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andysandfordcomedy · 2 years

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Some Things To Consider While Writing Jokes

Lately I have been doing one on one Joke Machine sessions with comics of all levels where I go over all the material they send me and see if we can improve upon that material. I’ll also watch a set they send and give feedback. It’s been interesting and very informative to see the different ways people stray from doing their best stuff the best way. Generally speaking, the comics who came to me were concerned with self awareness and open to criticism. That allows them to progress so much further than someone who would scoff at the very idea of doing that. I have a lot of respect for comics willing to do whatever it takes to get better.

Earlier this month I was asked by Blue Ridge Comedy Club in Bristol, TN if I would be able to do a 3 hour joke writing seminar. Having recently done those Joke Machine sessions with comics turned out to be crucial in putting together a 3 hour lesson plan of sorts. That brings me to this: an attempt at a condensed version of that seminar. Just some things to keep in mind and steps to consider when writing jokes that I think will help you no matter what your particular style is. and with that; a caveat of sorts: I cannot make you funnier than you are. I can’t tell you how to guarantee yourself a successful comedy career. I can tell you that the most important aspect to a succesful comedy career is being good at comedy. I mean, really really good. Better than what anyone would expect. Try to get into a mindset of constant progression. Always try to envision what the better you looks like, and then be that you the next time you’re on stage. It’s the only way I know of to reach the level necessary to do comedy professionally. Ok, let’s get into it.

1st RULE TO WRITING JOKES: YOU MUST WRITE

This is something people don’t like to hear. Many comics, when asked about their writing process, will say something to the effect of “I don’t really sit down to write.” Just know that this is bullshitting yourself. If you want to get good at something hard, you can’t be afraid to dive in and work. The time you spend on stage is a fraction of the time you put into your act, or should be. Set aside a couple hours every day to sit down and write. You will find that you can’t force your creativity to a tight schedule. That’s ok, don’t let that stop you from trying. When you are in a groove/the zone/whatever...when things are popping, RIDE THAT OUT. Cancel appointments if you have to. The time spent in the zone has to be maximized. That is as important as sitting down to write every day. Don’t bring things to a halt while you are in a groove and think that you will resume that creative rush later: you won’t. So, big takeaway here is write often, and when in a groove, ride it out.

TALK OUT THE JOKE AS YOU WRITE IT

Stand up is only written to be spoken. As you are writing, talk out the joke. Find a comfortable rhythm. Find that perfect wording and assess each line. Always keep in mind that the joke’s final form is vocal. I personally hate writing in coffee shops for this reason. I can’t say messed up shit out loud in a coffee shop. I like writing outside if the weather is nice. If that’s not doable, I write at my desk. If you are able to, try to have a dedicated office space where everything you do while sitting at that desk is career related. The second you get away from important things and start dorking around on facebook, get away from the desk.

WORD ECONOMY

My definition of word economy may be more in depth than other people’s, but it isn’t about just making everything shorter or using less words. Yes, conciseness is key, but overall just always consider every line you say. Does that line serve a purpose? Does it need to be said? Could it be said better? Remember that a setup is just the information needed to get the joke. If you can make the setup funny while being concise, perfect, but it’s more important that it is concise. One thing that helps me is to write jokes in outline form. Write down only the lines you know you need to say and have a space in between them. Then think, “get from this line to the next line as quickly and naturally as possible.” I find if I write down the transitional sentences I get hung up on them. It helps me to think of everything I say filling a balloon up with air, so the longer it takes me to get to the next laugh, the bigger the pop(laugh) should be. Sometimes I won’t be comfortable with how much setup is required to get to a mediocre pop, so I will find an “on the way” joke to get a little pop along the way. That visualization seems to help a lot of people I have shared it with.

STEP 1 TO WRITING ANY JOKE: IDENTIFY THE PREMISE

If I were to ask you, “what’s the premise of the joke,” do not say “well first I say this...” No, I mean the concept of the joke. The idea that is funny. If you just come up with something that’s funny, assess it and be able to explain why. You don’t want to have to explain why it’s funny to an audience, but you should be able to explain what is funny so that you can find the best way to get that premise across to people. Drill that into your head: Know the premise. KNOW THE PREMISE. Know the premise.

STEP 2: HOW MUCH MEAT DOES THIS PREMISE HAVE?

As you identify the premise, consider how much meat there is to that premise because that will determine what kind of joke it should be. You may think you have majority of the joke figured out and then need to stop and zoom out. Ask yourself, is this actually one aspect of a much wider premise than I originally thought? If so, the rest of the joke may kind of write itself.

STEP 3: GET THE JOKE TO A STAGEWORTHY FORM

Remember to keep talking out the joke vocally and find that wording that works. Don’t work it most of the way out and put a pin in it. Get the joke to a point where you can try it on stage. Don’t put too much on yourself. Doing any joke for the first time is an undertaking, but you have got to follow through and write a complete joke once you start. Not doing that is a really bad habit. Once you try the joke on stage, consider what worked/what didn’t, then change the joke as necessary, and when you do: make sure you have a new complete version to try. Remember that a joke is always malleable. You can always change it/make it better. Do new jokes right up top. You may want to open with something reliable to get em first, but then do the new thing. Don’t put off doing the new thing. If you are confident in how funny it is, go ahead and open with it.

KEEP IT SIMPLE

Stand up is just one premise presented to completion, then another premise presented and performed to completion. One after another. Over and over and over. Don’t make it more complicated than that. Don’t try to weave some complicated tapestry filled with little half baked joke ideas and expectations from the audience. Keep it simple, crisp, and clear. This joke, then this joke, then this joke. One after another. That’s it.

HAVE FUN

I have learned over 15 years of comedy that the one way to make sure you don’t do well is to not have fun doing it. If you can see that this show is gonna be a nightmare, find a way to make it a fun nightmare. It’s the only way to do well. The good news is: this is always possible, I promise. You will bomb occasionally: There is no escaping it. Do not concede to bombing though. Don’t speed through parts of the joke to get to the part you think they’ll like. If you don’t like how things are going, slow down. If things are going well, speed up a little.

#writing jokewriting comedywriting comedy standupcomedy Standup AndySandford jokes write

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cowboycakes · 3 years

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Loyalty

Chapter One: Memories

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are a Marleyan warrior who holds the Jaw Titan, tasked with infiltrating Paradis and destroying it. But what happens when love causes you to betray your mission?

Themes: NSFW, 18+, action, betrayal, multi-chapter series.

Warnings: Female bodied reader, explicit sex (penetration/riding, gentle and fluffy, Levi is a virgin), violence/severe injury and blood/battle scenes, threats, mentions of death. Profanity. Spoilers seasons 1-4.

Word count: 2.7k (recently edited to make it flow a little better!)

Note: This story contains spoilers for all seasons of aot (not the manga). It is canon divergent (reader has the jaw titan rather than Porco and reader is on the mission with Reiner and Bertholdt.) Some scenes differ/are more rushed than the scenes they line up with in the actual show. This first chapter is set in season 3.

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The most important lesson you'd learned on this journey was that you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. Love would strike you like a viper by surprise, sinking its fangs deep inside of you and injecting you with lethal poison. Your poor soul was so torn.

The viper in question manifested itself as someone quite inconvenient. A raven haired man - the strongest, most cunning, most selfless man you’d ever observed. And all the while, he was still an island devil.

You were supposed to strike back at the viper, sinking your much larger set of jaws into his heart. Your mission - and specifically your mission - was to end him and his kind. The remaining Ackermans were dangerous. They were a threat to your and your comrades’ titan powers. The goal was to get close to him, to find his weaknesses and strengths. To know his ins and outs like the back of your hand. And then you’d have the advantage. Then you would kill him.

That plan had obviously backfired.

You stood on top of the wall now, alongside Reiner and Bertholdt after they’d just exposed the entire mission to Eren and the others. You could feel the static in the air from a few yards away. They were about to transform.

That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was that the duo was looking right at you, waiting for you to slash your hand and join in. To rush to their side and eat Eren while you had the chance. Then you could all go home and be celebrated as heroes.

Instead, you were staring back at them - a big, sweaty, teary-eyed, nervous mess.

It was time to betray your homeland.

“I’m sorry Reiner, Bertholdt…” you sob, pulling your hand to your mouth, “but my loyalties lie elsewhere, now.” You rip your teeth through your hand.

Three bolts of lightning shake the wall simultaneously. You emerge in your strongest form - the jaw titan. Your titan had a hardened face like a skeleton with an elongated jaw that stuck out like a wolf. Sharp ridges lined your mouth like fangs, and bright red orbs glowed through your eye sockets. A mane with a color that mimicked your hair grew down from your neck.

You were terrifying. Which is why you needed to get the hell away from these scouts before they decided you needed to die.

You had no interest in defeating Reiner and Bertholdt, that was Eren’s problem now. You were more concerned about the captain on the other side of the wall. He could certainly handle himself, but Zeke had quite the throwing arm. Things could go south very quickly.

You launch yourself down the wall, using your giant talons to slow your fall. You scan the field as you descend, trying to find any sign of Levi.

A voice booms your name to the left of you as you reach the ground.

It’s Pieck in her titan form.

Pieck was like a sister to you. It’s been so long since you’d seen her. You feel a tinge of regret now. Pieck was never going to see you the same again.

