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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

calculated iii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You wanted to say that you were able to control yourself around him and not to have wild sex at school. But this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. You wore that pencil skirt for a reason, after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, nipple play, choking, m-receiving oral, gagging, pussy spanking, fingering, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft Jimin once again, lol

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part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

Career Week was somewhat of a nightmare.

So much running around, prepping tables, setting up presentations, helping the guests with their computers before their seminars, and you had to be dressed professionally too. Not just ‘nice’ clothes, but white dress shirt, slim black tie, tailored black vest, and matching fitted black slacks. It had to be monotone, it had to be hyper professional, and you had to wear heels.

Why had you agreed to this again?

Oh, yes, Kim Namjoon on his knees begging for help because he was overworked and they needed volunteers. And you, being far too responsible, accepted.

Not only were you also overworked, but Jeon Jungkook was staring at you across the auditorium.

In all-black – leather jacket, high-necked shirt, slim-fit jeans. Sharp jawline, tanned high cheekbones, piercing dark brown eyes, his black hair pushed back with a few strands on his forehead, revealing his clean undercut.

And he was smirking at you.

You highly doubted he was here to investigate prospective career paths. Actually, you were a hundred-and-ten percent positive that that was not the reason he was here and the soreness between your inner thighs proved it. You were willing to bet Park Jimin’s right nutsack.

Yeah, sorry Jimin, but you needed all your body parts.

For one reason, really, and that reason was staring you right now.

Who was going to hire him when he was dressed like that anyway? You certainly wouldn’t. Mostly because it was distracting. No one could work with Jeon Jungkook looking like that. You couldn’t, anyway. Well, maybe if his work was wrecking your–

Get back to your damn task, you scolded yourself.

You were setting up chairs for the cardiologist that was arriving soon. All the doctors always had tons of students listening, so the administration instructed you to pack as many seats that could be crammed into the space without causing a fire hazard. You unfolded the metal chairs, arranging them neatly, already knowing they would be an incomprehensible mess when the students left and that you would be the one cleaning up after them.

Sigh.

Come to think of it, it was all Park Jimin’s fault that you were being violently undressed by Jungkook’s eyes right now. If he had kept his trap shut and let you live in blissful ignorance, maybe you wouldn’t be trying to hide your wincing every time you bent over. You snuck a glance at Jungkook.

He cocked an eyebrow, highly amused.

Never mind, you probably still would have been accosted at Calculus I office hours, except instead of the door being closed and locked and having Jimin’s warning texts, you two probably would have been caught and expelled.

You grumbled and slid a chair into place, taking back your former thoughts and thanking Jimin in your mind. He wasn’t even here to witness your inner struggle.

Jimin probably would have found it funny.

You went back to your chairs, not addressing Jeon Jungkook’s presence anymore because if you looked at him again, you probably would have abandoned your post. And he knew it.

The next day, you already knew Jungkook would show up again. Mostly because he texted you a winking face of a semicolon and parenthesis, to which you didn’t respond, because you would probably get roped into phone sex in under twenty seconds, and you had to help this extremely riveting lawyer set up his laptop for the projector.

As in, you were ready to tape his mouth shut as he blabbed on and on about his work and how important it was to society, which it was, because defense attorneys were very important, but this guy’s laptop was a fucking hot mess of icons all over his desktop. This was a personal pet peeve of yours, as you liked to be neat and organized, with everything clearly labeled with dates. You didn’t care about most people’s personal habits, but it was annoying when you were trying to assist and the owner of said laptop was not shutting up and demanding noises of affirmation that you were listening.

If it wasn’t Jungkook demanding you to swallow his cock, you honestly couldn’t give a single shit–

You finally got his PowerPoint working and had him scroll through the slides to make sure it was the correct one. He thanked you and you realized the older man was looking at you up and down, the same way Jungkook usually did, except in this case you were not even remotely interested.

Guess everyone had the right to get a good look before they die.

You were wearing a white chiffon blouse with a black silk neck scarf, with a tight knee-length black pencil skirt, sheer tights and sleek black heels. You knew how good your ass looked in this skirt and you had worn it for a specific purpose.

“We will be letting the students in five minutes early to get settled,” you stated briskly, cutting the older man from his daydreams. “You will have forty-five minutes for your presentation, and then we’ll have a fifteen-minute question session, led by my associate, Kim Namjoon here.”

As if on cue, Namjoon appeared, cheerful smile with cute dimples, handing the lawyer a mic.

“Let’s test the microphone and the backup to make sure you don’t have any hiccups,” Namjoon instructed merrily, instantly captivating the man’s attention and diverting it from you.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind the man’s back and Namjoon gave you the tiniest of nods as you excused yourself. Hmph. You knew people would notice – you were wearing makeup for once and would be around students and professionals all day, after all – but to be so shameless and gawk like that was annoying. Plus, the guy probably had a wife and kids.

You made your way to the bathroom to check your appearance. Maybe your makeup was a bit off or something. You had Jimin check you over this morning. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about cosmetics and how to look good in all lighting. Must be a dance major thing.

Ah, the door to the women’s bathroom. You hiked your skirt up a bit do you could use your damn knees to walk, because they had been suffocating for the past two hours–

Long fingers suddenly gripped your upper arm and yanked you around the corner, slamming you into a muscular body and black biker jacket. You nearly stumbled in your heels, but a second hand came to practically lift you off the floor and shove you into the wall.

“Good afternoon, noona.”

A clear, silvery voice.

You couldn’t possibly guess who it was.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, Jung–”

You were abruptly cut off by his lips crashing into yours, one hand grabbing the back of your head and disturbing your perfect bun. You whimpered, feeling him shove you into the wall again, your shoulder blades hitting the painted brick. His tongue slid into your mouth, exhaling into your throat and forcing you swallow his breath. Your hands clutched your skirt, moaning as his hard body pressed yours against the wall.

Jungkook drew back, panting a little. Looking so handsome with his slightly slicked-back hair, black strands around his right eye, chiseled jawline, silver hoops glinting in the hall light. He arched a sculpted eyebrow at you, smirking. His pink lips had a little red on them from kissing you.

“Now, you know you can’t be looking so delicious and not expect me to want to eat you up,” he purred, licking your lips. Your breathing hitched at the touch, unlocking your death grip on your skirt.

“What are you talking about?” you answered evenly despite your panties literally turning into Niagara Falls with the way he was looking at you like a carnivore at an all-meat buffet. “I have to dress like this for Career Week. Everyone has to dress professionally.”

Jungkook nodded, not believing a single word coming out of your mouth. His right hand came up, ink black tattoos against tan skin, and reached around to your bun, slowly pulling the hairpins out. Your skin tingled at the sensation of your hair gradually unravelling.

“A professional that I would hire to sit on my dick,” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your hair tumbling around your shoulders. “Subtle.”

Jungkook showed you the removed hairpins, opened his jacket, and tucked them in his inner pocket.

“I wouldn’t work for you anyway,” you added haughtily.

With each passing moment, Jungkook was becoming increasingly amused and aroused. You could tell by the way he was shoving his crotch into your thigh and by how wide his smirk was getting. The slacks he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection and you had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know if I could trust someone younger than me to do a good job.”

He was unbuttoning your chiffon blouse now, humming. “I’m good at many things.” His dark eyes flickered to yours. “I think you would know.”

Your hands grabbed his despite him already having all the visible buttons completely open. Cold air drifted onto your heaving chest and white lace bra.

“Jungkook, we’re in a public place, again,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t recall that being a problem,” he drawled, removing his hands from yours and squeezing your ass. “I’m beginning to think you like it.”

You sucked in a breath as his strong hands kneaded you through your skirt. Your hormones would absolutely let Jungkook rip off your clothes right here and let him fuck you, but the sliver of your brain that had any sense at all reminded you that you had to find a closed space. Jungkook slapped your ass, loudly, the sound echoing across the empty hallway. You nearly moaned, but bit your tongue, glaring at him.

“I have to get back,” you snapped. “And look presentable.”

Jungkook licked his teeth. “Hm. You have an hour before you have to appear to the public eye.”

Who the heck told him that? He smirked slyly at you as he saw your reaction.

“I could drag you to the bathroom–”

“At least give me more class than the woman’s bathroom,” you interrupted.

Jungkook looked annoyed that you had cut him off and also looked like he was going to remind you later. His fingers dug into your hips sharply and you gasped, back pressed flat against the wall. He inhaled a deep breath and began again, voice dangerously low.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “I’m going to take you into this classroom that I stole the key for.”

You frowned as Jungkook hoisted you up swiftly, princess-style, shirt still wide open. Fuck, what was he so strong for? He carried you down the hallway to the classrooms. You tried to close your shirt, but he growled at you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed the sides open, letting your bra-covered tits hang out. He seemed satisfied about this.

“Why would you steal a key?” you muttered as he deftly kicked the door open.

Jungkook slid through the door sideways. “So I could fuck you, of course.”

He dropped you and you had to catch yourself on your heels before you broke an ankle and ate shit. Half the lights turned on. You could hear him locking the door as you smoothed your skirt.

You turned to face him, saying, “You shouldn’t be a thief just because you’re horny, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned around slowly from the now locked door. You were about to say something else, but your words died in your throat as you witnessed the overwhelming lust in his dark piercing eyes.

“I would be a thief, a murderer, and evade taxes for your body,” he snarled, advancing on you.

You pulled your blouse out of your skirt so he wouldn’t rip it, backing up into the desks. “You’ll get caught with the last one,” you said quietly, already removing your blouse and letting it fall onto a spare seat. “First two are acceptable.”

Jungkook grinned devilishly, licking his pink lips.

“Come here.”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at his beautiful eyes, finding yourself already walking to him, heels clicking loudly in the empty room, but it didn’t matter, because he was the master now and you were the willing servant. Or slave.

Take your pick.

He smirked at your obedience, placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. His dark orbs lingered down your body, focusing on all his favorite spots, pressing his fingertips into your skin.

“One day,” you said quietly. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

Jungkook’s powerful dark orbs shifted upwards, capturing yours. Time slowed down. You stared into his dark brown eyes, unable to look away, your heart beating in time with his words.

“You’re already in trouble.”

Voice haunting you, teasing smirk on his lips, and perfectly in command.

“From the second you let me have my hands on you.”

You gasped as his nails dug into your skin, scratching down your collarbones, leaving red marks. He snapped the straps of your bra, hard, and you whined, eyes pleading for him to take it off. His palms pressed into the lace cups, squeezing them roughly. Tongue dancing in between his lips as he felt your nipples harden, barely covered by the lace.

“You’re so dirty, noona,” he purred, lowering his palms and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric, smirking at your wanton moan. “Wearing such slutty underwear under these professional clothes.”

You whimpered as he tugged on them. “No one’s going to see them but you, Jungkook.”

He clamped your nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, dragging you to him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pussy throbbing as you collided with his firm chest. His breath was scorching hot against your skin, making you shiver.

“What if someone finds out? Some idiot like a perverted old man staring at your ass in this skirt?”

You snorted. “I’ll rip his head off.”

Jungkook snickered, flicking your nipples with your answer. “You wouldn’t let me do it for you?”

Your hips rolled into his, hands on his waist to keep yourself up as he played with you. “I’ll reattach it for you so you can do the same.”

He laughed, almost a little too jovially for the part he was playing, but then he was back, tipping his head close to yours, blowing soft air onto your lips. You frowned, glaring at him for the lack of kiss.

“If possible, you’re even hotter dressed like this,” Jungkook murmured, his forehead against yours. “So prim and proper, even with a cute gag tied around your neck,” he added, playing with the ends of your neck scarf. “You could be a CEO, and I could be the janitor fucking you on your penthouse-floor desk.” He was undoing your scarf now, teasing it apart, making you breathless. “Maybe fuck you against the window so everyone can see how good I make you feel, noona.”

“Give yourself a little more credit than a janitor,” you muttered, stiffening as Jungkook ran his fingertips over your throat, nails grazing your skin.

“True, I would rather be your secretary so I can follow you around and stare at your ass in this skirt,” he chuckled, lacing his fingers around your neck. Thumb under your ear, the other four fingers under your other ear. You made eye contact with him. He looked almost bored, one of his eyebrows raised, but he was watching you, predatory and attentive.

“I know what I’m doing.”

His whisper was so soft that you barely heard it, but the words were there.

His grip tightened around your throat.

You gasped, feeling the blood flow thinning, hazing your mind. Jungkook watched your expression, reaching around with the hand that was holding your scarf, unclasping your lace bra. You could feel it fall down your arms, but your thoughts were rapidly being clouded by lightheadedness and lust, Jungkook smirking at you as he lifted the silk scarf into your vision.

“J… Jungkook…” you choked out.

The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you as he grinned, brushing the silk against your hard, abused nipples, touch so light, and yet it made your whine, wanting more stimulation but unable to ask because you knew he was toying with you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook taunted. “Not intense enough for my naughty noona?”

He choked you harder and you couldn’t respond, eyes rolling back into your head as black spots danced in your vision, the sensation intensifying but still not enough, not enough, and you shoved your hips into his repeatedly, whimpering, hands clutching his black shirt, nails digging into his abs.

“So needy for me,” he breathed, feathery touches of silk against your nipples. “Are you only mine?”

He leaned forward, loosening his grip a little. The blood violently rushed back into your head and all you could hear Jungkook’s cruel whisper of your name, tearing a moan from your lips, a raspy yes, yes, fuck, Jungkook, I’m only yours.

He chuckled darkly.

Then he forced you to your knees, tits bouncing uncomfortably as you slid on your heels, knees hitting the tile floor. You clutched his clothed legs, panting, brain only half-functioning due to the lack of blood and the relentless teasing. You lifted your head back up to look at him, panting hard.

Jungkook cracked his neck sharply, a harsh pop. “I want to believe you, noona, but you’re dressed so fucking sexy that I can’t.” His dark eyes bore into you, tearing you up, and you were dripping onto your inner thighs. He emphasized his words with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Letting other people fantasize about this body that belongs to me isn’t acceptable.”

His hands reached down, fingers of his right hand playing with the button of his pants, tattoos dancing with his movement. He smirked as you watched him, eyes darting from his face to his hands. Shit, you were nearly drooling with anticipation. You swallowed as he teased the button free.

“You gonna show me that you remember who you belong to?”

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but it was doomed now anyway because Jungkook was lowering the zipper, pushing down his pants and underwear, past his muscular thighs. It was obvious this was getting him off as much as it was getting you off, because he was rock-hard, leaking, tip already a dark red. Jungkook grabbed the back of your head and shoved his hips into your cheek, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin, all the way up to your cheekbone. He hissed, using his hand to press the head against your temple, nearly into your hair.

Fuck, he was so fucking close to your mouth, but he wasn’t letting you have it.

Damnnit.

Your tongue snaked out and softly licked his balls, eyes on his face, watching him tip his head back and moan. You licked more, creeping your head closer, pressing your lips against his hot skin. He was letting you do it, holding his cock out of the way as you wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked, pushing them around with your tongue, pleading noises in your throat, begging him for his cock as you bobbed your head up and down under his hips.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shifted down to you, triumphant grin on his lips.

“You want to swallow my cock, noona?” he teased, smacking it against your face, leaving a string of pre-cum connecting your cheek to his cock. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if to say, no fucking shit, you punk ass bitch, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He looked past your head, down your back.

“Such a nice ass.”

You smacked his leg, aware that he was doing it on purpose to piss you off. He smirked knowingly, placing his palm on your forehead and pushing you off his balls.

“Swallow it all and don’t choke,” Jungkook snarled, shoving his cock into your open mouth.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, relaxing your throat muscles as Jungkook forcefully pushed into your lips, sighing with satisfaction as he buried himself to the hilt, his strong fingers tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned, making his cock throb into the roof of your mouth. You whined, hands on his hips, waiting for him to let you move. “Your throat feels so fucking good, noona. If only they knew how good you are, how perfectly slutty you are for me.” He snickered, releasing his hand, glaring down into your eyes.

“But they’re never going to know, because you’ll never service another cock ever again.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his thighs.

He ticked his chin at you. “Go on, noona. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You began to move, pressing your tongue against the bottom as you slid up and down his length, moaning at his taste. So good. You generated more saliva and ran it all over the head, sucking hard. He inhaled sharply as you teased the sensitive underside, tongue against the opening.

“That’s it,” Jungkook breathed. “Give it to me like you mean it.”

You gripped his thighs and began to bob your head back and forth, ramming the head into the back of your throat and squeezing it before arching your neck so it ran across the roof of your mouth and then back down so it hit your throat again. Was this going to make you hoarse? Probably, but you didn’t a single shit, because Jungkook moaning for you and telling you how good you were was much more important. The pace was slow at first, but you went faster and faster, tighter, your breasts bouncing with every movement, eyes closed to savor his taste and steel your concentration of not gagging because Jungkook was so big, so thick, so perfectly rough, and your tongue could feel him throbbing inside your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled above you, nearly feral with desire. “Fuck, I’m going to cum down that perfect throat of yours, noona.”

His thighs tensed under your hands and you knew he was close. You increased the intensity, neck straining, already aching with how fast you were going.

“Drink it all and don’t fucking waste it.”

Jungkook grabbed you by your hair and thrusted his hips into your face, moaning lustfully as he shot into your mouth, hot creamy strings into your throat. You swallowed fast to avoid choking, gulping loudly as he gave you more, more, fuck it was so delicious that you gasped, swirling your tongue around his jerking cock and lapping it all up. Whimpering, you wrapped your lips around the head and milked it dry, rubbing your lips against the skin where the head and length connected.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. “So messy and dirty. I love it, noona.” He pressed your mouth down his entire length and held you there.

Your name drifted out of his lips, a sweet exhale.

He kept you there. You felt some of your spit drip down your chin and hit your breasts. You flinched at the coldness, still holding onto his hips. Jungkook finally looked down at you, chest heaving, panting. He looked like he wanted to say something. You shot him a questioning look, unable to respond, mouth still full of his cock.

He released your head, untangling his fingers from your hair. You drew your mouth back, rubbing your jaw and throat a little. Jungkook had a strange expression, lips parted, brows furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed. He seemed a bit spaced out. You tilted your head.

Something felt off.

You stood up with as much grace as you could, knees aching, heels snapping to the tile floor. He still wasn’t looking at you. You backed up, to the desks, finding a study one.

“Jungkook.”

You smacked the wood loudly with your flat palm.

He whipped his head towards you, dark eyes flashing. Perfect. You smirked, placing your hands on your pencil skirt. Sank your fingers in, gripping the fabric. Jungkook’s voracious eyes watched your movement, each hike revealing more and more of your legs. A slow smirk formed on his lips. You yanked your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your white lace panties and sheer pantyhose, black fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook reached down and pulled his pants up, raising his eyebrows as he walked over, lower lip in between his teeth as he grinned at you.

“That’s a dangerous position to be in, noona,” he purred. “You know I love fucking you on a desk.”

You bounced your ass up onto the table, closing your legs, knees together. Placed your hands on your lap, pushing your tits together. Jungkook licked his lips, the predatory glint back in his eye. You kept your tone stern, with a hint if disapproval.

“Really? Because for a second there, I was beginning to think you lost your nerve.”

