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thisfeelslike-iykyk · 2 days ago

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"x" marks the end ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

a fic from the perspective of se mi backtrack: "time to say goodbye", sarah brightman + andrea bocelli inspiration: this is an assignment for my writing class lol

she knew it was stupid, but she bet on kindness.

well, it wasn't really stupid. looking back on it, it was more like bad luck. trust in the wrong place.

she joined for the money. she had won a bit playing games against the recruiter, and when he offered her a chance to play more games for a chance to win $315 million, she couldn't refuse.

when she woke up in the warehouse-like dormitory, the first thing she thought was she'd been kidnapped. the van that brought her here had picked her up at night, and when she got in, there had been this weird fog that filled the car. she didn't remember anything after that.

there were hundreds of other people in the dormitory with her. bunk beds were stacked twenty feet into the air, one for each person, and each player was wearing the same green tracksuit and white tee. she noticed the white number printed on the upper left of her own jacket: 380. there were 456 people in total. to win that money, she would have to beat 455 people. she kept to herself, silently observing everyone and trying to assess who would be her biggest threat. if she could remain calm, she'd have a good chance at the money.

she quickly realized this may not be true.

she passed the first game, red light green light, easily. those who lost were killed, shot down right in front of her. she managed to stay still, but the stench of blood was heavy in the air. gunshots and screams perforated her mind. after she crossed the line safely, she realized she was trembling. there was someone else's blood on her tracksuit. to lose here meant death. that changed everything.

when the survivors were asked to vote whether they wanted to continue or stop the games, she almost pressed the x, to stop. there was a small voice in her head that told her staying would be a death sentence. but there was another voice that told her she could win. she was afraid of death, but not of these games. she had nothing to lose; her life was worse outside. she watched herself press the o, to continue. she received a blue o and stuck it to her tracksuit.

the second game required the players to play in a team of five. she didn't like this. she already was wary of the others, and now that they knew this was a death game, who was left for her to trust? she meandered through the crowd of people, looking for someone she could deem trustworthy.

she found that someone in a young man cowering by himself off to the side. he was shorter than her, and when she tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped. as he turned around, she took note of the number on his tracksuit: 125. a red x was pinned under his number. "what's your name?" she asked.

he spoke with a stutter, and avoided eye contact: "m-minsu."

minsu. she made sure to remember. "what brought you here?" she asked, referring to the games.

he was about to answer, but then another voice cut into the conversation: "hey. señorita."

she registered that "señorita" meant her after a few seconds, and slowly turned around. the one who spoke was player 230, a young man with spiky purple hair. by his side were two others: 124 and 256, both young men around her age. all three worse blue os.

this was not great. 124 was visibly annoyed that 230, who was clearly the leader of their group, wanted a girl and a dork (his words) to join their team. but 230 was adamant, and she was pretty sure this was the best luck she was going to have. they were athletic, she was smart. she'd be safe with them, at least for now. then she watched 230 open his cross necklace and take out a colorful pill. he popped it into his mouth and handed one to 124.

she started to rethink just how much faith she should place in 230.

but she had made the right decision to join him; they passed the second game. as they were herded back toward the dormitory, minsu caught up t her. "why did you talk to me?"

she tilted her head. minsu was not brave, smart, or athletic. he was truly, in 124's words, a dork. but she chose him anyway, and the reason was simple. "because I thought I could trust you." he was shy and timid; she was calm and realistic. in her, he found someone to stand behind, and in him, she found a friend. during the next round, he voted to stay, swapping out his x for an o. it was perfect.

perfection, she thought now, has a way of crumbling. for a few hours, maybe a day, everything was fine. then the cracks started to appear and spiderweb across the fragile glass of perfection.

the third game was called mingle. the players were herded into a large room, where they stood on a large platform that spun slowly while happy music played. when a voice came over the speakers to say a number, they would have to form a group with that number of people and run to one of the smaller rooms that were located around the big central room. she stuck with minsu, 230, 124, and 256. they passed the first round smoothly. the second round asked for four people. 230, who was high on one of his pills, kicked 256 to the ground before taking 124 and running toward a room. she pulled minsu, who had frozen in shock, toward the room as well, and they watched from inside as 256 was shot down.

the third round came. 230, who was initially devastated at his good friend 256's death, even though he had been the one to kick him out of the group in the first place, was still high. he and 124 linked arms and danced around, before the voice came over the speakers again. "three."

groups of three. 230, 124, 125, 380. that made four numbers. four people.

"rock paper scissors!" 230 demanded of her and minsu. "winner comes with us!"

"come with me," she said to minsu, holding out her hand. we'll find someone else. we don't need to stay with these jerks. her faith in 230 had run out. she was no longer safe with him. minsu stared at her, looking like a kicked puppy. his lip quivered.

"now!" 230 barked. "rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

she glared at him, but he didn't notice. then she looked back at minsu.

he was holding out two fingers. scissors. she looked at her own hand, which was still outstretched so he could take it. paper.

her stomach dropped. she suddenly understood what people meant when they said they felt like they had been punched in the stomach.

"minsu with the scissors!" 124 chortled, and they pulled him away, laughing and cheering.

her chest felt thin as she struggled to breathe. time was running out--she hoped 124 would die soon--and she wasn't going to find a group, she was going to get locked out of the rooms--she really hoped 124 would die soon--and get shot down, she was going to die here and--

someone grabbed her. instinctively she took off, running for her life toward one of the few empty rooms left. when it was over, she exited the room slowly, feeling numb. she gave a small nod to the two players who had taken her with them and saved all of their lives. then she felt eyes on her. she looked to her side and locked eyes with minsu. his mouth opened, as if to call her name. she turned away.

round three of voting. the remaining players--there were less than a hundred of them now--were separated into xs and os. when it was her turn she pressed the x, swapped out her o, and quietly walked over to the x side. she kept quiet, but was alerted to attention when she heard 124's voice from the o side: "minsu, you know how to vote. we're going to play one more game, yeah?" he clapped minsu's shoulders, pushing him forward so the latter was closer to her. then he looked over minsu's head to lock eyes with her smugly. she flipped him off.

minsu nervously stumbled up to the voting podium. 230 and 124 cheered for him: "team o, let's go!" minsu turned around and looked at her, an emotion she couldn't place heavy on his face. was that pleading? guilt? he pressed the x too, switching sides again.

tensions were rising. she heard that there would probably be a fight tonight. people would kill, others would be killed. dinner that night came with a fork. she turned it over in her hand. anything could be a deadly weapon if you tried hard enough.

later that night, something big happened. she learned through whispers and rumors: player 230 got into a scuffle with another player; he took a fork to the throat and bled out on the men's bathroom floor. after the lights went out, people attacked. she gripped her fork tightly, huddling on her bed and pressing herself to the wall. maybe if she stayed quiet, nobody would notice her.

someone was next to her. they cursed at her, and then she was dragged from her bed. she screamed, but nobody was coming to save her; everyone was screaming. the lights flickered, and she caught a glimpse of the player's number: 124.

she didn't stand a chance against 124. he was strong, strong enough to overpower her, and she was backed against the wall. he disarmed her easily, got on top of her and pinned her to the ground. the silver fork in his hands glinted in the air before he stabbed it deep into her neck.

she understood now. she was just a little tragedy. if she voted x from the start, if she never got involved with 230, if she didn't trust minsu, she could have lived. she could have lived.

a glass bottle crashed next to them, clipping 124 on the way down. he cursed, looking up to see where it had come from. someone was lying on a bunk above them, leaning over the edge. she squinted. had someone come to rescue her? did someone care about her?

the person disappeared and did not come down to defend her. she already knew who it was, but her eyes desperately found the white number on the tracksuit anyway.

125.

okay so I haven't actually watched the show in full so some plot points will differ lol. and if this wasn't clear by now, this isn't a x reader fic, it's a fic from se mi's perspective to flesh out her character. ALSO I got the sick perfection quote from an author here, but I forget who ;-; I'm so sorry

divider by @strangergraphics

taglist: @raysmayhem-72, @toooster, @sheisntyou, @soft-likethesunset

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aparticularbandit · 8 months ago

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and like.

the pov characters grows throughout the trilogy, too.

oaei is primarily kyoko with short bursts of mikan (and three cameos).

oafc is primarily ryoko with kyoko as secondary and short bursts of nagito (and two cameos).

oalh is primarily kyoko with chisa and hajime as secondary and short bursts of junko (and currently no cameos planned).

