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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 19, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Chilling in Yiling

We start off with Wei Wuxian hanging out in a busy area of Yiling, which is a really dumb place to pick for a fugitive rendezvous.

He's wearing a fashionably distressed brown robe, and a woven disguise hat, that makes him invisible to his enemies until the moment he takes it off, kinda like the mask he wears in his second life. Unfortunately he is a polite boi so he takes off the disguise hat when he goes indoors to get a bite to eat, and promptly gets smacked down by Wen Zhuliu.

Xiao Zhan's stunt double is really good at this wire-pull+table-smash move; this is the second time Wei Wuxian goes crashing through a table (the first one being when Yu Ziyuan was beating him). This time he clutches his now core-less abdomen, in a move we're going to be seeing a lot of, going forward. Abdominal surgery is a bitch. OP can personally attest to this.

Wen Zhuliu provides some comic relief by looking at his hand in puzzlement; he clearly can tell Wei Wuxian has no golden core, but he isn't going to bother telling Wen Chao that.

Wen Chao gloats and steps on Wei Wuxian's hand while Wei Wuxian stares at his shoe and OP wonders, not for the first time, how they make rubberized zig-zag treads in Ancient Fantasy China.

(more after the cut)

This is all happening in the Yiling Wine house where Wei Wuxian will later share the most important meal of his life, the one in which A-Yuan lays claim to Lan Wangji, ultimately giving LWJ a reason to live long enough for Wei Wuxian to be resurrected. If that doesn’t deserve a good Yelp review, nothing does.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

While Wei Wuxian gets ready for his big whump scene, Jiang Cheng is dreaming, and looking absolutely breathtaking in this deceptively simple robe, that's made of a really complex fabric, that catches the light all over its surface. The lighting here is warm and romantic, giving everything a nostalgic glow.

He looks around the courtyard in his dream, and sees Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian come running in the gate carrying kites.

A child fetching a kite was the first casualty of the Wen attack on Lotus Pier, so this image may already be a little fraught for Jiang Cheng. In this initial image of his family, Jiang Cheng isn't present as a child, but then his junior self comes running up, to be warmly greeted by his mother.

Jiang Cheng's reaction to the scene playing out in front of him is not a simple one. We've seen him externally expressing his trauma at the fate of Lotus Pier and his family - his anger and his despair - and this dream shows us his private, interior trauma.

His body has been repaired by Wei Wuxian and the Wens, but his psyche has not.

This family interaction can't possibly be one that ever happened. It's too lively, too affectionate, too comfortable. The family he was part of as a young adult was cold, angry, cracked. Families don't change that much in 10 years, unless there's a major trauma that alters things in a fundamental way.

Even the glimpses we got of his childhood contradict this image. This warm group is not the family of "I sent your dogs away" or "wait in the cold until Jiang Cheng lets you in" or "I won't tell Clan Leader Jiang what happened" or "I'm only 11 but I'm in charge of soup and bedtime already"

Jiang Cheng smiles at the affection he sees enacted in front of him, but quickly moves to grief. When a toxic person dies, you don't just lose the relationship you had with them; you lose the hope for a better relationship. Perhaps Jiang Cheng has always imagined this version of his family; now nothing like it can ever come to be.

The pleasant scene vanishes into nightmare, as his mother starts bleeding from her eyes, ew. This is like Nie Mingjue when he qi deviates, but dream Yu Ziyuan is perfectly chill about it.

Jiang Cheng is not perfectly chill about it.

He turns around to see Lotus Pier burning. When he turns back, his family has been replaced with Wen Zhuliu, who is particularly gleeful as he reaches into Jiang Cheng's chest and melts his core.

Jiang Cheng wakes up on the mountain, alone (as far as he knows), and quickly stands and boots up his new golden core.

It's purple, because of course it is. King. The nightmare is gone and he smiles, maybe for the first time since the attack on the pier.

In a moment that is probably going to feel really embarrassing in hindsight, he kneels and bows toward the mountaintops to thank Baoshan Sanren, who is totally not there.

Wen Ning, on the other hand, is there, although we only see a little bit of his belt and robe as Jiang Cheng walks off to Yiling to meet his brother. This entire plotline walks a very weird line in which the audience is told just enough about what’s really happening to be confused, but not surprised.

Do the Whumpty Whump

After some initial roughing up, Wen Chao has his dudes stand Wei Wuxian up so he can question him without actually getting any information out of him at all. They take turns calling each other dogs, with Wei Wuxian saying that when Wen Chao talks he just hears a dog barking. (Of course if he really heard a dog barking he'd be terrified)

Then he says "isn't that right" to Wang Lingjiao, and Wen Chao gets super pissed; don't disrespect me to my woman.

He has his minions do a Nancy Kerrigan to Wei Wuxian's knee and then kick him for a while.

Then they kick the shit out of the camera operator.

Wen Chao is really not about fighting his own fights. He also keeps threatening to have Wen Zhuliu melt Wei Wuxian's core, and Wen Zhuliu keeps popping up his hand and then putting it back when Wen Chao changes his mind, which gets more hilarious every time I watch it. Feng Mingjing’s physical embodiment of Wen Zhuliu is endlessly entertaining, even in scenes where he has literally no lines.

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Wei Wuxian continues to goad Wen Chao, telling him that more torture is good because then he'll die with loads of resentment. He says that after he dies, he will come back as a ferocious ghost, which is...almost exactly what happens, except he stays alive for the ferocious part.

They go back and forth about the feasibility of this whole haunting plan. Wang Lingjiao is the voice of reason, for once, arguing the "ghosts aren't real and anyway fuck this guy" position.

Wen Chao thinks that he can’t haunt them because of cultivator security hardening procedures soul-calming rituals, but Wei Wuxian wasn't born into a gentry family so didn't have the anti-fierce-ghost treatment that other cultivators get.

This is the only time in the whole of the show when Wei Wuxian says, himself, that he's the son of a servant. He's using his reputation as a commoner to bolster his threats.

Wei Wuxian is working hard to put on a scary-guy persona, which works pretty well on Wang Lingjiao but not as much on the rest of the group. Three months from this time, however, he will have become the scary, vengeful creature he's currently spitballing about. He will also become way, way better at torture than the people who are currently mistreating him.

Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao go through a whole sequence of ideas about what to do with him. For whatever reason Wang Lingjiao doesn't insist on chopping his arm off even though she's been craving it for ages.

She does gleefully burn his burn some more, causing it to bleed directly into the giant obvious bag he has hanging from his belt leaking resentful energy. Which the Wens do not take away or search.

Wen Chao, incidentally, starts calling him Wei Ying during this encounter, which is rude of him. Tch. Finally Wen Chao decides on a plan, which involves sword-flying effects so terrible that no soul can survive them.

Jiang Cheng is looking for Wei Wuxian in town, wearing a woven hat like Wei Wuxian’s. This...is not a disguise. If you want to be inconspicuous, maybe take that giant piece of silver off of your head.

He hears random people talking about the Wens being in town, and then he apparently looks up at the sky and sees the Wen dudes flying on their swords with Wei Wuxian, but it looks so ridiculous that Jiang Cheng's mind cannot process what he is seeing.

While they "fly," Wen Chao delivers a massive brick of exposition about the burial mounds, while Wei Wuxian looks genuinely frightened. The VFX of random, undifferentiated mountaintops and clouds do nothing to sell this menace, but the exposition is actually pretty good, creating a real sense of disturbance and threat.

Then they toss him in, and we go from the terrible VFX of sword flying to a visual effect that they mercifully did really well throughout the show - the black resentment smoke. This time it catches Wei Wuxian and holds him for a few moments, before dropping him the rest of the way to the ground. It also apparently pulls the turtle sword out of his belt bag, but we don't see that part.

They Say That Every Man Must Fall

Having seen Wei Wuxian at his lowest point (so far) and dream Jiang Cheng also in deep distress, we go to the Dafan Wen sibs, who have also reached a breaking point. Because they helped Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, they are traitors to their clan - unquestionably so - and are being punished for it, with Wen Ning having been tortured in addition to being locked up.

I see my light come shining From the west down to the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released

You know how Lan Xichen successfully argued for Wen-Clan-Member Meng Yao's life and status, because Meng Yao betrayed Wen Ruohan to help them? Even though Meng Yao killed a bunch of Nie guys? Wen Ning and Wen Qing also betrayed Wen Ruohan and helped the Sunshot Campaign, without killing a bunch of guys. They should have been treated as allies by the four other clans, but they got diddly.

I’ve Been Dead Once

We return to Wei Wuxian in the burial grounds, where he's lying on the ground surrounded by resentful energy and by strained, desperate voices calling his name. This whole sequence is remarkable, since it effectively communicates the horror he's experiencing, through little more than Xiao Zhan's face and good sound design.

I hang around dying to be tortured You'll never be alone in the bone orchard

The voices call four versions of his name. A variety of voices call him Wei Wuxian, Wei Gongzi, and Shixiong, which (I think) is what the young Jiang disciples would have called him. And in the midst of those voices, Lan Wangji's voice, low and calm, saying "Wei Ying." Upon hearing that Wei Wuxian starts to drag himself up.

For a show with definitely no zombies in it, they sure do use the visual language of zombie films for Wei Wuxian's first motions after hitting the ground. Starting with twitching fingers, then gradually pulling himself halfway up and crawling, lurching across the ground. Wei Wuxian comes slowly back to life, the very first member of his army of the dead.

He makes his way across the ground toward the floating turtle sword. Along the way he accidentally grabs the world's most bowlegged thigh bone; the lack of sunshine in the burial mounds puts the skeletons at risk for rickets. All of the skeletons in the show are exactly what you would expect from the practical effects team that made the demon hand and the animatronic dog.

The turtle sword is roiling with resentful energy, and is talking to Wei Wuxian as he crawls toward it, asking if he wants revenge. And what a coincidence, he DOES want revenge.

He grabs the sword and plunges it into the ground in an explosion of resentful energy. (Ground: why you gotta take it out on me?)

The sequence ends with the most compelling, ominous shot of Wei Wuxian's face...a new man.

Soundtrack: 1. I Shall Be Released by Bob Dylan 2. Beyond Belief by Elvis Costello

Writing Prompt: The Day Wei Wuxian arrived, from the POV of a Burial Mounds ghost.

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #cql #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #wei wuxian #burial mounds #jiang cheng

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starlessalex · 3 years

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A long ass post in which I think too hard about future ACOTAR couples.

After lurking at the ACOTAR tag, I saw a lot of great theories and analysis that try to predict the trajectory of the spin-off trilogy. I’ve decided to write my own take on the subject (probably to my own detriment - involving myself in another ship war wasn’t on my bucket list this year, but here I am). I was thinking about what the potential future couples of the story might be, but through the lense of the plot - which couples make the most sense plot wise, which couple have the most potential to drive the plot toward. Here are my thoughts on the matter.

Before I start I will make a couple of disclaimers: 1) I obviously have my ship preferences, and it just so happens that the ships I like the most are the ones that according to me make the most sense narratively. That being said I’m not trying to be malicious or rude about all other ship possibilities - I actually like some of them quite a bit too. 2) I let the books speak for themselves. I do not invoke any paratextual information regarding those books: no SJM interviews or online posts. This analysis is based on what, imo, can be logically inferred from the text. 3) Of course there will be spoilers.

If that’s clear we shall being:

In my analysis I focus on the plot and which couples ensure the smoothest and most logical progression of it. Because of that I do not focus on the foreshadowing SJM included in the previous ACOTAR novel: I don’t quote anything, nor do I talk about previous interactions of those couples. In this analysis, I’m interested in the bigger picture so-to-speak. So first we need to establish what that bigger picture is.

Those books are meant to be standalone fantasy-romance novels with an overarching plotline that will reach its climax in the third book (since it's a trilogy). Each book will feature a different couple which apart from falling in love will lead the story to its next stage. What it means for the story is that the couples that we will be following are all heavily connected to the main story/conflict of those books. ACOSF established that story/conflict as stopping/defeating Koshei. I would argue that ACOSF also established Beron as a secondary antagonist as he is Koschei’s ally. With that in mind, the potential future couples all have to be connected in some way to those individuals.

We actually have a pretty small pool of characters to choose from. Since the story was pitched as SJM was writing ACOWAR, that book is where we can start our search for clues about which characters are going to be the future leads. I don’t want to use SJM interviews for information because things often change during the writing process, however, just in this instance I will note that recently SJM said that not much changed from that initial pitch so all foreshadowing in ACOWAR is still relevant. ACOWAR established 7 characters with potential future romances and storyline: Nesta, Cassian, Elain, Lucian, Azriel, Vassa and Mor.

Four of them are directly connected to Koshei or Beron: Nesta and Elain were made by The Cauldron gaining power that might potentially threaten Koschei and Beron. Elain is especially connected to Koschei - she’s a seer and had visions of him. Additionally, as far as we know she’s Lucian’s mate which makes her connected with Beron. Vassa was entrapped and cursed by Koshei and is currently trying to escape him. Lucian resides with Vassa at the moment, plus he is Beron's stepson.

Out of the 7 of the potential lead characters, two (Nesta and Cassian) already had their story told, which leaves as with 5 possibilities. Mor, unfortunately, also seems quite unlikely to have a book for herself in the near future because since ACOWAR no love interest for her was introduced and plot wise she also doesn't have a lot to do with Koshei. She has a connection to Eris (about whom I will talk about in a minute) and by proxy to Beron, but, again, there isn't a love interest for her in sight (I will talk about why Emerie doesn't seem like a possible candidate, at least not yet). With that we are left with Azriel, Lucien, Elain and Vassa. All of those characters have direct ties to Koshei and Beron with the exception of Azriel.

After ACOSF, three more characters caught people's attention as possible love interests too - Emrie for Mor, Gwyn for Azriel, and Eris for ...well for no one, at least for now.

Especially the Gwyn and Azriel ship gained a lot of traction among the fandom. I for one, don't mind them. I like the fanarts and the aesthetic but, logically, they together won't lead any of the two upcoming novels.

Gwyn, Emerie and Eris, are characters that were only just fleshed out on page in ACOSF, with Gwyn and Emrie being only just introduced to the story in ACOSF. Additionally, Gwyn and Emrie have nothing to do with Koschei and Beron so, unless they are paired up with one of the three remaining characters with those connections they won’t have their own books. Maybe, if SJM decided to continue the story beyond the spin-off trilogy, then we will get books with them as leads.

So, we are left with the above-mentioned quartet: Azriel, Lucien, Elain and Vassa.

So how do we couple those characters up?

Elain has two possible love interests - Azriel and Lucien. Technically, both ships work but if SJM goes with Elain and Lucian than their book would have to be the last, because that is where I imagine Koshei will be defeated. Also since Lucien is connected to Beron, I imagine he will be the one to strike him down for good, or at least have a huge rule in opposing him at the very end. If Elain and Lucien book will be the next one we are left with Vassa and Azriel to lead the last book, not together obviously. They would have to have different love interests - the last book would have to be either Vassa x someone (Jurian, probably) or Azriel x someone. To be honest, if the next book is Elain and Lucien that would mean Azriel isn’t getting a book because as I said Azriel x Gwyn makes little sense as the second novel in this trilogy and no sense as the third one because neither Az or Gwyn have connection to Koschei.

I strongly believe that the person who is most likely to deal with Koschei and the person who has the absolute right to defeat him is Vassa. She's the one who has been entrapped and cursed by him. Additionally it was her conversation with Feyre at the end of ACOWAR that was a giveaway as to what the spin-off trilogy is going to be plot wise. It also seems right up SJM alley to have her female protagonist defeat her abuser in a very poignant and satisfying way. I’m pretty sure that Vassa is going to be one of the leads of the future two books.

Lastly, I think we all can agree that at this point it's obvious that Azriel and Elain are two characters that SJM wants to write about and they will be main characters in the spin off novels, whether in the same book or not..

So to add all of this up we have two possible scenarios in fort of us:

1) The next book is going to be Elain and Lucien, and the last book is gonna be Vassa and someone (Jurian, Eris?, Azriel????). This scenario doesn't make much sense because: a) It would mean Azriel won't have a book (unless he's paired up with Vassa, which by now is not foreshadowed or hinted at at all). b) There's no clear love interest for Vassa, because Lucien would end up with Elain. Jurian is a possibility but he's, you know, Jurian. I don't think many people would want him as a MC. There's also Eris (bare with me here). Eris, technically, has a lot of the same plot connections that Lucian has (son of Beron, connected to the Night Court where most of our heros reside) + SJM clearly loves him. This couple is far fetched, obviously.

