asked him, brows raised and you squeezed his shoulders supportively.

Jaebeom who was sitting closest to you continued, “Number two, physical contact. You’re always touching one another.”

You shoot a look at Jaebeom, “We’re not always touching each other. I show the same physical affection to you and Jinyoung,” You protested, but you’ve yet to remove your hands from Jackson.

“Yeah- speaking of, why am I not included in that?” Bambam butted in incredulously but someone else jumped in before you could respond.

“I’ve found you on top of one another sleeping on the couch several times. I’ve also been here for many movie nights and it’s not my side you're tucked into all night,” Jinyoung added, crossing his arms as if challenging you to tell him he is wrong.

“Okay, so we’re just super comfortable with each other. What’s wrong with that?” Jackson asks in that same calm voice and you’re wondering how he’s staying so relaxed.

“You eat together,” Youngjae added. True.

“You do domestic things like grocery shop together,” AJ threw in. Also true, but that’s reasonable considering you live together and share food.

“You spend holidays with each other’s families,” Yugyeom put in. True as well, but you love seeing mama Wang and your dad loves spending hours talking sports nonsense with Jackson, which is a bonus because then you don’t have to.

“You sleep in the same bed, often,” Jinyoung claims. Ok, true, but sometimes you have nightmares, or you end up talking until you accidentally fall asleep.

Sometimes you just like being held while you sleep and Jackson likes when you scratch his back until he passes out. The point is, you’re taking Jinyoung’s key back.

“OK, so are we watching a movie or what?” You exclaimed, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Wait, so you two sleep together?” Jaebeom asks, completely ignoring your attempt at moving on.

“Yes, we sometimes sleep together. But that’s it, we just sleep!” You argue and as your panic starts to rise you notice Jackson says nothing, he just continues to press his weight into you, helping your breathing stay even.

“Jackson,” Bam calls out, waiting for him to meet his eyes, “Can you honestly say you’ve never wanted to fuck her? You’ve never, not once, wanted to touch her while she’s lying next to you? You can’t, can you?” He asked with narrowed eyes and a smug grin.

There was an audible gasp and you weren’t sure if it came from you, AJ, Youngjae, or Yugyeom. Probably all four as you wore matching looks of disbelief. Bam, Jinyoung, and Jaebeom all just stared at Jackson willing him to spit out the truth.

The man beneath you was stock still until you finally felt him breathing again. “Yeah, I think I’m just going to go to bed. Enjoy your movie,” he said suddenly, patting your hands, then he stood up and walked out without another word.

The room was silent and you were at a complete loss for words. The only sound being Jinyoung’s hand hitting Bam’s chest harshly. How did the conversation get this far? Why didn’t he just tell them they were being ridiculous and laugh them off like he normally does? What the hell happened?

“Hey, babe,” AJ whispered to you, kneeling in front of your chair, “I think we're all just going to go home ok? Everyone’s had a bit much to drink and it’s getting late.” You just nodded to her silently and let her wrap you up in a fierce hug before Youngjae shot you a sympathetic smile and lead AJ toward the door.

Yugyeom muttered an apology on Bam’s behalf who was already out the door, embarrassed at how far he took things. He squeezed your shoulder, not really sure how to comfort you before he left, dragging Bam down to the car, smacking him upside the head for his drunken stupidity.

Jaebeom pulled you out of your chair and wrapped his arms around you comfortingly. “Don’t think so much, ok?” He told you, easing the tension a bit.

That’s how he’d tease you in school when you got worked up about something and it always made you smile, even on your worst day. He kissed the top of your head before backing away toward the door, taking his leave.

One left. “Come here,” Jinyoung ordered, still sitting across from you.

You took a seat next to him and he wrapped one of his large hands around yours rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “Look at me,” he added softly and you obeyed.

“You know that as your friend, I love you and Jackson, you’re both like family to me,” He paused and you nodded, “I only ever want what’s best for you both, but you have got to look at what is right in front of you.”

“I know Jackson better than anyone and that man loves you, more than a friend, more than a best friend,” He looks at you, pleading with you to understand, “I think that If we’re lucky enough in life to find our soulmates, I believe that you’ve already found him and he has found you.”

You’re surprised when a tear rolls down your cheek and you hadn’t even realized you were crying. Jinyoung looped his arm around you, pulling you close while you laid your head on his shoulder, feeling the love and support radiating off of him. “I should probably go talk to him, huh?,” You sigh and he chuckles in agreeance.

You walked Jinyoung to the door and locked it behind him before taking a deep breath. You stopped in the bathroom to tidy yourself up, making sure you weren’t overly flushed or had mascara running down your face before making your way up the stairs to Jackson’s room.

You knocked hesitantly at first, but when he didn’t answer you opened the door just to peek around and found him laying in the bed. You can hear the music blasting in the headphones he’s wearing and realized he probably had no idea you were there.

As you slowly approach the bed, you take him in. He’s laying back against his pillows, eyes closed, brows furrowed. He looks as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders and that's a look completely foreign to you on him. Jackson has never looked so deeply immersed in thought and it concerns you, to say the least.

“Jacks,” your murmur, reaching out to nudge him gently, alerting him of your presence.

His eyes pop open at your touch and he removes his headphones, sitting up and shifting over to make room for you on the bed next to him. It’s a habit to want to reach out to touch him, comfort him, but instead, you keep your hand laced together in your lap. It’s the first time in a long time since you’ve questioned your boundaries with him.

“I’m sorry I left you to the wolves out there,” He starts, running a hand through his hair looking more exhausted than ever, “I just had to leave before I broke Bam’s fucking jaw.”

You both sat in silence for a moment before you spoke again. “Jacks,” you nearly whispered, “Why did his question upset you so much? It’s not the first time they’ve been on our case.”

Jackson stared at you long and hard and you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest waiting for his answer. “Because he’s right.”

Oh. “What do you mean?” You ask him, eyes wide, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re squeezing your hands together.

Jackson looked to your hands in your lap and picked them up, gently prying them apart and holding them in his own. “I need you to listen to me very carefully because if I’m going to risk it all, you have to hear me out,” He tells you, looking more serious and sincere than you’ve ever seen him.

You could only nod at him, squeezing his hands a bit, encouraging him to continue. “Do you remember last year, we went to Bam and Yug’s Halloween party?” You nodded, “We were completely wasted and we ubered home together?”

Your mouth was suddenly dry as the Sahara when you realized where he was headed. “We ended up making out in the car and all the way up to your room,” He trailed off, blushing brightly, “I left you for just a minute to make sure we locked the front door but when I came back you were asleep and when you woke up the next morning you acted like you had no memory of it.”

“Holy shit,” You breathed, “So that actually did happen?!”

Jackson’s brows furrowed further, “Wait, are you saying you remember?” He asked, sounding hesitantly hopeful.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks and you shied away slightly, “I mean, I thought it was just a really vivid dream and when I woke up, everything was the same and I just let it go thinking I imagined the whole thing.”

Jackson surprised you by laughing. “Trust me. I’ll never forget that night, it definitely happened,” He admitted and you thought you might lose yourself in the way he smiled.

“That night changed things for me,” He said quietly, “I think part of me always knew that I wanted more, but I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I figured it was better to have you this way than not at all and I just kept pushing my feelings back until I could hardly recognize them for what they were.”

You thought back on that morning after when you woke up in your bed alone, thinking you had imagined the whole encounter. You had sworn you could still feel his hands trailing down your spine and the taste of his tongue but you immediately swept those feeling under the rug. Better to have him this way than not at all, indeed.

“Jacks,” You said sweetly, deciding it was time to be brave, “Are you saying you have a crush on me?”

Jackson’s eyes shot back to yours, a startled look on his face until he spots your sneaky grin and knows you’re teasing him. Two can play that game.

“If you call being ‘head over heels’, ‘shout it from the rooftop’, in love with your best friend a ‘crush’, then yes. I have a crush on you,” He smiled, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

You couldn’t possibly smile any wider as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down and crashing your lips together. He was quick to recover from the shock and he wrapped his arms around your torso, picking you up to set you in his lap, holding you as close as humanly possible while he returned the kiss enthusiastically.

“We...are...so...fucking...stupid…” You mumbled between kisses and you delighted in the way he smiled and laughed onto your lips.

“The pc term is ‘Romantically Challenged’,” He interjected, placing soft kisses along your jawline.

You rolled your eyes as you pulled back from him, looking into his beautiful face, “We wasted a lot of time,” you said quietly, tracing your thumb over his cheekbone.

“To be fair, we’ve practically been dating since I helped you move into your apartment the day I met you. But there are some physical aspects I wouldn’t mind catching up on,” He smirked at you before nipping at your throat lightly, earning a squeal from you.

“So, does this mean you’re not my roommate anymore? Maybe I should call you my boyfriend instead?” You teased him with a sweet smile.

Jackson seemed to consider this far longer than you liked and you swatted his chest for picking on you. “For now,” He negotiates.

“What do you mean ‘for now’? You weirdo” You question him.

“I prefer ‘Husband’, but I guess boyfriend will have to do until I propose to you in another coffee shop,” He sighs and you can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

“You know that means you have to stop flirting with every woman and man you see, right?” You tease him, recalling your conversation in the cafe that day.

“Deal,” He agrees, pressing you closer to his chest and staring up into your face with all the love and adoration written there for you to see.

“Except JB and Jinyoungie,” He adds, “But I'll still share them with you,” he winks, earning a laugh.

You leaned down to kiss him again, long and tender. “I love you, Jacks.”

“I love you too,” He breathes out, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Maybe we should let Bam know you’re not going to kill him now,” you suggest with a light smile.

“Nah, let him sweat it out a little bit. I’m a little pre-occupied at the moment, got some catching up to do,” He grins devilishly, flipping you over and pinning you to the bed before his lips find yours again.

GOT7 M.List | Main M.List

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms WITHOUT PERMISSION! All stories are copyrighted, Bubblebeom, 2020. ©️

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me4ml · 3 years

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Why don't you like Maribat? Why do you think it's a spite or salt ship?

This is presumably because of my Adrigaminette post or the whole Maribat being on the ship list thing.

Quick disclaimer: if you read/ship/write/like Maribat, cool! This is not an attack. This is me answering why I, personally, do not like it. It’s tagged anti, and salt, so it should be filtered. Please don’t harass me over it.

Another note before we start: a lot of what I’m about to write is based on what I’ve read, fic wise or meta, and I blocked off the Maribat tag and fandom a long time ago. It may have changed over there-I doubt it, and I have zero desire to go and look-but this is based on what I’ve seen and read about.

There are, principally, three reasons I can’t stand Maribat, why I think it’s a spite/salt ship.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written in Maribat.

3). Maribat is a mutated salt fic.

If you want to see my reasons why, the rest is under the read more.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

Damian’s not just my least favorite Robin, ranking behind any of the others who have born the name. He’s my least favorite Batfam sidekick overall.

Part of this is his introduction, where he’s a violent, murderous, arrogant, entitled, snotty little brat of a thug. Lest we forget, one of his first acts is to go out, kill a guy, cut off his head, stuff a grenade into the decapitated head’s mouth, and try to blow up Tim. This is his introduction! There are a number of other occasions, including how he treats Jon, his best friend, and the rest of his siblings.

