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ayuuria · 4 years ago

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Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine March 2021 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

The Two Beast Kings

At his daughters’ crisis, Sesshōmaru makes his satisfied appearance! It appears he has some kind of connection with Kirinmaru but their intentions are still unclear. In what way will the two beast kings be involved in the fate of the Yashahimes?

While chasing Tōtetsu who is the last of the Four Perils, Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha finally confront Kirinmaru. The three of them are overwhelmed by Kirinmaru’s immense power. Saving the girls from a desperate situation was none other Sesshōmaru. The impact of the clash between the two great demons shook the earth and was put to an end in a moment. While Towa and others are left pondering what the relationship between Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru is, they somehow managed to survive the fierce battle.

The spirit of the Tree of Ages considers Kirinmaru’s existence as one that should be killed. However, looking at his actions, they do not seem to be simply “evil”. Kirinmaru intended to defeat Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha as they were “the half-demons who would take his head”. However, he could’ve buried the three with one strike of his overwhelming strength. It appeared as though he was not taking the battle seriously in episode 18.

On the other end, although Sesshōmaru saved the girls from a crisis, it looked as though he was not truly hostile towards Kirinmaru. The meaning behind Kirinmaru’s words to Sesshōmaru “I will still have you work for me” puts a weight on one’s mind.

The relationship of the two beast kings who bare many mysteries. It might be a little longer before the full picture behind their motives becomes visible.

Character Bios

Sesshōmaru A proud, ruthless greater demon whose father is the Dog General. Towa and Setsuna’s father. (A man of) very few words, he does not show his thoughts for the most part.

Kirinmaru A beast king on par with the Dog General. He was in a long slumber but was awakened by his elder sister, Zero. Apparently, he’s trying to destroy this world to a degenerate state.

Jaken A small demon who serves under Sesshōmaru. Cowardly but helpful, he placed upon himself the role of child rearing and caretaker to Towa and Setsuna who had been taken from their mother not a moment after being born.

Rin Towa and Setsuna’s mother. She accompanied Sesshōmaru for a long time as a child and has faith in him. For some reason, she is currently sleeping within the Tree of Ages.

Higurashi Towa In order to save Setsuna who had her memories and dreams stolen, she searches for the Dream Butterfly. Her explosive power when Setsuna was driven to a corner was enough to leave a scratch on Kirinmaru.

Setsuna Even in the feudal era she sometimes plays the violin she borrowed from Mama Moe. The details on how she came to wield her favorite naginata, Kanemitsu no Tomoe, will become clear?

Moroha Although she is Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, in order to escape Kirinmaru, she was placed in the care of the wolf demon tribe in her early childhood. She carries the sword Kurikaramaru, which she received from her master, Yawaragi.

The Mystery Behind Sesshōmaru’s Actions

14 years ago, Sesshōmaru took a newborn Towa and Setsuna from Rin and sheltered them in the forest of the Tree of Ages in order to keep them away from Zero and Kirinmaru. However, 4 years after that when Zero burned the forest, Sesshōmaru tolerated her actions. The intentions behind what he is thinking is unreadable.

The Dream Butterfly and Rin

The Dream Butterfly steals Setsuna’s dreams and takes them to Rin who is sleeping within the Tree of Ages. It seems Kirinmaru has something to do with the actions of that Dream Butterfly. What is Kirinmaru’s “profound plan” regarding the Dream Butterfly that Konton of the Four Perils spoke of? And what is the reason behind Rin’s slumber?

Moroha’s Master

Yawaragi, the wolf demon who trained Moroha who was separated from her parents and raised by the wolf demon tribe. The of two them broke their ties 3 year ago but reunited due to Konton’s trap and fight each other as teacher and student. During that battle, Yawaragi explains to Moroha how to fight without becoming Beniyasha. Putting her life on the line, she bestows upon Moroha the grand technique “Crimson Backlash Wave”.

The One Who Will Defeat the Beast King

The prophecy the Shikon Jewel once told Kirinmaru was “(The one who will destroy Kirinmaru) will be one who is neither human nor demon and can impossibly traverse time”. He seems to think it refers to Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha but the difference in strength between the three of them and Kirinmaru is obvious. Presently, it would probably be difficult for the girls to defeat Kirinmaru.

Inheriting the World of “Inuyasha”, Director Satō Teruo

Following the “Inuyasha” Rule for Shot Divisions and Presentation

— Director Satō, please tell us first the details of how you became involved in this current work.

Satō: “Inuyasha” was the first work I took part in as a freelance producer and it also taught me the fundamentals of production. Afterwards, I was the assistant director for “Inuyasha The Final Act” and because of that, they reached out to me this time asking, “We’re going to make a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”. Would you be interested?”.

— As a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”, what points do you place importance on?

Satō: Among the viewers of this work, there will of course be those who watched “Inuyasha” but reversely, I think there will be those who come to know of “Inuyasha” through “Hanyō no Yashahime”. I intentionally created the work so that when these people reach the point of wondering “What kind of work is “Inuyasha”?”, they’ll get the same taste (as “Hanyō no Yashahime”).

There’s also a task for “Hanyō no Yashahime” to “Inform the generation that doesn’t know “Inuyasha” that there’s a wonderful work by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei called “Inuyasha”.” Just like “Great Detective Conan” that’s also on Yomiuri TV, families can enjoy (the work) together as parents become nostalgic and the children have a fresh feeling. From there, it would be great if the children are told “There’s a work called “Inuyasha”.”

For that reason, I felt that I wanted to depict the characters that were carried over from “Inuyasha” in a way that didn’t feel off as much as possible. The serialization for the original work “Inuyasha” ran for 12 years and the anime continued for 4½ years, so I think everyone has a complete image of each of the characters within themselves. I’m conscious of trying to stick to that set image people have of “This person was this kind of character.” as much as possible.

— Director Satō, you were directly in charge of the storyboard for episodes 1, 2, 4, and 6. What sort of things are you mindful of as you create the images?

Satō: In “Inuyasha”, there was something like an ““Inuyasha” rule” for shot divisions and presentation. I wanted “Hanyō no Yashahime” to inherit those rules. Episode 1 for the most part depicted “Inuyasha” since then so we couldn’t exactly break away from that rule. However, starting from episode 2, if we suddenly used a different shot division method that feels as though it’s from a different work, the viewers probably wouldn’t be able to follow along. Thus, in order to show that rule from the start, I did as much of the storyboard as I could myself.

— What kind of rule is it exactly?

Satō: For example, how Inuyasha releases the “Wind Scar”. Also, I was frequently asked “Tessaiga is always written with dokkun (translator’s note: pulsing sound effect) but what is the “dokkun disposition”?” or “What is “mokomoko”?”. The pulsing Tessaiga does when it transforms is what we call the “dokkun disposition”. The “mokomoko” refers to the fluff that Sesshōmaru trails behind him. There are people who call the fluffy scarf worn during events like the coming-of-age ceremony “Sesshōmaru’s Mokomoko” and we call it “Mokomoko” at the production site too (laughs). Conversely, there are many people who give Setsuna’s mokomoko the same volume as Sesshomaru’s like in the “Inuyasha” era, and I remember at the beginning (animation character designer) Hishinuma Yoshihito-san was always correcting them like, “Please make hers more subdued than her father’s”.

— How do you do the shot divisions?

Satō: We use a sort of old-fashioned method of shot division that’s different from the current trend. Currently, there’s a lot of finely chopped, speedy shot divisions and while cutting battle scenes short is easier, we purposely make it one continuous shot so that the battle is endless. My thought process is that I want there to be traces of “Inuyasha” in that part of the screen.

Even the Effects Have Traces of the Parent Generation

— You spoke of Setsuna’s mokomoko but does she herself know of her father’s mokomoko?

Satō: I don’t think she knows. The clothes were probably given to her by her caretaker, Jaken, like “Let’s have you wear this” (laughs). Towa and Setsuna were named by Rin in episode 15 but they were babies, so they didn’t know. Probably while Jaken was in charge of educating them, he told them “You’re Towa and you’re Setsuna.”

— We heard that Moroha’s clothes is the same as Inuyasha’s “Robe of the Fire Rat”.

Satō: Yes. Just like the “Armor of the Iron Rat” that appeared in episode 16, it is made of fabric from the fire rat. Inuyasha himself is inside the black pearl and Moroha was left in the care of the wolf demon tribe, so Inuyasha couldn’t give the clothes to Moroha. However, I think the wolf demon tribe probably got their hands on something similar somewhere.

— What is the reason for Towa’s clothes being a school uniform?

Satō: It’s probably Towa’s own uniform for living in the feudal era (translators note: basically, it’s her way of dressing for the times). Her reason for dressing as a boy is because “It’s easier to fight in” after all, and it’s something I discussed with Takahashi Rumiko-sensei and (Series Composition) Sumisawa Katsuyuki-san many times. As to why we made her core like that. First, starting from her being a child that avoids the standard femininity, we came up with all sorts of thoughts like “Why not just give her an appearance with a Kyary Pamyu Pamyu like originality”. From within (those ideas), it was Takahashi Rumiko-sensei who came up with “It’s easier to fight in”. She said, “Rather than having a complex reason, wouldn’t a simple reason like this be easier to for the people watching to understand?”. That’s how Towa’s appearance and character were solidified.

— Towa’s weapon is also a little different. What she thought was the national treasure, Kikujyūmonji, was actually a fake, and she creates a blade with her demonic power at the part where it broke.

Satō: That part is probably also Sumisawa-san’s sense. Turning the broken sword into a demon sword. Even though she once obtained the real thing through Riku, the result was that she continued to wield the fake one. I think that part makes things more entertaining.

In a sense, “Inuyasha” was also a story about a sword’s growth. Inuyasha’s Tessaiga absorbs the demonic energy of demons it cuts and turns many techniques into its own. On the other hand, Sesshōmaru created the weapon, Bakusaiga, from within himself. Whether Setsuna inherited that or not is something to look forward to going ahead.

— How did you create the techniques for the three?

Satō: There are various techniques such as Setsuna’s “Scrouge of Swallows” and “Cyclone Burst” and Moroha’s “Crimson Dragon Wave”. The creation was basically Sumisawa-san coming up with the (kanji) characters and us coming up with how to portray them. We had the photographers match the shade and disposition of the effects to the parent generation and lineage. Towa and Setsuna have the same blue and green as Sesshōmaru and Moroha has the same yellow effect as Inuyasha’s “Wind Scar”.

We Want Towa and Everyone to be Happy

— Of the episodes that have aired thus far, which one in particular left an impression on you?

Satō: Episode 15 where Riku talked about the past. It was an episode that was related to the crux of the story and I think it was a crossroad of the past. The fact that it only appears as flashbacks to the three princesses who are the lead characters is characteristic. It was to the point that I was surprised on the day of the recording like “Oh, they’re not here!”. For this episode, we had Yamaguchi Kappei-san, the role of Inuyasha, do the commentary for the PR spotlight and it had an “Inuyasha” feel to it. Rin has grown-up a little bit but for her acting, we ordered that we “Want you to be conscious of childhood Rin” when addressing “Lord Sesshōmaru”.

— Episode 15 was also the episode that revealed Rin was the mother of Towa and Setsuna. What were you conscious of when depicting Sesshōmaru and Rin?

Satō: Regarding that, it was something I wondered about the most as an Inuyasha fan when my work in “Hanyō no Yashahime” was decided. Since Rumiko-sensei did not depict this, there were probably fans that had complicated feelings with how the relationship between the two is presented… In that sense, I’d say it’s best to make it so that the two can properly live together in happiness. How do I put it, it’d be hard to look at if things stay as they are.

— Director Satō, you yourself want everyone to be happy.

Satō: Correct. The moment “Inuyasha The Final Act” ended, I thought everyone would be happy, but it ended up like this… Based on the actions of the other characters, I would like to shape Sesshōmaru and Rin-chan’s afterwards in a way that everyone can agree to. Regarding Moroha, there’s the matter of when she will meet Inuyasha and Kagome. It would make me happy if you could pay attention to that part going forward.

— This month we published an illustration of Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru (P. 42~). Director Satō, do you have any situations you would like to see in future copyright illustrations?

Satō: As a fan, I would like to see the parents and children sitting together. “Inuyasha, Kagome, and Moroha would be there and beside them would be Sesshōmaru, Rin, Towa, and Setsuna” like they had a family gathering at New Years. I think that kind of situation would be fun. However, in actuality I think that might be difficult as the dog brothers don’t get along (laughs).

— In episode 18, Sesshōmaru finally appeared before his daughters and that created major movement in the story. Please tell our excited readers some highlights going forward.

Satō: Episode 19 is a story where the demon slayers play an active, albeit not serious, role. You could say it’s a breather episode and it feels as though the tempo is completely different from episode 18. However, please enjoy it while relaxing (laughs). Following with episode 20, Shiori-san, the half-demon who appeared in “Inuyasha”, will make an appearance. It is an episode where she and Setsuna will interact. Sumisawa-san thought that in order to depict half-demons, this was something that couldn’t be left out and Inuyasha walked down this path as well. Then, the final chapter begins in episode 21. Things will move all at once. Zero, who started appearing in episode 14, will especially be a key person going into the final episode. Please pay attention to her relationship between Kirinmaru and Sesshōmaru.

Having Takechiyo Around Is A Big Help!

“Takechiyo is fun to move. As a therapeutic mascot character, just him being there is a big help and he has room for growth going forward. From the start, Takechiyo was born from “having a character that could be messed with in some way or another like Shippō” but he feels completely different. Also, with Fairouz Ai-san’s tenacious acting, he has grown into a very good character. Apparently, he’s a favorite of Sumisawa-san (laughs).” (Satō)

Sesshomaru’s on A Different Level! The Role of Sesshōmaru, Narita Ken

Episode 18 was his first appearance outside of flashbacks. The impression I got was that it’s as though Sesshōmaru thinks Kirinmaru is “Not an opponent worthy of my time”. That’s why I didn’t even insert a breath and imagined that “he could easily win this” during the scene where they crossed blades. I also checked with sound director Nagura Yasushi-san like “Would you like me to insert a breath?” but he said, “No need”. On the other hand, Kirinmaru was taking breaths so I really think Sesshōmaru is on a different level. Even my impression of Hosoya Yoshimasa-kun was… the level is not the same. Just kidding (laughs). Hosoya is quite adorable so it was fun doing (the scene) with him. What will become of the relationship between Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru is something to look forward to going ahead.

Today’s Diary

This month we visited Sunrise’s studio #1. The selection begins in the conference room lined with plastic models of Sunrise’s works. Hishinuma-san, what do you think seeing all these works we have collected? **

��We created “Hanyō no Yashahime” with the intention of simply gearing it towards the children of today, but there’s a wide age range of contributors. From elementary schoolers to those in their 50s, I can really feel that the work is loved by everyone. It seems there are many people whose deep-rooted support for us stems back to the “Inuyasha” era.”

Which character is the easiest for you to draw?

“The one who’s easy to approach is Moroha. There’s a part of her that resembles her father (Inuyasha) so at first, I was conscious of copying (him). However, over time, I gained the ability to bring out her uniqueness.”

Who is the most popular on-site? (translator’s note: aka the studio)

“I’d have to say there’s a lot of staff who say, “I want to draw Moroha!”. When the plans were stood up, Towa and Setsuna were the two protagonists but Takahashi Rumiko-sensei’s design of Moroha was so appealing that the 3 of them became the main characters you see now. That’s why I want the on-site staff to love on Towa and Setsuna more! Especially for me, I want to continue to sympathize with Towa and watch over her growth with the emotions of a foster parent. Of course, the parent that gave birth to them is Rumiko-sensei.”

The main story is finally approaching its climax. Please show us your enthusiasm.

“My main job right now is designing and copyright illustrations but the staff are working hard towards the climax that will be at the end of March. The story development is going to be hardcore, but I would be really happy if you continued to support us. Look forward to it!”

** Back story: This month’s Animage held an art contest for Yashahime with the judge being animation character designer, Hishinuma Yoshihito. Also, this page has a “One point lesson” on how to draw the 3 girls. However, that one is heavily image reliant so I will not be translating it (I do not post scans as much as possible).

#yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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thotsforvillainrights · 4 years ago

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~Christmas with You~

(It’s days after Christmas as usual I haven’t active or slept properly yet but I’ve been focused on my store lol. I hadn’t been super on my writing game in a hot minute so I decided to write how your partner would treat you during the holidays. This features EVERY single villain I write for from the list located in my bio IN ORDER. Also I apologize if you don’t celebrate Christmas and this doesn’t apply to you. I hope you still had a great holiday anyway, and I love you!)

~Toga💉-She begins her present shopping early because she wants to find you something that she’s sure you’ll like! Eventually she ends up buying a ton of things, but none of them satisfy her and she’s worried you won’t like any of them even though you will. So finally she settles on making you something instead. She will stay up all night long pushing herself to put together the perfect gift for you and will literally fall apart if you don’t like it. But I’m sure she won’t have to worry about anything like that.

~Dabi🔥-Hates the holidays. He tells you they hold some pretty shitty childhood memories for him and he’s honestly all for avoiding even just the thought of Christmas, but of course he looks at you and that changes. He’s really willing to try and take part in a little holiday cheer just for you even if it’s stupid to him. Call it cheesy, but when he celebrates with you it helps take away from the old bad thoughts. It gives him a chance to replace the bad memories with good ones. So he’ll bake some shitty cookies with you, and poorly wrap presents even if he knows that you know what he got for you. Of course he’s not opposed to a mistletoe kiss or two (or three). You help put the cheer in the holiday for him.

~Overhaul🥀-Hates Christmas. It’s not the holiday, it’s just how many people are buzzing around up until that point. So he gets ALL of his shopping done early. And and all emergencies are to be handled by his men (ex: in case he forgot something on the list). The number one thing he takes super seriously is you seeing your presents. You better hope he doesn’t catch you sneaking around the tree. He will lock you in the bedroom until the day of Christmas itself before he lets you open any of them early...even on Christmas eve

~Shigaraki🤚-Literally wakes you up super early on the morning of just so you can watch a movie with him in a fluffy throw blanket with the hum of his electric heater nearby. He loves this season with you more than any other because he can use the cold weather as an excuse to cuddle with you. “Oh well you know I’m kinda small here so I don’t produce a lot of body heat. You should come closer.” Aside from that, he loves the way you celebrate. You make it up to him for not having a childhood at all. Surprisingly enough, he loves doing all the little things with you.

~Tengai🏳-Doesn’t see a point in the holidays and never really supported it before. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s no scrooge. He would rather spend his time the way he usually did around this time of the year: working at charity spots and donation centers. When you find out he spends every holiday season serving food to people less fortunate it makes your heart soar. So if you have the time to join him, then by all means please do so. Help him spread a little peace this season

~Deidoro🍺-Being someone that knows a LOT about different drinks out there, he has never in his life heard about eggnog. It throws you for a loop at first and you laugh at him as he watches you in confusion. “Wait...you’re being serious about this???” So you have to sit him down, make it for him, and let him try it. I mean, how could he be the one person to not know about this when its alcohol related? Well let’s just say that not only does it stick, but Sakaki has been downing eggnog at the Hassaikai Christmas party all night, and now he’s trying to literally eat you in the bathroom while you’re washing your face. It’s ridiculous

~Nemouto✔-This man is 100% proposing to you on Christmas night after a long date with you. For someone that talks about feelings being pointless, he sure does have a lot of love for you. He pays attention to the details and the moods around him. This time was a boost in your happiness and it signaled the perfect time for him to pop the question to you. Add in all those romantic light attractions, and the snow with the carolers etc. Its free romance that he can ride on and use to his advantage. Catch him getting on one knee in the snow after you two are leaving a light show in the city.

~Setsuno💔-Holidays are depressing to say the least. To him, Christmas and Valentines day were the worst 2 days to be alone out of any day of the year. Well WERE until you came into his life. He stares at you unwrapping presents under the tree while he sips some cocoa and he thinks about how lucky he was that you came into his life. Little moments like these help tie together the ideal that holidays aren’t so bad. Thanks to you, he no longer has to fight back tears of sadness in the dead of night as the snow falls against his window and sticks until it melts. Now he has to fight tears of joy blurring his eyes while you two lounge on the couch and try to get through a holiday movie without falling asleep on each other

~Compress🎭-Will do any and everything with you during this day. I mean he’s going to go all out for you on any day of the year, but this one is a little different. So bring in those matching Santa hats, and roll out the gingerbread house kits. Compress is down for it all. It’s not just for you, but all for the sake of letting loose for once during the year and allowing himself to relax as a civilian instead of a villain on the run. He’d rather spend time building a gingerbread house than trekking through the cold forest with the sounds of sirens in the background getting near.

~Twice👬-This man gets a new ugly Christmas sweater like every year since 7 years ago. The only difference is now he can celebrate with you and his friends instead of celebrating with himself and his clones, alone somewhere in a storage unit. And yes: he’s the number one person to force the league into a Christmas party because he knows you’ll have fun hanging out with him and everyone else (since usually he keeps you away for protection). He’s also the most likely to make everyone engage in secret Santa with each other. Jin is also the one most likely to burn through Christmas movie marathons like it’s nothing at all to him. He runs on peppermint hot cocoa, and marshmallows so don’t challenge him at all

~Kurogiri☁️-Usually he wouldn’t think twice to celebrate it. It doesn’t bother him, but he’s not really focused on being cheerful when there’s work to be done instead. You have to be the one to help him slow down and enjoy the tiny things here and there. He’ll help you string up lights, decorations, and the tree. Believe me, he does an amazing job on it all because he doesn’t half-ass his work in any kind of way whatsoever. He’s also kinda in love with the Christmas sweater/vest combo you got for him (and he’s secretly wanting to brag about it). He’s not one for the sweets like the ribbon candy, or the candy canes but he’ll blow through holiday food that you cook or order. Most of all, he’s invested in seeing you smile

~AFO💀-Christmas is just another excuse for him to spoil you. However, you have to step up and let him know it’s more than just gift giving that he needs to do. Where you would love some quality time with him, he’s more about giving you 1,000′s of dollars of gifts and handling work that needs to be done. But who can say no to those eyes of yours huh? (Don’t answer that. Just know he’s not one to deny you). He’s not really into the holidays but he treats it like a big important date night between the two of you. He’ll go above and beyond to ensure things runs smoothly. You’ll have to introduce him to ‘stay at home’ dates for once. If not

~Stain🔪- Isn’t down for it until you mention the tradition that some people go out and chop a real tree. For some odd reason, he’s attached to the idea of chopping a tree down. At first you thought you’d successfully got him into the Christmas spirit, but it just turns out he was eager to use a blade for big business for the first time. Either way, you shrugged it off and rode with it. And boy was that a mistake to make...You were shivering out there. Stain had you in the forest for at least an hour now while he hunted down the perfect tree. You swore to yourself that you’d be getting a fake one next year

~Muscular💪-”Celebrate Christmas? Okay, why tho?” You maybe could convince him by disguising it as a romantic time but he’s not big on romance either. You entice him with gift giving. More importantly the idea of hiding his gifts and not letting him see a single one till Christmas day. THAT is how you get him into the holiday. Be warned though, he’s mostly taking part in the other celebrations because he’s wanting those presents so badly.

~Mustard☣-You’ll be lucky if you can get him to go Christmas shopping with him, let alone celebrate. No offense against the holiday itself but Mustard doesn’t celebrate ANY day. He doesn’t even like to celebrate his own birthday! He seems to be a bit more bitter around the holidays and the cheer isn’t helping. “C’mon don’t be a scrooooooge!” You poke at his cheek while he’s scrolling through his phone on the couch. “Y/N for the last time, kindly piss off.” He glares at you before turning his attention to his phone again. At this point you’ll either have to risk getting put under from annoying him too much, or you’ll have to find another way to convince him to loosen up. Good luck with it

~Spinner🦎-10/10 best person to spend Christmas with. He’s more into it than you are. As soon as December 1st hits, he’s putting up decorations. In fact, he put up the tree a week before Thanksgiving. The holidays remind him of when he was little and he sat in his mom’s lap while she sewed a Christmas tree quilt. Or when he and his sibling would have snowball fights in the backyard (despite his aversion to cold weather due to his quirk). Shuichi will sit down and write out a holiday movie watch list and watch a different Christmas almost every single day with you if you’d allow it. He’s the first to bake cookies, and the first to start buying gifts early. Most of all, he’s happy to spend this time with you. (Oh be prepared for those walks in the park to admire the Christmas lights)

~Katsukame🗿-Big guy is a lot more cheerful than you know, but he knows nothing about Christmas so you gotta show him all those old fashioned traditions. But please don’t tell him to deck the halls because he will pull a ‘Rappa’ move and punch holes in the hallway walls. Aside from that, he’s pretty open to Christmas cookies, and even decorating. But I have to say he draws the line at singing door to door at people’s houses because he hates to sing. He doesn’t even like to hum lol

~Rappa👊-Hell yeah he’s gonna spend it with you! The big guy is literally sold on just about anything involving you (well as long as he doesn’t have to wear a stuffy suit for it). His excitement stems mostly from his curiosity. He never had a bad childhood but he still can’t remember much of the holidays back then. So who needs old memories when you can make new ones! At least that’s his reasoning after all lol.

~Hawks🦅-This guy is the WORST at giving you presents. I mean his gifts are amazing, but he always slips up and tells you what they are too soon. In fact, he will buy you something and ask if you wanna see it within the next five minutes afterward. Its gotten to the point where you have to beg him almost to stop letting wanting you to open stuff. He can’t help it though! Keigo just loves spoiling you, and holidays are the exception where he can go crazy with his saved money.