...which i guess means that technically oalh has fewer povs than the other two but that the characters with povs have bigger chunks in their headspace.

that's not what i initially meant, but uh. i honestly expected there were more povs in oalh. XD

#musings #bandit writes fic #dr1 end rewrite fic #kyoko has a pov in all three books #junko/ryoko has a pov in all three books #(she's one of the cameos in oaei - she was the first pov of the entire series! in the prologue! so that's not a spoiler)#sad that mikan had those bursts in oaei and then just never gets a pov again #but i think the oaei chapters in her headspace give us enough of her view of her relationship with junko #/and to be honest/#the curiosity of the junkan relationship is never mikan's feelings for junko #it's how junko feels about her #and like - we /can't/ be in junko's pov very often because being in junko's pov in the present spoils the tension #miss ultimate analyst #so junko only gets pov in memories or a cameo or short bursts #ryoko can have povs because ryoko doesn't know anything #she's an outside perspective on everything that's going on #chisa's pov is important in oalh because you need that future foundation perspective #you need the war perspective from someone who...is conflicted #and hajime's just #he's just a poor boy; nobody loves him #XD #and the memory chapters in oalh are a clusterfuck #that will make sense when you get there #some time next year >.>;;;;;

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vaniliens · 25 days ago

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niaaa who are your faves from umineko? 👀

Wh. Where do i even begin theyre all Really good, ,,,, theres so much to analyze with most of them even for the ones who dont have much depth,,, id have to say my top faves are Beatrice, the culprit, Ange, and Maria probably,,,,,?? I just think they're neat 🫶🫶🫶 Beato & Ange especially‼️

#I think out of all the families I think im more interested in Eva's before & after (With Ange) the most #Probably because Eva is Also one of my faves ☝️#But also from an outsiders perspective they dont seem abusive at all compared to everyone else in the family #But Her Hideyoshi George & Ange still uses their powers against others; Like Eva with Natsuhi; George's thing... with Shannon;#Hideyoshi doesnt have much but him calling Evatrice 'His Wife' first and foremost before telling her the only witch she is is a witch of #the kitchen?? 🤨🤨🤨🤨 Out of everything about Eva Fucking Ushiromiya that was the first thing???? 🤨🤨🤨🤨#And Ange. Like her whole Discovering the Truth journey she went with Amakusa was nice but she was still using her massive amounts of wealth #to go find the correct people so she can hear the words that *She* wants; Doesnt even care that it mightve been traumatic for the other #family members like the servants' families bc she was that deep into cracking the mystery (Depression & Suicidal Ideation 👍)#Yea idk . Also I used Eva with Natsuhi as the most prominent example here esp with that argument in ep 1 but we all know Eva abuses more ppl #Rosa; shannon; & Ange being the 3 other most obvious examples #I kinda wanna ramble more about the cast but im a bit busy rn so apologies for the short answer 😭😭😭😭#asks #ruruss #TY FOR THE ASK !!!!!!!!!

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unproduciblesmackdown · 7 months ago

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also it's something (better) like, the exercise of deliberately [art imitates life imitates art] holding up Billions to My IRL Things Perspective and going like whaaat would i want for winston. first answer is you want any character to not have been within the scope of the show in the first place, and to exit it since they are. and you kind of get that in the accidental reward in banishing winston, since like in the end it's just that the show doesn't care about him existing at that point But like it's winston sitting there quietly as everyone leaves & turns out the lights & Then he can leave too; others have peaced out & nobody remembers he exists so Now he can go off & do whatever.

but like in true form i think they definitely accidentally baked in another divine reward for winston in that, like, the way he's kept around as fodder for these fun little [pov: enjoy abusing this guy] asides with him, where it Just So Happens that he's autistic as something they're unaware of but is completely relevant to the expectation we understand him to be inferior(tm), it Just So Happens that he's also ""bad"" at not ""causing"" abuse to be turned on him. he's ""bad"" at staying in line. like well yes Yes that's what i want for him. just like In Real Life it's like yeah Ideally i'd want people to be able to extricate themselves from where they're trapped in power structures & i'd want them to have the perspective about it of understanding they're not Inferior / i.e. they are as much a person as anyone else and they're not corrupting everything good / i.e. it wasn't them Bringing It Upon Themselves and it's not them being Destructive by toppling a jenga tower of a hierarchy that happened to be pressing down on them. and winston is the kind of [the ruinerrrrrr] who is Turned On exactly because he keeps acting like someone who's on the verge of breaking out of the [being in line] someone demands of him as autist, employee, whatever other supposed manifestations of [inferior]

like in the 5 second stretches in which winston's allowed to speak before retaliation, it's because he's like "matter of factly" delivering whatever Information that's useful for another plotline. then he Brings It Upon Himself by making people aware that he's Also existing in his own right as a person rather than what they think serves their own deal / what they want from him at all times, perhaps by expressing his personality (didn't appeal to them! so it was Wrong) or not b/c of anything in particular said or done at present, just b/c people have a constant / accumulating contempt for him so their being in the same room as him & able to see & hear him is already dangerous. the [we're just seeing Any Abusive Dynamic in action] continuing apace.

and it's like, well, right there. he's written as acting like someone who doesn't blame himself for how he's treated, which billions frames as being Rude & Mean, and so too does everyone's abusers lmfao like and that these are his moments that are written to be Bringing It Upon Himself. and it's like hell yeah he doesn't blame himself. hell yeah that his self-esteem can manifest as anger at all. hell yeah that he keeps expressing himself with personality & confidence & doesn't even disguise his having been hurt, & it's this [his ass is Not grey rocking] that billions frames as both him "causing" his abuse & making that abuse "successful" lol, wrow just like real life!! and when like speaking of real life yeah it's not "bad" that people Do engage in strategies to mitigate & survive, including things like blaming themselves or being too "boring" to be anything but a non dialogued background character b/c that's all that goes unpunished, it's bad b/c it's done to them at all, not [ohh they're doing it to themselvesss] and like i'm asking myself like Ideally. what do i want Ideally. and i'd want winston to know that it's being Done To Him & i'd want him to find as much room for his personhood & autonomy as possible. and that's basically how he's written anyways, and billions hates that like You See this is why he deserves it this is why he's doing it to himself. and i'm like my god if that's not Inspiration for like "so what if people don't find you Personally Likable" and not preemptively holding back all personality or anything that'd draw attention as if you exist as a person in your own right & not something that only either gets in the way of or serves their wants of a Real person (someone with more power) like hell yeah you have him out here doing it =']

another fun addendum is like, billions isn't getting into it much b/c it doesn't seem to care much about "what if some people were peers & seem to have a genuine, recipcrocal relationship?" but that it just so happened to be like "oh tuk as the next closest loser who deserves it might be nice to winston" while it's framing winston as the "worse" Loser as being....unconditionally supportive of tuk. while the one downside of billions Also giving bentuk as much as it is is that it also inevitably has that shadow of "but ben is Superior to tuk" and like that it's correct that everyone encourages tuk to Stop Bringing It Upon Himself and start being less of a loser; it's wrong for winston to be like hey let's go have a foursome. like yeah probably don't make a list of the women you work with you'd be dtf but it's not like i'm convinced "ah billions and it's strong anti misogyny stance like" roflmao and billions is Not reflecting on "the downsides of unconditional support?" there when winston was beaten up for criticising taylor earlier like we WILL take his ideas while looting his [beaten unconscious] body there but he WAS wrong to express them as though he's BETTER than taylor!!! mafee's beautiful show of loyalty in kicking his ass even when he might agree with the argument and then benefit when it's adopted by taylor anyways! so it's as usual actually purely based on hierarchy & who gets to be in charge of people. it's correct for ben to be in charge of tuk, unless he has to step aside for that bizarre dead-end subplot about how it's tuk's fault if he's treated badly, b/c it's really his own Failure to have Confidence to know he has good ideas [raising our voice to deliver this message over the sound of breaking desks and chairs and computer monitors over winston because he had the confidence to act like he deserved to talk to someone and because he knows his ideas efforts & results are good & valuable around there] like. and isn't it sooo fucked up to talk about who you're dtf in the episode that has it be neutral if your boss is dtf & lets you know but is nice about it (and you're already Correctly tending to their ego, which you're responsible for!) like hey no possible problem! it's not even so much of a problem for a boss man to have the sex they're entitled to & be rude about their leveraging their power in that acquisition that it Stays a problem into the next season. ew, winston is Known (Inferred) Dtf??? we'll use it to exploit His vulnerability, exacerbate it, & punish him further for good measure in another episode that just revels in abuse & violation with a sexual aspect once again, but like, hey tuk don't do that, winston's such a Bad Influence for being like, shrug, kneejerk intervening with the Good Friendship where the One In Charge leaps in & Tells tuk the Correct thing to do. obviously there's also the tragedy that billions will Never let winston push back against Real Winners like rian or taylor in A Way That Matters (actually gets in their way at all) lol like. one thing that would have really been fun, winston should've literal kneejerk started physically fighting wags in either pertinent scene in 7x03 for real 110%. i wouldn't be like Gasp Violence Is Never The Answer if he just hit someone to hit them b/c fuck you. or broke anything on his way out etc etc. billions would Never let him. which is the other side of the same coin of [why he should get to]

