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mishasminions · 4 years ago

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Here’s why the Supernatural Series Finale Sucked

(AND IT REALLY ISN’T JUST BECAUSE CAS/MISHA WASN’T IN IT)

First of all, I’d like to state, that this perspective is coming from someone who has watched, invested in, and dissected this show for 15 years. I’ve tried to rationalize and justify every single decision each of the main characters made throughout the years, and I’ve always tried to make sense of each of their story arcs from a “bigger picture” standpoint as each season progressed.

Anyway, before I can properly explain why the finale sucked, let me quickly take you through 15 seasons by segregating them into 3 eras, because you can’t really comprehend what Supernatural is about and what it’s become without going through how it tried to expand its universe.

SEASONS 1-5: THE KRIPKE ERA

Now, we all know that Kripke was always set in wrapping up Sam and Dean’s story in 5 seasons, and he did just that.

So, in this era, Supernatural is about two brothers who set out on a journey to fulfill “the family business”. They hunt mythical monsters that terrorize the world, while battling the monsters within themselves. Their ultimate “big bad” is an apocalypse.

Towards the end of this era, we find out that Sam and Dean are actually a parallel to Biblical characters who are brothers turned rivals. And that Sam and Dean’s destiny is to go up against each other.

However, as a dynamic, they have always been about making their own choices, choosing free will, and having a brotherly bond that can power through against any obstacle at any given day.

So, this era is neatly wrapped up with its finale. The characters grow, and get justified endings.

Dean, a man who thinks of himself as two things: 1. Sam’s older brother and protector; and 2. Daddy’s blunt little instrument.

He’s spent his whole life believing that that was his only purpose, and he knew that the only ending he’ll get would either be a bloody death fulfilling his duty to the family business; or laying his life on the line to save his brother.

Dean gets the ending he thought was never possible for him, something he thought he could never deserve. After years of living and dying for his family, he gets a shot at having an apple pie life--to settle down with a nice girl, raise a kid in a house with a white picket fence. With Sam gone, Dean’s responsibility now is to himself.

Sam, on the other hand, never wanted any part of it, because he wasn’t groomed the way Dean was, and because thanks to Dean, Sam wasn’t traumatized or forced into growing up too quickly the way Dean was.

So Sam aspires for a normal life, and works the cases with Dean so he can maybe get some semblance of it, when everything they set out to kill are laid to rest.

Ultimately, Sam performs a selfless act for his brother, who has given up everything for him, and for their cause--to save the world.

The journey is this: Dean sacrifices everything to save Sam, and Sam sacrifices himself so Dean could live.

Apart from being Dean’s “savior” and guardian angel, Castiel’s role in this era is to serve as a mirror to Dean’s journey. Castiel goes from being heaven’s foot soldier, following “God’s orders”; to an angel who learns to choose and feel for the first time in his existence.

After they realize that they’re both daddy’s blunt instruments, Dean starts choosing his own path for himself, and convinces Castiel to join him. Castiel stops following heaven, and starts following Dean.

In the end, with his newfound understanding of the world thanks to Dean, Castiel goes back to heaven to reform it.

We’ve resolved the biblical arc, and the character journeys.

SEASONS 6-10: THE SPIN-OFF ERA

So this is where the show realizes how vast its universe can be, so it tries to expand it by tapping into uncharted lands and experimenting with it.

They take on heaven, reform hell, explore purgatory, have the angels fall, turn Dean into a demon, and kill Death.

Dean and Sam recognize their codependency, and try to rise above it.

They go back and forth between which brother will risk it all for the greater good every other season.

Dean and Cas strengthen their relationship by recognizing the impact they have on each other’s lives.

Cas structures his life and decisions around Dean (Seasons 6-7), and Dean learns to trust and fight for Cas (Seasons 8-9).

Sam and Cas bond (mostly over Dean) because of their shared rationales in decision-making.

Dean, Sam, and even Cas also forge relationships with the people they work with. The concept of “found family” is introduced here.

This era was heavy on the plot while establishing, reinforcing, and solidifying relationships and dynamics.

At this point, it wasn’t just about the brothers anymore.

If Supernatural had ended in Season 10, the logical finale would’ve been Team Free Will, along with the family that they’ve found, going up against the latest big bad (Death or whoever). Maybe they lose them along the way, maybe they all make it out alive, or maybe they go down swinging, but at least the show recognizes and supports the message they keep saying, “Family don’t end with blood”

SEASONS 11-15: THE REWRITE ERA

This is where the show runs out of ideas and decides to invalidate the seasons that came before it.

From bringing Mary back (basically rendering their whole journey pointless because they’ve literally started hunting because of her death), to changing the stipulations in being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels (another character struggle rendered useless), to God himself breaking the fourth wall by saying that the Winchesters get away with everything because “they’re the main characters in his story and everything they’ve been through was just part of a badly written narrative”.

But what we’re getting from this era is that Sam and Dean, along with Cas (who has also deviated from the story) ARE trying to escape a badly written narrative.

That’s the “big bad” in this era. The writer.

At this point, the characters have picked up so many strays (including those from alternate universes), and have settled into their roles in their “found family”. Dean, Sam, and Cas all become surrogate dads and uncles.

They’ve also graduated from the whole “we’re on different sides” and “going behind each other’s backs” drama. And they just want the whole family together.

They’ve all resigned themselves to the cause, but they’re also tired. Dean allows himself to contemplate about wanting more out of life or at least getting a vacation. Sam, on the other hand, realizes his capabilities as an effective leader. Castiel learns to love another being that isn’t Dean (spoiler: it’s Jack).

However, they also realize that they’ve just been puppets on a string all this time.

So what they want now, is to write their own story, and make their own choices knowing that God/the writer isn’t the one fueling their narrative.

So here’s why the finale sucks:

Andrew Dabb, the current showrunner, said that there would be two finales.

15x19 - The finale to wrap up Season 15, and 15x20 - The finale to wrap up the series by “resolving the characters’ journey”

In 15x19 the boys find a way to de-power God/the writer. For the first time in their whole lives, they are free from the story. Their lives are completely theirs now. They can make their own decisions. There are no more “big bads” to fight

And here’s what happens in 15x20:

Immediately after being freed from their story arc, Dean and Sam go back to hunting the monster of the week.

Dean eats pie, gets nailed (literally), makes a 10-minute speech to Sam because he knows he’s dying, then he goes to heaven.

Dean is greeted by Bobby, his surrogate Dad who he hasn’t seen (fully alive) since Season 7. Bobby’s expository dialogue comprises of him explaining that he got out of heaven’s jail, that John and Mary are next door, and that Jack and Cas fixed the dynamics of heaven off-screen.

The first thing Dean decides to do is go for a long drive in his Impala (as if he hasn’t done enough of that already).

Meanwhile, Sam decides to stop hunting after Dean dies, he gets the apple pie life he hadn’t wanted since Season 8 (while Dean was in Purgatory), and names his kid “Dean” for effect. He grows old and dies.

Dean drove around in heaven for so long that Sam catches up to him.

They hug. The end.

Great, right?

After 15 years of struggling to battle their own respective destinies, going up against big bads and even bigger bads, then finally being able to take charge of their own stories, Dean and Sam regress to hunting the monster of the week, and get killed off by a nail and old age. Okay.

Sam gets to retire and have a family, sure, but they still focus on him and the kid he named after his dead brother. Still just “Sam and Dean” through and through. Nothing to do with found family. Just lineage. Just blood. And it ends there.

See, the problem here is that this ending would’ve been passable in The Kripke Era. But we’re 10 years down the road since, and while Sam and Dean are the original main characters, the show isn’t just about them and their codependent relationship anymore.

So you see, even if you take out the whole “Castiel deserves to be in the finale because he’s also a main character with an unfinished story arc” argument, the finale still does no justice to the series it tried to “wrap up”.

But anyway, now I’ll make the case for the problem with Castiel not being in the finale:

In 15x18, we get a 5-minute rushed confession from Castiel to Dean. The context of which are as follows:

1. Earlier in the episode, Dean had wounded Death with her scythe. We later find out that this wound is fatal.

2. Their friends start to “blip out” in a Thanos-like snap, and Dean thinks that Death is causing it, so Dean seeks her out, and Cas goes with him.

3. Dean and Cas anger Death, apparently for no reason because she didn’t even do the thing they thought she did. She chases them to try to kill them

4. Dean and Cas lock themselves in a room. Dean starts a pity party.

5. As Dean goes through hating himself out loud, Cas decides to inform Dean of the deal he made with The Empty. He then proceeds to explain the stipulation of the deal (that he would get taken once he experiences a moment of true happiness), then discusses his newfound happiness philosophy. Dean is getting whiplash.

6. Cas goes on to imply that the one thing that he wanted that he knew he couldn’t have is Dean Winchester reciprocating his romantic feelings for him. (Don’t even try to fight me on this because Cas already has Dean’s platonic love, and he knows that Dean thinks of him as a brother, so if he really meant this in a “familial” way, then why would he think that he couldn’t have the thing that would make him happy?) So Cas’ realization is that telling Dean about his feelings is enough to make him happy.

7. Cas tells Dean all the reasons why he loves him (thereby combating Dean’s self-deprecation tirade), and all the reasons why he’s worthy of his love. Meanwhile, Dean is still winded from the fact that Cas is about to sacrifice himself for him again.

8. Dean never gets to process anything, because Cas is shoving him out of the way, as he and Death (who busts through the door) get taken by The Empty.

After this episode, Dean never speaks of it. Misha Collins supposes that Dean doesn’t reciprocate. Jensen Ackles says that Dean didn’t really get to process it because it was too much, too fast, and that Dean, still dense as ever, thinks that Cas, a celestial being, doesn’t interpret human feelings the same way.

So what was the point of this confession?

Politics and sensitivities of a 2005 network television aside, what does this do for the story?

Cas proclaims his romantic feelings to Dean, but Dean never acknowledges it, doesn’t even give it a passing thought afterwards. So Cas’ big declaration goes unheard.

Cas cashes in on his Empty deal to kill Death (who was dying anyway), in order to save Dean who dies two episodes after.

Dean makes no effort to save Cas (despite being really broken up about his previous deaths, or even spending a whole year in Purgatory looking for him), even after they’ve beaten God, not even asking Jack (who has all the power in the universe) to bring him back (when Jack has already done it before, with less mojo).

Dean moves on to fight the monster of the week. Somewhere off-screen, Jack rescues Cas from The Empty, but Cas uncharacteristically doesn’t even bother to go to Dean? (Every single time he comes back, Dean’s always the first person he goes to)

And Cas, who apparently helped craft and reform the new heaven, isn’t the one who welcomes Dean and explains the new dynamics of it?

Sure, Jan.

Supernatural, you’ve created a finale that only your casual viewers and people who dipped out after Season 5 can appreciate.

Just goes to show how much you actually valued the people who actually invested in your story and characters, and consistently helped keep your show on the air.

[RT this on Twitter]

#SUPERNATURAL #DESTIEL #15X20 #I KNOW I SAID THAT MY LAST LONG POST WAS MY LAST ON EVER BUT I REALLY DIDN'T THINK THE FINALE WOULD BE WORSE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE #INSIGHTFUL INSIGHTS #UNTAGGED #PERSONAL

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ironwoodprotectionsquad · 3 years ago

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What's your favourite thing about James? Mine is how he is both an intense leader but also someone who has a very compassionate heart.

Hey anon! Honestly my answer would be pretty similar to yours anon. I always enjoyed James being allowed to operate in a Morally gray capacity when other characters just couldn't and that is what eventually made me love him so much when watching volume 7. He is confident enough to do things like gently reassure Ruby back in volume 2 or hug Qrow in volume 7 but also is willing to do things like make the aura transfer machine in order to stop Cinder from getting the maiden powers and making the difficult choice to prioritize Amity over the wall because he thought in the long run it would be better for everyone. He cares about people so much but he also knows that sometimes you have to make really tough choices and isn't afraid to do so for the greater good.

Despite how much it so visibly wears on James (their are so many screen shots you can find where you can see extremely heavy bags under the poor guys eyes) and how many emotional beatings he's forced to take he....takes it. He shoulders it all because he believes its his job and is willing to suffer if it helps people. He is just so damn compassionate and soft with people when he can be and it hurts that people loath him and thinks he's a monster because of the shit CRWBY made him do in volume 8. That is not James none of the characters where themselves in volume 8 honestly and that makes me so sad.

Eh hem sorry about that tangent but yea you and I anon are pretty similar in what we love most about James. I also love how brave he is. We see small glimpses of how terrified he is when faced with knowing innocent people are going to die (which again shows his compassion and love for people) and yet he still finds a way to keep going. Like when Salem is trying to convince James to give her the relics or face Atlas's destruction

Despite his clear as day terror he still tells her no. (Rewatcing the scene makes me want to make a post breaking down how Salem tries to manipulate James) Or later on when he sees for the first time the army Salem has brought and what he is up against we get a glimpse of his terror once again.

And once again he keeps going. (I don't like basically anything James does in volume 8 but this little moment of fear but pushing on and making the best plan he can despite that fear is something).

I could go on but yea he shows immense bravery and strength throughout everything Salem puts him through. He's compassionate, brave and willing to make difficult choices no matter the personal cost for himself.

#James Ironwood #ironwood protection squad #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #general ironwood #general dadmiral #rwde #dadmiral ironwood

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jadelynlace · 4 years ago

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The First Time Part I / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 and you can find the ask here (request are open! and for more things than just Ink Drinker!)

✎ full series post is here.

author’s note: after the angst that was chapter five, we’ll take a journey on the way-back-machine to the very first time. and yes, there will be another part to this. just about 3200 words (I’m sorry).

content warning: smut, mostly [oral m&f receiving, protected sex], and Ivar being a smart mouth.

synopsis: you can finally both look, and touch.

✎

His eyes spent the greater part of the evening lingering on you; cerulean orbs tracing the hem of your clothes, and he couldn’t figure out why. There was a bite on your tongue that met back with his and by your third drink he could have sworn the eyes you were giving him belonged only in the bedroom. Maybe it was the cold bitter of the sour brew he had downed, maybe it was how the girl he was interested in suddenly stepped away when he asked her what they were. “It was fun while it lasted, but I’m not looking for anything like that, with you, Ivar.” And he hasn’t heard from her since, and he knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you for driving me home,” You say suddenly, drowning out the low music in the cabin of his mustang. “I’m really not drunk but I’m not going to argue with Mother Hen—I mean Hvitserk,” and Ivar only chuckles at that.

“Not a problem,” He says back and his voice is flat now, drowned with a hidden emotion that is foreign to his speech.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask and his eyes flash to yours. Their first glance is nearly annoyed but they soften the moment they connect to yours before your own orbs scurry away. Ivar looks sad and in his best ability to try to hide it he was showing it even more so.

“You know that’s not a good idea, princess,”

“I’m not your fucking princess,” You snip back and feel a wave of shame cross you. An unspoken boundary already breeched too far and you’re embarrassed with the sudden rejection. “Just—let me know when you make it home, alright? And when you have that design all done,” You mumble and he nods. “Drive safely.” And the door slamming echos through a quiet parking lot.

The elevator ride to your flat is lonely, locked in the metal box and you can’t stop how your mind wants to pick apart your actions. How you already have a plan formulating for the next time you see Ivar, and how you’re probably done with the outings because his mouth was two sizes too big. And then you think he’ll tell Hvitserk that you tried to invite him up—not even under the false tense that you’d spread your legs for him, even if you would. He was veiled in a sadness and the man just looked like he could use a hug. You put the television on to drown out the silence as you went about washing up, letting hair down and pulling on sleep clothes. Through the pour of another glass of wine you heard a knock.

Ivar drove around the block twice. Another right hand turn at the traffic light and pulled back into the same spot and sat there for five minutes. Turning the idea over in his head and he felt like a waste of space for declining your invite, teasing you even though you could take it. He wondered if it was the first and last one. You looked too damn beautiful for the bullshit you endured with his brothers and he wondered why you even decided to put up with the five of them. But instead he took the steps two at a time and was outside your door before his mind had a chance to catch up to what he was doing.

“I’m sorry I called you princess,” are the first words that drip from his tongue when you peel the door back. Weight against the frame and his coat is off now in the warm evening air, biceps colored with designs meeting your vision and you only offer him a small smile. But you don’t miss how the softness takes to his face when he sees you in such a raw, makeup-let appearance.

“I accept your apology, Ragnarsson,” You say back. “Why isn’t it a good idea?”

“What?”

“You said it’s not a good idea that I invited you up—why?” You ask and Ivar offers you a shrug.

“Figured it was the alcohol talking—I’m not exactly…”

“Not exactly what?”

“Someone you’d seem interested in hanging out with if there wasn’t one of my brothers in tow….” Ivar finally admits and he casts a gaze down on the hallway’s floor.

“Actually Ivar, to be perfectly blunt, I’m kind of fucking sick of them all. And you are someone I would hang out with. But, if you don’t want to that’s fine.” You say.

“No—no it’s not that—actually, you know what. You’re right,” Ivar finally says and walks into the threshold.

“I have wine, and I think there’s vodka left—I haven’t gotten anymore whiskey.” You say as he pulls his boots off, seating them parallel by the door.

“Vodka’s fine,”

“Straight?”

“I am, yeah.” Ivar quips back and you press your forehead against the fridge’s door.

“I see your smart ass mouth doesn’t stop when you’re by yourself,” You grumble back. “Want to pick a movie?” Just as the words leave your mouth there’s an obnoxious ring from your pager and you all but take the damn device and throw it into the far wall. “I swear to fucking God if Hvitserk caught his apartment on fire trying to deep fry a fucking candy bar I’m going to run him over with the ladder truck.” You grumble to yourself and Ivar can’t stop the smirk that comes to his lips as he walks through the living room. But the call isn't for you.

“Maybe one day he’ll tell you about the time he tried to put a Hershey bar through a juicer, to make drinkable chocolate. Verses you know—melting it in the microwave,” Ivar says as he flops against your couch. “Clearly his brightest moment.”

“He was making dinner for the station and we got an echo right as his oil heated to temperature and he almost started crying because he had to turn it off. Echo means we need to be there in the next five seconds, basically.” You say back and you find your seat on the other section of the sofa, handing the bottle to Ivar and the first glass you could grab. “How was your day, Ivar?”

“My day?” He asks, unscrewing the cap, unprepared to even be asked that. “My day was…..fine. I did a walk in on a sorority girl and they played truth or dare while I tattooed her.” Ivar adds and he chuckles slightly.

“I haven’t played that game since I was in high school,” You laugh, snatching the remote.

“Truth, or dare Y/N?”

“Oh fuck off what are you—twelve?”

“On a scale of one to ten, yes.” Ivar says back and there’s a bastard smirk on his face as he takes the first shot back without a grimace. You take the cup from his hand and pour your own shot and toss it back.

“Truth,” You say back and Ivar only smacks his lips together. They push forwards as he thinks, turning thoughts over in his head and his mind still comes up blank. There’s too much he wants to ask about you and in the mess of trying to decipher his mind goes silent.

“When we were all at the dinner, for my father’s company and you came with Hvitserk—remember he left for a structure fire?”

“I remember,”

“And I asked if you weren’t into the million dollar crap, so we left and went to that little diner in town?”

“I still remember, Ivar, I was there,” You sing.

“Why did you agree to go with me?” Ivar asks back and takes the bottle. His mouth goes around it and he tosses a shot back and your eyes catch his lips as they move.

“Because the dinner was quite boring and Hvitserk left so I didn’t feel invited and I wanted to leave. And that diner has damn good pancakes.”

“Fuck they do.” He moans back and you clench your thighs without even realizing it.

“Truth or dare, Ivar?” You say and he takes the hair tie from his locks as he tosses them to spin about.

“Truth,” He challenges back.

“Do you really have a bachelor’s degree in calculus?”

“Who told you that?” He rumbles suddenly and his eyes level with yours.

“Hvitserk did—was he not suppose to?” You peep back startled but then Ivar relaxes.

“I just don’t like people knowing that,” He mumbles and tosses the bottle back. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Is being a paramedic the only thing you’ve done?”

“I wan an EMT first and then a paramedic, but yes it’s the only thing I’ve done.” You reply and Ivar hands you the bottle back like you’ve earned it for answering his question. This shot burns a bit more and your watching the man before you relax back along your sofa. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“You are no fun,” You groan.

“What are you going to dare me to do?” Ivar laughs and you bite the bottom of your lip as you look at him. Me, you dumb ass. Ivar watches you as you do, eyes flicking over him and you hand him the bottle.

“Is Sigurd fun to work with.”

“Fucking no.” Ivar groans quickly. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“How…how drunk are you?” Ivar asks suddenly.

“Not drunk at all, why?”

“Just checking,”

“Truth or dare?” You hum.

“Dare,” and your eyes flicked up to his.

“If I dared you to fuck me, would you?” You ask him and Ivar sucks in a breath as his pupils widen and he nods slowly.

