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linkspooky · 4 years

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TogaChako - Good Girl and Bad Girl

Toga Himiko and Uraraka Ochako embody the classic good girl slash bad girl dynamic. It’s a classic dynamic in which one girl will represent what is the traditionally held notions of what a “good girl is” ie/ pure, nice, friendly and the other girl will embody the opposite of that a “bad girl” impure, mean, slutty. Inevitably, these two girls will fight. However, the crux of the good girl bad girl dynamic is that while the girls are total opposites on the outside, inside they’re the same, cuz they’re both girls after all.

Uraraka and Toga are written to be compared, they’re character foils, because the conclusion we��re supposed to come to isn’t one of them is good, one of them is bad, one of them is selfless, one is selfsh. Rather, they’re written so we see it’s the difference in circumstances that made them who they were. Toga became bad because bad things happened to her. Uraraka is good, because she was born into a good life. What makes a bad girl bad and what makes a good girl good? More under the cut.

1. Good Girl

Describe Uraraka Ochako. She’s a normal girl. She’s spunky. She puts other people first. She became a hero to help her parents make money, and feels bad because her motivations aren’t as selfless as say her close friend Izuku Midoriya’s. (But that’s wrong because she literally is being selfless, her reason for becoming a hero has entirely to do with benefitting someone else and not herself). She’s supportive, and friendly. She’s always cheerful and never lets herself get too down.

Uraraka represents the standard of a good girl in hero society. She’s always ready to help her friends, but ultimately she’s kind of passive. She works hard but is not too ambiitous. She’s selfless and always thinks of other people before herself. She has all of these good qualities.

However, I would argue Uraraka is a lot more complex then this. On the surface she seems to be just a good, nice girl who wants to help others, but her internal mechanisms are complex. While yes I agree Uraraka doesn’t have much of an arc so far due to lack of focus, there’s a difference between not having an arc and not being a complex character.

A simple character - what you see is what you get. A complex character - Has internal mechanisms that show the surface isn’t as simple as you thought.

A simple arc - character moves through the plot without changing who they are. A complex arc - character struggles in a way that fores them to change.

Uraraka’s inner mechanisms are complex in that there’s more too her in what we see at the surface, it’s just she hasn’t been challenged in any way. The plot doesn’t address her flaw and try to force her to change.

With that in mind let’s get into Uraraka’s character. Uraraka is defined to her goodness. Uraraka pushes herself to always be good to others. The reason being is that Uraraka is a very sensitive girl who is attune to the feelings of other people.

Uraraka gets serious for just a second, and people remark that she doesn’t seem like her normal self.

Uraraka then immediately backs up and gets embarrassed. She goes out of her way to beat herself up and denigrate herself in front of others, insisting her motivations are much more selfish than people like Ida and Deku.

Uraraka then tells Deku and Iida that she’s not becoming a hero for her own sake, but for someone else’s. Her entire motivation is to help both of her parents live easier lives, because she feels like she’s been a burden on them and pursuing her own dreams would be too selfish.

Uraraka is very secretive of her own feelings. She’s almost afraid to come off as selfish which is why she doesn’t share what her real goal is. Also, when she starts to get a little motivated to accomplish something for herself, everybody around her remarks how different this is from the fun-loving Uraraka they all know. Also, one last detail Uraraka never even talks about herself, and her friends don’t really think to ask, because Uraraka just so naturally makes things about others and not herself.

It’s already been elaborated why the reason Uraraka grew so perceptive. Uraraka’s parents were struggling to make ends meet and she grew up in poverty, and even if she has good parents that try really hard not to let the effect of this struggle show in front of her, Uraraka saw it anyway because kids are always watching their parents.

Uraraka learned to be sensitive to her parents needs, to never demand too much for her parents, her behaviors all became centered around not becoming a burden to others.

Uraraka thinks it’s only natural to put others first and help others before helping herself. That other people’s happiness is more important than her own. Because she’s someone naturally empathic. Because she’s someone naturally able to see the pain and struggle other people go through, because she grew up seeing it. However, the problem with this behavior is it makes Uraraka essentially a support to everyone else.

Uraraka is constantly putting others up on a pedestal and using that as an excuse to lower herself further and further. As cute as her admiration for Deku is, it’s also a bit unhealthy - as she uses it as an excuse to beat herself up. She sees Deku as this amazing person, whose always struggling to help everyone, whose always saving everyone for completely selfless reasons and she always suffers in the comparison.

I think part of Uraraka wants to stand out like Deku does, and has the same desire to go all out to save people, but Uraraka is so used to being secondary in her own life she can’t bring herself to.

Uraraka can’t even cry in front of others. I think, the most telling behavior she has in the entire series is the moment where she breaks down on the phone describing everything she did wrong because this is how Uraraka sees herself. She’s so extremely critical of herself, and constantly apologizing for herself, while at the same time hiding what she really feels from others.

Uraraka has all these self esteem issues that she basically just shelves so she can play the good, nice girl, that gets along well and is friends with everyone.

Uraraka assigns the role of group placater and peacemaker for herself because it’s something she’s so naturally good at and she’s always thinking of others, but because of that, Uraraka herself suffers. Uraraka only knows how to help people by belittling herself and her own role in things.

Uraraka’s greatest fear is being selfish. She doesn’t want to look like a bad girl. That’s the connection between Toga and Uraraka, because what Uraraka is afraid of ultimately is living her life the way Toga does.

2. Bad Girl

Toga is everything that Uraraka is afraid of being, and lives the life that Uraraka is afraid of living. Uraraka is someone so afraid of being selfish, and getting distracted that she is not even allowed to have a crush on a boy. Whereas, Toga lives her life chasing what she loves. Everything Uraraka represses about herself, Toga expresses. That’s the difference between the two of them.

When Uraraka first encounters Toga, her willingness to chase what she loves looks from Uraraka’s perspective to be entirely monstrous. Uraraka sees Toga as a selfish monster, because in part she is afraid of appearing that way.

Toga Himiko the bad girl.

However that’s far from the whole picture of Toga. When we see her away from Uraraka’s perspective she’s entirely different. She’s someone empathic, capable of being kind to others, and thinking about others feelings.

Toga’s just as capable of reading other people and addressing their feelings as Uraraka is. However, there’s still a key difference in their behavior. Uraraka acts to avoid conflict. When she intervenes, what she usually does is act in a way that avoids stepping on toes, and touts the “we should all get along and be friends’ line. Whereas, Toga is someone who directly addresses the conflict and the hurt feelings of others.

For Uraraka the most important thing is getting along with others. For Toga the most important thing is being true to her own emotions. Which is why she’s able to directly address the problem with Twice, she didn’t tell him to bear with it, she told him she knew he was in pain but that the two of them could take down the mafia together.

Even Himiko’s most selfish monster moments aren’t really that monstrous. Himiko’s reason for stalking both Uraraka and Deku is not because she’s weird and creepy, but because she wants to be a normal kid just like them.

Himiko’s reason for sucking the blood of high school girls and taking on their appearances isn’t because she’s preadtory, it’s because she’s been a runaway with no home for two years and she’s terrified of getting caught.

Himiko who is framed as a selfish monster, is actually quite the normal girl. She’s a normal girl reacting to the pressures of the society around her. The kicker is that Himiko isn’t someone who just decided to flip and turn out this way, she is only the way she is because she tried to live like Uraraka did at first.

Himiko tried to push everything down and live like a normal girl. She tried to lie about herself so she’d be a good, nice, harmless girl. She only became so selfish, because she tried to live selflessly first. She only prioritizes herself, because she was used to putting herself down before this. We see her classmates react to her, they all describe Himiko was the kind of girl that Uraraka is right now.

However, behaviors in Uraraka that are self-defeating and unhealthy, are absolutely ruinous in Himiko. Himiko has no sense of self, because she spent so long trying to be what others wanted her to be. Himiko is who she is, in reaction to the pressures of everyone around her.

When Himiko tries to figure herself out, she always gets the same response. Why do you have be so selfish? Why can’t you just act normal? Which completely ignores the fact that she TRIED and that’s what got her here.

The main difference between Uraraka and Toga is not one of them being good, and the other being bad. Toga’s been through way harsher life circumstances. Uraraka has parents that affirm her identity, and Toga’s parents deny her over and over again.

The point of the good girl bad girl dynamic is that they’re both girls in the end. Yes, Uraraka’s never reacted as badly as Himiko has. However, Uraraka’s also never been pushed so far. In fact someone as empathic as Uraraka can be oblivious to the suffering of others.

Uraraka doesn’t see what Himiko is going through, because she hasn’t suffered the way Himiko has.

It’s like. When you have a good sibling and a bad sibling. The good sibling always behaves because they conform to the pressure their parents put on them. The bad sibling acts out in response to that pressure, and because of that their parents have to discipline them and they end up soaking up most of the parent’s attention. In that situation the good sibling can come to ressent the bad sibling for acting out and needing attention in the first place.

Reasonable child and unreasonable child. There exist these black and white categories to define children into where one looks good and one looks bad, that actually totally fail to address the child’s behavior because people are complex and therefore don’t fit into black and white categories. But, Uraraka is still working with that black and white logic when it comes to heroes and villains. Even though she’s usually so good at sussing out the complex nuance of other people’s feelings.

This is what’s happening here in this chapter. You can apply the dynamic between the two of them to the conflict at large. Toga is selfish for acting out and causing problems for others, because she wants her own personal grievances to be addressed. Uraraka is sefless because all she cares about right now is helping the most amount of people. Uraraka is willing to repress herself, and put others needs before her own, because what’s most important is everybody gets along.

However, Uraraka insinuates, the same way that Himiko’s parents once insinuated that Himiko’s acting out just makes her selfish.

We’ve seen this conflict before. Himiko literally went into the conflict to ask this question. Do problem children like her count as “everyone”. However, no matter what happens this arc, no matter what critcisisms the villains levvy against the heroes we get the same hollow repettition of “Heroes save everyone”. Which is why Himiko looks just about to snap here.

Uraraka who is used to brushing conflicts aside and avoiding them for the sake of “everyone gettling along” sees the girl who can’t get along with “everyone” and calls her selfish. To Himiko, this is the same words she’s been hearing her entire life. “Why are you making a fuss? Why can’t you just be normal.”

From one perspective, yes Uraraka is the one fighting seflessly because she’s just trying to save as many people as she can and Himiko is getting in the way of things. However, Himiko is someone who grasps the bigger picture. Himiko addresses the problem directly rather than sweeping it under the rug, there are people who aren’t saved by the hero system. Those people are just as in need of saving as what heroes deem to be innocent people. You can’t claim to save everyone and then ignore the suffering of people you deem as “bad”. Himiko seems like she’s acting selfishly, but then again she’s acting for the sake of people like Jin who died because heroes insisted that his life was less important.

Uraraka is at the same time very perceptive to the suffering of others, and also very oblivious, and it has much more to do with personal hangups than anything else. She doesn’t want to see Himiko as someone similiar to her, because Uraraka is someone so deathly afraid of coming off as selfish. To the point that she treats people with genuine grievances against society as selfish childrens making demands for atttention.

Uraraka is the one who can’t face herself, and therefore the answer she gives Himiko is to the effect of “Shut up and deal with it.” It’s a very personal thing for Uraraka once you realize that Uraraka has also been shutting herself up all this time, pushing herself down, always letting people walk all over. Uraraka is capable of putting herself aside for the sake of others, so as a result she sees people who can’t put themselves aside as selfish.

“I can do it, so why can’t you? Why can’t you be normal?”

I hammer down so hard on this point because there’s a difference between placating and conflict resolution.

Placating comes from a place of “I want the conflict to go away” or “I want the hurt feelings to go away.” Placating is just saying whatever you think the person you’re talking to wants to hear in order to please them. It’s behavior that’s based entirely around avoiding conflict. Uraraka placates, she sweeps it under the rug, she swallows her grievances for the point of everyone happily getting along together.

This placating also applies to the hero system at large. It’s not really designed to save everyone, so much as make the vast majority of people feel safe at the cost of the minority.

When there is a problem does Hero society directly address the issue? Or do they sweep it under the rug for the appearance of everyone getting along?

I think the fact that every time a villain brings up a problem this arc, the heroes just shout “Heros save everyone” and “Heroes never give up” is evidence of the latter. That’s why, when Uraraka says it, when Hawks says it, “Heroes save everyone” just comes off as hollow because in the very same breath they both make it clear that Toga and Twice are not part of the everyone who gets saved.

#himiko toga #uraraka ochako #mha meta #my hero academia meta #my hero academia #mha 288 #mha 288 spoilers #bnha 288 #bnha 288 spoilers #himiko #uraraka #ochaco #ochaco uraraka #toga himiko

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captaincoffeegirl515 · 3 years

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What the hell was that last act???

So first of all I want to say that I did enjoy most of the movie. It was okay. The sex scenes didn’t do anything for me though since I’m just not interested in sex at all. But while I more-or-less liked the movie, I felt that the big plot twists in the last act and the ending were badly done because… how the fuck did ANY of them manage to get away with ANY OF THAT??? Like from a legal standpoint it’s just ???

This got so much longer than I anticipated, so the rest is under the read more. And yes, there are so many spoilers. So if you haven't seen The Voyeurs yet and don't want spoilers, please avoid this.

Seb and Julia literally confess to selling their old apartment in order to spy on the people who live there and use them for their art show. Like, yes, they put that clause in the Terms of Agreement for the apartment (which literally no one ever reads) but there is still the matter of Informed Consent. Informed Consent is usually in the form of a contract Pippa and Thomas both need to read and sign, or via verbal questions and answers which is filmed so Seb and Julia would have physical proof of an agreement. This is basically telling them what footage was taken, how it will be used, and if Seb and Julia have permission to share the footage publicly. In Thomas’ case, since he’s dead, his next-of-kin will be asked. Only then are Seb and Julia legally allowed to publicly share and showcase the Pippa and Thomas’ pictures. And Seb is a professional photographer! He should know that!

Have you ever seen prank shows? Like even the ones on YouTube. Have you noticed at the end of some videos, there would be a part where the filmers would approach the person who was pranked and ask if they could use their footage in the video. That’s Informed Consent. They need to ask permission to use a person’s footage in a video or if they need to blur out the person’s face for privacy. Seb and Julia even showed a picture of a dead man for chrissakes! Remember the outcry when that YouTuber posted a video of a suicide victim in Japan???

The Japanese interviewer was right to disapprove of their methods because even though there was a clause in the Terms of Agreement, the prank (because isn’t that what that whole show they did was?) or experiment still resulted with someone killing themself (yes I know it was murder, but the world doesn't know it). They can possibly still be held liable for causing Thomas to kill himself the same way a prankster can be held liable if their victim dies from a prank because of this thing in Law called the Eggshell Rule or Eggshell Plaintiff.

What this means is that a defendant is liable for any injuries caused by the defendant’s actions, regardless of how unforeseeable or uncommon the plaintiff’s reactions to the defendant’s actions are. So for example, there is a scary prank where the prankster jumps out of the bushes and terrifies people. One of them turns out to have a heart condition, suffers a heart attack, and dies. Regardless of the victim’s frailty, the prankster can be held liable for exacerbating the condition and causing the victim’s death. Likewise in the movie, they can say that Seb and Julia, by orchestrating the whole thing and making Thomas see his girlfriend cheating on him, could have caused him to become broken-hearted and kill himself. Therefore, Seb and Julia can be liable for Thomas’ death.

