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darsynia · 2 years ago

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Nearer, My God, to Thee | Stony | Chapter 3

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Written for @zaramel as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 3,951 words // D/s themes, sexual situations For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed @ronearoundblindly

Excerpt: A thought occurred, one that Tony had planted knowingly in his head. Steve didn’t know if he could even do it, and if he did, whether he'd do it right, but if he wanted to try. If he was going to do it at all, it needed to be now, before someone came by and saw them.

Steve moved one hand from where it was clutching Tony’s collar, sliding it along Tony’s arm along with the other, which had shifted away from Tony’s hip. Once both were close to the other man’s wrists, Steve pushed them back against the gate behind them in a sudden movement, catching the decorative twists of metal with his fingers to anchor himself.

Then he lifted his head from the kiss and said sternly, “Finish the sentence.”

Tony’s legs gave out for a few seconds, and Steve caught him with his hips, leading Tony to throw his head back against the gate and let out a deep, satisfied groan.

“This,” he managed, chest heaving. “You are the most pure form of temptation of anyone I’ve ever met, I hope you know that. All the money in the world, and I couldn’t buy you, could I?”

Chapter Three: Angels to beckon me

Steve left Tony at eleven to report to the bridge. Captain Smith himself was there, and while the signals office sent up a few missives for Smith to look over, overall things were clear and uneventful. When the captain left to enjoy lunch, Lieutenant Wilde took over for him. Wilde liked things quieter than most, so the idle chatter that the rest of them had been engaging in died down.

That chatter had been useful in one important respect; it had helped Steve stay focused on the job at hand, instead of thinking about Tony. The kiss they had shared had been explosive in all respects, particularly the definition that involved the innards of something being violently exposed to great force. He’d very rarely felt so strongly about someone he’d just met. Somehow his skin and sense of duty was keeping him in one piece, but it was a very near thing.

He wanted to kiss Tony again.

He wanted to learn more about those ‘smudged lines.’

Just thinking about that gave Steve a forbidden kind of thrill. Their conversation had shifted to more mundane things after Tony’s imprecation to save the use of his first name, but throughout, there had been an undercurrent of explanation. Howard Stark was controlling and distant, appearing proud of his son around everyone but that son himself. Always, there had been an uncertainty of when Tony’s actions would result in mediocre praise or vehement censure.

In short, Tony had been left with a desire for order, reason, and now as an adult, he sought permission to engage in, as he’d described it, a particular kind of obedience. Steve had worried aloud that his own happy, loving childhood left him without the skills to relate to Tony’s experience in a useful way, but was quickly reassured that wasn’t the case.

“People come at these things from all angles,” Tony had said. He’d even suggested that it was quite possible his own ‘reasoning’ was borne out of a need to explain himself, and that he’d have liked those sorts of things anyway.

Steve had shyly requested a definition of ‘those sorts of things.’

Even standing as he was on the flagship of the White Star Line, looking out across the mighty north sea, Steve still felt like a simple Brooklyn boy when contemplating what Tony had described. He’d never imagined a world of such extremes was possible, much less that they could be enjoyed.

Still, the light in Tony’s eyes as he’d spoken about them had stirred something in Steve. He felt a powerful sense that if this charismatic, fascinating man was going to be involved in something that required him to be vulnerable like that, Steve wanted to be at the other end of it, protecting him. Pleasing him. Being the source of his joyful cries.

“Are you quite well, Rogers?”

Steve started in surprise, but nodded quickly. “My apologies, sir.”

“Not at all,” Wilde said.

The moment was a wake-up call that those thoughts weren’t appropriate for the workplace. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Steve was fixated on Tony. He supposed that made an odd sort of sense, given the words he’d spoken just before he left:

“I’ve spent every waking hour on this ship looking forward to my bridge duty. Today, I wish it were already past, and we could have that time for ourselves. That’s the effect you have on me, Stark.”

The pleased look on Tony’s face still warmed Steve from within. Still, these preoccupations were causing concern and distraction, so he resolved to put Tony Stark from his mind for the rest of his time on the bridge.

That lasted all of twenty minutes.

It began with a knock on the bridge door, which was unusual in itself. Steve moved to answer, only to be confronted with the younger Stark on the other side. Tony was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit, shades darker than his signature handkerchief.

Propriety demanded that Steve act as officer, not friend. “Mr. Stark, can we be of service in any way?”

The impish man’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “I dearly hope so. May I come in?”

“That would be highly irregu--” Steve was interrupted by Tony’s hand on his shoulder as he leaned in to give a jaunty salute to the others in the bridge. “Forgive me, sirs, but I find all of this deeply fascinating. You may know that my father thinks I’m an irredeemable degenerate--”

“By all means, straighten yourself and come in. Should we hit a swell…” Lieutenant Wilde said, a little wild about the eyes, appropriately enough.

“Thank you, good sir,” Tony said graciously, squeezing Steve’s shoulder before letting go. In a strange way, this situation felt different than breakfast had, even though Tony had acted outrageously both times. His lack of petulant disrespect was marked.

Steve wondered if it was meant to be instructive.

“As I was saying, Dear old Dad requested this paragon of duty to keep an eye on me, and I find myself at loose ends. Might I steal him back early?”

The sound of a choir mixed with alarm bells rang out in Steve’s head. Wouldn’t this behavior expose their affinity? Was he meant to object, and prevent such an occurrence?

“Well, Rogers?” Wilde said. He stood between Tony and Steve, his expression hidden from the other man, but as usual, his stoic nature didn’t reveal much.

“Truthfully, sir, I value my bridge time. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“I sensed that might be his answer,” Tony said. As Steve watched, confused, his eyes lit up and he clasped his hands in front of himself like a pleased inventor. “What of this: once his shift is complete, could I commission Rogers for a more extensive tour of the ship? I promise you that the Stark name would never find its way onto ships such as these, but I have always wanted to see the engine room of a behemoth like Titanic.” Tony sidled over to Wilde with a conspiratorial expression, speaking quietly as though the others in the bridge weren’t a captive audience. “My status is such that it would likely stress out your crew were I to take such a tour on myself, you see.”

“That sounds reasonable, sir,” Wilde conceded.

“It’s settled then! Best gird yourself with patience, Rogers!” Tony crowed, bounding over to the door and seeing himself out in a bustle of manic energy.

Blinking as though stunned, Wilde said, “That man is certainly exuberant.”

Steve found himself practically speechless. In one smooth move, Tony had secured the two of them the ostensible run of the ship for the rest of the day, while also giving the distinct impression that such a task would be more work for Steve than multiple bridge shifts. He’d also given Steve the chance to express enjoyment in doing his duty in front of someone to whom that would matter, and perhaps be remembered.

Notwithstanding the dynamics man to man, that was the kind of power Steve wished to wield, in his professional life.

Once Steve was turned loose from his duties and went looking for Tony, he discovered that Stark was deep in a business conversation in the First Class smoking room, along with his father and some other prominent names.

It was impossible not to wonder if Tony had sought out Steve’s company earlier in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone, one of the birds being the chance to avoid that exact meeting. Instead of dwelling on it, he went to check on the status of his laundry in case he would be expected to attend First Class dinner again that evening.

Only one of his roommates was in their quarters when he came back with a crisp white shirt freshly ironed. Steve was arranging it on the hanger when there came a knock on the door.

His roommate called out a greeting, and the door opened. It was Tony, dressed as before.

“Had a bit of an adventure in search of you, which is good, because that meeting was such a bore I may never struggle to sleep for the rest of my life!” he said, slumping against the door frame. “Please say there’s time for that tour before I need to dress for dinner?”

Steve checked his pocketwatch, careful to keep his hand steady. The time was just before four-thirty in the afternoon. “Looks to be. How about we start in the more grimy areas? Gives you a chance to clean up before dinner, make a good impression.”

“Perfect,” Tony said, looking down at his (admittedly still very expensive) suit.

“Best change yours then, Stevie-boy,” the room’s other occupant piped up. “If you get anything on that borrowed uniform, you’ll be finding yourself a stoker, right quick!”

“True,” he said. Inwardly, his heartbeat sped up. There wasn’t anything improper about changing around other men, of course, unless you knew how much one of those other men looked forward to watching, that was. It couldn’t be helped. He decided that Tony would forgive him if Steve avoided catching his eyes during the quick swap-over, and that proved to be a good plan, given the coughing fit Tony started to suffer from, midway.

Tony was subdued through most of their convoluted journey down into the depths of the ship. Steve had opted for his civilian clothes but with his dark navy uniform jacket from years back. It was just enough of a signifier that he belonged where he was going, but didn’t involve getting any of his important articles of clothing dirty-- which was definitely an option.

Steve snuck a glance at Tony, finally feeling uneasy about the other man’s almost studied silence through the makeshift tour so far. It wasn’t that he seemed disinterested in what Steve was explaining, it was that the impudent spark that often seemed to drive him was missing. Steve showed Tony the signal room, waving to Harold Bride but leaving quickly, as the telegraphist appeared to be quite busy. From there, they passed the sea post office on the way down one more level to the boiler rooms.

Tony seemed more interested there, and his manner was easygoing and charismatic as usual, setting the workmen at ease with jokes and stories. Still, when they’d spent probably far too much time in the space, both sweaty, their skin collecting the ambient grime of the area, Tony fell silent again as they started back up toward more ‘civilized’ spaces. Steve’s instincts about Tony’s demeanor felt almost selfish, conceited, even. Had Tony liked seeing Steve change clothes? Was his mind as consumed with Steve as Steve’s own thoughts had been about him, on the bridge?

Finally, they came upon an empty corridor, the first since they’d descended so far down. Tony’s hand flew out toward Steve’s chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt and dragging him backwards toward a gated alcove guarding a dis-used set of stairs. Once out of view of the hallway, Tony yanked Steve toward him, and the collision of their bodies made a horribly loud noise against the locked metal gate.

Steve couldn’t begin to care, though, because Tony’s insistent hand was at the back of his neck, and then they were kissing frantically, setting fire to each other with tongue and touch.

“You didn’t hesitate, you couldn’t hesitate. Fuck, Steve, that was--” Tony mouthed against his lips, voice rough. Steve exulted in his own head, loving how affected Tony was, loving how affected it was making him. “In my head we’re already--” Tony added, breaking off to pull Steve closer with strength that made the action all the more exciting. He wanted to hear the rest, but couldn't bear to stop.

A thought occurred, one that Tony had planted knowingly in his head. Steve didn’t know if he could even do it, and if he did, whether he'd do it right, but if he wanted to try. If he was going to do it at all, it needed to be now, before someone came by and saw them.

Then he lifted his head from the kiss and said sternly, “Finish the sentence.”

Tony’s legs gave out for a few seconds, and Steve caught him with his hips, leading Tony to throw his head back against the gate and let out a deep, satisfied groan.

“This,” he managed, chest heaving. “You are the most pure form of temptation of anyone I’ve ever met, I hope you know that. All the money in the world, and I couldn’t buy you, could I?”

His tone was low, as though it took great effort to be articulate, and Steve sympathized, he really did. Something about Tony’s reaction made him feel both triumphant and conscientious, like giving Tony too much of what he wanted was irresponsible, that it was his job to protect him. That protecting him would be as satisfying as watching Tony come apart under his hands, someday.

“I have to earn you,” Tony whispered.

Steve wanted to feel Tony’s hands on him again. He wanted to keep Tony pinned and kiss him till his legs really did give out-- but was his response really an answer? Something told him this was the charcoal smudge, the boundary push, the crossed line. Whether Tony meant to or not, he was testing him.

“Spell it out, Stark,” Steve said, allowing himself to stroke his thumb along the side of one of Tony’s imprisoned hands. He used Tony’s last name on purpose, and it worked exactly as he’d hoped it would. The tension between them thickened, lengthened, and Tony’s dark brown eyes regarded him with respect and maybe even a little avarice.

“In my head, we’re past the first times. Almost like we know each other by instinct, instead of experience.” Tony rocked his hips, and Steve’s shift of surprise lined them up in just the right way, clothed erection to clothed erection. “You knew just what to say.”

“I pictured what your reaction might be, and I couldn’t resist,” Steve whispered.

In the hallway, a door opened and shut, and they heard footsteps. Immediately, Steve gentled his grip on Tony and stepped back, staying close enough in case he still had trouble with balance. It felt right, even more right when Tony grabbed his hand and, standing behind Steve and mostly out of sight, bent over to kiss the back of it with all the fervor of a fifteenth century knight.

“After dinner, we’re coming back down here, right?” Tony whispered, seconds after the steward piled high with mail bags walked past their alcove without looking over.

“Yes.”

Dinner was interminable. Neither of them dared look at each other much for the first half, until Howard Stark remarked on the occurrence. Tony spent the next twenty minutes regaling their table about a completely imaginary experience the two of them had in the boiler room. It involved a stoker taking offense to something Tony said, and Steve having to use diplomacy to keep the man and his fellow workers from laying their filthy hands on Tony’s favorite white dinner jacket.

Steve was mortified, but had to admit once Tony was done that it had been a compelling story that humanized the stokers as a little twist toward the end of it. Once again, he was impressed by Stark’s ability to take a moment and bend it to his will.

Hours after they excused themselves from the company of Tony’s fellow First Class men, Steve was reminded of the phrase ‘bent to his will.’ By then, Tony had spoken more about what he wanted for the two of them, had explained that it was only from outside that it looked like one man was in total control. That in fact, often times it is the more submissive of the pair who, by virtue of being the one most obviously vulnerable, holds a certain sort of sway over how events unfold.

Most importantly, though, Tony had said he wanted to know where Steve’s boundaries lay, what he liked, what he didn’t like. That had led the two of them where they were now, the forepeak storeroom on E deck, a place no one should bother them so late at night (even so, Steve had locked the door. The sound of a crewmember jingling his keys would give at least a modicum of warning, if they were to be discovered).

Tony’s demeanor changed quite a lot once Steve locked the door. With his big brown eyes he asked to get on his knees and have Steve try out giving him orders, ones angled toward teaching Tony what he liked, what gave him pleasure.

Steve fell back against the back wall and just looked at Tony. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a white shirt, and as Steve tried to remember how to breathe, Tony slowly undid his white tie, letting it fall loosely around his neck. He started forward.

“You’ll get your trousers dirty,” Steve said. He'd probably get everything dirty, down here. This was not a First Class place.

As though he’d hit a wall, Tony spun around, marched back where he came from, and faced Steve again. He re-tied his tie, then squared his shoulders and made eye contact as he untied it again.

Steve felt like he was being filled with desire from the toes up. He’d be completely insane for Tony by the time this mad wanting of him reached his waist, and once his lungs were subsumed, there would be no going back.

“I should make you walk back again just so I can watch you do it,” he muttered.

Tony’s expression turned decidedly smug, but he kept his slow advance on Steve’s position. The words bent to his will resounded in his head, and then he had it. Steve leaned over and snagged an empty canvas bag, noting quickly that it seemed to be cleaner than the actual floor of the place. He threw it down at his feet.

“You asked me what I like? I like to avoid making extra work for others. Kneel on that.”

Tony’s grin broadened, and he nodded. When he was close enough, he touched his palm to Steve’s chest and used him as leverage to kneel, catching the fingers of that hand on his belt.

Bent to his will. “Undo the buckle.” It wouldn’t take any time at all for him to be fully erect, not with the promise on Tony’s face. Every single American and British swear word crossed Steve’s mind as he held himself up against the wall, watching Tony make short work of his trousers. It wasn’t until he folded the pants fabric back and tugged on Steve’s undergarment that he realized he hadn’t said to. “You sneaky bastard, you’re going to have me objecting to going farther than I instructed, aren’t you?”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. Steve wanted his mouth so badly he almost demanded just that, but those blasted words were a blessing and a curse. Tony was bending them around each other.

“Undo the first three buttons of your shirt.”

There was no wiping off the smug appreciation on Tony’s face as he obeyed. Steve realized belatedly that he was getting credit for something he hadn’t intended; Tony needed both hands for this. A punishment and a reward.

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of waiting any longer. That was a punishment and a reward as well, wasn’t it? Tony seemed to enjoy teasing.

“I need your mouth on me, now,” Steve said, only just barely keeping the whine out of his voice.

“Yes,” Tony growled, expertly unleashing him and leaning forward, one large hand steadying himself on Steve’s now bare hip. He took in several inches immediately, drawing back to look up for approval.

“Very good, continue,” Steve managed in a strangled voice. He kept himself from making further noise only by clenching his hands around anything that wasn’t Tony he could find.

Over the next minutes, Steve dented several boxes as Tony used his hands, tongue, and his throat to completely destroy Steve for anyone else, all while looking up at him with the most expressive brown eyes Steve had ever seen. It was all he could do to issue any instructions at all, and he was beyond the ability to make them sound like he was anything but putty in Tony Stark’s capable, clever hands.

“Tell me to swallow, Steve,” Tony said, using a tone that broke through the pleasure haze. “I want to.”

“Swallow, oh please,” Steve blurted out, already coming.

Tony was sitting back on his heels with his own pants unzipped and bulging when Steve finished remembering who he was, where he was, and who he was with.

“Holy hell, Stark,” he said, catching himself too late to correct to the first name. Tony didn’t look disappointed, though he did look pained. “I forgot to continue with the--” Steve gestured vaguely downward, meaning the commands, the control, any balance of knowing what Tony needed out of the encounter. He didn’t know how to phrase it, given that he’d probably lost about half of his vocabulary in a blaze of glory just now.

“Oh, don’t worry. I learned a lot.” Tony reached up, and Steve helped him to his feet. Before he understood what was happening, Tony was pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning him with it, before putting his trousers and belt to rights again.

“You don’t have to--” Steve started, but Tony was pulling him into a warm kiss, close-mouthed until Steve himself initiated something deeper. The respect inherent in that was so powerful that Steve reached down to cup Tony outside his clothing.

“Fuck, yes. I like everything. I like you. I want this, yes, yes,” Tony babbled against his lips, angling himself to give Steve more access.

“Everything?” Steve asked, reaching past his waistband for a long stroke.

“E.J. Smith could walk through that door and I would gladly give him a show right now. Your hand, ahhhhh.”

Tony’s enthusiasm was a powerful motivator, and if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn’t fully paid off his new uniform trousers and wouldn’t until they docked in New York, Steve would have dropped to his own knees, canvas bag or not. It had been forever since he’d gotten to touch any cock but his own, and never had he been in intimate contact with someone he cared about as much as he already cared for Tony Stark. Tony was lightning in his hands, vital, vocal, valuable.

Somewhere below them, an alarm went off, but Steve barely heard it. His eyes were shut, arm working, their kiss becoming more and more sloppy as the two of them worked in tandem to send Tony over the edge.

“Steve, look at me, your eyes, I want to see--” Tony said brokenly. He’d been babbling praise and curses between kisses, hands grabbing at Steve in a way certain to bruise, but Steve did what was asked, locking onto the liquid-brown joy in Tony’s eyes just as he shuddered in Steve's arms.

The very next second, there was a wrenching tremor, as though the ship had struck something and, unable to stop, dragged across it.

Next Chapter...

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nagisasstunningpersonality · 4 years ago

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Retranslation and Analysis of That Fight Scene

So firstly, I just want to say the subs are not bad and convey the general meaning very well, in a way that sounds natural in English. That being said, there's always some things that get lost in literal translation, and I really want to demonstrate how much depth the Japanese in this scene actually has for Karma and Nagisa's characters.

Basically the TLDR point here is that this fight is very much not about Korosensei. This is completely platonic, I promise I resisted making any shippy points.

Karma: Hey, Nagisa kun, aren't you getting extremely carried away?

Nagisa: Eh? (definitely surprised and bewildered)

Karma: The number one strongest assassin in Class E is Nagisa kun, isn't it? (uses yo here, which suggests confidence in the statement). Are you (very directly yourself, your own thoughts) wanting to quit assassination? Let's think about the talentless others who are desperately trying their hardest to kill him. When you put it like that, it's like a woman who 'has it' telling the ugly ones that they should honestly quit being so desperate to get a boyfriend, that kind of feeling?"

So some interesting analysis here is that Karma says "zuibun", or extremely, when the original translation is "a tad". The translation feels more natural in English, however it kind of makes me feel that Karma's trying to make more of a point. Nagisa has the right to be making suggestions and stepping up, but he's gone so far this time it's crossed a line.