You narrow your red eyes at her and charge with full force. Your jaws snap at her heels as she whips around and runs full speed across the field. You finally see who she was running to - Levi and Zeke. Zeke was cut out of his titan form and being held by the hair in Levi's hand.

You pick up your pace, grazing Pieck's legs with your sharp teeth. She stumbles when the two of you go over an indent in the ground, only a few yards from your destination. Her mishap allows you to sink your teeth into her legs. She turns around to bite your neck in response, crushing your weakest spot. You jolt your head, flinging her away from you.

She gets up fast after hitting the ground, continuing at full speed toward Zeke and Levi. You are quick to go after her again, but slow down once you see Levi drop Zeke and bolt out of Pieck's way.

Did he really just give up Zeke that easily?

Suddenly, you feel someone cutting through your titan's nape.

Your vision goes dark.

Out of the darkness, you’re thrown into an old memory. Ah yes, you remember now. All of it is so vivid, right in front of you again.

You’d sneak away to the Captain's office at night frequently. You’d tell yourself these visits were for the mission, to aid you in knowing your victim a little better. His weaknesses could certainly reveal themselves in the comfort of his study. But they certainly weren't for your mission anymore. You’d started to simply crave his company.

You’re walking down the dim halls when you hear two sets of footsteps approaching, quite rapidly. You’re met with two giant bodies slamming into you from behind, grabbing your arms to keep you from running.

“You know, Y/N, I’m getting worried about these visits of yours,” Reiner says, tightening his grip on you. You yelp. “There’s only so much you could be talking about in there with him. There’s only so much shit you could be making up about yourself. He’s going to catch on.”

“He isn’t!” you struggle, “And I’m more clever than these sluggish devil bastards! I’m getting all the information I need!”

“Guys, keep it down!” Bertholdt whispers, frantically looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Reiner let’s go of you as you topple to the ground in front of him, your hands and knees landing on the cold brick floors below.

“Kill him faster,” Reiner whispers. The two of them make their ways back to their rooms in silence.

You finally stand up when you can’t hear their footsteps anymore, dusting your knees off and collecting your nerves.

You were the oldest titan shifter on the mission from Marley, quite a bit older than Reiner and Bertholdt. You were supposed to be bossing these little shits, not the other way around. But it seemed they were always calling the shots. You deserved to carry out your particular mission however you pleased.

Levi's door is cracked open a bit further down the hall, allowing some faint light to spill into the hall. And inside, there he was as usual, sitting at his desk with a tea and reading some boring literature that you could never understand.

“Long day?” he questions without looking up from his book.

“Yeah,” you sigh, plopping your body down onto a leather sofa near his desk. You lean back into it, reaching your arms up to stretch out. “Thanks for always letting me join you in here. It helps me de-stress.”

You had made a routine of coming in here after a fateful night in the dining hall, after you and Levi realized you could click really well in conversation. You two had shared your entire life stories with each other by now - yours obviously contorted to fit a reality that didn't consist of you being raised in Liberio. You'd grown very close to him, way closer than you had with anyone else in the Scouts. Even though he'd never met the real you, you could relate to him - his struggles and his past especially. His cynical personality had a strange and almost addicting way of brightening your day, and you'd always make sure to tease him for it. Not to mention how handsome he was. He'd catch you stealing glances at him sometimes, but you had a feeling he secretly liked the attention.

If you didn't know better, you'd think you were falling for him.

Your favorite stories of Levi's were of the Underground. It was such a peculiar concept to you, even though it faintly reminded you of life in Liberio. You realized that the people living in the Underground were lucky, in a way. They were oblivious to the world above, secluded from wars and titans. If only every other circumstance of theirs wasn't so unfortunate.

You smile at him as he finally looks up from his book.

“Your tea’s over there,” he says as his eyes dart to the coffee table.

You quickly grab the tea and move it to your mouth.

It was way too hot.

You feel titan steam shoot up from your lips. It had really burned you that badly. You slap a hand over your mouth before the steam could escape, the sound echoing off Levi’s office walls.

“What’s the matter? Tea’s gone cold?” Levi questions, his voice dark. His eyes had been on you the whole time.

“Hmmph?” you say through your hand.

Levi gets up and advances across the room, stopping just in front of you. You’re still frozen on the couch.

“I said, what’s the matter?” His hand meets the one still clamped over your steaming lips.

“Is there something you need to hide under there?” Levi’s finger slips under one of yours, forcing it away from your face. Then another.

Oh shit.

This was a setup. He was actually on to you.

Shit! Regenerate! Faster!

Another finger is forced away from your face. You close your eyes tight, focusing all of your energy to your lips.

This may be it. Right here. Reiner and Bertholdt were going to kill you.

The final two fingers are pried away at once. You open your eyes to look up at him innocently, no steam in sight.

“Uh…” you stutter.

He sighs.

“Sorry. Just trying to keep tabs on who my enemies might be.”

“So you… burned my mouth? Dickhead,” you laugh. You needed to come off as clueless as you could.

Levi’s eyes delicately scan your dewey face. Your lips were still throbbing and swollen. You always wondered if that’s what had compelled him.

He leans down, kissing you softly. Your eyes were wide and your face was motionless for a moment. Then you returned it, cupping a hand sweetly around his jaw.

In a flash, you’re transported to another memory.

You're sitting down on a wooden bench on the outskirts of the combat training arena. You remember being so tired on this day.

You lean your head back and close your eyes, letting the sun soak into your sweat-covered skin. Eventually, a shadow blocks the light shining on you.

You open your eyes to see Levi.

“Want to spar?” he taunted.

“Hell no,” you pant, still limp on the bench.

“You sure? Might be fun to have your ass kicked three times in one day.”

You chuckle at him.

Levi sits down next to you, leaning forward to support his elbows on his knees. The two of you sit there quietly, your ears filled with the sound of summer insects and a cool breeze through the trees.

Your eyes eventually wander to Levi again. He looks upset all of the sudden.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” he states.

You’re shocked he’s actually bringing it up. After the kiss broke, he just went to sit down at his desk. He acted like none of it had ever happened.

“No, don’t be. I kind of liked it,” you confess, leaning forward to be at his level.

“This can’t continue.”

You feel a tight sensation in your chest. You’re hurt.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands and thinking back to your real duties for once. You were only making things more complicated for yourself.

Of course, it did continue. The two of you avoided each other for a couple of lonely weeks until you nearly ended up in a titan’s mouth on a mission. It had you gripped tightly in its hand, completely helpless to it in your human form. You were about to transform when Levi swooped in and sliced its nape.

He helped you to your feet once the titan hit the ground and scolded you for your carelessness. You just stared back at him once he was quiet again. And he stared back at you. For a bit too long.

That night, you ended up in his office again and performed a teary-eyed confession about your feelings for him. It was in those moments that you discovered you didn’t care about the mission anymore.

You’re thrown into another memory.

This one was so intimate. So special. You never wanted to forget it.

“I’ve never,” Levi pants underneath you, “done something like this before.”

You’re straddling his thighs, tracing circles into his abs with your fingers.

“That’s ok, I’ll guide you,” you whisper.

Candlelight glows off of both of your naked bodies in Levi’s dimly lit bedroom. A surprise make out session led to Levi being curious, and the both of you taking all your clothes off in a rush and throwing each other onto the bed in desperation.

You move your hand from his stomach to his erection. Levi lets in a nervous breath once you make contact.

“Hey, you’re gonna do great,” you say sweetly, “you still wanna do this, right?”

“Yes, I do. Just nervous I’m not gonna… do it right.”

It was ironic to see humanity’s strongest so nervous about what was between your legs.

You shush him quietly as you move your lips down to his tip, slowly taking his length into your mouth. You drag your lips up and down as he lets out tiny grunts and bucks his hips up slightly to meet you.

Once he’s warmed up to your touch, you scoot up over his legs until you’re almost straddling his length.

You look up at him to see his eyes wandering over your bare body, lingering in your more intimate spots.

“You’re really beautiful. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you that,” Levi murmurs as he moves a hand up to glide over the side of your waist.

“You too,” you smile at him. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

You lift yourself up gently before easing him into you. The perfect sensation of him pressuring your walls made your breath hitch. You feel him let out a huff of air once he's fully inside.

You start to rock your hips up and down rhythmically as you lean forward to place your hands on his collarbones. He gently thrusts back to meet your hips. His mouth was parted, his face was flushed and sweaty. He grips the sheets in his hands as you continue riding him.

Everything felt so warm and wet. So gentle and passionate.

Both of you let out little whines as you speed up.

"How can I," he moans, "make you... finish."

You grab his hand from the sheets and move his finger to your clit, pleasuring yourself with it for a moment.

"Just like that," you whisper. "You're doing so good."

The two of you continue rutting against each other on the bed - two wet, tingly, whiney, pleasure-filled messes.

All of it felt so right. It was honest.

The memory gradually crumbles in front of you, plunging you back into the darkness.

It wasn’t the intimacy, the long talks, or the sex. It was none of that.

It was the fact that he was a brave and honest thing in your world full of lies. It made you fall for him.

Levi made you rethink your entire role in this war. What right did you have to come and destroy people’s lives? These people were innocent for all you knew. They were the victims. But they had spirit, guts, and passion that no one on Marley did. You related to them. You loved them.

So whose side did you really belong on?

And why were you being shown these memories?

And what was this bloodcurdling noise suddenly ringing in your ears?

It sounded like… your screams.