The menace in his eyes made your shiver with anticipation. You could tell Jungkook liked it too, your word selection, your tone, your defiance. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and it fell to the floor with an oppressive thump. You sucked in a tight breath. The shirt was short sleeved, exposing his tattooed right forearm and his equally beautiful tanned left one. Some of his long black hair was falling down, brushing against his right cheekbone.

His eyes were so dark that you felt like they were devouring you.

Jungkook placed his large hands on your knees and vehemently shoved them apart, spreading your legs wide. He gave you a cold, expressionless stare as he placed a hand on your stomach, putting you onto your elbows, hips tipped up towards him. You were embarrassingly wet, juices soaked into your inner thighs, lace panties already molded to your soaked folds, the sheer pantyhose doing nothing to protect you from him and his hungry eyes. His voice was icy, making your pussy throb with need.

“Noona, if you close your legs, I’m going to punish you,” Jungkook warned.

Part of you wanted to know what the punishment was, but the other part of you really wanted to orgasm, so kept your snide remark to yourself and simply nodded.

Jungkook removed his hands from your knees and placed them on your shuddering breasts. Fuck. You hadn’t realized you were so horny until Jungkook touched you. A pained whimper strained in your throat.

The side of his lips curved upwards.

“Does my dirty, slutty noona want to be fucked?” His nails sank down, digging into your skin. “Do you want to be used by me, your tight little pussy stretched out and pleading for more?” Jungkook leaned forward, breathing into your face, growling whisper against your lips. He pinched your nipples and you moaned, wanting to kiss him, but knowing he wasn’t going to let you. He chuckled darkly, seeing your desperation.

“Do you want to be a slave for Jungkookie’s cock, noona?”

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your heart was beating so fast that your breathing was coming out in little gasps as he twisted your nipples harshly, rubbing the tips with his thumb. Your legs shook, threatening to close because the lack of friction was killing you.

“Y-yes, Jungkook, fuck yes.”

He yanked on your nipples and slapped them, making you hiss with pain, flinching as the sting shot up your chest. Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced the silk neck scarf.

“Keep quiet for me noona or everyone will know how much of a slut you are for me.”

And then he shoved your own scarf into your parted lips, gagging you. Not a second too soon, because, without warning, Jungkook immediately spanked your barely clothed clit. You yelped around the silk, thighs quivering. He gripped one of your thighs, digging his nails into it, tearing the sheer pantyhose a little.

“Don’t move and take it,” he snarled.

Your back arched as Jungkook began to slap your pussy, hard, unforgiving, loud, and making you wetter and wetter, so much so his hand was slipping a little with each smack. You screamed around the scarf, hips trembling as they rose to meet each hit, flaring pain in between your thighs but so, so good. He clenched his jaw, dark eyes on your quickly reddening pussy lips that were sucking your panties deeper and deeper into your slit.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, you’re so hot and so fucking perfect for me.”

He removed his hand from your thigh and ripped the center seam of your pantyhose apart.

You started, eyes widening as you watched him tear through it, yelling at him through the scarf. You still needed to wear those! The small tears were one thing, but a full-on giant rip at the crotch was not going to be comfortable to wear for the rest of the day.

Jungkook smirked, raising a hand to his ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

You glared at him and was about to remove the scarf from your mouth to scold him, but his smirk turned into a roguish grin.

“Hm? Slap you harder and abuse your clit?”

You paled.

“My pleasure.”

You threw you head back as Jungkook mercilessly spanked your now only lace-covered clit, impossibly fast, towering over you and hooking his arm under your back, dragging you to him, arching your spine more, more, so your tits were straight up, bouncing right in his face as he changed from smacking your clit to rubbing it just as fast, rougher, so intense you were hoarsely wailing into the gag.

All of a sudden, your orgasm violently rammed into you, pleasure racking your entire body, amplified by stinging pain. Your pussy clenched around nothing, wetly squelching as Jungkook breathed hotly down on your nipples, still rubbing you through your orgasm, not letting up. You shook your head furiously, trying to tell him it was too much, that you were too sensitive, but you didn’t lift your hands to stop him, only spreading your fingers against the table, palms flat as your hips raised to his fingers.

You felt his hair brush against your nipples as he licked your cleavage, smirking up at your face.

“One more and then I’ll fuck you the way I want to, noona.”

Your legs were losing feeling from how hard you were locking them in place as you felt Jungkook pry your lace panties out of your pussy, shoving them to one side. Oh shit. You moaned as you felt him shove two fingers into you, eyes squeezing shut as he added a third, scissoring them as he smiled cruelly at you, eagerly watching your reaction.

“Such a greedy pussy, sucking in my fingers like this,” Jungkook drawled, your walls clenching around them, feeling every callus and every joint, all the way to his knuckles. “All mine, my beautiful, slutty noona.”

You would have asked Jungkook what the time was if your brain could still function, but your brain timed itself out, because Jungkook was thrusting his fingers into you now, filling you up, and feeding your need and desperation, assaulting your pussy with pleasure. The pain of your stinging, puffy lips rubbing against his hand added to the ecstasy, heightening it, your moaning now unintelligible behind the silk scarf that was saturated with your saliva. The sound was obscene, sloppy smacking sounds of your drenched hole getting pounded into the desk.

You threw your head back and choked out his name around the makeshift gag, throbbing pussy clamping down on his fingers. Thick, viscous liquid gushed out onto his palm, the back of his hand, dripping down to his wrist. It was so intense that your entire body jerked up into Jungkook’s face, hitting him with your tits.

If Jungkook was mad about it, he didn’t show it. He wrenched his slick fingers out and you whined, watching him with glazed eyes as licked them off, ferally growling at your taste. He released your back from his arm and you slid down, laying against the desk, panting.

“You taste extra delicious today, noona,” he chuckled. “Candy always tastes better in cute packaging.”

You barely had time to register that Jungkook had just compared you to a fucking convenience store snack before he yanked down his pants again, whipping out a foil packet and ripping it open. Less than a second and the condom was on, and then Jungkook shoved his cock into you, a startled gasp dying in your very over-used throat.

Jungkook moaned your name above you, softly and lustfully, pulling your hips closer to him so he was all the way inside you. You clenched around his length and he sighed, small smirk on his pink lips, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re going to kill me one day with how perfectly tight you are for me,” he mumbled.

Your eyes found his and he grinned, looking down at you through his lashes, his hair obscuring half his face.

Fuck, you could stare at him all day.

Jungkook placed your legs around his waist, finally letting them rest from the forced spreading. He roughly jerked his hips into yours and you whimpered, nails clawing into the desk. His fingers dug into your hips and he set his jaw, beginning a hard, fast pace, slapping your hips together, fucking you into the desk. It scraped noisily into the floor, but neither of you cared, you abused pussy lips rubbing against his crotch every time his hips met yours, carried to new heights of pain and pleasure, loving every second, every moment of Jungkook using you to chase his own orgasm, his cock swelling and dragging against your tight walls. So much. So full.

You could never be satisfied with another cock.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook hissed, grip on your hips tightening, bruising you with his fingertips.

“Fuck, noona, I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

And then your orgasm crashed down, overtaking you completely, your head smacking the desk and seeing stars, clenching around Jungkook’s cock and pulsating violently around his length, soaking his thighs with your juices, scent so strong you were sure whatever class that was going to use this lecture hall next was going to smell your cum splattering to the floor.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and rammed his hips into you, dragging you down to meet every thrust, intensifying your orgasm, ripping your pantyhose even more. Once, twice, three times, and he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into the condom, cock shivering inside you as he came. You could feel how much it was, pressing against your walls.

His long hair was all over his face, black strands clinging to his tan skin, sweat dripping off his chin, pink lips quivering, dark eyes roaming over your fucked-out form. Panting hard, matching your heavy, grating breaths behind your now saliva-drenched neck scarf. After a long moment, Jungkook reached down and held onto the condom, slowly pulling out of you.

Holy fuck.

You reached up with a shaking hand, pulling the silk out of your mouth. It came out in a long strip of fabric, smacking against your cheek as your removed it from your lips.

Holy.

Fuck.

You sat up, your body screaming at you, seeing Jungkook breathing hard, tying up the condom.

“Did you just tell me you love me?”

Jungkook’s ears turned bright red. He chewed on his lip, biting it hard before facing you. Dark brown eyes suddenly vulnerable, scared. It was the most uncharacteristic expression you had ever witnessed on Jeon Jungkook’s chiseled, handsome face.

“Uh… yeah.”

There was a moment where you realized both you two were mostly naked in a random classroom, clothes thrown everywhere, having made a mess once again.

“Sorry,” Jungkook added quickly. “It slipped out.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He rubbed his nose, looking away.

“Well… aren’t you just fucking me because you like to be dominated?”

You frowned. “No, I’m fucking you because I’m in love with you.”

You saw Jungkook freeze. He turned his head robotically, eyes wide and doe-like. “R-really?”

You looked down to notice that your heels were on the tile floor. When had you lost those? You grumbled, trying to straighten out your panties and the remains of your pantyhose. It was doomed. You shrugged, dangling your legs over the edge of the desk as you looked back at Jungkook and his surprised expression. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you really that much of an idiot?” you muttered, your own cheeks burning, letting out a puff of annoyed air. “Yes, I love you. Why else would I tolerate you staring at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal? Why else would I risk getting in trouble by running around like this? Why else would I let you fuck me at school, in the middle of the damn day, again?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… because I’m hot?”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed exasperatedly, standing up, instantly wincing. Jungkook took a step forward to catch you, but he almost tripped on his pants down his ankles. You caught yourself against the desk and raised a hand, shaking your head.

“Pack your damn dick,” you muttered. You yanked your tights down your legs, removing them and balling them up. They were useless now anyway. You found your bra and put it back on as you eyed your chiffon blouse. Good thing it wasn’t ripped. It only took you a moment to slip it back on, rebuttoning it and tucking it into your skirt. You pulled your pencil skirt back down, straightening it, thighs immediately sticking together from your own fluids.

Yup, still no more comfortable than yanking your pants back on after a session with Jungkook.

You noticed him putting his leather jacket back on and picking up the condom wrapper. He took the silk scarf from the table and shoved it in his back pocket. You went back to him to gather your shoes, but he knelt down, holding out your black heels as if you were Cinderella.

“I can just–”

“Step.”

His tone was sharp and you immediately obeyed, raising your foot and stepping into your shoe. First one, then the other. Jungkook stood back up, exhaling a little. You looked up at him. His chocolate eyes flitted about tensely. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you… uh…”

You cut him off. “Jungkook, if you cheat on me, I will personally castrate you with a spoon.”

He cringed. “Ouch.”

You took the used condom and the wrapper bits from him, shoving them into your balled-up pantyhose. You marched towards the door confidently, pain shooting throughout your body with every step. Jungkook called after you.

“Your hairpins.”

You turned your head back a little.

“You can drop them off at my apartment later.”

And then you unlocked the door and stepped out of the classroom.

Park Jimin waved at you, grinning. Plump lips curved into a mischievous smile, wearing a denim jacket and jeans. You almost jumped seeing him standing there. What the fuck is with this guy’s timing? He eyed your hand holding your ruined pantyhose and you put it behind your back, glaring at him.

“I told Namjoon you had a lady emergency.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you before holding up your phone and black purse, the belongings you had left in the back room. “You took longer than you should have.”

You felt your ears burn. “Shit. I need to get back.”

“To Jungkook, yeah,” Jimin chimed teasingly, making you glower at him.

Of course. Jungkook had turned Jimin into his scout for your escapades. Fantastic. You suddenly felt a strong presence behind you. The door had opened and Jungkook’s arm snaked around your waist, yanking you possessively to his side. He placed his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You wanna go on a date, noona?” Jungkook purred, his free hand playing with the ends of your disheveled hair.

You pursed your lips. “I have to get back and help Namjoon.”

Jimin waved a hand. “He’ll be fine for one day. Plus, you’re being kidnapped.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook slapped his hand over your lips, marching you in the opposite direction of Career Week, Jimin skipping behind you two, cheerfully humming.

part iv

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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lihikainanea · 3 years

Note

bill wanting tiger to make eye contact with him while he eats her out and she really tries but it’s just not working cause he stops whenever she breaks eyes. she starts to slip into a bad headspace, apologizing for not being able to be good, so he springs into action. he gets on top of her and has her try to make contact while he circles her clit, stopping whenever she looked away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOF MY HEART.

squeal, sweet nani. I squeal.

Look, Bill thrives off of eye contact, he needs it, but tiger is the exact opposite--nothing shuts her down faster than some really intense eye contact. So everything they do has to be a balance between the two. She knows he gets so much out of it so she tries but sometimes she just can't--and while he craves it, he knows how unbelievably uncomfortable it can make her so he never pushes for it. Whatever she's able to give him freely, he'll take.

Sometimes if he sees she's trying but she's having a hard time--tiger somehow always associates it with a bit of shame, a bit of shyness--sometimes if they're going at it he'll make it an order. And it's not to pressure her into it, but rather the exact opposite--to take the pressure out of the situation. Tiger has an easier time obeying an order when she's small, she has an easier time doing what he asks of her because she feels free of that burden of choice, free of the burden of consequences of free will.

And maybe it's one of those nights that Bill is just wrecking her, but it's because he needs it. He can't get enough, it's been such a shit week and all he wants to do is clear his own mind and just get lost in her--drag out all of those little squeaks and gasps that he loves so much, get her all laid out and vulnerable beneath him, get her into that state of mind where her eyes just go a little glossy, her jaw a little slack, her mumblings a little incoherent. Bill needs to quiet his own mind that night and he does that in the best way he knows how--by reducing tiger to an absolute mess underneath him.

So he's in his favourite place, right, on his stomach between her legs with his whole face exactly where it needs to be. One hand is intertwined with hers and she's squeezing it to death, the other hand is leisurely running up her torso and caressing all of the soft bits he loves so much. He groans into her, sucking her clit between his lips and she gasps.

"Eyes tiger," he commands softly, "Look at me."

It takes a second or two--he'd never scold her or rush her on this--but eventually her eyes flit to his. He smiles softly at her, continuing to lick through her folds--but when she closes them, he stops.

She lets out an agonized whine.

"Eyes," he reminds, and her gaze lands back on his so he continues. But then a few seconds later, her eyes pinch shut and she whines--and it's that whine that he doesn't like, that whine laced with discomfort, with a bit of anxiety, with stress. He stops immediately, squeezing her hand and crawling up her body to press his lips firmly to hers.

"My good girl," he reassures, "My good, sweet girl."

She whines again, a little distraught, and shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, but he tuts her softly.

"You did so well for me sweetheart," he coos, "But that's enough, isn't it? That's enough for my good girl."

"Bad," she mumbles and tries to shove him away, "I'm...bad."

And god his heart breaks. He grabs her hands to still her feeble attempts at pushing him away, and he rests his full weight on her to stop her squirming. She whimpers a little, shakes her head, but he nips at her chin.

"Tiger, eyes on me," he says firmly, "Now."

She doesn't want to, he can tell, but like the good girl she is for him--she does.

"Who gets to decide that?" he murmurs much more softly, "Who gets to decide if you're my good girl or not?"

"You do," she mumbles.

"That's right, I do," he says, "And you're so good for me, sweetheart. Say it."

She heaves a bit of a pained sigh, and it takes her a minute.

"I'm..." she stammers, "I'm good."

"More than that."

"I'm your good girl," she says, and it earns her a soft kiss on her nose, a deeper kiss on her lips.

"Yes you are," he moans into her mouth, "And you did so good for me. But that's enough for tonight."

And the pained wail of despair that she lets out, loud and petulant, has his mind scrambling for a second until he realizes his mistake.

"That's enough eye contact for tonight tiger," he clarifies with a small smile, "We're only getting started on everything else, kid."

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #sub tiger

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ladyshiranui · 4 years

Text

shiranui x chizuru iii

psst~ link to A03 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677699

Upon arrival, the devastated Goryokaku leaves Chizuru Yukimura all alone and questioning her future. Lucky for her, 'a fellow demon at her disposal' means she doesn't have to come to terms with the woes of grief by herself.

words: 2272

༶•⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧•༶

It was among the most havoc-wrecked sights of the war. Splinters of wood scattered across the soil like seeds of devastation. Canon fire had ceased, yet the deafening blasts still throbbed in her eardrums. The sky was blue, a cruel irony for a day that called for grey clouds. Lingering smoke of gunpowder and battle filled her lungs, gripping her heart in grief.

The flag of Makoto in her fingertips, tattered and smeared in the blood of the fallen, decidedly marked the end of an era. The faces of her comrades from the last number of years, their kindness and hospitality, their undying loyalty and unwavering conviction— It all came to her in a flooding nostalgia. She was overwhelmed, trying to surface the tides of sorrow to replace her stolen breath.

It was no thanks to Lord Kazama who’d made his departure as soon as the shores of Hamamatsu had been reached that the demon girl was left alone. Typical of the entitled egoist to have an icy heart until the journey’s end. If not for Shiranui’s inquisitiveness, and unshakable doubt of Kazama’s supposed altruism, he wouldn’t have followed.

After seeing Kazama refuse to disembark the docked boat while Chizuru ran ahead, he’d revealed himself. With his hands on his hips, he asked, “What, you’re not going after her? After all this time you’re gonna let her go? Just like that?”

Chizuru had long disappeared among the trees, the then active canons shaking the earth with their mighty bellows, but Kazama’s gaze stood fixed on her fleeting trail. “She is no longer of my concern. It’s clear she’s more vainly focussed on those shogunate dogs than saving her own bloodline. She would not make a suitable wife.”

Shiranui scoffed. “Can’t blame the girl for not being that into you. I wouldn’t be if I was stalked and kidnapped by some pretentious demon lord.”

Kazama’s absence of rebuttal was dissatisfying. “The Yukimura clan is dead. She has decided her own end and I will not associate myself with it any longer,” he averred.

“So what do you call travelling halfway across the country for her?”

“Pity, if you must label it. Not whatever silly selfless ambition you’ve conjured in that head of yours. I am not without dignity.”

The rolling of his eyes implied the second demon lord felt otherwise. “After all that’s happened and you’re still as egotistical as you ever were. You’ll never change, Kazama.”

“For what reason would I need to? I live for no-one but myself. It’s the half-witted female demon who needs to change. Her mind has been poisoned living as an equal among the humans.”

“Cut her some slack, will you? It’s not like she had much of a choice.” Kazama’s having an answer to everything was boiling Shiranui’s blood. The heat of his rising rage trickled into his tone, a low growl in the back of his throat when he opened his mouth. “Dignity, my ass-- You only care about yourself. She could have already been blown to bits and you’d feel nothing.”

A reaction was finally elicited with the chieftain’s sharp turn and piercing gaze. Shiranui met his challenge, standing convicted by his words and refusing to look away. Frantic shouts of warning as gunfire and cannonballs flew overhead had the lingering passengers scrambling for safety and collapsing to the ground, yet the demons were unfazed by the waging war of man. The deafening chaos underpinned the last spoken sentence.

“You...” Kazama snarled. His hand hovered above the hilt of his sword, his opposer watching him warily with his own hand close to his gun, but the former relaxed. Instead of hurling every threat under the sun, Shiranui questioned his look of amusement. “It seems Chizuru Yukimura is not the only foolish one here,” he smirked with a tilted chin.