~Magne🕶-She has this crazy secret collection that she finally busted out once you’ve gotten close enough to you in the relationship. Her secret collection ended up being a MASSIVE set of sweaters (specifically Christmas themed) While she’s beaming proudly about how she has a different sweater for every day in December, your jaw is almost on the floor. “Mag...don’t...don’t these cost like 50 bucks each? How long have you been collecting these?!” Anyway, you should expect an ugly Christmas sweater party with the League at least once this December

~Tabe🍡-Forget celebrating the other stuff that comes with Christmas, you already know what he’s excited about...All that yummy yummy food!!! Oh God (if it applies) take him to your family (or friends) for Christmas and watch his face as he enters to see that table full of food. Oh man, he’s going to do his best to be respectful but on the inside he wants to destroy all of the food on that table. Oh and don’t worry about the whole baking cookies for Santa because Tabe is most likely going to eat them...and drink the milk too

~Hojo💎-He starts present shopping in late October, early November so that way he has everything he needs to get for you (which is a lot). He hides your presents at the base so you have no idea where to find them. Thanks to the base being an underground labyrinth, you’ll never see those gifts until Christmas eve (just one), and Christmas day (the rest of them). Hojo goes along with whatever you do to celebrate the holidays. He’s just perfect husband material to be honest. Not too rough around the edges, but willing to beat a man to death if his job calls for it. Who knew he’d be the most willing to celebrate the holidays with you.

~Chronostasis🔫-He will literally defy anyone that stood in the way of spending this holiday with you. That includes his own best friend/boss. Overhauls knows this, and he’s comes to respect your relationship so he purposefully doesn’t schedule Hari to work on Christmas (but he still pays him for the full day since he’s still his friend). Hari will absolutely kill anyone that got in the way of your cheer. Even if you were one of those people that believed in Christmas magic, he would support you. The world is tough, and it shows no mercy so little things like joy during the holiday meant a lot more than anyone could know in your household. He loves to see you happy so if that means celebrating with you, then he’s going to do it. Besides...he secretly likes Christmas himself

~Mimic💰-Literally loves to talk about how unnecessary it is while he’s also excited for it as well. Like he’ll talk down about decorating while he’s decorating. If you try to step between him he’s gonna tell you to: “Back off, you’re messing up my artistic flow here. Go sit on the couch. Make yourself useful and unwrap the candy cane boxes for the tree.” You can see by the way he steps back and puts his hands on his hips to admire his handy-work that he’s taken a bit of pride in things here.

~Pops🇯🇵-The old man will take part in the celebration with you because he absolutely adores both you AND the holiday itself as well. He might mix in a few older traditions like Elf on a Shelf, and making a popcorn line to go around the tree. Most importantly you can look forward to opening one gift early as per tradition on Christmas eve. Pops is thankful every single year he gets to spend with you.

~Giran👏-Christmas presents from him are on lock. You see he developed this tactic after brainstorming some ideas. He’s always buying you anything and everything but he realizes that it takes away from his Christmas gift pool. To combat this, he decided to cutdown on his generosity in the months of September, October, and November. That way, it’ll give him some time to get you a bunch of stuff on Christmas that you DONT already own. Or at least some stuff you don’t already need.

~Geten❄-Of course he’s number one at hiding how he feels about you. Or maybe more along the line of being a total Tsundere, but believe me he loves you. If that means celebrating this holiday with you then he’s willing to endure it. His grumpy face is getting harder and harder to hide from you. Sometimes you can just barely catch a glimpse of his content smile while you guys build a snowman together. Wanna have some real fun with him? Challenge him to a snow building competition. With his quirk at play you’ll surely lose no matter what, but isn’t it fun to see him bragging his ass off about how he ran circles around your ‘shitty snow project’?

~Slice💋-She doesn’t hate the holiday, but she DESPISES the cold weather. A lot of her clothes are shorter and sexier by far. Summer is her number one time of the year. Besides, winter dries her skin out, and she hates being under wraps of a thick jacket etc. She can’t even wear her open toed heels!!! Besides that, she’s down for celebrating indoors if you want to. Christmas movies, hot cocoa, and a few make-out sessions are her forte. That’s the best way to do Christmas in her opinion

~Nine🌪-Bake cookies? Sure. Volunteer at shelters? Absolutely. Hang lights around the house/apartment? Yes baby, anything for you. I mean Nine is a ‘yes’ man all year round, but he’s especially willing to agree to things during this time of year. He’s completely whipped for you and there’s nothing wrong with that. He celebrates however you’d like him to do so. There is just one thing he wants to do that he suggested first and that’s either driving slowly through fancy neighborhoods to see their lights up, or going to a Christmas themed petting zoo and feeding carrots to the reindeer. Let’s say he’s a child at heart during this time of year

~Chimera🐺-Literally sees no purpose in celebrating it at all. He’ll do the stuff you want but he’s going to complain the whole way. The only thing he’s big on is saving up his cash and getting you something. The only thing that matters to him is making you happy during the entirety of your relationship (which he hopes is the rest of your lives together). The rest of the stuff he’s just grumbling and putting up with so he can see your smile.

~Mummy🥋-Christmas? For what? Well okay then, if you say so. Really doesn’t get the point but hey, why not. He’s got nothing better to do. He’s never really celebrated it, His family never really celebrated it either so he’s a little interested in how you get down for it. His favorite thing he developed was this odd present wrapping competition with you. You should already know how good he is at wrapping things due to his quirk (I’m sure he’s shown you how good he is at binding and wrapping stuff before). Add a little competition into anything and he’s ready to do it. Baking competition, Caroling competition, Decorating competition. He’ll even challenge you to who can cuddle each other better. Whatever floats his boat I guess lol

~Gentle Criminal☕-He wants to travel during the holidays with you and he wants to vlog it all. Only if you’re okay with it of course! If you give him the ‘okay’ then he’s whisking you away somewhere overseas for a more extravagant vacation. He ends up spending so much time with you and having so much fun that he stop recording like 3 days in. His reasoning behind travelling is that snow must be so much more fun elsewhere, so of course the rest of the holidays must be as well. In all reality he just wants to make sure you have a fun Christmas. Travelling during it and experiencing different places and cultures are a fun new way to experience the holiday.

~La Brava📸-Handy with the tech, but mostly with the camera. She amasses an entire compilation of you throughout the day and she’ll stay up all night stitching it together. The day after Christmas comes and she sits you down on the couch to watch it with her. Honestly she’s the sweetest and most dedicated partner that anyone could ask for. The way she treats you makes you thankful not just for spending Christmas with her, but for spending any day of the year with her.

#league of villains #shie hassaikai #yakuza #lov #bnha villains #thotsforvillainrights

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ladyreapermc · 4 years ago

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Fic: Just Say I Do (Henry x Reader)

Summary: Reader proposes to Henry, but things don’t go exactly as expected.

Author’s notes: based on this anon request: Henry Cavill x Fem!Reader where the reader proposes to Henry and it shocks everyone including him because he always pictured proposals as traditionally a ‘man’s job’ (but since he was engaged previously and it never worked out he was hesitant to ask the reader so she took matters into her own hands).

Wordcount: 1074

Warnings: if you squint, you might see some angst, but it’s all fluff tbh

Your palms were sweating so much you were afraid the ring was gonna slip through your trembling fingers. Your heart was pounding and it sounded so loud in your own ears that you were sure everyone in the room could hear. Why did you decide to do this like this? In front of Henry’s entire family?

It seemed like a good idea at the time as you were making your plan. You knew how close he was to them and how important it was to share this moment but as the seconds dragged without him saying anything, just staring at you with a frown, the air tense with the pregnant silence you realized it might have been a very bad decision. Not only asking his family to be there but proposing to Henry in the first place.

There was no doubt in your mind that you loved him. Henry was just one of the sweetest, kindest, dorkiest men you have ever met, and every day you spent with him in the last two years just solidified your feelings for him.

Seeing his face first thing in the morning, all creased by the pillow, his lips parted as tiny little snores escaped them, was one of your favorite things in the world. Just like the smell of his skin that always reminded you of salt and the pure morning dew and the sea of his eyes dotted by that fleck of brown and the green that made them so unique. Or the solitary freckle on his bottom lip, the cleft on his chin, and the sweet dimples on his cheeks…

Thinking about Henry filled your heart with this warmth so strong and overwhelming that you couldn’t help but fear one of these days, your chest would bust from this much affection. You loved him and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. That much was a given.

You were perfectly alright with just moving in together, never been one to be interested in big weddings and such but you knew it would mean the world to Henry. He was a traditional man from a traditional family. All his brothers went through the ritual and from the look in his eyes whenever Henry would talk about those weddings, the brightness and eagerness, you knew he wanted to go through that too.

So, you waited. And waited and hinted in subtle ways and bolder ones, but nothing happened and you never thought you would be one of those people that got mad because their significant other didn’t pop the question, but it was slightly maddening to you. Especially after you found the ring.

It was completely by accident. You were just searching for that green hoodie of Henry that was your favorite and the velvet box fell to the floor when you tugged the fabric from under the pile of other clothing.

You stared at the beautiful infinity ring with tears in your eyes and excitement rushing into your ears before you shoved back in place, pretending nothing was happening, but the giddiness a constant in your chest for the next few days.

When he took you out for dinner in your favorite restaurant that week, you made sure that everything was perfect, from your hair to your nails and makeup, because you really thought that would be it. However, the night, despite being very pleasant, ended without a ring on your finger and the disappointment burned in your gut.

As weeks went by and still nothing happened, you decided to take matters in your hands. You were never one for waiting idly by while something you wanted was right at your reach. And besides, it was the twenty-first century. Women did this all the time, right? There was nothing wrong with getting on one knee and proposing to the man you loved.

Or so you thought.

At each second that you went without a reply, heavier became the stares and more aware of the pounding of your heart and the tightness in your lungs you became. The pressure on your knee became more painful, the polished wood boards of the floor unforgiving on your skin.

You finally got back to your feet, avoiding the eyes of very Cavill in the room. You knew what you would find in them: pity and that was the last thing you need it.

The sound of jewelry box closing reverberated in the quiet household and it seemed to be the thing that broke the spell over Henry, as well as the steps you took towards the kitchen, teeth sinking on your bottom lip to contain the sob locked in your throat and threatening to spill from your mouth.

“Wait,” he called, catching your hand. You stilled and he looked around at his family still lingering around the dining table. “I’m sorry. I was just… Excuse us.”

Henry led the way to the kitchen, his hands rubbing your shoulders and arms soothingly because he could see the tears threatening to spill.

“I’m so sorry. You took me by surprise,” he tucked you closer to him until you rested in the heat of his arms, his solid chest beneath your cheek and you could feel his heart thundering as much as yours. “I spend the entire dinner trying to work up the courage to do this.”

This time, he was the one to slide to one knee, finally producing the ring you had seen months ago. Henry stared at you with adoring eyes and a hesitant smile.

“I bought this ring six months after you moved in. I wanted this for so long, but I was terrified it would ruin things between us. Put some kind of pressure and I know it’s stupid because it’s basically a formality by this point because we’re practically married, but…”

You didn’t let him finish. Just sealed your lips over his for a kiss full of longing and punctuated by nervous laughs and excited giggles from both of you. Especially when you knelt too to ease the strain on his neck and on your back. You peppered Henry’s face with kisses, your arms coming around his neck.

“That’s a yes?” he asked, grinning.

“I asked first,” you said, happy tears running down your cheeks, Henry’s own eyes brimming with tears of his own.

“Yes.” Henry chuckled kissing you again.

“Then, yes,” you mumbled against his lips, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

xxx

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#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #fanfic #requested fics

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moonlit-han · 4 years ago

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the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did! Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

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Love Talk - Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 6.6k words

Genre: smut, fluff, lowkey angst

Rating: 18+

Hello cuties! 💜

I’m back with a new piece and this time we have a very soft boy Jimin with a lot of fluff (plus smut, ‘cause we all know I’m a certified slut by now). This is the right moment to remind you that if you’re a minor the content under the cut is not intended for you and you should not read.

Anyways, quick recap: Jimin and y/n-Princess have been dating for about four months at this point, they are seeing each other exclusively, though they haven’t yet explicitly said ‘I love you’.

On to TRIGGER WARNINGS: discussion of eating disorders (they are NOT condoned, but rather addressed and gently corrected), alcohol consumption (just mild tipsiness, nothing major). Swearing. Sub!Jimin wants a spanking. Of course he gets one. Very in-depth discussion of BDSM conditions and limits related to a spanking scene. Punishment scene and powerplay. Teeth-rotting fluff. Unprotected vaginal sex (do I need to remind you to use protection whenever you engage in oral, anal or vaginal sex? Well, this is me, kindly reminding you to keep it safe). Woah, these warnings are shorter than usual.

Wordcount: 6.6K

A small thank you to @nervous-moon for the constant love and support (and for listening to me ramble for days about crazy themes and prompts) and another silent thank you goes to an amazing angel who listened to me panicking about this fic not working and putting me back on track.

Here is my masterlist!

And before I let you read in peace, please remember to vote for the next theme :) (link in my bio)!

Enjoy!

Jimin is a tense bundle of nerves, walking back and forth at the feet of the bed, pacing anxiously before sitting and grabbing his hair, tugging it in exasperation. How could he possibly do this?

It’s not like he could bend over your lap and scream “I won’t stand up until you spank me raw.”

But at the moment he was desperate enough that he was actually considering. He threw himself on the mattress, rolling on his belly and whining loudly, kicking and punching the covers.

Nuzzling his face into the duvet, he took in the smell of you on the bedsheets, finding small comfort.

What if he moved your hand on his ass, leading your wrist so your hand smacked on his ass?

He grimaced and shook his head.

Turning around he stood up and went to the kitchen. It was late. You should be here in ten minutes. Maybe tipsy from your night out with your friends. He spotted the bottle of beer in the fridge.

A little liquid courage?

He nodded to himself, grabbing the bottle.

The bottle was empty when he heard the door unlock. A sweet chill ran down his spine as he heard you take off your shoes, silent footsteps heading down the hall, following the light from the kitchen.

“Hi.” You said, surprised, noticing the bottle on the table. Your mind, already growing suspicious, noticed that there was only one glass on the table. You calmed yourself down.

“Hello.” He said with a cute blush, puffy cheeks and his sweet smile. “You’re back.”

“And you’re tipsy.” You replied, smiling at him incredulously.

He nodded, lids heavy.

“Come with me.” You murmured. “Put down that stuff.” You invited him playfully.

He looked at you with a dreamy look. “Haven’t you drunk?”

“No, Jimin. I was assigned to sober godmother duty tonight.” You huffed out, slightly stressed.

He cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you want a sip, then?”

You looked at him. Your sober godmother duty wasn’t over, apparently. You were sure of it when you saw him oscillating dangerously on top of the barstool by your kitchen island. “No. I want to undress and get to bed.”

He made a grumpy face, all of his features scrunching up, his lips locked in a pout. He extended his arms towards you, making grabby hands.

You took a few steps towards him, hugging him as he smiled once more as you helped him down the chair. He kept holding you tight, brushing his face all over your neck and the small triangle of skin appearing from your demure top. “What do you want, Jimin?” You asked sweetly, your index tipping his head back so you could look at him.

He only shook his head, trying to escape from your inspecting gaze.

You had none of that. “Jimin, love. Do I need to take you to bed?”

He smiled, eyes closed, whining out a long, giggly “yes”.

Keeping an arm around his waist, you started walking to the bedroom, leaving the lights on in the kitchen. You had to go back for the bottle anyway.

“You didn’t drink that much, baby.” You kissed his temple. “Did you eat?”

His brow creased as he shook his head.

“Why not, Jimin?” You asked.

“I wasn’t thinking about it. I had lunch with Yoongi hyung and Taetae. Dinner kind of passed by.” He mumbled.

“That’s not good, Jimin.” You reprimanded lovingly. “Your body needs yummy food. Nutrition.”

“I know. I didn’t do that on purpose, though. I wasn’t hungry. I forgot.” He admitted.

Reaching the bed, you made him sit on the edge. “I’ll go fix the kitchen. Make yourself comfy.”

In the kitchen you put some instant rice in the microwave as you threw away the bottle. Waiting for the rice, you prepared some salad, opening a small jar of kimchi and laying it all out on a tray.

The microwave dinged and you grabbed the bowl, adding kimchi and sausage slices. Satisfied with the result, you went back to the bedroom. Jimin was laying on the bed, his back straight against the pillows by the bedpost.

“Here,” you offered, laying the tray on the bedside table and sitting beside him, on top of the covers.

“I want you here with me.” He complained, trying to drag you under the sheets.

“I have my day clothes on.” You justified yourself.

“Take ‘em off.” He giggled.

You shook your head, snorting. “Stay there, I’ll go get changed.”

A few minutes later you came back, dressed in your soft silk pajamas and a robe. “Time to eat, Jiminie.” You climbed in bed, settling beside him, your legs disappearing under the sheets. Holding the tray, you moved it on your lap while Jimin curled up against your side, arms wrapping around your arm and squeezing it. You took a spoonful of rice and brought it to his lips as he leaned over the tray.

Opening his mouth wide, he put his soft, plump lips around the spoon, eyes wide, fixed on yours.

He was teasing you.

You huffed out a heavy breath. “Jimin.”

“What” He sputtered through his mouthful of food.

You shook your head.

“More.” He muttered before opening his mouth wide. “Aaah.” He said, inviting you to feed him.

You huffed out, slightly annoyed, and offered him another bite. “Come on, good boy.” He brushed the side of his face against your arm, his lips curling up in a confident smirk.

You fed him the whole bowl, alternating it with salad leaves, offering him sweet praises and cuddles. “Now, will you explain to me why you are not taking care of yourself, Jimin?”

You gave him a serious stare, your voice concerned but also caring.

“I’m just busy.” He shrugged. “No big deal.” He didn’t look you in the eye.

“Jimin.”

This time he looked up at you. “What?” He taunted.

“You’re tense, baby. I see that you’re stressed.” You caressed his hair. “What is it?”

Was this the right moment to tell you? He shook his head. “It’s just work. We’ve been producing more material than usual and it’s taking its toll.”

“Is that why you’re not eating much?” You moved the tray out of the way, taking your arm away from his grip and wrapping it around his shoulders.

He hid into your chest, nodding.

“Oh, my poor baby.” You cooed, pampering him, brushing up and down his spine with your palm. “Do you want cuddles?”

He felt spoiled. He felt cared for and loved. He felt like you could understand him. It felt right.

With a wave of courage taking over his body, he slithered out of your embrace and quickly found his way to the bathroom, fumbling with the drawer where he kept the hair dryer.

When he came back, his pace was significantly slower, his footsteps wary and insecure. His whole posture had changed as he hid his head low between his shoulders, his back hunched, his hands holding something to his chest.

You watched perplexed as he neared the foot of the bed. “I really don’t know how to say this.” He murmured with a little lisp in his words.

You felt like melting on the bed. Ever since your first day you had grown fond both of his tender, delicate side and his flirty, cheeky one. The shift from one to another always kept you on the edge of your seat, never knowing whether you’d be confronted with the sweet, affectionate boy or the forward, bold man. All that you knew was that, since you started dating four months ago, you had started falling for him. And just now Love hit you like a train on a track.

And he had been falling too. All he needed was the final push, confirming that you would satisfy that tiny whim of his, that recurring fantasy that he never had the courage to bring up since you two started messing around, a couple months ago.

“You can say anything to me, darling.” You reassured him. “Come here, show me what you got there.”

He climbed on the bed, crawling toward you on his knees, hands still plastered to his chest. “Will you promise me you won’t laugh at me?” He whispered.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You said, your voice calm and comforting.

His wide, glimmering eyes met yours and your whole body warmed with understanding and compassion.

“I would never, ever laugh at you, pretty duckling.” You opened your arms wide and he let his body fall gently into your hug. Now he was curled up against your side, head laying on your chest, leg wrapped around your hips possessively.

He let the secret object fall on your belly.

A hairbrush.

Your brow twitched. “Jimin, baby, I need you to explain.” You felt too confused to put two and two together.

“I— You know that sometimes people feel the need to… Get a little rough?” He searched for your hand, toying with your fingers. He was looking even smaller now, all your protective instincts surging beneath your skin.

“You want to get a little rough?” You asked, still trying to understand the exact implication of that.

“I want you to get a little rough with me.” He admitted, blushing violently and hiding his face into you.

“You want me to use the hairbrush on you?” You asked, trying to clarify.

He nodded into the crook of your neck.

Well, of course you were a little shocked, but not surprised. Not at all. It was clear that Jimin liked to be pampered and spoiled. He liked praises and cuddles and attention. He liked flirting and he liked when people flirted back. He liked when people decided to one-up his cheekiness, to beat him in brazenness.

And of course he liked partners who could put him back in his place.

“I need you to sit up, duckling.” You ordered him with honeyed voice. “And I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

He heard the change in attitude and he parted from your chest, looking you in the eye.

“Sit up, Jiminie.”

He obeyed, bending his legs under his torso, his ass resting on his heels.

“I’ll play it out for you, all you need to say is yes and no.” You assisted him in this laboured confession. It was unusual for Jimin to act shy, and you assumed that you had to treat such vulnerability with tender and loving care, creating a positive association to him confessing his insecurities, through praises and affection, emotionally wrapping him up in a warm blanket, putting him in a pretty bubble that could become a safe environment until he felt strong enough to go back into the real world.

“You want me to spank you?”

He nodded, hiding his face behind his lovely hands.

“Look at me, duckling.” You told him quietly, holding his wrists and taking his hands away from his eyes.

He whined a little but at the end he settled his hands down on his lap and looked at you.

“I cannot use the hairbrush on you, Jiminie. Because I don’t know how to use it and I could hurt you.” You knew you weren’t ready for it. And it would have been dumb and dangerous of you to ignore your lack of experience and preparation. This is not stuff that should be played with, especially without proper research and training.

He looked at his lap and nodded, understanding you completely, but still a bit upset at the thought that he needed to postpone this experience with you. Because it wasn’t a no, right? It was a maybe later, right?

You looked at his unhappy expression. You not wanting to use the hairbrush on him didn’t mean that the whole scene was cancelled. Maybe if you set the right terms you could be safe and still make it right for him. “Would it be okay if I used my hands? Get you used to those before we get naughtier?”

He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with surprise and gratitude at your offer. He nodded eagerly.

“Then that’s it, duckling. We’ll go with my hand. But first we need to talk about this very thoroughly.”

“It’s okay. We can discuss rules and safewords.” He suggested.

You nodded. “That’s right. I need to know what you want me to do, Jimin. I need you to help me make it safe and pleasurable for you.” You felt like you needed his guidance. “I need you to help me, Jimin.”

He noticed you using his name, twice, and the submissive side of him subdued as he annulled the power imbalance and came in your assistance. “We can start from something very easy. I would say we could try a set of ten, but the golden rule of every first scene is to stay hungry and do only half of one of the many many things you want to try. So the best way to do this safely is to limit this to five hits. Can you do five hits, ____?”

You thought about it carefully, not letting yourself be seduced by the thought of Jimin in such a vulnerable position. “I think so. But as I said, guidance is key.”

“It’s okay. I’ll try and lead you, call that a power bottom.” He giggled shyly, trying to brighten the mood. “I’ve been trying to talk about this for a while.” He explained. “I didn’t know how to ask.” He tweaked his fingers in the meanwhile, torturing himself a little.

“Is that why you’ve been tense lately?” You questioned.

“Yes. I mean, I think I’ve always thought about this since we started dating, but lately it’s a way more recurrent thought.” He explained, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“Okay. Let’s take this as a trial round. We’ll start with five hits. I’ll only use my hands. You can stop me at any moment. And I may decide to interrupt the scene, if I find myself inadequate.”

He looked you in the eye. “Do you want a safeword for yourself? I mean, technically you’ll be dominating but it is not uncommon for novice dominants to have a safeword they say before they snap out of their role. It can also be a signal that determines the end of the scene.”

You took a pause to mull over it. “Good. Do you have one that you’ve used before or that you’re comfortable with?”

He thought about it, quickly, trying to remember the information he had picked up from various websites. “The most obvious one would be the colour system. Green for good, Yellow to slow down and Red to stop?”

You smiled encouragingly and caressed his face. “Yes, of course. That’s easy.”

“Usually this kind of scene is used for punishment and atonement. I think that you can interrupt it by explicitly saying “you are forgiven”, or any sentence along the lines of that.” He suggested.

That was smart. Intuitive.

He looked back at you, holding your face. “I trust you. You’re smart and compassionate. You’re empathetic. I know that you won’t hurt me. I value your common sense and your affection. I know you’ll keep me safe, ____.” The words were almost there. I love you, Princess.

You leaned in his hold, inhaling deeply.

He continued your briefing. “I’ll help you through it. Five blows sound like a small number, but what’s important is the quality. Take your time after the first one, rub the spot you’ve just hit and the one you’re going to hit next. Sensitise the skin before you hit.” He directed you. “Normally a submissive can speak only when directly addressed to, however it’s our first scene, so if you prefer I can interact with you at any given time.” He explained, comforting you some more.

“Okay, Jiminie.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you brightly, giggling slightly.

You huffed out a focused breath. “Let’s recap. Just five spanks, with my hand. If you want me to slow down, you say yellow. If you want me to stop, you say red. You can interact with me as much as you want. Between one spank and the next, I will rub your skin and receive your feedback.” You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to enter our role as a dominant. “I will take care of you, Duckling. Are you okay?” You waited for his confirm.

