#do what makes you enjoy it most - fiction is an agreement between what the writer says and what the reader interprets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supernaturallyobsessedchic · 4 years ago

Text

You’re It

[gif credit to @ehghtyseven]

Square: Mechanic!AU ( @supernatural-jackles tell me a story bingo)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Her life is falling apart around her. So she heads to her hometown to start fresh. But is she ready to take on what awaits her in Lawrence Kansas.

Warnings: Angst, abusive relationships, domestic assault, break ups, Lisa being a bitch, Death of a character, tears, strong language, smut ( 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it up boys), p in v, pwp (I think anyway)) things moving unrealistically fast but it’s a fiction so, screw realism.

Word Count: 5,400 ish

Bingo Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

A/N: This is a long one, I hope you enjoy it. :3

Tears streaming down her face as she drove down the long dark road on the rainy night.

All her belongings in the backseat and trunk of her car.

How she gave him so many chances was beyond her, but he is all out of chances. Out of chances to hurt her again.

An innocent dinner, and one accident brought out the beast in her, now ex-boyfriend.

She’s sure she’s still sporting the red hand mark on her face, a black eye and even a bruise on her shoulder.

But she was heading back to where it all started, her hometown of Lawrence Kansas.

She just reached the outskirts of the city when her car started to act up on her, making a scary noise that sounded expensive.

She saw a sign that caught her eye, made her think of her high school days.

Winchester Garage and Scrap.

Winchester. She knew a Dean Winchester. He was a grade higher than her; she was a junior and he was a senior when they met.

He was always so sweet to her. She even fell for Dean at one point, but it all shattered when she saw him kiss another girl at their prom. Ran home in tears.

She had no choice, her car was about to either die or explode, she had to pull in towards the parking lot.

She saw him.

He hasn’t changed at all, like he doesn’t age.

He came running out, signaling to her to shut her car off. She does as told without hesitation. The sound was scaring her this point.

Clearing her eyes of any tears, dry her face as she got out.

“That don’t sound good, lets get it looked at…” He says. “Wait, do I know you from somewhere?”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,”

“Your junior prom and my senior prom, damn it’s been a while.” She could tell he’s just making small talk, ignoring the elephant between them.

She nods in agreement.

“You okay? Did…did someone hit you?” he saw it. She knew he saw it. Either the slap mark or the black eye. Either way, he saw it.

“It doesn’t matter Dean; can you please fix my car and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Doesn’t matter? Someone hurt you Y/N. Come inside, I still have hot coffee going, lets get you out of this rain.”

She nodded following him inside.

In the waiting room she heard Dean typing away getting her car checked into his system, getting her paperwork started for her, leaving a few other spaces for her to fill in but other than that, he helped her get the ball rolling.

Walking back in the waiting room he saw how small she was making herself become in the room. Something big happened to her, and she wasn’t up for sharing it with him.

He walked up to her, seeing her look up at him with her big eyes, almost puppy like. He handed her the clipboard.

“I filled out what I could for you, I just need your personal info, address, phone number, that sort of thing.”

“Okay.” She says, setting down the coffee and taking the clipboard and pen.

He only saw her write down her phone number.

“You don’t live in town anymore?” he asked curiously.

“No I didn’t, but I’m moving back now.”

“Look, I know something big and bad went down between you and someone. I just…it pisses me off that someone hurt you.”

“You still care about me, why is that?”

“You were my girl; I still consider you my girl. I don’t know what I did that pissed you off, you never wanted to hear from my side.”

“You were kissing another girl on prom night, I saw you.”

“A girl, oh, you mean Abaddon, she’s had a huge crush on me and forced herself on me.”

Her heart was pounding hard against her.

“She…did she did more?”

“No, I pushed her off. And I went to look for you, and when I couldn’t find you, I knew what her plan was.”

“She did that on purpose, in hopes I’d see it and break up with you. So you’d be up for grabs for her…that bitch!”

“Y/N, that was almost ten years ago now, she married Michael, and they been married for about three years now…let it go.”

She hid her face in embarrassment, forcing the tears back.

“I was with Lucifer,”

“Michael’s brother, why he’s such a dick?”

“He comforted me after what I saw. And after I graduated, I followed him to LA. We tried to be together but he just…kept hurting me.”

She saw his jaw clench tight. A vein popping from the side of his neck. He was pissed, beyond pissed if there ever was such thing.

“First was he hit me when I didn’t want to have sex with him, I told him it was too fast. He broke my nose in the process. I left him for a few days, and he came crawling back, apologizing. I gave him a second chance. Second, he hits me when I was trying to talk to him…about something, I don’t remember. I woke up in the hospital with a concussion. The story was I fell down the stairs. He apologizes to me and I told him he has one last chance…”

“Y/N, why were you giving him so many chances?”

“I thought he loved me. But after tonight, I guess he never really loved me.”

“Does he know where you went?”

“I never told him, he stormed out of the house to a bar most likely. I packed up everything and just left. I may have sped rather…fast, I just wanted to get away from him.”

“Well, you’re safe here sweetheart.”

Her lips twitched upward in a small smile.

“What about you Dean? Did you find someone?”

“Not really, nothing but break ups. Lisa and I had a bad break up just recently. Told me how weak I was for not trying.”

“What, trying what?”

“Just being with her. I was always at work, away at college, going to classes. Working my old job with my Uncle, and then opening this bad boy. She thought I wasn’t trying. But really I was making this all for her, and the family she wanted. But I guess that wasn’t good enough for her.”

“No Dean, she wasn’t good enough. She was being a bitch.” She encourages.

“I guess, but now I’m just wanting to be single for a bit. Maybe the right girl will show up.” he smirks.

“Dean…we both have been hurt, let’s just go slow. Lets try to be friends again first.”

“I can live with that.” He says. “Lets get your car in here.”

He managed to push her car in, having her steer it in the garage.

“I’ll work on it first thing in the morning.” He mentions. “Now, since you just got into town, you probably don’t have a place to stay, do you?”

“Well, my dad is still here. I’m gonna stay with him.”

“Didn’t you hear what happened though?”

“I know, he’s been down hill since mom died from Cancer. He practically gave up. I hope I can help lift his spirits now that I’m home.”

“Well that, but there’s something else. Yesterday, did he tell you?”

She shook her head.

“He was diagnosed with prostate cancer. It had already spread, it’s too advanced for treatment. My dad told me.”

Her heart sank. “He didn’t mention that to me. But he did sound different when I spoke to him.”

“Do you want me to go with you? Get you settled in?”

“Please.” Her eyes glistened with more tears. “I don’t want to go alone; I don’t know what I’m in for when I see him.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, let’s get your things in my truck and we’ll get going.”

“Do you still have her? The impala?”

“I do, she’s tucked away at my house in the garage. I take her out once in a while. Maybe tomorrow I can give you a ride in her. Take your mind off things.”

“I’d love that Dean, thank you.”

Giving her a kind smile, he began moving her things from her car to his truck. Pulling the tarp cover over the bed to protect whatever he got in the bed of the truck.

Driving through the streets of Lawrence she looked out her window, seeing all that has changed.

“So, what do you do since High school?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Oh nice, got any books out yet?”

“I have a few out there. All romantics.”

“Working on anything new?”

“No, been kind of in a rough spot lately.”

“Oh, with…I gotchyou now. Well, don’t worry, I’m sure once things calm down it’ll come to you.”

“I hope so.”

He pulled down the familiar street. The same street she grew up on. Pulling into the familiar driveway seeing the familiar family house.

“He’s still here, after all these years.”

“Yeah, my guess is he misses your mom, you, your brothers.”

She nods, getting out.

She walks up the path to the front door, Dean behind her carrying some of her bags.

She see’s one of her brothers stepping out of the house.

“Hey shortie.”

“Hey big bro.” she says. Getting a big hug from him.

“You want us to hunt this fucker down?”

“No, he’s not worth it.” she says pulling away.

“Hey Dean,”

“What’s up Peirce.”

“Nothing new. Oh, Becky and I are expecting, she wants to invite you to the baby shower.”

“That soon?” Y/N asks.

“You remember Becky?”

“Oh that Becky, okay, I get why she’s doing it this early.” She giggles. “She should wait, what if it’s a girl and you got all boy stuff? Or a boy and all girl stuff?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure she has a plan for it.” He says. “Here, come in guys.”

“How’s dad?” Y/N asks entering into the foyer.

“Not good. His nurse is here. She thinks, with him knowing his family is here he might be heading out soon.”

She nods. “I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see him tomorrow. Because I’m sure he wants to see you.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, looking up at Dean he gives her a sweet smile.

“She has her stuff in my truck if you want to help me move her in?” Dean asks.

“Sure thing.”

Her brother and Dean begin making trips from his truck to the house. While she wonders the house. Seeing everything as she left it. Finding a picture of her mom with her, her dad, and her two brothers. A tear finding it’s way to the surface, a tight feeling building tighter in her chest.

So much has happened so far, and she is making a big change in her life.

Hearing the door close takes her out of her haze.

“Alright that’s the last of them, Y/N, I’m gonna head. I’ll pick you up around eight, Fridays are my short days.” Dean says coming up behind her.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

Dean nods with a smile, offering a hug. She doesn’t hesitate. She needed a hug.

He takes her in close and tight to his chest.

“You’re okay now, you’re safe. Everything is going to be okay sweetheart.” He whispers.

She nods against his chest. Holding back the tears.

He pulls away, giving her one final smile before kissing the top of her head.

“See you tomorrow.” He says. She nods again as he walks out the door, heading home.

“Sis?”

“I’m not okay.” She chokes out before a sob wracks through her.

Her brother doesn’t hesitate in hugging her quickly as she broke down.

“It’s okay baby sis, I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you again. Like Dean said, your safe.”

She nods as she cries against her big brother.

The next morning she woke up, still heavy with memories of last night but the light for a hopeful future tried to beat down the heaviness she felt.

She got up to take a quick morning shower.

Once she got out and cleaned up she saw her nurse in the kitchen getting what looked like a water mug.

“You my dad’s nurse?” she asked sweetly.

“I am honey, he’s doing okay right now, but his body is getting tired.”

“I know, my mom was the same with her cancer.”

“It can take a big toll on the body. If you want to see him he’s up.”

She nods. Not thinking twice she heads up to his room. Seeing her dad lying in bed, peacefully dozing off.

“Hi daddy.”

“Hey buttercup.” He says groggily with a smile.

He saw the remaining evidence of last night.

“Do I need to send my boys after that son of a bitch?”

“No dad, he’s not worth it. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Good. You know you always have a home here.”

She smiles, taking a seat on his bed. Taking his hand in hers. Her dad rubbing a thumb atop her knuckles.

“I know this sucks sweetie, you getting back after all this time and I’m dying.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me dad. I got Peirce and Zane, and Dean too.”

“You and that boy back together?”

“We’re just trying for friends right now dad. We both have been through really shitty relationships.”

“He made you so happy.”

She nods. “I know dad, he still does. He’s taking me out for a ride in his car when he gets off at the garage.”

“That’s nice of him.”

She nods.

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you as well.”

“What is it?”

“You’re getting this house, I want you to have a family in this house so you can tell your kids all the good stories, the bad stories. Tell them you grew up in this house.”

“Dad, I don’t know if I can…”

“The boys are moving back, Zane got himself a job with John Winchester on the police force.”

“Zane still a cop, even after all the crap that’s gone down?”

“He’s a strong man now.”

She nods. “That he is.”

“Peirce and his wife, his wife got a job as a news anchor here, and he is gonna work with Dean in the garage.”

“He never mentioned that to me.”

“Yeah, Peirce has a knack for fixing up cars. Then again, Dean did show him all sorts of stuff after you left. He didn’t know what to do.”

“Then again, he and Dean did graduate at the same time.”

“Yes, that too. But the family is going to be here.” Her dad says, bringing a hand up to her cheek, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. Her hand helping him hold it there.

“It’s going to be okay Buttercup. You won’t be alone here.”

“I know daddy.”

“I love you all so much.”

She fought the sobs so hard, she brought herself down to his chest, hugging him gently.

“I love you too Dad.”

That afternoon, she spent some time walking around the town. Seeing things being the same and different all at once. She saw what used to be Dairy Queen get turned into a Starbucks.

Taking her dad’s car she drove around the town, even finding Dean’s garage not far from the city limits.

Pulling in, she decided to stop by and visit.

Walking in she saw a line of people, one woman growing impatient turning around to leave.

This is a bad time. She thought. Until she saw a certain someone at the desk.

“Dean?”

“Hey Sweetheart,” Dean says, typing away. “I would love to visit but I’m really busy.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to help?”

“Yeah, just show me the desk work, I want to help you out.”

“Okay, come around here.”

Dean showed her how to fill out the information in the computer system, giving the customers their papers to fill out.

Showing her how to process them through the system. Showing what to do when the work is done, and what to do at the end of the day.

He was shocked at how fast she worked on the computer. Typing faster than he could. The line got shrunk down quickly, everyone getting checked in.

“Nice.”

“I am a computer nerd too after all.”

“I forget, you’re like Sammy.”

“Now, get to work so we can catch up.”

He chuckles as he turns around to the garage, getting everyone’s cars in and working on them.

Peirce popping in covered in oil and grease.

“Hey sis, got anymore?”

“One more, You guys are quick.”

“A lot of it is oil changes and tire rotations. Some are break pad changes. So, some simple ones.”

“Last one is a rattling noise in her engine.” She says handing him the file.

“Alright, I’ll get to it.” he says taking the file with the keys attached.

She smiles rolling her eyes, shaking her head. In the back of her mind, she thinks she may have found a good day job. It’s simple, fast paced for sure, but she loved doing it, nonetheless.

The workday was coming to a close, Y/N finishing up the paperwork.

“Y/N, We’re done, Dean’s also almost done with your car.” Peirce says coming in behind her.

“Okay.”

“You drove that thing hard, talk about perfect timing.”

“How bad was it?”

“Well, a cylinder burst, and the belt broke. That thing was about to blow.”

“How was he able to fix the cylinder?”

“Chevy’s are easy to come by. He had the right parts, and he was able to fix that, and get you a new belt.”

“He was in here last night wasn’t he, he didn’t go home.”

Peirce held his hands up. “You have to talk to him about that one.”

She shook her head. “Somethings going on, I know it.” she gets up from the desk and heads into the garage.

Seeing him working under the hood of her car.

“Dean, did you go home at all last night?”

“Why?” he asks, grunting as he tightened parts to her engine.

“Its just, engine work, now I’m no expert but that takes a lot of time to work on. Sure you had the parts but, to be done with my car this fast when any other shop would be done with it in a few days. You got done with it in one.”

He got up, wiping his hands. “What are you trying to say?”

“Is there a reason you’re not wanting to go home? Working at odd hours?”

“You sound just like Lisa.” He grumbled.

“Dean, I’m just worried about you is all. I don’t want you working yourself to death.”

“I’m not working myself to death.”

“Then why were you here last night and not at home resting?”

His jaw clenched, not wanting to talk about it.

“Dean, if you’re wanting to try again, you have to open up a bit. I opened up everything I could to you yesterday.”

He looked down at his hands, wiping his hands out of nervous habit.

“We both might have something in common, we had abusive relationships.”

“She…she didn’t…”

“She’d hit me, punch me. And for a small girl, she can hit. She had no reason. I’d come home late, she’d hit me, hurt me. I get home early, same thing. She wanted more with me, but I didn’t. All the late hours working, was to stay away from her. I moved out after I broke up with her. she knows where I live. One night she tried to…”

“Did you call the police, get a restraining order on her?”

“I did, but it doesn’t matter, apparently when guys go through this it’s no big deal.”

“It is too a big deal Dean.”

They sat in silence for a beat, Y/N trying to think what she could do.

“Can’t you move again?”

“I could but I don’t want to move too far from work, you know.”

The sound of tire screeches outside tore them from their conversation.

Peirce came running in as fast as he could.

“Dean, dude, she’s coming!”

“She, as in?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, Lisa. And dude, she’s pissed.”

“Call your dad, now Dean.” Y/N ordered.

Dean did as told. When another set of tires came tearing in.

“Winchester!”

Y/N saw red. Abusive partners, she was getting really tired of how sick and ugly people would get with people they ‘loved’.

She was in auto pilot. She marched out of the garage and towards Lisa.

“Out of the way bitch.”

“He’s not in there skank.”

“The fuck did you call me?”

“Apparently you’re deaf too, here, let me say it slower for you. Skank.”

“You fuckin’ bitch!” she screams. And begins throwing punches at her, wildly.

Y/N able to dodge most of them, blocking the others that got close.

“Y/N stop, the cops are coming!” Peirce warned.

“I’m not doing anything she is!”

“Fuck off!” Lisa screamed.

Dean came into view from the garage. Tearing Lisa’s attention from Y/N to him.

“There you are, the fuck are you doing?”

“We’re done Lisa, I told you.”

“You don’t get to end shit with me Winchester.”

Peirce got himself between her and him, y/n not far behind.

Lisa landed a strong punch on Peirce.

Y/N’s eye’s bulged in rage. She had grabbed onto Lisa’s shirt from behind, pulling her away from her brother before she could land another punch on him. But pulling her so hard she lost her footing and fell on her rear.

“You don’t touch him, or my brother you hear me bitch!”

“The fuck you care, you left him first!”

“At least I didn’t lay a hand on him.”

Lisa jumped up, ready to throw more punches, when a man in uniform. John Winchester came in behind, pulling Lisa’s arms behind her, cuffing her.

“What the fuck!”

“You’re under arrest for domestic assault and aggravated assault.” He says firmly.

“Bull shit, you got no proof!”

“I have my POV cam on honey, I was sitting not far from you. I saw everything.”

“Fuck off!” she screeched.

“No one hurts my son and gets away with it. Lets go.” He pulls her to his cruiser.

Y/N turned her attention to her brother.

She saw Dean sat next to him, handing him an ice pack.

“You okay Peirce?”

“Damn she can throw a punch.”

“Yeah, she’s bad news.” Dean goes.

“Yeah but ignore that, my sis is super woman, she just fucking tossed her like she was nothing!” Peirce laughed with a proud smile.

“Well, no one hurts my family and gets away with it.”

She saw Dean nod lowly. “And no one hurts my friends and gets away with it.”

Dean looks up at her, a confused furrow on his brow before he smiled sweetly at her comment.

“Now I think someone is safe to go home from work now.” She says.

“Yeah, thank god she’s been caught.”

She drove her dad’s car back home, seeing more cars by her dad’s house.

Getting out, she hurries inside.

The house full of family members she hasn’t seen in years.

Her nurse coming down the stairs.

“He just took a turn; I suggest saying your goodbyes.”

Her eyes filled with thick tears; a sob tore at her throat.

She felt two pairs of hands on her shoulders. Looking to her right she see’s Peirce. And Zane on her left.

The siblings head upstairs to his room. Their dad laid there, his breathing labored and shallow. Clearly suffering.

Zane taking one side of the bed, Y/N and Peirce walking around to the other side. The three holding their dads hand.

“Daddy, we’re here. Everything is okay.” Y/N says.

“Yeah dad, we’ll be okay. We’ll look after Y/N.” Zane says.

“I’ll take good care of the house.” Y/N adds.

“We’ll take care of each other.” Peirce adds after her.

His breathing quickened, pained. They squeezed his hands.

“Daddy it’s okay, you can rest now. We’ll be okay.” Y/N says, holding back the tears.

They felt their dad give a slight squeeze of their hands before his hand going limp.

He let out his last breath, his monitors flatlining.

Y/N let out a pained sob as her hands flew to her mouth to hold back yells of the pain of loss.

Pierce quickly brought his sister in his arms. Zane walking around the bed, hugging his brother and sister as they allowed themselves to cry.

It seemed like forever, they exited the room, slowly descending the stairs.

Y/N see’s Dean by the door. She quickly descended the last few steps and walks over to him.

Dean didn’t hesitate to hold her closely as she cried against him.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay sweetheart. I got you.”

After an hour of hanging with the family, their extended family leave for the night. The brothers staying, Dean as well.

They sat in the family room, Y/N sitting against Dean, Peirce sitting with his wife and Zane sitting on the end of the couch.

“If you want, one of us can stay here with you.” Peirce says.

“But babe, the baby shower.” Becky begs.

“I think it can hold until I feel okay again, please.”

“Okay, that seems fair.” She says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay baby.” Peirce says, kissing atop Becky’s head.

“I think I’ll be fine,” Y/n says.

“I can stay with her. Besides, I don’t feel safe at my house despite Lisa being arrested and everything.”

“You’re more than welcome Dean.” Zane says.

Peirce nodding in agreement. “Totally.”

“Besides, we probably should go, get some rest and all that.” Peirce says, after seeing Becky yawn.

They all got up from the couch, exchanging hugs with their sister and sister in law.

“Call us if you need anything okay shortie.”

“Will do big bro.” she smiles

That night, she got out of the shower with red puffy eyes. She managed to get totally dried off and dressed for bed.

Heading to her room she finds Dean dressed in his pajamas.

“Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“I don’t mind really. Because, screw going slow, I need you right now.” She says a sob cracking through the surface.

Dean hurries to her, bring her in his arms.

“I’m right here sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers.

He manages to help her into bed, he climbs in on his side of the bed and quickly wraps his arms around her as she continued to cry her eyes out.

He holds her close, placing a kiss atop her forehead, a silent promise that he’s there.

She woke up the next morning, feeling like she didn’t sleep a wink.

She saw the bed was empty, no sign of Dean but the kitchen smelling of breakfast.

She gets up and heads down to the kitchen. Seeing him dressed and by the stove cooking bacon and eggs.

“Morning beautiful girl.”

“Morning handsome.” She smiles.

“How do you like your bacon?”

“Well not burnt.”

“Come on, crispy bacon is good!” he says playfully.

“Blah!” she fake gags.

Dean rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

“I take it you didn’t sleep good.”

“No, I’m tired.”

“Well, I’m off today. My shop is closed on the weekends. So, we can stay in, clean up the house. Or I can take you on that drive.”

“I want to see baby.”

“A drive it is.”

After a delicious breakfast, she quickly showers off last nights tears. And dresses quickly, eager to see his 67 impala.

She walks out the door to find it parked in her driveway behind her dad’s car.

Dean sitting on her hood.

“She’s still as beautiful as ever.” She says walking up to him.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

“Stop you hopeless romantic.”

He chuckles hopping off the hood.

“I’m only a hopeless romantic for you.”

She giggles.

“There’s that smile, ready for a nice drive?”

“So ready.”

He walks around to the driver side as she gets in the passenger side.

He managed to find a nice spot in an abandoned field, overlooking the city of Lawrence.