2) The most likely scenario, imo. The next book is Azriel and Elain - they have plenty of foreshadowing, Elain is connected to Koshei, the seer and the spy infiltrating Koshei/ Autumn Court (there’s plenty of possibilities as to how they together can be involved with the main conflict). The last book, Lucien x Vassa - the will defeat Beron, defeat Koschei, Lucian as the son of Helion the Spell-Cleaver will break Vassa's curse once and for all.

There's also other scenarios, however unlikely:

1) Gwyn and Azriel, Elain and Lucian (why yes: both Az and Elaine get books, why no: Vassa doesn't get a book which is unlikely cause she's the person most connected to Koschei, Gwyn has nothing to do with Koschei)

2) Mor and someone, Elain and Azrie or Elain and Lucian or Vassa and Lucian (why yes: we get a Mor book which is great, why no: Mor has nothing to do with Koschei, we don't have a clear love interest for Mor, Az or Elain, or Vassa are not going to get a book.)

To sum this all up. The characters that the fandom should keep an eye on are Elain, Azriel, Lucien and Vassa. The next books will be about them, and the most logical way to tell their stories is to couple Elain with Azriel and Lucian with Vassa. There is plenty of great analysis of the subtle and not so subtle way SJM is foreshadowing those couples since ACOWAR.

Of course I can be totally wrong with my predictions but judging by what's on the page I think I'm mostly right here. To be 100% sure we must simply wait

#elriel #azriel x elain #vassa x lucien #anti-gwynriel #anti-elucian #anti elucien #anti gwynriel #vassien

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mindmeltonabun-blog · 3 years

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Doom At Your Service: Analysis & Theories for EPs 7-8

Welcome back to another edition of analyses and theories time with me! I’m going to try and keep this post as short and as simple as possible. In case I don’t, I apologize in advance! Also, sorry if this post is filled with grammar mistakes and confusing syntax...I'm writing/editing this late at night and my ADHD meds have lost their effectiveness.

Anyways Eps 7-8 was pretty awesome and I’m glad that a bunch of my previous theories had come true! For those who wonder how I come up with some of these theories, I just look at everything whether it be big or small. I also try to look for connections and patterns. At the same time, I try to understand the motivations of characters and what is the big picture the writer is trying to paint. Once you're able to do all of that then you can predict where the story is going. This is how for the most part I was able to predict the events and endings of shows like TOTNT and TKEM. Anyhow, let’s get down to analyzing and theorizing! Turn on those thinking caps!

What the Rock Balancing Structure Represents

Rock balancing is a form of art that involves a person placing a combination of rocks in an arrangement. To achieve balance of the rocks, one must be very patient and compassionate. In its completion, the structure represents that while things may appear impossible, they are actually possible. So what seems impossible, but can actually be possible? Hmmm probably Myul Mang learning what it means to be human and ending up becoming human. Notice that both the rock art is next to the plant and the story of Pinocchio? It's saying saying that the impossible can be possible. It's possible for Myul Mang to be able to learn what it means to be a human so that the impossible can happen...he can "grow" up to becoming a real human.

The whole rock balancing structure could also signify that in order to grow, one must overcome one's deepest fears. I don't know about you all, but stacking rocks is a scary thing especially since at any moment the whole thing could fall over. Anyways, if you remembered, Myul Mang had been searching everywhere for Dong Kyung and feeling like one of his worst fears (Dong Kyung not existing) had came true. It's only when he goes to Dora's hospital room and sees both the Pinocchio book and rock structure that he got Dora's lesson. And that's why afterwards you didn't see Myul Mang going on another search for Dong Kyung somewhere else.

A brief digression. I’ve seen multiple people theorizing that the plant and the butterfly represent Dong Kyung and Myul Mang respectively. To them I say, did you just completely miss the part where Dora says the plant is Myul Mang? Myul Mang is both the butterfly and the plant. For those who still don’t see that, let me break it down.

First, what do butterflies symbolize? They symbolize metamorphosis, death, and rebirth. Myul Mang is not a literal butterfly, but he will eventually be one in a metaphorical sense. If anything, Myul Mang right now is like a caterpillar on the verge of entering the cocoon stage that is followed by a reemergence as a butterfly aka human. You can also look at it this way, Pinocchio is a butterfly too. Why? Well, look at what happens to Pinocchio. He is reborn as a real boy after having gone through metamorphosis (puppet -> real boy).

Now let’s examine the plant symbolism. What do plants represent in DAYS? They represent humans. What is Dora growing? A human Myul Mang..DUH!! Sorry, but I didn’t think it was that hard of a concept to grasp especially since Dora has already explicitly said what she is growing in that one scene. For Myul Mang to grow up to become a "good" human, he needs to learn to think about others, forgive himself, be compassionate (not only towards himself, but others as well), love others, etc. Other things Myul Mang would probably need to learn is how to love his fate or amor fati (loving your fate means loving it all, not just the good parts, but the bad parts too; loving it so much so that you would never want to change anything about it and would gladly relive your life the way it was over and over again for all of eternity).

I don’t think the "plant" will fully "blossom" until Myul Mang sacrifices himself to save Dong Kyung for the sole reason that he loves her (in contrast to sacrificing himself for his own personal gain). Therefore, that's probably the final lesson -- how to be completely selfless.

Dora just wants her son to grow up to be a "good" plant (human) so she doesn't have to end up pulling him out aka end him before he even becomes human! Okay???

Sorry if what I've just said was confusing. What I meant to say is that Myul Mang's personal growth is reflective in the plant's growth. The more he learns of what it means to be a "good" human, the more the plant will grow until it blossoms into a beautiful flower (a real human).

If we want to connect the idea of personal growth to the story of Pinocchio, we see that Pinocchio's growth occurs only after he experiences pain (physical and emotional) and love. From these experiences, he learns what it means to be a "good" boy and is rewarded by the Fairy transforming him into a real boy.

One Wish or Wishes?

In my previous post, I had briefly touched upon how I think Dong Kyung is going to wish for brain cancer to be cured. Though I still think this, I nevertheless want to explore some of the other possibilities of what her wish could be.

Potential Wishes:

1) Myul Mang to Become Human

2) More Wishes

3) Contract to be Voided

4) No One Remembering Her After She Dies

For #1, Dong Kyung wishes Myul Mang to become human, but then she still dies from her untreated brain cancer…so nope. For #2 and #3, are these wishes even allowed? I would like to point out some flaws of the writer. Maybe it’s not so much a flaw, but an annoyance I have with the writer of DAYS. What one can or cannot wish for is not explicitly stated. Due to this, it is somewhat difficult for me to accurately predict what Dong Kyung will wish for. It’s like trying to detect a substance without being given its upper and lower limits or range of detection (sorry for the science related analogy) ! For #4, I guess this one could be probable, but there is just too much evidence pointing to Myul Mang's death. After exploring each of the possibilities, I'm still left thinking that Dong Kyung's one wish will be to cure her cancer.

Anyways, even if Dong Kyung wishes for her brain cancer to be cured, it’s not really a happy ending since Myul Mang still dies. Is there any other way for Dong Kyung to make another wish so that she can save Myul Mang? I think there is and it comes in the form of the “gift” that Dora gave Dong Kyung. In my previous post, I had theorized that the marble may have a larger purpose than just being a symbol of how the fate of the world is Dong Kyung hands. I believe now that the marble’s larger purpose is that it is a type of wish fulfilling stone. Why? Because we know fantasy dramas typically make references to mythology. In this case, the writer of DAYS is probably referencing Hindu mythology.

In Hindu mythology there are 3 main gods:

1) Brahma: The Creator

2) Vishnu: The Preserver

3) Shiva: The Destroyer (Sounds like Myul Mang right? Also, the love story between Shiva and Parvati is somewhat similar to that of Myul Mang and Dong Kyung’s love story.)

Dora is the equivalent to the god Vishnu in Hindu mythology. Vishnu is often depicted wearing a “Cintamani”, a type of wish fulling stone analogous to the Philosopher’s Stone (hint hint…transforms something from one form into another…immortal -> human) in Western mythology. Given this, the marble/Cintamani in Dong Kyung's possession could be the key to Myul Mang’s rebirth.

Some might ask, “Well why can’t Dora just use it to wish for her son to be reborn as a human?”. Well, remember that both Dora and Myul Mang are slaves to the wishes of humans. They themselves cannot fulfil their own wishes or desires. Meaning, even though Dora and Myul Mang can wish for something to happen, they cannot carry it out unless humans wish it too. Also, as I mentioned previously, deities in kdramas never just give humans gift because they’re being nice. Rather, they give gifts to humans so that humans can help them accomplish their overall goals/wishes.

So putting it all together, do you see where I’m going with this? Dora has the same wish as Dong Kyung which is for Myul Mang to live, but Dora is unable to execute her goals/wishes unless Dong Kyung wishes it too. Dora knows that Dong Kyung will probably use her one wish to cure her brain cancer. At the same time, this leaves her son, Myul Mang, to die. Therefore, Dora gives Dong Kyung the wish fulfilling marble with the intention that Dong Kyung will use it to wish for her son, Myul Mang, to be reborn as a human. With Dora/Dong Kyung’s wish, Myul Mang will be free from his cursed life as an immortal and be reborn to be able to live happily with Dong Kyung.

Side note, the rebirth of Myul Mang into a human can either be dependent on Myul Mang's personal growth or it can be dependent on this wish fulfilling stone or both! I'm leaning more towards his personal growth as being the catalyst for his rebirth, but who knows! It very well could be that the marble has a role to play in his rebirth.

Is Dong Kyung Going To Be An Immortal?

No…no…and NO!!

Some might ask why don’t I think this? Well, for a bunch of reasons. I’ll admit I used to think that it would be very romantic for a human to become immortal so that they can be with their immortal lover forever. However, the more I thought about it, I came to the realization the notion of forever is not romantic nor beautiful. At its core, the concept of eternity is quite terrifying and ugly. And if you haven’t realized already, the writer of DAYS has been making multiple arguments against immortality. For anything to have meaning, it must have an end. In this sense, the end is beautiful.

To get my point across, I want you to try and think about some things. What keeps life meaningful? Experiences? People? Well, imagine doing something you love for a year. Now imagine doing it for trillions or zillions of years. Experiences no matter how good they are at first will eventually become tedious if you do it for long enough. For example, eating your favorite dish may be good for a while, but not for zillions of years. At one point or another, you ultimately lose your desire to want to eat it or eat entirely for that matter.

Now surely getting to know people and loving them can keep your life meaningful right? Well, how many times do you think you could handle knowing and loving people who eventually disappear? Eventually, you grow tired of crying and mourning over dead loved ones that you become numb. Now imagine being Dong Kyung. She would have to witness her family, their family, and so forth dying over and over again for all of eternity. Doesn’t that seem tortuous? Sure, one could argue that at least she has Myul Mang with her, but do you really think her love for him could sustain her forever? The relationship between Myul Mang and his mother, Dora, is a prime example of how a loving relationship could turn sour over a great deal of time. The gift of immorality Dora bestowed on Myul Mang became a curse instead of a blessing. So why would Myul Mang want to give Dong Kyung something that was basically a curse for him? As for Dora, she probably wouldn’t want to give Dong Kyung the same gift after seeing what it did to her son.

If you continue to think that Dong Kyung will become an immortal being, did you really smell what the writer of DAYS was cooking or did you just smell what you were cooking?

The Bad Case of the Riddles

From what I have been reading on multiple platforms now, it would seem that a lot of people are rather confused about a lot of things. It’s understandable! Throughout the show, the writer has presented some complex philosophical concepts that may be difficult for some viewers to grasp. To further add to the confusion, the characters at times do speak in what appears to be riddles. This I believe may be one of the major flaws of the writer. She has to consider that her audience are probably people who have never read any philosophical works before. Most viewers aren’t here to decipher cryptic messages or see how they’re connected to some major philosophical concepts such as eternal recurrence, existentialism, nihilism, amor fati, etc. Most are here to shut off their tired brain and enjoy some good fantasy romance! I know I’m totally one of those people!

Needless to say, I did find myself in a debate of whether I should discuss some philosophical concepts referenced in the show as to help you all gain a better sense of understanding. However, I concluded that it would take too much of my time to do so. Additionally, despite my best efforts to use the simplest of words, I found that whatever I had already written may have still been confusing to the everyday reader. Anyways, if there are any particular scenes or dialogue you all want to me go over, please feel free to use the ask button and I’ll do my best to try and answer them!

Whats Going to Happen Next?

Probably more filler type stuff aka more bs. It's common in kdramas for characters to go back and forth on their initial decision of whatever. Dong Kyung is going to break up with Myul Mang because she loves him and doesn't want him to die. And before the breakup, she's going to give him some good memories to remember her by. Following this, she's going to try and love herself so that she's the one that ends up dying and her wish is going to be for everyone to forget her? Okay......Zzzzzzz!! Idk... Dora is probably going to intervene somehow to get Dong Kyung and Myul Mang back together again.

Other Random Thoughts

What I think would be interesting to learn about is the connection between Dong Kyung's parents death and Dora past self's death. It wasn't just all a coincidence that they both died on the same day. Who knows... maybe Dong Kyung was meant to be in the car that day with her parents, but Dora's past self sacrificed herself to change Dong Kyung's fate.

Also, I still don't think Dong Kyung is going to die, I mean you got her brother praying to the deities that she lives!

Okay, I'm done. I wrote this in Microsoft Word and it was 5 pages long. My brain is dead. There's probably something I should've gone over or elaborated more about, but oh well. Thanks for reading this disjointed post!

#doom at your service #doomatyourservice #myulmang #myul mang #tak dong kyung #takdongkyung #park bo young #parkboyoung #seo in guk #seoinguk #pinocchio #DAYS #theories #my brain is melting

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theji · 3 years

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Things Yizhan Made Me Do

It's BXG Day today! 🐢💛

To commemorate the occasion, I thought of making a list of 13 out-of-character things that I've done since falling into the fandom. (OK I'm a bit late I meant to do this sooner, the day is ending soon in a couple of hours).

1. Start a blog

And a public one, no less. I had a blog when I was in my teens but that was private, like a personal diary. My day job already involves writing so off-work I would usually like to indulge in mindless activities. Now, here I am, maintaining a Yizhan blog. I have not even used Tumblr prior to this but I'm enjoying it now, rambling about our fav boys. Writing is not a chore if it's about them.

2. Join a fandom

I joined a boy band fan club once upon a time, some 15 years ago, but I was never as invested in it as I am now with Yizhan. Back then it was just buying some merch, attending their concert/autograph sessions, listening to their songs. Apart from work, dog mum duties, personal relationships, other hobbies like kombucha brewing, most of my free time is now spent on the fandom. My Netflix account is crying. There is just so much to do and catch up on (I'm not complaining). I also enjoy interacting with and learning from other bloggers here. Antis are no fun and some industry news/developments/hate messages are upsetting but ultimately, you curate your own fandom experience. And I choose positivity and rationality.

3. Indulge in RPS

I don't ever 'ship'. What is 'ship'? 😆 I was always a dutiful audience, just enjoying whatever drama series and moving on after that. I started with CQL like most people and I didn't even notice/like GGDD until much later. Didn't even set out to 'ship' anyone but now I'm a self-professed turtle. SZD is SZD, and anyone can see something special between them if you keep an open mind. I wrote about my SZD reasons here previously. That said, GG & DD are individuals, each with their own successful careers. They come first, the ship comes second. That I'm very clear of.

4. Use Chinese apps

Gosh, my phone and tablet are now full of Chinese apps. I used to have only WeChat cos I needed it for work but now I have Weibo, Oasis, Douyin, WeTV, MangoTV, Youku, etc. Some of them are not even available in the app store so I had to find alternative sources to download them. haha..I even have paid membership for some of these apps. And now, browsing Weibo daily becomes a routine. If you wish, you can just get stuck browsing Weibo for a long long time. It's entertaining.

5. Read fan fic

I only started about 6 months ago but now I'm hooked and fics are largely the only thing I read these days, apart from news. But I only read Yizhan or WangXian fics (p.s. calling for fic recs of other pairings!) I know some might have different feelings about fan fics but to me, I really just see them as fiction, with characters (and sometimes traits) bearing similarities to GGDD. Similarly, I separate the platform from the incident so I have no problems going to A03 despite GG's incident. I just enjoy seeing the characters named XZ/WYB having happy endings in many different timelines and universes. While most of the fics I read are explicit (by design), I don't use them as tools to play out certain fantasies or to think of GGDD in a sexual manner. In fact, I really hate fics that have little substance and just go into the explicit parts without plot development. I like those with interesting premises too, like one I read recently where XZ is a serial killer and WYB is a police officer investigating the case but also in love with him. I do have plans to share my list of fav fan fics some time down the road so keep an eye out for it!