“In a fucking heart beat,” He moans and you set the bottle on the coffee table haphazardly. You’re across the couch then and over his lap and his eyes are stuck on yours but he’s still frozen under you.

“I’m not made of glass, Ragnarsson,” You say softly and that propels him, his hands grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. The first kiss is rushed, heated and mixed with a tangle of teeth and tongue and too many hours of just looking at one another without the ability to touch. When you pull back suddenly Ivar freezes, thinking you’re having a second opinion on the situation but he watches you pull the top from your body and you’re suddenly standing bare chested before him. He follows suit only seconds later, standing and tearing his top and your mouth opens. There’s no spot on his torso that isn’t covered and your eyes scan the artwork as you feel the flutter in your abdomen take notice. “Oh my god, Ivar,” You say softly and your nails trace along what you see first. Ivar hums in response as his body looms closer to yours, and you’re turning, walking to your room and Ivar is on your heels.

Your back meets the bed before Ivar is crawls over you, swarming you against the sheets as you move back. Large body on display and your fingers don’t know where they want to start. When his lips dip into your jaw line, suckling on the skin over your pulse point you moan, a noise that jabs Ivar right in his crotch and he needs to hear it again.

“I won’t put any where they’re be seen over your uniform,” Ivar whispers and his lips dip lower, tracing along your collar bone before there’s a squeeze to your chest from his hand and you moan twice as loudly. You can feel him smirk as he journeys, stopping right at your shorts. You only pull away slightly to wiggle to where your top drawer is, tossing the foil packet at him and he gives you a glare. “Really?” He asks as he holds the packet in his fingers.

“Yes.” You say back. “I don’t know where your dick has been.”

“I”m clean,” He snarls back.

“You don’t have to get laid, Ivar,” You sass.

“No, I don’t,” He grumbles back.

“But you want to….” You sing.

“Uh—yeah I do. Have you seen yourself lately?”

“Then put on the fucking condom, Ivar. Don’t be a dick. Do you need me to do it for you?” You ask in a fake whine.

“Yes, I do,” Ivar challenges back and you’re moving, slipping off the bed and sinking to your knees in front of him, sight alone causing his heart to quicken with a twitch of his cock under the fabric. Pulling the band of his boxers down, his length comes free and you have to bite back your own moans at the sight of him. With the size of that man you’re not shocked with how much he packs and your chest heaves when his cock comes to your face. Flattening your tongue, to take to dragging it from his base to his tip, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you work. You feel his hand card in through your hair as your tongue spreads over the under side of him; the veins, the ridges, and all of the skin making themselves known against your tastebuds as he moans your name. Finally pulling away, you roll the rubber over him and scurry back up along the sheets.

Ivar wastes no time to climb over your, giant towering of a man between your bent knees as he pulls them apart. Too many agonizing seconds before he finally slips your panties off, another low noise of arousal from him at the mere sight of you. Laying bare and glistening before him and he grows excited as he sees the glimmer of your arousal from him between your slit. With your legs spread, Ivar presses his chest where they’re split as you feel him drag his tongue through your folds. The sight of him between your thighs was far worth all of the back talk, all of the petty bickering and mutual death threats in the the world. Ivar lets out a hum as your nectar spreads over his lips, moistening his tongue while his fingers dig farther in your thighs.

“So sweet baby…” He moans before he lets saliva dribble from his mouth as a string lands against your slit, pushing it back through as his lips went to roaming. Your nails sneak into his hair, pulling it like reins as your spine arches.

“You’re…you’re really good at this,” You whisper, body flushed and far too warm as you feel the pleasure creep up through your skin. Ivar only hums in agreement, bastardly tone still as his tongue swirls your clit. He pulls back suddenly, crawling back up over you because he simply can’t wait any longer. His mouth is skilled, still hot and tangling with yours between tongues and teeth and you can taste your juices on him. His weight rests between you and you can feel him just past your opening as his mouth stops. “We don’t tell anyone,” You whisper as his forehead stays still along yours. Ivar pulls himself up then, kneeling between you with his cock in his fist.

“Promise,” Ivar says solidly, pushing his cock slowly as it melts into you. His chest heaving as he watches himself bottom out, wrapped snug in your wall as he lets out the most guttural moan your ears have heard to date. “Oh—fuck,” He rasps, head tipping forwards slightly. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined,” He growls as he plants arms on each side of you, eyes finding yours. A blushed face and mouth spread open with how he’s stretching you, pushing past any other lover you’ve laid with. Through a languid roll of his hips he moves again, moans singing between the both of you. Ivar only pulls back enough to where your hips try to chase him and catch him, but instead he snaps back inside. Reaching for him—trying to ground yourself as he drills such pleasure through your body—Ivar gladly meets you half way, covering you and grabbing the sheets by your head for leverage as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re so deep,” You whimper, his forehead on yours and he can only nod as a reply, slowing his hips some as the sounds of how he moves through your folds fill the room.

“Feel so fucking good,” He rasps as his mouth catches yours, hips starting to pick up their pace as his body moves yours with the bed. “God you feel so fucking good,” And one hand starts skimming the curve of your body, trying to memorize how you feel under his touch so he has that forever engrained in him.

“Ivar—Ivar—I’m—close,” You start, knees locking against his side as your nails dig into inked shoulders. Words fail you as your release comes closer, rolling towards you like a loose freight train as Ivar’s noises match yours, thrusting hard, deep presses inside of you and your body is curling against his.

“Me too baby—come all over me,” He grunts, his mouth by your ear as he deepens his thrusts. “All fucking over me,” Ivar demands and his words make you whimper as they become the single driving phrase for your orgasm to grab you. You can only nod and hold onto him as your moans rise in octaves as your walls contract around him, locking him still momentarily as he watches you finish. Tossing your head into the pillows as he slows, nails raking down his back as if they’re trying to leave lines in their wake that’ll match the tattoos. “Good girl…” Ivar purrs from above you, lips brushing the skin on your cheek before they’re slide to your mouth. You only offer him a hum in response as your body floats down, Ivar own’s end coming closer as his body presses you against the bed, his hips starting back up quickly. Skin slapping skin as Ivar crushes you against the bedding, his forehead plastering to yours before you feel him shake slightly, vibrate as a low groan grew through his chest, his own release filling the condom. His lips faltering some as the sounds float back to your mouth and you have never heard a more blissful noise. One that you already needed to hear again, dance around the walls of your room and through your body. Stilling over you with heavy breathing mixing in between, Ivar pulls up slightly, relishing in your new found freedom but immediately missing the weight over you, nearly grinding your bones. You watch him rise and look down at you with blue irises moving through yours.

“You alright?” He asks softly.

“Don’t go all soft on me now, Ivar,” You tease with a curl of your lips and you’re quite frankly shocked that that he even cared to ask. He rolled his eyes before leaning back, lips against yours once.

“I usually go soft after I come, princess,” Ivar teases, finally pulling himself from inside of you, rolling the used condom off with a tissue and tossing it. You take to finding your clothes, moving yourself solely in the motions to distract your wandering mind and leave it at the door. Climbing back under your bedding, you hear Ivar move, pulling his own boxers on and you wonder how he’s going to leave it. Instead you feel the bed dip, arms latching around you and pulling you closer. “Is this alright?” Ivar whispers as he settles with you.

“Yes,” You peep softly. “I didn’t think you snuggled,” and Ivar only clicks his tongue at that.

“I can leave, if you like!” He says back.

“No—please don’t,” You reply quickly, melting back against him and he smiles.

“Smart choice,” Ivar says as you reach to turn the light off, the sound of the ceiling fan taking over the room and he crushes you closer. “I didn’t want to leave anyways.”

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stephspurs · 3 years ago

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction - BONUS MOMENTS

Surprise!!! I'm back with a select few bonus #bamelia moments!! I just couldn't let the love story of Ben and Amelia die, I hope you don't mind. Love Always, Steph xx

PSA: To all new readers, you don't have to read the series (link below) to understand this, however it would help so that you can understand the preconceived emotions behind the chapter!

Champions Again | di nuovo campioni

warnings; none word count; 1865 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. link to fic masterlist here

They had done it, again. The Chelsea boys were lifting their second team trophy for the year, they had just won the Supercup. This was Amelia’s first competition final with the Premier League giants and if she had her way, this wouldn't be last. She was beginning to get addicted to the feeling of winning, of proving to every little girl out there and every sexist male she had ever come across, that anything boys can do, girls can do better. She was letting her results speak for themselves, she was making history and there was nothing that could bring her down from the ninth cloud she was currently riding.

As proud as she was over her own achievements, she was equally as proud of her friends. Whilst she wasn’t part of their Champions League victory, she knew that this moment was just as special to the team that just loved to win. The scenes before her were ones she hoped she would never forget - the look on Jorgi’s face as he lifted his third trophy of the last few months, the crinkles beside Mason’s eyes as he grinned at the camera that was desperate to capture every moment of the evening, the tinge of pink on the apples of Ben’s cheeks as he stood with his hands on his hips while he watched Amelia give her first post-match tactical analysis to the Sky Sports reporter - proud that she was his girl. These were the moments that made Amelia forget all of the hard times, or rather made her realise that all of the hard times were worth it to see her friends, her team, her man smile.

With every great victory comes an even greater after party, and even though the Super Cup final coincided with the start of the season, the boys still believed that they deserved an afterparty to celebrate. Captain Cesar Azpilicueta had kindly offered the grounds of his Surrey home to host the bunch of rowdy boys, and their onslaught on mates and partners on the Sunday afternoon between the Super Cup final and the first match of the Premier League 21/22 season. Whilst they were under strict instruction from the higher powers of Chelsea Football Club (namely; Thomas Tuchel) to keep the drinking to a minimum and to keep themselves out of trouble, the boys were allowed to be boys for one more night.

______________________________________________________________

“Benj, what are you wearing? I don’t know if I should wear a sundress or denim shorts! Please, I need help!” I shouted out to Ben who was currently somewhere in his large house.

“Why would my outfit be able to help you with that decision” I could hear his voice getting closer, his footsteps getting louder as he began to ascend the stairs up to the main bedroom that I had slowly started to take over in the last couple months.

“An opinion is all I’m after - stop being cheeky mate” I shoot back at him as I begin to stand up from my place in front of his wardrobe. It was still his wardrobe, he hadn’t asked me to move in yet so it was still technically his even if it was half full with my clothes. As I got to my feet, I turned to see him leaning in the doorway with his arms and ankles crossed over each other. Wearing a tee shirt and some denim shorts himself with a cap covering his ungelled hair - a request from me because it was much easier for me to run my hands through if it wasn’t laden with gel...and because it gave me an excuse to push it out of his face whenever I felt like it (which was often).

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in that outfit to be fair, however, that would also mean we would be skipping this afterparty altogether and be spending the afternoon celebrating in an entirely different manner” He states staring at me while I’m currently standing with my hands on my hips, staring at the shorts and tank top combo I have laid out on his bed - again, his bed not ours - he hasn’t asked me to move in yet so it was technically his even if it did have the new bed sheets I purchased a couple weeks back with the matching throw cushions on it. The barely-there outfit that I was currently sporting and that had him licking his lips as he pushed himself off of the doorway to walk to me and wrap his arms around my body from behind was a bralette and a pair of his Chelsea shorts.

“Ok sorted, you’re in denim shorts so I’m going to wear mine too. Done ok move get off me I need to change or we’re going to be late” I exclaimed as I pushed him off me with my hips. A bad move? Absolutely not. I got to feel all of him against me and remind him of what he gets to come home to every evening, if he choses.

“Wow what's the rush now Mils? Why are you walking around like you’ve got ants in your pants?” He questioned as he tightened his grip on me and turned me so I was facing him, looking up into his curious baby blues.

“And don’t say nothing, I’ve picked up on all of your tells already” He further questioned as he could see the wheels begin to turn behind my eyes, desperate to come up with an excuse to mask my jitters so I wouldn’t have to tell him the truth.

“I regret ever letting you become friends with Fede, he’s spilling all of my secrets...Ok fine. I’m nervous to see Jack. I haven’t seen him since...ya’know and I haven't spoken to him since I gave him a telling off before international break and Ben I promise you I haven't thought about him once but I’m still worried that there's unresolved anger there from him and I don’t want to get into it again just when we’re getting back into the groove of us and it’ll impact your friendsh-” my rambling was cut off by his lips, which were simultaneously reminding me to breathe between my words and leaving me breathless at the same time. He always did have a way with his lips, the power they held over me was unmatched by anything.

“Calm down love, I promise it’ll be okay. Jack and I have had it out already, a long chat on international duties which may have only been prompted because Mase and Dec locked us in the kit room after our first session, sorted it all out.” Ben reassured me as he began to rub his thumbs over my cheeks and his hands held both sides of my face.

“I do know he wants to apologise to you though - so don’t be surprised if he tries to do that early on in the evening. You know just how awkward he can be so he’ll probably spring it on you before you’ve even put your bag down.”

“Oh great, I’m gonna need to do a couple shots before we leave the house - you’re good to drive right?” I said as I walked from his grasp and down the stairs to grab the bottle of vodka for some good old fashioned dutch courage.

______________________________________________________________

Ben was right about Jack, he had approached the couple only moments after they had arrived at Azpi’s house. Amelia had spotted him making his way towards them so she began to walk in a different direction to Ben, stretching their interlocked hands and letting him go as she mumbled something about needing to put her bag down. Ben really knew both of them too well. Jack gave Ben a hug hello, still in the grovelling stage of repairing their friendship.

“Hey bro, how’s it goin?” Jack spoke as he pulled away from Ben.

“Yeah bro all’s good with me, how are you? Congrats on the move again, million dollar geez you are, aren’t ya? Don’t forget me when you're mingling with Messi in a couple years” Ben joked back with the boy who has been literally a brother to him for the last few years.

“Ahhh you’re jokin me, could never forget a brother could I? We’re basically blood at this point I reckon. Where’d Mils run off ta?” Jack questioned with his arm around Ben’s neck, both of the boys looking out into the garden for the girl in question.

“Right here super Jack” Amelia spoke from behind them. During their brief discussion, Amelia had put her bag down and ran inside to grab herself a drink before walking out to face the music of Jack’s apology. Overhearing how lighthearted he was with Ben, coupled with the reassurance that Ben had provided her earlier in the evening plus the two or three vodka shots she had downed in their kitchen before coming to the afterparty had meant that she left her worries at the door.

“Mils, darlin', you already know what's coming but I truly am sorry...to both of ya ya’know. Benny, we’ve already had it out and it took me ages to get over that black eye but please believe me when I tell ya I am so sorry for treating you that way Amelia. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry and I regret nothing more than how I made you feel.” Jack could feel himself getting teary whilst thinking about how he made the girl feel, how he made his best mate and chosen brother feel, how he really put a spanner in the works of their blossoming relationship.

“Jack, I’m not going to say it was ok because it wasn't. But it wasn’t just your fault, I also played a part in it that has me cursing myself every day for ruining things with Benj. I forgive you, Jacky.” Amelia spoke while reaching up and wrapping her arms around Jack’s neck to give him one of her signature squeezy hugs, to truly convey that she was moving on from their tumultuous past and hoped that he could stop beating himself up over it and do the same.

Jack had left the couple to return to the table and grab himself a refill of his drink. Ben’s arm had found its natural position around Amelia’s shoulders as they both stood there looking out at their friends. However, Ben was looking down at Amelia. Without missing a beat and keeping her eyes focused out on the yard, Amelia spoke only loud enough for Ben to hear.

“So, you gave Jack a black eye over me huh? That’s hot”

Amelia took a few steps forward before turning to look at the expression on Ben’s face as she continued to walk away from him, backwards. The slight shock turned into a full on smirk as he walked towards her eager to close the gap between them with a kiss. He knew she loved him with her whole heart, but he hoped that she would understand just how much he loved her right back.

The Proposal | la proposta

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years ago

Note

I saw this prompt for feysand and i would love to see your take on it - I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

I've really been enjoying your writing!!❤

AN: I took it and ran, and ran, and kept running. Thank-you so, SO much for sending it my way! This was a great prompt that had fun with. I’m glad you’ve been liking my stuff, it means a lot! ~5.5kwords

TW: Brief talk about death, anxiety, depression, fear.

Worth It

Seated at a canvas with paints or pencils in hand, Feyre was unstoppable. She could create landscapes with ease or depict a simple still life and turn it into something far greater. Art was where she lived.

Not in a basement classroom learning about Prythian history.

There wasn’t anything wrong with history, especially when it was as rich and vibrant as Prythia. But talking about wars, treaties, and assassinations could only be discussed for so long.

Of course, it didn’t help that Feyre was dyslexic, but she didn’t talk about that.

She glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else was as bored as she was. It was the first day of class and she was the only one not taking extensive notes. Well, she and a guy at the front of the room. All Feyre could see was the back of his head. His hair was dark as midnight and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as he sat at his desk. He didn’t even have a textbook with him.

Feyre forced herself to pay attention as the Professor finally shut down the slide show presentation.

“Make sure you look of the syllabus,” Dr. Wesson addressed the class. She was a small woman with rich brown hair and a plain green dress. “It outlines the schedule of tests and essays. None of the dates will be altered. My TA will be at your disposal.”

Dr. Wesson nodded to the guy with the black hair and gestured for him to stand up.

And just like that, the class was the most fascinating thing in the world.

He was tall, taller than he’d originally appeared. His warmly tanned skin made his violet blue eyes bright and eager. A sly sort of smile traced his mouth as he observed the class.

“Call me Rhysand,” he said, “I’m working on my masters specifically in the historical aspect of how literature was shaped by wars in the land. I’m always glad to help with your questions. Just make sure you email me to set something up.”

The girls next to Feyre whispered to each other, exchanging significant looks. Feyre exchanged a significant look with the amount of reading and writing that was required.

Hell. It was going to be a long semester.

The class dismissed right at nine o’clock, much to Feyre’s relief. While most of the students flocked to the front of the room to either gawk at the TA or further discuss issues with the Professor, Feyre left the class. Already she could feel her dread pooling into anxiety. Her heart rate quickened and the muscles in her left hand twitched.

She just needed to get home and sit down with a canvas and paint.

As soon as she made it outside the Humanities Building however, the dread continued to tug at Feyre. It was far too dark. With far fewer lights than she’d expected for a college campus. Or maybe it was because there was a thick layer of clouds sagging down and threatening rain.

“Feyre!”

Snapping to attention, Feyre clutched her bag to her chest and found the source of her name.

Her friend, and roommate, Alis waved at her from a path diverging deeper on to campus. Her dark hair hung in waves down her back and the jacket she wore was flattering against her curves.

Feyre let out a long, releieved breath and plastered a smile on her face. Quickly, she moved toward her friend.

“Hey,” Feyre greeted and accepted a hug from the smaller girl. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you had a late class,” Alis explained, “and I knew it was with Wesson. I heard the woman is miserable. So intense. But--I mean--you’re going to do great. Your always so creative with everything I’m sure she’ll love you. Anyway, I was finishing up buying my books for the semester and thought I’d meet up with you.”

Feyre smiled as Alis spoke, grateful for the small distraction. Even if it was slightly horrific in thinking about trying to get on a professor’s good-side.

“Thanks,” Feyre said, “I appreciate it. It was a bit intimidating.”

“I think everyone just likes making freshman miserable,” Alis said. Alis was technically a junior, but had changed her major four times and couldn’t decide on a minor. She was not on track to graduate when she’d originally thought, but wasn’t at all concerned.

Feyre wished she could be more like that than the raging mess she felt she was.

Behind them, leaving the Humanities Building, the TA appeared leading an entire gaggle of girls.

“Let’s go,” Feyre muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

By the third week of the semester Feyre came to better understand her relationship with exhaustion. And it was not a good one.

She was fairly certain her body consisted of ninety percent caffeinated beverages and ten percent hot pockets. She’d never been one for eating much. Growing up had always been a struggle in keeping food in the fridge and a decent pair of shoes on her feet. Feyre knew by now how her body functioned.

It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest. And there was a part of her that recognized that. And another part that ignored it.

Two nights a week, Feyre found herself stuffed in the basement with little enjoyment. Other than getting to stare and Rhysand when Dr. Wesson turned the class over to him for brief instruction.

And looking at him was enjoyment. He was far different from any other guy Feyre had encountered. His hair was kept neat and short sweeping easily back out of his face, a charming smile, and warm brown skin. Not to mention the tattoos.

Feyre had never really considered tattoos as being attractive. Perhaps it was the artistic side of her that couldn’t get enough of them. On him at least. The way the black in swirled on his skin and swept up his arms. It was a shame he never wore short sleeves or unbuttoned one extra cutton at his collar.

Hell.

Mentally shaking herself, Feyre forced herself to pay attention.

Rhysand was discussing scores from the test last week. And, to put it mildly, was not impressed. Oh, there was plenty of good to say. Some of the students were engaged in the topics at hand. Some of the students displayed an obvious grasp of complicated topics. Others did not.