I think 才能がないなり (talentless, saino ga nai nari) is also very interesting. Talent is the best translation, but if you look at the kanji very literally, there's "genius" and "ability". This specific word choice more implies that the other assassins are good, but Nagisa's just another level. Japanese grammar is confusing at best, but essentially 'nari' means become. So you take this as kind of like 'students who couldn't develop genius ability'.

The repetition of 'desperate' is also pretty interesting, linking the examples together better. It emphasises the point that they're kind of at a loss with. He also doesn't directly say attractive woman, he says "motteiru onna", which essentially means the same, but is literally "a woman who has (no object given but essentially 'it'). This more directly reflects to what he's saying about Nagisa, he HAS talent, this unspecified natural quality that makes him better than everyone else without trying.

There's also a lot more rhetorical questions in the Japanese, which got combined into single sentences in the English. The "let's think" thing is very literally what he says, like he's wanting Nagisa to actually consider his thoughts for himself.

Nagisa's original argument and intention may have been about Korosensei. Karma may be genuinely opposed to saving Korosensei. But that isn't the point of Karma's argument at all, he's making this about Nagisa because he's reached a limit with the both of them.

In order to spare you, more under the cut.

Nagisa: T-the aim wasn't... Above all, for assassination, your understanding is always better than mine

Karma: Saying that directly (take with slight pinch of salt - he could have also said "fixing your statement") is irritating. In reality, isn't it that you yourself are the most powerful, and you can't comprehend the feelings of weak humans?

Nagisa: That's wrong (also using affirmative yo here)! That's not what I said! These are my true feelings! Do you hate Korosensei? We went to see a movie together with him, didn't we have a variety of great times?!"

Karma: That's why, that octopus did his best to come and make a fun classroom every time, and didn't give up like Nagisa. Without bloodlust, this classroom wouldn't have been built. Can't you understand the effort?! It's not just your body, are you still a fresh elementary school student?

One thing to note here is that Nagisa isn't actually finishing his sentences. You can absolutely tell what he means because Japanese makes sense like that, but he's still dropping words. Or when he does say a full sentence, they're very short statements. He is desperate here, trying to prove a point he can't actually voice into words correctly.

The context here is that this is before we know their full backstory. Nagisa admired Karma, and he can't quite say it right yet. He thinks they're on different stages still, and Karma is frustrated because Nagisa doesn't see the point.

Karma, after all, does have this inhuman image of Nagisa in his head from years ago. The image of Nagisa looking like some kind of snake demon as he kills Karma in his sleep. He genuinely still, here, believes that Nagisa is purposely hiding this. That's why he keeps putting words into Nagisa's mouth. He's also cutting him off at points, not listening at all to what he's truly saying.

At the same time, Karma starts talking down to him. Instead of saying 'no' (how you'd end a sentence to a friend), he starts using 'kai', which is condescending and how you'd speak to a child. There's an argument here to be made for Karma doing this as a kind of defence mechanism too, but that's very complicated. At this point he really is just trying to get to him.

They are not arguing about killing Korosensei, not at all.

Karma: Huh?

Nagisa: *does the creepy eye thing*

Karma: Eh? What are those eyes? You with the social standing of a tiny female animal, are you defying a human?

Nagisa: I was just...

Karma: If you have a complaint, how about saying it after you win a fight for once? It's aimed at me, so come on. C'mon. C'mon. C'mon!

This is actually one of the most significant changes to the original.

This is the thing, Karma was never calling Nagisa a tiny mouse of whatever, he was just comparing him to one. Because he knows very clearly that Nagisa isn't like that. He sees that look in his eyes and it prompts him, in his frustration, to finally try and bring it out of Nagisa. He's trying to prove a point.

But then Nagisa stops himself. He lets go of his bloodlust for a moment, defaulting to Nagisa as we know and love him, literally turning his head away from Karma.

But Karma's too far gone at this point, he's dragged stuff up his past feelings about Nagisa, the ones he's been hiding for a year to be tentative friends with him, and now he can't let them go. He needs to see Nagisa's darker side plainly, no matter what that means.

It's also important that he says "it's aimed at me". I think this is a little deeper than literal. I think what he's implying here is this entire thing is somehow aimed at him, like Nagisa's trying to strip everything away just for his own perspective.

Obviously at this point Nagisa snaps and chokes him.

Nagisa internal thoughts: Even I...

Nagisa: I'm not going with half my feelings!

Karma: This guy...

This is also pretty significant. I'm surprised they cut the "even I" part because that says a lot about Nagisa's current feelings. He still doubts himself. He's aware that he's a pacifist, that he's got a lesser social standing, but Karma's put him into a position where he has to stand up for himself. And this is important to him.

Karma smiles when he says "this guy", getting ready to punch him. He feels like he's succeeded, in a way. Though at first he looked genuinely surprised Nagisa actually did it. There's a certain kind of satisfaction that finally he managed to bring Nagisa's 'true' self out.

Obviously at this point they get separated.

So what does all of this actually tell us? Well, pretty clearly here, this is just Karma's issues coming to light. But also a very helpful and useful moment for Nagisa's development as a character. Whether we agree with Karma using him as a punching bag or not, it genuinely does force Nagisa to get some self agency for once.

Karma and Nagisa will never be characters who sit around and talk honestly about their feelings. But even if they're using a whole situation to mask the fact that they very much are discussing their relationship here, it is still a significant moment where pretty much all the barriers they've been putting up against each other drop. They're just still not entirely on the same page through this scene.

Nagisa thinks Karma is just looking down on him and trying to pick a fight. He's baffled and confused as to why Karma feels so strongly against him.

Karma, on the other hand, thinks Nagisa is better than them all and is frustrated when he 'purposely' acts like he isn't. Karma still feels lied to from when they were kids. And he wants to expose it all, to get Nagisa to understand the position his skill puts him in. I honestly don't think Karma ever thought Nagisa was less than him at all, he just knew it would be an easy way to get a reaction. See how he flips tactic from "you're the best here" to "you're a tiny animal" when Nagisa just went into denial the first time?

I'm not going to go into the whole of their actual full fight, but there's some interesting points that reflect back on all of this.

Korosensei saying "your own answer is right in front of you", basically demonstrating that this entire thing really is just Karma and Nagisa

The entire point of the fight was to get one hit in with a knife, but Karma decides to just continuously beat Nagisa instead. Which yeah, is pretty ineffective. Pretty much proves again that it wasn't about just taking a victory.

Karma took Nagisa's hits on purpose, maybe it can be argued that this is trying to make things last longer, to get Nagisa to actually work for it.

Nagisa demands that he listens to what he has to say. And that's right, because Karma was cutting him off originally.

Karma is a super strategist right? And he was genuinely shocked that Nagisa didn't use his bloodlust to take him down. This is Karma. Sure, he's allowed to make mistakes. But this is odd for him. He was so caught up in his own perspective of Nagisa just having that skill that unfairly made him better. But Nagisa literally throws that skill out and beats Karma on his own level, pretty much disproving him. Maybe Nagisa has this special ability, but he's also worked just as hard as everyone else. He's trained to know what assassination means.

Beating Karma like this, on a 'human' level, was pretty much it. Karma stopped fighting back when he realised that, because he was disproven, and pretty much every wall he put up against Nagisa got literally choked out of him. Karma is already known as kind of an ass and a dirty fighter, you really think he'd worry about the others not accepting it if he stabbed Nagisa fair and square? If he cared that much about killing Korosensei, he would have just done it.

Their fight was never about Korosensei.

#assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #ass class #karmagisa

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loudlypanickinginvenezolano · 4 years ago

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Life is a Big, Bad, Joke. Chapter 3, edited. (Not the final version.)

If I were to do things right I would show the second chapter but it really didnt spark a lot of joy...So, here is chapter 3 instead! (Suggestion are accepted.)

Really, with how skinny was his actual body, and with all of his experience backing him up, it barely took Shadow 10 seconds to slip between the bars of his cell, counting on his retreat to search for his juice box, and tiptoe his way to the big locks on the Misters cage, trying hard not to smile at the fella`s indignant squawk.

If Shadow hadn’t been able to slip in and out, how did the blue one thought that that bread had appeared next to him, close enough that even in his state it could be picked up and eaten?

Maybe the mister could pick up a healthy diet, better yet? Maybe a book?

Trying his best at suppressing an amused smile, Shadow plucked a quill from his back, even though the skin there was still tender and bloody, and charged it both with chaos energy and actual electricity, rubbing it between his hands and some of his fur over and over. It was a technique that took him a few tries to master completely, but one that he was sure was or had, actually, saved his life.

The small pain was but a nuisance when it got the job done, wasn’t it?

A lot more if there were lives in danger. Worse of all, your own live.

“What are you doing?!”

“Mh, well. How do you think I-uh, sneak out of my cage back in the ARK? By crying?” He snorted softly, trying not to raise his voice, as he used that same quill to open easily the heavy electronic lock just by tapping on its end. Stopping all kind of movement, his ears perked up and swiveled in various directions, straining himself just to make sure there wasn’t any hidden mechanism, or alarm ringing up. He couldn’t even detect an added mechanical hum, let alone brisk movements close to the entry. Uh, would you look at that? They never learn, apparently. Daring to slightly relax his defensive stance, his gaze came back to this curious fellow. “I think I did once, if I remember correctly. Fried some…electronic-something-thingy. Funny night if you don’t mind blood.” Or almost dying 3 times in a row.

Shadow opened the door with some difficulty, frowning at how heavy it was, and how much the back of his neck and upper back were hurting now. Hell, his shoulders were cursing him, his tights felt jelly, and even his chest was acting up. It felt…strange.

Something was strange, amiss completely, and so glaringly obvious it hurt him deeply, but…he couldn’t really tell what it was. He just knew, he just had a feeling…and feelings didn’t gave you things to work by. They just make you mess it up and fail like a dumbass.

They held no worth.

It didn’t matter how strongly he felt it, how sure he was that he was right, how it felt like it was a screech ringing in the distant, so loud it could be heard even there where he was, even if just as an echo, a rather persistent echo Shadow couldn’t really translate…he had no proof about it, no way to back up what he kn- What he was feeling.

It was better to keep quiet.

The scientist knew better, after all. He knew nothing compared to them. Pure instincts of no base that could be easily tricked or simple paranoia. Nothing to worry or pay attention to, certainly not something he should make a fuss about and make everybody lose their time.

Scientist always got mad when they lost their time in this kind of shit.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? Safer, definitely.

He still wasn’t sure if they were being monitored, not to say. If he were to let slip the wrong thing…

It cost him a lot to swallow it, though, and act like everything was all right. It was too big of a feeling; he could have chocked in the words.

Shadow slipped into the cage, and bit on the tip of his middle finger, taking his glove off without missing a beat as he kneeled in front of the blue hedgehog. They didn’t have time to lose, after all.

In response, the un-ducky mister spluttered loudly, in an overly startled way that was a bit funny, though he didn’t really stop to pay it a lot of mind. His pale sweaty face seemed flushed, and he looked everywhere but Shadow as he quickly started to pick up the chains and locks with his claws, frowning once again at what he found.

Yas, he could see now why the hedgehog was having problems with them.

When he finished in the mess of the ankles, Shadow was sweating himself. Buckle after buckle, knot after very strange knot in certainly not a friendly temperature or position, and there was no doubt about wherever this was intentional or not.

They wanted this blue mister to suffer. Or at least, to be highly uncomfortable.

Disaster. Total, inhuman, disaster.

And he knew about inhuman things.

There where the chains dug on the skin were rubbing burns and swelling, red hot patches of skin and sore looking scratches. Shadow couldn’t contain himself from massaging and stretching the sir`s legs slightly and slowly, hearing the fella mumble and complain about the pinpricking sensation, but they needed the blood to run normally again if they really wanted to get out of here in one piece, and be able to search for this T-guy. Besides, it had been the hedgehog who had asked Shadow for help and helping he was. Blue dug his own tomb and no whining was going to, uh, un-break the egg or whatever Gerald said when this kinda shit happened.

He really couldn’t recall what did his creator so often said. He…he tried not to dwell too much on it.

Back to the…eh, thing he had been thinking of? Previously? Neither of them was in their best form, it seemed. Tired, hurting, burn or bleeding, in Shadow´s case.

Oh no, forget about it, the blue sir was also bleeding!

Yeah…He didn’t wanted to be a party pooper but the odds weren’t looking so peachy right now. Trying to do something, going outside into lord knows what, wouldn’t it be like dancing into the trap?

He didn’t even have some cloths to wrap the hedgehog injuries…

Shit.

Nonetheless, he helped the other thoroughly stretch his muscles and check for strains and broken bones, finding a few but ``nothing to really worry over`` as the sir said. He was worried though, about the mud and burns he could so clearly see. If Shadow could just heal him… Oh, how he wanted to, but, his Chaos energy resources were so low. Trying something right now would just add to the injury rather than really help matters. And it didn’t seem like he was going to be able to make the sir change his mind. That face of his, he looked like a stubborn one, that much was clear.

Once he came to this conclusion, Shadow helped the mister to stand up once he was sure the hedgehog wouldn’t crumple under his own weight, almost tripping himself when he was letting go, as he stepped on something.

Oh goofy, now even his paw was bleeding. And the socks looked so pristine to begin with…

“Oh shoot, are--Wait, where are your jet boots?”

“My what-thing?”

Geez…

They both stared at each other in surprise and confusion, dumbly and doing funny faces, as if they could explain things and communicate by scrunching the nose, raising the eyebrows, or blinking.

Neither noticed or seemed to care about how idiotic they looked, or how they kept holding hands.

“Your, uh, skates?”

“ Skates? Ah. Ah! The invention! I know where they are, but they aren’t mine. They Professor Gerald and Hanna´s.”

“What-What do you mean by that they aren’t yours? Of course they are! Don’t…don’t tell me you also forgot how to skate?” The blue sir sounded horrified and concerned at the same time, his hold on Shadow getting just slightly stronger during his outburst…which, uh…Yeah, he really didn’t understand. It did bring a warm feeling to his belly, though, so that should be something, right? Even if just for him to cherish in silence, wondering what that something may be. It felt inappropriate, considering everything around them, but at the same time it was just… good.

“Well, I mean, they are not? I don’t-I don’t remember ever…I mean, ok, I did have them on, but…! I don’t remember, I can’t answer with exactitude.” He stopped his babbling with a frown, choosing to report in a short, straightforward way, even if a little frustrated by the end. His guards around this blue fella suddenly fell during their little interaction, so silently that not even him realized it until he found himself rambling so carelessly.

And that was a bad strategy when you are trying to survive, or escape.

On the other hand, few and short sentences were always easier to say, went straight to the point, and seemed to be liked by his superiors, and that? That always was a plus in whatever you did, even if just eating, or the way you walked. Appealing at their good side, their ego? Ha! That was one of the first thing he learned to do in order to survive.

Maybe it would be better to just try his best, and keep to them for the time being, maybe like that he wouldn’t anger someone who was better left alone.

Though, looking at the mister in front of him… He wondered for how long his resolve would last, how long would it be until he messed up and enraged someone…

What was going on with him lately?

Realizing that they had run into a dead end in their conversation, they dropped the theme and reassumed the silence, albeit a bit awkward this time. It was obvious Shadow didn’t felt comfortable yet, still unsure about many things and understandably anxious about his spotty memory, while Sonic was struck down by another wave of uneasiness, his breath stuttering once again before he got it under control. Indeed, it was a dire situation, and his heart was beating hard enough that it felt like it was trying to break free as well, trying to burst out of his chest and…do what?

What really could he do in this situation?

He ached so bad, but it was hard to tell for what.

They hadn’t let go of each other arm, or well, Sonic hadn’t at least, and so, he indulged himself a bit and allowed his thumb to rub softly on Shadow wrist, as comforting as that little gesture could get to be, and little as it was, it caused that Shadow´s troubled gaze softened a little.

Using each other as support, they stepped out of the holding cell in no time, Shadow noticing that the blue hedgehog looked better with every passing moment he was outside of the cage, resting on top of some strange curved surfaces near the wall.

It was like he could finally breathe.

Shadow wouldn’t be surprised if he was tied enough to choke.

There was that buckle right by his throat…

Leaving the sir to gather himself up privately, or as privately as they could afford in that moment, Shadow padded away, slowly and taking his time in surveying the place they had been holed up in, taking in every little detail that he may have passed during earlier revisions, now that he had a more advantageous position, and could get closer or see things from a different angle. He was surprised about the construction, about the little trinkets that now he could see were scattered around, and by the feeling of the walls and the floor under him.

It was really different to anything else he had ever seen or feel before. Or maybe, would it be better to say anything else he remembered having seen before? He…he couldn’t recall.

He couldn’t recall a lot of things. There were names without faces, blood poodles without bodies, faces without name, feelings without sense, and so many hands reaching back for him for unknown reasons floating aimlessly in the blank space of his mind.

This walls were new for him. The texture under his pads, the smell wafting to him… it was like nothing that there ever was in the ark. And yet, the more he stared at things, the more familiar he felt about them.

He surely must have seen them before.

But what was feeling familiarity with something, if you didn’t know what it was? Or from who? Or why?

Why was he doing this? What was he, exactly, trying to gain, roaming around under the pretense of checking for cameras or video feeds, as if he hadn’t been doing that since he came to himself and finds that he is stuck in this situation?

His memories weren’t there, after all. No matter how many rocks he turned, they wouldn’t come back just like that, right?

There was no point and yet, there he was! Loosing time, doing the same thing over and over while waiting for a different result.

He just…he just needed to do something. He couldn’t just sit there and wait, right?

Just… what was he supposed to do now? He didn’t knew what was his state, or rank if he even had that. Who was an ally, and who was a danger, where was his family or if he had been carrying a mission when something went wrong.

The information he had was shit, and no matter how many times he went over it, it never made more sense! He didn’t even remember looking like that, when had he grow so much?!

What could have happened in those years he missed, or, actually, forgot about?

Just, how much time have passed? What major important events he may have lost? Besides the fact that apparently he was now older than what he thought he would ever get to be, that he was on earth, and that it was also called Movious-or something, not earth, as he had been taught during all this time?

Just, what the fuck?

This was…all of this was just, so fucked up Shadow didn’t even knew where goddamn shit he should start on. The fact that he was alive? How much had he changed? Why couldn’t he remember what happened to him? WHY was he so damaged? What was this guy doing here? Who was that white corpse? Why did that…person… clung to him so tightly?

Just WHAT?!

What was he supposed to do?

He could feel the anger and confusion boiling down on his stomach, fear lacing its way through his body and soon enclosing all of it in its paralyzing mist.

He was scared. No way of trying to downplay it.

He hated it.

Being afraid was never a good thing.

They could practically smell it on you. Feel it on you.

They just fucking knew. And once they knew, and their ego was strocked, fury and disgust would set in.

That sneer would just meant that more pain was going to come.

AO3 link.

#Sonadow #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #Life is a big bad joke #My writing #Does it show that I dont know what I am doing with my life?#Everybody is ooc #Most likely

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leeuwchen · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 3/4 Fandom: Unter Uns Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Richard "Ringo" Beckmann/Ingo "Easy" Winter Characters: Richard "Ringo" Beckmann, Ingo "Easy" Winter, Benedikt Huber, Tobias Lassner, Vivien "Vivi" Köhler, Leni Schäfer, Paco Weigel, Stinker (Unter Uns) Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Christmas Party, ringsy - Freeform Summary:

It's Christmas Eve and even though Easy Winter dislikes his husband's former boss like he dislikes no other person in their street, he can't look away when he sees Benedikt Huber spending the evening all alone

The One Where Huber Comes to Dinner - Chapter 3

An hour later Vivien arrives at the party.

“Sorry guys, but Sina needed – “

She stops midsentence when her eyes fall on Benedikt Huber. Confused she looks from him to the entrance door and then back to their guest.

“Ehm – this is the right flat, isn’t it? This is where I live? Where people hate your – ehm – strongly dislike you?”

“This is the place, yes”, Huber confirms, taking no offense in her words, “where Christmas is celebrated with astonishingly good wine and – – – veggie burgers.”

