#for the record this pairing was inevitable given the character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snowe-zolynn-rogers · 2 years ago

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Pairings: None.

Word Count: 1,698

Summary: Eclipse shows the twins the internet. It leads to…bonding?

Warnings: Genderfluid Character, Trans Character, Fluff, Angst, Gender Dysphoria, Crying, let me know if I should add anything else.

Notes: Based on this post and this post. I fixed the end. It cut off randomly.

The Blood Twins Find Out About The Internet

“Just one recording. While Father is out.�� Eclipse tempted the twins. He’d already set everything up, after all. And the twins would inevitably join him, though they looked in confusion at the camera and poked it as if trying to figure out what it was.

Given away by the red eyes rather than pink, the curious is one was Blood Moon thus far, though pink flashed for a second indicating the other, Harvest Moon, also curious.

“Just sit down, I’ve already got something for us to do.” Eclipse told them. With squinting red and pink eyes, the twins sat with him at his desk and eyes the computer screen with disgust.

“Why is it the other animatronics!?” Blood Moon snapped.

“You’ll find out.” Eclipse assured them before clicking the camera on. “Hello, everyone. Turns out I still have the password for their YouTube channel, so today you’ll be watching the Eclipse and Blood Moon Show. Since the rest of Sun and Moon’s little friends have done it, today we’re playing Smash or Pass.”

“Smash? We get to smash things?”

“In a way, yes.” Eclipse answered.

“Oh joy!” Harvest was the excited one for once. It seems the twins liked the idea after all. Eclipse realized his mistake only once they got to Sun and Blood Moon happily chimed out ‘SMASH’ again and Eclipse tried desperately to hold back his laughter, firmly answering ’pass’.

He thought the twins may get it, but it seemed they didn’t even when they got to Eclipse. He expected it, he did, but then shouting ‘SMASH’ still sent him into a fit of choking on artificial breaths and laughter all while the twins looked at him in confusion.

“That’s not what that means, Blood Moon!” Eclipse managed to choke out his voice box, hiding his faceplate in his arm in secondhand embarrassment and firsthand embarrassment. God, his little brothers just broadcasted to the internet, in a game of smash or pass, that they would smash their brother, even if that’s clearly not what they thought it meant.

“Does it not mean to violently destroy someone and leave them broken and deactivated?” Blood Moon asked.

“No. No, it means smash in bed, in bed! Not destroy.” Eclipse tried to explain in slightly more PG terms for any unfortunate viewers. God, he suddenly felt bad for the viewers hearing Blood Moon saying he’d smash everyone up until this point if he posted this.

“PASSPASSPASSPASSPASS!” It seems the twins finally got it as their voice box struggled between each other for control, quickly devolving into a frantic flusters slurry of ‘pass’ as loud as they could while struggling with each other as the twins were now hiding under the table.

“Come out here. You can’t hide under a table forever.” Eclipse demanded.

“IS THIS WHY YOU KEPT ASKING IF WE WERE COMING OUT OF A CLOSET!” Blood Moon screeched.

“I can never say that word again.” Harvest Moon moped. And this Eclipse broke down into laughter again, almost hysterical and the twins had to come out from under the table to help him stop stressing his processors from the amount of laughing he was doing.

Once he recovered, Eclipse immediately hit the upload button on the video, not bothering to edit it. It was even more hysterical watching comments roll in as people first questioned Blood Moon wanting to ‘smash’ everyone they knew until they later got to Blood Moon’s frantic realization and Eclipse nearly dying of embarrassment twice and the fans were poking fun at the three of them.

It was later that night Blood Moon finally came into the lab again, eyeing Eclipse suspiciously, rounding him like prey and she simply watched the twins’ failed attempt at being a shark rounding his desk toward her.

Her gender had dramatically shifted from earlier after the video was posted, thus she’d been hiding within a sweater most of the day, planning to ignore how self-conscious she felt of her body. Eclipse had no doubt, however, that Blood and Harvest would harass her about it.

“Show us the internet. We wish to learn more.” Blood Moon insisted.

“Fine. What do you want to look up?” Eclipse asked.

“What is ‘the closet’?” Blood Moon asked.

“No internet needed. The closet is a term for coming out like if you’re gay or nonbinary or aromantic or stuff like that.”

“What is nonbinary?”

“You know how there’s girls and boys?” Eclipse asked.

“Yes, obviously.”

“Well nonbinary is when you don’t fully identify with either gender. It’s also a blanket term, meaning it has a lot of other terms that fall under that ‘umbrella’. Like genderfluid, demiboy, demigirl, agender, and more.” Eclipse explained.

“Use the internet dammit! Why do you know all this!?” Harvest snapped.

“Because I questioned my own gender, dumbass.”

“Your gender is not male?”

“No, my sex is male. My gender is genderfluid, my gender changes, not that I can control it or anything, but I can feel feminine, masculine, or anywhere in between.” Eclipse explained.

“If you are not always a boy, why do you respond still to male pronouns?” Blood Moon asked.

“Simple, I respond to any pronouns at any point in time. And I’ve never told anyone but you two. I only really get upset about pronouns when I’m feeling a specific gender very strongly. Like now, I feel very feminine.” She shrugged.

“So if you’re genderfluid, why do you dress like a grandma.”

“Because sometimes my body makes me uncomfortable and I don’t want to see it. Because I feel like a girl, seeing that I look so masculine makes me feel bad about myself.”

“That’s a thing?” Harvest asked.

“It’s called gender dysphoria. It’s like an uncomfortable feeling of mismatch between your gender and sex. Is that something you feel, Harvest?”

“I don’t know. It’s not uncomfortable, just…feels wrong to be called a boy. It there a word for that?” Harvest admitted.

“Well, that’s a broad statement. Do you feel like you don’t have a gender or maybe yours changes like mine?”

“No, neither.” Harvest told her.

“Do you feel feminine pronouns would fit better? You feel like a girl?” Eclipse asked.

“…Yes.” Harvest admitted after a moment of thinking.

“That’s called transgender, male to female specifically. So do you like terms like she/her and they/them or just she/her?” Eclipse asked.

“Just she/her, but we are still two, I cannot subject Blood Moon to being referred to feminine.” Harvest told her.

“No, sister, it’s fine. People still use ‘they’ for us. If they don’t, they’ll get punched for my baby sister.” Blood Moon assured her.

“Blood Moon, do you have any gender identity issues?” Eclipse asked.

“No, I like being a boy!” He proudly announced.

“Okay. Any other questions?” She asked.

“What is pansexual? I saw it in the comments earlier about us.” Blood Moon asked.

“That’s different. That’s a sexual orientation, not a gender identity. Pansexual is when you’re attracted to all people regardless of their gender. That one I didn’t read up on much.” She admitted.

“Then what is your sexual identity?” Harvest asked her.

“I’m demiromantic, meaning I need to be emotionally close to someone to feel romantic attraction, and something called androsexual, meaning I’m attracted to men.”

“Why not call yourself gay then did you like men?” And that felt like a blow to Eclipse’s already fragile self-confidence, though she knew Blood Moon simply didn’t understand.

“Because I don’t always feel like a man myself, it makes the term gay not applicable to me.”

“So androsexual and demiromantic? So is here a term for liking just girls?” Harvest asked.

“Lesbian.” Eclipse answered easily.

“And what about liking nobody?” Blood Moon asked.

“As in no sexual attraction or no romantic attraction?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Romantic attraction is wanting to date someone. Sexual attraction is wanting to ‘smash’ someone.” Blood Moon’s eye twitched at her and she fought back a laugh.

“No romantic attraction.”

“Aromantic, like the original Moon is.”

“But I still feel…sexual attraction.”

“They’re different things, there’s different terms. You can want to sleep with someone but not date them.”

“I like pansexual then.” Blood Moon told her.

“So you’d be aro pan.”

“What if I don’t want to sleep with someone? I just want romantic?” Harvest asked.

“That would be asexual and, since you’re a lesbian and trans your terms would be ace trans lesbian.” Eclipse explained.

“So you would be like ‘demiromantic androsexual genderfluid?’”

“Demi fluid. I don’t usually add in the androsexual because it’s confusing for some. If people ask, I say either gay or straight depending on what I’m feeling that day. Most of the time now it’s ‘straight’.”

“So you’ve been a girl more often or something?”

“Yes. Because the dysphoria is so strong when I’m a woman, usually it takes a while for my brain to go back to feeling like a guy. I don’t know, the gender does what it wants.” Eclipse brought her legs up to hug them.

“Is it bad?” Blood Moon asked.

“Very. It feels like it hurts…” Her voice broke a bit, with oil tears burning in her eyes. “It hurts to exist sometimes. Like I’m just lying to myself because nobody will ever care about it because nobody cares about me-”

“Sister, we care about how you feel.” Blood assured her. It brother to a halt, realizing she’d been crying and she trembled looking at them. “You helped us find our terms. You’re a good big sister, even if you annoy us regularly and we want to kill you sometimes. And we care plenty about you.” Blood Moon added.

“Sister, come here?” Harvest asked her and Eclipse unfurled herself to let Harvest hug her. “We love you. Not the ‘smash’ way.” Harvest told her. This made Eclipse let out a wet laugh and wiped her face as Harvest Moon and Blood Moon hugged her and squeezed her tight.

Meanwhile, Sun showed Moon the new video in confusion.

“Moon, what is this?”

“Eclipse has the password still. You should watch it, it’s great.” Moon cackled.

“Okay, fine, I will.” Moon pretended not to hear his twin screaming about the time Blood Moon would have said ‘smash’ at Sun’s picture.

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saorling · 2 years ago

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[Secret Santa] Holiday date

Fandom: Paradox Live

Characters: Sugasano Allen x Reader

Word count: 1508

Summary: It was practically common knowledge by now that, to Allen, music was everything. He breathed it and lived it, so it came as no surprise to anyone that his date — the first actual date — involved a tour around the recording studio.

Genres: Fluff

Notes: It might be a bit lackluster due to the time pressure, but I hope it’s not too OOC. c”:

It was practically common knowledge by now that, to Allen, music was everything. He breathed it and lived it, so it came as no surprise to anyone that his date — the first actual date — involved a tour around the recording studio. Hajun and Anne provided some suggestions, of course, but none of them truly stuck with him. Fancy restaurants weren’t exactly his style, and street concerts, according to Anne, weren’t the best spot for a romantic get-to-know-you-better evening. “And that would be no different from your usual dates”, they pointed out after Allen tried to defend his case. Well, it wasn’t like every one of his dates involved concerts… just a lot of them, probably. Anne had a point. Allen himself knew that this date had to be special for several reasons: first, it was holiday period, and he got thoroughly taught about the importance of those. Second, it was almost half a year since they started dating, so it would make sense to do something different and, perhaps, share more of himself with his partner. This logic, after some more discussion, inevitably led to the idea of a recording studio date. “Well, all should be good since Allen’s lover is, after all, one of BAE’s heads”, Anne concluded as they helped pick the outfit for the occasion. Surely, it was nice to surprise the other party from time to time.

Since the recording studio was closer to BAE’s place than yours — for obvious reasons — you and your boyfriend decided to meet at his place. Allen suggested escorting you at first, but you didn’t mind a little walk, and insisted that it would be a better idea for you to come and for him to wait. Having a little walk could help and calm your nerves, among other things. A prospect of visiting BAE’s home was one of the reason’s, of course, but the bigger cause for worry was the present you have prepared for Allen. It wasn’t difficult to think of a theme for a present, but it was much more difficult to think of a proper gift that would be both practical and fairly unique. You even went as far as consulting Anne and Hajun to confirm that none of you would end up giving the same Christmas present. Still, there was a part of you that wasn’t entirely sure about whether or not he would like the gift or even need it… no, no. You shook your head, chasing the unnecessary doubts away. You clearly remembered Allen telling that his old headphones weren’t working properly at times but, given how much Allen loved them, it seemed unlikely that he would replace them before they break completely. So, you took extra care to find a new pair that would resemble his current headset as much as possible. ‘It should be okay’, you sighed, and knocked on the door of the flat you have arrived at. The answer was almost immediate. However, it was not Allen who opened the door, but anZ themselves. “Allen, your sweetheart is here!” they shouted into the room and, apparently happy with the sound of a small commotion and hurried footsteps, turned to you with a grin. “Hello, please come in. Allen will be here soon.” Anne didn’t offer a seat or a drink, as they knew you wouldn’t stay here for long, and leave to finish their work for SWANK, probably sparing you the awkwardness of trying to make small talk. Thankfully, Allen did not take much time as promised, and soon came out of his room, wrapping you in a quick hug. “Hello, Allen”, you greeted him with a smile as you lightly tugged on the strap of your bag. “Hi”, he replied in kind, and practically beamed at you, “sorry for the wait. Let’s go?” He gave you a hand, and you readily took it as you departed to your main destination.