“What the hell are you going on about?”

“First that spear-wielding red-head, and now--” he tauntingly laughed-- “You’ve gone soft, Shiranui. I expected more from the chief of your own clan. You’re a walking mockery of a demon.”

The pistol was drawn and fired in impromptu haste. A tuft of blonde hair bounced as a silver bullet flew directly beneath it, leaving no injury but an already fading red mark of heat on Kazama’s cheekbone. Shiranui’s nostrils flared with a sudden breathlessness, the derogatory mention of the Shinsengumi’s 10th Division captain igniting his anger.

His tightening grip dusted his knuckles white. While there was almost always a snarky response with Shiranui, his mouth stayed a thin line with his jaw clenched.

Kazama’s brow twitched. “As I thought,” he hummed. Sailors loudly declared their departure, rowboats retreating back into the ocean. The demon retook his place, turning his back to Shiranui with a dismissive wave. “Do what you want with that wench. The end of the Yukimura line should have an audience, after all.”

It took everything in Shiranui to not place a bullet in the back of Kazama’s head. Such an easy target; one pull of the trigger is all it would take. Looking at him alone made his stomach churn with a dangerous, deadly vexation. The wish to be as far away from him as possible propelled him to turn around and trudge through the sandy shores. He didn’t know where he was going, only the faint tug of an unseen thread luring him through the trees and turmoil.

And then, he reached Goryokaku.

Centre to the battered shelter, crumpled in the dirt, was her. Shiranui knew she was close to the men of the Shinsengumi, but not so close to mourn so greatly. He’d never fancied himself getting close to humans for this very reason, but he couldn’t deny how leaden his heart had become at Harada’s own fall. Sitting by his side, the sparkle of heroism that never left his eyes dissipating into a glassy haze, the last heave of breath leaving his body, his last words an unfinished sentence-- as the sole witness it had done more to him than he would have liked to admit. In a way that escaped even him, seeing Chizuru in her state lifted an inkling of the weighty sorrow in his chest. It was as though she cried not only for the two of them, but all others who believed in whom had met their end.

Shiranui was glad his arm’s length relationship with humans spared him from a pain he didn’t want to know what felt like. He didn’t have the heart to go up to her right away. Her grief was personal, something that no-one could ever understand. An audience, Kazama said. His inference reeked of voyeurism, and seeing her express the rawest form of emotional vulnerability angered him all over again. The churning of his stomach made him ill, and he couldn’t stand by anymore.

One foot after the other, fallen leaves and burnt wood crunching beneath his boots, Shiranui approached her. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he should do. He couldn’t say he’d been confronted with such grief before and was left in the unknown how to handle the delicate situation. His feet didn’t stop, though. They knew where he needed to be, so he let them carry him to her side.

His shadow cast across her racking body, her sobs muffled in the tattered flag of truth she gripped so desperately. Her cries sounded strangled, like a bird in a cage desperate to be set free. Even in a moment so emotionally unbearable, she held onto the smallest inkling of composure she had left. An odd feeling extending to his hand arose, and stretched it out toward her. Slowly it lowered, resting atop of Chizuru’s head. The violent force of her anguish travelled through to him, resurfacing feelings he’d buried what seemed so long ago.

The flood gates opened, the bird was free. Sobs turned to a wailing lament, its echo carried through the leaves of the trees that shielded them from prying eyes. She doubled over, her head resting against the soil, and Shiranui compensated by lowering himself to his knees. The churning in his stomach morphed into the twisting of his heart. His pride begged him to stand back up, to keep himself in check, but he too bowed his head in dolour.

“They put up one hell of a fight, that’s for sure…” he murmured, the right words difficult to muster.

Chizuru’s cries gradually softened. Deep breaths swayed her frame under the demon lord’s gentle touch. Shiranui pulled himself away and stood to his feet, surprised by how heavy he’d suddenly felt.

“You can’t stay here forever.” He scrutinised the scene before them. Looking at her while speaking truthfully felt too guilting. Funny; he’d never felt like that before. “There’s bound to be imperialists still hanging around somewhere, and I wouldn’t count on their mercy towards you and your affiliation with the Shinsengumi.”

He waited for a response, but no such words left Chizuru’s lips. Side-eyeing her, her face lifted from the flag, revealing only her red, drenched and tired eyes. She looked so frail. He would’ve thought her to be otherwise sickly. There was no life in her, as though her spirit died with the fallen captains across the country. The look in her eyes was the very same he’d left behind in Ueno.

“So? What’ll you do?” he spoke again. “I can guarantee Kazama won’t come after you anymore and, well…” he hesitated, “you don’t have a place to go back to. You’re free.”

Sniffles escaped her while her back straightened upright. Her muffled, feeble voice eked out the reply, “It never felt like I wasn’t. I just wanted to be with them… always… They made me feel like I was human, like I was allowed to have a place with them.” She brought the flag to her running eyes, wiping her tears where no strong, gentle hand ever would again.

“You say that like being a demon means the end of the world. I can tell you-- It’s not.” Shiranui cast his gaze to the blue sky. The sun was lowering by then, a golden blush blanketing the remnant chaos in an ironic beauty. Everything made him think of him, from the red of the maple to the hue of the sunset matching his irises. He’d thought he’d let it go already, but perhaps he was wrong. “I can also say that Harada never thought bad of you for being one, either. It was almost closer to praise whenever he would talk about it. It got kind of annoying.”

“Harada did?”

He sighed, her oblivion to these things truly astounding him. “I’m pretty sure he would’ve told you a bunch of times himself, but yeah… He did.”

“Then--” she turned herself towards Shiranui, her eyes pleading for all the answers to her questions-- “why did they never make me feel like I was a demon? Why did it feel like I was always one of them?”

“Because you were. You spent five years of your life with them. It goes without saying you’d feel like a human being among humans.” He folded his arms, wrestling her doubts. “I don’t think it was that they pretended you were a human, but more like they accepted you for you; a demon. Maybe you should try it, too.”

Chizuru’s shoulders were weighed by defeat and sunk. “I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky to have a fellow demon at your disposal.”

“Who?”

Shiranui stared at her dubiously, cocking his brow with his mouth slack-jawed. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”

With a spin on his heel he turned away from the wreckage, his scarf dancing in the breeze. It was elegant, rising and falling like suspended ocean waves. Chizuru couldn’t help but stare, its tattered edges sparking curiosity. She found herself looking between it and the similarly affected flag in her hands. Her thoughts meandered, wondering if that green scarf in any way shared the devastation the flag of truth represented. A question begged to be asked, but she held her tongue. She would save it for another day.

“You coming or what?” Shiranui beckoned with a look over his shoulder.

Startled by her own daze she turned away. The feeling in her legs had returned to her and she sluggishly picked herself up. The uniform generously granted to her by the captains was smeared with all kinds of blemishes but her appearance couldn’t be a further concern. Her legs wobbled underneath her, clutching the flag tightly in her hands. This sacred keepsake, this sole memento she had of the fiercest group of men she’d ever come to know-- she swore she would never part with it.

Shiranui’s back grew further the longer she waited, so she jogged to his side. She said nothing, her eyes cast upon the ground while her feet dragged through the earth.

“Boats should arrive at Hamamatsu before long to retrieve the left-over soldiers. We’ll wait around until we can board one back to Edo.”

“What will you do?” Chizuru asked.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure… I hadn’t thought about it very much.”

“Guess that goes for me too, then.”

His confusing response willed her to look at him questioningly. Seeing her greatly confused expression, Shiranui smirked. So oblivious. He’d never know what Harada saw in her, yet a deeply rooted curiosity fancied him to find out.

“But--” she croaked before his hand ruffled her hair.

“Relax, won’t you?” He smirked as they walked away from the wreckage side by side. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

༶•⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧•༶ part i | part ii | part iii

#I haven't written anything in a while #but felt a sudden spark of inspo today #writing #shiranui kyo #shiranui x chizuru #hakuoki #hakuouki #hurt/comfort

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cheetahsprints · 4 years

Text

All good things now come from you

Summary: Wu visits Mako.

What have I done to fall so hard for you?

The first time is a total surprise. Mako flops out of bed, kicking away the tangled sheet as he grunts with frustration. Many nights he experiences nightmares, and he reaches for another body. He doesn’t know who he expects to be there or why. But there’s no one there. It’s just him in his lonesome apartment.

He’s grown tired of Korra and Asami trying to include him in things out of pity. Of course, there’s offers to hang out separately, but in his patheticness he still feels awkward being alone with either of them. He’s also grown tired of Bolin’s attempts to set him up. Nothing seems to click, and he can’t help comparing them to… to… he doesn’t know who, except he does, and it hurts. It’s not Korra or Asami, he’s not quite that bad. Any lingering feelings have turned platonic.

He gets ready for the day, opens the door, and he’s there. Mako abruptly remembers that he doesn’t have work today. Now, he’s not sure whether that’s a positive.

Wu.

Mako intones, “What are you doing here.”

He’s supposed to be on some kind of tour with his… music career. Mako likes many of Wu’s traits that he’d never admit, but his singing leaves a lot to be desired. Nonetheless, something about Wu’s alluring voice attempting to hold a note always makes his heart jump into his throat.

“Is that any way to talk to your old friend?” Wu spreads his arms. Mako is surprised he doesn’t go in for a hug. Perhaps, he’s learned some boundaries.

“Old employer, you mean.” Mako is semi-aware that he’s trying too hard to distance himself. He tried and tried to drop hints about his feelings, and he’s lost hope that Wu will ever see him that way, that he even could.

“Aw come on, after all we’ve been through?” Wu frowns. “I thought I meant a little more to you.”

Mako raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Did you want something or did you just come by to say hello?”

“I thought we could just… talk. I don’t know. I’m bored.”

So, Mako lets him inside. Wu looks around a bit, then shuffles over by a wall where he stands there staring at Mako. He offers, “Are you going to… sit down?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Um… okay.”

They talk. Hours fly by that Mako scarcely notices at first. He has plenty of input in the beginning, but eventually he lays on the bed. He places his hands behind his head, closes his eyes and just listens to his voice, his unexpected insights. Wu speaks of his travels, with plenty of humorous stories.

He vanishes as suddenly as he came. Mako must have fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes Wu is gone with no sign that he was there.

You are my everything… My head, my heart, my mind, my wing

It takes the second time to hear the edge in Wu’s voice, his deliberate leaning on the light-hearted. Whenever the serious side of his stories seems like it will thicken, he changes course.

This time, he has visited Mako at work. Mako has some backed up paperwork to take care of. A few pages in, he’s slacking and trying to play Pai Sho with himself; it’s not going well. He’s not a keen player to begin with, never as interested in it as Bolin. A hand reaches out and moves a piece. Mako looks up, and there’s Wu.

Mako actually hasn’t noticed the station is empty except for him until this moment.

“Wu… it’s been a few weeks hasn’t it? How are you?”

Wu waves a hand. “Oh you know. Seeing things, meeting people. Did I tell you that time I ran into the swamp chasing that -”

“Right. If you like the swamp so much, maybe you should live there.”

Wu stares at him. His gaze is searching, but Mako is uncertain what he’s looking for.

“Do you want to play?”

“Oh I’m terrible!”

“Well, I’m so great either…”

Wu reaches up to run his fingers through his own hair. He pauses and drops his hand. “I guess we can be terrible… together…”

There’s a twitch of a smile, and Mako realizes his smiles haven’t reached his eyes, not even the last time he saw him.

The past, the present, tomorrow too...

The third time, part of Mako is expecting it. He’s at a spa after all, in a steam room. It was Asami’s suggestion, and it was just going to be them hanging out. Then, somehow everyone else got wind of it and showed up. And by everyone, he means: Korra, Bolin, Opal, Wing and Wei, Tu, Jinora, Kai, even Lin. Not every single person he knows fairly well, but it might as well have been.

He managed to ditch them all at one point. He got a little… overwhelmed when they started talking about Kuvira. He definitely did not start sweating and run out of there like a chickendeer with its head cut off.

Mako’s eyes snap open when he feels a brief and slightly damp sensation on his forehead. Wu grins at him, but his eyes are unfocused. It’s unsettling.

“Did you just… kiss me?”

“Haha sure… oh buddy, the heat must be getting to ya.”

Mako glares at him. He knows what he felt, and there’s no other explanation. He decides not to press the issue. Then, his eyes wander to Wu’s bare torso and his throat tightens. Wu lowers himself to sit beside him. It’s close but not so close as to be brushing against each other. Mako squints. It seems deliberate. Does Wu know about his feelings? Is he grossed out or just trying to spare him the rejection? Mako’s head gets kind of spinny.

This time is mostly silent. Mako - to his own surprise - is the one who tries to start conversation. Wu seems lost in thought though, and his responses are too monosyllabic to work into more. Occasionally, Wu catches Mako’s eye when Mako glances at him. Every time, Mako looks down at his own lap, cheeks heated and not from the steam.

I’ll spend my final day with you

The fourth time, Mako is so shocked it angers him.

It’s a bust gone wrong. He’s tied up, definitely not expecting any visitors. That sonorous voice calls to him, “Heyy Mako. Looks like you’re all tied up, am I interrupting?”

Mako’s face aches where he was punched, one of his eyes is swollen shut, and he’s pretty sure a few ribs are cracked, if not broken. Somehow, he manages to glare at Wu. Then, he panics.

“What are you doing here?!” Mako squirms, but it’s no good. “Get out of here!”

“Nah, I’m good. Can’t stay long though, but I got you a present.” Wu tosses him a knife. There are jewels in the hilt. “Nothing extravagant, but I think you can take it from here? The guard was asleep… they hired a kid, poor thing. He looks to be about… twelve? Maybe you should I dunno, adopt him or something.”

Mako stares at the knife. This has to be one messed up dream resulting from head trauma. “I - I feel too young to be a… a dad to a pre-teen and… I don’t think I’d make a good one.”

“Nonsense! You have just the kind of experience to relate to the kid. Big brother then?”

Because that went so well with Kai, though that was more Bolin’s mission than his. “He’d probably just see me as condescending.”

Wu shrugs. “Well, see you later Mako. I - I hope I can see you again soon.”

He walks out. Not long after, Mako escapes by managing to cut the ropes with his limited range of movement. It helps that the obviously expensive dagger, though probably meant to be decorative, is incredibly sharp. He hoists the kid over his shoulder kicking and screaming, then leaves it up to Lin to sort out. He has too many of his own issues.

Later, when he’s giving his statement, he’s at a loss explaining his escape.

He decides to loosely suggest that the kid helped him out. He’s adopted to a nice family within the week, and Mako sends him an encouraging letter with Bolin’s assistance with the wording. He doesn’t tell a single soul about seeing Wu.

I hope you feel the way I do, I hope you give yourself up too

The fifth time, he gets the immediate sense something is very wrong, and he’s been blind this whole time. He’s walking through the spirit wilds of Republic City, just to clear his head. Wu stumbles out from a tangle of vines. He’s disheveled, a complete wreck. His eyes are wild.

“Mako… Mako…”

“Wu?” For the first time, Mako reaches out to him as though to cradle him.

His hands pass right through him. Mako gasps, his eyes widening. “What - how -”

Wu gives him a pleading look and whispers, “You have to save me Mako… please… if I mean even a quarter to you what you - what you mean to me.”

“Save you…? What do you mean? From what? Are you projecting your spirit or something? Since when can you -”

Wu puts his hand up. “Enough questions. I’ve officially run out of time, Mako. I - I love -”

Then, he fades, just as Mako chokes, “You -”

Mako can’t breathe. He sprints to the station and barges in on Lin.

“Mako? What do you think you’re -”

Mako slams his palms flat on the desk. “It’s Wu!”

Minutes feel like hours. Korra isn’t able to sense him, claiming to Mako’s horror that it means his life force is weak. Eventually, they’ve gathered everyone who has remotely associated with Wu in the last few months. His location is tracked to somewhere in the swamp… which ended up being the result of Mako’s gut feeling based on circumstantial evidence.

The evidence being that Wu somehow brought up the swamp in every conversation. Something that he only vaguely recollects after thinking about it really hard.

Mako finds him first, of course. He’s laying in a muddy ditch, as disheveled as when his spirit most recently appeared. There are scrapes on every inch of skin he can see, and an especially deep wound somewhere in the abdomen. He’s wrapped in glowing vines that may or may not be keeping him on the cusp of life. The blood is difficult to see amongst the mud and vines, but Mako can smell it. He rushes to Wu and kneels down. He gently scoops him up, even though he knows he shouldn’t move him.

It’s probably too late. The vines retreat.

“Wu, please. Please don’t leave me. You were wrong okay? I care about you so, so much.” Mako finally releases his stranglehold on his deepest emotions, and the tears flow. “You need to pull through this, you need to fight so I can - so I can - tell you that I-”

He can’t say the words, not like this, not when he can’t even hear them.

Soon, the others appear. Korra and Kya quickly rush to his side and take over. He stays close. His vision blurring. Someone pulls him away, rambling something. Someone else puts a blanket around his shoulders. Someone says, “It’ll be alright.”

Mako can see the doubt in their eyes.

Mako and Wu are carted in different directions. It feels wrong, to be pulled away from him. However, he doesn’t think he can take it if the worst scenario is true.

How could he miss it?

Mako is numb and quiet as hours or maybe days pass. It’s discovered that Wu met someone claiming to be a scouting agent. Apparently, he had worked with Varrick and Bolin at one point, and that was all that was needed for Wu to trust him.

Mako should’ve never left his side.

It went very south. Wu was innocent in everything, but of course he somehow ended up in the crossfire of a scandal involving spirit vines, former Kuvira followers, and big, big debts. He was nothing but a puppet for some fiend to hide behind.

“I’m in love with him,” Mako says out loud, just so the universe at least can hear it. Of course, he’s overhead by several people. He distantly registers he’s in the air temple. He doesn’t know when that happened.

“...You’re kidding,” Bolin remarks, staring.

“You didn’t know?”

“Dude… I thought you were straight. Everyone knew Wu was into you, but we thought it was an epically tragic case of unreciprocated affection!”

“There’s nothing epic about that,” Mako grumpily mutters. He’d thought himself in that position once, and Bolin is making it sound like fun mover material.

When he explains how he guessed Wu’s location, Lin of all people says, “He was about as obvious as you were with how you felt. That is, too subtle… by the spirits, how could you two be such idiots?”

“I know right? They’re made for each other,” Asami says.

And…

Oh.

“He didn’t know.”

“Probably not, Mako.”

Mako slaps his forehead. “I’m such a moron.”

No one responds to that, but they don’t refute it either. He doesn’t blame them.

I’m damned to feel the way I do

Mako is going to visit Wu. It feels strange the other way around. He carefully crosses the threshold, flowers clutched in his hand. It feels weird, but it also didn’t feel right not to bring anything. This is it, after all; an end and a beginning.

“When I saw you, hurt and lifeless… there are just so many things I wish I had said,” Mako murmurs. “Despite the time I’ve had to think about, I still don’t know what words to choose. I couldn’t even say it to your face, but this is catharsis, I suppose.”