“Since this invitation was my husband’s glorious idea, he will have to share his food”, Ringo explains coldly, standing in the kitchen randomly tasting the different kind of side dishes they have prepared. Comforting, an already rather tipsy Paco pats Huber’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. He won’t go through with that. Do you even know how to eat a burger though?” Benedikt raises an irritated eyebrow. “What do you mean by that… do I even know how to eat a burger though?” Weighing his head from side to side with a mocking grimace, Paco silently imitates using a knife and a fork in mid-air. Leni laughs loudly. “I have children”, Huber explains as if he was indeed talking to one, “and also, when I was young, my father didn’t believe in spoiling me, so I probably have seen some harder times then you in your cosy little rooftop apartment.”

“Okay okay okay”, Paco exclaims quickly, raising both eyebrows, “you are the king of burgers… you are the… burger king!” He chuckles drunkenly and nudges Ringo with his elbow. His best friend pityingly curls his lips.

“You are a real comedian, mate. Almost as funny as that nasty little daughter of yours… you know, sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t you after all who thought that alpaca would make a beautiful wedding present.”

“Alpaca”, Paco snickers even more delighted now but the others are too busy packing all the dishes on the table to share his enthusiasm. “Speaking of presents”, Benedikt finally picks up the subject, “since I brought none, I will be leaving after dinner before you start handing out yours.”

“Under no circumstances”, Vivien declares and gently but firmly pushes Huber towards one of the chairs, “you have a seat now and we just see what happens.”

“For a start you could promise to leave the kiosk alone from now on. No more makeovers, no foul deals. I think we would all accept that as a Christmas present from you”, Easy says while putting down one of his veggie burgers in front of his husband’s former boss which Ringo exchanges for a burger with meat just seconds later, pushing the vegetarian dish to Paco’s place gesturing towards Huber that their neighbour is too drunk to taste the difference. “Fine, we can agree on that. The place isn’t worth all the trouble I’ve had with it anyway”, Benedikt accepts Easy’s suggestion bitterly. “I could also offer you your job back, Beckmann. Just in case… I mean, if the self-employment doesn’t lift off the way you expect it to.” The hopeful undertone doesn’t escape Ringo but what is through is through.

“Na, I would just end up like that Scratchit guy if I came back!”

“Cratchit“, Huber automatically corrects him.

“Whatever, I don’t think that role would suit me very much. And I don’t have the sick child that comes with it.” Grinning Ringo points at Leni. “Unless you would be willing to accept a fake child.”

“Hey, you do know the story!”, Leni shrieks snappily. Ringo rolls his eyes. “How dumb do you think I am? And don’t try to make me feel guilty about it, you broke the rules first and took all my money away.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.“

“No, you lied first about not knowing A Christmas Carol.”

“Well yeah, because I foresaw that you would be a bad referee.”

“Did not.”

Ringo spreads out his arms mockingly, grinning at Leni provokingly. “See, now that’s the reason I don’t want a child ever again.” But his former stepdaughter isn’t fooled by his apparent smugness. Instead she opens her eyes widely. “Well, since now you revealed yourself as being familiar with the story I might as well reveal my true self in return.” Ringo furrows his brows. “And that would be?” Leni raises both arms and tries to give her voice an eerie quality.

“For I am The Ghost of Christmas Future.”

“Oh, please!”

But she doesn’t let go that easy and since all the others are watching the scene interested, Ringo adopts a dignified posture, folding his hands behind his back like teachers do in old movies as Leni continues her prophecy.

“Not ‘til Christmas it will take to see you with an attitude changed. A hidden talent you will find and how much one can love a child if one is truly loved by a child.”

“Your prediction doesn’t even rhyme.”

“Not sick as Tiny Tim the kid will be but still some sorrow and heartache I do foresee.”

“Easy!!! Your stepdaughter is scaring me!”

“Shhh, or I will upgrade your heartache to heavy.”

“You know what, Leni, you -“

Slowly Easy walks up from behind wrapping his arms around Ringo’s slim waist and resting his chin on the other’s shoulder before his husband can finish his sentence. “Don’t worry, Hase, we’ve had this talk and I listened to what you had to say.”

“You don’t want children, Beckmann?”

Huber has followed the little show act rather disinterested but now he feels like sharing his experience. “You are missing out on the best thing in life.”

“Ah, don’t worry about him, he will change his view on this matter before summer.”

“That’s enough now, Leni”, Vivien tries to prevent the fight she feels is about to start but Leni is too strong-willed to back off that simple. “And you too involved will be”, she states looking at Vivi with determination. Ringo who has lent back contently in Easy’s embrace, his back resting against the other’s chest, his neck fleetingly rubbing against his husband’s temple from time to time starts waving his hands around visibly satisfied with the situation now that more people have turned against Leni.

“And you too involved will be?”, he repeats her words sarcastically, “Now, is this The Ghost of Christmas Future or Baby Yoda?”

Smiling, Easy tightens his grip around Ringo’s body.

“Oh thank goodness, he does know Star Wars!”

#finally fitting the spoilers #or won't it #ringsy fic #ringsy #ringo x easy #vivien köhler #leni schäfer #paco weigel #benedikt huber #ringo beckmann #easy winter #flat share baby #unter uns spoilers

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7hyuns · 6 years ago

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coloured by romance

haechan x reader

warnings; argument, the slightest bit of angst, fake variety show bc i couldn’t think of any to fit my plot :), maybe a lil bit of swearing i don’t have any self control

song; sweet - cigarettes after sex, out of mind - tove lo

word count; 4.4k ladies

requested; yes!! thank you :)

- May I request a Haechan scenario? (angsty but turns fluffy lol) maybe where you his idol gf but you’re currently in a big argument and then the both of you have to attend some kind of variety show? ⭐️

An irritated sigh left his lips for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and he’d only been with you for an hour. When his annoyance had first become evident for you, which hadn’t taken very long to happen, you’d second-guessed yourself almost immediately, which you were now ever more vexed by. You’d taken a couple minutes to think about what you could have possibly done wrong to make him radiate that kind of feeling, but you’d eventually come up with nothing that was bad enough to make him act like this.

Stealing a quick glance over at him as people continued to move all around you, you tried to guess what could have happened, and that’s when you let a bubble of concern move through you. It was wrong of you to immediately assume that his emotions must be based around you all the time, and you should have asked sooner if something had gone wrong in his day to upset his mood like this. Maybe you could’ve asked one of his group members when they’d been mulling around closer to you, but not many of them had seemed particularly lively either.

Hyuck kept his eyes focused forward, not sparing you even the smallest of looks as he seemed to be completely zoned out. A small burst of nerves was beginning to move through, much to your disappointment, as you knew already that you shouldn’t have anything to be nervous about around your own boyfriend. You tried to rationalise the strange, tense feeling in your gut to being simply because you were tired, you had been practicing all day and now you were growing sleepy and your mood was just deteriorating because of that. Some small voice in your brain was insistent that your logical answer wasn’t and couldn’t be the case, that because you had this weird pit opening up in your stomach you should back down from saying anything about Hyuck’s behaviour to him.

“Hyuck?” You questioned softly, turning your head to face him comfortably as you decided it was best to directly push back against the seemingly proof-less doubts in your mind. For a moment, he gave you no reaction, simply remaining with his eyes facing forward and blankly staring at a wall on the further side of the dinner hall. After a few beats of heavy silence – or as silent as you could get surrounded by other people having their own conversations – you heard him offer a short hum in response, making it sound more like a grunt of acknowledgement.

Clearing your throat, you began to wish that he’d at the very least look at you when you were trying to talk to him, “Are you okay?” You asked, keeping your voice soft so it wouldn’t disturb him too much.

He turned to look at you for an uncomfortable minute, his eyebrows rose and lips parted slightly as yet another sigh left his mouth. “What?” he asked, looking at you expectantly as you almost felt yourself flounder as his blunt response. He seemed to notice, or at least presume you didn’t understand his question, as he rephrased it only a moment later. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

Nodding, you felt one of your hands jump to reach out for your other, tangling around your digits as you twisted them to try and find a respite from the sudden anxiety buzzing through you. “I said,” you began, pausing as you realised your tone was harsher than you intended it to be, “uh, I said, are you okay?” You finished, trying to consciously soften to your tone as you spoke each word.

Hyuck simply gave you a curt nod, his lips closing into a tight line as he turned away from you again. His reaction, while you wanted to believe it was just because he was finding it hard to have a conversation in the chaos of the room, you just couldn’t make yourself accept that when you knew that there had to be more. You gently skimmed your hand along his arm, trying to catch his attention without calling out to him again. Feeling him tense underneath your fingertips, you pulled your hand away from him, waiting instead for him to turn his head towards you again. His vexation at whatever was bothering him had seemed to increased considerably, his eyes looking at you as if he was already bored by something you hadn’t even been given the chance to say yet.

You wanted to grow to match his annoyance, maybe even to go higher and become increasingly angered by how bluntly he had been treating you since he got here, without giving you any obvious reason for it. Instead, you found yourself falling into concern, worry for what had happened to make him act so blankly when he was usually so much more than this filtering through you no matter how much you protested.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked, keeping your voice just even enough for it to be audible within the hall.

Some form of genuine emotion seemed to cross over his face then, but it wasn’t exactly what you had wanted or expected for him to feel in response to such a mundane question. His jaw seemed to tighten, his eyes flitting away from your own as he appeared incredibly flustered for a moment. You wanted to keep talking, to keep asking questions, to push him to give you answers to everything you wanted to let slip from your mouth in a jumble. You couldn’t tell whether all the things you wanted to know were just because of the curiosity lingering as his mood seemed to continue to worsen, or because of the deep-set concern that had decided to make itself prevalent inside of you.

No words had made their way past his lips yet, and he currently seemed intent on keeping it that way, much to you confusion. The situation in front of you was already turning into something you couldn’t fully grasp, your understanding of why you seemed to be catching the worst end of his mood completely escaping you. “Yes, I’m sure,” you heard Hyuck finally speak, the edge in his voice distracting you from where you’d been caught up in your spinning thought process, “I’m not a child, I know what I’m feeling.” He interrupted your thinking again, making you glance up at him with your eyebrows raised in confusion.

It was in the unusual moments where Hyuck seemed to be putting seriousness behind his quips that you wished you had the same talent for biting comments that he did. Instead, you found yourself without the right words to say in response to him growing impossibly defensive in the space of seconds. Clearing your throat in discomfort, you made sure you were still holding his eye contact before speaking, “You’re just,” you started again, stopping as you realised that making a spiteful comment wasn’t what needed to happen right in this moment.

Hyuck, however, seemed intent on you finishing your sentence; his eyebrows were rose and his lips had parted, as if he was preparing himself to argue back with whatever point you wanted to propose to him. “I’m just what?” He prompted, looking as if he had been caught somewhere between frustrated by your lack of retort and amused by the idea of you purposefully stopping the snide comment that was evidently lingering on the tip of your tongue.

Sighing, you played with the idea of actually saying something, of giving in to the fantasy of not thinking your words through before you said them as he seemed content to feed into the concept with you. “You’re just being a bit of a dick, is all,” you finalised, not being comfortable or angry enough to blatantly insult him, even if he was treating you wrong in the moment.

Hyuck rolled his eyes, looking away from you and scoffing before turning back, his eyes narrowed and sharper than they had been earlier. “And you don’t think to wonder why?” He bit back, letting the edge of his voice consume it entirely so he sounded intentional and broodier over the suggestion that just maybe he wasn’t acting like normal than he really was.

You didn’t know how to react to his words as he said them, unsure of whether you should recoil, run away from the situation and find a calmer respite until his mood died down, or whether you should spit something back, try and think of anything you could say that would make you feel justified. “Didn’t I already ask?” You bevelled your head at him, watching as his lips quirked upwards in a bitter smile as he scoffed louder than before. “Go on, then,” you began prompting, watching as he glanced back over to you with his jaw jutted upwards, “tell me what’s got you acting like a child.”

The last comment seemed to bite into him, his teeth scraping against one another as his mouth fell into a compressed line and he took a thick swallow. “Maybe if you weren’t so annoying, I wouldn’t need to dodge a million conversation I don’t wanna have every single day.” He threw out, letting his eyes leave yours as he finished speaking.

On one hand, the most self-doubting part of you latched onto what he’d said. Maybe you did talk too much, maybe you did ask too many unwanted questions, maybe you’d gotten boring and your conversations had grown stale to him. On the other, much stronger hand, you could feel the pit of irritation give way to a louder feeling, one that protested strongly against any hint of self-deprecation stemming from his words. You hadn’t done anything. If he didn’t want to waste his time talking to you, he shouldn’t feel the need to.

Mirroring his earlier reaction and rolling your eyes at him, you stood up straighter, the tightness and oddness of the fabric of your organised outfit all of sudden becoming prevalent, sliding itself to the forefront of your mind as you wished you could be at home, out of your dinner-party get-up and curled into the warm sheets of your bed. Your chest rose with a sharp intake of breath, your feet already taking the first step in your route away from Hyuck, unsure of what to do in the wake of such a minor and yet lingering argument.

His eyes didn’t leave your frame as your back turned to him, his voice finding itself entering the atmosphere before he fully thought through saying something coherent, “So, you’re just gonna walk away?” He prodded again, already being able to picture the image of distaste flashing against your features at his words.

“Yeah,” you responded tiredly, looking back over your shoulder at him for the briefest of moment, only enough to catch him moving to sigh for another painstaking time again. Your body felt heavy against you, as if it was purposefully slowing you down in your walk away from Hyuck and back towards your own group members in search of comfort.

///

After spending the last year of your life talking to one person, you suddenly felt consumed with the strangeness and detachment that came with being distanced from them. It didn’t seem to matter how much the desire to seek out Hyuck and get back onto a regular communication basis grew within you, some petty and childish need to not look like you needed him was constantly pressed to your chest. You hated that, you hated that you even felt it necessary to play games and go around in circles with him, but part of you didn’t want to accept the easier options in front of you.

Maybe your new-found bitterness was because you knew it wasn’t you who needed to apologise. It wasn’t your place to spew apologies and rush back to him because it hadn’t been you who pushed him away in the first place. Or maybe that was just a way to relinquish the growing feeling of doubt in your actions of ignoring him whenever he decided to finally get back in contact with you, and maybe it was in part to justify the slight bubble of irrational guilt that you could constantly feel following you around.

Keeping up to your schedules with this weight against you had been something of a challenge, but you knew in the long-run both the normality and joy that completing the consistent actions and tasks in your day-to-day would help get you back on track. On the days that strayed slightly from the general schedule you were used to, you’d begun to feel more flustered, more like the different variety shows and social media updates and photoshoots were being thrown at you even when you’d had a considerable amount of time to prepare yourself.

Or maybe it was just the action of not giving yourself time to stop and dwell over Hyuck when you were on variety shows that was becoming trickier the longer you avoided speaking with him. It was difficult; you’d often find your mind drifting off to him and before you could really think of anything else, you’d be blanking out from the rest of the show, feeling your chest shrink in on itself at the prospect of having to partake in games and questions while your mind continued to spin like it had been.

But if there was an aspect of your schedule you’d begun to resent and maybe even allow the build-up of anxiety become strong enough to let you debate faking sick and getting yourself out of it, it was being on the same variety show as Hyuck and his members. When you’d first had that you would have that opportunity with him, you’d both been irrationally happy, excited to share another experience together. Now that you weren’t talking to him at all, the idea of having to stand with him, his members and your own members and act as though nothing had changed sounded like torture. As sad as it was to try and imagine what was going through Hyuck’s mind in the moments since you’d left him at the dinner party, you assumed it would either be exactly the same as yours or a far duller version of it. Of course, you concluded that he wouldn’t particularly want to see you right now, but whether or not he’d be feeling anything other than distaste for being in your presence again so soon, you didn’t know.

When the day finally rolled around, you’d complained from the very moment your leader had pulled you from your bed, following you around as you were rushed along in your movements of getting ready. You hadn’t set an alarm, you recalled, namely because you hadn’t wanted to accept that waking up and actually going to see Hyuck when you were in this state with him was your reality. You’d protested as your manager ushered all of you into the van, chiding that you should have gotten ready quicker if you didn’t want to be rushed along, more complaints spilling from your lips as your members immediately jumped to their own defence, dropping you as the only one who was up and ready late.

Reaching the building, you turned to face your leader as you kept your arms firmly planted by your lap instead of moving to unclasp your seatbelt like everyone else had. “I’m not feeling well,” you whined, dropping your head back to fall against the head-rest as you earned a scoff in response.

“Oh, right, of course, I’m sure that’s it,” you heard the car door on your side slide open, and you cracked one of your eyes open to see your manager gesturing you out of the vehicle. You gripped onto the material of your seatbelt, tugging on it to show her that you couldn’t get out while it was still done up, hearing your leader laugh as the warmth of their frame disappeared from beside you.

Meanwhile, your manager tipped her head at you and pouted her bottom lip out in mock sympathy, making you groan in retaliation, earning a chuckle as the sensation of your seatbelt locked around you left you, seeing your manager retracting her hands just as you opened your eyes again. “Do I have to?” You asked quietly, swinging one leg to hover above the concrete below you while the other remained inside the car. Laughing softly at your childish protests, your manager nodded, moving out of the way to give you space to finally reach the outside of the building you’d be filming in, hearing your members cheer when they saw your form finally exit the security of the car.

Huffing, you paced over to them, following everyone else inside, glancing around quickly to try and guess whether Hyuck had arrived yet. You concluded that they had the second you got inside the building, hearing a flurry of male voices already talking with one another in a mix of volumes and languages, doing little to surprise you in the context. Turning the corner to the room directly before the filming studio, you bit back another dramatic sigh before it had the chance to pass your lips when you caught sight of Hyuck.

Giving him a once over, it was hard to notice any signal to indicate whether or not he’d struggled over the week to get over the what should have remained a minuscule argument with you. Although, you supposed, if anyone had taken one look at you and been told to guess whether or not you’d been having a good week, they wouldn’t really think twice about assuming you had. Part of you felt vindictive and wrong for hoping his week had been at the very least a little off, a little discomforting and stressful as he came to realise just how badly he’d treated you that night. Being as dramatic as you were lately made you feel even more childish for storming away from him that night instead of staying and trying to fix it properly instead of letting him provoke you.

Feeling a hand curl around your wrist lightly and beginning dragging you forward brought you back into the same room as everyone else. The notion of being on camera right now was making your stomach turn in flips, worry causing your hands to tug away from your member’s and tangle with your other one again. The room appeared brighter than all the others, and you suddenly regretted not clamping your eyes shut the second you’d walked in the room instead of letting yourself follow Hyuck along in his movements to get into position before the camera’s were turned on.

One of the hosts paced quickly towards Hyuck’s general area, peaking your attention as you stared over at them unabashedly, no particular concern for him seeing you looking in his direction, almost hoping he would so you’d give him an excuse to come over and talk to you. You glanced over his outfit, noting that he’d picked it himself and that it looked good and well-fitted on him, fighting the urge to want to pick an argument with him purely because he looked nice on a day when you were supposed to still be angry with him. Catching sight of him and the few of his members closest to where he stood glancing over at you, you felt a sudden wave of unsureness, shifting on the balls of your feet as you dropped eye contact with Hyuck as soon as you were sure his head drifted to yours.

Sparing a cautious glance back, you saw the host chuckling softly, gesturing you over to them with a welcoming grin on his face. Clearing your throat to yourself in preparation of introducing yourself, you began to walk forward, biting back the nervous urge to look at Hyuck for encouragement as you did so. It had become a habit, letting your eyes flit to his and watch as he’d offer you the brightest of grins and mouth something supportive to you whenever you did anything he knew you would be unsettled about. Maybe he was like that because he’d been an idol longer than you, or maybe Hyuck was overall just more confident in these areas than you, but you fought back the want to do so anyway.

The host offered you an even wider grin as you finally reached them, allowing your eyes to shift up from the floor, “So,” he was already starting to speak, catching you significantly off-guard as you jolted a little at the volume of his voice, “we were just thinking, since it’s your first variety show together, you and Haechan should be closer to one another during the filming, right?” He suggested, looking between the two of you as you attempted to guess what Hyuck would have said in response. Would he have refused, and now you were going to agree and look silly? Or would he have agreed, and now you were going to refuse and look rude? Your brain hurt to try and picture the things that went on in Hyuck’s mind, knowing already you didn’t really have a chance.

“I said I thought that’d be pretty cool,” you heard Hyuck interrupt, “don’t you think, ___?” He offered you the prompt, clearly having noticed you were floundering to figure something out. You wanted to be annoyed with yourself, irritated that you’d needed his help already today, but part of his statement gave you a glimmer of hope, that maybe you’d imagined the whole argument by yourself and it had just never happened in the first place.