You finally enter reality again with a gasp, coughing up leftover fluid in your lungs from your titan form. You look down frantically at your body to see all of your limbs severed. Someone had cut you out of your titan form.

The culprit was crouched right in front of you.

Levi.

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Hi guys! I've been sitting on this fic for awhile, unsure if I wanted to post it or not - I sort of wasn't confident abt it. But I hope some of you like it! I will be coming out with another chapter soon. Also, if you left a request, I promise it will be up soon! Lots of love - Shep

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#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #aot x reader #aot smut #snk smut #levi imagine #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #levi aot #levi x y/n #snk levi #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #levi fanfiction #attack on titan

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dreadwulf · 3 years

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1. It Was There That I Saw You

He hears it over the radio that first time.

“The Blue Angel is down.”

One of those crummy broadcasting setups that still run out of universities sometimes. Ancient amateur stations he picks up on the road while trying to plot out a route to the family compound around the Others. They announce sightings sometimes, rather like weather reports, or traffic updates. Undead on Highway 11, detour recommended.

The roads are clear that evening, and the drive is as quiet and peaceful as a biodiesel vehicle can manage, except for the news on the radio.

"The Blue Angel is down, and our world grows a little bit colder and darker," the radio man says.

Jaime switches off the receiver. He shakes his head slightly as he drives the ungainly armored car along the winding road, peering into the dusk without headlights. The radio man doesn’t know the Blue Angel. He’s some punk kid, was probably at uni when the Others first attacked and hasn’t ventured outside since. That’s who still broadcasts these days, old student outfits barricaded inside their campuses. This kid doesn’t know the Blue Angel’s name, probably doesn’t even know she's a woman. He will pay him no mind.

But he leaves the radio off for the rest of the journey.

At the Rock he pulls the car into the oversized garage and erects the usual gates and barriers behind him to keep the Others out. These precautions he can do in his sleep now, and he hardly has to think on them. He is more fortunate than most, now - living in a walled compound in a walled city offers a stability most people no longer have, one that would have been unheard of not very long ago. It gives him a more uneventful life, even some creature comforts. It's also, in his opinion, dreadfully boring. Which is why he never stays for long.

His thoughts pivot around the voice on the radio. The Blue Angel. He gave her that name, years ago, before anyone knew her at all. When it was just the two of them on the Kingsroad, and she was hardly more than a kid herself. Does the kid on the radio know that? No, he assuredly does not. The kid on the radio doesn’t know anything.

His brother Tyrion will have heard the news elsewhere. He doesn’t listen to radio, wouldn’t have any reason to since he never leaves the compound. But he has his own sources.

His brother is the second person to tell him, when Jaime walks into the front office loosening his tie. As expected, Tyrion’s still working - it would be either that or reading, even when the house goes dark. Their generator only runs a few hours a day, and his brother keeps right on working by lamplight when the time’s up.

Tyrion has taken over the family business, as well as the mansion and all its high walls. That happened after the rest of the family had been wiped out, while Jaime had been away. Ironic that he had survived them all, considering he had been essentially left to die when the Others came. Like many of the sick and disabled, there had not been much provision for his physical difficulties as a little person and he had been left to fend for himself. Anyone who couldn’t defend themselves was SOL in that first year. How he had even gotten himself home from uni is a bit of a mystery to Jaime. By the time Jaime managed to get himself there, his brother was already gone, and it had taken them a very long time to find one another again.

It had been his brother’s cleverness helped him survive, not his big brother, to both of their disappointment. Said cleverness certainly keeps them in business now.

Tyrion probably hasn’t looked up from his ledgers in hours, but he looks up when Jaime comes in, and keeps looking.

“Blue Angel’s down,” Tyrion mentions casually, but he is watching him closely.

“So they say.” Jaime whirls off his long coat and throws it over a chair. He has to sit right across from Tyrion to get within the circle of lamplight.

His brother’s mind works just a little bit faster than other people’s. The software he runs on is a little bit sharper, and before you can quite get a statement out, he is already replying. He gets bored of the formality of all these extra words and niceties. He doesn’t quite realize how obnoxious this is. As a result, Jaime never needs to say much. Tyrion will have most of the conversation without him.

“You don’t believe them,” Tyrion surmises, pushing his papers aside. An ill-fitting pair of glasses slides down the end of his scarred nose, and he has to catch them before they can fall off. Even Lannisters have troubles with eyewear these days. “I know you think she’s indestructible.”

“Near indestructible.” Insolently, Jaime puts his feet up on his brother’s nice mahogany desk, which used to be their father’s nice mahogany desk. Something about this room makes him act like a rebellious teenager. “It will take more than an amateur disk jockey passing on rumors to convince me.”

“True, rumors have been wrong before. I’ve heard that you were dead too, when you rode the Kingsroad.”

They don’t speak much of that time. Tyrion hated that Jaime abandoned the family to serve as a glorified mailman for five years, as he calls it. Escorting people and messages across the dangerous countryside in the early days of the Disaster might have made his name, and eventually added to the family’s renown, but this personal betrayal his brother has never forgiven. What he really hates, of course, is that Jaime left him alone with their father.

Jaime lets it pass, jokes with him. “I probably started that rumor myself, at least once.”

“Don’t let this distract you,” he says. Tyrion’s mismatched eyes go back to his ledgers meaningfully. “Running Lannisport is enough work, without you running off all the time. We’re trying to bring the Riverlands into the fold. I need you on task, not obsessing over a girl.”

Jaime snorts. Tyrion can hardly lecture him on distractions. Little he may be, he has no trouble acquiring female companionship. He seems to have a different lady on his arm every time Jaime comes around. Sometimes two.

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Don’t start. My girls are different. I’m not mooning around after them years after they’re gone. When I lose one, I find another. You need another woman, Jaime.”

“With me running off all the time? Who’s going to tolerate that?” Jaime is bored of this conversation already. They’ve had it many times before.

“Romantics. That’s who. You’re off risking your life to join the old nation together again, you’re a dashing hero. Plus the whole Kingsroad adventure. Women love that. You could be swimming in girls if you spared them half a glance. It’s been five years, Jaime.”

“Four,” Jaime corrects him. Four years, three months, and eleven-or-so days.

Tyrion says this more solemnly, looking over his glasses, “If the rumor isn’t true this time, someday it will be.”

He looks very much like their father when he does that, which is unwelcome. Jaime snatches his feet off the desk and wanders away to find something to eat, the big Lannister mansion resounding emptily around him.

He manages to avoid his brother until he can head out again - he rarely passes more than a night at a time in this house. He checks for messages, refills his supplies, gets a proper shower, all of which he can do in a few hours. Such safety he finds oddly uncomfortable, if he lingers too long. He’ll be leaving the next day, and out the door before Tyrion is even out of his bed.

The traveling, on the other hand, takes an age. Not even he travels very fast these days. The armored car, which is more of a delivery truck, doesn’t get over 50kph, and shudders and lurches at the upper end. Real petrol might perk up his engine, but petrol is rare these days, and he can refuel the biodiesel at most settlements now. So he drives slowly and is on the road almost constantly, and stops at Casterly Rock as infrequently as he can manage.

Soon Jaime is hearing the same rumor everywhere, in snatches. He travels through the guarded and gated villages of the Riverlands on a regular circuit, drives through miles of nothing between aettlements, edging around clusters of Others that still live beyond the city lights. As he exchanges goods, messages, and information, he hears of the Blue Angel. Edges of conversation, news bulletins, idle conversation with gasoline sellers. His hosts at Pennytree gossip over it at dinner while passing around the green beans.

Did you hear about the Blue Angel? Damn shame.

Jaime always agrees wordlessly. People still like to feed him, remembering his own time guarding the Kingsroad in the beginning of the new era. He hasn’t been the Slayer in four years, has been a politician-cum-envoy for far longer than he ever battled the Others, but he is far better known still for the former. Arguing with his hosts would be pointless. He just finishes his meal, salvaged canned goods heated over a campfire out back. In those early days, this would have been a feast. It’s still pretty good now. Vegetables are more and more scarce.

No one seems to know exactly what happened. He hears a few variations on it; the tale is different each time. Turned by the Others, haunting the Kingsroad where once she had been its protector. Crushed in the fall of a skyscraper in the Eyrie. Slain in battle protecting a school full of orphans from robbers. The details are in debate, but there is a consistent center. The Blue Angel is dead. It's a rumor still, but one with all the authority of the old King’s Landing Times newspaper, of truth. Everyone is sure.

But they don’t know her. Not like Jaime did. If they knew her they would not believe it so easily. They would need evidence. They would need a body, a grave. Otherwise it's just not realistic that she could be gone. He is not worried. He’s not.

Tyrion passes on the same news the next time he’s at the house. No particulars, but the same word from his own channels of information. No one knows how, but the Blue Angel is dead.

Jaime has little patience for it now. Without any details, it’s still only a rumor. A remarkably consistent one, to be sure. But not enough to know for certain. He doesn’t even stop in the office, claiming exhaustion, avoiding conversation.

Tyrion finds him anyway.

“If you really wanted to know, you could ask The Spider.” His brother suggests late one night, startling him awake. “He could give you the whole story.”

Jaime had been dozing in an armchair in his own study, unwilling to go to bed and too tired to stay awake. He rubs at his left eye and yawns. “What time is it? You’re the only person I know who still wears a wristwatch.”