tl;dr how great that winston's being "out of line" means he's basically always noticeably flouting & rebelling against the [He Deserves Abuse] agenda lol. that IS what i want. his being "beyond hope" like ohhh he's sooo stupid he doesn't realize how much he has the bad tastes & wrong interests & annoying personality He Will Always Be This Way like hell yeah!!! billions like oh no winston's personhood will never stay tamped down & locked away such that some godawful person tolerates keeping him in their inventory :( ohhh the ABA will never work :( that's right!!!!!!!!!! although they're not sad about it because it's about relishing the promise there will always be True Inferiors you can enjoy abusing with your righteous power over, but like well you wrote him escaping anyways even while dragging other "better" characters into standing around to serve axe's need for more than 1.8 employees and [crickets, reverberating cough, sneaker scuff] like. another ""wrong"" thing for winston to do, another thing for him to not "deserve," which is itself godawful actually lol like lord what it "rewards" its Good, Deserving characters with, no thanks. meanwhile winston's punishment is that he's autistic and """bad""" at being abused like lmfao good for him, fantastic for him, just what i want

#winston billions #a series that did inadvertently power up the stances of someone who actually is Not a fan of ableism; abuse; authoritarianism; and cetera #real winston billions fans might also get written off the series into the ether....but hey. the power up #the ''i saw the autistic character. i saw the tour de force'' was there & it mattered #myself marked glad to be A Ruinerrrrr; to like be present where other people might be aware & even say & do things & [my personality]#throw it back to the last post like my experience going hahaha >:) but you made one mistake. decade old minivan in my name #enough to Get Outta There....but that naturally if it Wasn't that Would be an avenue of punishing / reeling people back in #hey you Stole this from me. hey winston that's Stolen Time and stolen data who give a shit. it's the principle of [we own winston]#my experience also indeed getting ''''worse'''' at being abused lmao i.e. more conflict & resentment as i was increasingly aware i didn't #deserve it. no thanks to much of anything i learned in; say; interacting with others as an autistic person lmao. hmm!#meanwhile even if exploring like Winston Having Fun Being Himself it's like one thing is just. never having the Site of that be like #first & foremost An Romance lol. like even if it's like sure someone could interpret this as romantic that's like; an extra thing #and it's not The Guideline like; not thinking that for winston to be okay he Needs to get on the soulmate track #(billions does think that lol) and like. while billions says winston Has dated (i do think they meant to imply Multiple Times in 5x05 #i just think we see that they usually don't care oh so much abt continuity; certainly not across the board) & that he has a crush #like then uhh yeah sure it's like. well i can readily extrapolate then that he's had abusive dating relationships.#billions does Not put forth that someone treating winston Well is where he gets the bulletproof confidence or anything lol #just cursed like again i'm not. i'm not gonna accept [wild you dropped steph into our Visuals as like 1 Confirmed Winston Ex]#but it's also like well then any Depiction would be The Perspective....not like. the abuse currently happening & in any way that is meant #to be ''''obvious'''' & ''''convincing'''' to someone w/no idea what it looks like anyways. vs the mundane ordinary parts that speak to it #or just the ways that experience & concomitant perspective could manifest outside of it even with No look inside it #running into issues like [good thing riawin didn't even hook up or that'd be More vulnerability in an abusive relationship already]#but what if they did & Montage Of Malaise? well to even brush up against inevitable more ''blatant'' things would then either be like #well immediately move Away from that then. before or after but Exit the [current] situation. Or it'd be like. rian has to Reconsider #but a) the character absolutely does not & based on everything will not. & b) if she actually Does; e.g. in a fic. well it's about her now #but i can think of ''yeah maybe winstuk fic that is also framed with bentuk b/c it's not really about Romance & if it's like sure then why #Not presume winston has experiences w/abuse & violation aplenty b/c that's the full context for the character lol it's then still like #and here's little details in which that could Manifest that would just be [??] or unnoticed to others anyways. just like real life!!''

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cursedthing · 1 year ago

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.havign lots of thoughts about how npcs are portrayed learning about the nature of their universe in works

#.most of the feelings were thrown onto evan since like. i dunno feels like a lot of the works like that write the npcs as fi the npcs-#.are actually people from outside the game transported into the game and have points of refrence about this whole thing and react how ''rea #.people'' would react to learning that they were inside a video game #.when really the npcs would prolly react closer to just going yea okay. since that's their world. they have no other world. that's their #.universe. and now they ave a little bit more info about their own universe #.yea they could have an existencial crisis if they knew what it means but also like #.''ooooh that means that i'm not real'' uhm. yea they are. they still are. that world is real from their perspective and continues to be #.real even after the learn about this #.from OUR perspective they aren't! but from theirs? yea! they are!#.also it9 s not like they would instantly know everything about how video games work even if they had no prior knwledge of that #.why would they try to change the fact that they're made out of lines of code #.that's like being mad and wanting to change the fact that they're made out of atoms #.except in their case it's ones and zeros in a computer #.PLUS!!!!!!!!! IN SOME CASES!!!!!!!!!! MAYBE THEY DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT VIDEO GAMES OR COMPUTERS ARE!!!!!!!!!!#.IT ALL DEPENDS ON WHAT SORT OF WORLD THE VIDEO GAME PORTRAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#.IF THE WORLD HAS COMPUTERS IN THERE THEN THEY KNOW A LITTLE BIT MORE!#.IF THE WORLD IS MEDIVAL THEY WOULDN'T FUCKING KNOW SHIT!#.once again pointing at evan and how we threw bunch of our feelings about this onto her #.since like he grew up in a world post combine invasion and like. technoglogy isn't really the best #.like barely anyone has any access to it other than the combine and all that jazz #.so she doesn't know what video games are. maybe has heard of what computers are #.she learned about being in a video game but to him that's the same as learning how our solar system travels through the galaxy and physics #.it's just another little detail about the world thta may explain some things. or maybe it doesn't #.when facing with her code she sees it as her dna. yea she's reading it but she deson't understand a thing in it #.maybe some fragments maybe not #.just like how everyday people wouldn't know how to interpert dna if they already haven't studied about that subject #.and when him getting corrupted. she doesn't know what happened. he just knows that something did. but she can't do anything about it #.and instead just learn how to navigate the world with more difficulties #.like how one would with a pernament injury

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fazcinatingblog · 1 year ago

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More like IF I come back amirite, also stop making me feel guilty, also learn to spell (paralegal? Parallel? ...never mind doesn't parramatta), also like it's my fault she hires 53 accountants that can only do accounting and 1 admin person to send out the tax returns and invoices and

#this whole thing makes me mad #like I'm sorry okay i didn't want this to happen #other people are mad at me too and have to fly to Sydney alone and sit next to strangers at Taylor and #I'm letting down more important people than one little suburban accounting firm #like my parents have to deal with a week where all three of their kids are going through stuff #plus my nana needs stuff as well #and Charlotte needs looking after but she's got her childcare and the other grandparents but still everything's a mess #and then there's my housemate i mean she's okay i hope i didn't infect her and if so thank God i didn't infect her BEFORE taylor #no idk all round it's a pretty shit situation #Sophia have some perspective #oh and Collingwood just lost to norf Melbourne #Angus Brayshaw retired #There are no rules anymore it's all chaos and anarchy and we're living in the unknown #tom Phillips is at Carlton #Trent bianco has disappeared off the side of the earth and his mother has every mystic in the country looking for him #and I'm just alone watching modern family episodes trying to remember how Haley and Andy get together #when he's sitting outside the wedding in a taxi asking Haley if she meant a specific person or just in general #and Haley's crying because she wants him and finds him funny and cute but Alex told her off for having a crush on him and getting involved #fuck Alex #anyway where was i #oh yeah i don't know #discussing IF i come back and not when #wait no #i don't know #I've lost the plot

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daydreamerdrew · 2 years ago

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Iron Man (1968) #57

#so now Pepper (and presumably Happy with her) is back as a regular in the book!#though it looks like Tony’s not actually going to handle it well…#the last time Pepper was in the book was when she was briefly meeting Tony’s then-fiancé Marianne #and I don’t think it’s been like many months since he ended that engagement or anything #I don’t expect Pepper to bring that up with Tony #but I do wonder how that comes across to Pepper and Happy from the outside as they haven’t been directly involved in Tony’s life for awhile #I know Tony likes to project that everything’s fine but ending an engagement to get married inherently looks messy #so possibly it seems like he’s kind of gone downhill a bit since they stopped working for him #though from my perspective I don’t think he really has #he just kept all his convoluted feelings about the women he’s involved with to himself where only the readers can see it #marvel #tony stark #pepper potts #my posts #comic panels

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lliquidllyrium · 1 month ago

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Thinking about Illario spending his life mourning a cousin who had already decided he will die, who had given his life to the thing he knew would kill him. Thinking about Illario watching with morbid fascination as that same cousin must do the same, loving Taliesin and mourning her in equal measure because she is a Crow, can only ever be a Crow and she lives solely for the ones that love her because she cannot muster up the will to live for herself. She accepts the inevitability of death to the point where sometimes it seems she is running towards it because she Does Not Want to be Here.