Feyre found herself sinking deeper into her seat by the end of class.

He hadn’t called her out by name, but truly--it felt like he had.

“That’s it for today, enjoy the weekend,” Rhysand called out at the tick of nine, “and remember essay proposals are due by the start of class on Tuesday.”

There was a quick rustle of the students getting up and gathering their things. It was a glorious Thursday evening and Feyre had somehow managed to keep her Friday’s clear of classes. At least something had gone right.

“Feyre?” She whipped around to meet those stark violet eyes. Hell. “I needed to talk to you about the questions you had on the proposal assignment.”

Feyre bristled. And not just because some of the girls shot her angry looks for being singled out by the hot TA. She hadn’t asked any questions. She was just trying to skate by on this class and be done with her prerequisites so she could get into her Art Major.

She set her bag on the floor once more and went to the front of the class. Already most of the students were leaving, far too eager to be done with school for the night.

As Rhysand answered a few last questions and dismissed the rest of the students, Feyre approached. Already she knew what she was going to say.

“I don’t have any questions.” The words fell from her mouth with ease. “I already know what I’m writing on.”

Lie. But a well-practiced one.

Rhysand’s mouth curled in a smile. He hefted a small stack of papers in one hand and leafed through them. Feyre froze realizing that they were the tests from last week. He pulled one of the stapled bunches out before setting the rest down.

“Honestly, I was surprised while grading this,” he said, “I mean, you’re obviously smart. I saw that you were awarded the Starfell Scholarship, not an easy accomplishment. Not to mention your always engaged and taking notes.”

Feyre wished her skin wasn’t as pale as it was. Her skin flushed under his scrutiny, but she tilted her chin up and met his gaze.

“And?” she asked. “I take my education seriously.”

Somewhat. When she actually liked the work.

Rhysand handed her the test. And she saw the grade.

Hell.

Her stomach churned. Roiled actually. Maybe she was going to be sick. That was just what she needed.

“So?” she asked instead. “It was the first test of the semester.”

“And yours in the only outlier,” he replied.

His eyes never left hers and Feyre felt more and more inclined to throw something at him. Who was he to talk to her about her grade? He was just the damned TA.

“Dr. Wesson doesn’t like picking up the slack of grading or talking to students about it all that much,” he continued, literally reading her mind. “I’m just concerned about you falling behind.”

Feyre stiffened and pursed her lips.

“I grew up learning Prythian history, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said stiffly.

Another lie. She knew enough that basic education taught and what she’d heard and listened to. But reading about it? Her mind couldn’t grasp it. It had been hard enough getting decent SAT scores to get accepted in the University let alone writing that damned Starfell essay.

“Of course,” Rhysand said slowly.

And Feyre had the sense that he was assessing her. Analytically, carefully. In the was that one would size up an opponent or scrutinize a strange recipe. He was trying to understand her.

Feyre handed him back the test.

“Thanks for the concern,” she said, “but I’ll be fine.”

Perhaps he was just being nice. Perhaps he was merely trying to fulfill his duties as TA. But she had seen the way he acted in the class. At times rebuffing boys and girls alike. Not to mention seeing him around campus tossing a football around with two other boys. She’d also seen him get kicked out of the library for a parkour prank challenge.

In all honesty, Feyre had no idea what to make of him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

He didn’t seem to believe her. Not with the crease forming between his brow nor the frown turning down one side of his mouth.

Well, that was his problem.

“Have a good night,” Feyre said. She spun on her heel before he could say anything and grabbed her bag and was out the door.

Once she was outside, she could breathe again. Strange. She often found the darkness, the night, to be so suffocating. It wasn’t long before Feyre realized something was off about the night. And then she realized. Alis was nowhere in sight.

Feyre dug her phone out of her pocket and found a missed text.

Sorry chica, caught up at study group. Probs gonna spend the night at Nuala’s too. See you tomorrow!

Of all the nights Alis could get serious with her girlfriend.

Feyre swallowed stiffly and stared out over the pavilion that stretched between the humanities building and out to the mathematics building. A few pathways branched off to different parts of campus and then there was the main one that would take her to the dorms. And of course, most of the streetlamps were barely flickering to life.

She’d never liked the dark. Never liked what could hide in the shadows. Nor what could sneak in silence. Perhaps it was childish to still hold onto that fear. She was almost nineteen years old after all. Nearly fifteen years later and here she was.

Feyre’s hands shook as she clutched her phone. She could call Elain. Nesta. Even just to talk to as she walked. Though Elain lost her phone even when it was in her hand. And Nesta was at work.

But it was fine. Feyre knew it was fine. Because all she needed to do was walk. And shed been walking for long enough that putting one step in front of the other was natural. Easy. Simple. Yet here she was. Standing.

When Rhysand spoke, she didn’t even start.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

Myself. “No.”

Silence.

“It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

How strange it was, to hear only the hum of crickets and breath of night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre glanced at him. Even in the shadows she could see him clearly. It was like he was made of night, of dark, of the mysteries that she could never lay her hand on. She shook her head. Focus, Feyre.

“Of course I am,” she insisted, a little too sharply. “Maybe I like having time to think.”

“At nine-thirty at night. Outside the least exciting building on campus.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I heard that last year a group of boys nearly got suspended for trying to host a snowball fight, indoors.” Feyre couldn’t help but grin when she saw how Rhysand flushed.

“Technically, I’m not the one who brought the snowballs inside the building,” he said defensively.

“Oh, no, you’re just the one who built an entire fort in front of the main entrance to the building,” Feyre said.

It had actually been pretty hilarious when she’d heard about it from Alis. It almost made her wish that she'd been around last year instead of taking a year off.

“Technically,” he said again, the word making Feyre’s brow arch, “it was my brother who instigated the fight. He couldn’t let his reign be challenged.”

Feyre snorted a laugh and looked out over the quiet campus. It almost didn't look so dark and cold as she'd thought it had. But still, she felt her heart continue to hammer out unevenly in her chest. She couldn't walk home alone. Even the thought of taking one step forward had her clench and unclench a fist over the strap of her bag.

Rhysand continued saying something, but Feyre was only half listening. She was mostly focused on the thought of walking home. She could cut through the Science building. If it was still open. Or she could full out sprint.

“Are you alright?” Rhysand asked.

Flushing, Feyre pushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “Fine, yeah.” She knew she had to ask him. Knew that it was her only option despite how embarrassed she might feel. “Could you--this is stupid, so you can say no--could you walk with me to the dorms?”

Rhysand was quiet for a moment. And in that moment Feyre was certain he was going to sneer at her. Laugh. Tell her to get over herself. Just like the others before him.

"Where do you live?" Rhys and asked suddenly, cutting Feyre off before she had the ch

“The dorms on the west side,” she said.

“Alliance Dorms?” Rhysaid confirmed. When Feyre nodded, he flashed her a small smile. “Absolutely.”

Relief pounded through Feyre.

“If you tell me what the deal was with that test.”

“You’re an ass.” The words were out before Feyre could stop them. Not the best thing to say to the TA of a class she was likely going to flunk.

Scowling, more to herself than him, Feyre started walking towards the dorms. She was a strong confidant woman. She did not need him to walk her home.

But Rhysand with those damned long legs kept stride with her easily. And he was laughing. Feyre was half tempted to knock an elbow in his side for laughing at her, but his next words caught her off guard.

“I like you Feyre,” he said, “you are rather interesting.”

She glanced up at him. Was he serious? She’d insulted him. She’d barely exchanged ten words with him at this point. And was scared of walking home alone. Granted it was a valid fear for a young woman on a college campus these days.

“Insane is the better word for it,” she replied, mostly under her breath. That’s what everyone back home said at least. In the small town where nothing was supposed to go wrong. But everything did.

“Interesting, curious, vibrant,” Rhysand listed off. “Far better words I think.”

Feyre had never been good with words. Like now. She couldn’t find the energy to respond to him. There was a spark in his eye that almost challenged her, begged her to continue the banter, the little game.

She remained silent.

She’d heard it was a far better mask for her to wear anyways.

The first paper she turned in for the History class was returned with far too many red marks. Far too many question marks. Far too many. So Feyre merely folded the thing in half and stuffed it in her bag.

She could burn it later.

Dr. Wesson ended the lecture right at nine and dismissed the class. Feyre had almost disillusioned herself into thinking she could avoid a conversation with the Professor. With Rhysand. But just as she was trying to maneuver around the giggling pack of girls that sat next to her, Dr. Wesson’s voice called out for her.

“Oh Miss Archeron, a word please?”

Feyre froze. She could feign a phone call. But then next class session the same thing would happen. So, Feyre braced herself for what was to come and went to the front of the class.

As usual, Rhysand looked perfectly unruffled. Despite the fact that Fall was quickly slipping into the winter months, he still wore a simple black button up tucked into slacks, the sleeves rolled up.

“Feyre,” Dr. Wesson said as she approached, she reached out a hand and gave Feyre a firm pat on the arm. “I know Rhysand spoke to you last week about your test. I wanted to follow up, especially in seeing how this essay went. Now, there is still plenty of time left in the semester, but I worry you aren’t grasping the things you should be.”

Blood pounded in Feyre’s ears. She could hear her heart beat throb, feel it in her veins. Her entire body flushed with embarrassment, stress, horror. Everything bubbled to the surface even though she’d tried so hard to tamp it down.

She tried to open her mouth but found her teeth were grinding together so bad that her jaw hurt.

“I think,” Dr. Wesson continued, “that you would benefit from spending a bit of extra time with Rhysand. Just to make sure you’re where you need to be in the class.”

Feyre found herself nodding and agreeing. Her voice was relaxed, calm even. But far too close to breaking.

After thanking the Doctor for her uncharacteristic kindness, Feyre stared and the poorly erased whiteboard over Rhysand’s shoulder for a long moment. With a slow exhale she finally met his gaze.

Rhysand met her eyes with such intensity that Feyre nearly lost her breath all over again. She shook it off and rolled her shoulders.

“Shall we get started tonight?” she asked. “Or I’m sure you have plans.”

“Nah, only kicking Cassian’s ass at Mario Cart,” Rhysand replied. He flashed her an innocent sort of smile. Feyre wasn’t sure if it was one out of kindness or mockery of some sort.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stuck it out for him. “Just give me your number and I’ll let you know when’s a good time to study.”

Rhysand hesitated on a moment before accepting the phone and adding his details. As soon as she got her phone back, Feyre changed his name from Rhys to Prick. It seemed to fit better.

“It’s not a big deal you know,” Rhysand said.

He followed Feyre out of the classroom. His steps were confident against the carpet that had to be at least thirty years old. Truly Rhysand was an enigma with his ease, grace, and elegance when pitted against the drab interior of the Humanities Building.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Feyre said.

Once outside, the cold night air nipped at her skin and even through her jacket she could feel goosebumps rise. Just like the night last week, Feyre waited just outside the building doors. She stared into the night; across the courtyard she could see a few pale lights from the Math Building. None of the lampposts had been fixed which left most of the walkways in shadows.

Nothing about the night was out of place. It was calm, still, and everything lingered on Feyre’s mind. And just like last week, Rhysand waited beside her.

Overhead, Feyre could just make out the stars. Only a thin veil of clouds hung over the sky allowing a small bit of freedom to pierce her heart. But not enough.

“Could you walk with me again?” she asked quietly, unable to look at Rhysand.

“Only if you talk to me this time,” he said. That cheeky grin returning. And despite how much she hated it, it put Feyre at ease.

“Fine.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and began walking. “What made you pick history? There had to be something else. You don’t seem the type for old stuffy books or maps.”

“And who do you peg me for, Feyre?” His voice was practically a purr.

“High and mighty sitting behind a desk,” she replied drily. “Running some company somewhere. You certainly have the personality for it.”

He laughed unamused. “If my father had any say in the matter. A degree in history only puts off the inevitable.”

“That’s a rather bleak look on things,” Feyre said. It sounded like something she would say.

“Only if I didn’t enjoy what I was learning so much,” he said. In the flickering light of the lamps, they walked beneath, Rhysand’s expression brightened. “Between the wars and legends surrounding what shaped the country...it’s always been curious to see what we became. What we can become.”

His response seemed so honest, so genuine, that Feyre nearly stumbled. She barely knew him, had barely spent any time with him, yet she was beginning to feel that she knew him.

“So you devote all your time and attention to it?” Feyre asked.

They passed by the last of the campus buildings. A brisk wind scattered fallen leaves on the sidewalks and crunched under their steps as they walked.

“Don’t you have something you love? Something that you feel has changed you and you’d never want to give it up?”

A box of paints. Brushes that she’d had since she was ten. A canvas only half finished. She’d thought she could complete the image but it had been almost a year since she’d even looked at it. But art…art had changed her. Art had loved her just as she loved it.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. Tilting her chin up, Feyre caught sight of a small patch of stars amid the inky black sky. Dim but shining still. “There’s always something.”

If he heard the sadness in her voice, he said nothing. Which was partially surprising, but Feyre would roll with it.

“The tutoring,” Rhysand began.

“No,” Feyre cut him off. “Not right now.”

“So you’re just going to ignore your problems?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Seems to be.”

Feyre stopped causing him him to move a few steps ahead of her. When he turned back towards her, he waited.

“I’ll admit to needing a little extra help to help my tests and essays, but I don’t see what else you’d need to know.”

“It’s alright to talk,” Rhysand paused, something else on the cusp of behind heard. But he restrained, his voice trailing off softly.

Feyre ignored the comment. Talking had never been her strong suit. She was more of action. Less idle, more work. Ever since she was a child it had been that way. She knew why, of course. It was obvious when she thought about it. So she never thought about it.

“What are you planning on studying?” Rhysand asked when she made no effort to continue on the topic of her test.

“Art,” she replied immediately. “I’m an artist. But my sister wanted me to get more of an education that could support me. So I’m just working on my prerequisites.”

“Art,” he repeated. There was a lilt to his voice as if he really were actually interested in what she was saying. “Sketching? Sculpture?”

“Paint and canvas,” Feyre said. “Since I was little. After my mom died, my sister bought me my first set of brushes and paint and everything I could need. She was only nine. I think she stole my dad’s credit card to do it.”

The reality of that had Feyre laughing softly, but Rhysand gave her look that was a mix of horror and confusion.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said quickly, “I’m fine.”

It was a lie of course. If she really were fine, she wouldn't have asked him to walk her home. She would better know how to control her fears, her anxiety. She would be happy.

“My mother died ten years ago,” Rhysand told her, his voice quiet and contemplative. “She’d been sick for a while and we knew it was coming. But for a ten-year-old boy, it was hard to understand. My father certainly didn’t. Still doesn’t.”

They reached Feyre’s dorms then, floodlights illuminated the front street and made it seem as though it were day. Feyre turned toward him and found herself smiling, just barely.

“Thank-you,” she said sincerely. “And I’m sorry you have to be a part of the dead mother’s club.”

“You too,” he said.

Feyre wondered if there was something else she should say. Wondered if he would even want to hear it. It was strange, that little flame of comradery that she felt towards him. But it was gone in an instant as Alis came running out from the building.

“Feyre! Get inside, it’s movie night!”

Shaking her head, Feyre offered Rhysand a small wave and headed into the dorms.

With three weeks until the next paper was due in that miserable class, Feyre spent her free time studying with Rhysand. It wasn’t as miserable as she’d been expecting it to be. Not when she realized he was far more laid back than she’d assumed. And then she’d met his best friends who were essentially like his brothers.

It was far easier to study in the relaxed environment that Rhysand created. And far easier to be herself around him. Of course, it had taken Feyre a while to decide that maybe they could be friends.

“Summarize what the chapter from last night’s reading discussed,” Rhysand said one night as they were studying. It was well after ten o’clock but they’d been given permission to stay in the building.

Feyre pursed her lips. She’d done the reading of course. As well as she’d been able. Most of had been hard to understand. No matter how she tried to focus or train her mind, her dyslexia always got in the way.

“Right,” Feyre said slowly. “It was about the last king of Hybern.”

“And?” Rhysand prodded.

“And he was a jerk,” Feyre added.

Rhysand’s fixed her with a look. Long and hard but still underlined with compassion.

“Feyre,” he said, just a bit more seriousness to his voice.

She sighed heavily and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. “I read it. I just didn’t understand it.”

Silence.

Feyre shot him a scowl but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m dyslexic. And History tends to be a bit harder for me to understand.”

Rhsand blinked. Once. But nothing else. No laugh or scoff of scorn. Instead, he smiled and pushed to text book toward her.

“Then read.”

“Read?”

“Aloud, preferably,” Rhysand said. He shrugged. “You want to be ready for the paper and subsequent test?”

“Prick,” she muttered. But she dragged the book towards her and began.

It became habit. A rhythm they fell into for the next several weeks. Rhysand helped Feyre study and prepare for the paper, the test. He walked her home, remaining the perfect gentleman. And Feyre, Feyre relished the time.

It was because he was genuine. Honest. There was something about him, deeper than the intensity he displayed on the outside. And for the first time in a while, Feyre found herself laughing with him. For the first time in a while, she was living for more than just expectations.

He was actually turning into her friend and it was strange thought indeed.

“Alright students,” Dr. Wesson announced towards the end of class on the last day before Thanksgiving break. “I have your midterm tests and papers graded. So now you can either relax or stress even further. Depending on the grade.”

A weak laugh bubbled around the room. Feyre gripped the underside of her chair tightly. She wasn’t ready for this. Not in the slightest.

Dr. Wesson slowly made her way around the room delivering both test and paper. Feyre, by some stroke of cosmic affair, didn’t get her paper until last and the entire room was empty aside from Dr. Wesson and Rhysand. Why was it they always ended up here?

“Well done, Miss Archeron,” Dr. Wesson said. She handed two packets of paper to Feyre and smiled. “I love to see improvement.”

Gaping, Feyre looked between the two grades. Heart hammering, she looked over the scores, brilliant red B’s shined up at her.

“I don’t usually offer extra credit,” the doctor went on, “but an exhibit is coming to the University about the Prythian Wall and it’s destruction. If you can come up with a project to demonstrate what it entails, I might be convinced to help you keep your grade up.”

Feyre could only nod as the professor bid them goodnight and left.

“Well done.”

Feyre looked up to see Rhysand beaming at her and she couldn’t help but grin. She leapt out of her seat and flung her arms around him in an embrace.

“Thank-you!” she whispered. It took her perhaps a moment too long to realize that a hung might not have been the best of plans. She hurriedly pulled back. “Sorry. That was uncalled far. I’m just really excited.”

“As you should be,” Rhysand said. His smile hadn’t dimmed but there was something in his eyes that Feyre couldn’t quite read. “It wasn’t an easy test.”

“And now we have a full week off for Thanksgiving,” she said. It was the best news she could have been given after getting her grades back.

“If you want,” Rhysand said, “my brother’s and cousin and I are having a game night, with pizza. If you want to come.”

A spark of excitement ignited in Feyre’s chest. She didn’t know when she’d developed a stupid little crush on Rhysand, but it was slowly starting to simmer out of control. She should have said no. Or come up with an excuse of some kind. Insead she found herself nodding.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They collected their things and left the building. Feyre took a few steps down the path they usually took to get to her dorm when she paused. She turned back to Rhysand and frowned.

“Where do you live?”

Rhysand looked a little sheepish. “Oh, I live over in the Court Apartments.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s in the complete opposite direction from my place.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been walking me home for practically a month.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Feyre asked, practically waving her hands in the air. “It’s basically a two-mile walk from my place.”

Rhysand shrugged. “You asked for help and I wanted to give it.”

Feyre stared at him. Her coat and scarf bunched around her neck, even though the night was perfectly clear. It was clear enough that she could see the billions of stars overhead. She could see them sparking in the black night. And for one she wasn’t overcome with her usual anxiety. Her usual fears. Instead, all she would do was stare at Rhysand.

“Why would you do that?” she insisted.

Rhysand opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Because you were worth it.”

His simple words hung between them and Feyre had a hard time knowing what to say or how to react. So she merely smiled and hooked her arm with his.

“Tell me about game night. Am I going to wind up on some snipe hunt?”

“Oh no, you and I are going to gang up against Cassian and beat him at Mario Cart.”

Feyre laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

And she realized that she wouldn’t mind if that’s how the rest of her nights played out. Late hours of laughs and friends, being around people--one person--who made her feel better than she had in a long time.

No, she wouldn’t mind it at all.

thanks so much for reading!

tags:

please reach out if i missed you and let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed. it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @emikadreams @rapunzel1523 @booksofthemoon @highladysith @fangirlprincess09

#feysand #feysand au #anon #prompts #answered #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #acomaf #sjm #fanfiction #feysand fanfiction

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photiniainsummer · 4 years ago

Text

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #darkiplier #ego fanfiction #happy birthday mister man light of my life #sorry it is late i was a pile of mental goop after exams #mad market pliers ramblings #fanfiction

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izur-x · 4 years ago

Note

Admirations!