Another part is that he believes that he deserves to be Robin simply because he’s Bruce’s son, and therefore has the blood right to be Robin, to become Batman, and damn anyone else, who are all pretenders. Doesn’t matter that those characters might have a right to become Robin, or the future Batman, he’s the bio son, he deserves it!

Additionally, Damian feels.....not unnecessary, but repetitive, in his actions/characterization. There are other characters who can perform pretty much the same way for whatever storyline is necessary, without including Damian.

Trained by an abusive family to be the best, as an assassin and warrior? Cassandra.

A killer who breaks the main rule of his mentor, which causes tension and strain in the family? Jason.

Incredibly intelligent and talented? Tim.

Damian isn’t unique in what he does, and while that can make him an interesting character, it can also make the focus on him unnecessary.

As well, so much of Damian’s actions and motivations feels like he gets away with stuff, in-universe, because he’s Bruce’s biological son, and so Bruce gives him too much slack, and out-universe, because the writers let him/the fans will defend him. He gets woobified, or leather pantsed. Which leads to:

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written for Maribat.

For all his (numerous) faults, when written well, Damian can be an interesting character. For example: How does he deal with being deeply insecure? By putting on a mask of arrogance and overconfidence.

Some more examples: How does Damian act like an actual child, when he’s never had a childhood? How can he be a hero, if he’s been trained to be a killer? Can he ever catch up to his siblings, or will he feel like they’re always better than him?

Damian’s sense of being Batman’s son, of being the heir to the Cowl, slams right up against the idea of the Batfam: that there are people who have just as much of a right to call Batman their father/father figure, people who are just as talented and skilled and capable as Damian himself is, if not more. Watching Damian develop, when he’s written right, is actually enjoyable; mainly because when it’s done right, it shows Damian actually progressing and growing, becoming more of a person, with friends and interests. Most times, seeing Damian with his pets can be adorable, same with when he hangs out with Jon.

Is he still a brat? Still sometimes a bit too much of a Demon, an al-Ghul? Yes, but that’s always going to be part of him, and as long as he’s shown to try and grow, or gets called out on that, it’s less of an issue (There’s a completely different rant to be written about how DC likes to chuck character development or backstory into the trash when it suits them for a new run. Damian gets hit with this, as does Tim, or they get handed the idiot/conflict ball, but not the space for it).

Maribat hurls this all out the window. Damian’s bad traits are all “fixed” offscreen-he’s developed, matured, gotten better, whatever you want to call it. It’s basically a writer’s hand wave to make Damian into the character who will be the lead of the story, perfectly suited for his main role of being Marinette’s boyfriend and utterly devoted to her every whim and will. He’s enchanted by her at first glimpse, and defends her against everyone who hates her, because no one can understand her like he can!

Uh, what? This is not Damian Wayne. Even at his best, he’s no broody boy, pulled from his “dark path” by the love of a gentle girl. He’s a Jerk with a Heart of Gold-emphasis on the Jerk. There’s a reason his nickname usually involves “Demon.” Is Damian trying to get better? Yes. But even then, he’s not the type to immediately fall in love. He takes a while to warm up to people, for them to earn his trust, and Marinette would not be like that?

Let’s say that Robin is in Paris for a case, he runs into Ladybug and Chat, and after they explains what’s going on, Robin gives them a stare over his mask, and goes “TT! What a worthless hero, I would have caught him already.” LB and Chat would probably want to deck him, and that’s before he keeps talking.

Same with if Damian transfers to the class, or they meet on a field trip to Gotham. Damian’s not gonna care about some random French teenagers on a tour, or if he was transferred he’s gonna be trying to figure out why his father sent him to Paris, and be focused on the mission, not making friends.

Of all of the Robins, the ones that would be the most likely to capture Marinette’s interest would be Dick or Tim, not Damian. He would remind her too much of Chloe, as Damian, and as Robin, he would be dismissive of Ladybug’s abilities, which would absolutely piss her, and Chat Noir, off.

In characters that aren’t Damian, no one seems to be written properly over in Maribatland. One huge example is that Marinette is so beloved, so pure, that she can make any character fall in love with her, and reform by her pure goodness, including a fic where the Joker-THE JOKER!-becomes her “Uncle J,” and pranks Lila on her behalf.

Uh-huh. Sure. Completely and totally something that one of the biggest, most sadistic twisted, notorious villains in pop culture would do. Maribat winds up worshipping the ground that Marinette walks on, cause she’s “Teh best evar!”

Which then leads to my third and final point:

3). The whole Maribat concept is a mutated salt fic.

Most of the themes you’ll find in Maribat? You will find in nearly every salt fic.

Maybe my biggest issue with the whole Maribat idea is that it doesn’t feel like a proper crossover, which, at their best, explore how characters from one universe and their rules would interact with characters from another universe, and the rules of that one. Putting ML and DC together is a rich opportunity to play with concepts in both worlds!

And yet, it’s mainly used to bash ML characters who the writers despise, predominantly Adrien, Alya, and Lila, with members of the class thrown in depending on feeling, and potentially even Marinette’s parents! The only “good” ML characters are the ones who are on Marinette’s side, usually Luka, Kagami, a Chloe who for some reason has been redeemed and is now Marinette’s best friend, and whatever members of the class the writer decides to throw in there.

You’ll notice it’s not called “MiracuBat”, or LadyBat and Bat Noir-it’s MariBat. It’s meant as a focus on Marinette, making her-the hero of the Miraculous Ladybug franchise, someone in-story in story who is incredibly smart and talented and the leader of her team, future Guardian-even more awesome.....by beating down everyone else around her.

Marinette is simultaneously treated as an beaten-up, beaten-down walked-on carpet, and the best person to ever exist ever, go who only needs a group of new, different, better people to recognize that and save her from the clutches of those greedy and ungrateful assholes! That doesn’t include the fics where she’s the unknown child of a superhero or supervillain, making her even more special.

It’s Chameleon salt, class salt, with pointy ears and a cape on.

Some specific examples.

Adrien: Adrien is a spineless doormat who prioritizes Lila over Marinette, or an entitled bastard sexual harasser, only fixated on Ladybug, or even both. Sometimes it’ll get worse, as Adrien will threaten or abandon Marinette if she steps off of his “high road,” and Chat will be a budding rapist, stalking or capturing Marinette after he’s learned she’s Ladybug, while ignoring her prior to that. He will, of course, have his ring stripped and handed off to Damian, who is the “true” soul of Destruction and so therefore a “perfect match” to Marinette’s Creation soul. Occasionally it will be Jason, or Tim, or Dick, but the key thing is that it’s not Adrien!

While Damian’s issues are magically fixed, Adrien gets no such courtesy. Adrien has been abused, just like Damian, and while Damian’s abuse is more extensive and extreme, abuse is abuse. If anything, if Damian met Adrien, he would probably see another abused kid, and want to be his friend/have his “adopt stray person!” Instincts go off. I can much more imagine Damian dragging a bewildered Adrien into the Batcave and yelling “Father I’ve found another one for you to adopt!” than I can Damian immediately hating Adrien, or Chat, simply for breathing.

We never see Clark taking Adrien under his wing, or Bruce, or any of the other Batfam; nor any of the other Justice Leaguers. We never see Selina try to fight Bruce over the kid, because he’s cat-themed, and Selina can train him, this one’s hers Bat, get off!

Adrien’s never treated as a kid, or given actual development. A major complaint among salters is that Adrien is treated as perfect and never develops, and in fic, rather than developing him, Adrien either remains static, with his flaws narratively exploded, or is developed negatively. He’s there to be beaten up on and punished by the writers, if not actually physically beaten up by characters in the fic.

Alya: the not-so-good friend, the cheap excuse for a journalist, the awful person who abandons Marinette for Lila and her “connections.” Never mind that Alya was Marinette’s friend from the beginning, or that Marinette’s chosen her multiple times for a Miraculous. One instance of questioning Marinette about Lila, and Alya’s a backstabbing bitch.

Maribat treats Alya as neglectful, bossy, domineering and submissive at the same time to Marinette and Lila respectively, and as a journalist, the worst of the worst. She’s played as a two-bit paparazzo, and once again, the DCU is used to punish her. We don’t see Alya get mentored by Lois or Clark-indeed, if they notice her, it’s with disdain or disappointment. Often, they’re crushing her under their heel, calling her not only a bad journalist, but a bad friend/person. This forgetting, of course, that Alya runs her blog as a hobby so far, she’s only a teenager, and that she’s had Marinette’s back against Chloe and Lila.

The Class: the dupes or allies as needed. Class salt levels depend on what the writer needs. If they’re pro-class, they’re all on Marinette’s side, aside from Alya Adrien and Lila. Chloe, for some ungodly reason, is “redeemed” nigh instantaneously, and often will become Marinette’s best friend, if that isn’t Kagami already. Kagami will drop Adrien like a wet tissue, never trying to reconcile him with the clas, or encourage him to stand up for himself, or if she does, Adrien, of course, will not listen.

If the writer is anti-class, whoo boy. Openly mentally, emotionally, physically abusive to Marinette, the worst gang of people you would ever have the displeasure of meeting, they all need to be in Arkham.

We never see any of the class make friends with the Batfam, the Titans, Young Justice-unless they’re on Marinette’s side, of course. There’s no Alix stopping Selina at the Louvre, for instance, or Max hanging out with Babs. It’s all based on how Marinette is treated as to whether or not the class is portrayed as being worse than the worst of the Rogues Gallery.

Wrapping it all up, Maribat has made me dislike the entire concept of a DC/ML crossover.

Even if someone had written an non-salt, in-character crossover, I don’t know if I would read it, simply because the well has been that poisoned.

#anti maribat #anti maridami #anti daminette #maribat salt #daminette salt #maridami salt #anti damian wayne #Damian Wayne salt #ml fandom salt #anonymous #ask answered #long post

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ohsnapcracklepopfriends · 3 years

Text

Here it is. A completely ridiculous carraville fic written during five minute breaks. Apologies if it’s a little all over the place and cheesy.

The first thing Jamie did upon walking into their hotel room was faceplant on the bed. Gary thought about mentioning that maybe rubbing your face on a hotel duvet was not the most sanitary thing in the world but stayed quiet. He dropped his bag next to his bed and carefully removed his shoes, lining them up in front of the nightstand. They had been in this routine of sharing hotel rooms for about a year now. They would get one room with two beds to “save money”. Not that saving money should have mattered to either of them after having successful careers as football players. They didn’t really talk about it and Dave did them the courtesy of not mentioning their little arrangement, though there was no way he didn’t notice.

Gary turned towards the wall to change into his sleep shirt. It wasn’t his favorite sleep shirt, that, of course, was a big, old shirt with a proud United logo on the chest, but it was big, cozy, and wouldn’t annoy Jamie. He looked over to the other bed where Jamie was unmoved, face still smooshed into the mattress.

“You need to change before you sleep, James. Your clothes will get all wrinkled.” Now, Gary didn’t care, he really didn’t, he just wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. They were professionals after all and if his colleague were walking around looking like he slept in a bathtub, it would definitely damage Gary’s credibility. Definitely.

