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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

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Graveyard Siblings (6)

Class revenge. And mention of suicide.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 5)

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Normal class day and most of the class was still together. This is set after the class’s trip to Gotham.

Alix and Chloe had transferred to another class or a different school. There were a few new students but they transferred out within a week, when they all had tried to point out Lila’s lies and the class picked on them on Lila’s behalf.

Class is still taught by Mme. Bustier.

She rolled-calls and somehow Marinette’s name was on there and she just absentmindedly read it.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng”

“Present.” A cheery voice said.

Goes to the next name before everyone froze and looked at the source of the voice which was where they exiled Marinette to before her ‘suicide’.

There she was. An older-looking Marinette who would look the same age as them as if she was still alive, her longer hair was in a high ponytail and her clothes were switched out from her usual pink to red and black and had a more mature look that was stylish instead of cute.

She wore her signature bright grin but the sight of it brought chills down everyone’s spines.

Lila thought that it was her curse kicking in and since she hadn't seen Marinette until then, fainted on the spot, thinking she was finally going to be killed.

“M-ma-marinette. What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Older Marinette said with a confused face. “Oh. You mean why am I not late? First time for everything, I guess. I am not late today so Yay for me.” She giggles but everyone else thinks that it sounds terrifying.

“But this is impossible. You simply can’t be here.” Max said, “Odds of you still alive are zero.”

“Can’t I? I mean I woke up early and got here on time. What is impossible about me being early? I would normally be a zombie during the morning, Max but nice one.”

Some students checked their phones for akumas. Hawkmoth had mysteriously disappeared around Marinette’s death making a few rumours about Marinette being Hawkmoth floating around. (Lila was the first to suggest that as a theory.)

Mme Bustier cleared her throat, terrified out of her mind and scared that if she provoked the ‘ghost’ of her former star student, there would be consequences like the horror movies. But she was not going to let it hurt any of her students.

“Marinette, there must have been a misunderstanding. You should be home.”

“Why?’

“Because um...you are... you are sick and you don’t want to infect your fellow classmates, right?”

“Hm..I feel fine but now that you mention it, I feel a little dizzy. I think I am going to take the day off.”

The rest of the class murmured in agreement, scared not to offend the ‘ghost’. A few of the girls like Mylene had tears running down their cheeks. Horror movies logic dictates that you should not remind the ghost that they are dead or make them angry.

Juleka was half-scared out of her mind for Rose who was also crying and herself and also half-excited, even though Marinette might be a vengeful ghost, there is still a ghost in their classroom.

Mme Bustier started muttering prayers under her breath.

Marinette packed up her things and was out of her seat when Adrien came into the class.

He was held up because he started sneezing non-stop this morning. Turns out Natalie had some black feathers on her.

He sees Marinette in the back row.

“Ma-Marinette! How are you here?!” to which everyone in the class sans Lila who was still passed out, shushed at him.

Ignoring them, he blurted out, “You are dead.”

The word echoed through the classroom. It was silent for a moment and you could hear a pin drop.

“Dead? What do you mean dead?” Marinette took a step down the stairs, the perfect picture of confusion but her eyes seemed a little crazed and Adrien took a step back, the word ‘Traitor’ carved into his back started burning.

Everyone in their seats shifted slightly away from her. Some considered making a run for the door but they didn’t want to draw attention and face the ghost’s wrath. They all mimed at Adrien to stop.

He ignored them again. “Don’t pretend you are innocent. You did this to me. YOU MADE ME LOSE EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD. I DON’T REGRET KILLING YOU FOR THE HORRIBLE PERSON YOU ARE, LADYBUG. YOU DESERVED TO DIE FOR WHAT YOU DID.”

Realizing what he said, he covered his mouth, hoping it would somehow fix the damage he had done.

Marinette smirked. The picture of innocence gone.

It took a moment for what Adrien’s outburst meant to register in their heads.

Adrien, in an attempt to get back into their good graces, had once claimed to be Chat Noir, the ‘hero’ of Paris. They had brushed him off. If what he had said was correct then that meant that they drove Marinette who was Ladybug to kill herself. Horrible realization sets in as it meant that Hawkmoth won.

Lila chose that moment to came back to the land of the living to scream bloody murder once she saw Marinette again.

The scream brought everyone out of their trance from their shock and started screaming or yelling.

The windows slammed open and the wind whipped. The doors of the classroom closed shut with a loud bang. The clouds were dark outside and there were some flashes of lighting and thunder. (Thank you Longg.)

Marinette’s hair was undone and whipped around her. Her eyes were glowing blue. As she started laughing at the chaos she had unleashed, the class and Mme Bustier ducked for cover and hid under their desks. Except for Adrien and Lila.

Lila, fueled by anger, pounced at the ravenette but was thrown against the classroom wall before she even had a chance to lay a hand. Fell down and appeared to be knocked out. Alya made a move to check up on her.

Adrien was thrown back against the floor when the strong winds started. The scars on his back were burning with a lot of intensity now and it was a miracle that he still hasn’t passed out from the pain.

Unknown to him, the words were glowing red and seen through his shirt. Mme Bustier, Nino, Sabrina and Nathaniel were the few that saw the bright red letters spelling out ‘TRAITOR’ on Adrien’s back as he got back up.

“Marinette, this isn’t you. Milady, please.”

“Shut up.” She flicked her wrist, sending Adrien against the teacher’s desk. He hit it hard and was knocked out like Lila.

Alya after making sure that Lila was fine. “Marinette, stop this. I know that you are probably mad at Adrien for killing you but we never did anything to you.”

“Never did anything?! Never did anything? Hah. What about the time that you slapped me in the face in front of the entire school and said our friendship was over? You called me names. You said that I deserve every bruise you gave me. The rest of you weren’t any better.” She turned around and with the flick of her wrist, the heavy desks were in the air, robbing anyone of a hiding place.

“You stood by and allowed it to happen. You destroyed my stuff, claiming I deserve it. My sketchbook, filled with commissions, torn and stepped on like trash. You all crossed a line that Chloe didn’t even dare and you call it the right thing to do. Hypocrites all of you. Some of you have known me since l'école primaire. What was it about me that you believed her over me?! ”

What happened next was all a blur to everyone, there was a lot of screaming involved, some blood, lightning and thunder everywhere and then, black.

Nino opened his eyes to see Alya peacefully sleeping on her desk. What happened?...Oh Crap I fell asleep. The last thing I remember was….MARINETTE!

Nino snapped his head up. And saw the rest of the class and Mme. Bustier asleep in their respective places.

But there was a sense of wrongness. Something was off... and he can’t pinpoint on what.

The bell rang, startling everyone awake. Nino checked the time. And crap did they all sleep through the first period?! Turning towards his now-awake girlfriend, “Hey Alya, Alya, what do you remember?”

He was surprised to see red eyes like she had been crying. “I- I- I had the weirdest dream. Marinette was there, like she never died and she… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Don’t freak out but I don’t think it was a dream.”

On the rooftop, above the classroom, a red clad figure lounged at the edge with her airpods in and chuckling to herself.

-----

Marinette didn’t torture them. Scared the hell out of them, sure but it was harmless. Mostly. She left carved words on everyone’s wrists which no one else but the class can see. (This one is more mental than anything.)

The scars are unique depending on how close they were to Marinette before she died. Most of the class had the word ‘friend’ crossed out. FRIEND

Nino and Kim had Childhood friends. It serves as a painful reminder of how long they had known the girl.

Alya was a special case with BEST FRIEND and ‘A good reporter always checks her sources’ underneath it. She remembers saying those words to Marinette a long time ago, back when she thought she knew Marinette.

Mme Busitier had Best Teacher and when she was in the comfort of her own home, saw ‘Bully Enabler’ on her other wrist.

Adrien and Lila were questioned as they weren’t the only ones with scars on their wrists. (Although Lila had LIAR written in big letters across her forehead with a sharpie and a drawn-on-moustache of a cartoon villain.)

Nino managed to get the class to back off on Adrien and later to pull him aside to explain about the scars on his back and why did Ladybug (who was apparently Marinette this whole time and she was dead... he thinks.) called him ‘Traitor’?

Adrien told Nino everything. The curse didn’t interfere so for the first time in months, Adrien was able to say the truth.

-----

That was also the day that Lila’s reign finally ended.

The class had suspected for a while about her lies and false promises. There were a few inconsistencies in the beginning that were overlooked and brushed off as Lila’s memory problems.

They all had for the first two years had defended Lila against anyone (mainly Marinette) who thought she was a liar. Lila herself made sure that her lies were believable, actually putting in research for once in her life and planting evidence here and there about her achievements with a few faked articles. They staunchly believed her lies until Marinette’s death.

With her main enemy finally down and everyone else who opposed her, lost their morale along with their ally, Lila stopped putting in the efforts to make her lies seem real and then the cracks of her kingdom began forming.

At first, the students of Mme Bustier class believed them but the stories soon seemed like bragging but they were too polite to point it out to their ‘nice’ and ‘shy’ classmates.

Lila began making mistakes from her lack of research and a few of them later pointed out the few inconsistencies but they were brushed off as memory lapses.

More and more of these ‘memory lapses’ happened more often and soon, most of the class had their suspicion of Lila.

They were just in denial of Lila lying to them.

A few like Max, Nathaniel, Juleka and Sabrina who finally find out that Lila was lying and confront her about it were threatened and they were too afraid to do anything.

After all, Marinette had tried to disprove them and look where she is now. Six feet under.

And the ‘ghost attack’ from Marinette was the final straw.

The class tried to help Lila get rid of the sharpie, especially the one on her forehead and Alya made a comment how it was so typical of Marinette despite being dead and some half-heartedly agreeing.

Max, frustrated that his friends still can’t see it that Lila is a liar and they were the ones who drove Marinette to death that she is now haunting them and it was all their fault, took out his detailed research to disprove Lila’s lies. Nathaniel, Sabrina and Juleka spoke up and brought out their own research. The seeds of doubts which had been planted the past years were finally sprouting

A while later, the entire class was in chaos, everyone was shouting at Lila, some of them were shouting at Adrien, Alya being in complete denial and Mme. Bustier trying to maintain the peace.

Unknown to them, the camera in the classroom was being live streamed to a screen in a room in Le Grand Paris, complete with audio as a group of teenagers watched the chaos unfold.

“You know.” Chloe said, “I thought it was hilarious when you went all bloody mary on them but this shit is way more entertaining.”

Maria smiled, satisfaction on her face as she snatched some popcorn from Alix. “Oh, I had fun. Took years but Lila is finally getting what is coming to her. In about an hour, Signora Rossi is going to come through the door with the police.”

“What did you do, M?”

“Let’s just say the Italian Embassy and the French Police got an anonymous tip this morning about Lila Rossi and the incidents following her around the schools she had attended in the past couple of years.”

“No..” Alix gasped.

Maria just smirked.

-----

Gabriel was freaking out when Adrien came home and told him about what happened to his class.

He did not need another ghost attack on top of everything else.

First, Afterlife had managed to steal some (read: a lot) of Gabriel’s investors and Gabriel’s shares were plummeting.

Secondly, there were a few important documents leaked onto the internet, showing a few suspicious purchases which had the brand and himself under scrutiny.

Third, Natalie told him about her recent condition which occurs during the night and raised a few suspicious glances from Emilie when there was a raven in the house while Gabriel wanted to see proof of this transformation.

Lastly, Emilie had been poking around about the years she was in her coma and it was sheer luck that she hadn't found out about Hawkmoth and connected the dots.

He called up John again to complain that it didn’t work and asked for a refund or face a lawsuit. John pointed out that the spell only worked in the house and kept ghosts out of it and other places were free game.

Needless to say, Gabriel pulled Adrien out of school to be homeschooled again and made sure Emilie stayed inside, no matter what.

The longer Natalie stayed as a raven, the whiter Gabriel’s head of hair became and he was beginning to lose hair at a very fast rate.

----

(Part 7)

I swear I didn't mean to forget tagging you guys.

Taglist: @local-witch-of-mn, @ladyqnoirr, @lolieg, @istoleyourcookies

#maribat #ml class salt #adrien salt #lila bashing #lila salt #gabriel is slowly losing his sanity and I am enjoying this too much #tw suicice #suicide mention #graveyard siblings

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omnitf · 3 years

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Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

#coach stone #meathead #transformation #muscle #bro #dumber #dumb #musclehead #programming #computers #science #sci-fi #fiction

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Something I notice about the giant Grimm is that they never seem to do anything. The Wyvern in V3 awakens from it's mountain and just sits on Beacon, the Leviathan only wades through the ocean and destroys a bell-tower and Monstro only spews out smaller Grimm. Whatever happened to Team RWBY strategizing to take down a Nevermore? These giant Grimm are just showpieces now.

I honestly think part of the problem remains the show's unwillingness to attach lasting consequences—and responsibility—to the group's choices. Because what does a giant grimm do? Destroy things and kill people, to a (presumably) larger extent than the normal grimm would. The Wyvern I give a total pass to because 1. Beacon was already overrun and being destroyed (a giant grimm was kinda overkill at that point) and 2. Since it's not needed for additional destruction/death, it serves the separate purpose of helping to introduce Ruby's eyes. Which I like. We've got to remember that back in Volume 3, no one in the fanbase knew what silver eye powers were, so having Cinder flinch in pain isn't going to explain what that power actually does—her connection to grimm via the weird bug is both unique and forgettable. So you've gotta include an actual grimm in that scene for Ruby to freeze, introducing the primary mechanic of "Silver eyes are a grimm specific weapon." Making the grimm a giant and presumably powerful Wyvern both explains why the group couldn't team up to take it down normally—which, again, was never that grimm's purpose in the first place. Some grimm exist for cool fights, others for forwarding the plot—and, frankly, it's just more entertaining to get a giant grimm for a Volume finale. Freezing it at the top of the tower likewise explains why the school isn't immediately rebuilt. We answer the, "Why are the characters going on a dangerous quest when they could just go back to school?" question by keeping the Wyvern there. So all in all, I think it functions rather well, demonstrating some of the logic threads RWBY now lacks.

The other two though... that's when we run into problems. Because unlike the Wyvern, they're not serving those specific functions of introducing a new power/explaining why Beacon isn't rebuilt. For them, yeah, we absolutely expect the group to have a cool fight and take them out in some epic, strategic, GIF—worthy manner. This is a fighting show! Problem is, in order to have a cool fight with a giant grimm, you need to include the inevitable consequence that things will be destroyed and, likely, people will be killed. These giant grimm aren't appearing in the middle of a forest like the Nevermore did (or even like the first geist did), they're turning up in populated areas. Fighting them will lead to casualties... and the problem there is that responsibility for these situations goes back to the heroes. Their choice to fight Cordovin brought the Leviathan. Their choice to run with Penny kept everyone in Atlas trapped. So if an epic battle wages and people in Argus die, or Salem's army breaks through and everyone in Atlas—including the Mantle evacuees—are overrun... that tragedy is partially on the group. And, notably, the story doesn't want the group to sit with any major consequences of their choices. So nothing bad happens. And nothing bad happens by virtue of there barely being a fight. Ruby just freezes time and sets off her eyes so they don't have to deal with the Leviathan ever reaching shore where the people are. Ironwood's army holds the line until Oscar saves the day so they don't have to deal with the grimm overrunning half the Kingdom. RWBY introduces very high stakes—here's this mega powerful super big ultra evil monster!!—and then pulls back on the follow through because to do otherwise would introduce consequences the story just doesn't want its heroes to face. Anyone remember during the Volume 7 hiatus how we were saying that Salem should absolutely decimate the Kingdom? Yeah, look at all the ways the story bent over backwards to avoid that. Salem randomly waits around to start the fight, the grimm soup only attacks the shields, the whale only spews smaller grimm, the line is never broken, her subordinates turn on her... the plot (flimsily) goes out of its way to ensure nothing horrific happens, as logic dictates it should, because the heroes were the ones to prevent most of the people from escaping. You can't have the mass murder of a Kingdom after that! So it doesn't happen. Even though it should. And when the horrific, permanent things do occur—the destruction of the Kingdom itself—it's fine now because the heroes chose it.

I 100% believe that in a story where the heroes were allowed to own up to their mistakes and grow from them, the fights would likewise have more room to play with the action in creative ways. If you're willing to really put Argus in danger and have the group own up to the choices that led to that, you can choregraph that epic fight on shore. However, all of this isn't to say that RWBY doesn't also have a problem with abandoning the strategic teamwork we started out with. The Hound is the most recent example of this. There, the story's moral stance isn't hindering the action: the Hound attacks in an empty street and then in the mansion with only three non-combat characters nearby. They heroes also haven't done anything wrong in these situations where having a destructive fight would reflect badly on them. Free rein for action! Yet Team JYR still just stands there while Oscar is captured, or take turns launching single attacks rather than trying to defeat it together (though this gets much better during their chase scene). Weiss comes out to help Blake and Ruby, only to be sent right back inside. Ruby is knocked out and Blake can't defeat the acid grimm alone, but Ruby one-shots it from behind rather than the two of them working together. Then Ruby waltzes up and also one-shots the Hound with her eyes, Whitley and Willow's contribution feeling like it hardly matters. If a suit of armor falling on it is enough to finish the Hound off, any punch from any of the fighters would have done the same job. Ruby's eyes already did all the work. Even when the story has all the space it wants for those cool fights against giant and abnormal grimm... it's holding back.