And then here’s the kicker! The famous photographer and his wife, a famous model, both suddenly end up blind AFTER their big art show where they displayed Pippa’s scandal. And not by accident. No. This was obviously surgically done. And NOBODY suspected foul play?? Nobody thought about revenge?? Nobody thought it strange how their blindness was clearly done with a surgical/medical precision nor suspected the couple’s subject, Pippa, who they thoroughly humiliated, who also worked as an optometrist technician at a lab that has the machines that could cause that kind of blindness??? And they're both still alive! They can easily tell the police who did it!

It should have been way too easy for the police to know that it was foul play. Blood tests can tell that Seb and Julia had been drugged. How they were blinded can be traced to the optometry lab. Pippa would be the easiest main suspect due to her connection to them with revenge as the main motivation after they humiliated her in that art show.

And yes, I agree that what Seb and Julia did was wrong. They used Pippa and Thomas, and then murdered Thomas so they can have some juicy story to tell!

Even so, what happened to Ethical Codes in the medical field? What happened to the Hippocratic Oath? Non-maleficience rule? “Do No Harm”? Pippa should have been slammed with, idk, medical malpractice or something, after using her knowledge of the LASIK machine and using it to permanently blind people (which is an actual fear real people have about LASIK surgery), have her license revoked, be fired from her job, and possibly serve jail time. Why is she walking free all willy-nilly and still being allowed to continue stalking Seb and Julia?

I’ll admit though that maybe I’m being more harsh towards Pippa because I myself used to be a Board Certified medical professional (my license expired last year because I hadn't been working in that field for a while) and because of that, her actions angered and horrified me more.

Normally, we as an audience are made to root for the main character or hero, but I found it difficult to do so because Pippa herself is a terrible person. She's a pervert and a creep. She was obsessed with the lives of other people, stalked them, and even went as far as committing crimes in order to fuel her obsession - trespassing, breaking and entering, destruction of private property.

And my goodness this actually makes me think of a few Ben Hardy stans who are like this. Well, idk if going to Ben's school so that she can get a copy of a school film he was in can be considered a crime, but it's still fucking creepy.

Pippa’s got that Savior Complex where she tries to rescue this poor neglected wife from her horrible cheating husband (the same one she herself wants to fuck because she’s obsessed with him). And then when it all goes south, she immediately turns around and blames THOMAS of all people because “he started it”. Like, so what if he did?? He still had enough maturity to realize when they were taking it too far, and decided to stop with the stalking. He told her to stop multiple times but she was too blinded by her obsession and lust for a man that she doesn’t even know.

AND THEN!! She stalked a grieving husband (I know we know that was a lie but Pippa didn't know that) and proceeded to cheat on her boyfriend with said grieving husband. And frankly, I don’t understand why she’s so vengeful about Thomas’ death considering how easily she forgot him so that she could cheat on him. Like. Who knows, maybe he still would’ve killed himself regardless of the poisoned drink because the last thing he saw was his girlfriend cheating on him with the man she’d been obsessed with for the past idk how long. Even in the scene after Thomas died, there was a momentary grief where Pippa was all “it’s my fault Thomas died” but it was all too brief and immediately after she went back to obsessing and asking about Seb. And they want me to believe that she’d want to avenge Thomas’ death? No. I think she blinded Seb and Julia because she was angry at being called out for her obsession. For being told that she was wrong to go that far. It wasn’t about her “love” for Thomas. It was about how humiliated she was about being wrong.

Can you believe that Pippa gave this whole speech with the fable about being content with what you have and not to try to be greedy by wanting more and then she just immediately DOES THE OPPOSITE OF THE MORAL by cheating on her boyfriend because she wanted more aka Seb???

The more that I think about it, I feel like the true villain of the movie is Pippa herself. Her obsession with Seb is what started the whole thing. If she had been able to keep a healthy distance, none of that would’ve happened to begin with. There would be no fights over how far things were going. Seb would have no scandal to tell. She worsened Thomas’ insecurities of not being enough for her, making him go to great lengths just to try to please her. Poor Thomas. He truly deserved better.

Pippa also has awful friends. Instead of stamping down the creepy behavior, they’re giving tips on how to listen in on other people’s private conversations! And then later try to excuse her cheating on Thomas. And then help with her obsession AGAIN.

Acting-wise, I felt that Natasha, Ben, and Justice were incredible and I loved them. I love how conflicted Ben played Seb and how you can see it in his eyes. My favorite scene was the one where Seb and Julia had that confrontation over the wine where Seb asks if she ever felt guilty and Julia just stares right back and stares him down. Natasha was brilliant as Julie pretending to be all friendly and vulnerable with Pippa. Justice was very emotional and I love the scenes where he was horrified at how far Pippa was taking everything. For me, Sydney was the weakest one at acting. While there were some okay parts, her face can be really stiff at some points, like during the sex scenes.

Overall, I thought the movie to be quite thought-provoking especially in this day and age where people can find the most intimate details of another person’s life so easily, be that through Carrd, Instagram stories, Facebook feeds, and other social media sites. It makes you think about parasocial relationships, how people can be so obsessed about people that they’ve never even met, and how that obsession can easily grow into something dangerous that can ruin lives. Good movie, terrible last act. Too much sex for my taste, but then it wouldn’t be called an erotic movie.

Outside of the movie, I really love the chemistry between the four of them. I love watching their interviews and seeing how they interact with each other.

Last but not the least, I know this may be random but my brain likes to zoom in on the weirdest things. How on earth did Pippa manage to get Seb on top of that operating table?? No offense but Pippa is fucking tiny. Seb’s like twice her size and mostly muscle AND unconscious. Like ??? Sorry but that threw me off so much it’s ridiculous.

#ben hardy #natasha liu bordizzo #justice smith #sydney sweeney

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chouetteffraie · 4 years

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The Inherent Romanticism of Headpats - Why Ship Dazatsu

I was scrolling through the dark corners of bsd tumblr and came across a few “Why I Ship (blank)” posts and thought I’d like to try and articulate my unending love for dazatsu in a similar fashion! Please note that I am in no way trying to steal the spotlight from other ships or trying to claim that dazatsu is “better” - it’s just my favorite and I wanna talk about them! Also, I physically cannot talk about them without a shipper’s bias - I’ve had them in my heart since like late 2016. This is ingrained into my spirit.

So, without further ado, let’s talk about why I ship dazatsu (and why you should too). yes i’m kidding about that last part.

warning for manga spoilers and headers that would make amazing fic titles. tag me if you use one. manga pictures taken from dazaiscans and easygoingscans.

1. The Promise to be Good

hehehe let’s start with maybe the most obvious one that is, arguably, the most canon fact about these two. Just because I choose to view it as romantic doesn’t mean it IS - but it is certainly a beautiful aspect of their relationship and yes it makes me soft every time I think about it.

We all know Dazai’s past and what inspired him to make the switch from the Port Mafia to the side that saves people - Odasaku. No matter what you say, it’s obvious that Oda and Dazai have a very close, meaningful relationship - and arguably, Odasaku had the biggest impact (and the most importance?) in Dazai’s life. When Oda told Dazai to leave the Port Mafia, to go make something beautiful with his life - he did. And it’s those words alone that keep him motivated to stay in his job and help protect the city - because he loves it, maybe, but because someone he loves urged him to.

Dazai, despite what his strange poetry may make you believe, is only human. As much as those words mean to him, he gets discouraged.

Along comes Atsushi, the starving tiger boy by the river. Atsushi is an orphan parallels to oda saving the orphans already, and he was in dire need of someone to save him. So, Dazai did. Whether it was because of the tiger or Odasaku’s last words, Dazai saved Atsushi and gave him life. He provided food, shelter, a means to provide for himself - even companionship. Everything Atsushi has, it started with Dazai picking him up off the riverbed and lugging him along. What’s more, Dazai didn’t just turn him over to somebody else - he presented a case to Fukuzawa to keep him and serves as his mentor. Further along in the canon story, he provides Atsushi with the emotional guidance that he needs (Portrait of a Father, anyone? Let’s cry over that for a second.) He doesn’t just give Atsushi a moment’s care - he helps him build himself up, he supports him, and together, they protect the people of Yokohama.

Atsushi is living, breathing proof that Dazai is living up to his promise to be a good man. Even better, he seems to be perfectly happy with confirming that yes, Dazai is good, whenever Dazai needs it.

In this way, they complete each other. They provide a source of comfort that nobody else has been able to. Atsushi is Dazai’s proof that he is doing the one thing he wants to do, more than anything - be what Odasaku wanted.

2. You Saved Me, We Save Each Other

Keeping that in mind, Atsushi is sort of Dazai’s reward for being good. Now, I’m not implying Dazai is owed Atsushi at all - to an extent, you could argue Atsushi is maybe even too good for Dazai. But Dazai is trying to be a good man, and Atsushi is the one who tells him and reaffirms his efforts and gives him that praise, that recognition, that reward for being good. Dazai’s main inspiration to stay on the light(er) side is Odasaku - but that doesn’t mean that Atsushi can’t become another huge driving force that makes Dazai want to stay on that path. Oda motivates him, gives him the reason to start. Atsushi can be the prize that makes trying worth it when he tends to forget.

Atsushi saves Dazai. He saves him from his self-doubt, and from the world that gives him every reason to believe he has failed in his promise. If anything, that promise might be Dazai’s strongest lifeline. By reinforcing the line, Atsushi is saving Dazai.

And of course, Dazai saves Atsushi. He did literally save him by the river, and he helps teach Atsushi how to Not Die by virtue of being his mentor, but it’s more than that. Dazai has been the one to save Atsushi from his own mind time and time again. He provides a reason for Atsushi to believe he has (or is) earned/earning the right to live. Atsushi isn’t entirely over his desire to prove himself worthy - but Dazai is always the one to tell him that he has succeeded in his goal. Dazai is the one to say “You’ve proven yourself. You deserve the life you’re living.”

3. You Learn Something New Every Day

As Atsushi’s mentor, Dazai naturally teaches Atsushi things. But beyond the simple strategic battlefield lessons, Dazai has been there for Atsushi multiple times to help him address and begin to overcome his trauma. Sure, some efforts are worse than the others (dazatsu stans just wipe our memories of the train station scene and that’s valid and sexy of us i think.) But in times when Atsushi is clearly distressed, Dazai has been there to help him through it. He’s helped Atsushi sort through his grief, and he’s helped Atsushi start to see that his feelings are valid and that he’s allowed to live a fulfilling life.

Atsushi isn’t the only one learning, though! That’s one of the best parts of the ship - Atsushi teaches Dazai, too. Dazai has spent a long time feeling as though nobody will understand him intimately, or as deeply as Odasaku did. But Atsushi is getting there. He’s one of the closest to it, I think. From saying things like Dazai is a good man, to picking up on Dazai’s feelings at Oda’s grave in Dead Apple, and even the end scene when Dazai asked Atsushi directly if he thought he was a good person and Atsushi said without hesitation “Sure, why?” Atsushi teaches Dazai that he is human. He teaches Dazai that he is capable of feeling and forming close, intimate connections. They help the other learn about the areas they need to, and in both cases, they’re becoming patient teachers and prized pupils.

4. I’ll Listen When Nobody Else Will

Everybody knows how Dazai is often brushed off when talking about dying. People have brought up that the agency just has faith in his resilience, but that doesn’t meant that they aren’t acting without care towards Dazai. Atsushi does this too - in the very first episode, Dazai’s attempt at suicide is just taken with him being exasperated at his antics before pushing him down. But here’s the thing - it’s generally agreed upon that Atsushi is the one who is sent out to find Dazai. Atsushi is the one who knows where to find him. Arguably, Atsushi is the one that will listen to Dazai. He’s becoming the one who can not only pick apart Dazai’s mannerisms and slightest tells - he isn’t proficient, but he’s working on it - but he’s the one that treats them with care.

I’ve spent a lot of time noting similarities between the understanding Atsushi has of Dazai to the understanding Dazai’s truest friend had to him. Here’s one thing that separates Oda from Atsushi, and for me, it’s one of the major reasons why I personally ship one more than the other: Odasaku didn’t push Dazai the way Atsushi does. Both Oda and Atsushi have a way of laying out a field for Dazai to talk and bounce his thoughts off of, no matter how cryptically they come out. But Atsushi asks questions, he prods at the darkest corners of Dazai and he allows Dazai to question himself so he can continue to grow. Where Oda gave Dazai a place to feel comfortable in where he was, Atsushi gives Dazai a space to feel comfortable as he grows, which is what he needs in order to continue being a good man.

And please note, this isn’t me saying dazatsu or Atsushi is better than odazai or Odasaku. What I mean to say is this is where the difference lies, and Atsushi gives Dazai what he needs now - something he might not have needed without Odasaku’s urging to leave.

5. Guiding Light

When two characters are each other’s north star, where is there not romance? Dazai is very much Atsushi’s main source of guidance, a side effect of being his mentor for sure - but it’s more than just asking questions. Their relationship runs deep into Atsushi’s train of thought, to the point where Atsushi hallucinates Dazai’s presence when he feels uncertain. Any time Atsushi needs guidance or reassurance, he looks to Dazai.

This is more shipper goggle-y, but I like to believe Atsushi does the same for Dazai. I’ve said over and over again that above all else, Atsushi is Dazai’s proof that he is being good. I also like to think that Atsushi, in a way, is a ray of light for Dazai to follow. He’s selfless (although for some reasons that deserve to be readjusted), he’s kind, and he loves life - all life. He’s a sunbeam in action that provides a perfect example for what Dazai could be and is trying to be - and if this light is happy with keeping Dazai close, maybe there’s hope for him after all.

6. What Makes Life Worth Living

Atsushi and Dazai are opposites in once major aspect: Atsushi has a sort of reverence for life, whereas Dazai craves to escape it. These are two major points of their characters - but here’s the kicker. Dazai wants to get close to human emotion. He wants to understand what makes life worth living. Atsushi is quite possibly the strongest candidate to show him what he can do and how loving life can help. I’m not saying that Atsushi is Dazais’ fix-it-all elixir, but he has a good chance to gently prod at Dazai and get him thinking.

Atsushi can show Dazai what makes life worth living. And that’s something that I think would do Dazai a world of good.

7. Can I Change for the Better?

ATSUSHI! INSISTS! DAZAI! IS! GOOD! I will not ever diminish this point because it is so important! Dazai seems to have it in his head that his blood is mafia black, that he can play the charade of a good man but will never be more than an actor playing a part. Atsushi, though - Atsushi is constantly telling him that he is good. Atsushi, who probably couldn’t keep up a lie for that long because the poor boy has zero tact. Dazai even asks Atsushi frequently if he’s a good person, and Atsushi always says yes. Atsushi gives Dazai what he needs to hear.

Atsushi, however, has his own issues. He has his own trauma to tackle, and his own bad habits to reform to become a better person. Atsushi isn't’ a bad person, but he also isn’t the best version of himself. Dazai can help him become that. Dazai can give him the guidance he needs, as he did with sorting through his grief surrounding the headmaster. Dazai can help Atsushi start the battle against his past, and he has been there with him every step of the way, whether in body or spirit. They help each other be better.