Jamie groaned in response, a tired, frustrated groan, and made no effort to move. Gary sighed and walked over to Jamie bed and hauled him up to a seated position. Though, Jamie immediately fell back onto the bed, he was at least in a position where Gary could remove his shoes. Gary started at the laces and tugged them off one at a time. He sat on the bed and started to work on the buttons of Jamie’s shirt but the idiot batted him away.

“Come on, you nugget, I need to take off your shirt.” Gary stubbornly tried for the buttons as Jamie continued to bat him away.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No.” Gary was proud of how true he made it sound, given the circumstance.

“Go on then, Gaz. You can take of the kecks too. Been told I’ve got a nice arse.”

“Fine,” Gary got up, “you just sleep in your slacks and your tie. See if I care when you accidentally choke to death in the night.” Gary walked into the bathroom, slamming the door slightly harder than he meant to. Gary sat on the counter next to the sink and cursed everything in his life that led him to this point. Especially Jamie. Jamie and his stupid eyes and his stupid hair and his stupid muscles and his stupid jokes and his stupid accent that Gary actually, somehow found hot. He was a fucking disgrace. He needed Sir Alex to slap some sense into him.

“Gaz?” Jamie’s voice was quiet and cautious from behind the door. Gary banged his head against the wall.

“What?”

“Can I come in?” Jamie didn’t wait for an answer, he just opened the door. Gary had forgot to lock it in his frustration, total amateur move. Jamie walked up to the counter where Gary was sitting and stood in front of him, his thighs pressed against Gary’s knees. Gary looked in the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at Jamie.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, “I was trying to have a little banter, but I didn’t realize it would get to you like that.” This was the problem with Jamie: Gary could never decide if he wanted to kiss him or throw him out a window.

“I was trying to look out for you and what do you do? You hit me and act like an arse.” Jamie looked a bit ashamed of himself. “I get it. Gary Neville’s gay! Ha bloody ha. Have a big bloody laugh with all your friends, but if you could do it away from me, that would be great. And just because I’m attracted to men doesn’t mean I’m attracted to every man I meet. Don’t get me started on the Scholesey jokes—”

“—You’re gay?” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Gary had just started rambling, he hadn’t even realized what he was saying. This is what he gets for having zero brain to mouth filter. Gary shut down. He hoped that maybe if he didn’t move Jamie would forget he existed. God, he’d need to get a new job and a new number. He’d also need to figure out how to get Carra to sign an NDA. Maybe he could bribe him? He must have some dirt on him. He just needed to think of it. “Gary,” Jamie said, he was uncharacteristically serious, “I am not making fun of you because you’re gay. First of all, I didn’t even know you were gay, and second of all, that would be pretty fucking hypocritical of me.”

“What?” Gary said, eloquently. He figured he looked like a gaping idiot.

“I’m bi. I would be pretty fucking ridiculous of me to make fun of you being attracted to men.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Gary blurted it out without thinking. He once again cursed his lack of a brain to mouth filter. Jamie just laughed though, which Gary guessed was a good thing.

“Not yet, though there is this bloke,” Gary’s heart sunk, “I’ve liked him for years, mate, fucking ages. He’s a bit of an idiot so I don’t think he’s figured it out yet, but I like him. He keeps me on my toes. He’s fucking gorgeous, but again, he’s an idiot so he hasn’t figured that out either.”

“That’s good for you. I hope he makes you happy.” Gary hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt, which was not at all. Carra kept going though. He talked about his mystery boy’s hair, accent, arms, apparently, he had cute glasses he wore from time to time that Jamie liked too. Gary just wished he would shut the fuck up.

“I mean there are a few complications. He’s stubborn. Really stubborn, like. He lives too far away and I don’t think he’d move any closer.”

“He sounds nice and reasonable, I’m sure if he really likes you, he’ll move closer. I know I’d move just about anywhere for someone I liked as much as you like him.” The words physically hurt. This was worse than Jamie smacking him in the nose earlier. Gary definitely wanted to throw him out the window now. Maybe, he’d throw himself out the window, it would be easier. “You should go call him or something. Tell him how you feel.” Gary was so desperate to escape the situation that he was willing to push Jamie into another man’s arms. He felt pathetic. Forget Sir Alex, he needed to call Phil. Phil was always a good listener and wouldn’t mind if he called him at what must have been about one in the morning.

Jamie tilted his chin up, so they were eye to eye. “Gary, you complete idiot.” It was only when Jamie was kissing him that he realized that Jamie was very very right. He was a complete idiot. Thinking back on their conversation it should have been obvious from the start. Gary had a moment of realization and pushed Jamie enough to separate them but not nearly out of his space.

“I’m not moving to Liverpool. I know I said almost anywhere but there is no way I am moving to Liverpool.” Jamie laughed and buried his head in Gary’s shirt.

“I know, Gaz. I know.”

#carraville #my fic

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mixelation · 3 years

Text

fic: to wake the dead, pt 4 (final part, ~1.7k)

part 0, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

SUMMARY:

In which Karin’s blood’s power goes beyond just healing. Like, way beyond.

This is the last bit!! I wrote this fic a couple years ago and lost steam at some point, so it ends sort of.... abruptly, lol. It was a ton of fun to write and then reread, but right now I have zero plans to continue it. You have been warned.

Madara fled.

He tried to grab Sasuke first, of course. Itachi appeared at Hashirama’s heels, though, and Sasuke yelled something completely nonsensical and lashed out at Madara with his sword.

“You–” both Hokage started in unison, and Madara vanished into the air.

Sasuke appeared to be having a panic attack, gripping at Itachi’s shirt with hard breath shakey fists.

“I think we need to go,” Itachi murmured.

“Now hold on–” the Raikage started, marching over to where they stood.

They left anyway, speeding off through the hole in the building Hashirama had created. Juugo and Suigetsu exchanged looks, then ran off after them.

“What the hell is wrong with your village?” Someone probably demanded from Danzo.

The Raikage was probably fast enough to follow them, Karin thought. He didn’t though, and neither did anyone else, possibly because they had to do some political nonsense first.

They stopped fleeing somewhere not too far from the summit site, and Itachi let Sasuke continue to cling to him.

“What–” Suigetsu puffed out. He was fast and strong, but not enough to not be horribly out of breath after sprinting after three of the greatest shinobi Konoha had ever produced. “What–”

“Can you send another bird to that girl?” Hashirama asked politely.

“Karin,” Minato said helpfully. “Her name is Karin.”

Juugo obediently went to find a bird to do just that while Suigetsu futilely fumed about how little sense this all made. When he was ignored, he stomped off to find Juugo.

He found someone else instead. He attacked, because that’s what Suigetsu did, and she kicked his sword. It broke it two.

“Hey!” Suigetsu yelled. “Hey! Fuck you! Do you know how much blood that will take to repair?”

He was getting ready to show her just how much, when the dumb blond Hokage appeared between him and the girl.

“Oh,” said the Hokage. “Hmm.”

The girl looked shocked and terrified, which seemed to be the natural reaction to Minato.

Suigetsu wanted to just kill her. She had a Konoha headband, though, so Minato just sort of ignored him and bodily dragged her back to the clearing where Sasuke was still deciding if he wanted to cry into his brother’s arms or murder him.

The girl, with her arms held tightly behind her back, looked more and more panicked with each new person she saw. Then she focused on Sasuke, and her face shifted to frankly comical shock.

“Sasuke-kun?” she said. Sasuke glanced at her, then frowned slightly.

“Sakura?”

Kisame came to tied to a tree, chakra-suppressing seals painted across his arms and chest courtesy of Kushina.

Karin stood over him, one hip popped, impatiently tapping her foot on the ground.

They’d moved him away from the pond he’d made in the forest. Samehada had nearly skewered Shisui when he’d tried to move it, so they’d left it behind.

“Are we awake yet?” Karin asked, sarcastically sweet.

Kisame blinked groggily at her. “...poison,” he said eventually. “Typical Sound-nin.”

Karin hadn’t realized Sound had been around long enough to eclipse Sand’s reputation for ‘poisoned everything,’ but she supposed it was a valid assessment of Orochimaru’s philosophies.

“Here’s the deal,” Karin said. “You don’t actually want to kill us.”

Kisame snorted. Karin raised an eyebrow.

“You came here on orders from Madara, but you didn’t like those orders,” Karin continued. Kisame twitched. “I’m right then, aren’t I?” she said, adjusting her glasses.

“Orders are still orders,” Kisame said. “I’ve killed people I didn’t want to kill before.”

There was a barely concealed bitterness there though, and Karin silently thought, Checkmate.

“Did Madara make you the same pitch he made us?” Karin drawled. “Creating a just world, free of shinobi bullshit?”

Kisame didn’t say anything.

“So something similar, at least,” Karin concluded. “Haven’t you noticed Madara is shinobi bullshit personified?”

Kisame’s eyes narrowed into a glare. It was fierce and especially striking after all his grinning.

Karin had no objections to killing Kisame. She did, however, have objections to pissing Itachi off, because that could really throw a wrench in her plans to marry into his family, as well as her plans to keep living in general. Itachi respected Kisame, and probably liked him or something, so killing him was out. Instead, she had to find a different solution.

They left him there, tied to the tree and weaponless with his chakra blocked. Karin was confident he’d be fine. She was also reasonably confident that he wasn’t going to follow them once he got free. He might not stop following Madara, but she’d gotten under his skin enough that he’d be reluctant to blindly attack them again.

Well, he’d be reluctant to attack Shisui at least, who was Itachi’s favorite. And he’d be reluctant to kill Kushina, who had been a fun fight. He’d still probably be okay hunting down and killing Karin.

Eh. She could win him over later. She had bigger problems to worry about right now.

A bird intercepted them, a scroll of paper tied to its leg. Kushina was unreasonably excited about a tiny bird suddenly circling Karin’s head.

Karin, who still hated birds, shooed it away and let Kushina catch it and read the note out loud.

“‘Separated Sasuke from Madara. Madara not Madara. Kidnapped Sakura.’” Kushina blinked up at them. “Who’s Sakura?”

Neither Karin nor Shisui had any idea.

“What does he mean, ‘Madara not Madara’?” Shisui wondered.

That one was easier to puzzle out. Madara, if he were alive today, would be over a hundred years old. The man Karin had met was definitely sprier than that.

“But he had the Sharingan,” she insisted.

The color suddenly drained from Kushina’s face. “Oh,” she said. “There was– before the massacre, there was– a missing-nin with the Sharingan.” She paused, and Karin could literally see her struggling to harden her expression. When she did, she said, “He killed me.”

The problem with being dead for a very long time and having recent history explained to you by Shisui, who had also been dead for a long time, was that you missed details.

Kushina had gotten some of the story of the Uchiha massacre because she’d asked after her friend Mikoto. Hashirama and Minato, however, had not seen the walls of urns from the mass burial the Uchiha received. They didn’t know Itachi had been working with a terrorist organization for years. They didn’t know Sasuke had willfully left Konoha. Hell, Hashirama had assumed Karin was a born and bred Konoha ninja.

They just knew Sasuke was being manipulated by a man who claimed to be Uchiha Madara, that whoever that man was was a threat to their village, and that Sakura refused to look Itachi in the eyes.

“‘S a bit rude,” Hashirama said, watching her as he grew a branch around her to prevent her from running off. “You should trust your comrades.”