The fights have really gone downhill in the last couple of Volumes and no, it's not because the current animators aren't as talented with choreography as Monty was. It's because the fights are bending in illogical ways to serve the story, rather than the story evolving naturally out of the fights. Why can't Blake take on this grimm? Because the story wants to emphasize how crucial Ruby is to the team's spirits. Why don't we get cool combos to take out the Hound? Because the story wants to reveal the faunus' silver eyes in a shocking manner. Why was Yang taken out from a single hit by Neo? Because the story wanted to quickly established that the main group would "die" in this finale. Why did JYR just stand there and attack in useless ways? Because the story needed Oscar to get kidnapped. Why wasn't the whale established as something to fight, either with traditional combat techniques or with something the group had to come up with? Because the story wanted to introduce the shocking surprise of Ozpin's cane. Etc. etc. All of these fights fail on one level or another because they're just trying to get the viewer to the next plot point, never-mind whether the fight itself makes sense or is entertaining to watch. It's the same logic as the Wyvern—this serves a purpose other than to be a cool fight for the series—but RWBY is no longer putting in the work to get all these pieces to fit together. The Wyvern keeps to the internal logic of RWBY's world, whereas something like Yang's knock out does not. Doing that with the mega grimm that promise incredible challenges and likely destruction just makes that failure to deliver all the more noticeable.

Since the Volume 4 days, the last fight I can remember really liking—that got me super hyped and eager to re-watch it on Youtube—was Ironwood vs. Watts. Looking back, it doesn't at all surprise me that this fight a) didn't require any teamwork, b) didn't have any grimm involved, c) was between a villain and a soon to be villain in an empty space (eliminating those ethics entirely), and d) existed almost solely to just be a Cool Fight (with the minor, plot forwarding details of capturing Watts and Ironwood losing his arm). Ironwood vs. Watts had the freedom to be one of the old school RWBY fights, unencumbered by the questions that now keep tripping the writers up like, "If Team RWBY won with teamwork, why didn't you animate them working as a team?" or "Why did Ruby use her eyes when we wanted to see action and didn't use her eyes to save her own life against Cinder?" or "Why did you introduce this giant grimm, promising an epic fight, only to give the group a mostly non-combat solution? Oh, because that kind of epic fight is going to introduce a lot of other questions you don't want to tackle... Jinn randomly letting Ruby stop time, it is."

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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papers4me · 3 years

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Fruits Basket,Se03, Ep 8 (part 1)

“ I hate myself, so much, so intensely, so completely, I wish I just go away, disappear for good, & yet in the end, I always protect myself, instead of taking responsibility, I run away every damn time, like now, I’m too scared to even look at your face”. The real kyo under the layers of trauma.

This quotation is why this ep is not abt romance. Instead it is abt: Extreme self-loath, faulty coping mechanism, self-awareness & inability to make correct decisions due to suicidal thoughts & non-existent self-worth.

This is a guy who’s literally seen death TWICE at the age of 4 & 15 (his mom & kyoko), is trying to avoid the THIRD (tohru’s) & is questioning why the FOURTH isnt happening (his own death).

-The layers of a broken self: Excellent writing:

I applaud the writer for choosing fitting methods to portray her characters’ own trauma. Yuki “ prince” mask & tohru’s “i’m okay” mask were fitting to hide their trauma & uncover the real personalities. However, since kyo would be the character to hide secrets & carry guilt, the viewers need to feel he’s hiding sth w/o knowing what it is. It was done cleverly to (a) tie the plot together, (b) build kyo’s character, (c) fit the climax, (d) suit his trauma of severe guilt & self-loath. Some of the things he does can fit two genuine layers: Both layers are true:

His initial refusal to open up to tohru in early se01. (Surface layer): he doesn't know how to interact with ppl who accept him as he confessed to shigure, (Deeper layer): he avoided tohru cuz he knew her!

He initially refused to join leisure activities & trips: hot spring & kyoto trip (Surface layer): he didn’t want to go with yuki (Deeper layer) he didnt want to spend time with tohru as he was unconsciously feeling that he’s stealing from her.

It killed him to see her true lonely self behind her fake mask & approached her with advice. se1, ep5 (grandpa house), se1, ep23 (sick tohru), se2, ep 8 (hiro’s remarks) & other instances. (Surface layer): he was noticing her issues, & genuinely wanted to help her cuz he’s kind (Deeper layer) he was falling in love w/her & unconsciously wanted her to be happy with HIM.

There were times when there was ONE layer, such as: kyoko’s 1st grave visit. He was so off, rigid, unresponsive, & completely shut down. Everybody read him. Yuki, tohru, Arisa & hana. they just don’t know why he behaving like that. his trauma manifested itself deeply that he apologized to tohru in her sleep cuz he was “ too scared to even look at your face”.

- Kyo’s trauma takes physical shape: (Clutching his heart: PAIN, clutching his stomach : DISGUST) :

While confessing to tohru, kyo’s features spoke volumes. You can see disrepair, guilt, broken soul, sadness & surrender. His body reflected his emotions:

wide eyes (disbelief), Cat eyes (utter fear)

trembling body (overwhelmed with toxic emotions)

clutching his fists (anger at self) , opening fists (surrender to darkness)

hand covering face (shame), Hand around neck as he finished confessing abt kyoko & yuki (desire for death: the final judgement)

The most focused physical appearance was his fist clutching his heart: he was in so much pain as he narrated how he loved kyoko & found a friend in her, desired to make her happy, to find tohru for her, how his his mom withered away out of fear of him & how pitiful & sad he felt towards tohru for loving someone like him. It broke his heart to see them all suffer after knowing him. All the love he felt for them squeezed his heart tight, he wanted to pull it & rip it away. Above all, he was sad to loose them all. Sad he can’t be wit them.

Then he clutched his stomach: representing the pure disgust he felt at himself. As he realized that there is no escape from being responsible for their death, as he admitted he illogically blamed yuki, his disgust with himself boiled in his stomach. What kind of disgusting horrible person does that? blame someone illogically? I’m horrible, hateful & utterly undeserving to be forgiven. Being disgusted with one’s own self! oof! it was so well-done with animation!

-Tying Mature Themes with Child Trauma:

Through kyo’s story, there were different mature themes that excellently dictate his behavior, mentality & emotional well-being: Excellent writing!

(1) The desperate need for self-worth: To be good for once!

by constantly destroying his self-worth thro contempt (the sohmas), rejection (his mom), hate (his father), pity (kazuma/ kagura, initially), kyo searched for an outlet to be a worthy human. Someone who deserves to be loved for who he is. He found that in kyoko. It is brilliant that kyo didn’t look for a mom in kyoko. He called her “ old hag”, she told him unflattering facts abt herself “ neglecting her daughter”. she was his first real friend. He found comfort being with her. He wanted to return the intimate feeling he felt deep down, kyo is so hung up on giving as much as taking as it contradicts the notion of pity. The opportunity came! Helping her find her daughter! being someone who does good! Return the daughter & feel worthy of being a true friend, a man (aka a person). “ i’ll help her, I’ll protect her for sure! it’s a man’s promise” The promise in its core is abt kyo wanting to be a person. Not a monster, or a cat. A true real boy. Away from all the toxic past emotions. Being a man: means being a big boy (person) with good achievements! All this shattered when a better boy beats him to it. The boy who was always praised, loved & respected! kyo’s self-worth diminished greatly & all the toxic emotions came back!

(2) The downfall of faulty coping mechanism: Creating a Bad Guy:

I stated before that one of my fave scenes of kyo was in se02, ep23 when kyo lashed out at yuki on the stairs upon seeing the hat & how yuki felt nothing but pity towards kyo as he was stuck in the past while yuki moved on. Brilliant scene that explains why one moved on & the other didn;t. Yuki’s faulty coping mechanism was being withdrawn & shutting himself. This coping mechanism didnt make him feel better at all!!! Also, he doesn’t have regrets nor sins, he dealt with his faulty coping mechanism with tohru’s help & the school council & healed gradually. Forever loving the writer for writing the distinction between kyo & yuki logically without painting any as monster in reality. Kyo couldn’t do as yuki for the following reasons: ( remember the old theme of everybody heals on their own pace? love it )

(a) He was addicted to shifting the blame as it made him feel better abt himself!! he shifted his thoughts from “ I wanna go away for good” “ mom, why didn’t you kill me instead” to “ it’s not my fault at all, it’s yuki” No match between the two feelings! one leads to suicide, the other leads to feeling like a mere victim. The two feelings are wrong tho & He knows that! he isn’t ready to stop the drug. He can’t face himself. “ the bad guy, if he isn’t as awful as you think, who you’re left to blame”.

(b) nothing around him can make him feel better. Tohru? but she’s kyoko’s daughter! she’s a lonely orphan, carrying her mommy’s pic taking to it! why? cuz you didn't save her! Loving tohru? is good & I wish we can run away far & be together always! wake up! why would she wanna be with a disgusting monster like you?!! You dont deserve her! you who caused his mom to die, caused her mom to die, blamed an innocent guy! Yuki? yeah, look at yuki, you can never be like him, watch as his true kindness gets noticed by tohru, the school & everybody!! he’s everything you cant be!! he should be with tohru! not you!! Master kazuma? poor guy! you brought him nothing but misery! you see his sad smile, don’t you? he’s disappoint in you. Kagura? she pities you!

(b) Kyo can’t fix his mistakes. kyo watched as yuki got back with his brother, befriended haru again, goes back to the sohma estate for the holidays. he feels he cant have similar reweds as he cant bring the things he needed. his mom, kyoko, his bio dad’s affection, kazuma’s pride in him, tohru’s love & his own satisfaction at himself. kyo just hates kyo “so much, so intensely, so completely”

(c) his fault coping mechanism mirrors his dad’s. Kids pick up toxic habits from parents all the time. Even his suicidal thoughts mirrors his mom’s! brilliant writing!

3- running away from responsibilities: perfectly constructed theme!

Who didn’t? I’m guilty! ugh! one of the best themes in furuba hands down! Any other writer would have made kyo do it once, or twice & have him face it in climax & then deal with it. but NOT takaya-san! She excellently took her time with kyo repeating this exact mistakes over & over to better portray the theme & take it out from the boundaries of story-telling to realistic depiction & logical gradual progression:

kyo ran away from being accused of killing his mom (he’s completely innocent & isn’t responsible for his birth’s deformity/curse nor his mom’s suicide)

kyo ran away from accepting kyoko’s words that yuki isnt bad & most importantly that kyo is good. He had found relief in blaming yuki, now you wanna tell me I should look into myself? I’m bad! i dont wanna look. your words are weird “ no bad or good” Everybody says otherwise, the sohmas, dad & mom! kyo angrily ran away (completely guilty but excused as child would be).

kyo ran away from facing kyoko’s body & wanted to punish himself with death. Depression took over him as “ master tried to get me to keep living”. (completely guilty in his own eyes, if only he tried to safe her, even if he transformed, Even if she still died regardless!!! he hates himself for choosing the disgusting kyo over the kind kyoko)

kyo ran away from telling tohru the truth upon seeing her, pretended not to know her, slowly dying each time she smiles, slowly falling in love & wishing for a chance with her, a chance he believes doesn't deserve.

Kyo ran away in se01, ep14 when remembering the accident as shigure triggered him. Tohru consoled him & he lost the chance to come clean.

kyo is running away now. Unable to face her “ too scared to even look at your face”. “ I cant forgive me! I dont want you to fogive me either”

So, after running away the first time, kyo should’ve learned better, right? now in the climax, he shouldn’t have run away? Yes, he should. cuz simply, he isnt ready. We dont learn from our mistakes cuz someone told us. we learn when we fix the core issue. A guy who thinks he deserves a chance in life would stand tall, confess his sins, argues, talks, tells the story unbiased, then waits for verdict. kyo thinks he doesn’t deserve to be alive, thus, tells the story with server bias towards judging himself as unworthy. HE decided the verdict & didnt wait for tohru: “ I cant forgive ME! I dont want you to forgive me either” That’s why toru’s words fall flat. “ why cant you see the truth: I love you” he can’t tohru!! cuz right now it is NOT abt love. It is abt trauma!

4- Sever guilt & desire for disappearance (death):

As adults our mistakes loom over us & we’re constantly reminded of the “ what if I had acted differently”. This ties with kyo witnessing his mom’s horrible death at 4 years old. Death in itself is scary. A loved ones death is devastating. Watching it unfold in shocking unprepared way is destructive. kyo was destroyed. Not enough: he gotta carry the guilt as his dad & the sohma hammer the accusations. He gets another chance & loves another person. Only to watch the blood splash reach his shoes. “Guilty” whispers the past. “Guilty” confirms the present. He stands in front of the most precious person to him. Now what? If tohru forgives you, the pain goes away???? You wouldn’t repeat the ultimate mistake of killing her, would you? you ominous creature. Her mom warned you. The nightmare stands hovering over kyo’s head, waiting to come true. IT WILL COME TRUE!!! OMG!!!

if Akito does it. It wouldn’t be kyo’s fault, right? If the car hit kyoko, it’s not my fault, right? if my mom did it herself, it wouldn’t be my fault, right?

But if only kyo didnt ran away, tohru would be alive. If only I pulled kyoko, she wouldn’t have died. If only I wasn’t born, mom wouldn't have killed herself.

The “ if only “ that killed kyo’s mom as she lamented “ if only I gave birth to the rat” will eventually destroy kyo! ugh!!! AMAZING WRITING!!!

5- The Right Time to Heal (self-desire or outside help?):

When yuki was trapped in Akito’s room, haru visited to help. did yuki accept it? NO. yuki didnt even remember much of it. Why? cuz it wasn’t the right time & yuki was too deep into darkness to notice, to accept & to change. It wasnt until he was out, in co-ed school, rebelling against akito, when tohru came, he accepted her, then it lead him to accept School Council & haru. Tohru had Arisa & hana, but never went to them in her darkest moment, hiding she was living in a tent, they were hurt & confronted her, still she kept hiding her fears, sadness & darkest thoughts, interfering in Arisa’s life to provide help, but never allowing them to interfere, until kyo came & broke her mask, she started to complain, talk, show true emotions & want things! She opened up to Isuzu, too. Arisa & hana weren’t the right ppl at the right time for tohru to heal. Kyo had kazuma to teach him better, kyoko to make him notice his mistakes, tohru to love him unconditionally, the right ppl, but all that was in the wrong time cuz he’s in his darkest moment now like yuki was, unable to see or accept. Healing requires self-desire & outside help, but it gotta be in the right moment, when you can see beyond the abyss & into the faint light of dawn. That’s when words will reach the heart. Kyo need to fall so hard, in order to stand up again. Today, he unloaded his burden, threw up the disgust he felt towards himself, spewed all the hate against the real bad guy: himself! Kyo is kyo’s bad guy, has always been. He needs to let go of hating himself & accept the kind gentle kyo that kyoko & tohru saw ~

Side Notes:

This ep is why furuba wins & deserves 20 years of recognition among manga-readers! this story is real! it is NO sweet fairy tale of two lovers. It is abt one’s self & desire to live. All of them struggle with this particular desire: kyo, tohru, yuki & the rest.

kid kyo was looking for young tohru all night! T_T

this ep of kyo confessing/ narrating his past , reminded me of yuki’s 3 eps of him confessing/ narrating his past!!! ugh! I wish tohru had that! ahhhh.

The 4 months in the mountains weren’t training!!!!! they were depression & suicidal thoughts! ouch!!

Perspectives are what dictate our feelings: Through yuki’s eyes, kyo was so happy with a loving father, friends around him & a house outside the sohmas. Thus, yuki envied him & wished to die not knowing kyo was living in trauma & feeling utter contempt & self-loath. Through kyo’s eyes, yuki was so happy with a living loving family, friends around him & a house with respect. Thus, kyo envied him & wished to die Not knowing that yuki was suffering abuse & neglect!

I love the pacing of this ep!!! It gives room to feel pain & understand the situation!!! I didn’t feel the headache of the bullet train!! THANK GOD!!! SO SATISFIED!!! I was invested all the time!

kyoko’s “ I’ll never forgive you” really destroyed kyo & went beyond it to destroy her own daughter! AAAAAAHHHH ~ T_T

I have some issues with the “ I forgot” part. It makes no sense that they make him forget the accident only to do the cheap cliff hanger in ep 6, then lazily weave it into his confession to tohru in ep. 8. He always remembered the accident. Apologized to tohru in her sleep in se01. ep14 for that exact accident, Then in se02, ep 9. It was ALWAYS in his mind! ALWAYS. Sorry Mr. Director. very lame try. lol.

The only thing I didn’t like is the music! very weird choices throughout the ep! especially at the end. Why a happy music over kyo’s “ I’m disappointed in you? lol!! its sad & tragic?! weird!!!!

I will talk abt Tohru will be in part 2. (her choice, kyo’s answer to her & the need to let go of her mom, the sohmas & of... kyo.

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #GREAT EPISODE #satisfied paper #final season #Part 1

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

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Pacemaker

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.

Word Count: 8.2K

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship

Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.

A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.

Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks.

I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.

However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.

But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.

In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.

Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.

It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.

“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.

“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said.

“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”

Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.

Six Months Ago

The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.

When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.

Except for me, of course.

And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.

I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.

But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”

“Interest?”

“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”

“How much money?”

“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”

Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.

Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.

“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.

“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.

“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”

“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”

“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”

It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”

“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”

“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.

“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”

“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”

“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”

“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.

“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”

“I really just need money for my tuition.”

“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”

“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”

His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read.

“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table.

“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room.

Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?

“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”

“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.

But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”

I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.

“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”

I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection.

If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.

“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”

I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan.

“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs.

“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.

And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips.

Is this how it would be every time?

I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return.

Right?

But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.

And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?

Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.

But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:

“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.

The Voyeur

Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.

He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”

I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.

“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”

“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.

“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”

“But there’s someone else-”

“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.

“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.

“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”

Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.

“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”

“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled.

“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.

“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.

“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.

My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage.

“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.

“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.

“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.

“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”

“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.

Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.

“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.

“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.

Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.

The Sadist

That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.

Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me.

“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.

Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer.

It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.

It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:

“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”

I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.

But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room.

Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.

Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.

“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.

“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.