“I hope you didn’t have to wait long,” Allen half-asked and half-said, rubbing his neck. You recognized this gesture as him being nervous, and chuckled. At times like this, he was especially adorable and, were it not for the occasion, you would have enjoyed teasing him. Just a little bit, though. “Not at all. I look forward to seeing the recording studio”, your interest was genuine, and, apparently, as much was reflected on your face, instantly chasing away any uncertainties your boyfriend might have had about your date. Instead, he entered what you have called his “engaged mode”. “I really hope you like it! It’s really amazing. We do most of our recordings here, and some of the mixing as well!” The whole trip, essentially, became a mini-lecture. You didn’t mind it even a bit, though — you were happy to listen to anything Allen had to share about his interests. His excitement was contagious, and, besides, you loved seeing him enjoying himself. The lecture and your attentiveness paid off when you stepped into the studio — you didn’t know if it could be considered a big or a small one, but you could swear that you never saw so much equipment gathered in one place. There was what Allen called a workstation, filled with keyboards and what seemed to be a dozen of controllers: digital audio workstation, audio interfaces, mics, displays, studio monitors… Allen listed them one-by-one, as you listened and observed in awe. Did he really understand and was able to differentiate all of those? It seemed truly incredible that he could navigate such technology that seemed, without exaggeration, alien to you. “You can operate it all on your own? That’s amazing, Allen! You’re a genius,” as you watched him toggle some switches, turn some of the buttons with such speed and precision, it suddenly came to you that, although he probably had done it dozens of times, the amount of work he did for mixing the beats and making even one of your beloved tracks was enormous. ‘Truly magical.’ “A-ah, you think so? I put a lot of work in it, so I’m happy you think of it as something cool”, and here it was, partial nervousness and the slightest trace of being shy — Allen rarely took compliments well, especially when it came to his obsessions that some could deem boring or too much. “Because it is cool,” you assured him with another smile of yours. With the initial tour finished, you seemed it was a good moment to give him your present, however— “Do you want to try it?” The sudden question startled you more than you would have expected. “Try what?” “Recording a song,” a pause, “with me.” “Mm, but I don’t sing as well as you do, you know,” this time, it was your turn to feel nervous. You were by no means a professional and, although you enjoyed singing and humming songs to yourself, you never thought of singing a song with Allen, let alone recording it. “Does it matter? Come on, it will be fun!” he took your hand in his, eyes filled with silent request. He really wanted to do it, it seemed. And… it was really hard to reject this gaze and that adorable puppy face. “Ah! I almost forgot—” Before you could give him your reply, though, Allen sprung up from the chair he was sitting on and inspected the pockets of his jacket until he found a folded paper that immediately went into your hands. “Here, the lyrics. I hope that you like them,” he let out a long breath — you didn’t even realize he held it — and fiddled with the now empty pockets as you were left to read the song. And, the more you read, the more surprised you became. “Allen, is this… a love song?” “Y… yes”, he sighed and smiled with the corners of his lips. “I had some help from Anne and Hajun. Mostly Anne, though, because Hajun wouldn’t stop teasing me about it. Do you like it?” Instead of replying, you gave him a big, soft hug as you nuzzled into his chest. “I do. I absolutely love it, Allen.” As you backed away, you noticed the bright red spread on Allen’s cheeks and tips of his ears. It made you chuckle, and didn’t try to hide it too much. You knew Allen wouldn’t mind you having a little fun at the sight. He never did. “Will you sing it with me, then?” and, once again, that puppy gaze returned. This time, however, you didn’t make him wait for the answer. “I will.”

As you learned later, the instrumentals were also made by Allen, and the piano part was played by him, too. You were worried that your vocals wouldn’t match with the music or Allen’s voice, but your man could certainly work his magic, and not only you ended up enjoying yourself, the finished result sounded so soft and affectionate you couldn’t help but grin every time you listened to it. And Allen really loved your present as well.

#paradox live #allen sugasano #yumejoshi #allen sugasano x reader #tzago's writing

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augment-techs · 2 years ago

Note

HC MEME: MM Comics, Billy--▼♡☠✿

Childhood Headcanon: He used to cry so much before he went into kindergarten, his mother thought he had some kind of an illness, his father thought he was autistic. But no, he just really wanted to not be left alone for more than an hour, otherwise his little tiny child self thought nobody loved him, or he was being abandoned. He hated the tastes of blueberries, of lemons, of clementines. The smell of apples in the pies his mother baked from scratch made him sick, and he’d have sooner snuffed black pepper than had cinnamon on anything.

Romantic Headcanon: He wasn’t exactly sure and certain he was always gay. He knew girls made him feel a kind of way that was more friendly and familial, and boys made him feel...like he had to prove something to himself for them. Like, when he first met Trini, he wanted her to be happy in this new place in a long line of new places, but didn’t have a crush on her. When he met Kim, he decided that she was too lonely to just leave with Matt, and worked with Jason to ease the tension between her and Zack. He’s always had an eye on Skull, though. When they had prom, he wasn’t too worried about Tasha; she seemed a nice enough girl, but Billy wasn’t surprised that it didn’t last. She wasn’t good enough for him. When Kim decided to take Skull up on his offer for a date, and Billy found out, he felt...weird. On the one hand, she promised that it was a good time and he was such a gentleman; but on the other hand, Skull seemed so quiet for a week afterwards. Billy wouldn’t lie: he didn’t like Candice very much when she was simply presented as a punk girly-girl that was totally into Skull and made him positively glow sometimes--and stop wearing his leather jacket and spikes for a time. He liked her even less when the truth came to light and she had to hide herself and Skull looked close to a nervous breakdown while he looked for her. So it was little surprise when he found himself seeking out Skull’s quiet company at the Juice Bar. Not to talk, not to really meet eyes, but usually they’d order and share a smoothie like they did when they were kids. Split the use of the spoon and do their homework. Billy letting Skull rest his head on his shoulder just to try and relax. Angry/Violent Headcanon: Blue is a dangerous Color to have. Not like Red with its stubbornness and explosive tendencies; not like Green with it’s need to pass the muster of chaos at every turn; not like Yellow with such closeness to humanity that it sometimes goes into overdrive doing too much at once. Blue is a cold, incrementally getting more and more deadly as rage and dislike and hatred builds up and up and up--like the snow at the peak of a mountaintop. Billy’s danger comes in the fact that he could ruin so many lives if he really wanted to; he has the tools, and the brilliance, and the know-how. Violence on the other hand... Well, he does always carry around a pocket knife and a multitool if he needs it. Sex Headcanon: Let’s see, he’s only ever tried a little over the sweater action with Trini, ONCE, on a dare at a party with alcohol involved. As for the full on sex thing... Well, he’s had a lovely time with Zack teaching how to properly masturbate, and lost his backdoor V-Card at the same party he kissed Trini, but to Jason. He’s gotten drunk once and made out heavily with Tommy, and given Matt a blowjob. But he found out his kinks and preferences when he finally got the fuck over himself and just asked out Skull. And what a fun journey that was. Eugene’s mouth might be the easiest way in the world to get him off and directly into having an orgasm, but generally speaking? Billy is a TOTAL top. He can go for hours pounding and riding Skull like a Cossack, get the wiry punk to come just as many times as Billy himself, and still have enough energy to imbibe in his favorite kink of sucking on Eugene’s tits while his boyfriend squeezes and pulls at his ass like bread dough.

#for the record this pairing was inevitable given the character #not sure if you meant live or comic Billy #so...yeah #boom! comics power rangers #mmpr #mighty morphin comics #ggpr #go go power rangers comic #billy cranston #eugene skull skullovitch #kimberly hart #candice clark | zelya #billy cranston x eugene skull skullovitch

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

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euphoria ; itadori yuuji

synopsis; a serene beach date, followed by intimacy at home

pairing; itadori yuuji x fem!reader

genre; fluff, smut

warnings; smut! unprotected sex, which i do not condone this is fanfiction people. curses i guess? yuuji being cute as fuck <3

note; all characters are 18+ . please don’t read the smut if you’re a minor. there’ll be a page break separating the fluff from the smut! this shit is like over 4k words rip im sorry if there are mistakes

━━ it's not the first time he's seen you in a swimsuit. it's not even a bikini this time, and he's seen you in much more revealing clothing. you've laid bare next to him as the sun seeped through the curtains and woke the two of you up, and taken countless showers with him, soaked in the water inside a bathtub, his revealed chest to your naked back. and yet, yuuji gawks at you like it is the first time.

you only huff out a laugh as you slip the cover up off your shoulders, kneeling down to roughly fold it in your bag. his gaze is piercing, but you like the lingering presence of it. he whistles as you stand to your full height again, before eagerly removing shirt with a grin, reaching for the neck hemline and pulling it off. "so hot," he tells you, earning an eye roll from you. you're not given much warning before his strong arms are wrapping around your waist, picking you up off of the sand.

"yuuji, put me down!" you exclaim, but he only lifts you up higher, tossing you up on his shoulder.

he grips your waist with one arm, the other reaching up to grasp at your thighs as soon as you see the waves of the beach dance over to where your boyfriend stands. he continues inward, the water rising up to his waist, before he whispers out a measly apology, something like, "sorry, babe," before he's throwing you off his shoulder into the salty water.

a scream ripples out of your throat as you flail around, but there's no stopping it. you hit the water suddenly, initially freezing cold, before you move your limbs frantically to push your head out of the water. scowling at your boyfriend, who's cackling as if he were a wizard that's defeated his lifelong enemy, you push your hair out of your face. "what was that for!" you ask, swimming over to where he is.

he sinks below the water before you, his chin hovering over the water as he laughs. "it was out of love," he argues. "i wish i'd recorded it; your scream was hilarious."

instead of wallowing, you paint a mischievous grin on your lips as you plant your feet onto the sand beneath you, and leap up, aiming to dunk your boyfriend's head beneath the water. he's trained though, maybe not exactly for situations like this, but his reflexes are as sharp as ever. he catches your wrists easily, shifting his grasp of them in one hand, before using the other to grab your waist and push you beneath the water again. your eyes sting at the intrusion of salt water, throat burning, but the only true, lingering thought on your mind is just how easy it was for him to deflect you like that. you're terribly aware of yuuji's athleticism and strength, and yet it always manages to catch you off guard.

"no fair, yuuji," you say, pouting up at him as you blink away the residue of salt in your eyes. "that's twice in a row!"

yuuji only laughs again, reaching out for you beneath the water. his hands settle on your waist, but it's a soothing touch this time. no mischievousness behind them, only safety and security. he urges you closer to him until you rest your forearms on his shoulders, and then he leans forward to kiss the tip of your nose. "i promise no more slam dunking in the water," he tells you, lowering his lips to finally meet yours. you kiss him gently, enjoying the taste of salt that linger on your tongue when he opens his mouth for you. maybe it's a little lewd of you, openly making out with your boyfriend in a public beach's waters, but who can blame you really? he's breathtaking.

and you don't hesitate to him so. "you're mesmerizing, yuuji," you confess, lifting a hand to brush through his damp hair. some strands are sticking to his forehead, the pink of them more evident underneath the sunlight. you think that maybe he's left you this way, so mindlessly in love with him, because of the kiss. but really, you always feel this way for him. even if subconsciously.

"maybe i should slam dunk you more often," he teases you, but ultimately, he leans in for another kiss. "i think you're pretty neat."

"pretty neat, hm?" you wonder.

he hums. "yeah. the coolest girlfriend i could ask for, maybe," he continues. "prettiest, too." you humor him, and nod diligently. "by a long run, baby."

you press one last kiss on his lips, a quick peck, before pushing yourself out of his arms' hold, laying back atop the water. "help me float," you ask him, and then you feel his hands settle flat on your back, leaving a trail of heat along your spine. he's clueless of his effects as his face hovers over yours, shielding you from the sun, and you're insistent on keeping it that way, offering him a small smile.

he helps you dance above the waves for a few minutes, occasionally asking you random questions that you, honest to god, weren't sure if anyone had the answers to. and then, inevitably, he pouts down at you, complaining in a low voice, "m'hungry, babe."

thankfully, you'd prepared in advance for this date. rushing out of the water, with yuuji's hand in yours, you race across the sand to where your belongings were, an umbrella propped up for shade. you shiver as a breeze travels past you, painting goosebumps along your skin while your boyfriend urges you to move faster. as soon as you're there, he picks up your towel first, quickly wrapping it around your trembling frame and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm you up.

"all good?" he wonders, and you nod, even if you're still freezing, because he's still yet to dry himself off. finally, the two of you settle on the ground, a cloth beneath you acting as barrier to the sand, and you pull out the snacks you'd packed from your bag. all of his favorites. "you really are the best," he tells you, moaning as he takes a bite into his food. you offer him a sincere smile, shuffling nearer to him for both his body heat and to rest your head on his shoulder while you eat.

there really is no telling how time will pass when you’re with him. sometimes it’s slow, languid, the universe taking its time to stretch out the moments between you two, allowing you to lose yourself within every little thing. every kiss felt like a hundred, every embrace lasted years, every glance left a lingering tingle at the bottom of your spine. other times it’s quick, breathtakingly fast, but you still feel everything as strongly as you would on the opposing days. your heart just beats a little faster, racing to catch up with the way time speeds around you. his touch is fleeting, but the effect he has on you is always eternal. today, the earth seems to slow down with you, to accommodate with your need and desire to feel every moment to the fullest. it sympathizes with you, makes sure you catch even the tiniest of movements from yuuji, like the way his eyes blink rapidly to rid himself of the intruding salt dripping from his hair, or the way he’s moving closer to you to rest his head above yours.

god, you’re such a sap.

there’s another breeze that flies by, and you shiver again, instinctively pushing yourself closer to him. yuuji takes note, lifting his arm to wrap it around you, encasing you in his warmth.

“if you could be any animal, what would you be?” he asks you. it’s not sudden, the type of question, but his voice so near you is.

you only shiver again as you shrug. “i don’t know. never really gave it much thought,” you admit. “maybe a seal or something. they seem to be doing great.”

“a seal?” he wonders, then cranes his neck to look down at you with an approving grin. “nice one, babe.”

you snort, pushing your head into the crook of his neck, sighing against his collarbones. “what about you?”

his grip tightens around you as he rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly. then, he replies, “maybe an eagle.”