8. I Trust You With What I Love Most

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again - the toast they added to the end of season 3 is one of the most tender moments Dazai has ever had with anybody. One thing Dazai never does is let people in on his past - not past the necessary details, anyway, and especially not the intimate moments he holds in his heart. But sharing that toast with Atsushi - inviting him in to the toast he shared with Oda and Ango, “To the stray dogs,” - it’s one of his most vulnerable times on screen. I don’t care what you say. Dazai deliberately letting Atsushi in, giving him this tiny piece of his past he’s had tucked away in a safe place - that was him offering up a piece of his heart. I’m soft just thinking about it again.

Other than that, Dazai has an enormous faith in Atsushi. He’s built entire plans trusting that Atsushi will do his job perfectly the way it needs to be done. Hell, towards the end of the Guild arc, it was his faith in Atsushi to bring the doll down to him that convinced Twain they were beat. Not to mention, Dazai has trusted Atsushi enough to form a new partnership without him in order to protect the city - and if that’s not one of the most blatant displays of trust and faith you’ve seen, I don’t know what is.

9. There’s a Softness Within Me I Didn’t Know I Had

Another thing that’s good for Dazai - Atsushi is comfortable. Dazai can let his guard down, just a tiny bit, around Atsushi, There was the graveyard scene in Dead Apple, or the toast scene at the end of season 3 - those are moments where Atsushi has given himself a moment to relax and show Atsushi how proud he is. This kind of emotion, this vulnerability that says ‘I’ve been hoping you’d pull through and look at how amazing you’ve become’ - there’s a softness that holds that Dazai doesn’t hold for anybody else. It’s a gentleness or pride, of trust, of somebody becoming more than you could ever imagine and coming back to you, even thanking you - it’s a sensation nobody else has given Dazai, because nobody else has been a protege as trustworthy and gentle as Atsushi.

(and, believe me, there’s a hundred other examples of the softness in the anime, manga, official art, and so much more. here’s a thread that you can still add to if you want)

Atsushi is also soft with Dazai. He wants to make him proud, sure, but there isn’t any fear once their job is done. Atsushi doesn’t have to fear horrible repercussions if he makes one misstep - Dazai allows him to learn, to grow, and to feel however he seems fit (or, it’s a skill he’s improving at as the series goes on.)

They give each other a safety to feel vulnerable. They are comfortable to each other. And, of course, they have a special softness for the other that they do not hold for anybody else.

10. My Mistakes are the Cracks You Have a Knack for Fixing

Again, Atsushi is always there to reassure Dazai that he can be a good man. One part of this is that he insist that Dazai’s past doesn’t have to affect his future. He’s one of the only people who tells Dazai that he doesn’t hold him accountable for what he’s done before - he’s Dazai-san now, and that’s what matters to Atsushi. Atsushi gives Dazai the most space to fix these mistakes, to move past them, and to learn from them, not holding them against him at all.

In the same way Atsushi is Dazai’s proof that he’s being a good man, he is also Dazai’s proof that he can fix the mistakes he made. (Of course, I’m not excusing the way he strings anybody along - but the first step to fixing a mistake is admitting you have made one and working on yourself, and that’s what Atsushi allows him to do.)

In conclusion, I think Dazatsu is so soft and amazing because it’s about the healing and acceptance. BSD is all about gray morality, and dazatsu is a soft ship that can take each other’s bad and accept them. It’s not only about seeing the darkest side of somebody - it’s about accepting those flaws but also giving them space to grow. They grow and they learn and they heal together. They ensure that the other never has to go through a drastic change alone. In a way, they can be home for the other, a refuge from the shitty cards life has dealt them and a steady lifeline to reach for a better tomorrow. That’s why I love dazatsu - because I can’t see another situation with nearly as much love and trust as they have. They are tender, they can be vulnerable, and they can heal.

Like the beautiful sunset hours the met in, they celebrated in, they console each other in, they allow the other to turn the page on their past and start anew, with a clean canvas for a dazzling display that they can make together.

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Note

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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justcallmenikki7 · 4 years

Text

Regretful Choices

Pairing: BTS x Reader (Poly!Au) Summary: You get into an argument with your boyfriends, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. Warnings: Poly!Au, angssst, fluff, hurt/comfort, guilty bts, bts being dicks and making reader feel bad for her sexuality?? (trust me they’re angry and say stuff that they shouldn’t), crying bts, angst beginning with happy ending, jealous bts, bts being good guys but making dumb word choices. W.C.: 2k Request: Anon Said- Hey Love, just wanted to know if i could request OT7 getting jealous of their O/C slow dancing with someone else at a party after they had been in an argument (if not just ignore this ily💞) Notes: I am finally done with this semester and now I am constantly working :). And the title is shit i am so sorry lmao

Going from a happy moment with your boyfriends to a yelling, name calling argument moment in a span of five minutes surprises you how fast things can change. Truthfully, it is not your fault – but the boys think differently all because you were caught hanging out with your lesbian best friend Maria. Yes, you can see where they are coming from because you and Maria did have sex before, but that was because she was wanting to help you discover your sexuality. Going to her was your best bet since you trust her, and there are no strings attached. Plus, that was seven years ago when the both of you were in high school. But that fact does not change the way the boys think about the situation.

“Why are you getting so defensive, Y/N?” Yoongi spoke in a cold, distant voice. “What are you trying to hide, huh?”

Him implying on you cheating on them felt like you were punched in the chest. Looking at your boyfriends closely, you could tell that they are on Yoongi’s side, not trying to step in and say different, not even to defend you. “You guys think I would do that?” You asked with a broken voice.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jungkook gave you a look that was so foreign to you. “I don’t know, you tell us. Would you, Noona? You seem pretty close to Maria and let’s add on to the fact you hooked up with her in the past. Seems pretty…sneaky.”

Not knowing what to do, or say, you reached your hand up to your neck, grabbing the necklace the boys got you for your six months anniversary, and you yanked to where it broke from the force of your yank. The boy’s eyes became wide, almost scared even. “Fuck you all. If you are going to use my discovery of sexuality against me, then you are all hypocrites. You guys are childish and narcissistic assholes. My and Maria’s ‘hook up’ was seven fucking years ago, before I knew any of you. I can see where the trust lies in the relationship. But what is the kicker is that I did everything for you guys. I sacrificed so much to be with you, but I guess this is my slap in the face. So, you know what? I am leaving.” Walking over to the door, grabbing your phone and purse on the way out, you slammed open the door to the dorm before slamming it shut with a lot of force.

Once you got two blocks away, you found a bench to sit on and broke down.

Back at the dorm, the seven men were all stunned into silence. What just had happened is now catching up to them, the guilt now taking over their conscious and mind – especially Yoongi and Jungkook.

Standing up from the couch that he was sat on, Yoongi walked over to where you threw the necklace down, bending down and picking it up. The gold necklace that had a heart on it felt like a brick in his hand, a wake-up call to him. Bottom lip wobbling, tears forming in his eyes, the silver haired man let out a gasp.

“I fucked up,” Yoongi spoke. “I fucked up so bad.”

“We fucked up,” Namjoon spoke up. “We all did, not just you Yoongi.” The leader stated in an authoritative tone, already knowing that he is in the wrong.

“I made Noona leave,” Jungkook whimpered out, seeking comfort from his hyung, Seokjin. “I trust Noona! I promise hyung, I do.” Too lost in his emotions and guilt, Jungkook began to voice his wrongful actions and words, apologizing for everything, even though you are not to hear it.

After two hours of sobbing, mainly from Jungkook, and getting eaten alive from guilt, everyone had calmed down(ish).

“Do you think she’ll take us back?” Taehyung asked in a croaky voice, looking at his hyung, Namjoon.

“I hope so, but there is a huge chance that she won’t. She probably, more than likely, believes that we do not trust her and see her as a cheater.” Namjoon knows that his words hurt Jungkook since he was the one who implied that, but he had to be realistic. “It isn’t a promise, Taehyung.”

And with that statement, the boys all sat quietly in the living room, trying to think on how they can get you back.

It has been two weeks since the fight, or breakup.

And you are doing terrible. You have not showered in six days, to depressed to even move from your bed, or to do anything in general. The one thing that you have been successfully to do is not answering the text messages and calls from your ex-boyfriends. Seeing their names pop up on your phone always clenches your heart because you want to answer the call so badly, but you just physically cannot do so. The words, the implying of what you supposedly did, the looks they gave you; it is all a constant reminder.

“Why are we here?” You groaned to your best friend, Jisoo as she pushed you through the crowded bar, trying to find a place to sit at.

“Because you are lying in bed miserable, which is agonizingly painful to watch. Plus, you have been locked up in your house for two weeks straight and you need to get out some more. So, me being the bestest friend in the whole wide world took this into my own hands.” Jisoo grinned at you with her dazzling smile.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled your own thoughts, earning a smack from Jisoo. Going to smack her back, you were stopped abruptly, accidentally bumping into Jisoo’s back. “Why did you—” You stopped mid-sentence, seeing why your best friend had stopped in mid walk. There, at least twenty feet away from you were the seven men that caused you pained for the last two weeks.

To your luck, they spotted you right away, stares burning right through you. The overwhelming feeling of needing to cry took over your body, making you turn around, only to be stopped by your best friend.

“No,” she protested, “you are not allowing them to run your life. We are going to have a grand time tonight even though they are here.” With that, she continued her way to the booth she laid eyes on, you cowering away from their stares.

An hour later, three tequila shots in, you are doing fine. You are smiling, joking around with Jisoo and the two guys who decided to join you both fifteen minutes into the night. But you could not deny that you are yearning for your ex boyfriends touch, hugs, and the sound of their voices. You know that they are watching you, the constant feeling of eyes on you letting you know that they are.

“Hey!” Jackson, the guy who has been sitting by you all night yelled over the music, “Want to dance?” He asked, a tipsy smile on his face.

Hearing the invite, Jisoo gave you a thumbs up from across the table. Not seeing anything wrong with the invite, you nodded your head with a smile on your face. “Sure!” You yelled your answer.

Dragging you onto the dance floor, Jackson grabbed your hand and began leading you into the twist dance, earning a laugh from you. Following his movements, the both of you fell into a fit of giggles and grins. Not noticing the figures coming up behind you, you yelped in surprise when you felt a hand grip your arm and pull you back into their chest, breaking the grip that you and Jackson held onto each other’s hands.

Turning around, you came face to face with Jungkook. Ripping your arm away, you carefully hid the longing feeling of his touch by glaring at him, along with the other six, and moving away from them. “What do you want?” You sneered, the anger and pain that you have felt the last two weeks are now surfacing.

“Why are you dancing with him?” Taehyung asked, glaring at Jackson.

“Because I can?” You answered, the answer being more of a question. “Why do you care? Are you going to start—”

“Can we please talk somewhere private?” Namjoon asked, more like pleaded. “Please?” He asked again.

Rolling your eyes, you agreed anyways. “Sure.” Turning around to Jackson, you gave him a small smile and told him that you will see him later.

Leaning against the wall, you picked at your nails, wanting some sort of distraction from the elephant in the room.

“We miss you.” Jimin blurted out, not being able to take the silence.

Looking up shocked at his confession, you tried to keep the tears and emotions at bay. “What?”

Sighing angrily, the anger more at himself than you, Yoongi ran his hands down his face. “We miss you, Y/N, so fucking much. We are so sorry.”

Snorting, “you think that I am supposed to believe that?”

Frowns covered all of the boys faces. “You don’t believe us?” Seokjin asked wearily.

“I mean, not really. You guys accused me of being ‘sneaky,’ thinking that I am sleeping with Maria and cheating on you guys. Plus, you basically shamed me of my sexuality and made me feel like shit. You guys decided to accuse me of something, not even try to listen to my side of the story, and gang up on me instead of sitting down, like adults, and talk about this. So, yes, thinking that you guys miss me is kind of hard to believe.”

“You didn’t even answer our calls and texts. You decided to ignore us!” Jungkook yelled, becoming emotional.

“How am I supposed to face you guys after that?! You embarrassed me and made me feel so belittle and ashamed of myself. How am I supposed to pick up the phone and face you?” You shot back, quickly wiping the tear that fell down your cheek.

“Sunshine,” Hoseok began, “we are so sorry. You are right, we should’ve sat down like mature adults and talk about this. We acted on emotions instead of logical thinking. You are not sneaky, you’re truthful, loving, faithful. You do so much for us, love us so much, support us to no end and we threw it into your face like assholes. We hate ourselves for what we have done to you. But if you give us a second chance, let us prove to you that we are not assholes.” Hoseok spoke up, tears streaming down his face.

Biting your lip, you thought for a moment.

You love these seven idiotic, dumbass, loving boys. You know that they are sorry, you know them like the back of your hand, like how they know you. You also know that everyone makes mistakes and do deserve a second chance. This is the first time that something like this has happened, it is not like it is a reappearing thing. At the end of the day, you see yourself with them for forever. And at the end of the day, you know that you love them with all of your heart.

“You guys are lucky that I love you so much,” your voice broke at the end, and you knew that they heard you. In a split second, you found yourself wrapped up in their arms, breaking down into a sob.

“We love you so much, Jagi,” Namjoon mumbled into your forehead, kissing it right after.

“Forever and always,” you said back.

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glittercatmomma · 4 years

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What is happening right now in America is disturbing and unnerving and I’m going to rant about it.

I’m a white woman. I have been discriminated against for many reasons but here is the thing. RACE IS NOT ONE OF THEM. That’s why the #BLM movement is so big. There are literally millions of people being discriminated against every day but no race, gender, sexuality, or religion has been mass discriminated against for this long and this badly by everyone, especially white people. African Americans are basically being borderline hunted by police and cops are never held accountable. Enough is enough.

George Floyd should not have died. He could have bombed the entire state Minnesota and the cops still should have been able to peacefully arrest him without issues considering there were 4 cops and only 1 George Floyd. He was already in his stomach and cuffed. What the hell is he going to do? Wiggle worm his way away from the cops if they look away for a split second? FUCK NO HE WOULDNT. And he was only accused of using a false check. That is not a crime that would even be close to warrant the death penalty, life, or even a large prison sentence. Crimes like that are given short sentences or just probation but here’s the kicker. THE CHECK WASNT EVEN BAD.

-no one could attempt to help him because they’d also be shot or killed or arrested for “obstruction of justice” or some bullshit crime like that because there were three other cops who weren’t actively standing on his neck that could have taken down people attempting to help.

-this is also why cops should always wear body cams. That won’t solve all problems but it’s a start and that’s something for this corrupt ass country.

-this mans death better create change. He better not have died for nothing. No one who has been murdered at the hands of cops better have died for nothing. They all deserve justice and they all deserve good lives for their families who have not been killed. They better not have died in vain. Their living family and friends deserve a life where they are not afraid to be alive and get killed for the color of their akin.

-I don’t know who said it if it was the mayor or chief of police but some dumbass white supremacist said “i saw nothing wrong with the video. if he can talk he can breathe”. NOPE THATS NOT VALID. I can guarantee with his dying breath he said that and it was the hardest three words that man ever said. So no stupid old racist white man, he couldn’t breathe. He literally fucking died.

-90% (or some other ridiculously high number) of incarcerated individuals are African American. If they’re not killed, they’re imprisoned. I’m going to law school specifically to fight situations such as these. I’m so sick of seeing black individuals imprisoned for shit that a white person walks free for. It’s utter bullshit. This justice system is bullshit.

We’re in the middle of a pandemic that is getting worse every day because our TV show host president values the economy over peoples lives.