“Thank you Dean, I really enjoyed this.”

“Glad you did. I enjoyed having you here.”

She looks up towards him, her lips finding his in a sweet and loving kiss.

She felt his hand come up behind her head, brushing through her hair, as he deepened the kiss.

“Sweetheart, if we keep this up, I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay Dean,” she says against his lips. Kissing him hard.

He adjusts himself; she adjusts herself with him as he gently guides her down to her back. His hands exploring her body, her hands feeling his strong arms, shoulders, and chest. Shedding their clothes as everything escalates, their lips not leaving.

She laid their completely bare and naked before him. She can feel his eyes roam her body; she felt the urge to hide herself away.

“So gorgeous.” He whispers.

His lips finding hers again, distracting her from his member hardening against her thigh.

She ground her hips against him, pulling a grunt out of him. He pulls away from her kiss.

“Are you sure?”

“Like I said last night, I don’t care anymore right now, I need you Dean. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, you sure?”

“So sure, you are it.”

He smiles proudly, kissing her again as he slowly brought himself into her.

She moaned against his lips as he got himself completely seated within her.

“You good?”

“So good.” She says, grinding her hips, urging him to move.

He begins a steady rhythm, not too hard or rough. Just making her feel good, good enough to forget all that has happened int heir life.

His hands braced against he passenger, the window down giving him a good grip as he drove into her.

“Fuck, faster Dean.” She begs.

His hips begin speeding up in intensity, drawing them closer to their end.

“Fuck sweetheart, you feel so amazing.”

“You too baby,” she pants.

A familiar heated coil builds up in intensity in her belly with every pounding he gave her. He began to speed up, he was close as well.

“Fuck Dean, close…”

“Go for it baby.” He pants.

Her walls clamp hard around him, spurring him into his end as she could feel a rope of thick, sticky come spill out of him. As he came with a guttural groan, her name falling off his lips.

His hips spudder against her as he kept coming, throwing her in a second orgasm, her legs shaking around him as she wrapped them around his waist. His name fall off her lips in a small scream as she came.

His hips thrust slowly to a stop as they came down from their highs, his lips finding hers once again.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“Much better, now that I have you.”

He smiles proudly again before kissing her again. His hips coming to life again.

“You got the stamina of a teenager, you know that.”

“You’re worth making love to for hours baby, you up for round two?”

“Give it to me baby.”

She can’t help but think of all that’s happened in the course of twenty four to forty eight hours.

She left her boyfriend who never truly loved her, returned home to start fresh.

Thankful she found her first love still waiting for her, ready to give her all the love he was about to give her.

As he drove down the long stretch of road back into town, she sat close to his side with his arm around her. Feeling his warmth radiating off of him. She snuggles close to him. Feeling him give her an assuring squeeze as he drove back to her house.

She was ready for what life was about to throw her way with her knight in shining armor for who she knows she can trust with all her heart, and who she knows really loves her.

A/N: What’d you think? Let me know, feedback is always appreciated. :3

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @jayankles, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @flamencodiva, @akshi8278, @megzdoodle, @misfit0118, @anotherspnfanfic, @shawnie74, @lyarr24, @missmemoire09, @racetrackheart, @spnbaby-67

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 4/18/2021

95 notes · View notes

oscopelabs · 4 years ago

Text

Christopher Nolan: The Man Who Wasn’t There by Daniel Carlson

So, we’ll start with the fact that all movies are make-believe. It’s a bunch of actors on a set, wearing costumes and standing with props picked out by hordes of people you’ll never see, under the guidance of a director, saying things that have been written down for them while doing their best to say these things so that it sounds like they’re just now thinking of them. We all know this—saying it feels incredibly stupid, like pointing out that water is wet—but it’s still worth noting. There is, for example, no such person as Luke Skywalker. Never has been, never will be. He was invented by a baby boomer from Modesto. He is not real.

And we know this, and that’s part of the fun. We know that Luke Skywalker isn’t real but is being portrayed by an actor (another boomer from the Bay Area, come to think of it), and that none of the things we’re seeing are real. But we give ourselves over to the collective fiction for the greater experience of becoming involved in a story. This is one of the most amazing things that we do as humans. We know—deep down, in our bones, without-a-doubt know—that the thing we’re watching is fiction, but we enter a state of suspended reality where we imagine the story to be real, and we allow ourselves to be moved by it. We’ve been doing this since we developed language. The people telling these stories know this and bring the same level of commitment and imagination and assurance that we do as viewers, too. The storyteller knows that the story isn’t real, but for lack of a better way to get a handle on it, it feels real. So, to continue with the example, we’re excited when Luke Skywalker blows up the Death Star because he helped the good guys win. For us viewers, in this state of mutually reinforced agreement, that “happened.” It’s not real, but it’s “real”—that is, it’s real within the established boundaries of the invented world that we’ve all agreed to sit and look at for a couple of hours. Every viewer knows this, and every filmmaker acts on it, too. Except:

Christopher Nolan does not do this.

There’s no one single owner or maker of any movie, and anyone who tells you different has their hand in your pocket. But there’s an argument to be made that when somebody both writes and directs the movie, it’s a bit easier to locate a sense of personhood in the final product. (This is all really rough math, too, and should not be used in court.) Christopher Nolan has directed 11 films to date, and while his style can be found in all of them, his self is more present in the ones where he had a hand in the shaping of the story—and crucially, not just that, but in the construction of the fictional world. Take away the superhero trilogy, the remake of a Norwegian thriller, the adaptation of a novel, and the historical drama, and Nolan’s directed five films that can reasonably be attributed to his own creative universe: Following (1998), Memento (2000), Inception (2010), Interstellar (2014), and Tenet (2020). These movies all involve themes that Nolan seems to enjoy working with no matter the source material, including identity, memory, and how easily reality can be called into question when two people refuse to concede that they had very different experiences of the same event. Basically, he makes movies about how perception shapes existence. How he does this, though, is unlike pretty much everybody else.

Take Inception. After a decade spent going from hotshot new talent to household name (thanks to directing the two highest-grossing Batman movies ever made, as well as the first superhero movie to earn an Oscar for acting), he had the credit line to make something big and flashy that was also weird and personal. So we got an action movie that, when first announced in the Hollywood trades, was described as being set within “the architecture of the mind.” Although this at first seemed to be a phrase that only a publicist could love, it turned out to be the best way to describe the film. This is a film, after all, about a group of elite agents who use special technology to enter someone’s subconscious dream-state and then manipulate that person’s memories and emotions. The second half of the film sees team leader Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) and the rest of the squad actually descend through multiple nested subconsciouses to achieve their goal, even as they’re chased every step of the way by representations of Mal (Marion Cotillard), Dom’s late wife, who committed suicide after spending too much time in another’s subconscious and lost the ability to discern whether she was really alive or still in the dream-world.

I say “representations” because that’s what they are: Mal is long dead, but Dom still feels enormous guilt over his complicity in her actions, and that guilt shows up looking like Mal, whose villainous actions (the representation’s actions, that is) are just more signs of Dom not being able to come to grips with his own past. It’s his own brain making these things up and attacking itself, and it chases his entire crew down three successive layers of dream worlds. You get caught up in the movie’s world as a viewer, and you go along because Nolan is pretty good at making exciting movies that feel like theme-park rides. You accept that Dom and everybody else refer to Mal as Mal and not, say, Dom. Dom even addresses her (“her”) when her projection shows up, speaking to her as if she’s a separate being with her own will and desires and not a puppet that he’s pretending not to know he’s controlling. It’s only later that you realize that the movie is in some ways just a big-budget rendition of what it would look like to really, really want to avoid therapy.

Which is what makes Nolan different from other filmmakers:

None of this is actually happening.

Again, yes, it’s happening in the sense that we see things on screen—explosions, chases, a fight scene in a rotating hallway that’s still some of the best practical-effects work in modern action movies—but within the universe of the film, none of what’s going on is taking place in the real world. It’s all unfolding in the subconsciouses of Dom’s teammates. In the movie’s real world, they’re all asleep on a luxury jet. They’re “doing” things that have an outcome on the plot, but Nolan sets more than half the movie inside dreams. It’s a movie about reality where we spend less time in reality than in fantasy. Half the movie is pretend.

For Nolan, filmmaking is about using a dazzling array of techniques to create a visual spectacle that distracts the viewer from the fact that the real and true story is happening somewhere else: in the fringes we can’t quite see, in the things we forget to remember, or even in the realm of pure speculation.

Memento arrived like (and with) a gunshot. It seemed to come out of nowhere and leave people struggling to describe it, and they usually wound up saying something like “it goes backward, but also forward at the same time, except some parts are actually really backward, like in reverse, so it’s maybe a circle?” Written by Christopher Nolan from an idea originally shared with him by his brother, Jonathan (who eventually turned it into a very different short story titled “Memento Mori”), the film follows a man named Leonard (Guy Pearce) who has anterograde amnesia and can’t form new memories, so every few minutes he sort of just resets and has to figure out where he is, what he’s doing there, and so on. He’s on the hunt for the man who attacked him and his wife, leaving his wife dead and Leonard in his present condition, which you can imagine does not make the gathering and synthesis of clues easy.

What’s more, Nolan puts the viewer in Leonard’s shoes by breaking the film’s linear timeline into two halves—call them A and B—and then alternating between them, with the added disorientation coming from the fact that one of those timeline halves plays out backward, with each successive scene showing what happened before the one you previously saw. So, if you numbered all the scenes in each timeline in chronological order, they’d look something like this when arranged in the final film: Scene A1, Scene B22, Scene A2, Scene B21, Scene A3, Scene B20, etc. You get why it messed with people’s heads.

As a result, we spend most of the movie pretty confused, just like Leonard, whose suppositions about what might or might not take place next begin to substitute for our own understanding of the film. It’s not until the end that we find out the shoe already dropped, and that Leonard killed the original attacker some time ago and has since been led on a series of goose chases by his cop friend, Teddy (Joe Pantoliano), who’s planting fake clues to get Leonard to take out other criminals. In other words, we realize that the story we thought was happening was pretend, and the real story was happening all around us, in the margins, memories, and imaginations of the characters. The most honest moment in the movie is the scene where Leonard hires a sex worker to wait several minutes in the bathroom while he gets in bed, then make a noise with the door to wake him, at which point his amnesia has kicked in again and he briefly thinks that the noise is being made by his wife. He’s wrong, of course, but this is the only time in the movie that we actually know he’s wrong. It’s the only time we truly know what’s real and what isn’t.

Yet you can’t talk about Memento without talking about Following, Nolan’s first feature. Although the film’s production was so extremely low-budget you’d think they were lying—the cast and crew all had day jobs and could only film on the weekends, so the thing took a year to make—Nolan’s willingness to dwell completely in a make-believe world that the viewer never knows about is already evident. It’s about a bored young writer who starts following strangers through the city for kicks, only for one of those strangers to catch him in the act and confront him. The stranger introduces himself as Cobb—I kindly submit here that it is not a coincidence that this is also Leonardo DiCaprio’s character’s name in Inception, but you already knew that—and reveals himself to be a burglar, spooked by the tail but willing to take on an apprentice. Cobb trains the writer to be a burglar, only for the situation to ultimately wind up implicating the writer himself in a complex blackmail plot. You see, the writer didn’t latch onto Cobb in a crowd; Cobb lured him in. The whole movie has been Cobb’s story all along, with the writer as a patsy who doesn’t understand the truth until the final frame. None of what we saw mattered, and everything that actually happened happened off-screen just before or just after we came in on a given scene. It’s like realizing the movie you’re watching turned out to be just deleted scenes from something else. You can’t say Nolan didn’t show his hand from the start.

That same general concept—that the movie we’re watching is actually the knock-on effect of a movie we’ll only glimpse, or maybe never even see—underpins Nolan’s latest movies, Interstellar and Tenet, too. Interstellar has some concepts that are iffy even for Nolan (it makes total sense for someone to do something for another out of love, but somewhat less sense that that love somehow reshapes the physical universe), but it’s still a big, bold approach to exploring how time and perception shape our actions. As the film follows its core group of astronauts while they search for potentially habitable new worlds, they encounter strange visions and experiences that turn out to be their handiwork from the future reflected back at them. Sure, it raises the paradoxical question of whether they had a first mission before this that failed, so now their future selves are intervening to make the second one (which feels like the first one to the astronauts the whole time) successful, and all sorts of other stuff that your sophomore-year roommate would like to talk with you about in great detail. But so much of what we see isn’t the stuff that happens, or that winds up being important. There’s the great scene where the astronauts land on a planet near a black hole, which is wreaking havoc on how time passes on the planet. A minor disaster delays their departure for the main ship still in orbit, but when the landing team returns, they find that more than 20 years have “passed” since they left, with the one remaining team member on the ship having spent more than two decades waiting for them to return. It’s a moment of genuine horror, and it underscores the fact that what we thought was the one true reality was just the perspective of a handful of characters we happened to follow for a few minutes. There were whole things happening that changed the plot and story and direction of everything that would follow, and we never saw them; we didn’t even know we’d missed them.

Tenet is, of course, the latest and most recursive exploration yet of Nolan’s obsession with showing us a story that turns out to be mostly fake. It is almost perversely hard to even begin to explain the film (Google “Tenet timeline infographic” and have fun). One way to think about it is to imagine if the two timeline halves from Memento somehow existed at the same time, with people moving both forward and backward through time while inhabiting the same location. Basically, some scientists figured out how to “invert” the basic entropy of objects, so that they exist backward: you hold out your hand and the ball on the ground leaps up into it, because you’ve dropped it in the future, so now you can pick it up, etc. … Look, it doesn’t get easier to understand.

The upshot is, though, that we spend the film following the Protagonist (that’s his name), a CIA agent played by John David Washington, as he’s tasked with tracking down the source of the inverted stuff to figure out what’s unfolding in the future and why it’s suddenly started to make itself known in the present. He gets marginally closer to understanding the truth by the end of the film, but because this is a Nolan film that is maybe more expressly about the nature of reality than anything he’s ever done, his journey doesn’t so much take him forward as it does in a large circle. Because, and stop me if you’ve heard this, the true story of Tenet is taking place outside the Protagonist’s actions and knowledge, alongside him but invisible, often steered by people who themselves are moving “backward” through time and thus have already met the Protagonist in the future and are old friends with him by the time he meets them in his youth. Even more brain-liquefying, some of these people have been working under the orders of the Protagonist himself—the future version, that is—because his past self has already achieved the victories that allowed him to send the future people backward through time to meet his younger self so they’d achieve the victories that allow him to etc., etc., etc.

With Tenet, Nolan didn’t just make a movie that challenged perception, like Memento, or that dwelt in fiction, like Inception. He made a movie that can only be understood (to whatever degree true understanding is possible) by rewatching the movie itself, over and over, as the multiple timelines and harrowingly complex bits of cause and effect come into some kind of focus. The whole movie itself isn’t happening, in a sense, but is just the ramifications of something else, the echoes of a shout whose origin we’re straining to pinpoint. It both is and isn’t.

Christopher Nolan is a talented director of action-driven suspense thrillers. He’s canny at controlling the audience’s emotions, and he knows how to put on a dazzling show. Plus he’s fantastic at picking when to deploy non-computer-generated effects for maximum impact. But you could say that about a lot of other directors, too. What sets Nolan apart from the rest, and what makes him a director to keep watching and returning to, is the teasing way his movies wind up being just deceptive enough to fool you into thinking that you know what’s going on, then just harsh enough to disabuse you of that notion. Looking at what seems to drive him, I don’t think Tenet is his best movie-movie, but it’s his most-Nolan movie. It’s almost a culmination of his continuing efforts to tell stories where what you see and what actually happens are two different things. It’s not that he makes puzzles to solve. There is no solving these movies. Rather, it’s that he sculpts these delicate artifacts that only let you see two dimensions at a time, never all three, no matter how you twist your head. Craning back and forth, you can almost see the whole thing, but not quite. Some part of it will always have to exist in your memory. And that’s where Christopher Nolan likes to be.

#chrisopher nolan #tenet #memento #following #following movie #christopher nolan film #inception #inception film #memento film #tenet film #interstellar #interstellar film #oscilloscope laboratories #musings #film writing #beastie boys

33 notes · View notes

harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

Text

An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 3)

Pairing: Medic X Reader

Words: 1408

Warnings:

- Swearing

- Some Gore and Body Horror

- Surgical/Medical Situations

- Some Slight Nudity (Half Nudity)

Enjoy!

The cool of the underground seeped through your uniform, even past the extra layer that was Medic’s coat. Probably the most high-tech part of the building, the basement level was a labyrinth of concrete, a dull grey with only a singular, painted red line that ran continuously across the walls on either side. It was quiet for the most part, save for the occasional groan of pipes and the flicker of the lights.

You had passed by many doors, but hadn’t been allowed to take in your surroundings properly. You had all but lost track of where to go when you passed the sad excuse for a kitchen. Your ‘escorts’, Heavy and Medic, had kept a quick pace as they led you into the depths of your new home. The belly of the beast, if you will.

Before you had left the billiard room and your interrogation behind, Medic had insisted that he take you to have your surgery completed first.

‘Vouldn’t vant to forget und zhen haff jou’re heart explode on zhe battlefield!’

It had been the first time you had heard him speak in his usual, manic glee since he had first found you and Spy in the mine shaft. It had been unnerving, but you didn’t feel like it was safe to, so quickly, go back on your agreement.

When he had started guiding you out of the room, Heavy had been quick to follow. You had never seen the two apart for long; perhaps because they had a history before their careers at Mann Co. or when they would have had to learn English for the job. Considering how often Medic’s tongue dipped back into his maiden language, you suspected he hadn’t spoken much English before his work at Mann Co.

Heavy hadn’t said much at all since you arrived, but he seemed less agitated by your presence. You still noticed how his eyes would occasionally glance at you if you trailed behind, but he didn’t do much more than slow his pace ever so slightly.

Finally, after too long trying to follow Medic’s quick footsteps, you came to two large doors, with a painted red cross upon them. Medic pushed them open easily and gestured for you to enter. You hesitated, on account that you had been expecting the medical bay.

Not a bloody slaughterhouse.

The medical bay still had some utensils here and there; a bonesaw or three, pliers, syringes, and a surgery table with a different kind of medigun attached to the roof, hanging down like some James Bond torture device. The drawers were in a disarray, buckets of blood, bones and feathers dotted the linoleum floor, and an open bird cage filled with pigeons and the occasional bird shit made you feel sick to your stomach. The remnants of the medical bay, surely, were not where you would be having this surgery?!

Heavy nudged you inside, and Medic moved about the surgery table, going to wash his hands in a bloodied steel sink. Heavy offered you an almost apologetic smile, as he took to sitting by the door and crossing his arms.

‘Bitte, haff a seat.’ The German rolled his head to one side, to gesture to the operating table. You let out a scoff.

‘You’re kidding.’

Medic turned to look at you, almost confused by your unwillingness to sit or lay down upon the surgery table. You looked back over the steel table, eyes landing on leather straps at about where ones ankles, wrists and neck might be. You cocked a brow, gesturing to the straps.

‘And, what surgery might need those? Or did you run out of anaesthesia?’

‘Oh, zhose!’ He almost laughed, the smile returning full force to his face. ‘Das is nozhing! Scout vas just moving around too much during his surgery, so I had zhem installed. Ve don’t haff to use zhem if you don’t vant to.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question about the anaesthesia.’

‘Ve don’t use it.’

What?

‘I said it before, and I’ll fucking say it again; ‘you’re kidding me?!” You stepped back, closer to the door, your legs shaking. Heavy had stood, but he didn’t seem threatening. He just seemed encouraging. You shook your head. ‘Like Hell I am going to let you cut me open like that! I’d rather be killed!’

‘Doktor does not use anaesthesia because it is not common.’

‘Excuse me?’ You turned on Heavy, giving him the most furious glare in your arsenal. Too bad that due to your lack of stature, it was nothing intimidating. You would have liked to see the big man show a hint of something other than indifference or great ferocity.

‘Vas Herr Heavy means, is das I do not often haff access to anaesthesia.’ You turned your furious glare back on the German, and much like Heavy, he didn’t even blink. ‘Razher zhan using it for all surgeries, I haff zhe medigun dull zhe pain instead, und save zhe anaesthesia for vorse injuries.’

‘How are your employers this…’ You dare not finish your sentence. The administrator had cameras everywhere, and you did not doubt that she, or rather Miss Pauling, would find a way to sneak a camera or bug into your opponent’s base.

‘And… you expect me to let you cut me open in this…’ You gestured about. ‘… In this mess?’

‘Vell, I haff never been too picky, und after zhe first surgery, I haff had few complaints. No one has gotten sick because of it.’ He assured. ‘If it vill make jou feel better zhough, I can keep zhe gloves on.’

You held back a retch. Your chest had tightened and you felt your lungs compress, as if trying to expel all oxygen. You felt some form of small relief when there was the snap of red rubber gloves, and Medic gestured once more to the table. You looked between Heavy, the way out and the crazed doctor, contemplating your options.

‘Do I need a surgical gown?’ The Medic laughed, a great guffaw of something almost sinister. You didn’t join him.

‘Nein! Of course not!’

You stepped hesitantly towards the surgical table and took a seat on the cold steel. You were shaking, goose bumps shuddering their way up and down your skin. You removed Medic’s coat and then, having thought about it, removed your own. The medical bay was even colder than the halls, and you brought your arms around you in a sorry attempt to trap as much heat as you could.

As Medic approached, you laid down, gripping onto the edges of the table. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use the straps. Looking up at him, you could swear you had been thrown through time and space and ended up in a Twilight Zone episode. Some creepy, fucked up, science fiction-horror show, where you were the helpless victim. You hated it.

He reached up, first switching on the red, translucent beam of the medigun that hung above your head. The scarlet, smoke-like tail sunk low and into your chest; you could feel a warmth behind your ribs and a numbness run all across your body. Your fear still gripped as tightly to you as you did the steel table when Medic pulled out the saw.

He didn’t wait for you to shakily undo the buttons of your shirt, or remove the bandages underneath. He placed the bonesaw down and replaced it instead with surgical scissors, cutting the cloth open with a few quick snips. Despite the warmth of the beam, the cool of the room was enough to tense your body for the first blow.

The medigun’s powerful, relaxing beam did little to make the initial incision any kinder. You watched in terror and pain, eyes already filling with tears, as the saw split your skin straight down, from collar to naval. You tried not to scream, but you couldn’t hold back your cries when you witnessed the doctor holding your own heart in his hand.

Your head was spinning and your vision becoming dotted with black smudges. You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and a wet glove against your cheek before your brain overheated from the pain and stress.