He goes on, “I’m sure you know, when we first met I thought you were one of the most obnoxious people on the planet. Okay, maybe you didn’t know - or if you did, you hid it well. Somewhere along the line I started to see… what a truly amazing and strong person you are.”

“You really impressed me with how you had grown,” Mako continues. His chest aches. He’s not sure what he’s doing. He takes a few steps closer and drops to his knees. “I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell you goodbye. Every stupid little thing you would do became so endearing, it made me so - so stupid. A stupid fool in l-”

He still can’t get the word out, not when addressing Wu without him being there. Silence falls as Mako loses the strength to talk. He wipes at his dampened cheek feebly with his sleeve.

“What happened to my big tough guy? Not that there’s an -” A pause and a weak cough. “Anything wrong with being touchy-feely. Good for you.”

Mako drops the flowers, and he rushes so fast to stand that his knee rams into the metal bed frame. He winces, then he looks at Wu, and his minor pain evaporates. Wu’s eyes are half-lidded, his knuckles pale where he’s clutching the sheet. He’s clearly struggling to stay awake. However, he gives Mako a lopsided smile, his beautiful eyes twinkling.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to, huh? Be in a world without me that is,” Wu mutters.

Mako reaches to brush his hair to the side.

“Sure scared me though. You should rest.”

“I’m just excited you’ve come to see me,” Wu admits. “Stay with me?”

Without hesitation, Mako squeezes himself onto the cot. “Of course. I’m here. I love you.”

Wu grins wide enough that it doesn’t really look comfortable. “Mako I -”

Wu breaks away to cough again. “I love you too, big guy.”

“I wonder, do you remember visiting me?” Mako murmurs, “Do you remember coming to me when you were unconscious? How did you do that?”

“Whaaat? I’m not exactly Mr. Spiritual Guru. How would I do that?” Wu adds, “Also, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Huh. Maybe I had cracked and hallucinated it.”

“Or, or, your spirit was the one reaching out and pulling me to you! Because we’re deeply connected.”

“Pfft. It was probably the spirit vines.”

“Yeah... probably.”

Wu cracks a yawn, and his eyelids droop. Mako kisses him on the forehead. His lip has a bad split, so this will do. Wu snuggles into him, and Mako knows the meaning of true peace.

#wuko #lok #my fic #spooktober #obe #character injury /#5+1 bc why not #not very confident with writing these two but ooh well #here it is #canon divergence #because I need to re-read the comics someday #I don't remember anything #so there isn't really references to those

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minhomas-tmr · 5 years

Text

The Lies I Tell Myself - Chapter 3

Thomas couldn’t stop pacing, and with the amount of times he ran his hand through his hair, by the time Minho actually stepped into the room, he looked like a wreck.

Minho didn’t say anything at first, eyes going straight to the state of Thomas’ hair, which by this point, resembled a bird’s nest. It also made Thomas look utterly fuckable. Minho grinned, unashamed at the thought and well..he was a dick, so he made sure to bring it to Thomas’ attention.

“You look like you just had sex…”

Thomas stopped mid-stride, an action that almost tripped him over his own feet, catching onto the dresser in the nick of time. “What?” his voice sounded an octave higher than usual. Clearing his throat embarrassed, he tried again, “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Minho gestured to all of him. Thomas gave him a look of confusion so Minho walked up, and turned Thomas around to face the mirror.

Realization grew on Thomas’ face, but whatever was on his mind, overruled the embarrassment. Minho noticed right away and dropped the direction he wanted the conversation to go.

Instead, he turned Thomas toward him gently, hand staying on the guy’s lower back. “What happened. Why are you so worked up?”

“OooohmyGod! I can’t do this. She going to-she’s going to know okay? She’s my mother, Minho!! Mother!! She’s—she’s gonna take one look at me and think what a loser s-son she ended up! So pathetic that he had to go and get himself a fake boyfrie—“

“Shut up.” Minho said softly but firmly. “We’ve gone over everything, thanks to your annoyingly anal attention to detail. Seriously you didn’t need to know my cologne or what gel I use for my hair…”

Thomas started to open his mouth for an excuse? Explanation? Guilty confession?

Minho didn’t care.

“Listen. We got this. I’ve kept your clothes on the bed for tomorrow. It’s only an hour and half flight, so I suggest you sleep it off. There’s zero hassle to get the venue; the email said a taxi will be waiting for us at the airport with a sign of our names on it. We get in, we go to the hotel, and then we can do whatever the fuck we want until the welcome brunch, okay? Thomas?”

Thomas, Minho noted was distracted. Shocker. He was like a dog with a cat’s personality. Thomas was looking at the outfit on the bed like he’d never seen clothes before.

“Now what?”

“I would never wear a polo shirt…” Thomas supplied. Minho rolled his eyes,

“You do now,” he said with finality. “I want my boyfriend to look as hot as I do—“

“Conceited much?” Thomas snorted.

“I’m stating a fact.” Minho deadpanned.

“Okay fine, I’ll wear that but I’m NOT wearing your jacket! This isn’t a highschool movie...”

“Fair point,” Minho threw his Varsity jacket away from the ensemble. Digging into Thomas’ closet, he found a black blazer hidden in a corner. “There!” he threw it on the bed. “Now show me what you’re planning on packing.”

“Just my usual tees and jeans,”

Minho squinted at Thomas, trying to work out if he was being serious or not, “And the wedding? What are you wearing then?”

“This will do,” Thomas gestured to the outfit on the bed, “I don’t have anything else, to be honest.”

Minho rubbed his face tiredly. Was Thomas serious? Even if he hadn’t been to a wedding in a while, he had seen movies right? This was ridiculous.

“Okay that’s it! We’re going shopping,” Minho declared, “and wear something decent. I don’t want the attendants thinking you’re some homeless person that walked in accidentally.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Thomas protested his style.

“No,” Minho shook his head and stepped out so Thomas could change, “it’s worse.”

— “I look like an idiot!” Thomas whined from inside the stall. Minho didn’t respond, scrolling down his phone.

They were at an outlet mall on the outskirts of Glade Ville because Thomas was on a scholarship and didn’t have no job, so Minho would be footing the bill, and there was no way he was blowing a three shift’s worth of earnings on one jacket.

Still, he had a part-time job at a cafe and a decent taste in fashion. Maybe not up with the times, but who needed those when you had classics?

“Minho?”

The uncertainty in his roommate’s voice, made Minho sigh heavily. “Thomas seriously it’s a button up, not a three piece tux,”

“You have one of those for me to try on, don’t you?” Thomas’ muffled voice, said sullenly.

“Fuckable, remember?” Minho said just as a store attendant walked by. She did a double take and awkwardly shuffled away, blushing furiously.

“Minho—“ Thomas cut himself off, clearly giving up on his protest and stepped out of a stall, dropping his hands on either sides of his body awkwardly. He was wearing a powder blue button up paired with navy blue slacks. “Please tell me this is the last one?”

He sounded so hopeful, it was adorable. Minho’s way of response was to gesture beside of him, where he’d collected a couple more outfits. The brunette’s shoulders dropped visibly.

“Why?”

“You have zero decent clothes for a wedding, Thom—it’s like your not even trying. And that blazer and dress pants were laughable, seriously I can’t believe you were planning on wearing that to the wedding!”

“I hardly think people will be paying any attention to what I’m wearing!” Thomas ignored the nickname and began pacing in front of Minho—his new thing apparently—fingers running repeatedly through his hair.

At first Minho said nothing but from experience, the more Thomas got lost in his head, the harder he had to work to get him out of it, so Minho used it to his advantage.

“Yes, perfect!” he stopped Thomas’ hands from spiking the hair even more, and ran his own fingers through to comb down the sides, successfully achieving that perfect tousled look. “Some gel to hold it in place…” Minho mused aloud as he reached for his phone in his pocket.

He aimed the camera app at Thomas, noting his posture, “Okay, stand back against the stall there, hands by your side. Jesus, what are you, an old lady? Back straight, chin up and...Thomas for the love of god look at me!!”

Minho took a couple pictures including one showing the full outfit, a close-up and a side profile picture, all with constant demands for Thomas to look into the camera.

Though there was one of Thomas shyly looking at the floor, eyelashes fanned out on blushing cheeks. Minho would have loved to play capturing that one as an accident, but then…how to explain the five other shy and quiet Thomas in various dressy outfits? On top of that, try as he might, Minho couldn’t stop the urge to get his hands on Thomas. There was little to no excuse why he wouldn’t let the attendant knot Thomas’ tie or straighten the jackets he tried on.

Thomas though through everything, obediently modeled Minho’s hand picked shirts, ties, dress pants, jackets and blazers. Even the shoes. Complained quite a bit sure, but only in jest. After all they both knew no matter his opinion, Thomas was going to put it on.

While he was trying on a different colour of a same design pants, Minho browsed the store for options for the wedding day itself. That’s when he came across the bold number. A bright red three-piece suit, Minho found it in Thomas’ size and turned to the carousel for a nice greyish blue collared button-down.

Seating himself back on the bench by the stall, he waited for Thomas to come out. One cursory glance and Minho decided the outfit Thomas had on, was perfect for their occasion. The light grey checkered pants and jacket with a deep maroon dress shirt, would have any girl or guy drooling.

Utterly fuckable.

He didn’t share this however, simply held out the three-piece for Thomas, not missing that startled but resigned look.

By the time Thomas was done up, Minho had paid for the outfits he’d chosen, including a couple items for himself as well, carefully tucking the receipt away. They were going to be away for a maximum of five days and wearing each outfit once, so it fit well within the 30 day return policy.

Minho’s smirk at his genius plan slid, when the other boy stepped out, fully dressed in that hot number. Minho unconsciously licked his lips at the vision Thomas made.

“I know you know your shit, but isn’t this too much?” Thomas was the one who broke the silence, seeing as Minho was just staring at him.

“Oh it wasn’t a contender,” Minho shrugged with an easy smile, as he walked towards him, “just wanted to see you in it.”

Thomas should have been upset. He should have been irritated that Minho was wasting his time by making him try on things he wasn’t even wanting Thomas to wear.

But he wasn’t.

“And?”

“You look handsome,” Minho said honestly, smoothing out the non existent wrinkles against his shoulders, just so he would have something to do with his hands. Again with the touching!! He didn’t move away though, “very handsome.”

Their gaze held for a long moment, not a trace of amusement in Minho’s, as he stared into Thomas’ wide doe eyes.

“Do you need help with anything?” came a sweet voice close to the entrance into the change rooms.

Thomas and Minho visibly jumped apart, belatedly realizing how indecently close they had been standing. Minho cleared his throat awkwardly and Thomas turned away from them to hide his red face.

“W-we uh—we’re good, right?”

Thomas glanced back at Minho’s stuttering with a raised eyebrow. Uncertainty wasn’t a quality one would usually associate with Minho.

He also realized the words were the same, but the meaning felt completely different. As though he was telling the blonde girl they didn’t need her assistance, and at the same time, asking him if they were cool.

Like the knowledge of Minho genuinely finding him attractive hadn’t broken his brain.

“Yes. Y-yeah, yeah sure.”

Minho constantly said suggestive to him but it always had a teasing lilt to it, accompanied by a smirk, solely for the purpose of embarrassing him.

This though…this was unfamiliar.

It felt intimate, kind of like when they danced at the house party last week; too close a distance for roommates who were supposed to be friends. Friends didn’t dance like that. Friends didn’t unnecessarily smooth non-existent wrinkles either—yes he’d noticed.

It took a moment to realize Minho was talking. “Wait, what?” Thomas interrupted.

“I was saying, I’ve already paid so we’re done for the day, shank.” Minho bent down to grab their bags, and Thomas very pointedly didn’t look at his ass.

Unfortunately, that meant he made eye contact with the attendant instead, who had stayed past her offer. She looked between him and Minho knowingly, a smile playing on her lips.

Great. More people witnessing this disaster waiting to happen. When he turned back to Minho having nothing else to distract himself from, he found Minho not looking at Thomas, but again at the outfit he still wore, like he was trying to memorize every stitch and slope of the suit.

He could feel the heat on his cheeks, watching Minho’s slow appraisal of him. It was a rush, knowing he could have that kind of affect on Minho of all people.

Honestly, he’d wear this ridiculously expensive suit everyday, if it would get Minho to look at him like that.

Feeling uncharacteristically daring, Thomas unbuttoned the jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders with more grace than he was aware he possessed. The waist coat followed in the same manner, neither boy saying anything, Minho’s eyes tracking Thomas’ nimble fingers and Thomas’ eyes tracking Minho.

He wanted to test whether Minho meant what he said, a Wanna take the rest of it off? on the tip of his tongue, but he chickened out.

Minho seemed genuine but he could have been joking too. Sure there was the implication he was attractive in this get-up—he wasn’t blind after all—but it could have been a bro thing too, right?

There was no way a star like Minho would go for Thomas…

“I’m hungry,” Minho said abruptly, taking a step back. “You should change,”

So Thomas kept his mouth shut, changed the rest of the way in the stall and took the bus back to the apartment with his flatmate.

A flatmate very out of bounds!! Why was it getting so hard to remember that?

—

A/N: Lovelies!! Back again with a new chapter where my boys are still idiots ;) Had it sitting in my drafts just waaaaiting for the final edit lol Wedding Shenanigans next!! love much, nenz

#thominho #thominho fanfiction #thominho fic #thominho au #Minho/Thomas #Thomas x Minho #college au #fake/pretend relationship au #The Lies I Tell Myself

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dreadnought-dear-captain · 5 years

Text

Steve’s Ending: What the Fuck Just Happened?

************WARNING***********

BIG-ASS ESSAY WITH SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME AHOY

I have been largely out of the fandom sphere for a spell because of personal stuff that went down and then subsequent Endgame anxiety (I’m sorry, I really will get to some BW asks as soon as I’m done reeling from this film), but I wanted to get out some thoughts about Endgame while they are fresh in my mind. I have seen Endgame twice since its release. I saw it Friday morning, debriefed with my beta @pitchforkcentral86, and then turned around and bought tickets for an evening showing the same day. Why? Because I had to process Steve’s last scene. I had to see it twice just to comprehend what the hell happened and then try to interpret it. I went through several hypotheses and waves of accompanying emotion and then came to a tentative personal conclusion about what the hell Steve’s ending is to me. But first I had to ask— Is this a true happy ending? Is this lazy writing? Is this a character assassination? Is this a legitimate choice Steve would make? Some combination of the above? So, here go my hypotheses—

Hypothesis 1: This is a legitimate happy ending for Steve and his timeline.

If you only look at the images shown to us and don’t devote much thought to the implications of Steve’s choice for other people in the world, it might appear to be a beautiful ending. After a decade-and-a-half of compass-gazing and pining for the good old days of segregation and boiled food, Steve gets what he wants. He gets the person who is — surprise! — “the love of his life.” This plays into the ongoing narrative that Steve has never been able to find contentment in the modern world or with modern people (some of whom he refers to as “family,” interestingly enough). This hypothesis also assumes that he can only be happy if he is with one woman, because he assumes shared life experience is a prerequisite for partnership, which means that he has essentially preemptively foreclosed on any relationship with anyone who is not Peggy. Since Bucky’s name has barely even entered Steve’s consciousness lately, except to emotionally whump his past self into not choking him to death, even their friendship seems to be a question in the last two films in this series.

So if we take the arc of these films into consideration, including the last two films, he has apparently resigned himself to a position of “Peggy is my only viable romantic relationship, and she is dead, and I am incomplete as long as this is true.” When you write this thesis for Steve Rogers, which is a sad thesis indeed, this ending might seem like a relief for him. (It could also be argued that it is terribly lacking in resiliency and flexibility and is naive, at best, in terms of what is love versus infatuation versus idealization.) Problematic in this happy ending scenario: The writers clearly did not consider the second and third order effects of this decision. They just needed to tie up Steve’s timeline and get Chris Evans out of the franchise, and this was a way to do it that resonates at face value. Man out of time gets put back in his time. Gets love. Quote: “It was beautiful.” Ignore all of the following and more: -There will now be two Steve Rogers in this timeline. -One of them will presumably be with Peggy Carter for at least a good chunk of time, unless things went south. -Peggy Carter is the director of SHIELD. Her close associates are undoubtedly known to them as a result. -Thus, Steve Rogers probably could not just stay hidden in the pantry. SHIELD would want to debrief him. They would want to know how the hell he got there. Questions would get asked. This could not remain a secret forever. -Is Steve Rogers going to sit out history? Hang on the couch while the world burns, shield unused? -Is Steve Rogers, knowing that Bucky is alive, going to leave him to rot with Hydra? -Even if they made some sort of arrangement beforehand, like Bucky saying it’s okay, don’t come get me, would they both sit well with continuing to let him kill all of the innocents he killed? -If Steve did go get Bucky, he would likely find him some time in the span of however many years he’s in the past. The future would be completely changed. -If he intervened and found Bucky, Sam Wilson would not be Falcon because TWS would not happen. This version of Bucky would not exist. This end scene could not happen. -Thus, this does not seem to be something that Steve chose to do during his life with Peggy. (Debunked-ish, along with other “Back to the Future” science hereafter, below) Which brings me to my second hypothesis about this ending. Hypothesis 2: This was thought out, but it represents writers Markus and McFeely’s disconnect from the character they built. This is where the “there is no way in hell Steve would sit on the couch where the world burns, where Bucky suffers with Hydra etc.” argument comes in. This taints the ending in a particularly sour way, because they have labored so hard to build an image of Steve as someone who would wreck the world to save Bucky Barnes from harm and stop at nothing to prevent serious harm in the world where he could. It’s what he wanted in the first place! It’s where we all started in TFA! The Steve we know and love would want to go to Korea. To Vietnam. He would want to stop the Khmer Rouge and all the bad shit he could intervene with. Right? And his ass would try to save Bucky, especially knowing exactly where he’s kept! Right?? He would keep going and going until he was worn down into a nub of nothingness. Right??? Which meanders me to— Hypothesis 3: This was a decision that Steve Rogers made that is plausible for his character and was deliberate on the part of the writers. Second and third order effects included. This may be a stretch, but I think it could be argued on the grounds of good becomes great, bad becomes worse. Steve does nothing by half measures, an intrinsic trait that is amplified by his transformation. I have always argued that Steve has a very real selfish streak, or else he never would have tried to enlist in the Army so many times knowing he is absolutely unqualified to serve. Serving in his original condition would have put so many lives at risk, and others would have had to pick up his slack, because he would have been next to physically useless in combat as small Steve. But he would not accept reality, and he would not accept a “lesser” form of helping because it had to be the way that served his ego and his sense of rightness and justness for himself, consequences to other soldiers and the mission be damned. It was myopic and self-serving. And if good becomes great and bad becomes worse, maybe this is a form of that. Maybe he and Bucky agreed (because they were clearly in cahoots with that final scene business) that he would not intervene and rescue him, because then there would be no Falcon, or simply on the principle that the timeline must remain as undisturbed as possible. And maybe this one time, Steve didn’t say “fuck you, Bucky” and do what was right. Maybe Steve Rogers was done. Fucking done. Maybe he realized that what he first wanted at the beginning of TFA is not tenable. That he can’t fight forever. That he, like Tony, needs to rest, and that he can’t do that in the modern world. Which is interesting, because he essentially becomes Tony Stark v1.0 in the end, only caring about himself and his own. And Tony Stark becomes Steve Rogers, making the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. So Steve enjoys a life with Peggy while the world burns because he just can’t do it anymore. He’s paid his dues and he’s done being Captain America or Nomad or anyone else. (Wonder how she likes that version of Steve...?) Though how he could possibly say “It was beautiful” is utterly beyond me. I can’t fit that into this hypothesis, unless he has compartmentalized so hard and so well that he has forgotten about Bucky’s existence completely. And if he has, this is a very sad ending for his character.