#taliesin de riva #THINKING ABOUT THE OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVE #she pushed him to spare Illario because she knows what it’s like to be betrayed by the one closest to you #she knows what it’s like to LOSE them and she wanted to spare Lucanis that feeling #Illario is free because of her and now he gets to watch this twisted little role reversal #Lucanis is in his shoes now…forced to watch as someone he loves lives in total disregard of their own life #unsure of how to get them to value that life to the extent that they do #resigned to the fact that they may one day have to watch this person die because the thought of death doesn’t bother them as it should #and the worst part is it isn’t even as satisfying as he wants it to be #this is the man who had forced him into a corner to the point where he felt the only option was to put him out of his misery and take his #place and there’s hella resentment there #but now he is watching the cycle repeat and it’s just…an empty hollow feeling #and he almost wants to grab Taliesin by the shoulders and shake her and tell her to wake tf up and see what she’s doing to the man she loves #because he KNOWS what it’s like to be in those shoes he KNOWS how twisted up inside it makes you #like watching a ship sink in slow motion #like watching it sail straight for the rocky coast and knowing how little you can do to stop it #wouldn’t it be fucked up if that’s what fosters an understanding and tense reconciliation between two brothers #Lucanis finally understanding what he put Illario through and maybe he can’t forgive everything right now but he can better understand why #he did what he did now #(he is not going to plot Taliesin’s death I swear I’m just drawing parallels)#dav thots

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shitpostingsapphic · 2 months ago

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Why I don't feel disappointed by Vi's arc, but you might

I usually have pretty strong and polarizing opinions when it comes to my takes on Arcane, but this is one where I wanna open up the discussion a bit more and invite people to my perspective, and it's fine if you don't see it this way.

I think there are two primary reasons why people feel disappointed by the arc of s2 Vi. The first, being that Vi had stronger voiced concerns about the state of Zaun in the first season. The second, being that she spent the whole show wanting to be with her sister and she didn't end up getting that.

Why I actually feel fulfilled in Vi's arc has to do with these two points, and I invite you to sit with what I have to say next.

Both of these parts of Vi have to do with her fatal flaw: her neglect of self.

We know two things based on what the creators have said about the show: the theme of Arcane is the cycle of violence, and the entire show was written together, instead of season 2 being written after season 1 production. From this, I can then ask: what do the creators want to tell their audience about this message, knowing they wrote it all out together, knowing the events of season 2 were very purposeful, using Vi as a conduit for that message?

If violence is a cycle, can one person defy it? No, of course not. At the start of Vi's arc, she wants to be a person that breaks it, though. She wants to change things in Zaun, wants a better life for her sister. As season 1 continues on, she wants to pick up where she left off with Powder without truly processing the gravity of the years between them. She thinks she can hold the world on her shoulders and fix any problem that comes her way. She thinks she can use her fists to make progress, thinks she can physically reach out and create change, but it only contributes to the cycle. And that's not because she's morally in the wrong when she does so, but she doesn't grasp yet that her fists can't fix everything. Vander tries to tell her as such in act 1, and it's a lesson that goes beyond just the literal application.

Vi's tendency to try and fix everything around her leads to her neglect of self. Inevitably, when you try to change things you have no control over, it leaves wounds. It leaves a person feeling like something is deeply wrong with them. And we watch Vi go down this spiral. I actually find myself really brokenhearted watching Vi in the first 2 acts, because I think she represents a lot of us: we see pain and devastation around us, but we don't know what the right thing to do is. We try different tactics and try to fix things and are left wondering why things feel worse than how they started.

I think that's something a lot of viewers could benefit to reflect on: I think in watching a show with strong political messaging, we yearn for a message that tells us the answers to these big problems. Truthfully, most of us don't have a fucking clue what we're doing. We want change but don't know how to see it through. That includes the writers. This isn't a show about the solution to political strife. It's about the cycle of violence. It's about not knowing how to change something that's been continuous throughout history in some form.

If we put ourselves in Vi's shoes, it would eventually take a toll on us to try and change something that isn't within our ability to change. Vi can't fix the problems in Zaun. Vi can't change the way time and distance and pain has warped her sister into someone else. In season 2 act 1, she's still trying to take responsibility for things that are outside of her control. She blames herself for the way Jinx has changed and has to tell herself that the only way to fix it is to end the cycle with her own fists. She teams up with Caitlyn because she's convinced herself it's the only way she can help. She sees how violence has devastated not only Zaun but innocents in Piltover as well, and she feels responsible for it.

BUT SHE IS NOT AT FAULT. And she cannot fix it any more than she could have created it.

Perhaps people may feel Vi's arc is lacking because they wanted to see more of her involvement in the revolution of Zaun. They wanted to see her be able to change the situation with her sister and for them to live happily together. But because of the circumstances surrounding both, for Vi to do so, she would inevitably lean into her fatal flaw. She cannot do either of those things without neglecting herself. That's not who she is.

The whole point of a character arc is for someone to be a changed person from beginning to end. If Vi starts out as someone passionate about enacting change to the point of self-destruction, what would a resolution for a character like that look like?

Vi needs to choose herself. Vi needs to release herself of the responsibility of changing the world. She can't do it. There are ways to contribute to positive change that don't involve putting the world on your shoulders, and Vi has yet to put herself first in any situation. Vi choosing love is how she does it.

Amanda Overton, one of the main writers that contributed to Vi's character and the Caitlyn and Vi dynamic and relationship, said about Vi: "If she has no one left to protect, she would fall in love". If Vi finally lets go of this crutch of hers to protect, to fight, to take responsibility for things that aren't her burden to bear, she would fall in love. She would finally be able to choose something for herself.

This is why I find her arc fulfilling. I feel like it's not an arc we really see a lot. It's not every day we have a character that starts out like the classic anime slash marvel protagonist, and instead of being the person that saves the world, they accept they're not a superhero and it's okay to choose love and personal happiness.

If it applies, and you're reading this, I want you to ask yourself: are you perhaps disappointed with her arc because you expected her to be the superhero? And would you be okay with accepting that she isn't and doesn't need to be? That it would be better for her to choose herself?

#arcane analysis #arcane discussion #arcane discourse #arcane #vi ar #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x vi #caitvi #violyn #arcane league of legends #arcane lol #arcane league of lesbians

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jupiterpilgrim · 14 days ago

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Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

#minji smut #kim minji #minji x reader #minji newjeans #Minji new jeans smut #ningning smut #ningning aespa #ning yizhuo smut #ningning x reader #aespa ningning smut #aespa ning yizhuo #newjeans minji #kpop m!reader #kpop male oc #kpop male reader #kpop smut #m!reader

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rebelliousstories · 6 months ago

Text

Different Time

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Strong Language, Happy Endings

Word Count: 2,358

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Being dragged into the Void by your good buddy Wade was not how you imagined to be spending your days after your lover had died.

A single card was fixed between her fingers as she walked behind the other two people on their journey. There was silence all around the trio as they walked through the field. She did not pay attention to what was being said, nor did she care very much. If it was of any importance to her, they would let her know.

Before she knew what was going on, a dog was running straight for them. But the man with long, flowing locks that was running behind made her finger tingle with energy. After Deadpool and the Wolverine ahead of her did not move to attack the man, she let that energy fizzle out. Not that it would have done much damage anyways. It was getting harder and harder to remember what it was like. And yet, she could see it so clearly in her mind; the first time he had shown her what he could do.