“Minho and I have been friends for years.”

“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.

“He was really excited to meet you as well.”

“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.

“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.

“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”

“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.

“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.

“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”

“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.

“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”

Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”

“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.

“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.

“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”

“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”

“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”

“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”

“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”

“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.

Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”

“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.

“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”

I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.

“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion.

“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.

“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse.

But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.

“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.

And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.

“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”

“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure.

The Participant

For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him.

It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.

In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.

“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter.

“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.

“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.

But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.

Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.

He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.

“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.

“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.

It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.

“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.

However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.

“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”

He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.

“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”

I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”

“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.

True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.

But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”

“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.

“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.

I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.

“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt.

“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.

“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.

“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.

“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs.

He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”

I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties

“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”

Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris.

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.

“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.

“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt.

“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”

“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock.

“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”

I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”

I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.

However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch.

“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”

“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix.

“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.

“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.

He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.

It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.

“What a mess,” Chan groaned.

“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side.

“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”

“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”

‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.

Present

It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”

“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”

“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”

I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”

“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”

“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”

“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”

“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.

“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.

“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in.

The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.

#stayracha #skzwriternet #skzsmutnetwork #chan smut #chan fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot #stray kids chan #stray kids chan fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #mostlycompetent #requested

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 3

Hopefully I didn’t spend eight months burning the festival vods into my memory to end this badly. Tubbo was there for Tommy the night after he lost his second life, and he’d like to return the favour. After his temper gets the better of him, the last of the heroic Pogtopians must deal with the fallout and figure out what to do next. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part one | part two

---

After what felt like a century, it was quickly ended. Tommy was never going to win, that much was clear from the start, and it was clear in his movements and the growing fearful look in his eyes that he wanted it to end. Techno’s eyes met Tubbo’s for a split second as he dealt the final blow, a punch that landed square in the middle of Tommy’s face. There was a horrible crack, and Tommy slammed into the wall of the pit, blood gushing from his nose and down the white part of his shirt like a raging river. He tilted his head back as Techno advanced for the final time, pushing him away with the back of his forearm, pinning him against the wall, and it was unclear if the motion was to keep Tommy from attacking or from pitching forward. Their eyes met: Tommy’s were dilated with fear and pain, while Techno’s beady gaze was steely but triumphant. They seemed to come to some understanding (perhaps of what mortality is), for Tommy then shut his eyes and dropped his head. Techno stepped away, and the boy slumped to the ground.

With the ease and temperament of a cultivated warrior, the Blade straightened up, wiping at his face and smearing some of Tommy’s blood about his eyes. It was like he was wearing a crimson masquerade mask. For a few moments, there was again that uneasy silence: something about the Blade looking over the crowd kept them quiet, subjugated by his aura of intimidation. Then he looked away, and there was a small burst of noise from the crowd - like a firework - as they began to disperse, sensing the end of the dramatics.

The Blade put one hand on the side of the pit and hopped up with the grace of a dancer. Compared to Tommy, bruised and bloodied, you could hardly tell he’d been in a fight. He looked between the lingering scraps of the crowd, Wilbur waiting with a smile and his hands still in his pockets, Niki glowering at him, Tubbo looking at the floor by his feet and Tommy still slumped against the wall of the pit. One clear of the throat had all of them looking vaguely in his direction, but he was looking for Tommy’s attention. “So..?” “F*ck you man,” Tommy said through a mouthful of blood. The pigman just laughed, and it echoed around the cavern like thunder. “It stays in the pit.” And off he went, an arm lazily thrown across Wilbur’s shoulders as he painted pictures of a destroyed Manberg in the air with his hands and words, the crowd stalking them rife with gossip and gawking and money changing hands. Tubbo’s stomach dropped.

“What are we going to do?” Niki’s voice was soft, barely audible in the echoing noise. Tubbo leant his head back against one of the rough stone walls, the burns curling around his eyes stinging. There was a spluttering to his left: Tommy attempting to clear his mouth of the blood still trickling from his nostrils. “I don’t know.” He admitted, lurching forward to go and help Tommy. “No no, I’m coming up, don’t.” It took Tommy a couple tries to scramble out of the hole in the ground, one palm pressed ineffectively against his nose, still leaking down his face. “Bloody thing- hah-”

“C’mere-” Tubbo reached for his face, the edge of a smile creeping into his voice as Tommy tried to duck away, also ineffectually. “Nah I’m fine, trust me-” “Mate-” He’d managed to grab Tommy’s wrist, reeling him in and slinging his other arm about his waist to keep him there. He ignored the flare of pain from the burns on his chest and arms, instead grinning at the grimace Tommy was giving him as he pulled his hand away from his nose. “You’re doing a sh*t job with that nose bleed.” He pinched his nose, “Head back, big man.”

Tommy crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum and threw his head back. They waited in the growing quiet for an indeterminate amount of time, as the people became more settled, as Niki grew more restless next to them, as the pressure on Tubbo’s injuries ached more and more, until finally he couldn’t take the lancinating pain any longer, and sprang away from Tommy with a wobble, breathing heavily.

His eyes were screwed shut, as were his teeth gritted and fists balled up, nails digging back into raw flesh and bandages. Prime this hurts. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He sank to his knees, retreating into Tommy’s jacket like a hedgehog or a turtle hiding beneath protective layers. His head throbbed, like someone was bashing on it with a hammer. Somewhere in the back of his mind - the logical part - he knew what was happening. The danger had passed, the fighting ended. His body had pulled down the protective wall it had raised since Schlatt had snatched the mic from him, and now he was feeling the full force of his injuries without the adrenaline rush to dull the pain. But the part of him that knew this, the part that was telling him he was fine wasn’t as loud as the headache trying to split his skull from the inside.

‘Get up,’ He fell back on his Manberg habitats: don’t cry around other people, don’t show weakness or injury. ‘Stop this now, and get up.’ He willed himself to stand, commanding one leg at a time up. He got one foot flat on the floor and almost stood on it, when another wave of nauseating agony swept over him and he pitched sideways, crumpling into a heap on the floor like a discarded suit blazer.

“Tubbo-” Roughly, he pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the stabbing sensation from his palms as he righted himself. ‘Stop this. Get up.’ “Woah- Tubbo, stop a second-” ‘Stop horsing around. For Prime’s sake, get up now.’ “Tubbo, wait- Holy Prime, stop moving, you’re hurting yourself.”

Tommy’s hands hesitantly grazed his sides, feeling through his borrowed jacket where the bandages got thinner as his eyes traced the rest of them covering most of Tubbo’s upper half where burns didn’t. “Aah- Sto- Stop-” Tubbo managed to get out, shaking his head quickly and falling away from Tommy, the movement making him feel lightheaded. The hands quickly retracted. “Knees?” He nodded, a lot slower than before. “Are- Are you okay? What hurts?” Tommy asked as he put his hands palm down on Tubbo’s lap. The older boy fought through a mental fog that threatened to cloud his vision. “E-Everything-” He exhaled quickly in something that might’ve been a laugh in another universe, staring down at Tommy’s hands on his knees and laying his own next to them. “My head- It feels like- like someone keeps hitting me and- m- my heart-” He shook violently, bandaged hands going to clutch his sides as if to hold himself together.

“Hey,” Tommy leaned closer so he was looking up to talk, his expression empathetic, a soft smile in his eyes as he spoke gently. “This happened before, remember? This happens when you lose a life. Remember last time, in the Camarvan? It passes. Just wait with me, alright?” “Everything hurts-” “I know,” He patted a steady rhythm into Tubbo's lap, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, like a waltz. Slowly, gradually, the agony receded, relinquishing his senses back to him, and he became aware that Niki had knelt by his side. "What can I do..?" Her mascara was running. Tommy gave her a soft smile, “I think… I think we should get out of this f*ckin’ cave. Get some air.”

“I think you need a change of clothes, big man.” Tubbo croaked, and they both looked down at Tommy’s shirt, stained rusty-red with the blood of multiple people. “Speak for yourself.” He said lightly, and Niki gave a breathy sigh. “I think we should burn it.” “His or mine?” “Both.” She said with a slight laugh, glancing behind her. “I could go find some for us now?” Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “Let’s just get out of here. Although-” He glanced at the axe by the side of the pit. “If we’re going up top we could do with a shield or two and some weapons, y’know, standard procedure.” He jumped to his feet and scurried away with a call of: “I’ll be right back!”

“Hey Tubbo,” He glanced up to see Niki smiling warmly, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Are you alright now?” “I’ve certainly been better.” Their half-hearted laughter flickered like candlelight. “So, um… What Tommy said about you being down a life… Is it true?”

His hand went to the tally under his collarbone leisurely, feeling through the bandages to the tiny, earth-shattering ridges beneath. Two. There were definitely two.

“Yep,” He breathed. “I am down to one canon life.” Stating the fact seemed to make it all the more real. He was the third of his friends to slip, and now he too walked the boundary between those that stay and those that have passed. “I’m so sorry.” She patted his leg. “If I’d have done something- if any of us had done anything-” “Don’t.” He caught her hand. “It’s not worth thinking about. Besides, the Blade has already made it clear that- that it wouldn’t have been worth it.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he felt it was warranted. Sure, military strategy dictated they’d done the right thing. Sure, they only lost one set of eyes on the inside, and not two. But it was like Tommy had said: it was getting less about the nations and the wars and the ideals by the day - at least to them. Of the three founding fathers of L’Manberg, they only had three lives between them now. Some resentful part of him wished they’d found the button. A front-row view of Manberg’s destruction would’ve been better than this.

“What would you have wanted, though?” Niki has this remarkable ability to see through people, almost as if she had heard his thoughts drifting to the button. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to think, and he was standing on the stage again, boxed in by yellow concrete and foes all at the same time. His eyes darted up to the rooftop of the NASA building, where he’d been only minutes ago. Wilbur and Tommy, highlighted figures in brown and red against the cheerful blue sky, each had a hand on their communicators, Tommy staring straight at him, mouth wide open in disbelief while Wilbur’s fingers flew furiously across the keyboard.

‘techno is on our side’

‘he wont hurt you’

“Wilbur said he wasn’t gonna hurt me.” He opened his eyes again, back in the ravine, though he didn’t doubt part of him would ever leave the concrete box. He looked Niki in the eyes, “I would’ve liked the truth, I think. I would’ve liked... to know.” She nodded, and the next time he blinked they were walking through the fields of a once-great nation together, anticipating frivolity and celebration to come, no matter how disagreeable the town they would be painting red. Ironic turn of phrase, to say the least. “This was really not how I expected today to go.” Niki’s laughter in response was sharp. “Definitely not.” She smiled sympathetically. “If it’s worth anything, I thought your speech was very good.”

He smiled indulgently, just in time for Tommy to reappear looking like a packhorse, weighed down with two shields and enough weapons to take back Manberg. None of these things were in his hands though: he was juggling three round grease paper packages, and Tubbo knew exactly what was coming when he stopped juggling and presented Niki with one, standing up straight for once and putting some false bravado into his voice.

“By the way Niki, welcome to Pogtopia. Here’s your dinner. A quick note, we’re not exactly equipped for high cuisine, so I’ll run you through how mealtimes work if you’re going to take your meals in the cafeteria-” He gestured at the bashed-up picnic benches they’d had to disassemble to get into the cave, and then reassemble to eat off of in the space next to the ‘kitchen’ in one very funny afternoon swearing at badly-translated instruction manuals. “Here’s the menu: since we were late back, we get yesterday’s leftovers, the emergency potato stockpile. Also, Technoblade does not seem to be in a chefing mood.” There was a round of awkward faces before he continued. “Tomorrow morning for breakfast: potato stew probably, hopefully not reheated. Tomorrow lunchtime: potato, maybe in a salad.” By now Niki was starting to figure out the pattern, the confusion on her face travelling through disgust to disappointment to resignation to acceptance. “Tomorrow for dinner: jacket potatoes- Hey, do you wanna guess what’s for breakfast the day after?” “Oh boy! I wonder…” They giggled, the first human sound to grace the cavern walls in too long. “I swear on Prime, I wouldn’t have asked for the pig’s assistance if I’d known he’d only cook us potatoes.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Tubbo, and his smile dropped. “As well as a couple other things, y’know…”

The air around them shimmered, or maybe that was just Tubbo’s vision. “We need to get out of here.” “Yeah.” Tommy’s response was quiet and laced with a foreign grief. They headed for the stairs together, Niki following attentively behind, and when their shoulders collided, their hands joined automatically in a softer hold than ever before.

“Did- Did you do that alone?” Tubbo asked Tommy as they climbed the stairs, part of a shuffling conga line of heroes and refugees and martyrs. He looked back for a moment, his eyelashes casting strange shadows down his cheeks from the swinging lamps next to them. “Do what?”

“What- What happened to me just now, and what happened in the Camarvan. When everything hurts and you feel like you’re going to die again.” Tommy’s somewhat guarded expression melted, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.” He admitted in his softer tone, “At my house, before I came to tell everyone.” “Why?” Tommy turned away as they kept climbing. “We would’ve been there to help you, if- You didn’t even tell the others for ages though, did you?” He remembered a single terrifying moment in the middle of the biggest party they’d ever been to (thoroughly discounting today) when Tommy confided in him. “You didn’t want to worry everyone.” “I didn’t want their pity either.” He said, tone level.

“How did you do it?” “I… Don’t remember. I think I blacked out, at least functionally.”

Not only had his best friend handled, or tried to handle, the pain of losing a life alone, but he’d also attempted to silently carry that burden by himself. Just the thought of it put a weight over Tubbo’s heart. “I would’ve helped you.” He murmured as they took a left and escaped the crowd, heading towards another exit. “You did,” He said lightly. “All those nights you stopped me waking half the nation? That counts.” They crossed the floor of the small chamber at the top of the spiral staircase, and Tubbo suddenly dropped Tommy’s hand and stopped to open the enderchest against the wall. With careful hands he drew out the record with the red label and a smile from Tommy.

“That’s the real one, isn’t it?” Tubbo looked between his two companions. “Anyone got a jukebox?” They didn’t have their bench, but no matter where in the world you are banished to, you’ll always have the sun.

Injured and weary, yet stubbornly surviving still, the three of them climbed the steps to the sky and caught enough of the last spillage of heaven for the day that they could fit in a full song. And by the last light, they had planned a plot. Of revolt and rebellion. Such familiar words.

And with the first stars rising as their witnesses, they hatched a smaller plan. A little catharsis, if you will.

---

The sky at dusk was gorgeous as the sun gradually sank out of sight. Tubbo wished he could enjoy it, but the ache in his being and his head and his heart was too much. “Are you cold?” He shook his head, but Tommy put his arms around him anyway. He was so careful, draping them where he knew there were no bandages; back, shoulder, standing just behind him and placing his head right next to Tubbo’s. Blocks turned in the jukebox before them, its red label swirling in the low light like a spinning skirt as the melody played for all the men and the beasts and the trees that came to listen.

Out of the blue, Tommy whispered in his ear: “Can I make you a promise I can’t keep?” “I- Yeah, sure.” If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve turned his head to see what Tommy was up to. All he knew was that his best friend had leant closer and squeezed his sides warmly. Tubbo ignored the slight painful twinge. “I promise-” He whispered, the words so soft they got lost in the song. “-to keep you safe, Tubso.” “Oh.” “I promise, as long as I live, to be there, to stand between you and Techno, or Eret, or Schlatt or Dream or Wilbur or- or Death him-bloody-self, and I promise to say ‘No you may f*ckin’ not hurt him’ and-” “Okay, I get it-” “-and I’ll f*ckin’ fight them, all of them if I have to.” “I’m fine Tommy, you don’t have to be all sappy for me.”

“It’s true.” And though he hadn’t moved that whole time, nor had his tone changed, Tommy’s arms suddenly felt a lot safer to be in. “No matter what happens, whether Techno is on our side or not, whether we get Wilbur back or get more people on our side or not or whatever, it’s me and you - and Niki - together against- against the world. And I mean that.”

Like a blanket straightened over a bed, a small silence settled over them as the last signs of the sun vanished behind the next hill. “Swear it,” Tubbo’s voice was barely above a breath. “On something important.” He couldn’t explain his sudden change of heart, but maybe the way his limbs shook with leftover adrenaline and fatigue and fear could. “I- I swear it on the discs. Me and you, ‘till the ends of the Earth.” “Always those discs.” He couldn’t keep the slightest hint of mockery out of his voice, but Tommy just hummed in disagreement. “If I swore it on the safety of the most precious thing, it wouldn’t be a promise, it’d be a paradox.”

By the time the meaning of his words dawned on Tubbo, Niki had reappeared, and Tommy let go out of his shoulders, a knowing smile gracing his features as he purposely avoided Tubbo’s scrutiny. “Had trouble finding it?” “No, actually.” She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a lighter in there.” Tommy and Tubbo shared a look equal parts bemusement and consternation. “Well come on then, the sun’s about to have gone down and I don’t know about you, but it’s getting a bit f*ckin’ cold out here.” “I think that’s because you’re only wearing a t-shirt, Tommy.” Niki teased, while the boy just shot her back an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well,” He turned to look at Tubbo, ruffling his hair somewhat roughly. “I lost my jacket like an hour ago.”

They tittered in tandem until Niki cleared her throat. “Who’s gonna do the honours?” His companions then immediately answered her question by looking to Tubbo. The edges of his lips curved upwards. “Can someone else hold it for me?” “I’ll get it-” “No, let me.” Tommy squinted at Niki. “I think least injured should do it, just in case.” She reasoned. “Didn’t you get shot on the way out of Manberg?” “Didn’t you fight an entire crowd in Manberg by yourself?” “That’s a bit stupid,” Tubbo interjected. “I was trying to find you.” Tommy shrugged. “Okay, yeah, you hold it.”