There are probably many other hypotheses out there. They just didn’t percolate through my mind yet.

Which brings me to some things @pitchforkcentral86 brought up:

Why was Tony Stark’s arc so perfectly completed, so beautifully closed — truly, even I shed a tear — when we have to sit here writing stupid billion word theses on a nearly defunct blog site, grasping for straws, scratching our heads, wondering what the fuck just happened to Steve Rogers? It’s like getting to know somebody for eight years, being told the same stories about their behavior, learning their values system, their truths… and then being thrown a parting image that can only make sense if a) the writers cannot be trusted — and maybe could not be trusted this whole time, or b) the character is actually not the person we thought he was.

Is either of these what we want to be left with as we close this phase of the MCU? Either the writers failed or Steve Rogers is not the person we love? And do we really not get to see Bucky and Steve’s friendship arc get closed in a meaningful way after building its depth for three movies? Are we really supposed to count a cheap recycling of a TFA line and some shimmery-eyed SebStan woobieface (TM) and some secret time travel hook-up conspiring off-camera (AS THEIR ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP HAS BEEN SINCE CIVIL WAR, PRESUMABLY, OFF-FUCKING-CAMERA) as “closure”? So, what do I think? I think this was lazy, crap writing, and I think Markus and McFeely thought we wouldn’t consider the timey-wimey implications too much. I think they know this character, and I don’t think they figured this would assassinate his character. I think they just really, really needed to tie this story up in a superficially pretty bow, and they couldn’t kill off both Tony and Steve, so they needed to give him something that took him out of the franchise. And that scene at the end with Peggy was aesthetically BEAUTIFUL. I smiled the first time, ear to ear, until my brain kicked in two minutes later and realized what it meant. They have been building up to this forever, kindling Steggy pretty much every movie. We Stucky people are all like yeah, yeah, Peggy, so sad, but the films have been consistent all along about saying a) Steve is a man out of time, and b) he loves Peggy Carter. (However you wanted to interpret that love... until the support group, where the interpretation is made for us). Support group side note: First, I squeed that Steve was running a support group in what I’m pretty sure is a VA auditorium. And on one hand, I loved the super chill gay Russo cameo and Steve’s untroubled reaction. Three cheers for the first openly gay character in the MCU [eyeroll]. But also, it felt like a total concession, like okay all you Stucky idiots we’ve been queer baiting over the years, we are gonna drop an A-bomb your little kingdom, but look, at least Steve isn’t a homophobe! See? He’s cool with the gays and so are we. Thanks for playing. Maybe you’ll get a REAL queer character in the next phase of the MCU! (If you even stick around after the shit we’ve just pulled.) But this laziness is problematic, because it feels terrible and discrepant. Intended or not, it does have serious implications for the timeline and/or the character, and the final scene existing the way it is potentially means at least one of two things: 1. Time doesn’t work the way we think it does. (In other words, what if there is a world where time travel Steve did all these good things like free Bucky, end the Vietnam War early, etc.?) However, since he is here on this bench with Bucky and Sam, dropping off this shield, this is implausible. If he just disappeared for good and Bucky explained the situation with a tiny, knowing smile, then it would be possible that he started an alternate reality where he did all these very Steve-congruent things and freed Bucky in that timeline, which would not affect this one. Wouldn’t that be nice? I could live with that. Just disappear into the sunset and we can write fics to fill in all the gaps of his Steve-ness. His core character is retained. Hooray.

But if he started an alternate timeline, he would not be here with Bucky and Sam like this in the original timeline as an old man, which suggests that he jumped back in the same timeline. Unless they invented technology to jump between timelines. Or Dr. Strange jumped him back to this bench just to drop the shield off and high five with Sam and then is going to take him back any second or some dumb shit that has no basis in anything we have seen on screen (see @pitchforkcentral86’s point above about grasping for bullshit just to make sense of this). Or it means that— 2. Steve did not do anything and did not give a fuck about it. Both of these are terrible. Terrible. I would rather have had Steve die than have this ending. And this has nothing to do with Stucky for me, because Stucky is mostly just a fun fandom thing for me. I don’t mind that he ended up with Peggy per se. It’s the implication that he didn’t save his friend, knowing EXACTLY — geographically and historically — where he was, not only saving Bucky but also all the innocent people Bucky would kill. OR I hate the implication that the smug motherfucker let Bucky rot — perhaps per their agreement, maybe he kept a promise, whatever — and he had the gall to call it “beautiful.” And this is after Markus and McFeely slaved for three movies to convince us that these are best fucking friends from childhood who are with each other “‘til the end of the line.” At the very least, even if they are not going to be physically together, friends do not let friends suffer for decades at the hands of Hydra, and if they do, they do not fucking enjoy themselves while it’s happening. If this is the Steve they are leaving us with, I do not want him. And I kind of don’t know what to do now.

Am I missing something? Please tell me I am. I’m desperate for a way to make sense of this. Truly.

OKAY, EDIT:

@koubashii very kindly sent me a message reminding me that Bruce spent quite a bit of time belaboring on the point that changing the past doesn’t change the future. She reminded me that Nebula killing her past self didn’t obliterate her from existence. I did forget about all this. So I can’t use Sam and Bucky Prime’s existence in their current form as evidence that Steve did nothing, if he went back in time. Point taken. THANK YOU!!

(Edit: As far as I can gather from some research from actual astrophysicists and not MCU Bruce Banner, this “changing the past doesn’t change the future” stuff is just one small theory and does not appear to be the prevailing theory. However, this is the quantum realm, so we can make up all sorts of silly rules about infinite possibilities, infinite realities, yada yada, because nobody understands quantum physics except Hank Pym. Comic book science wins again!)

So, if he’s creating a separate timeline, let’s say he rescued Bucky early. Is there another Bucky running around with him? (New fun theory to make the pain better: He danced with Peggy, had a good time, went to find Bucky, married HIM, and that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it with Sam. THERE. Fixed it.)

But this still suggests that he broke off into an alternate timeline, one that did not disturb the current one. So if he went off into this entirely new timeline, how did he bounce into this old one? Pym particles? Sure. Fine. Comic science Whatever. Maybe he gets some. Did he just drop in by the lake and pop a squat on the bench right before Bucky told Sam to look? Sure. Was he there the whole time? Perhaps. Fine. Who the hell knows.

So, one possible explanation is that there IS an alternate timeline where Steve did the right thing. And he jumped back here because Pym particles. His character’s integrity is potentially saved and who the fuck knows who he ended up with in the end. Let your imaginations run wild. It’s too late for Bucky Prime to get saved, poor Bucky. At least he has Sam and their upcoming Disney spinoff series, which sounds like a fucking joke when I write it (but srsly I’m dying and cannot wait).

And there are still problematic things with this narrative for me, such as the idea that Steve’s entire happiness hinges on one woman he barely knew, largely because she didn’t scoff at him when he was smol and I will be DAMNED if Peggy kept his picture on her desk, and there is no effing way that she would even have her back to the door, but whatever. And I still hate that Steve and Bucky’s relationship arc was treated so horribly by these last two films. NO HOMO, indeed. Just in case we got the wrong idea from the intensity of the relationship that the MCU created for us. I will be posting more on this later.

AND STILL — we should not have to work SO HARD for this kind of "meh” explanation. You should not need a group effort to make sense of your character’s ending, after so much wallowing in despair. And this might still reek of bullshit to many of you. I need to percolate more.

Pym particles and Wakandan Vibranium trauma-healing brain magic — quick and dirty shortcuts for real character development. Thanks, MCU. Consider my brain exploded.

#avengers endgame #help #endgame spoilers

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years

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The Arraignment - Kenneth Hayes x Reader (The Outsider)

I caved because I keep switching to calling him “Hayes” now... Either way, I love him the most.

Love It Gone

Author’s Note: If your character is acted by a Broadway star, he can sing. That’s all I’m saying. Or an actor who just so happens to be able to sing BUT in Kenneth Hayes’ case, a Broadway Star. Just in case you were about to doubt that one sentence I wrote about Karaoke 😉 Don’t worry, that fic is coming...!

Disclaimer: The Outsider and it’s characters are all Stephen Kings / ‘Kenneth Hayes’ as a name I guess is HBO’s.../ lyrics not mine / I took the cap! / I did steal the title from the title of the chapter in the book I won’t lie...

Premise: When the Arraignment hearing doesn’t go exactly as planned, you know the one thing DA Kenneth Hayes needs right now...

Words: 1901

Warnings: N/A - I always say ‘The Outsider’ spoilers, you know, just in case you haven’t read/seen it yet.

_______ Don't think I've ever seen your kind of pretty Wandering 'round this midnight mad house city You got a look that says you got it all together So if you don't mind, I'd like to know you better I want the secrets you keep, the shine underneath Of the diamond I think I just found Take me the long way around I want your red blushing stories Your faults and your glories That made you who you are right now

---

To say every screen in this house was on was an understatement.

Everything was going fine this morning. He’d left so early you’d barely had time to mumble a sleepy ‘Good Luck!’ as he kissed your cheek goodbye and left you in bed. You knew you’d be a nervous wreck – this was huge – so you’d taken a day of leave to watch the whole thing on TV. Which means you’d caught him being interviewed on WPQX. How they’d slipped in a question about his name perhaps appearing on the election ballot in March. Your heartbeat quickened at that – you’d assisted him in his last campaign – and you were just as excited to kick this one off for him too. Well, all in good time. First to put Terry Maitland away for what he did. Conflicting evidence or no – you believed in this case, and you believed in your lover. He worked so hard – but as the District Attorney, unfortunately that didn’t come with much love.

But then the shooting started. And immediately all your senses were on fire – such as they should be, you were a detective in your own District. An active shooter situation was no laughing matter. Ralph Anderson took two shots, two good shots – but by that time you could hardly make anything out as the camera got shaky and people were running and screaming, as they rightly should have been. Then the footage cut. And nothing. News casters looking bewildered and trying to cut back to the scene of the biggest thing happening in this city since forever…

From then on, every piece of technology in this house was switched to a different channel and you were analysing every grainy, mobile phone camera, piece of footage that each network could offer you. But they all focused on Terry, Ralph, the shooter. And no matter how hard you tried; you couldn’t answer the only question that mattered to you: Where was Hayes?

But it was getting late now, and all the news was getting repetitive. The house was dark and quiet, save for you sitting huddled in your chunky knit cardigan on the stairs, the only glaring light coming from your phone screen as you read new updates. Terry Maitland was dead. So was Ollie Peterson – brother of Frankie, and also the shooter. Shit. This is a mess… babe…

You hadn’t heard anything else. Noone seemed to care about anything else – people glad Terry was dead, people throwing abuse at each other over whether he was innocent or not… At this point even you didn’t know for sure. But you were upset that all this hatred could be so incited. And you best believe your DA and his Detective associate were in the middle of it all. Only, Ralph had stopped the shooter. So, people weren’t really getting as angry with him. You’d given up waiting to hear ‘The Long Way’ chime gently from your phone speakers to let you know that Hayes was calling. But you were dying to. But sitting here waiting for him to call, and tell you he was fine, only made you laugh at the juxtaposition to hearing the go-to Karaoke song of choice – that you both sung a little too loud when taking lengthy summer drives with shades on and the top down.

You shook the thought away. Truth was, there’d been no record of who had or hadn’t been hurt. And what’s more, you knew what would be going down. Questions, checks, assessments – at police stations and hospitals. And god knows how many calls he’d have to make right now because of the position he was in. That was before Howie and Terry’s family got hold of him. But Hayes hadn’t even text you yet. You got tired of asking questions of people after situations like this, rarely had you been on the receiving end of them. But you can imagine having witnessed, and been right in the middle of something like that, it was bound to leave a mark on you. The last thing you’d probably want to do was talk with anyone. Let alone the hell scape that was outside the courthouse.

Eventually the lock to the front door clicked and the door opened with about as much force as the exhausted man behind it could muster. You raised your eyes to the sound, heart leaping to know he was okay enough to return to you this evening – and that you didn’t have to open that door to police vehicles. But Hayes looked like a hollow wreck. There was no light in those deep brown eyes – lost in his own head on another planet. He still carried his briefcase and his case file under his arm – papers hastily stuffed in it where he’d finally cracked and had to get out of his office. Hayes was surprised that he’d actually made it all the way back here; thankful that he must have done it on autopilot. But he was numb, and he didn’t think he’d ever been in a position before where he’d felt nothing. Not even when prosecuting the worst of the worst. Hayes’ suit was a little crumpled and his tie was slack; top button undone to allow him to breathe. But it looked worse than that – right now it looked like it didn’t belong to the man that was in it. That it was a little too big for him and the situation. You knew he didn’t even realise that you were there as the door swung closed behind him – still looking at that far away point. But not for long. Your phone clattered to the floor as you rose – you were going to attempt doing so slowly, so as not to startle him. But your instincts kicked in – your need to protect him, and make him feel safe; to love him at a time you knew (practically) no one else would. Because right now Hayes was barely recognisable – and you knew that look. He’d made a mistake, and he knew it. And other people were going to pay dearly… Heck, today people had. So you ran to him – throwing your arms around him you buried your face in his chest. He took a step back at the force of it; and the briefcase went first. thump Your next movement released him from your grip for a second, before – slower – you wound your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him into your own. Papers scattered – neither of you cared. He didn’t move – he just let you bend his body. And you weren’t sure which were the right words to say first. You squeezed your eyes shut and knew that tears were clinging to your lashes. “You’re home…”

You slipped back down to the floor, wanting him to feel anything but trapped. Maybe right now the last thing he felt he deserved was love – he sure wasn’t quick to return it. Maybe Hayes wasn’t ready for that. Instead your gaze locked with his, and you didn’t blink for a significant period of time. The man you loved wasn’t just hurting, he was completely broken. You tried desperately to search for something in those eyes that would tell you otherwise; but tonight Kenneth Hayes was gone. Replaced by the hollow shell of a man who knew all he’d done was fucked it all up.

His eyes searched your face for something too, some semblance of ‘told you so!’ or ‘You should have just WAITED for the arrest! You should have pressed Ralph for something more!’ - something that wasn’t concern for his own wellbeing. But even he knew he wouldn’t find that now. Not now, not after hours and hours of you waiting alone for the call that never came.

When Hayes did open his mouth, you placed your fingertips delicately to his lips and shook your head. Nothing he could say would make this right. Nothing he could say would do anyone any good. “Hush… You’re safe. You’re safe here with me… I promise.” Safe from what? The masses that would want him and his reputation destroyed for this? From the hefty lawsuit he knew was coming? From himself-!? But Hayes still wanted to tell you that he should have called. He wanted to tell you he loved you. Wanted to tell you that he appreciated everything that you’d ever done for him, and continued to do, even if he didn’t say it so often – as if this would be the last chance he’d ever get to say it. For Terry Maitland that day and time was today, and it had been and gone. For Hayes the reality of mortality didn’t get much closer than being in the middle of a shootout. What if you’d decided to come to the Arraignment today? To see him at his very best? Hayes knew how much you loved watching him in the court room. When he’d catch your eye after a particular great statement of law; and you would bite your lip none too subtly… He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Even he knew that thought right now was inappropriate. Instead he exhaled – as if he’d been holding that breath in since he’d been standing on the courthouse steps. You ran your fingers through his hair, it was always neat and tidy. But at least you could pretend you were doing something for him if you did this. And that’s what made him break. Not so much that he cried; just that he crumpled. Hayes had a way of telling you he needed you, and this was more like begging. His arms wound around your shoulders, frame bending so low he made himself shorter than you, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he was trying to hide himself from the world. And you could only wish him good luck with such a thing now.

You wound your arms back around him, rubbing his back soothingly with one hand you cradled his head with your other. “It’s okay… It’s going to be okay…” You didn’t think this was true, but you knew you had to say it for you both. “You’re safe with me, I promise.” That was all you wanted him to know. God have mercy on anyone who decided to come for him this time around. You weren’t above giving TV crews a piece of your mind, at the very least – whatever they said about him, you’d give them hell. Exactly what they deserved. You wouldn’t let Hayes do this to himself, too many good people got torn down by mistakes. This mistake was big, maybe even huge. But no one involved deserved to have their careers and lives ruined over it.

Terry Maitland’s family did… Resounded in your head and you squeezed your eyes shut again to stop those tears from threatening again. No more crying. He needs YOU to be strong now. This wasn’t about Terry anymore, this was about the man you were holding right now, that you would walk through hell fire for. That you loved more than anything, a man who was just doing his job – with concrete evidence and the District behind him. And they better not let him down now... You would fiercely protect him from anything, because you loved him, and that meant that’s what your job was. And that’s exactly what you would do.

---

@3134045126 Though this one has much let of *that* relationship present!