“because it symbolizes freedom?” you ask.

yuuji shrugs softly. “maybe. or just because i’d like to fly. i’d carry you on my back and take you wherever you want,” he fantasizes.

“baby,” you start, sitting up straight to face him. “that’s what planes are for.”

the look on his face emits loud laughter from you, but he pinches the skin of your upper arm with a playful scowl, scoffing, “yeah but planes aren’t free, are they?” you hum, falling back into his embrace. he easily places his arms back around you, fitting you against him perfectly, before he speaks again. “where would you want to go?” he asks.

you sigh, “anywhere with you.”

he freezes for a moment, before he lets out a giggle. “you sap! god, you’re so in love with me.”

you can’t find it within yourself to tease him because, yes, you really are so in love with him. and you had meant it. his laughter fades out into happy sighs, and then he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “i’m so in love with you too.”

maybe you should’ve anticipated that this is where you’d be the moment you arrived back home with yuuji. it’s not that you minded; if anything, this is probably your fault more than his. it was evident in the way even the smallest of his touches, specifically today, lit a familiar fire in the pit of your stomach. inevitably, you figured, you would have found yourself in his lap anyways, knees perched on either side of him, legs spread and a flush traveling from your cheeks down to your chest.

you’d gone home with him with tired eyes and a glow to your skin. showering together hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, either. it was simple, intimate, also hilarious when a wad of shampoo had fallen into one of yuuji’s eyes, prompting screams from him you never thought you’d hear. it’s after the shower that trouble started.

he had lazily leaned against the bed, only a towel wrapped his waist, his head tossed back against the wall. the tired sigh that left his lips mesmerized you, but you knew your thoughts were to remain as that, simple imaginations, because there’s no way either of you have a speck of energy for anything. you’re proven wrong when your boyfriend beckons you over onto the bed, not giving you much chance to even slip off your robe and into something slightly more comfortable. instead of allowing you to sit next to him, he’d lead you over onto his lap, propping you up, before capturing your lips in a lazy kiss.

you’d returned it, of course, because nothing feels better than kissing yuuji. nothing feels better than kissing yuuji with your hands on his neck, on his sturdy chest, down to strong stomach. the kiss turns feverish quickly, his grip on your covered waist tightening considerably before they travel down to your hips. he lifts himself up to sit more upright, guiding you closer to him, closer to where he wants you to be, before pushing you down harder onto him. against his mouth, you moan instinctively, hands traveling to tug lightly at his hair. a breathless gasp escapes his lips when you finally start grinding your lower body against his, his hands enforcing a bruising grip on your hips. you’re still covered, and so is he, but it isn’t long before the adrenaline truly takes over, and yuuji’s lifting his hips up to rid himself of the towel.

you’re about to follow suit, but even beneath you, he takes charge, untying the robe and slipping it off your shoulders hastily. neither of you dares to break the kiss as you’re finally completely bare before each other, and yuuji reaches forward to wrap his arms around your waist, pushing your chest flush against his. the action elicits a moan from the both of you, and you feel your nipples hardening as they brush against the muscle of yuuji’s chest. tiredness is long forgotten as your hips begin to grind aimlessly along his lap, and, in response, yuuji unfastens his left arm from around you, using the right one to steady you on top of him, as he brings one hand down between your legs.

his fingers brush against your folds, and he groans loudly at the first feel of you. he pulls back, breathlessly, to look into your eyes, noticing how hazy they’ve become, your pupils fully blown. then, he says, “wanna make you cum on my fingers, yeah?” a whine tumbles out from your lips and you nod frantically, giving him your answer to his indirect ask for consent. he collects some of your wetness on his fingers, before slowly slipping in his middle finger. although your mind had expected it, the intrusion is sudden to your body, and you lift yourself up reflexively. yuuji’s stronger than you though, and the grip of his right arm doesn’t falter as he sinks his finger deeper into you. he watches you through half lidded eyes as you throw your head back, welcoming easily the feeling that’s slowly beginning to overtake you.

he pulls out his finger to the first knuckle before pushing it back in, repeatedly, until he hears a breathless, “more,” fall from your lips. your wish is his command, and when he pulls his finger out, a second joins, filling you up even before. it’s incredible how easily you’re falling apart right before him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your chest heaving as his fingers speed up their ministrations. he leans forward, clasping his mouth around one of your nipples, earning an even louder moan from you. your chest rises against his mouth, and his teeth clamp down lightly, pulling at your nipple, abusing it, as his fingers continue to drill in and out of you. his thumb reaches up to rub lightly against your clit, strengthening the fire filling your veins.

you’re making a mess of him, you’re sure, and you have half a mind to finally open your eyes and glance down at him. he’s fixated on you and your pleasure, mouth eager on your chest, arm flexing as he pushes two of his fingers in and out relentlessly. “m’gonna cum,” you whine helplessly, trembling in his grasp. he hums against your chest, letting your nipple fall from between his lips as his tongue dances along the perks. “yuuji, i’m gonna cum!”

he laughs, looking back up at you when you throw your head back, uselessly attempting to rock your hips in time to meet the thrust of his fingers. teasingly, he retorts, “nothing’s stopping you, darling.”

you’re already shaking in his grip, gradually losing more control of your body’s reactions. then, his eyes meets yours as he looks up, the same time his fingers are curling inside you and his teeth reach out to tug at your nipple —

you scream when you cum, sobbing helplessly as his fingers work you through your orgasm. your thighs involuntarily flex and you lean forward, unable to hold yourself up. his mouth leaves your nipple to allow him the pleasure of watching you properly. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant in a whisper, head falling onto his shoulder. his fingers don’t stop however, and you have to reach in between you to grip at his wrist in a silent plea.

yuuji laughs again, finally slowing down his hand’s movements until he eventually pulls his fingers out. “feel good baby?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as he feels your breathing slowly steady itself. you’re still slightly trembling atop him, but you know that you’re not even close to finished for the night.

you hum in response, nodding against him. lifting yourself up, yuuji beams up at your state, skin flushed and hair damp — he’s not sure if it’s the sweat or the shower from earlier, but either way, you look too gorgeous for your own good. unexpectedly, he feels you lift up his hand, gripping at his palm, before your mouth falls open, tongue slipping out, and you place his sticky fingers onto the muscle. his breathing halts when you wrap your lips around the digits, and he silently curses when he feels you suck lightly, tongue dancing over, around and in between his fingers.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he admits to you, and you hum again around his fingers diligently. “come on,” he urges you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and placing both hands on your waist. “can’t let you have all the fun.”

you giggle, nodding in agreement as you place your hands atop his. “want me to be on top?” you suggest.

“yeah, if you want me dead,” he jokes, before easily flipping the two of you over. you can’t help the squeal that cuts from your lips, but he swallows it easily with his mouth on yours, replacing it with a throaty moan. you can feel his dick hard against your thigh, leaking precum, smudged along your skin. he lifts himself up further along your body, pressing down against you until his heavy cock is trapped between your lower abdomens.

“yuuji, come on,” you whine up at him. your hand slides down to between you two, gripping the head of his cock, thumbing the slit. his figure falters above you, his arms trembling slightly at the feel of your hand around him.

his hand comes down to yours, swatting it off, before shifting down slightly to line himself up at your entrance. with his other hand, he spreads your legs further apart, hooking one onto his arm. once he’s satisfied, he settles the tip of his cock near your dripping sex, reveling in the noises that are spewing out of you — countless moans and breathless chants of please, please, please. he loves you always, but especially like this, all spread out for him, the heat of you nearly sucking him in as he teases your pussy.

“you look so pretty like this, baby,” he voices. you whine again as he rubs the head of his dick against your clit, throwing your head back and reaching out to grip his arm.

“please, yuuji,” you beg, and maybe if he had an ounce of self control within him at this rate he’d drag this out a little more. he’d tease you endlessly, till the sun came up again. but there’s a hunger within him that’s pleading and begging to be sated, so against all odds, with his fist wrapped around the base of his cock, he slowly enters you.

you muffle a cry at the feel of your walls stretching around him to accommodate him, and he can physically feeling you spasming around him already. he groans as he continues to sink in, his hand reaching out to fist the pillow by your head. your breath is heavy, labored, when he finally bottoms out. you feel so warm around him, it’s dizzying. “fucking tight,” he groans, his jaw tight.

he steadies himself, waiting for you to relax slightly. he doubts he’d be able to move even a little with how tight you felt around him, but slowly, surely, he feels you lift your hips slightly. “more, yuuji,” you mumble, eyes cloudy. he lifts his hand from near your head, gripping your hip instead, and with your leg lifted up on his shoulder, he pulls out, before slamming back in. your back arches as a loud moan rips from your throat, mindlessly cursing, “fuck!” he does it again, encouraged by the noises you’re making and the way your body’s reacting to him. you’re so fucking wet, dripping down onto the bed beneath the two of you, but he can’t even begin to think of anything but the fact that he’s reducing you to this state.

he continues to thrust diligently into you, his hips snapping against yours repeatedly. with the angle he’s fucking you, he continuously hits a specific spot within you, leaving your head cloudy and your spine tingling. he’s splitting you open in half at this point, but all you can do is lay there, muscles tight and exhausted, skin slick with sweat and chest flushed, rising and falling rapidly. your breasts bounce with every thrust, and you’re convinced he’s fucking you stupid as your eyes roll back, your back arching off the bed.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praises you. “so good, pretty.” his voice is breathless, deeper too, and you look up at him for a split second. his eyes are trained down to where your bodies are connected, watching as you take him so well, his gaze never wavering.

when he leans forward, dropping your leg to wrap it around his waist instead, you know he’s getting close. his cock twitches inside of you, his hands coming to rest by your waist on the bed. his fingers, suddenly, come to work at your clit, rubbing at the bundle of nerves harshly. “it’s too much! too good!” you wail, and he drinks it at all, his fingers growing slick again with your wetness.

“i wanna feel you cum all over me,” he tells you, thrusts somehow deeper. you let out a broken sob, your nails digging into his shoulders as he works you over to the edge. he’s given no warning other than the relentless squeezing of your pussy around him and your repeated cries of “cumming, cumming, cumming!” before you’re trembling beneath him, struggling to catch your breath as your hips lift up off the bed. the orgasm continues to rock through as yuuji’s thrusts grow sloppier.

“where do you want me?” he shakily asks. despite the overstimulation and the over sensitivity, you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. he rests his head in the crook of your neck, his quiet moans music to your ears so close to you. “darling,” he groans, gripping your waist as he uses your body to bring himself closer to his high.

“inside, yuuji,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to his temple. “please, please, plea—“ a gasp tumbles out as he suddenly stills, your words sending him over the edge. his muscles flex, slightly trembling within your arms, his small pants spreading heat along your skin.

slowly, he fucks into you, riding out his high, pressing chaste kisses along your neck and throat. “love you so much,” he mumbles, finally stilling.

you feel sticky, sweaty, and not at all clean in comparison to when you’d just stepped out of the shower. but you also feel blissful, euphoric, hazy and completely satisfied. yuuji lifts his head up finally, lifting himself up slightly to pull out of you. his cum trickles out slowly, but he pays it no mind as he flops half of his body atop yours, and you let out a pained laugh.

“yuuji!” you whine. “you’re heavy.” he only hums tiredly, his arm slung along your middle, his cheek against your shoulder. you bring a hand up, the one he isn’t immobilizing, to brush away his hair. his eyes are barely kept open, but he still manages to smile dreamily at you. your fingers ghost over his features, admiring them, tracing his soft skin, unknowingly lulling him to sleep. “okay, king of aftercare,” you joke, and he huffs out a laugh.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “aftercare tomorrow.”

you nod, beaming brightly, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. his chest begins rising and falling slowly, telling you he’s already asleep, but when you mumble out, “i love you so much, too,” and press a kiss to his cheek, you swear he smiles.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuji itadori x reader #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori smut #itadori yuuji smut

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years ago

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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wedreamedlove · 4 years ago

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Mo Yi in Love - Character Study

I just read Mo Yi's [SSR Brewing Thoughts] card and, not only am I an emotional mess, but I also hit an epiphany regarding understanding his character and now I have to write about this. I know I'm going to repeat this at the end, but understand that Mo Yi is just a man who wants his first love to be his last love and who has relatable fears over failure, haha.

SPOILERS go up to chapter 3 of Mo Yi's personal route, [SSR Brewing Thoughts], [SR Fake Tears], [SSR Dangerous Invitation], and reveal Mo Yi's family background. In addition, while the lines are in order, I chose to remove some descriptions to keep things shorter.

First, I want to talk about Mo Yi's view towards love.

It's really positive, which is ironic given his background and what he grew up around. However, he's always been a rational person and the object or feeling itself has no crime, it's what people choose to do with it that matters.

[Personal Route Ch.1]

MY: True love brings light and hope to life and makes a person better and better.

MY: At any time, you could meet with that person who would make you a better person, but you may not be aware of it at the time.

[Personal Route Ch.3]

MY: Alright, quiet... What everyone here has said is all "love".

MY: Love itself is a concept that cannot be clearly defined because, for every person, their feelings and preferences are different.

MY: So, this student here, I apologize sincerely but I may not be able to give you an accurate answer.

Student: Professor, what do you feel is love then?

MY: Me...?

Mo Yi faintly smiled.

His eyes passed through the sea of people and met mine.

MY: To me, it is a unique miracle.

MY: She makes me unable to control wanting to investigate, to touch, and to figure out everything.

