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olivereactsaboutgarbage · 7 days

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Higurashi When They Cry - Tatarigoroshi Chapter 1

Good news, everyone!

I got my tax refund this past weekend, so I was finally able to buy the next arc of Higurashi. Plus, the personal life drama that had been distracting me from One Piece has settled down now.

So those are both of the posts you can expect from me this summer!

And this is the first of them.

This episode starts with the dramatic reveal that the well had a happy snake in it. Presumably the well in question is the murder well from the end of last time. However, it's also clear that this snake is not the sole perpetrator of the incidents in Hinamizawa, because anything which happened anywhere other than the well is something the snake doesn't even know about. Still, I'll have to keep this plot-essential snake in mind for all my future theories.

A miserable faceless woman gets tormented by a faceless cackling man. There are all sorts of corpse varieties, like Cuddly Creature variety, Feathered Friend variety, and Naked Normal-lady variety. Wow, are we skipping the entire no-murders-have-happened-yet first half of the story this time? And also skipping the part where Keiichi, Rena, Mion and the Toddlers are involved? Neat!

A faceless cop wants to eat the Naked Normal-lady corpse. Not a lifestyle choice I agree with.

Oh, darn, now Keiichi is the POV character. On the upside, though, it's well and truly time for a genuine return to Lunch Arc. Here's what happens in Lunch's return: -The Toddlers proclaim that Mion has an excellent lunch -Mion reveals that this so-called excellence is naught more than a ramshackle old people menagerie -Keiichi points out the importance of visual artistry towards any mealtime experience, devastatingly countering Mion's humility -Everyone wholeheartedly agrees, but Toddler 02 provides an opportunity for Rena to assert artistic dominance -The Toddlers just wanna grill for God's sake -Toddler 02 claims her rightful place as heir to the Housewife Throne -Five seconds into the events of this arc and Keiichi already hasn't been paying attention to his surroundings -Seven seconds into the events of this arc and Keiichi is already screaming -Toddler 01 almost dies -In a tragic flashback, Keiichi's parents are revealed to be busy right now -Keiichi says that curry is bad and everyone starts panicking -The teacher with pronouns is revealed to be a security guard from a stealth game -Keiichi almost dies -Rena tells Keiichi not to be a bitch baby, but Mion and Toddler 02 are also bitch babies -Keiichi willfully ignores that and is now emboldened and shall no longer be a bitch baby.

Finally, we segue out of Lunch Arc and into a recap episode of Kaiji Joke Part 16.

Toddler 01 declares that Toddler 01 is competent. Keiichi says nuh uh. Toddler 01 says "Double-nuh-uh, I will someday be competent." Um, moving the goalposts much??? -_-

Toddler 01 asks Toddler 02 if Toddler 01 will ever be competent. Toddler 02 says nuh uh.

Rena declares that Toddler 01 is competent. Keiichi says nuh uh. Asshole.

...Admittedly I'm already primed to expect Toddler 01 angst from this arc. But also, I can relate to Rena's propensity for smoothing over social situations, and it would tick me off something fierce if someone cockblocked my kindness like Keiichi did to Rena just now.

I shan't be forgiving Keiichi for this... ever... I will soon kill him...

Anyway, Toddler 01 gets TOTALLY OWNED by one of Rena's sickest burns.

Rare green cauliflower...

Anyway, the stage has been set for a Lunch Arc Kaiji Joke Part. This is it... the ultimate culmination of everything Higurashi has been building towards...

okay this bit of narration right here is kind of hysterical

Keiichi says that he's gonna make Toddler 01 take her shoes off and everyone gets excited.

...God, my opinion of Rena has risen to high-as-fuck levels over the course of the break... I remember thinking of her as a Keiichi-tier loser like it was yesterday, but she's actually kind of based and Mion-tier and the light of my life. Anyway, I'm not going to describe this Rena scene to you because it's not that interesting. Trust me. ;)

oh god dude

"more exciting"

yeah manm

Keiichi succumbs to the Devil's Influence and decides to wreak evil, but Toddlers put a stop to his madness.

this is so awesome

i like higurashi

Ah, you can tell it's the Toddler 01 arc this time because of her new and previously-unseen behavioral patterns. What's with her eyeball. Why is her eyeball acting like that.

Toddler 01 tells Keiichi to admit to being a hothead and a dweeb, so Keiichi wails that he's the scum of the earth. I guess that counts as going above and beyond... so that's admirable then...

You can tell she's 8 because she thinks a 9-year-old is 19. Unlike me, an enlightened 25-year-old whose views on people's ages aren't skewed in the slightest.

The Beast within Keiichi is not satiated by these meager offerings. He demands Pandemonium. The only Relic with the power to quell his Inner Inferno is Toddler 01's Cursed Eye...

Hmmmm methinks I detect some SEXISM from Toddler 01... very uncool... -_-

Toddler 02 delivers exposition about how Toddler 01's sexism is actually nostalgia for when her brother hadn't yet exploded. Fascinating.

Even with this correctly-forecasted sudden hailstorm of Toddler 01 character depth, it's kind of hard to take her seriously when she keeps doing her ohoho laugh. Still, I suppose nothing less than the exact bearing and manner of an Ojou-sama is appropriate for the Bearer of the Cursed Eye.

BECAUSE OF THE HUMAN PISS

BECAUSE OF THE HUMAN BLOOD

BECAUSE OF THE HUMAN NEEDLE

I've already figured this arc out. I know all about the dark upcoming plot twists.

Yeah... you're still cringe as hell man.

Ah, good. I was getting worried about where he'd get his daily intake of Rena Points in this timeline untouched by Rena's warmth.

wtf, apparently this 3-year-old is bearing the weight of the entire world

Meanwhile, in Side Story Land...

wtf, apparently this 3-year-old is a little shit

normal reaction to encountering any object

self-explanatory

#higurashi #when they cry #is what i'm consuming

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marley-manson · 1 year

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Finally rewatched GFA and lmao I wildly overestimated how much screen time was dedicated to BJ and Hawkeye’s relationship, oops. I think it’s bc 90% of what they did get was dysfunctional, and they got the Final Goodbye of Greatest Emotional Importance, so it stuck out in my mind.

This time around I still loved Hawkeye’s plot for the most part. Had my take that once he remembers he’s fine talking about it confirmed with the casual way he asks if it’s couch time when Sidney approaches during his letter-writing, as well as him bringing it up later on multiple times, jokingly and not jokingly with Sidney. His reluctance to talk about the bus and his deflection was clearly intended to be a major Something’s Really Wrong Here signal, satisfyingly righted after the revelation with his more casual, in-character willingness to admit to and talk about his mental breakdown.

I am not a huge fan of Sidney’s method of throwing people back into the traumatic war zone asap lmao, I actually misremembered that as the army’s doing, but nope it’s Sidney. I know that’s the psychological theory they’re working with so I take it in the spirit intended, but thematically it kinda sucks and uhhhhh Hawkeye quits surgery anyway so they failed to make it seem successful even if he did operate a few times first.

BJ really is a mess of a character lol, I honestly have no idea what they were doing with him in the finale other than scrambling to find something for him to do, and like half of what he does is let Hawkeye down one last time. Also the reason BJ didn’t leave a note is because he chose to be pressed for time so he could land in San Francisco instead of Seattle, which was Klinger’s first suggestion for his travel itinerary. Plus his refusal to say goodbye functionally states the reason he didn’t leave a note, ie his emotional constipation, which is a very pointed flaw in this episode especially so I don’t think having more time would’ve made a difference.

Also relatedly BJ’s “I just thought there might be something we wanted to say to each other” came across even worse this time around because Hawkeye’s “Look, I know how tough it is for you to say goodbye, so I’ll say it,” calls back to it. It really genuinely was BJ demonstrating his inability to emotionally connect with Hawkeye without Hawkeye doing it first and wanting Hawkeye to read his mind and offer a heartfelt outpouring of emotion without knowing he’s leaving and while in a cell in a mental hospital and right after BJ, who should have more sense than to talk about babies in front of him since he was purportedly on that bus too, triggered him. Evil evil scene for BJ. Also probably my favourite scene in the ep, because I love Hawkeye’s rant so much.

“Would you hold me in your arms or would you let me lie there and bleed?” still works as a commentary on their whole dynamic, but lmao it really does come completely out of left field in the scene itself, Hawkeye went from 0 to 100 in like 2 seconds. It makes sense as an extension of the way BJ left the hospital and then left without a note too, as Hawkeye expressing how he feels about that after stewing for a while, but yeah the actual scene still made me go ‘well that escalated quickly.’ And BJ’s “you don’t even have a cold” response, just totally and probably willfully missing the point, gj guy.

BJ getting drunk and joking about running off with someone during the goodbye party is a bizarre choice lol, and I can see why people want to take it as an oblique confession re Hawkeye because at least it’s meaningful that way and not just making BJ’s scene there a dumb awkward joke. The other way it’s meaningful is if it’s a Sign of BJ’s impending domestic doom ofc, though I’m on the fence about intent there.

Hawkeye’s “I can’t say I loved you all either... but I loved as many of you as I could,” is such a good Hawkeye summation lol, in the jokey, flirty way intended, in the non-gendered way that’s probably unintended, and in a true-on-a-deeper-level way too.

Soon Lee was disappointing honestly. I thought she might have more personality here than in the last ep, but nah. The only moment she had where she showed any kind of personality was her line about wanting to see Klinger in a dress. That was a great joke though lol. I’m curious what she’s like in AfterMASH, but not enough to watch any of it. I do love Klinger staying in Korea for the irony, and I LOVE that it really is the same wedding dress from season 3.

Charles and Margaret were more entertaining than I remembered, I really enjoyed them rehashing old arguments here. I totally forgot that Margaret mentioned wanting to work in a stateside hospital at the very start of the episode before getting all the letters from her father. Definitely doubling down on my belief that she’s not retiring from the military at all, but rather just working at a military hospital. Love her speech to the nurses best.

Mixed feelings on the Charles and musicians plot. It’s fitting, but perhaps not solely in the way intended lol, in that it’s always always always Charles finding sympathy and attachment to someone only after they appeal to one of his pet interests or the sympathies he already has. He really doesn’t change that much - he gets friendlier with some of the other characters, and he reveals more complex and endearing sides of himself, but he doesn’t really grow lol, and once you notice that he only ever starts to care after he projects his interests on someone those moments get a little less endearing. I think he’s still a fantastically written, fun, and genuinely pretty interesting character, but he never quite achieves likeability on a personal level. But hey, maybe that is intended.

Mulcahy’s plot was honestly a little annoying lol, like, dude you made it worse by refusing medical help and keeping it a secret for the sake of like... one more week with the orphans? I do think it was appropriate that he managed to keep his hearing loss hidden though, because it mirrors the way he tended to miss jokes and references throughout the show, and I dig that angle. Also I love his little crisis of faith and the implication that there is no greater purpose or reason, shit just happens in a war zone.

What else... idk lightning round:

- loved everyone cheering for Hawkeye after he drives the tank to the garbage heap except everyone who was in the OR with him who are all concerned.

- also loved Hawkeye driving a tank into a garbage pile just as a piece of symbolism

- love everyone going back to work after peace is declared, that just sums up the show right there, perfect note

- still fucking hate that salute for Potter. it’s fitting, I understand why it’s there, it’s the most appropriate goodbye for Potter, I still hate it.

- that said I do love the like, 20 minutes worth of goodbyes lol. it honestly worked great, pacing, order, each individual exchange, the goodbye party speeches, all pretty damn solid.

- I did not remember that BJ got that motorcycle bc he just took it when the Chinese musicians surrendered lmao. love him driving Hawkeye up to the helicopter pad in it though as a call back to Yalu Brick Road and Blood and Guts w/ Hawkeye acquiescing for once.

- I think it was a mistake to include the forest fire. I know it happened irl, hence why they incorporated it, but like it adds absolutely nothing but an awkward continuity error where it switches from night to afternoon even though they should’ve been bugging out before that, and a melancholy moment where Potter looks at the burned up support poles, which sucks because that’s not a fond home for them. Like come on, if the 4077 burned down in season 3 the MCs would’ve roasted hot dogs over the coals. Also the military march verson of the theme playing during the bug out scene... yeesh.

- but yeah overall solid finale, pretty much what you need after 11 seasons, gj everyone.

#mash #marley on mash #mash s11 #ship hb #also i just got the aftermash/aftermath pun... still an awful show title but marginally less awful now

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aftgsucks · 9 months

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One Solitary Fuck Found, More At Eleven

A NMFTG one-shot Allison's POV, takes place between NMFTG chs 19 and 20?!?

This is the Foxes deciding to call BEtsy and get Andrew sober

AO3: chapter below cut

Allison Reynold’s could occasionally admit when she was wrong. However she made a point to only do so once a year. Yes, it kept her humble, but at what cost? And she’d already used this years up apologizing to Neil for hounding him about his sexuality. So, she wasn’t going to admit that there was a chance, however slim, that she was maybe, just a little, wrong about Andrew Minyard.

But that didn’t mean she was going to do nothing either.

It was the faces, the devastation and understanding that swept over Matt and Seth after Neil dropped his bomb, “Because he’s drugged out of his mind. Are you actually that dense or just willfully stupid when it comes to Andrew? He laughs at everything because he’s on court ordered medication and cannot help himself.”

Matt changed the subject, Renee came back in from checking on Andrew and Neil took his leave. Leaving behind dead silence. Renee made a curious noise and started up the inquisition.

“Do you?” Matt started and then stopped. “I mean Nicky said it at the Halloween party, didn’t he?” He said.

“Andrew hasn’t been sober in years.” Seth repeated.

That had been a real party. Free shots, a look at the Monster off his meds, Neil in a costume--as dreadful as the sheet had been. Nicky had said that and everyone had moved on, throwing back drinks and Dust and getting ready to dance.

“Ah,” Renee said. “He really hasn’t.”

And that’s when Allison fully grasped how bad it was. Sure, yes, the way Andrew acted was bad. Knowing that his general disposition had something to do with his medication was one thing. Seeing him laugh maniacally in the face of his abuser, that was another. Even hearing Nicky or Neil spell it out was almost ignorable. But Renee, Renee “Angel” Walker, grimacing and commenting on Andrew’s drug use. Instead of being graceful and

That was a cause for concern.

“I never even think about that,” Matt said. “I always figured it was antidepressants or something.”

Renee fiddled with her cross and Allison remembered that Renee was a fox. That Renee had been picked up for drug use before she’d found god and exy. “It’s an experimental mood stabilizer. If it wasn’t tied up in a court order and prison time, I think Betsy would have had him on something else the second she met him.”