He nodded, looking at you with such adoration in his eyes that your whole heart melted.

“Is it okay if I call you duckling, baby?” You asked him.

He nodded. “Yes, ____. Is there any name you want me to call you?” He asked in return.

“For now my name is okay, Jiminie. Are you still tipsy, baby? Your consent is important and I cannot play with you unless your consent comes as an extremely lucid decision.”

He nodded. “I am okay. I didn’t drink that much, and I ate too. The alcohol is already gone, I promise.” He wasn’t looking impatient or greedy, both things that would cloud his judgement.

“I am very thankful that you trusted me enough to talk about this with me, and that you trust me enough to let me try this with you. I really can’t wait to explore with you, but I will have to do some research after tonight.” You admitted. The nourishing instincts of a carer had always been natural to you, and his request didn't sound absolutely inadequate or unfeasible. To put it plainly, you were quite interested into becoming more dominant, and learning about BDSM practices didn’t sound bad at all. Especially if Jimin was the one you would be using them with.

He let the thought sink in. "So you would be okay with this becoming a more frequent thing?" He asked.

More frequent? "Well, for now let's try this tonight. And then we need to learn how to do this in full safety. The best thing to do would be to learn about this first — better safe than sorry — but you said you will help me, and we’re taking this slow, so I can learn as we go. Just a few smacks, to see if you like this. Innocently. You know I wouldn't do this if there were even the smallest chance of me hurting you, right?" You reassured him, thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong.

"I know you would never hurt me.” He said, big, pleading eyes set on you. God, I’m such a fool for him._

“Do you want this, Jimin?” You asked very seriously.

He nodded before holding your hand. “Yes, I do.”

“I need you to be really, really sure, Jimin.” You repeated. The more times you asked, the better. He needed to understand that consent is important. For girls such a lesson is somehow engraved in their mind. They grow up learning that “yes” and “no” are very heavy, big words. Boys sometimes tend to forget that. They’ve been subjected to centuries of predator theory, being only subjects of desire, rather than objects of it, forced to actively initiate sexuality and hardly ever taught of being on the receiving end of lascivious intentions. They never had to learn to say yes or no because society never supposed that they would be the ones answering rather than asking.

“I am really, really sure, ____.” He confirmed, holding both of your hands now.

Nodding, you bent and kissed him sweetly. “You know I care about you a lot, right?” You whispered on his lips. You felt like the “I love you” was right there, on the tip of your tongue, still you swallowed it, letting only the watered-down taste of affection slip past your lips.

“I know.” He blushed and kissed you harder. “And I trust you. And I care about you too.”

“Then, would you like to take off your clothes, duckling?” You offered.

He hummed in confirmation, standing up at the foot of the bed and taking off his shirt.

You stood up next to him, your hand caressing his chiselled abdomen, running upwards, following the thin valley connecting his navel to his jutting breastbone. “Look at my lovely boy.” You whispered at his ear, standing behind him. “He looks so good when he takes care of himself.” You massaged the tense muscles of his shoulders. “When he eats he becomes a strong, healthy boy. So good looking.” Your hands dove into the hair at his nape, tugging it slightly so that his head was thrown back, exposing his sensual neckline and his strong jaw.

“Can you take off your sweats and underwear, duckling?” You asked, your voice resembling a sickeningly sweet dark poison.

“Yes, ____.” He murmured, undoing the ribbon of his sweats and tugging both them and his briefs to his ankles. As he was bent over in front of you, you held him steady with your hands on his hips, caressing the swell of his ass as he stood back up straight.

When he felt your hand on the muscle, a shiver ran down your spine, making him exhale and whine quietly.

“You like it, Jiminie?” You asked kindly. “You like booty rubs?”

He blushed, nodding with small motions.

“Say it out loud for me, duckling. Let me hear what makes my baby happy. Do you like booty rubs, Jiminie?” You cooed.

“Yes, I like your booty rubs, Princess.” He used your nickname, trying to reconnect with that fond, well-known part of you. He felt vulnerable and reminding himself all the times you’d been a sputtering mess below him, as he teased you with the nickname, brought back slight balance in his mind.

“Good. Now, you asked to be spanked, Jiminie. Would you like to get in your favoured position, baby?” You let him choose. If it were for you, you would love to see him on his knees and elbows on the bed, but you thought it would be better to let him choose.

“Do you think I can just lay on the bed on my belly?” He asked, insecure, waiting for you to confirm.

You thought about it. “As long as it’s not uncomfortable laying on your front when you’re turned on.” You reasoned, thinking about his possibly painful erection. “And you need to be relaxed and comfortable. Can you breathe comfortably like that?” You checked.

He nodded. “I just need a pillow under my chest.” He informed you, assuming his position. You were still at the foot of the bed, staring at his beautiful backside, taking in the strong lines of his back and spine, the twitching muscles resembling the fluttering feathers of a regal swan.

“You are a vision, duckling.” You complimented him, and his blush made him hide his face in the comforter.

“Thank you, ____.”

Miss, that’s what felt right. But that would be for next time. Right now you wanted one task and you wanted to carry it out perfectly.

“Where do you want me, duckling?” You asked for his directions, still trying to make it sound like you were the one in control, the one making him a favour by asking for his preference.

“Could you sit on your knees next to my hips, on the bed?” He suggested, his tone so sweet and delicate you felt like you would give him the moon if only he asked.

Following his direction, you sat beside him as instructed. “Here, duckling?” You felt like addressing him with such nickname was helping you separate your boyfriend from the splendid, unfamiliar figure on his bed.

He turned his head slightly, checking your position. “Just make sure that you’re comfortable staying like that, that you can fully control the movement of your arm. You can touch me and check whether the angle feels comfortable for you. You could hurt yourself too if the angle is wrong.”

You nodded, rolling your shoulders in anticipation. After taking a deep breath you let your hands run from the back of his knee to the full, toned muscle of his ass, your nails scratching delicately, in a barely-there motion.

He hummed out a gentle moan at that, nodding in appreciation. “This is the right moment to locate any vulnerable parts. Careful with bones and nerves: you must not go there. Locate the tailbone. Use your thumbs side by side, down the spine.” He instructed, the briefing identical to the one he used when he massaged Taehyung after tough workouts.

You followed his directions, finding the delicate spot a couple inches down the seam of his ass. “Here?”

“Exactly. Before you go, place your non-dominant hand on the spot you’ve just found. That will keep you from hitting anywhere dangerous. Identify the soft, fleshy parts — the lower part of the cheek, the upper thigh — there, you can hit without worrying too much.” He was relaxing you through the briefing. You felt already more confident, his calm voice leading you and making you feel like everything would be okay.

With one hand blocking the no-zone, the other one on your target, you started massaging the skin gently, correcting your posture as you went. You found yourself sitting with your thighs perpendicular to him, your palm caressing his butt cheeks, just like he’d told you. “Is it okay?” You asked.

He turned, looking at you, enjoying how he had to twist and arch his back to see you. Analysing the position quickly he nodded. “That’s good posture, princess. Check that your wrist doesn’t strain. Check if your hand creates a rough angle with your forearm.”

Your wrist kept a neat line. You nodded. “Okay.”

“I trust you, princess.” He reminded you, caressing your calf before tucking his hands under his chest.

You smiled, confidence renewed. Your aim is to take care of your man. That’s all you want. You would do anything for him. And to see him relaxed and sated? Because you gave him what he needs? Yes. Anytime, anyplace. “Are you all set, puppy?”

He released a tight breath. “Yes, ____.”

“Perfect. Do you remember your safewords, duckling?” You asked, making sure that he remembered that he could stop you at any given time.

“I do, ____.” He confirmed, his voice firm but incredibly sweet and slightly high-pitched.

“Okay. I’ll start.” You rubbed his flesh a couple times, then you lifted your hand, aiming for the lower part of his ass, where it curved downwards into his thigh. When your hand was a foot or so away from your target, you stopped, gathering the tension necessary to smack him. Biting your lip, you struck.

He chirped out a “yes” while your hand stayed on his skin rubbing gently.

“Are you good, duckling?” You checked.

“Yes, ____. Yes. That was a perfect thud. Keep rubbing.” He directed.

Fuck, that was truly a lovely thud: heavy handed, with a nice, rigid wrist, the palm sufficiently cupped to adhere to the skin.

“Any feedback?” You asked.

“Not really. Just advice. Hit with your wrist and your elbow, not with your shoulder.” He hummed as your hand stilled and just pressed more firmly against his reddening skin. “That’s good, ____. Keep your elbow tucked into your side. Try again, on the other leg now.” He suggested.

Adjusting your angle, you mentally repeated the instruction. Elbow tucked in, rub. Check the wrist angle. Check the other hand covering the tailbone. Move your dominant hand away. One foot roughly. Deep breath. Focus. Release.

The breath Jimin was holding came out as the softest, angelic sound, his head hiding in the sheets, his legs twitching while your hand on the small of his back kept him still.

Focusing on your task, you didn’t let his sound distract you as you kept your hand pressed into his bum. “You liked that, duckling?”

“Yes.” He giggled, huffing out a quiet whine. “Can you go harder? Just like before but harder?”

You took a deep breath, your palm raising from his skin so it was only the tip of your nails drawing small circles on the blushing imprints on his ass. “I can go harder, duckling. Are you uncomfortable on your lap?” You worried, thinking about how hard he must be by now.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, ____.” He reassured you.

“Perfect. Harder?” You asked, removing your hand, letting some anticipation slip in.

“Please, ____.” He moaned.

You knew what you wanted, right in that moment. You could handle just that one more thing. So you asked.

“Do you think you would enjoy calling me Miss, duckling?” You questioned very carefully.

He turned towards you. “Are you sure?” He asked, eagerness filling his voice.

“Yes.” Just like you called him “duckling”, you wanted your identity as his girlfriend the be partitioned from what you were doing right now. “What do you say to this, duckling?” Use that name for me.

“Thank you, Miss.”

Satisfied with his reply, you let your forearm swing and hit. You slightly reprimanded yourself for your shoulder slightly accompanying the motion, but how could you feel sorry when Jimin moaned like that?

The movement felt more familiar now, your arm getting used to measures and intensity.

You rested your palm for a few seconds. “What do you say, duckling?”

“Thank you, Miss.” He cried out deliciously, voice dripping in pleasure.

“That’s a good boy.” You cooed. “Ready for the next?”

“Yes, Miss.” He replied quickly.

“There we go, duckling.” You said. This time you carefully took initiative. Elbow a foot from your side, you rubbed your target. Check the wrist angle. Check the other hand covering the tailbone. Move the hand away, this time a foot and a half. Deep breath. Focus. Release. You let your forearm swing back a little, gaining momentum, before lashing forward, hitting him with a last minute flick of the wrist, curving the swipe upward.

“Oh, Miss, thank you.” He squealed, his hips thrusting against the bed.

“You’re welcome, duckling. You liked it more or less than before?”

“More, Miss.” He chirped enthusiastically.

“It’s the last one, duckling. You want me to give you another like the one I just gave you?” You asked, glad that he was enjoying the scene.

“Please, another stinging one, Miss.” He pleaded.

“Here it comes, duckling.” You took a few more seconds, feeling more comfortable, prepping just like you did before. Big breath. Swing back and… smack.

“Thank you, Miss.” He breathed out.

“Are you okay, duckling?” You asked, massaging him before bending down to kiss his reddened skin. You kissed both his reddened glutes, your other hand caressing his spine now that the spanking was over. Raising up, you kept stroking his back until you reached his head, moving his hair off his face, inviting him to look you in the eye.

As soon as he established eye contact, you gave him your agreed cue. “You are forgiven, Jimin.”

His lips parted gently, his eyebrows arching and knitting together, his soft features expressing confusion. “Is it over already?” He asked.

“Yes, baby.” You comforted him. “Five hits. One set. Just like we had agreed.” You reminded him.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Okay.”

“How are you feeling?” You asked, even though you had just checked in.

He looked at you as you sat on your hip, moving closer to his face, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m very glad I did this with you.” He whispered.

You kissed his lips. “I am glad you asked, baby.”

He slowly brought his arms out from below himself, letting the one on your side fall heavily on top of your body. “Can we make love now?” He asked with the most tender, vulnerable voice you had ever heard from him.

You felt like crying. Because of his request, of his word choice, of the gentleness of his voice.

“Yes, if you want to.” You murmured intimately. “Let me undress.”

He let go of you and turned on his side to look at you standing by the bed, removing your clothes in an absolutely ordinary fashion. The room was basking in the yellowy soft light coming from the bedside table, turning your skin a mild golden shade.

“You look so pretty.” he whispered, completely enchanted by you.

Smiling shyly, you let your panties fall to the floor, climbing on the bed. “Thank you.” You whispered.

You were laying side by side, naked, looking in each other’s eyes, no embarrassment between you. It felt right.

“I love you.” He whispered, his arm coming around your waist.

It was your turn to stare at him with your mouth agape.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He said, at the same time as you told him: “I love you too.”

He giggled, eyes disappearing, lips stretching in a fond smile.

He rolled on top of you. “Say it again.” He ordered sweetly.

“I love you too.” You murmured, chuckling.

“I love you too.” He said right back, leaving playful, messy smooches all over your face. You laughed even more, basking in the warmth of this moment, in the domestic surety that it will be forever saved in your memory, with its colour, sound, scent, and feeling. That such tenderness would always be associated with Jimin’s smiling face hovering over you.

He used his knees and one elbow to sustain his weight as his palm reached to cup your cheek, thumb pressed on your lip. “I love you a lot, princess.”

Your eyes closed as you smiled at him. “I want you, Jimin.” You said, opening your eyes and biting your lip.

“Want me to grab a condom?” He asked, always considerate.

You thought about it quickly. You were both tested and clean, you were monogamous and you were in a committed relationship. You loved him and trusted him. And he loved you and trusted you too. What could possibly hold you back at this point?

“We can do it without, if it’s okay with you. You know I’m on the pill.” You stated.

“Are you sure?” He waited for you to confirm.

Nodding, you moved your hand into his hair, bringing his face closer to yours so you could finally kiss him a you wanted to.

You immediately took his plump lower lip in your mouth, sucking on it as he growled, letting you do what you wanted with him, too lost in you to do anything but follow your lead. Your hand moved down his abs, landing on his hard length.

He drew back from your mouth, kissing your jaw, moving to your ear.

“Touch yourself, princess. I don’t know how long I’ll last bare inside you.” He explained, his mind set on making you cum around him before he lost his cool.

You obeyed, fingers finding your clit as he slid a bit lower down your body, so that his mouth was at level with your breasts. Sucking your nipple in his mouth, he focused his eyes on the expression on your face, bliss making your features flutter. As his mouth moved to the other nipple, you thrust your hips upward, into him.

“Are you ready, princess?” He asked, moving towards your face, looking at you intently.

You nodded, moaning. “Please.”

Propping himself on his elbow, he used his free arm to stroke himself a couple times, dragging the tip against your slit to make the access more slippery. “Ready, princess?” He asked. As you nodded he reminded you once more: “I love you.”

“I love you.” You replied as he slipped in.

It wasn’t easy. But it was not difficult either. It was different. He felt warm. Warmer than usual. And slippery. Everything felt wetter. Maybe because you were.

“Hell, princess, I can fell everything.” He growled. “So damn good, baby.”

You grunted quietly, panting, trying to adjust to him. One of your hand stayed on your clit, drawing small circles on it in hope that the stimulation would help you relax and stretch for him; your other palm moved to his waist, caressing his spine.

“Can I?” He asked, grunting himself as he tried to keep still.

“Just another second, love.” You murmured, closing your eyes and taking a big breath.

He bent down and kissed your cheek. “I should have prepped you.” He whispered.

“It’s fine.” You reassured him. As his small gestures of affection calmed you down, you felt ready for him to move. Pushing your hips away from him, you started grinding on him, letting him slip out only for an inch before taking him inside you again.

“Dammit baby.” He murmured. “So tight.”

You kissed his furrowed brow, eyes shut tight in concentration. He tried to open them to look at you, dropping his head to kiss your mouth, your chin, the crook of your neck. “You’re perfect, baby. I love you so much.” He repeated once more and you knew, right in that moment, that he would never get tired of telling you.

“Jimin, faster, please.” You begged.

He growled and smashed his hips against yours. “Baby, I need you to...” Still supporting his weight with one arm, he used the other one to bring your hand from his waist to his ass, where you knew his skin was still stinging with your spanks. You felt the skin grow hotter there, probably because it was red and tender. “Grab it, princess. Use it.”

He looked you in the eye with scorching intensity before his mouth dipped to your breast while his fingers unlatched from your wrist and landed on you breast, his digits tweaking your nipple.

His pace got incredibly faster, encouraged by your hand leading him, setting the pace and manhandling his sensitised skin. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin drowned your laboured pants. The hand on your clit stopped just as you threw your head back with a silent scream, your climax surprising you, and Jimin too, your tight grip on his cock becoming even tighter. He completely lost his pace, hammering furiously inside you until relief washed over him, his orgasm filling you so deep you felt your bones melt at how hot he was inside you.

“I love you.” You murmured for the millionth time as he collapsed over you.

“I love you too.”

⁂⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂

I left the book in Jimin’s office. Joon let me in. I left you some notes in it, including other useful resources. We can talk about it anytime.

It was a text from an old highschool friend of yours, who apparently had been dating Namjoon for a while now. You had met maybe a bunch of times during group celebrations, small dinners, birthday parties. It didn’t take long before you got acquainted again, going for coffee dates, hanging out together, especially when the guys were busy — you also found out that your university flatmate and her knew each other, which really seemed a strange twist of fate. Your first reaction the day after your steamy night with Jimin was to text her. You knew it would be absurd and possibly uncomfortable or embarrassing, but it’s not like you were unused to gossiping about your sex lives: your partners too famous for the two of you to confess anything to anyone else. It was a strange friendship, but somehow, among all that madness you both found solace and companionship with each other. So, when you texted her, you somehow expected her to help you, however, her reply surprised you.

It’s okay, I’ve got something for you. But we better call Lace too. She’s the best.

It took you a few days to read the book. As soon as you were done reading the guide, you texted both Lace and Vixen.

Dinner at mine this Friday?

And that’s how you found one trained brat, one certified rope bunny and a BDSM guide in front of you, at the dinner table of your apartment.

“Where do you want to start, sweetheart?” Said Vixen.

“This is gonna be so fun!” Chimed in Lace.

Thank God there was wine in the fridge and a long night before you.

#bts smut #bangtan smut #jimin x reader smut #park jimin #jimin one shot #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bangtan sonyeondan #jimin reaction #sub!jimin

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I'm sending you this message in hopes you take no offence whatsoever, because I LOVE your fics and I love you for taking the time to produce all this content for us!

This is about the last promt regarding Robbe not eating because he'd be bottoming later that night. That fic, although it was great, was just a little confusing. In the first paragraph, you switched from a present, to a past and back to a present event, with no notification. You maybe could have used "That WAS a pleasent surprise" to indicate that it was over. Shortening overly long sentences can also help with reader confusion.

Also, about that bit about "introduce him to his mother" and "a friend offerered me a room". Is this fic set before the start of canon season 3? If yes that's cool, but would Sander not be a little excited/relieved for his bf to live alone or maybe concerned that the situation at home is so bad that he has to move out?

Sometimes you work on prompts you receive and sort of miss the point a little bit. I understand that you do your own thing and maybe are not comfortable with the direction the promt was going... In this case it was Robbe’s friends teasing him for his obviously sexual plans with Sander and his reason for not eating (bottoming).

Again, I adore your content, and I can only imagine how much time and effort it all takes. It's just my suggestion that putting a few side notes before the fic to hint at the setting and rereading for just one more time to be save, would eliviate your stories even more!

I hope you will not be at all upset reading this... I would hate to troll, I just noticed this pattern in many of your fics and thought I'd point it out. If you disagree just ignore this message please!

Hii!

Before I start, I’m just gonna say: Even if I feel all types of shame getting messages like this (not because of what you’re saying or how you’re saying it, it’s just that I feel dumb and ashamed when what I write isn’t as good as what I had thought) I would never not answer it because I don’t wanna be creating this bubble where I only share when people are happy with what I write or say. So yeah, I’ll take the good and the bad and roll with it ❤️

Now, these days I was thinking about changing what I have written as my bio because I wrote it a long time ago when I was really happy with how my relationship with the people that read my prompts was and I was mad at the time but then I didn’t change to something more “professional” because, well, my writing is messy.

I can’t promise you or anyone that what I write will always make sense or that’ll meet canon or anything. Because yeah, sometimes I will work harder, I’ll reread anything I write a million times, I’ll search on my doc of vocabulary to see if what I’m saying can be written in a better way, not the usual broken english. Last week I was reading, watching every possible video about how to improve my writing. So sometimes I’ll go that extra mile but it’s not always that I feel like doing that. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed and I’m just taking my word-vomit and posting it as it comes out of my brain. Sometimes my lack of enthusiasm will come from the little notes my prompts get, sometimes I will just not have the energy or inspiration to do better.

So: I’m not a planner, I have very little patience, my english is so far from perfect and sometimes I struggle and I just want to put some ideas out because I’m excited about it or I’m tired and if I work hard or not, the notes are basically the same.

Writing in a language that I’m used to but it’s still not my mother language is not easy. The grammar is completely different, the way of using words on a phrase are completely different and I struggle a lot with it, all the time. I NEVER know where to put commas in english, it makes absolutely no sense to me (with my portuguese brain).

Now about that fic specifically: it was one of those ideas where I just ran with it, had absolutely nothing planned, wrote it for fun and post it as I wrote it. It’s not exactly canon because the boys are not gamers, they weren’t online friends that quickly became lovers so I didn’t worry much about meeting S3 events but decided to nod at some of them. Robbe was living with his parents when they met, he was living with his parents when Sander invited him to spend a few days at his place. Since we were basically in Sander’s POV most of the time, he didn’t know but in between them talking while playing games and Robbe going to his place, “a friend” offered him a place to stay, so he’ll be moving out of his parents’ place on the weekend and he invited Sander to help him out. It’s a slice of life, so I wrote it as Sander already knowing Robbe isn’t happy living with his parents. He doesn’t ask because he knows Robbe uses their time together playing as a distraction and he doesn’t want to keep asking about a matter that Robbe doesn’t share naturally. I think this is what I was thinking while writing.

Missing or not missing the point is not something I think too much about these days, to be honest. I’ll read the idea and I’ll write as the idea comes to me when I read the prompts. It may be something similar to what the person asking wanted and it can be something completely different. I try not to think if I got it right or not because that would give me too much anxiety trying to meet goals of people I don’t know instead of my own that I do know.

If the person is not happy, anyone can come back as many times as they want to ask for it again (like I got the messages asking to get more in depth about Robbe’s sex conversation with the boys a few times, like I get people asking me to write protective Gio, etc). I’ll write the idea that comes to me at the time that I sit to write the idea, that’s why I have some prompts that have very similar core prompts, that’s why sometimes I just send people old prompts - because the idea they want me to write I already did and I can’t seem to find another way of writing it.

I promise you I’m working as hard as I can right now to not let these mistakes happen often or at all but there’s only so much I can do.

I try to reread my fics before posting but sometimes I don’t have the energy. I’m not a planner, I’m not a writing notes before writing (trust me, I tried with my SKAM NL S3 fic, and with the Druck chaptered fic and it’s not something that works FOR ME, I feel like when I write notes before writing the fic I lose the main idea in the middle and it’s even worse) I’m not a slow-burn type of writer (or reader) because my patience and my basic understanding of english can only take me so long.

I’ll really try to pay attention next time and work harder every time but I can’t promise it’ll be like that every time, I can’t promise to write things that make sense all the time because just as I am trying to write good, fun things for the fandom, I’m also trying to have with it myself.

Not that anyone cares about my proving what I'm saying but here's some of my notes

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revalise · 4 years ago

Text

Afterdate | UshiOi

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Oikawa Tooru

Genre: Fluff, first date

Rating: SFW

Words: 6900+

A/N: This was for UshiOi Week (@ushioiweek2020) but I wasn't able to make the deadline. I wrote Ushijima and Tendou scenes on a writer's block, phew. Thank you to Risa for beta reading this! I owe it all to you!I have quite a number of Haikyuu one-shot ideas, including thrillers and angst, I still need to write. But uni is taking a lot of my time and I haven't fully surpassed my writer's block yet (hence, why I've been posting less and less). If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to comment. See you on the next! Nevertheless, I hope you love the story as much as I loved writing it!

Masterlist

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be. Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular

It was a terrible date. Until it wasn’t.

The usually loud metropolis was quiet as a wraith as Tendou and Ushijima waited for the bus home. The kiss of smooth, cold breeze enveloped them both, making Tendou shiver.

Tendou rubbed his hands on his arms as the condensation of his breath blew against the low temperature before whipping his head to the side, only to see Ushijima dart his gaze to the road, patiently waiting. He didn’t care at all about the freezing temperature, standing still as the bus finally arrived, making Tendou frown at their differences.

He would always find himself beside Ushijima as it seemed they always came in a pair. And he knew how different they were. Tendou was the lively one, while Ushijima remained as composed as ever. For a moment, he thought he’d never outdo the captain of the team, but Tendou had a girlfriend waiting for him, waiting for a message regarding his whereabouts.

That alone was enough to make him think he was ahead of the stoic captain. And as a serial dater, Tendou knows how girls turn into something else when their boyfriends don't text back in two minutes.