Sakura, pinned to the tree, stared at him.

Sasuke managed to stagger over to them, Itachi following him like a shadow. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to stop you,” was Sakura’s answer. Later it came out she’d planned to use the tried-and-true method of murder, but she was smart enough not to mention that while being held captive.

“Danzo deserves to die,” Sasuke said, the same way one might say, “You should tip our waiter.”

“He’s the Hokage,” Sakura stressed.

Suigetsu, who had been hovering around them, probably plotting to drown Sakura at first opportunity, cut in. “If the Yellow Flash quit because he died, and then comes back to life, does he get his job back?”

“I’m sure Karin can patch up Sarutobi-sama,” Minato said with a smile, because he knew what Shisui knew, and that was that Sarutobi Hiruzen replaced him.

Sakura, who was at least partially convinced they weren’t going to torture or kill her at this point, let her eyes dart between everyone in open confusion.

“What?” she said. “Who’s Karin? What has she been telling you?”

“Karin’s my teammate and the Sandaime is dead,” Sasuke said. He paused. He thought about his current circumstances. Three dead people had shown up, claiming Karin sent them, and they didn’t even know who the Hokage should be. “What is happening.”

Itachi pulled him away, muttering explanations in soothing tones, which must have been at least slightly mind-boggling for Sakura.

“So,” she said, squirming against the branch holding her in place. “Did Orochimaru bring you back, or what?”

By the time Karin, Shisui and Kushina arrived, Sakura had been at least slightly filled in but was still stuck to the tree. She had also informed them the rightful Hokage was the unfortunately unconscious Senju Tsunade, which excited Hashirama greatly.

(The part where his granddaughter was Hokage. Not the part where she was in a coma.)

“Darling!” Kushina cried, and hurled herself full-force into Minato’s arms.

Minato was surprised but pleased that his wife had shown up. Sasuke actually jumped up to bodily shield Itachi when Shisui and Karin approached, which was both adorable and heart-wrenching.

“Why did we kidnap a random teenager?” Kushina asked loudly.

“She’s not random,” Itachi said. “Her name is Haruno Sakura–”

Sakura looked deeply disturbed that Itachi knew her full name.

“Are you serious?” Shisui interrupted. “I thought it was a just a nickname because of the hair–”

“–and she was on Sasuke’s genin team,” Itachi continued, completely ignoring Shisui in such a way that Karin thought he’d done it a thousand times before, “along with your son, Yondaime-sama.”

Sakura and Sasuke made identical faces of shock at that revelation and, in unison, let out an outraged, “NARUTO?”

Minato and Kushina were suddenly a lot more interested in Sakura, and crowded around her to ask all sorts of questions about their son. Sakura seemed to struggle to give diplomatic answers.

END OF WHAT I HAVE. However, here’s a cut piece of dialogue:

“Orders are still orders,” Kisame said. “Just like you’ve been ordered to perform this half-assed interrogation.”

“Actually,” Shisui said, draping an arm around Karin’s shoulders. She stiffened. “As far as I can tell, Karin just does whatever she wants. And right now, she wants you to abandon Madara.”

Kisame just stared at them for a few moments.

“I don’t have to respond to that, do I?” he said.

#naruto fanfiction #fic: to wake the dead

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i-see-you-now-you-see-me · 3 years

Photo

Anyways, couldn’t let crazy Hendery’s personalities be the end of DYVLONY right? Here is the High Court Magistrate’s turn :)

Mending souls

(oneshot, can be read separate, included in DYVLONY series)

Pairing: Xiao Dejun (Wayv) x virgin Reader (Y/N) pseudo Anna

Word count : approx 7.5k, prepare to read under the cut

Warnings: not our shiny Xiaojun, but a bit darker version with a problematic need for all things neat, and hate for all kinds of body fluids... loss of virginity, first time sex (safe sex), some form of punishment, Xiao being a bit yandere.

Bill.

Another bill.

When does this end?

You thought to yourself.

College bills won’t pay themselves and the job you’d gotten at a local pub didn’t pay much either, the tips were mainly your income. So, when a job opportunity presented itself in a form of middle- aged man, you didn’t think twice, before agreeing.

A couple of dates every week, with a random stranger, but you’ll get paid for it, sounded ok, at that time. The job description however scared you a bit.

An escort.

A man or woman who is hired to go with someone to a social event- often used from escort agency services/ a person or group accompanying another to give protection or as a courtesy.

-Prostitution? – your college roommate Lea asked.

-No, not at all, - you stated, - I don’t have to sleep with anyone for this, not unless I want to, this company guarantees that I will be safe, they always provide a driver from their own company, who is near enough next to us all the time.

-Still sounds like prostitution, - Lea was a realist, she would say it for what it is.

-I suppose it is some kind of prostitution, I will be giving my time for the other person, but it is worth it, like the man sad, I would be able to pay college tuition, and we’ll have some extra left over, maybe we can both afford something then.

Lea sighed. Her job didn’t pay much either, and you both were struggling, but this was it, a job Is still a job.

-Fine, - she stated, - just be careful, alright?

You nodded and got dressed. Tonight, you will be a dance/music major, and you will accompany a businessman to a simple dinner. Yet, when your driver reached the destination as a five- star hotel, you felt under- dressed.

-What? – you sucked in a breath, - they told me it’s a small dinner.

-It is miss, - your driver announced, - only up to fifty people.

-Fifty? – your head was spinning, yet your nerves were somehow calm. You were not Y/N tonight.

You were Anna, art student, a confident dancer, who looks gorgeous in her outfit. Your driver nodded that it was the time, and soon you were inside the hotel, greeted by an elderly man, who was your partner for the evening.

-Miss Anna, I presume, - he extended his arm to reach for your hand, and kissed the top of your palm, - you look beautiful. My name is Sir Arthur de Clemence, I am a sponsor for many students over the country, and I am trying to attach more people to my fond tonight. See all these people, - he mentioned to the hall, - they have millions to spare, and with your help, I might be able to do that.

-Yes, sir, - you nodded, - I will do my best.

He nodded and you both headed inside.

A small talk with nearly every guest was your first talk. Flashing your best smile, you turned the conversations into- how small artists help locals survive in smaller towns and so on. It really was working, and by the end of the night, Sir Clemence was able to snatch at least thirty people on his side, all thanks to you.

When driving back after the event, your phone buzzed.

Your jaw dropped. You had just earned an amount that ended with five zeros in your bank account.

You ran into your apartment to find Lea asleep on the couch.

-We did it!!! – you ran towards her and jumped on top of her.

-What a, - Lea woke up from her slumber.

-We did it!!! – you shouted again, and Lea was wide awake now. You showed her your bank statement, and you both started jumping like kids.

-Oh my god!!! Oh my god!!! – she screamed.

-We have got to celebrate this!!!- you stated, and Lea nodded.

Weeks after weeks, the money kept going, your alter ego- Anna was who ever she had to be. A pro gamer, a barista, a literature student, even a stripper once. She was someone who was fearless, who would help you get through everything. To accommodate with your changes- you wore wigs, glasses, your lipstick was different for every person you played.

And after every couple of weeks, you and Lea got to celebrate.

-Did you hear? – Lea asked you, - Wanderlust club is throwing a party, wanna go?

You nodded. It was one of the coolest clubs there was, everyone wanted to get inside, and tonight you would.

As expected, it was crowded, people dancing, chilling at the tables, you both popped a champagne, drinking it ever so slowly, to feel the bubbles sliding down your throat.

-Is this what feeling posh is like? – Lea asked, you nodded.

-It’s just the beginning, - you stated, - I will be able to pay off my loan in a couple of weeks, and then we will get yours too, - you smiled, Lea nearly cried.

-You would do that for me? – she re asked.

-Always, you are my best friend Lea, I would do anything for you.

-Ah, you are making me cry now, - you both laughed and headed to the dance floor.

One moment you were next to Lea, and the next, grinding against someone’s crotch, feeling their hands around your waist. Once turned around you noticed it was an ex-partner of yours, who you accompanied a few weeks back.

-Mr. Roger? – you asked. – what are you doing here?

-Can we speak in private? – he invited, and you followed.

Once outside, he let you to the alley behind the club.

-What is this about? – you asked, - I don’t quite understand.

-Anna, - he started, - I have missed you.

His hands went to grab onto your waist.

-Mr. Roger, you should not be here, - hell, he was not supposed to find you, all your meetings had been confidential, without your real identity and all. – you should not be seeing me like this.

-I had to find you, - he stated, - I…. have been going crazy without you.

He reached for you once again, and you stepped back.

-This is not right, - you said, - I am getting back.

As you walked, his hands grabbed you again, pressing you against his torso, you kneaded him with your elbow and tried to get out of his grasp.

-Hey, - someone shouted, - what’s going on here?

You recognized him as the bartender from the club. He had a towel on his shoulder, and he was carrying a bin bag.

-This is not your business dude, better leave, - Mr. Roger spoke.

-He is attacking me, - you said, - get me away from him and if necessary, call the police, would you?

The bartender led you inside, giving you a glass of water and a pill.

-This will reduce your dizziness from the alcohol, - he stated and you drank without hesitation.

-Tastes funny, - you said, and somehow your words were getting slurpy, as if your mouth was filled with your saliva, -what is thisssss…. – you tried to ask.

-I am sorry, - he said, - I truly am.

You had no idea what had happened. Once unconscious, your clutch-bag had been taken away from you, and you were lying next to few other unconscious bodies, waiting for couple more, so the task would be completed.

Michel sighed, rubbing his eyes. This was wrong what they were doing.

His friend Jack on the other hand, had no issues with this. His mind was blinded by the money.

-Got one? – Jack asked when stepping in the room. Michel nodded.

-Good, good, - he patted the younger’s shoulder, - two more and we are ready to go.

Soon with nine other girls you were thrown in a van and driven away, a few hours later, tied in a spaceship, to be sent elsewhere, and later on, flying through the waves of different galaxies, till you crash landed on a planet, different from your coordinates.

* Planet DYVLONY 10043567901;1102033149001*

A gun was pressed at your neck, a sharp, stinging needle pierced through your skin, an injection that made you wide awake. You woke up with a groan while breathing in. The air- unknown and different, was burning your lungs.

-Her vitals are stable, - someone shouted. You felt disoriented.

The high court magistrate Xiao Dejun was watching through the glass, how all ten girls were injected a serum, vaccine, and a microchip, to help you communicate. Your naked body were one of the final ones, and for some reason he felt like a pervert watching you like that. Your body was beautiful, your curves in all the right places.

-Sir, - Dejun’s assistant spoke, - shall we get them ready?

-Yes, please, - Xiao nodded, - I will get Detective Ten here asap.

Greeting the detective as he arrived, Dejun led him through the doors.

-Don’t think of us as uncivil, - Xiao spoke, - since we don’t know why they are here, we cannot allow them to roam free, if you know what I mean…

The doors opened and Ten arched a brow. Dejun wasn’t looking happy either, but this is what they had to do, precautions, if you will.

-Greetings aliens, - Detective stepped on a platform, and started his interrogation. Xiao knew, Ten will get answers, one way or another, he was a Detective for a reason. – Have they been on drugs?

Xiao nodded to his assistant who handed Ten a file of information.