Tyrion looks worried. He stands there a long time waiting for him to answer.

“I don’t want to know,” Jaime mumbles sleepily. “Really I don’t.”

“Try to get some sleep, Jaime.”

In the bathroom mirror he has a few more gray hairs than before, visible even in candlelight. Before long there will be more gray than blond. He pulls them out one at a time.

It’s too bad he can’t pluck the laugh lines away from his eyes the same way. He hasn’t laughed in a long time now. They feel unearned.

Everywhere he goes for a week solid, it's a funeral. Holly branches along the road, and stray, somehow-preserved flowers. Bars full of black coated mourners, drinking morosely.

It irritates him. Makes him grind his teeth. He shouldn’t resent these people. He knows it’s irrational to feel this way. But what do they know? How dare they mourn? What have they lost? A legend, a leader, a hero? They don’t know the woman behind the stories. She is so much more than that.

For some reason it is the graffiti that finally gets to him. Seeing it written gives it permanence. Someone felt the need to document this, on a building, for all to see. First in an alley in Riverrun - written in an electric blue that seems to float over the dull brick of the building. “Blue Angel RIP,” it says, and it sears into Jaime’s vision. He sees it every time he closes his eyes.

Before long the makeshift walls around Raventree are covered in mismatched sprays of blue, the neat and professional swoops of seasoned graffiti artists alongside the amateur efforts of random passers by, all offering their tributes. At the center of them all is a portrait, as detailed as an oil painting rendered in spray paint, of the Blue Angel’s long cloaked form standing over smaller figures in protection. She’s holding her favorite weapon, a solid titanium baseball bat.

He stares at this portrait for a long time. It’s very good. She must have passed this way at some point. You can’t see her face, but she mostly keeps it covered anyway. This artist captures the way she stands, the gesture of her long, elegant fingers. This artist saw her, at least once, for certain.

It’s so strange. All of these people feel like they know her, that she belongs to them. And it’s true in a way. The Blue Angel belongs to everyone, she really does. But Brienne... Brienne belongs to a very few, if anyone, and if anyone then he is certainly one of them. And he knows she cannot possibly be dead. He knows it.

He stares at the graffiti portrait until his vision blurs and he can’t see anything anymore.

Jaime cuts off the rest of his circuit after that. Drives back to the Rock, as slowly and deliberately as ever, always watching for Others that he could be leading to the compound. In the house he stays only an hour. Packs a small bag and leaves the keys to the car on Tyrion’s desk, along with all his dossiers on the Riverlands, and his appointment book.

Then he takes out his motorbike and drives it across the Riverlands, wastes precious petrol cruising the old highways dodging the snarls of abandoned cars. Tries to outrun the news. The wind blasts through him like a cold knife. He uses up one of his few remaining chargeables to get an mp3 player playing again, painfully loud, the heaviest music he can find. Hailstorms of guitar riffs assaulting him through the earpiece. He rides until his face is numb from wind and his nerves are rattled and brittle.

The Spider’s lair moves between rest stops these days. King’s Landing is still too dangerous, overrun with Others, and he likes to be off the map. Jaime checks a dozen highway offramps before he comes across the black RVs he is looking for.

He leaves the bike some distance away, as is the custom. The sound of a motorbike will bring Others running from miles away, and it’s impolite to lead zombies to people’s front door. Jaime walks the last mile in darkness, quiet as he can. He should have brought more weapons than a single pistol. He didn’t really think this through. But if the Others came to investigate the bike, he does not encounter them walking south, and before long the pavement opens out into a runaway truck ramp and a parking lot, and he can feel eyes on him from the line of trees beyond.

The Spider’s gang greets him with guns cocking, friendly as always. Black leather gargoyles. When they emerge from the shadows into the moonlight, Jaime puts his hands up and drops down to his knees. He waits for them to decide whether he can approach or if he has to move on and try again another night. He doesn’t hear them talking, but they communicate somehow, silently. He’s determined, over the years, that they use some kind of hand signals, but he’s never caught them doing it.

The mobile home is painted black, and it’s almost invisible in the night. The Spider doesn’t take visitors in the daytime. The gun at his back pokes him directly up to the door.

On the inside, the trailer is flooded with fluorescent lighting of the kind rarely seen anymore. After years of lanterns and lamps, it looks otherworldly. Dreamlike. The Spider, in his silk robe, seems to gleam in the artificial light, reclining on his cushion-covered couch.

“Slayer,” he says mildly, gestures for Jaime to sit in a chair opposite him. “It’s been some time. What brings you to--”

“If you know anything,” Jaime tells him flatly, staying where he is just inside the door, “you know why I am here.”

Varys looks at him with cool, calculating assessment. His bald head shines thoughtfully.

“I do. But do sit down, you’re upsetting my birds.” In their cages all around the room, crows shudder and caw. Their black eyes stare unblinkingly at the intruder. The bald little man gestures again to a cushioned seat welded into the trailer.

Jaime acquiesces only enough to take a few steps further into the trailer, standing over the Spider’s chaise lounge. Varys shrugs him off, not remotely threatened. He smiles up from his comfortable position as though it’s a deck chair at a beach, and Jaime is there to take his drinks order.

“That is a fine prosthetic you have there. I would never have known, if I didn’t know everything. The color is perfect, just perfect. Which one is it, right or left?"

The Spider doesn’t really expect him to answer. He knows that Jaime has kept a tight lid on that detail, so far. There are certainly people out there in the world who know for certain, and he will surely find out eventually, but the Spider has not gotten any of them to talk just yet. He will fish for the information just the same. It’s a reflex, at this point.

"Where in the world did you get it? I didn’t think they made things like this anymore, not to custom. But you’re a wealthy man again, aren’t you? Even after Armageddon, Lannisters stay rich.” The spider shows a sliver of teeth. “You would think that money and influence would mean nothing in the new world, but it isn’t so. We simply deal in different currencies now. Your brother realized that faster than most. Clever man.”

Jaime remains standing.

The Spider’s fingers drum his seat warily. “I, of course, recall how you helped me to escape King’s Landing. Have you come to call in this debt?”

“Is she dead?” He spits out the words like he will not taste their poison if he is rid of them quickly enough.

Varys hesitates. Just for a moment, but it is enough to make Jaime blanch well ahead of his answer.

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

Jaime’s throat tightens around the word. “How?”

“How else? The Others.”

Jaime takes one more breath, and chokes on it. He can’t get any more words out.

He turns and slaps his palms against the door of the trailer so that it bangs open and he is out into the freezing night again, running, past the blurry borders of the rest-stop and into proper forest, and when he cannot run anymore he drops to his hands and knees in the mud and opens his mouth and wails until he has no voice left.

His fists beat into the earth as though he can make it give her back.

When there’s nothing left inside him he gets up. Stumbles unseeing back through the forest. Raw and shaking, he pushes through Varys’ honor guard of former bikers, back into the Spider’s Lair.

Varys has not moved since he left him. He watches Jaime drop down into the chair opposite him as though it were only moments since he gave his terrible answer.

“Would you like to ask for your boon now?” the Spider asks.

“Yes.” Jaime leans forward. “I need weapons.”

***

Let me hold you in my arms dear

And let me melt in the heat of your gaze

And let the clock strike one,

Time and mind go marching on

Let our sense of selves decay

It was there that I saw you

In the heat of a summer's embrace

But as time went on

I wondered what went wrong

I wondered what became of you

“It Was There That I Saw You”, ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead

#And You Will Know Them By the Trail of Dead #dreadwulf fic #braime #jaime x brienne

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scabopolis · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 600 followers!!!! How about Logan/Veronica and "Are you doubting my acting skills?" and/or any one of your 76 Danielle/Henry modern AUs?

Oh, Sarah, I’d do anything for you! I will eventually write a Danielle/Henry modern AU and it shall be dedicated to you, but for now, here is some Logan/Veronica friends to lovers inspired fake dating setup shenanigans.

--- Title: look at me like you like me Fandom: Veronica Mars Pairing: Logan/Veronica (side Wallace/Parker) Other Characters: Wallace, Parker, a frequent switching of tenses b/c this is barely edited. Additional Tags: Should be a multichapter probably, friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, Wallace sees all and knows all Word Count: ~1,800 ---

Sitting at brunch, her plate piled high with pancakes, Veronica Mars wonders just how long her best-friend thought he could get away with this. Logan Echolls (said best-friend) is currently walking slowly back and forth in front of the restaurant as he talks on his phone. He isn’t speaking, which means his mother is in the middle of a persuasive monologue. And everyone at their table knows what that means.

“Charity gala?” Wallace asks.

“My money’s on a distant relative’s wedding,” Parker says.

“His parent’s anniversary is coming up,” Veronica says. “Could be their own party.”

“What will they celebrate?” Wallace asks. “Ten years of sleeping in separate rooms and ignoring one another’s affairs?”

“Regardless, I’m ready,” Parker says.

Okay. Apparently Veronica’s isn’t the only one thinking about Logan’s go-to family event strategy. “You think he’ll ask you?”

Parker frowns as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Veronica draws a line in the air, connecting Wallace and Parker. “Well, for one, you’re married now.”

“The people at these parties don’t know that,” Parker answers.

The woman has a point. Veronica turns to Wallace. “And you’re okay with this?”

“We’re living on two teacher’s salaries. If some wealthy man wants to be my wife’s platonic sugar daddy, who am I to stop him?”