“He gets off of it in the summer, right?” Matt asked.

“Fuck that,” Seth said. “He should just stop taking it now and we’ll cover for him.”

“It’s not that simple,” Renee sighed. “Legally they can drug test him at any time and he already pushes the rules of his probation quite regularly.”

“We have to do something,” Matt said. “I mean, the way he went about it sucked astronomically but he got me sober.” Matt slapped a hand against his mouth. “Oh my god, Andrew got me sober.”

The Monster did, didn't he? And Allison had heard all the shit he gave Seth about his addictions second hand.

“What would he even be like off his meds?” Seth asked.

“We’ll find out next year,” Renee said. But she said in a resigned sad way that made Allison want to sue or tackle someone. It was the last straw. Besides, she’d already made her decision the second the words had left Neil’s mouth.

"Fuck the court, fuck the law,” Allison tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Between me, Matt's mom, and Kevin, we have enough money to be god. Let's call Betsy and see what it will take to get Andrew sober as soon as possible.”

“Kevin thinks Andrew will suddenly give a shit if he gets sober, he’d probably do it,” Seth said immediately. “We might need to talk him down from an Exy panic and fist fight Riko but that’ll happen regardless.”

“Mom will help, she keeps trying to get me to bring the Monsters to New York so she can spoil them.” Matt said.

“I think getting Andrew to agree will be the toughest sell,” Renee said. It wasn’t an outright disagreement, which Allison was taking as a what a brilliant idea Allison you sexy beast.

“He likes Betsy,” Allison said, “if her word isn’t enough, then we can try Neil and Seth.” Allison had chalked Neil and Seth’s sway with the Monster up to him finding them both amusing. Amusing in the way that a child with a magnifying glass found ants amusing, but after today, she thought Andrew actually respected Neil’s opinions. Seth was probably still an ant to him, but as long as Minyard wasn’t stomping on Seth she didn’t care.

“What do you think I am?” Seth asked.

“Monster wrangler,” Allison booped him on the nose, mostly to irritate him.

“That isn’t even a little bit true.”

“At the end of the day it’ll be Andrew’s decision,” Renee said.

“Worst comes to worst at least we can say we tried,” Matt said.

Allison pulled out her phone, she had a nice nest egg tucked away from photoshoots and runways that she’d been planning to use for Spring Break. But there would always be more money. Affluence ran in her blood like being a dick ran in her team. This would be worth it. Andrew wouldn’t give a shit, he’d definitely never thank any of them. But it was necessary.

Allison was a plethora of things. Gorgeous, Bisexual, trendsetting, but the two most important things were always pragmatic and a defensive dealer for the Palmetto Foxes. To be happy she had to play exy, so she did. To survive on the team she had to make nice with Dan and Renee. And so they were her best friends. To keep that sad look off Renee’s face and that awful laugh out of Minyard’s mouth? Well, Allison would do whatever it took.

She looked up at Renee, Seth, and Matt, three of the most important people in her life. Three people who had drug problems in their pasts and steel in their eyes. They had all worked tooth and fucking nail for their sobriety and they deserved it. Andrew Minyard was one of the most difficult motherfuckers Allison had ever had to deal with. But he was a Fox.

Allison made the call.

#nmftg #no more fucks to give #aftg fanfic #fanfiction #allison reynolds

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littlefreya · 3 years

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Velvet Chains

Summary: For a generous fee, August Walker is yours. A man devout to pleasure, who will worship you for an entire night and make sure your first time is more than memorable.

Promot:

A thought - August as a gigolo who specializes in deflowering. 👌

Pairing: Soft! August Walker x Virgin Reader.

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+. August Walker as a sex-worker, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a depiction of bodily fluids, soft!August themes, a tinge of angst and August’s monster c...

A/N: When I received this prompt, I didn’t think I can actually do it justice, but it was 3am and I started dabbling around. Then in the morning, I took another look at it, and this little drabble turned into a one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, I hope I did well. Many thanks to @agniavateira my muse who beta’d my story.

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed reading. 🖤 DM if you want to be added to my tag squad.

Title: Velvet Chains

They were all little flowers to him, fresh peonies and flushed roses. Young or mature, it never mattered as long as they were still oh so pure. Undefiled, succulent flesh. Kissed by dew and wrapped by the last remaining petals of their innocence.

All for him to willfully pluck.

Sprayed with notes of tobacco, and boozy fragrance of rum - August Walker was the top-tier kind of service, a man to die for with his three-piece suits and shiny leather shoes. At one point he didn’t even need to self-promote; they came to him, all doe-eyed and coy, willing to pay as much as it takes to have him breach through the sealed gates of their garden.

The rules were quite simple: Cash in advance and always wear protection; other than that anything goes. August liked to see himself as a procurer of fantasies rather than a male prostitute. For a generous fee of $1500, his girls earned themselves a night they never forgot. Whether it began with a dinner at the most outrageous restaurant, a masked ball at a billionaire’s mansion, or an intimate evening with his homemade cooking at a cosy sublet.

It was up to him to choose the experience for the ladies after thoroughly assessing and profiling each client. He was never wrong; after all, it was his job to study women, both mentally and physically.

“I know what you need,” he would murmur as he kissed down their navel and swept between their shaky thighs. And in his grip they indeed laughed, cried, and came undone so many times over, reaching out to grasp heaven around his unapologetically huge cock.

Until you changed everything.

August couldn’t quite crack you; while he enjoyed, savoured, and conquered every woman he had, it was you who seemed to have more power over him than he did over you. The quiet abyss in your eyes reeled him in like an unfortunate, foolish fish teetering on a hook. Whatever mysteries that mind of yours held, he wanted to pry it open with his fingers and brush them through the parchments of your soul.

He desired you more than just the flesh; he wanted to be deeper in you than he ever was in any other woman.

‘Who are you?’

Shivering in his presence, it was crystal clear that you weren’t immune to his spells; yet you didn’t seem impressed by the theatrics or his suave appearance. As if you saw right through him, and knew it was all but a spectacle.

Wanting everyone to witness your ‘claiming’, he took you to the dimly-lit roof of his private apartment and laid you on a blanket beneath the beaming stars. When his lips touched yours while slowly ridding himself of his clothes, August felt like he could tell you his most kept secrets though he didn’t want to.

This is not how it worked. Not for him.

Sorrounded by the fairy tea-lights that adorned the intimate rooftope, you flinched as he began undressing you, and trembled so vehemently once completely bare that all he wanted was to embrace you in his big arms. And he did so, collecting you against the dark fur of his chest, the heat of his body provided shelter from the cold October breeze.

“Beautiful,” he whispered sincerely and allowed his hands to roam the tender map of your body. Likely, he would never see you again, so he wanted to remember every curve, dimple, and scar; he needed your moans imprinted in the museum of his mind.

The same desperate, breathless pleas only a virgin would make, purer than pure.

Breathing in shudders, you laid down beneath him with your legs spread out. Your little untouched slit displayed to his hungering gaze, asking to be reshaped by his intrustment. August was never one to lose control, but your entire existence has made him question every decision and in a moment of frivolousity, he lost himself completely and broke the most forbidden rule:

He entered you bare.

Painfully large and hot as flaming iron, his rigid cock tore through your maidenhood and delved into your velvety pit, desperately searching for the engulfing shelter that was your womb. Weeps of pain rained down your lips; he was too big, and he didn’t slow down. He unwrapped you, tearing your rose petals one by one, sinking in until you could have sworn he was infused between your lungs.

Overwhelmed by the raw sensation of your wet flesh engulfing him, August raked his arm around the small of your back and held your body against his, forcing you to spread wider, to grant him the infinite access he demanded.

“Look at me kitten,” he murmured in a half-breathless, half-soothing voice and showered hasty butterfly kisses across your forehead, “I’m inside you. It’s done, now let me please you.”

He seared your body, your sensitive entrance pulsating with a twinge of grieving anger around his veiny cock, your walls squeezing, fighting off his lewd intrusion. While you anticipated the pain, the initial shock was too much to bear.

“I don’t think I can take you,” you retorted and swallowed hard, trying not to cry as he swelled and flinched inside you further more.

August reached a hand to your jaw and caged it between his strong fingers. Not saying a word, he stared intensely into your eyes. Smoke and broken mirrors shadowed his glare. In your daze, you swore you could see his reveries and hear him whisper without moving his lips.

The barriers of your guarded castle were in ruins, and so was your self-preservation. Fully submitting, you allowed him to take you beneath the shimmering, black silks of midnight.

August was both gentle and rough as he rode between your thighs, his heavy body surrounding you completely. His entity seeped through your lungs and pores, his bewhiskered mouth left sloppy, ticklish kisses and chanted a hymn of pleasure against your neck.

For a slight moment, you wondered if he was this passionate with all of his customers. But all thoughts died at the moment his crown slammed into the wall of your womb, and the entirety of your existence was flooded with both the tremors of sudden pleasure and satisfying pain.

You wanted more, you wanted to be complete. To be completely his.

“Oh god, yes!” You cried for him, clawing your nails at the taut muscles of his back.

Grunting, he plunged into you, harder with every pull and deeper with every thrust. He sought for heaven between your legs and as inexperienced and naive as you were, you followed your instincts and complied to his arousal. Bucking your hips, you yielded to meet the jerk of his hips - your rhythm a savage mess, your demeanour that of a virgin-whore.

“Good girl, my good girl,” August praised, thrilled of the shift in you, and by the helpless, glossy gaze and gaping mouth as you moaned and begged. Your freshly open cunt clung to his invasion with its growing tightness. Holding onto him the way the moon is bound to earth.

Control was gradually lost over your own bodies, enslaved to something stronger than your wills and wits. It was as if you became vessels to haunting spirits that made you slam into one another, lost in a sweaty, carnal trance until a flush of sudden rapture broke between your legs the way raging waves break upon a ship lost at sea, consuming it completely.

Like a dauntless sailor, August followed you into the depths of euphoria. Jumping to his knees, he hauled you by the waist and slammed you against him, needing to be balls-deep within you. With a loud shout, he came undone, astonished by the raw, unbridled sensation of releasing himself inside another person.

You both shuddered in shock as his thick cum bathed your womb in three, warm gushes.

‘Oh, August, what have you done?’

Spent, he nearly collapsed on top of you, holding his hands flat to the side of your head. He took a deep breath before pulling out from your hurting hole and moving to lie by your side. The pink mixture of your essence trickled between your simmering lips just the way it coated his still-swollen cock. Glancing down upon it he felt an odd notion of triumph, more than the usual complacent feeling usually evoked with his clientele.

“Don’t worry, I am clean.” He promised.

In a way, you were his first as well.

Pulling you against him, he nuzzled your neck and hummed lowly, “I don’t imagine you could give me anything.”

Still trying to land back on solid ground, you said nothing. Words didn’t make it, not through your chest nor your head. You basked within the moment, trying to memorise every vibration that flowed through your veins as the glow became dimmer with every passing minute.

Limbs entangled, he decorated your shoulder-blade with honey-sweet kisses while your spine attached to his hairy chest. He watched you quietly, admiring you completely until the two of you fell into a dreamless sleep under the guarding sky.

Come morning, August was awakened by the sounds of the raging street below. The scent of toxic vapours hung heavy in the air and his face curled at the sounds of the beeping horns. For a moment, he forgot where he was but then you were the first thing on his mind. Even though he knew the deal was for one night only, something in him itched for a generous ‘on-the-house’ lazy morning sex.

As he rolled to lie on top of you, his chest felt abruptly empty. He was met with nothing but the defiled blanket.

You were gone.

Though the scent of your body, your sweat, and viscous fluids were still stuck to his skin, your memory a sheer piece of silk carried away by the cruel wind. The weight of a thousand stones dropped in August’s gut and he flipped onto his back once more and stared at the cloudy sky.

It resonated in him that this was all that it was, and he would never find a girl like you again.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

*I don’t own August Walker or the Mission: Impossible Franchise

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill x reader #august walker fanfiction

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wh6res · 3 years

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three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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deluluass · 3 years

Text

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person.

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor.

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology.

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same.

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you.

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off.

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands.

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria.

"You...want me to join?"

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway.

A soft grumble left you.

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then.

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze.

Someone was talking to you.

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench.

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued.

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others.

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself.

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail.

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are.

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Water . Water was what he needed.

Right.

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself.

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo.

The attention hits him like a freight train.

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright.

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him.

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again.

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity.

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted.

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel.

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it.

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping.

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on.

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again.

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none.

Your arms are trembling and you look uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good.

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat.

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder.

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously."

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then."

That made you stop in your tracks.

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away."

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination.

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart.

First, the disbelief.

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this?

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean.

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it.

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day.

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do.

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it.

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing.

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked.

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you.

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least.

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did.

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.)

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs.

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things.

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut.

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears.

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor.

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence.

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind.

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless.

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile.

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please."

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later."

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there.

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours.

Your legs shot upwards.

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him?

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really?

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way.

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze.

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness.

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks.

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die.

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening.

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around.

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly.

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants.

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle.

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit.

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?"

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that .

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole.

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.)

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises).

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered.

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth.

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong.

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong.

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #dark content haikyuu

761 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 3 years

Note

Could you do a HC on how the Mayans men would react to a girl getting hit on at a bar and the guy not taking no for an answer, like they don't know her or anything. I feel like they all respect women enough to at least do something about it; ya know?

All of the Mayans men wake up every day and drink a full pitcher of Respect Women Juice. They will not tolerate disrespect in their house. HC’s under the cut!

(I couldn’t decide if i wanted to do third person or reader insert for these but I settled on reader insert. Hopefully it works alright)

Bishop:

-Senses the tension immediately

-My man sits back and watches the entire clubhouse all night. He knows everything that’s going on. And when he notices that some guy is refusing to leave you alone, he instantly gets up and goes to intervene.

-He’s not hot-headed about it. He doesn’t have the time or the energy for that anymore. But he places himself between the two of you, looking back and forth, “Everything alright here?”

-The guy would try to brush it off and reassure him that yea, of course everything is okay you can leave now. But Bishop wouldn’t have any of that. He’d cut him off mid-sentence, “I wasn’t fucking asking you.”

-He’d turn to you and ask again if you’re alright. You’d give a slight shake of her head no, not wanting to stir up drama but also not wanting to deal with this dude anymore. And that’s all it would take.