You would have considered it embarrassing that you had fainted and your old team would never have let you live it down. You didn’t feel shame though when your world went dark, however.

Instead, it was anger boiling in your blood.

~~X~~

I just wanted to thank a couple of readers of this little series for their words and just wanted to say how thankful I am that they have been enjoying it!

One reader helped to motivate my interest in continuing the story when I was suffering major writer’s block, after they messaged me asking if there was more to come. I had no idea that anyone really read my Tumblr stories anymore, so I wasn’t expecting to continue, so I really appreciate the little boost.

And then the other was one reader who, after they reblogged the post, gave me a good laugh and reminded me how much I love this series, the Medic and this fandom simply by adding some amazing tags to the end! This was a little while ago, but I only just realised, and I loved it!

Thank you though, to anyone who takes the time to read my works. I truly appreciate it, and I am glad you have been enjoying yourselves reading them!

#fanfiction #fanfic #TF2 #Team Fortress 2 #Medic #Heavy #Medic X Reader #Canon X Reader #HarcourtHolmesII

26 notes · View notes

justoneday-namjoonii · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t Breathe | 3.5

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt.4.0 - pt.4.5

A/n: enjoy 💜

⇢ 6 years ago ⇠

“Don’t forget us when you’re a famous writer,”

Your mom brings in the third meal she packed for you, she insisted on making you a week worth's of your favorite meals. She said you were gonna miss home and her cooking would cure that longing in a heartbeat.

“Mom stop it,” You smile, unwrapping the electric kettle they bought you after graduation, “you two are everything to me, I’d never forget you guys,”

She packs the fridge, making sure you don’t starve due to your inability to look away from your computer when you’re writing. After graduating with a bachelor's in communications, you were able to get a position as a writer after interning at The Auburn Times. Your dreams were finally becoming a reality. You have a high-paying job that you love, a nice apartment, a boyfriend—life is perfect.

“We love you, Y/n,” Both your parents walk over to you and give you a big hug, this is it, “you’re gonna do great.”

Their embrace feels like love and reassurance, you’re so grateful for everything they’ve done to get you here. With a few more goodbyes, you walk them out as they drive away to get home, hours away from where you are now.

Your apartment is perfect, your kitchen is perfect, everything is just as you imagined. After a few hours of tucking in your bedsheets and setting up your bathroom, you order a large pizza and rightful gorge yourself to a messy reality TV show on your new couch.

On the other side of the city, he waits patiently, the large and lavish office. The chair is stiff under him, but he’s calm, composed.

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” The man with dark brown enters the room finally, a beige folder in his hand as he takes a seat in the chair across from him, “sorry for the wait.”

Taehyung tilts his head a bit, not upset or impatient by any means, “You’re fine,”

“So, you have an interesting profile,” Minho sits back, the folder sitting on the desk between them, “not a lot of kills under your belt but the jobs you have done, not one slip up. But tell me a little bit about your personal life, your background.”

Taehyung’s eyes drift from the desk to the man in front of him, “I moved here when I was eighteen, joined an organization but I just quit recently. I was born in the countryside, lived in a foster home for most of my childhood. My birth mom was strung out on drugs and my dad, don’t know a thing about him. That’s about it.”

“Any close friends? Do you live alone?”

“I have a friend, but other than him, I don’t know anyone here. And yes, I live alone.”

“Good, you’re perfect for off the grid jobs,” Minho takes out a pen and pad to write down a few things, “okay, you’ve got the job.” He takes out the contract and hands Taehyung a pen.

He reads over the official paper, finding the X where he’s supposed to sign at the end of the paragraph of terms and agreements, “When do I get my first assignment?”

“I’ll have one to you by the end of the week. But let’s go over the rules: first, don’t come in contact with the target. That’s guaranteed screw up. Secondly, keep your observation time at a minimum, if not, you’re at risk for developing an obsession with the target, that’s never good. And lastly, one of the most important rules of all; under no circumstances should you form a bond of any kind with the target. The contract you’ll sign to secure this job states just that, a target is a target. If you accept, you get the job done, no exceptions. Got it?”

“Not a problem,” He signs his signature, swearing his life to this organization for a full 7 years.

“Good,” He takes the pin and tucks the contract back into the folder, “Welcome to the guild.”

It’s noisy.

You’ve been awake for a few minutes, but you’ve heard little movement upstairs—he must be getting ready to go out. Staring up at the ceiling, you keep thinking of that night. How he looked when you hit him, his face flushed, and his eyes tender, he wasn’t angry.

The urge to scratch him when he’s near has lessened, you scold yourself for that. There should be no reason for you to feel anything more than hate for him, so any positive feelings you might have, you have to push down. He kidnapped you, you hate him—you need to hate him.

The door opens and you shyly sit up and gaze at him, he’s dressed nicely in a beige knit sweater and his hair looks freshly washed. He slips the key out of his pocket, “I’m going out today,” Taking your wrist into his hand, he sticks it in the lock and the cuff falls off, “I want you to shower and eat something before I go.”

You can feel him looking at you, waiting for your compliance. But you refuse to move or even look him in the eyes, your attitude will be your downfall one day.

“Hey,” He grabs your arm a little tighter than usual, making you frown, “get up,”

You spare him a halfhearted glance before standing up and walking past him, eager to get to the shower and away from his overbearing presence.

Surprisingly, he lets you walk upstairs and he follows you to the guest bathroom where you’ve been showering since you’ve been here. He shuffles you into the bathroom as if to tell you you’re walking too slow. You stumble a little, why is he handling you like this?

“Um,” You bite your bottom lip when you only see a towel and washcloth on the counter, “do you have any clothes for me?”

“Just take a shower, I’ll be right back,” He answers flatly, closing the door in your face. He’s so moody right now, you know you can be pretty cold to him, but he didn’t have to slam the door. That won’t keep you from indulging in a nice shower though. You’re grateful that he at least gives you this luxury twice a day. Taking off your clothes, you sit them on the counter and hop in the shower. A few minutes go by and your stomach twists when you hear the bathroom door creak open.

“I need you to hurry up,” He glances at the curtain, trying not to think of you being completely bare behind it, “I have to be somewhere in an hour,”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” You mumble. When you hear the door close, you get out and quickly dry off so you can get dressed. You notice that nothing he brought you to wear is yours, aside from your underwear and socks, which you choose to not to think of how he picked them from your drawers. There’s a baby-blue hoodie with gray sweat pants, these are definitely not yours, are they his? You cringe, but slip them on anyway. Ugh, you chastise for liking how the clothes fit, it reminds you of how Jin’s clothes used to hang on you.

It’s comforting to think of him, you haven’t thought of him in a while. He used to be your everything, you two were partners in crime for a majority of your life in the city. But things didn’t work out and you have no negative feelings about it. If anything, you’re grateful to have had the time you had to figure out what you really wanted. Now, look at you, your free lifestyle just a distant memory.

When he hears your light footsteps he looks at the end of the stairway to see you, his mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. Damn it, why do you have to look like that? He forgot to do your laundry last night, now he has to live with the image of you like this for the rest of his life. Not paying any mind to his gawking, you glance at the delicious-looking plate and try not to look too excited from it. The sandwich and chips with a large bowl of fruit have become normality, knowing he’d have it prepared every day was one of your only joys.

“I didn’t get the chance to wash your clothes last night, so I had to give you something of mine,” He breaks the silence with a firm voice. He walks up to you and holds the plate in front of you, gesturing for you to exchange it for your dirty clothes. “you can take that downstairs,” He vanishes into the laundry room.

No need to tell you twice. You hold the plate gladly and head back to the basement or what you mentally refer to as a cave. It doesn’t take long before you’re perched on the cushion and picking at the bowl of fruit.

He makes an appearance once again, this time he stands at the stairs, not fully entering the space. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” With that, he locks the several locks on the door and seals you into your dungeon for however long he pleases.

Music, you hear music. You assume it’s from his speaker, but you’re just not sure from where. You listen and you can hear the song clearly, Fly Me to The Moon to be precise. A tune you often hum mindlessly at home. You think, he had probably heard you humming it several times. There’s no telling how many nights he watched you prance around your home as if no one were watching. Unbeknownst of his presence, oblivious of your nearing future. The thought alone makes you sick to your stomach. You push the plate to the end of the cushion and lay down, dying to return to the peaceful realm of sleep.

The brunch spot isn’t as packed as he thought it’d be. He sits at the table, drinking his second cup of water as he glances at his watch, Yeosang should be arriving soon. Yeosang was the only friend he had in this city when he first moved here, they go way back. About a year ago, he got a job offer abroad and he hasn’t seen him in person since. Today he’s back to visit family and he made sure to schedule a time for one of his best friends.

“Taehyung!” A cheerful voice calls his name, “Long time no see,”

Taehyung greets his blond-haired friend with a and he insists that he takes a seat. “Man, how long has it been?”

“Too long,” When the two finally sit down, the waitress brings Yeosang a menu and says she’ll be back to see if they’re ready to order, “Berlin is nice, but my social is suffering, I work too damn much,”

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung stares at the menu, debating over the green tea latte or an americano, “it hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Yeah?”

Yeosang has always been the one person in the guild that he fully trusts, something about him that

“Yeah, I went on a job with Park Jimin, can you believe I actually agreed? if you were here you probably could’ve talked me out of it,” He sighs, finally deciding that the green tea latte is the best option. When the waitress walks by, he waves her over gives her his order. Yeosang puts his orders in as well and the two go back to their conversation, “the payout was too good to pass up,”

It’s not long before their food is on the table and they’re reminiscing on the good times they used to have. Taehyung was great support for Yeosang and vice versa. They used to get jobs and split a hefty payout for their services as a team, it was nice to work with someone he trusted. But even working alone had its perks, larger pay, less loose strings, no one to debate with.

“So,” Yeosang peeks at him, noticing how his hair is threatening to grow past his eyes completely, “have you found anyone special? Or are you still living in that huge place of yours all alone,”

Tugging his bottom lip into his mouth, his feline eyes drift to the window beside him, he has to answer this carefully or it’ll become obvious that he’s hesitating, “No, there’s no one,”

He pries, smirking because he just doesn’t fully believe that, “You should broaden your horizons, Kim. Go out, date, have a little fun,”

Tae sits his drink down and sighs, deciding not to entertain that, “Where are you staying?”

“A hotel, I won’t be spending too much time there though, I have a packed schedule,” HE tilts his head in thought, “maybe I can crash at your place this weekend?”

He smiles, “Sure,”

“Agh!” You slam your body against the door for the third time, but to no avail, it stays locked. If he’s nothing, he’s smart when it comes to keeping you from trying to escape. There are no windows down here and the door isn’t budging for anything.

After your shoulder began to throb from the constant impact, you decide to give up and sit on the floor in front of the cushion. It’s been days since he’s let you out of here and you think he’s doing it on purpose. Aside from getting you up to bathe and eat, he hasn’t taken you to his room or come down to sit with you. It’s not something you want to miss, but he’s proving to be right about what he said when you were first brought here—you’re feeling isolated. He hasn’t threatened to starve you, he hasn’t made threats of any kind actually, it’s starting to seem like he’s trying to spite you? Whatever he’s trying to do, it’s creating a distance that’s starting to make you feel more uneasy.

Everything feels scary. Not him, but what he’s doing to you. You feel so alone, isolated. When human interaction becomes nonexistent. That’s what he once said but you ignored it at the time, brushing off as a threat to keep you afraid. But he was right, it’s starting to get to you, these four walls. You’re beginning to have a hard time telling what time it is, it’s messing with your senses. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen another human being beside him. He hasn’t given you crossword puzzles, a notebook to draw in, he doesn’t even let you watch TV. You do nothing, every day you just do absolutely nothing.

And at night, you’ve developed a bit of insomnia. You stare into the corners of the dark space, telling yourself that there aren’t dark figures staring back at you.

Sometimes, you find yourself thinking of him in the dead of night—his face, his voice, the way his hands feel. Knowing he’s probably the only person you’ll have for a while. There’s something so warm about him, the way he looks at you, those eyes... That’s what gets you the most, those deep brown eyes that you can’t look straight into without your mind wandering. It doesn’t even occur to until now that you don’t know his name, you don’t know anything about him.

Maybe you could learn, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get to know him. You’re conflicted about it, but what choice do you have? The only other option is to sit down here and go crazy. He’s proven to have a mild obsession with you, why not use that? It’s not so shameful to switch it up and make him think you’ve changed—anything to get you out of this hellhole.

That’s your decision, seduce him. Get close, if you can get him to trust you, even just a little bit, that’s one step closer to getting out of here.

In your hours of isolation during the day, he’d wait to the late hours of the night and peek down into the basement, seeing that you were asleep. He’d creep down there and sit next to your cushion, eyes trained on you when you’d toss and turn. Sometimes you’d pull on the cuff on your wrist, and he’d get the urge to take it off, but that thought wouldn’t last long. When he’s not working, he’d dedicate himself to learning about you from a distance. Lately, he's dedicated some of his time to painting when the need to see you becomes unbearable. It’s a good distraction. Right next to his room, he goes into his little art studio. He hasn’t been in there as often because he’s been so busy, but he’s thought about letting you occupy yourself in there. Being able to express yourself creatively might put you in a better head-space.

“Are you sure he’s legit, Jungkook?”

Jin looks over the card, still not too sure about all of this.

“Of course, he’s ex-FBI, very legit, best PI I know,” Jungkook speaks muffled over the phone, “man, he’s a genius when it comes to stuff like this, he finds wat the cops miss.”

Jin sighs, “I hope so. I never liked her living alone, and this was why, just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach,” The silence piques concern in his friend, knowing he’s hurting, “I know we’re not together anymore, but I care about her, I’ll always have love for her, we’re like family,”

“I hear you, just take it one step at a time, she’s a strong girl, always has been” Jungkook tries to comfort him, but he can’t blame Jin’s concern. He’s a lawyer. There are so many cases that he’s come across with missing victims who haven’t come out alive. He only hopes that he’ll never see a case file with your name in it.

Jin looks up when he hears a knock on the door.

“I’ll talk to you later, he’s here,” He hangs up, straightening up his dress shirt before opening up the front door.

“Kim Seokjin? I’m Min Yoongi, Jungkook connected us,” The man stands relaxed, dirty blond hair and a pair of soft eyes, surprising for a man of his reputation.

“Yes, please come in,” He gestures him inside and Yoongi obliges, eyes discreetly checking the place out, “I prepared the folder last night, was there anything else you needed?” Jin closes the front door and grabs to the beige folder off of the kitchen bar.

“Let me see,” Yoongi extends his hand, taking the folder and opening it up. With narrowed brows, he reads over your address, social media, your workplace, little things like that, “this is good. What is your relationship with her again? Boyfriend or-”

“Ex-boyfriend, but we were on good terms, we’re friends. Her supervisor, Suzy, called me, she’s the one who found out she was missing. I was on her emergency contact list, she must’ve forgotten to update it when we broke,” He bites his cheek to stop himself from rambling, “anyway, she hasn’t answered any calls or texts,”

“It says here she’s a writer for The Autumn Times,” He nods to himself, “I think I’ve read a few of her articles. Do you think there would be anyone out there who would have any reason to abduct her? I heard there was a briefing that some of the attending reporters started vanishing from, is she connected to that in any way?”

“No, not at all,” Jin couldn’t anyone would ever target you, “well, now that I think of it, I wouldn’t know.”

“How about new friends, family, a new boyfriend, an old flame, anything like that?”

“No- Well, I wouldn’t know that either, we haven’t talked for a while, but I don’t think so. She’s very career-driven, after me there was no one else that I knew of, and she’s never had a huge social circle,” Jin furrows his brows, a bit taken aback by the thought you getting with someone else who would potentially put you in harm's way.

“Well, I never rule that out, so I’ll do a little digging to see if it’s possibly someone of that nature, but who knows, she could have run off on her own accord, could be a lot of different things,” He closes up the folder, “anything else I might want to know?”

“No, I think that’s everything, if there is anything Suzy finds out, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“I appreciate it, it’s nice meeting you Mr. Kim,” He shakes his hand, “and I assure you, I’ll carry the burden of worrying about her, you just relax, okay? I know it’s easier said than done, but you’ve gotta stay calm somehow.”

“Thanks.”

With about as much information as Jin could possibly gather on you, he decides to go to your home first. Assuming it’s under police investigation, it might be blocked off, but he knows the department well, so getting in won’t be a problem. One call and he’s given permission to investigate. It takes roughly an hour to get to your apartment, and sure enough, when he approaches the front door, it’s untouched. At least it appears that way. Taking the liberty to survey the home, he pops the lock and walks inside.

You have a nice place and there’s no immediate sign of forced entry. If it was an abduction, there’s no sign of it being violent, maybe you were unconscious? The said necklace was no longer at the scene, so that was probably confiscated as evidence. With his blue rubber gloves, he starts to plunder through the house. First, he checks your bedroom. The first thing that catches his eye is the bed being made. In theory, if you were taken in the night, why would your bed be made? As he enters your room further, he opens a few of your drawers, nothing looks unusual so he closes them up.

“Hm,” He furrows his brows, if you were kidnapped then your abductor is good. The home looks virtually untouched. For a moment, he’s about to go to his car to grab his camera so he can take pictures of the place, but he hears a beep that comes from the window.

The open window.

Curious, he crouches in front of it and looks it over. There’s no way someone with enough skill to, in theory, make up the bed after taking you, leave fingerprints on the window, but that's not what he’s looking for.

Grazing the window pain, he looks for dirt, gravel, anything that could fall from the bottom of a shoe. Nothing. “Damn.” He sighs, opening the window further.

Just when he thought there would be nothing, he sees the alarm lock. It’s been tampered with. He takes out his phone and snaps a quick photo before writing this down on a notepad. “We’re getting somewhere,” He mumbles, pushing the window down. He’ll come back later for prints, now he has to make a few phone calls.

He’s at the grocery store and he tasked himself with purchasing personal items for you. Soap, razors, lotion, things of that nature. He avoided the impressed looks from women who probably assumed he was purchasing these things for a girlfriend. One particular woman was watching him, pitying his indecisiveness. He was seriously having a hard time choosing a razor, he forgot what he saw you use at your house.

“Hi,” She smiled, moving into his line of vision, “this one of better for sensitive skin, it’s the one I use,” She points to the one that was fairly priced between the least and most expensive.

“Thanks,” He was relieved to finally just put one in the basket.

“No problem, I’ve been shopping for my boyfriend before, I know how it is,” She winked and went off into another aisle.

After running a few more errands, it was almost sunset and he decided to head home. Instead of checking on you like usual, he showers first. He’s been thinking about you, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten any real interaction. The only time you’ve been seeing him the last few days is to get food or use the restroom, the distance was necessary. He wasn’t kidding when he said you were tempting him, he needed to step back. When you were scared because of him and cried for a while, it was interesting to see that he frightened you that much. He’s got emotional control over you, that much is true. But he’s not sure he’s controlling the emotions that he wants to control. Coming out of his thoughts, he dries off and slips a shirt and sweats on.

Meanwhile, you can hear his piddling upstairs and you start to lose confidence in your plan. If you could get him to a point where he trusts you enough, you would have a better chance of escape. It seems cruel to deceive him and wrong to want to get close to him just because you don’t want to live in a basement anymore. But if you stay down here any longer you’re going to lose your mind, it’s already happening.

The door suddenly opens and you sit up to see he’s dressed in a white tee and gray-sweats, his hair jet black and fluffy, his expression soft.

“Come up so you can shower and eat,” The same line you’ve heard for the last few days.

Testing your boundaries, you don’t move. You continue to sit curled up on the floor, knees pressed to your chest and head hung low. Without a word, he calmly walks down to you.

He crouches in front of you, “Why are you being difficult?”

“I’m just not hungry...” You lie.

“Yes, you are,” He sees right through you, “it’s been hours since I’ve been home.” He tilts his head. Insistent on going through with your experiment, you stay where you are. He scoffs, an amused grin on his face, “You want me to carry you?”

You look up at him, your confidence wavering. “No...”

“Then get up.” His tone isn’t soft like usual, he sounds impatient.

Reluctantly, you stand up, trying to push yourself to your feet. Hoping you can muster up the courage to go through with your plan, you shyly follow behind him.

It’s the same routine, he tells you to get in the shower (his shower this time) and disappears to get your clothes. This time is a bit different, in the shower you notice a few extra thins. A lilac-colored razor, floral smelling body wash that you’re so used to buying for yourself, he bought this stuff for you? Either way, you take the time to shave, there’s no telling when you’ll get the chance to do it again.

When you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a towel, you see that he put some clothes and underwear out for you, as you expected. Again, his clothes but your underwear and socks. This time, he gave you a dark green shirt and sweats, similar to what he’s wearing now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, making your plate and his. Dumplings, rice, and a few other sides, one of his favorite meals. When he hears the bathroom door open, he looks up at the banister to see you walking to the stairs with your clothes bunched in your hands.

“Let me see,” Taking your clothes from you, he gestures to the table, “go sit down, I’ll get you something to drink after I put your laundry in the washer.”

You do as he says, and your stomach growls, debunking your lie from earlier. Taking a seat, you wait patiently until he emerges from the laundry room.

When he comes to the table with two cups of tea, he glances at you, wondering why you haven’t eaten yet. “Go ahead and eat,” Casually, he picks up a dumpling and starts to eat, “it’s gonna get cold.”

Gazing down at your plate, you hesitantly pick up a dumpling at bite it—it’s actually really good. So, even though you were trying to seem uninterested, you end up eating a little over half of your plate. He grins when he sees your chewing the last dumpling on your plate, now he knows what food you can’t resist.

“Are you finished?” You nod. He takes your plates and takes his time putting the dirty plates in the dishwasher.

Oh god, this isn’t working. How are you supposed to get on his good side when you can barely function when he’s around? You can barely speak you’re so nervous.

“Let’s go, you’re going back to the basement.”

No no no no, you can’t go back down there. Say something, do something. But nothing comes to your mind and you freeze. Before you know it, you’re walking back down to that dark abyss and you start to feel hazy.

“It’s gonna get a bit cold tonight,” He thinks aloud, “I’ll bring you an extra blanket,”

You take a seat with a sigh, dejected and disappointed in yourself. This was supposed to be easy. But now that you’re back down in the basement, you’re starting to feel it again. The dread, the isolation that you know he’s trying to make you experience. It’s overwhelming. Why is he doing this? Maybe he’s upset about that night when you hit him, he may resent you for that. But how could he blame you? You’re the victim, you’re the one suffering, being treated like a prisoner, and then he tries to kiss you. Warm tears stream down your cheeks and you don’t try to hide it, there’s no point. Softly, you sob into your hands, you’re sure you look pitiful.