“I wanted to buy a new dress for your brother’s graduation anyway,” Parker says.

“See! Perfect plan.” Wallace and Parker seal their agreement with a kiss and Veronica focuses on her pancakes. She cuts off a large bite with more force than strictly required and shovels the pancakes into her mouth.

She isn’t sure why this whole conversation needles her. Something about Parker’s certainty, Veronica supposes. That it is going to be Parker who Logan calls on. To be fair, Parker and Logan’s arrangement pre-dates Veronica’s friendship with either of them.

By the time Veronica met Parker their first year of grad school, Parker and Logan had been friends for four years. The pattern wherein Parker pretended to be Logan’s girlfriend at any and all society events his mother required him to attend was already well-established. Even after Veronica and Logan met, and it was quickly evident the two of them were destined to be platonic soulmates for the rest of their lives, it was still Parker that Logan turned to for help in these situations. Which, fair. Parker possesses levels of grace which Veronica can never hope to achieve.

Veronica is much more apt to give a Hollywood director in his fifties judgey facial expressions when he introduces her to his barely legal wife. (A real thing that happened at an Echolls family BBQ. At least it still makes Logan laugh all these years later.)

It just didn’t occur to Veronica that it would always be Parker. Especially now that Parker is married. What is going to happen when she and Wallace decide to have a baby? How will they prevent word of Logan Echolls’ pregnant girlfriend from making the tabloid rounds?

No. This is ridiculous.

“She’s definitely not listening,” Wallace says, disapprovingly.

“Some sort of fugue state?” Parker suggests.

“Could be.”

Veronica sighs. “What are you two talking about?”

“I wanted to know if it was all pancakes in general you seek to destroy, or if this one in particular had done something to upset you?”

Her first instinct is to glare at Wallace. And then at Parker when she sniggers. Introducing the two of them to one another is the worst decision she’s ever made. But then she looks down at her plate. Sure enough, at some point she traded in eating her pancakes for cutting them into smaller pieces and then smushing them into the maple syrup. They no longer resemble an edible object.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sure,” Wallace says, taking a well-timed sip of his coffee. His expression is all smug and knowing.

Veronica is saved from additional Wallace stares and Parker sniggers by the return of Logan. He slides his phone into his blazer pocket and sits down beside Veronica, resting his arm on the back of Veronica’s chair. This is nothing new. Being best-friends with Logan means being comfortable with his rather tactile nature. But the look Logan’s action invites from Wallace is new. Veronica wants to spit at him. (Wallace. Not Logan.)

(Portrait of grace, indeed.)

“What happened here?” Logan asks, gesturing to Veronica’s pancakes.

“Nothing,” Veronica says. “What happened out there?”

Logan’s fingers still from where he is lightly tracing the contours of her shoulder. “My mom and dad are renewing their vows.”

For a moment all movement at their table ceases as they each take in this information. This despite Veronica's keen awareness of the fact that her guess was eerily close to being right.

“I’m sorry. What?” she asks.

“That was about my reaction,” Logan says. “Want my bacon?”

“Yes, please. They can’t be serious.”

Logan slides his slices of bacon onto Veronica’s plate. “Serious about drumming up some positive PR, absolutely. Aaron was spotted looking a little too friendly with a married co-star. So, he and mom are going on a romantic getaway to Italy. When they get back they’ll do a backyard vow renewal.”

“Logan—”

The man in question holds up a hand, stopping Parker’s softly spoken entreaty.

“No. I can’t do the talking about it thing right now. I can’t feel anything about it right now. What I need is a wedding date.”

“Of course,” Parker rushes to answer. “Just tell me when.”

“The weekend of June 11th.”

“Absolutely. Deal,” Parker says, nodding enthusiastically. “Consider it—,” she trails off, her gaze somewhere over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Consider it, what?” Logan asks.

“—Not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“That’s graduation weekend,” Parker explains. “I’m the faculty speaker.”

“I’ll buy you shoes, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Logan says. “This way I can get very drunk and not feel bad about it.”

Logan’s arm returns to the back of Veronica’s chair. This time his hand sort of hangs over her shoulder and curls around towards her clavicle. It makes it impossible to ignore details about Logan’s hands — the surprising delicacy of his fingers, the length of them, the weird knot on one of his knuckles.

“I’ll do it,” Veronica says.

“Do what?” Logan asks.

“Be your fake girlfriend for the sham vow renewal. I can do it.”

She refuses to look at anyone at the table. Not Parker. Sure as hell not Wallace.

(Seriously. Does he know something? Was it that night they all played King’s Cup and the two of them stayed up talking until 3:00 AM? Did she say something she wasn’t supposed to?)

And absolutely not Logan. She scrapes the edges of the smushed pancake with the tines of her fork.

“Veronica.” Logan’s voice is soft, but she detects a hint of incredulity. Which, maybe she’s wrong and he isn’t her best-friend and he doesn’t know her very well, because it raises her hackles.

She drops her fork. “What? Why not?”

“Look, I love you. You know I love you.” Veronica ignores the little skitter of her pulse at Logan’s words, furrows her brow, and concentrates on being offended. “And you know me better than anyone.”

“But?” She prompts.

“But,” he says, “you don’t really—”

Before Logan can finish, she comes up with a dozen ways to complete the sentence. There is plenty she doesn’t have —the class, the patience, the height, the sweetness, the glamor, the—

“—look at me like you like me,” Logan finishes.

“Wait. What?” Veronica’s eyes dart from Logan to Wallace to Parker. Neither one of them appear surprised by Logan’s words. In fact, Parker is faintly nodding in agreement. “Of course I like you. You’re my favorite person.” She thinks about this. “When you’re not being a total asshole.”

“I know that. But, your face makes it look like you want to slap me most of the time.”

“Because I do.”

“It’s just not the most conducive to convincing my mother to not set me up with the daughter of whichever producer she is trying to impress.”

“I’ll change my face.”

“Change it?”

“I can look like I like you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been in love before, you know.” Veronica’s hackles are now standing at full attention. “Are you doubting my acting skills?”

“I would never,” Logan says.

“Good. Because I could be the sweetest goddamned fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.” Veronica turns to Parker. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’ll even use pet names. Schmoopsie. Snuggle muffin. Sweet cheeks. What’s your preference?”

“My preference is none of them.”

Still, despite his words, Logan seems to consider it. Veronica takes the time to nibble on one of the slices of bacon from Logan’s plate. If she isn’t mistaken, Parker and Wallace kept shooting each other, what they probably believe to be, covert glances. What are those glances supposed to mean? Does Parker know something too? Damned married couples with their telling each other things.

“My mom does love you,” Logan eventually says.

“See, I already have a leg up,” Veronica says. “And I can absolutely rock a floor length gown.”

“Can you?”

“I was on homecoming court senior year.”

“You were?” She’s not certain which of the voices speaking in unison sound more shocked, Logan’s or Parker’s, but regardless she is deeply offended. She’ll look classy and hot as hell and that will show them.

“Yeah,” Wallace says, “Keith still has the picture hanging up in his house. It’s hilarious.” Veronica glares at him. “Hilarious, because of how great you look. Obviously.”

“I don’t want to make you do this,” Logan says.

Veronica doesn’t have time to question why he would make Parker do this but for some reason wants to spare her.

“Hey.” She reaches up for the hand still draped over her shoulder and laces their fingers together. Logan looks down at her. His eyes are all soft and heavy lidded; like they sometimes get when he’s sleepy.

(She’s also noticed they can kind of look like that when she’s ranting about a coworker. Or, that one time she helped her dad install a fence and came over to Logan’s place after. Her hands were full of splinters and Logan was so careful and gentle, removing each one with a very expensive pair of tweezers.)

“This is going to suck. Isn’t it?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah. I think it will.”

“Then let me be there for you.” He doesn’t say anything. “I’ll work on my face. Promise.”

That gets him to crack a smile. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then great.”

“Great.”

“Did I just get replaced?” Parker asks.

Veronica shrugs. “I like nice shoes too, you know.”

Logan gives her hand a squeeze.

Oh. Look at that. She didn’t even notice they were still holding hands.

#vm fanfic #lv fanfic #veronica mars #logan echolls #logan x veronica #p: logan x veronica #otp: the one person #lavellenchanted #never stories

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 3 years

Text

So. Ryan.

I’m going back to s4 for a minute because the wonderful @damngcoffee and I were discussing fleeting yet fascinating Ryan, and I wanted to put my thoughts out into the universe. I hope you don’t mind.

I’ve never thought too deeply about the dynamic between Ian and Ryan before. Even in planning out “In Pieces,” analyzing Ryan’s motives wasn’t strictly necessary because it’s not really something Ian would pick up on based on his perspective in this situation. Ostensibly, it’s quite simple: during his club days, Ian is swinging with a new and visibly elegant circle in a drastically different part of society than he grew up in. That’s why Mickey is so out of his element there, whereas Ian expertly camouflages himself the way he always has. On the surface, there’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Just a party. Just Ian, manic and feeling on top of the world and in his element. Just another red flag missed amidst a sea of them. What happens at the party, however, really seems to potentially indicate that there’s more to this and more to Ryan as a character than merely acting as a clever setup for Mickey to indicate that he and Ian are officially in a relationship.