Straightening her posture, Niki pressed the lighter into Tubbo’s hands and then held up the jacket. It was Tubbo’s Manberg Secretary of State uniform, jet black and singed and soaked-through in places. His thumb played with the catch over the hood of the lighter. “Just- What are we gonna do with it when it’s… on fire, y’know?” Both of his fellows stared blankly at each other. “One second.” Tommy took two steps backwards and disappeared over the ledge, and Tubbo skittered forward with half a laugh to see that he’d hopped down to borrow some water from the nearest pond. “Love the forward planning skills we got here.”

Rather comically, it took Tommy about a minute to lug the bucket of water back up the hill. “We will have no forest fires tonight.” And the three of them giggled a bit more. “Okay,” Niki said, wiping at the corner of her eye. “Ready?”

It took more force than usual for Tubbo to get the lighter to work, and once the flame appeared he snatched his fingers away, conscious of the flammability of his bandages. Niki held the blazer before her, arm high in the air, and Tubbo reached out, touching the end of the lighter to the edge of one of the sleeves. At first, nothing happened, and then, the jacket caught. Abruptly, Niki was forced to let go of the flaming piece of clothing as the fire raced up and across it in seconds. “Holy sh*t.” She whispered. “F*cking sh*t indeed.” Tommy tugged Tubbo back towards him as the blazer dropped into the wind, flapping downhill as it dissipated into dark ash. “I was not expecting that.” “Probably the amount of alcohol soaked into the fabric,” Tubbo said with disdain. “Good f*cking riddance, Manberg.” “YEAH!” His friends cheered together, and he watched as the fire consumed the uniform he’d despised so much. The flag on the left lapel seemed to glow as the flames ate away at it, and that made them three out of three for burning a Manberg flag.

“I heard there was a special place,” Tubbo and Niki looked at Tommy with incredulity as he began to sing the anthem, but there was a certain mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he sang, and they joined in, the familiar words and melody both a comfort and a thorn. “Where men could go and emancipate, The brutality, and the tyranny of their rulers,” Tommy held his hands up, silencing the other two as he grinned. “Well this place is real, don’t be afraid, With Tubbo-” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Tommy, Niki, F*CK TECHNOBLADE-!”

The three of them fell about laughing. “You should do it louder Tommy, I don’t think he heard you-” Niki said between the hooting emanating from a small crowd gathered at the Pogtopia tower and the hysterical laughter of her comrades. His shouts echoed throughout the little valley they overlooked, and they soon resumed the tune, joined by members of the rebellion across the land, humming and singing along whether they were allowed or not. To be a traitor is not a respectable thing, but sometimes it is better to follow one’s heart than one’s leader.

“It’s a very big and not blown up L’Manberg!” It was as if the land itself was singing, and Tubbo hoped they could hear this chorus back in Manberg. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were unsure, that needed to hear that paradise had existed and could again. “For L’Manberg!” For those that were still left behind, keeping their heads down and staying out of trouble, especially after tonight. Tubbo tried to inject as much panache into his voice as he could, partially for them, for those that were rightfully too afraid and unable to sing along. But mostly because he wanted JSchlatt to hear him. “For L’Manberg!” He wanted to walk through the nation he’d served for so long, waving the correct flag, singing their song, and he wanted especially to scare the sh*t out of that tyrant. I survived, he wanted to say, standing at the other end of the trigger. I survived, and I’m leading the choir, and we’re going to have our land back thank you very much, no matter how many tallies on our charts. “For L’Maaaaaanberg!”

For L’Manberg, and for everything it stood for. Tubbo, like his friends, is down to his final life, and he’s sick of playing nice.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @hitherto-blue (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

#I DID IT I DID IT I FINALLY POSTED IT IT'S FINALLY DONE #crim in december is cheering so loud rn. they thought they'd never finish this darn thing #anyway that was 10000 words. if you finished the whole thing i love you so much #and if you can find the previous parts click on the next tag:#crim writes #anyway if you say something nice i'll love you forever. i am so nervous i really hope people like this or i am really wasting my life here #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #technoblade #niki nihachu #clingy duo #manberg festival #dsmp fic #tell you what i am not looking forward to putting this on a03 later #BECAUSE I AM NOT DOING IT NOW! IT IS HALF 2 IN THE MORNING AND I AM GOING TO BED! THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT :)

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genevievemd · 4 years

Text

The Answer

A/N: Here’s the follow up to “The Ultimatum.” Because I hurt myself too much and I need a happy ending to that fic. But this does not start happy, we work up to the nice things. No pain, no gain, right?

Also, incase you want to know, this was my inspiration for this fic. A song called “As the Crow Flies” from the show Nashville.

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Genevieve McClure)

He feels frozen, stuck, unable to do anything but stare at his front door. An all too familiar feeling of utter despair overtaking him. His ears are ringing, her words like an incantation running through his mind over and over again.

There’s no question for me...but clearly there is for you.

The anguish in her voice felt like a knife to his heart, a repetitive stabbing that would slowly bring his death. And Ethan would gladly take that pain if it meant it saved her from it. He would take it a thousand times over, spend his entire life in the depths of hell if it spared Genevieve further heartbreak. And yet, he let her walk out the door, broken. He let his anger get the best of him. Let his pride stop him from pulling her back inside. Let his fears cloud his judgment. Let her believe she was nothing, when in reality she was everything.

Is that what I am to you? Just some resident you can fuck?

A “fuck buddy” is what she called herself. So easily diminishing the role she has in his life to nothing more than a carnal fling. Like she wasn’t part of the reason why he was willing to give Louise a second chance, like she wasn’t the reason why his world looks brighter or the reason why he was willing to give up every rule he’d ever set for himself just to hear her laugh or see her smile.

I’m in love with you and I have absolutely no idea how you feel about me.

What he feels for her is love. It’s been love for longer than he’d care to admit. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He won’t admit it, to himself or to her. And in the moment when she needed to hear it most, he gave her nothing but venom and tears.

Ethan slowly drags himself from the entryway to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of scotch. Ready to drown himself in the amber liquid, to try and numb the pain of letting Genevieve walk out the door and possibly worse, out of his life.

He saw the moment he snuffed out the light in her eyes. The moment he broke her heart. His hesitation ripping her apart and leaving behind a ghost. A once vibrant and exquisite soul turned grey with his refusal to fight for them in the face of her desperation.

He feels like some sort of colossal imbecile. Letting his past dictate his future. His fear of another woman walking out on him has caused Ethan to keep Genevieve at arms length. Just close enough to fall for her, but far enough to protect himself. He had been convinced that keeping her just out of reach would save him from the inevitable. So when the moment came that she too would leave him, it would hurt less.

But he was wrong, so incredibly wrong. Because she wasn’t the one to leave him, she was the one fighting for him. Ethan was the one that walked away. He was the one that went back on his word and left Genevieve alone in the shadows of grief.

With one final swig of his drink, Ethan grabs his keys and heads for the door. If he doesn’t fix this now, tonight, he’ll almost certainly lose her forever. And that feels like a fate worse than death.

He’s caught by surprise when he opens the door, because she’s still here. Leaning on the wall by the elevators, body shaking with tears. He’s broken her and for a moment he fears that he’ll never be able to fully heal the damage he’s done.

With quiet steps, he makes his way down the hall. Towards the woman he undoubtedly loves and is finally ready and willing to fight for.

“Genevieve,” he says her name like a prayer, like she’s his only way to eternal salvation.

She looks up, straightening herself the best she can. Her eyes red and puffy, cheeks are stained with mascara and it feels like another punch in the gut. “I know, I’m pathetic for still being here. And you probably think I’m a childish bitch for giving you an ultimatum like that.”

“Please don’t call yourself that.” He hesitantly brings his hand to cheek, slowly wiping the tears away. “And please stop crying, I feel like a big enough ass as it is.”

“You should.”

“Come back inside, please? I’d rather not discuss this in full view of the neighbors.”

She gives him a gentle nod, taking his hand as he leads her back inside. He brings them to the couch and they sit farther apart then he’d like. It feels like there’s an ocean between them, wide and rough - the kind that makes it harder to find your way home.

“Do you remember when I said I always think five steps ahead?”

“Yeah and then you said you can’t see past tomorrow.”

“I did say that, because with you - Genevieve, you are unpredictable and passionate. You take risks without thinking of the possible outcomes. You don’t see the world as black and white. You can sometimes be the exact opposite of me.”

“What does that even mean? Because I don’t fit in your box, I’m not worth it?” She has yet to look up from the floor but Ethan can still see the fury returning to her eyes. The once emerald green orbs turning into a darkened forest.

“You are worth it. You’re worth so much more than I’ve given you. You deserve commitment and someone who will fight for you, someone who loves you the way you do me.”

“And that someone’s not you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t say that. Stop jumping to conclusions.”

She gives him a pointed look before retreating back into her shell. He’s done more damage than he had initially realized. Genevieve isn’t one to hide, to back down. But here she is, on his couch, looking like the shadow of her former self.

“Just let me get my thoughts out, alright? This is new territory for me.” Ethan tests their savage waters, inching just the smallest bit closer until it feels like he can breath safely again. “I’m not a man who is led by feelings. I work by logic and rational thought. But there is nothing rational about the way I feel about you, Genevieve. And that - that’s terrifying because I can’t see the end, the conclusion. I’ve kept you at arms length to protect myself, it had absolutely nothing to do with you, it never did.”

He dares to move another inch closer, until their knees are touching and he can see the tremor in her fingers. “I let my past determine my future. As much as I have tried to run from it, it was still there, pulling the strings and I didn’t see it until you walked out the door.”

“So you don’t see me as just some -”

“Resident I can fuck? No, I never have. You are so much more than just some resident and this-” He reaches for her hand, waiting until she looks up at him before he continues. “This is so much more than just a means to an end.”

He takes a deep breath before making his final move. Ever so slowly bringing his hand to her cheek, holding her gaze until they are both fighting back tears. “Genevieve, you are compassionate and driven. The most beautiful woman I have ever met. Any man would be lucky to have you. I am lucky to have you. And I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am that I made you feel like you’re not worth the commitment you deserve. I want you, Rookie. I want you tomorrow, next week, next month.”

“How about next year?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful, her light has returned and it’s quite possibly the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

“I want you for however long you’re willing to have me. I don’t know everything that the future holds, but I know I want you to be apart of it.” Everything in him is screaming to say that he loves hers, but the words die on his tongue and he hates that even now he’s too much of a coward to tell her.

He’s about to speak again when she moves, climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “So you’re in this, completely?”

“Yes.” Ethan rests his forehead against hers and it feels like his entire body has settled. The fear subsided and the echoes of despair floating off their shoulders in a steady wave. “I am so sorry, Genevieve.”

She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. She is gentle and pure and everything he doesn’t deserve. But everything he needs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: sorry for the pain, i hope this made up for it.

taglist:

@queencarb, @overwhelminglyaquarius, @me-and-my-choices, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @crazy-loca-blog, @a-crepusculo, @drakewalkerfantasy, @ohchoices, @adrex04, @udishaman, @drariellevalentine, @custaroonie, @archxxronrookie, @terrm9, @maurine07, @openheartthot, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @aworldoffandoms

lmk if you want to be added to the list (or taken off)

#ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart second year #open heart fanfiction #i had trouble ending this one ngl #but i think i love it so whatevs right?#ethan x gen

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funkymbtifiction · 4 years

Text

Typing and function development

Hi there!

I’m wondering about how you go about typing people who are older and have better-developed later functions? I’m pretty sure that I’m an NFP but I think of my Fi and Ne being equally strong and very natural and really working together most of the time. I imagine this is the case for a lot of people who are older and have been ‘working’ on themselves. In previous asks you’ve (casually) typed me as an INFP and ENFP, and even once as an ENTP. I work in the sciences and I think my Ne/Si/Te sometimes combine into this ‘I’m going to think about all the possible ways these details can go together and then pick the most useful/sensical solution’ mode that kinda comes off as Ti sometimes. Anyway, this question isn’t so much about me and I’m not looking for you to type me, but I’m just curious how you try to untangle things like this when you know someone is further along in their functional development and can access their functions more fluidly than say, a younger person or someone who hasn’t worked on development. Would you focus on how they were as a child? Or what they fall back on when under stress? Or is it just that as functions develop during life, it becomes less and less important what your specific stacking is? Personally, I don’t feel like it would give me that much more clarity at this point to know if I’m specifically an INFP or ENFP, for example.

Humans are wonderfully arrogant creatures. We think our lower functions are so wonderfully developed until we meet someone who has that function as their dominant function and realize that we’re really firing on two cylinders. There’s a big difference between an ENFP saying “I made this rational decision, whee!” and them being sat down across from Margaret Thatcher and being expected to explain how and why their decision is rational in a broader context. You know what I mean? I can pride myself on my strong Te, and indeed, it is fairly strong in the sense that I can automatically know the most rational choice to make – but my mother the TJ reaches those decisions much faster and with far less internal Fi angst about them than I do, after I wallow through my feelings to get there. ;)

You may not think knowing your type for sure is important, but it is. Why? Because ENFPs and INFPs are nothing alike in actuality (one swims in a sea of ideas, the other swims in a sea of emotions) and both of them have different areas that are a painful struggle to them and a constant source of angst. Their inferior function differences are immense – ENFPs can “do” Te, but not Si very well. INFPs can “do” Si but not Te very well. And the difference is enormous, when you think about incremental learning (Si) vs. total detachment in decision-making (Te). A Fi-dom cannot shut off their feelings but a Ne-dom can. Ergo, the ENFP will be able to take a job that they hate for a paycheck. The Fi-dom finds that unfathomable, because it’s all about how they feel about something. That dictates their every preference, movie choice, dating choice, and whether they want to go to work in the morning. It’s what makes it so hard for a lot of INFPs to really integrate into society, because there’s nothing in their stack that wants to. Fi-dom wants isolation and to be true to its feelings. Aux-Ne isn’t automatically engaging with the outer world (unlike Ne-dom) – it simply wants to explore what does not offend Fi (whereas an ENFP explores everything on an intellectual level). Si likes things the same and to stay in comfort zones. And inferior Te isn’t that driven to accomplish tangible results without feeling out of its depth.

The ENFP has the opposite problem – so much focus on potential, on people, on what they could become, on how they can see ways to improve the world around them if people would just LISTEN TO THIS POINT OF VIEW… they can often neglect the things that matter in life, the Si things… such as building a stable home environment, or getting married, or settling down, or picking a career and sticking to it, or learning how to fend for themselves in an adult way. They have no problem engaging with people, but run into the problem that their level of “fascination” through NeFi (seeing what you are now, and what you could be with a little nudging in that direction) causes other people to assume the ENFP is more interested than they are; the ENFP is just cruising and seeing potential, they are not always building an emotional investment.

Back to your original question – someone can be mature as hell, and their inferior function is still going to suck. It will be an area of struggle and “ugh” to them, to have to think about dealing with that on a daily basis to excess. They may do it out of duty or obligation or necessity, but it’s not easy for them, it will result in them being ill-tempered, and it will pale in comparison to someone who has that function higher in their stack. It’s the difference between the effortless detail retention of a Si-dom and the struggle to remember important things of an inferior Si. The skilled handling of the environment and taking opportunities as they arise of a high Se and the clumsy over-spending of a low Se. The nuanced decision-making of a Te who knows the value of compromise to achieve, and the militant “hard-assed” actions of an inferior Te trying to impose order. The fluid and easy access to logical consistency of a high Ti, and the nitpicking and criticism of a weak Ti. The effortless connecting of unrelated objects in order to explore a new idea of high Ne and the impulsive leaping on of an idea (good or bad) of a low Ne and insisting it’s the right one. The time-taking internal process of a high Ni who wants to create a specific outcome and will change its variables to achieve its desired end, and the narrow-scoped, negative “I NEED TO DO THIS” of the inferior Ni.

#question #mbti #submission

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libsterslobsters · 4 years

Text

Celebration Day

Summary: Bucky and the Reader's long-awaited wedding day is just around the corner. The only trouble is, with Pepper Potts serving as wedding planner, it's a little more elaborate than either of them had imagined. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands and create your perfect out of what's around you.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!Reader

(Reader sees bits and pieces of the future at random, understands all languages, and is also a super soldier)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Author's note: As always, the reader's name is never mentioned so that this can be read as a self-insert, but when I write this character, I imagine her as a Violet. Also, the song at the end of the fic can be anything you like, but I wrote it with Unforgettable by Nat King Cole in mind.

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

“Whoa.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but as he takes in the huge stone building that, according to Pepper, they’ll be getting married at in two weeks’ time, he’s almost certain his eyes have gone as big as his fiancee’s. What the actual fuck? They could fit a small army inside this place.

“Is this the right place?” He’s half-way hoping she’ll say no, it was a big joke, but with a grimace, she nods.

“That is, if she sent us the right address. If not, it’s pretty remote here….” She trails off, biting at her lip.

“Does Pepper know that between the two of us, we can count the number of people we call friends on our fingers-”

“And the ones we’d actually want around to watch us make a life-long commitment to each other is even smaller? Yeah, I mentioned it.”

That’s what he was afraid of. Despite having been through some of the most intense situations known to man (fighting Thanos, anyone?), as he pulls the door closed behind him, his palm starts to sweat. Logically, he knew giving Pepper the go ahead to plan as she saw fit without any input from either of them (she did insist on footing the bill after all, so being particular would be ungrateful) meant that things would get more elaborate than he’d feel comfortable with, but this is completely out of hand.

“I’m starting to think that waiting until two weeks before the day of to take a look at things may have been a mistake.”

He chooses not to add his two cents to that (a fucking huge one, on both their parts). It turns out to be the right decision because, a huge bouquet of… are those lilies… in her hands, Pepper emerges from a side door.