“So what can you do exactly? You just throw cards at people?”

“Nah, cher,” his hands came up to hold a card between his fingers, “is much more den dat. I charge da playin’ cards wit energy. And den dey go boom.” His chuckle followed shortly afterwards.

“Is that so huh?” She chuckled as well. But the man just smiled, and wrapped his arms around her anyways.

“See is like dis, cher. Watch and learn.”

With his arms around her, he held an ace of hearts. Flicking it in the air caused a pink glow to encompass it. She giggled as he swiped the card from the sky, and touched it to her skin. The resulting kinetic energy made her entire body jolt, but the man kept her grounded as it flowed through each and every muscle.

“Feel dat, cher?” His breath fanned across her cheek as she rested against his chest. Once she had recovered, she held her hand and felt the card laid in her palm. Flipping it over through her fingers, she managed to produce a glow and a light crackling energy field around the object.

“Atta girl, cher.” A kiss was laid upon her cheek, and she felt the day old scruff rub against the crook of her neck.

“You comin’, bub?” A gruff voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Snapping into reality, the three men in front of her were looking like they were off to go somewhere.

“Apologies,” came her reply.

“Did we just miss some exposition about you? I feel like we just missed a vital flashback into your tragic backstory. Besides, I would like to find out what you do exactly. We’ve never gotten a clear answer. You just sort of do everything, like Taylor Swift.” Wade was having none of her dismissal.

“What are you talking about?” She was utterly confused, but Logan waved the red menace of off.

“Don’t pay him any mind. Come on, let’s go.” They all made the trek out to the dense corn that housed an old Honda Odyssey, which made the merc in red pitch a hissy fit.

“Get in the fucking car.” Logan snapped at Wade, utterly feed up with his antics. Before being prompted, she threw open the side door and climbed n the back. She watched as Deadpool tried to run off with the sweet little pup that had found them, but Wolverine put a very fast stop to that. Defeated, Wade climbed in the passenger seat, while Logan went in the driver’s, and they were off.

Somewhere along the way, she must have dozed off. That was the only explanation for the memory she was experiencing right now. Except, she was not exactly experiencing it as t had happened. No, she was watching it from an outsider’s perspective.

The first thing she saw, was a dingy old motel room floor. And the next, was laughing. Looking up, she saw them. It was her, and her beau play fighting on the bed of the motel room.

“Now, you know bettah den to play dirty, cher. Ain’t no coyon, ya know?” Her lover had trapped her arms to her body, and was smiling as big as ever. Plush lips stretched across his face. Hazel eyes twinkled brightly.

“Didn’t hear you complaining about me playing dirty last night,” she teased. Turning in his arms, she looked up at her lover with nothing but adoration.

“Well, Gambit seems to remember you not complainin’ neither.” His lips came down onto hers.

Watching from her spot near the dresser, the future her could still feel the wonderful pressure of their kiss. Tracing her fingers over her own, melancholy filled her heart. He looked so alive in this moment. A moment that she cherished with her whole being.

“Ahh!”

Something far less pleasant awoke her this time from her thoughts. One of Wade’s knives had lodged itself in her shin. Blood steadily poured itself from the wound. And the world fell still for a moment. Raising her eyes, she felt herself shaking in anger and pain as Deadpool met her gaze.

“Oh no. Oh, I am so sorry.” He wheezed. But it was too late.

Her other leg raised and kicked him hard in the head. While he was disoriented, her mind contorted the blade that was in his hands; even the hand that was holding the knife began to bend and break. Holding her knee, she made herself fall through the car and onto the ground below.

“Where’d she go? Magic woman.” She heard Deadpool exclaim loudly. It was followed by a growl and a squeak. And the car started to rock with the force that they were going at each other.

Rolling to her right, she got out from underneath the vehicle before someone sent a blade through to her again. Releasing her leg, she crawled on her belly over to a tree that was still facing the car. Her forearms were covered in dirt and leaves now, as were the entire lower half of her body. While keeping an eye on the Odyssey, she worked to remove her boots and rolled up the pants from her injured leg. She could see the wound eventually and worked to clear her mind.

Regenerating always took a lot from her. It took a lot physically and mentally from her, but she could get it done. Groans slipped from her lips as she could feel her skin, muscles, and even veins being to stitch themselves together. A scar was all that was left in the place of the stab wound. The woman rested against the large piece of wood behind her and watched through blackening vision as both men were thrown through the car, and jumped back in with fervor.

That was the image that she passed out to. That was the last thing in the real world that she saw. She was not sure how much time had passed between her passing out, and when she woke up. But she immediately recognized that she was not where she was before. There were stone walls all around her, and she was lying down on a bed. Before sitting up, she looked and could see Logan with a bottle of liquor to her right.

Voices were muffled all around her. She could not pin point a specific one, but something felt off. Like someone or something was there, and how that was supposed to make her feel, she did not know. Groaning, she sat up and caught the attention of everyone else that was talking. One person much more than anyone else. A familiar drawl called out her name, and her body filled with dread. Footsteps came closer, and the muffs came off from her ear.

“Cher, that you?” Her heart sped up and it felt like it was beating out of her chest. A hand came to her shoulder, but she was not having whatever weird illusion this was. Grabbing whoever’s wrist this was, she used her body weight and center of gravity to pivot the person onto their back on the floor beside the bed she was on.

Staring down, her heart stopped. This was her beau. Remy was staring up at her with wide eyes. Letting out a shaking breath, her hands let go of the man as if he had burned her and stood upon shaking legs. The man on the ground was not doing much better than her. He stood just as quickly, and looked at the woman just the same.

“Oh, thank you Lord. It is you.” He whispered, taking a step closer. But her hand shot up to stop him from getting closer.

“Don’t. Who the hell are you? And what are you doing with that suit on?” She demanded, and watched the confusion sink in.

“Cher, it’s me. It’s your Gambit. I’m jus’ wonderin’ how in da hell you here now.” Remy breathed.

“Oh my god!” Everyone’s attention was brought to Deadpool who was wide eyed in his mask. “This is your tragic backstory. You and him…”

“I need some air.” She turned on her heels, and phased through her wall till she was outside in the forest. Outside, she tried to draw in a deep breath, but found her body starting to seize. Everything got too much. Shaky limbs and sweaty palms found themselves crashing onto the forest floor. She tried to breathe in again but only managed half a breath. Her heart was beating out of her chest. The world began to spin.

“Ay, ay, you alright, cher. Come ‘ere. Let’s settle on down now, ya.” Thick arms encompassed her. They grounded her back to reality. As Remy kept whispering soothing words, she felt her world come back into focus. Her heart slowed down and was now moving at a steady rhythm. She was following Remy’s lead on her breaths; in through the nose for four, hold for four, out for four. Her arms and legs were soothing themselves out and she was able to wipe off her palms onto the legs of her suit.

“Dat’s a good girl, now. Ain’t no reason to be like dat. Just a little frightenin’ is all. Didn’ mean to.” He was apologizing for scaring her? After she had thrown him to the ground and walked out on everyone? Those arms felt so familiar and comforting; she did not want to move rom them. But she had to face this man. She had to know. Turning, her eyes finally came up close and personal with the man that had introduced himself as Gambit, Remy LeBeau.

“You good now, cher? Feelin’ a little bettah?” Even after all of this, he was still so caring.

“Yeah. How are you alive?” She whispered, tracing her eyes over every inch of his face like this was the last time she was going to see it. Because it just might.

“I been wonderin’ da same thing. Don’t know how long I been in dis here Void, but you was gone long before I got here.” One of his hands came up and pet her head so very softly.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Her attempt at a joke made the Cajun chuckle as well. Sure, both of their laughs were tinged with sadness, but they were laughing together again.

“Well, I uh-” he stammered, trying to find the right words, “was out playin’ cards. Got a feelin’ dat somethin’ was wrong. Went back to the apartment we was stayin’ in. And you… you were gone when I got there. Tracked down who had killed ya, and it turned out to be my ol’ thievin’ ring. Didn’ like da fact dat we was ‘bout to get outta da game apparently. Da hardest thing Remy ever done was buryin’ you. Easiest was killin’ da sons o’ bitches dat took you from me.”

Silence enveloped them as the weight of his words sunk in.

“Something very similar happened in my timeline.” She replied, watching as he seemed to going through the same emotions she was.