Nodding, you found the confidence within you to verbalise something before the air could grow thick with awkwardness, “Yeah, that sounds…that sounds like it’ll be nice.”

A flurry of noise and movement suddenly smacked you in the face, feeling yourself being tugged and adjusted into a position closer to Hyuck that still made you look good in the lighting. Once you’d finally been twisted into the correct positioning, more people began buzzing both around you and around the people around you. The sheer amount of movement around you made your head spin as you tried to catch some parts of it instead of letting yourself look at Hyuck until you absolutely had to.

The feeling of his fingertips skimming along the skin of your hand made you jump slightly, eyes glancing over at him with confusion glazing over your features, only earning a sheepish smile in response. He leaned to be closer to you, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper so you’d know his words were only meant for you to hear, “Are you okay?”

The reminiscence of your own question from that earlier night caught you, and while you wanted to turn away from him and be offended that he’d bring up something like that as a joke that he was evidently comfortable just laughing at, you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up your throat. Sighing, you opened your palm up to let his hand slip into your own properly, moving your free-hand to rub over your face before remembering the make-up that had been done earlier in the day, your hand stilling just as it reached your skin and then dropping back down to your side. Hyuck let out an amused giggle, watching as you hummed in mock thought before offering him your own rendition of his curt nod, making his laughter raise in volume.

“Hey,” you heard him speak softly, keeping his voice hushed so only you’d hear him, “I really do wanna say that I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

You laughed, nodding at him as he spoke, “I guess I’m sorry for overreacting, too.”

Humming, Hyuck shrugged at you, “I’m not so sure you did, to be honest,” he cleared his throat quickly and then breathed in deeply through his nose, “anyway, that’s not the point, I had something to say.” You bit back at laugh again, closing your lips into a line to fight off the urge to let it bubble past your lips. “I know it’s not an excuse,” he began, peaking your interest further than it already was, “but I was just, I was so tired, and then we had the dinner party and there was so much talking and I wanted to be at home, I really just wanted to be at home and asleep.” He finished, not purposefully dropping his eye contact but letting his eyes wander to the blank room around him as he spoke cautiously.

Tracing a small heart onto the skin of his hand, you watched his lips quirk upwards in a soft smile before you began talking. “I understand, I wanted to go home, too,” you started, “I’m just glad to know you weren’t actually mad at me for something,” you laughed softly.

His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head before you even finished your sentence, “I could never,” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder before he pressed the briefest of kisses to your temple, “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, though, seriously.”

Smiling up at him, you tried to ignore the way a laugh almost past his lips when you jumped at the surprise of hearing the hosts begin shouting about the camera’s, ‘rolling very soon!’ Hyuck tightened his grip on your hand, “Now,” he began again, and as you looked at him you saw the way the lights in the room made his skin look like it was glowing, “smile and act like everything’s been completely normal for the last week, hm? No more talking about arguments or else they’ll figure out that we do really hate one another.”

Humming in agreement, you straightened your back in order to seem more confident and prepared for the camera’s turning on, turning your head slightly to see Hyuck peaking down at you as you grinned at him, “Bet you a meal that I can look more in love with you than you do with me?” You suggested, watching as his lips curled upwards again.

“You make all these bets and yet you always end up regretting them when I win,” Hyuck sighed in mock disappointment, quieting his laugh after you shoved him away from you lightly with the back of his hand when the hosts announced the camera’s were about to be turned on.

#hhh the soft stan really popped out #my bAaAaAbBbYyY #writing #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct dream imagines #nct reactions #nct 127 reactions #nct dream reactions #haechan scenarios #haechan #nct #s; nct #g; fluff #g; angst #m; ldh

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yaboymercury · 6 years ago

Text

Ripping 9 to 5 - Sailor

(Re upload since the original was flagged for the pic)

Joining the navy seemed to be the only way for Sam to escape his parents constantly pestering him about why he didn’t have a wife yet, since he really didn’t want to have to own up about his sexuality, at least not yet. Also being a repressed gay soul he found the purely masculine energy on the ship refreshing.

Being a gay sailor seemed to feel like a bit of a stereotype for Sam before he joined the ship but when he finally did, he found out the rumour had some truth to it. He hadn’t seen anything too explicit but he was certainly getting a certain recognisable energy from a lot of the guys and some of them seemed to be very touchy with eachother occasionally.

But in spite of all of this Sam only really had his eyes on one of the guys. He didn’t even know his name but he saw him from over the other side of the kitchen sometimes. He has rust coloured hair and deep penetrating eyes which he had made contact with on occasion. But of course what caught his attention most was his beautiful bouncing ass which filled up the back of his white trousers very comfortably. The man also seemed to be quite popular and outgoing having an overbearing presence which made people around him want to get close with him.

In spite of all this Sam was quite introverted and struggled to find any reason to talk to the man. But he did feel a sense of urgency since he could tell that a few of the other men had their eyes on his amazing ass as well. He would have to make a move soon.

But instead it all seemed to happen by chance, and not go exactly the way he imagined.

Sam had finished his duties for the day when he was on his way back to his room to collapse on his bed. He was so exhausted he didn’t realise that there was someone walking close behind him so when he stopped for a moment to get his bearings the person behind him pushed right into him pushing him onto the ground.

“Oh shit shit shit! Sorry I should have been paying more attention you had kind of distracted me, let me help you up.”

Sam turned around on the floor to be greeted by the beautiful sight of the man he recognised from all the time he had spent staring at him, who was bent over outstretching his hand with a bashful smile.

Still lost for words and staring agape at the man helping him Sam accepted his hand and was helped up.

“Shit I’m so sorry about that.. I haven’t seen you around here much since recently, I’m John”

He said shaking Sam’s hand which he was still holding from helping him up.

“Um Sam, my name is Sam and thanks for helping me…”

Before he could continue he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and winced in pain his knees falling a little and he stupidly fell into the chest of John. He couldn’t help but notice how strongly he smelt of sea salt and sweat.

“Crap I think I sprained my ankle”

Helping him find his feet again John said apologetically.

“Shit I really did hurt you, well it’s a good thing my room is close my I have a first aid kit to see if I can do anything.”

Sam blushed at how kind the man was being but also found himself lucky that he was getting so close to John so quickly and it didn’t even have to resort to scheming.

“Yeah sure that sounds great, mind if I get some help though” Sam asked as he slung his arm around John’s almost comically wide shoulders so he could hobble next to him on the short walk to his room, making sure to get more deep whiffs of his masculine aura.

The cabins on the ship are all quite basic and John’s was no exception housing only a desk with some drawers and a single bed. One thing which was very common also on the ship was bad lighting so the dim light lead to an oddly rough and sensual atmosphere in the room.

John invited Sam to sit on the bed while he bent down and fished in the drawers in the meanwhile bending down so his ass was only centimetres away from Sam’s face.

The temptation was strong for Sam and the least he could do was take a weak sniff just to get more pheremones from this beautiful man. When he did the result surprised him.

Unlike the relaxing yet strong salty scent the rest of John had his ass was significantly more musky and dirty smelling even through his thick trousers. With only a short inhale Sam coughed a little prompting John to glance back at him.

“Oh crap I’m so clumsy today, my ass is almost right in your face and i guess it might smell a little bit, umm I guess if we spend more time together you’ll find out why.”

John was now crouching at Sam’s knee holding a ice pack to where the bruising was on his knee. Opting to be braver than he usually was, and overlooking the majority of John’s sentence having forgotten the smell Sam asked.

“So you want us to spend more time together?”

The question certainly got John’s attention as he looked up from Sam’s knee and dropped the ice pack in shock. His shock then turned into an interested smirk as he pushed himself of the floor put his arms on either side of Sam on the bed and brought his face mere centimetres away from Sam’s.

“I could see that working”

And after that sentence they both simultaneously joined in an hungry kiss. In that moment the tension in the room lifted as both men realised they had the same intentions.

Finally breaking from the embrace John stood up fully and walked to the door.

“Is it okay if I lock this?”

He asked Sam suggestively being unable to hold back a grin.

“I would expect no less” Sam replied lifting his shirt off and walking up to John as he finished locking up and lifting his up as well.

As Sam lead John by hand back to his bed there was a deep rumble in John’s stomach.

“Shit” Sam heard John mumble to himself “Not fucking now”

Lifting his head up to make awkward eye contact with Sam John asked “Will it be okay if I just head outside for just a minute or two?” Sam thought it was a little weird nodding but luckily John continued saying “Don’t worry I’ll be right back” with a wink as he walked to the door.

Unfortunately for him it rattled a little as he pulled at it and he tried the key but it was jammed.

“Shit, shit , shit” Another stereotype Sam was beginning to notice was the whole swearing like a sailor thing.

“You alright over there?” he asked half knowing the answer “Your ‘situation’ can’t be that bad can it I really don’t mind you being a 'giver’ to be honest it’s a preference”

His lewd proposition went completely over the other man’s head who seemed to be sweating a little and looked quite panicked “No it’s not that kind of situation, well not completely…”

Sam was quite a naturally helpful kind of guy so he wants to calm him down walking up behind him. “Sorry I feel quite stupid I have no idea what you’re alluding to but it can’t get too much in the way of the fun can it?”

John was far too busy panicking looking at the door lock to fully prepare for Sam to out his arms around his waist and put his crotch on his ass. The motion was intended to revive the sensual atmosphere but all it did was increase the bursting pressure inside John and finally lead to release.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAP

The unmistakable sound rocketed right against Sam’s barely covered member and being completely in shock from what happened the pleasure from the powerful vibrations came as a surprise and lead to the man letting out a wholly involuntary moan. But of course right after this the rank meaty fishy blast of air reached his nostrils. Sam sometimes got really bad gas himself and working on a ship meant he was around some bad smells all the time, but nothing even on this level. It felt like the inside of his nose was burning and he began to wretch at the terrible stink.

Skipping all embaressment however all John could focus on was the moan that he got out of Sam. Spinning around the face the man who was violently coughing into his fist he said almost accusingly: “You enjoyed that, you moaned, you got pleasure out of that!”

His face lit up from his seeming discovery of a fart fetishist, not giving any time for Sam to recover from the smell he continued. “So I’m sure you can tell by now that I’ve got terrible gas, it’s pretty much constant, but don’t get it twisted I love it, the feeling of relief and the smell of my own brew, but I’m sure you can tell that it could be debilitating sexually. But it seems like I found my solution!” He finished his speech grabbing the still wretching on the lingering stink Sam by the cheeks and pulling him into a kiss.

“Since I started noticed you in the hallway I have been holding in my gas, so I’m not really sorry to say but you deserve this since I guess it’s kind of your fault…. but hey you enjoy it” John said pulling Sam over to the bed.

Finally recovering Sam began to understand John’s misunderstanding but not knowing how to articulate himself he just stuttered on his words and couldn’t finish a sentence, which John just translated into excitement which was actually a massive panic.

Before Sam could do anything he had been pushed down on the bed and John was getting into position to squat over his head. He was freaking out but this was his one opportunity to properly tell John what he was feeling but then he caught sight of that ass again.

It was now hovering around above him almost hypnotising him with its beauty. Stinking beauty.

In his distraction he had missed all of what John had been saying, but he didn’t care he was taking of his trousers and now his underwear. His ass had a layer of hair getting darker nearer the crack which Sam loved and began salivating at the sight of it even getting a little peek of the hole inside.

“..so I’m sure you won’t mind using my flatulence as a substitute when you inevitably run out of air” He finally registered what John was saying and it scared him back into reality but by that point it was too late. Sam could barely finish saying 'Wait’ by the time he was engulfed in John’s gorgeous pungent butt.

He hadn’t even ripped one yet but the smell of his ass was overwhelming and becuase of how massive it was Sam couldn’t experience anything else except muffled hearing of what John was saying.

“Ahhh I’m so lucky that your hot face makes such a comfortable seat, literally I can feel your nose right in my hole!” Sam thought that was kind of a compliment? But the last part certainly scared him. He thought he could maybe get used to this but then it begun.

“Think the canons are ready to fire Sam so prepare for impact”

PHRRRRRRRRRRRAP

FRRRRRPPPPT

RAAAAAAAAAARPP

The sound and the smell of the flatulence was tenfold due to Sam being stuck in the abyss of John’s ass and all of the stink was free to go up his nose. It was rank, the powerful meatiness and fishiness but altogether rotten rancid stench made Sam feel like he was inhaling toxic fumes and his eyes even began to water.

In contrast to this John was moaning at the relief of letting it out.

“Oh god Sam I can even smell that up here and god I’m a stinker I can’t help but be proud of it” Sam could hear John say as he began to rub his ass even more into Sam’s face. Sam could even tell John was beginning to jerk off, at least someone was enjoying this.

FAAAARP

PUUUUUUUUUUUUURAP

RRRRRRRRRP

The cacophony of gas continued and Sam began to buck and attempt to scream into John’s ass for freedom.

“Oh it’s good to hear you’re enjoying it down there, you really are a bit of a slut for my stink.” John said as he began to jack of Sam with his spare hand.

'Wait’ Sam thought 'How the fuck do I have a boner?’. He was stuck under a hot man’s ass being forced to inhale his anal pheremones. Thinking it over it did make a bit more sense.But it didn’t stop it from stinking so much!

The farts and moans from John continued as Sam’s grip to consciousness began to slip, but the hand job from John was about to pay off. But at that moment John stopped turned around and looked at Sam’s sweaty face and placed his ass cheeks around Sam’s pulsating dick.

“Oh you look a little rough and God damn your face reeks, but I can only blame myself for that, but if anything I think you look cuter.” He said with a wink.

All Sam could get out was “Fuck you stink…”

“Haha I Know but you love it, so let’s finish this”

And with that he pulled his dick one last time cumming all over your chest and simultaneously let out his last blasting fart to forcefully vibrate Sam’s cock past the point of climax and lead to one of the stinkier orgasms of his life.

Sam couldn’t help but let out a moan which was stopped short by a deep kiss from John which when over they both inhaled, with Sam coughing on the residual stink of the room while John took a proud whiff of his handiwork.

John pulled the blanket over the both of them and pulled Sam right into his chest not caring about the cum.

Whispering to Sam he said “So now we know eachother a little better I propose you share this bed with me on a more permanent basis… I’m sure I can pull a few strings… Let’s sort out the technicalities in the morning. Goodnight and smelly dreams”

Excited but terrified at what this meant for him Sam didn’t even notice the cover being pulled over his head. One rancid rip under the covers from John and Sam was out.

#eproctophilia #fart #fart story #fartfiction #gay #gay fart #stink #male fart #flatulence #r9t5 #man fart #reupload

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fate-hates-faraday · 6 years ago

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“This is why I drink”

It's fluffy and funny until it's not.

Or: Roman receives love and the whole crew receives a situation they aren't sure how to deal with. Those invisible walls don't help either.

(Follows SvS and DWIT) (A/N: First off, big shout-out to @honeygemtrashbag who not only talks with me about SS, but also helped beta this fic. Secondly, as a fair warning, the first half probably doesn't have much triggering material - it's the second half where excessive alcohol consumption and brief suicide discussion comes into play. Also Deceit. If any of those are triggering, I strongly advise finding a different, equally fluffy/angst/what-have-you fic.)

It's been a couple of weeks.

Things have stabilized (Thomas can't say yet they've improved, not with Remus still hanging around and Virgil walking on eggshells). While Patton is still working on relaxing his heart-strangling grip on the need to be selfless, Thomas can tell he's trying, and the attempt alone feels like it's taken a weight off his shoulders. He didn't know it had been there, but having it gone somehow makes everything easier. He's able to brainstorm with Roman and Logan for some videos, he hangs out with Joan and Talyn when he wants and politely turns them down when he doesn't, he at least leaves Virgil a note saying that his past doesn't define him and regardless of his origin he's grateful to have met and come to terms with his Anxiety.

The Tuesday before the wedding, he calls the four sides together.

"So," he says, holding his hands together as he looks around the room. "I've been thinking about what Talyn and Joan said yesterday." It almost hurts to see the way Roman's expression lights up, and he realizes why: when was the last time Roman was so genuinely cheerful? He thinks maybe it was last February, before they all realized they'd been tricked. He had never gone back to act with Roman like they discussed. Right, focus.

"I'm going to call Mary Lee and Lee tomorrow and tell them about the callback, see how they feel. If they're alright, I'll then tell them my idea: I'll miss the wedding-" He can feel the way both Patton and Virgil tense, but he pushes onwards "-but will be at the reception to give them their gift and best wishes." It's an attempt at compromise - the callback's in the morning, the wedding starts around noon. The reception, however, will start at 1:30, and Thomas will be long finished the callback by then. Of course, he'll still talk with Mary Lee and Lee first and respect their wishes, but it's worth a shot. "Patton? Think you can be available tomorrow to help?"

"Of course!" Despite his obvious tension, Patton grins. He's not alone - Roman is grinning as well, looking ready to cry and for the first time in a while, Thomas feels his heart swell with delight. It's actually a bit overwhelming, how quickly it happens.

"Whoa." He can't help but reach up to his chest to take a moment to steady himself. Virgil's tension grows greater and for a moment, everyone else looks confused. "...you alright, Roman?"

"I-" Roman swallows, and Thomas can hear how his voice is thick with unshed tears. "It's all I've wanted." Something about that bothers Thomas.

"Roman... Thomas said he'll talk with them tomorrow." Logan speaks slowly. "And that if they're alright - if - then he'll share his idea." There's a moment of hesitation. "And there's still no guarantee we'll receive the role."

"I know, I know-" Thomas wishes he could take Roman's hands because now he is crying. "But we have a chance now at least." Ah. There it was. The thing bothering Thomas. He takes a second to compose his thoughts while Patton tries offering verbal comfort, since he also can't offer the hug Thomas wants to give so badly.

"... what you said in the courtroom - has it really been that bad?" Even the slightest possibility of success could affect Roman so much? Thomas had to admit, Roman was usually unrelenting in the pursuit of dreams - steps were acknowledged, and then he planned further. Nothing but total success or total failure truly moved him. But if everything had been going as poorly as Roman suggested-

If there was always something more important than his hopes and dreams-

Roman hesitates, that swell shrinking, and that is enough.

"Alright then!" Thomas claps his hands together to get everyone's attention. "So, new topic, I think we need to talk about how we're going to balance everything going forward." He glances at Logan, Virgil, and Patton. "I'm not going to drop everything just on chances. My friends and family are important, and I need to be healthy and stable to pursue my dreams." Now he glances at Roman, who's trying to recompose himself. "... but I don't think those dreams should always be my lowest priority either."

There's some awkward shuffling, instead of a chorus of responses that Thomas had hoped for. Logan hugs his arms a bit closer. Virgil flicks at the pull tab on his sleeve. Patton tugs on his cat hoodie. The swelling in his heart shrinks a bit more.

"Guys..."

"Sorry!" Patton clasps his hands together as if making a plea. "It's just - it's a lot of big changes right now, kiddo. I don't want Roman to be ignored, but you know you care about everyone so much! It's why they..." He looks down. "...get pushed aside. Because you want to make sure everyone else is happy." Thomas winces. It's an answer he expected, just not one he really wants right now.

"I need something a little more solid to go on than 'balance everything'." Virgil is next. "You can get a bit carried away, Roman, and, really, some of those plans you already have-" He lets out a huff. "Don't exactly feel great about them." Thomas smiles when Roman manages to make his "offended Princey noises", as the fandom dubbed them. "I don't do well in crowds and around strangers. Becoming famous kinda rubs me the wrong way."

"We can act like we're fine. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Roman no longer sounds like he wants to cry, at least. "You were pretty gloomy too about Vine, remember?" He laughs, but cuts himself off when Virgil reaches for his hood. "B-but that's in the past! We've been coping pretty well so far, I think, and I'm sure you'll be fine in the future too!" Yeah, Virgil still isn't feeling well. Thomas considers keeping him after the discussion was done and trying to talk about his past in person. Maybe that'd work better. Roman's words though, 'act like we're fine'... Well. He did have to admit the whole issue had come up because of him, and, while he had been giddy when Thomas admitted his lie, he had gotten inexplicably angry when Roman handed down the sentence. Maybe... maybe he might have some ideas. If nothing else, his perspective will probably start some kind of fight that might lead to a reasonable compromise?

He glances at Logan. Of course, he's at least giving everyone a chance to speak.

"Anything?"