-”I think you should leave,” he wouldn’t yell. Just state it as a fact. But when the guy would try to argue that’s when he would get a little more heated. He’d step in closer to the dude’s face, but not putting hands on him, “I said you should fucking leave.”

-Bishop only uses yelling and brute force as a last resort. Very rarely does it ever come to that. He would follow the guy all the way to the clubhouse door, making sure that he actually leaves before going back to check on the poor girl that he was harassing. He 100% lingers close for the rest of the night to make sure no one bothers you.

Angel:

-King of being the Fake Boyfriend.

-My tall boy might be emotionally illiterate sometimes but he can read a social situation. When he sees a girl scrambling to try and come up with excuses to make a guy leave her alone, he has no problem inserting himself into the situation.

-Smooth as fuck walking up to you, greeting you while resting a protective hand on your shoulder. Instantly setting the tone to whoever is talking to you that this was a useless endeavor.

- "Hey, querida,” he’d wait for you to look at him, “Sorry, didn’t see you walk in. You get a drink already? Want me to get you something?”

-The look in his eyes would let you know that he’s offering you an out to the uncomfortable situation that you’re in. He’s not trying to flirt--he’s just trying to drive away whatever asshole wasn’t catching the hint that you didn’t want to talk.

- "Who the fuck are you?” this is a problem that the guy did not see coming.

-Angel would look at him, eyes narrow, “I’m her boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”

- The question is rhetorical. It doesn’t matter who the guy is. Angel doesn’t give him a chance to answer. He steps closer to the guy, towering over him. He looks down at him and is practically begging the guy to say something stupid so he has an excuse to physically throw him out the front door.

- He doesn’t get the chance, though. The guy reads the cue, knows that it’s a fight that he will not win, and walks away.

- Angel would turn back to you, “You good? Sorry about that. Didn’t seem like he was getting the hint.”

- You’d shake your head, “He wasn’t. Thank you, I appreciate the assist.”

- “No problem,” he’d pause, “But forreal did you get a drink already? First round on me.”

Ezekiel:

- Y’all remember the casino scenes with the cops? That’s how he handles shit.

- Master of keeping his cool in frustrating situations. Completely follows your lead. He sees a lot of weird interactions being on the serving side of the bar, always clocking what’s happening in front of him in case he has to step in.

-He’d notice you rolling your eyes and giving short answers. He’d also notice that the guy either isn’t picking up the cues, or is willfully ignoring them. EZ catches your eyes a few times, silently asking if you want him to step in. You shake your head--the guy is annoying but harmless for the time being.

- Then he tries to touch you. Casually reaching for your shoulder, trying to rest his hand on your knee. You recoil, trying to create more space between the two of you. He doesn't care though.

- That’s when EZ can’t keep it to himself anymore. He’d sigh, not looking up from the glasses that he’s cleaning, “I don’t think she’s into you, man.”

- You and the man would both turn to look at him, each of you with a surprised expression on your faces. You’d stay quiet, wanting to see how the situation was going to play out. The man next to you would scoff, “I don’t remember you being part of this fucking conversation.”

- “I might as well be if I have to sit here and watch it. You’re the only one out of the three of us not suffering from how uncomfortable this is.”

- His commentary would ruffle some feathers. The man next to you would get defensive, “No one asked for your fucking opin--”

- Knowing that EZ had your back would give you a little extra confidence, “You should listen to him,” you nod, “He’s right. We’re suffering.”

- He’d be caught off-guard by the two of you teaming up on him. Realizing it wouldn't be worth the fight, he’d huff and walk away. EZ would watch him and chuckle, calling after him, “Least you could do is pay your fucking tab!”

- You’d laugh, glad to be done with the uncomfortable situation, “His drink and whatever you want are all on me tonight. As a thank you.”

- He’d give you that little smirk, “Don’t mention it.”

Coco:

- Zero tolerance policy.

- Not coy or polite about it at all.

-Instantly uses himself as a barrier between you and whatever guy it is that’s not leaving you alone. He might not be the biggest guy in the MC, but he sure as hell carries himself like he is when the situation calls for it.

-Will not hesitate to get nose-to-nose with whoever is bothering you. If someone wants to invade your space, he’ll invade theirs. Fair is fair.

- “You really can’t take a fuckin’ hint, huh?” he’d shake his head.

- “What’s your problem?” the man’s voice would sound confident but the look in his eyes would show that he really didn't want a problem with whoever this guy was getting in his face.

- “You. Fuckin’ beat it,” he’d jerk his head towards the door, “Don’t come back, either.”

- Coco carries himself with the confidence of a man that will make someone pay dearly for coming back uninvited. Confrontational situations usually resolve themselves quickly. People tend to not want to mess with him if they can avoid it.

-When the guy inevitably leaves not just you, but the clubhouse altogether, Coco finally turns back to you, “You good, ma?”

- You nod, watching him light up a cigarette, “Uh, yea. I’m good. Thanks for that.”

- He nods, blowing out a puff of smoke, “We’ll make sure that fucker never comes back.”

Hank:

- The only thing that Hank Loza drinks is Respect Women Juice. When he runs across someone that doesn’t, it gets out of hand really quickly.

-Bull in a china shop.

- The same man who is usually calm and cool and collected, physically removes whoever it is that is causing a problem. The guys have tried to teach him deescalation skills but it never sticks. It’s the only thing that Hank gets heated about so they all let it go at this point.

- Hank isn’t a small dude. When he steps toe-to-toe with someone he almost always out-sizes them. They get about 5 seconds to hear what he says and leave on their own before he removes them on his own.

- “You should leave her alone,” the friendly suggestion is really anything but.

- The guys are almost always cocky, not thinking that anything is actually going to happen to them, “Or what, tough guy?”

- They ignored their first and only warning. What happens next is all on them. Hank grabs the guy by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. His voice is quiet, which is way more terrifying than yelling, “Let’s find out.”

- Hank lifts and carries the guy out, on the brink of dragging him like a caveman. The guy is yelling in protest, trying to swing, but Hank is unfazed.

- He throws the guy down the steps of the clubhouse, giving a final warning not to come back. No longer in an agumentative mood, the man takes off in a desperate attempt to avoid getting further tossed around.

- When he goes back into the clubhouse, the rest of the guys have moved on from the situaiton--to them it was business as usual for Hank. You, on the other hand, didn't see the situation unfolding that way at all. He walked back up to you, the anger gone from his face, a gentle smile there instead.

- “Are you alright?” he looks you over as if to make sure you didn't get hurt in the midst of it all.

- “Yea,” you nod, “I’m...I’m fine. Thanks. You...you didn’t have to do all that.”

- He’d chuckle, knowing that for him it was the only course of action, “Of course I did,” he’d gently rest his hand on the outside of your arm, “Let me know if anyone else gives you any trouble.”

Creeper:

- The smaller version of Hank, tbh. Constantly out here Respecting Women.

- Remember that scene where he catches a shotgun that’s tossed to him and immediately starts shooting on the highway?? That’s the energy he has when dealing with men who disrespect women.

- Cannot easily lift and remove men the same way Hank does, but he will throw hands without hesitation.

- The guys told him no more threatening with guns in the clubhouse. So fists will have to suffice.

- Does not offer a warning to the guy. If someone is being pushy or rude, they don’t deserve a heads-up. He will try to get your attention in some way first, to make sure that you want him to intervene. If he thinks that it’s going to get out of hand, or if you let him know with a pleading look that you could use the assist, he is instantly throwing himself into the middle of it.

- He’d catch your eye, motioning back and forth between you and the man in front of you to ask if you need an out. You’d give him a slight nod and that’s all it would take.

- Walking up, he grabs the guy by his shoulder and turns him around, “Hey, motherfucker,” he’d shove him towards the door of the clubhouse, “Leave.”

- Caught off-guard, the man would shove him back. Fully-bruised ego shining through, “Keep your hands off me.”

- That’s when you’d hear the first crack of a fist colliding with someone’s jaw. Your eyes would go wide, not ever having seen Creeper get like this. His focus would be completely on the man stumbling towards the ground in front of him, “I said get the fuck out.”

- It usually doesn’t take more than one punch to get his point across. HIs muscles aren’t just for show--getting clocked by him fucking hurts. They’re lucky that he’s not big on wearing rings.

- Once the threat is neutralized, he instantly shifts back into his quiet, gentler self to check in with you. He sees the surprise in your face at how things unfolded and he holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m done, promise.”

- It’d get you to laugh. You can see it in his expression that it’s almost like a switch he can flip on and off. “Um. Thank you. That...isn’t what I was expecting. But thank you.”

- “Are you alright?” he’d sit down next to you, mindful to give you some space.

- “Yea, I’m good. How’s your hand?”

- He’d chuckle, “All good. Nothing new.”

Okay this was a lot of fun. I love all these dorks. Hope you enjoyed! xo

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Here’s to Friendships That Were Never Real

Teen

Gen

Most of the Guardians enjoy having their memories back Douxie rather wishes he didn't have to remember the worst 18 hours of his life, and all the different kinds of betrayal he endured.

Ao3

When the memories returned, everyone was happy.

Everyone remembered what heroes they were.

They remembered Toby’s sacrifice, Jim’s choice.

They remembered valiant deeds, a harsh battle, a tough time.

They remembered pain, but more importantly, they remembered the victory.

That wasn’t how Douxie remembered it.

Douxie remembered pain and torture. Douxie remembered heartache, and loss. Douxie remembered fear.

But most of all, Douxie remembered betrayal.

Douxie remembered being locked up by the order, expecting his friends to come save him.

Only for them to never arrive.

And of course, that was the practical option. The safe option. That was, of course, the right choice. One wizard for the fate of the world? It was hardly worth it. One life, stacked up against all other lives? Laughable. But still…

Douxie had risked the fate of the world to save them.

Douxie had died to save them.

Apparently, they hadn’t thought he was worth the effort to reciprocate.

And then when he was back?

Was it really any better?

Did anyone even care, did anyone even notice that he’d been hurt? They hadn’t asked if he was okay. Just where Nari was, what Nari had said while she was in his body. Did they even care what had happened to him? No. Sure. World in danger. Find out where Nari was. That was… that was fair, that was logical. It was more important than how he felt.

It still hurt.

Maybe if they’d pulled the knives out of his back, they would have had enough weapons to defeat the order.

Friends never arriving.

Friends leaving.

Charlemagne was Archie’s father. Of course he wouldn’t want to leave him. Of course—Charlemagne was Archie’s family. Of course he’d choose to stay with him.

It was just that Douxie had thought he was family, too.

But apparently not.

He remembered falling from the sky, again, and there was no one to help him. He’d had to save himself. Do it alone.

Alone.

Apparently that was what he was.

He’d thought, maybe, that these people cared about him. He cared about them, he cared so much, he thought his heart might burst. Maybe he’d been projecting his own love back. Maybe he’d thought they cared because he cared. Maybe he’d been reading the situation wrong the whole time.

And now? Now they were all laughing, all hugging, and glad to get their memories back.

Glad that things were back to the way they were.

Douxie slipped away, wandering through the streets of Arcadia. They hadn’t noticed when he was hurting then, and they didn’t notice now.

There had been one person who’d put Douxie above the greater good.

One person who had valued Douxie above his own life.

Maybe the one thing this time travel had fixed.

If the erased events had taught Douxie anything, it was that there was apparently only one person he could trust.

One person who had cared enough about him to make an effort.

Douxie stopped in front of a bookstore, his hands shaking as he opened the lock with magic, like he had a hundred times before. He held his breath as he walked in.

Empty.

Dark.

Abandoned.

What had he been expecting? Douxie’s shoulders sank, and he felt tears start to well up in the corners of his eyes.

“Hisirdoux?”

Douxie whirled around to see him standing there, in all of his armored glory, as grouchy and old as when Douxie had last seen him.

“What are you doing here? I should think you’d be celebrating the return of your memories, as all of your frie—”

Merlin broke off as Douxie stumbled into him, sobbing. The master wizard put one hand on his head, letting him cry into an uncomfortable, metal shoulder. “Oh, Hisirdoux. What has happened to you?”

“I d-don’t want to see them,” he choked, “I thought—but then—and even Archie—I don’t…”

His emotions were a jumbled mess. He wanted to see them—but he didn’t. He loved them, and he hated himself for loving them, hated himself for caring so much about people who didn’t care back, and if he could just stop caring, it would be okay, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop caring, and caring while knowing that they didn’t care made it so much worse.

“Then you don’t have to. I do not know what happened in the time after my demise, but if you wish to stay here with me, you are welcome. Master wizard.”

Merlin waved a hand, and the door to the back sprang open. The cot Douxie had left there was replaced by a bed, and warm lights flickered on.

Douxie shuffled inside. “And—if the others come—”

“If you do not wish to see them, I will not let them in. You have my word.”

Douxie collapsed on the bed, more tired than he thought he’d be. Merlin quietly shut the door, and Douxie flopped backwards, one arm over his eyes. He’d have to face them eventually.

But not tonight.

Xxx

Claire slammed a fist on Merlin’s door. Archie hadn’t wanted to come with—she wasn’t sure why, but the familiar had looked awfully dodgy and guilty about it. “Hey! Open up!”

The door opened just a crack. “Why hello, Miss Nunez. I trust you have a reasonable explanation for why you’re attempting to break down my door at his hour?”

“Where’s Douxie?!”

“Oh, finally noticed he’s missing, have you? He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Doesn’t want to—” Claire sputtered, “Liar! We’re his friends, and we know you have him! Let us see him!”

“As I said, he does not wish to see you. Good day.”

Merlin closed the door.

Claire kicked it down. “What are you doing to him?”

Merlin thumped his staff on the ground. “As of a few moments ago, I believe I was allowing him to sleep in. Perhaps you’ve missed your recommended eight hours, and that is why you seem a touch unreasonable.”

Jim put a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “We’re just… worried about him is all. He left last night, and we haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for you to worried about him now. As I said, Hisirdoux does not wish to see you. Kindly exit my shop before I am forced to take action.”

Claire heard a slight creak, and she peered around Merlin to see a door to the back open just a crack, a pair of golden eyes peering out of it.

“Douxie!”

The wizard shuffled out into the open, looking like he’d gotten caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “Oh. Hey.”

Something about him was off, something about the way he wouldn’t look Claire in the eye. “We… just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. “Yeah. I’m fine. You can go.”

Claire hesitated. “Douxie, are you… are you sure? Merlin said—”

“Merlin was right,” Douxie said in a small voice, keeping his master in-between himself and Claire, “I don’t want to see you. Please go.”

Suspicion swept over Claire, and she turned to Merlin. “What are you doing to him? Some kind of control?!”