“Good, you both found the place.” Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss. It’s a literal castle! “Isn’t it just beautiful?” The high-powered executive is gushing in a way that’s usually reserved for the first time seeing a great work of nature, like the Grand Canyon or possibly Niagara Falls. Not… whatever the hell this is.

“It’s very eye-catching.” The grip on his hand increases to where it’s almost painful, and he glances over at her. “Right?” In other words, don’t just stand there. Say something.

“Yeah. It’s…” Huge. Kind of reminds him of a medieval palace that would have a secret torture chamber down bellow. Decadent, but not in the “This is really great chocolate cake” kind of way. “...really something.” If that look is anything to judge from, he’s definitely in the dog house tonight… which, oddly enough, means the dog will probably spend the night cuddled up to her on his side of the bed.

Fortunately, Pepper seems not to have noticed that he’s less than enthusiastic about her choice of venue (either that, or she’s assumed that ‘vaguely unsociable’ is just his natural state), because she beams at the woman on his arm.

“Of course, it’ll look much different the day of. There will be floral arrangements in every window and…” She goes on, but he’s stopped listening, too busy trying to calculate how many people can fit in this auditorium alone.

“Any questions?” Pepper peers between both of them. He should really read the room and say no thanks, it all sounds great, but he actually is wondering about something.

“Yeah, I have one. What’s the final tally on the guest list looking like?”

“We’re standing at around 500.” 500… does he even know that many people? Scratch that; between the two of them, do THEY know that many people?

“Wow.” He glances at the woman next to him. Yeah, that’s a fake smile if he’s ever seen one. “That’s quite a turn-out.”

Pepper says something else, but he doesn’t hear it past the buzzing in his ears. It’s only when he feels a tug on his hand that he realizes they’re supposed to follow Stark’s widow out of the room.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, she turns to him, wearing a worried frown. “You okay there, Buck?”

He nods. “Yeah, but is it too late to go with your idea? Just go to the courthouse and sign a paper?”

She sighs, a rueful smile on her face. “I think that ship has sailed. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She deserves the best, and if Pepper has anything to do with it, this wedding will be just that. He can deal with it. It’s just for a few hours, after all.

“Does this mean I get to pull out the ‘I told you so’?” It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood. He knows this, so he takes the bait.

“Yeah, Doll. You get a free pass.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“How’s it coming?” She’s honestly not sure how to answer Shuri’s question. In traditional “Say Yes To The Dress” fashion, her female friends are all gathered outside the dressing room doors waiting for her to step out in the gown Pepper had designed specifically for her. The only trouble is, she’s never felt more out-of-place in her life.

It’s a beautiful dress, highlighting every single positive aspect of her body. The shade of ivory works well with her skin tone, and the material is cool against her skin. She looks exactly like a picture from a bridal magazine with her hair still styled from a trial run of that and makeup earlier today. Perfect… but not like herself.

Shaking her head, she tells herself she’s just not used to looking so formal, and pushes open the door.

Wanda, Morgan, Nakia and Shuri make appropriate noises of approval as she steps into the room. Pepper is smiling, a hand pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her face. Only Okoye looks less than pleased.

“You look so fierce.” Shuri informs her, rushing forward to adjust her train.

“A total knockout.” Nakia nods.

“You look like a doll!” She chuckles at the four-year-old’s exclamation. It’s very sweet, probably the best compliment she’s ever gotten. Plus, she’s starting to feel like a doll.

“Okoye?” The general eyes her up and down, expression unchanging.

“How are you planning to fight in that dress?”

Wanda and Pepper freeze, unsure of how to react, but Nakia laughs and Shuri rolls her eyes.

“It’s her wedding day, General. She isn’t fighting anyone.” Shuri exclaims between giggles.

“This is an American wedding. The most physical thing they do is dance.” Nakia adds.

“Until the wedding night, that is.” And now she’s trying not to snicker at the princess’s innuendo.

The rest of the appointment is a blur. A tailor checks and rechecks the measurements, pinning up whatever he deems too long or large, letting out anything too constricting. Girl talk ensues and the champagne flows. By the time they go their separate ways, each with a bridesmaid’s (or in Morgan’s case, flower girl) dress in their possession, she’s the only one who’s not at least slightly buzzed.

She should really head home. It’s late in the afternoon, and she’s still got papers to grade. However, she finds herself driving in the opposite direction of where she lives. After today, she needs some time to herself, away from anyone else and the possibility of unintentionally seeing their future.

At a red light, she stops and dictates a voice-to-text message, informing Barnes that, “It’s going to be a late one. Stopping by a few places on the way home. Let me know if you want me to pick up something.” The reply comes thirty seconds later. “Take your time. Text me when you’re on your way. Stay safe.” This wedding may not be exactly what she’d pick for herself, but the man she gets to spend the rest of her life alongside certainly is.

She drives aimlessly for a while, no destination in mind. Finally, she decides that while she’s out, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Pepper mentioned that they’re still lacking the “something old” from ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue’. She considered joking that the groom is over a century old so they’ve got that covered, but as an antique store appears on her right, she decides to go in and see if anything catches her eye.

A bell rings as soon as she steps inside, and although she can’t see anyone, a voice calls out from the center of the store to, “Shout if you need anything.” It’s a hodgepodge of various items, most in disrepair, all covered in a blanket of dust. She comes across a coin in the display counter minted in 1917 and is about to ask if she can get a closer look at it (there’s something about a sixpence in a shoe if she’s remembering correctly), but that’s when she sees it.

The wedding dress is clearly vintage, more than likely an original. As she takes a closer look at the tag, she sees that it reads “hand sewn, 1942”. The price is marked $25 dollars, a good deal even if it were in disrepair. Instead, she can’t find a thing wrong with it. It’s almost as if someone unearthed this in the back of a closet, perfectly preserved, and thought, “Here’s a way to make a quick buck.” For a moment, she allows herself to dream of how she’d look in it, but as the salesperson appears, she pushes that daydream to the side.

“May I see the nickel from 1917, please?”

With one last longing look at the dress, she pays for her purchase, and leaves the store behind.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not unusual for him to have nightmares. Most times, he can tell that what’s going on around him is a dream, not real life, and wake himself up. Not tonight, however. It all feels too real, not one of his usual dreamscapes, so that he’s stuck reliving a scene from earlier in the day.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Coming out of the pet store on his way home with a few bags of dog food (not to mention more toys than the mutt really needs because, despite himself, he’s a sucker for their tripod of a dog), he got recognized. There was the flash of a picture being taken to his right, and when he turned, a man holding a smartphone asked, “Hey, you’re that Winter Solder guy, aren’t you?” In reality, he pretended not to have heard and kept walking, and that was the end of it. In his dream, he’s driven all the way home, only to be cornered as he’s stepping out of his car and activated by HYDRA.

“Longing-”

“Stop.”

“-rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak-”

“Not again. Please.”

“-furnace. Nine. Benign-” As the HYDRA agent speaks, he realizes that she’s in the room with him. Oh no.

“Get out of here! Run!” He tries to warn her, but she just smiles at him, and although he can’t hear what she’s saying, he can see her lips forming the words, “I love you.”

“-One. Freight Car.”

“No!” He bolts upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. It’s only when the chill of the night air makes him shiver that he realizes it was just a dream.

“Whoa.” He’s still trying to catch his breath when he feels her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay, Bucky. Take some deep breaths. That’s it.” He used to be embarrassed whenever this would happen, especially if he managed to wake her up in the process. But since Thanos, all of that has gone by the wayside, and it’s a common occurrence for her to wake up screaming and flailing also.

Practice makes perfect, so it’s only a few moments before his breathing returns to normal and he feels his heart regain it’s rhythm. He turns to her to apologize, but stops short.

“You were already awake.” She nods.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. My mind’s too busy.”

“Busy with what?” As he asks it, he settled back into bed, turning on his side to face her.

“Are we just gonna ignore that you had a nightmare?” He nods

“For now, yeah. It’s still too fresh.” A look of understanding settles on her face. He’s eternally grateful that she’s not one to push him into talking before he’s ready.

“I can’t stop thinking about the fucking wedding.” He snickers at her profanity. “Five hundred people, Buck. Five hundred! I don’t even know that many people, much less like them.” It’s like she’s read his mind.

“All of them staring at us…” She shudders. “It’s silly, but what if I have a vision and instead of saying “I Do” I say, ‘Watch your head!’ or something else just as stupid?”

“Then you’ll be doing better than me.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I keep having this recurring dream that we get around to the vows and I forget how to talk. Then I look down and realize I’m not wearing pants.” That reminds him… “You still haven’t told me how trying on the dress went.”

She sighs.

“It was an experience.” That can’t be good.

“Didn’t it fit?”

“Oh, it fit.” She nods. “Like a glove.” Then what’s the problem? “It’s a beautiful dress, and I really appreciate all the effort Pepper put into it, but…” Oh. Now he thinks he understands.

“It’s not quite what you imagined.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“No, but then again, I never imagined my wedding dress because I never imagined getting married.”

“But you still want to, right?” He shouldn’t ask that, but there’s a niggling fear at the back of his mind that she’s realized she doesn’t want to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives.

“Of course I do.” They’re facing each other, crumpled sheets between then, and she reaches out to caress his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Barnes, nightmare wedding or not.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the air vents circulating a cool breeze through the bedroom. Then she asks,

“Did you ever imagine it? A wedding or getting married?” It’s not something he’d easily admit to most people, but he nods.

“Yeah, I did. Back before the war.”

“Tell me about it.” She closes her eyes, and he can’t help but feel a slight wave of excitement that he gets to see her like this forever.

“It wasn’t like I spent a lot of time daydreaming about it, but…” It was just one of those natural things, a given in life; you get a job, find a girl, get married, and settle down to have a houseful of kids. When the war started, he saw so many of his friends go ahead and tie the knot with their girls before they shipped out, and he took it for granted that one day, he’d do the same thing.

“I guess I figured on having Steve there, standing up with me.” Of course, now Steve is an old man, physically as well as chronologically. He’ll be there of course. Even serve as the best man. However, it looks a little different than he imagined. “It’d probably be small, because we weren’t dirt poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. Friends and family.” She nods, eyelids still lowered. “Didn’t put much thought into decorations or clothes, but I imagined walking out with her on my arm, whoever the girl ended up being-” Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a woman as incredible as this. “-and dancing together after it, then heading back to our house, just the two of us.”

“It sounds-” She yawns, and he knows she’s nearly asleep. “-perfect.”

It does to him too, but over time, things change. Even if it sounds nice, a 1940’s shindig probably wouldn’t cut it in today’s busy world with it’s easy access to perfection. Still, a huge chunk of him wishes he could just steal her away and make their promises to each other in private. That makes him wonder: what did it look like when Steve and Peggy got hitched? He supposes he can ask soon enough. Steve’s arriving tomorrow after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You need any help in there?” Steve thinks about shooting back that he may be old (well, ancient is probably more accurate at this stage) but he can still manage to put on his pants without help, thanks. Instead he just answers,

“Nope. Just giving you a few extra minutes to primp before I come out and embarrass you by pulling off this suit better than you do.” As he pulls on his jacket, he hears Bucky laugh.

“Whatever you say, punk.”

He’s lived a full life, made plenty of other friends. However, he still hasn’t clicked the same way he does with the jerk from Brooklyn, even if said jerk is now seventy years younger than him.

“Alright, I’m done making myself pretty. Get out here, old man.” Chuckling, he pushes open the changing room door and joins Sam and Bucky.

“I don’t know what you two are bragging about.” Sam grins and straightens his tie. “Clearly I’m the best looking person here even without being hopped up on super soldier mojo.”

Bucky fakes a frown and elbows Sam.

“Remind me again why you’re invited to my wedding?”

“Because the bride likes me.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“Clearly, since she’s marrying you.”

Even though it’s obviously a joke, Steve internally winces. He’s already half-way expecting to talk Bucky down off the ledge at least three times in the next two days, convince him that yes you you are good enough for this girl, no I don’t think she’s making a mistake entrusting her future to you. Back in the day, he was the shy one with a lack of self-confidence. After everything HYDRA did, it’s his best friend who believes he’s unworthy of a second chance at life.

However, throughout most of the morning, there’s absolutely no sign of the impending breakdown. Steve’s nearly convinced that he’s guessed wrong, that there won’t be any fires to put out when, on the drive back to his hotel room, it happens.

“Can I ask you something?” He can’t really read his best friend’s facial expression since the other man is driving, facing straight ahead, but if the tension in body language is anything to judge from, this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.

“Sure.”

“Were you nervous before you and Peggy tied the knot?”

He nods.

“More like scared shitless.” It wasn’t the fact that, for the rest of their lives, they would be tied together, not just emotionally but legally as well. If anything, he was nearly giddy with excitement over that part. “All those people with their eyes on you and your dearly beloved? Don’t tell anyone, but five minutes before I had to be in place, I was in the bathroom losing my lunch.” Bucky snickers, and even he chuckles at the memory. “But I got through it because it was her. She was what I wanted at the end of the day. I would’ve gone through with it in front of a million people or in a broom closet. It didn’t matter. Everything except Peg was just trappings.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the trip. On Steve’s part, he’s mentally reliving the day he married Peggy Carter through his memories. In fact, he’s so busy reminiscing that he doesn’t realize the car has stopped moving and they’re parked outside the hotel until his name is called for what must be at least the third time.

“Sorry.” He smiles apologetically. “It’s just a side affect of getting old: you spend a lot of time stuck in the past and forget about the present.”

“It’s okay.”

He reaches to open his door, but before he can-

“Do you have anything going this afternoon? Maybe need to take a nap or something?” This time, he doesn’t swallow down the sarcastic comment that springs to mind.

“Yeah, right after I finish rubbing liniment on my joints, I’m gonna go down to the old folks’ home and play bingo, maybe yell at some kids to get off my lawn. That is, unless you have something else in mind.”

“Well, I was gonna go interrupt my girl’s day and ask her if she’d go down to the courthouse and elope with me since we’re both dreading the trappings, but it sounds like you’re busy, so…”

It’ll smart later, but he tags the back of his best friend’s head.

“Go get your girl, jerk. Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a nap?”

“Respect your elders!”

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s elbow deep in clothing (when the hell did they acquire that many tshirts between them), attempting to make a dent in the number of things they still have to pack before next week’s move-in date, when she hears the apartment door open. That’s weird. He’s not supposed to be home until later in the day. It’s unnecessary, a reflex at this point, but she feels for the hidden knife she still keeps on her at nearly all times. It’s most likely not an intruder, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The funny thing about living with someone is that the little things about them, details you never forced yourself to pay attention to, become ingrained in your memory without you realizing it. In this case, she recognizes the speed and heaviness of the footfalls, and that’s what makes her lower her guard.

“In the bedroom.” He hasn’t asked, but it’ll save him from looking through each room that comes before this one. And, if he’s home this early, they’ll probably have something to discuss.

“Hey.”

As she repeats the greeting back to him, she studies his expression. A smile, small but genuine. Also… nervous? That’s strange. She’s gotten good at reading the tiny tells that are still there behind the perfect, unflappable mask, but usually it takes her a lot longer to crack the code. Something major is going on.

“How’s the packing coming?” As he asks, he picks up a shirt (one of his, although it’s not folded) and tosses it into a box.

“It’s coming along fine. Do you want to talk about it some more or dive into why you’re home so early?”

“That depends. Do you already know what I’m gonna say?”

She shakes her head. No visions so far, at least not about this.

“Then I guess I’d better quit stalling.” That doesn’t sound good. “So, about the wedding.” For a moment, she’s worried he’s calling it off, that he’s decided he’d rather not spend the rest of his life with her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have mentioned it last night when they were both lying there unable to sleep, discussing things? “Is it safe to say we’re both dreading it? Not what comes after, but the part where five hundred of our closest friends stare at us?”

Her lips curl into a smirk.

“You could say that.”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe there’s a way to avoid it and still get the job done. Something more like what we talked about last night. You were awake for that part, right?”

Barely. In fact, she remembers her final thought before drifting off being, “I wish we could do things that way.” Still…

“Pepper’s put so much effort in. People are traveling, have already made arrangements-”

“So we still show up on Saturday, but behind the scenes, we would’ve already made things official. Maybe gone to the courthouse like you wanted to, just us and Steve? One other person if you had anyone in mind, since there need to be two witnesses?” It’s an appealing idea. The marriage license is still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting for them to sign on the day of. In theory, all they need to do is make an appointment and show up with their two witnesses. In practice…

“Hypothetically speaking, when would we be doing this?” Immediately, the small sign of nervousness melts from his face.

“This afternoon at four thirty, since that’s the only time before Saturday they had available. Hypothetically.”

She pretends to think about it, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks across her face.

“Then it’s a yes.” Now they’re both smiling like idiots. Taking his offered hand, she rights herself and circles her arms around his neck.

“So we’re really doing this, huh?” His arms wrap around her, and now they’re so close, she can feel his heart beating.

“Looks that way.” She leans up, closing the gap between them and presses her lips against his.

It’s tempting to just stand there, making out like teenagers, but eventually, she has to back away. It’s comical how startled he looks (that and slightly flustered).

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What?”

She snickers. “I don’t know much about weddings, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to see me ahead of time. Bad luck and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to risk that.” With one last peck, he lets her go. “Do you want me to head out and give you the apartment, or-”

“No, you stay. I actually have some errands to run.” Not saying another word (otherwise, she’ll end up gushing about how she can’t to start their life together), she grabs her keys from the nightstand and heads towards the door.

Once she’s in the car, a memory from the other day of that 1940s wedding dress sitting in an antique store comes back to her. There wasn’t a size on the label, and the material might be too fragile for her to even get it on her body. But it was so… perfect. It’s decided: she’s going in search of it. If it fits her, yay! If it doesn’t work out, she’s still got enough time to stop in at a department store and purchase something else.