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colorthing27-blog · 5 years

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Avengers: Endgame I think it may be best that you head out in cold

Black Widow download There’s plenty of transferring parts in Avengers: Endgame, and I actually think it’s best that you will end up in cold, so the plan plus riveting surprises will be fresh for you. That is what I have, together with I actually haven’t possessed mainly because much fun seeing a good motion picture in years. In case us girls are genuine here, I don’t also recognize where to start talking about this movie. I’m going to accomplish my best without presenting anything away from that you don’t already know from amazingly limited amount connected with data released on the film. (Kudos to this director’s the Russo siblings and Marvel for being able to keep spoilers or even much of the plan from dripping and producing this movie straight into a little something special before it even released. That’s excellent perseverance. ) Endgame starts up frosty. Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) can be target practicing along with his girl on his land. Life is good. He’s happy. Often the camera cuts to his / her shoes, where we find his / her house arrest anklet, which will reminds the viewers precisely why Hawkeye wasn’t throughout Infinity Conflict, and most of us know the devastation he is about to face. It is coming — the snap. We all already know precisely what it will do. As he or she loves his period training his daughter the way to get an ace in the arrow, Hawkeye steps away to get a moment and comes back in complete confusion — his little princess and complete family have vanished. Avengers: Endgame begins. I’m proceeding to end right at this time there with plot together with, effectively, everything else that transpires from the movie. I could tell you the abridged version of the summary, although that’s not probable. There is so much taking place inside Endgame; I’m definitely not sure where to start. The things i can tell anyone that is this specific motion picture couldn’t have been a more perfect swan melody for The Avengers we have grown to adore upon tv screen for the past eleven years. You know how oftentimes cast and crew guard a film panned by critics simply by saying the idea “was made for often the enthusiasts, not really critics” (looking right with you, Batman 5 Superman: Dawn of Proper rights, which I basically love. )? Let’s find something out of the particular way — critics will be fans. This is why we produce about films. We enjoy them, and actual pros are required to turn out to be honest of what we discover. That’s a demanding component of the job. (You believe I wanted to be able to hate Rights League? As a diehard Superman enthusiast since childhood, along with Man of Steel and even BVS, My partner and i wanted to enjoy The legal League, which possessed only a small trace of director Zach Snyder. Although this movie will be not good. At just about all. Snyder should never take problem for that — Warner Bros. and Joss Whedon (who helped moved around to finish the motion picture but strangely did not necessarily want to take credit score for “helping a friend”) — in order to blame. Snyder poured their cardiovascular together with talent into your excellent Guy of Metallic and BVS which you can notice with his slick visuals and trustworthy portrait having honest emotions on just what would take place if an indestructible “alien” reached soil, precise storylines, along with easter eggs fans are just nowadays discovering several years afterwards, and even Whedon wrecked his / her perspective with the very out of balance Justice League. Added to be able to of which, Warner Bros. placed all stress on Snyder to build the complete POWER Cinematic Universe, plus that’s not fair. Think about just how much weight that can be on your shoulders when Miracle provides a full team associated with talented people working hard together in each movie. This specific is why all of their films are so effective. Warner lastly recognized this and brought in directors Patty Jenkins together with James Wan to carry with the particular DC legacy Snyder started off. More are returning. Presently DC has a group. All that mumbo jumbo mentioned, the tasty Endgame is made for fans, by means of fans (the remarkably accomplished Russo bros, who made Infinity War, Winter Gift filler, and Municipal War). This is very important, consequently shell out consideration: You must have presently noticed every single single Avenger movie within the Marvel Cinematic Universe to be able to recognize Endgame’s plot, also to appreciate the abundance regarding jokes and callbacks (there's several hours worth connected with both) from the prior 21 videos. The movie is truly incredible, nonetheless the fans who have journeyed with The Avengers due to the fact Iron Man in 08 will love each moment of computer so hard. I sure have. So very much talent put his or her hearts and minds into this video. Typically the Russo friends do the slack-jawing job having finishing The Avengers’ Infinitude, infiniteness Gems story, and Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Karen Gillan, Scarlett Johansson, Renner, plus the rest of the team presented his or her characters' powerful routines you will not ever forget.

Endgame is usually not just some sort of impressive movie; it’s a great remarkable experience. I was wowed, I laughed, My partner and i applauded, I cheered, I actually cried, and I left since the end-credits rolled having a giant grin upon my face. Whichever you will need, see the idea in movies building this weekend.

#Black Widow movie

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magicalgirlfumiko · 5 years

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📜

Sword of Embera: Medus Tenpenny

GENERAL CHARACTER STATISTICS

“Everyone says they love a thief, until they meet a professional one.”

“Pirates are the only ones that understand freedom, unlike those that live in the coastal kingdoms.”

“Freedom? Hahaha. There is no freedom in the seas, only lashings and death. I fight for my men, so they will be free by retiring alive.”

Character Name:

Medus Tenpenny

Name Meaning: “The Cunning One"

Alias: Pirate King

Gender: Male

Species/Race: Water Tribe, Human

Age: 24

B-Day: 9/22

Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Place of Birth: Chenoa City, The Kingdom of Chenoa

Current Residence: Destruction Reef, Azar

Occupation: Head of the Yellow Brothers Syndicate

School/Grade: Finished college.Family: He considers the Gailsons to be the closest thing he has to a family.Gemstone: Sardonyx

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Height: 6’1”

Hair: Like most of his ocean dwelling tribe; Medus’ hair tone is very dark grey blue color. It is generally kept messy though the bangs rarely go past the base of his neck.

Eyes: Blue

Distinguishing Marks: Only thing that truly stands out about him is that his uniform is tailored differently from the rest of the deck officers.

General Appearance: Medus looks professional and uniformed. Medus is tall with a straight, upright posture. He has a straight, wedge-shaped nose and an extremely large forehead with a high hairline. He displays a lot of emotion in his face and doesn’t attempt hide it when he’s upset or mad.

General Clothing: He wears a red tunic and slacks when off duty. This tunic has gold trim in the center and on the cuffs. When he is on ship and for formal wear, Medus wears a fireman’s style red cap with a brass skull on the brim, a deep red frock that reaches his knees, and a waistcoat that is trimmed in gold. He wears a large ammo belt that allows for him to carry many 120 rounds of ammunition and a place to keep his whip. Medus almost always wears tall boots as a part of his outfits.

Strengths: Medus is capable of breathing underwater since he’s a water faye. He can also turn into a water form for several minutes which means that he can escape many tight jams. Medus is fast, as well. Most of his powers focused on his skills over magic.

Weaknesses: His worrisome nature makes his inclined to worry and this makes Medus is vulnerable to stomach and bowel troubles. He has an esoteric cuisine and as his delicate stomach requires him to be careful about his diet. It is essential that he treat his fascination with exotic food with extreme care. He also likes to smoke to deal with stress.

MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

Allies: Medus prefers his own personal freedom than he cares about the overall balance between good and evil. This is not to say that he doesn’t care about the Category, but he feels that it is too rigid in laws. His closest ally is named Naomi Gailson whom is a no-nonsense female first mate and swordsmen. They’re comrades and close friends. Naomi is the person he trusts the most. And one of the few, if not the only one, he’d give his life for. Medus’ First Mate is named Joel Gailson.

Enemies: Anyone that dares to oppose his freedom of the seas.

Current Goal/Purpose: He is currently trying to seek out the remains of Rane’s Sword of Embera in order to help Rose Gailson create more state of the art airships for his fleet. While he has little love for the Category, they are currently trying to sway them to fight against the invasion of Chenoa by providing him with much needed money.

Aspirations: Stay hidden and be left alone from the outside world. He has no interest in becoming a member of Unit Zero or the Category.

Hobbies: Reading, writing, flower gardening, planning out his meals (though he’s not a very good cook).

Likes: Health foods, Lists, Hygiene, Order, Wholesomeness

Dislikes: Medus dislikes anything that can be hazardous to his health, such as certain foods or being unclean. He also highly dislikes anything he considers sordid; this includes sloppy workers and squalor. The least obvious dislike of his is being uncertain about himself.

Talents: Medus is good with accounting and controlling revenues. This is how he became the overall leader of the Syndicate powers. He worked his way through the system and out moved his rivals. Medus is a skill tactician as well, making his a very dangerous foe when it comes to dealing with battles. In terms of leadership he is an arch perfectionist and conservative. However, all this responsibility irks him. Medus is essentially a tactician, admirable in the attainment of limited objectives.

Inabilities: Medus is extremely fussy and is a worrier. He conceals too much of his emotions, to which he is afraid of giving way because he does not trust others, nor does he have confidence in himself and his judgments when it comes to his personal life. This is because he is conscious of certain shortcomings in himself of worldliness, of practicality, of sophistication and of outgoingness. Medus is overcritical and harsh when it comes to dealing with people he dislikes.

Fears: Facing the reality of his imperfections, being useless and unneeded.

General Personality: Can be viewed as an old maid at times. He is intellectually enquiring, methodical and logical, studious and teachable. He is often defensive about his overall personality and is only open when he chooses to be. Medus has a love for the fine arts and is known to be a member of the University crowds in Chenoa City.

Inner Personality: Medus can be sensible, discreet, well spoken, wise and witty, with a good understanding of other people’s problems which he can tackle with a practicality not always evident in his own personal relationships. He is intellectually enquiring, methodical and logical, studious and teachable. He combines mental ingenuity with the ability to produce a clear analysis of the most complicated problems. He has an excellent eye for detail.

Fondest Memory: Taking Naomi out for dinner.

Biggest Regret: None.

Secret: Medus likes to read trashy novels.

SPECIALTY CHARACTERISTICS

Special Items: Medus is armed with the fastest airship called the Calypso’s Fall in the Category’s entire zone of influence. It is a destroyer-class naval ship that features a solid, smooth, boat-like hull. Its prow is dominated by a large ramming horn. Resting beneath this is the secondary hull, which contains the lift Embera Unit. Extending behind the primary hull is a single thrust vector Embera Unit, looking exactly like an enormous version of Rose’s speed ship main engine. Unlike most of the Category’s engines on their airships, the Embera Units onboard the Calypso-class are powered by exclusively by Embera thrust and not a combination of steam and aether magic. This can be seen with the large “aether ball” towards the front of the ship.

The destroyer’s primary weapons consist of two anti-ship torpedo launches. The short-range weaponry is two trios of small turrets machine guns.

Length: 321ft’ Height: 150’ Maximum Speed: 151.1kt (171 mph) Maximum Armor: 356mm (on broadsides).

Weapons: Medus always carries a short naval cutlass and several pistols in normal pirate fashion. Like the rest of his crew, they rarely rely on using their elemental magic and instead use hybrid technologies in order to overwhelm their foes.

Magic: Ice Blast: Medus can convert the water in the air into ice, therefore allowing his to freeze opponents with blasts of cold air.

HISTORIC BACKGROUND

General History: Medus originally lived like a thug in the capital. He was eventually captured by the police force in the city. He was spared by veteran of the Rothnan War. His name was Joel Gailson. Joel saw much potential in the young Medus and was gave him the offer to stay a minor thief or learn a trade. Medus chose to learn a trade, knowing that the veteran was offering him a chance to escape the slums.

After graduating from the Chenoan Engineering School, Medus decided to get into the world of port trading. Medus spent some time living with Joel and his adopted daughters, Naomi and Rose. This trio became close as family and have been associated ever since. He got bored with port trade and decided to join Joel in the world of piracy. Since then he has gained a vast underworld paramilitary force. This was done through rather obscure means and mostly because of the fact that he’s good at striking fear into the hearts of even the bravest sailors…

Since running the Yellow Brothers, Medus is considered a high ranking member of the Syndicate; which is an international underground mafia. With these two factors, Medus can rest assured that there are very few that can mess with his and his empire. However, Unit Zero has been trying to get his attention of fighting against the invasion of Chenoa. He ponders if this will help him find the remains of the wreck of the Sword of Embera. Whoever controls that machine would be able to retain total control over the heavens.

#old character meme #fxtelism

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

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Random Writing Tidbit LET ME SLEEP…

… Ahem. Not you guys. My brain.

Okay. Basic basis of this is something explodes ceiling collapses, and Isamu pushes both Aruto and Izu out of the way, gets trapped under it himself.

Obviously, this would be set much later in the series.

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“No…!” The word was a choked gasped as Aruto scrambled to his feet, rushing forward to begin digging madly through the debris so frantically he quickly scraped his knuckles and grazed his palms. “No no no no no no no no no no no no no no…!”

Izu hung back for a moment, her ears and eyes flashing and clicking as she surveyed the area. “… Aruto-saichou!” She said suddenly, pointing at a spot a few paces from where he was searching. “Here.” Without waiting for him, she marched over to the pile and began going through the mess, picking up hunks of concrete and tossing them aside like balls of paper. By the time he stumbled over, she had already cleared enough to reveal Isamu’s arm and shoulder, pausing only for a moment to announce, “Visual contact.” Before she commenced removing the rest of the rubble.

Aruto tried to help for a bit, before it became very clear she didn’t need him, so he just knelt on the ground and tried to rouse Isamu while she finished with the wreckage. “Fuwa…! Oi! Fuwa!” When Izu cleared the final piece, he leaned over to grip Vulcan’s shoulder, trying not to disturb the other Rider’s injuries too much, but desperate for some sign of life—especially since Isamu was so pale, cut and bruised, with a thick smear of blood on his forehead, sticking his hair. “Fuwa!”

“Saichou.” Izu stepped up beside him. “Fuwa-san appears to be suffering from several severe internal haemorrhages in multiple vital organs, and at least fifteen bone fractures and a concussion. Some of his broken bones also appear to have ruptured a lung.” Her tone was as level as always, but the words were much softer than usual. Her ear lights flickered. “I am summoning emergency medical services and alerting the rest of AIMs, however…” She actually hesitated, just as Isamu winced faintly, groaning. Izu stared at his face for a moment, then looked back to Aruto. “… However, it is highly unlikely they will arrive in time.” Aruto felt his heart dropping from his chest, looking back down at the other Rider in his arms as Vulcan’s eyes cracked open. He felt pressure on his shoulder—Izu’s hand. “… Please be prepared.” She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Isamu blinked a few times, groaning tiredly again. “… It… Hurts…” He coughed weakly, but it didn’t sound like his lungs were working properly, especially when blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he looked slightly up at the other Rider holding him, squinting at the young man’s face. “… You okay?” He wheezed, frowning concernedly with an edge of pain, in a familiar way that made Aruto’s chest clench—he’d seen that look before, when he’d visited his father in the hospital as a child. He nodded quickly, hoping to dismiss the agonisingly recognisable expression that his memory also associated with permanent loss from Isamu’s face. But the frown just deepened as Vulcan struggled to breathe for a moment before, “… The… HumaGear…?” His voice was even weaker than before, and his words began to blur together as he went on, “… What-was-her-name…?” The fact that, despite how hoarse and confused he was, he sounded like he was genuinely trying to remember made the knot in Aruto’s ribs twist even tighter, and tears stung his eyes—he glanced anxiously at Izu.

She looked taken aback for second, but quickly recovered. “I am undamaged.”

Clutching tightly to the other Rider’s sleeve, Aruto felt Isamu’s shoulder relax, his head lolling to the side and his eyes starting to close again. “Hey. Hey!” He wanted to shake Vulcan to snap him out of it, but Izu saying ‘concussion’ replayed in his mind, and the huge blotch of red on Isamu’s forehead stood out like a warning sign. Instead he just held more fiercely on to the other Rider’s shoulder, gripping a handful of Vulcan’s suit jacket. “Come on…! Stay awake…!” Frantically, one hand fumbled to find Isamu’s to grasp it just as tightly to his chest. “Help is coming, okay? So, please, just stay awake!” But the other Rider’s eyelids merely fluttered slightly, his brows creasing for a moment before he faded again. “No… No no no no no no…” His fingers curled even more, trying to squeeze even harder, like he could hold Isamu’s life in with just the strength of his hands, tears dripping down his cheeks. “No…” Desperately, he tried to wrack his brain for something—he had to try and keep Vulcan alert, aware. Had to…

His mouth spluttered out the first words that came to him. “That last move really brought down the house!” Even to him, the joke immediately fell flat. His voice was cracking, and his heart was audibly not in it—that was sitting somewhere in his stomach like a ball of cold lead—and it was glaringly inappropriate for the situation. Someone important to him was dying—again. What the hell was he thinking?

A low, breathless sound brought him back to reality, making him look down. The other Rider had turned slightly away from him. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined the sound, then it came again, quickly followed by another. The sound continued, and as he felt a slight vibration through his hand on Vulcan’s shoulder, he realised what it was—laughter. Isamu was laughing, tiredly and weakly, half choking as he fought to breathe, more blood on his lips, but genuine and warm—even the weary grimace had shifted into a soft smile, one that suited him much better than his scowl.

A few coughs interspersed the chuckles, and Vulcan’s head turned back, unfocused gaze flickering to Aruto’s face. “… Idiot…” He croaked faintly, and the smile broadened—then his eyes closed, and his head dropped back to the ground, and Aruto felt the hand he was holding go slack.

Aruto’s eyes widened, and he scrabbled to try and hold on, to pull Isamu back, to… To do something…! “No… NO!!!” The syllable ripped from him, leaving him practically breathless. But the other Rider stayed still and limp, a peaceful smile still gracing his pale face. Aruto surged forward, and might have dragged Vulcan up and shaken him by his suit, but Izu’s immovable hand clamped down on his arm before he could. He turned to stare at her, tears now pouring down his face.

She was kneeling beside him, her expression calm, though did not feel indifferent. “There are no discernible vital signs.” She told him, evenly but gently. “There is nothing more you can do, Aruto-saichou.” He kept staring at her through the tears for another moment, then slumped back. After some more pause, he finally cracked, letting out a small sob and putting his head down on Isamu’s broken chest to cry.

Izu patted his back lightly as he wept, only looking away to glance over her shoulder when hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of Yua, who rushed around the corner—only to come to a scattered stop when she saw the scene. Shocked for a moment, she collected herself in time to throw out an arm and stop the rest of the AIMs officers from moving in.

They hung back until the medics arrived, at which point she stepped forward. Izu stopped her patting to shake Aruto’s shoulder, and he sat up sharply, dabbing at his eyes, looking up at Yua pitifully. She gave him an apologetic look, taking a deep breath. “Hiden… He’s AIMs. We need to take his body.” He glanced anxiously between her and Isamu, swallowing. Finally, he nodded weakly, but still couldn’t find the strength to move back until Izu helped him up and all but carried him over to sit by the wall. Yua oversaw the careful collection of her teammate’s corpse with a conscious, calculated expression casting a few sharp glares at the sound of some unprofessional gossiping about how someone as short-tempered as Vulcan had managed to die with a smile on his face. As they were finally leaving, she paused beside the other two, looking pointedly not at them, but after the stretcher being loaded into the van. “… Sorry you had to see that.” She murmured—then walked quickly to the car herself.

Aruto didn’t even look up as they drove away, only giving Izu an aimless nod when she suggested bringing around their own car. Instead he stayed riveted in place, staring at the smears of blood left behind amongst the rubble.

As a human his father had wasted away in front of them. As a HumaGear he pushed his son out of the way of danger in an explosion. This was like the worst of both. Too similar in ways he couldn’t name.

By the time the car arrived, he still hadn’t moved, though his eyes were going dry.

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I totally went hc w/ Aruto relating Isamu to his father, but that was bc I was just coming off realising they were both the only ones who found his jokes funny, and so… I went a little wild. I’m also very tired. When tired I have fewer inhibitions. I’m also sorry for any typos I am wreck. Good night.

#Random Writing Tidbit #Kamen Rider Zero-One #I'm sorry Aruto #I promise you I'm still slowly working on killing Horobi already #so we're probably gonna traumatise Jin next #if he can be traumatised #in the meantime I am tired and this is gonna go up on AO3 tomorrow #Binary Retro Rider

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captainkurosolaire · 6 years

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Prompt #8 : The Agreement

Overlooking the pushing tides eye closed and hands clenched before a fallen wry smile befell a Captain of Gold, a seagull cawing and swooping up a smaller fish upon it’s beak, not far from the spot a cliff hungover nearside the Silver Bazaar where the flight of the free savored their delights peace of calmness was felt in the surrounding environment, “Ye gonna stay lurking in those shadows? It’s kinda of hard not to hear the excitement bubbling from the overgrown butterfly.” He lightly rotated and tilted and appearing before him was another Miqo’te with a blindfold but not simple one, this one held more history. For you see this was his biological Father. The man who gave himself to a Doma resistance group and led assassination operations instead of stuck close to true treasure...

A encapsulating figure of marvel and luminous speaking up in a squeaky high-pitched voice floating closely to the mysterious man, <What did you call me? Butterfly!!! I’ll show you.” The Eos getting pulled by two finger digits and held back by a dress. Softer and more gruff with experience and harden pitch, “Son.” He rung. Still coveting that mask of his eyelids. His perception of senses heightened and his trusty companion leading him.