-The lab tried to make a sample from their blood, but couldn’t, whatever it was, didn’t last long in their system.

-Long enough to transport them to this planet though, - Ten stated.

Later behind closed doors both Detective Ten and Magistrate Xiao Dejun talked about what to do next.

-What did they say? – Xiao asked.

-We were right, the girls were not meant to be here, and they all are harmless, so we need to take action now.

-I know what you mean, - Xiao agreed. – what do you think we do?

Ten sighed and bit his lip.

-We should provide them with home, someone to look after them, - he started, - I can be one, maybe you?

Xiao nodded.

-What about the members of society council?

-Maybe, - Xiao spoke, - but I want to choose.

-Choose? – Ten asked, - ahhh, I see, - he smiled, - has one of them already caught your eye? – Ten winked and giggled.

-Ha, - Dejun poked his shoulder, - it’s not like that, she just seems to be the youngest out of all of them, so, I decided to choose her.

-If that’s what you like, why not, - Ten agreed, smirking.

Once at home, Xiao pulled out your file. It contained a lot of your photos, naked and dressed, from many different angles, information that you had given them. Anna. Your fake name, but no one has to know that.

Opening one of the bedside drawers, he took out a USB, attaching it to his pc. A video started playing and Dejun bit his lip. Choosing to remake the video, he started to work on it. He even re-made the sounds. Clapping his palm onto his other hand, which was formed in a fist, he made sex-like noises, and spoke into microphone.

-Ten, you have to see this, - he spoke, in the video Anna was crawling on her knees, grabbing onto Dejuns’ trousers, touching his cock, and sucking on it afterwards. – she’s a naughty girl.

He announced in the mic, playing forward the video, he made sure, that his partner indeed looked like Anna (you) from all the angles. No one would ever know. Xiaojun remembered the mess his partner had made after the sex, how angry he got, when she smeared her secret all over his abdomen.

Anyways, she got to sit on a bag of peas (a method of punishment used in schools, a long time ago, bag of beans or peas, since small in size would poke at your knees and hurt as hell,) after that stunt. Not on his watch is anyone to make him dirty like that.

Not two days had passed, when Xiao returned to the high court to pick you up. One by one you all got split up, taken to different peoples’ homes, to be taken care of.

-Hey, Suzy, - Xiao greeted, - I am here to pick up Anna, - he smiled.

-She is ready, you just need to sign these papers, - she handed the documents to Xiao, and he filled them in, simple questions of- does your house have a spare room and if you had already purchased clothing for Anna etc. Yes. Xiao was prepared.

You were shaking. This was scary. Who are you about to get? Yet you were the one who were hoping for someone nice, so you put your façade on, bringing in the person you are playing. Anna.

-Anna, - you were greeted by a female DYVLONY, - your guardian is here to pick you up. Follow me.

Once through the door, you saw a back first. Then the brown hair, a person wearing a suit.

For some reason, the person you pictured was Mr. Roger at your first meeting, you got goosebumps all over your body, and then he turned around.

You knew the guy. High court magistrate that you had encountered many times when you had just landed. He was with you when you were being examined. Behind his stare though, there was something else, he seemed like a nice guy, so you put your thoughts aside to focus on your travel to your new home.

Xiao was driving. So, you thought, to make things not so difficult, might have a chat, a small talk, just to get you going.

-What do you do for a living? – you asked, Dejun was very focused on driving, but he gave a small smile before talking.

-I work in the High court, - he started, - I am one of the magistrates there.

-I see, - you spoke, - so you assist in cases and all that?

Xiao nodded.

-What were you on your Earth? – Dejun asked.

You thought briefly, what to tell him, you were a student and an escort? Do you really tell him?

-I was in school, actually, - you started, - but I did various side jobs.

-Like what? – he continued.

-Uhm, - you bit your lip, - I was a bartender.

-Was a bartender? – he re- asked, - and after that?

Do you tell him? He might not know what it is though, right?

-I worked as an escort, - you spoke softly, more quiet than normal.

-So, what does an escort do? – he was curious now.

-Just, you know, - you breathed in a sharp breath, - like a person to be company for another person. Simple as that.

Xiao nodded.

-And you get paid to do that? – he thought to himself, you nodded.

-Yeah, see, a lot of people are lonely like that, - you stated, trying to figure out a way to change a subject. – your car is neat, - you nearly squeaked out a random sentence. But then it really was neat, there was not a single bit of dust, the cleanest vehicle you had ever seen.

Xiao flashed a smile. He was really good- looking, it was clear as the sky.

Once parked up by his house, he led you both inside the house. It amazed you how clean it was everywhere. You left your shoes at the hallway before putting on a pair of slippers, which Xiao had given to you.

The house was small, but comfy, two floors, by the looks of it. Xiao led you to your room, but you stopped by his room seeing how it looked like. There were various toys on one of the shelves, and it looked creepy as fuck.

-This is my room, - Xiao was right beside you.

-Oh, - you snapped out of your trance, - I’m sorry, I just noticed those… - you pointed to the shelves.

-I see, - he said, - let’s go, shall we?

You nodded and followed into your room. He opened a cupboard; everything was placed in it neatly. Socks, jumpers, underwear, you name it, he had it. All stacked up elegantly, nothing hanging about.

-Thank you, - you said.

-I’ll let you settle in, - with that he left you alone, only then you could get some time to roam through the cupboards. You started doing that when you met up with your clients back on Earth, some of them had planted microphones and cameras in their hotel rooms, so it had made you a bit paranoid. You had never told Lea that. As far as she had to know, you were always safe while at your job.

Xiao walked back to his room, opening his computer, he clicked send the video, adding a thumbs up, before getting back to you. You were literally roaming through the cupboards, half of the clothing now onto the floor. Xiao found you, arms deep in the drawers.

-What on DYVLONY are you doing!? – he shouted.

You jumped, landing on your ass.

-Ouch, - you shouted, swearing a “fuck” after that.

-Nope, - Xiao announced, went straight for you, grabbing your ear, while you grabbed his hand, he pulled you up on your feet, dragging you out of your room, down the stairs. You followed him with an “ouch” after an “ouch”.

Once in the kitchen, he sat you down on a chair.

-We don’t speak like that in this house, - he said, opening one of the drawers, putting a cloth on the table, followed by a box of silver cutlery. – and we don’t throw things around like that!

He stayed quiet. You didn’t quite get what he wanted from you.

-So, - he started, - I am giving you a punishment, - your eyes widened and heart- beat went up, - you will polish this, - he mentioned to the silver cutlery. You nodded taking the cloth in your hand. One by one you took out the pieces, wiping them clean, putting them back. Really there was nothing to polish, they must have been cleaned only a couple of days before.

-This is easy, - you said.

-Ha, - Xiaojun laughed opening few more drawers where you were greeted by a few more sets of silver.

You mentally face-palmed yourself.

-You will clean ALL OF THEM, - he announced.

-I’m sorry, - you whispered.

-I know you are, - he stated, passing you more sets.

A few hours later you thought your hands were to fall off. Clean. Wipe. Polish. Your stomach rumbled. Xiaojun leaned closer, next to you ear, his breath tickling your throat.

-Hungry?

You jumped back in your chair, your nape hitting Xiaojun in the face in the process. When he grabbed his nose, you went to help him.

-I am sorry, I didn’t mean to, - you said, nearly sobbing, he was groaning in pain. When he moved his hands away from his face, you saw the blood first.

-There better be no blood, - Xiao said, your lip trembled now, teary eyes looking at him. He walked away, upstairs, probably to the bathroom, while you fell to your knees, crying. He was angry, it was frightening. Most of the times the calmest people are the most scary when it comes to things like this.

Minutes passed while you were on the floor, until you heard footsteps approaching. Xiao leaned down, putting his hand around you to help you get up.

-I’m sorry, - you sobbed.

-It’s fine, - he replied, - let’s get you something to eat.

He sat you back to the chair, and when you saw his face, there was not a glimpse of blood or anger, he looked like before, the smiling court magistrate that you met before. You wiped your eyes in the back of your hands, and the sleeves of your onesie.

Throughout the dinner, you couldn’t face him, not once you looked his way. When you finished eating, Xiao took the dishes and washed them, drying them off straight away. You looked up at him, finally. He smiled at you.

The kind of smile that makes you warm. A nice smile.

-Shall we go upstairs?

You nodded, and he led the way, but to your surprise he stopped in front of the bathroom.

-Is everything alright? – you asked when he opened the door, he didn’t respond, but mentioned for you to walk inside. You stepped inside and he followed. There was a pile of bloodied tissue in the rubbish bin that caught your attention.

The next thing you know, your face is nearly in the bloody tissues, and you are on your knees.

-Who did this? – Xiaojun asked.

You couldn’t say a word, you were in shock.

-Who did this? – he asked again, pressing your head down more towards the tissue. You started crying. – who did this? – he asked the final time.

-I’m sorry, - you sobbed.

-I am not asking you that, - he said calmly, - WHO DID THIS?

Throughout your sobs and cries, you manage to squeak a very quiet “me”. He let go of your head.

-Me, - you said one more time, the same quiet like before, - I did this…

And then it was all too much, your cries, your feelings on high alert, and then… everything went black.

*48 hours later*

Xiaojun was next to your bed, sitting on a chair. The doctor had just left, saying that you must have had a couple of rough days, that knocked you out like this.

He was scared.

He did this to you.

You looked so peaceful like this though. He must have had scared you with his behavior. He couldn’t do anything about it, that’s what he does, he had been brought up like this, and so will you. You will get used to it; he was sure about it.

There was a couple of pills that the doctor recommended, and an injection, which Xiao was against off. He would not do that to you. So, pills it were, he just needs you to wake up, and then you both could continue with your life.

He waited an hour, and one more, and then he made you soup, then he was ready to wake you. Once he walked in your room, he noticed you were sat upright, looking disoriented.

-Hey, - Xiao greeted, your body pressed back, as if to hide from him, - it’s ok, - he said, - don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.

This time, Xiao got on his knees, leaning down, asking for your forgiveness.

-I should not have reacted like I did, and I apologize, - he said, - I am truly sorry, I will try to take care of you like I promised, if you let me…

You nodded.

He got back up, bringing you some warm soup, and giving you water to drink the pills.

-Doctor gave these for you, - he smiled while handing them to you, - they should help, for the anxiety and stress that you’ve been through.

You nodded, pretending to drink the pills. When you thought he wasn’t looking, you turned your head to spit the pills out, but Xiao’s hands got to you first, his hand clamped down on your mouth.

-Swallow, - he said. – it’s for your own good.

You nodded a “no”.

-Please, - he said, - it really is for your own good. Please?

You swallowed the tablets, not really wanting to, but it was the only option for you. Only then, Xiao let go of your face.

-I know I scared you, - he said, - if you behave, it won’t happen again, ok?

You nodded once more. God only knew what he was about to do, and you? Would play nice, not to anger him. Oh boy, was it ever that simple?

Following days, he was at home. Both of you would have breakfast, then doing house- work, you would clean, he would do the same, you would watch him rearrange his toys, and then would be lunch, and every other day you would go for walks.

On this particular day, he took you to church.

You were greeted by a smiling pastor, who seemed off.