The whole thing is slightly absurd. She peals into the antique store and, after eyeballing the dress, purchases it without so much as trying it on. Then, stopping at a fast food place, she undresses in a bathroom stall and pulls on the dress. The material is slightly musty from all the years of disuse, but it goes on easily. As she peers at herself in the bathroom mirror, a giggle rises from deep inside her. For the first time in this whole process, she feels like a bride.

She’s still dressed in the vintage white gown when she steps inside the first florist’s shop she comes across The woman behind the counter gives her a strange look, but doesn’t ask any questions as she sells her the simple bouquet of violets with a few pieces of greenery. She knows she must look odd, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s flying too high. Maybe that’s the reason why, as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup, still in her car, she tucks a few of the flowers into her hair. There. That’s better.

She spots his car in the parking lot, so she knows he’s already there. That’s when the nerves hit her. This is it. They’re actually doing this. After today they won’t just be to people sharing an apartment (among other things); they’ll be husband and wife. She’s ready. God, is she ready. But the enormity of it is intimidating. What if she’s not a good wife? What if he’s expecting her to be the perfect domestic goddess (that’s absurd, she knows, but rationality just flew out the window)? Or on a more practical level, what if he doesn’t like how she looks? There’s only one way to find out. Slowly, hands shaking, she pulls open the courthouse door.

Steve’s waiting for her just inside the building. Apparently, he takes traditions very seriously, because when she asks where Bucky is, he just shakes his head. “He’s here, but you’re not gonna see him until you’re in the room, about to sign the paperwork.” She’s not going to fight it (after all, she’s the one who brought up separating in the first place), but she does still have a question.

“Steve, can I ask you for a massive favor?”

“Sure.” Here it goes.

“I know there’s not a real aisle, but would you walk me inside?” He may be seventy years older than he was when she met him, but the smile is still the same.

“Yeah. I’d be honored to do it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s not sure what the connection is between being so nervous you’re ready to climb the walls and the urge to pace, but regardless, that’s what he’s doing. The clock in the office where he’ll be exchanging vows with the woman he loves more than he ever thought was possible reads four twenty-nine. One minute left, give or take. One minute, and then the rest of his life begins.

The seconds hand seems to move incredibly slowly, but finally, it reaches it’s destination. On cue, the door opens, and all the breath leaves his lungs. Here she is.

It’s not the way he’d imagined it as a kid. Steve’s not at his side. He’s considerably older, rougher around the edges. They’re in a courthouse instead of a church. But as a kid, he also didn’t imagine anything that can compare to her.

It goes without saying that she’s beautiful; that’s always the case. But all the old stories are true: there’s something about seeing her in a white dress walking towards him just before they promise to love, honor, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives that makes her shine like never before. She’s not just beautiful. She’s brilliant.

“Hey.” Right. He need to say something.

“Hey. You made it.”

She chuckles and pushes back a stray tendril.

“Yeah, well I had a date I was really excited for, so I rearranged my schedule.”

Before he can say anything else (he’s not sure what, because frankly, all thoughts except “I love you” have disappeared), the door opens and a man in a business suit sticks his head out.

“Is everyone here?”

He looks at her for confirmation.

“Everyone that needs to be.”

“Then right this way.”

He’s not aware of much that is said during the ceremony after they join hands, too busy memorizing what she looks like so he’ll never forget. This is definitely one of those moments you want to carry with you the rest of your life.

They stick to the standard vows. He takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife to have and hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish ‘til death do them part, and vise versa. As he slips the ring on her finger, he catches her eye and mouths a silent, “I love you.”, which she repeats back as she slides on his wedding band.

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” That’s it. This is real. They’re married. “You may kiss the bride.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

After the paperwork is signed, they agree to go and have dinner. Steve’s come all this way, and something seems right about celebrating with his oldest friend. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to make a reservation so, still dressed in their formal clothes, they slide into a corner booth at a local diner. Nothing important is said; it’s mostly laughter and inside jokes between a group of friends. By seven o’clock, he’s dropped Steve off at his hotel and is on his way back home.

The apartment is mostly packed up at this point. The only things left are their clothes, a few kitchen and bathroom essentials, and their bed. Even the record player she gave him as a birthday gift has been shipped off to the townhouse they’ll officially move into sometime next week. But, he thinks to himself as he lets himself in, the great thing about going to sleep in 1945 and waking up in the 2000s is that while his taste in music may not have evolved by much, technology has. Which means-

“Hey, stranger.” She’s still wearing the dress, their dog sitting next to her on the bed with his head in her lap. It would be a crime to let that go to waste.

“Come here.” He motions for her to join him, and as soon as she stands, starts scrolling through is phone.

“What are you doing?” The confusion melts from her face as the first few notes of the song fill the room.

Holding out his hand, he asks, “May I have this dance?”

A soft smile crosses her face as, nodding, she folds herself into his arms.

“You can have every dance.”

Two days from now, they’ll stand in front of five hundred people, most of whom they've never met before, and make their vows once again. It'll be uncomfortable and even a little jarring, but it won’t matter. Steve's right: it’s all trappings. What’s real is now; the beautiful woman in his arms, his wife, and the life they’ll build together. It’s not what Bucky imagined all those years ago as a naïve kid in Brooklyn. This is far better.

#marvel #avengers #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #captain america #fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fanfic

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fatefulfaerie · 4 years

Text

Relic

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild

“What are you doing?” Zelda asked, sitting on her heels on the bed, her eyes dancing with intrigue.

“Sorting through my clothes,” Link answered as he folded something blue and neatly placed it in another drawer. “I’m putting the ones that would fit you better in your own drawer.”

“You’re giving me a drawer?” asked Zelda with a hint of surprise and a slight smile.

Link’s head turned to her quickly.

“I…” he tried. “I could give you the whole dresser if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” Zelda insisted. “That’s not what I meant. I was just surprised. Living here is just a surprise...a good surprise, but…well I guess I just didn’t expect your hospitality.”

“You’re the Princess,” Link reasoned, his gaze returning to the clothes, folding them neatly and sorting them before he started to fold another and the cycle continued. “I wouldn’t just leave you out on Hyrule Field.”

“If I’m being honest,” Zelda said, her shoulders rising and her long hair slightly folding as they did. Her eyes drifted down. “I didn’t know what to expect.”

Link didn’t reply, a silence returning that Zelda had become accustomed to a hundred years ago. Then, the silence was normal and expected as she prattled on about this or that. It was when he started to respond, more emphatically with each word that it was strange.

Now, he was so much more outspoken that the silence felt strange instead, like she had done something wrong and now they were back to square one.

“Thank you,” she said, attempting to break the silence. “For your hospitality. I don’t know if I’ve said it properly before now, for inviting me into your home, for feeding me, for giving up your bed, for clothing me in anything but that dress...thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Link said in reply.

“Do you...have my prayer dress?” She asked, her head tilting back up.

“Yeah,” Link said as he grabbed it from somewhere in the drawer and offered it to her.

Zelda took it into her hands, clutching at the thick, scratchy fabric that never quite flattered her. Just the touch of it reminded her of everything she hated, praying hours on end to a silent slab of stone in the likeness of the Goddess Hylia, her skin like ice and her teeth like the tail of a rattlesnake as she knelt in freezing waters, her kingdom and her friends as dead as she felt inside as she and her knight ran to any sanctuary, the nearest rock, the nearest tree, the nearest nonfunctioning Guardian until the lights suddenly beamed with a sputtering chime.

She hated more than anything Link dying in her arms, unlocking her sealing power and realizing her love for him just too late, watching his last breath leave him and having to carry on without him.

And she hated the hundred years spent in torture, where she, in keeping Ganon at bay, was prey to each and every one of his tricks and traps to waver her hope. With Link exercising his greatest silence in his long slumber, all she had was that one last look he gave her, that one last look that told her that dark manifested illusions over years upon years meant nothing to the reality of the way he once looked at her with love. That somewhere, beyond the evil eyes that peered into her soul and burned her spirit, there was a dormant pair of calm blue eyes that showed love instead of hate, that could love her after all the death she’d caused.

She didn’t realize how hard she was gripping until a small tear on the dress suddenly widened. Zelda loosened her grip immediately until she realized there was no reason to.

She felt no regret within herself, no desire to sew it up and make it perfect, no desire to wash it and to rid it of the stains of Link’s blood, of Ganon’s malice, of Hyrule’s dirt and grass. She wanted it ruined.

Zelda looked to what was pattering at the window to see that it was raining. She imagined soaking and drowning the dress in the river before her ears sensed a nearby crackling.

Rushing out of the bed Link gave her with the dress in hand, she hurried down the stairs.

“Zelda?” She heard Link inquire, but she rushed to the fireplace nonetheless, sitting on her heels before it.

“Zelda,” Link asked, approaching her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want this dress anymore,” she said. “I want to watch it burn, along with everything that comes with it.”

“If you did it would already be in the fire,” Link reasoned, keeping his distance, but relenting to his instincts not long after.

“There must be some good memories that accompany that dress,” he said, sitting beside her.

“Maybe one or two.” said Zelda in reply. “But nothing that outweighs the death, the pain and suffering that was endured.”

“Any that I remember?” Link asked, Zelda looking to him. “Of the good memories?”

“Yes,” Zelda said before averting her glance. “It was always you, after all. Beside me, as you are now, comforting me whether or not protocol dictated you to do so.”

“Why do you do that?” Link asked.

“Why do I do what?” Zelda asked, looking over but not meeting his glance.

“You haven’t looked me in the eyes since I said I remembered you,” Link stated. “Did...did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” Zelda insisted, forcing her gaze to lock into his. “It’s just…”

The truth of the matter was that she had the love in his blue eyes so ingrained in her mind over the past one hundred years that to see them again without it hurt a bit too much.

Of course there was the other truth that was easier to admit, the opposite to that warm memory, the coldness and darkness of what followed.

“Everytime I see your eyes,” she explained. “I fear they will close. That no words from me, pleading them to open, will ever work.”

Link looked down with an exhale, searching nothing on the floor.

“Wow,” he said with his next breath. “I...I’m sorry you went through that. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I told you I would answer your questions,” he heard her say. “Please don’t be sorry.”

Link delayed his response, his mind wrought with his next words.

“You want to forget, don’t you?”

Zelda more than delayed her reply, deciding to not even give it.

“Look,” Link started, looking back up. “It’s not my place to make your decisions and even though I think you should keep the dress, I understand why you loathe it so. I wish that all that happened to you and to other people while you wore that dress never occurred. Sometimes I wish I could forget too, toss everything in a fire and move on. But honestly, most of time, I never want to forget again. I want to remember more and more because I know I’ve lost something important to who I used to be. When I first woke up, I wanted so much to mourn people without names and bodies without faces. Until I took great lengths to remember those things, I was beyond frustrated at my ignorance. From someone who at once forgot everything, trust me when I say that there is nothing worse than having pain and not being able to explain it.”

Link reached to take her hands, Zelda’s fingers softening from how they clenched at the dress and going smoothly into his.

“Years upon years from now, someone deserving of you will sweep you off your feet and you’ll get married. You’ll have children and grandchildren. You may want to get rid of this now but...what about later? When you tell stories to them and reminisce of the past? Won’t you want to have this? It’s a relic of the past in a world where those are hard to come by. Don’t you want to protect it? Like the Champions' weapons?”

“Is that why you want to protect me?” Zelda asked. “Because I’m a relic of the past?”

“Goddesses, no,” Link said, his expression melting. “Zelda, I want to protect you because I care about you. You are so much more than a relic. Here.”

He moved his hands to flip over her hand, placing gentle fingers on the small of her wrist and feeling a steady pulse.

“You are a living, breathing person,” he insisted, making sure he met her green eyes. “With a great big mind and an even greater heart. You are beautiful yet incredibly stubborn. You have the tact of your father and the spirit of the champions and I am beyond thankful that you are alive after everything you’ve been through. It is important to me that you are thankful too.”

“I am...” she said quietly. “And I must thank you that I am alive, but this dress just reminds me of the death I could have prevented, the pressure I was under, the hopelessness that dragged me down…”

“You talk about this being a future part of history,” continued Zelda. “That on account of our victory it isn’t something to cast away. But this dress has already been passed down along the Royal Family for generations. If, by your logic, I ever have children, I never want to subject them to the pressure I went through.”

“Then don’t subject them to it,” Link stated simply. “But keep it as a reminder. We can hide it away for now, maybe even forget it for a bit, but not forever. I don’t want it turned to ash and I don’t think you do either.”

Zelda nodded as she offered the dress to him, Link slightly surprised.

“Put it somewhere,” she said. “Somewhere that years from now, we’ll pull it out and remember again, with perhaps less of my raw guilt.”

“Understood,” Link said as he took the dress, yet he remained still. His blue eyes were on her green.

Link blinked his eyes closed slowly as his lips curved into a smile. As a bright blue breached through, Zelda felt her entire body warm as a very certain adoration shined in the way they melted. She felt as if she lost her breath entirely when she searched his eyes and saw love in them.

Although she’d prefer not to--and knew their adventure was more than likely at an end with Calamity Ganon defeated--she felt that the love she saw in him could carry her through any age-long battle with evil.

#zelda #link #zelink #botw #botw 2 #breath of the wild #breath of the wild 2 #breath of the wild sequel #hateno #tloz #the legend of zelda

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

The Lie of Black and White: 7/9

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The air was tense. Janus looked panicked and Remus as if he was about to start crying again. But before they could freak out Virgil held his hands up and told them calmly: “I’m not saying that Thomas doesn’t need me. He needs the fight or flight instinct, my vigilance and fear in general, but the anxiety is just too much of all of it.”

“I do think, you’ve got the right notion Virge, but I am sceptical of you returning to your former state as Fear. It’s highly improbable that we could reset you”, Logan chimed in.

The logical side sounded far more fascinated than bothered. Which did bother the others except Virgil, who promptly explained: “Yeah, no! I know. Getting back to what I used to be isn’t a possibility anymore. But like, having Thomas’s friends around or the breathing exercises help me being actually helpful. And therapy might do even more good than that. I just wanna help pull my weight too, instead of dictating everybody around and make them adjust to my needs.”

Virgil seemed to be unsure of his answer and looked through the round. Logan seemed very pleased and Patton’s face showed the signs of relief. Janus still looked a little bothered but he gave off a lot less hysteric vibe than before, so Virgil thought that he might have calmed him enough. Then there were Roman and Remus left. Roman’s face was devoid of emotion and Virgil immediately focused on Remus, who was as always easier to read that his brother has been to Virgil.

Remus was afraid. He was afraid of Virgil suffering because he tried to be better, without actually becoming any better. And Virgil understood him too well. He feared that himself but after all what has happened it seemed to be worth a shot. He wanted to at least try.

He didn’t get to think of an answer as Logan reassured him: “That is very good reasoning Virgil. If you are ready to make this step, we might all benefit a great deal from it. There is a possibility of therapy improving Thomas’s self-esteem and the relationship with his intrusive thoughts, if we could get a handle of the anxiety within us.”

“But what if it hurts you? What if you don’t want to do it when we try?” Remus asked troubled and at once was reaching for Roman’s hand again. The Prince let him do as he pleased and only watched Virgil’s reaction.

Virgil gulped. He didn’t know.

“I don’t know. But I know that I’m pretty rational right now and that the scenarios I might come up with when we are that far, won’t be rational. Also, it’s not very likely that it would hurt me. Like, everything Thomas ever did to get his anxiety down – that helped me. And if I’m being more rational and all, I wouldn’t force you to, uhm, illustrate all of these worst-case scenarios anymore. I hope.”

Remus said nothing for a bit. Then he shook his head.

“But I’ll still be intrusive thoughts. You can’t medicate me away.”

“Yeah, and we won’t need to. With me better, we can easier work on that too and you might be able to do the things for Thomas and us, which you have in mind if you want to. You can be – Creativity again”, Virgil told Remus shyly.

But I am Creativity, Remus thought. But that’s not what I’ve been doing. I haven’t been creating. I’m processing and formulating ideas and thoughts from everybody else but me. This might get me free. This might let me say things I couldn’t manage to say because all the words were taken by other thoughts but mine.

“So, you realize that you’ve hurt him by calling and keeping him in your room?” Roman said to Virgil but Remus didn’t really hear it.

“What – I -”, Virgil stuttered taken aback by the calmness in Roman’s words despite their hostile underline.

“You must know that staying in your room has bad effects on us. I mean, you knew immediately what was going on with Patton, Logan and me when we were in your room and started reeling. Which was not pleasant at all, as a side note. And Remus has spent whole evenings in there with you, while the paranoia had come up. You do acknowledge this now, right?”

Virgil’s first instinct was to panic until he realized that Roman was not being aggressive or accusing. He was getting to something different with his point. But what was it? Virgil felt his thoughts race. Not in a bad way though.

What could he get out of Roman’s words? That he knew of Remus sometimes spending nights in his room, when he had a bad day or panic attack. But how did he know? Remus’s and Virgil’s room used to be further away from the common aera than Roman’s. He couldn’t have known about it, had Remus not told him about him visiting Virgil. But why would Remus tell Roman this? Roman and Remus were obviously closer than Virgil and all the others had thought them to be, but that was no reason for Remus to tell Roman if not for-

Remus hid his pain. He couldn’t heal. And the only one who knew was Roman. And Remus had stiches on his body. Stiches that were too neatly done for him to have done it himself. Roman had fixed him up after he had gotten himself injured. And he probably also helped him fix himself, when he was mentally exhausted.

Roman was the one who saw Remus hurt because of him.

“Is… is this why you disliked me so much when we started out? Because I hurt him without knowing it?”

Roman’s stern gaze softened instantly. Wow, Virgil really was on a good reasoning spree today, wasn’t he? And it made sense. Roman had never antagonized Janus as much as he had Virgil before the trial. With Janus it was more of a rivalry, like the Joker and Batman in the LEGO Batman movie.