Looking at your Izuru One-shot gave me a lot of heckling ideas to give you a request. Here is one! Could you do a one shot of Izuru x a reader who is an introverted cheerful person that loves to be around him, but when she meets Junko Enoshima, everything is completely different. I wanted reader to end up like Izuru so she can understand how he feels, so in exchange of that, she gets involved with Junko and asks her if she could interfere with her brain, just like how Izuru ended up like.

I hope this wont bother you at all. Good luck! :)) 💖

Ah yes! Thanks for the request, and no it's not bother me!

Reader want to understand izuru feelings again

Again sorry if it's ooc 🧍‍♂️

Summary: (y/n) who is a introvert with cheerful personally who is always at izuru sides

(y/p) = your pronouns

You're always at izuru sides, it didn't bother him, he accually like it surprisingly. You and Izuru were in a park doing nothing, you guys just sit there in a comfortable silent, with the sound of bird chirping, gentle wind flow through both of you, making Izuru hair follow the wind.

You hummed a song from a game that you played yesterday, for Izuru this atmosphere is perfect, with your humming making it even greater, and then some thoughts across your mind.

'i wonder how was izuru feels, i mean he say everything was boring, but.....' as you were going to the deepest thought, Izuru notice that your humming was slow down, he look at you, and waved his hand infront of your face, you were brought back to earth and apologies to him.

"sigh.. it's fine (y/n), it's unusual that you were in deep thoughts." Izuru look to the front, you just nervously chuckle "sorry about that hehe.. something caught my attention so" as you rubbing you nape and closed eyes smile.

"anyway! Let's go get ice cream, zuru'." You grab izuru wrists, go to an ice cream shop and buy one, when you guys walking to the shop, you were too excited, you didn't look right or left before you're crossing the street.

A car who was at the highest speed, basically it's almost hit you, but izuru grab you fast and let the car pass, you just dumbfounded of what happened, you look at Izuru "next time look right and left before you go across the street." You nervously nodding your head, and continue walking to the shop.

Time skip

You were getting distracted by your thoughts from that day, and also, you missed Izuru, it's been awhile since you last saw him, and now you're in deep thoughts not caring what's serounding.

You bummed into someone chest and falls "akh, im sorry for crash into you." You bow quickly and starts walking, you didn't care who is your bump into, you heard weird laugh from behind. You stop and look behind, you see a girl with pigtails and showing too much chest, one is a girl with short hair and freckles, and you see him.

The one you missed, the one who is gone for over a month. It's Izuru, he's back, you notice something wrong with him.

Your expression drop, slowly backing away, Izuru walked towards you, before you take off and run, Izuru grab your wrist and placing a piece of clothing to your mouth, it's making you dizzy, you found yourself in a familiar warmth, and then you're falls asleep in Izuru arms.

You wakes up, it was so cold in the room, you didn't remember what happened, trying hard to remember until you remember what happened. You sigh for the event that's going on with you, you keep asking to yourself 'why is Izuru like that?' 'what does he feels now?' 'last time i know how he feels, but now...' those thoughts remains inside your brains.

You didn't notices that the door was open, and you also didn't hear what someone said.

"hellooo??" You jumped from the sudden voice, "oh good! Now you're paying attention! Seems like you're in deep thoughts! Puhuhuhuu! I wonder what are you thinking about, hey? Tell me!" You look at the women who is speaking to you, the pigtails taking a seat besides you and leaning closer.

"h-hey, um, personal space.....?" At first she confused and then laughing like crazy, you back away, you heard a voice from infront of the door "leave (y/p) alone, junko." Junko walks to Izuru "aww come on! I only messing with (he/she)-" "it's (y/p)." "Alright! alright!, geez it's only pronouns why are you mad, okay finee, I'll leave you lovebirds alone!" Junko slowly closing the door, before she actually close the door she said "don't forget to use condom!" And close the door.

You were staring at Izuru, he look away from you, walked besides you and take a seat. The awkward silent slowly taking over, no one is talking "look, im sorry for leaving you.." Izuru sliced the awkward atmosphere, "it's okay, really, i just never expecting this." Izuru hummed.

"hey, izuru..." He didn't know why he's hearts sting's a little, "yes (y/n)?" He look at you with dull ruby orbs, "how do you feels." "Huh? What do.. you mean..?" Izuru confused by you "i mean, when were together, i.. i know how you feels..." You grab your uniform cardigan, your eyes became glossy.

"(y/n)...", bitting your bottom lips and start to sobbing, Izuru petting you head as a comfort and pull you closer, "im sorry..". after a few minutes, you start to calm down, you wipe the tears from your face, "im gonna calm down myself.... Can you-" "right, you want me to leave, okay. Take your time.." Izuru getting up from the seat and start walking to the door.

As soon the door was closed, you decided to take asleep 'its nice if i sleep for...eve...r...' your slowly closing your eyes and sleep.

It's been 3 day's since those three kidnapped you, you still couldn't figure it out about Izuru feelings, when they released you from that cold room, you talked to junko, you didn't stupid, it's obvious that she do something about Izuru.

"hey junko." "Hm?? Oh, heeyyy (yyy/nnn), what's up??? Oh! You want to know what happened to Kamukura-senpai?" Junko move closer to you "yes. What did you do to him." "Aww come on! I'm just messing with his brain!" You were completely shock, how can someone do such a thing?

"hmm... You may wonder how i do that! Its simple!" You look at junko intensely "despair that's all." Junko turn around and walk away.

You just standing in there feels completely hopeless.

That's night, you couldn't even sleep. Junko make an offer if she could mess with your brain, you didn't answer because izuru cover your mouth and drag you away.

You were ready to answer the offer, cause it's night you wete expecting Izuru was asleep, and he is. you making your way outside and go to the rooftop and see junko by herself, it's strange that mukuro isn't with her.

"finally got an answer?" She look at you, you sigh, "yes....." "Puhuhuhuu! Finally! It's been a week, i keep waiting for an answer!" You sit besides her and look down to the street, it was blury, "sooo, what's your answer??" Once again invading your personal space.

"sigh, I'll take the offer..." Junko wide her smile, "oki doki! Let me mess with your braiiinnn, aaahhh~! I can't wait you become one of us~" she hugging herself, "come on let's go! Before Kamukura wakes up." She drag you to strange room, there was a tv, a single tv and a chair.

"come sit on the chair! Im gonna turn on the video~ puhuhuhu! I can't waiiittt" as you listening her rambling about despair back and forward, and taking a sit, the sit was uncomfortable, it was a chain on it.

you wait until she finish preparing the video, "oh, i forgot to lock the door, be right back." She walk to the door and lock it, "alright! Are you readdyyy~?" She purred into your ears "i take that as a yes!"

"hmm, i think that you will go brutal, im gonna used the chain" junko chained your both arms and legs. She walk behind the tv and start playing the video, you look at the tv and start to feel dizzy.

You didn't know what's going on, and suddenly your sight become completely black. After a few hours, you start to waking up, you feels... Oddly fine? You didn't know what feelings is this.

You look at the person standing infront of you, it was Izuru, he didn't look happy. You realize that you can feels his emotions, previously you can't tell what's his emotions are, but now, you finally understand how he feels.

"your so dumb... Why would you do that." You didn't answer yet, at least for now. You getting up from the chair and walk out with him, both of you greeted by junko and mukuro, junko look really happy, mukuro is the same like always.

"welllccoommee (y/n)! To the despairrr~! Im glad that you were joining!!" You just nodded "hmm~ come on! We got a jobs to do~"

At the end, you finally understand what Izuru feels, it's good that you take the offer, but izuru didn't happy with it. As day passing by, Izuru finally accepting it, that spend the rest of his time with you.

"You hummed a song from a game that you played" the song that you hummed is "my actual code" by a game named "there is no game" go check it out on youtube!

anyway goodbye! And stay safe!

#danganronpa #danganronpa v2 goodbye despair #dr2 goodbye despair #one shot #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v2 #dr2 imagines #sdr2 izuru #izuru kamukura #danganronpa izuru #izuru x reader #izuru kamakura x reader #kamukuraizuru #kamukura x reader #kamakura x reader #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa oneshot #danganronpa x you

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The First: Aftermath (Part 2)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 2 of 4, 1609 words.

It never ceases to amaze Zenigata how quickly things tend to spiral out of control when the Lupin gang is involved. Just a few days ago, he was staking out a Parisian museum in hopes of preventing Lupin from stealing some old diary with vague ties to his grandfather. The stakeout had sort of worked, excepting Lupin’s usual dramatic escape at the last second. Then radio silence for a day or so, until Lupin popped up again in the middle of Mexico for no clear reason. That’s when things really got complicated, as they almost always do with these people.

While arresting Lupin may be the cornerstone of his career, Zenigata’s primary goal has always been to uphold justice and root out corruption wherever it may lurk—even among his own coworkers, from time to time. With that in mind, it’s not terribly surprising that he often finds himself forming a temporary alliance with the Lupin gang when there’s a greater evil to deal with, and there are few greater evils than the one they’ve come up against this time.

All in all, things seem to have worked out alright. The entirety of the Brazil base’s manpower was either taken into custody or gunned down when Interpol (and the Lupin gang) stormed the place, the Eclipse device was kept out of the wrong hands, and Laetitia Bresson can get on with her life as a bright young woman with a promising career in archaeology to look forward to, finally free of the dark cloud hanging over her.

But something still isn’t sitting right with Zenigata.

He would never admit to giving them a head start—it would sound too much like he’s going soft—but it didn’t seem fair to chase the Lupin gang out on a rail before they had a chance to say goodbye to their new friend. From where Zenigata had been watching on Interpol’s own boat, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, the whole affair seemed rather subdued. Lupin didn’t perform any of his usual grand gestures of farewell; Laetitia had hugged him, but he ended it fairly quickly and spent most of their conversation on the speedboat, like he was trying to keep a bit of distance between them.

The pursuit didn’t last long, on account of the fact that they could hardly leave Laetitia stranded there on the pier, but what little he saw before cutting the gang loose left a bad taste in his mouth. Again Lupin lacked his usual grandstanding and bravioso—no cheeky waving, no jumping around hurling childish barbs as the speedboat careened off into the sunset.

As a detective, Zenigata’s job is to make inferences based on whatever scraps of information he can wring out of a situation. In this case, the information he has leads to one conclusion: whatever happened on that plane, it didn’t go anywhere near as smoothly as Lupin insisted it would when he originally pitched his plan to destroy the Eclipse personally. There’s other supporting evidence, too; when the plan was originally hashed out, Lupin claimed he would set the Eclipse to destroy itself and then immediately bail out before it could become a danger to him. But when the time came, nobody saw him at all until long after the plane had begun to consume itself, and even then he didn’t have his parachute.

Something went wrong up there, Zenigata’s sure of it. If he had to guess, he would suppose that Geralt wasn’t as much of a pushover as Lupin seemed convinced he would be. They probably fought—or rather, Geralt fought while Lupin danced around making a fool of himself. Given the nature of Lupin’s scheme, it would stand to reason that Geralt might have come at him with everything he had. People tend to abandon all pretense when their ideology and life’s work goes up in smoke before their eyes. With that in mind, it’s very likely that Lupin took a beating before he could get away. That would explain his behavior after the fact, if he were injured.

Of course, there’s not really anything Zenigata can do about his theory, regardless of whether he turns out to be right. Going back for Laetitia meant he had absolutely no chance of catching the Lupin gang, or even tracking where they might have gone; he’s got a hunch they’re still somewhere in Brazil, but that’s not enough to work with. And there’s still all the logistics and busywork that come after a caper like this—reports to write and fact-check and edit, charges to file against the surviving Nazis, favors to cash in so Laetitia can make her way back to France (and then, shortly, to Boston) without too much hassle.

Zenigata is going to be up to his neck in paperwork for the rest of the month making sure this mess is sorted out properly and without any mistakes, and that’s assuming everything goes smoothly when it comes to filing charges. He’d like to believe his annoyance at being chained to his desk is purely a result of not being able to hunt down the Lupin gang after having no choice but to let them slip away, but he’d be lying to himself. The truth of the matter is that he’s worried, and there’s nothing to be done about it now except grind through the paperwork and wait to see if they resurface any time soon.

Just as Zenigata’s considering calling it quits for the night, his desk phone rings. That in itself isn’t terribly unusual, but everybody who’s needed to speak with him about today’s chaos has come to him directly—the building’s internal lines have been tangled up for hours with all the cross-department communication. It must be someone from outside the building, then, and Zenigata has a strong hunch who it might be. “Inspector Zenigata,” he says automatically.

“It’s Jigen.”

That’s what Zenigata was hoping for. “I’m not going to bother asking where you are.” Jigen would never say, and it would be impossible to trace the call before he loses his patience and hangs up. Besides, he’s almost certainly calling from a payphone, and that’s only marginally more useful information than ‘probably somewhere in Brazil’.

“Good. Saves us some time.” He sounds about as terse as usual—his gruff demeanor doesn’t translate well to phone conversations—but there’s something else there. Maybe he’s tired. “Just wanted to let you know we made it to dry land.”

Well, that’s good. Pretty vague reassurance, though. “And you’re all alright?” He can’t be blamed for probing a bit. It’s basically his job.

A brief pause. Not a good sign. “We’re all alive, if that’s what you mean.” Definitely not a good sign. Jigen sighs, or maybe it’s just static on the line. “Look, pops, I’ll level with you. Lupin’s not doing too hot. He’ll live,” he adds hastily, cutting off any possible miscommunication.

So Zenigata’s hunch was right. It’s no victory, all things considered. “How bad is it?”

Another pause, though this one is less loaded. “Not as bad as it could’ve been. He didn’t get shot this time, for once.” Lupin had mentioned his plan to palm Geralt’s bullets before they disembarked. Sounds like he pulled it off. “But that prick really did a number on him. Broke some ribs, fucked up his arm. Nearly crushed his throat, looks like.”

Zenigata finds himself gripping the receiver more tightly as he imagines what might have happened to cause those injuries, anger bubbling into his chest. Lupin may be a criminal, but nothing he’s done would ever warrant such brutality. “And you and Goemon, you two have it under control?” If they needed a proper doctor, Zenigata might find himself too busy to notice any reports that might come in regarding notable patients in the area. He’s got a lot of work to do, after all.

“I think so. It’ll mostly just take rest. Lots of rest.”

“Are you sure you can make that happen? Lupin won’t like it.”

“We’ll chain him down if we have to.” Jigen says it flatly, but there’s a hint of humor under there.

The situation must not be too dire, if he’s able to crack jokes. “Well, thanks for telling me. I really appreciate it, Jigen.” He won’t admit that he’s been fretting since he had to make the call to turn the boat around.

“No problem. It’s what Lupin would want, anyway.” Jigen pauses again; there’s a faint tapping noise, like he’s drumming his fingers on the receiver a little too close to the mouthpiece. “Pops, do yourself a favor. Take a vacation once you’re done cleaning up the Nazi mess. We’re not gonna let Lupin do jack shit for at least a month or two, so you’d be wasting your time waiting up for us.”

Now that he mentions it, a vacation sounds nice. Zenigata does get to travel a lot, but only for work; he hardly has time to take in the sights or buy souvenirs. “A month or two, huh? I’m holding you to that. I want a clean bill of health before you even think about another heist, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jigen sighs more than says. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I’ll tell Lupin you said hi.”

And just like that, the line goes dead. In terms of the Lupin case, Zenigata still has no leads, but he can’t bring himself to be particularly upset about it. He got the information he was hoping for, and he can’t really ask for more than that. Instead, he returns to his paperwork and makes a mental note to look into attending Laetitia’s archaeology seminar in Boston next month.

Part 1 (by Pin) < --- > Part 2 (by Cosma) < --- > Part 3 (by Pin)

#ink #fanfiction #lupin iii #daisuke jigen #koichi zenigata #lupin iii: the first

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obligatorynasty · 4 years ago

Text

ObligatoryNasty’s Starker Prompt Graveyard (pt. 1) ✨~I’m cleaning house ~✨

So I basically fell off the face of the internet for like a year and left a bunch of unfinished prompts in my wake. (I know, I kinda suck for that) But it’s been so long that a lot of them no longer spark joy and I’m so sorry!! 😔😔😔

I decided to just post some of what I had written from before and give some meta of what I would’ve done with each prompt. Apologies for any typos! ❤️

The Vibration Situation (Peter x Tony)

Peter’s heart thrummed in his chest as he dashed through the crosswalk. He was running late today; partially due to the delayed bus but mostly due to the instructions Tony unexpectedly texted him this morning. Not that he was complaining but getting a thing like that to fit comfortably takes a little bit of time. Even with his efforts in the shower, it still felt tight, especially as he hurried down the New York sidewalk.

As he finally made it down the two blocks, he approached his destination: Stark Tower. “Hi Tones!” He called out with a wave as he jogged up the steps, catching his breath with a smile as he stopped in front of Tony. “Sorry, we’re you waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Tony smiled, pulling Peter into a hug and locking his fingers at the small of Peter’s back as they talked. “Signed a few autographs, took some pictures with the adoring fans, the usual.”

Peter hummed, shifting his weight to his toes to press to quick kiss against Tony’s cheek. “Everyone’s favorite hero,” He whispered into another kiss.

Tony grinned, “Pretty sure Capsicle has me beat on that front.”

“Well, you’re my favorite hero.” Peter pointedly said, smiling sweetly.

“And you, mine,” Tony reciprocated, returning the smile in earnest before suddenly being interrupted by a paparazzi.

“Mr. Stark, Peter, over here! For the Bugle!” The man with the camera called out, interested in snapping a shot of the media’s favorite new couple. Their names had been in the news for weeks now after that first lucky paparazzi photo of them kissing in their suits. How the paparazzi managed to get that rooftop top photo, they would never know.

Tony smiled, shifting his stance to pose for pictures, arm around Peter’s waist. And as the camera flashed, he leaned over, whispering with a smile, “Did you bring it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter whispered back, waving with one hand and slipping a small remote into Tony’s jacket pocket with the other.

“Good,” Tony nodded, gripping tighter at Peter’s waist. “Just keep smiling, Pete.” He said as he switched on the remote, a playful test to see just how obedient Peter was.

Peter flinched, catching a breath in his throat, fighting the urge to moan as the vibrations pulsed within him and massaged his prostate. In any other situation, he would have screamed. But not in front of the paparazzi. No, in front of them, he remained poised, gripping at the back of Tony’s jacket like a lifeline and whining low through his teeth. He was grateful that he decided to wear a longer coat today, or else the headlines would have been riddled with pictures of his ever-growing bulge.

“Alright everyone, Mr. Parker and I have reservations. No more pictures please,” Tony waved the paparazzi away, clasping his hand in Peter’s and leading him the car.

As Tony ushered him into the car, Peter focused on walking and how much he didn’t want to anymore. Each step made the toy press harder into his sweet spot, firing pleasure up his spine that made his eyes sting with tears as he choked back moans. Once they were finally in the car, Tony let up, switching off the toy with a grin as he pulled the car away from the curb. “You did well, Peter.”

“That was a lot, Tones,” Peter spoke between exhales as he tried catching his breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.

“When we get to the restaurant, can I take it out?” Peter asked, genuinely convinced they were done.

But Tony just laughed, it was almost sympathetic. Almost. “You won’t be taking that out until the end of the day, my love.”

A/N: That was all I had for this one. But, in a perfect world, I would’ve had them go to a fancy restaurant. And of course, Tony being Tony, he turns the vibrator on again as Peter is ordering. Peter is a stuttering and blushing mess, maybe the waiter starts to catch on, but Tony plays it off and orders for them both. Toss in some “Good boy, Peter”s and some “Thank you, sir”s.

Then they would’ve gone to a movie premiere. Maybe walked a red carpet. Tony would keep putting his hand in his pocket like he’ll turn it on but he doesn’t. (He’s just playing mind games lol.) Instead, he turns it on once they’ve been seated. The theater is small so they’re relatively far from others. This time, he doesn’t stop it. Just keeps it on low until the louder parts of the movie. The ups and downs start getting to Peter, and when they head to the after party, he really starts to beg to cum whenever they get a second alone. And as they mingle with the others, Tony practically tortures Peter through that as well. Then Peter starts to fall into subspace, which is Tony’s cue to finally leave the party and head back to the Tower. Promising that, “We’re still not done, sweetheart.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Unexpected but Inevitable. (Penny X Tony) TW: character death

“Penny Parker, is it?” Tony hums, claiming the adjacent bar stool as his own, wordlessly gesturing to the bartender for a drink. It is only after glancing up and down the span of her body did he stare into Penny’s dark eyes, relaxing his tie with a short tug and taking the whiskey neat without brandishing thanks. His frame is powerful and expecting; the bustle of the elite after-event unable to cloud the glint of arrogance hiding beyond his playful eyes.