Once you sat down in one of the isles, you listened to what pastor Kun would be talking about today.

-Family, - he said, - family is only one, the one that we had chosen before we were born. Family is our beginning, and it is also our ending. Turn to your right, - pastor preached, - are you with your loved ones? Your friends are also your family. They are the ones who make you who you are.

Your brain gears started to circulate in motion. Family. Why is Xiao like this? There is something that must have happened, it’s your task to find out.

Walking back, you looked around, smiled at the kids who ran around, a simple interaction like this made you feel welcome.

-Tell me about your family, - you said looking up at Xiao.

-There is not much to tell, - he replied, - my father was very strict, my mother was too, they both were, but thanks to them I got where I am now. I focused more on learning and knowledge than running around with friends or girlfriends.

You nodded. Strict. That’s probably not the right word.

-Who made you obsessed with cleaning? – you spat out and then shut your mouth with your hand. Xiao stopped in his tracks. He looked at you, the deep orbs searching yours, as if he was looking directly into your soul.

-Why don’t you tell me your real name? – he simply replied, starting to walk again, away from you, towards the house.

-What? – you asked, going after him, - what does that supposed to mean?

He looked at you unbothered, raising his eyebrows.

-I know you lied about that; I am not stupid you know…

-So, what!? I lied… AND? – your voice escalated, - you have no proof!

Soon you were back in the house, behind closed doors, where no one would hear you arguing.

-And that Is supposed to make It normal? – Xiao talked back at you, - proof? I have called your name, and you have not responded so many times I started to think, that something is off, until I realized, that Anna might not be your name, that you might be a traitor, who has stolen someone’s identity.

-I told you I was an escort, you know what else escorts do? – you shouted, - I transform into other personalities, turn into a different person, to earn money. One day I can be someone to seduce you, - you stepped closer, touching Xiao’s chest, - a different time I can be your worst enemy.

You stomped upstairs, going in Xiao’s room.

-What do you think you’re doing? – he asked, going after you.

-I told you, I can be whatever people wanted me to be, so which me do you want? You chose me for a reason? And what is that reason, huh?

With a swift movement, your hands threw all of his toys on the ground, like a maniac, you threw every single one of them down, Xiao was screaming, while trying to catch you.

-What are you doing!? – he shouted.

-What you gonna do about it? – you shouted back, and it was like a switch had been activated. Gone was the calm and happy Xiao from minutes ago. Next thing you knew, you were on your stomach on the ground, your face pushed down into the carpet.

-What is this behavior? – he asked, pushing your face even more, if that was even possible. Somehow you managed to turn your face at the right time, gathering your saliva, spitting him in the face. Xiao jumped back. He looked so disgusted.

-What? – you bit back, - don’t like a bit of drool? You neat freak!

You were ready to make a run for it.

-I have seen the weird things you do, - you said, - you dislike blood and other body fluids, barely manage to live through the mess in the bathroom after I have had a shower with my hair sticking everywhere… yet you drink coffee and tea that contains grains, through a straw. What does it make you? You are disgusting!

Xiao pursed his lips, calculating what he will say next.

-I think that mouth of yours needs washing with soap, - he said matter- of- factly, - everything that comes out of it, sounds like a lot of shit…

When you understood what he was about to do, it was too late, he had grabbed you, pushing you into the bathroom, down on your knees, already next to the sink. Holding you in between his legs so you wouldn’t move, his hands gathering the liquid soap, trying to get it in your mouth, you were pursing your lips, trying your best not to open your mouth. His fingers blocked your nose, and you breathed in to get air back into your lungs, and Xiao pushed the soap in your mouth.

It burned like hell, your tongue tasted the bitterness, and your mouth was burning, tears were already streaming down your face, and your face was pushed up, Xiao was looking down on you, his face happy.

-Whose fault is this? – he asked, - I wouldn’t have to do this if you were a nice girl… right?

When you were sobbing like mad, he let go, and you spat the soap out, some of it had already went down your throat. Washing your mouth, you sobbed even louder, Xiao was still having a hold on you.

-Who are you? – he asked.

-My name is Y/N, - you spoke softly, tears slipping down your face.

-My classmates called me dirty, - he said, - so my mother made sure, I was not…

Back to your feet, Xiao had washed your face, made you sit on the bean bag, while he puts his toys back into place. You were still sobbing in between, while Xiao talked.

-I did choose you, - he said, - for my own hunger and desires. I made you someone else in my mind. I thought you would be different, once you would be mine, but expectations didn’t match reality, - he looked at you, - don’t worry, I won’t give you back, I intend to make you mine…

He smiled.

-What you do is not right, - you talked quietly, - you can’t make me yours, I should do that willingly, you punishing me is not right.

Xiao let out a laugh. He walked over to you.

-That’s the only thing I know, that’s how I keep control…

-When I was Anna, that’s how I kept control.

-See, we are not so different, you and I.

The after taste from the soap still lingered in your mouth. He was right in a way, and in a normal situation you would have ran away, but not here. As an escort you had come across a lot of broken souls, people who just needed someone to talk to, near enough like a next of kin, a family member who would listen to them instead of blaming them for something.

-I’m sorry, - you whispered, - your parents had no right to do that to you. I know, me saying this won’t change nothing either, but I need you to know, you can always change, of you find the right person.

Somehow those words stayed with Xiaojun. They made him feel weird. Change? How?

Hour after hour, day after day, and he still had not found the answers he was looking for. He walked home, leaving his car by the High court. Fresh air would help him think. Passing by the church, he made a d-tour. It’s like the god himself drove him to come to confess.

Inside the church, he sat in the cabin. Pastor Kun on the other side.

-I don’t know how to change.

-Why do you need to change? – Pastor asked.

-I have hurt the person I was supposed to care for, - he breathed in, - I shouldn’t have done that… she deserves more than that.

-Now the more important question is what are you willing to do for her to change this? Don’t you think?

-I know, father, but how do I change?

-Remember, when you are a child, your parents taught you everything… this time you both have to teach each other something, starting with small things, baby steps, smaller and then bigger. Slowly, you have to accommodate each other, start with trust, continue with anger issues, and so on…

-Yes, - Xiao said, - I will make sure she is cared for, she is loved, and I will make her happy.

Pastor Kun smiled on the other side. Xiao was a tough man, but he had a heart of gold.

-Thank you, - Xiaojun said, and then he left, going back home to you.

You had just made dinner, washing a pot, when Xiao’s arms trapped you in a back hug.

-I am sorry for hurting you, - he spoke, - I will try to master my issues if you’d let me.

You touched his hands with your wet ones. Xiao cringed.

-Let’s start with this, - you said, giggling, - fluids.

-Nope, - he tried to step back, - not ready for this, - but you didn’t let him. You turned around grabbing onto him and wiping your nose in his chest. – what the hell!!!

He was getting angry, but then he tried to suppress it down, instead of bursting out in anger, his hands grabbed your bottom. You thought, you might play a little, let some of that Anna’s personality slip through. You licked your lips, and Xiao raised his eyebrows.

-No, - he warned, - whatever you are about to do, don’t… - he warned again.

-Yes, - you said back.

-No no, - he shook his head.

-Yes, I have to, - you laughed a bit, wetting your lips again, and then you did it. Your lips reached his.

A wet smooch on his lips, the wetter the better, your saliva coating his dry ones. He had closed his eyes in the process. You leaned in again, doing the same over and over again. He was cringing so badly, you actually felt bad for the guy.

God knows, what his family had pumped into his system.

-This is natural, - and then the unimaginable happened, he kissed you back, his mouth drinking from yours, and your tongue asked for entry in his mouth, now both tongues touching each other, plenty of spit shared now.

Days passed. Just like this. You- trying your best to ease Xiao into all the things he despised, some even so ridiculous, and he kept warning you, that you apparently “make him angry” all the time. But it was not it. You started to develop feelings for him in the weirdest ways possible. Somewhat like a Stockholm syndrome founds its way through someone who has been taken against their will, your body grew accustomed to his needs and his wishes. During the day he left for work, and after work, you tried to tease him with all sorts of weird crap.

This particular day you were feeling hungry for his attention. So, you did what you do best in a situation like this- cause trouble.

You went in his bedroom and swapped over a couple of books. You see, a normal person would not notice shit, but not him. Xiaojun would notice that near enough as he would walk through the door. You greeted him when he came home.

-Dinner will be ready soon, - you announced.

-Ok, I will change my clothes and I will be down soon, - he smiled, touching your head and kissing your forehead. You watched him disappear, only to see him come out, - were you in my room?

You nodded “no”.

-Are you sure? – you nodded a “yes”, not saying nothing. He looked at you suspiciously, - is there something you are not telling me?

-I don’t think so, - you said, and walked back into the kitchen.

Xiao didn’t bother changing clothes, he went straight for you, pressing you against the kitchen counter.

-What are you doing? – he asked again.

-I don’t know what do you mean? – you faked innocence. He leaned in, his lips nearly brushing against yours.

-Are you sure? – he teased you now.

-Mmh, - you nodded. He giggled letting you go.

-You are making me crazy, - he whispered.

-I love you.

The three words that you were hiding from him all this time, managed to slip passed your lips. Xiao stopped in his tracks. What did you say?

He trapped you again in his arms.

-What did you say? – he leaned closer, and you were looking everywhere but not him.

-I…, - you struggled, his hand reached for your face, and he was holding your chin up to see into his eyes, his loving eyes, how he scrunched his nose when you did something to tease him, how his eyebrows raised when you pretended to be someone else, just to see his reaction, - I love you…

He smiled with his eyes, his lips widening in a grin, he felt like a douchebag, but he knew what was next for you both, so his lips touched yours in a loving manner, starting to kiss you slowly, just barely touching your lips in the process.

You on the other hand felt like you were thirsty, and you joined in, grabbing onto Xiaojun’s body, kissing him passionately. He put your legs around his hips, taking you with him up the stairs. His lips were now attacking your neck, and grabby hands- your butt in the process.

Once on his bed, he got rid of his jacket and shirt, leaving him in a tank top, and getting back to what he was doing. You stopped in between to get rid of some of the clothing, when he had left you only in your bra and trackies, his body was on top of yours, his lips returning to yours.

-Xiao…- you whispered, he looked up, - I… I haven’t done this… with anyone…. Yet.

He didn’t look surprised. For some reason he always had assumed that you hadn’t, maybe it was just the way he saw you at first, and then, he just never bothered to ask.

-I am ok with that, - he smiled, - only if you are.

You nodded eagerly. Minutes later, he had gotten rid of your trousers, your panties on display. His arms caressed your skin, he was extra gentle and slow, to prove that you could trust him, and he would only continue if you would nod or reach for him, which you did. Your hands found themselves in his hair, pulling him closer to your own hungry body.

His hands travelled south, slipping past the waistline of your underwear, going down on your sex, you nearly bit him, since no one had touched you there, this was a new sensation, and it was making your body tingle and your heart rate going up.

-It’s ok, I just have to stretch you a bit, if that’s alright with you, - you nodded, feeling how his fingers were moving up and down on your lower lips. You knew that he is not really ok with body fluids, but for some reason he didn’t mind your wet lips nor your dripping sex.

-I should ask you the same thing, - you giggled, getting more comfortable at his touch, he smiled back.