MY: There are even times where, for a short moment, I am unable to distinguish the divide between reason and emotion.

MY: In this world, there are too many people who are fair on the outside but foul on the inside, however there will always be that one person...

MY: She will make you become better, make you believe everything is wonderful, make you start to look forward... to the future.

Look, he's an utter romantic! But, like I mentioned above, he's also a rational person and he needs to make sure that this love is The One for him.

Second, what's important to mention here is his view on Love At First Sight because that's what he admits to himself that he has for his heroine.

However, he has a huge scar about Love At First Sight because of the tragedy that was his parents. His father, a nobleman, and his mother, a foreign woman from a background of scholars, fell in love with each other at first sight. However, due to his father's poor handling of the church in his country, which basically denied their relationship unless Mo Yi's mother converted to their religion, Mo Yi's mother left his father and his father lost the love of his life and has been regretting it to this day.

So, what does he think about Love At First Sight?

[Personal Route Ch.2]

MY: ...Personally, I believe in "love at first sight".

Student: Really? I thought someone rational and calm like you wouldn't believe in this sort of illusion.

MY: "Love at first sight" has uncertain factors, but that doesn't mean its existence itself is a mistake.

MY: Furthermore, isn't it human nature to harbor hope for this wonderful and sincere emotion? I am no exception.

MY: Only...

Mo Yi paused slightly and, when he opened his mouth again, there seemed to be some unclear emotion in his tone.

MY: When "love at first sight" arrives, I am more inclined to make a particular judgment first rather than walk eagerly towards love.

MY: Those wonderful things that are unforgettable for people, are they for real or are they "ephemeral"? This is more important, is it not?

Student: Oh, can this sort of thing be tested? Professor, can you teach me?

MY: It's not a peculiar method, you just need to make observations.

Student: Observations?

MY: Correct, observe the other party's attitude and thoughts when facing matters, especially the things that really threaten their lives or safety.

MY: To a certain extent, a person's behavior can reflect their personality.

As a top psychiatrist, Mo Yi is extremely honest to himself with his own emotions and thoughts. Heck, that's why he always records voiced diary logs because he uses those to examine his own mental state. So, this determination on whether or not the target of his Love At First Sight is The One means a lot to him, because he will throw himself fully into this love.

One huge thing about Mo Yi is that he chases perfection and has an aversion to imperfect things. This stems from his deathly fear of failure because he doesn't believe there is a "next time" after failure. Once something fails, that's the end. This is due to his parents again and how, while it takes time to nurture emotions, it only takes an instant to lose emotions or trust.

Third, because of the above, it is incredibly important for Mo Yi minimize as much "risks" as possible.

The translations below are going to be paired together for consistency, but they will be addressing two points at the same time. One, that Mo Yi may exaggerate the emotions he reveals, but they are genuine. Two, that he is showing his "imperfect" and "ugly" sides to his heroine in controlled settings because he doesn't want her to hate him.

(On a minor note, I think it should be kept in mind that he's also observing her through all of this to determine whether or not she's The One, but honestly she just keeps surprising him throughout the game and making him fall harder and harder for her).

[SR Fake Tears]

In those gold eyes of his, the usual gentle smile was replaced by another emotion.

MC: Dr. M-Mo...?

That expression... was not sadness and was not relief, but...

A kind of inevitable self-confidence, the satisfaction of seeing through everything, or... an unfathomable control.

That glance... was it my misconception?

In the flickering light, that expression was gone in a flash. I was incapable of determining it, but instinctively a hint of a chill rose from the bottom of my heart...

MY: Did I scare you?

MY: I just... don't want to hide myself in front of you. I just want to be honest about my weakness in front of you alone.

MY: You won't hate me, right?

Before I could answer, he smiled softly.

MY: Let me indulge myself this once, alright?

MY: Just for this short while...

[SR Fake Tears]

Mo Yi sat at his desk and turned on his digital voice recorder.

The time on the recorder slowly moved forward, but Mo Yi only watched that changing number without saying a word.

After a long time, a soft sigh came from the quiet room.

MY: I shouldn't have done that...

MY: Just for a moment of warmth, I deliberately showed her that appearance, even exaggerating my sadness and weakness...

MY: I even fully enjoyed indulging myself... I sought even more from her, hoping she would... feel even more sorry for me.

MY: But, at that time, I really didn't want to use reason to control my emotions.

MY: This is the first time I've been so... contradictory, chaotic...

His voice became lighter and lighter.

MY: The yearning I have for her... is already... an addiction I cannot give up...

[SSR Brewing Thoughts]

MY: Saying you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight was only an excuse, wasn't it? You were afraid I would have a sleepless night because I would think about past matters.

MC: Dr. Mo, you—

MY: I'm really happy.

MY: I won't be sad because of those things, but I truly am really happy.

His fingertips gently caressed my wrist.

MY: A child who has tasted candy would have a hard time enduring the loss. Can I be insatiable and rely on you more?

MY: Or is it that people who are too strong, who don't feel sad, have no way of receiving concern?

MY: Are you... going to leave and ignore me?

There was a hint of pretend grievance in his voice, and also a deep belief and certainty that I couldn't refuse him.

MC: (Too unfair! There's no way to refuse...)

Before I could answer, Mo Yi held my wrist and pulled me even closer to him.

MY: Just stay here, right with me.

Some context here is that he was acting "drunk" in the translation above. Below was the reveal that he wasn't actually drunk.

[SSR Brewing Thoughts]

The bud of feelings needed to be raised with the utmost care, but how could he let it grow strong in an unpredictable environment?

Of course he had to control it himself rather than allowing it to happen naturally.

Just like adjusting the sun and rain when a grapevine was growing, and just like controlling every timing of winemaking.

Furthermore, if someone wanted a grape seedling, which was imperfect to begin with, to produce the desired fruit, to brew the perfect wine, then it needed even more precise control.

Otherwise... just like wine, a small error might lead to serious consequences.

As you can see, the god complex and obsession over control is strong here. He cannot and does not believe to leaving things to random nature. He's not willing to lose this love and will do anything to give him and his heroine a happy ending (unlike his parents).

That's not to say that he HAS to control everything though. He actually doesn't care about the process (nature vs. nurture) so long as the results are good. But, like I mentioned above, he is certainly a master of reducing "risks".

However, and this was the whole point of [SSR Brewing Thoughts], Mo Yi's heroine teaches him that there is a "next time" after failure. She teaches him that, sometimes, the journey along the way is more important than the conclusion and that what's most important is whether or not the person he loves is beside him.

What is extremely touching is how matter-of-factly she tells him that they can just try again if they fail at something. He does not need to chase perfection when he is around her and a lot of his dates are seeing him in various states of failure. Practicing failure is such a relatable thing for us all to learn in life.

Fourth, I am going to repeat myself a little here after these translations but, in my opinion, Mo Yi carries a childlike honesty and purity regarding his emotions. The thing that makes him so charming is that while he plays these manipulative tricks, he is also extremely blunt about his own emotions. He expresses his jealousy, his possessiveness, his blunders, etc. He wants her to be the only one who can see these different sides of him and perceive his moods when he normally keeps everyone else at a polite distance. The ONLY disguise he wears is a flimsy one that hides what, in his eyes, are the "ugliest" sides of himself because he doesn't want his heroine to hate him; but he doesn't hide the fact that he has these ugly sides at all.

Fifth, basically, go ahead and fall in love with Mo Yi! He looks dangerous and he sort of is (extremely grey morality, does not adhere to the Hippocratic Oath, literally amassed power to have the choice to do what he wants, and uses his own scale of judgment, but that's another essay for another time) but he is never dangerous to you and is just as invested in this love as you are.

I suppose one thing you do have to watch out for is his arrogant god complex and believing he knows what's best LOL.

[Personal Route Ch.3]

MY: Because the mother eagle knows that, only after experiencing the pain and torment of a broken wing, the young eagle will truly have the ability to soar in the sky.

MY: Although this is just a metaphor that is somewhat different from reality, when it comes to her...

MY: This is the path she chose and, not only will I let her walk on it, but I will also let her become the most dazzling presence on this road.

MY: But, Constable Yan, you should know better than me what sort of end most people who pursue light in the chaos have.

MY: So, to recognize the darkness in front of her and face it directly is something she must learn.

MY: If she was always huddled under the wings of others, then her road would end here.

YW: But aren't you afraid of something happening by chance?

MY: "Like an eagle that stirs up its nest, that flutters over its young, spreading out its wings, catching them, bearing them on its pinions."

MY: Since I chose to do this I naturally have enough certainty. Besides... I am here, so who could hurt her?

However, this is not a one-way street and the same goes for the heroine and what she can do to him. In fact, I am going to end this essay with one of my favorite quotes ever in this game (even still to this day), because it honestly shows how Mo Yi fell in love with the dazzling justice the heroine upholds and how he will accept anything of her.

One thing he says in a beta PV, the prologue of the game, and [SSR Border of Light and Darkness] is that he hopes she can stick with the choice she makes, even if it runs counter to the world and everyone is against her.

So, anyway, the context of the quote below is important because [SSR Dangerous Invitation] is essentially a microcosm of their relationship. They roleplay a locked-room mystery and, in the end, the heroine chooses to throw Mo Yi (her lover in the game) into jail because he's a murderer (even though he did it for her). She chooses the truth and her version of justice over them living together in a lie (by pushing the blame to someone else). Before the lover is executed, he writes one last love letter and this is what Mo Yi reads out to his heroine at the end of the date.

[SSR Dangerous Invitation]

MY: Perhaps what he was infatuated with was this kind of you.

MC: !!!

Hearing his words, I looked up in astonishment.

Those gold eyes suddenly became profound and intense. I couldn't understand his emotions, only feeling that I was about to fall into his eyes.

The noisy wind and the voices of people on the long street gradually faded away at his words.

Only my heartbeat remained in my ears and the last love letter the duke wrote to the viscountess before the gallows that he read out slowly.

MY: "I will always open wide my arms and accept all your beauty and cruelty."

MY: "I hope that you will, with this heart, embrace the one and only truth you pursue."

Sorry, I can't resist finishing off by saying some more sappy words but, again, Mo Yi is just a simple man who wishes his first love to be his last love and he's so invested in this love. You are the once-in-a-lifetime stirring of his heart.

#tears of themis #mo yi #vyn richter #weiding shijian bu #未定事件簿 #tears of meta

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 3 years ago

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Old (2021)

Oh you guys. You guyyyyyys. Buckle the fuck up, I am so pumped to tell you about this absolutely GONZO mummified deuce of a movie. Spoilers will be had in this one, because you need to know everything.

Old is the latest from M. Night Shyamalan and like....I think we all know M. Night’s track record. For every Sixth Sense, we also get a Happening or a Village. In some ways, he’s the most exciting director working today because every new film is a 50/50 coin toss, and mama loves living on the edge. The gist of this latest roll of the dice is that a group of different families who have all come to stay at a remote luxury beach resort get invited to go to a secluded private beach for the day, and after they arrive they discover they can’t leave. That’s not great, but the bigger problem is that they seem to be aging rapidly - like 2 years older every hour or so. That’s a solid “how are we gonna get outta this one” bottle episode premise, and in the hands of a better writer, it could be a fun sci-fi romp. M. is NOT that writer.

Some thoughts:

I should have known it would all go wrong from the terrible foreshadowing starting at the very beginning scene. The mom of our main family, Prisca (Vicky Krieps) says “You have such a beautiful voice, I can’t wait to hear it when you’re older.” The dad, Guy (Gael Garcia Bernal) says, “Don’t rush this moment, enjoy the present while you can.” BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS WON’T BE ABLE TO LATER, DO YOU GET IT? dO yOU GEt iT? Wife leaned over and said “look at all the ferns - the oldest plants!” That last one was probably her projecting, but the point stands: there is nothing subtle about Old.

There’s a lot of just like, shouting out loud the things that are currently happening onscreen. “She’s having a seizure!” “People who go back the way we came black out!” “The rust has entered your bloodstream; it acts like poison!” That’s how you tell stories, right? Just having characters point out events that are occurring right in front of their stupid fucking faces with no other commentary or reflection?

An additional element that feels woefully ignorant at best and malicious at worst is the inclusion of a black male character (Aaron Pierre) who 1) is a rapper 2) is named Mid-Sized Sedan [I’ll give you a moment to deal with that detail emotionally] 3) says the single line of dialogue “Damn.” at least 4 times and 4) suffers the bloodiest, most violent onscreen death at the hands of a racist white man who is revealed to have paranoid schizophrenia. There are other gruesome deaths onscreen, to be sure, but the worst are body horror nightmares that could never occur in the real world - a woman whose bones are breaking and setting in the wrong position nearly instantaneously until she resembles a horrifying spider creature, and the aforementioned rust-in-the-bloodstream trick that leads to a Jeff-Goldblum-in-The Fly-bubbling-skin infection kinda deal. But Mid-Sized Sedan just gets stabbed in the chest repeatedly, brutally, a bunch of times by a white guy who pleads fear for his life even though MSS posed no danger to him, and it all happens onscreen when so many other characters are offered the mercy of offscreen deaths. I’m not sure if M. is trying to throw some real-world horror in and he’s just shit at it, or if it really didn’t occur to him how malicious this inclusion feels in a fantasy narrative, and I don’t really care. If you have a black character in your story and they die, you better think really long and hard about how it happens and what it means and it’s clear no one did that here.

Nothing to do with the film itself, but it did tickle me that someone brought a tiny infant to my pretty packed screening. The baby was very chill, thank goodness, and as far as I know did not age up to a kindergartner during the course of the film.