“I assure you, Lady Claire, I am doing nothing of the sort. Hisirdoux simply does not want to see you. Neither do I, really, so if you would kindly walk out of that door—”

“Liar!” A knife of shadows materialized in Claire’s hand, and she leveled it at Merlin. “Let him go!”

Merlin’s eyes flashed, and his staff started to glow. “Careful, Miss Nunez. You may have learned shadow magic, but I still have centuries of experience on you.”

“We’ll see.”

“Stop!”

Claire and Merlin both stopped glaring at each other to turn to see who’d spoken. Jim shook his head. “Both of you. Quit fighting. Claire, if Douxie says he doesn’t want to see us…”

Claire turned back to Douxie. “But why?” she pleaded, “What’s wrong, Douxie? Did we do something?”

Douxie’s eyes flashed blue, and he slammed his fist down on the table. “What’s wrong?! What’s wrong is that you left me with the order. What’s wrong is that even when they were torturing me, you didn’t come for me. What’s wrong is that you didn’t care about what I went through!”

His eyes were completely blue, and small items were starting to float. Claire took a step back. “…Douxie? I… I’m sorry, we didn’t know—”

Douxie collapsed to his knees with a pulse of blue magic shooting out. It didn’t do much—just gave Claire a headache. “BUT YOU DIDN’T BOTHER FINDING OUT, DID YOU?!”

Glowing blue tears ran down his cheeks.

“You just… didn’t care enough, I guess.”

The maelstrom of blue magic surrounding Douxie was getting wilder and wilder, items swirling around like a tornado.

“You left me.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Merlin muttered as the magic started to spread further and further out from Douxie. “Hisirdoux, wait—”

“Douxie, we’re sorry,” Jim tried.

Another blast of magic shot out of their friend, and this one threw everyone back, including Merlin. “SORRY ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH,” he howled.

The world turned a blinding flash of blue, and when Claire blinked the spots out of her eyes, Douxie was gone.

Xxx

Douxie curled into a ball, in the alley next to Benoit’s. His magic was still fluctuating wildly, making things in the alleyway fly around or light on fire at random.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

How was someone supposed to make up for stabbing you in the back?

How did you just say “sorry” for the way you abandoned someone like that fixed everything?

How could you just FORGIVE someone for not caring enough, for staying willfully ignorant of what you’d gone through?

Because he wanted to forgive them.

But he wanted to stay mad.

He wanted them close again.

But he wanted them to stay away.

He loved them.

He hated them.

He needed them.

He shouldn’t need them.

They’d abandoned him.

They were sorry.

But were they really, actually sorry? Did they actually care, or was he just another item on a checklist—restore memories, check on Douxie, feed the cat.

Something jumped down into the alleyway next to him.

“I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see,” Archie’s voice said.

Douxie looked up to see his familiar awkwardly pawing at the ground. He turned away.

“You don’t have to forgive me for what I did. I left you. I should have been by your side, I should have been the one to stick with you through thick and thin. And I didn’t.”

Douxie didn’t respond. A glass bottle exploded.

“It was just… when I saw my dad, about to be trapped in the Troll Market, I panicked. I thought “this is it, if I don’t do something now, I’ll lose him forever.” And I made a choice. A bad one. And then in the next hour until Jim reset time… I regretted that choice, Douxie. I spent every second after wishing I was with you instead. That I’d flown out. I would have missed my dad. But in that hour, I found that I would miss you more.” Archie sighed. “I know you’re angry. And you should be. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness—none of us deserve your forgiveness. I made a bad choice, and I… I hurt you. And I can’t fix that. I can’t erase what happened—well, I supposed Jim technically did, but you see my point. I just wanted to let you know that… leaving you was the worst decision of my life. And if you never want to see me again… then that’s what I deserve. I chose to never see you again, and it’s only fair if you want to return the favor. I’m sorry, Douxie.”

Archie turned to go, and for the first time, Douxie reached out and picked him up, hugging him. His familiar tensed, unused to Douxie initiating the contact, but then rubbed against his chest. “I’m sorry, Douxie. I’m so, so, sorry.”

Douxie wiped at his eyes. His magic had finally settled down. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay what I did. But… I’d be honored if you’d let me stay with you anyway.”

“Always.” Douxie scratched behind Archie’s ears. “But I… I can’t stay here. I need time. To process. And… I can’t keep seeing them. I just… I can’t.”

Archie purred. “The world is much bigger than Arcadia Oaks. We can go anywhere you like, Douxie, you pick where.”

Douxie wrinkled his nose. “Just promise me one thing?”

“Name it.”

“We’re not traveling on any trains.”

#rott #rott spoilers #hi yes i am still angry about how douxie got treated #my writing #claire nuñez #jim lake jr #screw forgiveness let people be angry #toa #douxie #tales of arcadia #toa fanfiction

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Things You Said When You Were Scared- Prompt Fill

Bit of an au after the worm attack. Jon is having a rough time.

CWs injury (canon typical worm related), paranoia, exhaustion. nausea, vomiting (it's not gross, I promise), pain, dizziness, fainting, medication mention, canon typical quarantine mention, food mention.

@janekfan @sukurarose92

Jon can’t remember the last time he felt this terrible. There probably had been other times. A few terrible flus over the years, and getting almost eaten by a spider once upon a time…. but time has a tendency to dull the particularly bad stuff, aside from say, flashbacks and nightmares. But it’s the brain protecting itself. You don’t remember the pain. You don’t remember the fear. You remember the memory of the pain, wrapped in spun-sugar-strands of time, growing dusty on a shelf. You remember the taste of fear, the gripping anxiety of it. You remember surges of it in the depths of the night and you panic… but you can’t remember it all the time. That just isn’t how the brain works.

Which is irrelevant. All irrelevant, because the pain medication he’s been given is wearing off. He thinks Sasha and Tim went off to do something….? Probably panic together about the fresh worm trauma. Martin? Jon hasn’t the foggiest clue.

Possibly because he’s hazy with pain and the last of the drugs that have been keeping him going this long. Staggering into the walls as he tries to exit the institute. Eyes closing involuntarily against the pain and the exhaustion. Limbs feeling so alien between the bandages and the aching, weeping holes they hide beneath them. Pounding dizziness down to his core.

He aches.

Phantom itching-crawling-squirming on his skin, through his muscles, down to the bone. The actual holes chewed into him.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to get to his flat. He can’t stay in the Archives, not with the police in the tunnels and the ECDC still doing whatever it is they are doing. But the thought of taking a cab or the tube make him want to tear his remaining skin off. Makes him want to just lie down on the sidewalk.

He even thinks making it to the front doors will end him.

He’s dizzy and sick and his limbs won’t carry him.

He has to sit down on the first step outside the door, sticking his head between his knees. He can’t do this. He can’t. He’s just going to sit here all night, or risk passing out or throwing up or risking any other horror of the late twilight consuming him before he can collapse into unconsciousness in the comfort of his own bed.

He waits for the world to stop spinning, and tries not to cry.

Because he can’t have more pain medication until he eats something. He can’t eat anything because it won’t stay in him, and even if it would, he can’t go anywhere. He’s stuck. Less than a five minute walk from his office where Gertrude DIED, from where he was attacked where he thought he’d be Safe, where he thought Martin would be safe. A few paces from where the dead worms were pulled out of him and he was scoured raw and sterile in a hastily assembled quarantine on the sidewalk.

He tries not to spiral into a panic attack right here.

Trying to pull his breathing under control, because it isn’t helping his tenuous grasp on the directions of up and down.

Where is the next danger going to come from?

Is this when Mr. Spider will strike? Letting him go until he’s weak and exposed and alone?

Or is this where some unknown (or known) hostile comes in with a grand betrayal and a gun. Leaving him to be another mystery, or a willfully ignored casualty of something he can’t begin to understand?

“Jon?”

Jon jumps. And very, very much regrets it. Heart racing, head spinning, a fresh hurt. A fresh reminder of every opening in his flesh that doesn’t belong there. “Ma… Martin?” He asks around gasping and shuddering breaths. “What …are you doing here?”

His voice is a little distant, a little hallow. “Don’t really have anywhere to do, do I? You packed up my flat. All in boxes at some storage unit. Now, my bedroom is tangentially part of a crime scene.”

“…Right.” It’s all his fault.

He needs to sleep. He needs some painkillers. He might need to throw up, but that is an issue he plans to avoid, if at all possible. Ditto to fainting. Although that seems a little more inevitable.

Martin makes no move to continue speaking. “So… your plan was to just camp out on this bench?”

Martin shrugs. “Dunno. Figured I might call Tim? At some point? Or try to sneak back into the Archives once the police leave? Can’t really afford a hotel. Maybe just sleep on this bench. Try to decompress or something. Jon. Why are you still here? Said you’d go home hours ago.”

Well he can’t exactly tell Martin he’d passed out in the break room for some indeterminate measure of time, then spent another eternity getting sick in the toilets. And then possibly passed out again. That’s not just something you tell Martin and expect him not to fuss over you. And Jon tries to tell himself that that would be suffocating and not kind of welcome right now. He tells himself that the thought of spending more time with Martin brings discomfort, and irritation, and fear. It’s not like he can prove that Martin won’t kill him. But he’s too tired to think about that. He just wants to sleep.

“....Um?”

Martin looks at him, probably for the first time. “Jesus, Jon. You look terrible.”

Jon hmmms in agreement. Not like he can argue. Martin’s too nice to comment on the bandages. A little too tactful. Right? Martin’s bumbling and stupid, but he’s tactful. He’s Nice. As irritating as he can be, he’s just so Nice.

But, it’s not like he can argue. He’s covered in bandages and a clammy sweat and he’s halfway into a panic attack and he can’t really walk and he just wants to lay down right here until the world stops moving. Both in the sense that he’s dizzy and in the sense that things beyond his comprehension are happening at a pace he can’t begin to catch up with.

“Can I... call you a cab? Or... or something?”

Jon shakes his head as much as he dares, which isn’t much. No cabs. He gets carsick. He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Well you can’t just sit there all night.”

“Right, like you plan to?”

Martin looks away.

And Jon goes back to trying not to pass out.

“Tim lives close by, doesn’t he, I walk you there? Or… um… carry you?” Martin’s trying to be tactful. Jon is pretty sure that is supposed to be a pointed look at his legs.

Jon scowls. (Not that Martin is wrong. There is something very wrong with his knee.)

“Can’t just …intrude like that. I’m sure he doesn’t want me around. Not professional…”

“Jon, you saw him in his pants today. You were put in quarantine together. I think you’re past all normal working relationship boundaries, even if he wasn’t your friend. I can’t just leave you here, and you clearly aren’t planning to get yourself home. Besides… maybe if he takes you in… maybe he’ll take me in, too.”

Jon stares down at the sidewalk, drifting in lazy, nauseous, out of focus movements before his eyes. “He doesn’t want me around. Not after taking Sasha’s job. Not after making him stay to get his statement.” Jon whispers at the pavement.

“Yeah like he’s still jealous for Sash, after that creepy worm lady went specifically for the “Archivist.” Whatever the fuck that means. And you know Tim was only pissed because he was in pain and tired, like you are now!”

“I should just go home…”

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

Christ Martin’s stubborn.

“Now. Can you walk, or do I need to cary you?”

Jon tries pull himself up to prove a point, but he comes to in Martin’s arms a few moments later, Martin loudly cursing at him. He’s in too much pain to really hear what Martin is trying to say to him. And he’s feeling even more sick. And he wonders where his prescriptions and paramedic provided cane have gotten to, but he really doesn’t really care, because Martin is solid and warm and he’s so tired.

He wakes up again on Tim’s couch. Sick to his stomach from the oppressive oder of takeout.

“Woah, boss. Not on the couch. I’ve got you.”

Throwing up nothing into the bin that’s been hastily shoved in front of him even though he’s got nothing in him anymore. He sobs around dry heaves until it’s just the silence juddering sobs. He Hurts.

He wants to hide. From Martin who is making tea, from Sasha running a bandaged hand through his hair. From Tim supporting the bin, and Jon himself.

He curls in on himself. Wills himself into unconsciousness, but the injuries pulse with each uneven breath, stomach still roiling painfully. He needs more medicine, but he can’t think about hoping to keep it down.

He sobs against Tim, as the bin is pried away.

“‘Hurts. Tim ‘m scared.”

Scooped up. Held, gently.

“Why didn’t you head home? Why not go right away so you could get toast and water into you, and sleep until you could take some more meds?” Tim holding him. Martin awkwardly sat by his side with ginger tea. Which Jon doesn’t care for, but Tim hasn’t kept mint tea since Jon stopped visiting. Still… it should help. Sasha clearing away the food smells, bless her. “Why did you have to take our statements? I would have invited you back here, if you didn’t?”

That last question doesn’t help.

He doesn’t know he’s tearing at the bandages until Tim’s tugging his hands away, and Martin is bemoaning the splotches of blood now decorating the bandages that are quickly becoming sweaty and grimy. Couldn’t even stay clean after he was scrubbed sterile. Martin and Sasha and Tim are spotless and scoured.

“I… I don’t want to disappear. I… do-don’t want to be found in the tunnels. I don’t want to vanish without a trace, I…“ He doesn’t even know. He can’t breathe. He’s lightheaded. He Hurts.

“Hey… hey hey. It’s.. it’s okay to be scared. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, okay? Then see if we can get some saltines and tea into you so you can get some meds, eh? Then we’re gonna all get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to lose you…” Jon’s voice swallowed by Tim scooping him up. Martin hovering with the bin and Jon’s bag of medical supplies.

Sasha’s back by then, brushing back Jon’s curls. “And you won’t. Sooner you leave, the sooner we can all get some sleep, alright?”

Jon closes his eyes, and nods, letting Tim carry him to the washroom.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #timothy stoker #sahsa james #magnus pod #tma fic #cw injury #cw nausea #cw vomit #cw fainting #cw dizziness #cw medication #cw quarantine #my fic #my words #my art

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dutchdread · 3 years

Note

Hi again, I'm the same anon from your last ask. So my next question then is why would you consider it to be a bad story if Cloud ends up with Aerith in the end? You also say Cloud and Tifa supposedly have something going on, but even if they did, Aerith doesn't know that. Neither Cloud nor Tifa tell anyone, or even show that there's anything going on between them throughout the whole story. Did you see that in Remake that Aerith even asks Cloud if Tifa is someone special and he says no?