But when he took out his phone, it was dead.

So the horror that produced sweat on his forehead cascaded down from his neck, even in the temperature, was accompanied by a hammering chest. He knew he needed to shoot his girlfriend a message.

He was left with no choice but to ask Ushijima to borrow his phone. As he fumbled through his friend’s phone after he had no choice, something piqued his interest.

Tendou paid a short glance beside him and his mouth formed a sly smile. The shock mixed with amusement on his face was inexplicable when he saw the Tinder app on his best friend's phone. He covered his mouth to stifle a snort, careful not to wake passengers in their slumber in the back row, late at night from volleyball practice.

Ushijima directed his attention at Tendou, who was looking at him maliciously. The moment his eyes landed on the phone, he understood why.

He tried to hide his surprise, but failed miserably as he quickly tried to retrieve his phone back from Tendou.

Thanks to all the blocking techniques Tendou learned from the team, he held the phone as high as he could out of Ushijima's reach. There was no way Ushijima could retrieve his phone without pushing Tendou over and making a scene since he sat on the window side.

"Hm," Tendou teased. "Since when did you have this?"

"I don't know why it's in there. Give it back," Ushijima argued with a straight face, but the falter in his voice was enough to prove that he was lying. And he wasn't a good liar.

Tendou wiggled his brows, tilting his head. From Tendou's above peripheral, the app successfully loads, and he immediately turns his attention to it, raising it further from Ushijima's grasp.

He pressed on Ushijima's profile. Gods above, did it make him cringe, not to mention the photo Ushijima used for his profile taken about four years ago.

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

"Ugh," Tendou released a sigh. "Have you ever dated anyone from here?"

Ushijima sighed, sitting straight as he set his head down, "No, I don't understand it. I only swiped, and then nothing."

So nobody swiped for him, Tendou thought, feeling both sorry and amused for his friend at the same time. He should change his picture on the app. He looks like an annoying know-it-all, 15 year old. Nobody would go for him.

"Well, that's why you have me," Tendou grinned and head-locked Ushijima. "I'm going to help you get a date!"

The volleyball captain slowly looked up at his friend, "How?"

Tendou only smiled, "Leave it to me."

All Ushijima could ever do was sigh and look over the window as the bus moved further away. He kept his eyes on the bright and warm lights of establishments outside that elongated from the bus’s movement.

He knew that fighting Tendou was futile. In all these years, he had known how the redhead always did whatever he wanted, and how he was good at getting all that. Besides, Ushijima felt too tired to argue anyway.

The continuous clicks of the camera brought his conscience back from almost spacing out. Immediately, he turned his head over to the source beside him to see a smiling Tendou holding his phone as if he’d just come up with something interesting of some sort.

“Did you know it's rude to take photos of somebody without their knowledge?”

The redhead only rolled his eyes with a grin, turning the phone over to Ushijima to show the new profile he’d arranged. "And did you know I only did that as a favor?"

His new bio now read:

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

I must be in a museum because you are a work of art

The four year old photo he once had as his profile picture was now replaced with the one Tendou took.

It was Ushijima's side profile looking outside over the window. The lights of the establishments they passed through created a nostalgic aesthetic along with the slight blurriness of the photo, but never missing his straight, high nose and the sharpness of his jaw. Oh, and that aura of both seriousness and mysteriousness that Tendou knew would catch the attention of anyone who’d look at it.

Ushijima stared at the phone closely, reading the new bio Tendou wrote for him, "That doesn't feel like me at all."

Tendou ignored his friend's remark, giving the phone back to him. "Now try swiping again."

Ushijima took his phone back, observing what buttons to press as he had forgotten how to use the app between the long months since he used it. Finally, the profiles load and he's greeted with a certain boy with light brown hair looking rather cheerful in his picture.

Oikawa, 20

Miyagi Region

If nothing lasts forever, can you be my nothing? ;)

Ushijima scrunched his nose, making Tendou roll his eyes as he grabbed the phone back from him.

“You don’t just stare at it, okay?” He swipes right and a match appears, “See? You swipe and then that will appear if they like you too.”

“Why would they like me if they don’t even know me yet?” the captain asked, tilting his head to the side.

Tendou grimaced, looking a little funny at the innocent question asked of him. “They like your face, okay?” he replied. “Okay?”

Oikawa couldn’t remember how long he’d been talking to the brunette he met on Tinder. Yes, Ushijima was a dry texter, but for some reason, for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from talking to him. Not even when every topic shifted to thinking if they’d ever had milk from the same cow. Because Ushijima took him to a place where he only knew two things: that he couldn’t stop smiling and couldn’t stop looking forward to all his replies.

The smell of sweat and the sounds of bouncing balls and shoes scraping against the gym floor sang around Oikawa as he made himself comfortably seated all alone on the bench, taking advantage of the fifteen-minute break the coach lent the team.

He laced his phone around his nimble fingers while the other danced around the clean, white towel he used to wipe his forehead before setting it down beside him, placing it along various colored tumblers that belonged to his teammates.

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa from a distance, gulping down on his tumbler, rivulets of water running down from his lips to his Adam's apple, all the way down to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the flamboyant big shot as he lowered his drink.

He didn’t know why exactly, but there was something different about Oikawa today.

One could say that there was something quite off about the confident captain of the team. Usually, he’d be socializing with the team, or annoying Iwaizumi during breaks, but today he chose to confine himself in the corner, craving what little quiet the noisy gym could offer. Of course, underneath the winks, smiles, exaggerated swagger, and childish antics lies a much more serious persona for when a situation demands it, channeling all that bravado in his pursuit.

But what was so important that could possibly bring Oikawa’s tenacity and attention completely locked on his phone, which he hasn’t put down since the first minute? What could possibly have Oikawa on edge that he couldn’t keep his right heel from lifting and dropping over and over, restlessly?

Oikawa couldn’t stress how long he’d been waiting for Ushijima to ask him out. He wished to have Ushijima beside him, wished he could inhale his scent—and how he probably smelled of dark wood with a hint of vanilla, wished Ushijima’s fingers threaded his hair, and how he wished they were something more.

Truthfully, he couldn’t explain why he’s so intoxicated with the man. He couldn’t determine or distinguish the weight of various reasons why, as if translating them into words would be translating symbols into letters.

Perhaps, the first time Oikawa let himself be swayed by the awkward and dry texter was after he had only slipped into his blanket. Ready to go into a deep slumber after reviewing tapes of his enemy team a day before the match to chalk out strategies, when his phone lit up, the light coming from the screen illuminating a halo around the corner.

From: Ushijima (sent at 9:43pm)

No. You’re the only one I talk to.

His breathing hitched, and he rose as quickly as he laid on the bed. In the small light, his bronze eyes glittered. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he wondered, Only me?

Oikawa had teased Ushijima about staying up late to reply to others. Vague, but just the right words to get the exact answer he wanted from the male: if he’d been talking to anyone else other than him. But he found himself kept up by the lingering messages from Ushijima.

A few weeks after that conversation, and at the mention that Ushijima also played volleyball, here he sat anxiously alone on the gym bench, trying the same scheme yet again.

Another word, another hint that he was interested in meeting Ushijima.

To: Ushijima (sent at 4:30pm)

Yeah, volleyball is good! But I miss hanging out sometimes >_<

Oikawa bit his bottom lip, anxiously staring at his phone that had just shifted to a black screen as he waited for a reply. He sighed, dropping his eyelids as he slumped his shoulders back from all the tension he didn’t know had been building up.

His phone pinged, almost sending his body into a full gallop, immediately raising his gaze to the screen. His heart jumped at the sight of the text preview, Do you want to…

This is the moment. He’s finally going to ask me out. Oikawa smiled to himself, regaining his composure as he sat upright. He inhaled slowly, swiping his fingers to unlock the message. Nevermind the smell of sweat. This is the moment.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:32pm)

Do you want to play volleyball?

Oh. The corners of his mouth dropped just as soon as they pulled upward at the reply. His shoulders sagged, setting his head down in disappointment. Oikawa couldn’t quite make it up, but sometimes, Ushijima seemed to be out of place.

Sometimes, he’d read signals as fast as he misinterpreted others.

This is hopeless, Oikawa laughed to himself. The array of possibilities he set for himself and Ushijima smeared like oil in the air, drowning out his suave as he tried to shut them all down. Then he tipped his head back, breathing in deep. Breathing in the disappointment, taking it into his head that Ushijima was most likely not at all interested in that way. Anxiety and embarrassment mingled into his chest.

But his phone pinged another time, and it sent his body into another jolt.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:33pm)

I mean, do you want to go on a date?

And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe under the crushing weight that pushed in on him.

“Are you going on a date or to a Sunday morning service?” Tendou cackled as he watched Ushijima put on his necktie over his deep violet long sleeves he paired with black slacks, sitting comfortably on the bed.

Ushijima reciprocated Tendou's gaze through the full body mirror, his eyes squinted, fingers securing the knot of his tie, “What's wrong? Isn't this presentable?”

“Formal. Too formal!” he said as he raised his hands up to stress his remark, barely unable to stop the wide, malicious smile.

“Then tell me,” Ushijima sighed in defeat, realizing that his friend might be right. “What should I wear?”

He was so hopeless that Tendou wondered, What would he do without me? What would have become of him if it weren’t for me guiding him in the big world out there?

Tendou could go on and on about teasing Ushijima with the kind of clothing he chose to wear. Who goes to a date wearing a church outfit? But he saw how Ushijima needed genuine help and pushed his remarks to the side, lending his friend a helping hand on his first Tinder date.

Actually, his first date in general.

“You sound like that time when you finally asked your match out on a date,” Tendou chuckled. “Oh, it was thanks to me.”

Ushijima turned to face Tendou, “I thought it was obvious.”

“Obvious?” Tendou’s hand reached for his stomach as he laughed at his best friend’s words. “How is asking someone to play volleyball flirting? How is that considered flirting?”

Thanks to Tendou, Ushijima was able to make a correction. He was fast to take the latter’s phone in his hand and send another reply. The shock that reverberated into Tendou’s body only dispersed once they received an enthusiastic reply. A feeling that Ushijima would never have felt because of his inexperience.

“But I don’t just ask anyone to play volleyball,” Ushijima replied, tone low and neutral, completely clueless. If he was embarrassed, it didn’t show. Rather, his face remained distant as usual.

The red-haired cleared his throat. It was one of those rare moments when he thought he should be honest with Ushijima before he ventured into a world he hadn't stepped into: dating.

“You’re hopeless. But there’s one thing I can tell you,” Tendou clicked his tongue, eyes shifting left and right trying to search for the perfect words.

He weighed in the list of possibilities that could happen to Ushijima and his date. Of course, there was already a high probability that both of them would be as awkward as ever. But Tendou took notice of the amount of emojis Ushijima’s date uses, so he couldn’t be that boring.

Sometimes, there are just people who could make everything boring. Unfortunately, Ushijima was part of that.

Tendou chuckled inwardly at his thoughts.

Ushijima was intimidating, and he doesn’t speak much. But when he does, he can come off as blunt. He was the kind of man who spoke no lies. He didn’t hesitate to speak what’s on his mind. He didn’t have any concerns. Only that he disliked things he didn’t understand.

He had the oozing air of confidence and reliability about him. He was a fantastic player on the court, but he was just a regular person outside of that. And sometimes, Tendou wondered if Ushijima had any fun at all.

His scrutinizing gaze brought Ushijima’s eyes to meet his through the mirror as the lad unbuttoned his shirt to change. “Have fun.”

Oikawa’s blood pumped through him in a strange rhythm. With every step he took, his feet felt heavy, lightweight, soft, and hard all at once, dragging them to move. He was tizzy as he approached the cinema—where he and Ushijima agreed to meet, biting down on his bottom lip.

The man walking in front of him paid him a short glower as if he’d been suspecting Oikawa for his stalking gait. Oikawa reciprocated the man’s hostility with an apologetic smile, halting his steps and embracing the frigid weather around him.

He took in a few deep breaths as he closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and the big ‘CINEMA’ sign glowed red in the light of the dark and the busy streets and youth passing by.

The first snow still hasn’t touched the ground, but it was felt in the frigid cold. He posted himself beside the entrance. He could feel the warm temperature coming from inside the hall whenever the doors opened. There was that burning need to invite himself in, but he stood outside, patiently waiting in the cold.

All around him, there were laughs and smiles from people around his age. Mostly couples, but he spotted friends who came in groups. Some were buying tickets from the booth manned by a straight-faced fellow, who impassively bid goodbye by saying, “Enjoy your movie.”

Some, he guessed, were waiting for someone. The restless tapping of their foot against the ground, the constant checking of time, and the biting of their lips. All of which Oikawa recognized. Because he was doing the same thing.

He raised his left hand, pushing aside his long, blue sweater sleeves to reveal his leather watch, “6:47…” he whispered.

There were still thirteen minutes left to see Ushijima for the first time. Thirteen minutes to hold on to his dear sanity.

He tapped his foot restlessly against the pavement once more, releasing another breath that condensed in the air, making him push his khaki scarf upwards to cover his mouth.

As soon as he raised his gaze towards what’s in front of him, he saw the man he’d been yearning to see. Behind the screen. Behind all those words. Behind all the smiles. And on that cold night, he saw him for the first time.

Oikawa’s eyes widened as he watched Ushijima from only eight feet away.

Ushijima’s body was turned to the side, giving Oikawa only the picture of his long coat, cropped light-colored trousers, and loafers. His side profile boasted that high nose and that brown hair—and Oikawa wondered if it was as smooth as it looked.

It’s literally unfair how attractive he is, Oikawa groaned in his thoughts. He knew how strange it was to look at Ushijima. But he found difficulty in not staring at him. He couldn’t find the courage to tear his gaze away from him. Not when Ushijima had that mesmerizing aura about him.

He was all too aware of how cliche he sounded, and he smiled like a fool when he realized that, maybe, he liked it. And he was still smiling like a fool when Ushijma whipped his head in his direction, locking their gazes.

Ushijima narrowed his eyes, making Oikawa’s smile drop as soon as he realized. But Ushijima was already walking toward him, and Oikawa couldn’t breathe.

“Good evening,” Ushijima greeted as soon as he was in front of Oikawa. If he was nervous, if he was shy, it didn’t show.

Oikawa noted the aura Ushijima emitted. He was, perhaps, more than what he had expected. A little too unreal, maybe. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry. “Hello…”

Ushijima’s lips twitched a little upwards. Even as he smiled, there was still something serious left in the air. “Have you been waiting long?” he checked his watch then returned to the speechless Oikawa.

He’s so pretty. I think I’m gonna faint, Oikawa thought before he realized he was asked a question. He shook his head to disperse himself of unwanted thoughts, creasing his brows as he leaned a little forward. Ushijima’s scented soap caressed his nose, a touch of wood… and is that baby powder? “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Have you been waiting long?” Ushijima repeated.

“Oh. No,” Oikawa retreated. “No, I haven’t. I just got here,” he chuckled, trying to conceal the awkwardness in his tone. Feeling a little anxious, he asked, “And you?”

“I also just got here,” Ushijima answered dryly. Then his eyes went past Oikawa, and both felt the warm temperature from inside the hall, the noises sounding louder as the door swung open before it shut on its own and the noises died down with it.

Ushijima brought his gaze back to Oikawa, “Would you like to go inside? I’ve got the tickets.”

“Sure…” Oikawa smiled awkwardly.

Ushijima pushed the door open for Oikawa, to which he thanked him for. As soon as Ushijima couldn’t see his face, he closed his eyes in frustration. Say something!

Oikawa found himself speechless around Ushijima. It seemed like all of his confidence had died at the very sight of him. There was something intimidating about Ushijima that he couldn’t quite explain.

Yes, he’d been waiting for this moment for so long. And he hated himself for feeling as if he wasn’t even trying hard to connect with him.

The thundering drum in his heart pulsed through his ears, drowning out the sound of talks and the smell of popcorn invading his nose. He was shifting his weight from one foot to another as they waited in line for the cinema room, pocketing his trembling hands as he started at his feet.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then lifted his head as he smiled at the staff that manned the entrance to the cinema room before following Ushijima ahead. His throat was tight in nervousness—a feeling he wasn’t very much familiar with—even as they sat in their seats.

Oikawa shifted his gaze over to Ushijima, and found he kept his eyes on the big screen, the flickering light from the changing scenes illuminated the planes of his face. He could watch Ushijima the entire time. Nevermind that Romeo and Juliet movie using the original dialogue. He couldn’t even understand it.

Then his eyes shifted towards his hand that rested on the recliner, making him frown. Since the movie started, he already placed his hand where Ushijima could hold it. But the movie was probably half over already, and nothing.

A child’s cry drowned the actors’ voices and shook the whole cinema, turning everyone’s attention to the source in the row behind them. Only Ushijima did not bother to pay a glance towards the disturbance.

Oikawa thought, Why make a child watch Romeo and Juliet?

He stifled a laugh and his hand flew to cover the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards as cheese popcorn fell from right above Ushijima’s head.

That was all it took to have Ushijima turn his attention to the annoying child. The audience expressed annoyance through angry muffles, but Ushijima remained calm and collected, politely accepting apologies from the man, whom Oikawa guessed as the father, as he tried to soothe the crying child.

Ushijima caught Oikawa’s attention, but it was too late for him to hide his smile. Oikawa laughed awkwardly, then hoisted his drink he hadn’t touched from the recliner to hand over to Ushijima.

“Drink water,” he said even as he himself was dehydrated.

Musicians took up spots inside the restaurant that Ushijima booked for the date. The room was filled with a blend of soft conversations, the clang of plates, and violins. Such a beautiful sound, if only that one musician knew how to carry a tune.

Oikawa and Ushijima kept straight faces, looking at each other as if they could tell what the other was thinking.

It was grand, but terrible. The dishes were too small. Certainly not enough to satiate their hunger. And that music? Gods above.

He registered the change in Ushijima’s face as he watched him intently across the table that separated them both. His ears were turning a little red, his forearms braced on the table. While Oikawa, on the other hand, leaned on the back of his chair, sitting like a king.

“How do you do it?” Ushijima asked quietly, his eyes almost pleading.

“Do what?” Oikawa grinned, raising his head high, teasing.

Ushijima gave him a slow smile and a flicker of light moved across his eyes, “How do you ignore that irritating sound?”

“My teammates are louder, and much more annoying than that,” Oikawa laughed, stealing another glance at the stressed-out musicians who wasted no time in poking at the one who couldn’t play the right strings. He would’ve felt sorry for him, really, had it not sparked an interesting conversation between him and Ushijima.

Ushijima traced the rim of his glass, “Louder and annoying?” his brows narrowed slightly.

“So,” Oikawa tilted his head, keeping a smile on his face as he recalled moments he spent with the team. “There was this one time when we went to a training camp. And I couldn’t sleep on the bus because they were all so obnoxiously loud and kept singing.”

Oikawa was the leader of that fiasco, but he would never admit to it.

“I had to snap their foreheads one by one to make them stop,” he shrugged. “It was fun though.”

“You have a very different definition of fun,” Ushijima chuckled, so soft and so mellow. The sound was better than the horrible quartet playing in the background, and Oikawa wanted to hear it again.

“Well,” Ushijima started, “do you want to get out of here?”

Somehow, it didn’t seem like goodbye.

“Wait!” Oikawa laughed when the tail of the scarf around his neck got caught in between the restaurant door they walked through.

Ushijima took a step closer, opening the door for Oikawa to pull out his scarf. A slash of a grin spread across his face, “What are you doing?”

Oikawa could only laugh as Ushijima stared at him with the same intensity. They stood in front of each other. No words, just stillness. But they were sure something changed. Even when they’ve only had a short time to get to know each other.

From the short distance that separated them, Oikawa watched as Ushijima’s brown eyes turned molten from the warm lights all around them. He couldn’t brush off the rush of having Ushijima look only at him, trying not to get lost in those strange, enticing eyes.

Oikawa winced as a gust of icy wind blew the tail of his scarf and froze his ears. He took that sign as an opportunity to pull it tightly around him.

“Walk with me?” he asked gently.

“I would love to,” Ushijima nodded. “But I’m afraid you would have to lead me instead. I’m not quite familiar with the road down there.”

Oikawa smiled even as he rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets picked up?”

Ushijima tucked his hand behind his back as they strode forward through the cobbled streets. He fumbled for words, but he did not drop his grin as the golden lights twinkled across the city, “Not really.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Do you have a reason not to?”

“Okay, you’re good,” Oikawa complimented when he couldn’t counter his quick remark.

“Thank you,” Ushijima chuckled, deep and slow.

Oikawa frowned, “You actually look more handsome with honesty on your face.”

“I do?” Ushijima grinned, boasting those white teeth, brows knotting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa waved him off. “You’re cute. Stop smiling at me like that,” he added, averting his gaze from Ushijima. “Your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling.”

Ushijima pocketed his hands, “And you? Are you honest?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Oikawa shrugged and smiled roguishly, keeping his gaze on the lights ahead. From a distance, he could see the head of the illuminated fountain by the park they were nearing. “Maybe I’ll just be straightforward about taking advantage of you.”

Ushijima laughed but said nothing. No one spoke as they realized that the space between them felt strangely intimate.

“What about the violin in the restaurant earlier, huh?” Oikawa followed with a tease.

“What on earth,” Ushijima drawled, sounding exasperated, “is all I have to say to that.”

With a turn around the hedge, the gush of water from the fountain park enticed them both. A strong gust of wind made them feel that the air had turned colder with the time, ripping through them as they observed the golden lit decorations surrounding the park.

“Do you want to..?” Ushijima didn’t finish the words, extending his arm and pointing his index towards the brightly lit fountain.

Their date should have ended the moment they stepped out of the restaurant. But the beautiful fountain in the center illuminating their faces signaled that it had only just begun.

Before Oikawa could sit on an empty bench—only a few feet away from the fountain, Ushijima dusted it with his hand, making his date smile appreciatively at the effort. In the touch of freezing cold, it became their spot to just sit and watch the fountain as a silent acknowledgement that neither were ready to part ways just yet.

“So,” Oikawa said as he crossed his legs, turning to Ushijima as the latter sat down. “Tell me more about you.”

“About me?” Ushijima’s brows creased, setting his eyes on his hands that rested in his lap. Oikawa realized how there was no progress in terms of skinship between them, but he wasn’t complaining. “There’s nothing much about me, really.”

“Impossible,” Oikawa shook his head. “There’s never nothing about anything or anyone.”

Oikawa’s eyes glittered as he stared at Ushijima’s hand, and his heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to his face.

“How about us?” Ushijima asked.

A flush of pink bloomed on his cheeks as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He hadn’t been expecting such an honest question, such a question that flushed all the bravado he tried so hard to muster.

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Ushijima tilted his head.

Oikawa kept his gaze averted, biting his full bottom lip. Because of you!

“Oikawa?” Ushijima called.

He tried not to let it show what it did to him to have Ushijima remember his name. Or to hear him say it. To have him let out the words from his lips.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked, but made no move to touch him.

Good. Because Oikawa wasn’t entirely certain he could handle his heat hovering against him. He took a breath, and that same impish grin swiped back. “You should know by now,” he teased.

The silence that followed after didn’t lay as heavy as it used to be. Instead, Oikawa straightened himself, resting a hand on the bench in the short distance separating both, gazing at the fountain that kept them company.

“I like mushroom risotto,” he said out of the blue.

“Mushroom risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto,” he repeated, still keeping his eyes averted.

There was a short pause before Ushijima spoke, “Did you know that mushrooms are made up of 90% water?”

Do you want to go try mushroom risotto next time? Do you want me to bring that for you one day? Do you want me to cook that for you? Such questions were what he thought would’ve followed next. Questions that would make them meet each other again. Never a random fact he didn’t expect.

Oikawa turned his head towards his date. “What?” He choked on a laugh as he asked it.

“Yeah,” Ushijima gruffed, completely unaware of what left Oikawa in disbelief. “They’re also a fungus. Did you know?”

“No,” Oikawa shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“We should forage for mushrooms next time.”

Next time, the words rang in Oikawa’s head. Next time.

“And you?” Oikawa followed. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Curry,” his date answered plainly, his free hand discreetly traveling towards Oikawa’s hand on the bench.

A faint warmth bloomed in his chest. The brief touch of Ushijima’s fingers through Oikawa sent a pang of desire through him so strong he wanted to pull him in closer. It had taken all of him, all his self control to keep his breathing steady as he gazed back at the fountain.

That was all it took to have Oikawa’s gaze back at the fountain again, “These lights are familiar,” he started. “From my recitals from those years ago. It’s kinda nostalgic.”

When Ushijima didn’t say anything, he took it upon himself to turn his head back towards him. With the look written across Ushijima’s face and those eyes, he understood.

“I will pretend I haven’t heard the question in your eyes,” he groaned.

“No, tell me,” Ushijima leaned a little forward.

“It’s nothing, really. I just took up dancing a while back. Then I shifted to volleyball,” he eyed him, searching for any sign of mockery.

“Dancing?” Ushijima pondered, running a finger along his lips—the sight making Oikawa swallow—before returning his gaze to the other, “Could you, perhaps, show me?”

“What?” Oikawa asked in disbelief, turning left and right. “Here?”

Ushijima nodded.

“What?” he shook his head. “No!”

But Ushijima stood up and offered his hand. Oikawa stared at it for a moment, creasing his brows, but a ghost of a smile remained plastered across his lips. He looked around, searching for prying heads.

“There are people,” he argued in a whisper.