The ruffian pirate retorted, “What brings you out of the shade and into my orbiting Sun? Huh old man? Came to assassinate me or for the better term attempt too? The bounty better be worth a nifty sum of gil to have you step to me reminds me, how’s the arm pops?” His golden amber hue looking towards a damned well limb that was ripped asunder in a battle that took place a few Moons passing now right before the crucible of a War of the Depths. Hoku’s metallic magitek augmentation lifting up lightly no sound slinking from it almost perfectly only to those with the most sensitive hearing. “Seems you’ve but still remained ever the delinquent and unwavering. Should know damn well why I returned to see how you’ve been training and coming along ensuring you haven’t slacked off just because one battle was over... How about we cut it out? He said wisely and seriously atone.” The toothed-fang smirk and arrogance returning back, “Aye? Ye wanna know how I’ve been doing. Absolutely dandy. I’ve got dead crewmates here and there some captured and held, I’m wanted. I’ve never felt more alive! I’m atop of the world. Hell I get a golden ovation every time I step in a room. They always remind me in applause of my upstanding Father and being raised!” Talking with sarcasm towards the ending response.

“Yes well, I didn’t expect you to be fine. You’re already lying to yourself still it seems, you’re miserable. Worse than that aren’t you? A parent knows...” Being cut off by the loudmouth scoundrel, “What the hell exactly do you know what I been through? Were you there! No, I had to do heinous things on the norm to survive. You least can abandon your emotions all behind and ditch what matters to you, NOT ME. When I see a Treasure, They are the object of my World. My closest parent was only one man, he’s in these depths. Leviathan, I can show you t’ spot!” “It’s not wrong, when you become a contract killer you abandon nearly all of you have to forget and be within coldness so it doesn’t dampen your inabilities to see too a well earned victory stricken when another head’s off the list. You’re right I might one day, I’ll be deployed to have to kill you. But it’ll be in pride and at this point... However, It’s not the worst option now either. I was controlled before but I fought you, I saw you. Truly within my Sight. You all but know how special our gift is... In a moment, I saw what you did, became, it was an omen.” The furrowing eyebrow tattooed and battered scarred pirate stood closer in, “What is that?“ An answer simple and held grave. “You sold yourself... To death. Your death or better of the like term for it the Ferryman. Only visited when sought with ambitions bigger. The individual offers to give up his Soul in due time as a bargaining chip but your Soul’s split before he could reap you and ever since then you been on borrowed time. Here is the thing though, no one outruns it. It’ll catch up. You already been experiencing the nightmares? You losing control? Slipping out of balance and touch with yourself waking up in sweats. I know you took the deal because your fighting style. While it’s true an assassin borrows the skills required to administer and serve as the reaper themselves. You instead borrowed it’s luck. Ever since then you been on borrowing. Everything you’ve done has led to this. You already want to cut your own heart out of your torso don’t you? The pain gets worse, that psyche is already acting distorted. You’ve already seen it fallen into shambles. Even THAT beast you chained, is frightened. You’ve brought damnation upon yourself and you.... smile.” He fatherly scolded and also act as a former Mentor of the pirate. That infamous smirk was placed on Kuro as he looked over at Hoku, “What’s the matter worried? You’re correct, I did give in to something bigger than me. Cause ye see that’s what I have to do. You weren’t left with nothing, screw the compass where did it lead me? Getting my ass-kicked and no friends at that shitty orphanage? How about every single thing I’ve stolen to survive in the Lanes? News flash there isn’t much to eat there. You have no where to go, or turn too, be alone with nothing! Even your caretakers don’t give a single shite. I appreciate your sentiment but it’s none of your business mate you’ve but sunken your opportune time for a lecture. Hell maybe it’s not a bad thing to give into what else lies dormant in me, let him have control wreck havoc and then let him get reaped shortly after. Surely, that’ll be any better!” “You’re the exact same as your Mother was stubborn and risky at a fault trying to prove something bigger. You’ll always run into curses but taking that of Death’s is the worst one. You wonder why your crew is dead? Why chaos follows you, because you bring it’s company with you on your adventures, It doesn’t matter at all that you can lead them. It’s the fact by them being around you their luck considerably has diminished. That specter knows no bounds and it’s swiping for your head to cleave it off! Yeah, you dodge it. But look who is with your in the cross-hairs being replaced.Seems you found yourself someone special, I’m happy. Though even she and partially in death’s favor can be disposed of and it’ll come by, you. So you’ve got two options, son. You let me end you right now, which is probably for the better as mercy for the pain you’ll be inflicted. You’d rather prefer any other cruelty. Or you can listen to me and take option two.” Boldly stepping closer and hearing his eye gave thought and looked over at the seas the clouds darkening. He felt ringing truth, “How did you obtain knowledge even of this?” The pirate’s father and guide in life, “My own Mentor you see is a rather unique individual an Immortal but not the type you’re accustomed too. This immortality is but a curse that leaves a man sick, he cannot be killed by any means but he has a fate worse than that. He suffers from Death’s Choke. Where his body becomes encased in the worst pain of any lifetime all at once constantly and causing him to have servants and others to draw upon aether and bring it to them to cope. There’s no telling when he’s allowed to move or do anything but sit on a weakly bed and be tarnished. People have associated him with many titles but lately he’s taken up in the creation of a Sky Pirate crew that you know runs the biggest black market and trade organization a fleet so big that there is Six Tiers too.” Scoffing and sighing lowly, “Seriously we’re going on that again? Flaming Pegasus or aka the ‘Arbiters Line’ It’s a rumor at this point the only people who’ve real contact has been Beast Tribe and a few odd strays. I’ve bought things from them and they helped us with the Sea Lurkers with their devices. But they’re but rumors. They’re a criminal organization in upper-world instead of underworld. Not many people can even reach them or touch them. You want me to go on a goose-chase, buy a sky ship find some sick old timer and just HOPE he can somehow find a solution to fix me? Am I really grasping at straws here with this, I’m cursed situation? This seems like a whole lot of dramatic theater for me, mate.” Lighter steps close in from the older Seeker to the more younger one equally battered and seasoned. “If you want treasures, freedom, to live. This is your only option. You can go return to biding your time out watching for which person is your downfall. You don’t fear death’s but it’ll come and that pain will be so destructive... You thought you knew nothing...” He’d frown, “Go, train. Find Arbiter’s Line. This isn’t something I can push you on. If you don’t do this... I’ll have to let her know. Do not be selfish on this one thing or allow your greed to consume you or be hesitant upon action.” Flicker the fairy strolled up and slapped Kuro with a stinging slap before heading back. “That’s for picking on me more lately!” She’d hide underneath a folded pocket on Hoku’s garb as they begun walking off to once again fade within the shadows. “Hey, old man.” The Cap’n of the Goldbrand spoke, Hoku stopped in tracks not turning but in listens. “Thanks, father... I’ll give it some thought.... I always did relish me some adventure! There’s got to be someone out there who can teach me something new!” He’d return his starry gaze to the seas before turning back and noticing they were gone and causing him splitting a gnarling-fanged curl of his lips.

#FFxivWrite2018 #hoku #kuro #father #son #developement #time to cut the bs #death #curses #pirates #assassins #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv rp #ffxiv miqo'te

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freshwoods · 6 years

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Three-Piece Suit

This is 100% inspired by this picture of Chris Evans. Enjoy.

Posted on AO3.

Bucky never thought that working for Mr. Steve Rogers would be quite like this. Sure, he’d heard the stories, just like everyone else—that Steve Rogers was cold and brutally efficient, that his job was his life, that he didn’t associate with anyone outside of the office, that he was a stoic bastard, too full of righteousness, that he was blinded by his stubbornness. The list could go on and on, really. Most of the gossip surrounding him was unflattering, bordering on rude. And Bucky had heard just about all of it.

And it’s pretty much all true is the thing. Bucky had learned that the hard way when he started working as Mr. Rogers’ assistant about six months ago. The first month had been a lesson in biting his tongue until it bled, in learning that late nights and little sleep were the new normal, that Steve Rogers in real life lived up to just about every expectation Bucky had of him. He had been so critical of everything—from Bucky’s suit (calling his $300 jacket ‘cheap’), to the way his hair had been styled (“cut your hair into something that won’t embarrass me”), to the volume Bucky typed, the way he organized files, how he answered phone calls, the scheduling of Steve’s meetings.

It had been so much, and Bucky hated him those first few months. But the pay was nice, and being able to look at Mr. Rogers when he wasn’t paying attention was even nicer. Because, prick he might be, he was also sexy as hell dressed in his very nicely fitting three-piece Tom Ford suits on the daily.

If Bucky’s being honest with himself, seeing Mr. Rogers in those suits, bossing him around with that trademark cool look on his face, did things to him. Bucky found himself by the end of the second month actually trying to improve himself—saving up for a nicer suit, going to a nicer joint for his monthly haircuts, trying to be more organized, seeking out Mr. Rogers’ approval.

The first time his boss had given him the approximation of a smile, Bucky had felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. It had gone on from there, Bucky trying desperately to get what little recognition and praise he could from Mr. Rogers, until something changed about two months ago.

Bucky stayed late because Mr. Rogers stayed late. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but Steve calling Bucky into his office, telling Bucky with all the poise afforded him, for Bucky to kneel down beside Mr. Roger’s desk—that, that was new. Bucky had done it without question, dropping down by the large wooden desk, the hardwood hurting his knees, but he’d stayed there for a little over an hour, until Mr. Rogers had reached out to pat at the side of Bucky’s head, telling him he did well, that he could go now—and to call him “Steve”.

It was innocuous, a one-time thing that Bucky spent way too much time over the next few days daydreaming about while sitting at the desk outside of Steve’s glass office doors, peeking at the other man from the corner of his eye.

But then it happened again at the end of the week, after everyone else had gone for the night, the floor just as hard and unforgiving as before, but this time, one of Mr. Rogers’—Steve’s—hands lay on the back of his neck the entire time. It soothed Bucky in a way, cleared out all of the tension and anxiety from the day’s work. And at the end of the night—two hours this time—Steve escorted Bucky out of the building, giving him a parting “Good night,” that Bucky thought about all the way home, until he finally collapsed into his bed.

It started happening more often after that, almost every night, Bucky on his knees beside Steve, Steve always touching him in some small way, showing him kindness that had eluded the other man all day, him barking out orders and critiques just like normal. And then it had started becoming more.

The first time Bucky sat under Steve’s desk between his legs, Bucky had been nervous. He wasn’t sure what to expect, because this—this was new, was different in whatever silent game they played. And then Steve had reached out—so gently, to bring Bucky’s face to rest against his thigh, his fingers just lightly pressing on Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky could’ve ended it there, could’ve stood up, walked out. But the fingers stroked back into his hair, sweet and gentle, and Bucky had just closed his eyes, leaning further against Steve’s strong thigh, the material of his suit pants softer than Bucky expected, and all the nerves had gone away, even when Steve eventually took his hand back to do more work.

It didn’t turn sexual right away. In fact, the first time had almost been an accident. With Bucky’s face pressed against Steve’s thigh, he’d shifted—his knee had been a little bruised from all the time on the floor, and he’d accidentally moved his head with the rest of his body, shifting up ever so much, until he felt the firm press of something against his jaw, and had stopped moving completely, freezing at the error he’d made.

And Steve had frozen too, legs going rigid under Bucky’s head. But when Bucky had tried to pull his face away from the juncture of Steve’s strong thighs, the other man reached a hand down to cup the back of Bucky’s head, keeping him in place for a moment. And then Bucky had felt Steve’s erection grow against the side of his face, and heat had flooded his entire body. It left him breathing raggedly while he waited for what came next.

And he was not expecting Steve to work his dick out of his thousand-dollar slacks and guide Bucky’s mouth to it.

“Don’t touch yourself,” his order was quiet, fierce, and Bucky had let out a shaky breath right before Steve guided himself between Bucky’s lips.

Steve had done most of the work, fucking into Bucky’s mouth with a hand still cradling the back of his head, keeping him still for Steve’s thrusts. Bucky opened his mouth wider, sucked as hard as he could with little movement, worked his tongue around the head every time Steve pulled back enough for him to, used his lips and tongue to play with the slit at Steve’s head, tasting him on his tongue, swallowing as best he could when Steve pushed into his throat, again and again, even when Bucky’s eyes stung with prickling tears, Steve using him for his own pleasure.

It was impersonal like this, Bucky never seeing Steve’s face, but the heat of the other man, the way his hand curled tightly, achingly, in Bucky’s hair, the way he pressed two fingers to Bucky’s cheek, tapping frantically to convey he was close, as his body started to go rigid once again, as the stoic, harsh breaths from above the desk turned to the softest moans—it went to Bucky’s head in a way he didn’t expect, in a way no one had in longer than Bucky could remember.

He’d come into his dress pants long before Steve came into his mouth, Bucky stubbornly not pulling back, despite Steve’s warning. And Steve had moved his other hand down, then, both hands tugging at Bucky’s hair, holding him on his cock as he came onto Bucky’s tongue, down his throat, filling Bucky’s mouth.

And then, when Bucky had still been blinking stupidly, swallowing the remains of Steve’s orgasm from the corners of his lips, Steve had backed up, hauling Bucky up to sit on Steve’s lap, looking at him in a way Bucky had never seen Mr. Rogers look at anyone, anything.

And then he’d reached toward Bucky’s pants, but Bucky sluggishly shook his head, biting his lip—Steve’s eyes tracking the movement—as he looked away, embarrassed that he’d come like that, like he had a hair-trigger connected to his dick.

Steve’s hand on his chin forced him back, forced their eyes to meet, Bucky face-to-face with that cool look he’d come to know so well once again, but before Steve could open his mouth, could think to say anything, Bucky did.

“I didn’t touch myself.” And damn, his voice sounded wrecked, throat sore and scratchy. But Bucky didn’t hate the sensation, liked knowing he’d have something more tangible than memories to remember this by when the night finally ended.

Steve blinked at him, off-guardedly, until something in his expression shifted—once again back to that unknown expression. “Fuck,” he mumbled, feelingly, and then he’d kissed Bucky, hard and deep, before he pulled back, looking at Bucky for the smallest moment, then kissed him once more, a chaste point of contact, their lips barely touching before he pulled away, tucked himself back into his pants even as Bucky continued to sit on his lap, dumbfounded, lips still tingling.

They didn’t do anything like that again for a while. Bucky went back to sitting silently between Steve’s knees under the desk, added by the addition of a small pillow that Steve brought the day after Steve’s blowjob. It helped a lot. Bucky thought he might be able to stay like that for a full work day, if Steve would ever let him.

The next time, though, when Steve called Bucky into his office, telling him to lock the doors behind him—Bucky knew something would be different. This time when Bucky kneeled down, Steve sat back from the desk, pulling out an extra tie from his top drawer. He’d looked down at Bucky, a question in his eyes, a heat there, and Bucky had nodded without thinking. Steve tied the slip of material around his wrists, keeping them behind Bucky’s back as he reached down to undo his pants. Bucky licked his lips at the sight of him, wanting so desperately to feel Steve in his mouth.

But as Steve rolled his chair closer, he gave Bucky a hard look. “Don’t make me come. I have work to do. And don’t come until I do.” And then he’d slid himself once again into Bucky’s mouth, already half-hard.

And Bucky wasn’t sure exactly what he should do—if he should suck or not, take him all the way in, nurse the head of his cock or the shaft. So he just opened his mouth, let Steve make the choice for him—he liked when Steve made the decisions, honestly.

His jaw ached by the time Steve decided he’d had enough. Bucky had been drooling for a while now, discovering that swallowing the mixture of spit and precome in his mouth had been a bad idea when Steve hissed when he had, hips thrusting, his taste getting stronger. So Bucky slacked his jaw, moving to gentle suckles and Steve had relaxed back into his work. He knew the spit covered his chin, must be a little puddle on the floor in front of his knees by now, and his wrists felt a little chaffed from the tie, but Bucky cared about none of it, especially when Steve rolled back, looking down at Bucky after a few hours, and started stroking his cock, Bucky’s saliva wetting the way.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever forget that view, Steve looking down at him, his fist closing over his erection, dragging up and down so tightly Bucky’s own cock ached in sympathy, throbbing between his legs. And when Steve’s thighs started to tremble, when his strokes became more erratic, his throat emitting those small, soft moans that Bucky already couldn’t get enough of, Bucky just tilted his head back, opening his mouth.

As if that had been all Steve was waiting for, he’d come, letting himself go above Bucky’s face, coming into Bucky’s open mouth, on his cheek, his jaw, a few drops sliding down toward his neck.

And fuck, Bucky wanted to come so bad, wanted anything Steve would give him, swallowed down his come like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, so, so desperate for any little thing from Steve, from this gorgeous, amazing man above him.

When Steve caught his breath, he reached out a still-sloppy hand toward Bucky, pushing it into his hair to grip the locks. “Can you come like this?”

Bucky nodded, feeling the desperation, the heat pooling in his gut, the way the front of his pants were so slick, ruined now, just like his other ones, pressed against his dick, trapping it.

Steve’s hand moved down to caress Bucky’s sore jaw. “Then do it. Come for me.”

Bucky did, moaning loudly, hips stuttering against nothing, his knees trembling, giving out on him as the orgasm overtook him. But Steve caught him, let Bucky fall against his open legs, trailed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, down to the back of his neck.

“That was so fucking good, Bucky. You’re so good for me. Thank you.”

The words had been soft, almost sweet, sounding like that expression Steve wore last time on his face. It didn’t escape Bucky’s notice that Steve’s still-exposed cock had hardened a bit at Bucky’s display, but the other man didn’t at all seem concerned with it. Bucky closed his eyes, never wanting the moment to end, and Steve seemed posed to let him.

It didn’t go beyond that for a while, until that one time that Steve had sat Bucky down on his lap, his knees on either side of Steve’s thighs in the chair, Steve’s hands on Bucky’s hips, their cocks rocking together through the material of their pants, Steve panting harshly against Bucky’s throat as he thrust his hips up, working himself off against Bucky. He’d come embarrassingly quick that time, moaning what might’ve been Steve’s name as he did. And then Steve had groaned—an actual, real sound, so different from the small noises Bucky’d become accustomed to—and his hips stuttered against Bucky’s.

Of course, that was when Steve had told Bucky to get onto his knees before he went to the bathroom, coming back out in just his crisp white shirt, jacket, vest, and tie all gone, and wearing different pants. He’d tossed the pants he’d been wearing at Bucky’s feet and told him to get rid of the come before it stained.

So Bucky had, tonguing the material for all he was worth, until Steve was deemed satisfied.

It happened with more frequency following that. Bucky never quite knew what to expect—sometimes he sad under the desk, innocently, sometimes with Steve’s cock in his mouth—one notable time with Bucky sucking on Steve’s balls—and sometimes Steve sat Bucky on his lap, Steve’s exposed erection sliding against the seam of Bucky’s pants as Steve somehow still managed to get work done even as he destroyed and remade Bucky’s existence, so painfully hard with the feeling of Steve’s warm cock sliding against the most sensitive parts of him, over his covered asshole, all the way down to where his balls had drawn up tight inside of his pants.

Bucky ruined more pants than he ever thought possible, until little, unassuming boxes started showing up at his desk in the mornings after they ‘worked late’ together, with high quality suit pants in varying styles and colors, the measurements just a little smaller than what Bucky wore—and when Steve started casually grazing his hand over Bucky’s ass during the work day when Bucky would bring him a file here, or a coffee there, Bucky understood exactly why that was.