Up to that point, all we’ve seen surrounding Ian from Mickey’s point of view are real slime balls—older men preying on someone that they don’t necessarily realize is underage, but they definitely know is very, very young and vulnerable. There’s the lap dance guy, the one who can’t run to save his life, and the dude who’s just asking for his fingers to be broken one by one. Mickey alludes to two in particular over breakfast that first morning, and when Ian mentions a regular inviting them to a party, Mickey is focused on a rather specific image of what one of Ian’s regulars must be like.

Then they go to Ryan’s loft, and...it’s classy. Sophisticated. This isn’t a raucous after-party, but a very different atmosphere, full of upper-middle to upper-class ladies and gentlemen who are clearly professionals. Many of them are in suits or dressed nicely, having a late-night drink and speaking tastefully. They’re also substantially older than Ian and Mickey, who are only nearing seventeen and nineteen respectively at the time. These people have careers and, in the case of the sociologist Mickey speaks with, are working on advanced degrees. The only visible drugs are the ones on the table in front of Ian while he’s asleep the following morning. This isn’t the kind of party that we’d expect, knowing where Ian is mentally at this time like we do.

We tend to focus a lot on what Mickey’s response to all this is, but I’d like to use it as a diving board for analyzing a few dimensions of Ryan’s character that appear to indicate that, through the encroaching darkness of Ian’s as yet unacknowledged illness, there are people who are possibly watching out for him. So, here are a few things that stand out about our encounters at Ryan’s loft:

Ian says that Ryan is one of his “regulars.” Based on what we’ve seen so far, this immediately has us thinking there’s a level of sexual interest on Ryan’s side, even if only as something of a voyeur who enjoys watching Ian dance at the club. There’s no physical manifestation of that interest, though. Ryan noticeably doesn’t behave like the skeevy guys we’ve already seen, Ned included. That doesn’t exclusively mean that he’s on the up-and-up, of course, but I found it worth noting that their hug is just a hug, and he doesn’t step out of his role as a cordial host for a second. He treats Ian the same as he treats Mickey: with kindness and social acceptance, albeit with more familiarity. And when Ian goes with him to see what drinks are available, there aren’t any apparent undertones. Ryan immediately heads towards the open kitchen, and Ian follows at a polite distance. Host and attendee—those are our initial vibes as far as Ryan is concerned. It’s jarringly different from our other forays into Ian’s current lifestyle.

Enter the sociologist. What a fascinating individual for Ryan to interact with. He immediately asks if Mickey is with Ian, which is nothing special in itself and serves as a way to engage Mickey in conversation without simply asking what he does. The fact that he moves into that, however, is very interesting to me because he’s so straightforward about it. It’s not an interrogation, yet there’s an element of investigation to it. Perhaps he’s just a curious guy making conversation with someone who looks uncomfortable; perhaps he’s familiar with Ian from these parties and is doing a bit of research into who it is that Ian brought with him, as it is arguably the first time that’s happened. Either way, what he says that he’s studying is a “blink and you’ll miss it” sort of reference. It also flies under the radar for anyone who isn’t familiar with the field of sociology. We end up like Mickey: lost and confused by “transgender sex work and symbolic interactionism within the framework of hustler-client relations,” but generally understanding that he’s studying sex workers and pimps—emphasis on the sex workers. Something we know Ian was at the time, working the front and back of the club as he later admits.

Now, for the uninitiated, symbolic interactionism is a theoretical perspective in the field of sociology that focuses on how our social interactions with other people, social institutions, and the world around us both facilitate our construction of reality and alter or solidify our perceptions of our existing reality. While there are many directions his study may be taking him in, this sociologist is writing a dissertation on the meaning that is made between hustlers and clients—what symbols emerge that define each side, their roles, their meaning to one another, the dissemination of the values and norms that guide their relationships, etc. In short, he’s studying the socially constructed meaning of the relationship that specifically transgender sex workers and pimps have with each other and their clients.

On the surface, that has no bearing on this situation. Mickey’s confused, and it’s an ironic bit of writing to connect him to this group he’s uncomfortable with by showing that South Side Mickey is the pimp that the upper classes of society are studying for their Ph.D. It’s pure satire, a brief commentary on just how different classes of society can be and perhaps even a nod to how lower classes are inside the fishbowl that upper classes are peering into but will never truly experience. To the viewer, however, what a sign that may be, depending on your interpretation. Ian has clearly been around this group of people enough that he’s known. They’re familiar enough with him to say that he’s great and how lucky Mickey is to have him. If Ryan is one of Ian’s regulars, then they know where he came from. They know he’s young, and they know what he does for a living right now. There’s no way this sociologist—studying what he’s studying, asking what he’s asking—doesn’t have some professional interest in Ian’s circumstances. Enough, perhaps, to check in on who this person he’s brought with him is. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t read so much into that, but this isn’t the only time it happens.

The next morning, Ian is asleep and Ryan chooses to wake Mickey first. He knows Mickey wasn’t comfortable with him the night before, which I thought he handled with a lot of grace and good-humor. In most cases, I’d expect more disdain, but not with Ryan. It’s interesting, then, that he didn’t go to Ian first given their familiarity. Sure, he knows Ian worked the night prior. He may just have impeccable manners and want Ian to sleep a bit longer. If he’s a regular, he knows Ian needs it. (He probably also sees the drugs on his coffee table and figures he definitely needs it, but I digress.)

So, he wakes Mickey. He makes a casual joke. Then, when Mickey says he’s not Ian’s keeper, his demeanor shifts just slightly. His expression grows hesitant—tentative, like he’s been meaning to ask something but hasn’t quite worked up to it. For someone who should just be a regular, who shouldn’t care much outside of Ian dancing, whose interest has been that of a polite acquaintance thus far, his gaze is more intent than I’d have expected as he waits for Mickey to tell him if he’s a boyfriend or if he’s someone who is a one-night deal. Are they together, or is Mickey just a fleeting fancy for Ian?

Are they together, or is Mickey taking advantage of this very, very young sex worker that Ryan has conveniently invited to his home after work instead of him going home with some stranger?

Are they together, or is Mickey some stranger?

When Mickey says they’re together, the intensity ebbs and casual Ryan is back. He offers a contented reply and heads off to get breakfast for Mickey, still not knowing what Ian wants. If that was his prime motivation for approaching them in the first place, wouldn’t he have woken Ian up at that point? Wouldn’t he have completed his task of taking breakfast orders? It makes me wonder if that’s not why he woke Mickey at all. It makes for a good excuse when he was delivering food to others who stayed overnight, but the more I rewatch their interactions, and the more I read into how dissonant his position as “a regular” and his behavior are, the more I wonder if there’s something else to Ryan.

A regular who doesn’t seem all that interested in Ian as anything other than an acquaintance—a person, not a dancer or object like literally everyone else in Ian’s new life that we’ve seen so far.

An engineer and photographer Ian says with absolute certainty doesn’t want or expect anything from him.

A professional with professional friends who are studied in the fields of sociology and sex work.

A man somewhat older than them who checks in with Mickey—after someone else has already done so and discovered that their sex worker guest is there with a self-proclaimed pimp—to inquire after his relationship with Ian in a relatively non-invasive manner.

Ian was taken advantage of by so many people as a kid and especially during his initial spiral. I’ve always thought of this as being a lonely time for him even though he certainly felt like he was a part of everything and surrounded by all the wonders of the world. He abandoned the military and his dreams. He flitted into and out of Ned’s home. Monica flitted into and out of his life yet again. His family wasn’t looking until Lip’s hands were tied by the MPs, and even then they were almost immediately distracted by the situation with Fiona and Liam. Mickey was married and seemingly out of reach. He’d left his friends and connections behind.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a guy who saw him at work and saw him. Maybe there was a guy who was a little older, a little more educated, and a little more savvy about the scene Ian was involved in when he noticed this kid dancing on a stage in a place he had no business going to.

And maybe this guy decided that he’d look out for this kid who was in way over his head, indirect and not at all obvious about it, yet someone who cared at a time when Ian unknowingly and unintentionally had to rely on the kindness of strangers.

#shameless #shameless meta #Ian gallagher #it’s ian gallagher loving hours

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oh-boy-me · 4 years

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Alright I'm curious about your take on movie night with the undateables, including Luke since this is non- romance. Snack preferences, what movies they choose, funny stories from movie night. Whatever strikes your fancy with the idea is good with me. Thanks in advance!

Sorry it took a little bit (´ω｀。) It’s my first time working with these characters so I wanted to give it my absolute best

I’m setting this up as individual movie nights so that each character can get the spotlight for a while; I hope that’s ok! Also, a lot of them somehow ended up in a context of it being the first time you’d hung out one on one lol

Simeon:

It feels like Simeon spends just about all of his time with Luke and Solomon, while you spend just about all of yours with the brothers. So, you decide to have a movie night to finally spend some time together without having to divide your attention. Purgatory Hall is the obvious choice of location, since its residents are much more ready to leave you alone when asked.

This angel is a traditional kind of guy, as angels tend to be, so popcorn is the only snack idea that comes to mind. Traditional doesn’t mean close-minded, though, so he’s more than willing to try out any snacks you bring along. Actually, he encourages you to bring a bunch of snacks to try out together! You can have a taste test while you watch the movies!

Simeon likes Hallmark movie-type movies a lot, mainly because they demand little emotional investment. Movies like horror don’t scare him, but they do stress him out because he wants all the protagonists to get their happy ending! Another benefit of Hallmark movies is that it’s fun to try to guess exactly what will happen, since they can be so predictable.