Thanks for the question. Your question is comprised of two parts, why Cloud ending up with Aerith would be a bad story, and then the secondary part about Aerith not knowing about the history between Tifa and Cloud. I think understanding the later will be helpful to understand the former so I'll start with that. This goes back to what I said in my last reply concerning the difference between thinking someone is a bad person, and thinking they're a bad character. First off, let me just make clear that I don't judge Aerith too much concerning her behavior in the OG, since as you rightly state, she didn't really know that there was anything going on between Tifa and Cloud, she probably knew there was some attraction there, but nothing about the extent or the history. And if in the remake it turns out she's actually blissfully ignorant I'll be more lenient there as well. However, in my opinion the remake heavily implies she does realize there is a thing between Tifa and Cloud. You mentioned Aerith asking if Tifa was Clouds girlfriend, and him replying "no". However, as always, there is context here, for starters, the scene doesn't end there and then. Aerith replies knowingly "but she's someone special". Moreover the scene is also only one scene in a series of relevant scenes concerning Clouds relationship with Tifa, which starts with Jessie asking about who Tifa is too Cloud, this plotpoint then continues through Aeriths flower. When Aerith gives Cloud the flower she mentions that his girlfriend will love it, then later when Aerith asks him who he gave the flower to Cloud says he doesn't remember, and Aerith calls him out on the lie. The question is then answered when Aerith goes to the 7th heaven and discovers Cloud gave it to Tifa, prompting a smile from Aerith. She figured it out, actually, she probably figured it much earlier, but now it was confirmed. She had a hunch about Tifa, just like Jessie, Cloud was defensive at first, then evasive, but ultimately, Aeriths hunch was correct, Cloud gave the flower to Tifa. He can pretend all he wants, Aerith knows. Personally, I think she smiled because it reminds her of the future. Throughout remake Aerith is hinted to know more than she lets on, and that's especially true concerning Tifa and Cloud. When Tifa is kidnapped she pushes Cloud to go after Tifa, calling Tifa Clouds special person. If I recall correctly she even uses the same terminology that she used to describe Elmyras husband. She actively tries to make Tifa jealous by calling Cloud her bodyguard, and then she straight up tells Tifa to follow her heart. She gives me the distinct impression that she knows perfectly well where Cloud and Tifas hearts lie, and is trying to push them into action. This is borderline confirmed during the Aerith resolution where she basically straight up admits to knowing more about Clouds feelings than she actually should, assuming you think that this apparition is at least somewhat related to the current Aerith in some manner. The thing that really clenches this in my opinion is a trace of two pasts, where Tifa straight up tells Aerith about her and Clouds history. If Aerith doesn't get it by then, then she's being willfully ignorant. But lets say she does indeed not know, that would to some degree absolve her as a person. But it would still make her a bad character, because WE, the audience, know. We know that Cloud is supposed to end up with Tifa, we know that's how the story goes. And when you rewrite old stories in such a way that you take things away from one character, just to give more to another character, you run the giant risk of insulting the characters involved. You see this in things like the star wars sequels, where they effectively character assassinated Luke Skywalker in order to artificially make Rey seem better. But there are two reasons why this doesn't work, for one, it tends to create Mary-Sue like characters who just get given everything, and two, it inherently causes the fans of the other characters and stories to resent the character that's taking it away.

People don't like people who are simply handed everything, even fictional ones.

In a sense, this is also why Cleriths so often seem to hate Tifa, because they feel like Tifa took their story away from them. The difference, of course, is that Cloud ending with Tifa is a part of the original game itself, while Aerith coming back to life and ending up with Cloud would be a 25 year retcon which would blatantly disadvantage one character in favor of another, this in turn would reek of favoritism, which in turn would generate bad blood in the player. A character who needs to take away from other characters in order to be put forward is not a good character. Good characters add to the characters around them, not take away, that's what Aerith in the OG does, that's what Aerith ending up with Cloud, would not do. This effect would then be magnified by Aeriths already over importance to the plot. Having the universe revolve around one character generally isn't good writing. One of the things that makes Lord of the rings so timeless and beloved is that Frodo is just a small hobbit in the grand scheme of things. Likewise, one of the key elements that makes FFVII so appealing to human nature is Clouds humanity and lack of importance. The fact that Cloud turns out to not be a soldier 1st class, but just a grunt who wasn't good enough, who still ends up being the one who saves the world, speak to the human spirit. Aerith living and ending up with Cloud wouldn't be just a small difference where the overall story would stay the same with only the love interest switched, no, it would inherently ripple effect into all other aspects of the story. From the smallest details to the overall themes of the story, from directing to the personalities of characters, everything would be effected and all of it would fall apart. I could go over a hundred examples but I'll limit myself to some of the smallest and largest. Stories have a flow, where what is happening follows logically from what came before. It's not that it's impossible to write a story where two characters that are roughly similar to Cloud and Aerith fall in love, get separated by death, and where the Cloud character mourns and pines for her after she's gone. The problem comes when you add in Tifa, Zack, and all the other context and details of the story. Consider Zack, if we take the concept of Zack as it relates to Cloud and Aeriths relationship and boil it down to the essentials we could see it as a story about a girl falling in love with a boy because he's channeling the spirit of her dead ex, the main internal conflict the characters need to overcome could then be the question of whether these feelings are true, or whether they are just the shadow of her feelings for the old boyfriend. On the surface, this premise works as the basis of a story. The problem lies in the execution. If you write such a story there are a few things you can and cannot do. For one, you have to make this love exceptionally obvious, you can't tell a story about whether or not feelings are true if you never even get to establishing the feelings in the first place. One of the key things you need to do for this is establish the two characters central importance to the others internal emotional arcs. The first thing you DON'T do is establish a second female character and have Clouds emotional arc revolve mainly around her. If you want to tell a story where Tifa and Clouds relationship turns out to just be friendship, while Aerith and Cloud turns out to be love, then you show the scenes establishing that. However, whenever Cleriths argue for a story like this they have to assert that Cloud no longer loving Tifa is just something that happened off-screen and is never mentioned. But if this were true, this would be extremely important to show. So again, if this is the story, then this is bad direction, aka, storytelling. Scene choices matter, if your story requires you to assume that the scenes you're shown aren't important, and that the crucial bits have to be imagined to happen of screen, then that's bad writing. And the reason you can't suddenly do it now, 25 years later, is

because of a thing called "set-up". Even if they were to change to story to suddenly direct it as such now, it would constitute a drastic change of direction, which means the larger 2-decade long story we've been told is no longer a single coherent whole. If the story in remake is that Cloud always loved Aerith, then why wasn't the ground work for that lain 25 years ago? If you want to say that the story is about Cloud loving Aerith, and ending up with her eventually, then you can't have Cloud not speak her name for the second half of the original game, and devote that time completely to establishing port-mortem that Cloud wasn't himself while with Aerith, and that his true self has deeply ingrained feelings towards another woman. And not some minor character who exists only as a plot-device, some fake hurdle designed to try to raise some fake tension, but Tifa, a character who is routinely established to be the "heroine" of the game, someone of equal importance to Aerith who cared for Cloud while he was in a coma, whose history with Cloud started his internal character arc, whose history with Cloud resolved his internal character arc, and who lives with Cloud 2 years later.

And the same thing goes for Zack, it was possible to write him as negligible when it was just FFVII, if you ignored the addition of Tifa and JUST focused on the Zack element as a side character. But the addition of Tifa and the existence of Crisis Core cause the narrative to become disjointed when trying to view it as a single story. This is why people so often want you to ignore Crisis Core, because they understand that if a conclusion of a story is that Zacks role isn't that important, then why did your story spend an entire game cementing the importance of Zack? One of the things I hear most from Cleriths is "why couldn't Cloud just get over his childhood crush on Tifa and fall in love with Aerith? It happens in real life" , or some other variation of "why couldn't this happen?" But this shows the problem with how they want the story to go, because stories aren't real life. Anything CAN happen in a story, but not anything should. Stories have a concept called " checkovs gun", if a gun is introduced into a story in the first act, it has to be fired somewhere down the line. If the gun turns out to not have a role in the story, why was it there? But the same thing doesn't apply in real life, in real life, chekovs guns almost never fire, with few exceptions, real life is a bad guide to how to write stories. Stories written like real life, generally suck. If characters in stories behaved like characters in real life, half their lines would be "uhhhhh", and half the scenes would be them sitting on the couch having meaningless unrelated events happen.

The entire flow, pacing, and sequence of events is wrong in a Clerith version of this story. In order to sell the idea that FFVII is a story about Aerith and Cloud getting together you first have to sell the idea that all these plot threats concerning Tifa essentially don't matter. But if they don't matter, then why are they there? What purpose do they serve? What purpose does Tifa serve? Or Zack? In order to "fix" their preferred interpretation, Cleriths need to get around this problem, which causes them to have to re-interpret everything that happens and twist it in order to create the appearance of a coherent story. This requires them to resort to minimizing characters, character assassinating characters, and generally misrepresenting everything that happens. I think there is no bigger indication of why Cloud and Aerith getting together would suck as a story than looking at how the people who propose this version of the story look at Cloud and Tifa as characters. What follows are some excerpts from the dumbest person I've ever debated.

This went on for over 200 replies, this is not a mentally sound interpretation of the story, but this is what you need to believe in order to get the Aerith/Cloud love story to work. You're forced to minimize Tifa and her importance to the story, and you need to demonize Cloud. So basically you have two options here, you either have to say "all this stuff with Tifa and Zack, doesn't matter", all their scenes, all those plot threats, they all aren't a part of the larger story being told and ultimately amount to nothing. Or two, you remove all those scenes or rewrite them to instead focus on Cloud and Aerith. And both those approaches suffer from the same basic problem, they're both effectively going "screw everything, all that matters is Cloud and Aerith". Which brings me back to my earlier point. If your story is pushing everything aside in order to hype up the main character, you're not writing a good ensemble story, you're writing a bad fan-fiction. This is the writing people HATE. Cloud is no longer a sad but likable character with complex motivations and feelings who wasn't as important as he thought he was, no, he's cliche self-insert main character that the world revolves around, who every girl genuinely loves regardless of whether or not it makes sense, even though he's a complete asshole who abandons children and takes advantage of women just because he's "lovesick". No other man could ever compare, a week with him braindamaged and you forget all about the man you pined after for 5 years. Aerith is not compassionate to a man who blames himself for his failings and thinks he'd do more harm than good, she's compassionate to a piece of human filth who refuses to go save children because he doesn't care about them. She's not just a girl with a big destiny and a tragic fate, no, the universe itself resets to make sure she gets laid. Tifa isn't a powerful woman who devotedly supports the man she loves through his darkest hours, instead she's a weak unimportant doormat without self-respect who even in 2 decades could not measure up to a week with Aerith. Zacks connection with Cloud doesn't come with complex implications about Aeriths feelings, Zack never really mattered, his entire story of getting back to her? Doesn't matter, it only exists to show how much Aerith must love Cloud to choose him over Zack. The entire lifestream reveal concerning Cloud? Doesn't matter, nothing matters, it's in the past. The central reveal of the story isn't important because Clouds true self suddenly likes Aerith now.....good writing. etc, etc, etc. Where Aerith was once a part of an ensemble cast, the heroine of the external plot, tasked with saving the world through her powers as an ancient, while Tifa as the equally important heroine of the internal plot saves Clouds through their shared feelings, now everything instead revolves around Aerith, and the other characters only exist in service to her, not as characters in their own right, but only to make sure she and Cloud gets together, like every hated mary-sue in history. The pain of her death? Gone, the impact and nuance of the story? Gone. Literally everything that made FFVII special? Gone. And concerning the small, even the little details would no longer be coherent, Cetras thematically guide people to the promised land, note: "GUIDE", but now Aerith would suddenly be the promised land herself. The through-line of Cetras "returning to the planet"? Gone, if Aerith doesn't die that doesn't link to the story anymore at all. Tifa's bar being the 7th heaven, aka, the final heaven, aka, the promised land where Aerith guides Cloud to? Suddenly a meaningless name. Tifa's last name "lockhart" being a direct hint towards the "tender feelings locked up inside Clouds hart"? Completely trivial, the feelings weren't that important to the story. And I could go on for hours, every aspect of FFVII, from small to large, would be fundamentally poisoned if Cloud ends up with Aerith.

I could rewrite the story to make it work, but that's the point, then you'd be rewriting the story in order to diminish every other character and story in favor of Cloud and Aerith. Which brings us back to it becoming a horrible fan-fiction where no one and nothing matters except Cloud and Aerith. It's ok to write unimportant characters, it's not ok to make your important characters unimportant in retrospect in order to wank off another character. Thanks for asking.

#cloti #FFVII #ffvii remake #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough

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klaineownsmysoul · 3 years

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I just can't believe that there are people who still believe every single word a public figure/celebrity says, most of the time they LIE. Did C lie about some fans harassing his bf? I have no clue, but if someone was indeed harassing him, that is just not correct. There are crazy fans in every fandom. If people still believe every post or tweet is posted personally by the celebrity, they are just naive and gullible. I don't believe in CC, but that's just my opinion. I do believe D is closeted and just because he posts something or says something nice about someone doesn't mean he actually thinks that, it is most likely PR, just like the unnecessary refurbishment of RR's house. People should wake up and not believe everything they see on the internet. Side note: I couldn't even get mad at yesterday's show because everything is just so ridiculous and bad-acted that it's funny.

At this point, if you aren't side-eyeing basically everything that comes out of Hollywood, you are just willfully ignorant. Its all calculated to a specific end and they don't think twice about contradicting their past selves if it serves a current narrative. Case in point: C saying towards the end of glee that he had no idea who D was when he joined the show when there's a whole interview of him talking about seeing D in AVPM way back when. Like season 2 back when. That's just a blatantly obvious, easily disproved and stupid lie. With regards to this podcast mess - I haven't listened to it and I wasn't on tumblr for most of glee's run so I wasn't really privy to a lot of the goings on that happened bts. Can I believe that there were people who crossed the line of fandom and behaved like assholes? Yes, definitely because it still happens. That kind of behavior is not exclusive to the glee fandom. You will find people like that everywhere. Whether or not they did exactly what he said they did - only he knows that for sure. Its a weird thing to bring up now 6 years after the show has ended as it effectively (and unfairly) paints a bullseye on a specific group. I'm not sure what he was hoping to achieve with this. The CC people that I've interacted with here are lovely and would never in a million years even think of things that horrible. Keep your thoughts and opinions to your own little blog and you don't tag the person in your post - its as simple as that. Who are these nobodies who have that much power that they think they can get a complete stranger fired? If they did indeed behave this way, then that is appalling, completely batshit crazy, and unacceptable - they need professional help. Its not funny, its scary. There's no need for that ever. At the end of the day, its his life and what he does with it and who he spends it with is his business. There's a pretty simple solution if you don't like the person anymore or don't like what they are doing: you can simply stop following them. You don't need to engage in some sort of bizarre smear campaign that has real world implications. Remember all those toxic twitter teens who were ready to draw and quarter D a few months back over that nearly 10 year old pic of him or a comment just as old? The awful things they said about him, the nonstop tagging of him and the flooding of every one of his SM posts with their bullshit? The "you're dead to me if you choose to remain a fan of his" ultimatums? I do! That's the kind of stuff that drives celebs away from SM and ruins it for the rest of us that know how to behave. You're creating an issue where there wasn't one and that's sort of what C did here with his comments.