“Why are you crying?” His voice breaks you from your train of thought and you look up. He’s holding a blanket and standing in front of you, more so curious than concerned. Not expecting you to have broken so soon, he takes a seat beside you, eager to hear your reasoning. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” You sniffle, trying to get your words together, “I hate it down here, I see things at night, it’s so dark and- and I see things...”

“You’re just imagining things,” He reasons, not an ounce of sympathy in his words, “there’s nothing down here.“

“But it’s scary, it’s hard to sleep at night,” You wipe your tears, “I keep think you’re going to let me drown like last time, that’s what I keep thinking...” He finds your accusation interesting, given he told you he had that problem fixed.

“No, that’s not gonna happen again, I got that problem fixed,” He grabs the cuff from the wall and you keep a steady eye on his hands. “You’re sleeping down here, give me your hand-”

“No,” You scoot away, holding your wrists behind yourself so he can’t grab them, “please, it hurts when I sleep...”

“I really don’t care, you should be used to this by now,” He tries to grab your arms again but you pull away—you’re really testing your luck. “Stop it, I’m not in the mood. Give me your hand.”

You bite your lip and your eyes glisten with fresh tears, you don’t budge. Being as skilled as he is, he grabs your arm anyway but he regrets it as soon as your deafening cries meet his ears.

“No! No,” Whining at the top of your lungs, you roll your body onto the floor, “p-please,” You sit back on your butt, heart beating out of your chest. You really weren’t planning to lash out like this—but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re really pushing it,” He stands up, glaring down at you. “I swear to god I won’t say it again. Get up.”

When you look away, he takes that as your final answer, you just don’t want to listen.

“Fine,” He picks you up with a strength you didn’t realize he had and tosses you onto the cushion. He easily straddles your waste to pin you down and that’s when you really kick into fight or flight mode. You pull him back to the ground with you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs for a moment. You get the opportunity to crawl away, but he grabs your ankle and yanks you back, making you collapse onto your stomach, “Agh- L-let go,”

“Stop acting like this isn’t what you asked for,” He pants, “I tried to be nice to you,” He’s trying to get you to stay still. Realizing your difference in size, he gets the idea to press himself against you, smothering you to the hard floor to get your arms without you sitting up, “didn’t you want to be down here? What happened to that? You don’t get to change your mind and do what you want,” He seethes, pressing the side of his face firmly into the crook of your neck while he busies himself with trying to get a hold of your erratic moving arms.

“Get off!” You cry out in a high-pitched squeal, kicking and squirming, trying to get him to give up.

“Stop moving,” He warns through gritted teeth, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He sits up to look you in the eyes but that doesn’t last long. You violently kick your legs which causes him to lose his bearing, giving you the freedom to move your upper body now. You quickly turn onto your stomach and hold your hands to your chest, sobbing into the hard floor. It’s no use to keep going with you, you’re relentless.

“Okay, I get it, calm down,” He sits up a bit out of breath, now straddling your lower back. Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel his hands run down your sides, extremely slow.

“There you go, just calm down,” He rubs your shoulders and drags his hands down your sides down to the dimples in your lower back, where he remains. He does this over and over, relishing in the way you seem to become pliant, less rigid. When you let out a small exhale he withdraws his hands and pushes his hair away from his face, “I get it now.”

“What?...” You whisper.

With a deep sigh of relief, he lays down on your back in a bear hug. What is he doing? You whimper at the extra weight and heat but there’s nothing you can do to get away. He lays on top of you comfortably, not moving or saying anything, he just breathes in sync with you.

“I understand,” He groans against the shell of your ear, “you have to get this out of your system, I know you’ve got pent up frustration against me.”

“I can’t stay down here, I can’t,” You bite your bottom lip, too confounded physically and emotionally to say anything more comprehensive, “I can’t...”

“Do you want to sleep upstairs?” He asks softly, lifting off of you so you can look back at him. When you nod, he gets up and pulls you to your feet. He can’t help but coo at your flushed face from all that crying, he brushes your cheek with his index finger.

“Come on, take my hand,” He looks at you with earnest eyes, urging you to take his extended hand, “it’s okay.” Carefully, you take his hand and you let him walk you upstairs, freeing you from that dark and lonely place.

Thinking he’s going to take you to the spare room, you look to the left as he takes you further up the stairs. To your surprise, he turns right and your heart sinks straight into your stomach, you grow farther from the room and closer to his room. Not knowing how to react, you follow him, trying your best not to look terrified, you didn’t expect him to do this.

He leads you inside and closes the door, noticing your shock, he lets go of your hand. As if your feet were bolted to the floor, you stand where you are and watch him walk to his closet.

“Where-...Where do I sleep?” You ask like a mouse, your voice barely coming to his ears.

“The bed.”

You breathe in and breathe out, it’s okay. You walk towards to the bed and sit on the edge, not undoing the bed-sheets or even getting near the pillow. You know you look awkward but you don’t feel comfortable. When he emerges from the closet, your eyes direct to what he’s holding, handcuffs? Not again.

When he sees that alarmed look in your sleepy gaze. He holds his hands up to show you that he means no harm, “It’s okay, don’t worry, I have to take extra precautions,” With one hand, he pulls the sheets back and stares at you with warm eyes. You start moving, but a little too slow for him, he drags you to the middle of the large bed by your arm like a rag-doll.

“Lay down,” He pulls the sheets over you and then gets under himself, “I won’t do anything while you’re sleeping, I promise.”

Taking his word, you do as he says and scoot further under the sheets to lay on your side, facing away from him.

You’re so impossible. “Face me,” You feel his hand on your shoulder as he turns you over. He grabs your wrist, clicks one cuff on you, and the other on himself.

Confused, you look at him then at your left hand and his right hand that is now bound by the metal restraint.

“Don’t try anything stupid. I don’t trust you enough to let you roam free while I’m asleep.” He yawns, scooting a bit closer so that you’re not pulling his arm uncomfortably. “Sorry, you lost that privilege a while ago.”

This didn’t go as planned. He wasn’t supposed to take you to his bed, you weren’t supposed to have a breakdown and fight him, you were hoping it would go smoother than this. Now you’re laying in his king-sized bed, cuffed to him as you face each other.

His eyes are open and prying, enjoying being so close to your pretty face, he’s been waiting for this moment. You’re so entertaining to watch, he smirks when he notices you struggling to stay awake. Every few seconds, your eyelids would flutter a bit and you would frown, trying to keep them open despite your fatigue.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling caught, “you should go to sleep,” He mumbles, rubbing your arm with his free hand, “I won’t go to sleep until you do, so we could do this all night, but I know you’re not gonna last.” He murmurs with a sleepy grin.

“Why did you break up with Jin?” His question is so sudden, it catches you off guard and you stammer, trying to figure how he knows that and how you should respond.

“How did you know that?...”

“Just tell me why.”

“We were good friends, an- and it should have stayed that way,” You pause, a little shy to explain further, “we had two different lives that just weren’t compatible anymore, that’s it...”

He makes a sound of acknowledgment, satisfied with your answer.

“I know you’ve been living alone for the last few years, I’m sure you got lonely after the breakup, you don’t have a lot of friends,” He keeps his hand on your shoulder, still rubbing gently, “but you seem okay. You do a lot of things to busy yourself, your job, volunteering, things like that...That’s good, you function well by yourself. But here, you seem so small and your independence is gone, you have to rely on me, you hate that don’t you? I’m sorry, I know you do...But I’m all you have, you’re starting to understand that,”

His hand is warm, and you find yourself leaning into the feeling when he scoots even closer, your face now centimeters from his, “That’s good, you’re so good Y/n...” He praises you, nuzzling his head against yours.

“Hey, you know what’ll be fun? How about you ask me a question,” Sleepily, you shake your head no, and he frowns.

“Come on, there must be something you want to know,” He pries, pushing your hair aside so you can look up at him, “Ask me something, I’ll answer one question, then you can sleep.”

“Um...” You rake your tired mind for a question and one suddenly comes to mind, “What’s your name?...I- I don’t know your name...”

“Good question,” He coos, “my name is Taehyung.” Finally, you know something about him, rather than him telling you any and everything you’ve ever done in your lifetime. You breathe in and shut your eyes, squeezing your fist and exhaling against his skin.

You relax in his heavy embrace, you let him hold you and he sighs when he feels you succumb to sleep. He knows this isn’t real. He’s been in his line of work far too long to be played, even by someone he adores as much as you. Unbeknownst to you, he knows exactly what you’re doing but he’s letting you do it anyway, for selfish reasons. He knows the drill, become friends with the enemy, sleep with the enemy, and your chances of defeating the enemy increase. Despite being aware that you’re deceiving him, he doesn’t care. If it means he can hold you close and not be pushed away, it doesn’t matter how real or fake it is—he wants it anyway.

#taehyung stalker au #taehyung smut #taehyung scenarios #taehyung angst #taehyung assassin #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #v scenarios #v angst #v smut #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts assassin au #bts stalker au #bts #don't breathe #don't do it hehe

288 notes · View notes

bangtiddies · 5 years ago

Text

Romance Writer Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Crack, and maybe a smidge of fluff Rating: PG-13 Words: 1.3k Warnings: so cheesy you might cringe, misunderstanding

Summary: You decide to confess to Kim Namjoon, the smart and handsome man you’ve been admiring from the back of your statistics class. But your confession doesn’t go the way you expected it to. or A Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun AU with Namjoon as Nozaki.

Note: a very, very, belated birthday gift for @interludemoonchild!! I wish I got this finished a lot sooner but I hope you enjoy!! Love you so much baby, I’m so honoured and happy to call you my friend, and happy belated birthday!!!

Standing in front of the classroom door, you wonder about how you look to people who might be passing by. Why are you staring at the door as if it’s about to start a fight with you?

You shake out what people might think of you and focus on the situation. You’re going to confess. That’s right, you’re finally going to confess to the person you’ve been harbouring a crush on for the last two years.

You take a deep breath in, giving yourself another small pep talk in your head, before opening the door to the classroom. There, standing by the window, is Kim Namjoon, looking cool, calm, and collected. You swoon a little, before realising why you’re there. Determination on your face, you march toward Namjoon, stopping a couple metres away from him.

“Kim Namjoon,” you declare, perhaps a little too loudly. He turns to look at you, confused with wide eyes, and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I, uh, I have something to say.”

Perhaps your confidence and determination wasn’t enough because Namjoon looks a little concerned and confused. Still, he smiles, the sight so dazzling that you have to blink to make sure you don’t go blind.

Your hands shake a little, but you clench them into fists. You’ve got this.

“Kim Namjoon,” you say, a little softer, your voice wavering a little. “I’ve–”

The looks he gives you, the intense interest, the concern, the confusion, makes you want to turn around and run from the scene. But no, you’ve spend all day trying to hype yourself up. You’re going to confess.

“I’ve always admired you!”

Pause.

You stand in embarrassment, quickly looking down to your feet in fear of bursting into tears in front of him. All you can hear is your heart beating, mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. Namjoon’s taking an awful amount of time responding to your confession and you’re ready to take his silence as rejection and run from the scene. Until you hear him rummaging through his pencil case.

You listen to him write something, the sound of what you assume is a permanent marker on some kind of card. Heart beathing in your chest, you’re afraid of the kind of response you might receive in written form.

After what feels like a million years, you finally see a piece of white card being handed to you, with a personalised message and signature.

Dear Y/N, I hope that my fiction has brought happiness and love upon your soul. Thank you for reading! - RM

Your brain doesn’t process the words written fully, but you do know that your confession had completely gone over Namjoon’s head. When you look up to face Namjoon, his bashful smile confirms your assumption. He thinks you admire his work.

“No, I meant,” you stutter out, struggling to find your words. “I meant that I always want to be by your side.”

You internally grown at your own words. Just say ‘date me’ damn it!

Namjoon furrows his eyebrows and purses his lips, appearing as if he’s thinking. You hope that your words made sense to him. You really don’t want to say even more words and lead yourself into Not Able to Confess Like a Normal Person territory.

No, Namjoon’s smart. That’s why you like him so much. He’s probably one of the fastest thinkers in the whole school, and currently has the best grade point average in his area of study. You have faith that he’ll understand your strange words.

He finally seems to decipher what you’ve said, eyebrows raising in realisation. “Want to come over to my place, then?”

You sit awkwardly on the couch in Namjoon’s flat, fiddling with your fingers as you try not to look around too much. You’re curious if it’s a one bedroom flat or if he shares it with a flatmate. You count the doors you can see, excluding the front door you entered. One, two, three.

And then you realise. You’re in Namjoon’s house. In the house of the person you just confessed to. Does that mean he brings any girl over to his house after they confess to him? Or are you a special case? Is there going to be more than just sipping the cups of tea that he’s preparing right now?

Namjoon brings the cups of tea to the coffee table, placing one in front of you. The smell of ginger soothes your anxious mind. You thank him in a quiet voice, picking up the cup of tea and taking a sip. It feels warm in your chest, and the smile Namjoon gives you warms you up even more.

“So,” Namjoon says, after a few sips of ginger tea. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Your heartbeat picks up at his words, discreetly (but maybe not so discreetly) looking around the room to figure out what is about to get started. You see Namjoon standing up and walking toward a desk, opening a drawer and going through it. You stare at him as he does so, taking in every angle of the man in front of you. He looks calm, serene, a whole lot more beautiful in the comfort of his own home. And you’re here to witness it.

Perhaps you might witness more sides of Kim Namjoon.

Namjoon seems to find the item he was looking for, pulling out a small stack of paper clipped together by a paper clip, and walking back to where you’re sitting. He hands you the papers with a dimpled smile, and you furrow your eyebrows as you take them. Is this a form of agreement? Is Namjoon the kind of guy who creates contracts for relationships?

You take a look at the papers in your hands, a title page greeting you.

Column #19: The Festival of Love

You frown, confused by the title, confused with what’s going on. You look up at Namjoon, at the hopeful look in his eyes, but you can’t piece together what’s going on right now.

“Um,” you start.

“Oh, you’ll probably need a pen or pencil, right?” Namjoon interrupts, rushing back to the desk and opening another drawer, rummaging through it to find a good pen. “Sorry, I’m usually not exactly sure what most editors need, but I’m really appreciative of your help.”

You blink.

Editors?

That’s when you decide to properly look at the title page. In the bottom right hand corner, there’s a small text written — draft 2, needs to be edited.

Oh. Oh.

Namjoon hands you a pen, and without thinking, you get straight into it. Your mind and hands start moving like clockwork, flicking through the writing and editing it.

As you work, Namjoon sits beside you, typing away on his laptop. You don’t really dwell on the situation, as your mind is more focused on the editing, but something about sitting beside Namjoon and working feels… nice. Like you’re meant to be there.

It isn’t until you finish editing when realisation sinks in.

“Wait,” you say, shock settling in. “You write romance novels?”

Namjoon looks a little flustered, confused at your shock. “I mean, I write columns for the university’s website. I thought you already knew?”

No. You didn’t know. You’ve been crushing on Namjoon for two years and you didn’t know. And when you try to think back to any sort of indication of Namjoon’s writing career, you remind yourself of the signature he gave you when you confessed.

Signed by, none other than the popular romance writer of the school, RM.

You didn’t think about the relation between Namjoon and RM at the time, mind only focused on your confession. You stare at Namjoon, eyes wide, mouth open in shock, a million thoughts running through your head.

One thing is for certain, however.

Kim Namjoon, the smartest person you know, also known as Romance Master RM, is completely and utterly dense.

But for some odd reason, you find yourself more attracted to him.

“Yeah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “I’m a big fan.”

211 notes · View notes

secretlysheikah · 4 years ago

Text

The Blood moon incident:

So I have always wanted to write a fan fiction but have always talked myself out of it. But not anymore. I have fully jumped down the Linked universe rabbit hole and I have been inspired to contribute!

I may not be the best writer but I’m sure as hell gonna try. I’ve been reading a lot of fan fictions in the #Linkeduniverse hashtag and I have been inspired to make my own fan fiction. please be gentle lol.

Don’t feel like reading on tumblr? Check out my A03

I want to make sure I’m clear when I say I do not claim the linked universe as my own. It actually belongs to the amazing @jojo56830 and I hope I do the linked universe some justice.

TW: fighting, some injury and a sprinkle of angst. Please enjoy!

Start Here:

Wild was used to being on his own. Deep down he knew he deserved every lonely night, every new battle wound, every near death experience. He wasn’t used to fighting in a group either which didn’t help. Maybe that was why he was so reckless still, that’s what he told himself anyways.

Wild was always launching in head first in every encounter with the various monsters that had begun to crop up in their travels across the different eras of Hyrule. Needless to say he was a wild card and all the other Links quickly found out about his apparent death wish and Wild was regularly told off for it.

It’s not like he didn’t care, he did cared a great deal, but there was always something driving him forward into harms way. There was small part of him that liked the feeling of chaos that sang through his veins as he leapt into the fray heedless of the possible injuries he might receive for his foolishness. There was even a smaller, darker part of him that hoped he would get hurt, he deserved it after all.

“You need to be more careful Cub” Twilight admonished as he wrapped up Wild’s arm with a bandage. Wild had bowed to his instincts once again, throwing himself head long into a fight headless of the others calls.

It all started as the group had been making their way through Wild’s Hyrule, they heard the sound of fighting and cries for help in the distance. Without a second of thought Wild had split from the group and ran right into a fight between a pair of travelers and small group of bokoblins. He managed to kill the first bokoblin that was about to strike one of the travelers down, a few swipes with his sword and the creature was no more. However he was caught off guard by the second bokoblin as it launched itself at him from the side and knocked him off his feet. The pair had began to grapple on the ground, the bokoblin gaining the upper hand as it pinned him to the dirt. The beast had tried to force the blade into Wild’s chest. Wild had blocked it with his arm and was almost about to force the creature off when Time had come hurtling in tackling, the bokoblin and killing it. Wild was left panting on the ground, arm bleeding while listening to the others finishing off the last of the beasts around him.

“I know I need to be more careful, but I didn’t really have a choice, those bokoblins were about to kill those people” Wild groused and gritted his teeth as Twilight tugged on the bandage harder then he thought was necessary. Wild made a point of not saying anything and continued to look at the other heroes as they chatted amongst themselves. Although he looked away quickly when he saw Time look over. He didn’t want to see his glare of disapproval when he already knew he was up for a lecture… again.

“I just don’t understand why, why do you keep throwing yourself into these situations?” Twilight sighed but Wild only shrugged, none of them could really understand and Wild didn’t know how to properly explain either which just frustrated him more.

“I couldn’t just stand there and wait, I couldn’t…” Wild started and then let out a frustrated sigh. Twilight looked at him quizzically tilting his head and nudging him gently to continue. Wild just shook his head and stood up. There was nothing he could say right now. His mind was already treading down a path he was all too familiar with.

‘Maybe I’ll find the words later’ he thought to himself and walked back to the group. He heard Twilight stand up as well, trotting after him and making a noise like he wanted to continue the conversation but was cut off by Legend.

“Well look who it is! It’s our little savage beast! How are you doing?” Wild just shrugged and forced a smile fiddling with the bandage on his arm.

“I’m doing alright, got my arm patched up” to prove it he lifted his arm with the pristine bandage on it, though it looked like it was already starting to spot through with blood. The healing potion was not quite strong enough to heal the gash quickly but it would do.

Legend rolled his eyes “you think you’re ever gonna stop trying to get yourself killed?” He quipped “I know Warriors is annoying but that’s no reason to end it all” there was a cry of protest from across the group and Wild winced a little and gave a chuckle and a noncommittal shrug.

He felt a hand come down on his shoulder and Wild tensed with the sudden contact. He looked up to see Time standing next to him. Legend’s eyes went large and he quickly spun on his heels and walked away swiftly when he saw the thunderous look on Time’s face. ‘Here we go’ Wild thought in defeat as he was lead a little ways away from the group.

“What on earth were you thinking? You could have been killed! Why didn’t you wait for the rest of us?” Time scolded as he poked his finger at Wild’s chest. Wild couldn’t look at him, the fury in his words enough to make him mute with anger and shame. “Well?” Time prodded waiting for his response.

“I wasn’t thinking” he lied and looked at the ground hot eyed and fuming.

“That’s a lie and I know it.” Time continued still angry but trying his level best to swallow his fury. The truth was watching Wild get pinned down by that beast chilled Time to his core. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he wasn’t fast enough to save him. Maybe that’s why he felt so angry.

“Fine, you want the truth? Here’s the truth” Wild began a sudden swell of anger making him bold.

“I didn’t want to wait, if I would have waited those people would have died and I won’t have that. Not while I’m able to save them, and certainly not on someone else’s time frame.” Wild hissed, looking at Time straight in the eyes, his body trembling as if he was about to throw a punch.

“I stepped in to do my Goddess damned job and if that’s not what you want to hear than that’s too bad” Wild all but yelled, and all at once angry tears threatened to spill.

Time blinked at him. That was most Wild had ever said in one sitting, and the pure rage that came from him was enough to stop Time in his tracks. Wild was usually calmer and easy going. He acknowledging his reckless acts as reckless and then moved past it with a easy apology and the promise to be better in the future. Which to Wild’s credit was true, he was adapting to fighting with a group very well, picking up on the other’s fighting styles and adapting his own style based on what was necessary for a given fight. He was still reckless at times but it was to be expected given the environment Wild had to work in. Time’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he found his words.

“But that doesn’t, but that won’t” he tried and failed to get the words out, but he found he lost his train of thought in the face of Wild’s unusual rage. In any case Wild was too angry to let him continue.

“I already failed these people once, and as long as I breathe I won’t let it happen again. So if you have a problem with that then feel free to.. to…” Wild gave a cry of frustration and threw his hands up. Clearly too mad to think properly. Wild knew it wasn’t Time he was truly angry at, not really. But with the mist of rage clouding his thoughts he couldn’t see a safe way out of the conversation without saying something he would truly regret. He had to get away, had to clear his head before he did something stupid.

“I’m going to scout ahead” Wild growled.

“We decided to camp for the night, it’s getting dark and there’s no point to stumbling around the woods” Time said not knowing how to properly respond to Wild’s outburst.

“Then I’m going to patrol the area, I’ll be back later” Wild hissed and spun around and stalked off into the trees leaving a concerned group of heroes to look on after him.

“What was that about?” Twilight asked when Time made his way back to the group. Time shook his head trying to get his thoughts in order and motioned Twilight to follow him away from curious ears. Twilight’s concerned deepened as he followed his mentor to the edge of the clearing.