Ushijima shrugged, “People are too busy to care about anyone other than themselves.”

Oikawa let out a long sigh before he took Ushijima’s hand. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Fine.”

He cleared his throat and lumbered, positioning himself in the center from where they stood. Ushijima could never tell him, but he looked like a perfect decoration in front of the fountain behind him.

Oikawa gazed across the stone pavement. Sliding his foot back and the other forward, he extended his arms in front in a smooth motion that truly suggested he had some background in the art. He was dancing, then his arms were flailing in the sky with feline grace. His scarf spun around him as he whirled, and he was thankful for the cold that he wouldn’t sweat. He felt like flying, until the ground was beneath his feet again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. And why did he stop?

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be.

Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular.

Oikawa picked up his scarf that fell on the ground. Then his eyes rested on Ushijima, whose hands were pocketed in his coat. A tug on the corner of his lips issued the bravado he’d been keeping.

“What? Amused?” he teased with a conspirator’s grin when he closed the final distance between them.

Ushijima just stared at him, taking in the warm gleam in his eyes. He said nothing, but his hand flew to Oikawa’s scarf. Both said nothing as Ushijima wrapped the it around him, “It always becomes loose when you’re the one putting it on.”

A delicious heat kissed its way down Oikawa’s neck to his spine as if there was some warmth left despite the winter.

“Perhaps I will take up dancing again,” he said in a little more than a whisper, his throat constricting at the moment.

A hush had fallen between them, but Oikawa felt as if there was something inside him that found it to be a perfect piece in their merriment. It went beyond his expectations. He enjoyed his time with Ushijima.

“Let’s take you home,” Ushijima said and Oikawa only nodded.

The streets were too quiet this time of the night—so quiet that only their footsteps and chuckles and moments of conversation lingered in the sleeping city. They were still talking and laughing, and it had been that way since they left the park, stepping forward with the wings of conversation.

“What was your favorite part?” Ushijima asked, his eyes not on the streets before him but on Oikawa. Such wild ecstasy, he noted.

Oikawa paused, his brows creasing as Ushijima waited for his answer, thinking. Then his eyes widened and met Ushijima’s, “Oh, you mean the movie?”

Ushijima only chuckled, “Yes, the movie.”

“Not the baby?”

“Yeah, and maybe that too,” a faint smile stretched Ushijima’s lips.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Oikawa looked forward, brows knotting yet again as he acted. His finger tapped on his lip in a way that forced Ushijima to remind himself to keep his focus on Oikawa’s eyes, “I like the part where the dad,” he stared back at Ushijima, “picked up the baby and they went outside. That scene was amazing!”

Ushijima chuckled, looking away from him and Oikawa realized how manly Ushijima’s voice was. Then Oikawa’s eyes scanned the street before him, how the establishments and the crooked, dark streets were becoming more and more familiar to him.

“You laughed at me earlier,” there was a hint of a smile on Ushijima’s lips.

Oikawa felt a little embarrassed, but he laughed, “You’ve gotta admit. It was kind of funny.”

“It was fine,” Oikawa answered seriously.

“Same here.”

“No way. I thought you liked Shakespeare,” he said in disbelief.

“I thought you liked Shakespeare,” Ushijima countered.

He assumed that Oikawa was interested in Shakespeare because, sometimes, he would post quotes from Romeo and Juliet. What Ushijima didn’t know was that: it was Oikawa’s literature teacher who originally posted those, and he only wanted to get on their good side.

“It took me some time to understand the words,” Oikawa admitted.

Ushijima’s smile widened, revealing his white teeth, “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Oikawa’s hand flew to his mouth that went agape, “How did you memorize that?” he asked with amusement in his eyes.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima urged him.

“You are reciting Juliet’s lines,” Oikawa narrowed his eyes in thought, but the grin didn’t disappear from his lips.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima repeated, ignoring his remark.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, his brows knotting trying to remember the right words, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“You’re annoying. Mine is long,” he frowned at how fast Ushijima replied and how long he remembered the next line was. But it took only one grin from Ushijima and he started speaking.

“Something. Something,” his eyes almost bawled upwards trying to remember the words. “Let lips do what hands do. Uh. They pray grant thou, lest faith turn to despair..?” he finished with uncertainty. “Wait. How do you even memorize these?”

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayer's sake,” Ushijima continued.

“Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take,” Oikawa grinned with how fast he recited the lines as he halted in front of his house and Ushijima did the same.

“Thus, from my lips,” Ushijima said hoarsely. Oikawa didn’t mean to, but his eyes went down to Ushijima’s lips, “by thine, my sin is purged.”

His heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to Ushijima’s eyes, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” he said in a little more than a whisper.

The night was honest and his eyes whispered of how they met, how there was an unspoken understanding between them. And being with Ushijma was like staying in the rain, he still wanted to be in it one more time.

Through a clearing in the skies, clusters of stars could be seen and the sliver of the crescent moon shone above them as they stepped into the pool of moonlight.

“Good night,” Ushijima said. “You’re probably tired.”

But he was not tired, he was not done. There was still greed and want inside of him that made him want to pull Ushijima closer. The longing for a wave of touch and friction of joy that only grew bigger and bigger by the minute.

“Good night,” was all he replied, his voice so soft and mellow.

Oikawa turned his back on Ushijima, his steps feeling heavier by the minute as he trudged away from him. But he looked back, and the greed must have shown because Ushijima stood there, watching him, thinking.

He grinned and crossed his arms, “You do realize what time it is, right?”

Ushijima shrugged and pocketed his hands, “I just want to see you walk in.”

That was all it took for Oikawa to do the opposite. He went closer to Ushijima, closing the gap between them. There was only the absence of conversation and how much he wanted to touch Ushijima.

“It was enchanting to meet you,” Ushijima said quietly before his ears filled with the softness of Oikawa’s laughter.

“Do you know how cliche you sound, Romeo?” he teased.

Oikawa watched the way Ushijima’s lips widened in a smile and died down slowly.

“I think,” Ushijima started, the words were barely more than a strangled whisper, “I like you a lot.”

The longing blinded him, and he flung himself on Ushijima, breathing in his scent and the slight trace of cheese in him. He memorized the feel of him and the heat of Ushijima’s body hovering over him.

“We probably should just go to McDonald’s next time,” he teased.

“As long as I’m with you,” Ushijima chuckled against Oikawa’s lips. “I would like that very much.”

It was only that, and their lips touched.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #ushioiweek2020 #ushioiweek #ushioi #ushioi fanfic #ushijima wakatoshi #oikawa tooru #ushioi fluff #fluff #first date #terrible date fanfic #ushijima wakatoshi x oikawa tooru #revalise #like and/or reblog

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jaelijn · 4 years ago

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The Darrow Westerns - Words from the Author

A little while ago, for the Gauda Prime Day Calendar, I wrote a little something about a series of B7-avatar novels I had discovered, the Darrow Westerns by Gillian F. Taylor. My little self-indulgent review reached the author, and now, I am thrilled to share with you a piece Gillian Taylor wrote specifically for all of you about her experience of writing Westerns in general and the Darrow Westerns in particular. As someone who always thought that books should come with “DVD commentaries” too, I am more than happy to receive and be able to share these insights.

You will find the piece below, under a cut purely for length and for the sake of better separating it from my introduction. I have done the most minor of formatting for the sake of Tumblr readability, but all else is exactly as Gillian Taylor shared it with me. All pictures were provided by Gillian Taylor. Enjoy, and feel free to pass on your appreciations to the contact provided!

Gillian - thank you so very much for doing this for us!

Image: One of the covers of Darrow’s Gamble, showing a coach drawn by four horses rocketing towards the viewer.

I began writing westerns by accident. I saw the film ‘Young Guns’, loved it, and needed to write the story about what happened to the characters afterwards. I wanted to be a writer, had written some bits and pieces in the past, so when seized with the urge to write about those characters, I did, more as practise than anything. Having ended up writing an entire novel, I looked to see if anyone was still publishing westerns in 1991. It turned out that there was just one publisher, but you didn’t need an agent to submit to them, so I reworked my story, giving the characters new names, changing the location and making it my own story, not just a recognisable fanfic. It was too long for that publisher, Robert Hale, and not their style, but they were encouraging. I started over, using just two of the characters to write what was basically the beginning of my overall story. Rocking W was accepted, and I became a published author.

It took some trial and error to learn what sort of stories Robert Hale wanted for their westerns, which were aimed at the library market. I wrote a sequel to Rocking W, which was accepted, but the pay was very low, so I determined to write quickly, producing a 40,000 word novel in two months from start to finish. I succeeded, with The Horseshoe Feud, and set about writing another. I was getting more confident in writing something Hale would accept, so decided to do something a little different to the previous, cowboy-based stories.

I’d been a fan of Blakes 7 right from when the first series was aired. I had all the monthly magazines, the annuals and the novelizations. I was a member of Horizon, looking forward to receiving the thick magazines when they appeared. My friend, Alyson, was a Blakes 7 fan too, and we hired the videos from the local video store to watch together. At some point, I remembered an anecdote by Michael Keating in an interview in the second Blakes 7 monthly mag: in his bio for the BBC, Paul had said he wanted to act in a western, so Michael said he wanted to act in a western with Paul Darrow. Well, I don’t make western films, but I was now writing western novels, so I could put Paul and Michael, in the form of Avon and Vila, into a western that way. I was aware of Tanith Lee’s book, Kill the Dead, so I figured that if a pro writer like her could do it, so could I.

Image: Gillian Taylor in Western costume, photographed in Durango, with a fellow writer.

(Here be some minor spoilers throughout for character development)

When planning the book, I knew I had to work within the style that Robert Hale wanted for the Black Horse Westerns line. They were very traditional in format: there had to be plenty of action and the protagonists had to be good guys: tough and determined heroes. No way would Hale accept a story about a pair of criminals, even if they did occasionally do the decent thing. So I made ‘Avon’ and ‘Vila’ into lawmen, albeit somewhat reluctant lawmen.

Avon was an Alpha, clearly one of the elite. By making Sheriff Darrow a Southern aristocrat, who had lost everything in the civil war, he had the privileged background, but also a reason to need a job and a reason for his cynical and sometimes sour take on life and human nature. Vila was a Delta grade, though he claimed it was through choice – he’d bribed someone to get the classification he wanted. His inclination was away from the pressured and mannered world of the Alphas, and towards the outcasts and undesirables. I had a book on English gentlemen in the wild west. Some were there for adventure and wealth: others were ne’er-do-wells, sent abroad by their families to commit their indiscretions far away from polite society. So I made Hugh Keating into an English aristocrat with Vila’s laziness and reluctance for physical danger, but also his charm, loyalty and sleight of hand.

If I was having Avon and Vila, it seemed logical to have Servalan as the villain, so I created Isabel Montague. She was beautiful and ruthless, out to gain control of the town, which brought her into direct conflict with Darrow. I didn’t really think to include avatars of anyone else from the Liberator/Scorpio, as I was just writing a story about ‘Avon’ and ‘Vila’ in a specific setting, rather than planning to transplant most or all of the ships’ crews. It would have been particularly difficult to represent the women and to do them justice as the equal-opportunity fighters that they were. A gun-toting female deputy modelled on Dayna or Cally was pushing the boundaries of reality too far for me. A woman using a gun for hunting, or self- defence, is one thing: a professional law-woman was just too far outside the norm, even for the wild west. Nor I didn’t want to reduce any Cally or Jenna avatars to be standing around, looking after the office while the men got all the adventures.

I did take the opportunity to drop in a couple more Blakes 7 references. I named a saloon keeper, Nation, after Terry Nation, and included a visiting speaker named Blake, who lectured on prison reform.

While the Darrow novels are about lawmen, who deal with crime, they still needed to serve the demands of the traditional western genre. This meant a regular flow of action in the form of fight scenes, with the book almost always ending in a shoot-out of some kind. This meant Hugh had to be hands-on involved in combat somewhat more than Vila tended to be.

The required emphasis on action meant that there wasn’t as much room for character exploring as I would have liked. The books are barely even long enough to qualify as a proper novel, rather than a novelette. There was a set maximum of 45,000 words, so the size and production would be uniform across the entire range – Hale issued between 10 to 6 Black Horse Westerns each month, the number declining gradually over the years as demand from libraries dropped. Therefore, the stories had to be pacey, with little time to explore the characters. The same is also true of most of the individual television episodes. There were exceptions, like ‘Trial’ and ‘Sarcophagus’, which explored motivations and interactions, but most were more like ‘Gold’ or ‘Redemption’. And of course, there are only four novels in the end, but 52 TV episodes, allowing much more overall time for characters to develop and be revealed.

I didn’t start with an overall plan for the novels. I wrote the first one almost as an indulgence, wondering if I could get away with introducing two favourite characters from a favourite TV series into a western. I had no long-term plan for the characters as the book was written as a one-off. I did achieve my plan to write it in two months, though that was possibly the last time I ever achieved that kind of speed of production.

Hale accepted the book, though with some reservations about Hugh. John Hale, the managing director, described him as a twerp – “most of the time”. There was also a mention of “an element of humour” – relating to Hugh – which was “unusual in most westerns”. I felt this was a rather narrow-minded attitude, but I was thrilled at having another book published, and especially one with Blakes 7 woven into it. When it was published, I sent a copy to Paul Darrow, with an explanation of putting Avon in it, in tribute to his love of westerns. He wrote me a lovely letter in return, saying how much he’d enjoyed it, and that he wished he were as charismatic as Sheriff Darrow.

After Darrow’s Law was accepted, my next book was based on a light-hearted roleplaying game that I ran one evening for four friends. The game was a very enjoyable success, and I couldn’t resist making it into Cullen’s Quest, with four principal characters named for the people who played them. It features a group of travellers on a stagecoach, being harassed by Comanches, with a subplot at finding the stolen map for a silver mine.

After that, I had been re-reading my first two books again. These took the characters up to the point where my first, unsuitable manuscript began. I suddenly knew how the whole story ended, some ten years on, with one character coming back to confront his past. This was written up as San Felipe Guns, making a complete trilogy. With those stories told, it was time to see what Darrow and Hugh were doing next.

I’d watched ‘Rio Bravo’, where the sheriff and deputies were essentially under siege, holding onto a prisoner who has allies trying to free them. I liked this as a basis for a plot and combined it with the isolation of the Long Winter from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book. Having the town isolated by snow was a reason for the lawmen not to be able to get their prisoner to a proper jail and added the pressures of shortages and trouble within the town, as food ran out. The prisoner, Beatrix, is a charming and beautiful young woman, used to manipulating men to get her own way. Hugh is susceptible, but Darrow, like Avon, is no sucker. Beatrix was not from Blakes 7, but inspired by a pretty, young student I knew at the time, who took advantage of men and gave little in return beyond a smile.

Minnie, whom Hugh had met in the first book, stayed in the story, partly because I liked her, and also as she made a good contrast to self-centred Beatrix. As the story developed, I had to make a decision about the relationship between Hugh and Minnie. Vila, famously, turned down a chance for love, knowing he would never settle into an ordinary, steady life. If Hugh did choose to marry Minnie, it would alter his path away from Vila’s life. But while Hugh has many of Vila’s qualities, he does not have the compulsion to steal (he couldn’t, as a hero in a Black Horse Western). So Hugh makes a different choice.

I struggled a little with the title for the book. I wanted to use the Darrow name again, to link it to the first book and attract readers who had enjoyed it. Paul Darrow always insisted that if Avon gave his word on something, he would keep it (the hard part was getting him to make the promise in the first place). I had Sheriff Darrow make a vow about getting his prisoner to jail properly and I wanted to reflect that aspect of the character in the title. ‘Darrow’s Vow’ and ‘Darrow’s Promise’ both sounded too much like romance novels, so the book became Darrow’s Word.

This time, John Hale wrote that Hugh was perhaps too unsympathetic a character to play the part of a hero or joint hero – he did note that this was a personal opinion. Fortunately, even though the lack of ‘action’ was remarked on, Hale still found the book very enjoyable, and was happy to publish it. ‘Traditional’ western or not, I now had my second Blakes 7-inspired book to look forward to.

When Darrow’s Word was accepted, Cullen’s Quest had been published, so I read that again. Two of the characters had formed an alliance in the book, and I saw there was a story about what they did next. So Hyde’s Honour was about Hyde and Cullen’s struggles to develop the silver mine, with the Hyde struggling with the temptation to betray his friend for the money.

After that, I rewrote an earlier story, again centred on two friends, who end up in trouble. This was Navajo Rock, a stand-alone story which remains a favourite of mine. When that was accepted in its revised form, I started thinking about Darrow and Hugh again. I was just thinking about the characters in general, and what was happening in their lives, what were they up to after the end of Darrow’s Law. Well, Hugh was going to marry Minnie, so I was imagining their wedding, and Minnie being presented with beautiful jewellery belonging to Hugh’s family, and the culture shock for her. It was all rather domestic and lovely, but not exactly material for an exciting western. I was telling this to my friend, Sarah, who was also a Blakes 7 fan, and she said, “What if someone steals the jewels?” So there was the plot I needed.

When thinking about Sheriff Darrow and his world again, I felt that the little, one-horse town of the first novel had probably grown and was starting to flourish. Up to now, Darrow and Hugh had been principally occupied with keeping the law in the town, Govan. In fact, as a sheriff, Darrow was responsible for an entire county, including mining camps, ranches, and other towns. Realistically, there was too much work in the town alone for just two lawmen. I’d introduced Josh Turnage, the town undertaker, in Darrow’s Word, and had him acting as a temporary deputy when extra manpower was needed. Now it was time for a permanent second deputy, so I turned to Blakes 7 again, for Deputy Pacey.

Pacey is an ex-soldier, handsome, confident and dashing – Hugh naturally dislikes him. Like Tarrant, his self-confidence caused clashes with Darrow/Avon and led him into charging headlong into situations that got him into trouble. I had fun creating Hugh’s older brother, Richard, and his wife, Louisa, but they are original, and have no Blakes 7 predecessors.

The four jewel thieves were also original characters. Irish is big, bulky and mild-looking but is based on the appearance of a friend of mine: it never occurred to me that he could be taken for a Gan avatar. With the B7 avatars, I was working to keep them as much in character with their originals as possible within the context of the setting. With Irish, he was just himself and I never tried to match him to Gan’s personality and quirks – possibly because there is so little of Gan to go on, beyond the limiter.

I made the leader of the outlaws, Black Elliot, mixed-race, to show some of the diversity on the frontier. I had a couple of non-white townsfolk already, a Chinese cook and a black livery barn owner, and a few non-Americans, like Queenie (English) and Mrs Irvine (Irish). Elliot’s skin colour was meant to be more of a simple fact, rather than a defining characteristic. However, it seemed plausible that Elliot would have suffered prejudice from people of Darrow’s class, and so he would be keen to make the sheriff suffer in retaliation.

Darrow’s history with slavery is not mentioned in my books. He certainly would have grown up in a family that owned slaves, as household staff at least, though they were not necessarily plantation owners. Avon very much valued his independence, and rarely harmed the helpless (except, maybe, Vila). Darrow would have been courteous to slaves, aware of how dependent they were on him, unless they caused harm by carelessness or neglect. He fought in the civil war, but more to preserve the independence of the southern way of life, than because he wanted to keep slaves. Some of his bitterness after the war was not only the loss of family, wealth and status, but because he knew in his heart that slavery was wrong, and the war had forced him to face up to it. Like Avon, Darrow doesn’t talk much about his past or his motivations and there wasn’t enough room to explore all this in an action-packed western as demanded by the publishers.

I had fun putting Darrow’s Badge together, though progress was hampered by my health and major work being done to my flat. In spite of the difficulties, the characters really came to life and delivered some of my favourite lines. I even managed to reuse a joke that Paul Darrow and Chris Boucher had contrived to get into ‘Deliverance’, which itself had been borrowed from ‘The Magnificent Seven’ (It may even have been in ‘The Seven Samurai’ first, for all I know – the film that was Westernised as The Magnificent Seven). Blakes 7 and westerns have a long history together!

Darrow’s Badge was finished and accepted not long before I attended the Star One convention, in April 2004. John Hale still made comments in the acceptance letter about wanting plenty of hard action but at least there were no comments on Hugh, or on the humour.

For my next book, I went back to a story I’d tried to develop a couple of years earlier, and this time made it work. Two-Gun Trouble was, at the time, a stand-alone story, though I did write another about same characters a few years later. Then, having got away with indulging myself in writing a western with Blakes 7 characters, I thought I’d try the same with favourite characters from another fandom of mine. I like Star Wars too, and I’m a particular fan of the X-wing pilots, especially as written about in the EU (now Legends) novels.

I took four pilots, led by Wedge Antilles, and made them into a Sheriff and his three deputies. I set them in Colorado, rather than Wyoming, and a few years later than the Darrow novels. Sheriff Lawson (named for Denis Lawson, who played Wedge), and his men were all former soldiers, and had a rather more professional attitude to the work than Darrow and Hugh. There were still plenty of humour with the action and I was very pleased with Silver Express. The fellow pilot-fans I sent copies to enjoyed it very much too.

After this, I read Hyde’s Honour again, and started thinking about the two characters, Cullen and Hyde. Somehow, a bit of Blakes 7 crept into idle thoughts, and I imagined the two colleagues facing one another, with one demanding to know:

“Have you betrayed me? Have you betrayed me?”

As soon as I imagined that scene, I knew I had to write the whole book.

The real drama was that Hyde, who had kept his word and not betrayed his friend in the previous book, should now be the one falsely accused of something he’d been sorely tempted to do, but resisted. I built a story basically to get to that scene between Hyde and Cullen, and that question. Thinking about a famous betrayal for thirty pieces of silver, I came up with the title for a book about fallings out over a silver mine: The Judas Metal.

With those stories set down and out of the way, there was another story about Darrow and Hugh that had been waiting some time for attention. For some time, I’d been visualizing a scene where Darrow let his emotions get the better of him, causing him to charge recklessly towards an enemy, with unhappy consequences. I also had a rough idea about the sheriff being ambushed and left for dead. It took some time to flesh out how to make these things work together – the details of building the plot from A to B.

I realized that Darrow couldn’t go off in pursuit of his attacker in the new story: he had duties as sheriff, plus Hugh would want to stay close to town, as he had a new baby. I’d got very fond of Tomcat Billy and Irish, from Darrow’s Badge, who had potential for plenty of adventures of their own. They’d been arrested and jailed at the end of Darrow’s Badge, so I somehow had to get them released if I was going to write more stories about them, as I wanted to keep continuity in my world. These two situations came together nicely. Darrow could arrange for Tomcat and Irish to find the outlaw attacker, in return for a pardon. The bad guy could be brought to where Darrow could deal with him and my two genial outlaws could become free men, ready for their own adventures. And to keep up the Blakes 7 references, the villain is named Croucher.

As well as the main story, the character’s lives had moved on. Hugh’s life has diverged considerably from Vila’s now. He becomes a father in this book and is very happy settling into his new, domestic life with his family. There’s no such prospect for Darrow; he seems fairly indifferent to the ladies of the town, no matter how many baked goods they send to the office at Christmas. Thanks to Hugh’s observation, and understanding of the sheriff, we do learn that there was a woman in his past, who was important to him, but no details.

The working title, almost until the manuscript was submitted, had been ‘Darrow’s Debt’. As the story evolved, that didn’t seem to fit any more, even though I liked it as a title. The book became Darrow’s Gamble, putting emphasis on the risk he takes with relying on Tomcat and Irish to help and not simply vanish, once released from jail. And of course Sheriff Darrow, like Avon, does not like to have to rely on others. The stress of having to wait for Tomcat and Irish to do their job is what drives Darrow into recklessness.

It took a long time to wrestle the book into shape – the plot was gappy, the pacing of the first part was hard to get right, it was too long, and the characters had their own ideas about what they were going to do. Irish and Tomcat developed their own, personal storylines which had to be resolved too, rather than simply serving Darrow’s plot. When I finally got it together, I was very pleased with it. I love the character interaction, especially between Darrow and Hugh.

By the time I submitted Darrow’s Gamble, John Hale had retired from day-to-day work, so the response came from the editor, Gill, who said it was an excellent western and they wanted to publish it. The company had been gradually moving into the 21st century. I was submitting books by email, which was a whole lot quicker and easier than printing out each page, assembling them into a manuscript and carting the parcel down to the post office. Hale had even started putting out some of the westerns as e-books. They still wanted action, but at least humour seemed to be more acceptable – that, or they had just given up on trying to discourage me.

As soon as Darrow’s Gamble was accepted, I had to get on with writing some actual Blakes 7, a novella for the Big Finish book, Anthology, which was a joy. Next, I went straight into a second story about my other lawmen – the X-wing pilots. Dynamite Express came together well and is a favourite of mine. My writing then slowed, after doing those three projects one after another. I did complete a third Sheriff Lawson story, Outlaw Express, but Hale rejected it.

Not too long after that, the publisher, Robert Hale, closed down when John Hale retired fully. Their non-fiction imprints were bought by another independent publisher, Crowood Press, who decided to keep on the line of Black Horse Westerns as well. Not being such a traditional company, Crowood were open to a wider range of storytelling, which was exciting. I sent Outlaw Express to them, crossing my fingers that they would have a less hidebound attitude, and it was accepted.

With three Express novels done, I switched around and wrote a sequel to Two-Gun Trouble. I liked my handsome, vain bounty hunter and the feisty prostitutes he’d befriended (the women are named after friends of mine – with their permission). I knew they had more stories and came up with The Sins Of Motherlode. Then it was back to Sheriff Lawson and the Express series. The next story expanded as I developed it, and there was too much material for a single 45,000 word book. I split it up into three books, each of which would work on their own, but which would link closely together. The first part was written and eventually published as Gunsmoke Express.