-other countries solved their crashing economy with mortgage and rent freezes and consistent stimulus checks. (Most Americans (including myself) did not receive a check. I’m a 23 year old law student who pays for everything myself. Government didn’t see my need for my rent. Luckily my college was kind enough to refund students some money since our classes went online mid-semester when they did not have to pay us back at all.) The economy would still not be perfect but less people would die and I think that’s more important.

-other countries also have FREE HEALTHCARE so they can receive mass testing which lowers the spread of the virus even more because everyone knows who is positive or not!!!!! WILD HOW FUCKING SCIENCE WORKS. TOO BAD TRUMP DISMANTLED THE ENTIRE PANDEMIC RESPONSE TEAM IN ORDER TO HELP OUR COUNTRY LIVE. Other counties’ citizens also won’t go into debt for receiving treatment for Covid.

The #BLM movement is full swing and cops are literally using a chemical weapon that cannot be used in war.

-tear gas can legally be used to defuse RIOTS. Tear gas was used before there was even riots and there was only peaceful protests. People began rioting when Target (a corporation that the owners are literal billionaires) wouldn’t allow people that were tear gassed to get milk from the store. We have a right to protest in America. I personally don’t agree with tear gas being used at all because if we cannot use it in war time to defend a whole country, cops should not have access to it.

-tear gas??? In the middle of a pandemic??? That causes RESPIRATORY ISSUES? ARE YOU DEMENTED? WHO THE HELL APPROVED THAT? I DONT CARE IF IT GETS PEOPLE TO DISPURSE. IT MAY ALSO KILL THEM.

-if cops can arrest mass murders without even a scratch on their demented little heads, they can peacefully arrest a single black person without fucking killing them.

-If you’re a cop and you’re scared that any black individual is a threat, you’re in the wrong profession. Also, you’re racist.

-rioting occurs when peaceful protests are no longer enough. Rioting is how things got done in America. This is the last stitch effort before a full blown civil war.

-also, you cannot tell a whole ass race how to feel when a person of their race was killed at the hands of the police, who are supposed to keep us safe. They deserve to act in whatever way they feel. They are scared and threatened and they shouldn’t be. It’s 2020. How can we be this far in the future and still be racist. Its time to fucking evolve.

Trump pulled America out of the WHO. WHO is literally making vaccines and trying to make them available to as many people as possible and help begin mass testing but according to Trump, if they have any affiliation at all with China we can’t be involved with it.

-Chinese people did not cause this virus. I don’t give a flying fuck if someone fucked a duck in China and that’s what caused the virus to start spreading around the world. It’s not China’s or any Asian persons fault for this virus. Not all of China hudled together and was like hey let’s kill millions of people with this virus hehehe. NO. THATS NOT POSSIBLE. STOP BEING FUCKING RACIST.

These issues happening in the country right now no longer have anything to do with political and everything to do with morality. If you do not believe health care is a right and it’s a privilege, your morals are questionable. If you don’t believe all individuals of any race deserve equal rights and should be treated with respect and dignity, your morals are questionable. If you believe George Floyd should not have died, but also believe rioting went too far, your morals are questionable. If you support Trump, your morals are questionable.

Nothing I say or do will ever be enough to express how upset I am and how much I am hurting for the black community. I’m sorry this is the America we live in. I hope to help change it one day and when I get my law degree I will be fighting every day along side you. I hear you. I see you. I understand you. I stand with you.

#blacklivesmatter #BLM #politics #rant #politicalrant #anti trump #dump trump #covid 19 #blacklivesalwaysmatter #fuck trump #protests #george floyd #justiceforgeorgefloyd #justiceforblackpeople #wehearyou

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praphit · 3 years

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Mortal Kombat: Earthrealm’s Crappiest Fighters

I think we can all agree that the old school Mortal Kombat theme song ("Techno Syndrome") is one of the best songs of all time. Well... by "best" I mean annoyingly spellbinding. It kinda gets in you; especially if you've been following Mortal Kombat from the beginning of their run since the early 90's. "Dun Dun Dun Dun - DUNDUN (gong)... FIGHT!"

Then, it be like "Kano" and you be dancing "Liu Kang" and you start shakin it. Then, it gets to "Sub Zero" and you're like "Ahhhh Shit! Here it comes!" And then "Sonya" And everybody and their mama shouts "MORTAL KOMBAT" I'm telling you, back in the day, every time that song played - here comes the dancing AND fighting. Then, the cops would show up wherever the song is being played, and they'd dance a bit too, before they started looking for black people to shoot - it was a great time had by all.

This song demanded a rebooted movie from the classic (that's right, I said CLASSIC) 1995 film.

In the first movie, it was Liu Kang and a bunch of losers. I'm mean, just look at them.

You don't fear anyone there except for Liu; not even white Raiden (at the top).

With this 2021 reboot, we've got the same ol tournament plot - something about a martial arts tourney to decide who rules all of the worlds.

There's something about the MK logo appearing on people; it could appear out of know where - on your arm, face, butt, who knows??

Of course the bad guys have been cheating, and once again the ones chosen to fight for earth are Liu Kang and a bunch of losers.

Look how badass he is - you think making fire come out your body is easy?! This Liu mutha *uckin KANG!

Granted, You've got Raiden

- with the correct race and ethnicity this time, but he's kinda slow. This whole movie, you'll have fight scenes, people are dying. The ones not dying are screaming for help, and Raiden never shows up until those people who were crying out are also dead.

You've got Kung Lao,

but he's kind of an asshole.

So, yeah, really just Liu again.

His team of losers:

Kano

- Imagine if fate chose Jeffrey Dahmer to defend earth. Yep, that's pretty much what we have here.

Jax

(on the left)

- some Arsenio Hall lookin guy who's about to have his arms destroyed (we learn this from the trailer) Yeah, so fate chose a guy with no arms to protect Earth! Well done.

Sonya

- while everyone else has powers of fire, ice, lightning, she's got pretty pink rings that shoot out of her hands.

That's her tough face. Like she's saying "Leggo my Eggo."

And Cole

- who specializes in getting his ass beat. Even his super power revolves around getting his ass beat.

Ladies and gentlemen, Earthrealm’s mightiest fighters! - here to save us!

There is plenty of action throughout this movie. I loved it!

Some of my favorite scenes:

Scorpion vs Sub Zero

From the very beginning, there's gore, blood, and guts! Sub has been after Scorpion, and in the process, comes after Scorp's family.

Can I just say that I've seen this whole enemy of your past comes after a reformed assassin before - the reformed badass assassin's family is always so meek. Life Tip, kids: If you're going to be a professional ass-kicker, then you need to be with a life partner who can defend themselves. I'm not saying they need to be a family of killers, but get them to take ONE Karate class, at least!

Goro is also very cool-looking (2021 version on the left)!

Way more menacing than the first time around (95 version on right) when he let some dude punch him in the balls to end the bout. I understand that it happens, but... you don't see Thanos or Darkseid getting punched in the man zone and looking all goofy afterwards.

The fight scenes involving Liu Kang and Kung Lao were awesome!

Sub Zero in general was the main menace. He is haunting.

The violence. The gore. The campy parts as well, made this movie very enjoyable.

However, the third act kinda slows down. At some point, Raiden realizes "Wait, our team is just Liu Kang and a bunch a losers." And he has everyone camp-out and reflect... and drink. This is when the movie loses steam for me.

It's as if the action, the already next to terrible, campy dialogue, and "plot" run out of gas.

I mean, you have the typical "Hey, guys, let's work together!" type of thing that happens:

Arsenio Hall grew arms, Sonya tries to convince us that her pink rings are cool, Cole... well, is still getting his ass beat. But, everything gets a lil lazy. The ending fights go by too quickly. And the very last scene feels like everyone is tired, and so they just wanna go home.

We all know that evil is not going to win here, but I feel like it could have had it not been so lazy. Shang Tsung (the main villain/ evil sorcerer), supposedly having all this power just rolls out. It's like he looked at his watch and was like "Well, it's been fun, but I gotta get back to the wife. Peace!"

Plus, it was supposed to be a tournament... there was no tournament in this film. In fact, you had characters kill people and shout out things like "fatality" and "flawless victory" themselves, which is kinda weird.

Other than this laziness, I loved it! The action and fan-service leading up to the lazy third is still entertaining enough to outshine any lack one may feel towards the end. Again, I really enjoyed it! - And if you're a die-hard MK fan, you will too! - it's really made for you.

Grade: generous, entertaining B

One thing about all of these characters that kinda bothered me was the fact that they're all so comfortable with killing.

There's a scene where someone gets chopped in half, blood splatters all over them, and they're just like "Meh, on to the next." It's a tournament full of psychopaths!

I wonder if when the sequel comes out (and there will be one) if they'll address a lil of this, shamefully pull back, and introduce some "Friendships"

#Mortal Kombat #john praphit #praphitproductions.com #fighting #violence #martial arts #Movie Reviews #praphit #action movies #liu kang #techno syndrome #scorpion #subzero

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val-aquenta · 3 years

Text

Wow her for angstpril prompt: “You Lied To Me.” Special post-Rako Hardeen mission fun :)

Here on ao3

Obi-Wan’s cough was rougher than usual, as though he was hoarse and his throat hurt. Anakin trembled with rage that never truly left since Naboo. The hurt and anger radiated off of him. Obi-Wan watched, nervously tracking his movements. “Sorry… I’ll just-” He moved to the side, dodging past Anakin and walking through the Temple hall. Anakin looked at him, noting the dark bruises under his eyes and the short stubbles of beard and hair. How dare he. Anakin thought with a scowl before moving on with his day. First he had gone and lied and then he wouldn’t even talk about it?

They met again, right before Ahsoka and him were going to spar. Obi-Wan looked… worse? Anakin had attributed the rather pale complexion and tired look as results from his mission, but… perhaps it was not so. “What’s with the look?” He barked out.

Obi-Wan turned large eyes at him, “Just… tired I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably, hands clinging to one another behind his back. Anakin, once more, noted the hoarseness of his voice, likely a result of his undercover mission. “I-” He began before cutting himself off. “Sorry.” He bowed his head and darted past, walking fast enough to avoid him. Anakin watched him go, confused. He shrugged and continued with his day. If it got worse, he’d… do something.

Ahsoka remarked on it later that day. “Master Obi-Wan looks ill.” She seemed hesitant to breach the conversation, likely very worried about how Anakin would react. Anakin, contrary to her predictions, did not let out a wave of resentment and hate that he usually did when she mentioned him by name. “Did you notice?”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. He told me he was tired, but…” He trailed off. “I don’t think so.” He finally finished with a deep sigh.

“I guess I’m… worried. He doesn’t look well at all.” She said, relaxing as she noted he seemed quite concerned as well. At least he wasn’t so hostile to the topic of Obi-Wan anymore. “I mean… I haven’t really talked to him for a while, so-”

“C’mon Snips. More sparring, less chatting.” He grinned. “Don’t want you turning into Obi-Wan on the battlefield, huh?” The worry churned in his gut though. He lost himself in the high energy of the spar.

Two days later, he saw Obi-Wan again, looking more akin to a ghost than a living human. “Are you alright?” He asked, somewhat curtly. The betrayal still hurt and he still thought Obi-Wan was rather stupid to not tell him. He could act; nobody knew about him and Padmè yet. “You look…” He gestured vaguely at Obi-Wan who blinked, seeming kind of confused.

Obi-Wan startled, shaking his head a bit before looking up, a false smile plastered on his face. “What? Oh, I’m fine.” Anakin’s face fell. He knew this smile. He knew how Obi-Wan flashed it at senatorial galas, or in the Senate, or whenever the chancellor was in his perimeter.

“You’re lying.” He cut in bluntly. “I can tell. Why do you keep lying?” His tone became more aggressive. Obi-Wan leaned back, frightened by the display, his hands met together, clutching each other under the long sleeves of his robe.

“I’m not.” He stammered a bit, eyes looking at the wall behind Anakin. “I told you before, I’m just tired. It’s been difficult getting the GAR back on track after my mission…” He trailed off, expecting some kind of burst of anger, something. “On that note I have a meeting with Mace.” he said and quickly slipped from Anakin’s view, darting around the corner with a swish of his brown cloak. I’ll shove him in the medbay after. Ahsoka might be necessary. Everyone knew how Obi-Wan could not refuse Ahsoka’s wide eyes if she really put her back into it.

Three days later, he finally got the chance. Ahsoka and him were walking, still on their free time period, when he spotted that familiar gingery blonde hair coming his way. “Up ahead Ahsoka. We just need to get him to the healers.”

Ahsoka nodded seriously. “I know, Anakin. You already told me.”

“Just making sure…” He trailed off as Obi-Wan came closer. Force, he looked even worse. The concern he felt from Ahsoka told him he was not the only one thinking this.

“Master!” Ahsoka said, running over to catch him. “Wow… you look er…” Obi-Wan lifted his brow. “Are you ok? Shouldn’t you go to the healers or something?” She asked rapidly, her eyes wide and roving across his face.

“I don’t think-”

“Please…” Ahsoka seemed to be laying it on rather thick, but Anakin knew he would not notice, or would not care. “I mean… I worry, Master. It would comfort me if I knew that you were ok.” There was the kicker. Obi-Wan turned to him, a plea for help before turning back to her. Ahsoka blinked innocently, a concerned frown on her face.

“Perhaps… we should go to my rooms. I-” He cut himself off, hand rising to his forehead. “I actually have…” He trailed off, pitching forwards in a dead faint. Ahsoka yelped, calling on the Force by instinct as Anakin reached forwards.

“Alright… to the healers.” Ahsoka nodded, concern evident as she pressed a hand onto the really warm forehead. “Good job Ahsoka. He caved in seconds.”

Ahsoka smiled, a bit pleased with herself. If she was honest, she was a tad surprised that it had still worked. The last time she had tried, she had been much younger, but it appeared Obi-Wan was still the same. To be fair, he still caved easily if Anain tried hard enough, but perhaps that was more because he was simply annoyed by Anakin’s rather… annoying techniques. “It did go well.” She agreed easily.

“Don’t get too comfy, he’ll probably be harsher on you when you get older and lose your chubby cheeks.” Somehow Anakin freed a hand enough to poke her cheeks.

“Hey!” She cried indignantly, swatting the hand. “Oh look, Bant’s on duty.” She said eagerly, nodding in the direction of the Mon Calamari healer.

“Healer Bant!” Anakin waved down. “Obi-Wan’s just fainted.” Bant hurried forwards, pressing her cool hand against his forehead and flinching back.

“Hmm, this was bad before, but now…” Anakin startled. Bant signalled for a gurney. “Alright, lay him down. We’ll bring him to the rooms. Feel free to come.”

“Wait… Bant! What do you mean before?” He raced after, Ahsoka at his side as they followed her into a prepared room. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He asked worriedly. Bant looked back, somewhat exasperated before her look softened. “He… hasn’t told you?” She asked in confusion, her hand gently pressing against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, a comfort for herself. She released the hand and lifted him from the gurney to the bed. It was more a recovery room more than anything.

“Hasn’t said what?” Ahsoka asked, breathless. Anakin blinked to Obi-Wan before looking back at Bant. “Master Bant, won’t you say?”