Of course, he doesn’t want to monopolize your movie lineup, so if there’s something you want to see he’s all for it. If you want to go for something more thrilling, he’ll power through it like a champ, but you can see him visibly cringing at some points.

Simeon is lowkey a movie cuddler, but like in a way that still respects your personal space bubble. He won’t spend the film with you in his arms or anything, but the entire couch is fair game.

Simeon apparently likes to talk during movies–he doesn’t mean to, but the thoughts kind of just come out. He’s brutally honest about what he’s thinking, so if you’re down with it, talking about and roasting the movie as it’s happening is a load of fun. “I don’t know MC, I don’t think this guy’s all that great either? Sure maybe he isn’t completely ignoring her, but look, he obviously has commitment issues; at least her ex was just busy all the time. Look, Mr. Lone Wolf’s beard is uneven. Why does she want a man who wants to look rugged but can’t get it right?”

Simeon also will accidentally spoil any movie he’s already seen like this, so you’re best off watching films that are new to both of you.

He knew that you were a nice and fun person, but honestly he’s kind of taken aback by how good you are to be around. Since the only human he’s usually around is Solomon, talking to one and not feeling like you need to second-guess everything you’re told is a new and welcome feeling.

Before you split for the night, he asks if you’d like to do something like this again. As an angel, there’s a lot that he hasn’t experienced–a lot of food, a lot of activities, a lot of media–and you’re someone that he feels like he would be comfortable trying new things with. You can expect lots of texts like, “Hello! I hope you’re doing wellヾ(＾-＾)ノ Are you free tomorrow?”

Luke:

You probably decide to have a movie night after Luke ends up spending way longer than he expected to in the kitchen at the House of Lamentation. On the condition that absolutely no demons are to join you two! Ok maybe Beel and Levi are ok but absolutely no one else! After a call to Simeon explaining that he isn’t coming back to Purgatory Hall tonight you guys are good to go.

He always brings baked goods when he comes over, plus whatever he was working on in the kitchen, so you’re more than covered! The majority of it is things like cookies and fudge bark. They’re easy snacks to grab a handful of.

Luke tries to insist that he wants to watch a movie with lots of violence or a horror film, or any other kind of movie that teenagers sneak into. He’s doing it because he’s so frustrated with everyone calling him a kid when he’s centuries older than a human will ever be, stop making fun of him!! For his sake and yours, you should tell him that you don’t want to watch that sort of movie, because if you let him get away with it he’ll get too freaked out in the first 20 minutes.

Most likely you’ll end up having a Disney marathon. They’re so fun, and since the Celestial Realm is pretty isolated when it comes to cultural exchange, he’s only seen a couple, so you can show him your favorites! Also, he’s not crying. No, you saw that wrong.

He starts off on the other side of the couch, one again trying to be mature and shit, but that won’t last long. Anyone who sees you huddled together like that will be punched in the gut with the sheer level of sibling energy y’all are radiating. Lucifer almost doesn’t want to mock him. Almost.

That thing where immediately after consuming a piece of media, you imagine yourself as part of that universe? Luke loves to talk about that sort of thing. “If I lived there, I’d have given Gaston a piece of my mind!” “Ok but if I was a piece of furniture what do you think I’d be? I can totally see you being a…”

“I think you’d be the footstool that acts like a dog, Luke.” “Hey, Lucifer, you weren’t invited to our party!!”

You might (will) have to fend off a few nosy demon brothers to protect your demon-free movie lair. Luke swears that next time you have to come over to Purgatory Hall, but he’s having way more fun here than he’s willing to admit.

He also learns that most of the brothers will listen to you without complaint. He will definitely keep this in mind.

This kid angel has so much energy, how is he still awake after five movies? You absolutely have to establish a bedtime because he literally will not go to bed until you do.

Solomon:

It’s quite rare for you to have a break from the seven avatars of attention hogging, so if you’re going to have a movie night, Purgatory Hall may as well be a godsend.

You may want to be careful about getting there, because if Asmo catches wind that you and Solomon are having a movie night without him, he’s going to show up unannounced and then refuse to leave. Solomon can come pick you up if you need. Just, he’ll be waiting a block away so Asmo can’t catch up.

Solomon is a “dinner and a show” kinda guy. He will offer to make dinner. Do not let him do this. Either make it yourself or order takeout.

You’ll pretty easily agree on alternating who chooses the movie. You get the first, he gets the second, you get the third, etc. Definitely isn’t letting you choose first to lure you into a false sense of security about the DVD in his hand, what made you think that?

Solomon is the kind of person to lie about what sort of movie he’s put in. “Solomon what is this supposed to be?” “Oh, don’t worry about it.” It’s gonna be a weird movie. You just have to wait and see.

He is going to rip into your movie choices. He liked how they worked with this, and that was impressive, but these bits? Did they think they could get away with that? What was the budget? Rest assured, though, he expects you to do the same for him. In fact, he’ll be quite disappointed if you don’t.

He prefers a setup on his bed rather than on the couch. He’s also one of the ones who keeps to himself in terms of personal space, although that’s not to say that he isn’t relaxed. Some might say he’s too relaxed, but that’s just who he is: too relaxed in any situation. On the surface, at least.

As the only humans in the Devildom, some of the night is probably spent reminiscing on how different things tend to be here. Solomon does feel bad that you in particular have had to make so many changes to your life and habits with no warning. He has his magic to rely on, so he’s glad you have your reputation of “the human that made a pact with the student council” to keep demons from messing with you.

If you want, he’s happy to let you sleep over so that you don’t have to explain why you’re coming home so late. He also encourages you to not say anything to your dorm mates. Wouldn’t it be fun to make them wonder? They’re always breathing down your neck, aren’t they? Make them squirm a little bit. You’re going to get a scolding for sneaking out regardless. It’s incredibly cruel; you know they worry sick about you more than is called for. Will you play along? That’s up to you. I advise you not to.

Like Simeon felt like he needed to second-guess everything around a bunch of demons and Solomon, Solomon sometimes feels like he needs to keep himself guarded around a bunch of demons and two literal angels. You, however, are a human. You have common ground, and Solomon can see how your vulnerability here translates into strength. He’s not quite ready to admit it but, your ability to survive on character and not power is inspiring to him. Shortly before you go home/to sleep, he mentions something about himself, and for once it seems like he’s being honest.

Barbatos:

You have the movie night at the House of Lamentation, under Lucifer’s promise that he’d keep everyone else busy. It’s Barbatos’ first day off in 325 years, and he doesn’t want to take any chances of Diavolo forgetting that fact and giving him an order.

It may come as a surprise, but Barbatos wants nothing more than to order a pizza. If he managed to get enough time off to have a movie night with you, he doesn’t want to have to think about preparing food. A single night where he can just hang out and eat less than perfectly prepared cuisine is exactly what he needs to unwind.

Out of habit, he insists that whatever you want to watch is fine. If you remind him that this is just as much for him as it is for you, he’ll suggest you look up what new psychological thrillers are trending. Whenever a scary scene is playing on the screen, there’s the tiniest smile gracing his face the whole time. It’s a little disconcerting, but something tells you that you shouldn’t bring it up.

If you do bring it up against all better judgement, though, he’ll explain that the villain in the film is being so messy. Given the circumstances, it’d be better for him to do this or that.

“Don’t ask how I know all of this. I’m just saying, if you find yourself with a body to dispose of, alive or not, you know who to call.”

Time spent with an off-duty Barbatos grows more relaxed as the night progresses. You split the sofa 50/50, and over time you can see his posture relax from stiff and straight to leaning against the arm with his feet up.

Oh, yes, he’s also brought along a nice bottle of wine to share. He made sure to get something that should affect demons and humans equally, of course. If he’s going to get inebriated, you’re going down with him.

Turns out, working for the Demon Prince for all eternity gives you a few grievances. Also turns out that the Demon Prince’s butler becomes quite loose lipped and downright snarky when he’s had enough to drink. “‘Which flavor do you think Lucifer would like best?’ I don’t know, My Lord, might I suggest you ask him yourself? No, no, I hear you laughing, MC! This happens every time!”

There’s still a movie playing, but why would you watch a movie when Diavolo’s butler is such a gossip? You definitely know things you shouldn’t by the time the night is over, but you swear an oath of secrecy. And, although he regrets how liberal he was with his stories the next day, it does feel nice to have some of that off his chest.

And, well, he’s already gone this far, so he hopes you aren’t too surprised when you receive a text from him a week later: “Ok SO.”

Diavolo:

You guys decide to do the movie night at the palace, mainly to avoid Lucifer. Diavolo wants to get to know you better, and he knows that if Lucifer is around he’ll end up making you the third-wheel.

Barbatos is going to be around, so Diavolo leaves it up to you whether you want to make it a party of three. (Barbatos is still in on-duty mode, of course, so his time here is much less relaxed than in his solo scenario.)

Diavolo’s read about movie nights in Youthful Fun 101, and he wants to try out the whole snack list. Popcorn, pizza rolls, sodas, you name it, he’s got mountains of it.

If you suggest also making ice cream sundaes, he’ll be the happiest demon in the entire Devildom. It seems that the esteemed Demon Prince really loves chocolate sauce.