He didn’t feel nearly as bad about ruining the pants Steve gave him. It was all his fault, after all. Until one of them had the smart idea to start actually undressing in advance. Bucky’s not sure if it was him or Steve, but the next thing Bucky knew, his pants had been taken off, lying in a puddle on the floor, abandoned.

Of course, Bucky forgot just about everything when Steve had then laid Bucky down on his stomach over the desk in front of his chair, ass exposed, on display, not at all expecting it when Steve started to eat him out, licking and nibbling and working his tongue in and out of Bucky’s body until he was a moaning, writhing mess, shirt sticking to his back with sweat, Bucky’s fingers clutching at the edge of the desk in vain, willing himself to be good, to stop moving for Steve, the man’s iron grip on his hips seeming to do nothing to keep him still.

He’d come clenching his ass around Steve’s tongue, moaning loudly, throat raw from begging for the orgasm every time Steve had pulled away, had pressed a thumb or a finger inside, until Bucky felt like he would go insane from the pressure building up inside of him.

And then Steve had stood up, looming over Bucky’s back, sliding his cock along Bucky’s slickk crack, over his hole, head almost catching on it with each slide, stealing what little breath Bucky could drag in, until Steve came over his ass cheeks, slapping his softening cock against Bucky’s hole once he finished as if to punctuate that he would try that out next.

They didn’t really talk about penetration—didn’t really talk about anything. Neither one mentioned their late night sessions, nor their one-time kissing; they simply went about as if things were normal. And then one day, just like the small boxes appearing at Bucky’s desk, a folded piece of paper greeted him, telling him Steve was clean in so many words.

Bucky left his own on Steve’s a few days later.

Everything since then had been a waiting game, amping up this thing between them to a new level. Each night, Bucky wondered if it would be tonight. He’d made sure to be thoroughly clean each evening just in case.

And then, one night, the waiting finally ended.

The intercom buzzed like normal, as soon as everyone else had left, and Bucky abandoned his desk, walking through the doors to Steve’s office without a word. Steve didn’t sit at his desk, giving off the pretence that this might be anything other than what it was. Instead, he stood in front of it, hands in his pockets, hips cocked, head tilted, that intense, unreadable look in his eyes, watching Bucky’s every movement.

Bucky stopped in front of him, their eyes locking for a long moment before Bucky dropped to his knees in front of his boss. When Bucky reached out to undo Steve’s pants, Steve didn’t stop him, just kept looking down at Bucky with that heavy gaze, watched him as Bucky took Steve into his mouth, as he started sucking Steve off for all he was worth, using every trick he’d learned over the last few months, knowing exactly what Steve liked and giving it to him. He wanted this to be good for Steve, wanted to be good for Steve. He swallowed him down, until his nose pressed against the soft hairs that trailed down Steve’s torso from his belly button, swallowing convulsively around the head of Steve’s cock before pulling back, tracing the vein on the underside of Steve’s cock with his tongue, worshiping the other man’s dick like this might be the last time he gets to do this, gets to feel the heavy, silky-hard length on his tongue, gets to taste his precom, feel how hot and hard Bucky makes him.

And then all too soon, Steve pulled Bucky off him, pulled him up to standing, surprising Bucky with a kiss that Bucky thinks might have flayed him alive, since he can no longer feel his own body.

The kiss didn’t last long before Steve reached out to strip Bucky of his clothes, those strong, steady fingers working at his buttons, pushing his jacket and shirt over his shoulder for the first time, his eyes hungrily raking over Bucky’s chest, even as his hands moved down to work Bucky’s tight pants from his hips, down his legs, until Bucky cursed at his shoes and did his best to step out of them along with his pants and underwear.

Steve began to undress then, taking care to fold each piece of his suit after it had been taken off, setting his cufflinks, watch, and tie down on top of the small pile when he finished. And then Steve reached behind himself, arm outstretched over the desk, and pushed all of its contents to the floor. Pens skidded across the hardwood, papers went everywhere, Bucky thought he heard the shatter of a paperweight. But Steve didn’t seem to care, just looked at Bucky as he sat atop the oversized desk, spreading his legs, his hard cock bobbing.

Bucky moved, almost pouncing on the other man, climbing up on the desk, his thighs cradling Steve’s hips, sitting back so Steve’s cock rubbed against Bucky’s ass, his arms wrapping around Steve’s neck, keeping them both upright.

Reaching back, Steve dug in a drawer, coming away with a bottle of lube—and Bucky felt his face flame at that, at Steve being so ready to take him. Steve’s eyes met Bucky’s again, leaning his head back to bring their lips together in something more bitey than sweet, even as he popped the cap of the lube, then brings his fingers to Bucky’s rim. Bucky shivered at the coolness, at the way Steve’s fingers circle his rim, warming the lube and Bucky’s body with his ministrations.

Bucky let out a long sigh when Steve slid the first finger inside of him. Steve had only done this the one time he ate Bucky out—memorable as it was, Bucky was ready for something more, had taken to stretching himself out every morning before work.

He told Steve this, felt the other man’s erection twitch against him, ground down on it, even as Steve added a little more lube and pushed in with two fingers. Bucky moaned at the feeling, Steve’s fingers filling him up better than his own could, getting to work at stretching him for Steve’s cock, working wet and firm inside of Bucky’s body, twisting and scissoring until he managed to push a third finger in. Bucky squirmed back against them, wanting them deeper, chasing the ghost of sensation when Steve dragged his fingers over Bucky’s prostate.

And then Steve’s fingers left, hands moving to guide Bucky down, Steve’s cock sliding again against him, catching at his rim, but this time sliding in, stretching Bucky out, filling him up until he’s so full, unable to move with the pleasure of finally, finally having Steve inside of him.

Bucky only came back to earth when Steve lifts his head, gazing at him, eyes dark, heavy-lidded. “Don’t touch yourself.”

And it’s like a repeat of their first time—Steve holding onto Bucky, taking his pleasure from him, chasing his own release. Grabbing at Bucky’s hips, Steve worked his hips up as he pulled Bucky down, taking him in hard, deep thrusts, rubbing relentlessly at Bucky’s prostate once he found the spot. Bucky clutched at Steve’s neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as Steve maneuvered him up and down, rocking their hips together in an almost desperate drive that left them both gasping into the space between them. Steve’s hands move eventually to splay over Bucky’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart, continuing to thrust, long, hard strokes that Bucky felt all the way to his core. He all but keened when Steve pressed a finger to his rim, to where Steve’s cock stretched him open, filling him up, rubbing at the rim until me managed to press just the tip of his finger inside.

Bucky came with a shout, his orgasm taking him by surprise, the heat flooding his body at being so full—so full of Steve—overcome by the feeling of Steve surrounding him, giving Bucky everything he wanted.

“Fuck.” Steve hisses, “Shit, Bucky—” And then Steve moved both hands back to Bucky’s hips, thrusting in earnest now with rough, long strokes, hips stuttering, his breath ragged, moaning, eyes closed as he gave himself over to it. Bucky watched in fascination, panting, their bodies slick with his come where they’ve pressed together. Steve’s mouth opened on a groan and Bucky didn’t think anything of leaning forward, closing the distance, of covering Steve’s mouth with his own.

This kiss was different—tender, almost. Steve cradled Bucky’s jaw in one of his palms when they’ve finally pulled away from each other.

Still panting, Steve opened his mouth, eyes open and staring into Bucky’s. “You’re fucking perfect, Bucky.” Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s, neither one of them in any rush for Steve to pull out, even as the sweat and come starts to cool on their skin. “I can’t believe I get to have you.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how, but he managed to find his voice, pressing one more chaste kiss against Steve’s lips. “Only you, Mr. Rogers. Just you.”

Steve swore again, bringing his lips back to Bucky’s as his hips rocked just the slightest bit inside of Bucky, making them both moan into the kiss. Bucky couldn’t wait for the next round.

No, Bucky never thought that working for Mr. Steve Rogers would be quite like this.

#stucky fic #stucky smut #stucky #freshwoods: fic #a whole lot of suit kink and some D/s if you squint #buckystan-plums

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rwdestuffs · 6 years

Text

Done dirty: Yang.

Because I guess her having an entire hate group dedicated to her on deviantart isn’t enough to make the writers to think that maybe they should actually develop her and cut her some slack.

Hey everyone, and welcome to ‘Done dirty’ the blog series that takes a look at these characters, and shows how they’ve failed at being characters, or at least the ones that the writers have tried to tell us that they are.

And Yang is a perfect example of this.

See, Yang was meant to be a deconstruction of the party girl trope. This means she loves fun, and doesn’t take things seriously.

If that sounds nothing like Yang, then congratulations!- You clearly know the difference between what was told and what was shown.

The Yang/Yellow trailer shows Yang going to a nightclub and wrecking the place because she didn’t get the information she wanted. While her going to a nightclub seems to be all that is needed for her to fulfill the party girl trope for the writers, it really isn’t enough for the viewers. Here’s an idea: How about we open on Yang on the dance floor, and when she does a minor offense (Like spilling someone’s drink while she’s dancing), the guy she offended attacks her, and she defends herself.

Not only would this give Yang a valid reason to fight, but it would also show that she was there for a good time, only to have it ruined because some asshole didn’t accept an apology.

Instead, she walks up to Junior, skipping the dance floor entirely, and demands that Junior give her the information that she wants. Such a ‘party girl’ am I right?- Then she assaults him for not giving it to her, and wrecks the place!

She doesn’t even face any consequences for wrecking the place! Some of the fanfics I’ve read have the excuse being that Junior doesn’t want any attention from the police, as he associates with criminals. But that doesn’t work because a) This isn’t conveyed well enough to the audience and is pretty much moot, and b) Yang tends to not do this often.

Volume 1 rolls around, and she’s giving her sister a big hug. But once they touch down, she immediately ditches Ruby to hang out with her shadow friends!- But not only that, they establish in the very next episode that Yang was like a mother figure for Ruby, so this contradicts what happened because on one hand, the first part makes us think that Yang is actually a party girl, like the writers intended, but the second part…

… Establishes her as a motherly figure. She wants Ruby to break out of her shell, and meet new people, as established in the next episode.

and she does this even further by not actively looking for Ruby, so that she can help her little sister break out of her shel- She doesn’t at all. If you’ve been following, Yang is really contradictory in the first volume.

Party girl tendencies?- Practically nonexistent. Motherly figure to Ruby?- Only when the plot calls for it. Wanting to help Ruby grow?- Doesn’t even apply to the following episode. Cares about her partner?- She doesn’t even run off trying to chase and stop her after Blake runs off.

There’s no consistency about Yang in volume 1 because at this point, she’s just a pretty face who punches things. At least she’s strategic about it, as she came up with the idea of blasting the Nevermore from the inside on her own and didn’t just recklessly shoot it from the ground in a fruitless manner (remember this for me, would you?)

Volume 2 gave her some personality. She makes puns! Oh I get it! It’s just like Barbara!- Oh that’s clever.

Yeah, the start wasn’t good to Yang, but she provides some interesting things to say, and she manages to get Blake to calm down with a heartfelt speech about how she should have died when she went out to look for Raven, yadda yadda, we know how the end went.

She dances with Blake for… about what?- five seconds of screentime?

Then she doesn’t dance with anyone else.

And when we get to Mountain Glenn, she provides some pretty neat exposition on the location.

And people keep saying that she’s a ‘dumb blonde.’- HA!

Like… the other things. I mean, she blocks, dodges and weaves in all the fights she’s in (remember that for me).

She also nearly rings out Mercury, and that’s actually pretty brilliant. She almost threw the entire plan of Cinder out the window, and she didn’t even realize it. It’s actually a pretty cool fight.

And we know how it ends, so let’s talk about the consequences of the fight.

There are none. Sure, she gets disqualified, but that’s hardly anything. We finally had Yang in a position that she couldn’t punch her way out of, and the writers didn’t capitalize on it. This would have been a perfect opportunity for the Yellow trailer to come back and bite her, but we don’t get that. We don’t get to see Yang developing from bad social stigma. We don’t get to see people flinching away at her, or being on edge because they’re afraid of making her mad, we just see her uncle calling her crazy.

Right… The guy who fought a person who could distort what they were seeing being at the tournament is totally never going to happen. It’s not like Qrow once fought a person with that ability when he was trailing the fall maiden.

But really, the biggest insult of all comes from the audience, when Yang got her arm cut off. After the initial shock, we got treated to people saying that “She deserved it” “Now she won’t be so reckless” and ‘She should have waited!”

Right. Because obviously, if that were said viewer’s friend in that same situation, they would have waited too. There was no reason for Yang to believe that Adam would step away from Blake, there was no reason for her to know that Blake had enough aura to use her semblance, and there was no reason for Yang to wait around and strategize. If she did, then I’m positive that the fans would say “Why did she wait?- She put Blake in danger by waiting! She should have rushed in!”- Effectively blaming Yang for losing her arm, and putting her in a no-win situation.

Then we have Volume 4. Oh boy, how to deconstruct this piece of shit.

Let’s start with the positives of Yang’s arc.

It starts off really well. Yang’s PTSD is portrayed realistically, and she finds it hard to function as she once did. She acknowledges that she has to get used to this, and her nightmares feel very real.

Tai doesn’t blame her for not wanting to put on the arm, and that’s actually pretty good. He’s not guilt tripping her……… yet.

We go to a later part, and we now see that Tai actually does blame Yang for losing her arm.

WHO. THE FUCK. WANTED THIS. JOKE?- Who thought that this was an okay thing to say to a person who lost their limb on the battlefield?

Not only does this show that Tai blames Yang for losing her arm, but it also carries the implication that Tai would have let his teammates suffer through death had he been in Yang’s shoes. And then Yang has to diffuse the situation.

If this was how they functioned, then Yang would have shot back with something equally as scathing. But why should I think that Tai knows how to parent when he was stated to have ‘shut down’ after Summer died?

There is no reason to. Tai was a shitty parent not only in that scene, but in the past as well. And yet, the narrative still seems to want to shit on Yang some more.

Yep. comparing losing a limb and getting PTSD from it to a fear of mice. I guess that’s something you’d see if you only read the cliff notes of the cliff notes on how to write PTSD.

And remember how I said that Tai hadn’t guilt-tripped Yang into putting on the arm?

……… Yeah, it didn’t last long. Whether he intended to or not, Tai guilt-tripped Yang into putting on the arm. And the narrative still makes Tai out to be in the right in this situation.

This is only like… four or five episodes after she lost the arm, by the way. This makes the whole drama of her losing it totally pointless. How about she loses that feeling of invincibility by just having Adam defeat her in a brutally-drawn-out manner, and then she collapses from exhaustion? Not only would this provide an explanation as to why Blake managed to save her (she could recover enough aura in the time they were fighting), but it would also instill a deeper fear of Adam. And it would also make it so that it didn’t feel like the writers half-assed and rushed the PTSD arc so that they could get Yang back into action. But we don’t get that.

And do you want to know the worst part about the training session?- It’s not when he makes unfair comparisons to Raven. It’s not when he implies that Yang’s fighting style isn’t his fault (despite him being her teacher). It’s when he outright calls her semblance, the manifestation of her soul, a temper tantrum.

Real father of the year material right here. Yeesh, and people wonder why I don’t like Tai. And that line “What if you miss?”- That’s not an actual argument. That’s like asking Ruby “What if you miss with your scythe?”- It applies to everyone, not just Yang. So Tai saying that just feels like the writers couldn’t find a flaw in Yang’s fighting style, so they went with the most generic and useless concept they could think of: The possibility of missing.

Gasp! That’s right! What if Yang does miss?- She could be left about as vulnerable as……… any time that she’d miss before charging her semblance! How about focusing on how she’s predictable instead? Or how she doesn’t think of incorporating kicks into her fighting style? Was that too hard?

Volume 5 is slightly better to Yang, but not by much. For starters, Qrow apparently decided that after only knowing three-fourths of them for about two months, that team RNJR needed to know everything about Raven, despite the fact that Yang’s been asking for at least a decade.

And while the arm shaking is nice to see, it feels… tacked on. As if the writers decided to throw it in because they realized that Yang didn’t have many lines back in the Volume that shall not be named. It doesn’t seem like a genuine effort to actually show the trauma, it just feels really forced.

Yang beats up some bandits by……… doing what she’s been doing. Blocking, dodging, weaving, and getting in close to her opponent. She doesn’t deliberately take hits like she did in that one single fight we saw back in volume 2, and it just shows that Tai (and the writers) knew absolutely nothing about Yang’s fighting style.

She confronts her mother, and instead of getting the answers she wanted, the writers threw out that motivation in favor of her demanding that Raven send her to Mr. “I fought a person with the ability to alter a person’s perception but it’s impossible that Yang was under that influence when she kneecapped that Mercury kid who shares a name with that one assassin named Marcus Black.” (Can you tell that I’m not happy with any of the male authority figures in Yang’s life?).

Also also, we don’t see that shopkeep from earlier being wary of Yang. So either word got out that there were some shenanigans going on at the tournament, or people in this world are really forgetful. Considering that Emerald later forgot about her semblance and the “Pulling Coco using her weapon’s chains back in Volume 3″ feat, the latter is pretty likely.

And I guess to Yang and pretty much everyone else in the world, Ozpin possessing a kid, dragging him into a war, and eventually assimilating him takes a lower priority than him giving Qrow and Raven bird powers. Granted, this is a problem with everyone, but Yang is the one who brought up the bird thing.

Unfortunately, she seems to have forgotten that she once described Summer as

Because now, Summer is now just

Thankfully, Yang shows some human emotion, and talks about how she’s always been abandoned.

It’s really great to see a character actually talking about their issues, and- waitaminute. Tai was what?

And she had to what?

And she was what?

So, we’re all in agreement that Tai isn’t ‘dad of the year’ material, right?- The guy left Yang alone to pick up the pieces, and forced her to grow up really quickly. Albeit, he did this unintentionally, but he still did it. And the narrative just doesn’t ever bring this up. There’s very little resentment towards him outside of Yang calling her father by his name, and nobody seems to want to talk about this?

She shows some human emotion and is convinced that she should at least try to understand why Blake left, but considering all she’s been through……… I can’t help but blame her for wanting someone to be there for her.

Later in the volume, Weiss gets impaled. And like a lot of people in RWDE discussed before, only jaune gets to react to it.

And Yang abandons her arm when she’s told to go after Raven. Like……… why? There’s a time and a place for brute force, and that was a time and a place for it. What was she going to do if Cinder had won?- Ask nicely for her to not take the relic?

Her speech to Raven also feels empty. She wasn’t brave coming down to that vault, she was reckless. She wasn’t thinking ahead, and she wasn’t using what she had available to her. I dare say that it was Taiyang’s advice that made her think to abandon the arm.

And can we talk about how jaune was rewarded for rushing in to fulfill his revenge boner, while Yang was punished for wanting to save Blake?- Again, nobody is saying that jaune had no right to those emotions. But the narrative, characters (specifically Tai), and a few audience members seem to believe that Yang was in the wrong for wanting to save her friend, while saying that jaune was in the right for wanting revenge.

#rwde #yang crit #done dirty

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