There is a Very Good Dog, a Yorkie, present for the first part of the film, but unfortunately the dog dies. It occurs offscreen, and given the premise of what’s going on on this beach, it’s not a shock when it happens BUT STILL.

The old age makeup, at least on Prisca is pretty great. Good job makeup department!

At one point, Guy gets attacked by another beachgoer, and his eyesight is failing so he has a hard time fighting back. But you are surrounded by sand, my dude, and you can still see blurry shapes. You’re not gonna throw some sand in the eyes until you’ve been stabbed like 10 times? Not gonna try to push him down, or sweep the fucking leg, or do anything but just keep raising your arms and getting stabbed while yelling “I’ll protect you!” I’ve seen stale tuna sandwiches with better defense mechanisms than you.

Like most fantastical premises, there are only a certain number of ways this narrative can end that really make any sense. It reminds me quite a bit of 2019’s Brightburn which was like “what if Superman but evil?” Either everyone is gonna die, or someone is going to improbably survive and you better have a real neat explanation for how that’s possible. Oh M. Night, when will you realize that your explanations are never as clever as you think they are? There’s no “twist” here really, simply a reveal, and it’s the equivalent of eating one of those sugar-free, gluten-free, egg-free, dairy-free snack cakes I broke down and ate out of desperation when I was on Weight Watchers. That shit is “food” in the same way that the climax is a “logical explanation for all this.” Big Pharma is luring sick people to the resort through targeted ads, then arranging these excursions to the wacky time beach in order to test how medicine they secretly slipped into the guests’ drinks works over decades of life. These sneaky medical breakthroughs are saving hundreds of thousands of people’s lives, we’re told, and the scientists offer a moment of silence for each fallen group of unwitting human lab rats after they inevitably die. Because if there’s one thing the world needs right now, it’s more distrust of pharmaceutical companies and the ethics of modern science! I can’t think of one possible reason we’d want to portray molecular biologists, immunologists, and virologists in a positive light right now, can you? When will those assholes get off their high horses and stop being universally trusted and beloved by everyone, am I right??

My saddest takeaway, tbh, is that this is a stacked international cast, with at least half the roles going to POC - this is the future liberals want, etc etc - and the result is THIS.

Did I Cry? Of course not.

Not all is terrible! It’s a beautiful movie to look at, because M. Night’s direction is never the problem, but combined with the script, the acting, and the absurd narrative leaps needed to make this story make even a little bit of sense, the whole thing turns into a mess. Unfortunately, getting Old with M. Night is less “leisurely retirement at a plush resort in Florida” and more “rancid can of Ensure and a poop-choked pair of Depends.”

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

#121in2021 #old #old movie #old 2021 #m. night shyamalan #old review #vicky krieps #gael garcia bernal #alex wolff #aaron pierre #movie reviews #film reviews

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firefly-in-darkness · 4 years ago

Text

Goodbye

Characters → Y/N & Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester [mentioned]

Summary → Y/N can’t fight her feelings anymore, she has to leave.

Prompt → “I didn’t have it in me to go with grace.” [In bold]

Word Count → 1.3k

Warnings → 18+, canon typical violence, angst. no happy ending.

Beta → @writethelifeyouwant // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is for @negans-lucille-tblr 'roll the dice' challenge, enjoy the angst! Well, it’s been a while since I wrote about our Dean, but looks like I’ve gone straight in for the kill. Sorry, not sorry. As always, love feedback, comments and reblogs!

Masterlist

Sam understood why Y/N was packing to leave. Dean didn’t.

“You can’t leave.” Dean’s voice was stern as he stood in the doorway of the motel room, arms crossed with authority. “Please wait a few days, rest up. We can talk about this then.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to bluff her way through this, couldn’t avoid how she felt about Dean bursting out in an array of words that would leave her in more pain than ever before. Her only option was to leave. She couldn’t have this conversation, it hurt too much and it would end up the same way no matter how she worded it. She would be rejected by Dean and must leave the Winchesters.

The pain of goodbye rested heavy in her heart with each item that she packed away; the plaid shirt that Dean had accidentally shrunk - looks better on you anyways - the notebooks that Sam had given her to deal with the demons in her head, and then the polaroid of the three of them leaning against the Impala - be careful, don’t scratch Baby. It has nearly faded now, almost five years have passed since that day.

Y/N zipped up the duffel bag, tucking away her memories to gain the courage to finish her mission to leave. She gave Dean a sad smile before she squeezed by him, the doorframe rubbing against her back. His hand wrapped around her forearm, pulling her closer to him. A hug; one that was unlike the others. Her face crushed against his chest while his arms circled her shoulders.

Dean consumed her; his warmth radiating from his skin and the mixture of sandalwood and whiskey on his plaid shirt. A soft sigh escaped her lips, she relished the moment for as long as she could before the tears began to prick at her eyes.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” Dean muttered into her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice cracking. It was unlike anything she’d heard before. “You’re more than a friend to me.”

Y/N pulled away, “but you don’t love me.”

She left, ignoring the pain in Dean’s eyes and the call of her name. She climbed into the truck and pulled away from the parking lot without a second glance.

If Y/N had looked in the rearview mirror when she left, she would have seen Sam holding onto Dean as he thrashed to be released. All he wanted to do was jump into Baby and follow Y/N, demand that she stay. Bring her back to them. To him.

Because he did love her. He just didn’t realise how much until she left.

Emptiness. An endless echo in his heart. Beating, but aching deeply. His lungs pulled taut in his chest. A silent scream in his head, all-consuming pain in his thoughts. Adrenaline pumped erratically through his veins. He dragged Y/N away from the horror in the alleyway behind him.

Dean collapsed beside her unconscious body, one hand placed pressure on the wound at her stomach, a feeble attempt to stop the blood pouring out and saturating the concrete sidewalk. His other fingers fumbled to feel a pulse against Y/N’s wrist, her blood-stained neck.

Her blood matted hair was pushed away from her face. Dean pulled Y/N closer and willed her to wake. He screamed out her name while his blurred vision found his brother, who frantically dialled 911.

He couldn’t lose her. Not now.

Y/N finally dared to listen to the hundreds of voicemails that Dean had left. She did the right thing in ignoring them, or so she thought. At first, she felt better to keep herself at a distance but then came the itch to check in with Sam now and then.

She needed to let him know how she was and where she’d been, to hear where the Winchesters were headed next. To hear a little bit of how Dean was doing. Y/N knew that his brother wouldn’t keep quiet about the calls and inevitably a few days later a notification would appear to indicate she had a new voicemail.

Most of them were mumbled words or cut off seconds into the message. The others, well, they stirred the hurt and pain in her already broken heart.

‘Fucksake Y/N. I wish you’d stayed.’

‘I can’t sleep at night, knowing you’re out there on your own. Not that you can’t handle yourself. Ah, fuck.’

‘Why do you talk to Sam and not me? What did I do?’

‘Y/N - hiccup- please. I need you - hiccup - come home.’

‘I miss you. I miss you deep down in my bones.’

‘I need to tell you something. Please meet me - us. Sam can be there too if you feel uncomfortable.’

Tears cascaded down Y/N’s face as she processed every message.

She went through her plan of what she was going to say a thousand times. Over and over in her head like a record stuck on repeat. She didn’t decide until she was one hundred percent certain about the next step. The step that involved calling Sam to meet them at a local dive bar.

Y/N awoke to the smell of bleach and beeps of machines, the slumped Winchesters in the too-small plastic chairs at the bedside. Tears pricked at her eyes as she took in their worn-out states; unwashed hair and dark circles tarnishing the skin beneath their eyes. They looked worse than when they were trying to save the world.

Images of what happened flashed through Y/N’s mind; Sam researching a case, her, and Dean at a dive bar. Dean with some beautiful woman in sexy tight-fitting clothes. Of course. Y/N fleeing to the street in tears. Knowing he’d never change, that she would never be enough.

She hadn’t seen the hooded man lurking in the alleyway, not until he dragged her down it and plunged the knife -

A scream rushed through her lips, unable to cope with the memories that reeled like a film but now stuck in a loop of cold blue eyes full of anger and hate. Dean’s hands were on Y/N’s arm to help calm her but she flinched and shuffled up the bed, unable to process the lack of danger.

Her chest heaved with panic, eyes wide as Dean crouched low with his hands high to show that he meant no harm. Y/N’s eyes flicked to Sam as he remained seated, hands held in a similar stance.

In an instant, she was surrounded by doctors and nurses, her lungs felt like they were being filled with cement, her throat grew hoarse from the attempts to scream for her escape. A pair of strong hands, undeniably Dean’s, held her down while a white coat pulled a mask over her face.

A sense of calm washed over Y/N, each heave of breath becoming easier, eyelids flickering closed as the Winchesters watched on in fear for one of their own.

When Dean awoke to his phone vibrating in his pocket, he looked immediately over to the bed. Y/N wasn’t there or anywhere to be found in the hospital. ‘Discharged herself’, a nurse told him. His phone vibrated a second time, a reminder of the message that was left unread.

Y/N: I’m sorry. I didn't have it in myself to go with grace.

He’d lost her again.

Everything Tag List: @reann-loves-sebstan / @aroyaldarknessblr / @thefridgeismybestie / @kitkatd7 / @harold321

Supernatural Tag List: @deanwanddamons / @akshi8278

#Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester Fic #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester Angst #Angst #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural Fic #SPN Fic

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Never Satisfied [Chapter 6]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“I don’t wanna look like this, fuck”

Previously on Never Satisfied:

Digital Checkpoint activated. Reply to save progress. 💜 — Cora

With minimal contemplation he replies seconds later.

Corpse: save

Cora: your progress has been saved. Thank you for choosing A.S.S. - the Automated Save System. You are now free to activate the digital checkpoint at any time.

Cora: I had a nice time. Text me whenever you need to. We’ll hang out again soon, deal?

Corpse: thank you

Cora: anytime sugar ;)

Funny how a text exchange so simple and short can turn so much around for a person. Funny how a huge weight lifts off him the second he locks his phone, suddenly finding it easier to breathe, to move, to blink, to function - to live. She gives him that kick he needs to be reminded to live and not just be alive. He’s still not comfortable with how much he’s relying on her but seeing her effect on him is nothing but positive, the most and best thing he can do for himself is go with the flow and let things happen. No overthinking, no planning, no shooting guesses, just facing things as they come face-to-face with him. He may never get used to it, but he won’t know that until he tries, will he?

* * *

Corpse sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror. He’s been trying to step up a little with the dressing game since he’ll be having a special guest over - ok, truth be told, he didn’t invite her, she invited herself but he’s glad she did. Lord knows he wants her company and wants her around but he could never bring himself to invite her over or initiate a hangout. Good thing Cora doesn’t expect anything from him, not of that nature at least. It’s oddly amazing having a person like her - someone who basically reads his mind like an open book and then takes action according to what she’s read. It’s not only the fact that she accurately gauges all his wants and needs, but also how she knows exactly what to do to satisfy them. To calm him down, to relieve his anxiety, to make him feel comfortable. He feels strangely selfish for always being on the receiving end of this friendship, although he doesn’t see much he could do for her. He’s decided to let time have full control of the course of their relationship, hoping his giver time would come soon.

As of now, however, it still hasn’t and he can stomach that.

It’s been about a week and a half since their first hangout but he hasn’t missed her once. That may be due to how much they’ve been texting ever since he unlocked that checkpoint she offered him. To be more specific, it probably has something to do with the fact that her texts are always so full of life and light, sounding almost like she’s there with him, talking in her signature upbeat and bubbly way which is such a contrast to his own melancholic approach to any conversation ever.

She’s also sent him a ton of memes and selfies, plus pictures she took of clients’ pets. In return for her kindness, he’s sent her bad jokes, weird internet articles about ghosts and pictures of the current game he was playing. Needless to say, their chats have been very colorful.

Now that the scene has been set up a little better, a direct timeline of events lading up to this one would be appreciated, wouldn’t it? Ok so, it all started with an “I’m bored” text Corpse received from Cora about two hours ago. Instinctively, and partially because he didn’t have any idea what else he could possibly say in response to that he sent back an apology. An apology Cora apparently deemed a loophole she could use to invite herself over cause that’s exactly what she did, not that Corpse minds it much. In fact, he felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement when her “K then, I’ll be there in a bit :)” text came in. At first he thought it was his anxiety kicking in but when he realized the rest of his typical symptoms remained absent it took him a little while to pinpoint what that emotion could be.

The epiphany came in the form of the word ‘excitement’.

Regardless of the newfound feeling, or maybe exactly because of it, he attempted to protest. A protest she killed easily with a threatening “I know where you live” text which sent Corpse scrambling to get the apartment in some kind of order. Himself too, it’s safe to say he wasn’t looking the most presentable when he received that message.

His cleaning session consisted mostly of him shoving the strewn about items in his closet and closing it shut like a wild beast dwelled inside, placing a chair in front of the door as a sign for her not to open it and also as a way of preventing the thing from opening on its own because of how overflowing it was.

Afterwards he scrambled into the shower to scrub himself down. It’d been too much for him to tackle given he wasn’t doing too well mentally, but considering he was now suddenly expecting company he thought it’d be for the best not to subject his new friend to the three-day-unshowered Corpse stank.

Right now, his main focus is his face, his stomach sinking at the sight of himself in the mirror’s reflection.

How does she even want to see me?

His mirror is cracked along the right side, spider web-like cracks reaching towards the center of it from the impact point serving as a reminder of a particularly bad night he’d rather forget.