-You might just be the reason, why it’s ok, - he replied, as simple as that.

One of his fingers found your entrance and eased its way inside, your walls snug around it. You had closed your eyes; it was making you nervous and excited. While moving one of his fingers inside your tight walls, he soon added another one. You grabbed onto his arm.

-Give me a moment, - you whispered, the feeling making your head spin, - can… can I be on top when we do this?

Xiao was surprised. Not once he had heard a request like that, but he nodded anyways, soon you had changed positions, your legs spread over his lap, his fingers working their way inside your pussy, coaxing moans from you.

-Oh, don’t stop, - you whispered, biting your lip, - please… don’t stop…

And he didn’t, he worked hard to get you to orgasm, not slowing down till you came down from your high, now completely sat on his lap. His lips found yours. Tender lips brushing yours, quiet whispers leaving his mouth to make sure you were good.

When your hands reached for his pants, it was clear that you were ok to continue, and he let you play a little bit, his hand helping you work on his member through his pants.

He moved you off his body, so he could get rid of his trousers, his dick standing proud, a happy trail towards it that you hadn’t noticed before. You gulped. How is he going to fit? Like how?

Xiao got you out of your thoughts, with his own hand, returning to his member, massaging it, you felt your throat dry out a bit. Alright, watching a porn was completely different to what was in front of you now. Then the idea of a horrible sex scene found its way to your mind, and you had to shake your head to get rid of it. No time for that bull.

He reached for you, to kiss you again, then slowly moving back to the cupboard next to his bed, taking out a condom and slowly slipping it on, then sitting back down on the bed, helping you get on top of him again. He pushed you down slightly, so your pussy lips were grinding on his naked member, sparks of pleasure went through you. You looked down and helped him position himself right under your entrance. The tip of his cock was now slowly pressing into you, your hands were on Xiao’s shoulders for stability, grabbing a bit strongly onto him now.

Xiao let you move on your own accord, watching your reaction as you sank down lower on him.

-Help me, - you whispered, and he helped to push your hips down, his dick penetrating your virgin vaginal walls, and you sank down with a hiss. A tear escaped your eyes, Xiao kissed it away, his hands caressing your sides and your back, till you nodded with a quiet “I’m ok”. The stretch was something new, a bit painful, a bit extraordinary, if you could call it that.

Xiao’s lips kissed yours, then your neck and lower to your front, just above your breasts, his hand touched one of your breasts, groping and massaging, and his lips latched onto your nipple. Your head fell back, enjoying the feeling, and your hips started to move. The burn you felt in your abdomen, was slowly fading away, your vagina pulsing around Xiao’s member, and he helped you find a rhythm. You knew, you won’t be able to keep up for much longer, but you had to make sure, you were comfortable enough to give into him completely.

He let you enjoy your ride, but then he said:

-That’s it, - and with that he flipped you over, your body under his, - you had your fun… now it’s my turn…

The lovemaking sounds were in the air, with tender kisses, slow and sensual movements, his hand touched yours, fingers entangled with yours, and his eyes searched for your eyes, the feelings felt even on a higher level. The eye contact made it even more personal, not only because this was your first time, but it was also Xiao who made it special for you.

Changing the rhythm to faster movements, coaxing more moans out of you, that he swallowed with hot kisses over your mouth, he felt you tightening around him one more time, as you orgasmed, your lips not making a single sound, only when Xiao returned to continue his pelvic thrusts to chase his own high, you moaned and screamed, driving him into oblivion, and him taking you with him, your body convulsing and turning into a hot lava, bursting at the seam, while his hot seed filled up the condom.

He held you tight against him as you both were trying to catch your breath, he pulled out slowly, earning a whine from you.

-Let’s get you cleaned up, - he said, but you didn’t allow him to move.

-Not yet, - you giggled, - stay a bit more… - your body was sweaty, and so was his, and he was not happy about it at all.

-Y/N, - he warned you.

-Yes…? – you laughed again, - too much body fluid? – you giggled, earning a sigh from Xiaojun. – if we have a bath, I will want to make you dirty again soon after that…

You said that as a fact, and Xiao shook his head.

-Ok, - he gave in, hugging you again. – but only because you asked so nicely.

-See, it’s not that bad…

-Oh, it’s bad, - he replied, - and I am still not used to this.

-But you will be…? – you smiled, kissing him.

-I will be.

#wayv smut #wayv fan fic #wayv xiaojun #wayv #wayv xiao #nct smut #nct fiction #nct fan fiction #dyvlony series #nct xiaojun #nct 2020 #wayv fanfic #nct imagine #nct scenarios

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - The Return of the King

So we’re back to the quasi-filler stuff. This episode does set a few things up for the finale, like bringing Edmund to Corona, but none of those things are actually good and it’s still mostly filled with irrelevant shit alongside the more important stuff.

Summary: King Edmund arrives in Corona to see his long-lost son, Eugene, and to give him the royal sash of their bloodline. Eugene wants nothing to do with him, but Rapunzel invites him to stay. Later, the sash is stolen and a ransom note is left behind. Edmund and Eugene decide to go and retrieve it. Meanwhile, the Stabbington Brothers plot revenge on Eugene as they are both viewed as a joke by the other criminals.

So How Did the Stabbingtons Escape the Prison Barge

Last we saw them they were stuck on a prison barge along with Lady Caine and all of the other season one villains. How did they escape? Did Lady Caine or anybody else make it out? If so then where are they this season?

We’re not going to get any of those questions answered are we?

Man this is just sloppy continuity. Which ironic, because these two were only brought back this season because of continuity. They need to be “redeemed” so that they can be at the wedding. I guess it just sucks to be you if you’re an original villain for this show and not named Cassandra.

Why Is This Deserving of Ridicule?

Like...We’re talking about a world renowned thief and adventurer and his magical royal girlfriend who are well known enough outside of Corona to be mentioned and there for no doubt people know how they both defeated monsters, daemons, and several criminals besides just there two guys, right?

This plot point makes no sense.

You could just kick these dumbasses butts and be done with it. I doubt they’d bother picking on you again if you did.

Did we really need even more motivation for them to want revenged against Eugene?

Rapunzel is Back to Being Her Bossy Self

Rapunzel has not earned the role of “wise administrator” yet. She’s only been out of the tower for two years now and she has yet to prove to the audience that she has managed to learn anything since then. By jumping the gun and forcing her into a role that she hasn’t grown into, and by ignoring that this whole show started out as a coming of age story, it just makes Rapunzel unpleasant to be around. All her “advice” is just her ordering people about with a veneer of chipperness to try and mask her controlling nature. People who should know more about their own lives than she does and have no reason to listen to her.

So We’re Showing Rapunzel Being Responsible... By Having Her Avoid Responsibility?

Part of why the writers made her “acting queen” for the first half the season was to get her to grow into the role of becoming full time queen. However they screwed this up by not having her actually learn anything and having her avoid the real duties a queen preforms.

What Rapunzel is doing her is just being a socialite busybody. The only administrative thing she does is approve some low-scale building plans for a small business. A thing that would have been handled by a lower official in an actual functioning government.

Once again Rapunzel is being selfish and doing what she like, ie bossy people around while having them kiss her ass, as the real work of running the kingdom is left to someone else. This isn’t being responsible, it’s being hypocritical, but don't expect anyone to ever call Rapunzel out for this.

Pointless Action Scene is Pointless

At this point, the low stakes action sequences are just cringe. Like is this an adventure show or not people? Stop forcing crap like this and give us some real conflicts instead.

How Did You Get Here So Fast Edmund?

It took Rapunzel and company nearly a year to get to the Dark Kingdom. Even if Edmund wasn't delayed with pit stops like they were, it would have still taken him several months to get here by horse.

Did he take a boat, or have four to six months already past since Rapunzel’s Return?

I would argue that this episode was aired out of order and should have been later in the season, but Cassandra’s appearance at the end of this story, and Hamnuel’s appearances in later episodes, would suggest otherwise.

Crap like this is why season’s three timeline doesn’t work unless you stretch everything out to two years instead of one.

Read the Room Rapunzel

One could argue that Rapunzel is just trying to be polite, but that doesn't really hold water.

For starters Eugene is clearly upset and has every right to want to set boundaries between himself and Edmund. Ignoring that is incredibly rude and if my significant other ever did such a thing, well they wouldn’t be my significant other for very long.

Secondly, Rapunzel could have offered other accommodations if she felt pressured to be polite to Edmund. Not only are their lots of inns in a port town known for trade, many of which are probably well-to-do, but there’s also that convent that was mentioned back in season one. It has to be somewhere in Corona itself and as the so far only mentioned major religious organization in the country it would no doubt have stately quarters for when royalty and nobility would visit.

So not only would it be a suitable place for a visiting king to stay in, as it would be made for such things, but it’s also far enough away that Eugene wouldn’t feel like his space is being invaded but close enough that Edmund could come and go as he pleases.

By that point it’s still between Edmund and Eugene and Rapunzel can stay out of it, like she should.

Eugene is Right

These are all valid reasons for cutting someone out of your life. Furthermore, you don’t even need a reason. If you don’t want to associate with somebody then just don't associate with. It’s your life. You don’t have to justify how you choose to live it and people who actually care about you should respect that.

Unfortunately no one respects Eugene.

Not Edmund, not Rapunzel, and most certainly not the writers.

Then Why Don't You Get Closer to Edmund, Rapunzel?

I understand Rapunzel’s viewpoint here. Edmund is the only person she’s ever met who has experienced the same isolation that she has. He’s one of the very few people whom she can empathize with.

However that doesn’t give her the right to force her views upon her boyfriend. If she cared so much than she could just befriend Edmund herself and leave Eugene out of it.

Trying to encourage a child to have relationship with a parent who neglected them is super tone deaf at best and outright disrespectful at worst. It’s also highly hypocritical seeing as Rapunzel cut Gothel out of her life for similar reasons and Eugene only ever supported her for it.

No really, flip the situation. If Eugene tried to encourage Rapunzel to give Gothel a second chance everyone would be slamming him for it. So why does Rapunzel get a free pass?

Shorty Already Did That, Eugene. Don’t You Remember?

I mean, you were literally right there when it happened. Are we forgetting season two the same as season one now?

So Why Are Stan and Pete Suddenly Back, But Not Cap?

I mean we went through all that trouble in Rapunzel’s Return to write them out of the narrative and here they are without any explanation. Why are simple set ups so dang hard for this show?

Rapunzel is Overstepping Her Bounds Here

Ok, giving Edmund a place to stay is one thing. Suggesting to Eugene that he should give Edmund a chance is not appropriate but still forgivable. But this?

This crosses a fucking line!

Eugene is not Rapunzel’s subject. He’s her boyfriend, and a prince in his own right. Rapunzel can’t just volunteer him for crap without his consent. That’s just indirectly ordering him about like she would a servant.

Once again, flip the script. If Eugene tried to force Rapunzel to work with Gothel everyone would be up in arms. Why is this then deemed okay?

This is Coercion

Not only is Edmund and Rapunzel trying to guilt trip Eugene here but she even fucking elbows him!

Like this isn’t “cute couple bickering” here. That kind of stuff is reserved only for inconsequential shit.

This a woman trying to strong arm and guilt trip her husband to be into having a relationship with his abusive father! Because guess what? Neglect is still abuse!