6. Willingly read Chinese

Yes, Chinese may be my mother tongue but I don't use it much in daily living unless I have to. I also find it tedious to read Chinese cos the characters are just so squashed together. If I have a choice, I will always pick English. But now, I read so much Chinese from my daily weibo browsing. I even read fan fics in Chinese! Who am I? On the plus side, I think my Chinese comprehension and translation skills improved. I also picked up some internet lingo used by Chinese netizens, which are pretty interesting like doi, 🐮🍺, 🖍. My all-time fav is yyds.

7. Act like a cougar

In real life, I have always maintained that younger men are childish. At least those I have encountered. But look at me now, fangirling over two younger men (I am closer in age to GG, but still..). I even jokingly call them my 'China Boyfriends'. I look at them very respectfully most of the time.

8. Buy merch

Seriously, once you start, you can't stop. At least that was what happened to me, although I'm still quite selective when it comes to supporting their endorsements. I usually go for consumables like food, cosmetics vs collectibles cos I'm more practical. Also, GG says to support their merch within reasonable means so that's what I'm doing. Just buying things that I'm interested to try and not because it has their faces or names slapped on it. In a way, this suits me cos I like trying new brands and stuff anyway.

9. Keeping a Yizhan archive

Photos, weblinks, videos, songs, fan fics list..my phone is full of these things now. I think my Yizhan photo gallery is only second to the folder with my dogs' pictures. But how can you resist when we are blessed with new pics of them almost every week?

10. Camp for livestreams

I'm lucky I live in the same time zone as the boys so I don't have to wake up in the wee hours of the morning just to watch something. But that's the thing, being in the same time zone sometimes make me feel like I HAVE to watch that thing live because, why not? Why wait? Not shy to admit that I once watched a live programme in the middle of work but I made sure I finished what needed to be done. I think so long as we don't let these livestream schedules run our lives, there's no harm in camping for them.

11. Watch c entertainment

I am one of those who used to pass over Chinese productions, simply because it's a Chinese production. Not in a scoffing manner but I'm just genuinely not interested in them nor the celebs. I was more of a US/UK production kind of person, occasionally Korean/Japanese. Now, I'm learning to enjoy them although I just watch those with GGDD in them. No energy to follow other Chinese celebs anyway. The other programme I'm contemplating watching even if it doesn't have them in it is Who's the Murderer (GG was only in one of the cases) cos I like the premise. On the flip side, now my sis and partner keep making fun of me cos to them, all I do now is "watch China shows". That is so not true. Or is it?

12. Write fan mail

I wrote a letter to GG once. A long-ass letter. I hope he read it. That's all I'm gonna say. 🙈 hahahahaha

13. Desire to visit China

China was never on my list of to-visit places. Just wasn't interested. I have been to Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou a few times in the past for work but even then, I never felt the urge to revisit for leisure. Now, I wanna visit GG and DD's home town, visit Chongqing to see the graffiti wall with Bobii Zanbii on it, eat mala hotpot and try out their sauce recipe, attend BXG events, dine at the CQL restaurant... Watching TTXS also made me realise that there are many beautiful places in China with natural landscapes and all that. I used to be clouded by my disdain for the regime and some behaviour of its citizens but now, I recognise that the country is separate from the regime or a smaller group of poorly behaved citizens. China is a beautiful country and I would love to visit some day. I will fly over immediately on my own if someone gives me tix to ADLAD!!

Well, I hope some of these things resonate with you. Feel free to share the OOC things that Yizhan made you do.

Once again, Happy BXG Day! 🐢💛🐆🐇🐷🌶🦁🍑🐶🍍🛹🎋

#yizhan #bjyx #things yizhan made me do

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duckprintspress · 3 years

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Synonym Stumpers: Walk

Sometimes, finding the perfect synonym can feel impossible, especially since a thesaurus (or a synonym post on Tumblr) will list words that have similar meanings without providing information on how similar those words actually are. Figuring out the nuances and subtle variations between umpteen words that all mean almost-but-not-quite the same thing can be one heck of a stumper but never fear: you want to find the perfect word and we are here to help!

On this edition of Synonym Stumpers - Walk! How many times can you say someone walked across a room before it gets boring? Fortunately, there are lots of awesome words that mean “walk.” Unfortunately, they all mean something a smidge different - and those variations can mean the difference between an evocative turn of phrase and a clunker that makes your readers go, “put away your thesaurus already!” Here’s our handy-dandy guide to our favorite synonyms for “walk,” and what each means!

Note that no one list can be exhaustive, and in certain contexts all of these words make sense, can be used, and might have subtly different meanings. In the end, the best way to learn the nuances of words is to read extensively. No thesaurus or list of synonyms, no matter how thoroughly annotated, can give a complete sense of all the possible usages of a word!

Note the second, the writer of this list primarily speaks US Northeast English. Other dialects may have subtle differences in these words.

Words on this list: amble, ambulate, constitutional, go on/by foot, hike, hoof it/leg it, limp, lumber, march, meander, mosey, pace, pad, plod, saunter, shamble, shuffle, stalk, step, stomp, stump, stride, stroll, strut, toddle, traipse, tramp, troop, trudge, turn

(read more)

amble: ambling can have a few different implications. It suggests a certain aimlessness - “she ambled around the garden” - or, alternatively, a casual attitude - “we ambled through the mall.” Ambling is the opposite of purposeful or rapid walking - if someone is described as ambling, they are unhurried, calm, at ease, likely not walking in a straight line, and probably easily distractable (eg, by seeing a pretty flower or a store they’d like to visit in the mall). When someone ambles, nothing is urgent and all is well. Alternatively, in specific instances, ambling can imply that something is wrong with a person - for example, they may be drunk or wounded. It’s a close synonym of meander and stroll, and related to shambling.

ambulate: yes, ambulate means walk. No, you shouldn’t use it in most cases, unless having your character sound like a thesaurus is intentional, or you are describing certain kinds of limited motion, especially those involving a movement aid/assistive device such as a cane or a foot scooter. For example, a character walking with crutches might ambulate across a room. A robot might self-describe their movement as ambulation. However, in most contexts it will sound stilted, old fashioned, or weird.

constitutional: a constitutional is a type of walk specifically undertaken to improve or maintain health - exercise, but specifically walking as exercise. The term is dated, but would be appropriate in many Western historical settings in the 18th and 19th centuries. “The professor left to take his daily constitutional” is an example of usage.

go on/by foot or travel on/by foot: one of our relatively straightforward synonyms. It specifically implies a mode of travel. It would be odd to say someone “went by foot across the room,” but more appropriate if describing how a journey is undertaken. It can be a little stilted, though, or old-fashioned. In a lot of contexts it’s probably better to just say walk. “How did you go to the store?” “I traveled by foot.” That sounds weird. “How did you go to the store?” “I walked.” That doesn’t sound weird. “How are we getting to the show?” “Oh, we’ll go by foot.” That also doesn’t sound weird. Just pay attention to your context.

hike: hiking always means the same as walking, but it implies a slog or a trek - a certain ruggedness, if you will. The most obvious context is when one is walking in the forest or climbing a mountain, but “hike” is also appropriate when the destination is far away or off the beaten track - for example, “yeah, I went down to Sal’s yesterday, that was quite a hike!” A person might hike around a lake, hike up a mountain, or hike at a state park, but unless the purpose is intentionally ironic, no one would ever hike to the local corner store or across a room. It is a close synonym to striding.

hoof it or leg it: these are both colloquial ways of saying walk, and make the most sense used in dialog, rather than in description, though it would depend on the point of view character and the type of narrative (as in, first person versus third person). Both imply a certain haste, while still meaning walking. “She legged it to the barn to keep up with the horses” would potentially make sense as a description. Alternatively, “should we drive to the store?” “naw, let’s just hoof it” would be a common way to use this.

limp: limping specifically indicates that someone is having trouble with one of their legs and is therefore walking unevenly, perhaps in a stumbling fashion. They might be injured, or have long-term damage, or use a movement aid, etc. Limping will always imply unevenness of gait. Be very careful using limp as an adjective to describe a person (“the limp man”) as this is increasingly considered ableist, similar to the words “lame” or “gimpy.”

lumber: not to be confused with “lumber” as in wood, lumbering is a plodding, heavy way of walking. It also implies that the person doing it is large in size, and sometimes has a negative/stereotyping connotation that the person doing it is a little dull/unintelligent. Because of that negative (and unreasonable) implication that a large person is automatically stupid, use this one sparingly and only in contexts where it’s clear that the second isn’t the intention (unless your goal is to show that your narrating/PoV/speaking character is the kind of jerk who would describe someone that way, in which case...go for it.) Lumbering is similar to plodding, trudging, and shambling.

march: marching, in its more obvious usage, refers to the way that soldiers in rank walk - high, purposeful steps. However, it can also be used in more casual contexts to suggest a certain type of obstinate stomping. “Furious, he marched across the room and slapped his hand on the table,” is an example of the second usage. In the second usage, march is a close synonym of stomp.

meander: meandering is specifically aimless, casual wandering. It also suggests that a person isn’t going in a straight line. Think of meandering in the way it’s used to describe a stream - a meandering stream has a slow flow in a course with many twists and turns and no purpose behind its course. When used as a term for walking, that’s what meandering implies - a lack of intentionality and haste. It’s a close synonym of ambling and similar to strolling.

mosey: moseying is similar to sauntering, and suggest a certain casual way of walking and an easy attitude. This word is specifically associated with the Old West and cowboy stories, and it’s easiest to imagine it in those terms - when someone has spent a lot of time on a horse, there’s a certain loose-boned way of walking, shoulders back, torso relaxed, pelvis scooped forward, legs a little bowed. That’s a mosey. In most other contexts, mosey would be a very odd word choice. Even other settings with many horses (such as a fantasy or medieval or Mongolian environment) using moseying would be out of place. In most contexts, it would be more appropriate to use sauntering or strolling.

pace: pacing, when used as a movement word (as opposed to its meaning of “keeping pace”) refers specifically to walking back and forth through a regular course. Pacing is most often associated with someone being deep in thought, anxious, or anticipatory - when someone walks back and forth repeatedly across a space, that’s pacing. It can also be used to refer to, for example, a guard walking an established, consistent patrol. “Paces” is another word for “steps,” though it’s a little old fashioned - in this regard, it’s similar to strides.

pad: padding is specifically walking softly and carefully, and also usually implies that the person who is padding is either barefoot or in socks. It would be pretty odd for someone to pad while in shoes, since it’s very difficult for someone to move quietly in shoes. However, unlike stalking, padding has a benign implication. Someone might stalk to quietly sneak up on someone, whereas they’d be more likely to pad if they’re trying to be silent so as not to wake up a friend.

plod: plodding is a heavy step, often associated with drudgery and exhaustion. For example, a manual laborer carrying a heavy load could be described as plodding, or someone whose steps have slowed as they come near the end of a long journey might be plodding. It’s a word with weight to it, and fatigue, and slowness bourne specifically of being so loaded down that one can hardly go farther. Plodding also has a hint of determination in it - “even though they were exhausted, they plodded on.” It’s similar to lumbering, trudging, and shambling.

saunter: while a lot of words for walking imply a certain awkwardness or fatigue, sauntering is the opposite - a saunter is a cocky, confident, pleased way of walking. It might be accompanied by a saucy wink. The implication to “sauntering” is that the person doing it is carefree, unworried, and unhurried. It’s similar to strolling, but with the addition of utmost self-assurance.

shamble: there’s a good reason shambling is the word we use most for zombies - it heavily implied disordered, clumsy movement. Consider the other meaning of shambles - that someone or something is a mess - and translate that over to a type of walking, and you’ll have the right idea. Shambling communicates hunched shoulders, uneven steps, and difficulty moving - that can be due to undeath, or old age, or injury, or fatigue, but whichever one the writer intends, shambling will include those connotations. It’s a close synonym with shuffle and similar to plodding and lumbering.

shuffle: similar to shambling, shuffling is a slow, stilted way of walking that suggests the person moving is having difficulty. Further, shuffling also specifically means that the person is not lifting their feet. They’re walking by kind of...sliding forward...and going very slowly, taking small steps. It’s most commonly associated with old age, and people who shuffle tend to have poor balance and to be easily challenge by obstructions, such as dips in the roads or stairs. Shuffling can also be caused by injury or extreme fatigue. It’s a close synonym of shambling.

stalk: stalking is a creeping, stealthy way of walking, most commonly associated with sneaking up on someone or something. It also often (but certainly not always!) has a negative connotation. In the same way that a criminal might stalk their victim (as in, following them, scaring them, calling them, doxxing them, etc.), a person who stalks as their way of walking is most likely trying to ambush someone or something. When it’s not directed at one person stalking another, it’s often linked with hunting - a hunter will stalk their prey. In its most benign, stalking could be someone trying to scare a friend; at its most violent, assassins stalk their victims.

step: this is one of the closer synonyms for walk, but it does have some subtle differences. Saying “she walked into the sunlight” would imply someone walked from a shadowed area into a brighter one and then continued; saying “she stepped into the sunlight” instead implies that someone emerged from a shadowed area into a brighter one and then stopped. That said, stepped is probably the most interchangeable with “walked,” though in some contexts it’ll sound awkward or overly formal. “She walked across the room” sounds more casual and modern than “she stepped across the room,” and while it’s hard to define the exact difference, the second suggests a certain intentionality and carefulness that just using “walked” doesn’t.

stomp: stomping is a lot like marching, but without the same military-precision connotation. A soldier marches; a toddler stomps. Stomping is also most likely loud and communicates anger, unhappiness, or frustration. Someone might stomp their feet to disperse some anger during a fight, for example. That said, as I indicated - the standard usage of “stomping” has a connotation of youth and unreasonableness, so if it’s used to describe a grown person, it can imply a certain juvenile inappropriateness to that person’s behavior. As such, use it carefully when describing an adult. If you don’t want to convey that the person is being petulant, it would be better to choose a different word. Stomping is similar to marching and tramping.

stump: though spelled very similarly to stomping, stumping is actually closer in meaning to limping than to stomping. Like stomping, stumping is a loud, heavy way of walking, but like limping, it implies some kind of balance issue that’s causing someone to walk unevenly. Stumping could, for example, apply to someone who has a club leg or peg leg or another historical form of prosthesis. Stumping also implies clumsiness, though, so be careful using it to apply to certain types of people because it could come off as ableist depending on the context.

stride: striding is a specific long-stepped way of walking, and includes the implication that the person who is striding is most likely tall. When used as a verb, striding will always suggest that a person is taking large, rapid steps within a deliberate way, most likely towards a destination (rather than aimlessly). When used as a noun, though, it can be a close synonym for step - “she took two steps” and “she took two strides” mean basically the same thing (though a stride is still longer - two steps would be shorter than two strides). As another way to consider a stride - in some fantasy and historical settings, “one stride” is used as a unit of measurement roughly equivalent to a yard in modern Imperial usage. It is a close synonym of hiking.

stroll: much like ambling, strolling is a casual, easy way of walking. Strolling is a little less aimless than ambling, though - “she strolled through the park” suggests that, even though she is not in a hurry, she’s also following a path and perhaps has a destination in mind. It’s still not very purposeful, but it’s a little more purposeful than meandering or ambling are. Because of how “stroll” has been used historical, it sometimes can conjure up an image of luxury and privilege - imagine an English gentleman, with his arm looped around his wife’s, and her other hand bearing a parasol. This doesn’t mean strolling shouldn’t be used in other contexts, but note that depending on those contexts, it can potentially be a little subversive - to suggest someone poor or who works very hard is strolling is to imply they have a leisure that they may not usually have access to. Strolling is a close synonym of ambling and similar to meandering.

strut: peacocks strut. Strutting is a cocky, over-confident way of walking and includes the connotation that the person (or animal) doing it is trying to show off. In that sense, it’s also often used insultingly - “just look at that jerk, strutting about like he owns the place!” However, it’s not always negative, and can be used to suggest someone is showing off in a more positive sense, like they’re proud of an accomplishment - “she put together an outfit she loved and strutted her stuff at the club.” When used as a direct replacement for walking, it would also connote a higher step, a stiff back - a certain formality (potentially to the point of ridiculousness) to the way that the person is moving.

toddle: intentionally similar to the noun “toddler,” toddling is most closely associated with the way young children or animals move when they don’t quite have control of their limbs yet. It’s clumsy, stumbling, and the person toddling likely falls a lot or needs to be supported. When not used in the specific sense of a youngster, it can apply to (for example) someone who has just stood after a long time bedridden, or who has woken up and hasn’t gotten their bearings yet. When used specifically as “toddle off,” it can be used in dialog (or, in rare instances, description, depending on the point of view character) to say someone is leaving. “Well, if we’re done here, I’ll just toddle off!” is a usage that doesn’t imply clumsiness, but rather suggests someone is leaving casually and in an unhurried manner.

traipse: traipsing is a light-hearted, fleet way of moving, closest to skipping, which isn’t on this list because skipping isn’t walking. Traipsing is bright and happy, casual and a little quick but not in a hasty/hurried sense. It’s often associated with youth. When I imagine someone traipsing, they’ve got a bright smile, a swinging skirt, and maybe a balloon - they’re joyful and spirited and their steps are carefree.

tramp: tramping is a close synonym for stomping, and suggests heavy steps. However, it doesn’t have stomping’s connotation of petulance; instead, tramping is more focused on the firmness and volume of the walking. However, because the noun “tramp” refers to a vagrant, homeless person, or someone very messy, it’s wise to use this word carefully where it’s clear that’s not the intention. While that kind of messiness is not part of the meaning of tramp as a verb, the words will still potentially evoke each other when used in narrative, so it’s best used sparingly.

troop: while it can be similar to marching - especially when used to apply to a group of people - trooping doesn’t have as much of the military implication (even though it’s the same word as “troop” = “soldier). Trooping is a steady walk, and implies covering some distance - it’s similar to plodding, though with less implication of fatigue.

trudge: trudging is very close in meaning to plodding, though it has a slightly greater implication of effort. For example, “he trudged through the deep mud” gives the sense that it’s very difficult, slow going, whereas “plodding through deep mud” would sound a little off because plodding lacks the aspect of the walking itself being a slog (Neither would actually be wrong, though, trudged would just be the better of the two to use in that context). It’s a close synonym for plodding, lumbering, but unlike those, it’s farther from shambling.

turn: “take a turn” is another historical term similar to constitutional. It’s dated for modern usage, but to “take a turn” is to go for a walk, though instead of having health-related implications, turns are more for pleasure.