"I can't say anything comes to mind, not since the last time the topic came up." Logan frowns. "I recognize that you have deemed this important-"

"It's just a lot, yeah." Thomas nods. "Right." He inhales, knowing what will come next. ".... I think another perspective might help-"

"No." Virgil glares up at Thomas. "You cannot - you can't be suggesting what I think you are."

"I mean, you guys are stuck. Can it really hurt-"

"Yes it can!" Virgil's voice layers in that loud, intimidating way that Thomas has nicknamed the 'tempest tongue'. Yeah, they really ought to talk later. He can't really understand the degree of vehemence and contempt Virgil seems to hold for the Dark - the Other sides.

"Just because he's here doesn't mean I'll listen to him. He's tried making me lie twice now, and have I done it?" He is very careful to make sure his words are as genuine as he feels. Virgil takes a moment before shaking his head. "Just, you guys admitted it: you're stuck. I don't think I can solve this alone - I don't want to solve this alone, and neither does Roman." He looks to Roman for confirmation, who smiles. The swell returns a bit, and the delight makes him giddy. "Maybe he'll have something, or he might just say stuff that leads us to a good idea. And if he tries anything, I'm pretty sure I can make him leave." He had wished as much in the courtroom - but, really, even Deceit pointed out it was all in his head. He could've technically left whenever he wanted. The other time, Deceit had left, grudgingly, when Thomas yelled. So, yeah. He feels confident he can manage this. "Can we just... try?"

While Logan seems indifferent and Roman nods, Patton is obviously not sure. Thomas can't blame him. His sense of morality has had the carpet pulled out from under him the last few times they've talked, and Deceit almost seems to enjoy harassing Patton the most.

"Patton, Virgil... I will not let anything bad happen. Not to you, not to our friends, not to anyone. I promise."

"And if Thomas can't, I will!" Roman adds, drawing his sword. Thomas can read the desire on Roman's face - don't let this conversation go, just acknowledge some changes need to be made.

Thomas' sincerity finally seems to let Patton relax, and Thomas catches a ghost of a smile on Virgil's lips when Roman speaks. Logan nods.

"Do you wish to try, or shall I?"

"Er, let me." Roman giggles. "He likes me best." Thomas doubts that's true, but then again, Roman does seem to get a starring role when Deceit is around. Maybe it's true in the same way that cardboard is edible compared to antifreeze - true in a sense, but doesn't mean much, not when the other options are 'worse'. Roman turns to Patton. "Padre, if you'll step aside?" Patton listens and Roman raises his arm. "Deceit!" There's nothing at first, but, when Roman tries again, Thomas can feel the way Deceit materializes - the odd music echoing in his ears, the way the light seems to focus on him while his own vision temporarily blurs, and - wait, he doesn't have his hands together. In fact, immediately, before his vision fully returns, he can see Deceit's blurry form raise a hand and make a fist. Thomas' internal panic lasts for a painful second - what was his problem? Starting by silencing everyone else already? Seriously? - but then he realizes the music has abruptly ceased. His vision fully returns to see Deceit lower his fist and glance around.

Thomas can't help but be on guard, and not just due to the way Virgil looks ready to leap off the stairs at a moment's notice. No, just... Ok, he's only really met Deceit three times. Three times isn't really enough to get to know someone well, especially when they're being antagonistic, but each time Deceit seems to value a dramatic introduction. Where's the evil chuckle? The sinister smirk? And what is that in his other hand?

So Thomas watches as Deceit's gaze instead sweeps the room, starting with Patton and ending on Roman. Roman sheepishly sheathes his sword and waves. He's about to speak, but Deceit nods and then pushes past Patton. Patton grumbles a little, clearly more confused than mad, and they all watch as Deceit sinks onto the living room couch. He lifts his other hand - oh, that's a bottle, Thomas belatedly realizes - unscrews the cap, and starts drinking.

He gets two gulps down when Thomas decides to be the first to speak up and ask the relevant question.

"Uh, hi Deceit. We were wondering-" Deceit lowers the bottle and shoots him a look. Thomas immediately amends his statement. "I was wondering if you could help us with something." Deceit doesn't answer, raising the bottle and taking another gulp. Thomas sees Patton frown from the corner of his eye.

"So, uh, buddy," Patton begins, putting on his best Concerned Dad voice, "whatcha got there? Is it pop?" He grins at the pun. Deceit lowers the bottle and doesn't bother making eye contact.

"Tequila."

Deceit takes another swig as if he isn't now at the center of several alarmed expressions. Thomas can't confirm what the others are thinking, but him? He's not exactly a huge fan of alcohol to begin with. Tequila is... pretty harsh. And here's Deceit, a part of him, using it like it's water on a hot day. He instinctively steps forward before hitting that invisible wall that keeps him separated from the sides. And where was he going to go from there even if it wasn't there? Well, maybe snatch away the bottle, but he doesn't quite get what Deceit's doing. He manages a glance back towards Virgil - the alarm on his face is expected, but there's something else. Fear? Sadness? He unfortunately can't spare the time to puzzle over it. Instead, he looks towards Logan, who glances back, and gestures at Deceit. Logan clears his throat.

"Given the hour of the day, the strength of the alcohol being consumed, and-" Deceit finally makes eye contact, a very cold glare as he pointedly drinks more. "-and the rate of ingestion, I think we would all like to know why you are performing this course of action."

"Well, as I am clearly wanted here," Deceit says, gesturing to them all, "I thought I may as get ready for what will surely be a wonderful time. Why wouldn't I?" The sarcasm is positively acrid, burning as bad as the tequila has to.

"I mean, that seems a bit much so fast." Patton's cheer is evaporating. Deceit grunts in return.

"I - that hardly makes sense. You realize even mild alcohol consumption impairs cognitive function and motor skills." Logan can't help but gesture in confusion. "The amount you've consumed - you're still consuming - will have more serious consequences."

"You don't say."

"I do say. You risk passing out or, with an even greater volume, becoming comatose." Thomas can see Logan growing frustrated with the blatant rejection of logic, and the sheer oddity of the situation.

"Hm. I'm sure what I have to say will be understood equally well." With that, Deceit tips his head and the bottle back. The tequila bottle is draining at a worrying rate. Thomas swallows the lump in his own throat.

"Hah... yeah..." The words are as uncomfortable as he is. "I can be a bit slow, huh?" It's deliberate bait, but Patton makes an affronted gasp anyhow.

Deceit pulls the bottle away and coughs harshly. Thomas is considering talking to Deceit after Virgil once all is said and done, and this ...situation (Is he messing with them again?) is resolved.

"Just get back to your... whatever."

And another gulp. Deceit's looking woozy now. Thomas can't help but try again. The alternative, after all, is that Deceit's actions are honest and he doesn't even know where to begin with that.

"I decided I should at least try to attend the callback, you know. I talked it over with my friends, and tomorrow I'll be calling the happy couple. So, I guess you really did win." He shrugs. "I... really wanted the callback." He expects something sarcastic, maybe a laugh at his expense, or a "I told you so" remark.

The silence that lingers in the wake of his words is cold, and he shivers. He should pull the others closer together - can a side get drunk in the first place? What happens if he drinks too much? Can he do that? Has he done this before? - and yet he's afraid to turn away. It's like he's a Weeping Angel: as long as Thomas keeps him in his sight, he can't leave. That's not how the sides work at all, but the rationalization takes the edge off the fear that, if he stops looking, Deceit will be dead next time he looks. Deceit, for his part, pauses in his binge-drinking long enough to sneer and dismissively wave at his audience, splattering imaginary tequila on the carpet and couch. More spills as he attempts to get the bottle back to his mouth. It's half-empty, and every bit spilled is a bizarre blessing.

"Seriously - what is going on here?" He tries to be direct, but Deceit directs his gaze downward, refusing to meet Thomas' gaze. "I - I can't believe you don't have anything to say about this. You took us to a courtroom last time over it. Just - what are you doing?" He lowers his head to try to catch Deceit's gaze, but the side just looks away. He sighs, a bit frustrated but even that frustration is born out of an inability to resolve his confusion and worry.

"Patton? Any idea what's going on?" He asks out of the corner of his mouth.

"Nope." Patton is quiet in his reply.

"Keep an eye on him for a second?"

"Yeah."

He gets a glimpse of Patton as he turns around to confer with the others. Patton can't hide his shaking, no matter how hard he holds onto his arms. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Patton to keep watching - but, facing the others, no one's reacting well. Worst off is Virgil, who has fully retreated into his hoodie, murmuring words laced with tempest tongue. Thomas catches two that somehow make an already bad situation worse: "not again". Roman has no response - gesturing wildly to himself, then Virgil, then Deceit behind Thomas who Thomas is currently trying not to look at lest he trap himself again without a plan.

"He's drunk?" It's a dumb question, but Thomas' brain is still kind of stuck on that.

"It's something we can do - infrequently, as, like with you, it does impair our ability to function." Logan fidgets with his necktie.

"Can he actually die from this? Like, liver poisoning?" It's a horrible idea to contemplate, but he needs to know how severe the situation is. Roman winces but nods. Logan nods. Virgil inhales.

"He'll reform. In his room. It - he's done it before." Virgil can't seem to calm down enough, but Thomas can decipher his words anyways. He wants to ask when. He wants to ask why. Some part of him he wishes he could attribute to Remus wants to know if that's his plan right now.

Patton whimpers, and Thomas whirls around. Deceit has dropped his bottle and is currently sideways on the couch. And, it seems, he has somehow conjured up another bottle. Nope. Thomas is not letting this continue.

"Put that down right now, Deceit!" Since he can't touch the side, this is the best he can do. Deceit hisses back, his grip on the new bottle visibly tightening even as it tips a little. Thomas refuses to let it shake him - frankly, it was more startling coming from Virgil than from someone whose face is half-snake. No, the bigger problem is that he seems uninterested in listening and physical intervention isn't possible. He runs through what little Deceit has said since his arrival and finds a solution. It's... not one he's fond of, as it doesn't actually solve the problem, just relocates it for now. But Virgil is freaking out, Roman is at a loss for words, Logan is struggling to think of some logical way to stop him, and Patton still shakes.

"Deceit - if you're not gonna listen, then go to your room, now!" He points in the general direction of the staircase, feeling more than ever like the parent of some wayward teenager. Except this teenager doesn't want to communicate at all, is drunk, and possibly is entertaining a suicide attempt. Wait, no, he shouldn't have done that. The fear and confusion meshes with the comparison and for a moment Deceit is just.... sad. An unwanted kid, bitter at the world and the people around him, possessing one skill that poses more harm than good.

Then he flips Thomas off as he sinks out without complaint, and, mercifully, it shatters the illusion.

Roman's already begun issuing apologies to everyone and Thomas feels his heart curling in on itself. He holds up a hand.

"It was my idea. I can't say anything except, I'm sorry." Except there's a lot he could say. Mostly what the hell was that all about? Everyone's visibly stressed and upset, though, so he doesn't. He also scraps the plan to talk with Virgil alone right away. "Roman, I'm not forgetting this - we will figure out something. We just need to unwind a bit. I.... I'll check on Deceit later." As for Virgil, he'll just drop in later rather than subject him to worrying about a meeting in the near future. He doesn't know what else to do.

Departure is awkward, few words exchanged, and once the others are gone, Thomas goes to the couch and sits where Deceit was. He tries to wrap his head around his actions. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit was being malicious and messing with everyone by putting them in such a distressing situation. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit simply can't imagine being wanted and drinks to the point of unconsciousness to avoid another poor interaction. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit has just given up and drinks for its own sake and doesn't want to bother figuring out what everyone else will think of him for it.

The imaginary tequila bottle is still there. He can read the label: 46% ABV.

He lays down, staring at it, until he passes into sleep.

#sanders sides #deceit sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #alcohol #drug abuse #suicide reference #maybe?#remus sanders mention #no villains just really unhealthy attitudes and behaviors #not tagging sympathetic because even if he's not a villain deceit is still a jerk in my headcanons #throw Roman a bone 2k19 #Deceit literally has the worst job of all the Sides 2k19 #Trying to figure out what Thomas himself wants and ignoring Remus' impulse ideas and Virgil/Logan/Patton/Roman's wants #janus sanders

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okimargarvez · 6 years ago

Text

FEW HOURS IN LUKE ALVEZ’S MIND -3

Original title: Few hours in Luke Alvez’s mind.

Prompt: Luke’ POV, memory of war.

Warning: quote of 12x1.

Genre: comedy, family, angst, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot.

Legend: 🔦🐶.

Song mentioned: none.

Few hours in Luke Alvez’s mind- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

This part is dedicated to inlovewithgarvaz.

Part 3-

The chief, Hotchner, who everyone calls Hotch, has a private office. In the grip of a moment of discouragement, I decide to try to express my doubts directly with him. I knock the door.

-Yeah?- it comes a voice from inside. I open the door.

-You got a second?- I ask, standing in the doorway. He nods. He is sitting at the desk. The room is small, but well furnished.

-Yeah, sure.- I hesitate again.

-May I?- he is stronger than me. It puts awe. I seem to be in front of a professor before the exam begins. Or when I was going to ask for information on how to proceed with the thesis.

-Yeah, have a seat.- he must guess my embarrassment. It's too obvious. I execute the order. And I take courage.

-So I'm up to speed on all the fugitives this team is hunting, which means I read up on all of Peter Lewis' victims. And, uh, I saw that…- he interrupts me before I can finish the sentence.

-You saw that I was one of them.- he admits simply, without any effort. Yet in those pages I have read terrible things. Not only has he been among those whom Lewis has subjugated (and believe him, even just knowing him, it is difficult), but he has also been targeted by another "unknown subject", if possible even worse... George Foyet, the Reaper, killed his wife. I can’t even imagine the pain he felt. But I also know that the latter doesn’t run the risk of being released. He killed him, even though in the final report it is written in self-defense, I can’t believe he would have done so even if it hadn’t been a danger at that time.

-Yeah...- I admit- I don't want to know what happened. I just want to know… Don't you want to kill him?- the question is legitimate. He looks at me for a moment, before replying.

-Do you want to kill Daniel Cullen?- he answers me with another question.

-I took an oath to uphold the laws of this country. So… Yeah. Yeah, I want to kill him.- and I need it, to rediscover the serenity. To stop seeing those horrible images every time I close my eyes. To begin to believe the words of Phil. It wasn’t your fault. But yes, because I should have been there, in his place, under-coverage. I was older than him, more experienced, theoretically. I didn’t have a wife, not even a girlfriend, waiting for me at home. The rest of my family has always known that something could happen to me, given the choices I made in my life. I am convinced that I would be less hurt, if I were now the one who has to recover from the attempt to open the stomach. I would feel less... helpless.

-Why?- Hotch's voice penetrates through my thoughts.

-You read my personnel file.- I try to avoid having to say it clearly.

-I want t hear your version.- is not a suggestion, but an order.

I sigh -Ok. All right.- I take a breath, before doing the big confession. -Anyone that asks, I tell them that we caught him in the act.- I lower my eyes, I report it on the man in front of me. -Which is the truth. What I don't tell them is that the act that I caught him in was him cutting open my partner, who he somehow figured out was FBI.- I am catapulted back in time, I still feel to hear again those words. -"Try not to finch!"- I repeat. -Phil told me later that’s what he said.- I conclude.

-I strongly believe that men like Daniel Cullen and Peter Lewis belong in 5-foot by 8-foot cells where they can live out their lives as failures, instead of dying thinking that they accomplished something.- he says without anger. It would be nice to think of it in the same way.

-I'm not there yet.- the view gets blurred. I'm not going to cry. But being indifferent to certain things is not possible. And I'm not even that good at hiding what I feel.

Hotch understands it perfectly. -Let's talk about right now. I wanted you on this case because I know that you're driven to find Cullen. I know that you're a good tracker. If there's something in this profile that you're not agreeing with, I'd like to know what it is.- well, the moment of truth has arrived.

-You’re not gonna like it.- he nods, as if he had already imagined it.

-Then everybody should hear it.- he stands up. We move to the meeting room, where there are all the others. It's the first time that I’m going to expose me like that. My opinions of non-profiler, before experts in this field, what value will they have?

-You can't analyze a fugitive's actions on the outside without taking into account what he did on the inside. So what did Peter Lewis do on the inside?- it might seem like a rhetorical question.

-Nothing, he was a model prisoner.- Spencer answers. I don’t want to contradict him.

-No, it goes further than that. He had no contact with other convicts. He didn't join or get pressured into a gang. When he gets out, he picks up as if no time had passed.- the implications in my sentence are obvious.

-So he had the resources in place before we arrested him.- the first that understands it is JJ.

-A safe house to stay in, backup supplies of his drugs.- Rossi continues.

I nod. -He could have gone anywhere in the country. I mean, anywhere in the world, probably. Then he came here. To Tempe, Arizona?- I try to use a tone that makes clear what I think. It is not really one of the most famous countries in America.

-He had the highest concentration of targets with D.I.D. here.- the doctor insists.

I turn to him, looking at him directly. -You said he wouldn't reveal himself until his plan was foolproof. Right? This isn't foolproof. Brian and Chelsea have been failures. But what part of his plan has worked?- I don’t give anyone time to answer. -Us. You see where I'm going with this? Most fugitives, they do everything they can to stay on the D.L. He's courted our attention from the beginning. Where I keep hitting a wall is why.- my contribution practically ends here.

-Especially if he already has a list of all the kids that went to that camp.- Tara continues to reflect, taking the floor for the first time since we started discussing.

-Maybe we need to re-evaluate our presumptions. When Peter Lewis needed information before, he hacked Quantico.- Hotch exchanges a glance with everyone else, except the brunette woman who carries the same surname as the unsub we are chasing.

-Well, he can’t do that again.- says the blonde.

-So, maybe he’s going to get his information from us.- the leader concludes.

-And we're compiling the very list he would want.- Dave punches his desk.

-We know all his tricks. We're not gonna give him the list.- JJ can’t understand. -The police aren’t. How is he gonna get it?- the answer comes from the other woman present.

-Brian.- Tara exclaims, while a shadow seems to pass in front of her eyes. -I asked officer Duke to go over the list with him once Garcia had somenthing.- she turns to the chief. -Oh, god, Hotch. I'm so sorry.- the man doesn’t reply anything, but starts a call.

Without being named, the shapely blonde on the other side answers. -Yes, sir.- I can even imagine her in this office. With too much ease. Everyone exchanges worried looks. Only Tara keeps her eyes on the floor, obviously feeling guilty. I know what she feels. For four years I have never stopped feeling guilty.

-Garcia, don’t distribute the list!- it is not a video call, yet that moment of hesitation is clear even only vocally.

-But...- crisis. What she has to hear right now, is that she made a mistake. -It...- she doesn’t know what to say. Yet she didn’t seem to me a person who has problems in finding topics of conversation. -I just hit sent.- Hotch doesn’t add anything else, but ends the call abruptly. JJ stares at him. The two blondes are probably very friendly. And although I do nothing but proceed by hypothesis, I think it is very evident that she feels obliged to protect her.

-Why do you have to treat her like that?- I hear that she whispers in a low voice to the chief, without an ounce of fear. Man merely observes her. The other surrenders.

-Well, now we know who the copycat is.- Rossi tries to find a positive side in the current situation.

-What's scientifically revolutionary is that Peter Lewis isn't just inducing an already existing alternate, he's actually creating one. Brian thinks he is the Crimson King. That's undocumented in D.I.D. literature.- not just the amazement, but declared admiration is highlighted in Spencer's tone. I haven’t yet fully framed him, but I understood that his fame was not very far from reality.

-It's possible, with the right balance of drugs and torture.- adds Tara.

-Peter Lewis never tortured before.- JJ shows horrified.

-He does mentally, by hypnotizing his victims into self-harm. It explains Brian's shallow wounds.- and the words of Hotch have a different weight, from the speculations of his colleagues. Because they are those of those who have passed it. They are a direct testimony.

-Tara, you mean he cut himself?- I ask.

-It was all there in the story that he told me. I just didn't see it.- the criminal psychologist continues to blame herself. Before leaving on this mission, after having known all of them, I asked a few questions around, to inform me about the people with whom I should have

collaborate.

-D.I.D. is usually the result of trauma. If Peter Lewis could build an alternate like this through hypnotic suggestion, it means that Brian has some propensity for psychopathy in his past.- Reid looks out of the corner of his eye towards Tara.