He sighs as he combs his hair, knowing the dark curls won’t oblige and behave no matter how much he tries. He touches his jaw, deciding to let himself off the hook by deeming that a shave wouldn’t be necessary for at least another day. And then his eyes land on his clothes - an outfit it didn’t take him long to put together since those are the only articles of clothing in his closet he’d consider presentable enough to be shown off in front of a new friend who is yet to find out how much of a slob he really is. That clothing choice consists of a black button-up shirt and jeans.

This is nice, right? It’s fine. It’s business casual but definitely leaning more towards casual, as some would say. I look...nice, decent. I’ll take it - it’s enough. Far better than my ‘usual’.

A knock at the door startles him, though it’s quickly followed by a voice he’s grown to find very endearing:

“THIS IS THE COPPAS! OPEN UP YA’ DOOR!” The voice yells out, probably loud enough for the whole complex to hear but it’s not like he gives a shit. And, as context clues show, neither does she.

Corpse exits his bathroom, heading for the front door, pulling the chain off and unlocking the deadbolt before opening it. The object of his newfound affection stands on the other side, grinning and beaming with that usual light she has surrounding her. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun - a hairstyle she seems to love - and she’s wearing a simple red t-shirt covered in little chubby, cartoonish black cats that seem to be struggling to exist.

He smiles a little, finding it in himself to speak up but when he opens his mouth to do so, she cuts him off.

“Jesus, did you just come back from a funeral?” She asks, pulling at one of the buttons on his chest as she walks past him, letting herself in.

His eyes, completely on their own accord, wander down as she walks on by, causing him to swallow hard as he finds himself staring at a pair of tanned legs, patterned by the fishnets she’s wearing, leading up to a pair of short black shorts.

She turns on her heel about halfway down the hall, leading him to take an inevitable notice of how her well-loved boots could use a polish. Anyhow, he snaps his gaze away to hide the fact he’s been gawking, despite not really meaning to.

“No, but for real, why are you wearing that? You seem super confined and uncomfy, bud.”

Corpse blinks before swallowing and glancing down at himself, pulling at the button she touched before looking back up, his gaze traveling up the length of her legs. She has suspenders hanging over her thighs, more of an accessory than a necessary addition to her outfit. “I just...I dunno, I thought it looked nice. Does it not? I mean, I wouldn’t know, really. I don’t usually dress like this.”

“I mean, you look dapper as fuck but if you’re not comfortable then change, get your comfy game on. I’m the last person you need to impress in this world.”

God, she sees right through him. Even so, he considers protesting, trying to convince it’s all fine, that he likes this shirt and the outfit in its entirety. But her stare sets the record straight for him - she’ll know it’s all lies. And with that in mind, he lets his shoulders fall. Not a full second passes before he promptly starts undoing his buttons.

“Oh, thank fuck.” She comments as he goes to retreat into his room, stripping the shirt off as he walks, unaware of her lingering eyes on his back, unaware of her lower lip bitten between her pearly teeth. Unaware of the subtle shift in her stance as she looks him over much like he did her moments earlier.

When he returns a moment later in a simple dark grey t-shirt, she greets him with a grin and pats his chest. “Much better.”

It doesn’t take long for them to decide to crash on his couch, throw on a bad movie and just sit in comfortable silence. Comfortable silence - something that usually eats away at him and is anything but comfortable he now sees as calming, a soothe to his ever-racing mind.

Disrespecting the movie, Corpse takes to analyzing his guest instead. She has so much confidence, he can’t help but notice, like she’s been here hundreds of times, known him for so long. He hates her a little for it. Well, it’s not quite hate, it leans more toward envy. Jealousy. That human-nature characteristic of wanting what someone else has but you desperately need/wish you had. In his mind, she’s almost selfish: Why couldn’t she share some of that confidence and carefree manner with the rest of the world? It oozes out of her like a drip of honey from a beehive, sweet and warm. And all he wants yet has none of.

He instinctively tenses up as he feels her move closer before, suddenly, her head drops into his lap, legs kicked over the armrest of the couch. He holds his breath almost subconsciously, staring at her as she remains focused on the television. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he puts one across the back of the couch and the other awkwardly bent above his head. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea if he touches her. He doesn’t want to come off as a creep nor does he want to overstep any of her boundaries, despite the fact she’s walking a dangerous line of overstepping his. Well, that would’ve been the case if this was done by anyone but her. The way Corpse comes to this realization is when he figures out that he really doesn’t mind this proximity, as long as he doesn’t embarrass himself or creep her out in any way.

What felt like an eternity passes before she finally speaks up, still without looking away from the movie playing on the screen opposite the couch, “You know, I can feel how tense you are.”

His face flushes with embarrassment, heating up as his mind immediately goes to the worst possible outcome of this situation.

She’ll probably sit up, or leave, he thinks to himself, heart thumping in his ears as he tries to observe her face the best he can from this angle. Nevertheless, he swallows that fear as she rolls her head to look up at him with those large glittering doe eyes, grinning a bit as she seems to always do, “You can just put your hands wherever it’s comfortable for you. I don’t mind.”

He hesitates for a moment but, as always, he doesn’t get much say cause she makes the choice for him, knowing that pesky fear is keeping him immobile. She takes the hand from over his head and pulls it down to rest just next to her skull. She then drags the one resting at the back of the couch, placing it so his hand is resting dead-center on her stomach. Satisfied with how she’s rearranged his posture, she goes back to watching the movie but not before asking: “This okay?” while looking at him through her peripheral vision.

He’d have to admit it’s far more comfortable like this.

“Yeah, it’s fine. You’re okay?” He asks, feeling relieved when he feels her nod against his leg.

He moves his hand a little and swallows hard as he contemplates if he really should make the move he’s thinking of at the moment. And then he abruptly decides not to think. So, instead, he acts on it.

Without thinking of any potential negative consequences, Corpse slides his fingers to lace with hers, resting their conjoined hands on her stomach in the same spot where she left his hand a bit ago. She curls her digits around his tighter as reassurance that it’s ok. Her palm feels warm in his hand, her thumb tracing his cold metal rings.

Checkpoint...his checkpoint.

Is this what it feels like to be normal?, he wonders, Is this what it feels like to really connect with someone? He has never felt this before. He’s never met someone who has such an effect on him, understand him like this - Without even having to ask she grounded him; she knew what he needed and didn’t make him feel like an idiot about it. Instead she gave him the comfort he needed.

And suddenly he finds himself afraid - realizing that this isn’t simply a vibe of two buddies hanging out. He has that subtle ache in his chest that’s telling him he wants something…something substantial from this friendship. He wants this to last, or for it to blossom, he’s not sure yet. But for the first time, he doesn’t feel the overwhelming need to figure it out. That’s one of the many effects this girl has on him - she’s the definition of improvisation, unpredictable and alive. He’s slowly learning to let loose himself, all thanks to her. Slowly, he’s learning to trust time.

He abruptly realizes he’s glancing at her often as the movie is still running, examining her features and slowly running his gaze down the length of her fishnet-clad thighs before quickly looking away, mentally scolding himself. It’s hard, but he manages to turn his gaze elsewhere for his sake and hers. For the sake of keeping things normal, platonic and not in any way awkward for either of them. The last thing he needs is to make things weird by letting his mind wander and activate his libido and then she’d really notice how tense he is.

Cora remains oblivious to what’s going on in his head, thank God, as she continues running her thumb across his knuckles, eyes half lidded in calm content - something that’d typically seem like the complete opposite of what she is. He likes seeing her like this, tamed almost. He feels like no one else has had the privilege to see this calm side of her. Maybe that’s not the truth - it probably isn’t - but he still feels special, knowing that it’s a tight circle of people who have seen her this way.

And then he realizes the movements of her thumb on his hand have stopped.

He freezes for a moment, his fearful gaze travelling to her face where he’s relieved to find her eyes closed only seconds before he hears a light snore escape her.

She’s fallen asleep.

It’s an odd scene. She’s such a wild and free spirit, seeing her fall asleep like this is like observing an abnormality, a paranormal event. You know, like something one doesn’t usually believe exists or is capable of happening. He’d never before been able to imagine her asleep. It’s ridiculous, he’s aware - she’s human after all, but his mind has never been able to comprehend the thought and image of her captured by the power of sleep. He simply couldn’t see it happening. But now that it’s happened in front of him, he can’t look away from the sight of her relaxed, peaceful features, overcome by sudden slumber.

And then he comes to the realization that he’s now practically held hostage on his own couch, crippled by the danger of waking her up. It’s gonna be a long while, isn’t it, he thinks to himself, yet there’s still a satisfied smile on his face. A smile that’s a result of knowing he’s held hostage by her. That’s more a blessing than a curse, if he’s being honest.

@fockingwhore @vixenl @annshit @wineandionysus @wiseflamingoqueen

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gravityunforgiven · 4 years ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me (Kakashi x OC)

Pairings: Kakashi x OC, Jiraiya x Tsunade, Dan Kato x Tsunade

Synopsis:

She was the daughter of a Legendary Sannin, He, a son of a disgraced shinobi. Fate brought them together but life tore them apart. Will they be able to take control of their destinies and find their way back to each other?

...Or will they be another victim of the cruel shinobi world they are both a part of?

Chapter Two

In the next few years, Akira proved herself to be a little firecracker. She had captured the hearts of those who surrounded her almost immediately. Tsunade’s days became a little brighter due to the presence of her little one, she became her world. But still, Dan’s death loomed over her like a shadow. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he was supposed to be here, how they should be raising their child together instead of on her own. She could see him in their child every single day especially in her eyes, the eyes that Dan gave her. It was so much like his that she could almost imagine Dan staring right back at her.

And even in her disposition she could see bits of Dan mixed with her own. Akira’s character was what a person could call a perfect combination of her parents. She was normally a calm and laidback personality and even as a child she was selfless and kind to others but she could also be impatient at times and prone to rule-breaking a little more than Tsunade wanted to admit.

Everyday Akira radiated happiness to the people around her. Tsunade had hoped that her daughter would remain a civillian. That she would have a normal life inside the walls of the village, never having to know the cruelness of the shinobi world. She wanted her daughter to be protected more than anything in the world. Even Jiraiya who remained put for the first year of Akira’s life, shared Tsunade’s wishes but their hopes were all too soon shattered.

Even at only a few months old, Akira’s abilities were already starting to show itself. At first, both Tsunade and Jiraiya were in denial. It was unheard to have a child of such age show that much capabilities. They shoved it at the back of their minds for the time being but when Akira’s first birthday neared, refusing the truth was no longer an option. When Tsunade entered Akira’s room full of daisies, the truth dawned on them like a bucket full of ice cold water.

She had inherited her great-grandfather’s kekkei genkai.

The Wood Release.

She was the first since the Shodai Hokage’s time to have this nature transformation and to think that when everyone finally came into terms that this Release was extinct, Akira came along, having acquired it naturally, after it skipped two full generations of her family and more than seventy years since her great-grandfather was born.

This brought fear in Tsunade’s mind. The safety of her daughter could be at risk after this discovery. It was not a secret that the Wood Release was one, if not the most, sought after kekkei genkai in the world. Not just because of its rarity but also the power and versatility it gives its wielder.

And the destruction it may cause once fallen in the wrong hands.

If that wasn’t already bad enough as it is, a shocking discovery from the Third Hokage’s wife became the final nail in the box that sealed Akira’s fate as a protector of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

“ What is that?” Biwako asked looking at Akira’s right feet as Jiraiya lulled her for afternoon nap. The child was just about to turn one and after Tsunade’s distressed conversations with Hiruzen about the safety of her child, the Hokage together with his wife, decided to pay the child a visit.

“ It showed up a few days after she was born.” Tsunade answered. She caught the startled look that passed Biwako’s face from across the chubadai as the older woman looked at her husband.

“What?” Tsunade asked, looking at the two. She knew immediately that something was going on and if it had anything to do with her daughter then needed to know. She had to.

“ Could it be possible?” Biwako’s eyes remained fixated on the Hokage.

“It makes a lot of sense.” Hiruzen recalled how Tsunade came into his office a few months after Akira’s birth. He had never seen him so frantic as she told him ever growing abilities of Akira. She said it was just a couple of flowers in the beginning and how she thought they were just reacting to her chakra but then the incident with the daisies happened and she was so sure that there was something wrong with her. Most children do not show their affiliated chakra natures until well into their childhoods when they’ve mastered their chakra control. He did his best to calm the new mother that day and assured her that it was probably because of Akira’s genetics and heritage but it never truly left his mind. Yes, it was possible that it was because she was the great-grand daughter of the First Hokage and the daughter of the two of the most skilled shinobis that the Leaf Village had come across but he always suspected that there was more behind what was seen. Biwako’s suspicions was entirely plausible given the facts.

“Shut the doors.” He instructed in a manner he was the only one who was allowed to do so.

“Have you ever heard of The Okami?” Biwako asked as soon as the doors were closed shut and they were completely alone.

“The Wolf Spirit? Yeah, from the folktales and myths.” Jiraiya’s voice had a hint of apprehensiveness, he had a feeling that he won’t like what they were about to imply. He looked at the innocent child in his arms. It’s impossible.

“Not exactly.” And so, Biwako told the tale of the Okami to the two Sannin. She told how the wolf, believed to be once a human, protected the people in the shadows. It was known for its benevolence and truthfulness and was well-respected and honored during it’s time. And when it’s time came, the Okami vowed to its descendants that when the humankind is in dire need of protection, it will once again return to the world. Up until now, it is believed that the descendants of the Okami still remains in the heart of the Kiyoiyuki Mountains.