Rapunzel has zero say in Eugene and Edmund’s relationship. It’s none of her fucking business! Trying to force her into this plot just makes her look like an asshat.

I mean look at this smug smile! The fucking bitch is proud of being a shit human being and a terrible girlfriend.

And of course don't expect the show to call out this behavior as wrong because of out of date sexist double standards. If you think any of this is okay then just role reverse Eugene and Rapunzel here and then tell me its still alright.

The Show Missed a Real Trick By Not Naming Him Horus Instead

Horus, the sun god, would have been a nice bit of irony and given meaning to the name while keeping the joke virtually unchanged. You could have had both lore and a punchline.

And I would argue that the joke as is, isn’t even funny. Horace is indeed a lame name, but not for the reason that the show gives. It’s lame because it’s not unique enough. There’s already a Disney character named Horace and I’m sure there are real people out there with that name as well since it’s not completely unheard of. So the joke falls flat and winds up insulting anyone with that name.

Don’t Expect Any Pay Off for Eugene’s Identity Issues This Season

Yeah the show makes a big deal out of Eugene having a mid-life crisis through out season three, but then never resolves it in any meaningful way.

Edmund Is an Asshole

I don’t care how “crazy” he is. Calling someone by a name they don't wished to be called is just plain rude. Acknowledging someone’s preferred name is just a basic common courtesy that is expected of everyone. Once again, this isn’t funny, quirky, nor charming, just unpleasant.

So the Animators Wasted a Model on a No-Named Character Who Only Appears Once

Someone said this little girl appears in season one, but it’s not noticeable if she does. She also doesn’t have a name and this is her only speaking role. What a waste of money. Just have one of the braided girls from the movie instead. You already built models for them and haven’t really used them.

And before some mentions race here, this is poor rep already cause the character has no impact.

Turns Out, Varian Didn’t Even Need Those Truth Serum Cookies

Not only does this dumb down Pete to a ridiculous degree, but it also invalidates everything Varian went through in The Alchemist Returns and the grief he got from everyone for using the truth serum.

Oh, and it’s also lazy writing and a plot contrivance.

That’s Not Figgy Pudding!

This is Figgy Pudding.

It’s a boiled “pudding” that’s more like a cake with dried fruit in it. During the 14th through 18th centuries such bread puddings were made to be carried around in ones pocket or knapsack for eating on the go. They’re nothing like the creamy custards we call puddings today.

It also looks nothing like what’s shown on the screen below.

That’s like a half eaten loaf of wheat bread?

That’s jelly filled .. apparently...?

Once Again, If You Have to Make Everyone Else Incompetent to Make Your Hero Useful to the Plot Then You Need a New Plot

Rapunzel has zero business in this plot. She doesn’t even need to be in this episode beyond a cameo. Trying to cram her into the protagonist role in a conflict that doesn’t involve her is just a disservice to everyone.

Winnie The Pooh Is More Mature Than This Show

More of that meta commentary I was talking about last episode, and it just as full of shit as ever.

Seriously Find Her, Keep Her is the best script I have ever seen in any show. It’s perfectly balanced so that anyone of any age can relate to it. It’s real and heartbreaking and perfectly suitable for small children to understand. There’s no shock value, no darkness, no modern satire, but its far more mature and complex and deep than anything TTS has tried.

Also Rabbit is a far better father than any dad in this show, while still being cut from the same trope. There’s no shame in being a children’s show when its done well and this now 30 year old kids show runs rings around what ever mess Tangled is trying to sell.

Eugene Isn’t Exaggerating Here and I Don't Know How to Feel About That

Turns out Eugene did grow up with these guys the same as he did with Lance. It’ll be confirmed only two episodes later. That just recontextualizes everything. He didn’t just betray some rando guys that he held no feelings for, he betrayed people that he’s known and worked with since childhood.

Now just because he’s known them doesn’t mean that they were family to him like Lance, but like the fact that he keeps claiming then as such through out the episode would suggest that perhaps they were like siblings.

That’s ... ingenious. That makes Flynn Rider retroactively an even worse person and gives the Stabbingtons real reason for vengeance.

Only the show doesn't do anything with this! It just makes Eugene an even bigger jerk in the movie for zero reason.

Let Me Reiterate, Edmund Is an Asshole

Just like with Frederic, Cassandra, and Rapunzel the show uses framing to try and make the audience side with people who do unforgivable things.

Edmund is an abuser. He neglected his own son for 25 years. But the show presents him as “funny” and “quriky” and “look at his pouty face, he’s so lonely”....

No!

Edmund isn’t deserving of anything and how he treats Eugene here is garbage.

This show is utter crap writing wise but boy does it know how to gaslight its own audience into siding with bullies and abusers.

Eugene Is One Thousand Percent In the Right Here, But Don’t Expect the Narrative to Acknowledge That

There’s nothing you can do to make up for that.

Eugene might forgive him. Eugene might move on from it. Eugene might decide a relationship it still worth having with Edmund. But the horrible thing still happened and it happened because Edmund allowed it to happen. There’s no going back from that and everything going forward has to be on Eugene’s terms alone.

But the narrative won't allow Eugene that agency.

Even as he makes his grand proclamation about being done with Edmund the cameras chooses to focus on Edmund and his feelings. The story is already priming the audience to prioritize Edmund over Eugene so that when the forced and contrived forgiveness scene comes we won't question it. But it only comes because Chris doesn’t deem Eugene as individual person with thoughts and feels of his own, but as an avatar to fulfill his wishfulment fantasy regarding his own personal daddy issues.

Rapunzel’s Characterization in Season Three is Just....Off

Ok, even ignoring the major stuff, like not recognizing what she’s done wrong, putting her into roles she’s not meant to carry, and making her a shitty girlfriend suddenly, Rapunzel just behaves contrary to her character all through out season three even in small subtle ways like here.

On the surface this seems like a clever call back to Great Expotations, but lets examine more closely, shall we.

On one end we have yo-yos; an invention that’s been around since ancient Greece and is so wide spread across the globe that the word “yo-yo” itself is theorized to come from Indonesia and the Philippines.

On the other end there is Rapunzel. A woman who spent 18 years isolated inside of a tower, because of this she is both ignorant of somethings and insatiability curious and eager to learn. Or at least she was, until striking out onto a year long road trip, and having now been out of the tower for only two years, claims to know better than the entire fucking world about this object who’s existence she didn’t even know about until only a year and half ago!

Like what kind of sense does this make? Why would you abandon the core of her drive and motivation, to learn, explore, and grow, and then call it “development”?

How Did Edmund Get Beat By These Guys?

Edmund took out Adria. The Brotherhood is suppose to be the best physical fighters in this world and Edmund is supposed to be best out of all of them. Yet he’s taken out by two random, mediocre dudes who didn't even jump him. They gave him time to respond and he stood up to fight them.

Was all his physical prowess tied into that axe? Is the axe magic?

If you characters have to be depowered for unexplained reasons for the plot to work than you haven’t a good plot.

This Isn’t as Heartwarming as You Think It Is Show

If Edmund knew where Eugene was this whole time then he could have actually provided for his son. He could have arranged adoption with someone by letter, sent money, food, clothes, ect, maybe even wrote to Eugene directly and kept up a long distance relationship to be there for him emotionally.

There is literally no excuse anymore for Edmund to hide behind. He literally neglected his duties as a parent, just cause.

Finding these things shouldn’t make Eugene happy. Finding these things should piss him off even further because that’s how any logical adult would respond to this bullcrap.

I sure know I’m angry. I’m angry that Eugene is a pawn for the creators’ writing wank-off rather then being treated as human being; as an actual character.

“Nice” Isn’t the Same Thing as Kind, Rapunzel

One could argue that she’s not even superficially nice in season three, but the real problem here is that the show, and by extension Rapunzel herself, doesn’t understand the difference between being “pleasant” and actually being a good person. Outwardly polite people can stab you in the back, can kill you even, and not care, as Rapunzel has demonstrated repeatedly since season one.

Do They Have to Be “Family” for Eugene to Give a Damn?

Can’t Eugene just do the right thing, because it’s the right thing to do? People don't need to be friends and family to care about each others lives. Kindness isn’t transactional. Empathy and true charity doesn’t come with strings attached. If Eugene’s whole arc is about becoming a better person, then making the Stabbingtons “family” kind of undermines this.

Don’t Reward the Dude for Doing the Bare Fucking Minimal

No seriously. Edmund forfeited the right to ever be called “dad” by Eugene a long fucking time ago. He doesn’t get to be called that now just because he stopped being a piece of scum and showed the bare minimal of human decency. Even if Eugene decides to have a relationship with Edmund after this, it doesn’t mean that he has to be recognized as his dad or that that relationship will be a parental one.

Eugene, and by Extension the Show, Places Rapunzel Upon a Pedestal to the Detriment of All

Only 4 villains out of 20 get redeemed in this show. Four, and yes I’m counting the Stabbintions as one entity here. That’s 16 times Rapunzel failed to give someone a second chance just cause she didn’t feel like it that day, and even here she did fuck all in trying to give the Stabbingtons any sort of chance. That was all on Eugene.

The more this show goes on, the more it looks like Eugene is just in love with the idea of Rapunzel rather than who she actually is as a person. It’s a disservice to both their characters but it damages Rapunzel most of all because the show perpetuates this over idealization to everyone she interacts with.

It’s really sickening to watch and terrifying to know that some uphold this selfish brat as a “role model” for little girls. There’s nothing empowering in being an inhuman “goddess” who can do no wrong....even as they do several wrongs and never gets called out on it.

This Isn’t “Cute”

Eugene can’t even have an opinion on a fucking toy!

Look if you still like New Dream despite how horribly written it is this season, then good for you. That is completely understandable, especially since this is mainly a problem with season three and not really in the first two seasons and certainly not in the movie.

But if you try to deny that they aren’t toxic in season three, that people who do have problems with how they’re written aren’t valid in their concerns, than you’re either someone who hasn’t been paying attention or someone who has gross double standards for women in relationships.

This Scene Is A Waste of Time

This doesn’t tell the audience anything. It contradicts what was previously established concerning her powers without explanation and then just throws the creepy girl voice in there for a lazy hook. It doesn’t work at foreshadowing since we repeat this info all over again in the next episode and it doesn’t expand upon neither Zhan Tiri’s nor Cassandra’s characters.

In fact it kind of contradicts Cassandra’s characterization in the last episode as well. Is she a remorseless bad bitch or a vulnerable woobie? She can’t be both. Not in the way show is going about it anyways.

It’s poor time management and poor storytelling.

Conclusion

It was mildly better than Rapunzel’s Return, but that’s not saying much. Everyone’s character is still circling the drain and there’s no escape line in sight.

But before I close out, here is a real world update. I had to quit my job at Amazon for personal reasons and am currently job hunting. I’m not hurting right now, I do have money saved up to cover me for at least a month and I’ve been doing commissions here and there, however despite having more time technically to write these reviews, I’m now having to juggle it along with artwork and job hunting.

If you would like to support my reviews and other personal projects you can send me a tip over at Ko-Fi and more public commissions will be opening soon over there as well.

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#eugene #anti-rapunzel #anti-tangled #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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