“I… I’m not really allowed.” Bant stammered nervously, looking down at Obi-Wan, taking a small moment to grip his hand. “If he didn’t tell you yet, he probably will soon. Just… be gentle with him. He’s been through a lot recently.” she looked up, silvery eyes pleading with Anakin. “He’ll wake soon, then you can ask questions, but please… be gentle. It’s been rough.” Bant spent a few more moments fluttering around Obi-Wan and administering some medicines. Anakin laid a hand on Ahsoka waiting until she was done before approaching the bed.

In the end, it took about an hour which they spent seated by Obi-Wan’s bed, Anakin fiddling with his arm and Ahsoka typing away on a datapad, before Obi-Wan woke up. He blinked lazily, taking in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, a custom that Anakin had learned long ago. His gaze turned from the ceiling to the two at his bed. “Oh… hello there.” He offered lamely. “Oh no. Did I…?” He trailed off.

“Faint in the hallway, yeah.” Anakin offered, replacing his tools in his belt before leaning forwards. “So… what’s wrong?” There was no point beating around the bush. Ahsoka clicked off her datapad and crossed her arms.

Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling rather nervous. He had known something was wrong at the tail-end of the mission, but he had chalked it up to the experimental tech. Turns out, that wasn’t it. “An illness, Firthopo. It’s been there a long time, but only now became aggressive.” He swallowed, his hands fiddling on the covers of his bed. “We didn’t know it was there until now.”

“Master.” Anakin sighed out, a familiar spike of panic and fear rising. “You… you told me you were ok. Can it… will you get better?” Ahsoka moved her chair closer, hand reaching out to clasp his. The warmth she had loved so much was there still, a welcome feeling.

“They don’t know. The late diagnosis and the nature of the illness makes it… hard to tell.” Ahsoka leaned forwards, burying her head by his side as though in the dark she could hide from the pain. “I… was going to say, but-”

“You said you were fine. Did you know?” Anakin asked. “Did you know you were dying, and did you lie?” He said, quickly wiping away a stray tear that managed to jerk it’s way down.

Obi-Wan leaned his head back, breathing deeply. So close to him, Ahsoka could hear the gentle rattling of his breaths. She pressed even closer. Obi-Wan slipped an arm around her shoulder, gently rubbing it. “I… I knew, but I thought perhaps-”

“You lied, Master. I thought you were just tired.” There wasn’t anger, at least, not much. It was overshadowed by great sadness. “You told me…” He trailed off, his breath hitching in a soft sob. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Anakin asked, shifting a bit closer, his hands loose on his lap. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” Obi-Wan was quick to respond. “I trust you, Anakin, a lot more than you think.” He swallowed. “I suppose I thought I still had a chance. That it might get better quick enough so you wouldn’t notice.” He admitted, looking right at Anakin. “I don’t know if I still have that chance.”He leaned a little, trying to soothe Ahsoka, feeling the trembles under his hand. “I think… I think it’s probably getting worse. The fainting is more frequent now.”

Anakin shook his head in denial, helplessness crawling through his head. “Can I…?” He gestured at Obi-Wan. He wished… a part of him wished he was young enough so he could crawl into Obi-Wan’s side and pretend there was nothing wrong. He didn’t crawl into the bed, but he did reach forwards and pick up Obi-Wan’s hand, cradling it between his own as if it were precious. He noted the pale complexion, the strange cold in the fingertips. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

Obi-Wan shook his head a bit, “Not exactly. The disease is not well-documented because it’s so rare, but… if it’s too aggressive for medication, I might have a few months, perhaps even one? We don’t really know.”

“Months?” Anakin whispered, breathing shakily. “It’s not… Not nearly enough.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan said. “But that’s just how it is.” His voice was strangely garbled, in a way that only meant there were tears hidden. Sure enough, his eyes glimmered, water lining the bottom of his eyes.

“Is that… is that why we’re on leave for so long?” Anakin asked hesitantly. “I want to be with you, please Master.” He pleaded. “I have to.”

“You know that isn’t possible. The war… it still goes on.” Obi-Wan said. “The people need your help, but I promise if it gets bad, you’ll be pulled back.” Anakin shook his head rather angrily. “It’s the best we can do. Already the Chancellor has a mission for you.” Obi-Wan struggled a grin. “You can rest here for now, though.”

#star wars fanfic #fanfic #duna writes #angstpril2021 #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #angst

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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ancient names, pt. xviii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xviii: even as a dream

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.4k

Rating: Mature; nothing explicit, just mentions/references.

Warnings: almost none, though some descriptions of Elliot's recent actions, as well as some colorful threats and some poor decision making on John's behalf. This whole chapter is basically Elliot suffering and that's probably why it was so hard to write.

Notes: Hello my friends! I am once again asking for your patience as I come to you with a chapter full of emotional manipulation and almost no physical plot movement! All of this felt important to dig into and though it may not be the most fast-paced (or smutty) chapter, I hope that you still enjoy it nonetheless. Drama abound as we are slowly but surely closing in on the end.

I want to give a super special thank you to @shallow-gravy for listening to me whine and complain about this chapter as well as lend me their eyeballs so that I didn't go just fucking nutso trying to write this thing. As well, @lilwritingraven has been SO sweet, cheering me on and keeping my spirits up even when I think this was one of the harder chapters for me to get through; and everyone who comments, kudos, likes/reblogs depending on what platform you're on, thank YOU so so so much. It really keeps me going!

As always, my most beloved @starcrier put her eyes on this and let me feel less like I was going insane. I love you so much and thank you for loving my girl Elliot as much as I do!! God knows she DESERVES it.

“We should get our story straight.”

John’s voice wrangled Elliot out of her brain. She’d been trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mind games were about to commence, but John stepping in front of her to block her way into the chapel and speaking was enough to yank her right out of it.

“Get what story straight?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered to Boomer, waiting expectantly, and she made the quiet little motion for sit ; he did, obediently.

“Our timeline,” John clarified, “for—”

“You know, for someone who insists his brother doesn’t scare him,” Elliot interrupted, “you sure act like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar every time he wants to talk to you.”

The brunette’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His arms crossed, mirroring her own.

“I don’t ,” John said, speaking slowly, “want Joseph to get the impression that because we are romantically entangled—”

“Please stop.”

“—that it somehow compromised the work I was doing with you before,” he finished.

“But it did,” Elliot pointed out mildly. “Or did you forget telling me about how long you’ve wanted to fuck me for?”

She saw, for a brief second in time, irritation spike in John’s expression. All this time it had been Elliot smothering him, stopping him from saying the words out loud—but there was something a little liberating about doing it herself, like she had discovered something sharp that had been hidden inside of her all along. It wasn’t useful enough to be used as often as she would have liked, of course; but that didn’t stop her from getting some satisfaction in seeing John’s expression clamp down because the control freak couldn’t stand the idea of her derailing his perfect plan.

(And maybe that had been what she really liked this little game they’d played, all along—the increasing frustration in his voice every time he’d cut in to her walkie talkie, like she could tell that he was losing control thread by thread.)

“I didn’t forget.” John managed to somehow sound both incredibly frustrated and nonplussed at the same time, like ambivalence was a tone of voice rather than an opinion that he could emulate. He continued, “I just think we should be clear about the timeline with each other.”

“Nothing’s unclear,” Elliot replied. “You’ve wanted to fuck me all along—”

“Well, now—”

“—and I finally let you,” she continued.

He sounded spiteful when he said, “Twice.”

“Twice,” she acquiesced, “but do we need to include details?”

John chewed on that for a minute. “Should,” he ventured, and he was clearly trying not to sound smug. “If it’s going to happen again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Joseph needs to know that.” And then, light-heartedly, “But if you think he does, we should include how you said please so very nicely for me—”

“Unnecessary,” the brunette interrupted. “Fine. It happened twice, the nature of our relationship is...”

“Tenuous at best.”

“... But not without hope,” John concluded. It took every ounce of her strength not to roll her eyes so fucking hard that she passed out; because yes , she did want to say, I know John was good, sometime, somewhere inside of him, and that means maybe I can bring it back, and if he said that he’d go with me I’d let him.

“Isn’t that right, El?”

Elliot sighed. She regarded him for a moment—grinning, handsome and boyish, flashing his teeth like the cat that had caught the canary. And handsome. He’s handsome, too.

“Whatever,” she relented, at last. “Is that all? Can we go in now? There are things I want to do with the day.”

As she reached around him for the door, John said, “So what are we?” and she groaned.

“ John.”

“I just think that—”

“You are ruining,” Elliot told him, poking a finger into his chest, “the mythos of whatever this is.”

John frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something; he looked like he wanted to say it and very terribly, but like he thought she might be mad if he did. Then again, Elliot had to consider that John said plenty of things that made her angry, and he did so knowing they would make her angry, and that there was no reason that he should start now.

“It shouldn’t be a mythos,” John said after a moment. “We’re… Together, you know—”

Elliot fished the carton of cigarettes out of her back pocket and tapped one out, lighting it. John had stopped himself to watch her, his gaze sweeping over her before he grinned again, wolfish and pleased.

“Does it stress you out?” he asked.

“Baby,” Elliot deadpanned, “if stressing me out was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medalist.”

John plucked the cigarette out of her hands after she took one drag, dropped it on the ground, and stomped it out, much to her chagrin. One wasted cigarette.

“You owe me,” she said.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page when we go in there,” he reiterated. “Nothing about the nature of our relationship affected the time that you spent in my custody.”

She eyed him. Out of spite, she almost wanted to agree and then say something completely different once she was inside—just to make him squirm, and all for stamping out her cigarette.

“Fine,” she relented, at last. “But that’s all we say about it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said, do you?”

For one second, John opened his mouth again. It was all Elliot could do not to immediately groan; stupid, pretty John, who for some reason needed to constantly be talking, the same way a shark would die if it stopped moving.

But then he said, “Sure,” and suspicion spiked high and hot in her brain. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers; the kiss was unhurried, but short, and succeeded in frying her brain pleasantly.

“Don’t try and distract me,” she snipped half-heartedly, even when she felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. He grinned as though to feign innocence, before he turned and opened the door to the chapel; when he stepped inside, it left her alone.

One blissful, serene moment alone. It felt more and more like she was running short on those. It was probably intentional. Whatever it was happening between herself and John—whatever this mythos really was—it was harder and harder to keep straight with him around her all the time, breathing her in and exhaling her out, hands and mouth and—

And if she just got one more second —

Inside, Joseph said, “You don’t have the deputy with you?” and John made a noise like he was surprised she hadn’t followed right in. Elliot motioned for Boomer to stay before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her; the movement plunged her into the dim, cool light of the chapel, illuminated only by the cut-out of the Eden’s Gate star-symbol, slanting golden light across the floor. Everything else was dark. Like a womb, living and breathing and spitting out cultists.

“I trust you’ve gotten sufficient rest?” came Joseph’s next question, and it was clearly directed at her. Elliot made her way to the front of the chapel and stifled a sigh.

“Faith said you wanted to talk with us?” she prompted, and Joseph looked like he was trying not to smile; the corners of his mouth ticked upward for a moment as he watched her. He liked to do that—let a silence linger between them, let it fester for a moment until she thought she’d rather curl up and disappear than stay there any longer.

He finally spoke and said, “It’s come to my attention, Deputy Honeysett, that your relationship with our brother John has developed.”

‘Our brother,’ he said. Joseph talking like he was the fucking Pope made her molars grind.

Before she could remark on it, Joseph continued, “It would stand to reason, then, that you are intending to enter the End with us?”

I want a home with you.

“Of course,” John said, just as Elliot said, “‘Reason’ is a funny choice of word for you,” and then their eyes met. John’s expression said we’re supposed to be on the same team, but as far as Elliot couldn’t bite back instinct so easily.

She knew John could be good. She knew it, and yet he insisted on acting otherwise, and it just made her think maybe she had been some kind of exception and he really was, all this time, just rotten.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to process these last few days,” Joseph continued lightly. “The devastating loss of Hudson, having to purge all of that old poison concerning your last boyfriend…”

Elliot felt the panic wash over her in an instant. It was the same feeling that she had gotten with Kian, but the kicker here was that she’d volunteered that information to Joseph. He’d gone digging around in her brain, but she’d given him permission to have it.

I don’t want John to know, something in her said frantically, he can’t know.

“Reconsider,” Elliot bit out venomously, “what you’re going to say next, Seed.”

A moment of silence lapsed between the three of them. John was watching her curiously, waiting, perhaps, for her to elaborate on her angry outburst. She wouldn’t. He’d be waiting until he was in his fucking grave and then some if he thought she was going to say anything about it.

“John,” Joseph said, glancing at the brunette, “I’d like a moment with our deputy.”

The brunette’s expression tightened. Something, just a tiny little something, about that statement bothered John, Elliot could tell—though he said nothing about it, and instead swallowed back whatever it was, clearing his throat.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted, looking between the two brothers. “John, it isn’t.”

Don’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Please. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not with him.

“I’ll be outside,” John said, but he said it to Elliot, not to Joseph, and it did so very little to inspire any confidence in her; that John thought he needed to explain to her that he would be close by only reminded her that there was something predatory about Joseph that John didn’t like, either.

As he went to move past her, she grabbed his wrist out of instinct—the pads of her fingers brushed the crescent marks that she’d left on him that night in the river, and the differences in the ways that she gripped him now felt monumental.

The moment lingered, suspended, between them. John reached up with his un-gripped hand and brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Joseph offered, as though it were supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.

She dropped her hand from his wrist, and his hand drifted from her face, and he was heading back to the door before she could figure out if she wanted to pitch more of a fit or not.

When the door closed behind them and left Joseph and herself alone, in the eerie stillness of the chapel, Elliot took in a slow breath. The last time she’d been alone with Joseph, she’d been doing what she knew he wanted her to—confessing to the things that hurt, the prickly, sharp parts of her that stung the most on their way out. She’d grappled back a thread of her control that day, but what should have been a catharsis had just felt—

Dirty.

“I know that you must be tired,” Joseph murmured, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been fighting for a long time, Elliot. Longer, I can say now with certainty, than before even us. Before this.”

Fuck you, she thought hatefully. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You took everything from me, you wretched fucking man.

“I am tired,” she relented, desperate to keep that tiny bit of Joseph’s favor if it just meant that he’d stop trying to pry her open all the time. “But that doesn’t—”

“The End is coming,” he interrupted, though with the slow, rich cadence of his voice, it often felt less like an interruption and more a gentle redirection, “whether you believe it or not. But let’s say, theoretically, that it isn’t. That I’m wrong.”

Elliot’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like hypothesizing theoretical situations, least of all with Joseph. “Okay...”

The man had closed the distance between them now; his eyes were fixed on her, the relentless, dauntless part of him that did not soften to his Fatherly persona. He lifted his hands, and it took everything in Elliot not to flinch back out of instinct—his fingers brushed where John’s had just moments ago, trailing the slope of her jaw, landing on the feverish bruise marks on her throat.

“We retrieved Kian’s body from the forest,” he murmured, his fingers not leaving her neck. He looked to be inspecting the bruises on her neck, at the corner of her mouth.

The scrutiny made her skin feel sickly-hot. “And?”

“You obliterated his face,” Joseph said plainly. “Crushed each bony structure on it, caved him in. His eyes barely stayed in his sockets by the time you were done with him.”

Do you feel guilty for what that man did to you?