“Something is up with cub, that was the angriest I have ever seen him.” Time started and Twilight hummed in agreement. He and much of the others had heard part of the argument earlier but didn’t have enough information to really understand what had transpired. But Twilight could agree that Wild’s outburst was out of character for the newest hero. Wild tended to be more pensive, usually sinking into himself and his thoughts while clamming up and not talking to anyone for a while.

“That is odd, Usually we would see that kind of rage coming from Legend, but from cub? You’re right something is up. Do you think I should go talk to him?” Twilight asked and Time hummed in thought eventually coming to a decision.

“That might be for the best, even if you don’t talk to him I don’t think it would be a bad idea to keep an eye on him” Twilight nodded and looked around to the milling crowd of nosey heroes. Time glanced over to them as well before placing a hand on Twilight’s arm.

“You go, I’ll get these guys working on setting up camp for the night. Don’t lose track of our wayward champion” Time said patting his arm before heading back to the group to field questions and to get camp set up.

“Shouldn’t someone go out with him? Make sure he’s safe?” Wind asked quietly. Time only shook his head.

“Twilight is going to and make sure nothing happens to him. While he does that we’re going to set up for the night. It’s going to be dark before we know it” Time said and began dividing up the work amongst the remaining six hero’s. Time gazed into the woods then thoughts heavy on his mind.

*************************************************

Wild didn’t know how long he’d been out at this point but he knows it was a while. His rage had him stomping through the under brush slashing his sword left and right as he cut through underbrush that was in his way. Then slowly his anger sifted away leaving darker thoughts behind to occupy his mind. Soon he was just walking through the forest not processing anything but his own black thoughts that made him feel small and alone. Then he just stopped where he was, and plopped down under a large tree and curled up on himself. He pulled his knees to his chest and put his head down and tried to control his breathing but it was proving difficult under the weight of his suffocating thoughts. He had to get himself under control again, but it was hard. His mind was just a boiling pot of self hatred and hopelessness. His body ached, his arm throbbed and his soul for all the turmoil he felt swirling inside was somehow painfully hollow.

Just as he was about to submit to his own melancholy he heard rustling. His head shot up his body lurching to a standing position, his hand flew to his sword and drew his blade. His breath quickened as he looked around. When did it get so dark? Then another rustle and a voice came from the darkness ahead of him.

“Hey, hey it’s just me cub.” Twilight called out as he appeared from the underbrush hands held in front of him in submission. Wild let out a shaky breath and sheathed his sword again.

“I was just looking for you, you’ve been gone for a little while” Twilight said soothingly. It was a half lie, he’d been following him for a couple hours as Wild circled the camp in ever largening circles. Twilight had followed quietly not wanting to disturb him If he didn’t have to. But seeing him curl up on himself like that had set off alarm bells in his mind and he couldn’t just sit idly by and watch his friend suffer alone. Wild nodded and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked tired. Twilight motioned for him to sit and went to sit next to him.

“So what happened back there? I have never seen you that angry before” Twilight asked plucking up a stick from the ground and began to idly pull the bark off of it. Wild winced a little at the memory and sighed.

“I'm sorry, I don’t know what happened. One minute I was getting ready to eat crow and then the next…” Wild trailed off hands gesturing weakly in front of him. Twilight nodded but said nothing waiting for him to continue.

“Time was just so mad, yelling at me about throwing myself into danger. But he doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.” Wild said with a hitch in his voice. Twilight looked at him then, eyes full of concern.

“What do you mean he couldn’t understand? He’s usually pretty good with that kind of thing” Twilight said trying to get the other boy to open up more. Wild only grunted and rubbed his eyes again. A motion that Twilight had begin to attribute to Wild when he was about to stop talking. Twilight nudged him then motioning Wild to continue his thought. Wild gave a shaky sigh and looked into the dark woods.

“I failed, and because of that, the Hyrule I knew was destroyed, my friends the other champions were killed and…” Wild gave a half strangled cry and worked his fists into his eyes trying to force the tears back with little luck.

“I am the hero that came too late, how can I even look the others in the eye and claim that I’m worthy to stand with them?” Wild whispered head leaning back against the tree staring at the sky through the limbs of the tree letting his tears silently overflow. It was a lovely night Wild thought to himself. The clouds flowed by smoothly and the stars twinkled in the pinkish mood light. Twilight nodded quietly gathering his thoughts seeing as the other was clearly done talking.

“Well, I think you’re wrong.” Twilight said and Wild gave him a withering look and opened his mouth to protest but Twilight cut him off.

“You’re not a hero who failed or came too late. I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” Twilight began, looking at his protégé with a stern look before continuing.

“What happened all those years ago was simply out of your control but you didn’t let that stop you. You fought until you couldn’t anymore and I think that alone makes you a legendary hero” Twilight paused looking at Wild who had slowly relaxed, leaning against the tree with one leg stretched out in front of him. Wild still said nothing and Twilight continued.

“And that isn’t even considering your reappearance and subsequent destruction of Calamity Gannon.” Twilight paused again and looked over to Wild. His eyes blinked rapidly against a shimmer of tears. Twilight smiled at him then and put a hand on Wild’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you don’t deserve that.” Twilight said looking into Wild’s eyes making sure the other heard him and understood.

“And anyways if you keep tearing yourself down like that I promise I won’t be the only one kicking your ass until you stop” Twilight finished and got a wobbly smile out of Wild.

“Fair enough” Wild sighed mopping his face with his bandaged arm.

“I have to apologize to the old man, he didn’t deserve my anger. I feel awful that I tore into him like that. You think he’ll forgive me?” Wild asked and it was Twilights turn to chuckle.

“I think… he’ll be…” Twilight trailed off looking around them curiously. There were little sparkles of red lights floating around them.

“Those are weird looking fire flies.” He commented watching as they seemed to get bigger as the seconds wore on. Wild tensed next to him.

“Oh sweet Hylia no, not a blood moon” Wild whispered as he launched himself to his feet and began to look around frantically at the sparks of light and the quickly reddening sky. Twilight noticing his companion’s agitation stood quickly as well.

“What’s a blood moon? What's happening?” Twilight asked quickly as he followed closely behind Wild as he began to sprint towards the camp.

“Blood moon happens every once in a while and when it does all the monsters that were slain come back into existence.” Wild panted out as he leaped over boulders and darted in between trees.

“It happened more often when calamity Gannon was around, it was Ganon's way of keeping a choke hold on Hyrule. It has been less frequent lately but it still happens and now…” Wild trailed off as they heard shouts of surprise in the distance and the the sound of metal ringing against metal. Wild poured on the speed and Twilight lost sight of his protégé as he zipped around more trees and bushes.

“Wait!” Twilight shouted but it was too late. Wild had shot off into the forest and left him in the dust. There was a sound of a bomb exploding in the distance and shouts of surprise mingled with the sound of monster's battle cries close by. Twilight began to run even faster, trying to find footing in a forest that wasn’t his. He prayed desperately that he would make it in time to help save his friends before it was too late.

*************************************************

There was a lot of things racing through Wild’s mind as he rushed head long towards the camp. One thought that spoke the loudest in his brain was how could he have forgotten to tell the others about the blood moon? He silently cursed himself for letting it slip from his mind. It wasn’t often they ended up in his Hyrule, and through out the months of traveling together they had yet to run into this problem.

But still he mentally chided himself for not mentioning it. The sound of fighting grew louder and as he reached the edge of the camp and his heart nearly stopped as he took in the scene in a matter of seconds.

There were way too many monsters. At most there should have been three bokoblins, mainly the ones they killed that afternoon. However now there appeared to be two black moblins, a couple of red bokoblins and three black bokoblins

Where had the others come from? It didn’t make sense. He saw Hyrule ducking a wild sword swipe from one of the black bokoblins. Legend was at his back shield raised desperately against the other black bokoblin as it swung a heavy Boko bat down at his head.

Time was squaring off against one of the moblins near the far end of the camp. Time’s heavy claymore mid swipe as the creature stumbled back in an attempt to dodge the blow.

Warriors was surrounded by the two red bokoblins slashing at one of the monsters while shielding his other side from the other monster’s attack.

Then his eyes fell on the center of the camp, near the fire Wind was standing over top of a wounded Four, defending him against the last black bokoblin that was trying to run Four threw with it’s spear. That’s when Wild’s eyes snapped to the last monster.

The other moblin was sneaking up behind Wind and Four, obviously seeing an opportunity for an attack. It had it’s dragonbone club raised high for a devastating blow against the back of Four’s head, intent on smashing him flat. This was where Wild was going to launch his attack.

Slate in hand Wild quickly selected a bomb and threw it down just in front of him. Then he grabbed his shield and flipped forward positioning the shield between himself and the bomb. Just as he was about to land he activated the bomb launching himself high into the air and pulled out his bow, Wild felt the world slow to a crawl as he knocked an arrow and aimed at the startled moblin.

Wild loosed the arrow and it landed square in the forehead of the monster throwing it off balance. It’s head rocked back from the force of the blow and black blood sprayed satisfyingly from the wound. Quickly Wild threw his feet forward as he fell planting his feet in the center of the monster’s chest driving it back first, right on to the fire.

There was a bellow of pain from the moblin as it clutched it’s face and writhed in the fire. Wild skidded to halt and whipped around taking aim once again and shot the black bokoblin in the ear. The force of the arrow sent the bokoblin flying to the side and it flopped on the ground like a puppet with it’s strings cut. The moblin gave a final cry as it exploded in to black smoke leaving a mess of black blood to stain the area where it had been. The black bokoblin twitched and gave a mournful cry and quickly followed suit.

Then suddenly the world slammed back into motion.

Wind turned quickly and fell to Four’s side looking at his injuries and trying to find out how to help. It looked as though Four had taken a spear thrust to the shoulder. His arm hung limply at his side and his tunic was covered with red.

“Are you guys okay?” Wild called out to them and Four looked at him with a disgusted look.

“Yeah, I’m just peachy” He quipped and then cried out as Wind shoved a crumpled up shirt against his shoulder.

“Dammit! That hurt” Four swore, clutching his shoulder.

“that better not be my shirt you’re using” Four groused and Wind rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s warriors” Wind said as he held pressure to the wound. There was a cry of rage and Wild looked over to warriors who had managed to kill one of the bokoblins and was now facing off against the other.

“Hey! That’s.. My… Nicer… Tunic!” He yelled over to them each word emphasized by a blow of his sword against the bokoblin’s shield.

Satisfied that Wind and Four were no longer in immediate danger Wild turned his attention to Hyrule and Legend. Hyrule was still dodging the monsters ferocious blows. Wild could see that Hyrule was slowing down, his reaction times barely enough to keep a head of the enraged monster’s sword swipes.

The bokoblin gave a sudden cry and rushed forward sword swiping to the side aiming to decapitate Hyrule. Hyrule stumbled back narrowly avoiding losing his head as the sword slashed across his cheek just below his right eye.

Blood was quick to cover the lower part of Hyrule’s face and he landed hard on his back. Legend cried out about to twist and cover Hyrule with his shield but Wild was quicker. In two quick strides Wild had moved between the bokoblin and Hyrule, Wild’s sword came up and blocked the monster’s sword from landing a final hit.

The bokoblin gave another battle cry is it forced down on it’s blade trying to break the block. Wild gave a grunt of effort and kicked out, hard, foot connecting with the bokoblin’s chest and forcing it back. Wild was breathing heavily now with the exertion and he readied his sword again. The bokoblin bobbed it’s head turning this way and that looking for all the world like it was thinking. Then without preamble it turned and ran off into the forest. There were confused shouts as the battle suddenly changed. The two remaining bokoblins suddenly stopped what they were doing, almost going ridged before they too ran from the camp sight.

“Don’t let them escape! There’s too much risk for another attack” Warriors cried out giving chase to the retreating monsters. Legend nodded and followed quickly having enough time to grab his sword and run out of the camp in hot pursuit.

There was a loud cry then making Wild whip his head to the side to see Time hurtling his way after being struck by the Moblin’s bat. Time collided with Wild throwing them both into a tree. Wild smacked his head hard against the trunk and he could feel blood trickling through his hair and soaking his collar. The world was tilting at odd angles darkness creeping in at the corners. Time was unconscious a bruise already forming across his cheek, his head lolling from side to side as Wild struggled under his weight.

The moblin ran over quickly to the downed pair ignoring the others completely, intent on finishing what it had started. Wild could barely breathe under Time’s weight as he struggled to free himself to defend against the monster. The moblin reached them quickly and raised its bat once again ready to strike.

Seeing no way out, Wild wrapped himself as best he could over top of Time to shield him. There were cries of alarm, the other hero’s were either too slow to react or too injured to move quickly enough to help. Wild braced himself for the blow only to hear a loud snarl from behind him. There was the crash of branches and a wolf came hurtling out from in between the trees, latching onto the arm of the moblin and promptly ripping the arm to shreds forcing the beast to drop the bat.

There was a cry of rage as the wolf landed and shot beneath the behemoth and bit at it's ankles. The monster stumbled around kicking wildly as it tried to stomp on the wolf that was deviling it until there was a twang of a bow string and an arrow appeared in its eye. The moblin gave an angry howl as it fell to the ground too damaged to continue and burst into black smoke and blood, leaving greasy black smear on the ground where it had fallen.

Wild looked around in a semi fogged state as he looked for who shot the arrow, seeing a slightly pale Sky coming from under a tree branch. Sky was still holding his bow, loaded with another arrow as he scanned the camp site looking for more monsters. Seeing none he ran over to the tangled Wild and Time and helped lift the unconscious man off of Wild. Twilight now out of wolf form was quick to follow, first looking over Time to assess his injuries then moving over to Wild to do the same. Hyrule quickly trotted over to lend a hand digging around his pack to find the appropriate healing items.

Hyrule’s face was cleaned up for the most part. He had a bandage soaked with a healing potion placed on the cut under his eye but there was still small smears of blood under his chin from where he missed it with a cloth.

“S’ows the old man?” Wild said and was surprised by the slight slur to he speech. He must have hit against the tree harder than he thought. He still saw black at the edges of his vision and the world still spun slightly. Twilight looked at him, concern lacing his words.

“He’ll be fine cub, he’ll have one hell of a headache when he comes round I’m sure. Hyrule is looking at him now, but I’m a little more worried about you” Twilight fussed looking at the back of Wild’s head and making him follow his finger back and forth with his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you have a concussion” Twilight said grabbing Wild’s head again to tilt it down and prod at the cut and subsequent bump on the back of his head. Wild hissed in pain and struggled weakly to no avail. Twilight lifted the collar of his tunic and whistled.

“Well that’s one hell of a bruise you got started. How hard did you hit the tree?”

“Hard enough” Wild shrugged and immediately regretted it. He let out a groan and rested his head back against the tree willing for the spinning to stop. He heard Twilight shift beside him and felt Hyrule take his place at his shoulder. There was another minute or two of fussing as Hyrule moved his head this was and that and looked at his pupils, assessing the damage for himself. Wild heard bottles shift as Hyrule dug through his bag to find a potion. There was a satisfied ‘aha’ when Hyrule found what he was looking for and he felt the bottle being forced in to his hand.

“Tell me the truth ‘rule, will I ever play the harp again?” Wild asked as he uncorked the bottle and sipped at the contents with a grimace. There was a confused pause and then a sigh from Twilight as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Did you even know how to play?” Twilight finally asked looking at Wild over his fingers.

“No, but I figured after enough head trauma the skill would finally emerge” Wild smiled around the lip of the bottle watching as his mentor put his face in his hands and sighed.

“You’re going to make me keel over with stress” he moaned and Wild laughed weakly until Hyrule stretched out a hand and smacked him lightly against the back of the head. Wild flinched in pain and rubbed the back of his head reproachfully but said nothing. The gash was healing and he was feeling a lot better. The group jumped when there was a strangled gasp from Time as he went to sit up and was forced back down by Hyrule.

“Don’t sit up by yourself just yet, you got a pretty good smack to your head and you could make yourself sick” Hyrule warned and Time gave a small nod of understanding, allowing Twilight and Hyrule to lift him up and prop him against the tree with Wild. Within minutes he too had a potion and was slowing sipping it. They sat like that for a couple minutes until a disgruntled Warriors and Legend came walking back into camp.

“We lost them in the woods, we're going to have have two people on watch tonight to make sure we don’t get surprised” Warriors said as he dropped down next to the fire looking around at the group. Legend stood by the edge of the camp looking out into the gloom.

“So what happened? I left to get water then all of the sudden I’m hearing yelling and on the way back to help I was nearly knocked over by some bokoblins running away with Warriors and Legend hot on their heels” Sky asked.

“What happened was we were all caught with our metaphorical pants down” Legend fumed and Warriors couldn’t help but agree.

“One moment we were sitting around waiting for you to come back with water for soup and the next the camp was packed with monsters and we were all scrambling to defend ourselves. No weapons, no armor to hand, it was a total shit show” Warriors explained.

“You did miss one hell of an entrance though, Wild came flying in like a bad ass. I’m pretty sure he used a bomb and launched himself into the middle of camp and took out a moblin!” Wind gushed excitedly bobbing up and down as he acted out that part of the story, though he was cut off by Wild who gave a shuddering gasp.

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you all about the blood moon” Wild whispered and the whole group looked over curiously.

“What’s a blood moon?” Sky ventured and Wild closed his eyes and took another shuttering breath attempting to compose his thoughts before explaining his fuck up.

“Blood moon, it happens every once in a while. The sky turns blood red when the moon is full and once slain monsters come back to life. It happened a lot more often before I…” Wild waved his hand in the air lamely before he continued “I think Ganon created the blood moon as a way to keep a hold of Hyrule while he was locked away with…” Wild petered our again not knowing how to continue so he just stared unblinkingly at the fire, waiting for the blow up and he wasn’t disappointed.

“what the fuck, why didn’t you mention this? Don’t you think that’s kind of fucking important?!?” Legend shouted and Wild couldn’t help but flinch. Guilt raked over him and made his gut clench.

“I’m sorry” was all Wild could get out before he was cut off again by Legend.

“You’re sorry? We could have all died! What were you thinking?” Legend was practically foaming at the mouth with rage. Wild could feel himself curling in on himself from the weight of what could have been cutting him to the quick. Shame made him mute and it was all he could do to raise his hands and try to sign out another apology.

“That’s enough, I think you’ve got your point across” Time said placing a hand over top of Wild’s hands forcing them down to stop him from apologizing anymore.

Legend took a few steps back clearly startled at his own outburst and rubbed his eyes. After taking a few deep breaths to try and cool down Legend looked back at Wild still hunched over and he glanced away guiltily noticing there was a tremble in Wild’s hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on you like that.” Legend muttered and the group was silent for a few minutes each of them processing the night’s events in their own minds.

“It doesn’t make sense” Wild muttered so quietly that even Time barely heard him.

“What was that?” Time questioned and Wild shook his head, a look of worry marring his scarred face.

“The blood moon recovers monsters where they were slain yes, but the one constant there is, is that it’s only the monsters that were slain in a particular spot, nothing extra. There should have only been what, three bokoblins at most? And yes I know that’s still bad.” He said quickly seeing the look on Legend’s face. There was a pregnant pause as everyone digested that bit of information.

“Then what was that? Why were there so many in camp?” Four asked the question that was flitting around everyone mind.

Wild could only shrug, a serious cast falling over his face as he looked around at the group of heroes.

“A rise in monster activity, not to mention the odd behavior, increased strength and the way they acted as though they were following commands. This does not bode well.” Warriors commented, the others nodding their heads in agreement.

“Truly odd indeed, we’ll have to consider our next steps carefully. For now everyone needs rest. Legend and Twilight would you be opposed taking first watch?” Time asked placing the empty bottle down next to him and standing with a stretch. They both shrugged and went to opposite sides of the camp taking up first watch. Everyone else started readying their bed rolls and Time tapped Wild gently on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow. Wild stood stiffly and followed him to an unoccupied part of camp. The noises of the others preparing for sleep became background noise to their discussion.

“Are you okay?” Time asked and Wild looked down and shrugged. Physically he was feeling a lot better, still sore but no longer dizzy although he had the distinct feeling that Time wasn’t asking about that.

“I’ll have none of that, it’s clear to me that you’re not okay” Time admonished gently and Wild had to force himself to look at Time in the eyes.

“I’m not alright, I should have warned you and I failed. I am truly sorry” Wild whispered his voice soft, his throat felt raw and tight. Time only shrugged and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Normally I would accept that answer, but Goddess what were you thinking” Time said gesturing to the others in the group. The shift in tone made Wild’s head snap up, a pang of fear racing through his thoughts.

Time stepped forward menacingly his hand once placed softly on his shoulder squeezing tightly making him cry out.

“Look at the blood on your hands, this was all your fault and all you can say is sorry?” Time scoffed shoving him roughly away making him stagger. Wild looked at his hands now sticky with drying blood. He started to hyperventilate, what was going on? Wild tried in vain to move his feet but found tree roots wrapping around his ankles holding him in place.

“Your failure and negligence could have killed us all” Time thundered out making Wild cover his ears in pain at how loud his voice was.

“Please, I’m sorry” Wild tried to say but was cut off with hysterical laughing. His eyes shot around to look at his traveling companions now all covered in blood, various horrendous wounds marring their skin as they stepped closer now, surrounding the pair. Their pale dead eyes staring as they pointed and accusing finger towards him.

“ you’ve killed us all” Twilight said stepping forward his blade pointed at Wild’s throat. Then they were all pointing their swords at him yelling and berating him for not warning them, for not saving them.

“Maybe the monster we were hunting was you all along, I mean you certainly look the part” Time said almost gently as he reared his sword back and…

Wild gave a strangled cry of alarm breathing heavily, he was vaguely aware of the hand shaking his shoulder and someone talking to him. He shuddered rubbing his face with his hands and felt a cold sweat and tears on his face. After a moment or two a hushed voice infiltrated his terrified stupor making him look around. To his surprise he saw a concerned Legend standing there hand still clasped on his shoulder.

“…Okay? Hello? Can you hear me?” Legend said shaking him gently again. Wild looked around the camp eyes wide as he counted sleeping forms, all present save for Twilight. There were no wounds, no blood just a dying fire and gentle snores. He took a deep breath, held it and let it go slowly before turning to Legend again.

“Wild, you’re scaring me, quit looking at me like you’ve just seen a ghost” Legend said voice soft. Legend always acted tough around the others, often coming across as rude and standoffish, but everyone knew it was just a front. Legend didn’t want to seem weak, even in a group of heroes who had the same spirit flowing through their veins just like him.

“S-sorry, I had a nightmare. I-I don’t even remember falling asleep” Wild stammered, his heart still pounding. Legend nodded his understanding.

“Where’s…” Wild started but legend cut him off

“He went out on a quick patrol, he should be back any minute” Wild nodded again closing his eyes for a minute. He felt Legend drop down next to him apparently deciding to stay close to make sure he was alright.