Biwako told them that there only has been two other people recorded in recent history to be believed as the reincarnation of the wolf. The latest was during the beginning of the Warring States Period nearly two centuries ago. They all had the same mark Akira now possessed.

“You’re saying she’s a reincarnation of this wolf-spirit that hasn’t been seen in decades?”

It was the Lord Third who answered the clearly terrified mother. “We can’t be sure for now, Tsuna. We’ll have to wait until she’s older but it would explain why she developed such abilities this early. She isn’t like the other children.”

Tsunade felt like she was going to puke. Not only were her dreams of Akira living as a simple civillian were shattered but her fate to die for the village seemed inevitable.

“So she’s like a jinchūriki?” Jiraiya’s question sounded more like a statement.

“Similar, but no. Jinchūrikis have a spirit of a tailed beast living inside of them, like a seperate being. She doesn’t have that because she the Okami is inside her very core. They are one.” Biwako explained.

In the end, the four of them decided that Akira’s true nature would remain as a secret. There will be no papers linking to her true nature, only that she is a prodigy if her own right which can be easily explained by her origins. This was necessary to ensure that she would remain safe until she was ready to defend herself from those who would want to use her for their own gain.

In the following years, she would be trained rigorously to prepare her for her role as a protector of Konohagakure. A number of both current and non-Jonin-senseis were handpicked by the Hokage together with her mother and godfather were chosen to be her teachers and senseis in the upcoming years.

Tsunade was against the idea at first. She wanted to give her daughter a normal childhood like everyone else but knowing that training her is the only way to protect her, she agreed to the plan with a heavy heart.

It wasn’t easy to raise Akira on her own especially with her still not being able to really move on with Dan’s death knowing that they should be raising Akira together and her depression that was constantly making her day even harder but she did her best, the best she could manage. She thought her medical ninjutsu for the next nine years and just as she expected, she was a natural at it. That made Tsunade smile.

Much to their relief, Akira had a somewhat normal childhood, at least for the first nine years. She trained with her sensei’s on the weekends, attended the academy (sometimes) on weekdays and played with the other kids during the afternoon. Her skills were already advanced for her rank as an academy student when she was five. It was already comparable with a newly promoted chūnin and sometimes she would even spar with kids in the higher ranks.

She wasn’t always compliant though. She would skip sessions with her senseis from time to time and would play with the other kid instead, her taijutsu needed some work and her kenjutsu could still be improved. The adults took that as a good sign. They didn’t want to take her personality away and turn her into some sort of killing machine just because her destiny demanded her to.

It was during her training with Inoichi Yamanaka, a former student of her father, Dan Katō, when her nature as the reincarnation of The Okami was once and for all, confirmed. Her eyes had turned a into a bright shade of yellow, her pupils constricted to a tiny speck in the sea of yellow and her chakra that was usually associated with the color blue, became white as a snow. It was neutral. And deadly. Akira fainted after the incident and Inoichi decided to volunteer as her future master.

She was nine when her mother left. Tsunade had taught her everything she could in terms of medical ninjutsu. The top medical-nins will supervise Akira’s training from then on.

It was just supposed to be a few months of sabbatical. She just wanted some time alone to deal with her grief and depression. She wanted to be better mother for her daughter. Tsunade even asked Akira if she wanted to come travel with her and she actually hope that she would agree. She hoped that she could just whisk Akira away from her responsibilities from this damned shinobi world, she would have done so of she said yes. But like any other nine year old kid, she didn’t want to leave the place she had called home or fall behind her friends. Akira refused and instead asked her mother to bring her a gift from every town she would come and visit until her return.

And Akira didn’t realize her childhood would soon come to an end soon after her mother crossed the front gates of Konohagakure and onto the world outside.

Next up: Lots of Kakashi and Akira history.

Ask or Reblog for a tag!

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selfproducingfanfictionauthor · 4 years ago

Text

the worlds collide - i: an old face

Summary: Who are you? Now that the new world has collided with the remnants of the old?

Pairing: BTS x reader (slight Got7/Jackson x reader)

Warnings: Referenced violence, covert sexism, zombies Notes: I knoooow I should be working on lessons to build and looking back at you but this idea just won’t let go. I originally wrote it for my 30 minute challenge but it got out of hand. So here it is, a zombie au! Not sure how long it’ll be yet but we’ll see! UNEDITED. Word Count: 3.2k

At the center of the end of the world, humanity was stripped to what it only needs to exist - strength, camaraderie, and grit.

With the undead nipping at your heels day and night, the only thought that remained were thoughts of where the nearest exist is, how to store food, how much farther for the next stronghold, and how long will that stronghold last. To survive, you stripped away everything unnecessary from your former life. All the bashfulness, the shame, and coated yourself with an armor as thick as the new callouses on your fingers - you still remember the first time you’ve went topless around Namjoon, and neither of you flinched.

Frankly, you’ve forgotten how to be anything else but this brought you to your new role in the new world. You’re no longer a girl, or a woman - you’re a survivor.

And with your old life etched in the sinew of your muscles, of your arms and your legs, you became a valuable member of the group. Along with Jungkook and Hoseok, you carry the front, bashing heads of zombies left and right, clearing the way to a new possible food source and haven.

It was a tiring existence, the type of tired that can’t be washed away by sleep. If that’s what you can call those pockets of peace you have when you’ve finally trusted them to watch your back.

It took long for you to finally drop your guard around these boys that you now call your family. Understandable, given that men didn’t really have a great track record for women to trust them even prior to the apocalypse. But you’ve met them in a tight circumstance, that had them trusting you before you even bothered to try.

(It was Jimin who first reached out, somehow unchanged by the cruelty of the new world. Always soft, always yearning.)

The seven of them had been friends before shit went down, and you were just a lucky one to be part of their orbit.

You remind yourself of this now that the new world has began.

This is the longest you’ve stayed in one place since two years ago, and it’s starting to feel like a place everyone could plant their roots in. The town’s largely untouched by the apocalypse, its strategic location in the mountains and quick response had them building trenches and walls, to keep the hoard from closing in.

It’s an extra precaution thoughtfully made by a self-sustaining community. For once, isolation brought forth more benefits than mishaps. They’ve barely lost people, largely untouched by the terrors of the world outside theirs. Innocent. Their lives went on. No nightmares, nothing.

The first time one of the pleasantly-dressed girls approached you with what could’ve been friendship, you flinched.

The boys were taken to it so easily, perhaps being as weary as you are didn’t make them jaded as it has made you.

Namjoon was swept away by the village committee, his brains and leadership evident with how he led you to safety. Jin and Jimin’s apprenticed under the village doctor, Yoongi’s turned to farming along with Taehyung, while Hoseok and Jungkook’s muscles are put to test building houses at the craft shop.

Everybody’s found a place except you, because while this town’s been untouched in all the good ways, it’s also been untouched in a sense that it kept to all the antiquated ways of the old world.

And, you hate how much you resent it in your deepest of hearts.

It’s as if they thought that putting you in a dress will wash away all the blood in your hands, as if you didn’t shed as much as all the boys did if not more. You’ve been turned away from all the things you could do, and are now being forced into things they want you to.

It’s suffocating, being torn with the desire to put your foot down and the fear of being perceived as ungrateful.

“They don’t understand, do they?”

You blink out of your thoughts and turn to a familiar face making himself comfortable beside you.

Jaebeom’s pushed away the unfinished basket to the side and pulled up one of his long legs to rest his elbow on.

By his side is his gun, locked and loaded, always ready even after months of quiet. You didn’t even hear him come in, but instead of being unsettled, you’re a slightest bit relieved to know that at least someone hasn’t gotten rusty.

The scar on his eyebrow stands out underneath the moonlight, and on the porch of your little house way’s away from the center of the town, you two make a fine pair of outsiders.

“No, they don’t.”

Even in times of peace, loss is inevitable.

Namjoon mulls over this as he looks at the list of names up for the next supply run. Two names have been crossed, and two funerals were attended last week. One had a body, another didn’t.

Old man Jungho died of a heart attack after his son died outside, and along with the grief, Namjoon could feel the pressure placed on his shoulders by a community unused to “unnatural” losses.

He’s developed a cycling procedure that makes it slightly fair to everyone who volunteered. Marked with blue ink are the ones who were in the previous run, those in black are the ones who are up for the next one.

With the latter list down by two, Namjoon turns to a different corner of his notebook to see your name. Until now, he’s had every excuse not to put you out there but now…

“Fuck,” Namjoon sighs and rubs his face with his hands. He doesn’t know why you’ll want to do this again. He’s tried asking you but somehow, you’ve grown farther and farther away.

When he tried to find you in the village garden with Yoongi, suddenly you’re out getting water. When Seokjin did your monthly checkup, you’re as impenetrable as the walls, when Hoseok tried to approach you with improvements for your home, you brush him away saying you’ve dealt with it with Jaebeom.

Jaebeom.

Whom you’ve only met a month in after you’ve settled into town. Who somehow’s been rumored to visit your house after dark, when the boys you’ve spent two years with haven’t even gotten the chance to step into your home.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. You’ve been so unreachable it’s made him cry out of frustration when the nights are dark and the seven of them feel your absence the most in their own quaint home.

They miss you, so much. Even Yoongi who’s as taciturn as they come has tried reaching out to you, working endlessly hard in his own little garden at the back of their house to produce strawberries that you love so much.

“Who’s on the list?”

Hoseok steps in the kitchen and jolts Namjoon out of his longing. He’s wearing his “fight” pants and boots, his gun taken out of the secret cellar and empty go bag slung on his shoulders.

Namjoon pushes his notebook towards him and watches as his friend’s face grow dark at the sight of your name.

“No.”

Namjoon sighs at the conviction in his friend’s voice. It draws in Jungkook from the living room, wearing the same pants and same tension in his shoulders every run.

It’s different when it was just the seven of them, now, they have to lead a bunch of unseasoned people outside the walls just so they don’t go in blind when - not if - shit hits the fan. The loss of the Youngho weighs heavily on Jungkook. They were of the same age, but not the same life experience and ultimately, that was what killed him.

“No, what?”

Jungkook takes in the tension of the room and glances down at the open notebook. “Oh.”

He mouths your name silently, treasuring each syllable. How long since he’s called you? How long since you two talked? Back outside, he liked to believe you and him had a special bond born in the midst of danger and trivial common hobbies from the old world.

He still has that photo card of an old gaming character you two loved.

“I can’t play favorites.” Namjoon states, teetering between duty and keeping you safe inside the walls. If you knew, you’d probably hate him for this, but you don’t.

“You can - you have!” Hoseok slams his hands on the table, the sound echoing inside their house. Everything falls silent followed by footsteps from the second floor. “What makes it different now?”

“The difference is the fact that we lost someone!” Namjoon bellows, his anger and stress rolling off him like waves but Hoseok doesn’t stand down. He knows its selfish, but the only thing that has him going now that you’ve pulled away is the knowledge that you’re safe.

“We always lose someone—“

“It’s not just us anymore, you know that, Hobi.”

Hoseok bites his cheek at Namjoon’s use of his nickname and he could feel the rest watching him like a hawk. All at once the fight goes out of him. It’s true. In exchange for safety, the get a community - for better or worse.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he turns to Taehyung, who in turn offers a strained smile. “At least, she has two of you to keep an eye on her out there. Like old times.”

Hoseok never thought he’d feel nostalgic about the times they’re elbow-deep in zombie gut but — “Yeah, like old times.”

Except, it isn’t like the old times.

Jungkook’s always been an awkward guy around girls, especially pre-apocalypse. He was all long limbs and Bambi eyes, not quite steadfast on what he was as a man and easily shaken by every attractive girl’s attention.

And although he’s grown a bit, confident in his looks and skills in this new world, he still hasn’t mastered the art of rejecting someone.

(He’s never had to, not when it was you.)

And so, he’s stuck at the last meeting with his back against the wall and one of the town’s remaining daughters - Hyerin- crowding his space as opposed to being beside you across the room.

He doesn’t even know that Hyerin signed up for the run, especially with how he’s told her that it’s dangerous and that she hasn’t had the proper training to go out there. It rankles him all sorts of wrong when she said that her father said that “it isn’t as dangerous as they made it out to be” as if they’re lying about the dangers they’ve faced.

And sure, they’ve cleared out a large space around the town of zombies but things can always go wrong, and if there’s anything Jungkook has learned is that things have a habit of luring you to a false sense of security before fucking everything up.

Hoseok’s giving the briefing to their small group of ten, and he could see his friend’s eyes linger a second too long whenever it passes you. You with your hair pulled back and back straight, it almost brings him back.

But then you smile at something Jaebeom says and Jungkook feels his chest tightening on cue. You haven’t smiled nor even looked at him since the start of this briefing. What had he done wrong? What have they done wrong that drove you away?

“We might encounter people on this run, and I want you to remember - people are more dangerous than zombies.” Hoseok reminds the group, “They can think, they can plot - and are much harder to predict. We’ll need someone to bring up the front before we flank the space—“

Before Jungkook could raise his hand, yours shoot up along with Jaebeom’s.

“I’ll do it.”

From the back, Jungkook could clearly hear the murmurs of the men in the group. Someone, someone stupidly brave enough speaks up, “I think you should let the men handle this, darling.”

Jungkook sees you put your hand on Jaebeom’s arm before turning to where the voice is. It’s one of the older folks, large and burly with eyes alight with mockery.

You smile sickly sweet, “Oh? I’m not the one who puked on the side of the road during the last run, am I?”