I then took advantage of Crowood’s willingness to accept less formulaic stories, and decided to revise and submit a much earlier story that Hale had rejected. I hadn’t expected Hale to like a western about a character with supernatural abilities, but a song, ‘Faith Healer’, by the Sensational Alex Harvey Band, had just triggered the character. I wrote the book quite quickly; it just flowed out because Healer Man had to be written. I was going to be busy with real life stuff after Gunsmoke Express, so I quickly revamped Healer Man and submitted it as a placeholder, so I would have something out that year, while I took time over the next two Express books.

Crowood loved Healer Man, especially because it wasn’t a formulaic western. However, shortly after its acceptance, they first announced they weren’t taking any more manuscripts for a while, then, sadly, closed the Black Horse Westerns altogether. They were produced for the library trade, but sales had been declining, and the e-book sales weren’t enough to make the westerns viable. As well as the two other Sheriff Lawson books I had planned, I’d outlined a third Motherlode story for the bounty hunter and the prostitutes, had the basis of a story for Tomcat and Irish – following up on the job offer they get via Hugh at the end of Darrow’s Gamble, and finally had the seed of an idea for a new story about Sheriff Darrow and Hugh. It’s highly unlikely that any of these will see the light of day now.

I gave Paul a copy of Darrow’s Word soon after publication. It wasn’t until 2016 that I managed to give him the final two books, Darrow’s Badge and Darrow’s Gamble, when I met him at the Supreme Cat Show. He was as charming as usual and seemed pleased to find there were more books to help him fulfil his Western fantasies.

Image: Paul Darrow at the Supreme Cats Show 2016, smiling towards the camera while petting a white shorthair cat.

All the Darrow books are out of print. If you are in UK, you may be able to find them in a library – if not in your local branch, then somewhere in your district’s network. Darrow’s Badge is available on the Kindle. Copies of the four titles, Darrow’s Law, Darrow’s Word, Darrow’s Badge and Darrow’s Gamble, can be found via Amazon, Abebooks and on Ebay. Some over-optimistic sellers are asking silly money but there are usually some about at a reasonable price. I have brand new copies of Darrow’s Badge and Darrow’s Gamble available at only £5 each, plus postage. I will happily sign them for you if you buy direct from me. If you are interested, or just have questions about the books or my writing in general, just email me at skiffle[DOT]cat[AT]gmai[DOT]com.

I hope you have found this interesting, and a useful insight into a piece of Blakes 7 fandom that you never expected, as well as the process of writing series of books.

#paul darrow #gillian taylor #blake's 7 #b7 adjacent #b7 avatars #darrow westerns #kerr avon #vila restal

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ellebabywrites · 5 years ago

Text

The Hitman - In Exodus

Type : Oneshot (Part of The In Exodus Series) // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Cartel!au

Warnings : angst, death, cussing

Author Note : This took me far too long and had my anxieties far too high. I’m finally happy with how it turned out and hope you all enjoy it too !! Please give me some feedback because I’ve worked so hard on this chapter..

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀*⋆.*:*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆**･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ.: ⋆*･ﾟ☾

The smell of freshly baked croissants flood the streets, a sign that the Bakery is about to open and the day beginning. Shutters rise and doors open. The busting workers of Exodus bracing for the day ahead; a day of sales to kids who can barely walk straight with the amount of poison saturating their bloodstream; a day of fighting with the guy from down the road who insists that things were ‘cheaper last week’; a day of overworking for much less of a profit than it’s all worth. Living the dream.

The bakery was different though. Something about it felt like home, and everyone treated it as such. It was the only building for miles that wasn’t painted in graffiti, the only business that was doing well for itself, a little slice of goodness in the middle of all that bad.

That’s what everyone thinks anyway.

Across the street, Jongin is watching through the scope of his rifle. Watching the Baker unlock his doors and flip the closed sign to open. He scoffs. Such a poser.

Saying Jongin enjoyed his job would be pushing it; how much enjoyment can one really get from taking a life without being a psychopath? But he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to taking out this one particular man.

He watches the Baker great the first of his customers with a toothy grin, hugging Mrs Jamison when she comes in for her regular morning pastry. If only Mrs Jamison knew all the dirty things that man had been doing with the hand she shakes so willingly.

The town’s beloved Baker wasn’t nearly as squeeky clean as he liked everyone to believe. After hours, he found himself in SUjU territory, hanging out with drug runners, dancing around the subject of Exodus till the haze of alcohol took control, divulging any and all information that might get him another drink.

Pathetic Jongin thinks, noticing how the Baker danced around his customers with such fictitious glee, as if he hadn’t sold them out a hundred times over.

Again, not to say EXO were any better, but surely there should be some sense of town loyalty right? Jongin thinks so; making this particular betrayal all the more infuriating and his death all the more inevitable.

Jongin lines up the crosshairs of his gun against the Baker’s head, having the courtesy to wait for the shop to empty. One. The corner of his lips pull into a smirk, the buildup of adrenaline flooding his veins working as his own personal high. Two. Is it sick to say he can’t wait to kill this guy? Maybe? He deserves it Jongin thinks, afterall, he did try and ruin their business for a few shots of tequila. Thr…

“Hey Joey!”

So close…

“Well this is a surprise! How’re you today darlin’?”

Usually, you would only visit Joey’s bakery at the end of the week, needing some sort of sugary treat to get through the piles of work you had to do; but today your classes were cut short and you were gagging for something with chocolate.

“Our professor had to leave early and a girl needs her goodies!” You joked, leaning against the counter.

Joey had been a staple in Exodus for your entire life, the man was everybody’s uncle, everybody’s friend, you could talk to him about anything and your weekly visits had become a huge part of your routine.

“Good job I’ve got a whole bunch for you to choose from duck,” Joey laughs at how your eyes quickly scan over the trays of baked goods like you were a starving puppy, “Ooo I know what you should pick, I need someone to try out my new brownie recipe!”

Fuck. Joey moved away from Jongin’s line of fire just enough to grab the box of brownies from behind the counter, the perfect shot ruined by a few brownies.

“Well if you made them Joey then I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious!” you coo, giggling at how easily you can make him blush.

Just as you were about to leave and the Baker to return to the firing line, a rush of people came flooding into the small shop, putting a stop to whatever chance Jongin had at completing his mission right now.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nini groans in frustration, packing up his equipment quickly as to get away unnoticed, “he was right there, I could have had him!” It was frustrating sure, delaying his plans a few more hours before there would be another chance to take out his target; but there would be another chance and Jongin would get the job done. So while the sweet-toothed girl had momentarily saved old Joey’s life, it wouldn’t last much longer.

---

The clock read 11:57pm as you were hunched over on the living room floor, trying to finish this essay that you’d definitely not been putting off for weeks…

“Need ...sugar ...immediately..” you whine, dramatically throwing yourself across the floor to grab the box of brownies Baker Joe had gifted you earlier in the day. Mmnn, indulging yourself in the chocolatey goodness, you decide now is the perfect time for a break, only 6,000 words left to go anyway…

Completely oblivious to the ramifications those few brownies had had on the day for more than one party, you munched away the last of them, licking the crumbs from your fingertips and moaning at the euphoria a simple treat could bring.

‘Breaking news tonight : Beloved Exodus baker found dead. The 56 year old’s body was discovered an hour ago near his home, cause of death is officially named as a GSW through the neck…’

A chill runs up your spine as the news plays quietly from the television. Baker Joe was dead. Someone had killed him! You’re confused and hurt and angry all at once. Why would anyone want to hurt Joey? He was one of the only decent people in this shit-show of a city and now he was gone. Your eyes wander to the now empty box of goodies, the bakery’s logo printed on the front in swirly gold font and you feel the sudden need to cry, so you do.

---

Who did this guy think he was? An MX falcone wandering the streets of Exodus without a care in the world, stealing from the market stalls as he sauntered his way through the crowds. Minhyuk is his name. When Baekhyun had gotten word of their latest visitor, Jongin was immediately sent to take care of it. Honestly what did they think was going to happen? That they could just hang out in Exodus without consequence? That no one would be the least bit suspicious?

“You like the farmers market huh,” Jongin keeps a trained eye on Minhyuk as he moves from stall to stall. There were far too many people around for a direct hit so all he could do was watch and wait for the perfect opportunity.

“Why the fuck are you here?” He mumbled in annoyance, MX were getting far too comfortable for anyone’s liking; it was like the calm before the storm, except the storm was standing right in front of him chatting about produce with Mr Kim.

Suddenly, Minhyuk takes a sharp left, making his way out of the bustling crowd towards the alleys. He’d been made. Fuck. Following as quickly as he could, fighting his way through the sea of people, Jongin tries to keep up.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to get to…”

Minhyuk is fast, but maybe if you weren’t standing in front of him, blocking the way, Jongin would have been able to get him.

He doesn’t immediately recognise you. Your hair is tied differently and you’re wearing a different coat, but once Jongin places you as the girl from the bakery, he’s immediately on guard. Twice now you’ve gotten in the way of a hit. Could it just be a coincidence? Sure Exodus is small, you’re bound to run into the same people more than once. Baker Joe’s was a town staple and the market is always busy, but what are the chances? Jongin tries to side-step passed you, eyes scanning the crowds for Minhyuk, but you move along with him.

Holding out a map in front of him, you try again to ask for directions but Jongin doesn’t have time. He doesn’t have time to entertain the possibility that seeing you again could be anything but a coincidence, not when he’s about to lose yet another target.

“Move!”

You watch in astonishment as he pushes you out of the way before storming off. What an asshole you think; all you needed were directions, a simple no would have sufficed. Then again you’d come to expect nothing more from the people of Exodus. Sighing, you carry on your way alone, soon forgetting about the rude man you had met on the street.

---

8am lectures were the bain of your existence, but Professor Jeong’s class was always worth it.

Armed with a large cup of coffee and a stack of notes to aid you through, you made your way to an empty space near the front of the lecture hall. Biology never came easy to you, but the drive you had to succeed more than made up for it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” Professor Jeong rushed into the busy hall, his own cup of coffee balancing on a pile of books clutched between his arms, “I got caught up with Professor Lyn, he’s such a ...fungi!”

The room fills with groans and muffled laughs at the attempt of a joke so early in the morning, but the Professor didn’t seem to mind. “Okay I’m sorry, let’s get into today. Can anyone tell me where we left off last week? Y/N?”

From the back of the room Jongin notices you.

“Oh you have to got to be kidding me..”

Once again, you happen to show up right in the middle of a job. There had to be a reason. There was no way this could be a coincidence anymore. Were you following him? Working with MX? Trying to get intel on EXO? Jongin didn’t know, but at this point he didn’t care. You were a problem.

Jeong was another star poser in Exodus. The esteemed environmental science professor, that drew students from across the country just to take his conservational bio class. The hotshot teacher who was already in the running for tenure. The slimy asshole that used his connections in the science world to help EXO’s competitors recreate their patented drug.

This was supposed to be an easy hit, wait till after class and use the pocket knife hidden in his belt to slit the professor’s throat before next period. But now, Jongin had to put those plans on hold so that he could figure out what to do about you.

---

Following you was far easier than Jongin had anticipated, thinking that he’d be kept on his toes trying to avoid getting caught, but you seemed completely oblivious to the fact that someone had been following you, watching your routines and judging them oh so harshly.

He kept his distance at first, observing from afar as you went about your daily activities. But soon enough, Jongin found himself immersed in the story that was your life. On the sidelines, a spectator, keeping mental notes of your behaviours.

Keeping space between you, Jongin follows you down the familiar street. He knows exactly where you’re going, the same place you’ve gone to for lunch every day that week. After your first class of the day you head straight to Lou’s café to grab something to eat and get some studying done. Like clockwork, the only thing to change was your order. Jongin would never admit that he’d grown to enjoy the establishment himself, but it was one of the least tedious moments of the day.

With the sky starting to darken in the cold weather, you fumble around your bag for your wallet amongst the loose scrunchies and old receipts, Jongin scoff in disbelief.

“How have you not been jumped yet?” He mumbled to himself. Before you’ve even walked through the café doors you have your money in hand, out in the open for anyone to take. Jongin had picked up on the blissful ignorance you had in regards to the danger in Exodus, instead, choosing to carry on carefree. Stupid he thinks.

Standing in line a few spots behind you, he watches as you let person after person cut in front and he just doesn’t get it. You only have an hour before the start of your next class and yet you’re willingly letting yourself be pushed back? People were clearly taking advantage of your kindness, but you were either incredibly stupid or didn’t care. When the older woman in front of you is a few dollars short, you don’t hesitate before lending her the difference, even putting back your own drink just so you could afford to help her. How could someone so generous be apart of something so evil? Then again, most of Exodus were playing that game.

Grabbing a coffee of his own, Jongin sits a table over from where you plant yourself, what had become your regular spots. Finding amusement in the way you struggle to fit both of your study books in the small space.

Now, only a short while before you needed to be back in class, you attempt to get as much work done while shoveling food down your throat as you could. Jongin thought it was hilarious, bar the tuna mayo that is. “Tuna? Really? It’s 11am jesus christ!” Maybe it was easy for him to judge you from a distance, but out of all the things he’d learnt, your love of tuna was the worst.

He watches your face scrunch and eyebrows furrow as you try and absorb the information, recognising the same study book you’ve been working on all week, the one for Professor Jeong’s class that you’d been struggling with. The pages covered almost entirely in highlighter with notes and doodles littering the margins. Cute.

You just seem so harmless. No matter how hard he tries Jongin just can’t seem to figure you out. Perhaps MX were blackmailing you? Maybe they had something that forced you to be their spy? It was the only explanation he could think of, because it just didn’t seem plausible that the girl in front of him, furiously editing her notes for the hundredth time that hour, the one with drops of mayonnaise left over on the corner of her lips, could be willingly working with the notorious MX. But you were involved somehow, of that he was sure.

---

The library is quiet, the sound of rustling papers and hushed whispers being the only source of noise. Luckily, it was busier than usual due to the wave of group projects being assigned, it made it easy for Jongin to blend in.

He watches you curiously from behind one of the bookshelves, trying to understand why you haven’t slapped the asshole beside you yet. He’d been cutting you off and putting you down every chance he could.

“I just think if we..”

“Seriously Y/N don’t strain yourself, I think we’ve got it.”

Asshole.

Even Jongin wanted to punch this guy. Being the only girl in the group, the others found it easy to dismiss everything you offered.

“Why doesn’t she say anything?” Jongin wondered, once again you were letting people walk all over you.

It’s not like you particularly enjoyed being treated that way, in fact you were daydreaming about slamming said assholes’ face into the wall at that very moment, but you couldn’t do that. This project defines your grade for the semester and you couldn’t afford that kind of taint on your record. So you bite your tongue. Act none the wiser and count the seconds before you could go home and be done with them all.

Across the library you spot Minho, the cute senior who’d been working as the student librarian for the last month or so. He’s scanning out returns at the desk, eyes glancing up occasionally, you presume to keep an eye on things . God he’s cute. When he spots you staring and then takes a look at the rather heated debate going on between your group, he decides to save you from the disarray, waving you over.

“My hero,” you tease, almost running to where Minho is.

“It was getting too painful to watch! What’s he ranting about this time?” He teases playfully, knowing all too well the constant tension in your study group.

“Ugh I don’t even know, it’s so much easier just to tune him out,”

Jongin’s teeth clench watching the exchange between you and the librarian. The childish giggling, the ‘accidental’ touches, the lingering stares. Disgusting.

“Who even is this guy?” If he didn’t know any better Jongin would think this was jealousy, but he did know better, so all of these unfamiliar feelings had to be from just how pitiful the sight was. This guy was clearly flirting with you, the blush on his cheeks and sweaty palms said as much, but from everything Jongin had learnt, you weren’t going to reciprocate. Tragic.

“Are you kidding me? Why is she twirling her hair like that!? He’s not even her type! He’s... he…” his mumbled ranting cut off by the sound of you laughing across the room. “Well if that is her type then no wonder she’s corrupt.”

He watches the pair of you for a little longer before the need to throw up eventually overtakes his need to stay, deciding he could catch you up later and spare himself the torture of sitting through whatever this was.

---

The open sign light bounces off wet concrete, illuminating your face with such a subtle glow of pink that Jongin could barely make out the streaks of tears running down your cheeks. He almost missed you sitting crouched over on the pavement, the smell of smoke being what made him stop. Why is she crying? He thought to himself, seeing you curled up in a ball, cigarette dangling from your fingertips haphazardly concerned him. Jongin didn’t have to wonder for too long though, the closer he got to you the clearer he could hear your muffled cries.

“Stupid fucking Geord,” you cuss, taking another long drag to calm your anxieties, “takes all my ideas, monopolises the entire presentation and then my contribution isn’t enough!?”

Jongin had come to know the infamous Geord all too well this last week, the pompous ass that had belittled you in the library, the snotty rich kid with mommy issues that just loved being right. Honestly the fact he hadn’t killed him yet was an accomplishment in itself; but still, seeing you clearly so upset gave Jongin a weird feeling.

You were either getting much better with your performance skills, or he was actually getting mad for you…

With each sniffle, each tear drop, Jongin felt his resolve breaking away and being replaced with a type of anger he’d never felt before. Why did he care that you were crying? Why was it affecting him so much? He didn’t know, but it took all his strength not to go find Geord and make him regret whatever he’d done.

As quickly as you put out the cigarette that was now burning short, you’re reaching for the box to light another. You only really smoked when you were feeling particularly stressed, Jongin hated it. Ironically it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen; painting the walls with someone’s brain was nothing compared to the strong stench of nicotine that passed your lips.

For a second Jongin lets his mind entertain the thought of approaching you, but the professional side of him reminds him who you were. This could be a trick...She’s not an idiot. Then he considers calling you out. Drawing his gun and putting an end to MX’s game once and for all, besides, he’d been observing you for a week now and he couldn’t afford for his attention to be diverted any more, he still had the good old Professor to end.

Before he gets the chance to do either however, you stand up. Taking one last drag before stomping out the flame, your hands carelessly wipe at your face in a feeble attempt at clearing the remnants of your breakdown.

“I’ll be fine, let’s just go home,” you whisper, more than familiar with putting yourself back together and wanting nothing more than a hot bath and warm bed.

---

When you first noticed that the new guy on campus was following you, you tried not to think too much of it. In all honesty, you were far too busy trying to keep on top of everything to pay much attention as to why you were being followed. Knowing the people in Exodus, you figured it was just his creepy way of flirting, or at the very worst he was planning on robbing you, not that you had much to take anyway. But as the days went by and the presence of your stalker persisted, you were growing frustrated. It’d been a stressful week and the last thing you needed was some guy watching your every move.

After getting the results back from Professor Jeong for your group presentation, you weren’t exactly in a ‘good mood’ and the looming shadow of the man trying to be inconspicuous as he followed you home, was the last straw.

"How much longer are you planning on following me?” You shout over your shoulder, not having the energy to even face him. When you get no response, you reluctantly decide to turn around to stare him down.

His chocolate coloured hair is pushed back exposing his forehead, eyes golden but harbouring so much animosity that they could have turned black, the jacket adorning his shoulders almost blending him into the dark street behind. He was handsome, strikingly so.

“Look dude it’s been a long day, can’t you just lay off the stalking for one night?”

Jongin stiffens at your words. So you did know he was there? And chose now, while you were both alone in a dark street, to confront him? God she’s stupid.

“Sorry Darling, can’t do that,” he insisted, watching how your shoulders slumped and fingers twitched at the side of your coat.

“Of course,” sighing deeply, too tired to argue, you decide to continue on towards your apartment, stalker be damned.

“Aren’t MX getting bored of this game yet?” Jognin calls. He figures if you already knew he was following you, then now would be the perfect time to put an end to it. You were alone after all.

When he sees you freeze at the sound of MX, he takes a tentative step closer, you’re still turned away from him, just a few steps ahead. “I mean, were you really the best they could do? We expected more.” The smirk on his face when you turn to him, wide eyed and lost for words, only grows at your reaction. Gotcha.

“What are you talki..”

“Come on now Darling, we both know what’s going on here.”

“I promise you we do not.” You’ve heard whispers of MX around town, while you didn’t know much, you did know that if this guy thought you were somehow apart of it, then this was a dangerous misunderstanding.

“You have a choice.” Jongin takes another step closer, “You can leave, now, and make sure MX stay out of Exodus for good,” Reaching under his jacket, he grabs the gun that’s been burning through the back of his shirt since you called out to him, “Or I can send them a message myself. Choose.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” You tried to keep calm, swallowing the lump forming at the back of your throat. When you spotted the gun being pulled from his coat, it was like a pin dropped and the reality of the situation finally began to sink in.

Exodus is a dangerous place. Exodus is full of dangerous people. You were standing alone with a strange man that you’d just yelled at, that had been following you for god knows how long, a gun pointed at your face and not a soul in sight that would help you.

He doesn’t flinch when you jump back, his smirk doesn’t falter when you start begging for him to listen. In Jongin’s mind, the fact you’d acknowledged his presence at all was enough to prove you were involved.

“Please, please, just listen to me, t-there’s been a mistake, I d-don’t kno…”

“Oh my god shut up!” He yelled over your desperate cries, “It’s over! Done!”

“I don’t know who you think I am, b-but my name is Y/N I grew up a few towns over with my parents, I-I study Conservation Biology at the university because when I was little I saw a film about sea turtles and now I love them.. I...” you read somewhere that telling a killer personal information about yourself would make them less likely to kill you; so, with your hands held up in surrender, you start begging, pleading, letting slip every boring and mediocre fact about yourself in hopes that the handsome stranger will let you live.

Jongin was taken aback to say the least. Never had a target begged for their life quite like this before, but the more you rambled on and the more tears that fell down your cheeks, he couldn’t help it. He believed you.

This is a mistake... Did I mess up here? Fuck! His mind raced to find a way out of this, but his composure was breaking down with each second you plead your case. How could he have gotten things so wrong? Looking at you now; scared and shaking, there was no way you could be with MX. Jongin’s mind quickly looks back on all the time he’d been watching you, at school, at the library, with friends, home alone... Is it possible he let feelings cloud his judgment? No… Jongin didn’t have feelings.

Bang.

In a split second the air was slashed with bullets, plastering the wall behind you with open wounds. Your body drops to the floor, hands covering your ears like a scared child at a fireworks display, your screams piercing through the air.

Jongin doesn’t even think about it before he’s at your side. He fires back some warning shots, just enough to cover the pair of you so he could pull you out of there, but you were frozen in place.

“C’mon we need to get out of here! I can’t get a clear shot!”

Jongin hoisted your trembling body into his arms, waiting for a gap in the bullet wave before rushing out of the street. Weaving between the crumbling buildings, waiting in the shadows for a free moment to sprint out of there to a nearby underpass. It was sheltered and open, meaning Jongin could keep a solid eye on the surroundings while still keeping you safe while he let himself freak out a little.

As soon as he puts you on the ground you melt into the concrete, hugging your knees to your chest and crying into them silently. It’s all too much. How did this happen? Yesterday you were failing Bio and trying to avoid the creeper puppy boy that’d been following you. Now…. you were pretty sure you were going to die tonight.

“Fuck...fuck..fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Jongin paces back and forth, using the barrel of his gun to scratch away the headache slowly spreading across his temples. How could he have messed up this badly? He’s the best… at least... he was the best.

With every footstep he takes you flinch a little, hyper aware of the gun swinging from his hand, fingertip dancing along the trigger. You still don’t know who he is or why you’re there but you’ve seen enough to know to keep quiet. So you stay sitting on the ground, letting the tears melt into the fabric of your jeans, watching the state of panic escalate in the man in front of you while your own turned into something akin to resentment.

After almost half an hour of silently waiting for some sort of direction, you’ve had enough. Eventually Jongin had stopped pacing, choosing to lean up against the wall with head in hands, instead. In your mind, you have nothing to do with this. There is nothing connecting you to whatever chaos was happening here. You had no reason to wait around to get shot.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” He shouts, annoyance bubbling beneath his skin.

“Home.”

“You can’t!” Pushing himself off the wall, Jongin reaches for your arm in an attempt to keep you still. You try to shake him off but his grip is too strong.

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS!” You’re screaming at him now. Tears no longer from fear, but anger. You feel trapped in whatever this was and it wasn’t fair, you just want to go home.

“Yeah well tough shit Darling, because unfortunately you’re my responsibility now and it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it long enough!” He rolls his eyes at your response, growing tired of trying to be the good guy for once. “Let me go! I’ll be just fine! Like always!”

Finally loosening the grip on your arm, Jongin let’s you storm off. Waiting, only out of spite, for you to be out of ear shot before cussing out loud at himself.

---

Somehow you managed to drag yourself to class. The events of last night still burning fresh at the back of your mind, but you were desperate enough for a distraction that even Professor Jeong’s morning class was worth that extra effort.

Barely able to keep your eyes open with the little sleep you were actually able to get, it takes you a moment to recognise the familiar body that plants themselves in the desk next to yours.

Jongin doesn’t look at you. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s nerves, but he keeps his eyes trained on the professor’s desk up front, waiting for his cover to be inevitably blown all for the sake of keeping you safe.