Words I excluded from this post because they’re a little too far from “walk” but may still be a good word for you: advance, canter, escort, exercise, file, foot, go, hit the road, jaunt, knock about, lead, leg, locomote, parade, patrol, perambulate, promenade, prance, race, ramble, roam, rove, run, schlepp, scuff, slog, tour, traverse, tread, trek, wander, wend one’s way. All of these are great words but they’re not close synonyms for the literally act of walking.

(and a final apology...this is our first synonym stumper post and it got significantly longer than anticipated and I don’t have the brain to edit it right now...let me know if you see any mistakes, disagree with my personal sense of these words, want to add another word, or have any questions!)

#duck prints press #original content #synonym stumpers #writing advice

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haloud · 3 years

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things we could burn in one go (eminence) -- chapter 10

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Alex and Forrest struggle to understand each other in the wake of their breakup; Alex makes a shocking discovery at the Long farm.

Excerpt:

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

It was true; Alex had come here empty-handed, the way he brought himself to every step of their relationship. All the things he had inside him, all the things he had to give, he’d failed to deliver any of them in a way that Forrest needed. He’d made do with illusions, convincing ones, convincing enough to fool even himself into thinking he was built any other way than this. He was a problem-solver, a provider; it was bitter medicine to learn that brute-forcing himself into the proper shape for someone else only hurt everyone involved.

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

“I took a half day,” Alex replied. He’d taken tomorrow off as well to prepare for their planning session, but Forrest didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t want to make either of us wait. Not for this.”

(Wednesday, 14:00)

The Long family home was leagues from the old barn and the fallen tree, but an odd sort of almost-nostalgia sloshed in Alex’s stomach as he approached the house all the same. He had only been back here a few times since he and Forrest met; it wasn’t a part of their relationship; it was more convenient to spend their time at Alex’s, where there was no one to bother them. When they spent the night together, it was in Alex’s bed, and the sex they had was there too, unless Forrest knew for sure Wyatt was gone and not coming back. That thought only made it stranger, how Alex had never quite gotten used to sharing his space with him, sharing a bed, sharing a life. For the thousandth time he wondered what was wrong with him, but he took a deep breath and cut that feeling loose and let it float away. What good was a question with no answer to him now? It was a search he’d never finish, and he would have to learn to live with it.

It felt wrong to leave something before it was finished. To turn his back on a piece of himself before examining every inch of it under the light, to cut loose a string without following it to its end and seeing where it led. But to force it would only make things worse, and he’d done enough of that already.

By the time Alex parked, shut off his car, and gathered his willpower to approach the house, the door was open, and Forrest was waiting for him on the porch. He looked…great. Normal. He’d touched up his hair; his eyes were well-rested and sharp; his fingers and neck dripped with jewelry, and Alex could recognize the look for the armor it was. His own leather jacket was a solid weight across his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said with an awkward wave.

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

Forrest just snorted and moved aside, sitting in a rocking chair and nudging the one beside it with his foot. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Sitting, they were silent for a while, the world peaceful around them—birds chirping, sun shining, the whole nine yards. Alex watched a small lizard creep across the dirt below the porch railing until it disappeared beneath the house.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you about Michael. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry for how I acted and the things I said.”

He swallowed, grimaced, almost, the words juvenile and inadequate to his own ears.

“About Michael staying with you, or…about Michael,” Forrest replied, guarded.

“The first one. Well—both, as it turns out. I thought…I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry for not telling you that Michael was staying over; that was shitty, I knew the whole time it was shitty, and I did it anyway because I didn’t want to fight. But at the same time, I had no idea you were worried about, well, me cheating on you.”

Sighing, Forrest said, “I told you, man. Unfinished business. It’s kind of visible from space. Before this, I wouldn’t even have thought I was a jealous person, can you believe that? I should have said something to you, but I thought I could just power through it.”

“I guess we both learned things about ourselves,” Alex said wryly. “I didn’t think I had anything to hide, but when it came time to say something about Michael to you, I just clammed up. Would I have felt that way if it was Kyle staying over? Probably not. But I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“Huh.” Forrest paused. He rocked his chair slowly forward and back, hands folded on his stomach.

“Did I act weird? Shifty, like I was hiding something?” Alex asked, awkward and vulnerable, embarrassed at how poorly he knew himself, how poorly he knew how he should have acted to not even know that much.

“No, not really. Well, you were pretty distant, but,” he shrugged, “there’s nothing wrong with needing space. It was just…you know, you sang that song at the Pony when we got together, and I had an inkling it was about Guerin, but for some reason I thought I could handle it. Dating a guy who was in love with someone else, who was trying to move on. But it didn’t work like that, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex repeated weakly. “I really thought I was ready. I didn’t mean to lie to you; mostly I was lying to myself. But I know it doesn’t make it any better.”

“Can I ask you a question? Point blank?”

“Um, sure. Go ahead.”

“Were you cheating on me with Guerin?”

“No.” That, at least, he could say firm and clear.

Forrest took a deep breath, dropped his eyes, then looked out across the desert. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.”

Briefly, Alex had to push down the urge to lash out defensively like he had during their previous fight. Had he really done so much to deserve that scrutiny while they were together?

“Thank you,” he said, not sure of what else needed to be.

“I appreciate you coming here and being honest. I mean…it still kind of stings for things to end this way, but. I do appreciate it. And, well, I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“Showing up and exploding like that without giving you some warning. I mean, I’m kind of not sorry it brought things to a head in the end, but it was still rude.”

“No, I should’ve—”

Forrest held up a hand to stall Alex. “No, seriously, dude. The martyr act is cute, but I’m a big boy. Your house is covered in cameras, and you need like two weeks of warning for a coffee date; I knew better than to think showing up like that would be a cute surprise.”

“Oh. Um.” Alex floundered for a way to respond to that. He felt seen, pinned under the lamp of an insight he hadn’t known Forrest had. It was itchy.

“Um, thanks. For the apology. And I get what you mean, about being sorry it happened but not sorry that…well. I really am sorry it ended this way.” If not that it was ending at all.

“Are you?” Forrest raised an eyebrow. “You’re a free agent now. I half-expect Guerin to send me flowers by Saturday.”

Alex winced. But still, he said, “Okay, that’s fair. We kind of, um…”

Forrest let out an ugly snort. “You know, most people double check after a fight like that. Damn, I’m glad I was already planning on breaking up with you for good if you hadn’t gotten the message.”

“I…I know. The way it happened, it just…” Alex sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “I won’t make excuses. You have every right to be mad.”

“I am mad. And hurt,” Forrest said matter-of-factly. “But maybe not as much as I thought I’d be, once the shock cooled off.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.” A smile flickered on Forrest’s mouth, and he shrugged. “Looking back on it, it kind of feels like we’d been forcing it for a while, huh.”

Alex matched him hesitant smile for hesitant smile. Between them there were stacks of stilted conversations and unmade plans, awkward mornings and missed connections. From the morning Fields barged into Alex’s life to the moment he thought he saw his brother at the airport, in the past few weeks there were a number of times Alex had found himself unable to reach out across a gap and meet Forrest there. He’d thought it was just something wrong with him; it was an unbelievable relief to find that Forrest felt the same.

“You might be right,” he confessed.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Forrest sighed. “Damn. That’s probably why my head went straight to cheating.”

“You don’t have to find a way to even that scale,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “I was wrong; I won’t back down from that. But Michael aside, I never wanted to hurt you, Forrest. And I’m sorry I did.”

Forrest chewed on his lip, an old nervous habit. He had a pinprick scar just there, a souvenir from a piercing he’d grown out of, and when Alex would kiss him there, he’d smile. Alex was walking away from this with warm memories, sweet new patterns in the weaving of his life, unexpected treasures. And that in itself was something to cherish, no matter how much their relationship faded into history.

“Yeah, well, same here.”

“You didn’t hurt me, now you’re the one trying to even the scale—” Alex protested.

Forrest cut him off. “I like you, Alex, and I liked our jam sessions, and you made my time in Roswell suck so much less than I thought it would. But there’s a universe where we’re sitting on opposite ends of this, because my book is way more almost done than I’d let on to you just yet, so. Thanks for being such an almost-two-timing emotionally constipated jerk so when I tell my friends this story five years from now I can totally get all the sympathy.”

Alex let out a surprised snort that turned into laughter, and Forrest joined him, if a little more subdued than he’d normally be.

When they collected themselves, Forrest wiped some wetness away from his eyes and said, “Seriously, though, Alex, I hope he makes you happy. Because I don’t think we did that for each other, in the long run.”

“I hope that for you, too, Forrest,” Alex replied softly. “You deserve someone way less fucked up than me.”

“Nah, cut that crap out. We’re all a little bit fucked up.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It is true. You, me, whoever I date next. My old granny,” he said with the first true smile of the afternoon. “And Guerin, too.”

His smile dropped as quickly as it had appeared, and he leaned forward, reaching out and putting his hand on Alex’s knee; Alex almost shied away, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I just want to make sure,” Forrest said, voice gentle—a gentleness Alex didn’t trust. His composure broke, and he drew back, the slight movement causing Forrest to drop his hand. He continued, “Guerin…he’s what you want? Truly, this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Alex snapped, no hesitation.

“Okay. Just, if you’re sure. If this is really your choice.”

Alex’s patience ripped clean in two. “I know the two of you spent some time together at the library,” he said, voice level and deliberate, “but from what I can tell, you don’t know him at all, so spare me this paternalism, okay? I can make my own choices. Whatever assumptions you’re making—”

“Okay! Okay.” Forrest held his hands up in surrender, but it did nothing to cool Alex’s temper. “I just had to ask.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“Noted.”

Alex stood stiffly, and Forrest followed just a second behind. They stood and stared at each other for a few seconds, Alex waiting for him to make a move, Forrest waiting for something Alex couldn’t figure.

Then Forrest stuck out his hand. In the same motion, Alex half-turned, made himself sideways, a smaller target, flowing out of the path if that hand continued forward in a blow. But no, it stayed still halfway between them. Forrest didn’t comment on his reaction. Alex reached out and shook his hand.

“I’ll see you around sometime,” Forrest said. His smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

“Take care of yourself, Forrest,” Alex replied.

He left the Long farm the same way he came, down the same dirt road, down the same path in his head, with the same almost-nostalgia. Leaving looked a hundred different ways, and he’d been a hundred different times, but this time the scenery was new, and he was ready to be home.

(15:00)

A lot of work went into making Alex’s house a home.

When he moved from the Valenti cabin closer to town, it was out of necessity, even if it took him a long time to admit it. It was a victory over his own stubbornness and solitude and maladaptive independence, a concession to comfort that surprised even himself. It made his life better. He was closer to work; he was closer to his friends; he had an accessible bathroom, and something he’d considered so small before helped him along a journey he’d barely acknowledged toward accepting and appreciating the body he lived in now. But changing environments wasn’t easy for him. He’d had to put a year’s worth of care into finding the perfect location and fitting the house there to be someplace he could feel secure without complete solitude for miles around him, between the cameras and the vantage point of the patio and the orientation of his bedroom within the house and just everything from top to bottom. He’d fought hard. He won.

And then he came home from breaking up with his ex-boyfriend to find a strange car in his driveway.

Well, not entirely strange. He’d seen it once before. But when he saw it, it was from the vantage point of his own front door, not from the outside.

The car had room to park in the driveway because Michael’s truck was gone, and that was the only mercy Alex knew as he parked in the street and unholstered his gun. Michael wasn’t here; he was safe with Isobel or Max or Sanders or someone—someone who wasn’t Alex, who thought he had a safe space, a space to protect Michael, but in the end had nothing at all. The house hadn’t been empty since Michael’s injury, but now that he was on the mend, it was at times. Michael was alone at times.

Was this the first time Fields had come by? What was stopping her from returning with backup and taking Michael away?

Gun in one hand, phone in the other, there was one defensive maneuver on Alex’s mind before he confronted his enemy.

Michael answered quickly, though every second felt like an eternity as Alex watched Fields watch him, face expressionless, body language placid in her place between him and his own front door.

“Alex—” His voice came through, so light and happy it stole the breath from Alex’s chest. He was okay. He wasn’t shoved in the back of a van, chained and muffled and senseless, his truck abandoned in a ditch somewhere in the desert.

He didn’t let him finish. “Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

Worry stole the light from Michael’s tone, but Alex could beat himself up for causing that later. “Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

Alex hung up on him and stowed his phone before leaving the car and crossing the street.

“Captain!” Fields said cheerfully from one of his patio chairs. Her eyes flicked down and clocked Alex’s weapon held at his side, but her demeanor didn’t change.

“What is this about? Get off my property,” Alex almost snarled.

“Sure, Captain. Your call.”

She stood, adjusted her skirt, and pulled her phone from her pocket. It couldn’t have rung more than once before she said, all lightness gone from her tone, “Get me Sgt. Manes.”

Cold clarity broke over Alex’s head and trickled through his veins. His arms snapped up and locked into place, gun pointed directly at Fields, unwavering.

“Hang up,” he ordered.

“You’re in control here,” she replied. “I’ve given you all the time in the world, and now I’m giving you more.” She angled her phone away from her face so he could hear the tinny hold music blaring from the speaker. “If you’re going to keep avoiding me, I’m going to call someone in who has answers and gets results. Or are you prepared to do that for me?”

The music measured the seconds as Alex considered his options, mind apart from motionless body. Project Shepherd, the source of so much pain, so many nightmares. He still didn’t really know what Fields wanted from him, except to continue his father’s work.

But he didn’t have to do that, did he? Put him at the helm of the Project, and he could quietly shut it down from the inside, erase it from existence, reduce it down to nothing. Euthanasia of a legacy.

In a perfect world, if Alex were a perfect man, he would. The path was paved with solid golden intention—but the end of it was hazy. How many times had Alex seen a stranger in the mirror and known he needed to get away from the military to find himself again behind his father’s shadow, and how many times had he made a different decision? How could he be sure this time would be different, that he wouldn’t find reason after reason that Project Shepherd was a necessary evil, that with himself heading it, he was keeping his loved ones safe, working for the greater good, even if they didn’t understand—all in the same uniform of generations, the uniform Michael could barely look at?

So, then, the other choice. Walk away. Let Fields call in Flint or promote some other career man to do what they would, set their traps, work in secret for the eradication of a threat that might never come at the expense of everything Alex held dear. No control, no insight, how many times would he have to fear the ultimate loss, Michael, dead, Maria, dead, their loved ones, dead, their accusing eyes on him.