Elliot felt her stomach churn, the vicious nausea rolling around inside of her head. She could still feel Kian’s bones crumbling under each impact of the shotgun cold, dark metal, taste the arterial spray in her mouth. And just like that, she could feel Joseph digging his metaphorical claws in, cracking open her rib cage so he could stick his hands right into the gore of her.

Will you feel guilty about this, too?

“It—” Elliot felt her brain swoon dizzyingly; for a second, the only thing keeping her anchored was Joseph’s feather-light touch. “It w-was—self-defense—”

“ I know that,” Joseph murmured, “and you know that, and John—even Jacob, and Faith, and the others. We all know that, Elliot. But your friends from the resistance? Mary May, Grace... Pastor Jeffries...” His voice trailed off. “Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?”

“H-He was going to kill me,” and the words came out barely past a whisper; anymore volume and it would have been a wail. “ They were—”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed, “and you mutilated his body well past the point of death.”

“He deserved it,” she managed out, “he deserved it, he—” He was in my home, he touched my things, he pushed his way into my head, he took my Joey from me, she was the only good thing I had left and he took her.

“I know.” Joseph’s breath fanned across her forehead. “I know, Elliot. I hope—”

He stopped himself, and then he pulled back so that their eyes could meet, his hands cradling her face. It was both an anchor and invasion, this incessant need of Joseph’s to touch her. It grounded her to reality, but it also rattled violently through her skeleton, aftershocks of an earthquake she’d been living through for the last week.

“What I mean to say is, I only hope you understand,” he continued, his voice low, “this gift that we are giving you.”

I want a home with you.

“Do you?” Joseph asked. “Understand?”

What would Pastor Jeffries think? How would Mary May look at her? Sharky, and Grace—would they still like her spark?

Or was she ruined now, too, like everything else Eden’s Gate had touched?

Are you happy, Elliot?

“Yes,” she managed out. “I do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the chapel door opened, John had been standing around outside for about ten minutes—enough time to hate it, enough time to look at Boomer waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and think, fucking dog has better patience than I do.

“We’re going,” Elliot said, moving down the steps. Joseph lingered in the doorway behind her.

John balked. Faith had said Joseph wanted to speak to both of them; she’d made it sound like there had been more for him to be a part of, and yet Joseph had just collected one-on-one time with Elliot for himself and that was it?

“We’re?” he asked. Her voice sounded thick. “To where? Joseph, didn’t you—”

The blonde walked past him, and with a single gesture of her hand, Boomer was trotting off after her. John watched her, and then looked back at his older brother; he was sure the confusion was written clear on his face, but true to his nature, Joseph let it linger for a moment before he said, “She requested a car to visit someplace important to her. I said it would be fine, if you went.”

“Where?”

“It didn’t feel pertinent to ask,” Joseph replied. John paused, and as soon as he turned to start walking after Elliot—and perhaps get more information than what it seemed his brother was willing to supply him with—Joseph said, “John?”

He stopped and turned to look at his brother, and said, “Yes?”

“The opportunity is slipping.” Joseph’s head cocked to the side, his gaze hardening. “Do not let your family down.”

John felt something—anxiety, perhaps, but probably more dread —creep down his spine at Joseph’s words. He swallowed and nodded once before he started heading off again, the slow IV-drip of his older brother’s casual, cloaked venom seeping straight into the marrow of his bones.

Joseph’s voice rattled in his skull. Tell me you can do this.

You can’t have both, Elliot’s mouth against his, voice teetering on something broken.

He gritted his teeth, catching up to Elliot as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a truck.

I can. You’re mine, and I can have both.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, having elaborated not at all on what was going on and only expecting that he would come along blindly. Well, she was right—to some extent, anyway, because here he was, knowing only one thing more than before and that was that Joseph’s patience was enduring, but running thin.

John flashed her a smile when she glanced over his way.

“As ever.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It didn’t get any more clear where it was Elliot was taking him. Perhaps “taking him” was a bit of a stretch—he was going along because Joseph had insisted, and even if he hadn’t insisted it probably would have been his first choice of how to spend the afternoon anyway.

They were running out of time. That much had been made clear to him, either by Joseph or by Elliot’s itching to get out of the compound; pulled two ways, and only one of them was able to give—Elliot, with the proper amount of planting, guiding.

John knew that he needed to stay focused. There could be no more lingering, favoring glances; she would need to be his, and he would have to make it happen.

Fast.

The blonde turned the truck up a long, winding drive that took them further back into the wilderness of Hope County and parked in front of a house that he’d seen only once or twice before, and only in passing; he’d even considered reaping it for himself, at one point, but it was far out and small enough that it would have been more of an inconvenience than it was worth.

“So,” he said, when she put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, “where is this?”

It was a small house, but not as small as most houses in Hope County; by all accounts, the house was probably considered upper class —the snob in him wanted to scoff audibly even as the thought considering how fucking incredible that statement alone was—but the two-story ranch house screamed Gothic South at him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was where Elliot’s parents hailed from.

All of the lights in the house wereoff; the wisteria climbing the trellis that arched over the pathway had just finished blooming, and some of its perfume still lingered; ivy climbed up the elaborate railing of the top front porch, and the garden had clearly been meticulously well-kept.

“My mom’s,” she replied after a moment, sliding out of the driver’s side and closing the door. She sounded more put-together now; whatever had transpired between herself and Joseph had shaken her, but only temporarily. She’d stuffed it down, locked it away somewhere far away from him.

Oh, John thought, feeling that little thrill of delight he got every time he thought Elliot might be about to let him in and under and through. Mom’s house, hm? Interesting.

Boomer leaped from the back without waiting for the tailgate to get dropped and raced excited circles around Elliot as she made her way up the bricked path. He barked once, twice, and then Elliot lifted her hand and he quieted just before she gestured for him to go and he took off running.

“I drove past this place when I first came back,” John said as he followed. “Your mom likes gardening, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot sighed, lifting one of the flower pots by the front door to fish a key out from underneath. There was something bitter and a little humorous as she added, “Scarlet Honeysett would never lift a hand to garden, except —” And here the blonde lifted a finger quite dutifully, that little Southern twang peeking through. “For her rose bushes. Nobody goes around touchin’ her rose bushes.”

John glanced around the front porch. The steps up were lined with the aforementioned bushes, tiny scalloped fencing keeping them from being in the way of foot traffic while still on perfect display. Ah, he thought absently, the neuroses.

Elliot unlocked the door, nudging the front door open with her foot and stuffing the key into her pocket. John followed her inside, glancing around in the late-afternoon light; the polished dark wood floors, the carefully placed decorations, plush foyer rug, elegant painting on the far wall leading past the stairs.

It was luxe, to say the least. A portrait hung on the wall closest to the door, a photo of a young woman and her blonde look-alike toddler. John thought that it was the kind of thing that you only saw in the home of a woman who put her daughter into pageants and drank martinis at ten in the morning.

“Elliot Honeysett,” he began, with no shortage of needling glee, “are you rich?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “ I certainly am not,” she told him. “My mother, however, is a trust fund baby, likely has not worked a single day in her life. Papa Graves was a retired jockey—made a lot of money, real quick, invested it, retired...”

Her voice trailed off and she walked past him to the room on the right, fiddling around with something past his line of sight. He picked up a frame on one of the side tables; it was a young blonde girl, grinning ear to ear, sitting atop a buckskin horse, her fingers tangled into its dark mane,

“You like horses?” John called.

As if to clarify, she replied, “Animals.”

Something in the next room clicked. For a second, John’s brain panicked; a gun, he thought, a brief second of considering that Elliot had brought him here to—

And then the music started to play. It was older music that didn’t quite suit his picture of Elliot—the same girl that had blasted Guns’N’Roses on their way out from the ranch—but dreamy. Hazy. The perfect kind of music to suit the golden light of the late afternoon slanting through the gauzy curtains framing French windows. For a second, John thought he could forget himself: she had let him in, to the most vulnerable part of her, this place littered with photos and monuments to Elliot as a child, Elliot as a girl, Elliot before any of this.

Joseph hadn’t gotten this. Nobody had gotten this—not Joseph, and not her ex-boyfriend, and not anyone. Not anyone except for him.

See the pyramids along the Nile; watch the sun rise on a tropic isle.

Next was a gentle clink. It sounded like ice cubes in a glass. John moved down the hallway, picking up another frame—what he could only presume to be young Elliot, perched atop the shoulders of a red-haired man, grinning like a scoundrel at the camera.

He could hear the sound of liquid pouring a room over. As he walked, he realized the table—and the walls—were covered with photos of this man, this red-haired stranger, freckles covering his face. He was handsome. His eyes looked familiar, too.

Just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me.

“John,” Elliot said from the sitting room—what an absurd thought; Elliot Honeysett, in a sitting room , and that’s what it was, a sitting room, “what are you doing?”

“Learning about you,” John replied. “Your parents left with the resistance?”

There was a pause. He thought that he knew the answer—the only pictures of the man whose eyes were mirrored by Elliot’s own were from when she was quite young. Maybe too young to even remember?

“Mama did, yeah,” Elliot replied. He heard a match striking in the room next to him. She didn’t elaborate on her father; everything in John was itching to pry, to slide just under her skin and figure out what was going on in that brain of hers. Per usual, her decision to remain tight-lipped concerning just about everything that held any emotional bearing on her proved the biggest obstacle.

I'll be so alone without you.

John rounded the corner back into the living room. Elliot had started a fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, and in her hand was a drink; she looked tired , neck still mottled with bruises, but more relaxed than he thought he had seen her in a long time. Even more relaxed than when she was sleeping.

“Didn’t even make me a drink,” he tsked, walking behind the couch to the bar cart. “Just pulled me out here for a little vacation, did you? We could visit.” His gaze slid to her, still perched on the couch with her back to him. “About whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanted to get out of the compound. Felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.” She waved her empty hand in a vague gesture, as if to indicate he was welcome to help himself. “You really don’t stop talking, do you?”

“It’s my job,” John replied, “and you’ve forbidden me from using my mouth otherwise.”

“Oh,” Elliot drawled as he idled around the back of the couch, taking in every meticulous detail of her mother’s living room, “so all I had to do was forbid you and you’d stop doing shit?”

A short laugh billowed out of him. It was so strange to have Elliot like this—was this how she had been with Joey? With the other deputies, with her friends? What she was like before that pesky ex-boyfriend of hers?

Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

John walked around the side of the couch and sat next to her, regarding her amusedly. She side-eyed him like she didn’t want to exert the effort of turning her head all the way to look at him; when he reached up to brush his fingers along her jaw, she only tilted her head out of his reach for a moment before relenting.

“Might not have worked before,” he suggested. “You’ve definitely gotten more persuasive.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow at him loftily, letting him tilt her face so that she was facing him, and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe your brother is rubbing off on me. After all, romantic coercion isn’t really your style , is it, John?”

He felt his mouth sour at the words. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he instead lifted the drink from her hand; though she relinquished the glass readily, he did see her eyes narrow, just a little. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

He waited for the bite; a part of him anticipated it now, sat patiently, eagerly for the quick-strike of venom. It had become so intrinsic to their day-to-day that he couldn’t tell if he liked it more when she was prickly and headstrong or if he liked it when she was sighing his name like a prayer.

Probably the latter.

The blonde feigned innocence. “Resist what?”

John took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka soda—strong, burning on its way down. Maybe her drink of choice? Or someone else’s. “Picking a fight with me.”

“You do have an exceptionally punchable face,” Elliot acquiesced. And then, as though to soften the blow: “But you have lovely long eyelashes.” She smiled, angelic. “Like a lamb.”

“Fuck you,” John snapped.

“You can,” she replied idly, “if you beg. ”

John felt a flare of something—maybe delight, maybe shame —red-hot and searing in his chest at her nonchalant words. He wanted to stay focused; this was the perfect opportunity to pry more out of her, to really know her and figure out exactly what it was that made her tick, what got those little draconian gears in her head churning.

And they were draconian—after that little show she’d put on with Joseph, he thought maybe Elliot was just a bit more wicked than she liked to let on.

Regarding her for a moment, John set the glass back in her hand, the burn of the alcohol still lingering in the back of his throat. She looked comfortable, draped against the couch; before, being in the same room as him put her on edge, teeth grinding and eyes wild.

“Liked that?” he asked, forcing his voice to lightness, digging. “Having me beg for you?”

“Well,” Elliot said demurely, “who wouldn’t like to hear you begging for something, you smug fucker?”

He bit back his knee-jerk retort and instead willed his words out. “You really are filthy then, aren’t you, Deputy Honeysett?”

Elliot took a swallow of the drink and looked as though she were measuring something, weighing the pros and cons of it in her head. In a fluid motion that must have cost her quite a bit of labor considering the current state of her skeleton, she swung one leg over his lap and settled herself there; straddling him, one hand flattened and smooth against the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the glass and draped over the back of the couch.

“I suppose,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face, “that you’re going to offer to cleanse me of my sins?”

“You’re a quicker study than you let on,” he replied, grinning. “You’ve confessed, but you’re hardly clean. ”

“You should hear yourself.” Elliot’s voice was clipped coming out of her mouth, even as John’s hands came to her hips and tugged her down more firmly against his lap. Her fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “ ‘You’re hardly clean’. You sound so fucking stupid—”

“Let me baptize you,” John insisted. He tried to stuff away his irritation at her words, but it was hard to—even when the sharpness of her words was punctuated by a kiss, her lips parting silkily against his as she sighed, the sharp bite of the vodka chasing the warmth of her mouth. Joseph’s low, murmured threat sat heavy in his chest. “Let me—”

“Drown me?” she said with no absence of venom, even when she said it against his mouth. “Or was that just a one-timer?”

“It’s different,” he snapped. His hands slid beneath the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, tracing the dips and curves of her before splaying against her spine. “It’s different when you choose .”

She sighed; for a moment, John thought she was going to slide off of him, but she stayed, shifting idly on his lap and making the temperature of his body spike. Wicked, wretched viper, he thought, but it was affection blooming in his chest. Wicked and wretched, but mine. Legally bound to me, and all mine.

Besides; where was she going to go, after all of this? She didn’t seriously think she was walking out of Hope County like nothing had happened.

“You gave Joseph what he wanted,” he continued, feeling a little spiteful even as he kept his hands in the slope of her hips. “How’s it feel, knowing that?”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His words had sucked the wind right out of her sails; he saw the impact on her face, meteoric in its destruction.

She said, “John, don’t—”

“I will ,” he insisted, watching her take another dutiful swallow of the alcohol in her glass, “and you did. You gave him exactly what he wanted, after spending all this time insisting you were going to kill him the second you got a chance to. You’ve had a chance. We all know what you did to Kian; all it would take is what, ten minutes alone with him? So, I’ll say it again, how—”

“Worse,” the blonde interrupted, her voice thick with an emotion that John couldn’t quite pin down, “than giving you what you want.”

Yes yes yes, the monster inside of him chanted. He could feel it writhing just beneath his proverbial fingers; so close to sticking the wings of her little butterfly, that special thing that she didn’t want him to have or know. Yes, all mine, give it to me, I deserve it.

The air felt thick, molten-hot and bubbling between them until he thought he was going to be dizzy from trying to breathe something so oxygen-thin. He could feel the flutter of Elliot’s pulse, unsteady and hammering, against his chest: not the heartbeat of an apex predator, but that of prey, snagged and caught and his.

John pressed his mouth to the slope of her neck, tightening his grip on her; his tongue traced the marks left there just below her jaw, and then he murmured, “Tell me how it feels to give me what I want, El.”