“Good morning class!” The professor’s abrupt entrance pulls your shocked and frustrated gaze from burning holes in the side of Jongin’s neck. His tan skin glowing under the plain white tee he’s wearing, hair falling into his eyes softly, contradicting the hard image he’d worn the night before. Does he have his gun with him? You wonder, letting your eyes wander to the waistband of his jeans, remembering how he’d pulled the weapon from them the night before. Stop! You hope he doesn’t realise you’ve been blankly staring at his crotch, mind racing with questions, you don’t even know his name.

“Today we’re picking up the remaining presentati…” When the admirable Professor meets eyes with Jongin, smirking from his seat beside you knowingly, he loses all train of thought.

It’s a feeling Jongin had missed. When a mark knows they’re done for, that he’s coming for them. When their eyes double in size. When fear pales their skin. When they lose all hope of fucking over EXO and getting away with it.

“T-today..um…” You can see the Professor eyeing your seat partner nervously, stuttering over his words. You’d never seen Jeong like this before, he looked terrified, and after last night it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Jongin shifts in his seat, enjoying the effect his presence has on the esteemed scholar. While Jeong tries to regain some semblance of decorum, Jongin wraps one of his arms around your shoulders and squeezes tightly, keeping eye contact with the professor, claiming you.

“What are you doing?” keeping your voice low as to not draw anymore attention to you both, you try to push Jongin’s arm away from you, only for him to put it right back.

“My job. Now be quiet.” He hisses, hiding the harshness of his voice behind a sickly sweet smile.

Professor Jeong spends the entire lecture avoiding your side of the room, refusing to make eye contact, completely ignoring you. You try not to take it personally of course, it’s definitely not because of something you did, that you know for sure; but for once you actually know the answers to some of these questions and want to participate.

“I told you, I can take care of myself!” you grumbled, again trying to physically get Jongin away from you, but he just smirks. Like he was enjoying it. Like this was all just some big game and not the life threatening situation he’d made it out to be the night before.

And you would probably believe that were true, if it wasn’t for his nails digging so sharply into your shoulder.

By the time class finishes you want to run a million miles away. The pressure of Jongin’s arm around your neck you’re sure will leave you aching for days; but as long as he’s far away from you, you can deal with it. You all but sprint out of the lecture hall, forgetting all about your next class and heading straight home; taking a back street you hope he hadn’t seen you use before.

“What the hell is this?” You mumble to yourself, pushing down the fear as far as you can in hopes the empty space will leave room for answers. You’re so caught up in your head, trying to figure out what you did to deserve this, you don’t even realise that Jongin’s been on your tail the whole time, watching you freak out and creep around like the amateur he now knows you are. It’s not until he steps into your building’s elevator with you that you realize he’s there.

“Jesus! Fuck, can’t you leave me alone!” He was exhausting; flattering when you thought it was a puppy crush, less so now you know he wanted to kill you.

“I can’t,” Jongin leans against the side of the elevator, growing tired of the chase.

“Why?! You’re the only one stalking me here!”

“Oh Darling, you have no idea.”

“Then explain! Because I’m tired of this! I have work to do, classes to study for, and I can’t when you’re scaring my teachers and dragging me through shoot outs!!”

Jongin understands why you’re annoyed. He gets it, he messed up and now you’re in danger. But to admit that outloud… to admit that to you… he’d rather not.

He doesn’t give you an answer, finding his reflection in the steel doors far more interesting, chewing the inside of his cheek and fixing his jacket over and over.

When you finally reach your floor, it becomes a race of wills to get to your apartment. Jongin trying to force his way in; you trying to lock him out. You sprint for the door, key in hand; almost managing to slam it shut in his face before Jongin’s hand pushes it back open, forcing himself through the small gap and locking you both inside.

In a second he’s slamming your back against the door with his hand covering your mouth, keeping you in place with the weight of his body, trying to work up the nerve to finally tell you the truth.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to listen to me just for one fucking second… My name is Jongin, okay?” he asks, face dangerously close to your own. You manage a weak nod under his hold, terrified but needing answers.

“I made a mistake. I...I thought you were working with MX,”

Your eyes widen at the second mentioning of the infamous gang, more confused than ever as to why he thought you would ever be involved with them. He didn’t even know you.

“There’s rumours they’re coming for EXO territory..”

He’s with EXO. The realisation floods through your body like a lightning strike, frying your nerves, limbs locked in place while the rest of your body falls limp into his arms. EXO. The kings of this city. The reason shops close early and children aren’t allowed out after 9. The doctors responsible for prescribing the death, the destruction, of a city once so healthy and vibrant. Monsters, as far as you’re concerned.

“They must have seen me tailing you and after last night, I think you’re a target.” Jongin watches as your eyes well up with tears, red and swollen as you choke back the sobs you so obviously want to release. It doesn’t affect him… it doesn’t make him angry… he doesn’t want to wrap you in a hug and take it all back… right?

“So as much as you don’t like it, I’m here. I messed up so I need to fix it, because this isn’t a game and this isn’t a joke. If they think you’re with us they will kill you. Milk carton kids, where are they now, 27 club dead.”

You wish he was a better actor. That he could hide the shame, guilt, pain he feels for putting you in this position better. That the cold exterior he wears so well didn’t have quite as many cracks, because then maybe you could tell yourself that everything was going to be okay. But if Jongin looks scared, then you’re absolutely terrified.

Blinded by the fear, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Fists pounding into his chest weakly as the sound of your sobs rip into his heart. You’re in hysterics, screaming at him for an answer to questions still lodged at the back of your throat. Jongin doesn’t break down with you, as much as his body tries. Instead he just grabs your wrists, stopping their assault and pinning them into his embrace. His hold the only thing keeping you standing as you finally let the last walls crumble, letting out every tear, every scream, every desperate cry for it all to be some twisted dream.

Jongin doesn’t know how you both ended up on the floor, your head buried between your knees as his hand finds itself brushing through your hair. Somehow you manage to calm yourself down, letting the sobs turn to whimpers and cries to sniffles. Finally numb after the dust settles in your mind, you force yourself to look back up at Jongin. He looks how you feel, just doing a better job at hiding it; you don’t miss the concern that washes over his face and maybe that’s why you decide to let him stay. If he was so determined to fix what he’d done, you weren’t going to stop him. At least not tonight.

“I need to sleep,” you say weakly, standing on shaky legs but brushing off Jongin’s worried hands when he tries to help, “you can stay on the couch.”

---

Tiptoeing across the living room, shoelaces dangling from your teeth while your hands clutch onto your books; you’re desperately trying not to wake a sleeping Jongin. His sprawled out body half falling from the couch, you admit he looks a lot cuter when he’s sleeping.

Before you can stop it, one of your shoes drops from between your teeth, making Jongin jump up at the sound.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled, rubbing the fatigue from his face, stretching back into his familiar hard persona.

“Uhh, going for breakfast?”

“Did you not hear me last night!” It didn’t sound like a question. His voice raising ever so slightly in frustration as he stands to tower over you. Failing miserably at being as intimidating as usual, with his hair a mess and cheeks puffy.

“I heard you,” you say, pushing your feet into the fallen shoes before giving him a chance to stop you, “I’m just not going to hide away like a victim when this is your mess.” He stiffens at your words, ignoring the cut they etch into his heart, instead focusing on your relentless stubbornness in such a risky situation.

“If they catch you out alone they won’t miss another shot!” Jongin clenches his jaw when you roll your eyes at his remark, unsure of what he can do to change your mind.

“Look if you’re so worried, you’re more than welcome to join me,” you offer, determination radiating off of your face in such a way that Jongin finds himself unable to argue.

---

For the next few days Jongin stays by your side, sleeping on your couch, going to breakfasts, your classes, all to make sure you were safe.

He walks the familiar routes around town with you, not from a few paces back this time, but shoulder to shoulder. Sitting beside you in Professor Jeong’s early morning classes, Jongin was having far too much fun watching the colour drain from his face each time he showed up to one of your lectures to kill him just yet.

Everything became a threat to your safety. As far as Jongin was concerned, your life was in danger and MX could strike at any moment…. Even if it had been quiet since the shooting… it was better to be safe. That’s what Jongin told himself everytime he stayed a little longer.

“Hey Y/N!” Minho waved at you from across the library, he was reshelving returns when he spotted you studying at your usual table.

Jongin felt his ears burn red at the sight. Jaw clenching when he sees the boy walk over. Eyes narrow in judgment when you return his warm smile.

“Hey Minho, how are you?” It’d been a few days since you’d last had the chance to talk with Minho, him still as handsome as ever, but your heart not jumping quite so high at the interaction.

“I’m good, are you? I’ve missed seeing you around lately..” Minho let’s his words fade noticing the glare he was getting from the man sat beside you. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m Minho, Y/N’s friend!”

Jongin glances at Minho’s outstretched hand between them, choosing to throw his own over your shoulder rather than shake it.

“I’m Kai, Y/N’s boyfriend.” He smirks at the shocked expression that Minho wears, ignoring your startled one in favour of silently challenging the boy to leave.

“Oh...oh uh… Nice to meet you, I’ll see you guys around..”

Jongin keeps you close till he’s sure Minho has gone, only loosening his grip when he feels you nudge him gently.

“What the fuck was that, Kai?” You’re more amused than angry, but you’d never let him know that, enjoying seeing the varied emotions you can bring out of him now, when he was supposed to be a stone cold killer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” feigning innocence, Jongin tries to go back to reading the book he’d randomly grabbed from the pile in front of you both.

You scoff at his reaction, or lack thereof, staring at him quizzically till he finally gave in.

“That guy is sketchy! I’m here to protect you right? So I’m protecting you. Good?”

“Minho is not sketchy,” you giggle and Jongin can’t help but smile at the sound, “and who is Kai?”

“It’s what my friends call me!”

---

“Hey!” Jongin had appeared out of nowhere, pulling the cigarette from between your lips and stomping it out. With Geord goading you relentlessly for the last hour of class, you were desperate for a smoke. You would argue that those little white sticks of bliss were the only thing keeping you from ripping his throat out.

“It’s disgusting,” he says, leaning down to your height so he could look you in the eye, “why do you do this?”

With a deep sigh, you stuff the near empty packet of unlit cigarettes back into your coat pocket, storming away in frustration, knowing he’d follow you.

“Wait, I’m serious!”

“I like them!” you shout back, thankful the streets were empty so you could argue in peace.

“They’re bad for you you know!” he teases, laughing when you throw your middle finger up behind you.

“My cigarettes are better for me than you are!” Teasing back, you finally turn to face him, a cheeky smile on your face.

---

“We got him.”

While making dinner for the pair of you, Jongin’s phone buzzes on the counter, a string of messages coming in from someone called Minseok. You tried not to be nosey, sitting on the counter beside him while he cooked, but he didn’t even glance at it.

“Wasn’t MX. Some small town nobody trying to prove himself.”

“Jongin”

“Call me when you get this”

“Boss wants you back asap”

The thought of Jongin leaving had never even crossed your mind till then. It hadn’t been that long at all, but it felt like an eternity since he’d first come into your life. Maybe it was selfish to want him to stay.

Jongin had recently started to open up to you more about his work with EXO. He was their protector, he kept them safe. You didn’t see him as this dangerous monster anymore, he was just Jongin, Kai, the one who took care of things. Just like he’d been taking care of you all this time.

You knew deep down that when he left you’d probably never see him again; if what EXO suspects is true and MX really were making their way into Exodus, then there was a storm coming and Jongin would be right in the middle of it. He wouldn’t risk getting you anymore tangled in EXO’s mess.

“Here, try this,” Jongin held a spoon up to your mouth expectantly; pretending he didn’t see Minseok’s messages, pretending you didn’t see them either, holding on to this reality for just a little longer.

---

“We need you back Jongin,”

After ignoring Minseok’s messages a few days ago, Jongin couldn’t ignore another call from the boss.

“Jun I have to pr..”

“No you don’t! We took care of the shooter, the girl will be fine! EXO needs you, I need you!”

He doesn’t want to leave. Jongin doesn’t know what it is that makes him want to stay near you, keep you safe, go to breakfasts at Lou’s - but the thought of leaving it all behind makes his heart twist and turn in unimaginable ways.

His whole life had been about EXO. They’re his friends, his family, and he would never abandon them. But somehow he’s made a new home with you, in his heart at least. You feel like home. Sitting on your living room floor watching Blue Planet feels like home. Falling asleep on your shoulder in the middle of your lectures feels like home. EXO have been his entire identity for so long, but now there’s this other life, another door, and Jongin was finding hard to resist stepping through.

“Be back today. We have work to do.”

After Junmyeon’s orders, the frustration coursed through Jongin’s body with such force he hadn’t even realised he’d thrown the phone till you were beside him, asking what was wrong.

“I...I have to leave.” He couldn’t look you in the eye. He didn’t want to see the betrayal, the disappointment, the pain reflected in them. “It’s my fault you’re in danger and now I have to leave you…”

He doesn’t know that you know.

“I..I’ll be okay Nini.. I can look after myself remember?” Your voice is weak but you do your best to convince him; as much as you want him to stay you know that’s not an option, and you know he knows it too because he can barely look at you right now.

“Y/N… I don’t want to leave..”

It broke your heart but there was no other choice. You had to let him go. The boy you’d tried so hard to avoid just a few weeks ago, you now didn’t want to see go.

“I know..” You cup the side of his face, forcing him to look at you as you spoke, “but they need you Nini...” It was hard to keep how you were really feeling hidden, especially when he looked like he was about to break, “You’re the best Nini, they deserve the best.”

He knew you were right. He needed to be there for EXO, his family. Things in Exodus were about to get a lot messier and the fallout would be astronomical, if he wasn’t there to do his part there’s no telling what could happen, then you really would be in danger.

Leaning into your touch, Jongin grips onto your hips like it was the first time not the last, pulling you flush against his body. Memorizing the shape of your hips, touch of your skin, smell of your shampoo. Locking you inside his heart. Melding the memory of you into his soul so that this wouldn’t be the last time. He would forever be with you and you would always be there for him, long after he’s gone.

Looking at you would be too much, he might not be able to force himself away if he saw your eyes. Saying goodbye felt too final, like the end of something that never really was. Instead Jongin buried your head into his shaking chest, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, pretending he can’t feel your tears soaking through his shirt, before turning away and walking out of your life forever.

#in exodus #the hitman #in exodus the hitman #exo #exo au #exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo fic #exo reation #exo scenario #kim jongin #jongin scenarios #jongin reaction #jongin imagine #jongin fic #jongin au #exo kai #exo jongin au #exo kai au

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias

mimz

Age

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character?

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all.

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN THE CITY CRUMBLES AROUND YOU AND YOU HOLD ITS VESTIGES IN YOUR HANDS, WHOM DO YOU BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want?

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high?

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals.

FOR WHOM DO THESE HANDS HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin.

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all?

DID PYGMALION FALL IN LOVE WITH THE BEAUTY OF HIS CREATION, OR THE BEAUTY HE CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt.

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced.

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN I SPIT UP MY SINS AND BEG FOR REPENTANCE, WHAT WILL COME UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing.

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth.

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty.

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael.

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter.

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop. It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand.

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

—

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure?

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes.

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon.

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte.

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again.

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

#accepted #accepted: raphael

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messykingofcamp · 4 years ago

Note

Numbers 30-40 for the 4:02 a.m. meme!

30.) Are your choices fated or of your own free will?

pHEW, what a question. I honestly can’t decide. I think that I’m one of those people who have free will but just choose to ignore it at the end of the day. That is because I do not trust my own free will. At least I could use “my choices are fated” as an excuse for eating too many cracker jacks and listening to Remains of the Day in my spare time, or using drive-ins as a fun little substitute for Tinder. (Don’t judge me here, every guy on Tinder always wants to go boating or mountain climbing. I am a student, I have a paper due Monday and need a quick dicking down, I do not want to go to a pancake house with you.)

31.) Do you have a hunch about how you’re doing to die?

Oh God, I have honestly no idea. I couldn’t tell you all on here because I am in the dark. Maybe some under-planned onstage stunt work if I make it onto Broadway? That sounds really impressive, which is why I don’t think it would happen. I’m honestly terrified of dying in a really embarrassing or underwhelming way, like falling and hitting my head on the washing machine. I just wouldn’t want anyone to find me because then they’d know I was a clown and got killed by a washing machine. I can see it now. One policeman would say: since he’s a clown, was the washing machine part of his act? The other one would say: No, he was just doing his laundry. Disappointment Vine would play in the background, my dad would hang his head, it would be very messy.

32.) Do you believe in star signs?

Ha, I don’t think so but I have to admit, they are pretty great with being able to sound exactly like you. I looked up what my star sign is, and it said “If you were born on August 8th, you are a Leo who’s good at arranging things.” That is super off, I can’t even arrange a threesome without someone getting sick or forgetting to get tested. Astrology girls are great though, I am here for their aesthetic.

33.) How old do you have to be to be considered an adult?

Why do I feel like this is one of those questions that tricks you into sounding like a pedophile? Adults are 18 and older, but according to my Grindr bio, I’ve been 18 for maybe 3 years.

34.) Was your childhood happy?

I would say that my childhood was happy enough. Sure I probably weighed more back then compared to what I do now and I was lonely enough to always be talking about Newsies on Wattpad, and there was that whole weird era where my dad would pretend like he didn’t know his son who talked about Newsies on Wattpad was gay. But hey, could be worse. Being gay in a small town is tough, and I was lucky enough to have an accepting enough family and some good friends.

35.) What are you missing from your life?

Well right now everyone is stuck inside their houses because of the coronavirus, so I am missing being outdoors. I love my time indoors as much as the next guy who has unlimited access to early 2000’s era reality show reruns and a good supply of warm milk, but I miss how things used to be. I still have to take Fangs to see a Broadway musical, and I haven’t had a Pop’s hot dog in months which I could really go for. And hey, I’d never actually show my face at B*** M***** again but I Veronica and I could have at least walked past it on our way to another store.

36.) Have you met someone who had a similar personality to your own? Did you get along?

Honestly, I can not say that I’ve ever met someone with a similar personality to me. I think that Veronica and I can sometimes have similar senses of humor and Fangs and I both have a crackhead type of social media presence, but even then, we’re still so different. I can’t say what I would think of someone who is similar to me. I don’t think I would know how to respond in that situation.

37.) Do opposites attract?

To be honest, I don’t think that being opposite or being similar has anything to do with attraction. I’m attracted to the man who pumps my gas, but I wouldn’t actually ever want to date him. It’s just a shallow thing. But relationship wise? Different ballpark. If you’re too different from someone, that can kill the vibe quickly. If you can never agree on anything then you probably shouldn’t be together. But hey, what do I know? I’m not super experienced here or anything, it’s just what I’ve observed.

38.) Is your life what you expected it would be four years ago?

Love life wise? Not at all. Four years ago I was still in that phase everyone has in middle school where they think they’re going to find the perfect guy and have this endgame relationship, so you never expect you’ll end up with the guy you joined a cult with. But honestly, what I have now is better because it’s the realest relationship I’ve been in. Back then, I also never thought I’d get the chance to put on so many productions at RHS and yet here I am. I know those productions always ended in tears and the Greendale drama department has an entire groupchat to call us cringe, but I still do have good memories of working on those musicals. I don’t regret doing Carrie or Heathers. They needed to happen for me to get to Hedwig, and then to get to college where I can hopefully put on a stage production without something insanely bad happening during it.

39.) Do you know what you want out of life?

I was going to go with a quick joke answer and just say “d*ck”, but my followers don’t want to hear about all of that. So I will try to answer this one seriously. If there’s one thing I really want to have in my life at this point, I would want to keep pushing boundaries in some way. For a gay theater kid who produced cringe content while he was in high school, I surprisingly did not do a lot of boundary pushing outside of my play productions. It’s not even something I knew I could do until I did Hedwig. Defending Hedwig wasn’t about the variety show. Every LGBT kid at RHS knows what it feels like to be pushed out of spaces because people feel uncomfortable. Sure it’s not outright homophobia, but it kept happening with Mr. Honey and we all knew it.

40.) What makes a person “good?” Are you a “good” person?

What makes a person good? I can’t say, but I like to think that I’ve been a good person. Certain people like Moose and the butcher from Lidl might say differently though.

#thank you for your contribution Betty #if anyone seriously reads this keep in mind that I am missing either a right or a brain cell #clown on computer

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insanityclause · 5 years ago

Link

When coronavirus closed the theaters on March 12, there were still 16 shows left to open in the Broadway season. Audiences will get to see some of them later, others probably not — but what of the more than 20 plays, musicals and miscellaneous offerings that had already faced the press? It seemed unfair not to celebrate them, so on Friday, just after it was announced that the Tony Awards will not go on as usual this year, we sat down (in cyberspace) to devise a Tonys of our own. Naturally, we made our own rules.

BEN BRANTLEY Well, Jesse, even in a season that’s 16 plays short, there’s still a fat if imbalanced roster of intriguing shows. Have we ever before had such a preponderance of jukebox musicals that might qualify for Best Musical? The good news is that some enterprising minds managed to inventively retool the genre you once described as the “cockroach” of Broadway.

JESSE GREEN The cockroach has evolved! “Jagged Little Pill,” “Tina: The Tina Turner Musical,” “Girl From the North Country,” “Moulin Rouge!” and — since we’re playing by our own rules here — even “American Utopia,” the David Byrne show that was deemed ineligible for the real Tonys, are all jukeboxes, all worthy and all eligible for ours. Maybe not quite all worthy.

BRANTLEY Perhaps it’s appropriate then that the last show to open on Broadway was the most unorthodox of the “jukebox” shows. I use quotation marks here because that label seems too confining for “Girl From the North Country,” the Irish playwright and director Conor McPherson’s work that uses the songs of Bob Dylan to imagine life during the Great Depression in Duluth, Minn. The more I think about “Girl,” the more innovative and haunting it seems to me.

GREEN For me it took some time, and the show’s move from the Public Theater to Broadway, to appreciate how McPherson was deploying the music in this musical. The songs do not function the way songs normally do; they never address the situation at hand, and sometimes even contradict it. Yet in that gap, poetry grew.

BRANTLEY For me, “Girl” deals with the ineffable and unsayable through song in a way that makes it the most religious, or at least spiritual, show on Broadway. I have found this aspect of the show stays with me, as an oddly comforting reminder of the hunger for communion in this time of isolation. But moving on to matters closer to profane than sacred, what about another mold-breaker in a very different sense: “Moulin Rouge!,” based on the Baz Luhrmann movie about la vie bohème in gaslight-era Paris.

GREEN Here was a case where the gap between the story, such as it is, and the musical materials — found pop from Offenbach to Rihanna — did not produce poetry. For me it produced a headache.

BRANTLEY Ah, I had a swell time at “Moulin Rouge,” and I thought the far-reaching songbook became a kind of commentary on how such songs form the wallpaper of our minds. And then there was “Tina,” which was more business-as-usual bio-musical fare, although illuminated by a radiant, cliché-transcending performance by Adrienne Warren as Turner.

GREEN The creators of musicals really offered a sampler of ways to respond to the jukebox problem. “Jagged Little Pill,” built on the Alanis Morissette catalog, made the smart choice of abjuring biography and instead attaching her songs to a new plot (by Diablo Cody) that grew out of the same concerns and vocabulary. Or perhaps I should say “new plots,” because it is not shy with them. There are at least eight story lines.

BRANTLEY To be honest, this was the show that gave me a headache, because it was so insistently earnest in its topicality and, even when it was trying to be funny, humorless. So, of the new musicals (and we haven’t touched on “The Lightning Thief,” your personal favorite) what would you give the premature Tony to?

GREEN The one that wouldn’t be eligible: “American Utopia.” Joy and sadness bound to each other through David Byrne’s music and Annie-B Parson’s movement: What else do you want from a musical, even if it’s just a concert?

BRANTLEY I loved “American Utopia.” I think, though, I’d have to go with “Girl From the North Country,” but I wouldn’t have predicted that after seeing it in London two years ago. I find more in it every time I revisit it.

GREEN Despite all the Best Musical possibilities this truncated season, only one, “The Lightning Thief,” had a new score. Yet most of the offerings sounded new anyway, the result of terrific arrangements and orchestrations. I’m thinking especially of Justin Levine’s magpie-on-Ecstasy song collages for “Moulin Rouge!,” Tom Kitt’s theatricalization of post-grunge pop for “Jagged Little Pill” and Simon Hale’s excavation of the deeply layered Americana in Dylan’s catalog for “Girl.”

BRANTLEY Here, I’d have to say it’s a tie between “Girl” and “Moulin Rouge!,” each a remarkable accomplishment in a very different way. As for best revival, the undisputed winner is Ivo van Hove’s divisive revival of “West Side Story,” but that’s because it is, remarkably, the only musical revival so far.

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GREEN I liked “West Side Story” better than you did, Ben, perhaps because I wasn’t reviewing it. I lapped up the new things it wanted to show me (while also hunting for the old things it wanted to hide from me) and didn’t worry about the elements that laid an egg. (“Gee, Officer Krupke.”) Its evocation of innocence and hopelessness felt more like real life now than I’ve experienced in previous revivals.

BRANTLEY I concede the point intellectually. But the acid test for me with theater — and musicals in particular — is how much it makes you feel. And to borrow a lyric from “A Chorus Line,” for the most part “I felt nothing.”

GREEN I admit it was odd that there were no obvious breakout performances in “West Side Story” — which brings us to our first lightning round. Who wins our Tonys for leading actor and actress in a musical?

BRANTLEY Best Actress: Adrienne Warren, for “Tina” (though Karen Olivo in “Moulin Rouge!” is pretty fab, too). Best Actor: Jay O. Sanders in, perversely, a non-singing role in “Girl From the North Country.” You?