“We were on our way back from a mission for Xavier. You and I were with Jean, Scott, and Storm. God, she was making so many jokes about how she was the fifth wheel on that mission and we were making it worse for her. Anyways, we got ambushed by the Brotherhood. We were actually taking out a good chunk of them, but Sabertooth got the drop on you. You bled out in my arms on the way back to the mansion. You had me promise not to do anything rash in the aftermath, but it was difficult.”

Tears welled in both of their eyes. Both of them mourning a love and life lost in tragic fashion. Remy pulled her in close, and she breathed in deeply. That familiar leather and musk scent blended with the fresh air outside. She just wanted that scent bottled up and kept with her at all times.

“So it seems to ol’ Gambit dat we both lost our other half. Maybe you was supposed to be the one that completed my deck, cher.” Her head raised and her eyebrow as she turned to look at the man in confusion.

“You’ve got an incomplete deck,” came her question. She began feeling around for a pocket in her jacket that was directly over her heart.

“Jus’ missin’ one card. Whatchu lookin’ for?” He questioned, letting her move around freely.

“Get your deck out,” his eyebrows raised. “Your card deck, Gambit. Humor me.”

“Whatevea you say, cher.”

The duo shifted until their respective items were grabbed. Remy produced a deck of cards and quickly rearranged them to be in card order. Her card was in between her first two fingers. As Gambit sifted through his deck, he stopped right where a card was missing. And as she revealed what was in her hands, the two suddenly looked at each other with love and tears. Her ace of hearts was missing from his deck, but he had finally found it again. It was a different time, different place, even a different person, but it was the same love that spanned the multiverse.

#rebelliousstories #writing #xmen imagine #x men 97 #x men comics #x men #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau #gambit x reader #gambit imagine #gambit #channing tatum #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #wolverine

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reignpage · 1 month ago

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Piercer!Geto

Manx Norton: going over the limit

Contents: 18+ mdni, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, blowjob, deepthroating, throat fucking, swallowing, marks the end of their pre-relationship story

“We need to talk,” you say.

Geto looks up from his journal, slow and steady like he knew you would come here and at this time. He sets his pen down. His hair is tied up completely today and there are dark bags under his eyes that you can’t bear to look at, so you don’t. Instead, you settle into the seat, without being asked, and you cross your legs and your arms.

You mean business.

“Good afternoon, pretty. You look gorgeous.”

Sighing, you ignore that fluttering in your stomach. There’s no point in getting carried away by his charm; it’s his instinct to be sweet, otherwise he wouldn’t have as many clients as he does. But you’re aware, faintly and right at the very back of your mind, that his words have a bite to them — they’re complimentary whilst also accusatory.

“I need an explanation, Geto,” you state firmly.

His left eye twitches. It’s not a flicker or a nervous tick, it’s a flinch. You have the power, just like your sister said, when you were throwing her shoes out of the window, and she was offering advice as a means to fight your murderous intent off. It didn’t work.

There’s always something shifting between you, something unstable, and it’s been difficult to manage — you’re new to relationships, so new to venturing outside your comfort zone that you’ve relied so much on him to guide you. But you’ve also had to step up and make decisions for yourself.

Your friends weren’t very helpful; they insisted you quit or bring a new man to the studio to make him jealous, and as tempting as it is to be petty, you know they wouldn’t solve anything. It’ll just make you feel bad and icky.

So, you’ve chosen the high road, providing him the opportunity to share his side, to explain why he let you down once again and why everything between you had been built on a lie.

Nodding, he opens a drawer and takes out a familiar sheet of paper. Then, in a conversational tone, he asks, “What do you see?”

“It’s my CV,” you answer. Truthfully, you have no clue what game he’s playing; there’s something in particular he’s looking for but all you see is the whites of the paper and the lines of ink.

“Look at it from the perspective of an employer looking to fill a hole in their establishment,” is his reply.

You’ve heard that tone often, every day, in fact. It’s the tone he uses on clients when he needs to go over payment plans, or on suppliers when he needs to negotiate a new contract. But he’s never used it on you. Distant and devoid of attachment, it makes you feel uneasy.

Fiddling with a loose thread on your sweater, you furrow your brows as you read over the paper. Geto is leaning back on the chair, hands folded on his lap, the pinnacle of confidence. That used to be so attractive. Now, you’re just a little peeved off. You were supposed to be the confident one; you came here on your own volition, even prepared a speech you practised with your sister.

You should have known he’d sweep the rug from under you.

Frustrated, you groan and smack the sheet. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to see! I have no time for this.”

Smiling reassuringly, Geto doesn’t bat an eye at your outburst and instead, begins a lecture, “What I saw was a CV lacking in relevant work experience. In fact, you had very little experience. Your most recent job was in high school, when you worked as a librarian’s assistant for a day. The other things on there were debate club and a certificate for being a neighbourhood ‘sweetheart’, and I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Oh.”

To your embarrassment, he laughs. A blush is growing on your face and suddenly you’re very aware of how some strands of hair are sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, how the sweater you’re wearing is a little scratchy and that maybe, just maybe, you’ve overreacted terribly.

Maybe you should have confronted him sooner. Perhaps just as soon as you overheard him tell Miguel that your sister owes him a favour for hiring you. However, in your defence, you were feeling a little hurt from having been left at the restaurant — you waited for an hour, watching people pass by and give you sympathetic looks as you sent text after text to a man too busy with a client to realise time passed by.

A week has gone by since then, and you haven’t come to work at all, you dodged every text and call from Geto and ignored him when he showed up on campus and had the nerve to get upset that you’re hanging out with a classmate. Your sister tried to defend him, and herself, but you weren’t willing to hear her out. On many occasions, you’ve told her to butt out, to leave you to make mistakes and get hurt, because it’s your prerogative.

She can’t protect you from everything and the more she tries, the harder you all learn that lesson.

“Okay, fine. So, my CV sucks a little,” you huff, “but you should have never hired me under the pretence that I was good enough when the real reason was because my sister asked you. It’s unfair on me. I wanted to earn this job on my own and you two went behind my back to manipulate this whole situation!”

The man sighs and leans forward. You smell his cologne and it’s muddling your mind a little, so you lean back, away from him. He notices. “I understand you’re upset. And I’m sorry to have colluded with your meddling sister. But it really isn’t what you think, pretty girl.”

You hate how patient he sounds, like you’re the crazy one. And maybe you are. You don’t know anymore. In fact, you’re starting to think you know nothing at all.

“Yes, it’s true she asked me to give you a job. But all I promised her was that I’ll give you a chance, like everyone else. And when you came for the interview, I thought a lot of things. One was that you are so different from your sister. Different from the people that tend to come through the door, from me. You’re much brighter, much warmer and lighter than everyone I’ve ever seen.”

There’s something in his eyes, a sincerity that makes you breathless. All the air has left the room and you’re leaning in without even realising it. Everything that he says is entrancing, he’s a pied piper playing a tune that fills your soul with a fire you can’t put out, and he’s leading you closer to him, away from everything you’ve ever known, away from safety and reason.

You’re not afraid.

“I had a look at your CV and thought, there’s no way I would hire you, not even if she begged or blackmailed me — I take great pride in my studio, I turned it from a little backroom space with flickering lights to what it is now. My clients trust me to provide quality service from beginning to end, and I will not let a woman, no matter how beautiful, get in the way of that.”

Geto reaches for your cheek, like he can’t help himself, and you let him. His hands are slightly calloused but otherwise smooth and soft. And that smile, the polite one he always wears, is gone. In its place is something that reflects how you feel, how you’ve both been feeling for a long time now. A frustration against the distance between you, the boundary that’s erected itself between employer and employee, boss and receptionist, and a man who’s seen it all versus a girl who knows so little.

You aren’t meant to be. Everything about this relationship is wrong, it’s inadvisable, foolish, like Hades and Persephone, or Eros and Psyche. It’s a tragic love story doomed from the very beginning, the kind people talk about centuries later with a mix sense of awe and pity. You know all about it, have read so many variations of the same story with the same individuals who think they know everything, who believe they’re different, special and that the Fates will smile fondly on them.

Except neither you nor Suguru are under the impression that you’re different, that this will turn out differently and that the cards you’ve been dealt are from a separate, fresh deck. You both know you’re playing a dangerous game.

Neither of you care.

“But then I talked to you. And you were so witty, so undeterred by my unrelenting questions, and so willing to learn as you go. You had the confidence of someone who’s worked a thousand jobs, who’s met a thousand people that, despite knowing better, I wanted to hire you on the spot.”

Carefully, with your eyes fluttering shut at the tentative touch of your skin, you breathe out, “Suguru, we shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

When your eyes open, you see his gorgeous, tortured eyes fall to your lips and you know what you want.