Virgil bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. Roman had disliked him a lot when he started turning up in the videos. Virgil had just brushed it off with Roman’s black and white mindset and even embraced the more villainy view Roman had of him. In a way it had gave him the feeling to be in control, to be powerful, when he actually only was lashing out and closing himself out.

It’s been a while since he had realized it. And now he had come far enough to actually work on his old baggage and help himself and the others to deal with their tasks. Calmly, Virgil closed his eyes and listened to the blood in his ears and focused on the feeling of Roman’s eyes on him. His gaze was as noticeable and warm as ever.

“I see that now, Princey. I get it”, Virgil said after he had looked back to Roman.

He kept his eyes steady for once and there was a little hint of a grin in the edge of Roman’s lips. Immediately Virgil felt lighter. He didn’t want to get back on Roman’s bad side. As fun as the fighting could be, the hurtful comments stung and it was a lot safer to bicker with the Prince instead of argue with him who wields a katana and has the knowledge how to properly use it.

“Wow”, Roman muttered and an actual smile stole its way on his lips.

Affectionally, he pulled Remus a litter closer to himself. Remus flinched at the pull and looked as if he had only been pulled out of his thoughts just now, but didn’t seem to mind the affection from his brother.

“This does explain some things…”, Patton quietly said.

As Logan and Janus slightly nodded agreeing to the statement, Remus had a big question mark written all over his face but didn’t bother to inquire what it was about. It couldn’t be too important anyway. But now he noticed that Virgil had a strangely endearing look in his eyes which was directed at his brother, who also looked weirdly fond and –

Remus’s train of thought got interrupted, when Roman looked at him with a meaningful glance and then told the others: “Anyway, when we’re going to bring this up to Thomas, we could use the opportunity and talk with him about Ree, here. And give you a chance to explain yourself too.”

“Wait, what?” Remus asked and sat up straight. “Why would you do that? Why would you want me to talk to Thomas?”

Roman exhaled slightly irritated and raised his eyebrows. Patiently, he answered to all’s surprise: “Because I told Thomas we should talk about you and that I would discuss it with you guys. And since we are talking about heavy topics, it might be the right time to bring you up and give you a seat at the table too. All of this will get easier when we work with you instead of against you, don’t you think?”

“Ro, I’m not – I’m fine with working in the background! I don’t need attention like you do! When Thomas deals with me it means -” Remus refuted but Roman silenced him with a wave.

“When Thomas dealt with you in the past it meant that he had a crisis. When you were seen it meant that we had already let it go too far and if I remember correctly – Roman gave a shot a look in Janus’s direction – we shouldn’t put off dealing with our negative emotions until we have a crisis incoming.”

Remus kept quiet and Roman continued: “I know you don’t need the attention I do, and you get your ideas directly to Thomas or sometimes even through me, but a small check in now and then might do miracles, wouldn’t it? So, we’d see the signs before we have to extinguish the fires.”

Remus sighed and drove with hands over his eyes. His shitty idealistic brother. The stupid shield. The protector. The defender of their Selves.

Defeated Remus looked over to Patton and asked him: “Do you allow it? Do you allow me to show up?”

Patton was immediately hyperaware of Logan’s, Virgil’s and Roman’s confused looks. The question sounded awkward and unrelated to them, Patton was sure of it, but Remus was direct and honest and tired. And he needed to know that Patton wouldn’t stop Roman’s plan and let Remus show up.

And so, Patton nodded and told Remus humbly: “I do. I’ve done so in the past and I will never stop you from appearing again.”

“What-” Virgil began but was stopped by Logan shaking his head and putting his hand on Virgil’s leg.

“Let’s save this question for tomorrow”, Logan asked and pinched the bridge of his nose visibly tired. “This discussion has gone on long enough and I doubt that any of us is still able to assimilate any more information. Can we agree on that?”

“Yes”, all sides agreed in relief.

It was already long past midnight and they were all beyond tired, yet nobody was about to just go into their rooms and call it a night. Eventually, Patton asked if they wanted to throw in a movie and eat the remaining cookies. They decided on Ernest & Célestine, a sweet French animation movie, and ate in comfort as they watched the grumpy bear and the little orphaned mouse slowly befriend each other on the TV. Janus and Patton had moved closer to the middle of the couch and now sat next to Logan and Virgil, while the twins sat on the floor and hummed with the gentle music.

It was Patton who was first to fall asleep. Janus didn’t register it, even though the fatherly side was leaning his head on him and softly breathing on his cape. Nor did Logan but he also was next to fall asleep with his head resting on the backrest on the couch and his arms crossed in front of his chest. Virgil and Janus followed quickly and when the film ended Roman and Remus stood up and stared for a moment at their fellow sides.

They exchanged a look and then helped each other to put the coffee table aside and pull out the couch, so it became a bed, while maintaining the peace of the others. Patton snored a little and was about to cuddle Janus, when Roman took off his glasses and gently placed them on the coffee table. He proceeded with taking off Janus’s hat and giving each of them a cushion and a blanket. After some deliberation he took off their shoes, while Remus was tucking in Logan and Virgil.

The Duke was quiet. The pillows were already under Logan and Virgil’s heads, their shoes off and Virgil gently tucked in. Remus was stuck with Logan’s glasses and the blanket he had summoned for him. He had reacted so quickly when he had touched him. He didn’t want to startle him again and instead watched Logan’s face for some time. His features were almost the same as Thomas’s.

Remus had always found it strange that Logan was the one who had chosen to look most like their human. Sure, it made sense that the one who tried to be the most realistic Side, to reflect Thomas most accurately but there was so much more personality in him. He had interests in everything, always asked “Why?” and never gave up until he got an answer. There were so many layers, so much curiosity and still he decided that his looks should be closest to the person he was a Side off.

Remus didn’t understand it. Not that he understood that much, he didn’t care most of the time if he understood or not, but this was a question that he always asked himself again and again. Why did the Side, who embodied their desire for learning and discover new things decide to stay in this static form? To Remus it didn’t make sense.

And he liked it.

Carful not to touch Logan’s face he finally took off his glasses and tucked him in. Silently, he got up and looked over to Roman, who had observed him. Softly they stepped away and went over to the dining table.

“The whole thing about our predecessor really fucked with Specs, didn’t it?” Remus said keeping his voice low, while seating himself on the table.

Roman leaned against the next wall and watched the others for a second before answering.

“It did. Really did.”

“… Did he like like him?”

Roman tilted his head from left to right. He tried to keep himself out of the romantic attraction some Sides displayed for the others. It hadn’t been too hard to stay out of it, mainly because Patton, Logan and himself didn’t have romantic interests in the other or him, but the whole situation was changing now with Virgil, Janus and hopefully soon Remus too being or getting accepted and mingling more with them.

It had mixed everything up and Patton and Logan showed emotions and dreams he hadn’t heard in quiet a bit. And it was hard to ignore them, when they were almost as loud as Logan’s falsehood cries.

“He might still. I’m not sure he knows.”

“He does. He feels guilty still.”

“Maybe…”

The twins were silent for some minutes. Still even. It wasn’t the first time they saw the others sleeping. Roman had been to too many movie nights, where Pat and Logan forgot the themselves and nodded off on the couch. Too often Remus had tucked Janus and Virgil after them scheming in their little lounge in the basement.

But it hadn’t been like this in ages. All of them together and in peace. Not quiet at peace with all that was happening but so much closer than even a day ago. Maybe they could really get somewhere with all this talking and discussing.

“When did you unlock the door?”

“… Like three days after the wedding…”

Remus chuckled lightly.

“I can’t believe you managed to hold onto your grip for that long, Drama Queen. Only took J to call you evil for you to crawl back to me. Who would have thought, hm?”

Roman took five steps. Waited for Remus to look at him. Saw him look at him. Then he opened his hand and a big rusty key appeared. The one he had made for the lock Remus had summoned for their door.

Remus eyed him curiously.

“I’ll destroy the key. I shouldn’t have shut you out. You can destroy the lock, if you want to.”

“I do.”

The key evaporated and so did the big black lock on the door in Roman’s room. Roman gave Remus a hug. They stayed in the embrace for some time uncaring for the others subtle breathing and the ticking of the big grandfather clock by the wall.

“… Wanna do some pottery?”

“Should we summon the stuff right here or…?”

“Yeah, why not.”

“Make a painting station and a kiln. I have some vases ready for to bake and some you could paint while I sculpt.”

Roman nodded and only ten minutes later he was already painting a strangely formed plate he was painting with a white base colour. Next to Roman stood a small wood kiln, which he regularly checked for the right temperature and summoned new wood pieced to throw in the fire when he realized that it needed a little more heat. Meanwhile Remus was working on a new piece at his pottery wheel.

And so, they worked in silence. Both had dropped their illusions. Remus had changed in a loose white tank top and baggy pants, which both were littered with clay stains and little holes from wearing them all the time. Roman had chosen his red t-shirt with the yellow crown on it and a pair of black shorts. It got rather warm next to the kiln and he was sweating a little but he couldn’t claim that it bothered him too much. He liked the heat.

#roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #arguing #comfort #angst with a happy ending #The Lie of Black and White #sanders sides fanfiction #eir writes #repost

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

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Haymitch, Effie, and Hayffie

(Musings, character analysis, my headcanons about their backstories and forward stories, especially about their relating and relationships. I felt like I needed to think through some of these ideas before writing more fics. These reflections got incredibly long, and I considered just keeping this in my drafts for myself, but maybe something here will resonate with someone else too, so here we go.)

I’ve been writing about Hayffie for a month, and I have some thoughts about their relationships/sexual histories both individually and together. It’s film-Hayffie that I’m into, so some of my ideas might conflict with what’s canon in the books, which I haven’t read in nearly a decade. When I eventually reread the books, I may feel differently, but these are my musings for now.

Haymitch:

We know Haymitch had a girlfriend when he won the second Quarter Quell at age 16. Snow had her murdered along with Haymitch’s mom and younger brother, so I’m guessing Haymitch loved her, otherwise Snow wouldn’t have bothered to have her killed since Snow always kills with intention.

Haymitch I imagine has probably always been good-looking-enough, but not extremely handsome. (I say this despite the big crush I have on Woody). I can see Haymitch as a kid having been witty, reasonably athletic, reasonably popular, a class clown and fairly obnoxious. As a teen without a father present/alive, home would have been a place of hard work, so school was likely Haymitch’s primary outlet for fun. I figure that particular girlfriend may have been his first serious love (and probably his only love).

I think he and she had some experience with sex but not a lot. They probably explored each other and discovered things together. They may have had sex only soon before the reaping, just in case the worst happened and one of their names was pulled. I’m remembering the guy I dated when I was 16. I loved him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. However, if it had been the feeling of the end of the world, I probably would have slept with him. So, logic tells me they did.

Fast forward. Traumatized post-Games Haymitch wouldn’t have been with anyone else for a long time. I think it may be canon that he refused prostitution because he had no loved ones left to lose, but even if Snow did prostitute him, it would have been maybe once when Haymitch was still a minor, like Snow’s last nail in the coffin of crushing him. But Haymitch would have ultimately proven himself to be too much of a loose cannon/liability for Snow to use in that way.

So I imagine Haymitch has some history of sexual trauma. First in the intensity of sex with his beloved girlfriend within the feeling of coercion (let’s do it now or maybe never). Then with being prostituted to likely some wealthy middle aged woman. Rather than being the prostitute of a man, I think Haymitch would have killed the man or killed himself, depending on his trauma state at the time. So I don’t see sex with men, forced or otherwise, in his history.

It’s canon that Haymitch is basically a loner/shut-in who doesn’t like people in his house and sleeps holding a knife (when he’s able to sleep). I see him having the potential to be quite desirable to women and the potential for being a player. But trauma put a damper on those potentials. I think he could have sex whenever he feels like it, but for a couple of decades after his Games he just doesn’t very often (on average over those years once or occasionally twice a month maybe) because women are too much of a hassle, and they aren’t the love he lost. Alcohol is strongly his drug of choice over sex.

When he does have sex, I believe it’s one-night stands or casual sex with women who are players themselves and probably who he mildly dislikes. He steers clear of relationships that seem at all likely to become emotional. He firmly does not want to get attached to anyone again. Liking people is something he perceives as risky. Loving people is something he perceives as suicidal.

Haymitch is perceptive. Over the years, he’s learned some basics about what feels good to women physically. Pleasuring women has never been his first priority during sex, but I see him as the kind of guy who gets off on them getting off, so he would have made an effort to experiment a little and pay attention to the results. Unfortunately, alcohol often gets in the way of really focusing on women while he is with them. Which is one of the reasons Effie likes him better sober...

Effie:

I like to imagine Effie in early life, 0-9 maybe, with a very old great-grandmother in her 80s-90s. This great-grandma had memories of growing up in a free-er nation before the dictatorship gained in intensity, before the first revolution, before tyranny. I imagine she told Effie folktales that Effie remembers as bedtime stories. Those appeared to be fictional but were filled with archetypes and the roots of humanity. Her great-grandma was careful to protect the family, so she never spoke openly against the Capitol, but she understood and communicated deeper truths which shaped Effie’s heart/unconscious mind. I like to imagine Great-grandma offered Effie a reflection of the girl’s authentic self and offered her a small taste of empowerment. “Never forget you’re more than a pretty, well-mannered girl. Your wit is sharp. You have the capacity to be so much more than a face and a body bending to someone else’s will.”

To Effie’s controlling parents, and even to Effie herself in time, the great-grandma would seem eccentric. I envision her telling Effie that a woman doesn’t need a man to please her or to achieve greatness, and teaching her that she can please herself in all ways including financially and physically. Those lessons sunk in. I see Effie’s great-grandma having possibly been widowed young and surviving on her own awhile, with kids including Effie’s grandparent. In many ways Great-grandma was a self-made woman in her time.

Effie lost most of that connection to antiquity and to her authentic self when her great-grandma died, and she had nothing substantial to shield herself against the tight control and will of her family and Capitol life.

I imagine Effie mostly complied with that control but claimed autonomy in subtle ways. I think she had sex throughout the second half of her teens and throughout her 20’s, always being discerning, discrete, and selective about partners, rather than *sleeping around.* She had an intention behind each conquest. These conquests often had to do with aspects of self discovery, the desire for validation, and facilitating what she wanted in life, especially the ability to project a certain image in order to get where she wanted to go.

Did Effie fall in love with some of those young men? Probably, because underneath her thick facade, Effie has a tender heart which the facade protects like armor. Did she ever have her heart broken? Seldom. For the most part, she inherited and practiced ways of staying in control of her emotions within relationships. Most men thought of her as a desirable pain in the ass, but worth the high maintenance because she knows how to pleasure a man, she gives that focused attention during significant times including sex.

Did she ever experiment with sex with women? Possibly at some point out of curiosity and in seeking validation, but I don’t see women as her jam. Pretty and popular in childhood, she got along with girls in school. Later in her teens and adulthood, women mostly resented her natural beauty, fashion sense, drive to achieve, ability to attract attention, and her perfected facade. I see Effie feeling wistful at times for the quality of connections she had in youth, but her understanding of survival in Capitol society dictated that image and career-based connections were more important than purely emotional ones.

By age 30, during her years as an escort, Effie is quite singularly driven. She knows her body well, but there’s a veil over much of her inner self. The facade she’s built up is so thick that she doesn’t know much anymore about the vulnerable self beneath it. Haymitch can see the softness in her, whether he’s sober or drunk. She is both terrified and thrilled by his capacity to see the self she hides.

Hayffie:

I picture Haymitch as one of the first crushes Effie can remember having. I think of her as 8-9 years younger than him, so she would have been 7, nearly 8, when he was in the second Quarter Quell. She would have been quite taken with the way he held Maysilee’s hand as she died. Just as Effie was genuinely touched by Katniss caring for Rue as she died.

I see Effie having only been an escort since maybe the 72nd Hunger Games — long enough for the District 12 folks to know and mock her, but not too long. She had ambitions to move up in the districts, and she was on her way to proving herself as an effective tool of the Capitol: looking, sounding, and acting the part she was playing, and keeping herself veiled to the injustice of the Games and of tyranny in general. She was brainwashed by a lifetime of coercive propaganda, not because her mind is weak, but because the propaganda was so prevalent and multifaceted, including coming directly from her primary caregivers.

I think she probably expressed interest in Haymitch early on in their work together, seeing him as his idealized younger self. I think he turned her down then, in part because there was something about her that he enjoyed too much, even though he may not have been able to pinpoint what it was, because in the beginning he perceived her to be mostly ridiculous.

I see Hayffie playing cat and mouse for a few years — teasing, taunting, holding each other at bay and not doing much beyond tormenting one another during games 72-74, and learning each other’s nuances along the way. Effie would find Haymitch’s uncoothness off-putting and his wildness tantalizing. He would find her poshness annoying and the woman underneath all those layers a sensual curiosity.

The third Quarter Quell effected a personal transformation for each of them. Haymitch accepted the reality that he was caring about people; he couldn’t stop those emotions, even with alcohol, and he really didn’t want to. Effie’s eyes were opened to the injustice of the Games through her deep affection for her team of victors. Her armor came down enough to experience heartbreak — a related heartbreak to what Haymitch was experiencing as he lost old friends, like Chaff and Mags, and as he cared for Katniss and Peeta and helped launch a revolution.

I see this as the vulnerable time for Hayffie when their personal games of cat and mouse would pause, and intimacy would creep in and feel scary. They’d banter it away for a while but by then they’ve seen each other’s heartbreak, and the contents of a heart once seen, can’t be unseen.