From my point of view, the issue with C and D's SOs isn't so much that they are with other people, but more to the kind of people they seem to be. I don't know much frankly about W. He's not shoved in my face 24 hours a day and a hovering annoying presence at everything C does. You'll find more pics of C solo or with AF than you will with W. That's why he bothers me less and why D takes more criticism on this. But from what I've heard about him, he's said and posted some pretty awful things in the past and if people choose to not like him because of that, that seems valid to me. As fans, we can only judge celebs by what they say and do and our perception of them - its all we have. My dislike of M is not because she's with D and I'm a super jealous old spinster. And its not because I'm a self hating misogynist. Its because of the way she clings to D and his career while doing nothing on her own, the way she uses him for her own selfish purposes, and the hypocritical way she claimed to not to want to be in the public eye but yet shadows D at every event he goes to because it means cameras and photos and recognition as his wife. That tacky awful commercialized wedding was the last straw for me because I haven't been able to hold my tongue since. And if you follow someone long enough, you can get a pretty good idea of when they're being genuine and when they're bullshitting you or in D's case, when its him posting something and when its a member of his team. For example: where he supposedly proposed. By lying about it - either then or now - you've created a mess that didn't previously exist. Its a fairly simple straightforward statement that most people get right the first time: where they asked their SO to marry them. D says Japan, RR says D called him saying he wanted to do it when he was outside a bathroom in Miami. So the answer is either a) D b) RR c) none of the above. I'm going to go with c, thanks. Unless RR is going to come back and say that D decided to ask her in Miami but then waited until they were physically in Japan to do the asking, I'm going to go with neither of you are right and the reason D blew off the question every time he was asked about it by saying he didn't want to bore us is that you hadn't come up with a good enough and believable story yet. Much like the engagement ring that hadn't been locked down until RR could find a designer willing to make a ring with a diamond big enough to soothe her ego and give off the pretense of being legit. He probably put more effort into that than anything in D's career in the last 5 years. Do I think that RR did help D at one point when he was starting out with gigs, jobs, things like that? Sure. No problem. And maybe they were friends and liked to hang out and jam together. But do I also think that D has outgrown him personally and professionally at this point? Hell fucking yes. He needs a grown up to take his career to the next level and RR is not that person. He completely failed to capitalize on all the awards and well deserved hype D got from ACS and for that alone, he should have been fired. He needs someone who wants to do the work because they understand the rare find they have in D and that their job is to promote him, not themselves. The IOU ep was nothing but a self serving hour of D trying to make RR look and sound like he's not a complete waste of space on top of getting a cut of his fee as his manager. If you look at D's page on the very sad H/yphenate website, you will see the 3 biggest roles D's had are not listed. No Blaine. No Hedwig. No ACS. But oddly enough, a mention of his record deal with Columbia, which I thought went kaput ages ago and his hosting of the Teen Choice Awards in 2013. You know - the big times. Why? I'm going to assume its because he got those roles without RR's help so he doesn't want them there and what does that tell you? It should tell you everything. This is why your manager should be your manager and your friends should be your friends. Its like a parent who wants to be their

child's friend instead of the authority figure they need.

Too much of D's SM has the look and feel of pr and useless ads and just flat out nonsense and that falls squarely under RR's domain. He's a 34 year old man with an established career, not a 21 year old newbie just starting out but his SM doesn't reflect that in any way, shape, or form. The sooner D can cut his losses and break free, the better off his career will be, the more adult he will sound, and the happier I will be.

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thedevillionaire · 3 years

Text

Four Days, Mostly

A supernatural soap opera instalment. Cerberus and Kia, one of those domestic-couple moments kind of thing. Any questions, as always, please do ask me to explain myself! Thanks for spending some time in my ridiculous world. I heart you.

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Kia feels like she’s practically been living in the Vampirism archives, when she hasn’t been on the mortal plane, that is. She’s sure the last four days have actually taken a week, such was the amount of things to do that had somehow been crammed into them, and she sighs quietly.

And she’s hardly seen her beloved for more than five minutes over those days; she’s not been the only one with scarcely a moment to take for herself. What with the disastrous destruction of the Lightning chambers and the resultant seemingly endless fallout from that pouring demand upon demand on Cerberus, they’ve barely crossed paths, let alone managed any quality time together. Any time at all, come to that.

But she’s been assured he’ll be home tonight, and a small smile crosses her face as she reaches the front door at last. She’ll be glad to get into the guaranteed warmth of the manor too – the windwhipped, winterchilled walk home has been…brisk, to say the least.

Whoa.

Warmth is one thing, inferno another. An intense, practically visible heatwave encompasses her the moment she crosses the threshold, and she closes the door behind her, removing her coat posthaste.

Well, he’s definitely home. She shakes her head, a faint smile on her face as she unlaces and removes her blouse and bodice also, untucking her chemise for good measure. Damn, it was hot. “Hon, think you could dial it back a bit to, I don’t know, something maybe a bit less…I don’t know, diabolic?” she calls out as she walks through the foyer into the loungeroom, where she expects to find him, but…apparently not. Hm, okay. She pulls her hair into a makeshift ponytail, twists it upon itself to hold it in place, wonders whether she should Mindsend him a greeting or just wander about the house until she finds him, when her attention is dramatically redirected by a sudden, powerful sneeze.

Ah. She smiles a little self-indulgently, turns. Answers that question.

With a Mindsent blessing, she continues down the hallway, making her way over to where Cerberus sits at the library desk, his face buried in a tissue…which, as she gets closer, she recognises as being far from the first time he’s done this today. “Oh, honey, you’re not well?”

More of an observation than a question – the tiredness apparent in her nonetheless stunning bonded’s eyes as he smiles at her somewhat wanly despite his clear pleasure at her return, not to mention the telltale hint of red to his nose, providing more than enough of an answer. He neither confirms nor denies it – not verbally, at any rate – and for now she chooses not to press.

Explains the extra heat, too.

With a soft sound of sympathy, Kia moves to stand behind him, placing a tender kiss on the top of his head and gently massaging his shoulders. “Hey there, you. How long’s it been since you took a break?”

Cerberus murmurs a quiet hum of pleasure, closing his eyes briefly and leaning back into her touch as Kia drapes her arms around him. “Gods, I’ve missed you, love.” He sniffles again, takes another tissue, wipes his nose, and looks up at her apologetically. “Sorry about all the damn sniffling. The week’s catching up to me a bit, I think.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Kia says, adding a Mindsent :Stop avoiding the question: with a quiet, slightly dark laugh. She moves to push some papers aside and sit on the desk, facing him, and leans forward to kiss him, softsensual, lingering. :I’ve missed you too.: She leans back again, looks at him in gently insistent challenge. “Your last break was…?”

“Nowhere near as beautiful as this one, I’m sure.” Another determined sniffle, and Cerberus presses the tissue underneath his nose as he regards Kia’s state of dishevelled semi-undress, a playful approval evident as he does so, and raises an eyebrow. “If you want to convince me to lower the temperature, darkling, I’m not sure *snf!* that this is the best way to go about it.”

“Okay, I know these four days have felt like forever but you do remember I’m happy to strip for you without being practically on fire, right?” Kia laughs. “Babe, it’s a sauna in here!” With a look of good-natured admonishment, she holds his gaze and smoothly slips out of her skirt, lets it fall to the floor, runs a tapered fingernail along the angular contours of his jawline, and purrs, almost a whisper, deliberately teasing, “What if I didn’t let you touch, though? Because, I mean…I’m just too…hot.”

Cerberus chuckles quietly, sardonically. “Harsh terms, love.” He accedes with a wave of his hand, the atmosphere settles to a more generally comfortable ambient heat, and he gives his nose another firm wipe before vaporising the tissue, making a small but unmissable sound of irritation as he does so.

“And how long has this been going on for?” Kia lightly traces a finger down the length of her bonded’s nose, gives him a brief yet knowing look as he takes a sharp breath in response, his expression crumbling to a mixture of mildly panicked betrayal and helplessness.

Cerberus turns from her rapidly, not enough time to claim a new tissue, and brings his elbow to his face in surrender. “Huh-AHSSCHuu! *SNF!*” Crushing a firm hand against his nose, he frowns at Kia in gentle reprimand, and shakes his head wryly. “Gods, love.” He sniffles again, wetly and repeatedly. “Pardon me.”

“Aw, sorry, sweetheart,” Kia, not particularly sorry at all, confirms a suspected sensitivity notably greater than usual and offers him a softsmiled semblance of penitence regardless. “Bless you.” She passes him a tissue, pauses a moment as he blows his nose, touches a hand to his forearm. “Seriously, though, hon – how are you doing?”

He sighs. “Ah, darkling, I’m alright.” Well aware she was unlikely to accept that, he continues without leaving her enough time to interject. “Mostly. It’s just that it’s all been…rather nonstop of late.” He sniffles strongly and wipes his nose again, which seems increasingly determined to not give him a moment’s peace. “Gods. Excuse me.” Clearing his throat, he refocuses. “This ridiculous weather we’ve been having doesn’t agree with me terribly well.” Another sniffle brings timely emphasis to his words, and he notes the dubious look in Kia’s eyes. “It’s just a slight chill, love. It’ll pass soon enough. And anyway—” He pushes the chair back from the desk, stands, curls a strong arm around Kia’s waist, toys with the strap of her chemise, his voice deep velvet and desire. "—my irresistible supervisor seems to believe I ought to take a break…and that is not a directive I can refuse.”

He tilts her head towards him, pulls her close, kisses her with an urgency his beloved cannot miss, an urgency she fully reciprocates. They’ve not been apart for this long since they first became a couple, almost three years ago now, and it feels like an aeon, it feels volcanic.

“Mmm…” Kia, still seated on the desk, wraps her legs around him and returns his kiss with rich promise, weaving a hand through his hair. :Babe, want to move this to th…:

Cerberus completes the teleport to the bedroom before Kia completes her Mindsend, and she laughs upon their arrival. “I’ll take that as a…” she begins but she’s interrupted again, Cerberus raising a finger and managing a hurried, breathless “Sorry, love, I’m g…” and turns from her mere seconds before he’s possessed by unstoppable need.

“Huh-HH… Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!”

Heavy, absolute, and not enough; he gives a brief shake of his head, blinks rapidly, moves to claim several tissues from the box on the bedside table in expectant preparation, inhaling deeply, entirely surrendered, and after a tremulous pause, on the edge, he gives over and sneezes again, powerful, ferocious.

“AAHHTSSCHHUU!” He sniffles fiercely and rubs his nose with determination, repeatedly, in an all-too-brief recovery he already knows is only temporary, his breath still catching and brow creased, and takes another series of tissues, his eyes watering. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s breath catches also, though differently. “Oh, bless y…”

“HAHH-TSSCHUU! Uhh…” The demanding strength behind the sneezes taking a level of energy he really doesn’t have, a soft groan escapes him as he pushes newly disordered ebony chaos from his eyes and glances upwards in silent entreaty but no respite is granted; he inhales in fragmented and escalating anticipatory need for release; desperate, encouraging. “Hh… h-hh… Hh-HH!” He buries his face in the tissues once more. “Huh-AAHTSSCHHuu!! Ah, gods.”

The last sneeze comes followed by an unexpected, searing sharp sting in the back of his throat and a wave of foggy disorientation, and his gaze snaps across to Kia in alarm, his previous belief that this was just a passing overreaction to exposure and stress categorically destroyed in one stark moment of recognition. “Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing first the tissues then a rough hand under his nose. He touches a hand to his throat and swallows with difficulty. Fuck. “Pardon me. *SNFF!*”

She remembers to exhale. “Bless you, honey.”

Cerberus sighs heavily, murmurs, “Thanks, love,” and presses his index finger under his nose in a willfully firm refutation of any more of this nonsense, though he isn’t exactly full of confidence in that regard, and sniffles again. “Excuse me.” He blows his nose, another series of sniffles ensuing in short order, and takes a further few moments to gather himself before eventually looking over to his bonded, somewhat chagrined. He clears his throat. “I, um…think there’s a chance I may have lied to you about being alright.” The congestion now dulling his consonants tells a similar tale.

“Mostly alright.” Kia gives Cerberus a gentle smile. “Thought you might have.” She arranges herself amongst the bedsheets and lightly pats the space beside her in invitation. “Aw, sweetheart,” she says, noting his expression of faint confusion that she’d have had reason to doubt him, “I know you didn’t deliberately lie to me. It’s not your fault you’re a hopeless optimist.”

She laughs softly as faint confusion now combines with a flash of indignance. “How am I…” he begins, and this time it’s Kia’s turn to interrupt.

“It’s alright, babe, I actually love that in you. You just never think you might, you know, fail.” Blowing him a kiss, she adds a Mindsent :Not that this needs to count as a fail:, beckoning him to her with crooked finger. “Come here,” she insists in a satin whisper, fluidly removing her chemise as she does so.

Cerberus, suddenly and thoroughly spectacularly reminded of just how long four days can feel, takes up Kia’s invitation to join her on the bed, though with a measure of forced reluctance that he thinks perhaps, in good conscience, he should…probably have. His will to obey that conscience, however, is far from assured, despite the returning itch that he can do even less about, and he turns quickly to stifle another sneeze against his forearm. “HXTchu! Uhh…” It’s not enough and he hurries another apology, internally curses the manifestly ridiculous timing of it all, inhales deeply and sneezes again.

“hh-AHH… Ah-TSSCHHhuu! Ah, gods, sorry. *SNFF!*”

“Bless you,” Kia murmurs, surface nonchalant, heartbeat wild, and moves to unbutton his shirt.

His resolve already verging on the nonexistent, Cerberus tries not to think about how very much he’s missed his beautiful bonded, how very much he just wants to immerse in her company right now, and makes what he knows is likely a last-ditch effort. “I don’t want to get you sick, love. I’m not sure if I can…”

“You certainly feel like you can.” Kia gives him a sultry, wicked grin.