“When did I fall asleep?” He asked and Legend hummed in thought.

“Well you were explaining the blood moon, about how there shouldn’t have been that many monsters in camp. Then you kinda just drifted off. We figured it was thanks to the healing potion and the long day you had” Wild hummed in contemplation, he didn’t remember feeling tired, the transition from wakefulness to asleep was so smooth.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize again. I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We’ve all been stressed lately and I guess it just boiled over” Legend said quietly, avoiding The look Wild gave him. Wild stared at him, was this actually happening? Or was this another dream? Carefully Wild leaned over and poked the other’s shoulder. It was solid and Legend moved slightly with motion.

“What are you doing?” He asked when Wild moved his finger away.

“Checking to see if I’m still dreaming” Wild said in all seriousness which made the other purse his lips.

“You know there’s another way to check” Legend said as he reared back and punched Wild on the arm. There was a shock of pain that made Wild gasp and grab his arm.

“I guess you’re not dreaming, you smart ass” Legend said smirking a bit at Wild’s discomfort. There was another few minutes of silence where Wild contemplated telling Legend about his dream, but he was uncertain of how the other would react and in any case he really didn’t want to relive the nightmare right then.

“So are you alright, or do I have to keep sitting here?” Legend finally said trying to sound tough but he heard the caring in his voice.

“I think I’m alright, thank you Legend” Wild said and gave a slightly forced smile. Legend nodded and stood.

“Get some rest, You look like shit and watch is going to rotate soon.” Legend huffed and walked quietly away. Leaving Wild to his thoughts and a worrying tug of wrongness pulling at the corner of his mind.

#linked universe #my first fanfic #legend of zelda #writing #loz fandom #loz fanfic #please be gentle #i tried #loz #link legend of zelda

82 notes · View notes

ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

Note

Are you still watching RWBY? What did you think of Volume 8 overall

VOLUME 9 NEVERLAND SAGA WHERE NO ONE CAN HIDE FROM THEIR TRAUMA OR THEIR FRIENDS BY TRYING TO STOP IRONWOOD FROM BLOWING UP HALF THE KINGDOM HE’S SUPPOSEDLY PROTECTING WHILE ALL THEIR OTHER FRIENDS AND ALLIES THINK THEY’RE DEAD.

POGCHAMP.

I enjoyed Volume 8, but I think it stumbles at the end enough to look back at its time management and feel not totally great about it.

Cinder’s development is solid. I’m still not very attached to her, but she has attained my interest at long last. Good for you, Cinder. Solve your emotional problems with murder. Kill Watts. Give Neo a reason to go back to trying to kill you. Make yet another mortal enemy. I support these actions.

Emerald’s flip means she won’t have sad eyes over all the atrocities she’s playing witness to while the timer goes down on her defection anymore, and that’s cool.

Ironwood’s everything is... well. Yeah. Great. Nothing like watch someone destroy themself. Oh, and everything else around them in the process. Once he got started, it was pretty clear where he was going, and that’s just sad. He goes from hugging Qrow and finding relief in his allies to shooting all of them. Shooting Jacques along the way does not even that out.

The Ace-Ops felt too cluttered for the final parts. They’re the cautionary tales, obviously, but I don’t think we get enough time detailing them for them to be on the same stage as Winter coming into her own and RWBY falling into oblivion. Qrow and Robyn get the slow burn and then the panicked call to immediate action, but for the Ace-Ops, Marrow and Harriet are the only ones who the narrative actively does something with. Marrow’s problems are obvious from the start, and Harriet’s emotional heat hints, and then reveals, a depth of trauma that this system has been crap at handling. But Vine and Elm, the critical pieces in talking her down, and centerpieces of keeping Mantle from blowing up, aren’t prominent enough in the narrative for their place in its resolution to feel quite earned. I think if we’d gotten an extra episode it would have worked a little better. As it was, I was left wanting more focus on the central cast.

Which is kind of why I’m so thrilled that RWBY+J are maybe stuck spending some quality time together. The macro plot matters, obviously, but they’ve been moving so fast. Atlas feels like a speedrun of a kingdom falling, and a little more interplay between my faves would be very welcome.

Then there’s the obvious.

Oh, Penny.

I can’t feel good about Penny’s handling in the end.

The Winter Maiden, as soon as we’re introduced, is waiting to die and offer her power to the next one in line. Winter was intended for that, but Penny interrupts.

Two days later, Winter has the power, and Penny’s dead.

This is necessary so that Winter has time to center what she actually believes before she’s upgraded to demigodhood. Winter as the Winter Maiden leading into Volume 8 would have kept her on Ironwood’s script. The disruption of expectations that leaves her vulnerable forces her to respond to what is going on, not what her side believes should be going on.

It makes sense to delay Winter’s ascension, because it gives Winter perspective that she can’t access as long as she’s in her chain of established command.

Making Penny’s value tie entirely back to supporting someone else’s story. She’s allowed to be a real girl, she’s allowed to fight for what she believes in, she’s allowed to have friends, but becoming the Winter Maiden serves Winter’s storyline more than it serves Penny’s.

Which isn’t to say they do nothing with her. Obviously, the virus making the vault look good creates a variety of opportunities. Sure, they could have filled in another domino without Penny specifically, but she’s an instrumental part of getting them inside that vault in how the story goes.

Creating a new body for her is a complicated thing. Penny’s a real girl no matter what her form is, but if you say that while cutting out the nuts and bolts -- it’s a little mixed. In the most benign way I can put my preferences, I like Penny being a robot. I’m thrilled she knows how warm a hug can feel (Pietro, patch notes, get on it), but...

Before Watts causes problems on purpose, Penny shows a little hesitance about not being your standard model of girl, but unless I’ve been worse about my watching comprehension than I thought, she doesn’t have any burning need for flesh. Changing her body is the best solution they can up with in response to her agency being violated.

It’s not my favorite thing in the world. I don’t think it’s entirely good faith to pin all of the possible unfortunate implications on it, but they exist, and they are there. And on the flip side, being granted a body that is created through nothing but who you are is a sentiment that I’m sure resonates with a lot of people. I think there’s a lot to observe in what Penny’s going through, and it’s worth discussion more than angry words.

Except before there’s a chance to collect opinion polls on that, we once again have her asking for death before she hurts her friends.

I believe there’s a post on LotR somewhere that explains why people are okay with it being a mood shift from The Hobbit. People aren’t huge fans of media they consume invalidating media they previously invested in.

Penny dies, then she comes back. Then she dies.

Penny interrupts the inevitability of Winter becoming the Winter Maiden. Then Winter becomes the Winter Maiden.

It feels like a zero sum game, but a zero sum game where our emotions were torqued around for the sake of it, and the object of said torquing is being utilized as a plot object prior to being a character.

Penny obviously has a lot of personality, and a lot of established emotional ties. She’s not just a lamp standing in a corner.

But to use the apt metaphor, you can see the strings. Penny’s trajectory seems to be moving under its own velocity -- but then that ending hits. Despite going through all of the steps to make sure that Penny doesn’t have to sacrifice herself to keep the people she loves safe, despite actually being really creative and clever about doing everything possible to keep her alive --

The plot demands her death.

It isn’t good enough to fix the pressing issue that made sacrifice look good. Sacrifice is still the ultimate answer.

Thematically, that doesn’t jive with the story we’ve been getting.

Emotionally, what the fuck, could we not.

(What’s better than the cute robot girl begging for death? Doing it twice!)

People who are in a more optimistic state about fiction at the moment have noted that Pinocchio does do a lot of dying, and I do like the read of Penny as Jiminy Cricket. Considering the full context of the world, there’s more to justify a return than a lot of characters get. It wouldn’t be the most shocking thing ever.

It’s still kind of fucked up. Penny doesn’t kill herself, but she asks others to kill her, and that’s her being a good girl.

The National Suicide Hotline gets its number placed in the summary of the episode.

Obviously there’s more to it than that, but the implications are there, and a very painful thorn when looking over the rest of her. Creating an environment where it makes sense for this character to kill themself, it’s noble, even --

I don’t think that’s a route of story that the available material handles gracefully.

It’s the “twice” that really hammers the point down into the coffin. It creates a pattern of behavior in Penny. Once, and okay. Heroic sacrifice plays are always a major source of drama, exemplifying how Good the person making the sacrifice is, and how Tragic it is that we’re losing such a good person, all because they have principles and just love these other people so much.

Only if you have a character asking someone to kill them twice in relatively quick succession, the callback isn’t to feats of heroics. It’s suicidal tendencies.

If you’re not prepared to deal with implications of that magnitude, you’ve got to make the link a lot less suggestive. Otherwise you’re telling a new story whether you like it or not, and it’s not one you’re ready for, drastically upping the odds that it’s not going to be the most polished thing ever.

What the issue becomes then, in my personal opinion, is pacing (’hey self why is the answer always pacing’ ‘because shut up’). Penny’s joy of life is a blip in between her asking for death. The heroic nature of her desire for death mixed with the awful despair of her actual death makes this endpoint of her story saturated with a darkness that sours the entire experience.

Complicating it further is the issue of trust.

The writers killed her and brought her back just to kill her again. If they do bring her back again, the faith is kind of broken. Once you show that you’re willing to move a character around like a piece on a chessboard, your audience isn’t going to trust the story enough to invest. They’re going to be looking for the strings. For a complicated special effect that takes a lot of strings, that’s a pain, because the agreement with stories is supposed to be that yes, there are strings, that’s our medium.

If you don’t trust the writers, you are not going to believe in the story.

For my personal taste, if the writers are doing something more with Penny, their presentation has made it difficult for me to see value in the journey, even if the destination happens to be something I ultimately approve of.

Anyway Robyn needs to officially adopt Qrow. He has been a bad guy bandit, now he can be a good guy bandit.

He can be the Happy Huntresses’ cute animal mascot.

That is all that matters.

That is my one, solitary thought on the entire volume.

Thanks for the ask!

#RWBY #fndm asks #why is all my meta about suicide

8 notes · View notes

atamascolily · 4 years ago

Text

After Ursula K. Le Guin died, I made an agreement with myself I would read anything and everything she'd written as the chance arose. That said, Searoad: Chronicles of Klatsand probably would have been the last on my list, had I not stumbled across a paperback copy in a library booksale (in pre-pandemic times) in a "fill a paper bag for $10" sale and it languished in my TBR pile for months before I finally got around to it.

The reason? Genre snobbery, in reverse of the usual direction. Searoad is a collection of short stories published in magazines like The New Yorker, and fancy-sounding publications with Review in their names. Serious publications publishing so-called "literary" fiction, or maybe "realistic fiction" or just plain fiction--fiction that's supposed to tell-it-like-it-is, lay bare the inadequacies of modern life, and leave you feeling empty and unfulfilled after watching empty and unfulfilled people make poor decisions in futile attempts to fill the emptiness and inadequacies of their lives. Because that’s the whole point of literature, right?

Oh. Perhaps I'm generalizing. But so it feels to me whenever I dip into one of these publications. They are "literature", everything else is "genre": romance, science-fiction, fantasy, action, adventure, thriller, mystery, crime. "Literary" fiction is usually just plain old "fiction" in the library classification systems and in common parlance: it is assumed to be the norm, the default, from which everything else is a deviation. And I hate this. I've always hated this.

To write about petty modern people with their petty modern lives is one thing--we all have our kinks--but to disdain others for imagining different things, for epics and grandeur and you-could-have-anything-so-why-not-go-for-it always struck me as a deep failure of, and disdain for, imagination. Genres, like so much else in our lives, are social constructs: us and them, the have and the have-nots. Literary fiction are the "haves", everything else is the "have-nots". That's changing, obviously, and the boundaries aren't as rigid as they once were, but I still see that divide reflected in so-called "serious" publications, and I generally avoid them.

Ursula K. Le Guin has always hugged the boundaries between "pure" genre (aka trashy, flashy, unfit for serious folk in the eyes of the pedants) and "literary merit". She's been accepted and respected by both camps, although the "literary" folks speak of the sci-fi rather patronizingly in their reviews of her works. Le Guin, however, never disdained the sci-fi labels in the same way that Margaret Atwood--another boundary-spanning writer--has always done.

For this reason, I've retained infinitely more respect for Le Guin than Atwood, despite Atwood's considerable talents as a writer. Atwood wants to play with sci-fi tropes, but she doesn't have the backbone to stand up and be proud of it. Atwood wants to write science fiction but not be judged for it, and the easiest way to do that (since genres are a social construct) is just to firmly insist that it's not sci-fi at all--move along, nothing to see here.

Here's a blurb on the back of my copy of Searoad by Carolyn Kizer, a Pulitzer-prize winning poet from the Pacific Northwest:

"For a number of years, the only science-fiction I read was that of Ursula K. Le Guin. I don't read science-fiction any more, thought I wouldn't think of missing a book of Le Guin's. She has transcended the genre..."

How very generous and open-minded of you to only read science-fiction so elevated it “transcends” its genre entirely, thereby becoming worthy of notice. And this is supposed to make me like literary fiction?

That said, the irony is that Kizer’s statement sums up my approach to non-genre stuff as well, although I would not have phrased it quite so baldly. More like “Okay, not usually my cup of tea--but if it’s you, it’s okay....” The genre transcending thing, as much as I despise the phrasing, works both ways here.

All this is to say I finally read Searoad, even though I had to coax myself into it by pretending that this was an alien society that Le Guin and I were exploring together in order to tell us stuff about our own, and that helped. It also helped because the stories were so damn good, and I got carried away, even though they are very literary stories, with ambiguous endings, the usual focus on unexpressed and/or self-destructive emotions of love, birth, and death, and no magic or wizards or dragons whatsoever.

(To repeat: I am a genre snob who has never understood why writing without dragons was inherently better than writing with dragons in it. I have always operated under the principle that dragons made everything better. And I have never understood why depicting the world as it is was a stroke of literary genius, if all you were going to do with it it is show people being unhappy in the usual old ways instead of unusual ways. Or even imagine something new and different!)

Searoad reminds me of Lake Wobegon a little, but that's only because it's a small town, with characters from one story popping up in others in the most unexpected places--just like small town life. After a while, it feels like we're constantly running into old friends, a shared world--real, but in a good way. The stories were published across a wide range of outlets from 1987-1991, yet flow into each other astonishingly well when read in rapid succession, or indeed, in any order at all.

My favorite is "True Love," which is all about ditching unsatisfying conventional relationships to focus on one's true passion instead:

For me, sex is sublimation. Left to itself, in its raw, primitive state, my libido would have expend itself inexhaustibly in reading.

And since I have been a librarian ever since I was twenty, I can truly compare my life to that of some pasha luxuriating in his harem--and what a harem! Half a million mistresses, when I was at the Central Library in Portland! A decade-long orgy! And during the school year, since I teach now at the Library School, I have access to the University Library. Here in Klatsand where I spend the summers, the harem is very small and a good many of the houris are rather out of date, but then so am I. My lust has lessened somewhat with the years. Sometimes I imagine I could be contented with a mere shelf of tried, true, and highly selected Scheherazades, with only now and then a pretty little novel to flirt with, or a volume of new poetry to make me cry out with excess of pleasure in the heart of the night.

And in the same story, Le Guin makes it clear she's one of us:

"Do you like science fiction" I asked her, because all I can really talk about is books. And of course, she couldn't talk about books. That had been knocked out of her years ago. We compromised on "Star Trek," new and old. She liked the new series as well as the old one. I liked the old one better. Antal stared, not at Rosemarie, only at me. "You watch it?" he said. "You watch television?"

I didn't answer. ... I was not going to let him try to shame us for our commonness.

"The one I liked best was the one where Mr. Spock had to go home because he was in heat," I said to her.

"Except, he never, you know," she said. "They just had a fight over the girl, him and Captain Kirk, and then they left."

"That's his pride," I said, obscurely. I was thinking how Mr. Spock was never unbuttoned, never lolled, kept himself shadowy, unfulfilled, and so we loved him. And poor Captain Kirk, going from blonde to blonde, would never understand that he himself loved Mr. Spock truly, hopelessly, forever.

Reader, I LOLed. Because it's true. You know it, I know it, and so does Le Guin. And she had the guts to say so in the Indiana Review, and the editors published it. LEGEND.

Like all of Le Guin's writing, the stories in Searoad are lyrical, elegant, soaring, and moving--sympathetic, yet unafraid to call out bad behavior and terrible things when she sees it. My other favorite story, "Sleepwalkers," is a brilliant example of this: it starts with a complaint by a privileged male playwright about the housekeeper at his summer cabin, only for us to quickly learn (if his tone and phrasing didn't give it away) that he's an arrogant asshole who sees only what he wants to see and misses what's actually in front of him. We then pivot to a number of other people at the little resort, and their views of the housekeeper, and we're left with an open question at the end: which view is more accurate? Which story do we believe? What is actually going on? Can any of us really know or understand the hidden depths within another person? It's so deep and lush and well-written, and even funny on occasions.

And there's also a diversity of viewpoints and perspectives and scenarios enough to keep me interested: a lesbian grieves the death of her long-time partner, a war veteran deals with PTSD, a college student runs off into the woods to secretly map illegal old-growth logging stands, a ghost appears in a late-night diner to a sexual-abuse victim. The ghost thing seems like it ought to fall under genre conventions, but doesn’t because of the framing, and yet it still works for me--another example of Le Guin’s skill.

Anyway, so Le Guin actually made me enjoy so-called "literary" fiction and that was unexpected and delightful. Regardless of my feelings about most "realistic" fiction, I'm glad I read this collection.

#book reviews #Ursula K. Le Guin #searoad #fandom life #writing life

60 notes · View notes

yndigot · 4 years ago

Note

Qs that end in 1 (including 1)!

A distraction!

1. Do you listen to music when you write? Outside of a few stories that I’ve made playlists for or that have a particular song that’s driving them/vibing with them, I actually listen to podcasts -- news and documentary. I don’t actually absorb any of the content of the podcasts when I’m writing (whether it’s fiction or classwork), so I have a really specific playlist of news and documentary podcasts that work for me in this capacity, where I know I won’t be upset if I don’t hear/retain anything, but I also know the voices/cadence/music cues are soothing as white noise. It was really hard to handle this during the election because my news programs would keep playing clips of Trump’s voice, and that would snap me RIGHT out of things. They’re generally better now. International drivetime radio is a gift.

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most Stephen King and Truman Capote were big for me as a teenager. I also read a lot of breathless-feeling poetry and flash fiction in my late teens/early 20s and went to a bunch of slam poetry events in high school, and while I can’t name the specific writers, that definitely had a big impact on me as well. As a religious studies major in college, biblical motifs became a big thing for me at one point as well, and definitely still creep in.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? The characters I’ve written the most in fandom (though not necessarily in fanfiction -- often in RP) have been Thomas Barrow and Remus Lupin -- maybe Sayid Jarrah, John Watson, and Steve Rogers as well. How much any of them resembled canon by the time I was done with them ... who’s to say? I was having fun, though. Outside of fandom, I tend to write low achieving fuck ups who are a little too clever for their own good. No clue why that might be.

31. Least favourite part of writing Filling in between the parts that are really clear in my head. Usually I’ll have tentpole ideas or tentpole scenes, and the miserable part is filling in the gaps.

41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers? I love all that advice that’s like “throw out all the advice and just vibe!” and “the best writing is writing that actually gets done!” that encourages people just to throw some shit at the wall and enjoy themselves. That’s great. I never want to be the one telling someone not to pursue a hobby in a way that makes them happy. But if you want to be good, I really think that you will benefit from understanding grammar and structure and having a wide and very nuanced vocabulary. Even if what you end up doing is breaking the prescribed structure, I think your writing is better for knowing how you are breaking it and doing that deliberately and thoughtfully. If you’re not reading widely, if you don’t know how sentence structure works, if you’re not aware of what a run-on sentence is and how to use it in a way that’s strategic rather than messy, if you don’t understand what adverbs are and aren’t thinking about how you’re using them, if you don’t understand parallel structure(!) and subject verb agreement and how to keep track of what your modifiers are modifying ... etc. etc., then your writing will suffer. You can totally have fun, but without any of that, your writing will look sloppy to someone who DOES understand all that. Even people who don’t consciously understand will often pick up intuitively on the fact that something is off.

I feel like that comes across as elitist at first, and if you struggle with any of that, a good editor will help you immensely. But actually a lot of this can be learned and internalized just by reading and reading and reading. NOT fic, which can be sketchy on these structures depending on the skill of the writer. I mean that you need to read actual published work that’s been through a rigorous editorial process (I see a lot of sloppy work in pulpier published fiction, so I’m serious about the need for rigorous editing in the stuff that’s forming your ideas about structure). You may not know the terms for all that grammar and structure shit, but you will intuitively understand how it works much, much better if you are widely read. This isn’t to privilege elitist, “proper” English over other forms of English either. Dialects also have rules. It may be somewhat harder to find published literature in dialect, but good, published works that understand structure and are written in dialect do exist. If you’re just trying to have fun, there’s nothing wrong with that! But if you’re trying to be good, and especially if you’re trying to get published, then you really, really need to understand what you’re doing and why. Your decisions about diction and sentence structure and grammar should be conscious. You should be aware of what the rules and conventions are and what effect you have when you break those rules.

#ask meme #bless i needed this distraction #combeferre

1 note · View note

tsarinastorm · 5 years ago

Text

Stare Blankly-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 3

*This is the first part of a two part series, So We Beat On

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You finished setting out the wine and snacks, and were pulling up your streaming services on your television. You were having your first real girls’ night since moving to the city, and it was your first time hosting your new friend, Marnie. You met Marnie and Elijah at the same, boring networking event for young women, and bonded over the wine bar. The three of you started chatting about how lame the event was, but at least there was free wine. You became fast friends and grabbed lunch. You were missing your friends from back home so when Marnie mentioned a girls’ night, you thought it was a great idea. Marnie was bringing the nail polish, and face masks, and you supplied the apartment and snacks.

You had a small one-bedroom apartment in Tudor, and you couldn’t wait to move somewhere else. Your library hardly fit in this apartment and you weren’t ready to give up any part of the collection. The books, broad in topics, helped you win a few episodes of Jeopardy, enough to pay off your law school debt, and it gave you a chance to focus on writing instead of practicing law. You had written a modern Shakespeare series, some historical fiction and another novel which was released last year, and became a best seller. You freelanced on the side to keep things interesting and to be able to afford living in New York City.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch with a glass of wine in your hand and some kind of specialty mask on your face. Marnie was sitting next to you, posed in a similar fashion but with a cucumber mask on. You had some cheesy romantic comedy on but were too busy talking to pay attention. She recounted the breakdown of her marriage and music partnership with Desi, and talked about helping Hannah raise her baby upstate. She said she moved back to the city because upstate just felt suffocating to her. You tell her you understood, you had moved to the city because you wanted more.