Despite his efforts, Penny doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she smooths her hand against the black satin of her dress, flattening the ripples across her thighs. As she moves, so does the light refracting off the studded clutch hanging from a chain on her shoulder. She sits silently, swirling the last sip of her metropolitan before finishing it and placing the lipstick stained glass against a napkin. As the bartender takes the glass, she smiles and speaks a clear, “Thank you.” The bartender nods and moves to serve other patrons.

The interaction has Tony’s ego bleeding outward. “Ignoring the man that invited your company is in poor taste, Ms. Parker.”

“Don’t speak to me about poor taste with the likes of Hammer on the invite list.” Penny quips, rotating her bar stool and throwing one leg over the other, letting the slit of her dress cascade open at the knee. “It seems to me that you’ve taken a clear stance on the value of my company.”

Tony laughs. It’s earnest and only quelled by the burn of whiskey against his tongue. “A preconceived stance, yes,” He admits, grinning as his gaze strays in favor of Penny’s show of skin. “Your presentation at the conference was actually impressive but don’t let that go to your head. People tend to do that when I say the ‘I’ word.”

This time, Penny just barely leans in, gives a soft smile and slight tilt of her head. She lets her bobbed curls bounce against the corner of her mouth before tucking them behind her ear. Each movement is careful, reciprocal and seductive. “And what exactly did you find so impressive, Mr. Stark?”

Tony moves closer, forearm against the bar, hand cradling his drink. “The strength of the synthesize material, its elasticity, its practical and combative use cases.” His voice dipped, somewhere sultry, “And Ms. Parker, watching you deliver the presentation was – well, I’ll definitely be inviting your company to more suitable events from now on.”

Penny averts her gaze, giving the bustling room a once over as she fights against a grin tugging on the corners of her mouth. “I’m sure my employees will be thrilled.”

“And you?” Tony reaches forward, placing a careful hand atop Penny’s.

Her eyes flicker down at the touch then flash upward to meet Tony’s. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Stark.” She whispers as she stands, heels colliding with tile as she pulls a hundred dollar bill from her clutch. “But don’t let that go to your head.” She adds with a smile, placing the money against the bar. “For mine and his,” She calls to the bartender, who nods with a kind smirk.

Tony scoffs, abandoning his drink as he stood. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We all do things that we don’t have to do,” Penny insists as she starts towards the crowd. “Kind or otherwise.”

“So you’re the selfless type,” Tony remarks as he quickens his pace to keep up with her strides. “Or is it all for your company? Just how many generous donations has Parker Industries made to rain forests, world hunger, and whales?”

Penny shakes her head as they exit the hotel’s ballroom. “You’re quite the cynic, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m quite the believer in a good PR team,” Tony retorts as they make their way down the hall, through the reception lobby, and stop in front of the elevators.

Penny reaches forward, pressing the up arrow before shifting her weight to one side and standing with her arms crossed. “Your PR team—“ She breaks the silence as the elevator opens and they step inside. “—Have they solved your issues across the pond?”

Tony smirks, tapping his room key against the scanner before pressing the penthouse button. “As far as I, and anyone else, is concerned, those issues are for the greater good.”

“And the bodies?”

“What bodies?”

Penny shakes her head at the casual denial she but manages a smile with her eyes, “Fair enough.”

“Which floor, Ms. Parker?” Tony asks as the doors close and the elevator starts ascending.

“Fifteen.”

Tony presses the button and moves to stand at her side, “I was sure this went without saying but—“

Penny breathes a low laugh, “It went without saying?”

“—You’re invited to continue our chat upstairs.” Tony’s grin is as mischievous as it is suggestive. “I promise it will be very in depth and... pleasurable.”

Penny tucks a curl behind her ear, glancing at Tony before focusing her gaze on the elevator’s doors. She stays quiet, keeping a soft smile as the numbers above the doors increment: twelve… thirteen... fourteen... and finally, fifteen. The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open with an audible ding!

But Penny doesn’t move. Instead, she watches as the doors shut and listens as Tony releases a pleased huff of air like his hypothesis had been proven. So arrogant, Penny thinks.

When the doors open again, it’s to a mostly glass penthouse suite, complete with a grand piano, high ceilings, and a balcony pool. The bar’s selves are stocked and the coffee table is covered with an assortment of treats courtesy of the hotel’s staff, who are no doubt thrilled to have the room be booked. As Penny steps inside, she makes a point to move through the space unimpressed. She removes her heels in the entrance way and places her clutch atop the bar.

“What do you think?” Tony asks as he pulls his tie away and tosses it onto the couch. “Too much?”

“To clean, perhaps,” Penny jokes and Tony laughs.

“You’re an interesting one, Penny.”

“One,” Penny repeats as she unclasps her necklace and removes her earrings, placing them inside her clutch and pulling out a small metal bracelet, which she slips on when Tony isn’t looking. “Implying many.”

“I’ve had experiences,” Tony notes as they move into the bedroom.

“All good, I hope.”

“There’s always someone better,” He asserts, his voice just as sultry as before.

Penny almost rolls her eyes – actually, she is so certain she will that she turns around to hide it and plays it off by sweeping her curls to one side, revealing her dress’s zipper. “Would you?” She asks but Tony is already there; one hand smoothing across the curve of her hip, the other pulling the zipper down her spine.

As the dress falls away, all that’s left is simple black lace set and the metal bracelet adorning her supple honey cream skin, speckled lightly with freckles and soft to the touch. Penny spins on her heel, her hands tracing up Tony’s chest and smoothing downward, undoing buttons on her way.

A/N: I literally had a break here that said: “Write sex scene. Tony’s great at sex. Penny is better.” I’m so so sorry 😅😅😅 But just imagine Penny riding the hell out of Tony and then getting close orgasming and then:

And as that stream rushes through that final barrier, Penny’s muscles tense and her voice is caught in her throat and suddenly, she is shaking and the biggest burst of pleasure is quickly followed by waves that have her moaning so loud it echoes in the vast room. She still rocks her hips with the sparks of euphoria, chasing the waning feeling, her hands still braced against Tony’s chest as he grunts and a liquid heat explodes inside her warmth. She smiles, gliding her fingertips across his nipples, along his neck and face, and through his short locks.

“There’s always someone better,” Tony breathes out with a satisfied smile.

Penny’s expression flattens then and, with her hand still threaded in Tony’s hair, she lifts herself up and moves to straddle his chest. He’s still smiling, so lost in his pleasure that the way she shoves his head back and grips at his throat is nothing.

“Feisty,” Tony mutters through a strained breath.

Penny shakes her head, “You’re deplorable.”

“And you’re divine.”

Fitting lasts words, Penny thinks as she sprays webbing across his nose and mouth. She watches as the playfulness drains from his eyes; watches the concern, worry, and fear sink in. He starts struggling for a moment but then stops – smart enough to conserve his breath.

Penny leans down, petting a soothing hand through his hair and whispering sweetly, “I’ve been hired to kill you, Tony.” She presses a kiss against his forehead. “Those issues across the pond – all of the bodies you’ve ignored – they have ghosts and they are angry.”

And Tony lays there – struggling for air and overcome with regret – staring up at a goddess of death as his vision blurs and he is forced into meeting an unexpected yet inevitable demise.

I’ll be posting more tomorrow in graveyard pt. 2!

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x penny parker #obligatorywrites #nff #unfinished starker prompts #obligatorynasty's starker prompt graveyard

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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years ago

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Hello babes!!! OMG, today has been a long week! A wonderful, dream big come true week! HARRY IS SOLO ON THE COVER OF VOGUE! Also, I have a new installment of Tryst for you all based on this 👆photo! Without further ado, I give you...

Scotland!

It's the pose that does it.

She's been so, mon dieu she hates the moral judgment of the word. But it remains the right one here, in any language. Soo good, since she decided he couldn't give her what she needed, or maybe wasn't ready to, or didn't see her like that. Nothing more than a flying fuck when he got itchy on the road and she was available to scratch.

But here she was, with his encompassing form around her back and his arm causally slung across her collarbone and she could barely keep her lip from between her teeth to smile.

Smile for the camera, Helene. He'd whispered in her ear and she was thankful for their blustery setting the clothing covering her chill bumps.

All day, She'd been trying to keep dry and get some candid shots to go into the vault. Sometimes she wondered why they paid her to take so many images, most of them, a greater preportion than usual, just lived in her computer or Jeff's computer never to be used.

Would they ever release them? To the utter delight and meltdowns of this man's rabid fans.

She gets it, Helene does. What they see in him, she sees it herself often. And she sees more, his dick has made her soul smile on more than one occasion. It didn't start with these libidinous thoughts, it wasn't one of those moments where he was a living lighthouse or hedonism personified. It's the first scene with the imaginary fish and he's having a bit or trouble. He's also cold and wet. Which are two sensations he doesn't love, but seems to include in every damn piece of art he makes. He's throwing the little bean bag onto the rock and it's not meant to be gentle exactly, but he seems irritated, not concerned as you would be for a suicidal fish when you yourself are suicidal. His character at least. Thank god. But his physical discomfort is intruding on his ability to act right now; he's barely holding on. He loses his balance while frustrated and falls into the water, cursing.

Helene will not laugh.

She hides her giggles while they change him. He got his Gucci denim outfit uncomfortably wet. Why would you chose that outfit to go to a watery death? She is overthinking. As always.

He's ready to go again, fresh Gucci down to his drawers, and by the 10th take, he's in the swing.

When Harry nails it, He gives the director and Helene the biggest grin and she's charmed. The lights have turned on and the fog has lifted. He shines.

He is finished with this set up and Helene has just put her gear away. Harry brushes past her to get around a rock and presses an affectionate kiss to the easily accessible top of her head.

"Thanks for coming, Tiny. Know it's cold."

Helene smiles at him, and somebody else with a camera, someone not her, clicks their picture.

It's always weird when she is the subject. She's pretty sure she has more photos with Harry, selfies at least than with any boyfriend she has had, in her life, which flashes before her eyes, with a highlight reel of her beneath Harry, while he turns her around towards the camera.

The arm that was across her scapula, turns her like a top and her stomach flutters with the motion. His motion. His arm has come across her clavicle, like it did in LA, and she comes together like the place in between those bones, a shallow place where her heartbeat is thumping visibly.

She's thrumming.

Not that there is a damn thing she can do about it. He can do about it. Anybody can, they have so much work to do.

The quiver in her chest and bones and betwixt her legs stays with her all day. Through lunch with all the people she's missed on their break, around the lunch Harry's had cooked for them, with all the little flourishes he likes. All the different food needs accommodated, hospitality on show. It's a wonderful midday after a bitter morning, the sun's even peaked through. The whole group brims with happinesss. Helene and her table included, she laughs and kisses Molly's cheek, she's so cute.

She stays away from Harry though, through at least theee set ups, one not involving him where she could see his intention to hover and smell her pent scent. So, she puts distance, physically between them all day, especially when they move on to the shoot at the docks.

She's taking far away shots. It was easier to control the pulse at her center when he was in the loose jumpsuit. Now in the tight sweater vest, where he looks like some movie star from a bygone era, she's struggling.

It's sending her. Fly her to the moon.

So she keeps her distance and captures him from afar. She'd been doing so well.

Still is! She reminds herself.

The day is long because of her longing, but Helene makes it through.

"You coming to the pub." She jumps a bit at his breath near her ear, her hair is stirred by its breeze. She's surprised, she can usually feel his approach 10 paces off.

"No, need my bed." She begs off. She's begging he doesn't press, with those puppy dog eyes and dimples he knows how to wield.

"Really?" He pouts. "Need your company." He insists.

Oh, he's reached for the big ammunition, he's used everything in his arsenal, he's even touching her arm. He turns her again and she knows she going to say yes before he bites his lip and says, "please."

"Qui." She exhales. She'd like to qualify the sigh as resigned, but it's full of breath and melodic.

"Yes!" He presses a kiss to her forehead and squeezes her before he wanders off to gather troops.

So much for distance.

The pub is lovely, if their wine selection a bit limited. She can see why Harry picked this for his fictional island. He has excellent taste and this is so picturesque and any number of stories, real and imagined, could be contained in its Walls.

He tastes excellent.

He's across the room holding court. He's a little drunk, and he's just thrown his head back and she can remember the shape of his Adam's Apple on her tongue, and the taste. God the taste of his skin, especially after a show. Her lips would be raw from the salt afterwards, and dual thirsts would greet her in the morning light. Water with something more mineral from his skin.

Helene gulps her wine and tries to tune back in to the English around her. The mix of accents and the still difficult language is enough for her to have to get her mind out of the gutter intentionally to follow along.

Not the gutter, Harry's room.

She's squinting and translating something someone has said in her head and wondering how many times somebody has refilled her glass when another intoxicant fills her senses.

Harry's hand is on top of her head and then sliding down the back of her hair. It's exactly like he does when his dick is in her mouth. But he's usually not grinning like that.

"Tiny!" He's so jovial when drunk. "This seat taken?"

There is no seat. It's the end of the booth, there is a small amount of brown leather, and Harry wedges himself onto it and picks up her legs, uncrosses them and lays them over his own to make space. He's solved his own problem and worsened hers.

She quirks a brow at him and he just kisses it like it's totally normal she's basically on his lap among all their colleagues. Only in this group he's made close as family would this not look risqué. Only with him. She's thinks only Sarah and Mitch know about them. Know that the 'know' each other. And they aren't on this shoot.

Nobody is looking at them funny, so she had better stop staring at him.

She tears her eyes away, like the wrapper of a condom, and goes back to translating.

It's useless when he starts running his nails along her thighs. She puts her hand on his to stop him, but he just grips her thigh instead.

It is not a step in the right direction. It's only leads one direction for her thoughts. To the way his huge hands look on her tiny body. The way his palm can cover her whole stomach and his fingers reach her honey pot still. She has photographic evidence. Between that thought and the wine, she needs to leave.

"Where are you going?" He looks very sweet, except the glint in his eye. She narrows hers at him.

"My room."

"Already?" He pouts.

"Qui."

"I can't really leave yet."

"I didn't ask you to."

He tilts his chin. "Maybe not out loud." He whispers just under her breath.

She exhales.

"Will you wait up for me?" He looks up through his lashes.

She can't even answer but her head moves up and down like a teabag into hot water in the morning.

She's boiling.

He grins. And leans up to kiss her cheek. "What room?" He murmurs. She knows he could find out if he wanted, but it would also alert the front desk, which might make it to the media, or worse, a fan with Twitter.

"24" she whispers through the veil of her hair. Pulls away from his tractor beam eyes and smiles at the table. Gives a few hugs and a big wave.

The inn is small, quaint. She's on the second floor, which is the top floor, waiting. Helene's kept her clothes on. The same outfit she has had on all day. Jeans, loose, and a t shirt, her dad trainers. Should she change? She tries to remember what Harry had on at the pub. He had changed a fair few times throughout the day.

She think he was wearing a hoodie, his name emobossed on the breast in some language or another, Gaelic?, and loose light jeans. Dirty vans adorning his feet.

She hopes she ends the night in his jumper, or wakes up and slipes it over her shoulders.

The hours slip away and her eyes have kettlebells attached to them. She's just about to take care of single girl tasks, washing her face and putting on the extra lock when the knock comes.

"I was about to go to bed without you." She leans against the door jamb. She's not purposely jutting her hip. She's not!

"Ahh," he teases, touches the smudges below her droopy eyes and pulls her blonde hair. "You tired."

"Qui, it's been a long day." She breathes.

"What?" He laughs and pushes her into the room with his hips, "your call time was hours after mine!" He flashes his big green eyes.

"Maybe, but I don't have your stamina." She counters. Harry the athlete raises a brow at her statement.

"I've never had a problem with your endurance."

He let's that lie there, and she can tell both of their mind's are roving over memories of late nights turned into early morning mapping flesh.

"No, I suppose you are right." She goes easy when he pulls her forward and his mouth slides against her like a skeleton key into a waiting lock. She expects the kiss to escalate, but maybe they are both a little tired, exhausted from a long day, while longing for an extended night. His kiss remains deep, full of tingling tongue touches, but doesn't get faster, her back doesn't hit the wall, and there are no stops where she is pressed against or onto furniture.

He has some embedded geography of hotel rooms, because he navigates the suite like the globetrotter he is. They are both fully dressed, and the squeezes and rubs over the fabric are exciting, reminiscent of juvenile contained eagerness. When her knees hit the back of the mattress, Helene decides the adults need to take over and hikes the tucked in button down up and over his head, forgoing the buttons.

The black ink on his golden skin is a trail familiar to her fingers tips and she follows it down, down to the leaves framing his joyful path. She can feel the pressure of his erection on the slide mechanism of his trousers and against the strained teeth tethered together on his zipper. If it wasnt metal, it would unzip itself against the force. She sighs when she pulls him out. His dick makes her so proud every time. She can't imagine what it's like to carry it around.

No wonder he is so self confident, the word cocksure occurs to her and she giggles.

"Are you laughing at me?" He looks down and she's charmed, for all his assuredness, he's still vulnerable. It's why he is so endearing.

"Non," she's got him naked and guides him back to the head aboard. He looks more tired than her suddenly, he had a bigger day, job. She'll keep up the inversion of the evening, she can recall no other time together where she had clothes on while he was naked. "I was just think how much I appreciate your dick."

"And it made you laugh?" Oh he's still a little offended.

Helene will have to make it up to him. She ruts against his lap and takes stock.

He's half mast. Which is a rare state for him, in her experience. She nuzzles into his lap and laps from his base to tip. She can feel the plumping under her tongue and decides that's not quite adequate.

She can fit him all the way like this. It won't last, so she takes advantage and mentally pats herself on the back as she seems to expand her capacity as he swells. Once she can't muzzle her nose into his patch of hair anymore she pulls off with a gasp and looks up to his panting face.

"I wasn't laughing at you," she nods towards his bobbing shafts. "In my head, I thought how I'm proud of your dick, and decided it was the wrong word. But the right feeling." Helene put him back in her mouth with her tongue extended out, and stroked him from her throat to the squirming tip.

He's chuckling now and she smiles with her eyes at him. "You're proud of my dick?" His dimples are the size of salad plates.

"Qui, aren't you?" She flashes her brows while She straddles his lap. She's not sure she's satisfied her mouth hunger for him, but they have all night.

"Well...." He blushes, which makes her giggle. She's fully naked on his bare dick and he's blushing.

"Know you are." She whispers in his ear. "You have every reason to be."

"Mmmhmmm." He could be responding to her statement or her rocking over his lap. If one of them tilted just so....

"You've been cocky!" She emphasizes that by moving her hips to an almost position. "Enough before."

He looks just a touch frustrated.

"Should I show you how proud I am?" She slips the tip in, just the tip. Not quite to the popping point. It's a tantalizing suspension, just rocking while his eyelashes flutter. "Show you why you deserve to be cocky?"

"Mmmmm," he hums, vision now between their legs, mesmerized. "Please." He breathes and looks at her.

"Do we need a condom?" She's not sure how active he's been.

"Not for me." He grabs her hips and tries to push her down, as tantalizing as the pop of a champagne bottle, the moment of jubilant anticipation.

"Better safe than sorry!" she dismounts and grabs a skin. He breathes a breath like he is frustrated.

"Oh, Cherie, ne t'inquiète pas!" She teases and strokes firmly, guiding his foreskin over the sensitive tip. "We're only beginning." He helps her roll it down and lifts her thighs to press against the headboard on either side of him. She's glad it's padded. Harry's done waiting, or being gentle and shy. She can't even acknowledge the pop of their joining she loves, she's too busy catching up to the rough thrust of his pelvis up and into her own. "Merde!"

"Mmmmhmmmm." He hums and catches her lips with his own, a net to butterflies. It's soft, slow and sensual, in opposition to the bruising hold he has on her hips. He can handle her with one of his big hands. The other has found its place on her sensitive nipples. This escalated so fast she thinks the ending will follow the beginning with no middle to enjoy. She was hoping to fuck him slow.

Her hands slide down the headboard, it's coarse beneath her hands in comparison to the hair that fills her hands in the next moment. She pulls his neck back a little roughly. "Wait."

"For?" He keeps working her over his dick and it's compelling, and she loves it, but he's showing her why her makes her proud, and that wasn't tonight's lesson.

"I want to come."

"Good, that's what I want to." He hits her spot unerringly. And she's nearly convinced.

"No, non, on your tongue." She has to forcibly take herself off him. She lifts her knees and places her hands on his shoulders to hoist herself up. It's a favorable arrangement, her legs as long as his torso. "Allez." She suggests and his answer is a smile and the extension of his tongue right up her slit.

Helene has to grab the headboard to stay upright. She knew she was on the way. But how close she was to her journey is even clearer when his hands draw her ass cheeks apart and he's spreading her wetness over both holes while manipulating her clit with his tongue.

When he fits his mouth over her hood, creates suction and licks while fitting two fingers inside her separated by just inches of skin accessing both holes, she clenches without prologue. "Fuck." She rides his face until her orgasm has ridden out its welcome and he pulls his fragrant hand out to aid its twin in holding her steady until she's clutching the headboard and coming against his tongue again. Her wriggling at the over sensitivity only aiding his quest for number two.