Elliot’s free hand had tangled into his hair, knotting there and gripping just a little tighter at his words.

“Good,” she managed out. Her voice barely broke the sound barrier of a whisper; that single word alone gave John a vibrant surge of triumph in his chest, billowed the breath right out of him. But when he pulled back to look at her, she finished off the rest of the vodka and set the glass on the side table before she plunged on, “I had a dream the other night.”

A brief pause dragged the silence on, with only the music playing absently in the background as she righted herself on his lap.

“It was after my walk with Faith,” Elliot continued. “You were there, and—it was just a stupid dream, but—”

“Dreams can be prophetic,” John said, because whatever she was unraveling was making her upset, and he wanted it; that little tremble in her voice, so sweet so sweet, the same kind of sweetness he’d wanted to taste that night he’d first gotten his hands on her.

When he opened his mouth to continue to encourage her, she slapped her palm over it and said, “Shut up or I’m going to lose my train of thought.”

John made a muffled noise of acquiescence. Elliot dropped her hand from his mouth and took in a short, sharp little breath.

“You were there, and you kept saying things like… That you wanted to be—mine,” she explained, and this whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, but she did now. “That you wanted a home with me, that we would—after Kian, we would leave Hope County and for a second—I fucking—everyone, and everything, it’s all gone to shit and for one fucking second when you were saying that I didn’t—I didn’t feel—”

So close, John thought, watching her try to work around the words that she wanted to say but that fought against her entire being to come out. I just need to hear it. That’s all I need.

“Alone,” Elliot finished softly.

It was the perfect opportunity; Joseph had made it clear that they weren’t going to be waiting to finish off the Family to retreat for the End, and that meant that John only had so much time to bring Elliot around. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, to tell her about their marriage and hope for the best.

“It wasn’t,” John said after a moment. “A dream, I mean.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Her expression was guarded. “What wasn’t?”

“That night that you came back from your walk with Faith,” he began, “you weren’t feeling well, and I walked you back to the bunkhouse—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—and I told you that I didn’t want you to be alone anymore—”

“John.”

It’s fine, he thought, even when Elliot’s expression flattened and emptied out, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“—and that after all this was done, I would leave with you, and I wanted a home. With you.”

Elliot blinked. A few moments passed. Surprisingly, there was no fury radiating off of her; she looked blank, like she was still processing and taking in all of this information. Like maybe it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

John opened his mouth, very deliberately, to proceed and inform her of the next part—the completely fine and totally normal agreement to get married when Elliot said, “So you lied to me?”

His mouth closed. “Sorry?”

“I asked you about it,” she began, and now she was biting the words out, “the next morning. In the chapel. Jacob was there, and I asked you if something happened—”

“—less like it happened—”

“—and you said, John, that I walked myself to the bunkhouse and went to sleep.” Her fingers had fisted into the front of his shirt now, gripping, as if she were preparing for him to try and squirm out from underneath her. “I fucking knew you weren’t telling me the truth, I fucking knew it because my gun was on the table and I’d never fucking put it there to go to sleep, you stupid fuckhead—”

“El,” John said, lifting a hand, though he didn’t know why; maybe in an effort to soothe her, maybe to block any incoming blows, but Elliot smacked his hand out of the way.

“You fucking weasel—”

“Elliot, listen to me!”

Bad, John thought, and he hadn’t even told her about the part of this that was the most legally binding, the part of this that didn’t make her a Honeysett at all anymore but a Seed. All of that softness from before had evaporated in the heat of her rage. Bad, so fucking bad, fuck I’m fucked fuck.

“I’m gonna fucking dig the decay out of your teeth with a hunting knife, you lying piece of shit,” Elliot snapped. “You saw what I did to Kian, huh? I let you fuck me, and you lied to me—”

“I was—”

“—fucking rotten through and through—”

“Elliot,” John managed out, scrambling for something as he ducked an otherwise well-timed blow; he snagged her wrists, both of them, to stop her from landing any kind of hit. “I was embarrassed, okay? When you came in the next day and you didn’t remember, I—freaked out. Jacob was there, and I thought you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you, and also that you’d kill me if I said it front of Jacob, and I didn’t want to say it in front of him anyway because it was about how I was going to leave with you rather than stay with them!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. It was a lie —a big fucking lie, in a lot of ways, but most importantly a big lie-by-omission, but though he knew it John thought certainly there was no fucking way in Hell he was going to bring that part up to Elliot now, too.

She’s clearly emotionally fragile, he reasoned, I should wait until a better moment.

“Why’d you want me to get baptized then?” she snapped. “If you were planning on leaving with me?”

“Because,” John said slowly, come on come on come on, “Joseph—knows about us, and it would be suspicious. If you didn’t.”

Elliot stared at him. “And?”

“ And,” he insisted, “I planned on telling you in the car on the way out of the compound that night, and then we got hit, and we went on Kian’s fun little nightmare carnival ride, and—”

“Shut up.” Elliot yanked her wrists out of his grip and passed a hand over her face exhaustedly. John wanted to keep talking—it was instinct to want to weave the most elaborate tale that he could in the face of Elliot’s fury—but he did as she said, keeping his mouth shut as she processed whatever it was she had taken in.

Her hand dropped from her face, and she stared at a spot on the wall over his head for a minute before she sucked her teeth and said, “You don’t fucking lie to me, John.”

“I—”

“You don’t fucking lie to me,” Elliot reiterated again, “because if you do, I will find out, and I will make you fucking suffer.”

John regarded her warily. He knew that he needed to tell her. He knew that he should, because if this was any indication to how she was going to handle it, the full truth would be astronomically worse. It would be best to get it out of the way, let her process it, and maybe by the end she’d have come around to the picture he’d paint of them, together, as the End crept in; safe and in the bunker and—

“Okay,” he replied, “no lying.”

“No fucking lying.”

“Got it.”

“And if you do—”

“Skeleton pulled out of my body,” John supplied, lowering his hands hesitantly back to her hips. She eyed him through her lashes for a moment before she seemed to relax a little, sucking her teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. As each second ticked by that she didn’t make good on her violent promises of emergency tooth surgery, John felt more and more confident that he had assuaged the monster and reached up to gently unlace her arms. She balked at first, and then relented after another few heartbeats; when she allowed him to pull her arms around his neck, Elliot let out a soft little exhale, like she’d been holding her breath.

He said, trying for lightness, “I like when you get scary.”

“Did you mean it?” she asked, ignoring his little playful remark. When John looked at her expectantly, looking for some elaboration, she took in a breath and said, “About... leaving?” And then, with concerted effort: “With me?”

Soft —she was so soft, right then and there, and only for him. It was in moments like this when John wanted to drag her down into him, kiss her until his lungs ached, until their breath mixed and intermingled; to capture something like this and keep it his and his alone, forever.

He’d tell her. He’d tell her when things were better—when she wasn’t so emotionally raw, when she hadn’t lost so much so quickly, and when she’d have a more level head about it. She’d feel safer, more secure, with this little white lie; and then he’d tell her about the End again, once things had quieted down for a few days, and explain the importance of having her by his side. As his wife.

“Yeah, El,” he replied. “I meant it.” And then, because she was staring at him with those eyes—wary, cautious, guarded—he took her face in his hands and said, “I’m yours.”

“Don’t,” she managed out, and now her voice was really wobbling, “don’t fucking lie to me again, John Seed.”

She’ll see that I did this for us.

“I won’t.” And technically, sort of, it was true—he wasn’t going to tell her another lie now that she’d just said not to do it again. Unless she asked again. But she wouldn’t. So it was sort of like he was doing exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Elliot’s forehead brushed his. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t have anything left,” she said after a second, “anymore.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss—luxuriated in, drenched himself in it, indulged in the feeling of her leaned into his touch.

“You have me,” he said against her mouth. “You know that.”

“Yes.” Elliot’s voice was an exhausted murmur; her eyes fluttered shut. Got you, John thought, dragging his thumb along the slope of her cheekbone, and she said, “I know.”

Got you, hellcat.

#john seed x deputy #john seed x original female character #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #fic: ancient names #my writing #ch: joseph seed #i'm really not out here trying to be like i hated writing this but we're pretty close to that #i finally hit some kind of stride with it which was cool #anyway #it does ALL feel important #so that's what matters #next chapter can be full of actual drama and steam to make up for the downer <3 #thank you everyone for reading!!!#far cry 5 #fc5 #this whole chapter is john going #this is fine

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buckysgoldenheart · 5 years

Text

Escort: Bucky Barnes AU

Summary: You’re a highly paid escort, trained to adapt to any situation the client may need. But this next client is a first: A mother, hiring you for her son.

Words: 3370

I know i’ve done a bad thing and started another series, hopefully small. I am still working on the other ones, but after my dad died, I lost inspiration until this story popped into my head and i kinda ran with it. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and aren’t mad. -Lauren

This may be triggering in a way. The title pretty much explains what this is about, but it’s not negative.

Part 1:

You had been doing this for long enough to get the gist of want your clients want. Some were lonely and wanted someone to talk to for the night. Some wanted to take you out and brag about the beautiful, young girl on their arm. Some, the usual’s, wanted a fake girlfriend to take to family engagements to avoid scrutiny. But you were not a prostitute in the sense of what people assume. Your boss, Maria, was very clear to all potential clients that her girls do not engage in sexual relations in exchange for money. That’s not what her business was about. You and your coworkers were too expensive for the ‘street creeps and weirdos,’ as Maria liked to put it.

You were a girl strapped for cash and would’ve rather put a bullet in your head than take another retail job to pay for your college classes. And when Maria advertised it to you, that bit about the exclusivity made it seem safe somehow, but being rich or famous, or both, did not make someone any less of a creep or a weirdo. So, Maria was more than willing to put down money for mandatory self-defense classes that you would complete before taking your first job. Now, you and the other girls could kick anyone’s ass, even someone twice your size. At the end of the day, there were worse jobs.

—————————————————————————————-

You were barely through the front door of your modest apartment, high heels already discarded, when you heard your cell ring. The caller ID was not one you were allowed to ignore unless ill or on the brink of death, which you were neither, so you sighed and slid the answer button.

“Hello, Maria.”

Your boss wasted no time with pleasantries and got right to the point. “I know it’s late and you had a long day, but I need you to get down to the office immediately. I have a client here and after looking at her options, she has decided on you.”

You were slightly taken aback. Her? While it wasn’t unheard of to have women request Maria’s services, it was rare. Most were annoyingly wealthy men with underlying and deeply suppressed self-confidence issues.

You sighed, internally groaning. You were exhausted after some guy’s family reunion today. It was too long and too humid, and his family was too obnoxious; prodding you with questions as if they knew who you really were. But you couldn’t turn down Maria’s requests. It was in the contract.

“I’ll be right down.”

——————————————————————————

You were still in your dress and heels from the reunion earlier: A simple light blue, but expensive looking, sundress and strappy, silver sandals, when you exited the elevator. Walking down the corridor to Maria’s office at this hour, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was around as your heels clicked loudly with your steps. None of the other girls were there. There was always at least one or two.

You shook your head and scrunched your eyebrows for a moment before knocking lightly on Maria’s door. “Come in.” She said from the other side. You turned the handle and stepped in with a pleasant smile. “Y/N,” Maria also smiled. “I would like you to meet your next client.”

Then, she gestured a delicate hand to the woman sitting in one of the luxurious office chairs. You nearly gasped at who was before you. Mid-fifties, hair styled in a neat chignon, tailored suit, with diamonds along her neck and at her earlobes that showed off her wealth.

The Mayor.

“Y/N, sit.” Maria said, slapping you back to your senses. But you did as she said, taking the other chair two feet away from the most powerful woman in the city. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. She oozed power and class. “I would like you to meet Mayor Barnes.”

The Mayor smiled and turned in her seat to shake your hand. “You are lovelier than your picture.”

“T-Thank you.” You replied, shy in the presence of this woman.

After the introductions, Maria began her typical spiel that, when summed up, basically just meant you weren’t a hooker. “Oh, of course not.” The Mayor replied.

“Wonderful,” Maria smiled and scooted the paperwork across the cherry wood desk towards you and Mayor Barnes. “You will both sign and be under contract. However, Y/N, this is a…unique…situation.” All you could do was gulp. “Mayor Barnes may be your client, but to clear up any confusion, you will not be her escort.”

“O-Ok.” You nodded slightly, waiting for the kicker.

“You will be her son’s.”

Your jaw dropped despite your best efforts to remain composed. Her son. Infamous, sexy-as-hell, playboy James Barnes, who couldn’t manage to stay out of the tabloids for a quick second. Why he would suddenly want a girl like you when women fell at his feet was the most confusing part of this. Well no, the most confusing part was that his mother was the one hiring you.

“You will take on the role of Mr. Barnes’s woman.” Ok, you thought, typical job. “But there is another condition that I have assured the Mayor will be no problem for you.”

You glanced at the Mayor who was looking at you with a sweet, genuine smile; like she was already prepared to accept you into the family. Clearly, this was a well-drawn out plan.

“Mr. Barnes has not been informed about any of this. And the toughest part of this job is that he can never know.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Mayor turned to you a little more, catching your full attention. “Let me explain, dear. My son, as most people can’t help but know, is quite accustomed to putting himself in the spotlight, though it only seems to be negative. He’s been called a number of things. Womanizer, man-whore, troublemaker, a disappointment, but I know my son. He’s just as his father once was; Young and handsome, running around dragging his name through the mud.” You blinked not nearly enough as you listened, and your throat was starting to dry out. Everyone knew of James Barnes and his questionable decisions, but you felt a pang in your heart at the way his mother spit out the names he’d been called by the media. “James is not really like what everyone says. I believe he’s just…lonely. He was so young when I was elected and neither his father nor I could spend much time with him. My own fault, perhaps, but I don’t want my son to keep making these choices. He’s better than this. He’s so handsome and smart and charismatic; he could do great things, but not if he keeps himself on this path. So, what I need from you, my dear, is to become someone James can trust. A fixture in his life, at least for a time. He needs a beautiful woman like you, not these floozies that keep hanging off him. I will have you meet him, accidentally on purpose, and it won’t take much for him to strike up a conversation with you. You are absolutely gorgeous, and James can’t seem to help himself.”

“You want me to be his friend?” You asked. “I thought I was supposed to be his woman, or girlfriend, or something along those lines.”

“I would love if it turned into that, but I recognize that this a job, one that you cannot do forever. I would prefer he not fall in love with you if only to break his heart. I won’t need your services once he turns his act around. I am hoping you can encourage a permanent change.”

“One other thing, Y/N,” Maria began as you digested all the information being thrown at you. “You won’t be taking on any other clients for the duration of this job. It would create some serious problems if the woman in James Barnes’s company was seen with other men. The media would blow up and come to some dangerous conclusions. And before you start worrying about how to pay your bills with only one client at a time, the Mayor is prepared to offer you triple your normal rate.”

Triple, you thought. Somehow that made you feel guilty. You already felt bad about this type of job. You were going to be deep in a lie that would last longer than an afternoon. A lie that could potentially hurt someone when your time was up, and the thought of Mr. Barnes learning who you really were made your stomach turn. No one in their right mind would swallow that discovery with an accepting smile.

But you agreed; Not that you had a choice. You signed the contract and Maria gave the Mayor your work number so she could contact you to let you know when and where to show up so you could conveniently run right into James Barnes.