Cerberus chuckles quietly, curls his fingers through her hair, sniffles lightly. “Alright, well, I’m not sure that I should.”

“Oh…no, I think you’re pretty sure.” Kia presses herself against him, kissing him with exquisite, slow intimacy, removing his belt with deft touch as she does so, and Cerberus gives up his last tenuous hold on resistance, returning her kiss with incendiary passion, undeniable need.

Kia hums a languid sound of delectation. :That’s more like it.: With a soft, indulgent purr, she moves astride him and wraps her arms around his neck, murmuring in a gently teasing undertone, “And I thought for a second there you were actually going to deny me.”

Cerberus pulls her closer again in strong, warm embrace, desire for her eclipsing all else, and claims her mouth with his own as he takes her smoothly, deeply, deliciously, Mindsending with a rising heat suffusing every word, :What kind of self-control do you think I have?:

---

#supernatural soap opera #cerberus #cerbia #my ocs #my writing #snzfic #cerberus and kia #sneeze fic #snz fic #just a bunch of stuff that happened #and as is often the case that stuff involved my hottest character sneezing #i am a simple creature #sorry not sorry

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

OC Questionnaire

Thank you @1000generations and @rosella-writes for the tags! I love things such as this that allow me to flesh out Fane more! :D

I’ll tag: @oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @noire-pandora @blueheaded and anyone else that’d like to give it a go! :3

----

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Fane Lavellan/Aterian (The second name is one he’s rarely called until later on. Mainly post-Trespasser by those in his contingent of agents.)

Role in story: The Inquisitor (highly derogatory)

Physical description: Short, messy snow white hair and eyes that hold two colors instead of one (emerald and gold). Bears the vallaslin of Sylaise (full-face). Relatively angular face and holds features that are more indicative to ancient elves than the ones of today. Overall height is 6′1 and is far more muscular in build than other elves, but still slender enough that he isn’t mistaken for a Qunari. Entire body is littered with patch-work scars and has a singular, long scar upon his left cheek (inflicted by Solas)

Age: Appears 24 (approximately 5,000 years old in actuality)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: INTP-T (Logician). Fane is very much like me in the fact that he’s extremely analytical. He’s always questioning and trying to piece together ‘why’ or ‘how’. Sadly, social skills are lacking for him, and he comes across as proud or insensitive due to how he words things or his lack of understanding when it regards to why someone might be put off by his views.

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear?

To be forgotten/Himself

Inner motivation:

Rebirth. Fane wants to see the world restored to what he remembers (i.e. before the Veil was erected), and he wishes for his kin to thrive once more, to belong to no master but themselves. The birth of Yune (the last of Fane’s specific kin) awakens the ideal of ‘hope’ in his heart and allows him to believe that what he strives for is possible.

Kryptonite:

Pride and Wrath. Fane has a volatile temper that tends to get him into trouble, on and off the battlefield. He is prone to bouts of proud behavior due to the fact that he’s lived for so long and believes he knows what the ‘absolute’ in the world is.

What is their misbelief about the world?

That everything terrible that has happened to him or that he has done thus far since awakening/being awakened is his fault, his choice. At the beginning of my story and in regards to the world as a whole, Fane believes he knows exactly how each person is (personality, motivations, ideals, etc.), even though he has no idea who he is.

Lesson they need to learn:

That his existence is not a sin. That whoever or whatever he is doesn’t matter. He’s alive and he is loved, he is important. Labels do not need to define him.

What is the best thing in their life?

Family (Solas, Mhairi, Cyfrin, Yune, etc.)

What is the worst thing in their life?

That he had to betray family to support family. Fane will do whatever it takes to ensure Solas is never alone again and that his kin can be remembered for what they truly are, but in order to do that he has to make decisions, choices and those decisions carry a lot of pain and heart break. He’ll endure, however. He’ll always endure.

What do they most often look down on people for?

Ignorance and faith. The faith aspect is mainly people wholly relying on that which they can’t see rather than the strength and independent thought that they possess. Fane despises those who use faith as a tool to manipulate or those who are willfully blind to the cries of the world and the suffering.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

Primarily, Solas awakens the hidden or muted sides of Fane. Solas represents ‘the sky’ to him, and just a glimpses into the other’s eyes can make Fane feel as if he’s able to fly again. Having someone understand and know him for more than his rage and bluntness also makes Fane feel more alive when he’s used to feeling grey.

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way?

Intimacy of presence. Fane feels most loved when those he cares for is content to merely be around him, words or no words. Solas is the one that does this the most often, the two of them having had to use this level of communication in the past due to Fane being a dragon unable to talk or link up mentally with anyone other than spirits. However, Cole, Mhairi and Cyfrin also utilize this means of communication. Solas is merely the one that offers it the most.

Top three things they value most in life?

Devotion, Independent thought, and Support.

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why?

A crimson sash adorned with golden embroidery of halla and leafless trees. It was a gift from Mhairi, and it was given to Fane shortly after their father disappeared and the experiments upon his body ceased. Fane wears it either around his waist or as a scarf. He’s usually not one to accept gifts, family or not, but he kept this one because it offered a lot of comfort where it had been lacking for several years. Fane also adores his sister with all his heart, and to see that she chanced potential capture to gather the materials...how could he spit in the face of such love? He couldn’t, and that’s why he keeps it even Post-Trespasser. He rarely wears it as he used to during that time, but he keeps it safe and pulls it out when he’s alone to remember simpler days.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

Fane gravitates towards clothing that’s loose and practical. He refuses to wear any of the clothing that Josephine or Vivienne might choose for him. To start, Fane wraps his entire upper body in Elvhen wraps to cover the myriad of scars that litter his body. The wraps are usually dark brown, dark green, or black. Next, he opts for cotton tunics, short sleeved or long sleeves, but he’ll have tendency to roll them up to his elbow, and once again, they are either dark or neutral colors (black, grey, etc.). Plain trousers, somewhat form fitting, and most importantly; boots. Fane does not go barefoot unless he’s getting ready for bed or bathing. He also wears a small dagger that he keeps strapped to an upper thigh. Just in case. *winks*

What names or nicknames has they been called throughout their life?

Fae (generally by Cyfrin or Mhairi), ma’isenatha (’my dragon’ and is typically used by Solas), Blackened One (this is the translation of Fane’s ‘second’ name and is used both respectfully/derogatory), He Who Flew Above (used by the Elvhen agents in both Fane and Solas’ respective contingents), White One (Abelas generally refers to Fane as this once he drops the Inquisitor title, Wisdom also calls Fane this), vhenan or ma vhenan.

And last, but definitely not least, ‘Papae’ *whistles innocently* :3

What is their method of manipulation?

Fane has draconic abilities that can warp emotions. In a way, he implements a form of psychological warfare, but he only uses it as a last resort whether the enemy is a piece of absolute trash or not. Fane has had his mind broken multiple times, died from it once even, and unless given no other choice, he will not break another like that.

Describe their daily routine.

Fane wakes up at the crack of dawn. He doesn’t like to, but he usually has no control over it due to years upon years of waking up from nightmares and retching. If he manages to awaken without many issues, Fane strides right into his routine of training, with or without eating. Training helps quell his mind of lingering terrors, and establishes discipline to emotions that are volatile. Afterwards, Fane may eat on his own, but generally, Mhairi, Cyfrin or Solas have to acquire something for him and press him to eat. He always relents, even if he glowers and growls. Cole takes a more subtle approach and just leaves it where Fane can easily smell it, awakening the want.

Mid-day Fane is usually doing his rounds, checking on companions, maybe entertaining a conversation or request, or begrudgingly diving into Inquisition business. (paperwork, letters, etc.) If he’s having a rough day, headaches, mental exhaustion, or physical pain, then Fane is less likely to get much done and that’s because Solas will demand that he take it easy. In those cases, Fane will fight and protest and declare that he’s fine, but a single look that says, ‘Enough’, and he crumbles, taking the offering of a pillowed lap and potentially sleeping for at least half the afternoon. When he wakes up, Fane lingers in the rotunda and with attempt some form of work until evening.

That’s when Fane indulges in more personal pursuits. He whittles wood, reads and writes poetry, tinkers with one of his gauntlets or plating, and lets himself want. He’ll sometimes go to the tavern to see Varric or the Chargers, even if being around Bull makes him a tad uneasy. Or he’ll seek out his sister and see if she wishes to do something with him. Fane doesn’t ask, of course, but that’s because Mhairi bombards him the moment he appears and he accepts and agrees without fuss. Sometimes Fane will visit Leliana in the rookery and go over what she’s heard or what he’s hear, or he’ll spend time with Cole until Solas comes to see where he’s gone off to.

Their go-to cure for a bad day?

Usually, training or just outright destroying something. Fane has issues controlling some of his emotions, rage most of all, and the only way to get that specific emotion out is to physically take it out. Solas and Mhairi have attempted to help Fane diffuse in different ways, but the only one that seems to work the best is for a dragon to rampage. Thankfully, Fane retreats from Skyhold if that he feels his mind blackening. Solas or Cole will follow and keep an eye on him from a distance, but Solas will intervene if he feels Fane is close to spiraling beyond anger. Then, the go-to is words, soft, but firm.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life?

Fane’s life Pre-Inquisition and within Inquisition is...rough. Life with the clan was torture for him, literally being called a mistake and monster due to how he acted and how he looked. No one understood why and neither did Fane beyond knowing his father’s abuse had...awoken something in him. That lack of understanding infuriated Fane, to the point where he chose to just...ignore it, turn his back. Add that to the burden placed upon his shoulders unwillingly, and once again being labeled as every manner of being except what would make him feel complete...yeah, Fane was highly dissatisfied with his life. It isn’t until he and Solas reconcile and vow to never be apart again that Fane starts to find purpose and the will to try in his life. That satisfaction only grows Pre-Trespasser once Fane uncovers a lot of answers concerning himself and his kin after going on a little field trip to a place that shall not be name while Solas attends to the Qunari.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

Simply put? Fane wants Solas to be able to rest. That would bring Fane so much joy, to see his sky finally throw down the mantle and rest. All he wants is for them both to be able to be together and not have the world demanding their lives on a silver platter every second of every hour.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality?

Support. That is one of Fane’s guiding principles when it comes to Solas and what the mage has deemed he has to do. Fane helps to keep Solas on the path, but he knows when to step in if the fog rolls in. Fane doesn’t see right or wrong; he sees paths, choices. He supports what Solas wishes to do because he understands why the man feels the way that he does. Fane is Devotion and Tenacity, and he will die again and again and again before leaving Solas to walk this dark path alone, without support. Because that, all on its own, can change a person’s mind.

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already?

Fane is only fearful that his support could be causing Solas grief, making him upset due to the fact that the mage feels as if Fane should condemn him. However, Fane presses on and doesn’t let fear shackle him in this. Fear is potent in Fane, that’s the truth, but it all washes away when Solas requires him. Devotion is stronger than Fear, Tenacity grinds Terror into dust, and a dragon will always guard the sky it calls home.

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of?

So, Fane’s main fears are being forgotten and himself. The supporting aspect is to combat the being forgotten aspect, partially, but when in regards to himself... That’s a whole other story. Fane grapples with madness coutnless times in my story and the allure of power, something dragons cannot yearn for lest they cause irreversible harm to the world, and he is fearful that eventually...the clock will strike, the hourglass will run out and that he didn’t do enough. For Solas, for his kin, and for the world. Furthermore, Fane is terrified that that madness will eventually harm those he cares for, those he’s vowed to protect and support. So, Fane does whatever he can to keep his spirit from warping, to keep himself from breaking beyond what can be repaired, and having Yune and Solas, and seeing the progress of their endeavors helps keep Fane on the cliff he teeters on.

#tagged #oc: fane lavellan #my son is ball of devotion~#and loyalty~#some may call him a simp but that's not the truth as to why he does what he does for solas #it's a SECRET! >:D #oc questionnaire #dragon age #we reject canon and support the wolf because sometimes support helps a person realize what's TRULY important :3

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

Hi! Anon form HP's classmates ask. After reading the Lavender, Parvati, Dean, and Seamus, I forgot to ask you these: Cedric (I don't think you did him), Cho (pretty sure you didn't do her), and Marietta (even though we barely see anything of her). Oh and also Colin if you can. If it's too long just do the first two. Thanks, and have a good and safe day! =)

Well, I have to confess, these will probably be a lot more boring than you’re expecting. I do tend to have opinions on arbitrary Harry Potter characters, but there’s also a lot of NPCs that, well, I really don’t think about them much. They’re kids, they go to school, seem nice enough, the end.

Not all my opinions are made of spice.

But, with that, let’s begin.

Cedric Diggory

Really not much to say on him.

Seems like a nice enough guy, I appreciated that he was a Hufflepuff so we got to see at least someone from that house that was a really cool dude, the house division also helped explain why we’d seen and heard so little about him (I think he gets a brief mention as being Seeker for Hufflepuff in Prisoner of Azkaban).

For me, what stands out about him is mostly the tragedy. Here was this young man, in the prime of his life, with his whole future ahead of him who senselessly dies.

Had he not accompanied Harry, he would have lived, and it was pure unfortunate luck that he did. And then it’s over so quickly, just a demand of “kill the spare” and he’s dead. That’s it, it’s all over.

And then his death is made a mockery of, overwritten, then willfully forgotten by society.

He’s used as evidence by Harry and Dumbledore for Voldemort’s return, his murder is pinned on Harry by the government, and by the time the government admits to what happened they’ve moved on to bigger problems.

We only really see the mourning of Cedric from his father and later Cho. Harry’s messed up about it, but it was more from witnessing the event, he didn’t really know Cedric that well as a person. In fact, he feels very awkward and put out when it becomes clear that, a few months later, Cho is not handling her boyfriend having been murdered by a dead man very well.

And that’s what strikes me about him, just how easily he’s forgotten, and how sad it all is.

Cedric might be the reddest of red shirts in Harry Potter.

Cho Chang

I wish more had been done with Cho.

I know, I know, we get a lot of Cho.

But we get Cho in the context of Harry’s first romance, his crush that later sets him up for Harry/Ginny (JKR is fond of using other pairings to set up her main pairing, we see this also with Ron/Lavender). They give it a whirl, Harry finally gets what he wants, and it turns out to not really be his thing.

Cho is too girly, enjoys things like Madame Puddifoots, and is clearly still hung up on Cedric. The whole thing ends very awkwardly and we get a Harry who’s ready to move on to Ginny by book six.