The uniform laid to rest and packed away, a closed chapter in a life that still had so much living worth in it.

The music looped. Alex’s steady arm began to ache. He was running out of time.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Fields said, voice low and convincing past the jangling notes and Alex’s own pounding heartbeat. “This work isn’t just your legacy, it’s rewarding in its own right. Have you ever wanted to settle down, have a family? This offer comes with total security. No more moving around, way less following orders. I’m sure your lover would appreciate it too—”

That snapped Alex out of his frozen poise, the clanging dissonance making him snort. “My lover? You’re a little late with that one; we just broke up.” He dropped his gun hand. “Hang up the phone. Here’s your answer.”

“Go ahead.”

“The answer’s no.”

Fields’s face turned down, but, true to her word, she pressed end call. Alex reholstered his gun.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I was looking forward to working with you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so too,” Alex replied, surprising even himself that he’d be that candid. But something about Fields’s demeanor diminished with the threat of Flint on hold, almost like she’d pushed so hard because this was something she wanted, rather than something she was under orders to obtain.

Even with her phone silent, though, it represented the same thing—a direct line to Flint, an accessory to a job offer, putting someone with his track record highly placed to wreak havoc. But if Alex made all his decisions based on that fear, he’d never be free. He’d spend the rest of his life running into airport bathrooms after strangers.

And maybe he would anyway. Refusing to let himself be intimidated this once wouldn’t eradicate the real threat the aliens lived under every day. But allowing himself to live between those moments—he owed himself that much.

Shocking Alex further, Fields stuck out her hand, and he shook it.

“Apologies if I was overzealous, sir. I’ve been told I need to work on my impulsivity.”

“It’s—” Alex let out a weak laugh. “Water under the bridge, Lieutenant. What’s with this change of attitude?”

She shrugged. “Disappointment, I guess. A little embarrassment that I waited so long for no payoff. But I won’t force the issues. My superiors have other options.”

There was a veiled threat in there, too, but Alex was too tired to force the issue either. For the second time today, he resigned himself to walking away from stalemate.

“Goodbye, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping aside to let her get to her car.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

The last Alex saw of her was the back of her head driving away. And when she disappeared into the heat haze, he collapsed back into a chair, muscles weak and vision swimming. He stuck his head between his knees and sucked in deep breaths until he landed back inside his body.

When he could stand again, he did, pointing his body toward the door and marching inside. The door was still locked: no sign of forced entry anywhere, not in the front or the back or any of the windows Alex checked methodically, sash, latch, frame. The safe and medicine cabinet were both untouched; he checked each twice; he opened every closet and cabinet door on autopilot. He got on the floor to check beneath both beds; he pulled back the shower curtains.

And when there were no more places to check, he stood in the center of his house, staring down his own cameras, trying to break through the walls his own brain put down around him, trying to regain control.

So on edge, Alex wheeled around seconds before a car screeched into the driveway, the pounding of feet, the scrape of a key in the lock and the door thrown open, and—

“Alex!” Michael cried.

He bounded around the corner, wild-eyed and frantic, and as soon as he spotted Alex standing there, he rushed to him, arms already outstretched. Alex barely got his own arms up in time to catch him, but he didn’t need to; Michael was enough for both of them, steady and strong and there, solid arms around Alex, almost lifting him an inch off his feet. His hands clutched at Alex’s back with a desperation that registered only dimly.

“Alex,” he breathed again, holding him, if possible, even closer, pressing their foreheads together and sucking in a deep shuddery breath. “You’re okay, fuck, I was so scared—”

“I told you to stay away,” Alex said weakly.

Michael’s answering laugh was just as weak, almost hysterical. “You know I’m a rebel.”

They drifted like that for a minute or two, Michael’s warm, soft-rough palms cradling Alex’s face, grounding the both of them, letting their souls settle. Then, he stepped back, those hands on Alex’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.

“You’re okay? You’re not hurt? That phone call—you scared the shit out of me, Alex, what the hell happened?”

“When I got home, Fields was waiting for me.”

“What? Fuck!”

“I freaked out, I had to make sure you were safe, that you stayed safe—”

“Are you safe? What did she want? What did she do?”

“I’m fine. Physically, I’m fine,” Alex let his eyes fall shut, wrapping his hands around Michael’s wrists, fragile bones in his grip, and he let Michael hold him, shutting off his senses.

“Okay. Okay, Alex. I’ve got you,” Michael rasped, pressing into him even closer.

“I told her no,” Alex blurted out, pressing right back, starting them swaying back and forth. There was no other way to get close enough but to push and pull, no matter how much they tried to meld themselves into one.

“What?”

“Fields, I—I told her no. No Project Shepherd. No.”

“Alex.”

Michael’s fingers sought across his face, stroking, feeling, calloused finger pads on his brows, his cheekbones, fit so gently against the line of his jaw, tracing his lips and the corners of his eyes, and then Michael’s lips caressed him too, forehead, nose, then mouth, and by the time he was done, Alex’s breath hitched and his body shook.

“I love you,” Michael whispered. “I love you so much. You are—you are so fucking strong, you know that? I know, I know how hard this is, but I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” Alex replied helplessly.

“It’s going to be okay, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, Michael spoke with confidence, such a tiny, intimate assurance, no matter how unlikely, no matter how utopian, like a siren it sung to Alex to let go, to give his fear and stress over into Michael’s hands, and he needed somewhere physical for that feeling to go, so he looped his arms loosely around Michael’s neck and rested there.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admitted. “I don’t know how bad I fucked up—I don’t know how long she was here before I got back—there was no sign of entry, and I checked the house, but I don’t know—I don’t know—”

“Let’s sit down, okay? I’ll get you something to drink, and your meds, if you want, and I’ll, uh, let me tell Max he can go home…” Michael said sheepishly.

“Max?”

“Yeah, he was with me when you called and wasn’t gonna let me rush over here by myself if there was trouble.”

“Good man,” Alex said weakly.

Moving stiff, he sat on the couch. Michael flitted around him for a second, adjusting pillows, giving him a blanket, fingers trailing over him like he wasn’t quite willing to be out of arm’s length. He tore himself away, though, and Alex tracked him from one end of the house to the other, front door, bathroom, kitchen, and when he came back to Alex’s side he was barefoot, glass of water and pill bottle in hand, and he sat on the floor below Alex, leaning back against him, folding himself so his forehead rested against Alex’s hip and Alex could rest his hand in Michael’s hair.

“They’re not going to take you,” Alex promised. “No matter what it takes, whether I told her yes or no, I won’t let them have you.”

“I know,” Michael replied. “But I won’t let you give yourself up, either. We’re together. In everything. No matter what happens.”

“No—”

“That’s why I didn’t listen to you when you told me to stay away,” Michael explained, lifting his head enough to look Alex in the eye. He was as serious as Alex had ever seen him. “You can’t ask that of me. We stand together. That’s…that’s a line in the sand, okay?”

Alex swallowed. “I can’t promise I won’t say something like that again.”

“I know. But just understand—whenever you do, I’m gonna disobey.”

Alex’s eyes slipped shut, lips pressed together, riding out the fear, the straight shot of catastrophe in his brain. Michael’s words, so clear and steady, so different from the people they’d been, the places their relationship languished. Alex had to respect that, even knowing it would likely cause them to fight for the rest of their lives.

“I love you,” he repeated, the best acknowledgment he could give.

Michael smiled, crinkling the corners of his honey-sweet eyes, and Alex twisted a hand in the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward into a deep, sweeping kiss. He moved easy with every move of Alex’s, half-crouched to crawling up onto Alex’s thighs, then onto the couch to straddle his lap, his hot mouth driving deep against Alex’s. Alex’s hands went to his hair, gripping and tugging those soft curls, sliding down his back and back up, they made out on the couch like the teenagers they used to be.

Pulling back to breathe, but not so far Alex couldn’t shift to kissing down his throat and chest, Michael panted, “Bedroom? Do we wanna—should we--?”

“Uh,” Alex stalled out, the light from the window warm where it pooled, Michael’s hardening cock warm where it pressed against Alex’s belly through their clothes. The world was out there, the camera, in the corner, and Alex weighed his options, immediate gratification versus comfort and privacy.

Did they have any privacy, anyway? The image of Fields waiting, alone, at his house, free reign to tamper with whatever she wanted, haunted the edges of Alex’s mind.

“Alex?” Michael asked softly, brushing his fingertips through the overlong ends of his hair.

Their faces were only inches apart, their breaths mingling between lips and lungs, and there wasn’t anything Alex would let keep them from nurturing the happiness finally within their grasp.

“Yes,” Alex said, palming Michael’s hips, “Yes, bedroom.”

Sliding off his lap, Michael reached out a hand, and Alex took it, heat zinging up his arm where they were joined. Michael led the way until they reached the bedroom, where he hesitated beside the bed, watching Alex under his lashes. So Alex sat, pulling him by his belt loops back to straddle his lap like he had on the couch, running his hands up and down Michael’s body as he settled in, his own arms warm and solid around Alex’s neck.

The world held still, then, their eyes locked, electric and hypnotic, Alex’s hands twitching where they rested on Michael’s strong thighs, the scent of rain sharp and sweet in his nose and mouth with every inhale, every breath made tactile in puffs of heat in the space between them. The longer the moment stretched, the higher the temperature climbed, blood filling Alex’s cheeks, blood filling his cock as he waited for Michael’s next move.

That move was to lower his lips to Alex’s once again, slipping his hot, velvet tongue behind Alex’s lips and along his own tongue, flicking it against the roof of his mouth as he opened and relaxed into the languid kiss. As their mouths moved, so did Michael’s hands, cupping his neck then sliding down his shoulders to his chest. He dragged his thumbnails across Alex’s nipples, making him gasp and hiss, and Alex could feel the wicked smirk spread across his mouth even as he didn’t let up, nibbling his lower lip. Hips beginning to sway, Michael’s hands finished their journey at Alex’s waist, under his shirt and tugging it up—it was unthinkable to separate them, but they managed to wrench their mouths apart long enough to pull Alex’s shirt over his head—and then back down, he fumbled with the button on Alex’s jeans, fighting for access to his hardening cock.

Not to be outpaced, Alex did the same, making short work of Michael’s button and zipper even as he was distracted by the heat and velvet and texture of his chest and the sweet line of hair pointing down to his cock. Michael got up on his knees to shimmy his jeans down under his ass, tugging Alex’s off too, and when they were down to just the thin cotton of their underwear Michael let out a soft wavery sound, buzzing right into Alex’s mouth so he could taste the pleasure on it, frotting their cocks together, rubbing the weight of his body down against Alex. With every grind, his ass rolled against Alex’s thighs, a delicious tease, but not tonight, not tonight, it didn’t have to be tonight, taking everything of each other, they had so much time to explore every facet of their intimacy, every way to make each other climax, complete, come up and down all on each other.

“Come on, Michael,” Alex murmured, holding his hips as he ground down again. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Alex,” Michael whispered back, all reverence.

“You’re so—fucking—” Beautiful, hot, incredible, amazing, all words that Alex didn’t even need to say, saying would cheapen them, and they had a better language, anyway. He tugged at the waistband of Michael’s boxers, and Michael’s dick bobbed free, hard and hot and Alex wrapped a hand around it, luxuriating in the texture and weight of it in his hand. He gave it one easy, loose stroke and Michael shuddered, another little sound falling from his lips.

They got into a rhythm quick—Michael slid his hand into Alex’s underwear to match him stroke for stroke, their hips moving in time, knuckles brushing every time they came together. Alex rolled his thumb over Michael’s slit and dragged the drop of precum collected down his vein, then let out a bitten-off cry when Michael did the same. Even the things Alex could predict were surprising at Michael’s hands.

After minutes of this, after sweat slicked the pace between them, hearts pounding, senses flooded, Michael shifted even closer, chasing Alex’s hand away as it came up his shaft, so he could wrap them both up and jerk them together, fast and rough, both of them fucked Michael’s hand and fucked against each other, Alex’s teeth on Michael’s ear, Michael’s lips against his cheek. Alex dug his nails into the meat of Michael’s shoulders, riding out every wave of pleasure until finally he came in messy, artless spurts over Michael’s hand.

Michael followed shortly behind, a stuttering moan and a pulse of pleasure, and then they both fell back onto the mattress, panting and laughing. They rolled toward each other like magnets, Michael slipping a leg between Alex’s thighs.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael promised, serenity and certainty in every line of his face, and Alex sighed, pulling his hand to his chest and holding it there.

Michael couldn’t make that promise. Alex couldn’t make that promise. He had, before, and the universe turned it into a cruel joke. Believing it now would be a hard-fought battle.

“As long as we’re together, we’ll get through it,” Michael amended, and it drew a small smile to Alex’s face.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will. But you don’t have to do it alone. You aren’t doing it alone.”

Alex answered him with another kiss, sealing it as truth between them.

(Thursday, 07:00)

Michael watched Alex through one lovely tawny eye as he went through the room double-checking there was no stray shirt of Forrest’s or toy of Buffy’s to collect before he made his last trip to the Long farm, to put paid to his and Forrest’s relationship once and for all.

“It’s early,” he said muzzily, through lips still mashed to the sheets warm with his sleep.

“I don’t want to keep this waiting,” Alex said with a wave of his hand, grabbing the bag of Forrest’s things. “Not while I have the day off. Get this done, then get back with plenty of time to prepare for our meeting.”

“Mmm, so efficient.”

“I do my best,” Alex said, hoping it came off as charming. “What are you up to today?”

Raising himself up on his hands, Michael arched his back in a luxurious stretch, muscles shifting in the early morning sun. He groaned as his muscles clenched and released and a couple joints popped, then said in his sweet early-morning rasp, “I should put in a couple hours at Sanders’s. Do we know everyone is coming today? Should I cut out early and meet you back here, or will you guys just be coming to the junkyard anyway?”

“I’ll touch base with everyone, but we’ll probably come to you.”

“Sounds good.” Michael stretched again, then swung his legs around to sit on the bed. One side of his face was flushed, one side of his curls scrunched. A bubble of light filled up Alex’s chest, and he cradled it so carefully, letting it show on his face, just for Michael.

Smiling back at him and rubbing one eye, Michael gestured at the bag of Forrest’s things and said, “How are you feeling? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replied, shifting the strap on his shoulder. Then, jaw working his face into a grimace, he added, “And that’s weird, right? I shouldn’t be fine? We dated for months—I should feel something.”

For weeks after his breakup with Maria, Michael had lurked on the edges of himself, head tucked between his shoulders, hands in his pockets. And now Alex turned his back with one last box on a to-do list, a final chore of separation. What did that make him?

“Hey,” Michael said, beckoning Alex forward and sliding his hands to cup his hips when he came. “Look, I don’t have a lot of experience in this area either, but enough with the should, okay? The only feelings you gotta feel are your own. You deal with breaking up however you need to, and so will Forrest.”

Alex took a measured breath, counting in, counting out. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Michael said, kissing him softly right on his sternum, above his anxious heart. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alex left a parting kiss on Michael’s forehead and left him to get dressed and get to work. Making the drive to the Long farm for a second time in as many days was even more alien than the first; had he ever gone to Forrest’s so frequently as now, at the end?

The only feelings you gotta feel are your own, Michael said, with the wisdom of many years of terrible feeling, so as he drove, Alex did just that. One of the last sweet moments of their relationship was in a car just like this, playlist on the speakers half indie, half punk, both of them singing along to Pretty. Odd., where the two intersected, an album neither of them liked all that much in isolation but belted out together. For the rest of their lives, whenever those songs came on, for a moment they’d be back in a car together; wherever Forrest went next, in little three-minute bursts his phone would carry a dark desert road with Alex beside him.

For the rest of the drive, Alex turned on his music and let it play.

When he got to the farm and called Forrest, he came out of the house harried. “Why did I think you were bringing this stuff tomorrow?” he asked, a scowl on his face.

“I’m not sure; I had the day off and I thought—”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

A snappish retort leapt easily to Alex’s mind, but he held back. Forrest had reason enough to be mad, and if this was how he felt his feelings, they were broken up now—Alex abdicated soothing and fixing, and he’d take Forrest’s anger on the chin.

Forrest’s eyes darted toward Wyatt’s truck parked on the dirt drive beside Alex and said, “You should get out of here. Have a good life, Alex. I mean that.”

And just like that, Alex’s mind flipped and he couldn’t help himself. “If Wyatt is—”

“No, no, he’s mostly harmless. To me, anyway. But him seeing you here would be more trouble than it’s worth, so.” Forrest shouldered the bag of his things and half-turned away. “Bye.”