-Lewis, did you locate the parents?- Hotch asks.

-Yeah.- says the woman.

- All right. See what kind of history you can get from them. The rest of us need to look at every clue again through the prism of Brian as Trojan horse.- saying this the meeting melts. There are just me and Rossi.

-Where is the evidence room?- I ask the latter. He makes the way.

I extract that kind of bar covered with holes for the arms and the head.

-So, this. Why would Peter Lewis make Brian wear it?- I ask.

-So we wouldn’t question that he was a victim.- says the eldest of us. I nod, but that's not all.

-It worked, huh? Cullen hand-made his.- and I am expert, in spite of myself, of this subject. I can think of many evenings spent in the office settling all that crap of material but knowing that the bastard was in prison. -Peter Lewis knew that. Knew enough to copy the lock bolt mechanism. Not enough to sew it himself. A machine-stitched this.- and now I smile, perhaps for the first time since we're in Temple.

-So he had to order it.- I raise my eyes in an emblematic way. He extracts the phone and starts a call. He puts the speakerphone.

-Ready and waiting.- answers the blonde's voice on the other side. And once again it is far too easy to materialize her and move on with fantasy towards dark shores. What's happening to me? Why suddenly this kind of thoughts cross my mind? Fortunately, I'm the only one to have access to it.

-Garcia, we need leather experts in the Phoenix and Temple areas.- explains Rossi.

But I decide to express my opinion. -Yeah, I think the leather experts might have asked too many questions.- then, I turning to the phone, then to her. -Uh, and Garcia, if you don’t mind, checking sex shops and BDSM specialists. The more extreme, the better.- I am making a strange effect to make such a request, but I really believe that Lewis was forced to turn to someone who wouldn’t have made too many problems, wondering what such a deal could have served. Silence. No answer comes from the other end of the line. Yet rumors told me that she and what was there before, Agent Morgan, were very famous for their... hot conversation, so much to have forced the entire department to carry out a series of cycles on how you behave with colleagues and how to avoid mobbing.

-Garcia?- Rossi finally calls her.

There's a kind of sigh of suffering. -I'll send Agent Alvez that list now. Good bye.- and she vanishes, abruptly interrupting the call, as before Hotch had done with her. I look at my phone. I register the new sender under the name Garcia BAU , but not entirely convinced that it will remain so informal.

After having tell to the others about the news, Hotch orders Spencer and me to go around all the shops in the area that may have treated that article. I'm happy to go with him, because with his attitude I will feel less embarrassed, like it was with JJ or Tara. Or worse, Hotch. Even with Rossi I would have felt at ease. And with Garcia... forget it.

We enter the third store today - This guy ordered this arm spreader. Um, two of them, actually.- the girl on the other side of the bar will have at most twenty years. Blonde, very short hair, nose piercing. In short, the stereotype of the clerk for a place like that.

-Two of them? So where is the other one?- I turn to my colleague.

-Um, could I see your badge again?- she asks Spencer instead.

-Is there a problem?- he frowns.

-Uhm... yeah, ok, the guy who ordered them, the name he left on the invoice was Dr. Spencer Reid.- now she looks at both.

-Did he pay with my credit card also?- he presses her.

The young girl shakes her head -Cash.- then she throws a smart look. -I knew he was sketchy. Guys like him give S&M a bad rap. Which is why I did ask for a copy of Dr. Reid's driver's license, which he gave me happily.- she shrugs.

-We’ll need to see that right now.- I intervene.

-Oh, uh.- she goes down to take it.

As soon as we get in the car Spencer starts a call to "our" computer technician. -He was all up in your business, boy wonder.- for the first time, she seems to be indifferent to the fact that I'm listening too. -He used your social security number to do a change of address and everything, but... speaking of addresses, we have a local one for him.- from the corner of my eye I see Reid unconsciously nod.

-Good. Get that information to the rest of the team and the police, please. We need to assume he has the same level of personal information for the entire BAU.- his manner of speaking is so different from that of anyone else. He seems more like a... a university professor, than an FBI agent.

-And Daniel Cullen.- I add.

-But we ruled out his involvement.- we seem about to discuss. But no one has closed the call, so Penelope is theoretically still listening.

-Now I'm not sure. Peter Lewis copied a specific detail of the Cullen’s arm spreader, one that wasn’t in a public record. The only way he could have gotten it is if the real Crimson King has been a part of this all along.- the other man is able to pretend to agree with me.

-I send everything to the others.- the sweet and strangely fragile voice of the blonde intrudes. I thank her mentally. Although she doesn’t seem to be very nice with me, at least she took my idea into consideration. Then we hear a beep at the end of the conversation. And a moment later the young doctor's phone lights up again.

-Reid, Luke, the police are 10 minutes out.- Rossi warns us.

-That could be a problem. If the police try to convince Brian he is not the Crimson King, he could get unstable.- I think it is the first time that a sentence uttered by him doesn’t seem perfectly good.

-Guys we might have a solution. Try to keep Brian calm. We're on our way.- Tara seems to have found confidence in herself again. A few minutes later we reach our destination. Parking, we go down. As if we had already done it before, or if we had agreed, I open the door wide and Spencer come in, shouting.

-FBI! Drop the weapon!- his gun is aimed at the boy. His gaze is crazy. Much more than Cullen's when I caught him dealing with parts of Phil's body.

-No! Try not to finch!- that sentence is more than I can bear. Then I realize that the man to whom he is aiming at the throat with a knife is really my personal monster. Daniel Cullen. And if Brian's might sound scary, the Crimson King's is terrified. He rolls his eyes everywhere, shining with terror. I should feel happy to see him suffer. Why it’s not so?

-Help me...-he whispers, while the blade presses lightly on his skin.

-The Crimson King doesn’t kill. He doesn’t have to. Remember?- he tries to bring the boy back to reason, but I don’t think it's possible. Despite myself, I am forced to help him. Hotch is right, a prison is better than a painful death for less than a second. It would be much better for him to have all the time to think about what he did.

-That’s right. You kill, and it's over. But if you let him go, he has to live the rest of his life as a failure, is not that what you really want?- yet I'm not asking the question to Brian, but to myself.

-No! That’s not enough.- and it's not even for me. I hear footsteps behind us. Tara and JJ also appear.

-No one is going to hurt you like that ever again. Nobody. Never again.- it is understood that the brunette is a psychologist. Her tone is sweet and understanding. What he really needs. He trembles but doesn’t give up.

-Back off! I mean it!- yet it sounds like a plea.

-We can’t do that. Ok? Someone told you to do this. But this is not who you are, is it? We know that.- do we really know? This boy suffered one of the most horrible things in the world: he was the victim of those who were supposed to protect him. Those who should have taken care of him. Too many conditions in a few lines. But the most tragic thing is that it forces me to think that if Brian became so because he was fragile... what was the reason Cullen became the Crimson King? Does pure evil exist, absolute black or do we have to deal with many more shades of gray?

-No one is gonna hurt you like that ever again.- reiterates the same sentence JJ.

-Nobody hurt me, I hurt them.- it is an attempt not to feel in complete mercy of others. To affirm that he still has control of himself and his actions. But, partly for his fortune, it is not like that.

-Yes, they did hurt you. They cut you when you were little. And then right here on this very table, you saw your own blood and you didn't know what to do, so you became the Crimson King to protect yourself. No one is gonna hurt you like that ever again.-will I ever be so tolerant, so understanding, so human? I fear that the man in front of me has eliminated this possibility from my soul four years ago.

-No one is gonna hurt you like that ever again.- the blonde repeats again. It almost seems like a sing-song, a nursery rhyme for children. Of those that, if deliberately slowed down, become perfect soundtrack for a horror film.

-Do you remember Eliza? Angelica? What they used to say to you at the foster home to calm you down? No one is going to hurt you like that ever again.- his eyes wander over the woman. Then he abandons the knife. A part of me is not happy. If I were a believer, I should go to confession.

-Do you promise?- a child wouldn’t seem less innocent than him.

-Yeah, I promise.- handcuffs are put on him. The boy looks at her scared. -Brian, this is for your own protection, ok? We’re taking you into custody, for your safety.- he nods. He desperately needs to trust her.

-Tara?- he calls her once again.

-Yes?- she stays close to him.

-Oh, my God, what did I do?- and here the Crimson King no longer exists.

-I’m going to be with you every step of the way. All right? I’m not leaving your side.- a promise that weighs heavily. But now my attention completely falls on the other man, left in the room. Extracting the handcuffs, I put them on him. The latter seems even more stunned than Brian.

-Thank you. Both of you.- I clench my fist to keep myself from pulling it in his face and smashing his jaw, that so easily chuckled with satisfaction while my partner lay in a state of semi-consciousness, but was perfectly able to feel the pain and whatever he did to him.

-No, don’t thank us! You’re under arrest.- I try to carry on the pantomime, but it is clear that the time has not come when I will have my revenge.

-Ok... for what? What... what did I do?- he can’t really forget it.

-Must have dosed him to make him lose his memory so we couldn't get any answers out of him.- Spencer tries to calm down me, with his usual pedantic tone even if he doesn’t want to be, too smart and rational to be able to tolerate it. In order not to vent myself with him, I concentrate all my energy on the monster.

-Now, we’ve met. Three years ago. Hmm? What's my name? What was my partner's name?- I shout until I almost lose my voice.

-I don’t know!- is the truth, but I can’t accept it.

-You’re faking it!- I shout even louder.

-Luke...- I completely ignore Reid's voice trying to intrude.

-You’re faking it.- I repeat with a lower tone, now defeated.

-Luke...- he repeats. I have tears in my eyes. More than anger or pain?

-You’re faking it. What's your name? What's your name? Say it! - but I don’t get any answers. Because maybe it's not there. There really never was.

-I don’t know. Tell me. Please.- and I wish I could do it. Have time to tell him what kind of man he was, if he really doesn’t remember him anymore. Let him know how rotten it was. Scream in his face that has ruined Phil's life and mine too. Which is his fault if I can’t sleep anymore and the only living thing I can stay with, without having to hide what I've become and what I feel, is Roxy.

But Spencer takes him by the shoulders and takes him away, taking away from me even this last satisfaction.

TAGS: @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta @garvezz @shyladystudentfan @cosmicmelaninflower @kiki-krakatoa @pegasus-scifichick @ leftlamphumanfestival @inlovewithgarvaz @thatnerdygirljudy

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #roxy #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #cm #Luke POV #the crimson king #12x01

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kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

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Oh God. I actually went back to the conversation @magehir and I had about these two and while it was magical, it was also decidedly deranged, the full extent of which I couldn’t channel into this one snippet. I hope the general sentiment still comes across, @nutbrain! (Rating M, suggestive, ~1.7k words)

It starts out relatively simple and only vaguely worrying. Doc is enjoying lunch with the rest of his team when he notices, out of the corner of his eye, someone staring at him intently from the other side of the room. At first he pays it no heed, but when Kapkan, unchanged, refuses to avert his gaze even after a few minutes and despite being surrounded by his lively teammates as well, Doc eventually meets it with a frown. Kapkan looks away. He seems aggravated or at the very least upset, though Doc can’t even begin to guess why. When the Russian once again directs his full attention at Doc a mere minute later, he turns to Twitch, unnerved: “Did I anger Maxim somehow? He’s glaring at me and I’m not sure why.”

The young woman glances over to the Spetsnaz table and frowns when she finds Doc’s worries justified. “Wow, he looks pissed. Did you steal his breakfast or something? What did you do?”

“I really have no idea”, he admits while shaking his head in confusion.

Rook by now seems to have figured out what they’re talking about and whistles quietly when he catches sight of Kapkan’s impressive scowl. “You must’ve done something. Maybe you should ask Glaz, he might know.”

Even Montagne is furrowing his brows, having interrupted his previous conversation. “It could be that he’s still offended by how vigorously you reproached him last week. You know, when he sprained his ankle?”

“To be fair, it was completely warranted”, Twitch cuts in before Doc can even open his mouth to point out exactly that, “he was going to race Julien the next day and absolutely deserved the bollocking you gave him. But it’s possible. He strikes me as someone who can hold a grudge forever.”

Being on any of the Russians’ bad side sounds like a terrifying prospect even if there are days where there’s no more than a bad and a worse side, especially when Tachanka slept badly. He should probably at least make an effort, and so he gets up and approaches Kapkan who follows him with his eyes and a stony expression Doc can only guess means distaste. “How’s your ankle doing?”, Doc asks him softly and earns no more than a scoff. “Look, Maxim, I just wanted to let you know that I might’ve been unfair in some of the things I’ve said to you last week and I’m -”

“I don’t care”, Kapkan interrupts him forcefully. Doc, taken aback, doesn’t know how to retaliate, he didn’t expect this kind of open hostility. “And you care too much.” With that, he simply gets up and leaves, much to Doc’s consternation.

He must’ve looked pitiful seeing as Glaz turns to him with a sigh and informs him: “He means to say it’s fine. Words aren’t his friends sometimes.”

Apparently so. Which surprises him, he’s caught part of a conversation between Pulse and Kapkan before when they were analysing certain human behaviours and the Russian sounded almost scholarly to him, astonishingly well-versed in this field and even impressing the American with his astute observations. It’s odd to him that someone this mindful would just… fail to communicate. But as there’s nothing he can do about it, he shrugs it off.

“You worry too much.”

The sentence is uttered without emotion and while keen grey eyes track him, watching his every move as he pierces skin with his needle several times, making Fuze hiss and squirm slightly with every stitch. “I disagree”, Doc replies, annoyed not only at the interruption but also because it’s roughly the third insult he’s suffered ever since Kapkan carried his teammate into the infirmary. “See this?” He agitatedly pokes a spot right next to the gash he’s slowly sewing shut and makes Fuze groan in pain. “If the cut had been a little higher, he would’ve lost a lot more blood. And now shut up and let me do my work.”

“But even then he wouldn’t have died”, Kapkan insists smugly. “And therefore: you worry too much.”

“It’s an injury on the inside of his thigh!”, Doc hisses and prods the wound once more, eliciting a quiet whimper from his patient due to the rough treatment. “You couldn’t have known whether it was life-threatening or not and I’m frankly appalled that you’d finish your harebrained game before bringing him here!”

“How did you learn to be this callous?” There’s faint admiration in Kapkan’s voice now despite his infuriating words. “You stab him with the needle like it’s nothing. His pain means nothing to you.”

“One more word and I’m throwing you out.”

“Then who’s going to carry him back to his room?”

“Shut up.” Fuze gives a high-pitched whine when Doc resumes his task, now noticeably more forceful than before. “And you shut up too. You’ve had worse.”

“I’m scared of needles”, Fuze complains, pouting, which would indeed explain his trepidation over the whole process because Doc knows him to have a high pain threshold.

“Russians”, he mutters under his breath. Especially Kapkan is getting on his nerves by now, often hovering around him and the first to point out whenever Doc is wrong in anything, almost fighting for his attention in the worst possible way. He’s usually curt and often indecipherable which is why Doc finds himself consulting Glaz more and more to simply make sure Kapkan isn’t harbouring an odd, deep-seated hatred for him. When he relays his comments to the young operator later, Glaz just grins.

“I think he admires you. You’re so compassionate and altruistic but still manage to do the right thing, even if it involves hurting or even killing. I bet it’s a strange mixture to him”, he explains patiently.

“How come words fail him only when he’s talking to me?”, Doc wants to know, unamused by the whole situation. Having an irritating Russian follow him around like a large cat stalking him is beginning to get on his nerves.

“I couldn’t say”, Glaz replies neutrally.

For a few days, it’s blissfully quiet. Doc manages to stay on top of his tasks, no other operator manages to injure themselves and even though Kapkan continues to stare a hole into the back of his skull, he’s learnt to generously ignore it. It seems all is well until one afternoon, knuckles rap against his open office door and make him turn to his visitor. As soon as he does, he drops his clipboard.

It takes him a moment to realise that it’s not Kapkan’s own blood with which his clothes are soaked, the Russian’s gaze is too piercing for the severity of the injury were it his own; no, it has to be someone else’s. Most of his front is covered in reddish brown which glistens wetly still, and there are smears even down to his boots – his hands are bloodied as well and while Doc examines him in utter shock, a stark red drop falls down on the previously perfectly clean floor. A quick glance reveals that there’s a small smudge on the door now too, courtesy of the polite knock which seems so at odds with the rest of his appearance. “Holy shit”, says Doc involuntarily.

“I killed for you”, Kapkan tells him calmly and this not only explains nothing, it also somehow makes the situation worse.

“Fucking hell.”

He absent-mindedly scratches his faces and leaves behind a crimson streak on his cheek. “You like eating deer, right?”

Oh. Oh. Okay. Part of the panic subsides. “Did you stab it to death?”, Doc demands to know indignantly and only now notices the smell coming from the other man, a mix of sweat and blood and something even worse.

“No, I gutted it already. Been a while since I last did it, so it was a mess.”

He fights down the urge to throw this biohazard right out of his office and struggles to regain his lost composure. It sounded as if Kapkan killed the deer for him specifically, and he has to admit he does enjoy eating venison. As far as he’s aware, the Russian isn’t adept at cooking in general but knowledgeable in preparing meat properly. “Yes, I like deer.” Kapkan seems inordinately pleased with his answer, even gracing him with a smile. “But maybe you should -”

“Good. So we can fuck?”

Doc blinks in disbelief. “Can we do what now?” When Kapkan begins approaching him, he retreats, definitely not wanting to come into contact with any part of Kapkan right now. “Maxim, please -” He’s undeterred by Doc shrinking away from him and instead keeps on invading his personal space, even crowding him against the nearest wall and pressing their bodies together, which means that Doc’s previously pristine ones are now everything but. Kapkan’s eyes have slid lower, are now focused on his mouth – and he can’t believe this is really happening. “At least wash your hands”, he pleads quietly right before Kapkan’s teeth capture his lower lip and pull gently.

“You like me”, Kapkan purrs against his mouth and though it doesn’t sound like a question, Doc feels it requires an answer, because while he certainly minds the blood-soaked Russian coming on to him this strongly, he doesn’t mind him enough to try and stop him. Not even the smell of death is enough.

“Yes, but -” He’s silenced by a hand in his crotch and a tongue in his ear, whispers an oh my god and then doesn’t manage to say anything for quite a while.

“Hey, how are – whose blood is that?”, Glaz wants to know, alarmed, when Doc very, very carefully sits down next to him.

“Not mine”, he replies hoarsely, not even bothered anymore by the state of his clothes. “Maxim hunted a deer for me today.”

This piques the young man’s interest. “Oh, did he now? When we asked him, he said it was for a special someone. Not in so many words, but you know.”

Doc stares at him blankly. His mind is still trying to catch up on everything that’s happened, including the fact there’s deer blood smeared all over his hips and his back below the layers of fabric he’s wearing. “Glaz. Be honest with me please. Is Maxim courting me?”

Glaz’ wide, meaningful grin says it all. He indicates Doc’s rumpled and bloodied clothes and responds: “I’d say he was successful. Wouldn’t you?”