She slides down his body slow and she's done, until she remembers her intention when his dripping shaft, wet with her and leaking a few drops for himself, prods her ass. She was gonna run this show, swing her hips like a pendulum so he'd enter a trance like state while inside her, the suspended animation of ecstasy. Helene needed to come so she would be calm enough to do it. To hypnotize him, slow and sweet.

She just needs to control the tempo, bang out a rhythmic unhurried beat on his hips.

It only takes a minor shift in alignment to throw them off their orbit. Send his mercury into retrograde with her pussy. She slides over the tip with ease, she's wet enough that she doesn't even have to work him in like normal. Though it still prickles her nerves with that familiar addictive burn she's only had with him and a few others. Those that pushed her boundaries. She's a globetrotter when she fucks Harry though. Her exhale would be loud if his groan wasn't louder.

"Fuck, Helene!" He looks down again and she decides now that she has given him dinner, he needs a show. Time to mesmerize him.She flexes her pelvis, rounding back and holds the headboard hard to find her beat. It's a slow jam, all the flavor of a samba. She's got a circle like a Ferris wheel and he's stuttering her name like he's afraid of heights but loving the ride.

"Again." Helene demands, her head against his forehead.

"What?" Harry's staring at her motion hard, distracted. Helene stops, she wants his attention, his eyes, his mouth, his dick, every inch of him focused on her, including those inside her. She rides the circle to the top, just his tip inside, and hovers. No other passengers are getting on, she just wants him to admire the view. She clenches and knows he can see it when he shivers.

Helene uses her nose to nudge his gaze up. He looks up, down, up, again. She pulls out enough to nearly unseat him and his fingers dig into her hips. "What?" He repeats.

"My ñame." She looks him in the eye and presses her panting mouth to his while she slides all the way down, his pubic hair against her swollen clit. "Say my name."

He breathes it out, like a prayer, "Helene!" While she takes them to the top again. "Helene!" He shouts in exhalations when she slams down to his pelvis harder. "Helene!" She swings back up slow, and drops like they've found themselves on a rollercoaster.

By now her name is a chant, "Helene, Helene, helene, fuck Helene!" He's squeezing and staring and licking her lips sloppily and she can tell he doesn't know if he should stop her, try to help her along so they can get off together, or just cum.

He looks desperate to finish.

So she stops, and he looks frantic. "Baby, please!"

Helene shrugs, kisses him and grinds herself against him inside on her spot and outside on begging pleasure zone until she's almost there. She squeezes him rhythmically to keep him ready.

She's almost there. They can hop off this ride together now. So she starts the ascent to the top again, slow circles until he's panting and chanting again, and then it's a free fall ride for them both.

Helene loses her stomach and screams his name in harmony with his chorus of hers.

Their sweaty foreheads rest together, until he is chuckling.

"Quoi?" She catches her breath enough to ask.

"I was just thinking, I definitely won't need a photo to remember this one!"

She feels proud, but she knows there is an image he's forgetting, one that will remind her of this Scottish adventure forever.

Months later, they've found themselves together, like together together, when she comes across it. She posts it, with a longing thank you.

When Harry gets home from set, he's smiling like a Cheshire Cat. "You trying to tell me something?" He shoves his phone at her with the open Instagram.

Helene shrugs. She's feeling proud, even prouder than she felt a year ago.

And she wants to show him.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #tryst #Scotland #Harry styles smut

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vitreousobsidian · 4 years ago

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How I’d fix the SPN finale (from a fan with 0 writing knowledge):

Cut out the 20th episode and make 15.19 longer

Before Jack leaves have Dean ask for Cas back. They reuinite

Sam runs back to Eileen and they have a sweet reunion.

Montage of Sam & Eileen quitting the life, getting married, having a family, etc. Basically what the finale did but make it ACTUALLY happy. (I mean, what’s this about Sam not being able to so much as touch the Impala’s wheel without having a breakdown years after Dean’s death??) He has the domestic dream he always wanted.

Meanwhile we get shots of Cas and Dean continuing to hunt and drive around in the Impala. No more ‘world ending’ enemies looming over their head. Just the two of them out on the road, werewolf here, ghost there. Just some good old fashion hunting, the kind of stuff Dean loves.

Ideally Dean and Cas are explicitly shown to be together but even under the assumption that the can’t have an overtly Bi Dean (which I mean... wtf it’s 2020 why not?) This could still work? And would be ambiguous enough to get past network restrictions? I’m just saying if the writers really wanted a queer couple in the show they would’ve found a way of doing it

Maybe add a few scenes of them visiting some side characters (ie Wayward Sisters) to tie in the whole ‘found family’ theme the show’s been so heavy handed with over the last 15 years instead of it just boiling down to ‘found family’s great but like, they’re not ACTUALLY family like Sam and Dean are so they’re not as important’

I get the writers didn’t want to have ‘any loose threads’ and wanted to keep as much ambiguity out of it as possible but that doesn’t make for a satisfying ending! Give us SOME ambiguity, let us imagine that these characters live out happy lives for years after the show’s end. Them being happy in Heaven is not the same thing

The dog can stay, he’s great.

My issues with the ACTUAL spn finale:

Couldn’t they just have invited people to Dean’s funeral? Like.... Did it really have to look SO lonely? Again for a show so bent on hammering home the theme of found family shouldn’t Dean’s funeral have had a bunch of people? Wayward sisters, alt. bobby, alt. charlie, garth, Jack....... Anyone? Nah it’s just Sam and the dog, glad to see that after years of 'finding family’ no one cares about Dean’s death except Sam and a dog he’s known for like a week and a half

Also you know what’s fucked up? Dean was by far the most affected out of all the characters upon finding out how much control Chuck had over everything he did. Like... It really fucked him up. So ok, God’s defeated and Dean finally has some autonomy. He can breathe easy, he’s won, he’s his own man and this time he’s sure of it. Wait, what’s that? He dies literally a WEEK LATER? Excuse me? You’re telling me all that trauma and existential crisis and he got a single week as a reward for coming out on top?

Also that whole Cas induced ‘i’m not a killer’ revelation kinda feels less impactful knowing it only lasts a few days and then he dies (admittedly this one’s just a bit nit-picky but I mean...)

Also idk but it just feels kinda wrong for Dean- a character who’s been repeatedly shown to have 0 regard for his own life and seems hell bent on sacrificing himself especially the last few seasons- to just die like that? I mean, if anything It seemed like he’d have to learn to value his own life as part of his greater story arc (you can kinda see echoes of it all the way back from S1). I guess this kinda ties in to the last point with the added weight that he only gets killed off once he accepts that he’s good, full of love and deserves to live. Idk especially with how many times Sam’s had to talk him off of ledges these past seasons it just feels kinda ghoulish to me.

To show us the Harvelle Roadhouse in heaven but make 0 reference to my girls Ellen and Jo is an actual crime and I will sue

Also why the hell was the vamp chick from S1 here? Like... what? I mean of all side characters to include (especially the one-off s1 background characters) why her? Honestly if you’d told me someone from S1 was getting brought back I’d’ve guessed Cassie but even then I don’t think the series finale is the right place to be like ‘hey remember THIS character?’ especially not when major characters like Cas get ZERO screen time

You know the worst part? It would’ve been so easy to make the ending good? Or at the very least ok? Like, with just 3 changes: [1] It’s made clear that Sam ends up with Eileen (I’m still not clear if that was her or some rando in the montage) [2] If they’d directed Jared in a way that presented Sam as happy or at the very least nostalgic instead of just horrible scarred for the rest of his life (I’m still so angry at that last Impala scene wtf) [3] If they’d just snuck Cas in to a single scene with Dean in heaven, even if it was hug I don’t think I’m asking for that much

Also I find it funny that the entirety of Sam’s life occurs over the span of a single drive. So what, a 20 minute walk and then Dean II shows up in heaven? They sit down for a burger and guess what? It’s Dean II’s kids! I just find it funny that lifetimes pass so quickly in heaven time, meaning that they’re just gonna be constantly flooded with new people all the time and never get anything done cause ‘Dad, I’d like you to meet your great great great great great-’

Maybe spend more than $0.03 on the aging prosthetics

Also didn’t Sam’s death feel kinda... off? I mean I’m gonna have to reiterate the whole lonely ending thing is weird in a show all about found family. Anyways the entire interaction between Sam and Dean II felt odd. Sam’s there, dying, by himself until Dean II walks in and, completely unprompted and without a trace of emotion, tells his dad that he can go ahead and die now. Couldn’t they have edited that scene so that it starts with Dean II already at his bedside? And I mean 0 disrespect to actor for Dean II (for all we know it could’ve been directed/written this way) but couldn’t he have been a bit more choked up about his dad dying? Like... Even a little?

#supernatural #15.20 #supernatural finale #spn #God it could've been great #Idk I've known spn was a pretty bad show for a while now #But it's like that one train wreck of a friend you know?#You still love them deeply and can't help but keep hoping for more and then getting brutally disappointed #Every time #But hey I guess this was the last great disappointment huh?#Quick show of hands whats the over-under on us getting new episodes 4 years from now a-la sherlock?#Asking for a friend

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makeste · 5 years ago

Note

I’ve just realised it’s been over a year since you last listed your top 10 characters! Has anything changed since then?

a lot has changed! actually, every single ranking has changed from last time except for one (which you can probably guess, lol).

1. Bakugou (previous rank: 1)

yes, believe it or not, Bakugou is still my favorite. I’ll understand if you all need a moment to recuperate from the shock of this.

2. Deku (previous rank: 4)

hi, so. I really love Deku a lot. I think he is a great character and there’s a lot of subtlety and complexity to him that he doesn’t always get credit for. he is loving and kind, but he’s not a pushover. he has moments of deer-in-headlights anxiety when he’s in the spotlight or talking to celebrities (or girls), but then he’ll go and launch into a five-hour speech if someone mentions a topic he’s interested in. he’s very much aware of the huge burden that’s been placed on his shoulders, and is struggling to figure out how to become his own person (which is fucking hard, you guys; how many sixteen-year-olds do you know who have a solid, firm idea of who they are as a person and what it is about themselves that makes them unique individuals?) while still living up to All Might’s legacy. he’s smart and determined and capable of extraordinary things, but second-guesses himself and has a tendency to overthink everything he does. he is interesting!! and he doesn’t always get credit for being interesting! but he is! anyways Deku ilu.

3. Aizawa (previous rank: 2)

still the best. still so tired. the manga is tripling down lately on highlighting how awesome he is. childhood angst and guilt and trauma?? yes. kicking lots of ass?? hell yes. being outrageously sexy with his floating wavy hair and glowy red eyes and spending almost this entire arc in Eraser Mode while Horikoshi hopes to god no one remembers how he made it a Whole Thing after USJ that Aizawa supposedly couldn’t hold his quirk for long periods like that anymore?? oh, you bet. who is even gonna complain about it. you?? I sure am not. and last but not least, being the greatest dad in the world who’s willing to stab god in the face in order to stay alive to protect his children and continue to watch them grow?? fam. you goddamn know that is a YES WITH CAPITAL LETTERS. how can one character honestly be so great. how can he even contain it. he’s so powerful.

4. Todoroki (previous rank: 5/6)

Ochako slid all the way off my top ten list and I feel so bad about it. but she hasn’t had the spotlight for a long time, and meanwhile Shouto has had what feels like ARC AFTER ARC of being awesome and doing awesome things like becoming Bakugou’s Undisputed Best Friend, having the longest and purest canon romantic relationship in the series (I am of course talking about him/soba), and playing a key role in one of the most beautifully executed family arcs I have ever seen, with his conflicted feelings about his father that are so layered that THEIR LAYERS HAVE LAYERS. and meanwhile his quirk kicks as much ass as ever. remember that one time Shouto almost burned Tetsutetsu alive. remember that other time he fucking annihilated Ending (“GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER”)?! and meanwhile he remains the goodest and purest child in the entire series, making sure Mt. Lady’s heart is okay, and offering his two friends internships without a second’s hesitation because THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS DO. it’s just what they do you guys.

5. Hawks (previous rank: n/a! welcome to the top ten kiddo.)

OH NO I LOVE A MURDERER WHAT A STUNNING INDICTMENT OF ME. send me off to jail. anyway so I have always liked Hawks, but the latest arc has sent him skyrocketing up through the ranks of my heart. not because of the murder thing, but... okay well but actually, it is because of the murder thing though. NOT BECAUSE I’M HAPPY HE KILLED A GUY WE ALL LOVED, jesus, but because of how well Horikoshi portrayed his struggle over it. he didn’t want to do it!! but he ended up having to in the end, and he paid one hell of a heavy price for it. and listen, but if you give me a character who is smart, who is compassionate, and who is one of the most mentally and physically capable characters we’ve seen in the series and yet simultaneously does not have even the slightest ounce of regard or self-preservation for his own mental health? a character who is tired, who is willing to make sacrifices up to and including the ultimate sacrifice for what he believes is the greater good? a character who is achingly alone and isolated in so much of what he has to go through, who doesn’t dare drop his guard ever, who’s not able or willing to share his burdens with anyone else? if you give me a character like that, and then ask me not to love him, it’s like. I am very sorry but I truly have no say in it at this point. he’s adopted. I’m sorry it’s the law.

6. Tomura (previous rank: n/a)

OH NO I LOVE TWO MURDERERS WHAT EVEN IS WRONG WITH ME. hahaha. so in between the time of now and when I last did a character ranking, Tomura had a flashback! and it was very traumatic! he was little and sweet and his dad was a dick and there was a lot of blood and gore and a dog died!! and then AFO was all “HELLO IT’S ME COME TO SWOOP IN AND ADOPT YOU AND ENCOURAGE YOU TO KILL STUFF AND ALSO HERE ARE YOUR DEAD FAMILY’S SEVERED BODY PARTS TO ADORN YOURSELF WITH SO YOU NEVER STOP FEELING MISERABLE.” and everyone sitting there reading was all, “well I’ll just come out and say it, I can sort of understand why he became a murderer now,” and we all agreed that yes, it did indeed make a great deal of sense, when you put it that way. anyway, so obviously you can’t not feel empathy toward the kid after all that, even if he is going around killing A WHOLE LOT MORE people now, and has basically gone batshit insane actually. I remain steadfast in my conviction that Tomura is not the actual final villain -- AFO is. and call me crazy, but in spite of everything, I still think this kid has a shot at redemption. it won’t be pretty, and it’ll be a long, long path, and he might not ever fully make it all the way, but he’s someone who’s been manipulated and used as a puppet his entire life, and I want him to have the chance to finally break free from that. hopefully he’ll get it.

7. Mirko (previous rank: n/a)

so previously this section just said “MIRKO!!!!!”, which I honestly think sums it up pretty well. I honestly can’t think of any other character who has come along and just slapped me straight across the face with their sheer awesomeness as much as her, though. every time she’s onscreen/on the page my face is just a huge grin the entire time. she is fearless. like, she’s the type of person who actually does laugh in the face of danger -- like that’s not just an expression, she will LITERALLY LAUGH. she is Peter Pan with a dagger to his throat, smiling and saying “to die would be an awfully big adventure.” she is someone who’s found her purpose in life and is thriving. Mirko has no time for your existential angst; she’s too busy kicking ass every minute of every hour of every day. I love her so, so much. thank you so much Horikoshi for being obsessed with her and making her the biggest badass in the whole series.

8. All Might (previous rank: 3)

I still adore him! he just has had next to nothing to do for what seems like forever, so the other characters who are still getting steady development are kind of just sneaking past him one by one. but he is still the absolute best. he cares so much. so, so, so, so much. he’s not always the most natural when it comes to being a teacher or a mentor, and he stumbles and makes mistakes, but he loves his kids. he cares about them so fiercely. and that’s far and away the most important thing, and it’s not even close. and he’s also just so endlessly self-sacrificing and constantly putting everyone else before himself, and it’s insane. he’s someone who is just constantly thinking, “how can I do more, how can I help more, what else can I do to try and make the world better” even as he stumbles along with half a lung, and struggles with his feelings of inadequacy and helplessness and feeling like it’s just still not enough. I want to give All Might the biggest hug in the world and tell him that it’s all right, that he did good, that the kids are going to be all right. when Aizawa told him “you being alive is enough” I almost had a breakdown tbh. anyway if I keep going I’m gonna talk myself into moving him back up the list and then I’ll have to rearrange this whole thing lol so suffice it to say, fuck yeah All Might.

9. Momo (previous rank: 7)

when is Momo gonna do more stuff, Horikoshi?? huh??! he does realize that whenever she does stuff it’s always amazing?? so why is she not just constantly doing amazing, awesome stuff all the time?? I don’t know, and frankly I’ve had just about enough of this. let Momo do stuff 2020. but I won’t talk about this anymore for now because I haven’t ready any chapter 278 spoilers and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

(ETA: I HAVE READ CHAPTER 278 NOW AND ALL I CAN SAY IS YESSSSS!!! MOMO!!!! also I swear to god I genuinely had not seen any spoilers when I was writing this post lol, it was a total coincidence. I’m glad the “let Momo do stuff 2020″ campaign was so immediately successful though.)

10. Kaminari (previous rank: 8)

last but not least, my five-and-a-half-year-old traitor son, Kaminari Denki. he is just such a shining beam of light and life and goodness and chaos. there is this amazingly buoyant energy whenever he’s on the page that just fills me with love for him. I constantly just want to ruffle his hair, just, all the damn time. he is everybody’s friend, he loves them all so much, and he fearlessly calls Bakugou “Kacchan” heedless of the repercussions (OF WHICH THERE WERE NONE!!), and he sincerely tells Jirou that he’s in awe of her musical talents, and he wrecked his fingers learning to play guitar for her but he was happy to do it, and he was afraid to fight in the big ALL THE VILLAINS VS ALL THE HEROES battle because DUH!?! but he still did it anyway because he had to protect his friends. and his quirk and its side effects are constantly used for comic relief and not taken seriously at all (even though it’s actually insanely powerful holy shit), but he doesn’t care because he’s happy to make his friends happy. he’ll willingly be the butt of the joke if it means he gets to see them laugh. he just has such a big heart, and in all seriousness, if you think he’s the traitor I just don’t even know what to say to you.

so that’s it! Tokoyami, Ochako, Shinsou, Iida, and Sero would probably be the next five, with Endeavor, Toga, Mina, Jirou, and Mirio rounding out the top twenty. maybe not in that exact order but it’s close enough. really there are only like three characters in the series I actually truly dislike, so I’m honestly glad “top ten” is the general standard otherwise I’d be here all night running through them all lol.

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riceccakes · 4 years ago

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hello !

i just wanted to make a lil post for anyone who wants to get to know me!!

you can call me rice, im a 20 year old filipino american, i really like korrasami, catradora, lumity, atla, lok, spop, and toh. im just here for a good time

i also write! this is a masterlist of all the writing i’ve published since coming back to tumblr (we’re gonna go in chronological order of when i published them):

one shots

Korrasami

Just a little Jealous: ao3, Korra is only a little jealous of everyone at the Future Industries company parties because they all get to talk to Asami and she doesn’t

The Sixth Month Mark: ao3, semi canon depiction of korrasami’s first six months together as a couple

fake dating, #12, “I almost thought this was a real date.”: trope prompt, high school au in which asami pines over mako while korra pines over asami. korra, being the great best friend she is, offers to make mako jealous so he knows what he’s missing out on.

fake dating, #10, “Please just hold my hand, that person is basically undressing me with their eyes.”: trope prompt, modern au in which asami reluctantly goes to a club with kuvira and meets a mysterious woman who can’t catch a break from horny people

post break up fic

Catradora

best friends to lovers, #1, “What, you’ve never thought about us?”: trope prompt, office au in which adora gets a promotion to go to Prime Co.’s sister company across the country. catra is big sad and wishes adora would stay.

for @savethewaffle: an au inspired by chief’s “OOP IM GAY” realization story

50 types of kisses, #8: laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other's hand: foster home au where shadow weaver's a bitch and catra tries to comfort adora

50 types of kisses, #5, throwing their arms around the other's neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips: post canon adora tries to understand what exactly weddings are

multi chapter fics

Korrasami

Song Based Series: stories inspired by songs, modern au in which Asami pines over Korra and Korra thinks there’s some greater reason for her relationship with Asami (3/3)

Earth, Wind, and Coffee: coffee shop au; Coffee is Asami's saving grace. Her senior year of university is hectic, not to mention that an upcoming investors meeting could be the key to showing her father she's capable of having a greater role at Future Industries. Little does she know, she'll find more than just gourmet coffee at the Earth, Wind, and Coffee cafe. (5/5)

Again, Again, and Over Again: sequel to Earth, Wind, and Coffee; All her friends are moving forward with their lives and Korra feels as if she's stuck. She doesn't want to serve coffee for the rest of her life, but what does she want to do? (2/?)

fun extras

Earth, Wind, and Coffee Analysis: Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Epilogue (coming soon)

#i hope this is everything #and i hope it works #and it makes sense #masterlist

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onebadwinter · 4 years ago

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Baron Helmut Zemo Tropes

Taken from Here and Here

Anti-Villain: Sometimes verges on this, though it's a case of Depending on the Writer.