Alex didn’t move until Forrest disappeared back inside, gripping the steering wheel too tight until his fingers went cold and stiff. Fuck, maybe he should have waited to return this stuff, or just ditched it; all the closure from their last conversation soured on the tongue. But it was over now. Alex threw the car in reverse.

Then he threw it back into park a few yards down the lane, just out of sight of the main house. Wyatt was always more trouble than he was worth, but something was wrong in Forrest’s tone, and Alex would find out what. He had time, at least an hour, to sweep Wyatt’s most likely haunts, from the horse barn to his rigged-up shooting range.

Head on a swivel, Alex moved methodically, hot and dusty within minutes. The barn bustled with activity, so Alex gave it a wide berth, abandoning it as an option with no sign of Wyatt’s dulcet tones cutting through the air.

His mental map of the farm was imperfect at best, so Alex headed to the shooting range by way of the old barn, despite the distance out of his way, an acceptable risk when compared to the prospect of getting lost.

There was no time to linger, but the sight of the old building and fallen tree struck Alex with twin nostalgia and grief. Tripp’s dog tags hung body-hot beneath his shirt, and he let them, closing his eyes and focusing on that feeling, the chain around his neck, the weight of decades of inaction. He drifted closer to the barn, like returning Tripp’s tags to this place had some sort of meaning, whether blessing or blasphemy, Alex wasn’t sure.

He was still too far away to smell the rain burnt into the wood. Would it have smelled the same in Tripp’s time, rich and loving?

Alex hoped not.

Just as he turned to leave on that sour thought, a familiar voice drifted from inside the barn, freezing Alex in his tracks.

“I’m asking you again—are you—or not?”

What was Max doing here?

Alex crept closer. The response was clearer and came from Wyatt, loud and protesting.

“How are you even asking that right now? I’ve been doing all the shit you tell me for months, you gotta give me some quid pro quo—”

The last three words were a mocking drawl.

The response came, “Everything I’ve told you will come to pass, Mr. Long. Now’s not the time for doubters.”

That wasn’t Max. Alex’s heart pounded in his throat.

“Tsch. Whatever.”

“You’ve come far, Mr. Long. And, as always, I appreciate your talent for gathering information. Your eyes within the town are indispensable.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And you will be duly rewarded: doubly so for patience. Time is of the essence; I have to move while Manes is away—”

The sound of his name flashed hot and sharp through Alex’s frozen body, every nerve coming to life and screaming one thing: home.

#malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #malex

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stargaze-issei · 3 years

Text

— 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐨 !

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; catching feelings as fuck buddies with bokuto.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; suggestive themes.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; idk lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1470

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; this is more a word dump and i'm not sure if it makes sense bc i wrote this in class. anyways, bokuto brainrot 😌

a glance across his bed sheets was enough to delight your sight with bokuto’s broad back, you could hear his deep breath and imagine his strong chest going up and down, just to let yourself drown in the peace of a morning after. the chances of spending a night with him were high, but mornings were a different matter. his figure always laid by your side for a few minutes, both trying to catch your breath back. such an intimate touch you shared minutes ago only for him to avoid your skin now. once koutaro rested enough, he usually got up, dressed while talking about a random topic, never addressing to your close encounters and kissed your head goodbye before leaving your house. that’s what you agreed to, although it always hurt to see how easy it was for him.

he turned around, still completely asleep, his hands searching for you in bed. you thought, he searched for you, you hoped. there’s no harm in dreaming, you would say to yourself, unless those fantasies involved a future with someone who, in reality, didn’t want you. not the way you did.

“did i wake you?” his voice was raspier than usual, despite being almost whispering it made you jump on your place. “was i snoring?” bokuto’s arm found its way to wrap you in a hug, bringing you closer to him. your heart started to race at the sudden touch, he wasn’t entirely naked anymore, and it wasn’t the first nor the last time you touched his bare chest, but sex couldn’t compare with feeling his strong arms pulling you in, his warm chest providing you of the needed hot, feeling his breath on your neck.

“uh, no, i woke up a while ago” you answered. although you barely got any sleep, to be near kou was enough to keep you in your tiptoes through the whole night.

“are you hungry? i think i have some leftovers from dinner”

“we’re having breakfast? i thought—” a sleepy chuckled abandoned his throat at your comment, interrupting you. he, again, accommodated himself in bed, taking distance from you as before.

“before all this, the sex i mean, we used to hang out a lot” bokuto reminds you teasingly, rubbing his eyes in order to wake up. “let’s go, we’re eating, take one of my shirts, you know where everything is” as his usual self, a stroke of energy hit him out of nowhere, making him jump outside of bed.

you sat, looking straight at him. the only piece of clothing he had on was his underwear, his hair was down and some scratches were left on his back. he walked towards the window to open the curtain and let the morning sun in, a wide smile planted on his face, contagiously making you smile too. what bokuto said before kept wondering in your mind, the time before your agreement, when he was just your friend, when that bubbly feeling in your stomach at the sight of him didn’t exist.

“come on, get up!” he bugged you, throwing one of his shirts to you. you smiled at his playfulness, a trait you hadn’t seen in a long time. your meetings slowly became less friendly and more focused on other subjects. before, you would know what he was stressing about and what he wanted to do for the weekend, now, instead, you knew that if you kissed the crook of his neck, a soft moan came out unpurposely of his mouth, or that his eyes rolled up and his mouth half opened when you caressed his inner thighs.

with a sigh, you pushed yourself out of bed, putting the given shirt above your shoulders. despite the subtle smell of soap, a hint of bokuto’s characteristic mint scent was still perceptible, provoking your head to go a little dizzy. you walked outside the room, following bokuto to the kitchen, where he was already preparing the scrambled eggs.

“i thought we were having leftovers.” you joked, sitting close to him to admire his morning face. it never failed to amaze you how effortlessly beautiful koutaro could be.

“we haven’t actually spent time together in a while, our reunion deserves more than leftovers.” his words were accompanied by a wink. you knew anything he said had no secret meaning, he was just blatantly showing his character, his nice, charming character, captivating everyone around him, including you. his acts had no malice hidden in them, you were aware of that, bokuto was just one of those people.

“what do you mean? we saw each other like a week ago” you knew what he meant, you knew it better than him, but playing dumb was the only way you had to hide your true feelings.

as you ate, he told you all about his practice with the black jackals, his new teammates, how amazing they were and how excited he was to play in a professional team. he had been beyond busy, promoting the team and himself, hence to why he barely had time to reach to you or anyone outside his volleyball world. he talked about hinata, his so called apprentice, his new setter “nowhere better than akaashi'', and the second best hitter of his team, behind him. hours went by as both of you told stories and laughed over them, bonding like you did when you first met. for a moment, you thought maybe your love wasn’t as one sided as you thought, his smiles, his glowing eyes, his hugs and jokes, could easily point at that wished situation, where you could openly fall in love with him and not being just a sex compannion for the day.

“yeah, i know, but– we didn’t exactly speak” bokuto seemed oddly comfortable in the kitchen, talking and looking for anything he needed. he kneeled in front of a cabinet, took out a wooden plank, and then placed the pan above it, in front of you. “voilá” he grinned.

the sun wasn’t up in the sky anymore, sunset lights painted the whole of bokuto’s living room, including the coach where you both sat. his arm was across your shoulders, your head rested on his chest, and his loose hand played with your head. you could've swore that was your place in the world, always beside him, the ray of hope of having a reciprocate love with bokuto koutaro made you feel like floating. his lips searched your head before taking away his hug and getting up from the couch.

“it’s getting late, i’ll drive you home.” he offered, a soft gesture forming in his face. you accepted, any excuse to be around him for a few more minutes was enough for you.

the drive to your place was quiet, he seemed focused on the roads so he didn’t notice your constant staring, or so you thought. bokuto wasn’t as clueless as everyone thought, he paid attention to details and made pretty accurate conclusions, that he decided to keep them to himself was something else. he had an idea of what was behind your staring, your longing touch, your sad glances everytime he left you in bed. he had already figured out what was going on on your mind, and he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t questioned himself in those exact situations. he felt different when he was with you, since the beginning, even before your pact, you were always special to bokuto. but he knew, in the bottom of his heart, he knew he couldn’t profess his somewhat feelings for you. first, because he had no time for anything besides his career, and he was sure you deserved someone who devoted their heart to you as much as you did for them. second, he didn’t have the heart to tell you he knew all along. you were his friend, his most precious friend, and break your heart was not a thing he could bear.

bokuto parked outside your door, shooting a quick glance at you before unlocking the door. you looked at him, searching for a sign that gave him off. unlucky for you, bokuto was set on keeping his things to himself, convinced that he was doing the right thing to keep you unharmed. a sigh left your mouth before opening your door.

“i guess i’ll see you later, bo” a hint of sadness was in your voice, but bokuto couldn’t bring himself to do anything but say goodbye.

“sure, i’ll call you next weekend to our regular appointment” accompanied with a wink on his face.

you got off, trying to hold back the tears gathering in your eyes. if you had looked back, you would’ve seen bokuto’s heart breaking as he watched you walk away from him.

maybe i was making it all up.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto haikyuu #bokuto imagines #bokuto koutaro #bokuto scenario #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #– star's; originals! [❀]

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battle-of-roses · 3 years

Text

When Rome Burns : Part 1

TW : Logan Roy's A+ Parenting, Manipulative Logan

By @your-gay-cousin-clover

---

With a certain hint of trepidation, Tom starts dressing himself to meet up with Shiv in downtown New York. The plan was pretty simple for the day: meet up with Shiv, find a gift for her father, put on his best Midwest honourable fellow personality and charm the pants of all her family. He stopped for a moment in the middle of his bedroom, standing there in his white button up, boxers and black socks, biting his lip on whether to take the gold ring, he’d picked out a week ago, to the party. After all this time he had spent with her, ever since their whirlwind romance in Hong Kong, he was sure that she was the one for him. His soulmate, the-one-who-he-got, his loml. The question was of when?

The party would be a good place to propose. Lavish surroundings, her entire family, and a pretty pricey ring to show his commitment to her. All eggs in your basket, he’d say if- when she said yes. And it would all be fine and okay. He starts to daydream for a moment, his dreams flying higher than just becoming Logan Roy’s son-in-law, maybe he’d join in the business himself. He would swoop in, take over one of the main branches of Royco, maybe ATN and continue the family business until he had his own billionaire kids à la Shiv.

Beep! Beep!

His fantasies suddenly dashed down into the floor. He jerks and reaches to the phone on the table to receive the call. It’s Shiv.

“Hey honeybee,” he says in a sweet-syrupy tone that he hoped conveyed his affections accordingly.

“Where are you?”

He immediately frowns. Her tone is clipped sharp, a razor’s edge, threatening him to not speak a word off their usual script.

“I’m … ahh… just getting dressed. Oh, oh, how formal is the even supposed to be? Do you think I could sneak in a tartan tie pattern to impress your Dad?” He tries to detract from her irritation.

“The fuck, Tom? Don’t be silly. Just wear whatever you want, you’re not a pre-schooler. It’s a formal event, but don’t wear anything weird or embarrassing.” Her words just kick up a latent anger in him that he press down as per usual. It’s alright, maybe it’s her job that’s got her stressed.

He tries another jovial voice for a size. “Ok, love-,” he continues, but there’s no Shiv on the other side of the call. Just him and the dial tone mocking him.

Right.

Nothing weird or embarrassing.

He drops the ring into a drawer of his bedside table and shuts it close.

—

The day goes in its own pace and Shiv makes a hasty apology about her signal getting dropped in the elevator. He waves it off, he always goes. There’s no use holding on a grudge with his future-wife-to-be, on silly things like one too many passive aggressive words and brushed off endearments. And so, here he is now. Standing in the middle of an opulent penthouse living room, chatting pleasantries with Marcia, hands sweaty as he tightens his grasp on the gilded box with the watch.

It had been pretty expensive to purchase on his own. He and Shiv were comfortable, sure. But they - no, he wasn’t Olympus rich like the Roys, America’s number one conservative messiah. He hopes it’s enough. Enough for a job at ATN, enough for Shiv, above all, enough for Logan.

His fucking future hung on a balance because of a little ticking metal machine.

Ding!

There. The elevator’s number stuck still on their current floor and his breathing picks up. Everyone else collects around the door to waiting as the metal door open, but he stands back, alone. For a split second, he’s swallowed up in all the gold, gild and glamour around him and he simply can’t breathe.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of all this. No matter how brave, how much of a fucking asshole he pretends to be. He does not deserve to be here. He’s what? Got a few hundred thousand in his savings, while collectively in front of him stands the 3rd richest family in America. He just wants to bolt and never come back.

And in the same fleeting moment, the doubt hastily vaporises as Logan Roy himself steps into the view amidst loud yells of “Happy Birthday!”.

The moment he sees Logan, it’s something of oh, that echoes in his head. Like oh, he’s just an old man. And he indeed looks frazzled, startled by the sudden cheers. But he whispers something to Marcia, who takes his coat and hands it off to one of the numerous maids hurrying around the house.

And then he straightens up to face the crowd. There’s something in his eyes that makes Tom want to shrink back against the patterned wallpaper. Something fierce, something very calculating. He watches as Logan makes his way through the crowd of his children and nods absent-mindedly at everyone’s greetings.

“Shiv,” Logan says, turning to Shiv, his back to Tom “Where’s Wambsgans? I thought we invited him.”

Shiv’s expression falters for a second, perhaps debating whether her father’s joking or not. It’s clear, he’s not, when the beat of silence extends between them. She smiles back again, radiant. And gosh, Tom loves her so much.

“He’s behind you, Dad!”

Tom didn’t have much time to be mortified as Logan turned to him and stuck his hand out to shake. Awkwardly balancing his watch box on one hand, Tom tries to make grip firm and solid. Logan gives him two shakes and quickly removes his hand.

“Wambsgans, you’ve got a strong grip. Trying to break an old man’s hand, eh?”

Fuck. Of course, Logan Roy would be above all masculine handshaking bullshit that the Wall Street posers were really into. Logan knew he was the king of the world, didn’t need to prove it to any Tom-Dick-Harry on the street.

Logan’s already turning away from him, but Tom tries to swallow his foot down the throat trying not to make his first impression even worst. He lets out a laugh, but winces internally. Too braying, too harsh, too corny.

“Well, you’re not that weak, Mr Roy-“ He tries. He does. But Shiv already looks disappointed and Logan’s barely listening to him. His time to prove himself is running out.

Ding!

Everyone turns to look at the elevator again. Kendall Roy steps out the lift with his ex-wife and children in tow. He’s wearing that same black blue outfit combo, just like the one on Forbes, proudly declaring him as the HEIR WITH THE FLAIR. Tom has read Kendall’s entire wikipedia enough times to know that the stress marks and the lack of the photogenic smile was simply because of his age.

Drugs - Divorce - Demotion.

Yet like every American hero billionaire, Kendall got the second chance that could only be afforded to the rich and now, most probably, he was going to the Successor to the entire media conglomerate. Even then, Tom wouldn’t say that he exactly envies the other man.

“Ken!” Logan’s voice somehow sounds surprised as well as disappointed. “I didn’t think you’d come. Did we close the Vaulter deal?”

Kendall’s stance becomes a bit wooden as he reaches down to accept his father’s embrace. His ex turns to Marcia and hands off a wrapped box with a pleasant smile. The kids run off with Grace’s kid and Kendall stands there looking a bit unsettled as he answers “oh, no, no Dad. They’re still hammering out the details. I took a break to wish you on your birthday. Not sure how many more there might be.” The conversation mills a bit around the two, everyone leans in a bit to hear.

“You did?” Logan repeats with furrowed brows. “Well, where’s your cousin? I thought he’d rather come than you.”

Kendall looks taken aback for a moment. Everyone tries another round of conversation, but Tom simply nods along to other’s words as he tries to figure out information about the cousin. A cousin? Shiv’s never mentioned a cousin being involved in … well, anything.

“Greg?” Kendall asks, his voice uncertain. Logan looks him in the eye and shares a sardonic grin. “Yes, Greg. Unless Marianne happened to suddenly stop by. What’s he doing? Wasn’t he with you this morning?”

Kendall seems to shrink into himself under his father’s gaze. “Greg’s..” he starts and stops for a moment. “Greg’s with the team in the building. He wanted to finish the deal before joining the party.”

“Shame.” Logan says, “But good for him, as soon as we wrap up this deal the better. Anyway, kids, can I talk to you alone for a moment? I just want you to sign something.”