———————————————————–

For the first time, you were nervous. James Barnes’s face has been splashed all over every magazine and stupid celebrity TV program for months, and you couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was. He was rugged and beautiful at the same time, with a smirk you wanted to kiss and eyes to melt your soul. Not only that, but there was the fact that you would be in the most intense spotlight. While the other men you’ve spent time with were wealthy, they weren’t typically the kind of famous that drew too much attention. Certainly not enough for anyone to remember your face once the job was done. But this was different. A woman by James Barnes’s side for longer than an evening would bring about a nauseating level of attention, but you guessed that’s part of the reason you were getting triple the pay.

You sighed as you plopped down on your couch for the night, stretching your legs out in your comfy sweats and turning on the TV. Flipping through the channels, you immediately stopped when you caught James’s name coming out of some done-up woman’s bright red lips. As she spoke to the camera, she would gesture behind her to the large screen with James’s picture on it, his hand clearly on some random model’s ass. His new toy.

Finally looking away from his face, you focused on what the host was saying about him. “James Barnes, notorious, sexy bad boy and ladies’ man, caught seen with his newest fling, model and actress, Svetlana Antonov. Will this last? If you ask us, she’ll be gone by the end of the week. But who will be next?”

With a groan you clicked off the TV and tossed the remote to the side. “Vultures,” You mumbled. And then, suddenly, you wondered what would be said about you.

——————————————————————

Mayor Barnes, or Winnifred, as she preferred you now call her considering your new ‘personal relationship,’ phoned you no more than two days later. What you hoped would be something simple, like a coffee shop interaction or running into James on the street was, in reality, much more extravagant. The Mayor’s annual summer fundraiser ball. Only the best of the best A-list celebrities, financiers, and hotel heiress’ where invited; People who could donate a significant chunk of change in return for a reputation boost. This is where you would meet James Barnes.

Winnifred had sent over a deep blue Oscar de la Renta gown that had small diamonds speckled around the fabric making it look like the sky on a clear night, with a flowy-ness that when you walked gave the illusion of a refreshing breeze following your steps. There were also matching drop earrings and subtle, silver heels.

You felt amazing in the dress. Not like a princess, but a queen. Thankfully though, you were permitted to do your own hair and makeup. You let your hair tumble over your shoulders and kept your makeup delicate but glamorous enough to match the high quality of the gown.

You looked at your phone, quickly checking the time before slipping it into your clutch. Ready or not, it was time for you to go.

———————————————————————–

To your surprise, Winnifred also sent a limo to escort you. A note sat on the seat cushion that read ‘you couldn’t possibly arrive at the most exclusive event of the year in a cab,’ signed with a cursive ‘Winnie’ in the bottom right corner. You supposed she was right; it would look odd. This way you wouldn’t stand out negatively.

Inside, you gasped at the grandness of the ballroom. Not only was it nothing you had ever seen before, but it was something you couldn’t even imagine if you tried. It wasn’t what you pictured when told it would be a ball. It was more like a black-tie party in an up-and coming-club. The room was dark, but not too dark, with bluish-purple up-lighting, and private, velvety, plush lounges lining the walls that could be hidden by thin curtains. Some danced to the top 40 hits the DJ was playing, but many, mostly the older men, sat chatting and drinking expensive alcohol as young women, much like yourself, draped themselves over their laps.

You realized you had been to something like this before, but not nearly as nice. You had been the girl a man held at his side like a trophy; told not to speak, but to stand there and look pretty. It was like looking through glass at a piece of your life from a different angle. And it looked pathetic. But you had to push that thought from your mind because you had a job to do; one you had signed a contract for.

Looking around, you had no idea how the hell you were going to find James Barnes. His mother only told you he was wearing a blue suit. Not much help you realized, when you actually began to search.

After thirty frustrating minutes of sifting through bodies, you decided you needed a drink, and once you reached the bar, you figured maybe James would be the one to accidentally find you. What is that thing people say? Once you stop looking for a man, a man will come to you, or something like that. You hoped that was the case because you were sick of looking. So instead, you sipped your wine and people-watched.

After some time, you realized you probably looked like an uncomfortable wallflower. You started to explore around a little more, but with your gaze distracted, not watching where you were going, you slammed your shoulder against another’s and your wine glass fell from your hand. The dark liquid splashed all over the floor, and though no one heard the glass shatter over the music, the woman whose white dress was now stained with little red droplets certainly did.

“You LITTLE tramp!” She screamed over the music. “Look what you did!”

Before you could even apologize, the woman shoved you back with a growl and murder in her dark, brown eyes. She looked familiar and a second later you recognized her as Svetlana Antonov: model, actress, and James Barnes’s latest fling. And then…

“Babe, c’mon. It was an accident.” James Barnes. He looked down at the dress with a little chuckle. “It’s no big deal,” He said. “You have twenty of these designer things.”

When he looked up he met your eyes, and while you thought you saw his breath hitch, yours certainly did. Magazines and TV didn’t do him justice. “I-I’m sorry.”

James licked his lip as he stared at your own, then you blushed as the blue-grey irises trailed down to the curve of your throat and back up to your eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“James!” Svetlana shrieked, and for the first time you noticed how heavy her Russian accent was. When he didn’t glance her way at her outburst, the model/actress/fling stomped away, muttering curses in her native tongue.

You wanted to stay and talk, but his presence had somehow stunned you into silence. Then you remembered something his mother told you over the phone: ‘Play a little hard to get. James could use a challenge.’

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” You smiled your sweetest smile that held a dash of sexiness. “I should probably go—”

“We haven’t yet.” He said, effectively cutting you off.

“I’m sorry?”

“We haven’t met yet.”

Your lips formed an ‘O.’ For whatever reason, you didn’t expect a comeback. “I’m James.” He reached out and took your hand in his rough yet warm one, then placed a kiss on your skin. “You can call me Bucky.”

You pulled your hand back and said a simple ‘Ok’ in response to his forwardness. He chuckled.

“And you are?”

You took a step back, smiled again, and cutely cocked your head to the side. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I doubt we will be seeing each other again.” Then, you sauntered off, leaving James ‘Bucky’ Barnes speechless where he stood.

————————————————————————

At two in the morning, you were done. Your exhaustion had hit a new level and all you wanted was a hot bath and your warm bed, but you still had one trick up your sleeve that you hoped would peak James’s curiosity about you just a little more.

Some guests had left making it easier to hunt down your target. The second you actually began to look, you saw him causally leaning against the bar as he sipped a whiskey, staring at you like it was all he had done since you ran into him earlier. You kept eye contact long enough for him to smirk seductively. But, instead of going over to him like you knew he expected, you kept walking to the exit.

You didn’t see James’s smirk drop. You didn’t see him slam his whiskey glass down and quickly tip the bartender. And you didn’t see him trailing after you, but you knew he was. Because despite how he made your pulse increase to dangerous levels, you were good at your job, and his handsome face and charming smile wasn’t going to change that.

“Hey, wait!” You heard behind you. ‘Right on time,’ You thought, but you kept walking until a familiar warm hand wrapped itself around your upper arm and spun you around. “Wait.”

He was breathing a bit heavy and you made sure to bat your lashes in the moment where silence was between you. “Hello, old friend.”

He kept hold of you, darting his eyes over every feature of your face. “Friend’s know each other’s names.”

“What?” you gasped jokingly, your eyes widening along with the act. “Who told you that?”

His eyes narrowed and he inched his face closer to yours. “My other friends.”

“Oh, well, you and I have very different customs.”

James released your arms and crossed his own over a broad chest. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”

“Is there some kind of law that requires I do, James?”

“Bucky.”

“James.”

“Bucky.” He stressed.

You sighed. “Fine…Bucky. I don’t see why you could possibly need my name.”

“How else am I going to see you again if I don’t at least have your name so I can track you down?”

You hummed in thought. “Don’t you already have a woman whose name you know? The model?”

“She’s not my girlfriend if that’s what your implying.”

“I wouldn’t care if she was.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, his lips quirking.

“Yes, I am…Bucky.” You chuckled. “Anyway, I should go. Early morning.” But, as you turned, he grabbed you again, this time your hand.

“Please.” He said to your back.

You smirked to yourself, knowing you had won for the night, then faced him again. The pleading look in his eyes almost broke your resolve.

“Y/N.” You said.

James smiled in victory. “Last name, too, sweetheart. I need both to find you.”

You rolled your eyes with a small grin. “Y/L/N. Happy now?”

“Very.”

Then, he let your hand go and watched as you left out the front doors.

tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @tessvillegas @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat @anise-d-castle6 @projectxhappiness @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @lowkeysebby @stringgeek13 @quotemeow @notmyfault404 @jjamesbbarness @stangirl4eva @guera31 @sophiatomlinson23 @thisismysecrethappyplace @hiddles-rose @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf @picapicapicassobaby @lokilvrr

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky au #bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction

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deliciousdetectivestranger · 4 years

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Nachos After the War

“Brace yourself,” Leo said. “These babies are dangerous.”

He set the nachos in the middle of the table. The platter was piled high with toasted tortilla chips, melted cheese and jalapeno slices.

The six other demigods leaned in to study their new quest.

“Why are they dangerous?” Frank asked. “Do they explode or something?”

Hazel frowned. “Leo, please tell me you didn’t use Gorgon blood for seasoning.”

“Nah, these are legit nachos. But the jalapenos are from the Demeter cabin’s garden. They grow them, like, superhot. Best I’ve ever had.”

Piper pulled a nacho from the pile. “Vegetarian?”

“Yeah, Beauty Queen. Broke my heart to use refried beans with no lard, but for you, I compromised. Now, for the real challenge . . .”

Leo whipped out a jar of green chili sauce. “Valdez High Octane Fuel. May result in severe burns.”

“Bring it on.” Percy rubbed his hands. “I love spicy.”

Annabeth elbowed him. “After drinking from the Phlegethon, you can still say that?”

“Well, I’m digging in.” Jason said. “Before they get cold.”

“Oh, that won’t happen.” Leo’s hand burst into flames. He seared the top of Nacho Mountain. “There you go. Toasted at your table.”

The demigods started pulling nachos off the pile and passing around the Valdez High Octane Fuel.

It was a nice afternoon at the dining pavilion. Most of the campers were off doing their late summer activities – archery classes, the climbing wall, canoeing around the lake. Over by the stables, Arion was munching on a pile of gold nuggets, fueling up after the trip from Camp Jupiter with Hazel and Frank.

“Is it weird that I miss the Argo II?” Jason wondered.

“Nah.” Percy popped a jalapeno slice in his mouth. “We had some good times on that ship. When we weren’t about to die, that is.”

“That was basically always,” Annabeth said.

Piper sighed, gazing out across Long Island Sound. “Yeah. Good times.”

Hazel threw a diamond at Leo. It bounced off his shirt. “I still can’t believe you let us think you were dead.”

“Okay, first of,” Leo said, “I was dead. Second, I came back as soon as I could. Ogygia is like . . . a long way away. I’m just glad it wasn’t centuries afterwards. And third, I did make nachos. That’s the best peace offering I could think of.”

“You sure you can’t stay?” Jason asked. “I mean, dude, everybody needs you here.”

“I appreciate it,” Leo said. “But Calypso kind of wants to see the world. And I kind of want to show it to her.”

Percy cleared his throat, like the jalapeno had gone down wrong. “So . . . where is she?”

“Festus took her to Manhattan for the afternoon. She figured it would be easier, giving me some time with you guys. Besides, she wants to see the city.”

Frank picked the cheese off his nachos. It was times like this he hated being lactose intolerant. “So where will you go next? Will you come out to visit Camp Jupiter? I know Reyna would like to see you.”

Leo laughed. “Last time I was there I blew up her Forum, but thanks. Maybe one of these days. I don’t know. We don’t have any plans. And I kind of like it that way.”

Percy noticed a dreamy, happy look on Leo’s face, like he’d just had a really good dream, wrapped in warm blankets in a comfortable bed. It made him happy for Valdez, but also a little sad.

“I felt so useless,” Percy said. “I mean . . . the final battles with the giants and Gaea. Anybody else feel like I wasn’t even there?”

“That was the whole point, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth sipped her lemonade.

“For me to be useless?”

“No, your fatal flaw . . . my mom warned you about it. Kymopoleia warned you. You’ve been hearing about it for years. To save a friend, you’d lose the world. You can’t step back if a friend is in trouble.”

“Yeah. But . . .”

“Man,” Leo said. “I know it was harsh, but I had to pull that stunt – get Gaea off the ground, blow her up, risk my life. If I’d told you about . . .”

Percy sighed. “Okay. I would’ve tried to stop you. Or help you. Or something.”

“And that’s what Gaea would want – to have us crossing wires, messing each other up.” Leo pulled another tortilla chip from the pile. “Your big challenge was stepping back, not being the big hero. Letting me do what I needed to do.”

“Not very heroic,” Percy mumbled.

“Which is the whole point,” Piper agreed.

“It’s my struggle too,” said Annabeth. “My flaw is pride. I’ve been learning about that ever since the Argo II set sail. I think I can solve every problem. But I can’t. I needed Piper’s help. I needed to accept that other people need to act, take the risk, solve the problem when I can’t. Percy . . . we had our share of trouble.”

“Like fricking Tartarus, for instance,” he said.

“Yeah. But the end game – that was all Jason, Piper and Leo. Just the way it started. That’s how it had to finish. Us stepping back, letting it happen as it was meant to . . . that was our last big challenge.”

“Just saying it was kind of a letdown.”

Hazel smiled. “Someday, when they write this story, I bet the readers will say the same thing. The great Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase . . . their last challenge was to not be the ones who solved the challenge. But your struggle is being able to let go. Maybe the people who read your story . . . that will be their struggle, too. There’s always a time when you have to let go.”

Percy had to smile. “Hazel, you’ve come a long way since that day at the Caldecott Tunnel. Look at you now – centurion, sorceress, all-around kicker of butts.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re still the scariest most powerful demigod I know, Jackson. I’m just saying . . . that’s why it was hard for you to not be the center of the fight. But it had to be that way. It doesn’t mean you won’t have other challenges in the future.”

“Oh, please,” Percy groaned. “Can I get through high school first? I need some R&R.”

“And some time with your girlfriend,” Annabeth added.

“And that.”

“Hey,” Frank said. “Did you see your mom? I remember when we were in Alaska, you were trying to call her.”

“Yeah, I did,” Percy said. “She . . . well, she knew I was okay. I’d sent her some letters via the wind spirits, then an Iris-message after the battle. But when I got home, man, I think she cracked some ribs she hugged me so hard. She’s doing all right, though. I mean, my mom is a tough lady. She’s finished her first novel.”

“Nice,” Jason said. “Uh . . . the novel’s not about you, is it?”

Percy frowned. “She won’t tell me. That kind of has me worried. And this little smile she gave my stepdad Paul . . . I dunno. She said she wants it to be a surprise.”

“Uh-oh,” Piper said. “Well, if she gets published and becomes a bestseller, I can give you some tips about dealing with a famous parent. It’s not all fun and games.”

#rick riordan #pjo #hoo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #titan war #giant war #prophecy of seven #the seven #annabeth chase #frank zhang #hazel levesque #jason grace #leo valdez #percy jackson #piper mclean

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allison-hargreeve · 4 years

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post-BOO short story feat. the seven by rick riordan (via his insta)