Your lips meet his.

This kiss is so similar to the one you shared that night, but oh so new. It seems so long ago now, and when you feel his plush lips devour yours it feels like this is new to both of you and it urges you to push in further. His tongue touches yours and you don’t hesitate to intertwine it, to explore all that he’s laying out for you.

Gasping for breath, you pull away with little success before he’s grasping the back of your neck and urging you over the desk, kneeing the papers there and hearing the pens and stapler fall to the floor with a dull clatter, you sit onto the desk and you hear his chair slam against the wall when he stands to press himself closer to you. He kisses you again.

“Things work differently with me,” he says in between pecks to your lips.

Whilst his mouth moves to your jaw, sucking at the skin by your ear, you giggle. “I know. My sister says you like control. Something about Christian Grey.”

Chuckling in your ear before nipping you there, he admits, “I’m not as insane as him. In truth, I don’t really know what I am, but I know it’s more intense than what most men ask for.”

“That’s okay, Suguru. We can work it out together, step by step.”

He kisses your pulse point. You moan. Goosebumps are rising along your arms; your back is arching to press as much of you closer to him. You’re barely capable of creating a single train of thought, you feel so lightheaded you don’t register how your legs are wrapping around his hips.

“My smart girl,” Suguru muses against your skin.

Your legs are wrapped around his hip, pulling him close until you can feel the bulge there push against your core. With a roll of your hips, the zipper of his jeans nudges your bundle of nerves. You gasp. And you seek out that pleasure again with slow, gradual grinds.

Breathlessly, you say, “Suguru…”

He’s scraping his teeth against your pulse point, one hand kneading your thigh and the other holding himself up. Filling your senses, all you can think about is him and how there’s a growing pressure within that’s dying to be released.

“Go on, pretty girl. Take what you need.” Tightening your legs around his hips, you grind harder, frustrated that there are layers between you. Your arch your back, chest rubbing against his. Like he knows what you want, his hand finds your breast, squeezing and groping. “No bra? Are you sure you came here to talk, angel?”

When his thumb brushes over your nipple, you cry out, body tightening as that coil inside snaps. You spasm, grinding hastily to draw out your pleasure. It’s much better than you any could have given yourself and you’re addicted. Hand flying to his hair, you thread it through, brushing out his hair tie until his silky hair cascades down.

He groans.

In a blink of an eye, you’re being pulled and pushed down onto your knees. You grip his thighs, blinking fast as you desperately try to regain your bearings.

“You’re asking for trouble, sweet thing. Can you handle it?” Suguru asks, a challenge glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you.

You bite your lip, thighs squeezing to subdue the regrowing aching there. With a sudden bravery, your hands make their way up, revelling in the marble like strength in his muscles before they find his zip.

Hesitating, you feel something holding you back, an instinct within awakening. Awkwardly, you question, “May I?”

His smile widens, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then he’s threading his hands through your hair. It’s a rewarding pat, one full of warmth, and it’s empowering.

“Such a good girl. You’re a perfect little angel, aren’t you?” He coos. “Of course you may, my pretty girl. Go on, go at your own pace.”

Nodding, you unzip his jeans, tugging it down with his boxers. And what springs out leaves your mouth watering. It’s huge and intimidating. It’s bad enough that he’s well-endowed, but nothing about him is typical. He’s different to the average man in every way.

Starting with the metal piercing the underside of his dick, emerging through the head.

Seeing the horrified look on your face, he chuckles, the hair soothing your head delving down to pinch your chin. Unperturbed by your reaction, likely expecting it, he explains, “I got it done a year ago, mostly as a dare. It took around nine weeks to heal and yes, it did hurt.”

“B-but I-I can’t,” you stammer and shake your head, adding, “there’s just n-no way.”

Suguru sighs, thumb grazing your cheek. “You don’t need to. I understand this is too much too soon, but I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re more than capable.”

You don’t want to disappoint him. And you want to prove you can do whatever you set your mind to. Recalling one of your sister’s drunken admissions, you know the trick is to pinch your thumb, so you don’t gag, to breathe through your nose and take a little at a time.

“Okay, okay. I can do it.”

He gathers your hair and keeps them out of the way. Slowly, you wrap your hand around the base, gasping at the way your fingers barely touch. With no particular method in mind, you explore his length, thumb following a vein from bottom to top. He’s hot in your hand, almost burning, and the tip is shining with what you know to be pre-cum.

It’s pearly white and you can’t wait to know what it tastes like; you lean in and scoop up the drop with your tongue. You both groan.

Salty, you mull the taste over. It isn’t bad. And suddenly, you no longer feel scared. Your tongue fiddles with the bent metal barbell, surprisingly not minding the cold sensation against your hot tongue.

“That’s it,” he groans, grip on your hair tightening.

You widen your jaw, suckling the head, tongue pressing against the slit before it circles around, grinding the barbell back and forth. He groans louder, deep breaths vibrating through the room.

When you push in further, you make the mistake of doing it too fast. You gag, eyes tearing up.

“Slowly, pretty. Slowly. There’s no rush, okay?”

Coughing, you nod weakly, feeling embarrassed. Recovering your breath, you go back in, slower. Eventually, you work up a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, taking more and more of him but never quite making it further than halfway.

Both hands on your head, he soothes your tears away with his thumb before he advises, “Relax your throat, sweet thing. I’ll guide you, is that alright?”

You tap his thighs twice in a yes.

And then he’s pushing in, more and more until he’s filling your throat, muscles stretching to take him in. Tearing up once more, you mentally swallow that panic rising, the claustrophobia within forcing your nails into his bare thighs.

“You’re doing so well, angel. So good -ngh- for me, hmm?”

Suguru pulls back, the piercing scraping your tongue. And then he pushes back in. Again and again, he builds up to a rhythm, allowing you to get used to it, before he gives you more of him.

This is so overwhelming, the feeling of his piercing bumping at the back of your throat, the ache in your jaw at the stretch, and the salty taste filling your senses. All you can see and feel and hear and taste is Suguru. You can’t get enough of him.

So, when he bottoms out, your lips tickling his skin, your eyes roll to the back of your head just as his do.

“I’m going to cum, pretty. Do you want to pull out?” He asks, pleasure written all over his face, the veins in his arm bulging at his barely constrained urge to fuck your throat freely. Knowing that he’s so in control, so concerned over you, when he could use you how he pleased, could take what he wants makes you so wet.

You blink rapidly.

“No? Are you sure you -ha- can take it? I won’t let you spit it out,” he warns.

Sucking your cheeks in, you suction him closer. His cock head is rubbing the back of your throat, piercing burning, and with a shallow thrust, he’s cumming down your throat.

Hot liquid fills your mouth.

Suguru pulls out and you swallow the thick cream he leaves in your mouth. Your head slumps against his thigh, gasping for breath, heaving like you’ve just ridden a rollercoaster.

Hands tucking themselves under your arms, he lifts you onto his lap just as he sits back on his chair, boxers pulled up before you even realise what position you’re in now.

He rubs your back, muttering encouraging words about how perfect you were, how amazing you did, and how he knew you’d do well for him.

“Open,” he orders, bottom lip pulled down by his thumb. He inspects your mouth and smiles at what he sees. “Good girl.”

And then he’s kissing you, tasting both yours and his essence.

“No wonder Miguel gave me a funny look when I asked how many piercings you have,” you whisper against his lips, a high pulsing through your veins.

Suguru chuckles. “He’s a good guy, did all my piercings. Eased all my concerns every time and I knew I wanted him in my studio.”

You nod.

Your eyes are heavy and you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, and pondering the change between you. You’ve accepted that you’re entering an unconventional relationship, that he’s going to introduce you to a world none of your friends had seen a glimpse of, but you won’t be navigating it by yourself.

He’ll lead you just as he had when you first started working here.

Softly, gently and with so much patience, you’ll be free to stumble as often as you need until you know who you are, what you want, and what you need to be.

“Get some sleep, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

Is the last thing you hear before you fall deeper into sleep in his arms.