GREEN Same. I think we are having a socially distanced mindmeld. Will that also be the case with the nine new plays and four revivals that opened before March 12? With one exception, the revivals were not as thrilling as the full slate promised to be.

BRANTLEY For me, the winner is Jamie Lloyd’s spartan, merciless revival of Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal,” which brought harsh clarity to the work’s emotional ambiguity.

GREEN And ambiguity to the play’s harsh formality — its semi-backward construction. It was certainly the best “Betrayal” I’ve seen, yet I hold out some love for the revival of “Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune,” which in retrospect turned out to be a farewell to Terrence McNally, its author, who died last week. I felt that Michael Shannon and Audra McDonald did it, and him, justice.

BRANTLEY It was certainly a reminder of his shrewdness and compassion. I was perhaps a little too conscious of the Acting, with a capital A. But it was a welcome addition to the season. For Best Play, we have a far more varied field, no? I suspect we’ll agree on the winner here, the season’s great iconoclast.

GREEN Yes, “Slave Play,” by Jeremy O. Harris, wins on sheer disruptive energy, even before considering its intelligence as playwriting, its knockout production (directed by Robert O’Hara) and its fearsome challenge to renegotiate race in America.

BRANTLEY But for all its shock value, what made it a wonderful play — as opposed to just a bracing exploration of dangerous ground — was its heart. By the end, you felt so completely the pain of its characters, all trying to navigate the perhaps insuperable hurdles of interracial relationships.

GREEN I think “The Inheritance” wanted to be that kind of play, too: a story of intimate relationships yet also a gay manifesto with the multipart heft of “Angels in America.” It got the heft, anyway; “Slave Play” ran 120 minutes; “The Inheritance,” 385.

BRANTLEY “The Inheritance” certainly gets points for ambition — and for the fluidity of Stephen Daldry’s production. And might I put in a word for the prickly comic abrasiveness of Tracy Letts’s “Linda Vista,” a lacerating anatomy of toxic masculinity disguised as brooding charm?

GREEN I liked what “Linda Vista” wanted to do but found it flabby. Perhaps straitened times demand slender plays. Certainly, the other new drama I greatly admired was whippetlike: Adam Rapp’s “The Sound Inside,” an existential mystery wrapped in a literary one, or vice versa. Among other things, it allowed Mary-Louise Parker, as a Yale writing instructor, to deliver a Tony-worthy performance. And now that “How I Learned to Drive,” the other play in which she was set to star this season, has been postponed, she doesn’t have to compete against herself. Is she our winner?

BRANTLEY I am going to declare a tie between her and Laura Linney, who gave a very subtle, and emotionally transparent, performance as the title character of “My Name Is Lucy Barton,” adapted by Rona Munro from Elizabeth Strout’s novel.

GREEN I buy that. But let’s not forget Joaquina Kalukango in “Slave Play,” Eileen Atkins in “The Height of the Storm,” Zawe Ashton in “Betrayal” and Jane Alexander in “Grand Horizons.” It was a very strong semi-season for Best Actress in a Leading Role.

BRANTLEY And for Best Actor?

GREEN The real Tonys decreed that Paul Alexander Nolan was eligible for his “supporting” role in “Slave Play,” but in my Tonys he’s a strong candidate for “leading.” Still, I’ll go with Tom Hiddleston, in “Betrayal.” Or at least he wins in my newly invented category of Best Use of the Lack of a Tissue. His facial leakage was Vesuvian.

BRANTLEY He was superb — and a reminder of the cathartic value of the tears of others in theater. Of course, there’s so much to cry about now in terms of opportunities lost this season. But I’m not writing an elegy for, or even a definitive summary of, this season yet. It will be fascinating to see how it reincarnates itself, won’t it?

#tom hiddleston #zawe ashton #betrayal #tonys #postponed

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theeternalspace · 5 years ago

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Absent Gods 1

I want to wish a really, really happy birthday to the all wonderful @i-will-physically-fight-you. You have been a really good friend to me ever since I was lucky enough to be paired with you all that time ago during a Big Bang.

Since it’s your birthday, I give you this gift. Logan and Virgil angst. I don’t know how many chapters it will be total, but I hope you will stick with me, one and all. Because Logan has some learnin’ to do!

This will have a happy ending.

Masterpost

Title: Absent Gods and Silent Tyranny or: How Logan Learned to Stop Over Thinking and Love Everyone

Pairings: None / Platonic LAMP with Logan and Virgil focus.

Characters: Logan, Virgil and The Dragon Witch in this chapter.

Summary: Dr. Logic makes his living working for whichever Super Villain is willing to pay. At the end of the day it is a job where he can put his talents to work.

He certainly isn’t bothered by things like public morality or the definition of good vs evil. He doesn’t have time for things like that, although he accepts that he would be considered a ‘bad guy’. As far as Logan is concerned, it is a small price to pay for the benefits of proper scientific funding.

But when his latest invention fails and his Boss decides to punish someone else for his mistakes, Logan is forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew.

And maybe accidentally make some friends along the way.

Warnings: Morally grey Logan - he doesn’t get it you guys. Threats of torture, angst. General Villainy. Being held captive. If I’ve missed any let me know.

Previous || Next

~~~

There were many things that Logan didn’t understand about his boss.

Her almost obsessive need for dramatics was just one of them. Admittedly, right now, it was fairly high up on the list of things he didn’t understand and wished he did. Mostly because right now he was sat in a chair with a ring of fire around it to keep him in place while she prowled backwards and forwards outside. Really, the whole thing was pointless since Logan hadn’t made a single attempt to leave. He saw no need, she had called him in for a meeting and so a meeting they would have.

There were other things he didn’t understand about her. A lot of them were in some way connected to that dramatic impulse which ran through every action she took. It was as though being a villain intent on overthrowing the current ruling regime and replace it with her own rule wasn’t enough for her. She had to somehow stand out from the rest of the would be dictators and tyrants. Like many of them, she had decided to go dramatic to do so.

Logan was fairly certain that by trying to stand out, she just made herself fade more into the background because it was hard to tell her apart from any other cackling villain giving a monologue about their latest plan.

Still, as far as super villains went, he had worked for worse. He had spent several particularly unpleasant years stuck as head ‘henchman’ for a particularly inept villain who considered himself a mad scientist even though it had been Logan who had done most of the work. Logan would have quit long ago if it hadn’t been for the awkward fact that he had accidentally agreed to let the man genetically tag him. Logan never made the same mistake twice however and he made doubly sure to read every contract before signing it.

If it hadn’t been for the heroes eventually shutting him down and one of them wiping the hard drives that contained Logan’s bio-metric passport, he would still be stuck there, more a slave than anything else.

As it was, he had been able to escape in the confusion, quickly getting himself another job with another villain.

Logan didn’t fool himself. He didn’t consider himself a particularly good person. Then again, he didn’t consider himself a particularly bad one either. He worked for her because the pay was good and because - for the most part - he agreed with her aims should she ever actually manage to take over the world. At this point, he was starting to wonder if she could even manage to take over the city.

How hard could it be to take over a city? Not that Logan would ever question her on that. He valued his own skin too highly for that and he learnt almost right away that you didn’t insult or question the boss.

It had led to many bitten cheeks over the years but that was a price Logan was willing to pay rather than being vaporised on the spot. Or worse, agonisingly tortured to death for insolence, like so many of his rather stupid colleagues over the years.

Sometimes, he wondered why he had never taken the step to become a super villain in his own right. He could probably do a much better job of it that most of his employers. He wouldn’t waste time telling the heroes his plans. He would merely dispose of them and move on.

Still, if he had done that, then he might never have met - no. Best not to think, to second guess himself in the hypothetical.

It wouldn’t be death. He wouldn’t kill and that was one of the reasons why he was content to remain as a head scientist or tech in whatever evil organisation he was currently working for. With the aforementioned mad scientist excluded, all his previous evil employers had nothing but positive things to say about him. He had glowing references - in the case of the one from a radioactive villain, quite literally glowing.

He didn’t particularly want to take over the world. The neat and logical order that would come with him ruling was a tempting prospect but Logan had no desire for all the work that came with it. He would be content with ruling his own little area as promised.

Right now, however, he was seriously considering handing his notice in. Honestly, he had been considering the concept for a while now, ever since her latest... hire. He didn’t mind working with someone else so long as they either knew their place or could match him in intelligence. They could never do the later but they tended to fall into the former. Or else he convinced her to get rid of them. Logan never really lost much sleep over what ‘got rid of’ could mean in the context of a super villain. It was just part of life and he moved on from it.

But the latest helper had been different. He could almost match Logan in talent. If it wasn’t for the rather unfortunate little fact that he was a prisoner and being held against his will then they would have gotten along splendidly from the start.

As it stood, it had taken them weeks to get past the rather frosty greetings each shift. The chains and guards probably didn’t help matters but Logan couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to making the best of a bad situation. It didn’t matter that he might not agree with her methods - he was her prisoner and it would be logical to go along with her wishes to save himself further pain.

Virgil hadn’t thought much of that logic. Which had resulted in more beatings that Logan had thought strictly necessary. He needed him intact for their work.

Eventually, Virgil had settled into some kind of grumpy obedience, enough that they were able to converse - albeit still with a guard present - and make progress on various work orders from the boss. Logan had come to rather admire Virgil’s brain in those weeks and eventually something approaching a friendship had been formed. Enough that Logan could trust Virgil not to stab him in the back. Enough for him to be able to produce some very useful items for his boss.

Enough to start to give him doubt about if it was... right, to keep Virgil here against his will.

He was safer here. There was little chance of attack because if there was one thing Ms Dragon Witch was good at, it was keeping her secret lairs, well secret. Virgil was the first ‘heroic’ prisoner she had ever brought to her base, and he was never allowed out of the lab or the cell he was kept in next to it. Logan had a horrible suspicion he was sedated whenever she wished to see him so that Virgil couldn’t learn the layout of the base.

All the better for Virgil. The less he knew, the less danger he was in. The less chance there was that he would think to make an escape attempt - not that Logan thought Virgil was that foolish, he was too smart to risk himself on such a small chance of success.

There were no fights down here, no chance of being caught in the crossfire. Just food, a roof and the chance to work on his projects. What more could anyone need?

According to Virgil, quite a lot. He wanted to go home, and he didn’t insult Logan’s intelligence by pretending that had changed. He wanted his brother and his other friends, no matter how idiotic he called them. He wanted to not be a prisoner. That last one, at least, Logan could sympathise with.

But if Logan gave in his notice, there was no way that his Boss, would allow him to take Virgil as a leaving present. He was her prized possession, her trophy and she adored having him brought to her chambers to gloat about whatever recent mission that had gone well. It was all rather inconsiderate of her, since more often than not the two of them had been deep in work when the summons had arrived.

Not to mention how pale and shaken his assistant always was when he was eventually returned to him. Virgil would take hours and sometimes a whole day to recover and get back into the groove of things. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she showed him.

More and more, he felt like there had to be something he could do to aid Virgil, but he had yet to come up with a plan that didn’t get them all killed. If only Virgil could be reconciled to his new life. If only his boss would stop tormenting him so Logan could convince him of the merits. If only his friend wasn’t being hurt every day while Logan simple worked on his projects.

It was a worry in the back of his mind, nothing more. It wasn’t a distraction and he refused to allow himself to be sidetracked by anything. Logan certainly wasn’t using those thoughts as an excuse for what had happened earlier today when Dragon Witches attempted attack on City Hall had been thwarted by the heroes. Her escape had been a close thing, with Logan’s devices barely functioning. Certainly not as he had intended.

So his invention had failed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Not even a genius like Logan could claim to have a one hundred percent success rate as much as he might wish otherwise. He was convinced that it wasn’t malicious but merely creator - or more likely user - error. He would improve on them and the same mistake would never happen again.

The problem seemed to be his bosses increasingly paranoid view of the world. And how she didn’t seem to believe him that it had been an innocent accident. Instead, she had summoned him for this meeting, threw flame around his chair and then started ranting. Accusing him of either sabotaging the devices himself in the hope she would be captured or turning a blind eye to allow Virgil to do it to his work.

It was insulting to think that he would betray his own values so lightly. He worked hard for his money, he worked hard for his reputation. He wouldn’t sacrifice it for mere sentiment, no matter how increasingly unstable she was becoming. He would simply quit, as he had considered. He certainly wouldn’t allow Virgil to sabotage his work, no matter how uneasy he felt about their partnership because that would be sabotaging everything Logan held dear.

A shame, he couldn’t help but feel that she failed to see the beauty in those logical thoughts. Or the truth in them.

She stood a few paces in front of him, having finally stopped her relentless prowling backwards and forwards. Deceptively delicate looking hands rested on her hips as she stared at him over the flames. As always, she was dripping in jewellery, rings on every finger, multiple bracelets and bangles jangling on her wrists with every little motion. Logan had always wanted to point out the fact that she made noises with her jewellery when she moved probably didn’t help her plans to be stealthy.

Once again, a healthy respect for his own skin staying intact had kept him quiet. Just as he kept quiet about the hideous fashion choice that was her ‘uniform’. A tight fitting gold and silver dress with a slit almost up to her waist might be her idea of seductive but as Virgil had once so rightly described her, she looked almost... tacky, than anything else. Coupled with the high heels she insisted on wearing, it certainly wasn’t a practical outfit but he swallowed down the biting comments he wished to say.

Working for a super villain could be so exhausting sometimes.

“So you still refuse to admit your guilt Dr. Logic?”

“I cannot admit to something I didn’t do Ms Dragon Witch.” There was no point in losing his temper even now. She would have to see reason eventually. All he had to do was explain things in smaller words until she eventually understood. He knew he was in the right and given enough time he was confident that he could convince her of that. All Logan had to do was stay alive long enough for her anger to fade and leave her more open to reason.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You say you didn’t do it, thus logically you have nothing to be worried about it. In which case, I am sure you won’t mind what is about to happen.” One hand lifted into the air, the various bracelets making an all too familiar jingle jangle as they did. She didn’t say or do anything else but he had no doubt that the movement was a recognised signal for something.

“Why?” Logan asked. He had to ask, he had to know. “What is about to happen?”

She smiled, something cold and empty. The fire that still raged around him seemed to be the only hot thing left in the room. Logan had thought he wanted her to calm down, to stop ranting and raving at him but now that she had done just that, he found her expression... disconcerting in the extreme. She was up to something. Her devious mind had been one of the attractions to accepting the job in the first place but he had never planned to be on the receiving end of her schemes.

“I am not convinced of your honesty Dr. Logic. I think that little assistant I gave you has been messing with you. Maybe you don’t even realise what he has been doing hmm? Maybe you’re not as smart as you like to think and he’s been tricking you? Maybe you are falling for his poor little me act?”

She was talking about Virgil, Logan realised with an unpleasant jolt. She was acting as though Virgil was manipulating him, that he was the victim here.

Logan didn’t doubt that Virgil would take advantage of a situation like that if the opportunity presented itself to him. Virgil was a survivor and you didn’t become one of those by forever following the rules. He wanted to get out of here and back to the place that he called home. Of course he would leap at any chance. That didn’t mean there had been any chance for him to do that. Logan made sure that he wasn’t faced with any such temptation.

And how dare she think that Logan would be that foolish as to fall for such a thing? Logan might have some latent sympathy for the predicament that Virgil found himself in but there was no way he would be so foolish as to help him. Not like that. Helping like that would only lead to pain. Logan was keen to keep both of them away from that.

Also, he was just smarter in general than to be fooled by someone trying to sabotage his work behind his back.

“I can assure you that you are incorrect. My work was not tampered with, either by myself or my assistant. Sometimes projects do not work as well as intended. Surely you can appreciate such a fact?”

It was cutting perilously close to the bone, to make such a comment. To remind her of all her own failures. Logan however, was starting to become a little desperate. He couldn’t decide if the way she ignored him was a good thing or not. Dragon Witch curled some of her dark brown hair between her fingers, twisting it into a tighter and tighter circle as she carried on speaking. Her voice was light, almost musing but no less deadly because of that.

“Either way I’m going to have to punish him for your failure.”

It was my failure!” Logan protested. He tried to ignore how his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of the still form of Virgil being dragged into the room. The purple haired man was held by his arms, hanging limply between two of her guards, head bowed. It didn’t comfort Logan to get confirmation of his theory that she kept him unconscious from room to room. Normally, being proved right was a sure fire way to cheer Logan up. It settled and reassured him.

Seeing Virgil in such a weakened state didn’t do that this time.

“Ah the guest of honour,” she purred, turning away from Logan, her attention momentarily lost by the new arrival. It gave Logan a chance to shift a little in his seat, trying to get a better view of Virgil. It was hard to tell over the flames but he was confident that Virgil was at least breathing - it remained to be seen if that would actually be a good thing or not.

Ms Dragon Witch clicked her fingers, pointing towards another chair, set in perfect symmetry to Logan’s own. There was a circle of dust around it, powder that Logan knew could turn to flame at a moment’s notice. How he had failed to notice it before was beyond him, but then again, his attention had been fixed on the danger in front of him. Not the seating arrangements opposite him.

Virgil was deposited none too gently in the chair, his head still slumped forward on his chest.

“Finally, time to play. What do you say Dr. Logic? Shall we test some theories?”

“Theories?” Logan repeated back to her, gaze darting between his boss and his assistant. The flames had to be getting to him at last, because he could feel sweat beads springing up along his forehead. “I am a man of science, you know I am always interested in proving or disproving theories.”

“Excellent! Let’s find out just what happened shall we? And how long it takes for my little toy to scream this time.”

Her smile was as unsettling as before, sharp and cutting. She threw back her head and laughed, a super villain finally indulging herself to her limit. Logan had seen her in these moods before, but he had never been on the receiving end of one. He had always known better but now, through no fault of his own it appeared as though he was about to get a taste of her at her worst.

Or was it, Virgil was about to learn just how evil she could actually be?

For perhaps the first time in his life, Logan finally found something that he didn’t want to know the answer to.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #dragon witch #angst #wip #absent gods #aca writes #long post

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raywritesthings · 5 years ago

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Night Tremors

My Writing Fandom: The Flash Characters: Patty Spivot, Barry Allen Pairing: Barry Allen/Patty Spivot Summary: Patty finally gets her answers as to why Barry's been having nightmares. / AU Pre-Episode s2310 “Potential Energy” *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Patty had always been a deep sleeper. Her dad used to say that she was so full of life and energy during the day that she needed the extra deep sleep to recharge those batteries. That wasn’t any different now that she was grown up and he was gone.

So it took a lot to wake her, but one night, she did find herself shaken awake. Though not exactly in the usual sense.

Patty turned her head, frowning as she found her sleep slipping away while her whole body seemed to tremble. Then it occurred to her that was because the mattress was vibrating. Did Barry have some kind of fancy bed…?

But when Patty sat up, adjusted the straps on her tank top and looked over at her boyfriend, she realized he was shaking. And not just because the mattress was. He was the one making it shake.

The edges of him almost seemed to blur as he shook, mumbling something in his sleep. “Not her… please…”

His voice came out of his blurred mouth distorted in a way she had only seen and heard once before: whenever she came across the Flash.

Patty clapped a hand to her mouth to avoid shouting out loud. Barry was the Flash? It made a horrible amount of sense, horrible because the last time she had seen the Flash she had shot him with a B.O.O.T. Even if he’d talked her down from killing Mardon and seemingly forgiven her, she had used a weapon on her boyfriend! How could he even want to be with her?

Though, he was apparently with her even in his dreams. “Patty… please, not Patty!”

Definitely a nightmare. He’d been having those off and on, usually just the regular tossing and turning that sometimes half-woke her in the night. She had tried to ask Iris if there was some way they could help him but nothing much had resulted. Knowing he was a literal superhero was a fairly crucial piece of context she had been missing until now.

Barry was getting louder, and that threatened to wake his family in their own rooms down the hall. Patty couldn’t exactly let that happen. For one thing, assuming they all knew his identity could be dangerous on the slim chance she was wrong. For another, it was awkward enough sleeping with her boyfriend in her partner’s house; she didn’t love the idea of Joe walking in on them in bed together. They were so moving this to her place from now on, Joe and his family closeness be damned.

“Barry?” Patty reached a hand out and touched his shoulder, the vibration running from him to her now making her arm sort of tingle. “Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Barry’s eyes flew open and locked on her with panic. “Patty?”

In an eyeblink and a whoosh of air, she found herself suddenly cradled in his arms in the far corner of the room. Barry was hunched over them both as if to shield her from an attack.

What had he been put through to produce that strong of a reaction to a nightmare? People always said the Flash was the fun, rescue-your-cat-from-a-tree hero, but this was trauma. She thought about the speedster in navy blue who had dragged the Flash — Barry’s — body through the whole city one night. What had he been suffering through that whole time she’d thought he was lying about being sick?

He wasn’t quite with her yet, even if he was awake. Patty framed his face with her hands and brushed the tears that were falling down his cheeks.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Barry’s breathing calmed, and he blinked when her lips brushed his cheek. She wat he’s him look around the room, his grip slackening.

“What… when did we—?”

“You were having a nightmare and kind of ran us here,” she told him with a significant look.

Barry’s mouth dropped open. “Oh god.”

“Yeah.”

For a single moment, she thought he might just drop her and flee. But he seemed to realize she was still holding him as closely as he was holding her still. “Patty, I- I was thinking about telling you soon. I mean, I wanted to. It felt like we were really, really going somewhere… together.”

“I know why you wouldn’t want to tell me right away, and I’m glad you feel like you can trust me now.” Patty’s hand trailed down to rest on his chest over his heart. It was still beating fast, and faster than his usual rhythm which was already above average. She really should have seen this one, shouldn’t she have? Some detective she was.

Patty refocused as she looked up into his eyes. “But I’m worried about the secrets you’re keeping.”

Barry tried for a smile. “I’m not — I mean there’s stuff about the Flash you might not know yet, but I can tell you that. I’m not gonna keep hiding—”

“I don’t just mean from me. Have you opened up to anyone about your PTSD?”

Barry reeled back, and she really did slip towards the floor a couple inches. “What do you mean?”

It was better they probably have this conversation upright anyway. Patty untangled herself from him and stood, pulling him up with both hands. She got him moving so that they could sit on the side of the bed, and she tucked one leg underneath her to face him fully.

“I mean you’re having awful nightmares, you’re losing sleep, you’re dissociating from the looks of it. Is this because of what happened with that other speedster a couple of months ago?”

Barry’s eyes took on a haunted look when she said it. “Zoom. He’s… I’m handling it.”

“But are you okay after what happened?”

“Yeah, I healed.”

Patty shook her head. “Maybe physically, but we both know that officers don’t jump right back into the thick of things once they get their medical clearance. There’s a process.”

He shifted on the mattress. “I’m not going to another shrink. Even if there was one that knew my identity.”

Patty sat back a little. She hadn’t known Barry had such an aversion to mental health specialists. “Did something happen?”

He wasn’t looking at her, but he blew out a breath and said, “Joe sent me to one when I was a kid, before anybody realized my dad was innocent.”

“Barry, I’m so sorry.” Patty took his hand. “I would never force you to talk to someone you don’t want to. But I need you to know that I’m here to talk to. Joe’s here, Iris is too. You have friends who care about you and wouldn’t want you to be hurting on your own.”

It was hard to know in the limited, dim light coming through the window, but she thought he was holding back from crying. “I thought I was okay,” he said in a thick voice, confirming her theory. “I have to be okay, otherwise Zoom will get to you, and I can’t—”

“Hey.” Patty squeezed his hand before it could start shaking too badly again. She scooted closer on the bed. “I am safe right now. You don’t have to be okay all the time.”

He buried his head in her shoulder and cried. Patty stroked his hair and rubbed his back, letting him let this out. He sagged against her, the tension that kept him so tightly-wound at times finally finding release.

“I just… I can’t lose you,” he said. “I love you, Patty.”

Patty froze, her hands stopping their soothing motions as his words hit her. “You love me?”

Barry looked up at her and nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

She had hoped, without wanting to assume. They were intimate, after all, even if the words had not been exchanged. But looking at him now, this man she admired, who had saved her from metas and from her own demons, who she could see now was as vulnerable as he was strong, saddened as he was sweet, Patty knew without doubt that she felt exactly the same.

She couldn’t keep her eyes from tearing up as she whispered back, “I love you, too.”

For the first time tonight, a smile graced her boyfriend’s features. Barry leaned in, one hand cupping the back of her head, and their lips met in a slow, deep kiss. Patty’s eyes slipped shut as she wound her arms around Barry’s shoulders. Her leg hooked around Barry’s waist as she moved closer in, and that tingling feeling was back in her lips, her arms, everywhere. Barry was shaking again.

Patty broke off the kiss, lips parted in a half-formed question, but he shook his head and grinned.

“I’m okay. Just really happy that I don’t have to hide parts of me from you anymore.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, and Patty played with some of the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Me too.” Then she picked right back up from where they had been, humming in the back of her throat as one of his hands snuck under her top. That slight vibration, now that she knew it meant he was happy, felt kind of good.

She didn’t think Barry’s troubles were over; far from it. But he was being open and honest about them with her, and that was all she’d really hoped for before he’d confessed just how deep his feelings ran for her. There was so much to talk about in the morning now that she knew the truth.

For the moment, though, she would help ease the worry and the pain his nightmares caused. And maybe, once Barry’s peace of mind was achieved even just for one night… they could both get some much needed sleep.

#spallen #patty spivot #barry allen #the flash #my writing

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