That said, that’s what I like about Cho. She has this great boyfriend who she really liked, he dies horrifically and tragically, and she’s left trying to sort through the aftermath. She ends up clinging to Harry as he is a) Harry Potter and essentially Jesus b) the only witness to what happened to Cedric. To her, I imagine, she and Harry share this unbreakable bond after fourth year. She was closest to Cedric in the school, the only one who truly seems to want to mourn him, and Harry watched Cedric die.

Cho lives in this world where Cedric’s death has been made a political issue. That his dying seems not to have mattered, indeed, is barely discussed so much as the manner in which he died. People are constantly fighting whether a deranged Harry did it, Voldemort came back, and Cedric gets forgotten somewhere in the middle.

And Cho tries to move on, she tries to embrace the fight against Voldemort, prepare herself to defend her nation and help fight against the man who murdered Cedric, but it just doesn’t work out. Because ultimately, they’re a bunch of kids in a room practicing the patronus. And even in the DA, despite acknowledging that Voldemort’s back, it’s still never about Cedric. It’s all about Voldemort and what’s coming, Cedric, oh yeah, poor guy, what a tragedy, the first casualty of war.

So, mostly I just feel very bad for Cho, and wish we could have seen more of her to see what the effect death has on people. We have Harry’s reaction to Sirius’ death but... in a weird way he actually gets over that kind of quickly. This isn’t the post for it, but to me Harry was always more upset by the loss of what Sirius represented than Sirius himself.

Marietta Edgecombe

Marietta does not deserve the hate she gets. Sure, she decided to leave the DA and snitched. But you know what, they’re fifteen year olds in a boarding school, and the DA while stupid was also kind of terrifying.

I mean, you suddenly find yourself in a group called “Dumbledore’s Army”, which is actively preparing itself for “fighting against the dark lord” and possibly “against those who deny his return”. The club has all these rules about secrecy, which at first seem reasonable as it’s against the rules, but then start sounding pretty scary. It sounds like you just signed up to launch a coup against the ministry on Albus Dumbledore’s behest. Had I been in DA,I like to imagine at some point I’d start thinking “what the actual fuck?”

More than that, Marietta’s family is on the line. Her mother works for the ministry. Her mother could be fired or perhaps even persecuted if this got out. Shit starts getting very real for Marietta.

So, Marietta leaves and snitches, and then she gets stitches.

Hermione gleefully scars and deforms her, something Marietta will carry with her for the rest of her life. I mean, can you imagine if Hermione had said, “Oh, by the way, if you rat us out I will personally murder you. Just kidding, but I will cut up your face, snitch” that anyone would react well? Which is probably why Hermione just stuck to an ominous vague warning instead. The true noble members, after all, would never think of leaving.

So yeah, given Hermione, actually given all of it (including Harry’s complete lack of sympathy for Marietta being branded when Cho tries to bring up her situation) the DA absolutely should have been shut down. My god, it was spiraling out of control, and given Harry and Hermione could have honestly gotten to the point where they took out hits on, oh I don’t know, Draco Malfoy.

You laugh, but I’m serious, they would totally do that.

Colin Creevy

It’s very bold of JKR to assume I care at all about Colin.

Colin’s one of the typical HP NPCs, quirky enough to be memorable, gives us a nice muggleborn student, weird kid but around enough that we remember him.

Then he dies in the Battle of Hogwarts, where many of our main characters survive, and I’m supposed to be absolutely devastated. COLIN IS DEAD, FRED IS DEAD, THE WORLD IS SO SAD.

We barely know Colin, his dying is just there to wrack up the red shirt numbers and make the last book of Harry Potter feel more like an actual war with actual consequences.

Sad that he died, but certainly not a tear jerking moment for me.

#ask #anon

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

Some, okay a lot, of pre-mid season (tri? season) finale thoughts. As if you actually asked for them, lol.

And no, I haven’t actually watched the last episode yet. I’ve been putting it off all morning. For reasons. Reasons that I felt the inexplicable need to put on paper, er, screen.

If you care at all to read the purging of my fatigued TWD fangirl mind, please look beneath the cut. Fair warning. It’s long so pull up a chair maybe, lol.

I’ll admit it. The spoilers indicating a significant lack of Carol/Melissa content has dampened much of my enthusiasm and there wasn’t all that much to start with.

Let me tell you why--

The season, so far, has been woefully unbalanced in favor of the Reaper storyline and the Maggie/Negan conflict (which ties back to the Reaper storyline by the flimsiest of strings) and I’m just not invested.

Why?

Well, it’s multifold.

#1 reason why? Having a third of the last season ever of TWD devoted to going inside “the lions’ den” of villains I have no emotional connection to or curiosity about is a big fat fail.

You might say “but there’s the Daryl double agent” aspect and I say “so fucking what” because it was so poorly conceived and has felt like such a WTF set of fraying puppet strings for this plot Angela was apparently jonesing to tell from the GO, damn the torpedoes she had to know where inevitably coming her way.

Seriously. I had talked myself into accepting that which I could not change, citing Daryl’s emotional brokenness after Rick. Convincing myself he’d lost his anchor to goodness and hope and fulfillment in his years of self-imposed exile from Carol and what was left of his family and to a certain extent? I can still by that explanation. But really. It’s the Leah of it all.

Let me attempt to explain.

To do that, maybe I should detail how I’ve always perceived Daryl.

Daryl, IMHO, began this journey with us and the rest of Team Family with a figurative fortress erected around his true, core self.

He was prickly. Defensive to any overtures of kindness because he inherently did not trust them. Loathe to form any real connection to anyone other than Merle, his blood.

Daryl balked at the possibility of emotional connection and flinched in learned fear from physical touch.

He did not recognize or accept affection or respect at face value because it was something rarely shown to him before.

Anybody else remember that childhood abuse book from Consumed? You know. One of those first times the showrunners/writers dumped a character nugget in our laps and left it to us to do all the backstory in our own imaginations so they didn’t have to enrich their own characters beyond the scratch and sniff, wham bam this is who they are work?

Anyway. We were left to extrapolate from that what most of us h ad already suspected--that Daryl’s formative years were already a living hell before the ZA ever happened.

So he was standoffish. He didn’t form emotional connections lightly and physical intimacy was something light years out of his comfort zone.

Until Carol.

Daryl’s defenses started to crumble from the very start with Carol because she piqued his interest. He looked at her, watched her withstand Ed’s abuse, and recognized something of himself.

Against his will, Daryl started to care and when Carol lost the one good thing that had come out of her miserable life with Ed--Sophia--Daryl’s core identity started to be revealed to us and probably? To himself after burying it so deep for so long.

Long story short? Daryl connected with Carol pretty quickly on a base level through the trauma of Sophia’s loss.

The real connection, the emotional work it too to peel all those protective layers away took more like--like planting a flower from seed and tending it to help it survive and flourish.

Simply said? The work was put in and Daryl bloomed with Carol’s (and Team Family’s) care. They all put in varying degrees of work but Carol planted the seed of his “belonging.”

And the thing about Daryl? Once he bloomed? He grew strong. He stretched toward the sun.

He and Carol essentially bloomed and fought their way toward the sunlight together.

And little by little, Daryl learned to accept the kindness, trust, and love he always deserved.

From that newly confident man emerged a Daryl not so fearful of forming connections and none have ever been more powerful than his connection to Carol.

I’ll spare ya’ll the paragraphs of how Daryl and Carol gravitated toward each other like magnets no matter the means of separation.

I’ll just spell it out like this: their bond supersedes all others, even Daryl’s bond with Rick. And with Daryl only accepting affection from those he trusts implicitly, Carol and Daryl have been the only potential “romantic” pairing that has ever fully made sense for his established character.

At least the character before Angela launched the grenade of Leah into the mix.

Leah was a fail from the start.

And you know what? I’m thinking that was largely intended (for various reasons) but I still think they could have shown Daryl as receptive to having a “romantic” relationship to those willfully blind to the possibility that he’s actually been in a “romantic” relationship with Carol since Season 2. Never mind that Carol and Daryl haven’t (yet) crossed certain physical boundaries yet. Emotionally? They are already there even if neither is able to admit it out loud with the actual words yet. But I digress. The people that never wanted to “see” Carol and Daryl as “romantic” because they couldn’t fathom Daryl as seeing Carol in that light had already deemed that Daryl just didn’t feel that way about her, that maybe he didn’t feel that way about anybody (if they couldn’t have their way and have him feel that way about their preferred choice for him, they preferred him alone), and Angela wanted to show them differently. To show them the light.

That said, if Angela was so hellbent on doing Leah? There were a multitude of better ways.

Here. I’ll give you one of them.

Daryl isolates himself from his family after Rick’s “death” same as he did in Angela’s version.

Carol’s been being pulled more and more to the Kingdom because Henry’s needing a mother figure is like catnip to her hurting natural-born, hurting Mama’s heart. So Daryl’s anchor to the man he’d matured into, the one with all these earned emotional attachments, is reeled back in, little by little, leaving him unmoored.

Dog literally runs into him just as before. It hardly makes sense given how young and floppy and uncoordinated puppies are and thus vulnerable to danger, but this is the least of things we need to worry about suspending disbelief for right? ;)

Dog and Daryl continue to have these run ins until Daryl decides to retrace the puppy’s clumsy trail and viola! He finds Leah’s cabin and Leah inside. She levels the same shotgun at him, they have a standoff, until---

Leah suddenly lowers the gun and incredulously says Daryl’s name.

That’s right. One simple change and Daryl and Leah have an undefined past already.

Daryl doesn’t completely let his guard down because he’s Daryl, but he relaxes enough that we see he doesn’t immediately regard Leah as dangerious to his own well-being.

From that point on, instead of tying Daryl up and threatening him, we could have been told the story of how they knew each other from before.

My version goes a little something like this--

Daryl met Leah through Merle. Merle, in turn, met Leah through the military before he got discharged. He and Leah had an ongoing “I scratch your itch if you scratch mine” thing and Leah? Well, she always had a bit of a soft spot/interest in Daryl that Daryl never really returned.

The thing is, though? With losing the chosen brother that filled the hole left behind by his lost blood brother Merle and losing Carol to her chasing after a chance of a new family (because she feels Daryl’s out of her reach too, our too blind and stupidly, silently in love idiots)? Daryl finds himself embracing the shared memories however minimal of that brief past and his grief and loneliness leave him receptive to Leah’s eventual advances in ways he never was before.

We’re still given hints of their unfolding relationship and we still don’t like it, but it makes more sense for Daryl to cling to the past when he feels he’s lost his future.

Leah still gives her ultimatum (there’s a reason she gravitated toward Merle in perhaps his most toxic state, she’s more than a little fucked up too) and it’s not as much of a hard sell that Daryl might be pulled in Leah’s direction when he feels Carol is all but lost to him.

Hell. They could have even explicitly discussed Carol. But wait! Angela would have never allowed that because she doesn’t want to shatter all the crackship dreams in one fell swoop.

But the story from that point on could have continued just as it has and probably I still wouldn’t have liked it but I could have at least bought it somewhat and understood it.

Obviously, it didn’t.

I don’t buy the Leah of it all. Angela built that “relationship” with monopoly money and it shows.

Because I don’t buy Leah period. I don’t buy Daryl giving even giving a shit about trying to or feeling like there’s a snowball’s chance to redeem her so I’m not engaged whatsoever with this Daryl double agent story and him even givign her crumbs about his real family.

That part rings false.

So that’s a big problem right there and we haven’t even gotten to the other part I don’t buy.

You know what else I don’t buy?

#2?

Why the hell are the Reapers so bloodthirsty for Maggie’s departure from this mortal coil?

Without giving better reasoning than they’re just cray-cray, the entire faceplants and considering it’s taken up about 70% of 11A’s focus? I’m pissed.

Because, IMHO, they should go big or go home on this to give it any entertainment value because it’s all stale, recycled air if not.

Maggie’s been established as a much darker character this season. Which led me to believer the Reapers probably had a legit beef against her, but it seems Angela is reluctant to go all that way down the rabbit hole and doesn’t want to commit to what could be a more entertaining and potentially fascinating story than just Maggie’s in the right, the Reapers are just evil.

Maggie is right about Negan, IMHO, but she’s also wrong in not listening to him when what he’s saying reeks of simple common sense. Ignoring sage advice makes her seem more like an angry toddler stamping her feet in defiance than the leader they are so bound and determined to tell us she is.

You know what? The window for me to give more than the half a fuck I’m giving right now as they beat this dead horse to dust closed when Maggie decided letting Negan rot in the ASZ jail cell was enough and spared him when she finally had her best chance to end him once and for all.

Maybe if they stopped having the same damn conversation and they didn’t take up 20% of the screen time left after the boring Reapers/Leah shit, I would be less resentful but I’m not and again, I’ll tell you why.

BECAUSE. We are in the last season of the OG TWD ever and this show has chosen to waste screen time on stories nobody cares about to the exclusion of the ones we’re yearning for more of.

Like ASZ. We’ve barely seen more than an hour of the eight hours devoted to Carol, Aaron, Rosita, Lydia, Judith, Kelly, Jerry and Co. in total. Especially since they’ve been trying to establish the Commonwealth on the side, too.

I mean, I never really expected to dig the Commonwealth so my expectations for it were lower than low so they’ve been exceeded at a miniscule level. But I expected and hoped for ASZ and those characters we’ve cared the most about to receive much more emphasis and the fact that they haven’t in this last season so far has been the biggest FAIL.

And okay. Selfishly, I want more Carol. She’s like salt. She makes almost everything go down better.

But really. Give me more of all the characters we actually care about, please. The Reapers and the offshoots from that story wheel aren’t it. I love Daryl but I hate this retread story for him. Leah is a weak point that pressed upon? Makes this weak ass arc collapse. Maggie and Negan are giving us nothing new. They are the definition of the word STALEMATE and that’s not what you want or need on the finale season of a show.

Yes, I have enjoyed the majority of the episodes overall, but that was because the moments I loved I weighted more than the ones I didn’t and know they have the most impact on the show down the road.

Probably 11A will fare better when all is said and done and the show can be binged but standalone? It’s been an overall disappointment and that saddens me more than I can say.

Anyway. I’m going to stop rambling now and try to psyche myself up for episode 8. I’ll be back with thoughts on it later, maybe.

Sorry for the word vomit, but I felt maybe I could in someway give voice to some of the feelings floating around out there and let you know that you are not alone.

Until later, lovelies.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #Shae's thinky thoughts #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons

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