Arch-Enemy: After his father's death, he takes this role to Captain America and leads the Masters of Evil after inheriting the title.

Aristocrats Are Evil: He's a baron after all, and believes his aristocratic heritage entitles him to rule.

Avenging the Villain: Helmut's original motive was to kill Captain America because he killed his father. Eventually, Helmut came to the realization that actually, Heinrich was an awful father and an even worse person.

Badass Normal: Has no powers, but regularly fights the likes of Captain America and the Avengers. He usually has a contingency that will allow him to deal with his opponent's plans anyway; it's only when these contingencies fail (as happened during his battle with Moonstone at the end of the initial run on Thunderbolts) that he's in trouble.

The Big Bad: Of his fare share of arcs, particularly those involving the Masters of Evil.

Brain Uploading: He only survived being decapitated because Techno uploaded his consciousness to a computer.

Butter Face: A Rare Male Example. He has the body you'd expect of somebody who can keep up with Captain America in terms of physique... but that handsome form is contrasted by a hideously malformed visage. For a while, he had a young, dashing look again after hijacking the body of the Helmut from another Earth, but only two years later his face got disfigured again. When he got Carla Sofen's Moonstone, he used it to fix that, but when Melissa broke it again...

Calling the Old Man Out: During his trip back in time, he ran into his father while the latter was gleefully doing mad science for the Nazis. Helmut had long since discarded any Nazi prejudices he had once had, and was fuming watching his father put down other races, the handicapped, etc. Finally he had enough and started beating the hell out of him while giving a "Reason You Suck" Speech. Quite the sign of Character Development for the guy who started out worshiping and avenging his father's memory.

Captain Patriotic: At the beginning of the Thunderbolts, he disguised himself as Citizen V, supposedly the son of a previous hero who'd gone by that name, whom Zemo had killed. Zemo went the whole hog, even decking himself in a cape designed after the American flag.

The Chessmaster: Zemo has a plan for everything, and lays them out months in advance.

Cool Mask: Wears a tighter fitting version of his father's mask.

The Cynic: Has a generally negative view of humanity.

Daddy Issues: He loved his father, and his father loved him... until the Adhesive X incident, where he became outright abusive in every way. Originally, Helmut blamed Captain America. Now, he acknowledges that his father was just a horrible human being.

Did You Just Punch Out Cthulhu?: He once shot the Grandmaster, one of the Elders of the Universe and a being way outside his normal weight class, through the head. Admittedly, there were mitigating circustances that allowed him to do this, and the Grandmaster did get better (because, hey, comics).

Disney Villain Death: Many, many times (see Never Found the Body below).

Even Evil Has Standards: Arranged the death of one of his ancestors during a time-travel jaunt, after he found out the man was a rapist and a mass-murderer who did it all For the Evulz. He later clashed with another ancestor when he thought he was harassing a girl (the two were actually in love, and he quickly apologised).

Evil Genius

Evil Is Petty:

The Faceless: He rarely ever removes his mask, due to his face being horribly scarred in a accident.

Facial Horror: His head has been slashed up so badly that it's practically a skull, with ribbons of flesh draping over his eyes and sliced-off cheeks and lips. The sight of his face visibly disgusts everyone in the original Thunderbolts.

Freudian Excuse: Raised by his father to believe in his inherent superiority. There wasn't a lot of dad hugs down in that South American jungle, mostly just rants and lectures.

Good Scars, Evil Scars: Hideously disfigured beneath his mask.

Grand Theft Me: After becoming a "ghost", his mind was transferred to the actual son of Citizen V (Techno noted it was basically him playing a joke). That is, until an energy conflict - the V-Batallion tried to teleport Citizen V as the body was being sucked into a portal - made his mind be expelled into Techno's machinery. But given he arrived at Counter-Earth, this meant Zemo could do a literal case of the trope, and took the body of his self from this world.

Heel–Face Revolving Door: Cannot make up his mind which side he is supposed to be on. He even once took a bullet for Cap despite being his sworn enemy.

In the Blood: The arrogance and the drive for control certainly are.

Joker Immunity: Unlike his father, he can never seem to be put down for long.

The Leader: Of the Masters of Evil and the Thunderbolts.

Legacy Character: To his father, Baron Heinrich Zemo XII.

Manipulative Bastard: Zemo's very good at getting other people to do what he wants, playing on their emotions and desires.

Master Swordsman: One of the best in the Marvel Universe. Zemo's dueled the likes of Captain America and survived several decades worth of warfare on a time travel jaunt.

Nazi Nobleman: Started out as one, though he's moved away from fascism in recent years. Nowadays his goals align more with Dirty Communists.

Never Found the Body: During the run of Thunderbolts alone he was declared dead on four separate occasions, all of which turned out to be false. In each instance, his body was never found. By the fourth time, most of the team just assume he'll turn up eventually (not that they want him to).

Noble Demon: He's much more noble than his father,for sure.

Purple Is Powerful: Signifies his aristocratic leanings.

Secondary Color Nemesis: Purple, to oppose Cap's blue and red.

Take Over the World: He insists it's to save it. Some people (like Songbird) aren't convinced.

Taking the Bullet: Once leapt in the way of an energy blast an insane Moonstone aimed at Captain America. Messed his face up bad.

There Are No Therapists: This guy is seriously messed up and would probably have turned out differently if he got professional help.

Token Evil Teammate: Alongside Techno, he serves as this for the first iteration of Thunderbolts. While most members of the team fall somewhere between The Hero and the Anti-Hero, Zemo shows no signs of having softened whilst playing-hero, and alongside Techno manages to almost conquer the world and turn it into a Darwinist nightmare. He also constantly mocks his teammates for wanting to be heroes, calling them "weak" and "traitors to the cause" when they show the smallest signs of heroism outside of their pubic duties.

Unlucky Thirteen: He's the thirteenth Baron Zemo.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: In his mind, at any rate, after some Character Development, he becomes determined to take over the world for its own good. That doesn't mean that he's not an Axe-Crazy terrorist who's willing to perform some truly heinous actions for the sake of the "greater good." Zemo: I would never have hurt a world I worked so hard to save.

Western Terrorists: More like this than a Nazi.

Wicked Cultured: When being held at swordpoint by his worst ancestor, an evil aristocrat who believed only in the absolute of power, said ancestor's son (who'd struck up a friendship with Zemo) asked what was more absolute than power. Zemo's answer? "To be, or not to be."

Worthy Opponent: Sometimes sees Captain America this way, and definitely sees Sharon Carter this way.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's good at incorporating the gambits of others into his plans, as evidenced by his deft manipulation of Moonstone when they were both members of the Thunderbolts.

One of his nastiest acts of spite was destroying a box of Cap's treasured belongings, including some of his last links to the past, right in front of his eyes.

What was his initial plan in founding the Thunderbolts? Pretend to be heroes, earn America and the world's trust, become famous and respected, and then gather knowledge on the other heroes to... sell to the criminal underworld? Eventually, Moonstone points out this is a freaking stupid plan.

Taken to the highest extreme possible. When he actually did have the power to implement whatever change he might have wanted, Songbird shut him down with the intention of killing him out of not trusting him. What were what he believed could have been his last words?

MCU Zemo Tropes

Adaptational Attractiveness: He's quite handsome here, while his comic counterpart usually has to wear a mask to hide his hideously charred, disfigured face. This is true to his first appearance in the comics as a one-shot villain, before he was scarred upon becoming a recurring character.

Adaptational Heroism: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he does don his iconic comic book alter ego, unlike in the comics where he was a straight-up one-note supervillain, Zemo here is depicted so far as an Ambiguously Evil Anti-Hero ally of Avengers Sam and Bucky without mostly ever betraying them until his escape from the hotel in the fourth episode with most of his redeeming and justifiable qualities shown upfront more than his villainous qualities that Civil War mostly showcased, but still likely an on-and-off antagonist simultaneously during his Enemy Mine with the two superheroes.

Adaptational Nationality: In the comics Helmut Zemo is German, but here he is a Sokovian. Ironically, his actor actually is German, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees a bit of his German accent creep in. He also has a vast array of vehicles and a private plane in Germany, and seems very familiar with both Berlin and the German language. Whether this is a Retcon into making him part German or just a Mythology Gag is yet to be seen, though he does identify Sokovia as "his country".

Adaptational Nice Guy: His comic counterpart and that of his father were literal Nazis who wanted mass genocide and world domination, and while the Helmut of the comics did grow out of the former, he still tends to try the latter. This version of Zemo, despite being on a black ops killing team, has a much simpler and more sympathetic motivation, while his father was merely a civilian. Neither have any ties to HYDRA (aside from Helmut's exploitation of HYDRA's Winter Soldier project), while the versions from the comics are both prominent members of that organisation.

Adaptational Wimp: In the comics Zemo is a major adversary of Captain America and the Avengers, with a particular emphasis on his skills at fencing and manipulation. While this version retains his cunning, he is also presented as much less of a direct threat to anyone despite being a former black operative; when Black Panther decides to bring him in alive, he goes down with barely a struggle. Most of his success ties into this, with him exploiting his lack of obvious supervillainous affect to stay under the heroes' radar until his plan requires him to show his hand, then relying on Steve and Tony's flaws and personal issues to do most of the work for him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier shows that he hasn't forgotten how to do his own dirty work, however, putting his soldier skills to use alongside his usual guile and strategizing once he gets back into the fray.

Adaptation Personality Change: In the comics, Zemo is generally depicted as an unapologetic villain who is primarily driven by a selfish desire to rule over others. His film version, on the other hand, has a much more sympathetic motive for his villainous actions, as he's just a victim of the Avengers' collateral damage in Sokovia seeking revenge for the death of his entire family.

Affably Evil:

Alas, Poor Villain: His defeat in Civil War is treated as an utterly somber affair, with him having nothing left after completing his plan and hoping to commit Suicide by Cop at T'Challa's hands before trying to kill himself when T'Challa refuses to be consumed by vengeance as Zemo has. Even though he got what he wanted (up to a point), it doesn't change the fact that his family is gone forever.

The Alcoholic: Following his escape from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo reveals himself to be a little bit of a tippler, partaking in shots, champagne, helping himself to Sharon's expensive liquor collection, then taking more shots at a club. He apparently approves of the way they party in Madripoor.

All for Nothing: He wanted to destroy the Avengers and was content with them dividing. Thanos's arrival and the events of Endgame undo all of that. In fact, the Avengers are no doubt more beloved than ever as a result.

Anti-Villain: Despite the grim and often hypocritical in hindsight actions he resorts to, he does have some good traits and was hoping for a cleaner way to get what he wanted first. Also, his motive — revenge for the collateral damage-induced loss of his family — is at least a little sympathetic.

Apple of Discord: His Evil Plan is to find evidence that Bucky Barnes murdered Tony Stark's parents while under HYDRA control and show it to Stark, so Bucky's friend Steve Rogers and Tony will turn on each other over whether to spare or kill Bucky, and the Avengers will be ripped apart as they side with one leader or the other.

Arch-Enemy: Since the death of Ulysses Klaue, it seems Zemo has taken his seat as Wakanda's most wanted for the death of King T'Chaka. Not a day after he breaks out of prison, Ayo is already hot on his trail to capture him.

Aristocrats Are Evil: It's revealed in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier that he is a nobleman like his comic counterpart. Though unlike said counterpart, his upbringing had nothing to do with him becoming a villain since his father was by all accounts a decent man in this universe.

Badass Longcoat: The events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier have Zemo wearing a stylish winter coat, complete with Conspicuous Gloves.

Badass Normal: Unlike most of the Avengers, he's just a plain old human. But, through sheer patience and ingenuity, he still managed to tear them apart. During the trip to Madripoor he proves to be no slouch in combat either, reminding everyone he was former special forces. He also comes much closer to permanently stopping Morgenthau than Falcon or Bucky have ever managed so far, largely because he's fully willing to kill.

The Bad Guy Wins: Downplayed. Zemo has achieved his goals but with never with the fully desired outcome.

Batman Gambit: He's good at finding ways to make other people do things for him by exploiting their predictable behavior.

Beard of Evil: He has grown a beard during his eight years in prison as seen in Episode 2 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Beware the Superman: His return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals his own take on the idea. While he is against the idea of a Super Soldier on principle, he is not specifically against them as people, but more how they are precisely put on a pedestal, their flaws washed away/ignored and subsequently inspire Blind Obedience. He specifically notes how the personal loyalty inspired by Steve Rogers to Sam and Bucky (then, even now) precisely drives them to such extremes—even breaking the law much like they did to free him. Sam and Bucky do not protest the point. He admits that Steve was not corrupted by the power he was given but points out there was only one of him compared to the many who would abuse it. He is proven right on this point by John Walker taking the super soldier serum and going off the deep end.

Big Bad: Of Captain America: Civil War. He exploits and exacerbates the ideological differences between Captain America and Iron Man, resulting in the eponymous Good vs Good conflict that threatens to destroy the Avengers.

Big Damn Villains: As Sam, Bucky, and Sharon are pinned down by bounty hunters in the Madripoor shipyard, Zemo suddenly makes a grandiose entrance in full villain garb on a ledge, killing several assassins by shooting a nearby gas tank with his pistol before going to ground and taking down the rest in close combat, opening up the heroes' window of escape.

Blue Blood: The Falcon and The Winter Soldier reveals that he was always a baron. While the fall of Sokovia took away most of the power of the title he still has a lot of money and connections as a result of his position.

Breaking the Fellowship: Thanks to his efforts, the Avengers are severely compromised, with several of the foundational friendships that held them together torn apart and anyone who sided with Cap imprisoned or branded a fugitive. Even Tony and his supporters still bear physical and mental scars caused by fighting their friends.

The Bus Came Back: After being imprisoned at the end of Civil War, Zemo returns in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, with the title characters seeking his assistance in tracking down the source of the Flag Smashers's Super Soldier powers.

Cape Busters: Has a personal grudge against the Avengers and plots to destroy them by pitting them against one another. By the time of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he has apparently narrowed his vendetta to all super soldiers, stating that they "cannot be allowed to exist." At the same time, as stated above in Beware the Superman, his is more nuanced compared to other versions of this trope.

Character Tic: He has a habit of tilting his head whenever he's attempting to manipulate someone. It seems to be a subconscious thing he does, as he immediately stops doing it when Sam notices and lampshades it in Episode 4 of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

The Chessmaster: He plays all the Avengers like pawns. He frames Bucky for a crime, to have the world hunt him and lure him out of hiding. This partially causes the Avengers to turn on each other, divided over Bucky's innocence. He takes the UN interrogator's place, extorting information out of Bucky and using the trigger words to activate Bucky's soldier conditioning. Before finally showing Tony the tape of what really happened to his parents, sending him into a murderous rage to kill Bucky.

Colonel Badass: He used to be a Colonel in the Sokovian Special Forces, and he is one of the most effective foes the Avengers have faced — though not because of his combat abilities, but because of how effective he is about executing his plans.

Comic-Book Movies Don't Use Codenames: In Civil War, he's never called "Baron Zemo", the title he goes by in the comics, and is instead referred to by his military rank Colonel. This is subverted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, which reveals that he was Sokovian royalty and has several characters address him as "Baron".

The Comically Serious: His stoic demeanour tends to stick out when he's in the same room as Sam and Bucky, like when he awkwardly jumps to the defense of Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his crappy dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Composite Character: He takes Klaue's role as the man who murders King T'Chaka.

Cool Car: He actually has a lot of these. His family owned an impressive collection of classics, with plenty of Rolls' and Bentleys in his garage. It's a taste he himself had acquired, as he, Sam, Bucky and Sharon make their getaway out of Madripoor in a super-charged muscle car he had stashed in the docks.

Crusading Widower: His wife was among the civilian casualties in Sokovia. He keeps a recording of her last voice message on his phone.

Cunning Linguist: Zemo's multilingualism allows him to assume different identities. Aside from his native Sokovian, he speaks English, German, Russian, and presumably French, given that he was able to convincingly impersonate a French-speaking psychologist.

Death Seeker: Once he has put Iron Man against Bucky and Cap, he first attempts to persuade Black Panther into killing him, then decides to shoot himself. Black Panther catches the bullet before snagging him a headlock so he can face justice.

Determinator: He manages to find new resolve after Civil War, and Iron Man's sacrifice has done little to change his views. With Iron Man dead and Captain America retired, he decides he will stop the creation of any and all super soldiers in the world no matter what happens.

Divide and Conquer: His plan against the Avengers, seeing that there's absolutely no chance he can fight them on his own. He even compares the Avengers to some sort of a mighty empire, which can only be felled by using this tactic.

Driven to Suicide: Tries to goad T'Challa into killing him, and then to shoot himself when he refuses. Neither works out for him; making enemies of a guy with Super Strength and a bulletproof suit was a bad idea, evidently.

Elites Are More Glamorous: His family is Sokovian nobility and he was colonel in EKO Scorpion, Sokovia's black ops kill squad. Even if Sokovia was a developing Balkans country, that still makes him pretty dangerous.

Enemy Mine: Downplayed Trope. Despite not personally hating Sam and Bucky, the latter two consider their alliance with Zemo this due to Civil War and the damage he caused; the only reason they tolerate him is that he can accomodate them with the resources they need to take down the Flag-Smashers. To his credit, Zemo doesn't hesitate in helping their cause because of his Beware the Superman beliefs, even expressing interest in facing Karli Morgenthau herself.

Even Evil Has Standards:

Evil Genius: While he has combat training, his greatest strength is his intellect. Aside from his abilities as The Chessmaster, Zemo was able to crack the encrypted HYDRA files on the Winter Soldier program that Black Widow released to the Internet and build a very effective EMP bomb in his hotel room.

Face Death with Dignity: When T'Challa finally catches up with him at the end of Civil War, he's completely calm and fully prepared for T'Challa to kill him to avenge his father, even seeming to acknowledge that in his mind T'Challa's revenge against him is just as justified as his own revenge against the Avengers. Later, in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's completely calm and accepting when it looks like Bucky is going to execute him, and later he calmly walks away with the Dora Milaje when they show up to take him into custody, knowing there's a decent chance he's going to be executed in a spectacular fashion in Wakanda for killing the king (for some reason the Dora Milaje went to all that trouble just to turn him over to the U.N. where he'll be held in the same prison that used to hold Captain America's half of the Avengers, but he's got no way of knowing that).

Facial Scruff: His brief appearance in the second episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has Zemo with this due to his time spent in prison. Downplayed in that it looks relatively thin despite having been locked up for eight years at this point, and he shaves it off shortly after.

Fantastic Racism: He has a distaste for enhanced individuals in general, and super soldiers in specific. Specially if such super soldiers are put on pedestals he deems completely unearned.

Flaw Exploitation: He turns the Avengers, particularly Steve and Tony, against each other through a series of Batman Gambits with the ultimate goal of making them fight each other to the death — or if not that, at least to the point of no longer being a cohesive unit. In particular, he reveals to Tony the truth of what happened to his parents knowing that he'll go into an Unstoppable Rage against Bucky and that Cap will prioritise keeping Bucky alive even at Tony's expense.

Friend to All Children: Invoked in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In the fourth episode, Zemo earns the trust of a few children in Latvia by offering them sweets in exchange for information. But he also uses to opportunity to manipulate them into thinking Bucky and Sam aren't to be trusted.

Four Eyes, Zero Soul: When he infiltrates the UN compound to activate the Winter Soldier, he wears a pair of glasses as part of his disguise.

From Nobody to Nightmare:

Gambit Roulette: The final part his master plan relies on little other than his assumptions on the personalities and capabilities of various characters after studying thousands of pieces of intel from HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. that Black Widow dumped online back in Winter Soldier. The whole thing would have fallen apart if...

Godzilla Threshold: Sam and Bucky see recruiting him to stop the Flag-Smashers at this...and ultimately cross it when they run out of options.

Heads I Win, Tails You Lose: Even if any of the above had happened, Zemo still would’ve won because his entire goal was for the Avengers to disband - whether through an amicable parting-of-ways or a bloodbath - it was always a matter of how big his win would be. The only real flaw in his plan was the interference of Black Panther, and the creation of the Sokovia Accords, both of which he’d have no way to account for.

He Who Fights Monsters: He wants to take revenge for the death of his family, which he blames on the Avengers for causing collateral damage in the Battle of Sokovia. In doing so, he is responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent people himself. He even earns someone coming after him for revenge in T'Challa.

Hidden Agenda Villain: His motives remain unclear for much of Civil War and are only revealed as the final battle is taking place.

Hidden Depths: Like Sam, he's a fan of Marvin Gaye and considers "Trouble Man" a masterpiece.