#rainbow six siege #kapkan #doc #kapkan/doc #fanfic #oneshot #request #I guess the category could be 'poor doc'#kapkan is absolutely terrible at all of this #caveman kapkan - activate!#glaz why aren't you intervening are you just letting this happen

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permian-tropos · 7 years ago

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might as well set down my full case for the extreme shippability of gallirae, for that twitter person’s sake (that’s my excuse but hey, I can vent by being positive about things I like)

step one would be to explain why I think they have canonical sexual tension and the point I like start with is the fact that Adea tells Sloane she wanted to “be with them both”. we already know she’s sleeping with Rax and honestly book 1 leaves plenty of room to imagine Adea has a thing for Sloane so why don’t we imagine Adea is bisexual as hell and has had a thing for the both of them, and wanted a sugar mommy and a sugar daddy simultaneously but if they couldn’t get along she’d pick one

Sloane is the one who doesn’t see it like that. but Adea admires Sloane for being ambitious and powerful and in a position to rule the Empire and create a new galactic order. this is the same case she makes for Rax, and she seems frustrated that Sloane can’t see how well they’d go together.

given that Adea and Rax’s only scene together has them talking about whether Sloane will join them and Rax is the one who’s confident about it (and Adea is the hesitant one) I feel free to imagine that an initial condition of their relationship was “we’re going to be a hot problematic threesome with Sloane”. and if Adea can ship them together why can’t I?

but moving on. why do I imagine Rax being into Sloane? well besides the fact that he keeps her around and stokes her ambitions even as he knows she wants him dead, the fact that he flatters her and makes himself her advisor even though he outranked her in book 1, and talks about how much he wants her to be a part of his galaxy-ruling business.

there’s also the fact that he gives her a mixtape of his most emotionally resonant piece of music, the opera that he associates with escaping a life of poverty and misery. it’s not an act of manipulation, because there’s no clear intended effect, it’s just a way for him to share a piece of himself in a rather awkward and indirect way. he makes choices on Jakku over and over that avoid killing Sloane in the moment, and his final moments aren’t anger at her for defeating him but regret over his own failures. he might assume the planet will explode or that she’ll be taken prisoner by the New Republic and he could let that be revenge but he wants Sloane to live and rule his Empire. he considers her a “fellow outcast” likely from their backgrounds being lower class which Sloane responds to and doesn’t dispute.

why would Sloane be into Rax? well there’s the fact that she considers herself “seduced” by him and asks herself if she’s “falling for his strange way” after he gives her a flirty smirk during the Shadow Council meeting even though in that moment she’s furious at him. “she hates him, but she admires him too”. a lot of the metaphorical language her POV scenes use to describe her fear, hatred, or apprehension of Rax also have a suggestive element to them, whether he’s a sea before a storm or a snake in her bed or a predator who wants to pick out and eat the juiciest bits of her flesh and at that point I have to blush just retelling what’s written in the book! the scene where she listens to the music brings back the ocean metaphor but has it be a “gentle wave that calls her out to sea” (bear in mind she’s in bed while she’s listening to it) and “its ethereal beauty haunts her”. since the ocean has been used to describe Rax and the opera itself represents him, it feels like a metaphor for a sexual encounter — or Sloane’s desire for one.

I think it’s extremely easy to read canon where Sloane is attracted to Rax and finds him intimidating and overwhelming for that reason, and she is especially disgusted and angry and put off by him any time he does something that seems to Zone her as a platonic political ally or a pawn in his game. she takes a lot of his betrayals extremely personally, in ways she doesn’t with characters like Vidian or even Adea. she is basically cyberstalking Rax throughout book 2 and real stalking him throughout book 3 and she has perfectly good political reasons for it but the intense emotions attached could be both dread of his creepiness and deep Frustration. she has several moments where she mentions having no children or husband or wife and you could imagine her career with the evil Empire as the war went on has been very unhealthy and draining and isolating. she’s a bit deprived and starting to get depressed about it, though she weathered it for a long time. loneliness takes its toll on everyone eventually.

so you could read Rax and Sloane as both being hampered in their capacity for healthy romance by their ambitions and flaws and emotional hangups and general evilness. Rax is avoidant and vague and nihilistic about his desire for Sloane, and Sloane is aggressive and bitter and fearful about her desire for Rax.

so obviously the idea of them overcoming these roadblocks and succumbing to their desires is Hot As Fuck

and I consider them to be extremely hot when they’re in conjunction with each other because they’re obviously terrible people but they complement each other’s terribleness. they have two different strains of fascist brain worms and their collusion and subsequent falling out is to me a great place to pick apart the toxicity of both their ideologies. their ability to destroy each other’s faith in their own megalomaniac space nazi delusions is HOT because tearing down fascist delusions is good and narratively cathartic.

the fact that they’re locked in mortal combat is kind of necessary to this. they’re not going to reject a whole ideology if there isn’t an extreme pressure to do so. this is why I enjoy their moments together in canon. particularly with Sloane’s hatred — everything Rax does calls her faith in the Empire into question and it might not be his intention and the struggles might not be romanticizable but their canon doesn’t have to end up in a romantic or pleasant situation for it to set up fascinating conflicts.

they’re also aesthetically hot. Rax is described as pale and dark haired and black-eyed and he smirks a lot and says corny pretentious crap and wears sumptuous red robes and listens to opera and has a shipboard garden. he also has a tragic backstory as a cult-raised orphan on a desert world, conscripted and groomed for his position as the Contingency by Darth Emperor Sheev himself! so he’s a sad traumatized fuckboy too, teeming with suppressed self-loathing and coping mechanisms. he deserved to get murdered and I appreciate that he does but I still find him a glorious and perhaps personally relatable disaster. his deep fixation on and love of stories should technically be relatable to everyone on here but for me it seems to resonate especially strongly.

Sloane is the one with an official character design and she is Very Hot with her dark complexion and broad shoulders and handsome features only slightly touched by age. her hair is a bit long for an Imperial (not too many women overall) and she canonically is pleased with it and rightly so, it’s gorgeous, and the white streak is oddly cute. and she’s also got this stern commanding air but you can imagine her being suppressed about various desires just like Rax is and so obviously it’s great to imagine those desires breaking through. she is kind of a jock nerd, a former boxer who also loves research and libraries and math. her determination and badassery is as aesthetically enjoyable as her moments of fatigue and despair and folly. she’s a complicated person, with plenty of moments of badness and a fair amount of potential for goodness. and she has many moments from POV sections where you could extrapolate into a quirk or peculiar trait, instead of considering the quirkiness artistic license (ie. the ghost retinue, her being overly familiar with or possessive of people in her thoughts). she’s snarky and casually self-centered and staunch in her ideologies but also constantly suppressing empathy or unease.

I like the fact that Rax is a rather flamboyant and effeminate man and Sloane is a pragmatic and masculine woman. I know it’s bad to villify gender noncomformity but frankly I just am super weak for that het dynamic, it works well with my own gender feelings, sue me

the ship comes packaged with so many aesthetics and features; a cursed sort of wasteland with Jakku, the Opera, failed attempts at galactic conquest, a viable side OT3 with Adea, Palpatine’s bullshit hanging over both of them, plenty of action and intrigue, options for canon divergences where they rule side by side, or divergences where they are forced to expel their fascist brain worms and start on a road of ideological and emotional recovery.

they are given a ton of parallels in canon, with their backstories trying to stow away on ships to escape their homeworlds as children, their weird fixation on predators and prey, to their desires for revenge or glory, their willingness to dispose of their allies, often using the same language culminating in them finishing each other’s sentences, improvising bluffs and distractions tailored to the other’s personality on the fly.

and their relationship, such as it is, ends with extreme violence and cruelty and suffering. given their high levels of participation in the big bad autocratic space regime it’s no less than either of them deserved. neither of them work through their deep and extreme issues. yet it feels like there’s room for both to change, since Rae questions her faith in the Empire and Gallius questions Palpatine’s narrative of destiny.

so if I imagine them together but unable to throw down with murder duels (because they decide to care about each other) they might be forced to completely change, and that’s a really compelling dynamic arc

and there you have it. that’s not even everything. but it’s a lot of it and it’s way way more than is ever necessary to justify a ship.

#my post #rae sloane #gallius rax #gallirae #aftermath trilogy #long post

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wttp · 7 years ago

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Hello there, could you please do a widowmaker/ reader (gender neutral?) in which the reader is the only person who makes her feel. So she struggles to ask them out on a date. Thx and good luck!

Alright, this one turned out a little longer than I initially expected.

Hope it is what you wanted it to be anon (-:

- When she begins to know you, she is confused. She doesn’t really understand what is going on inside her, so she tries to ignore it and push you away.

- When the feelings keep poking out, she grows increasingly frustrated, until she finally decides to try to adapt to her new traits, instead of trying to run away from them.

- She tries several times to work up the courage to ask you out, but ends up either awkwardly staring at you from a distance or accidentally making you think she dislikes you, frustrating her to no end.

- As all regular (a.k.a “sane”) options turn out to not work, Widow decides that desperate measures are required. She, therefore, seeks advice from Sombra, who tells her to set up a romantic evening as a show of her feelings.

- Widow reluctantly agrees to the hackers idea and is on her way to prepare in her quarters, as she hears a loud voice yelling. Reapers voice, to be exact. She notices that he is chewing you out about your “failure” in the last mission (you missed a shot, which alerted the people you were shadowing).

- As she watches Reaper getting louder, she suddenly notices another emotion re-emerge: Anger. She might still be unsure about her new developments, but she sure as hell isn´t going to just stand around and let the source of her budding affection be yelled at.

- All plans of a romantic evening are forgotten (for now at least), as Widow makes her way over to you and Reaper, prepared to have a few “words” with a certain loudmouth.

As you stand there, cleaning your weapon, you can´t help but feel like a child getting scolded by their parents. Moira, Doomfist and Sombra have already left to rest in their quarters, and Widowmaker is fixing her equipment, which has left you and Reaper as the rooms, sole occupants. Not that you could tell that the room only contained two people, as Reaper was screaming so loud that people passing by might think a rally was taking place. The subject of his angry screaming, your idiocy and incompetence, as he so elegantly put it, didn´t exactly make the situation any better.

“Now, that we have that cleared up” Reaper growls, “Could you perhaps use some of your precious time to explain to me why you decide to nearly ruin our mission, by missing a critical shoot, with your amateur performance?”. “Look” you start “I understand that I messed up, but I was trying my best”, but you didn´t even get to finish explaining what happened before Reaper cut you off once more. “Oh, really? You tried your best?” he says in an overly sweet and understanding tone “Well, your best just isn´t good enough when the only thing your talents amount to is such a pathetic show of skills”.

Suddenly his posture straightens up, as he begins to chuckle menacingly. “You know what?” he says “Maybe you did just have a bad day. Maybe you do just need some more training”. As he is talking he begins to stalk closer and closer, until he is standing right in front of you, before saying “And I think I just found the perfect solution to your little problem”. “How about using you for target practice next training session, huh? Maybe then you´ll finally understand the importance of being able to aim and not screwing everything up!”

As you are quite frankly terrified of what is to come, you suddenly hear the door to the room open. “Ah, Widowmaker! Great that you could join us, I was just telling (Y/n) about a wonderful new training exercise”. As you turn around to face the door, you see that the infamous sniper has indeed entered the room, and is walking towards the two of you with a pissed off look on her face. Figuring that your days are numbered, you close your eyes and turn your head downwards, as if you were looking at the floor.

“Are you hurt, cheire?”

It takes a couple of seconds for the words to even register in your head, and even longer before you quickly look up to see an equally surprised Reaper and a now calm Widowmaker. Unsure if your terrified mind is playing tricks on you, you stuttered “S-s-sorry?”. Widow sighs “I asked if you were hurt during our mission”. You quickly snap back to reality, happy that you don’t appear to be in as much danger as you first thought, and quickly reply “Oh, no I don’t think so” as you check for any wounds you may have missed “Looks like I’m alright”. “That is great news” Widow says, with what you could swear was a tiny curve of her lips.

“Well, if you two are done with your little talk, I think some accuracy training sounds wonderful” Reaper interrupts, once again making you terrified. “Doesn’t that just sound lovely Widowmak-“ “Non” Widow suddenly cuts in, actually startling Reaper. “What?” he questions. Widowmaker merely glares at him (actually managing to make him shiver for a second) before explaining “I said No, I believe that is one of the worst ideas you have had in a long while, and that truly says something”.

“What!” Reaper exclaims while looking like he might explode with anger, “What the hell are you doing, who do you think you are!”. He looks as if he is about to continue his angry outburst, but is quickly silenced by a sniper-rifle now pointed directly at his head, as the wielder simply states “Me? I am telling you to back off, before getting hurt” (at this point she presses the barrel of the gun directly to Reapers head) “and I think I am the only one in this room with a loaded weapon, so I would strongly recommend that you leave now”.

As she finishes her sentence, she slowly lowers her gun, allowing Reaper to quickly back out of the way, and leave the room (not without sending one last glare though). As you breathe a sigh of relief, Widowmaker turns to you once more, her face now in a more neutral state. Not really knowing how to react to this sudden kindness from the usually cold sniper, you smile at her as you say, “Thank you for the save, I thought I was doomed for a second”.

As she opens her mouth to reply to your thanks, she suddenly shifts her gaze towards the floor, before quietly continuing “You are very welcome Cherie”. You watch in confusion, at the “new” Widowmaker standing before you, appearing shy and fidgeting with her hand, as she refuses to look you in the eyes.

“Are you sure that your okay though?” you calmly question the shy sniper “If there is anything I can help you with, just tell me, you just saved my life after all”. At this Widowmaker quickly looks up, and is now looking directly at you (a bit of a startling change to be honest). “Oui” she utters “There is, in fact, something you can help me with”. You look at her waiting for the problem to be presented, but Widow appears to struggle to explain. “You know if this is something important, we could go find a more private place to talk” you suggest. “Yes, that would probably help” she quickly says as she leads the way out of the room, with you following close behind her.

After some time, you reach a small room, sparsely decorated with a bed, a mirror and a stand to store weapons. It suddenly hits you that this must be Widows quarters (You feel bad that she lives in such a barren room, seemingly devoid of any feelings or emotions). Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted as Widow comes to a halt in the middle of the room, looking a bit calmer but still nervous. She takes a few calming breathes before speaking. “I never was good at things like this, not even in my previous life, But I guess I’ll just have to get it over with” (at this you notice a flash of pain going through her features). “Don´t worry, I won´t laugh, just take the time you need” you tell her, and this time a smile is clearly present on her lips.

“To be honest, no, everything is not okay. These last months a storm of particularly confusing thoughts have haunted my head and heart, and no matter how hard I push them back or try to forget them, they keep returning”. You can´t help but feel sympathy for her poor situation, as it must be hard enough to deal with, without the whole “Talon rehabilitation” deal. “Wow, that… Sounds like one hell of a problem”. “It truly is, luckily I believe I have found the source of this particular problem”.

“Well, that’s wonderf-“ you start, before getting cut off by Widow, who simply states “It´s you”. “Wait, me?” you wonder aloud. “Oui” she simply replies, “It would appear that you have somehow managed to bypass Talons torture and rehabilitation, and awakened parts of me, parts of Amelie, everyone thought were lost long ago” she continues, holding her hand over where her heart is. “I have grown so used to feeling numb over the years, so used to never be happy, never be sad, never feel loved, that meeting someone like you, someone who makes my chest ache every time they leave, someone who makes my cheeks burn every time they smile, makes me more confused than any mission or challenge ever could”.

At this point, you quite frankly feel shell-shocked. She can feel again, and, wait, I made her feel again!? You were so confused about this sudden development that the only thing you thought to do was ask “But, why me?”. At this she just looks at you, clearly not knowing the answer herself “I don´t understand it either Cherie. All I know is that I feel drawn to you, drawn to the way you make me feel”.

As she finishes explaining, she most closer so that she is directly in front of you, and awkwardly takes your hands in hers. “I´m sorry Cherie, I know that this is a lot to take in” she says, as she appears to steel herself for what she is about to say, “I am just as confused as you are, but over the last couple of weeks I have discovered that it is you I want, not Talon, not revenge, you”. She is now looking you straight in the eyes, as she says, “Will you stand by my side and help me explore these new feelings?”.

You can´t help but feel shocked for a moment, due to her turn from shy and awkward to caring, and the bomb she had just dropped on you. You start thinking about the consequences of your answer, but as you look into her eyes and see the love, care and hope they hold, you start to feel more and more relaxed.

At last, you look her deep in the eyes, and smile as you reply, “Of course I will”. As you reply Widow looks like she also got the emotion of excitement back, as she looks rather giddy at your acceptance of her confession. “Well if that is the case,” she says, “Why don´t we start off by exploring this unfamiliar territory over a nice dinner, tomorrow maybe?”. “That sounds lovely” you reply, squeezing her hand affectionately as you both gaze into each other’s eyes.

As the two of you continue to enjoy your newfound companionship, a security camera suddenly goes out, as a certain purple hacker decides to give you some privacy. “Well, that went good, all things considered,” she says to herself, “I told her my idea would work!”. Despite her pride in her successful advice, she can´t help but feel happy for you and Widow, as it is rare to find love on the battlefield. As she begins to turn off for the night, she remembers to delete all security cam footage of your exchange and that of Widow threatening Reaper (Wouldn’t want the higher-ups to ruin the fun).

#Overwatch imagines #widowmaker #widowmaker x reader #reader insert #reaper #sombra

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cwl190 · 4 years ago

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Week 6

Amy Tan's "Pixel by Pixel":

“You take the ideas you rely on for survival, and discard what weighs you down” (32).

“...when I had a feeling like sadness, I couldn’t find a word that meant everything that I felt inside of me. I always felt that words were inadequate, that I’d never been able to express myself- ever. Even now, it’s so hard to express what I think and feel, the totality of what I’ve seen. But this loneliness is the impetus for writing, because language is the best means we have to connect” (33).

Michael Chabon's "To Infinity and Beyond"

“I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon- the unimaginable universe. I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity” (78).

Angela Flournoy's "A Place to Call My Own"

“Readers come to the book with all sorts of back-grounds, and they don’t need me to communicate how they should feel about a character. They don’t need me to suggest a character should be excused for his actions because of X, Y, and Z. They’ll make their own decisions” (182-183).

PIXEL BY PIXEL:

Some of the microscopic pixels that made Gonzeles’s, Parameswaran, Orringer’s and Wilson’s characters stand out to me was probably their thought process. You can get a good handle on what the character’s personality is based on how they react to a situation, such as the narrator wanting to view his wife under a microscope and the tiger being unaware of the carnage he’s unleashing until he kills the child and his zookeeper. Or Orringer’s main character being fixated on the tooth among all the other pressing problems which highlights that she is just a child. These little details are important because they are aspects of their flaws and also give us a wider picture of their personality traits.

TO INFINITY AND BEYOND:

I think Parameswaran narrating with a tiger is so useful because of the tiger’s own motivations versus the failed result of those motivations.

“What had I done? I had to find help for him if it was the last thing I did. I turned and ran out of the people door- I had never been outside of the people door before, but I didn’t even think twice about running outside of it” (13).

Here, we see that the tiger wants to find someone to take care of Kitch, but in the eyes of people, they see a threat that is trying to escape the cage after brutally murdering someone. You feel bad because the tiger has no ill intent and yet it will get misconstrued by everyone else around him due to the species (??) barrier. We can see the tiger’s impulsive decision when trying to help humans always blows up in his face but it doesn’t make us hate him. Maybe we feel pity and uneasiness but the fact that he is an animal makes us regard him with a more merciful moral lense.

EVERYTHING I MEANT TO SAY:

Most of the stories we’ve read and discussed did not make me feel good in any way. Maybe it’s the premise or the characters or the ending, but I feel like we start out at a low point already, and then it gets worse, and at best we are back at the same point at which we started. There’s not really a comfort to be found while reading these stories, but if I had to choose one text in this class that made me feel more comfortable with reading than the others, it has to be “grand stand-in”. I can’t tell if it’s the science fiction set-up, the dialogue, the first person point of view or the character herself, but it just felt like a writing style I was more familiar with than any of the other texts I had read so far. The exchange the main character has with the arranger just read very satisfyingly to me:

“You hate them, don’t you?” he says.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to make them love you, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes I am.” (10)

It’s effective and it works well in establishing her. She doesn’t even say much, but the simplicity in their exchange is so effectively telling of what the main character is like. Just from that we can tell the narrator does a morally ambiguous job, but she has her own set of morals that she strongly commits to that is strongly contradictive to what her customers expect of her. And even so, the narrator takes a lot of pride in her work. Despite her own personal feelings, performing exceptionally is at the forefront of her mind. I didn’t really connect with that feeling of spite, but it’s something I feel like I’ve seen before, but done in a way that shows exactly the type of person the main character is and handles her job.

A PLACE TO CALL MY OWN:

I think you need to treat your characters like people. I found that it’s a lot easier to get a feel of your characters through character sheets where you have to write about how they respond to given situations, or even their favorite foods. It might not seem as though it’ll be effective to your plot, but to me any inch of familiarity can get me a better understanding of who my characters are. The way they react to situations is more telling of their personality rather than describing them to the audience. However, at the same time, I find the more I explore aspects about my character, I end up being able to rationalize everything about them and that just makes them more uncertain to me. I feel like that kind of over analyzation can be applicable to real life. You don’t need to know everything about another person, and if you feel the need to you’ll just end up growing obssessed with the idea of them and not the person themselves. There’s a balance you need to strike so you don’t end up retconning them the further along you get with your story.