All of them exchange glances with each other, the meaning of which Tom is too novel to understand. All of them quietly follow in the steps of their father. The rest of them stare.

“So,” Marcia says, clapping her hands together. The sound echoes in the eerie silence devoid of birthday wishes. “Let’s get started on lunch shall we?”

—

On the way to the “game” which was highly requested in a cult-like chanting, Tom abruptly turns to Shiv and asks “I didn’t know you had cousin working at Waystar?”

She ceases typing on her phone and looks up with pinched brows, seemingly in thought. Tom watches the city go by in a blur from Shiv’s side of the window and waits. “

“Oh,” She says “You mean Greg? Yeah, he’s like my second cousin. Uncle Ewan’s only grandson, although I don’t think he’s seen them since he was ten? He’s chief strategist at Royco. You’ll see him soon enough when you join.”

A when, not an if. And immediately, Tom’s heart lifts. He fights a grin on his face and catches Shiv’s eye. She smiles a bit, the stress from her face falling away for a second and turns back to her phone.

All was well.

—

All was not well.

Tom kind of looks like an idiot. At least in his own head, he’s been lugging around the watch box the entire evening. Right now, he’s standing behind Logan and Shiv like an obedient puppy waiting for Shiv to call upon him. The rest of the family is setting up the baseball game while the groundskeepers looking on fascinated.

Tom pretty much feels like them.

“So, about Tom,” Shiv says and Logan seems to be considering her words. Tom’s ears pick up, his hands turn sweaty again and he fidgets with the box in his hands. He imagines he can hear the watch tick inside like a time bomb.

“Hmm…” Logan replies, peering out into the distance. Kendall’s already gone into the wind, about half-an-hour ago, his ear glued to the phone talking to “Greg”. Tom waits for that syllable to end and simply waits.

“What do you think about putting him under Greg?”

Despite the short distance between him and the duo, he hears an undercurrent of something sinister his way. Something almost amusingly cruel.

“Wh-why Greg? Isn’t that - like isn’t he already busy with the buyings and everything else? And surely you don’t expect Tom to be his assistant? He’s much more experienced in business.” Shiv’s protest add a bit of tension to his mind.

What was the deal with this Greg? It was almost as if he was some kind of a boogeyman to Shiv and her siblings. But someone that Logan clearly approved of, but there was something very odd about the whole missing cousin.

It was as if being put under the cousin would somehow be bad for him. Geez, was he some kind of a hardass?

“No, no. I’m sure Greg’s not to busy to welcome your boyfriend into the family business. He can help guide Tom and put him in a fitting department. Not to busy to help family.”

Tom expects Shiv to say something. To put off Logan’s plan and for a moment, she does. But instead, she stops and frowns.

A beat.

Tom takes it as his cue to step in with the box.

This better work.

—

#ficlet #part 1 #When Rome Burns #WIP #writing wip #tomgreg #tom x greg #Greg Hirsch #Cousin Greg #Tom Wambsgans #partial Tomshiv #Succession #Succession HBO #alternate universe #AU

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glenncoco4 · 3 years

Text

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 2

••••

18 years later...

She steps into the gym, immediately sensing something in the air shift. It’s not a bad shift more like a welcomed shift, almost the same feeling whenever she enters a room that he’s in. Taking a quick scan across the room, her eyes land on a familiar mop of golden blonde hair attached to a man who’s pounding away at a punching bag.

Schooling her features, Kensi or “Tracy” strides over to a man that introduces himself as Janklow and begins talking about Danny, how she wanted to come to the place that her boyfriend talked so much about.

Janklow drops his guard just enough, calling the rest of their teammates over to introduce her, including one Marty Deeks, only today his name isn’t Marty and he’s not her best friend. Today he’s Jason Wyler fighting for a spot on an MMA team full of Marines.

••••

The three agents along with the tech operator and psychologist continue to stare at the monitor displayed with men from the gym, trying to figure out each ones possible motive to kill Zuna.

Callen’s brow furrows, his focus solely on the shaggy blonde. “What about Wyler?”

“He’s a bit sketchy.” She sends herself a mental high-five as she pictures her best friend’s reaction at her quip. “But he’s definitely not our guy.”

“He’ doesn’t fit in with the others. What makes you so sure its not him?” Sam questions, turning his attention to the brunette agent.

She shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant. “It’s just a feeling.”

The team leader share a look with his partner. “Or maybe its his baby blues.”

“Or his fluffy hair.” The ex-Navy SEAL finishes.

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Listen, guys, I’m telling you, it’s not him.”

“Tell us, what makes you so sure.” Nate finally interjects, wondering what she saw in the blonde.

She wasn’t sure if she was going to have to out her friend but now she knows she does, there’s no way around it because if she doesn’t her best friend could end up hurt so she takes a deep breath. “Because his name isn’t Jason Wyler, it’s Marty Deeks and he’s an LAPD Detective.”

Callen’s eyes widen in shock. “And you know this because...”

“I was with him when he got his promotion.”

All four men’s brows simultaneously furrow in confusion.

Knowing they’re not going to give up until she gives them a little more, she relents. “He’s my best friend, the person I trust most in the world. He’s not our guy.”

The confidence in which she says it must be enough for the leader because he just shares aa look with his partner before turning back to her, trust written in both their eyes. “Okay.”

••••

Kensi’s just about to open Zuna’s laptop, when the doorknob starts to jiggle. Slowly reaching for the small of her back, where her weapon is secured, she watches as the door slowly opens and is caught off guard for the second time that day.

His cerulean blues widen in surprise when he meets her mismatched chocolate orbs for the second time that day. He really missed her, but that’s besides the point right now. “What the hell are you doing around here?”

“We’re investigating Zuna’s death. What are you doing here?”

“I’m undercover.”

“No shit.”

Before anything else can be said, Callen steps in from the kitchen, joining the two childhood friends.

“Marty this is Special Agent G Callen. Callen this is Detective Marty Deeks.”

The team leader takes the detective’s offered hand in greeting. “So I hear you know Kensi.”

“Yeah, know might be a bit of an understatement.”

Callen watches in awe of his coworker exchanging a smile with the detective. He’s not certain, but something tells him that the two are fighting something that’s inevitable. “Well we don’t want to step in on your investigation but we do need to find out what happened to Zuna.”

“Understandable.”

“Can you tell us what you’re under for?”

Deeks shakes his head, knowing that someone from the gym could and most likely is watching them. “Not here. There’s been a couple guys coming in and out from the gym since I’ve been here. I can probably slip away in a few hours.”

“You got your cell on you?” Kensi questions her friend, already knowing the answer.

“Just a burner.”

Callen nods in understanding. “Okay, give Kens your number and we’ll send you an address.”

“Sure thing.”

••••

She nearly jumps out of her skin when there’s a knock at the window. He’s definitely gonna pay for that later. Rolling down the window, Kensi see’s the confusion on his face.

“A Wendy’s, really?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well send you the address to the boat shed on a burner.”

When the words hit his ears, realization spreads across his face like an excited puppy that just got a new toy. “No!”

“Get in before I leave you here.”

Not having to be told twice, Marty hightails it around the SUV and quickly jumps in the passenger seat, shaking with excitement. “Kens, are you serious?”

Shaking her head, she checks her rear view as she slowly backs out of the parking lot. “I don’t know what your fascination with the boat shed is.”

“Are you kidding? It’s a secret hidey hole on the water, what’s not exciting about it?”

“Oh right, the Aquaman fantasy.”

“Okay, Miss I wanna fall in love on a ship and have sex in an old jalopy.”

She feigns shock and a little bit of outrage. “Hey, I told you that in confidence.”

“Yeah, but it’s slowly becoming my fantasy too so technically it’s okay.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her playfully. “Besides its just us here.”

Something in his demeanor feels a little flirty to her. Is she going crazy? When he flashes her a smile, she feels an unfamiliar surge of excitement run through her body. What the hell is going on?

He notices a look cross her features that he’s never seen before. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just...I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Kens.” Marty feels a sudden sense of contentment as he watches her look back to the road and sees the blush rise to her cheeks. There’s a fluttering in his chest that’s unfamiliar to him. What the hell is happening?

••••

Deeks caught the team up on his op and all that was involved. He explained how Danny hadn’t come home the previous night, something about meeting up with this new girl Tracy. That earned him a famous Kensi trying not to smile, smile, which to be honest is one of his favorite things.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the other two agents in the room at the change in their coworker when she was around the detective. She seemed happier, like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The rest of the case goes off without a hitch, NCIS gets their killer and LAPD gets their drug ring bust, but most importantly Marty gets to go home...to his own bed.

••••

There’s a knock at his door, a smile spreading to his lips knowing exactly who it is. He unlocks the deadbolt, twisting the knob and pulls it open. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Agent Blye.”

Kensi steps around him and into his apartment, case of their favorite beer in her hand. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Shaggy Rogers.”

“Oh, touché.”

She sends him a smile over her shoulder and something washes over him. The spark in her mismatched orbs, is something he can’t quite describe. He shakes his head, trying to rid this unfamiliar feeling as she goes to the fridge, depositing the rest of the beer after taking two out.

“Pizza should be here in 30 minutes.”

“You got-“

“Hawaiian, yeah, yeah, but only half.” She shivers with disgust at his preference for toppings as she hands him the bottle.

“I would expect noting less.”

She squints her eyes, stepping up to him almost in a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kensi Blye doesn’t eat any fruit unless its covered in chocolate.”

“I-I ate that apple that one time.”

“Only because your mom hadn’t gone to the store for groceries yet.”

She wants to retort but knows he’s right. So she steps around him, walking over to the couch, landing a soft punch to his shoulder on her way. “Just play the damn movie.”

“You’re the boss...KayKay.”

“I will kill you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’re my best friend and the person I trust most in the world.”

“Clearly you’ve never seen Snapped.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, unable to stop the grin from appearing on his face. He missed this. He missed her and their banter.

A sudden knock on the door draws him out of his trance. “I think maybe you should get it. I don’t really want to have my back turned to you right now.”

“Haha.” She steps over his legs, whacking him with his cat pillow as she heads for the door. When she pulls it open, the last person she’d ever think it would be is standing there, all four foot and nine inches of her. “Hetty?”

“Miss. Blye.”

“Come in.”

Kensi ushers her boss into the apartment, eyes wide as saucers as she locks on with his.

Sending him a hint of a smile, Hetty takes a seat in the chair next to the couch. “Hello, Mr. Deeks.”

“Hello, Ms. Lange.”

“Please, call me Hetty.”

“What can I do for you, Hetty?”

“Actually its more what I can do for you.”

Kensi’s brow furrows along with Marty’s as the OSP manager hands the detective a manila folder.

Opening it he’s a little caught off guard when he sees all his information spread out before him. Everything from his statement from when Donald Blye saved him and his mother all the way to his most recent case. “Wow, Kensi was right. You are a secret ninja lady.”

The brunette feels the heat rise to her cheeks, feeling the scrutiny of her boss’s gaze fall on her.

Shaking her head, a tiny smile curls at the old woman’s lips. “It’s clear to me that you two work quite well together...even better than Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna.”

“Tell us something we don’t already know.” Marty playfully nudges his best friend, trying to get a smile out of her but is unsuccessful. Instead her features are unreadable. What Hetty’s asking would be a huge deal...monumental. I mean working with his best friend, not going under by himself anymore, working with a team...with her. “Can I think about it?”

Kensi’s eyes find his, trying to figure out which way he’s leaning. She can tell he’s holding back because of her, he doesn’t want to over step. He deserves this, a team and people that will truly watch his back and selfishly she wants to be the one to do it and he do the same for her.

He sees the hopefulness in her eyes and knows the same is mirrored in his own. Getting a nod of approval from his best friend, he turns to his new boss with a smile. “I’m in.”

After he signs the form, Hetty gladly takes the folder back from their new liaison before taking her leave. “Well then as I understand it, you have a major undercover you’re working on and when the time comes you’ll get pulled back in but in the mean time, you’ll be reporting to OSP.”

“Thanks, Hetty.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” She sends them each a smile, showing herself to the door.

Once the door click shut, Kensi turns to her best friend and now partner...he’s her partner. She can’t help the Cheshire Cat like grin on her face. “We’re gonna be partners.”

Unable to stop himself, Marty closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her in hug that’s so familiar to them its like second nature. “We’re gonna be partners.”

••••

The following Monday had Kensi leading her best friend, now partner into the OSP Headquarters. She couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at her lips as she watched the shaggy blonde in his awestruck wonder as she showed him around the building.

Their first case together is a high profile missing persons case which results in Kensi being held captive but like always, her partner along with Sam and Callen has her back and they live to see another day.

••••

He’s waiting at the car for his partner when the buzzing from his phone draws his attention. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the offending object and immediately rolls his eyes as he reads the caller ID. “Bates, what do ya got?”

As his Lieutenant fills him in on what’s going on, Marty’s brow furrows and his body deflates, his eyes catching those of his best friend as she walks towards him with a bright smile on her face. One thing he hates most is having to cancel plans with her.

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

She waits until he hangs up the phone, her eyes meeting his, already knowing that their plans to go to the music festival this weekend are trashed.

“I’m not gonna make it in tomorrow. Bates just called me, undercover op we’ve been working on and I finally got my in.”

A sad smile crosses her face, she knows its not his fault. This is what they signed up for. “The sex-trafficking case?”

“Yeah.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay.”

Her reaction is something he can’t quite describe. He knows what he wants it to be, but he’s just not sure. One thing he knows for sure is that now is not the time to lay it all out on the table. “Kens-“

“You’ll be careful, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She scolds herself for letting her emotions slip, he doesn’t need this right now. He needs to be focused on his mission, but if she can get a little more time with him, she’ll gladly take it. “Do you have time to grab something to eat before you leave?”

He throws his arm around her shoulders, placing a kiss to the top of her head as they turn to walk towards the pier. “Always have time for you.”

There’s something about this goodbye that shifts their entire relationship, what it may be, they’re not sure. One thing is certain though, their lives are even more intertwined than they thought.

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #AU #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #Kensi x Deeks #You Can Count On Me #Chapter 2 #NCIS: LA #NCIS: LA Fanfic

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thegrunkiest · 3 years

Text

Not gonna lie, returning to Skyrim over the past few days has reminded me of just how much I hope TES VI does factions like they did in Oblivion.

!Some critical ranting of Skyrim/positive rambling of Oblivion ahead!

I’m saying this after I started trying to immerse myself in the College of Winterhold, at last, after installing some good magic mods. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t really care less about this Eye of Magnus or why the Psijic Order wants to talk with me specifically. I couldn’t care about stopping Ancano I can hardly remember what even happens in the questline aside from go into ruin, find orb, go into basement, talk to an aura, go to a ruin, beat up a skeleton dragon and something after that.

This is the same issue I’ve personally had with the Companions, and to a lesser extent, the Thieves Guild. I legit only remember the Companions as “the guild that gives you lycanthropy”. Thieves Guild is a little better, as I do distinctly remember a few of the characters and their quests could get quite creative. I never felt particularly invested however.

So why exactly do I (and possibly some of you) think Skyrim’s factions don’t work, and that they should look back on Oblivion when creating questlines for the next games? For me personally, it boils down to two components: the state of affairs, and sense of progression.

Sense of Progression

I’ll start with the simplest one first. Let’s use the College as an example again, comparing it to the Mage’s Guild of Oblivion. What do you do to gain entry to the College? Cast the requested novice/apprentice level spell (or alternatively, shout if you’re a Dragonborn or just schmooze if you, for some reason, already have 100 in speech). In Oblivion? You have to gain a recommendation from each of the individual chapters by completing a quest unique to each quild hall, which involve a little more work than simply casting a spell.

Alright, alright, so what do we do once we’re in? At the College, we engage in a little lesson with our many (see: three) fellow students. Cool (it’s also our only magic lesson from what I recall - great education system!). Then we’re immediately thrust into the questline, with no real or necessary deviations from the main subject regarding the Eye of Magnus. Then guess what - you’ve become Arch Mage!... wait what? I thought I just joined not too long ago?...

I find it hard to feel good about gaining the leadership role, despite me having just stopped a potentially devastating crisis to earn it, because I never felt more than a junior beforehand. This is how Oblivion does it right with its ranking system in my opinion. While I admit I might have chosen a bad example to draw from, as the Mage’s Guild quests also heavily concerns the main threat in at least some way, but what personally makes it more immersive for me is the fact you’re promoted whilst you’re playing - even to the point you’re being passed onto a different superior for more daring assignments! This is where the little things really count.