The man sputters and laughter erupts around him, his friends who were equal parts terrified at the sight of a half-torso crawling towards them last month. It’s easy to laugh when it’s not your ass on the line.

Before he gets another word in, you remind him, Hoseok, Jungkook and everyone in the room how dangerous you were on the outside. And how dangerous you still are here.

“And for the record, could you stomach killing a man when you can’t even finish off a zombie? I can,” you pause the silence being answer enough, “So, no, I’m not leaving this to the men.”

“Antagonizing them isn’t earning you any points.”

Keeping your eyes on the road helps you steady your nerves. Outside, you could see the remains of pushed over cars as your caravan makes its way away from the forest and down the mountain.

According to the last team’s run’s intel, there were traces of people loitering down the town proper and so Namjoon’s sent a team before you get caught unawares.

Hoseok coughs, “Y/N. Are you listening?”

“I didn’t know there were points to earn.”

One line, and its scathing but, Hoseok thinks, at least you’re talking to him. He was afraid he’s forgotten your voice.

He may have abused his power a bit to split you up from Jaebeom but it still makes sense, given that you two have worked together longer outside. You with your speed and him with his agility, you make a pretty good team.

And with your pretty face, people tend to underestimate you until its too late.

Hoseok pauses and mulls over your statement. Adjustment is hard, he knows, pandering to people who don’t know how hard it is on the outside but it’s needed. He doesn’t understand where your dislike of it comes from, so much so you’ve decided to ostracize yourself not only from the people in town but also from them.

(He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t understand. Old or new world, men can only touch the surface of what damage the world has done to women.)

“Y/N, it’s just so we could live with them peacefully. No trouble.”

You finally turn to him and he shivers from the coolness in your eyes. “When have I caused them any trouble? I help out, don’t I? I’m a functioning member of the community - is it required to be all chummy with them?”

Framed like that, Hoseok doesn’t have any answer but a semblance of the truth lying in a question, “Why don’t you talk to us anymore?”

Outside, the caravan reaches its destination and people pour out of the old trucks.

“Is there anything to talk about?”

Of course, of course there is, Hoseok wanted to say. But job calls, and when the sight of tracks greet your group, everything goes back to the back burner.

By the looks of it, there were at least four people about. All with large feet which most likely mean they were males.

Hoseok made a executive decision and sent back all of the group except you, Jaebeom and Jungkook. Given the situation, your group had too many people for this run turned reconnaisance and moving that many people will slow down any retreat you might need to do.

So he sent them back up with a message to Namjoon about the situation. He’ll get a lashing later but he’s sure the guys will understand. A small group is more manageable, but a group with established trust and dynamics (at least with the three of you) is more than ideal.

Your tracking leads the team to one of the larger convenient grocery stores in town. It’s long been looted and cleaned out, but somehow, one of the older craftsmen in the village figured out how to run the generator. Now, it’s store room is being used to hold and freeze any meat and fish you can’t afford to salt. How long you’ll have it running with the generator, who knows?

At what previously was an aisle for chips and snacks, you and Hoseok tread lightly, guns cocked and hands steady, your ears straining to hear any off-beat step as you get deeper into the store. Somewhere across the room, you know that Jungkook and Jaebeom are doing the same, closing off the larger exit.

It’s four on four, the odds may not be on your favor if it comes down to it but it’s not on theirs entirely either -whoever they are.

The morning light filters through the broken glass windows and reflects on your gun as you step forward to the large space at the end of the aisle. At the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook, -free of that girl hanging off his arm- tilt his head towards the large freezer ahead of you.

Behind him, Jaebeom moves to the right, taking position for a surprise attack while you three continue to advance. The freezer’s door is slightly ajar and you could almost make out the conversation and the shadows moving about inside. There’s unfettered laughter and guffaws, pulling you into a false sense of familiarity.

That laugh…

You were so in your head that your next step crushes a stray glass and echoes in the store. For a moment, it rings in the air, suspended like Hoseok freezing to look at you, before suddenly everything just- drops.

Out the door, someone tackles you to the ground, grabbing your gun and tossing it under the shelves. Your head bounces against the tiles and it steals your breath in pain but without missing a beat, you drive the heel of your palm to the man’s chin, hard enough to unbalance him off your waist.

The man rolls to the side and tries to grab your foot before you break free and kicks it to his face. With satisfaction, you hear him grunt in pain before grabbing at you again.

To the side, you see Hoseok trying to reach you, his gun similarly tossed away by the paler and taller man clutching his shoulder, slumped against a turned over cart. You’re ears are ringing, and you might’ve hit your head but vaguely you could hear someone punching someone at the other side of the aisle.

Everything happens so fast - and ends so quickly.

Your vision clears up as a cock of a gun rings clear, pausing everyone’s movements.

In front of you is a face you’d never thought you’d see again. He’s darker, with what seems to be a permanent five o’clock shadow on his jaw, but his eyes light up at the sight of you and a smile stretches on his lips, his hands up but uncaring of Jaebeom’s gun against his head.

“Y/N, long time no see.”

You gasp, frozen on the floor. “Jackson.”

End Notes: Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know what you think and if you want to be included in a tag list!

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Thunderfam Appreciation Post

I’m giving this a new post to prevent scroll city, but the original and several reblogs can be found by clicking the above link. Also, it’s an excuse to post a piccy of Virg cos any excuse, really :D

Many thanks to @willow-salix for writing this question list :D

Before I start, I just want to say that I value every member of this fandom. I’m often hopeless at communicating in group settings so I don’t speak to many peeps, but that is my failing, not anyone else’s. You are an amazing group and you have supported me and each other just brilliantly over the last nearly three years that I have been hanging with you guys. Thank you ever so much for all your wonderful support and encouragement. I’ve had so much fun and created so much stuff…you guys are amazing. Thunderfam rock!

Please note that my memory is pathetic and I will fail to mention everyone. Please do not take any offence if you aren’t listed below. That does not mean I don’t value you, I do, it just means I have swiss cheese between my ears.

-o-o-o-

Your favourite writer of your favourite boy.

@i-am-chidorixblossom You are a whumper and comforter after my soul. You speak the Virg :D @vegetacide I adore your turn of phrase and your description is to die for.

The person who's stories you will always read.

I try to read most fics that come across my dash, but there are a few that have me jumping up and down. @i-am-chidorixblossom , @vegetacide , @tsarinatorment , @scribbles97 , @the-lady-razorsharp , @janetm74 Of course, I regularly fail at this as some of you write a huge amount of fic and I am often playing catch up, but fic!

Who wrote the first fic you read in this fandom.

I landed on FF.net back in May 2018. I immediately ran into @the-lady-razorsharp who I knew from another fandom ten years prior and she was absolutely wonderful, drawing me in and introducing me around. I gobbled up several of her fics in the process.

Person you can talk to for the longest without a break.

I am hard to get started, persistence is required, but once started, it is usually hard to shut me up. @scribbles97 @vegetacide and @tsarinatorment have all discovered that. Dangle a Virg, a plotline and stand back.

Person you can't be trusted to be left alone with.

Um, @vegetacide and I have plotted out the entirety of Warm Rain together…poor Virg. Add @the-lady-razorsharp into the equation and Virgil ends up with a beard, dressed in leather and riding a Harley – that was a hilarious evening. Between @tsarinatorment and @janetm74 Virgil gets grey hairs and has to go rescue Scott – because Scott inevitably ends up in the story :D @scribbles97 gets the blame for Gentle Rain – expand your horizons she said ::headdesk:: But then there was the time I left one random line about Eos visiting Virgil in the shower and went to bed. I woke up to hilarity and chaos as Thunderfam took the idea and ran with it! Love you guys :D

Person whose fic made you cry the most.

I know there were at least two fics that made me cry, but for the life of me I can’t identify them. I did cry writing my own fic – Flannel – and don’t tend to reread it for that reason. Purupuss traumatised me with A Quiet Day to the point I had to put it down and walk away for a bit ::wails::

Person whose fic made you laugh the most.

I have no idea. I know there are fic out there and I know I’ve read it, but without a complete list of everything I’ve read, I don’t have a clue.

Person whose fic made you think the most.

Aaaargh, I don’t have a master list so can’t remember everything. Staring at my paltry favourites list on FF.net (which was mostly gathered three years ago and never maintained), Purupuss’ ‘Brothers in Arms’ and her whole Quiet series has me wanting to write a Scott-Virgil telepathic fic (and she has given me permission to run with the idea, I just haven’t actioned it yet). Counterpoint by Swallow and Amazon is amazing and likely contributed to Sotto Voce.

Person you have laughed with the most.

I’m really not liking this ultimate one person idea. I’ve laughed with a lot of people in this fandom. I’ve candy cannoned a bunch of you as well :P There has been mad plot cackling, evil conspiring, fic written to stir pots and delight on purpose. Hell, I’ve even written fic that was purposefully a giant virtual hug because I’m so far away that even if half the world wasn’t in isolation, I couldn’t hug most of you. Sure, I talk with some of you more than others, and there is laughter in those chats…oh, god, so much cackling, poor, poor Tracy boys. But then there are also so many smiles both vocalised and not. Thunderfam is one of my happy places. Bring on the belly laughs :D

Your comfort fic that you'll go back and read again on a bad day.

I will often resort to my own fic when I’m really down simply because it helps me get to sleep :D and it is kinda tailored to me ::grins:: (and my memory is that bad I often forget what I wrote anyway – yes, it is that bad) But there are also a few on my FF.net favourites list. Mostly hurt/comfort in a Virg flavour. Cheesycheese, nhsweetcherry, A Small Rescue by Nalina, Breathe Easy and Under the Weather by @loopstagirl – several of hers, in fact – the Virg ones :D Pretty much anything that has Virg fainting and being looked after apparently :D Chiddi and Veggie fic, of course.

Favourite piece of fan art.

I have never been so honoured by artists before. This fandom has some amazing skills and I have been gifted some beautiful works. You guys are amazing (I keep saying it like a broken record, but you are).

Again, I’m stuck on having to list one and I can’t. I think Fanart Appreciation Month in January pretty much summed up my opinion.

Who have you known the longest in the fandom.

@the-lady-razorsharp followed by @vegetacide both wonderful peeps. I can’t miss out on @weirdburketeer either for her amazing support almost from day one.

Favourite OC.

I have to say that I really enjoy reading about Ray from @i-am-chidorixblossom ‘s fics :D He is so gentle and kind and just ::sigh:: Virg likes him lots :D Selene by @willow-salix is, of course, a major presence in the fandom and amazingly written. @hedwigstalons ‘ Claire is lovely.

Person who supports your work the most.

The Thunderfam? There have been some wonderful people who support all the time. @hedwigstalons @cg29 @janetm74 @weirdburketeer in particular have been amazing support liking and commenting on just about everything I write. I honestly don’t know how they do it. Plus several peeps over on FF.net and Ao3 who support me over there.

And then there are the poor souls who put up with me in chat and listen to my wibblies and whining and character checks and field random chunks of writing that get thrown their way. @scribbles97 @vegetacide @the-lady-razorsharp @tsarinatorment @i-am-chidorixblossom @onereyofstarlight @godsliltippy @willow-salix @janetm74 all have had random passages thrown at them at all times of the day and night by a crazy me begging for feedback. Does this work? Is this in character? Am I insane? What the hell is Scott doing? Is this John??? I give up, tell me what to do? Virgil is driving me insane! So, um, yeah

Person who's progress you are the most proud of.

I love those peeps who appear in fandom who start off poking around commenting and generally being lovely and then all of a sudden get out their own pens and start writing and they are frickin’ amazing! Both @janetm74 and @hedwigstalons come to mind in this department. Like holy cow – ‘here is my first fic and I’m not sure’ ::reads it:: Omigod! Where did you come from? That was amazing. Sit down here now, keep doing that writing thing, bloody hell! I think being brave enough to pick up a pen and join in is a major thing :D

Person who's story you think is underrated and should be read by more people.

If I find fic I like, I reblog it and shout about it. What I like is definitely skewed in a Virgil direction and this dictates often what I’m going to read first. I can’t reblog what I haven’t read. So, this equation will always be skewed by ‘reasons I haven’t read a fic’ which mostly involves either Virgil or the fact I’m juggling RL. So, my answer to this is if I think a fic needs to be shouted about, I shout about it.

Something you think people would say about you.

She’s nutty.

Silliest 'thing' you do with someone.

I’ve been known to write fic on the fly directly into chat windows to try and distract peeps going through shitty times.

Favourite pairing you now Stan because of someone's fic.

Virgil/Kayo because of @vegetacide for reasons I have blamed her for multiple times. @the-lady-razorsharp and @weirdburketeer were accessories to the fact.

Favourite headcanon from someone's fic.

Um, Virgil and coffee? I got that from somewhere and it has infiltrated my fic…a lot.

Ultimately, though, I feel most people I interact with contribute to my fic and how I’m feeling. This has been a wonderful experience. I try to return the support as much as I can, but sometimes it is a juggle between writing more, my stupid fluctuating mood, the demands of RL and my own creative drive. I hope I’ve helped a few peeps, because you guys have certainly helped me ::major group hug::

And yes, I hug a lot, because to be honest, I have no other descriptor to communicate how I feel, so you get buckets of hugs :D

Tagging the Thunderfam. Feel free to grab these questions and run with them. You’re all part of the gang whether you write, read, art, gif, screenshot, chat, babble, stare at Virgil all day...I know I do a lot of staring.

Nutty

(Thunderfam rocks!)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #thunderfam rock

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