CONNECT THE DOTS—HORROCKS:

Caitlin Horrock’s “It Looks Like This” contains usage of a lot of the advice that Perry gave us. Percy states in “Get a Job” that:

“It is a job that frames and sets into motion every element of your story or essay or poem- and it is your job to do the required research that will bring the language and tasks and schedule and perspective of your characters’ work to life. Google can do only so much for you. The library can only do so much for you. You need to write from the trenches” (145).

Horrock does this especially well in her own writing:

“...this quilt, with the crooked angles and the lazy handstitching, was machine-pieced out of salvaged, distressed, printed cottons, on a 1886 Singer treadle, filled with flat, all-cotton batting, and quilted with a size 7/9 needle using unwaxed thread. The pattern (Log Cabin: Barn Raising) was popular in northern Ohio from 1865-1895, and if I told you that’s when this quilt was made, you’d have to know a fair bit about quilts to be able to prove me wrong” (22).

I have no idea what’s going on here. I don’t even know what a treadle is. My knowledge of sewing extends as far as a home economics class I took in elementary school, but from what I read from this text, even when the narrator points out her work’s shortcomings, I can tell that she definitely knows what she’s talking about. I really like that she sounds so self-assured here because although she didn’t finish school, you can tell she’s very knowledgeable about quilting. These specifics are exactly what Percy expects to make the character’s occupancy believable. The audience doesn’t really have to know what the meaning behind the phrases the narrator was using, and Horrock is well aware of it in the last sentence of the quote. You’d have to be an experienced seamstress or have a wealth of knowledge about quilting to be able to overturn the information she’s feeding us, because any average person would not be able to discern whether or not it’s real or not. The general, ignorant public would usually just accept it as fact.

CONNECT THE DOTS—WANG: Write a response that connects the dots between any of the craft essays we have read and Weike Wang’s story “Omakase.”

Amy Tan states, “I’ve found that the way to capture the truth of a character- and beyond that, to reflect the truth of how I feel- is to write microscopically. To focus on all the tiny details that, to-gether, make sense of a character. Each person’s perspective is absolutely unique; my job is to unearth all the specific events and associations that form an individual consciousness. It’s not enough to show how someone behaves in a single moment- I want to provide the whole history and context that informs each action” (33).

I think Tan’s viewpoint really shines through “Omakase” because the way in which the woman responds to the chef when he brings up that his manager was Chinese may seem defensive, but to her it appeared as a jab at her ethnicity. She seems very passive, but throughout the story we see her pick apart and analyze every action and every interaction between the people around her. Through her long, winding monologues we can see her own inner conflict about her suspicions her boyfriend had yellow fever, questioning why her friends thought that she got lucky for finding someone white, all her ambivalence. It’s established that she’s an overthinker, so in the moment it makes perfect sense for her to speak up to the chef.

#week 6 #weeks 5 through 7

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artsy-alice · 7 years ago

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Hey Ali! I'm a fan of We Are Young, Sparks and your art! I'm currently writing a fic and having trouble with writing a conversation between a big group of characters. I remember that scenes like those in your fics are so well-written and they always flow so well. I hope it's not too much to ask but can you share some tips for writing those kinds of scenes?

I am not the best at giving advice like this, but I am very honoured that you like my writing enough to ask me… so I’ll try!

These are not very comprehensive, but they’re the most important things I take note of when writing group scenes/convos:

Be mindful of the topic of the conversation. It sets everything: the mood, character’s voices, how far the dialogue/scene could go, which characters are comfortable speaking up. Serious topics would be filled with more tension. Reactions to some things spoken may have stronger reactions: people walking out, fighting, shouting, glaring, etc. Casual topics are more chill and naturally light-hearted. You can include more laughter, jokes and side-comments to fill the time. Let your topic affect your characters and what they have to say.

Let the mood dictate who should do the talking. Choose ‘lead actors’ to guide the flow. Letting a lot of characters speak up sounds impressive but really it still depends on the situation. Even in group scenes, there will inevitably be several characters who would lead the conversation and it helps keep things smooth and uncluttered to figure out who those should be and stick to it. During casual conversations, characters might take even turns talking, e.g. someone being interrogated by their friends, who each have their own questions.For stuff like a meeting, or a party or a game, you’d usually have a host/leader. During arguments (specially fast-paced ones), it’s usually just two/three people on different sides, while others provide their dis/agreement and side-comments. There’s nothing wrong with letting your other characters just nod or shake their head in the background, until they feel strongly enough about a statement to step forward and also speak up.

Have a tally of ‘Things That Need to Be Said’ in a scene. It’s very useful and helps you decide on Who says What, which is a common challenge.For example, one of my lists looked a bit like this:The Boys Stage An Intervention (a scene from WAY Track 10) - Bisca’s birthday tmr –> Max bc he masterminded this shit - Natsu came for the food –> Natsu, Warren shushes everyone - Mystogan might like Bisca what u gonna do bout it Al? –> Max - The ‘You Haven’t Been Very Subtle About Ur Crush’ Speech –> Max or Gray bc they’re sensible dudes - The ‘She’s Too Good For Me’ Speech –> Al - The ‘Man Up And Tell Her You Fool’ Speech –> Gajeel, note doubtful reactions from Jet and Droy - Everyone agrees with the speech –> Gray initiates the reaction, Jet and Droy awkwardly reluctant, Natsu cracks joke to show support - “WE HAVE TO USE FORCE” –> tickle war ensues, Max leading - Principal Makarov Seal of Approval –> Makarov + Mystogan

Give your characters distinctive voices. Not all people talk the same way. It’s hard to explain this quickly but if it helps: if you read your dialogue out loud, it should sound like different people. Some speak more formally and others less. Some characters go straight to the point while some go around it first. Kids, teens and adults all talk differently. Chuckles, giggles, laughter, shrugs and other little actions can be part of their voice too. Some characters may stick to just making dismissive noises or gesturing rather than speaking to express themselves.

Expanding on that: Let voices depend on relationships and feelings. Not all people talk the same way to everyone. For example, Lucy might talk differently to Natsu compared to Gray, despite them being both guys and her friends. Heck, some couples or close friends finish each other’s sentences, and sometimes one will turn to the other for help in expressing their thoughts. Interactions feel more organic when you show that two characters can understand each other not just through what they say out loud.

Proximity affects which characters to highlight. And I mean both physical and social/emotional proximity.

For physical: If your characters are in a close huddle, there’s a tendency for them to feel comfortable to speak on their own terms. For example, a scene of characters all huddled together conspiring could have them all exchanging rapid-fire lines of dialogue. Sometimes when there’s a greater distance, only the characters closest to each other exchange lines and the people farther from them only drop a line or so occasionally. Like in the case of friends hanging out and chatting with each other, while their friend reading a book in the corner will just let out a side-comment or two every now and then.

For social/emotional: when choosing which character would respond next, keep in mind which character is the one currently speaking. I always keep this in mind for interruptions or criticism. For example in Sparks, with Laxus in a leader position and discussing something, I will usually only have Mira, Freed, or Erza interrupt him to say a counterpoint. Even though the others may have the same opinion, only some of them have the level of comfort with his character to openly express it, so they’re the logical and natural choices.

Don’t rely entirely on spoken dialogue. People do tend to talk over each other sometimes in real life, but body language also works to lessen the clutter in writing. You don’t always have to get everyone to say “Yes” or “No” out loud (unless, you’re writing a situation that requires them to vocalize that answer). People express positive/negative reactions differently. Some only nod or shake their head, some would just smile or frown, some look at their companions happily or uneasily. A thumbs up or thumbs down. Natsu and Cana would probably boo a boring suggestion. Similarly, when there’s a doubtful reaction, don’t just write about your characters “with doubtful expressions”. Instead, write some of them exchanging looks, some looking thoughtful, some whispering to each other.

Mention background actions/activity. Don’t let your characters just sit down and talk like robots while they’re in a group interaction (unless, ya know, it’s required for them to be sitting down all boring like that). If they’re standing around, mention someone who had leaned against the wall because the conversation was boring them. If it’s a tense huddle, you can mention one character sidling closer to another for comfort, someone shuffling on their feet nervously, or one’s grip tightening on another’s shoulder. If they’re hanging out or lounging, you can write about one of them getting comfortable in their seat, or someone who had started to pass around snacks, or the couple getting cozy while their friends were talking, etc etc. It always sets the scene and also is a good, subtle way to reestablish the group/character dynamics.

I tried my best, but these are pretty general tips. I’d give examples if I had more time. But I hope this helped, at least?

#fic talk #we are young #ali gives sucky tips #writing tips #artsyalice: ask #Anonymous #advice

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taes-baes-blog · 7 years ago

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Secret Crush / V Fluff

Summary: Taehyung has been planning to confess that he has a crush on you for a long time now, and he decided that tonight’s the dinner he would do so. However, with the constant teasing from his friends, he finds himself lost in his own thoughts and with lack of confidence.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff.

Word Count: 2.5k

“Yes, yes today is the day,” the words came out as a whisper from Taehyung’s mouth, as he stood in front of the mirror, inspecting his outfit and patting it down to make sure everything is in place. A well ironed white shirt that complimented his black blazer, that strongly contrasted with his silver hair was his choice of outfit. Quite simple, unlike his usual flashy clothes that scream GUCCI. A knock was what Tae needed to snap back to reality and stop staring at his reflection, “Yeah?”

The door opened with ease as Jimin popped his head in, “We’re going to be late if you don’t stop admiring yourself in the mirror.” He teased, flashing Tae a smile. The boys were invited to a dinner with a lot of close friends, it was in a rather fancy restaurant which would explain their choices of outfits. “I’ll be out in a minute, tell the others to start preparing to go.” Tae replied with a nod, as he turned back to the mirror, chest rising up and down. Once Jimin closed the door, Taehyung took a step closer and pointed at himself,

“You are Kim Taehyung. One of the biggest idols in South Korea, you stole the hearts of millions. You started with nothing but dreams, and still reached the top. You preformed all around the world,” he took in a breath, “And you’re having trouble with… telling someone you fancy them?” The boy’s fingers made their way to the temple of his nose as he sighed in disappointment. Truth is, this dinner was special. Everybody knew for a very long time about his so-not-subtle crush. She was stunning, funny, caring, kind, a bit wild and witty. She was you.

The two of you met a couple of years ago, when you came over to visit your childhood best friend, Jungkook. Ever since Tae laid his eyes on you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was rather pathetic, really. You had so much control over him and you didn’t even know.

In a way… yes, you and Jungkook were childhood friends, if JK wanted something from you, he would’ve showed it by now. But Tae still experienced a sinking feeling whenever he saw the two of you a tad too close for comfort. He quickly brushed his hair, and with a nervous chuckle aimed at himself, joined the rest of the boys near the front door and headed out.

The car came to a stop, indicating that the boys arrived at the restaurant.

“Ah! Finally, I am absolutely starving.” Jin cheered as he was the first one to open the car door, keeping it open for the rest of the members to come out, a mom to six indeed. Tae gulped as he stared at the place. Sure, he had attended many events before, but this was special. At least he wanted to make it special. Through the windows of the building he could see you sitting at the assigned table, chatting away with mutual close friends while waiting for everyone to arrive. Taehyung’s nerves nearly got the best of him, sending signals to his legs to turn around and get the hell out of there. Until he felt a hand hit his back lightly,

“Well Taetae, you better make a move tonight,” Yoongi’s voice sounded excited and Tae could feel his friend’s smirk form, “Or I will, I mean damn look at Y/N, she’s just – woah. You’re lucky it takes me so long to get started on something, because if I wasn’t this lazy I would of claimed this girl a long time ago.” Of course, it was just Yoongi teasing his fellow member, yet Tae felt his cheeks burn. Suga wasn’t wrong. You had your hair down, perfectly framing your face, giving you a cute look. There was a smile plastered across your face as you stood up to greet the BTS members that entered before him. Of course, you hugged Jungkook first, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek, which honestly made Tae’s eyes flash with jealousy as he watched you greet everyone else. That smile you always had could make the coldest heart melt. It was one of the things that Tae noticed about you, and also of the things he loved the most. And if that wasn’t enough you were wearing a painfully tight black dress, it wasn’t too short, keeping in mind it was a fancy dinner, but it hugged your body just right. The way Tae wished he could hug you every single night.

“Come on, V.” Suga called out, snapping Taehyung out of his thoughts, gesturing him to come inside.

“Taehyung!” You exclaimed the moment you saw him enter. You didn’t see each other for a while, but remained contact through daily texts. You were good friends with all of the boys, but actually talked to Tae the most, it felt like the two of you had the most fun when together, always goofing around and always filling the room with laughter.

Tae’s lips formed a smile as he extended his arms in a hug. Facial expression? Calm. On the inside? Screaming loudly, “Long time no see, Y/N. How have you been?”

You gave him a welcome hug before answering. However Tae didn’t quite catch on, as his mind was only screaming one thing, She gave JK a kiss on the cheek and not me? Really? Oh, God, Kim Taehyung shut the eff up. Don’t overreact it’s just a stupid ‘hi’ gesture. He mentally slapped himself as all of you sat down.

“Wow, really? And did you enjoy that trip?” Tae, once again caught in his thoughts snapped back to reality as he heard Hoseok ask.

Tae cocked an eyebrow, “What trip?”

“Oh, I was just talking about my recent trip to Australia.” You replied, smiling brightly.

Jungkook, who was sitting next to you nodded, “Well I bet it was special,” he started, eyeing Taehyung with a smirk, “You do get to experience all these special things, Y/N, I wonder if something really really special will happen to you soon to top it off with a cherry on top.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you questioned, not quite catching up as all of your friends burst into giggles. Tae felt his cheeks flash red as his blood quickly rushed up to his face,

“I mean. Special things happen to special people, right Taehyung?” Jungkook quickly added as a reply to the uncontrollable blush on Tae’s face.

Suga couldn’t contain his laughter as he slapped Taehyung’s back, “Too funny.” He wheezed, referring to his friend’s facial expression.

You weren’t quite sure what to make out of the situation, guessing it was just the boys’ inside joke between themselves, shrugging your shoulders you moved on with your conversation, catching up with your friends as well as eventually ordering your food.

Once the food arrived, Namjoon spoke up, rising his glass up in the air, “To a long lasting friendship!”

“And everything else.” Jimin whispered quietly before rising his glass as well, nudging Tae.

“Y/N,” Jungkook said as he looked down on his food, “My hyungs and I were wondering for a while, how come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

Did he REALLY just ask that?! Tae’s head was once again with a million of thoughts, his friends were really pushing it today, just to tease him. He bit his cheek from the inside as he listened on the conversation. But… it wasn’t a bad question, Why doesn’t she have a boyfriend though? She’s one in a million… any man would kill to call her as their own.

You choked on your food as you heard the question, “Kookie-“ you called out to your best friend before wiping your lips carefully, “I – uhh, I’m waiting for the right person I guess?” you laughed.

“Did you ever wonder if the right person may be closer than you think?” Suga added, winking.

“Please excuse me.” Taehyung suddenly announced as he stood up from the table and walked to the bathroom.

You tilted your head to the side, both as an answer to Yoongi’s question and as a reaction to Tae leaving the table. Now that you thought about it, Taehyung was seriously quiet today. He wasn’t goofing around like he usually did, hell, he barely said a word.

“Is he okay?” you asked the others, ignoring Yoongi’s question completely.

“OH, yeah,” Hoseok laughed, “Let him, he’s in one of his weird moods.” He added with air quotes.

“Get a grip Taehyung! Y/N is sitting right in front of you and you’re not saying anything. Stop letting them tease you like that.” Tae said to himself as he leaned on the sink and stared at the mirror. Once calm, he started to return to the table he noticed Jungkook’s arm over your chair, looking back at Tae and winking at him. Tae had a different feeling inside now, he wanted to rage at Jungkook, show him that you belong to him. In reality of course, they were all trying to annoy Taehyung in order to give him confidence he needed to talk to you about his feelings.

“Y/N, I forgot to say that you look absolutely stunning tonight,” Taehyung finally said out loud with a new-found confidence as he sat back down on his chair opposite you, glancing at your bare legs and shiny black heels, before flashing you a sly smile.

“Oh,” you blushed, “Thank you Ta-“ before you could finish, you felt a foreign feeling on your leg. Looking down you noticed Taehyung’s leg brushing across yours, gulping you finished your sentence, “Taehyung.” You looked at him, rising your eyebrows as he flashed you a smirk. His leg going dangerously high, that even JK noticed, and once he did he took his arm away and gave Taehyung an encouraging smile only to have a glare as a reply.

“Why don’t we finish up and have a walk in the gardens behind the restaurant?” Namjoon suggested, as he called for the waiter.

Taehyung was once again distant on the walk, not knowing what to say. Especially in the presence of his friends, it was awkward. Perhaps wanting to confess tonight was not a good idea. Thinking about it, he should’ve done it when the two of you were alone.

“You know guys, I love walks. They let you talk and just not focus on anything else,” Namjoon smiled, “Y/N how about you join us for the upcoming tour? At least around Asia.”

“Oh, I’ll think about it.” You replied, nodding.

“I’m sure it would make Taehyung really happy if you tagged along.” Jimin added.

Tae’s eyes widened, “Jimin!”

“And why is that?” you asked, with your usual smile.

“Hm, I guess this is our cue to go so Tae can explain it to you himself, perhaps?” Jin quickly said before Tae could jump on Jimin and probably beat his ass, quickly taking the boys a different direction.

Taehyung was biting his lip nervously as he watched his friends walking away, flashing him thumbs up. He avoided eye contact with you, breathing steadily.

“Tae… you okay?” You cleared your throat, trying to catch his attention, “You’ve been behaving oddly today… I mean first you’re quiet, then you give me mixed signals under the table – which is SO inappropriate by the way, and now this? I am beyond confused.”

Taehyung sighed, still refusing to make eye contact with you, “I sometimes wish you were better at reading signs I guess…”

“What signs are you on about?”

The boy could hear his heartbeat, it felt as if it was about to burst out of his chest, practically only one noise occupying his ears. Come on Tae… just tell her.

“Tae, we’ve been friends for a while now, you know you can tell me anything. What’s wrong tonight?” You asked once again, trying to catch his gaze with yours, but he would just look another way.

“Y/N, that’s the point. Nothing is wrong except the fact that we’re friends.” He finally replied. Fuck. That sounded as if he had a problem with you. It sounded so much better in his head.

“Excuse me??”

“No, you’re getting it wrong,” Tae was fast to correct himself, “I don’t want to be friends, Y/N! Whenever I see you getting close with Jungkook my heart literally aches to be that close to you. Whenever the other guys mention your name I feel my heart skipping a beat. I wish I could feel you in my arms every night. Whenever you smile I melt inside. Whenever I feel your touch I literally fucking scream inside. And this thing you have on tonight? It’s as if you knew what I wanted to do all along! You drive me crazy, Y/N, fucking crazy. I can’t get over the fact that you’re still not mine and it took me so long to tell you this. You’re meant to be mine, not anyone else’s. And I am absolutely nuts for you. Whenever someone else says anything about having you I want to show them you’re mine. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long now, every time we watched a movie together, every single damn time when you had that stupid smile spread across your face, every time I felt your hand brush against mine I had to resist the urge to just grab it and pull you closer to myself. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met and I knew I would have a problem with resisting you from day one.”

Silence. You stared at him, finally your eyes meeting his. Truth, yeah you knew. But you never expected him to confess like this. You knew but, not that much. You felt speechless, a knot forming in your stomach as you bit your lip. His eyes desperately looked into yours for an answer. You felt your heart going crazy, but he of course couldn’t know that.

“Y/N please say something, you already make me nuts don’t drive me even more insane. Y/N-“

“Taehyung,” you choked out as you grabbed his hand and took a step closer, not breaking eye contact. Your hand reached for his face, cupping his cheek as the other reached for his neck.

“Y/N, I’m so in love with you, and I don’t know how to deal with all these emotions inside of me. I just finally want to call you mine.” Tae whispered, his hand reaching for yours as you kept it on his cheek.

“Taehyung,” you repeated. Your face slowly leaning in, you could feel his breath against your lips, the hand you had on his cheek moved, allowing you to hug him around his neck as you stepped on your tip toes. Eyes closing, you could hear your heart hitting your chest. Taehyung’s strong hands suddenly found their way to your waist and pulled you closer, there was barely any space between your bodies as he breathed out, “Hearing my name come out from that pretty mouth of yours is enough to have me wrapped around your finger.”

You felt a smile form on your face as he leaned in, letting your lips finally make contact.

“I love you, too.”

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