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #Suguru geto #suguru x reader #suguru fluff #suguru smut #jjk drabble #jjk oneshot #suguru geto

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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year ago

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fr incredibly epic subversion move in creep 2 is denying the audience the "understanding" that our perspective is that of Neutral Objective Arbiter. we aren't shown arguments of the protagonist's unfiltered, private thoughts & feelings through visuals or dialogue for us as obstensibly our way to believe she's vulnerable: she is, we understand she understands this, and then we aren't privy to any more "proof" of this by observing whatever attacks or simply emotional duress. we can assess and judge and guess about this person, but the movie doesn't let us believe we're Not, and that instead we're simply "understanding" the conveyed factual information. the killer man uses performance as a way to generate vulnerability, the protagonist young nonwhite woman uses performance to strategically interrupt such efforts from malicious to exploitative to violently so men on like any given tuesday, and the killer man's approach to performance is not truly equipped to react to her adaptation and flexibility; his loss of control turns vulnerability back around on him, whereupon he stumbles and flounders and is knocked off course, while existing in continuous vulnerability even when succeeding at her efforts is, again, any tuesday for the protagonist. putting him in a position of having something to prove just by expressing skepticism abt his threat of eventually killing her. when he tries to leverage Gender to discomfit her by saying she (or, they both) should undress, only to be the one clearly discomfited when instead she simply does so with her nudity a matter of fact (and not really shown, b/c the killer guy's camera pov doesn't just provide some full body shot, he's directing it down, around, at her set, unbothered expression, Showing his own vulnerability in the situation now, unable to deal with her body outside his effort to make its very existence a power play. but isn't being a woman sexual, which is to say, inherently available for consumption by men???). when we get the killer guy's pov as he is looking for the protagonist around the house, increasingly turning it into a threatening sort of hide and seek (kind of creeping around, creepily, even) and we wait for his, and our, expected vision of her being Afraid and Menaced and possibly Attacked, only for her to jumpscare him, and us, knock him on his ass and laugh at him. the killer's like melancholic musings as established in the first film being a situation in which the protagonist plays into the gender of "women provide comfort, emotional support, intimacy!" to extend the relative vulnerability of that and prolong the delay of any violence, how far-fetched....while this narrative of her navigating & kind of heist breaking out of this danger doesn't ask her to like "overcome" or "transcend" that vulnerability like oh hooray she's now Strong enough to win, Too Strong to be thusly vulnerable ever again; nor ever puts forth that she can, or should, ever just turn the situation around completely to win. jumpscaring the guy? still happening in the context of her performing as, at most, "playing along." he's trying to get the advantage over her, she's trying to more so establish / prolong a dynamic of closer to equals to protect herself and interrupt this: despite her inability to take control of the situation / name the game in any lasting way: killer guy is still driven by ego. in the end it's that ego that makes him vulnerable enough for her to again surprise him and us with the final physical fight maneuver to get away, in that last minute and culmination able to drop any performing as her survival strategy, but still able to take advantage of his own performance as means of control and driven by ego

this also compared to horror genre ostensible commentary by way of "subversion" that's just still also misogyny: just Showing women's pain? what else is new. we're asked to recognize it not by understanding it's there as a matter of fact, but by observing and assessing some unfiltered display of it. or the classic of "but if we put a man through the same violence or pain. makes you think huh." or ohh we posited this disabled person as a scary threat but now they're dead b/c they weren't the real threat, makes you think huh? or the classic of "but if we keep the disability as threatening & scary but we also kind of ask the audience to Pity it. makes you think huh." like no, the power dynamic of [the audience (with a clear assumed perspective) is neutral! they must be able to assess and judge The Other onscreen] is there. pity requiring the power difference to Deign to extend it. "well disability is scary but some things are scarier" wow. indulging in [women experiencing violence / harm] as privy observers b/c it doesn't exist if you're not looking right at it, judging it as legitimate for yourself rather than via having to accept the character understands it as legitimate for themself, whether their most unfiltered (in an expectedly externalized way) pain or even simply what was done to them was shown directly to you or not. that women trying to insulate/extricate themselves from harm must also "look" unusually elevated & intense & extreme to be "real," it can't be so matter of fact and even potentially made invisible as for us to be Surprised by the efforts of the protagonist here, and have to wonder what she'll do next, and not be convinced she'll make it out of this forever through taking control and transcending her vulnerability

point is like yeah any character but also any person Making billions should've watched creep 2. the power dynamics not only re: successful Gender relevance in the text but also in the genre of horror, of film itself. the potential violence of looking? that's made constantly relevant. the audience does not get to understand itself as impartial judge. the protagonist doesn't have to earn anything from our assessment: this is a strategic heist, not, again, some kind of commentary on [gender/ed violence, huh?] that presents a Narrative Arc of a woman's who "overcomes" this by becoming "better" (stronger, braver, smarter, etc....). again, with the premise of an egotistical murder man who uses performance and wants to himself be assessed for his own power trip and amusement, the protagonist already prepared to perform in response to such efforts has a survival skill that completely eclipses the ability of murder man, who can only be on the offensive, while not being a mere [just being on the offensive in turn] response which would only become a Power Levels competition. it's not about "winning" at someone else's game that shouldn't exist, it's just about getting through it until there's the opportunity to get away.

and, again, like that we and the protagonist doesn't Need to know if he really means to kill her for real. uneven power and misogyny and the threat of a man and what room there is for her to act in ways that throw off, interrupt, divert, but don't make overt that she's deliberately doing so or threaten in turn? we can understand that this woman is already at all prepared to navigate that; the killer man is not (who, in a true "that is a choice" element of the first movie which is more [whatever] and not required viewing for the vastly superior sequel imo, has implicitly killed mostly to all men before (Choicedly b/c there is given this angle of like, "performing" any affection towards these men. that and the "uh oh! he's Weird!" angle carrying so much more weight like, zzz to the first one. "uh oh! he's a man immediately trying to fuck with this woman!" in the second being much more actually interesting, as well as the performance of / desire/expectation for affection, intimacy from a woman amidst this context of violence like yeah and that's cishet ideals for you!)

anyways yeah lot of media analysis, the pov & not like "negotiating" with the audience to interact w/the understood theme of gendered power dynamics, the audience not getting to think it is granted an objective omniscience, the [this is An Other Person] turned on the protagonist made Relevant, our lack of complete access to her is Relevant, we do not get to expect we are entitled to that full access or forget that we're observing as An Other Person ourselves to instead believe we're a removed, impartial judge who has to be presented with and convinced of every element out here. much more to say but this is like effort #5 & we can't be here all day, gotta throw down a draft at some point, and can't readily rediscover some short essay about it from closer to its actual release. well, it pwns. like i was saying the handling of gender / power going on in there is >>>>>>>> like god knows horror material generally including that which tries to be About it too, but also really just anything in any genre. billions should've watched creep 2 & been different now. imagining s5 where after axe gets peak horribly possessive towards wendy, being outwardly petty towards her over her also shit & boring & Superior artist bf, stalking her about it, sabotaging the relationship about it, secretly taking the portrait of her that he resented her having before....and then we get the repulsive "romantic" scene about wendy going "aw gosh :) you only want me to be [single] so You get access to me!! :))" like and then axe doesn't show up on the helicopter in the end while wendy's like haha i knew :) b/c she rendezvoused with him and killed him. society if only. superhell for real

#other shit doing misogyny (on purpose; overtly) in horror like: but could we know a woman's vulnerable if she's not being physically #overpowered by a man or at least abjectly terrified right in front of us??? so now if she is to survive she must achieve invulnerability #through being Too Strong and Too Brave for it!!! creep 2 rightfully like ''pathetic''#billions musing on power for a while like hmm maybe don't be a jerk about it?#maybe; billions. maybe.#again the scope expanded by the [power] here within the Context of [physical violence/kill you] but openly Putting That Off #so that 99% of the time this is a known threatened possibility but it's basically (attempts at) being messed with; menaced....#survival plotline throughout but Not in a way all abt a physical struggle! more thriller / heist energy in the suspense & strategy....#media analysis times as well in; again; not letting the audience feel Removed as an ''objective'' presence....camera pov re: that....#anyways. i saw it all of once but it does fuck like can yrs later go yep that was ultimate #audience not even granted the ''objective'' Power over a protagonist woman by being privy to everything for judgment; assessment; approval #did i point out the disability [audience perspective of having the Power to assess & ''pity'' even] thing; yes i did lmao #smh at like sooo much horror shit don't like it don't respect it not interested....and yet the occasional outlier banger #and so much baked into Perspective lol. when the audience pov is thusly Elevated. granted an assumed superiority at all #also don't get me wrong. media in any genre....i tend to not be interested perhaps not like it much don't respect it lmao #don't really partake in all that much; relatively....again creep 2 is >>>> In General outside genre. horror's elevation just sure is eugh #anyways. it pwns so on thinking abt it the other day like ''lol yeah if only all of billions was differenter re: power'' like yeah it pwns

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