“Y/N, you’re a writer, right?”

“Yes I am, are you in need of writing services? Isn’t one of your friend, Hannah, a writer too?”

“Hannah is a writer but she couldn’t help me. I need to work on song lyrics, and I’d like some help. You’re such a great writer maybe you could help me tweak some stuff.”

“Sure, no problem. I know nothing about music so that’s my disclaimer if it’s terrible.”

“I can appreciate any help I could get. It’s so hard to work on music while I have to look for a normal 9 to 5 job too. Working at the coffee shop just isn’t cutting it and it sucks to see Ray every day.” You had heard her talk about her past with Ray, and you couldn’t blame her for not wanting to see him all the time. You remembered that she had an art degree and you had some connections to galleries in the city.

“Wait, don’t you have a degree in art or curatorship? I have a friend who manages artists and is getting ready to open a new gallery featuring his artist’s work. He’s also a professor at Columbia so he always needs some help.”

“That would be great, that’s originally what I wanted to do. Do you think you could get me an interview, or send him my resume?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You really don’t want to speak to Marc again, but if Marnie needed a job, you could suffer through a conversation. You and Marc had a unique relationship, with ups and downs, and it was currently over. You weren’t prepared for what talking to him again may entail.

The café was cute, artsy, and seemed to have a variety of drinks and foods catered to hipsters. It almost makes you laugh, but you see your crew motioning for you. You go to the table where you see Marnie, Elijah, a girl with short mousey hair, a cute baby, and another girl with dark hair. You sit down and you can feel the two girls you don’t know watching you curiously. Marnie starts the introductions.

“Y/N, these are my friends, Hannah and Shoshanna. And Hannah’s baby, Grover.”

“It’s nice to meet you guys, I’ve heard so much about you both. And this must be Grover, I’ve heard all about him too. He is adorable.” You say as you watch the baby who’s struggling with his sippy cup. You quickly find out that Hannah has recently moved back to the city, lives on Long Island, and works as an editor now. Hannah also adds that she is single and open to relationships, even potentially getting back with an ex because she thinks she needs closure. Yikes you think, getting back with an ex almost never works well. Elijah is busy entertaining baby Grover and chimes into the conversation every now and then. But you and Hannah are able to have a good discussion about writing and the struggles of being a female writer. Shosh talks about her fiancé, how perfect he is, how she wants to go back to Japan, and about how stressful planning a wedding is. You decently like Hannah and Shosh, but you didn’t know how close you’d be with them, you just had different lives. Everyone at your table then turns to look at some blonde with a British accent coming towards the table.

“Who invited her?” Elijah says icily. Shoshanna answers saying, “I mentioned this to her but she was not invited.” The blonde takes a seat at the table and she introduces herself to you.

“I’m Jessa, their other friend, the bad friend, the one who steals boyfriends.” She says and you watch to see if she’s joking but you’re alarmed when you realize that she is not. You introduce yourself to her, and you can feel that the resentment at the table is practically sizzling.

“Jessa, are you and Adam still fucking or whatever your thing was?” Hannah asks with an edgy tone. You immediately pick up that there’s some drama there, specifically between Hannah and Jessa. Your instinct appears correct because everyone else looks tense as they watch the exchange. Jessa just smiles as she answers, “No, we’re just friends now, but I still talk to him. I hope we can all be friends again now that I’m not with him anymore. Are the rest of you satisfied now?”

“That doesn’t make it any better that you stole her boyfriend.” Elijah snaps at her and rolls his eyes. Marnie and Shosh just watch her, and choose not to respond to her. Jessa turns to Hannah, and says, “Can we talk somewhere?”

“There’s not much to talk about but alright.” Hannah quickly packs up Grover’s things and rushes to leave, she’s obviously frazzled and wants to get that conversation over with. Hannah tells you that it was nice meeting you, gives you a quick hug then is gone. Jessa tells you the same thing, but doesn’t hug you, and it feels like brunch is ruined. That Jessa came in like a hurricane, then left. You must look shocked, because Marnie starts laughing nervously before she explains, “Welcome to the disaster that is our friendship. Adam is Hannah’s ex, then Jessa dated him for a while, it’s a testy subject as you can see. No one wanted Jessa here, and apparently even Adam is sick of her.”

Shosh and Elijah both shake their heads in agreement with Marnie. The remaining four of you continue chatting for an hour or so. You decide that you don’t particularly like Jessa simply because of her history, but to you she seemed decent. You’d keep her at a distance though. Shoshanna was super sweet, a bit chatty, but well-intentioned, you thought you could be friends with her. You thought Hannah was a bit self-absorbed but good company, and you had a lot in common. Marnie promised to fill you in on the friendship drama later.

“I have a job interview with Marc this week, thank you so much for sending him my info.” Marnie says as she hugs you.

“I hope it all works out, it was really no problem.”

“I have a gig this weekend, you should definitely come, I’ll be performing a new song!”

“Alright, send me the details,” you say as you’re trying to decide if you’re excited or not. You’re excited to support your friend, but will her other friends be there? You weren’t sure if you were interested in their group drama, you had enough of your own issues going on.

*************************************************************************

Adam walks into the bar, and looks around. It’s definitely not a place he’d normally venture into on his own. He was here for Marnie’s singing gig, he never particularly liked Marnie but Ray encouraged him to show up. Ray was Adam’s only friend, if he could even call him a friend. Jessa claims she’s his friend now, but she’s not. He’s the one who broke up with her, and she was desperate to stay in his life so she convinced him to be friends, but he knows she’s hoping to make it more than friends again. He looks up at the upper level of the bar, and he sees one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen.

She’s standing up there perched against a high table, but she’s clearly enjoying her view over the whole bar. She’s wearing a beige crop top and black skinny jeans, Adam thinks she somehow looks both confident and vulnerable. He makes up his mind that he’s going to talk to her. When he makes to the edge of her table, he asks, “May I join you?”

“Sure.” She nods and looks at him, and continues, “This is the perfect spot for people watching.”

“Definitely, do you see that guy down there in the blue shirt, he looks the typical hipster, he probably complains about being ‘friend-zoned.’”

“That girl there is probably coming off a bad break up and is looking for a rebound. She’s trying to figure out how to look fun but not too desperate.” She laughs, and then her phone buzzes and she says, “I’ve got to go meet my friends but it was nice talking to you, I’m Y/N.”

She reaches out her hand and he takes it introducing himself, “I’m Adam, I hope I see you around.”

********************************************************************************

You go meet up with Shoshanna, and Hannah. Marnie’s getting ready to go on stage, so the three of you stand off to the side of the platform and wait for her to come out. Shosh and Hannah are talking about how Marnie must be nervous before going on stage, and then you hear Shosh say that she doesn’t even know why Jessa showed up. You think that’s great, let’s bring the drama train back. Speaking of drama involving someone named Adam makes you think of the Adam you just met. You figure that you’ll see him at some point tonight, this place is only so big. You’re thinking about his perfect imperfect smile when you see him walking your way. He comes up and stands besides Hannah and they talk as you realize that he must the Adam that she and Jessa have the rift over. Hannah then turns to you, and goes to introduce you to Adam, but you stop her saying, “Oh this is the Adam? I just ran into him a couple of minutes ago.”

“Yeah, we talked for a few minutes. How do you two know each other?” Adam asks as he motions his hands towards you and Hannah, you can see the moment it clicks in his head that you must be friends or acquaintances with Hannah. Hannah answers for you telling him “She’s our new friend. We just met her the other day. Did you know that she’s a writer like me?”

“No, we didn’t have time to talk about that,” he says sheepishly. You try to diffuse the situation by asking Adam what he does, he tells you that he’s an actor. He asks you where you’re from and he responds to your answer by joking that your home might be the only place worse than Indiana. You surprisingly don’t disagree.

“What have you been working on? Every actor I’ve met is like every writer I’ve met: they have projects.” You say coolly, leaning in so he can hear your question over the music. He laughs as he answers your question, “I did a production of Hamlet, and just finished a Death of A Salesman at Minetta Lane. I have some other auditions and projects coming up.”

You recognize him from the production of Hamlet you went to a few months ago, that’s why he looked familiar. Hannah and Shosh has backed away slightly from you, as if to give you privacy to talk. Adam as steps closer to you as you inadvertently take a step towards him too. You definitely found Adam hot, and you were impressed by his work. You’d seen Hamlet and read the rave reviews for his part in Death of a Salesman. It was the first time in a long time that you felt nervous around someone. It was a good nervous, but still it was making you more self-conscious than you’d like. You tried to ignore his past with new friends because you could tell that could be a stressful nightmare, but you really wanted to get to know him better. Adam seemed to be smart, non-traditional and interesting. You thought that a compliment was a safe way to start a conversation, or it is with ninety-nine percent of the population.

You take a long sip of your drink and lean in closer to him so he can hear you, “I saw the production of Hamlet, and you were really great. One of the best performances of Hamlet I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. It means a lot, you said you’re a writer so you know about the arts. I’m a fan of your work too, your book was one of the best books I’ve read this decade. ”

“I appreciate art, but my perspective is different from yours because I’m not an actor. Isn’t that the great thing about art though: it means different things to different people, but it’s also universal?”

“I agree, it’s supposed to make people feel something, that’s why I don’t do mainstream stuff. It tends to be shallow.”

“I like modern interpretations of Shakespeare like your Hamlet. It’s timeless and universal.”

“I’ve never understood the allure of Shakespeare, he’s overrated and pretentious.” He states like it’s a known fact. You have to watch his reaction to see if he’s joking with you, but you see he’s being dead serious. And things were going so well until he dropped that bombshell opinion.

“He’s the greatest writer of all time. And what writer isn’t pretentious? Most of them are pretentious by default because through most of history a majority of the population couldn’t read or write so writers always represented the upper classes.”

“Okay I’ll admit that Shakespeare is good, he’s made a lasting impact or whatever. But he took works from others, and anytime you have to have a modern interpretation to understand the point, the writing probably isn’t as good as you thought.”

“He wasn’t pretentious in his time. When he wrote it, the people understood it. English has drastically changed in 500 years. He appeals because he used universal themes and timeless human emotions.” You can feel your anger rising, but you can’t help it. He’s was so stubborn, and resolute in his convictions.

“I still disagree. There are thousands of writers who do the same thing and don’t get the credit. But Shakespeare is untouchable because a lot of elitist academics think he is.”

“And the whole world should listen to you. Am I supposed to believe that all of the scholars who study Shakespeare and literature are wrong and you alone are the only one who is right? Who sounds pretentious now?”

“You’re sounding like an elitist. I’m curious, who’s your favorite author?”

“Okay I’ll play along, Dostoevsky or Fitzgerald.”

“That’s my point exactly.”

“Do you think Dostoevsky is pretentious too? He did not go through exile in Siberia to be insulted by some yuppie actor in modern day New York.”

“Did you seriously call me a yuppie?”

“I did.” You say as you raise your eyebrows and take an exaggerated drink from your cup. It added a dramatic flair to your comment, and you felt like you needed a drink with the way this conversation was going. Apparently your yuppie comment struck a nerve because Adam’s voice deepened when he responded, and his new tone was accusatory.

“I know what your problem is. You’re so used to being the smartest person in the room that you can’t fucking handle it when someone is just as smart as you. Because you feel that way, you assume you’re always right and you refuse to let anything go.” You can’t tell what makes you madder: his tone, or the fact he presumes to know everything about you, when he doesn’t. The nerve of him! You’re going to get him back from that comment, so you try to give him a low blow too.

“And I know what your problem is. You’re so used to playing the ‘starving’ artist, waxing poetically. Oh you poor tormented soul! You use it to excuse yourself from real responsibility and you think it makes you different, but really you’re just like everybody else.” You point your finger to emphasize your last point. You can’t tell if that was the worst conversation you’ve ever had, or one of the best conversations you’ve had in a long time. You were somehow both infuriated by him and intrigued. You were a lawyer after all, maybe that’s why you weren’t totally put off by the argument, and a part of you actually liked it.

You become suddenly aware of how close you’re standing to him, you can count all of his freckles and can practically feel his breath. Assuming that he would move back, you stood your ground, but he remained still as his honey irises bored into yours. This was too much, you thought to yourself and willed yourself away. You grab your drink off the table and turn to leave. Adam looks like he’s going to say something, but instead he keeps a smug look on his face as you watches you walk away.

You then walk off to go congratulate Marnie on her great performance, even though you have be too distracted to listen to most of it. You presumed Adam would still be around after you’ve congratulated Marnie, and you’d have a chance to finish your chat. But when you got back to where you last saw Adam, he wasn’t there. You scanned the bar for him, and he was nowhere to be seen. You guessed you wouldn’t get to finish that talk.

#adam sackler x reader #hbo girls #girls hbo #adam sackler fic #adam driver #adam sackler

24 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

Telefunken, A Prequel to Eugenesis: The Future Is Obsessed With Making Babies

All These Materials, And I Still Had To Keep The Wiki Open The Whole Time

This short story was included with the secondary publication of Eugenesis, which happened in 2007, six years after the first run. Yep. He had multiple publication runs. Back when you had to actually go and talk to people about what you wanted published instead of doing everything online. For a novel-length fan fiction about murdering space robots and then having them give birth to tentacle monsters.

I wish I had the friggin’ brass balls Roberts does.

Telefunken as a term doesn’t mean anything in any language, but that doesn’t mean we can’t gain any sort of understanding using context clues.

Tele- as a part of Greek, means “from a distance.” So whatever’s happening is far off. In the future, perhaps? The pre-story quotes certainly seem to imply such a thing.

A couple hundred years into the future, actually. With a list like that, one has to wonder just who the hell can get into Maccadam’s these days.

Funken itself actually is a word- it’s German for spark. So “from a distance” + “spark”. Alright, let’s see where this goes.

Is… is this someone trying to convince someone else to read Eugenesis? Is Roberts making the space robots read this batshit story? Is he threatening them? Because making someone read an entire book’s worth of slaughter of their race sort of feels like a threat.

Okay, moving on to actual story, our narrator starts the day by blinding himself. He turns the input on his optics all the way up and stares at the sun.

I don’t know why.

Once he’s done that, he reflects on the nature of change, and how some things just can’t be fixed.

I see we’ve hit our fascist phase. Because they’re only allowed to enjoy the rejuvenation of the planet if they’re wearing Prowl’s face on their chest, right?

Our narrator seems to have an alternate take on the walls, though- seems more like they’re trying to keep the citizens in as opposed to the ruffians out.

Scene jump, and we’re in the middle of a conversation between two folks about some guy who killed an Autobot and fled. Yeah, no one with dialogue has been properly identified as of yet. All I know currently is that one of the conversationalists is a commander. Something tells me Nightbeat’s involved with the scene.

But that’s just a hunch.

So, looks like the Transformers had a little more room for the war buffet after all, because they’ve had at least two named squabbles in the last couple centuries. Hence, our narrator is off to try and corroborate a rumor that Galvatron is still kicking around.

He heads through the religious sector to get downtown, lamenting that Iacon’s been reduced to a military city-state in order to keep some façade of peace going on. He didn’t go through the hell that was the Eugenesis Wars for this.

Ooh, a dash of fantastic racism to really bring out the acidic taste of Orson Welles 1984. Maybe this is Prowl, actually, which would explain why he hasn’t been explicitly named. Would kind of ruin the whole end of the novel, wouldn’t it?

I’m not saying it’s Prowl because of the racism. More the clean dividing of folks into categories and statistical data.

Our narrator walks through the throng, ignores a homeless veteran, and passes by a crowd of Creationists on pilgrimage, and with that he’s off to Autobot City 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Meanwhile, back with the guys reading this account- yes, turns out they’re outside of this particular story- more details are being revealed.

The Turning, you say.

Vampire robots it is, then.

Back with the narrator, he’s just found what he’d been looking for- an Autobot badge, close enough to the real thing to work for his purposes. He heads inside something called an “ingestion tank”- I’m imagining the fucking eating chairs from IDW2- and oh-so-sneakily adds a few screw-looking bombs to the badge.

Hmm. I’m thinking my guesses are just a bit off-base.

Back at the narrative, our narrator has just arrived at the Ministry, where Sideswipe and his boys are truly living up to the ACAB lifestyle- Sideswipe is literally unloading clips into a crowd of protestors. Apparently this isn’t anything new.

Oh-kay. So. Back in the epilogue for Eugenesis, Wheeljack made an offhand comment about Rodimus wanting to look into streamlining the biomorphic reproductive process, using the power of science. This was something Ratchet really wasn’t thrilled about- he’s the Transformer-equivalent to being child-free, I guess- and let me tell you something: if Ratchet thinks something is a bad idea, it almost absolutely is. But it looks like Rodimus got his way, if our narrator’s cryptic statements are to be believed.

Let’s get fucking weird for a second.

Millions of years ago the biomorphic process was decided to be too slow for the colonial ways of the Cybertronian Empire, so morphing centers were created, where protoforms were basically injected with false memories to kickstart their lives. Think MTO programming from IDW, but more mechpreggy. This practice died out when the shortage of energon caught up with everyone, and was left behind for the most part.

EXCEPT FOR THIS. Turns out that Kup actually wasn’t all that old, he just thought he was. Why did they do this? Assumedly for the preservation of their research. Does it factor into anything ever for Kup? Nah, not really. Also:

🄹🄰🄼🄴🅂 🅆🄷🄰🅃 🅃🄷🄴 🄵🅄🄲🄺

Telefunken really is what makes the director’s cut of Eugenesis. This is where all the really weird shit is. If you ever fucking read this nightmare of a book, you better make sure Telefunken is included, because you will be reeling.

Anyway, the planet can’t handle more than a few hundred thousand robots, energon-wise, so the Treaty of Antimorphism was signed- a sort of “no more mechpreg” agreement between the Autobots and Decepticons. Not sure how they’re going to stop someone’s torso from vomiting up a goo baby, seeing as the process appears to be completely random, but they probably know more about the process than I do.

Yeah, that treaty is broken almost immediately. I mean, come on, we know who’s writing this story, it’s amazing that the idea was even remotely considered.

The Autobots decided that they were going to start underground biomorph rings, where Lifers- y’know, the guys who can actually do this sort of thing- spit out protoforms on command to supplement the Autobot forces, in case more war broke out.

They can give birth on command.

I-

I just-

How-

Okay. Sure.

BUT HOW-

Of course, a lot of people had a problem with this, seeing as they already had a solution to the problem of a limited population, in the copies of everyone’s brains Rodimus had commissioned after the events of Eugenesis. Yeah, that’s the root of the problem right there: it was unnecessary. Certainly not the violations of the free will and rights of the poor bastards who got chained to a table and told to start pumping out new robots at what was probably gunpoint in the basement of some bombed out building. Nope! Just that the whole thing was superfluous.

That was about the time that the Anticopyist protests started- how convenient- and the mind crystals were buried, never to see the light of day. Of course, Star Saber might have had a hand in quietly recovering the crystals, but that’s just hearsay.

It’s all going down the tubes, really- High Commands gearing up for the inevitable civil war that’s about to break out amid all this bullshit. Prowl and Nightbeat are trying to put a stop to things, but what are two guys with crippling depression going to do against all this crap? Not much. Especially now that there are Neogens discovering that they aren’t who they think they are.

The slogan is “maximum speed, maximum efficiency.” I’ll let you take a wild guess as to what these weirdos call themselves.

Sideswipe and his goons get done with killing civilians, and our narrator can finally get on with their mission- an interview with Rodimus Prime, who is dying. Again. We just can’t keep our Primes alive, can we? Can’t keep ‘em dead either, but that’s not the point.

But I thought Cyclonus was key.

…I’m sorry, that was dumb.

Anyway, our narrator gets through security, bombs undetected, and prepares to finish his thesis.

These outside conversationalists are kind of morbid, aren’t they? Still, we wouldn’t have the narrative if they weren’t, so thanks? I guess? For being weird voyeurs of terrorist activities?

The narrator makes his way to the basement, where they’ve got Rodimus stashed.

But how are his tiddies? Are they ridiculously huge? Does he breast boobily down the hall towards you? Too bad First Aid’s dead, he’d be all over this behemoth.

You know, last time we saw Springer, his sole purpose in life was getting high. Wonder how he got to this point in just a couple hundred years. That’s nothing to these guys. Guess he traded in the space-heroin for juicing.

Springer, because I guess he’s kind of an asshole in this story, threatens our narrator, saying that he’s got a joor- pretty much an hour- to talk to Rodimus, and one second beyond that he’s throwing his ass out the door. He makes this point very emphatically, and repeatedly. Springer needs to take a chill pill.

With that, our narrator double-checks that his rigged badge is still there- how many times are we going to blow up Rodimus Prime?- and enters the medvault.

Rodimus isn’t doing so hot.

Despite the obvious lag in his brain, Rodimus is happy to be of service to a young student, and invites the narrator to sit and stay awhile.

Now that’s just cruel, Roberts. You gotta give Rodimus something, you already killed his best friend and most of his comrades. No wonder he’s depressed in every continuity, all the writers are mean as hell to our boy Rodders.

Our narrator starts off by asking about Scorponok, and Rodimus takes so long to answer he wonders if the guy just went ahead and died. But Rodimus, ever a good sport, does eventually answer. He talks about all the major Decepticon players, and our narrator smiles and listens, waiting for the point where Unicron is mentioned. He really wants to hear about Unicron, and can practically taste his presence in the room, seeing as Rodimus is still possessed.

You see, our dear narrator is a space-satanist.

Unfortunately, when Rodimus finally utters the name of the robot-devil, nothing happens.

No, see, if the Transformers had Plan B, none of this mechpreg stuff would be fucking happening.

This is where our outside conversationalists come more into play, revealing themselves to be Star Saber- finally entering the story proper- and Great Shot, who I can’t seem to find anything on. We get treated to the security footage from this point on, getting a lovely scene of our narrator yelling at a dying old man, as the two discuss the Turning. It’s a major point of concern for a lot of the troops, and we’re shown why, as Rodimus starts having a Reagan-from-the-Exorcist-level fit about the same time as our narrator drops his bomb. The room explodes, and our narrator escapes out into the world.

From here on, all of the narrative comes from out narrator’s internal recording. He keeps running, beyond the walls of the city and into the Rad Zone, until he hits Eocra. Eocra is where that chunk of space rock from Liars A-to-D was housed. I guess we’ll find out if it’s still there.

He requests an audience with Servion from a member of the Brotherhood of Chaos whom he doesn’t recognize, and is ushered inside.