High Collar of Doom: He does the Marquee Alter Ego and Not Wearing Tights through the whole of Civil War, but his winter gear in the third act features a large collar turned up, giving off this vibe. His supervillain gear in Falcon and the Winter Soldier also features one of these, albeit with his comic self's fur trim included.

Human Shield: Thanks to his EKO Scorpion training, is fully capable of taking hostages to hide and shoot behind, as a group of assassins in Madripoor discovered.

Hypocrite:

Interrupted Suicide: After explaining his motivations to T'Challa and apologizing for the death of his father, Zemo tries to shoot himself in the head. T'Challa, however, has none of that, and stops him to make sure he pays for his crimes and turns him over to the authorities.T'Challa: The living are not done with you yet.

It's Personal: Zemo has a personal vendetta against the Avengers. His family was killed during the Battle of Sokovia and he simply wants revenge on those he holds responsible. As pointed out in Beware the Superman, he extends this to any Super Soldier held in such high regard, which is why he has no problem teaming up with Sam (who's more or less Badass Normal like himself) and Bucky (who is a Super Soldier, but isn't exactly held in high regard). When he, Sam, Bucky, and Sharon come across the HYDRA scientist responsible for creating more Super Soldiers after the failed Siberian Winter Soldiers, Zemo quietly and stoically shoots the man before the team is attacked.

Jerkass Has a Point: In episode 4 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo explains why he doesn’t believe that super soldiers should be allowed to exist. By his own previous statements, Sam would probably agree with much of what he says, and John Walker spends the rest of the episode illustrating his arguments.

Kick the Son of a Bitch:

Kill and Replace: Murders the psychologist who was supposed to be evaluating Bucky and takes his place, taking the opportunity to activate Bucky's brainwashing during the evaluation.

Knight of Cerebus: He's a Villainous Underdog, but he manages to tear the Avengers apart through tactics. Unlike previous villains, his methods includes manipulating Tony into trying to execute Bucky to avenge the deaths of his parents and turning on Steve in the process. Averted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier when his Laughably Evil side lightens the mood.

Know When to Fold 'Em:

Laser-Guided Karma:

Laughably Evil: Downplayed the next time he makes an appearance as he becomes The Comically Serious in an Endearingly Dorky kind of way when he joins in Sam's conversation with Bucky to praise Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his lame dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Manipulative Bastard: He is very skilled at manipulation, having studied the Avengers' psychological profiles in order to exploit their individual weaknesses and play them against each other.

Man of Wealth and Taste: Zemo is a baron and more than loaded, owning a private jet, a fleet of classic cars, a personal retainer, and plenty of money and stashed resources.

Marquee Alter Ego: In Civil War, Zemo does not wear a mask — or any kind of costume at all, unlike his comic book counterpart. This changes in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Master of Disguise: Zemo uses prosthetics and heavy makeup in order to convincingly make himself look like Bucky Barnes in the security cameras, fooling just about everyone into thinking the latter was responsible for the UN explosion. He later pulls a Kill and Replace on the psychiatrist who was intended to interview a contained Bucky with no one none the wiser until things start going wrong. Although the latter example is downplayed as when Tony finally discovers the real psychiatrist's body, he looks decidedly nothing like Zemo's impersonation of him.

Misplaced Retribution: Zemo holds the Avengers responsible for all the damage Ultron caused; while Tony and Bruce did create Ultron (after the former was influenced by Wanda), the "end all human life" thing was still his idea. The rest of the Avengers, however didn't know about Tony's plan, and did their best to stop Ultron once he went rogue.

Moral Myopia: He seeks to avenge his family, but he ends up killing multiple innocents who surely had family of their own. He acknowledges this, seeing as how he apologizes to Black Panther for killing his father but by that time he’s hoping to be killed so he can join his family, either by T’Challa or his own hand, so it’s more about easing his conscience rather than remorse for what his actions indirectly caused.

Movie Superheroes Wear Black: Instead of the purple and gold costume he had in the comics, he sticks to dark civilian clothes. Near the end of Civil War, he has a pitch-black coat with a large collar. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier trailers and promo images however reveal he’ll be getting a new costume featuring his signature purple mask and even incorporating the classic ermine trim on his collar.

Nazi Hunter: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is shown to despite and openly oppose them, telling Karpov that "HYDRA deserves its place on the ash heap". The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has him openly despise Nazis and reveals that he'd been hunting down and killing HYDRA members for years as part of his quest to destroy the Super Serum, long before the destruction of Sokovia.

Necessary Evil: How Bucky, and especially Sam, view him in their fight against the Flag-Smashers. No one knows more about the super-soldier serum and Hydra than Zemo, and fortunately for them, they have a common enemy in the Flag-Smashers.

Nice Job Fixing It, Villain!: While his plan does succeed in its goal, it does allow Steve to find Bucky, after fruitlessly spending two years scouring the Earth for him, and gives them an ally who can get the brainwashing out of Bucky's head.

Nice to the Waiter: He is quite friendly and courteous to both a staff member of the hotel he stayed at for Civil War, and his old family butler.

No-Nonsense Nemesis: Zemo is an extremely pragmatic man who knows full well that he's just an ordinary person in an extraordinary world, and realizes that it will give him no quarter if he were to dally about with regards to his vengeance. He has no choice but to be utterly cutthroat if he wants to complete his goal. This is especially shown in his first full-blown action sequence in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, taking down assassins after himself and the heroes in a surprise attack that wouldn't be out of place in a first-person shooter game.

Non-Action Big Bad: Although he has military training, he never directly fights any of the Avengers in Civil War, acknowledging that he could never physically stand up to the likes of them. Instead, he relies more on subterfuge and deception. Becomes a Subverted Trope by the time of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, showing he's fully capable of taking down several assassins after the heroes, though all of them are still normal humans.

Not So Above It All: After being freed from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo shows that he isn't a stoic and unpleasant individual 24/7. Notably, he jumps in on Sam and Bucky's conversation about Marvin Gaye's Troubleman soundtrack to give his own thoughts on the record, and he can be seen thoroughly enjoying himself Madripoor, drinking quite a bit of hard liquor and awkwardly dancing at the Little Princess nightclub.

Nothing Left to Do but Die: After getting Tony to fight Steve and Bucky, Zemo decides to listen to his wife's voicemail one last time, before deleting it and attempting to commit suicide.

Nothing Personal: He tells T'Challa that he is sorry for killing his father and that he seemed like a good man in Civil War. While conversing with Bucky for the first time since the events of that film in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he says this verbatim about using him to tear apart the Avengers.

Not Wearing Tights: He doesn't wear anything remotely resembling a costume in Civil War. However, he dons the purple mask in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Outliving One's Offspring: His son was a casualty from the Avengers' fight with Ultron.

Old Money: He is generationally wealthy due to his family being Sokovian royalty.

Only Sane Man: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, it says a lot about Sam's present circle of associates that (other than Sharon Carter) Zemo is by far the most mentally well-balanced individual Sam has around him at his job.

Papa Wolf: The reason he's out to destroy the Avengers? His family was killed in their fight with Ultron.

Patriotic Fervor: Averted. As Zemo himself remarks ruefully, while he served in Sokovia's armed forces, his drive for vengeance isn't out of any love for the country, as he never actually had much patriotic feeling. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier shows that he does have some serious grievances over how it ended up, though, even chastising Sam and Bucky for not visiting the memorial.

Politically Correct Villain: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is a fan of Marvin Gaye and understands Trouble Man (Sam's favorite album) to be a condensation of the African-American experience. Also berates Sam for stereotyping himself as a "pimp" just because he's flamboyantly dressed.

Purple Is Powerful: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees Zemo don a purple mask, coat, and gloves as he resurfaces to the criminal world.

Put on a Prison Bus: Zemo is taken to prison by Black Panther before he can commit suicide, ultimately sitting out the next few years until his return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. And it happens again in Episode 5 of the aforementioned series, where he's taken by the Dora Milaje to the Raft.

Pyrrhic Victory: Zemo succeeds in fracturing the Avengers and getting the majority of them branded as fugitives, but he is also captured by Black Panther and still has to face prosecution for the murders he committed. It also works vice versa on his capture being a Pyrrhic Victory for the heroes. Best summarized by the following exchange:Everett K. Ross: So how does it feel? To spend all that time, all that effort, and to see it fail so spectacularly? Helmut Zemo: ...Did it?

Revenge Myopia: Getting his revenge was worth anything — including inflicting upon others the same pain he complained about suffering. Lampshaded at the end of the movie, when T'Challa observes that the revenge he seeks has consumed him. Worse still, because he tore the Avengers apart, they had no gameplan and were unable to present a united front against Thanos, leading to even more families the universe over being devastated by the Snap.

Rogues Gallery Transplant: Downplayed. While Zemo is still an enemy of Captain America and The Falcon as he was in the comics, he also ends up becoming an enemy of Black Panther's, due to his involvement in King T'Chaka's death. It extends to the entire nation of Wakanda as well, as they immediately dispatch Ayo to apprehend him when he escapes from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Royals Who Actually Do Something: His noble lineage while serving in the Sokovian special forces makes him this.

Secretly Wealthy: He may have been living the gritty villain life in Civil War (probably to fly under the radar), but The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that he is a wealthy Baron like his comics counterpart. Sam even reacts with "So all this time, you've been rich?"

A Sinister Clue: Zemo is left-handed and is the Big Bad of Civil War. Shooting a gun with his left hand starts off his Big Damn Villains moment in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Sucks at Dancing: While the gang rests and spends the night at Sharon's club in Madripoor, Zemo's dancing moves leave him wanting. Let's just say he was channeling his inner Commander Shepard.

Suicide by Cop: After apologizing to T'Challa for killing his father, he says that he seemed like a good man "with a dutiful son", saying this last part with a meaningful glance, obviously hinting that he's fine with T'Challa taking vengeance upon him now. When T'Challa refuses to do so, Zemo attempts to just shoot himself, but T'Challa thwarts this effort as well.

Superhero Movie Villains Die: Subverted. After completing his plan to turn Iron Man and Captain America against each other, he first attempts Suicide by Black Panther. Attempts being the operative word, as T'Challa refuses when he realises how close he came to turning out like Zemo. As a result, Zemo attempts to shoot himself in the head, but Black Panther stops him and turns him into the authorities, leaving him incarcerated but very much alive.

Supporting Protagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, as most of Bucky's and Sam's story and dynamic are sometimes told from his viewpoint during his team-up with them.

They Look Just Like Everyone Else!: There's nothing from his looks that would suggest that he's more than just an everyday guy.

Took a Level in Cheerfulness: He's much more upbeat in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier than he was in Captain America: Civil War. Which makes sense: in the latter he had just lost his family and was on a revenge quest whereas in the former the stakes aren't as personal and he's had time to grieve for his family in prison, meaning he has the time and temperament to joke around, make fun of "allies" and dance badly.

Took a Level in Kindness: Downplayed, but in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's much friendlier with Sam and Bucky than he was with Tony and Steve in Civil War. Justified, as this time around he's working together with them to take down the Flag-Smashers and even then he still takes the time to engage them in relatively civil conversations.

Tragic Villain: He pursues his vengeance purely because he feels he has nothing else to live for without his family. This is highlighted by his decision to goad Black Panther into killing him and, when that doesn't work, shoot himself.

Tritagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky in their crusade to defeat the Flag Smashers, while being more developed as a character in contrast to his debut in Civil War along the way of the narrative.

Tranquil Fury: Despite spending the whole movie on a murderous crusade, Zemo avoids all the theatrics of Loki or Ultron and seldom even raises his voice. This includes when he finally spells out his motives to the heroes.

Troll: Even when he's not manipulating or killing everyone around him, he's kind of a dick, as seen in his reappearance in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, reciting Bucky's trigger phrase, knowing it doesn't work, just to upset him, needling Sam about his experience in the Raft, and later telling his retainer to serve Sam and Bucky them any food that's gone off.

Truer to the Text: Zemo in Civil War was a borderline In Name Only depiction of him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier retroactively adds a lot more aspects of the original comic character, such as his noble status, his costume, and his physical prowess.

Unknown Rival: To the Flag-Smashers, particularly Karli Morgenthau. Do to being enhanced with the super-soldier serum, Zemo considers the Flag-Smashers to be dangerous individuals, and is more than willing to form an Enemy Mine with Sam and Bucky to take them down. Karli on the other hand, isn't even aware that Zemo exists until he shoots her and destroys the serum right in front of her. Even then, she seems more content to get up and run than to try to confront him for his actions.

Unwitting Instigator of Doom: He successfully managed to break up the Avengers, hoping to bring down the most powerful team of beings in the universe to avenge the deaths of his family. Unfortunately for him, it worked a little too well, as they don't stand on a united front when Thanos arrives and, despite putting up a good fight, get flattened by the Mad Titan. Said Mad Titan then uses the Infinity Stones to wipe out half of all life in the universe, turning the world into a total mess that it spends five years trying to recover from until the Avengers find a way to set things right. Even when they do undo the Snap, the world falls into utter chaos once again trying to handle those that were restored to life, leading to the Flag-Smashers taking rise and causing just enough trouble to force Bucky and Sam to bust Zemo out of jail to help them.

Villain Protagonist: So far of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky to take down the Flag Smashers, getting more screen time and more of his development unlike in Civil War.

Villain Respect: As of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo develops this towards Sam Wilson due to his refusal to be ehnanced into being super soldier while maintaining his idealistic outlook. He also concedes that Steve Rogers was not corrupted by the power he held but holds him as an exception.

Villainous Underdog: He's not a Physical God, not an alien, nor a Super Soldier. He's just a former military colonel with patience, a simple yet effective plan, and The Power of Hate. This is exactly why Sam and Bucky decide to bring him into their crusade against the Flag-Smashers.

Weak, but Skilled: Invoked. Zemo is a professionally trained special ops colonel who has the combat skills to take down regular men with ease. However, he knows that no amount of skill can destroy a group of enhanced individuals like the Avengers, and so relies on his manipulation and espionage skills to turn them against each other instead.

Weapon of Choice: A Smith and Wesson 6906 pistol, which he uses to execute the other Winter Soldiers and attempt suicide.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: Zemo's objective in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is to stop the creation of any and all super soldiers, believing that they create symbols of facism like the Red Skull once did. He accomplishes this in the fourth episode by shooting Karli Morgenthau multiple times and then smashing the remaining vials as Nico is helping her escape him.

What You Are in the Dark: When Zemo corners Karli and discovers the last of the Super Soldier Serum in her possession, rather than take it for himself, which would have made his mission a lot easier, he smashes the vials and would have successfully destroyed them all had Walker not intervened.

Wicked Cultured: He's a connoiseur of music and art, as revealed in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds: He has quite a sympathetic motive for his mission of revenge against the Avengers, namely that he blames them for the death of his family.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's not in control of everything that happens in Civil War (for one thing, he has nothing to do with the Sokovia Accords), but he's good at taking advantage of unexpected situations to further his plans. Even more so in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In Civil War, at least he still instigates most of the events, but in the show, he's broken out of prison without having expected to and is more or less thrust into an ongoing conflict he has nothing to do with. He still manages to play the heroes and the villains—that he utterly disagrees with—and so far has gotten away completely unscathed, once again having succeeded at what he set out to do.

He's the Big Bad of Civil War and is more than willing to commit mass murder to achieve his ends, but the times he acts polite or remorseful are genuine. He states he'd rather avoid unnecessary deaths if he can, has a few standards, apologizes to T'Challa for killing his father, has regular courteous interactions with a staff member of the hotel he's staying at, and even eventually apologizes to Bucky for using him. Considering he's just a grieving man who's dedicated to avenging the deaths of his family, it makes sense he wouldn't act like a cackling maniac.

By The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, he is shown to be fairly courteous to those around him (who, apart from his family butler were his enemies before) and he is capable of holding civil conversations with Bucky, even offering him a genuine apology for his actions in Civil War. He also agrees to join Sam and Bucky's crusade against the Flag-Smashers, without the driving of a hard bargain one might expect from him. He is also fully willing to lend his resources from the criminal underground to Sam and Bucky to take the Flag-Smashers down, no questions asked.

While none of the Avengers die as a consequence of his plan in Captain America: Civil War, he accomplishes his main goal in dividing them and is content with this. While the looming threat of Thanos forces them back together in Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, the reunion turns out to be temporary — by the time of Spider-Man: Far From Home, WandaVision, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, the Avengers are still very much defunct.

In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he successfully killed the man who recreated the super soldier formula and destroyed all but one of the remaining samples while inadvertently leading to John Walker gaining the Super Serum for himself. This turns in Zemo's favor after Walker brutally executes a defenseless Flag Smasher in broad daylight in front of civilians, corrupting the image of super soldiers in the public eye. He willing gives up a chance at pulling a Villain: Exit, Stage Left to visit a memorial and allows him self to be captured, his work done.

He framed Bucky Barnes for bombing the United Nations, then relied on everyone else including Captain America hunting him down for it, and further that no one but the Avengers would even be capable of killing Bucky, to get access to Barnes and his knowledge of HYDRA bases.

He arranges for his ruse to be discovered by the media, relying on Tony to find out and make amends with Captain America, so they'll both find the Siberian compound where Zemo reveals to them that Bucky killed Tony's parents.

His entire plan is based on assumptions from the S.H.I.E.L.D. intel on the Avengers he's studied that Captain America's over-protectiveness of his friends and Iron Man's complex over the death of his parents would mean not only that the two would turn on each other if Bucky's involvement in the Starks' death was revealed, but that Steve wouldn't have talked to Tony about Bucky's potential involvement beforehand.

His setup gambled on the fact that it is a conflict that only works if there are no voices of reason to hold either of them back. The fact that the airport fight left only two active members of the Avengers, Bucky and a third party present in the Hydra compound in a place where no one would interfere was a happy accident for him since most of the Avengers present could have prevented things from reaching the breaking point. Of course, this is covered under Heads I Win, Tails You Lose.

Notably, this is also why he finds Bucky a bit tolerable, since he is being bewared of.

In a stark contrast to his comics depiction, he lacks any affiliation with HYDRA and outright states that they deserved to be brought down. A conversation in Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals he despises the Red Skull and those who idolize him, and he kills Doctor Nagel while the man is gloating about being a god.

Despite his profound hatred of the Avengers, he declined to unleash the other five Winter Soldiers and shot them dead rather than risk someone else doing so, as they were worse than Bucky and would do untold damage to the world given the order. He also seems uncomfortable with the concept of experimenting on humans in general.Zemo: If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep. Did you really think I wanted more of you?

Zemo was "just" a special forces operative, but when his family was killed, he used his intel on HYDRA to take on the Avengers and came closer to destroying the team than any previous villain.

Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that at some point, he became involved with the criminal underground, under the simple but accurate alias of "Baron".

A) Captain America and Bucky had captured Zemo before Iron Man arrived (then again, he was in a fortified bunker that would take serious fire-power to break through).

B) Iron Man had not figured out where Cap and Bucky were headed in the first place.

C) Iron Man had not come alone, meaning there might have been someone to restrain him or talk him down after he learned the truth.

D) Black Panther had succeeded in killing Bucky during one of their three fights during the course of the film (of course it’s highly unlikely that he even knew the Black Panther existed).

E) Captain America told Iron Man that the deaths of his parents were orchestrated by HYDRA.

Zemo hates the Avengers after the collateral damage they caused killed his family. So he decides to split the team up and in the process causes collateral damage that kills other people's family members.

Zemo believes that "gods" like the Avengers should not be allowed to exist. Sam points out that be decreeing who deserves to exist, he's speaking like a god.

Tortures and kills Vasily Karpov for information. Karpov is not only a still loyal HYDRA operative but one of the main leaders of the Winter Soldier project and ordered the death of the Starks and his slow death is just desserts. He does the same to the HYDRA scientist responsible for making more Super Soldiers in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, finishing his work from Siberia.

He also happily participates in the interrogation of Doctor Nagel, the Mad Scientist who recreated the Super Soldier Serum via human experimentation, and personally guns the man down.

Zig-zagged; he knows very well that he can never kill the Avengers himself, since more powerful men than him have tried and all have failed, which is why he makes a plan to get them to kill each other for him.

In the secret HYDRA lab in Madripoor, he and his comrades come under attack. Not knowing where the assailants are, Zemo makes a quick getaway, causing Sam and the others to think he bailed... only to show up moments later when the assassins are in plain view, making it much easier for him to take them down.

When the Dora Milaje apprehend him a second time in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he surrenders himself without a fight, presumably both because he knew he had no chance of victory and because he had already achieved his goal of destroying the current iteration of the super-soldier serum.

He uses Bucky's Trigger Phrase while the latter's locked in an apparatus, making him go on a rampage. By the end of Civil War, he himself is locked in the same apparatus.

He kills T'Challa's father in the course of his Evil Plan. After T'Challa learns the truth about this, he foils Zemo's attempted suicide to ensure he faces justice for his crimes.

#HelmutInformation

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