In the absence of liquor for him and in the absence of facades for her (i.e. in District 13), hiding authenticity from each other would be tough. The taunting chase would continue in spirit, but physically they’d be ready to catch each other and play with that physicality if for no other reason to provide distraction.

“Let’s keep this casual,” they’d say. “No strings.” But the tapestry that had been weaving so long would take shape nonetheless. Strings would be everywhere, drawing them together faster than they could cut them.

Sex between them, after years of avoiding it with each other, would feel easy and alive, like breathing. Their bodies would fit well, so neither would have to work too hard to pleasure the other. I can see that sex between them has the potential to be very rough at times, though always with mutual consent. They both would be this interesting mix of selfish and giving. Their parting and coming together I see going on for years with feigned casualness. Cat and mouse again. The lightness would become more and more of a lie. Sex with other people would eventually whittle to nothing without much discussion about it.

They’d meet themselves in time as free individuals, and they’d realize they had fallen for each other all along, despite everything and because of everything. They would keep trying to stop it, and they’d keep failing miserably until finally moving into acceptance.

I don’t picture them ever married. Haymitch would want no government or religious bullshit in their personal business. But I see them eventually sharing their lives with increasing intimacy, how ever that might show up. I’m not sure yet how it would show up, though I like to think that several years down the road, Effie will move to District 12 “as the place becomes more civilized,” and when she perceives that there is meaningful work for her there. I also believe Effie’s perception of “meaningful work” will shift in time, initially out of necessity and then organically as she reconnects with her deep self and reclaims it.

I don’t picture Hayffie with kids. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally picture them with a kid and would have a blast writing the humor, affection, and angst inherent for them within that choice, but I don’t think that choice is in character for them. If they conceived a child, that would happen inadvertently. They’d both be terrified of parenthood, given their histories individually and together. Most likely Effie would terminate the pregnancy, but she’d be conflicted. And the more opportunity Haymitch would have to think about it, the more conflicted he would be as well.

The Hunger Games takes a toll in both ways. Kill a fetus to keep it from being born into a world where they’ve participated in and witnessed the killing of children? Or let the fetus become a baby with traumatized dysfunctional parents and hope for the best? I think they’d see it as a lose-lose, but also would feel so much tenderness about the possibility, especially if it happens years down the line in the feeling of “let’s do it now or maybe never.” Sound familiar? There’s some trauma reenactment there.

Trauma bonding and secure attachment:

I think that Hayffie could fall easily into reenacting trauma with each other. Here are some ways I see that playing out...

Haymitch experienced severe attachment trauma while still in early life, losing his parents and everyone he loved. This was on top of the trauma of being hunted and killing and witnessing death within the Games. This trauma was inflicted directly or indirectly by the Capitol. Haymitch has a lot of unresolved anger at the Capitol. Without integration there’s no healthy way for someone to cope with that severity of trauma. Hence, his addiction/alcoholism.

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see him drawn to Effie because she’s a Capitol girl, controlled/controlling and emotionally abandoning. She doesn’t show up all warm and fuzzy and “talk to me, honey.” She shows up with open criticism and disdain for him. On the surface, she has those fundamental qualities in common with the primary abuser throughout his life (Snow). So through the lens of trauma reenactment, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to fuck her.

I imagine Effie experienced early life trauma that was more subtle but still impactful. She grew up in a place where one misstep could lead to her family’s ruin. She grew up with parents who likely demanded no missteps and were emotionally unavailable, being so focused on achievement over emotional health. To keep her parents’ approval Efffie needed to do everything precisely: appearance, manners, attitude, performance. When she didn’t exceed par, I imagine she was criticized and chastised. When she exceeded par she was praised. (Intermittent reinforcement.) Throughout her early life, she marinated in rigidity with constant reminders of what happened to people who were imperfect. Effie became an attention seeker and a people-pleaser. She sought validation from not just the masses, but also specifically from people who were the most critical of her and dependent in some way upon her *performance.*

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see her drawn to Haymitch because he doesn’t offer her consistent validation. Even his *compliments* are teases, taunts, and mocking sarcasm. His alcoholism makes him emotionally unavailable and at times intermittently reinforcing. In moments, he’ll look right into her with unmistakable genuine attraction, and she’ll feel high when he does. The high comes because the attention is intermittent and unpredictable. In that state of emotional drugs flowing through her, it makes total sense that she’d want to fuck him.

Their potential for trauma bonding will make their relationship at times explosive and volatile, not overtly abusive but with sharp tongues and intense physicality that at times borders on punishing. Their desire for each other grows like wildfire, their bond tightens, and sex between them is compelling and delicious in a way that I don’t think either of them has experienced before.

I like to believe their potential for trauma bonding is only part of what draws them together.

I think Haymitch’s compassion in the second Quarter Quell touched young Effie’s heart very genuinely, and her young heart was also shaped by her great-grandmother’s unconditional love. With that heart, she in time grows deep affection for “her victors,” not just as validations of her self-worth, but as people who are truly deserving because of who they are, not what they do.

I think Haymitch has the capacity to see through Effie’s walls of makeup, clothing, and attitude to the heart of the girl who has watched him kill but doesn’t regard him as a murderer, rather she sees him still as the boy who held his friend’s hand in death. I like to think of him seeing that core aspect of himself through her eyes. Each time he sees it, he forgives himself a little more for the responsibility he feels for the death of his loved ones and everyone he ever killed in order to stay alive, and evey tribute who died under his mentorship. Haymitch carries impossibly heavy burdens on his shoulders, hence the alcoholism. Effie’s regard for him as a victor, a victor who showed compassion to Maysilee, to Katniss, to Peeta, and so on, lightens more and more over time the burden he carries.

I think their relationship is an interesting mix of dysfunction and healing. It’s raw and messy, and Effie desperately needs raw and messy, even though she fights against that a long time. Their relationship also has the capacity for deep tenderness and connection, and Haymitch desperately needs tenderness and connection, even though he fights against it a long time.

I so want to see Effie raw and messy. I so want to see Haymitch tender and connecting. That’s the unfolding I write for them together. It’s tough not to rush it, because it’s so interesting, and I want to see it all so badly.

After all these years, I am adoring Hayffie in this unexpected way. This ship is surprisingly intricate and beautiful.

P.S. If you made it this far, wow, and thanks for caring about the characters enough to read my extended ramblings. Comments welcome. I love to hear other people’s thoughts about Hayffie.

#hayffie #hayffie musings #effie x haymitch #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #thg #hunger games musings #the hunger games #hunger games #character analysis #trauma reenactment #attachment trauma

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minervahopebeyond · 4 years

Text

Blood Petals.

Hi!! I’m so glad I could update this soon! Please let me know if you liked it✨✨

Ps. Sorry if you find any errors (grammar or vocabulary)

Chapter 14: Gryffindor vs Slytherin.

Halloween came and Potter went to Grimmauld Place. Draco was happy that he could spend time with them, specially with the thing of the Prophet going on. He had sent a few Patronuses to know how they were, but their responses had been ambiguous and rather short.

When the green-eyed boy returned the following day, the first thing that Draco did was asking about them.

“They are fine. They hugged me a lot, I think they were feeling a bit lonely... and Halloween just makes everything worst.”

Draco nodded, of course he understood. The fear of everything being an ilusion, the possibility of it going all away again... And also the guilt: because James was here but Lily wasn’t.

“What about the article?”

Potter pushed his hair back and shifted a little.

“Padfoot was very insistent that it was bullshit, but-“ He shut his mouth suddenly, anxious eyes were looking at Draco.

“What, Potter?” The dark-haired boy shrugged.

“It’s just that my dad was very pissed off when we where talking about it. I feel like there is more than what they told me.” Draco frowned at that.

“Pissed off how? With Skeeter?” He asked, confused. Potter shook his head.

“With Sirius.” Draco couldn’t help but to laugh at that.

“Your father couldn’t be mad at Sirius even if he tried.”

Potter looked down at his shoes as he responded.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but he almost didn’t speak directly at Sirius when I was there. Only if there wasn’t any other choice.”

How weird... A world where Sirius Black and James Potter were fighting. It seemed surreal.

“Well, they are still coming to the game right? I’ll see it for myself then.”

Potter nodded, and offered Draco a little smile. The daffodils started to annoy him. It was getting worst; the tickles were almost always there if he was with Potter; and the coughing fits didn’t happen often, but the last time he had one, he had coughed eight petals. He just wished to have a little more time without the symptoms being obvious, right now he could hide it and live a normal life... He couldn’t say exactly for how long that was going to last.

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The first game of the season was Griffindor vs Slytherin, and it took place at the second Saturday of November. He was excited, counting the days to get back to the pitch and play; practice was nice and all, but the rush of adrenaline he felt while he was in a game could not be compare to anything.

A few days before the game, he was surprised to find Ron sitting on the floor, next to the Slytherin’s dungeons. Pansy and Blaise were standing in front of the boy, he walked towards them.

“Oh, darling! You are here. Good! Weasley is moping and we don’t know how to procede.”

He turned to look at his friend on the floor; crossed arms, an expression that showed little patience to any situation, pained look on his eyes. Shit.

“It’s okay, Pans. I’ll take it from here... You go with Blaise.” It looked like the girl wanted to protest, but the boy next to her took her arm and force her to follow him. Weasley and him were left alone.

“Do you want to go outside to talk about this?”

“No, she could be there.”

Of course it was about Granger, nothing could affect him so much like that girl. It also explained why Ron came looking for him, he refused to talk to Potter about it. Draco sighed and sat beside him, resting his back against the wall. He waited for a few moments, in silence, for him to talk.

“Did you know that Hermione kissed Viktor Krum in fourth year?”

Draco did know that, in fact, he thought that everyone knew that. It was expected. Victor was eighteen at the time, while Granger was only fourteen; logic dictated that they must of done something , even if it was just kissing. To be honest, he was kind of relief that it was only that. Hermione was mature for her age, but when you are fourteen years old you don’t know shit and Viktor was eighteen, almost an adult.

“I assumed that she did, yes.”

Wrong answer. Weasley was red with rage, indignant, hissing at him ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘All of you were hiding this from me’. And he was wide-eyed, waiting for his friend to calm down. When the redhead stopped with his rant, Draco spoke.

“So, let’s see if I understand. You are mad at Granger for something that happened two years ago, when you didn’t ask her to go with you to the Yule ball-“

“I asked her!” He yelled.

“Yes, but as a last resort, of course she already had a date.” The redhead frowned and looked away. “The point is that it happened two years ago. What are you worried about? It’s not like she’s still dating Krum...”

Weasley muttered something that Draco couldn’t understand, when he asked to repeat it, he spoke again.

“I haven’t kissed anyone, if someday I kiss her I want to know what to do... Imagine if she is disgusted because I do something wrong” The boy pulled his knees to his chest. “It would be different if neither of us knew how to kiss, because she can’t compare it to anyone.” Draco frowned at that.

“Granger is not that shallow. If you two kiss is going to be great because it’s you two. Whether she liked to kiss Krum or not, is irrelevant.”

Ron seemed to relax a little when heard that, he rested his head against the wall and sighed.

“Make a move, weasel. The pining is is unbearable.” Ron chuckled, and looked at him.

“I can’t risk our friendship. If we date and it doesn’t work out, then Harry would be in the middle. And he doesn’t even like it when we fight.” Draco groaned.

“Potter is a big boy. Speaking of which, when do you think that Ginevra is going to dump Thomas for your best friend? I’ll give it a month or so, specially if he keeps being so obvious.” He said in a nonchalant way.

He knew that what he was doing was pretty basic. If he acted like he didn’t care at all, bringing up the subject like it wasn’t a big deal, then Weasley would stop having that stupid smug smile whenever he saw Draco and Potter together around the school.

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think that Harry even knows what he feels. He never does, last year when he kissed Cho, I asked how was it... He said and I quote: it was wet.”

The petals started moving, hurting him. He didn’t know that Potter had kissed Chang... He thought that their date to Hogsmade on Valentine’s Day was a disaster, everyone said so. Draco should have heard about a bloody kiss. The air was not getting in. He needed to get out of there. Now. If he started to have coughing fits every time that Weasley said something about his best friend, he was bound to notice it.

“Ferret, are you alright?” Draco stood up, abruptly, nodding his head. He forced himself to speak, containing the urge to cough.

“Yes... I just remembered that I had to meet Severus. Sorry.”He practically ran away from there.

Later he found himself counting the petals: eleven... They weren’t even hard to coughed out. Fuck.

————————-

The quidditch games were something that everyone at Hogwarts looked forward to, because they encouraged house unity. For a day, it didn’t matter if you got along with your housemates or not; you sang, yelled and cried for your house colors... This made Draco feel immensely proud of representing Slytherin on the pitch.

Of all the quidditch matches, Slytherin vs Gryffindor was certainly the most important of the year. Not only because it was the first one of the season, but because the competition was fierce. The Slytherin team would push everyone off their broom if necessary just to win the game and the Gryffindors would cheer louder than in any other match.

This could be his last year playing quidditch. His last game playing against Potter. He would win this.

Draco already had his quidditch robes on, walking towards the Great Hall to have breakfast, his best friends by his side. No one could take the smile off his face. Today was the day, he could feel it.

Pansy had some green eye-shadow on, with little hearts of green glitter next to the wing of her eyeliner, her lips colored black; and last but not least... she was wearing Draco’s quidditch shirt (that seemed huge on her tiny body) over her sweater. She looked like a Slytherin queen and if Draco were straight, he would have kissed her right there and then.

Blaise never liked make up but he was wearing a green sweater, and also allowed the dark-haired girl to draw a green snake on the back of his hand.

Draco had the best friends in the entire world, they always supported him. Even with everything that happened in the department of mysteries... they never left him.

“Little cousin!!” Sirius was standing in front of the entrance of the Great Hall with his arms wide open. Mr Potter and Remus beside him, and of course, the golden trio was there too.

Draco ran across the hallway and threw himself into Sirius’s arms, hugged him tight.

“ I’m so happy that you are here!” Then he looked to the men next to his cousin. “All of you.” He stepped away from Sirius to greet the rest of them.

“It’s good to see you again, Professor Lupin.” Said Blaise with a beautiful smile. Draco knew that it was because he found Remus attractive, he had told him about that in third year.

“Thank you, Mr Zabini, it’s good to be in the castle and see you all too.” He responded with a kind voice.

“Don’t you think is a bit much, Parkinson?” That was Potter’s irritated voice.

“Just because you would look ugly in this outfit, Potter, doesn’t mean that is ‘too much’” Said the girl as she rolled her eyes. Mr. Potter couldn’t help but chuckle until his son sent him a look .

“I think that what Harry here...” Said Weasley as he put his arm around the green-eyed boy. “...is trying to say is that we are going to destroy you on the pitch, therefore the outfits are going to look stupid when you are crying over losing.”

Draco smiled in an amused way, he never saw Weasley so confident. The blond boy arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, weasel. You are going to do great out there.” Then he directed his eyes at Potter. “You, on the other hand, I’m going to make you wish you never caught that bloody remembrall. That’s the level of humiliation that I’m promising”. He stated with a playful smile.

Potter was looking at him with fire in his eyes. It felt so familiar to fight like this with him. The petals were crazy inside of him, they had been since that morning; the only thought of flying against the boy was enough to make the daffodils happy, now, he felt the tickles all over.

“I’d like to see you try, Malfoy.”

The blond boy turned around to where the Marauders were.

“Neither of you have Slytherin colors! I’m practically an orphan, how dare you!” He said with a fake dramatic tone.

Sirius and Mr. Potter laughed, although poor Remus looked kind of guilty. Then Potter spoke again.

“To be fair I was actually an orphan until five months ago.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yes yes, Potter, we know you were an orphan. Find another personality trait.”

The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes as everyone laugh at their banter.

“I have to eat something or Pansy is going to kill me.” He heard his best friend yelling ‘You got that right’. “I’ll see you after the match, okay?”

“Sure, little cousin.”

And he entered the Great hall with the other two Slytherins.

—————————

Draco was so exited for the match, he felt the adrenaline going through him. He was watching Potter on the other end of the pitch, waiting for everything to begin. Madam Hooch blew the whistle and everyone started to move.

Weasley was catching everything that his team threw at him, and the Gryffindor chasers where fierce. It all depended on how quick he could catch the snitch, with the difference of hundred and fifty points, they could still win.

Potter was flying right beside him, the stupid firebolt was too fast. They were chasing the snitch but a bludger was thrown at them and they lost it.

Look for it. Fast. Faster than Potter. Come on, Draco.

He looked up, and there it was... higher than he had ever seen it. He did a little dive to take impulse and flew in a straight line towards it. Another bludger passed by him, he dodged it. Soon he heard the sound of Potter’s firebolt right behind him.

He sped up as much as he could, but his broom couldn’t compete. The only thing that kept him first in line to get the snitch was his determination to win that stupid game.

“Malfoy! Where the hell are you going?? That’s too high!” The boy yelled, he was still chasing him.

Draco extended his hand to catch the snitch, almost there. And then, it all happened so fast.

“Scared, Potter??” He said with a playful tone. Draco closed his hand around the snitch, bright smile on his face. Potter was still behind him so he couldn’t see him, and Lee Jordan was too busy commentating the score of Ginevra.

“You wish.”

There was no air. Fuck. With one hand on the snitch, he took the other one off his broom to cover his mouth as he coughed.

It was too much, hearing Potter saying that. Too much memories invading his head, the flowers were fucking suffocating him. He lost control of his broom, and that was that.

As he was falling, he kept trying to stop the petals from getting out, he didn’t want anyone to see. Tears coming out of his eyes as he coughed the daffodils full of blood. Even if they were just a few... they would know, everyone would know.

He couldn’t breathe, his head was dizzy. He held the snitch even tighter. Draco could feel the wind on his face but no trace of air was getting inside of his lungs, he could only feel the fucking flowers cutting their way through. Everything went black.

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

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