Into an underground room with a window showing the stars and just packed with Decepticons. Even Blitzwing’s there- I’d figured he’d been one of the POWs who kicked the bucket, but apparently not. Turns out that door he went through was a teleport. They want our narrator’s thesis. He hands it over immediately.

Go for it, guys, his resume from today alone is beyond impressive. He’s done more in the last six hours than most of your top guys have done in their entire careers.

The Decepticons say that they’ll be in touch, and with that they shove him out of the room. Well, that’s that. Guess it’s time to go and see if the rumors about the losers in Kalis are a bunch of bunk after all.

And that’s the end of his datalog.

Back with the ‘Cons, the boys are gossiping about their new hire. Turns out he’s one of theirs anyway- a Neogen, and his name is Tarantulus.

I checked, it’s a valid alternate spelling of his name.

Over with Galvatron- did you honestly think he was dead?- the edgy bastard’s preparing for the Final Purge. Turns out he’s still under Unicron’s thumb, even after all this time. He’s pleased to hear that Rodimus is dying, and recalls being able to corrupt the Lifecode when he needled the Prime during other desperate moments. He decides he’s going to do that again.

Back with Start Saber and Great Shot, the boys are cooking up some tasty treats in their politically-powered lie kitchen. As far as the public knows, Tarantulus was shot to death by the guards when he approached the wall. Prime’s Turned, which sucks for him, but might work out in Star Saber’s favor. Just too bad that that one guard got in between Rodimus and the bomb blast.

So I guess Star Saber being less than piously heroic is just a Roberts thing. Alrighty then.

That’s the end of Telefunken. This answers as many questions as it presents, leaving us at a net-neutral for understanding just what the fuck is going on. Awesome.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #eugenesis #telefunken #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

36 notes · View notes

wordsnstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Guide To Writing Enemies To Lovers

-- I decided to format this article like its accompanying post, Guide to Writing Friends to Lovers, which you all seemed to really like. I hope this is as helpful as that, and thank you to everyone who responded to the poll that contributed the questions I answered in the “common struggles” section. I have a feeling I’ll be reaching our for direct topic-specific questions through polls more often, so keep an eye out. Happy writing!

Patreon // Ko-Fi || Masterlists || Work In Progress || Studyblr || Studygram

Take The Time To Make It Believable

There is a certain amount of care required in the depiction of these stories because they can be really touchy and very easily lead awry. It needs to be handled with care when you tell the reader that this character is going to forgive the other one for doing this, and why. Show the thought process, show the growth, show the reason, and give the story time to make that change reasonable in the reader’s head.

Roll In The Tension

Let the tension build, thicken, and sit in the reader’s tummy. That’s the most delicious part of reading this trope, and the most fun part to write, so enjoy it, and don’t ask yourself if it’s “too intense” or if you need to speed up the pace. Let it simmer, and let the reader stew in it. The longer you draw it out, the yummier the resolution will be.

Give Up Pride, Not Values

Your characters should not end the story by forfeiting what they feel and believe in order to win the other over. That’s not how life works, and that’s not a good way to depict love and forgiveness. Forgiveness is the main theme of enemies-to-lovers stories, after all, and if you’re writing romance, you should imprint a healthy romantic story into your reader’s memory, even if it’s bumpy, tense, and dramatic for the majority of the actual events.

Make The Relationship Improve Them Both

Romances usually hold a meaning or message about romance that the reader will take away from the story at hand. Your message should, ultimately, be that these two people, despite their differences and shortcomings, grew to forgive each other for their mutual mistakes, found common ground, and even fell in love. The end of a romance should be positive, or at least transformative to the reader in a positive way. The couple you depict, if they are meant to be a good couple in the context of the story, should improve each other, and make each others’ lives better.

Abuse vs. Rivalry

There is a poignant difference between two people who are abusing each other and two people who don’t like one another. Abuse can be heavily romanticized or forgiven when this trope is approached with inadequate care and attention. If one or both of the members of the couple actively bring each other down, truly, in an emotional, mental, or physical way, it’s abuse, not enemy-ship, and if that’s intentional, you shouldn’t call your story a romance. Abuse is not romantic, and it never should be depicted to be so.

Common Struggles

~ Where do you draw the line between hurtful and unforgivable?... That depends on your characters’s values, and you need to think long and hard about your characters’ individual boundaries before you even start writing. Your reader will get to know your character. If your character forgives something your reader knows they would never forgive, that will destroy their personal understanding of them.

~ How do you solve the difference between them without making one change for the other?... Explain their thought processes, I recommend by choosing a flexible point of view to write the story from, and show where that understanding comes from. You need to set those boundaries within your characters that make sense for them, and you need to hold to those. The point they should be at by the end of the story isn’t in total agreement, it’s at a compromise where they meet halfway. They should learn by the end to love each other wholly, not when they change for one another.

~ Going from actual dislike of each other to attraction without saying they liked each other the whole time... It’s simple; give them legitimate reasons for not liking each other in the first place. Don’t make their rivalry based on something like a third grade spelling bee misunderstanding with a little “he’s cute though” sprinkled on top. Show a real misunderstanding, or real clash in values, and explore its implications for the reader to understand.

~ How do you show the forgive part between them without including the forgetting?... Let the reader know by the end of the story that the characters have acknowledged the hurt they’ve caused each other, totally and openly through an honest conversation about everything that caused their mutual dislike of each other. Show them confronting the problem, and admitting that it will always be a prominent part of their past, but that they’re willing to try in spite of it.

~ How do you show forgiveness between two people who physically fought without making it romanticize abuse?... Give legitimate evidence that a) nobody was/is a victim of actual abuse and b) they both know that the physical fighting was wrong, painful to the other, and that it can/will never happen again. Ever. In the action or more violent sort of genres, this is way more flexible, because there are more grey-area situations, but as long as you make it very clear that there is no possibility of them hurting each other, in any abusive context, during the relationship or afterward, then you shouldn’t have a problem.

~ How do you establish the growth in trust between the two characters?... Make it occur naturally and at their own individual paces.They’ll grow toward one another at different rates, and you need to pay attention to letting it grow on its own rather than fitting that growth into whatever parameters you’ve set for your story structure. Also, show the little things that make that trust bloom, along with the big ones. Make them noticeable, but simple and ultimately built upon one another.

~ How do you make two characters with completely different morals grow to love each other?... Compromise and honesty. Communication and understanding. Those are the four foundations of any relationship, and especially these ones. Make your lovers listen to each other, and make them see the other side. That doesn’t mean agree, and that doesn’t mean conform, it just means you have to make them see where the other is coming from and empathize with their process of validation.

~ How do you write the characters’ friends growing to support the relationship?... This can be tricky, but it depends on the friends’ individual relationships with that character and their lover. With this subject, if you keep to the manner in which you’ve developed them, they should grow to understand (or not understand) their relationship in a way that makes sense to the reader and enhances the story. If there’s tension, let it lay, and if it makes sense, let it pass.

~ How do you pace the evolution of their opinions/feelings about one another correctly?... There’s a few stages to telling an enemies-to-lovers story: 1. they dislike each other 2. that dislike becomes a problem for them 3. they begin to see the other’s point of view 4. they understand the other’s perspective 5. they don’t dislike each other anymore 5. they grow feelings for each other 6. they get together. The first stage should be established and explained really well. The second should be simple but important, and very impactful to both of the characters. The third stage should be slow burning and very uncomfortable, but transformative to both of them. The fourth should happen as the result of events building on one another, not one single event. The last two should be clearly separate, and the fifth should be a slow burn on its own. This pacing strategy should allow for a lot of tension, build up, and a very satisfying ending.

Resources

Enemies Turned Lovers Prompts

Skinny Love Prompts

Angst Prompts

How To Make A Scene More Heartfelt

20 Mistakes To Avoid When Writing Young Adult Fiction/Romance

Tips On Writing Skinny Love

A Guide To Tension & Suspense In Your Writing

Writing Arguments Between Characters

Pros and Cons of Different Points Of View

Tips On Writing Intense Scenes

Resources For Romance Writers

Useful Writing Resources

Useful Writing Resources II

Resources For Describing Emotions

Giving Characters Bad Traits

Relationships Between Characters With No Connection

Relationships Between Polar Opposites

The Terror Behind Your Beauty Playlist Listen On Spotify

Support Wordsnstuff!

If you enjoy my blog and wish for it to continue being updated frequently and for me to continue putting my energy toward answering your questions, please consider Buying Me A Coffee, or pledging your support on Patreon

Request Resources, Tips, Playlists, or Prompt Lists

Instagram // Twitter //Facebook //#wordsnstuff

FAQ //monthly writing challenges // Masterlist

MY CURRENT WORK IN PROGRESS (Check it out, it’s pretty cool. At least I think it is.)

Studyblr || Studygram

Check out my YouTube Channel!

#romance #enemies to lovers #writing reference #writeblr #writing #nanowrimo #writespo #writing tips #authorblr #amwriting #slow burn romance #fiction #romance tropes #romantic #prompts #resources for writers #writing romance #friends to lovers

3K notes · View notes

fyrapartnersearch · 5 years ago

Text

❖ Attention mes chers mesdames et messieurs ❖

Did I manage to catch your attention? Yes?   If so, great!

Then I would like to welcome you to my humble request! :)  It has been a while since I posted my ad here on FYRA. After I received so many positive responses and still maintain a very strong relationship with a current partner of mine to this day, I am more than eager to return and try my luck a second time. As I am super busy with school and work most of the time, I haven’t been able to tend to one of my greatest passions, which is writing.   

I hail from Europe, and no I am not French, though it is a beautiful language much like the country. I may plan on traveling there though… who knows what the future may bring.

  But enough of my digression and scatterbrained ramblings! 

I’d rather be curt and not go into detail about my personal life or include any fancy infos about myself. I’d rather keep that open for a possible friendship once we get into chatting outside of the roleplay.

 You may call me Aylo. I am in my twenties, and a female writer who also enjoys other creative outlets like drawing and illustrating. I am a full-time student with a job on the side, which means that I am usually fairly occupied. But now since the holidays are at our doorstep, my constricting schedule has loosened up a bit - in other words - loads of free time to play with! Now I have a wish, or dare I say, a certain craving for something new and fresh. And I am willing to experiment a little this time to see how things go. After a severe case of writer’s block, my creative juices were dried up until - I began watching a certain show called ‘The Boys’. Thinking that I was more or less done with superheroes, this show somehow sparked something within me. It had a very interesting take on the whole superhero world dynamic and showed how human and flawed these people actually were. And with that it sparked my muse and plenty of ideas began filling my head. So what is it that I would love to get my fingers on you wonder?  Well my cravings are the following:  

The Boys

The X-Men (comic-verse also perfectly acceptable)

An original, somewhat mature story involving superhuman characters and their daily struggle to cope with their powers / how they choose to use these said powers

The list may be scarce but trust me, we can make the most of it. Especially when you consider how vast the X-Men and The Boys universe actually is. But if that doesn’t suit your fancy at all, I am absolutely down for creating something entirely original that involves sci-fi, fantasy and superhuman elements.

 I’ve plenty of ideas in that department that I am more than willing to share. If you message me, we can certainly come to an agreement on what would be best suited for the both of us. Now onto the qualities of what my roleplaying partner should have. If you do not meet these requirements or simply have a different view / style when it comes to writing and content, then feel free to skip my ad.

  What it all entails: 

☞ The Partnership: I strongly encourage for an active roleplayer to take part and share 50% of ideas, plotting, length, detail and passion. Can’t do the thinking for two. A bird cannot fly with only one wing. ☞ The Limits: There are certain topics I tend to avoid which is pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, vore, scat, furries and the list goes on. ☞ The Way of Writing: No one-liners. No text-talk. No half-assed replies. And certainly no ‘quality over quantity’ when you can have both. I don’t expect anyone to write a novel, absolutely not. I don’t either, but if I get the feeling of my partner wavering in their effort and not investing as much as I do, I have to give them the chop, unfortunately. Too often have I encountered partners who showed strong enthusiasm at first, but after a while… they slacked and eventually only put the adequate effort into their side of things whilst completely disregarding my characters. I hope to avoid this in the future. ☞ Communication: As I love making new friends and discuss plotting as we go on, communication is the bedrock of the roleplay. It strengthens the compatibility between us. If there is anything that bothers you, or if you think you are left out in some way (be it a mistake on my part or if we’re both at fault here), tell me. Really, it won’t hold a grudge against you since I know that we all slip up every now and then. We’re human after all. It is also completely sufficient if you only type out a few messages per week. I am very lax about it. It doesn’t bother me re-writing scenes to fit the narrative more. If there are mistakes, they can be corrected - just to get that out there. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. I will also voice my opinion should something bother me along the way.

And now to myself and how I write:

☞ My writing: Third person perspective usually, although I have made some exceptions in my experience. My style is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it highly depends on the given situation and partner. Quality over quantity but I say both. I love detail in description, and I am actively seeking someone of the same infamy. My partner should have a basic grasp on grammar, punctuation and somewhat of an interest in knowledgeable writing. Usually I double in a roleplay but I can also make an exception.  ☞ Rating: Alright, so you are writing with some of mature age. I have 12 years of writing experience when it comes to this particular genre. This will be a fair warning to any of those who are not really comfortable with adult themes. There will be violence, swearing, gore, intimacy, uncomfortable subjects, drama, conflict and other dark themes included within the story. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner. And lastly, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty, unless it doesn’t serve a particular purpose in forwarding the story. ☞ Interests: My line of interests vary when it comes to genres. I love conceiving my own lore inside a story, be it an original or a pre-existing universe. I am not opposed to tapping into some science fiction, action, romance, crime, action or thriller genres, in fact I encourage it. ☞ Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between. In other words, don’t be scared of making them ‘human’ who sometimes tend to f*ck up. ☞ Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adept in that category. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I am on board with it! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that funny business). I encourage erotism, but in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well). The passion must be felt through the screen, even if it’s just a mere description of someone’s deep train of thought. ☞ Content: Drama, violence, sex, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am not very bothered by certain subjects that may be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep viewing them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical damaging among other things. But I also greatly endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments, scenes or characters. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Again, this is mature and I am not here to coddle, I am here for a challenge.

Should there be a hiatus, I will tell you as soon as possible. I understand when you are busy as well, though I highly appreciate if you notify me before disappearing into the ether. At least give me a heads up on what’s going on so I can adjust and put the roleplay on hold if needed!  Mediums I always roleplay on are email and google-docs. I also have Discord in case for plotting and chatting outside of the RP.   I prefer my partner to message me first on email, giving me a brief description of themselves, their cravings as well as ideas, perhaps even a little writing sample to see if we’re compatible and if it bears any potential.   

Message me here: EMAIL: [email protected] Can’t wait to hear from you lovely people!   

☆ Au revoir

#indie rp #indie roleplay #independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #para #long term #email #tumblr #aou rp #submission

4 notes · View notes

quintessence-sentimentalist · 5 years ago

Text

quintessence-sentimentalist Takes on 30 Days of W.i.t.c.h.versary!: Week Two

Another week, another seven days of WITCHversary! Days 8-14 below the cut!

Day 8 Favorite extra/special

If I’ve read all or most of the specials, I can only remember like three of them... That said, of those three I have to go with W.i.t.c.h. On Stage.

The artwork... isn’t my favorite, and my judgment is it takes place on the cusp between the Ragorlang and New Power arcs (or New Power and... whichever one comes next), which is a time period I largely ignore, but what can I say, it’s a fun special! I’m such a sucker for “let’s talk about our adventures in the form of a fictional story” narratives (part of why I love Will’s potential future as a writer in issue 50), so this special really hit on that with the girls creating a play about being Guardians. Even more fun is the existence of M.A.G.I.C. to be their stars, although it still would have been fun to see the girls play a fictionalized version of themselves.

But most of all, this special has a [ahem] special place in my heart because this was how I discovered that there were more issues after the Ragorlang arc ended the English translations. Even though, again, I largely ignore everything that happened after that arc, it was still such an exciting time to find out that my girls still had many many more adventures after things seemingly ended.

Day 9 Favorite Guardian uniform

Ok, I’m doing Top 3 (in no particular order) because this is difficult and my favorites are favorites for different reasons.

1) Will, classic Guardian design: This is absolutely where my obsession with bell sleeves began. Also really loved those boots. I generally preferred the uniform tops to be purple and the bottoms green, so this worked for me on multiple levels. Will’s was the uniform I would totally wear myself (sporty but still with some fun, girly aspects via the sleeves), so I’ve always adored it. I don’t particularly like how New Power updated it (with the exception of the long fingerless gloves), so this is my preference for Will.

2) Cornelia, classic Guardian design: I’m in love with that off-the-shoulder neckline and the pointy sleeve hem and that long, elegant skirt. Might not be the most practical design for fighting, but it’s just so pretty that I love it regardless.

3) Hay Lin, New Power: Vast improvement over the classic design (which was cute but, well, threadbare) while still capturing its essence and Hay’s as well (all the ribbons). I also adore Hay’s buns and the rest of the hair hanging free - the change from the pigtails really made it hit home that these girls have evolved and grown up (granted, not that the narrative will let them age) over the course of the series.

Day 10 Favorite world/planet

Hmm, well, at the risk of sounding boring, I still think I’m going with Earth. I do love the design and bits of world-building we get from the other worlds (primarily with Meridian), but I appreciate how the girls’ home was developed, considering quite a bit of action still happened there.

I enjoy how Heatherfield is still something of a larger city, but also has a... not necessarily small-town feel, but I guess more like a college town or a neighborhood off of a major city. Like you still get the city experience, but there are also cozy local hangouts that’ll become your usual haunts. There’s the diner, and the dance school, and the old bookstore... maybe I’ve just lived in a few too many of these types of places myself (where I can walk into one of my favorite little shops and the cashier recognizes me immediately), but that’s the vibe I get. Plus, Heatherfield is home to a few eclectic non-magical characters who largely make up the supporting cast, so that’s fun as well.

And it’s not just Heatherfield I like. Redstone was a cool change of pace, sending some of the girls to the other side of the world and to what I still think is an awesome campus. I also liked that we got at least a glimpse at/general idea of Fadden Hills with the visits to Kadma and the Year Before special, instead of just leaving it as mere spoken reference to Will’s old home. We even get to see Open Hill after Eric moves, so I think it’s pretty cool that things on Earth aren’t just limited to the girls’ hometown like it’s the only city that exists.

Day 11 Something awesome

Oh, I’m so tempted to do another Top Three/Top Five, but most of the ones I’d cover I’ve either already reblogged from someone else (i.e. the comic transformation sequences, the final battle in Z is for Zenith, etc.) or waxed poetic about before (*cough* everything about animated Shagon). So I’m just going to go with the top most awesome thing I have in mind.

Listen. “We Are W.i.t.c.h.” is still by far the most played song in my music library. The first time I heard the full version waaaaayyy back when was on Radio Disney during a weird hour of the day, and from then on I had the radio on every moment I could so I could catch it again. (I never did, not until I got the CD.) I still get chills and a major throwback whenever I watch the US opening sequence. Long story short, I couldn’t ask for a more kickass theme song.

Day 12 Something that made you cry

It takes some effort to make me cry (or I’ll cry at the most unexpected things), so I’m not sure anything has actually made me burst out in physical tears. But here are a few things that just get me in the heart:

1) Dormouse’s death: In the retrospect of having lost a beloved pet over the last few years, this one is more painful than I can say. Especially so when you think about it and how it was basically used as tragedy fodder after things finally start looking up for Will. (Her father’s dropped the custody case! Things are actually alright with her mom for once! They’re going for a walk to celebrate! Really, can the poor girl’s happiness last for more than two seconds???) The US English translations (via the chapter books) ended with issue/book 26, and this event is omitted entirely, with the story ending on the happy note of Thomas dropping the case and then the back-end comic excerpts being replaced by a scrapbook-like section of the girls’ adventures.

2) Cedric’s death: At least this tragedy had some sort of impact on the narrative rather than just being senseless, but it’s still painful and some of the effects of his death (read: the writing-out of Orube) are uncalled for and hurt equally as much.

3) That first reunion with Yan Lin in Kandrakar: Tears. Happy tears, but oh so many of them.

Day 13 Something heartwarming

Hrm, that’s a tough one. My immediate thought is “everything about animated Will/Matt,” but let’s go for some new material from me for once.

Oooh! My second thought was the issue about Anna Lair and her old friends and how she came to be in Irma’s life. We don’t often have focus on the girls’ parents and who they are outside of their daughters, and Anna is fascinating because we don’t even find out until issue 25 that - despite their near-identical appearances - she’s Irma’s step-mother and not her biological mother. That reveal is dropped in as hurtful words in an argument, and this detail is pretty much forgotten for three story arcs, until we finally get this issue on Anna’s past.

It’s heartwarming to me because it hits on so many tropes I love: (flashback) focus on a minor character, a different character (in this case, Irma) bringing back around something meaningful from the focus character’s past (fulfilling the pact Anna made with her two friends and reuniting them at the beach all these years later), and a tie-in to the main plotline via the W.i.t.c.h. girls promising that - should life take them in different directions - they’ll one day meet again in Heatherfield.

And now I really want to reread this issue, it’s one of my favorite standalones...

Day 14 Something that irks you

I think we’re all in agreement when I say this, but New Power Matt is the woooooorst. And I’m just going to leave it at that because I have tried to block it from my mind as much as possible, and if I start dredging things up and talking about it we will be here for a while.

Okay, maybe just a little bit...

It just makes no sense!!!! If they framed it like Matt’s memories of Kandrakar had been sealed the whole time or he was an emissary who’d been reincarnated as a normal Earth human, and he only got his true memories back “when the time was right,” that would at least explain some things! Like yeah, his behavior would still be downright dickish, but at least I could spin him as a more sympathetic character - one struggling with who he has been and who he used to be/now is again, and that’s why he’s behaving so erratically. (This is my area of expertise when it comes to fic. I could easily and enjoyably pick apart New Power Matt’s mind if we had this for context.)

But noooooo, we’re told that he’s known about Kandrakar the entire damn time, and he just... what, flat-out lied to Will and pretended to be surprised about everything related to Guardianship? Way to make both Will and the readers feel like fools. If this the story we’re supposed to believe, was comics Will/Matt a sham this whole time, just New Power Matt trying to weasel his way into the Guardians’ inner circle until he can finally play his true role? Ugh.

Like seriously, screw this entire plot point and just give me that New Power Eric idea I had a while back that actually made sense and would have worked so much better.

#30daysofwitchversary #30 days of witchversary #w.i.t.c.h.#quintessence-sentimentalist rambles

9 notes · View notes