Then there’s the Thieves Guild. Unless there’s some backstory I’m glancing over, I don’t see why the Thieves Guild of Skyrim couldn’t have shared the same ranking system as the Oblivion branch, if no one else. In Oblivion, you can only initiate the quests after you’ve passed a certain threshold of fencing stolen goods, something that encourages you to actually be a thief to progress as a thief. I’m not just going from Pickpocket to Gray Fox, as I feel I am from an initiate to Nightingale/Guildmaster in Skyrim; you have various titles you earn in between.

If I had to summarize the point I’m trying to make - I’ll use Oblivion’s Dark Brotherhood. Arguably one of the most popular questlines in TES. Now, could you imagine an Oblivion Dark Brotherhood without Whodunit?, The Assassinated Man, Permanent Retirement, etc. - just axe those unrelated quests in favor of focusing on rooting out the Traitor. No promotions, just primarily finding ways to stop a person who, probably, has killed assassins much more seasoned than you! A deadly threat! Why? Because you’re you! And you obviously deserve to become the Listener after being a Murderer the whole questline.

Which leads me into my next point....

State of Affairs

Skyrim’s questlines seem to have a fixation on factions that are destitute and/or are on the brink of extinction. Business is dry with the Thieves Guild; in the Dark Brotherhood, all but the Falkreath sanctuary is destroyed and the Old Ways are abandoned; the Companions are struggling with the lycanthropy that plagues its strongest members; the College of Winterhold have little reputation in quite an anti-magic province; hell, even the Blades, who were previously slaughtered and run into hiding. The Dawnguard factions I feel are an exception (a reason I like that DLC so much), as the Dawnguard can excuse its low wealth and reputation with the fact that it was just reformed, and the Volkihar Clan have, for all I know, have just been... existing, in the shadows.

Admittedly, Oblivion also has a bit of a running theme among its faction - stable and well-organized factions plagued by a specific threat. The Blades have their Oblivion Crisis, the DB with their traitor ordeal, the Mage’s Guild with the necromancers/Mannimarco, the Fighter’s Guild with the Blackwood Company, Court of Madness with Jyggalag.

The reason why I prefer Oblivion’s guilds over Skyrim, I suppose, is related to my personal problem of power fantasy. Skyrim is a big old power fantasy. You’re the Dragonborn, the chosen one, the Hero of prophecy. So obviously you need to be the savior of each guild, right? You have to be the one the Night Mother deems Listener; the one the Psijics talk to; the one Nocturnal makes a Nightingale.

One might say it’s more realistic that way though, as it adds to Skyrim’s aesthetic of a darker, more unstable time with the Civil War and return of dragons. That’s a fair point. But did 90% of the guilds have to be restricted to poor little groups? Surely the Companions could’ve had other bases in some of the cities somehow, or the Thieves Guild have another hideout in, say Solitude?

You could argue you’re also chosen in Oblivion, sure. But while Uriel saw you in his dreams, you’re place as HoK wasn’t in part due to a superpower, either. I felt I was closing the Oblivion gates because my characters were who they were. You aren’t the only one who can enter Oblivion gates, but you were determined and skilled enough to make it through to the end. While in the factions, you were, for the most part, a newbie working through the ranks until eventually, you’re trusted to confront the threat. In Skyrim it feels less like organizations, and more like ragtag groups that were waiting for you to come in and fix them.

Coupled with the sense progression, this makes experiencing Oblivion’s factions much more organic and satisfying - in my opinion. That’s what’s most important. I’m not ragging on anyone who likes Skyrim’s factions, and I still love Skyrim despite my endless complaints. I understand I may have missed a few points (like the Civil War and Arena), and the ones I made could be disputed.

TL;DR: Skyrim’s fondness for power fantasy and the lack of ranks makes its faction questlines less immersive and more forced, whereas in Oblivion climbing ranks as a sort-of average joe feels organic and more rewarding. This is just my opinion. I don’t hate Skyrim. You’re free to agree or disagree and add to the discussion.

#VS BS #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #tes iv: oblivion #oblivion #skyrim #i haven't played Morrowind so that's why i didn't mention it #dark brotherhood #college of winterhold #the companions #the mage's guild #the thieves guild #the blades #hope adding tags of the guilds i'm criticizing is okay

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dudeandduchess · 4 years

Note

Girl I love you and I love your writing! Can I please have #2, I forgot the number but its sex on a dare and #45 for Kyojuro. Keep writing please because you ma'am are amazing!

I don’t even know how it spiraled into 2.6k+ words, but it did, bby. And I think I ran away too much with the thought of a jealous and Dominant Kyō. I hope you like it tho. And thank you so much!!! Ily too! 😌🍉🍉🍉

***

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sex on a Dare, “Please, I need you. Now” (Smut Prompts, NSFW Scenario):

Warnings: Smut, Clothed Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Brief Mention of Sanemi x F!Reader Dare, Talks of Drinking, Biting, Begging, Jealous Kyō, D/s Themes, Light Choking

Out of all the things that all of the Hashira could have thought of doing to unwind after such a tense meeting, the last thing that (Y/n) expected was a game of drunken dares. Safe to say, all of them had done very risqué things with each other— with each and every dare getting raunchier than the last.

As it was, (Y/n) had already made out with Sanemi. The Wind Hashira had even taken to pulling her right into his lap, and running his right hand up her skirt to cup and squeeze one of her ass cheeks. It had made most of their friends let out cat-calls and whistles; all except for one suddenly-quiet blond man.

Kyōjurō kept his eyes on the sake cup in his right hand, not daring to look up and see the disheveled aftermath that had come from (Y/n) making out with Shinazugawa. The mere sight of her kissing him had made his chest tighten up uncomfortably, and when his comrade had pulled the woman he liked onto his lap… it took everything in him not to get up and drag her out of the room.

He knew that the sudden shift in his mood didn’t go unnoticed in a room full of Hashira, but he really couldn’t bring himself to keep up any pretenses; not when he could only blame himself for not staking a claim on (Y/n) the numerous times that they had gone out to “spend time together”.

Kyōjurō was a brave man when he needed to be, but when it was absolutely necessary for him to be brave, all notions of valor in him disappeared along with most of his thoughts— but only when it involved (Y/n).

Sanemi took one look at the disheveled (Y/n)— whom was trying to fix her haori up to make her seem the modest and composed woman she had been earlier— and let his eyes flicker over to the abnormally sullen Rengoku, only to scoff under his breath.

The Flame Hashira could have fooled everyone before, but not Sanemi. He was more attuned to others than most, and he hadn’t failed to notice just how hard up Rengoku was for (Y/n).

So, after throwing back another shot of sake, the Wind Hashira uttered, “Rengoku, I dare you… to have sex with (L/n).”

Everyone’s eyes widened at the blatant words, with Uzui muttering a low ‘ooh’ as his eyes flickered to the two people in question.

(Y/n)’s face flushed even more than it already was— not due to the alcohol, but because of her embarrassment. She didn’t exactly try to hide her feelings for Kyōjurō, but to be dared to have sex with him was another thing entirely.

Even though she loved him immensely— and had fantasized on more than one occasion of carrying his children— it was still embarrassing to be put beneath the spotlight like that.

“S-Shinazugawa!” She protested; surprising even herself when her cry came out halfhearted and breathy.

“It doesn’t have to be here; you can do it anywhere you want, as long as all of us are sure that you two are fucking,” The silver-haired Hashira explained with a smirk, looking at (Y/n) first, before turning his attention to Kyōjurō whom had thrown back another shot. “That is, unless both of you want to go streaking… in this weather.”

Sanemi looked out of the slightly parted shoji, silently thanking the gods for letting the first few flakes of snow fall from the sky. Even he would take up any dare, instead of run a lap around the town in the nude with whomever he was dared to do something with.

“Or… I can just dare (L/n) to fuck me.”

That last sentence had Kyōjurō’s eyes narrowing at the other Hashira and, he didn’t know what exactly it was that spurned him to do so but, he found himself getting up from his seat and walking over to where (Y/n) was.

Maybe it was the alcohol in him, or maybe it was the irritation at Sanemi’s words that pushed him to offer his hand to the woman he’d always harbored feelings for, but he was there— and he was going to do it; fuck her, that was. “Only if you want to, (L/n).”

He didn’t dare look at anyone else, fearing that they would see through the tough façade that he put up, when his heart was pounding so hard in his chest— and that the blush that took over his face was no longer due to the alcohol, but because of his own emotions.

Thankfully for him, (Y/n) gingerly put her right hand in his— a clear sign of acceptance to his invitation.

***

Gingerly, Kyōjurō led her out of the room; disregarding his own nervousness as he guided both of them to the room next to the one they had been in.

Every footstep echoed the loud thumping of his heart in his ears, yet he kept placing one foot in front of the other— until they were in a few feet from the shoji that led to the other room.

“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to…” He began softly— all while turning to look at (Y/n).

However, she surprised him by stumbling into his arms and slamming her lips against his. Without really thinking about it, she snaked her arms up his shoulders and locked them together at the back of his neck; savoring the taste of his tongue when he opened his mouth, after she tangled her hand in his hair and gently tugged on it.

She had always wanted to do that, and she would be damned if she didn’t admit that she’d enjoyed doing it— especially when she heard the tiny moan that bubbled from Kyōjurō’s throat, as soon as she did it a second time.

In response, the Flame Hashira threw all caution to the wind— just put his hands on either side of her waist, and pushed her up against the wall to his right; being careful not to hurt her as he did so. The breathless gasp that left her lips was enough to send a jolt of heat straight to his cock; stirring it within the confines of his pants and making his head spin with all of the possibilities that played in his mind.

“Last chance to say no, (Y/n),” Kyōjurō rasped out through their needy kisses, trying to pull himself away to catch his breath. With how passionate and enthusiastic she was, he didn’t doubt that she wanted to fuck as much as he did— but he still had to give her an out, in case she changed her mind.

At that, the young woman loosened her grip on his hair, and pulled her head back until it bumped up against the wall behind her. “I want you to fuck me, Kyōjurō. I want you to fill me up with your cum until you knock me up!”

Her words had stoked something inside him at that point, making something he had buried long ago come to the forefront of his conscious. He’d thought that it was wrong of him to want to breed (Y/n) with his kids, so he had settled for much tamer fantasies— but after she had begged him to get her pregnant…

He wanted to pinch himself, if only to check if he was dreaming.

Gone was the (Y/n) from earlier— the one who had the decency to protest against Shinzaugawa’s dare, and in her place was the shameless hussy whom had always wanted the man in front of her. Maybe it was merely her emotions bubbling up to the surface, or maybe it was the alcohol making her lips looser and her inhibitions much bolder, but she couldn’t deny that she loved the surprised expression that crossed the Flame Hashira’s face at her words.

The aforementioned man inhaled on a hiss at that, as his cock got even harder in his pants. It had even twitched within the suddenly-tight confines, yet he ignored it in favor of slamming his lips against (Y/n)’s once more. “Fuck, love, you’re so perfect. I’m not going to hold back with you, then.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” was her cheeky reply, only to gasp in surprise when her lover lifted her up against the wall— prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist, if only to hold herself up in case his grip on her faltered.

The move brought her clothed pussy flush against his rigid cock, and it took everything in her not to start grinding against him. Just the feel of him through his pants clued her in for what was to come— which had her licking her lips in anticipation.

She could already feel herself dripping with arousal, at the mere thought of having such a thick cock inside her; let alone the fact that it was Kyōjurō’s cock that was going to drive her crazy with pleasure.

With one last press of his lips against hers, the blond Hashira trailed butterfly kisses down his lover’s jaw— making a clear path to the side of her neck, where he proceeded to bite down on the supple skin, right before sucking a love bite to leave a mark that let everyone know that she was his.

Because, starting from that night, there was no way that he was going to let her go.

Slowly, he let right hand drift down to her crotch— slipping beneath her skirt and carefully pressing against the damp spot in her underwear. His fingers then began to rub the area in small circles, savoring the feel of her clit through the soft material of her panties, before pushing the barrier of clothing aside.

The moment that Kyōjurō’s index and middle fingers brushed against (Y/n)’s clit, she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep a pleasured cry from escaping her lips. And when he began playing with the tiny bud by pinching it and flicking it between his fingers, it didn’t take long for her to accidentally let out a breathless moan; one that her lover relished in.

At that, Kyōjurō trailed his hand further down against her cunt— delving his fingers between her glistening slit and teasingly dipping the tips of two of his fingers inside her needy entrance.

“I didn’t even need to play with you, love. You’re already so wet for me,” He whispered against her neck, before clamping his teeth down on her skin— which ripped another moan from her throat.

The hand that was in his hair tightened even more, while the one on his shoulder dug its nails into the material of his uniform. It did nothing to hurt him, but it still made him impossibly harder to know that he was eliciting such reactions from (Y/n).

“Do you want to cum around my fingers?” He asked softly, as he pushed two fingers inside her cunt— curling them up to touch her g-spot, and smiling when her legs quivered helplessly around his waist. He then bit down once more on her neck, soothing the bite with a swipe of his tongue, before adding, “Or would you like to cum around my cock?”

“-cock,” (Y/n) uttered breathlessly, all while trying to keep herself sane as her lover slowly kept pumping his fingers in and out of her. “Your cock, Kyō. I want your cock.”

The young man couldn’t help but smile at that, as he trailed his right hand up his lover’s torso— briefly squeezing her right breast as he passed it by— before gently holding her face by her chin and turning her to face him fully. “Beg for it.”

He had initially wanted to take things slow and easy with her, but the memory of seeing her and Shinazugawa going at it earlier had him feeling so heatedly jealous. It wasn’t like him to feel such a petty emotion, but he felt it at that moment— and it made him want to take (Y/n) roughly; just so he could make her cry out loud enough to let Shinazugawa know that she was his.

And that he couldn’t touch her anymore.

“Please, I need you. Now!” (Y/n) pleaded softly, only to whimper when the Flame Hashira pulled his fingers out of her cunt.

“Louder. Let them hear you.”

“Please, Kyōjurō! I need to feel your cock inside me,” The young woman cried out— much louder than she had before. “Please, please knock me up! I want to get pregnant with your child!”

Despite all of her cheekiness earlier, she had succumbed to him with just a few commands; and that had Kyōjurō discovering a part of himself that he hadn’t known about before— namely the part of him that found pleasure in dominating someone.

“Good girl,” He praised softly, pressing a soft kiss against her lips— before taking his left hand and making quick work of his pants; unbuckling his belt, and undoing his fly so he could pull his erection out. “Now, look at me. Just me.”

Slowly, he aligned the head of his cock against (Y/n)’s cunt— teasing her clit with the head of it, before sliding it up and down her slit to lube it up with her wetness. And then, in one smooth move, he pushed the head of his dick inside her sopping entrance; hissing in pleasure as he began to rock into her.

(Y/n) moaned softly with every thrust of his hips, making her feel breathless and so dizzy with pleasure all at once— and when he lowered the hand that gripped her chin to lightly frame her throat, her pulse skyrocketed with excitement.

Kyōjurō squeezed her neck lightly, merely testing out the waters. But when her eyes fluttered shut, his thrusts gained speed and power— pounding her against the wall so hard and rough that the noise of their coupling was all that could be heard in the deserted hall of the ryokan.

“You feel so amazing around my cock, love. It feels like you were made just for me; my own personal cock sleeve,” The young man uttered through slightly ragged breaths, his thrusts not once faltering as he kept on chasing the orgasm that he felt building up inside him.

And with every movement he made, he felt (Y/n)’s walls get tighter and tighter around him— until she was gripping his hair tight for some semblance of purchase, as he kept pounding her against the wall.

(Y/n) could feel her release coming closer and closer— and with the loud, pleasured moan that passed her lips, the hand that framed her neck squeezed gently. The action had her eyes rolling into the back of her head, while her mouth fell open in a loud cry. “I… I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

Kyōjurō increased the pace and force of his movements at that, dead set on cumming as soon as he felt his lover’s wall clamp down tightly on his cock. He wanted to stay still and savor the feel of her pulsing walls around him, but he kept up with his movements— needing to fill her up with his cum.

“Fuck, take all of it,” He uttered through gritted teeth, burying his cock down to the hilt and shooting ropes upon ropes of his thick cum inside (Y/n). But he didn’t stop there— he still kept up with shallow thrusts, stirring his warm release that coated her walls and were beginning to drip down his balls.

“Thank you, Kyō,” (Y/n) whispered, clearly tired as she let her head fall back against the wall. And, at that, the aforementioned man snaked the hand around her throat up to cup the back of her head— just so he could press the most tender of kisses against her forehead.

“Don’t thank me just yet, my love. We’re far from done.”

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