Really really wants to watch your favorite movie. What sort of Devildom host would he be if he didn’t get to understand the Human World from his guest’s perspective? Whether it’s something like Gone with the Wind or something like Barbie in a Mermaid Tale 2, he’s enthralled. So this is Human World cinema! There’s something so imaginative about it, even in the driest moments!

After your favorite, he’s got a checklist of iconic movies to get under his belt. Not all of them end up holding your attention, and you develop a voting system–after the first 15 minutes, you hold a vote on whether to keep the movie going or to move on. Since there’s only two of you, only one of you needs to like the movie to keep it going, so you give yourselves one immediate veto each.

Diavolo uses his veto on the first movie he wasn’t super into, and you have to keep reminding him that there’s no secret second veto that he can use. Cut him some slack, this level of democracy is unfamiliar to the future Demon King. He does end up really liking some of the movies he tried to avoid, so he learns to chill pretty quickly.

Also insists on watching the movies in a massive blanket fort. He’s not a movie cuddler, per se, but he is an emotional movie watcher, so you can expect him to grab your arm during an especially sweet or sad scene.

You’re going to have to clarify what’s realistic and what isn’t sometimes. No, that’s not a real animal. Yes, that event really happened. That may or may not be true, we aren’t sure. Diavolo please this is a conspiracy theory.

If you thought that this wouldn’t end up in a sleepover, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you just tried to watch way too many movies and passed out in the fort. Maybe you tried to call it quits and then he gave you big puppy dog eyes until you agreed to have a slumber party.

Side note, but Lucifer is still recovering from seeing Diavolo’s car appear unannounced at the House of Lamentation and then being told that it’s actually here to pick you up and that he absolutely can’t come along. Has he been replaced?

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me!#obey me headcanons #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #nerieda

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itwoodbeprefect · 3 years

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as someone who lived thru mcdanno, what are ur expectations for buddie? (fellow clown here)

fjdkfd god, i do love that question, thank you, but prepare yourself for too many words and perhaps not the answer you want to hear.

first off, i feel like i barely even really lived through mcdanno. i came in around the time season 9 started and caught up midway through, so at that point there had been a full eight and a bit seasons to very clearly set the tone on that show and in steve and danny's relationship, which is queerbait, times ten. i literally never expected anything else, and i fully knew what i was getting into from the get-go. h50 is also a show i'd place politcally either in the center or right of center, often aimed at more of a boomer audience (oh god that episode about the "millenial" vloggers who weren't even millenials HAUNTS me) and with a number of queer characters i could (extremely literally) count on my hands, of which by far most either get a) one single speaking line (if at all), b) killed or c) exposed as a criminal. overall it's not a show that's kind to queer people, is what i'm saying, and it was never very interested in being so.

911 on the other hand... is very similar in some fundamental ways, hence the huge overlap there seems to be in steve/danny people and buck/eddie people, but it's also very different in many other ways. it only has four seasons so far, of which eddie has only been present for three, and the ensemble cast is WAY more an actual ensemble than in h50, which is also supposedly about a kind of found family but is in reality most of the time the steve-and-danny or even the really-just-steve show. mcdanno just gets so much more airtime, both by existing number of seasons and by minutes on screen per episode. the 911 setup is not a bad thing whatsoever (i wish h50 had done more of that! daniel dae kim and grace park DESERVED more of that, jfc) but it does mean that honestly, when i started watching 911 with h50 fresh on my mind and all the comparisons i'd seen on tumblr, i was like, yeah, okay. i see why people might ship it, but compared to mcdanno buddie has barely any setup at all. (i'msorrydon'thateme.)

and this is where i might accidentally be getting controversial, and i'm sorry about that too, because i really don't mean to put a damper on anyone's joy, but while i agree that buck/eddie can be fun to explore as a ship, i just... don't necessarily think it's going to happen on screen? and that's okay. there is absolutely nothing wrong with shipping something that isn't canon and that might never be canon! that's totally cool! the only problem with that is when you start expecting something to happen in canon and you end up getting disappointed if it doesn't, because that hurts and getting hurt is no fun at all, and that's what worries me a little about buddie and 911 fandom. when i look at the tags some people seem... very convinced. and i get that too, because when a whole bunch of people are analyzing a show for hints of a specific ship, it's very easy to get swept up in it and it's a kind of echo chamber in which you all agree that it would be good and make sense and how could this not be what they're planning considering all you're seeing? but i'm just not sure, in this particular case, whether the rest of the audience and the writers are seeing the same thing, and i feel like there's a bit of a buddie hype going on based on what (to me!) in all honesty doesn't seem like that much evidence in canon, which just scares me a bit.

again, certainly not trying to tell anyone they shouldn't be having fun with buck/eddie (you should!!!) or that there's nothing to go by in canon, but just. please be careful with expectations from that canon? if something happens, that's awesome, and if it never does, that's also okay. it doesn't mean you're crazy, but it also doesn't mean the writers or showrunners or god forbid the actors are evil people who have been stringing you along. i get how loaded this can be, especially because there is such a huge history of shows not going for queer relationships purely because of homophobia, and it can be easy to read that into this situation, but this show already HAS a huge number of canonically queer main and recurring characters, who are all awesome and written as actual people with lots of friends and sympathetic storylines and hero moments and i don't think, honestly, that accusing 911 of homophobia or queerbaiting or bad writing for not making the two men fandom has latched onto go canon is going to, well, accomplish anything, except foster bitterness and ruin something for people that they used to enjoy.

all of that being said, and not to fly directly in the face of everything i just said, but... it could happen. i'm not saying it couldn't. coming back to that thing about h50 and queer characters, 911 is very incredibly wildly different in its treatment of its characters, and they DO have queer characters. they have A LOT of queer characters, to the blessed point where "character b can't be queer because character a already is" definitely doesn't apply, which it has many times in the past even if there is someone not straight in the cast of some show. so i mean. maybe! it's possible! 911 is not h50 at all, and that's a very good thing imo because as much as i enjoy mcdanno, h50 is honestly lowkey unwatchable as a show to me sometimes.

so, essentially, my personal expectations for buddie as a romantic thing in canon are not high, but i guess higher than they ever were for mcdanno, because at least buck and eddie are on a show where it's a remote possibility. i think it would be great - a queer slow burn on tv, that would be amazing - but i also think the show and buck and eddie's relationship would still be great if they never did it, and that all the other queer characters they already have probably deserve a lot more attention from fandom if queer rep is really what it's about, because hen and karen and josh and michael and david are all right there, and that's not even getting into lone star with paul and tk and carlos. mostly though i think that i don't want people to get disappointed. nobody ever expected anything to happen in h50, and that gives a kind of freedom of certainy that there isn't in 911, which makes me a little nervous for this fandom and the people in it. not to sound preachy, but be safe, have fun, and make sure that things keep being fun for you, because that's what fandom is about. if they're not, it might be time to take a break, and that's okay - it's normal to get really invested in something you enjoy, but please also put your own enjoyment and comfort first. (and it's still totally okay and can be a lot of fun to ship something that isn't canon.) ❤

#not so sure i should be tagging this as anything so i won't #*#ask #anon

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fanficimagery · 5 years

Text

Flares

Summary: Imagine keeping a secret from your friends, but when you’re in need of a favor.. that secret you’ve guarded is now out.

Words: 2.9K Warnings: Cancer. The holidays have got me thinking about my mom and I just want to give someone the happy ending my mom never got.

Curled up on the sofa, no amount of TV has been able to distract you. It's been about a month since you've started chemotherapy and as warned your hair has slowly started to fall out. You had bawled earlier that morning when you noticed it, and then tried to distract yourself by binge eating and watching rom-coms. Unfortunately it didn't work.

Sighing, you pick up your iPhone to check the time. It's just after four in the afternoon and without second guessing yourself, you scroll through your contacts until you land on one name in particular. You're not as close to him as you are to others in your friend group, but you do trust him. So after quickly composing a text, you hit send on it and hope for the best.

[Hey, Jeff. When you have a free moment, can we talk?]

Surprisingly it doesn't take long for him to reply.

[I'm actually in neighborhood. Wanna grab a bite to eat?]

[Yeah. That's fine.]

[I'll text you when I'm outside.]

With your stomach in knots, you get up and quickly make yourself decently presentable for the public. You take two edibles that had been prescribed by your doctor when the nausea and anxiety became too much, and pray that you can keep your food down when out with your friend. Jeff soon texts and you quickly pocket some money, your phone, and your keys before leaving out the front door.

Then settling into the front passenger seat of Jeff's vehicle, you flash him a tired grin. "Hey, how's your day been?"

"Boring." As Jeff pulls away from the curb, you buckle yourself in and then try to sit as still as possible. "Had to film an ad for Old Spice, but that was over and done with surprisingly fast. How was your day?"

"Honestly? It's been a shit day," you say, chuckling softly. "It's kind of why I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh oh." He glances between the road and you. "This can't be good."

"You have no idea how right you are." Sighing, you then say, "I'm not sure I want to tell you right now. It's kind of an appetite killer and I already took two edibles."

Jeff frowns. "Edibles? I didn't know you were into that."

"I'm not, but they were prescribed by my doctor."

"Doctor? What the hell is going on, Y/N?"

"I'm sorry." Wringing your hands together nervously, you then meet Jeff's stare after he's pulled off into a gas station parking lot. "I'm sick. I didn't want to tell anyone until I absolutely had to and this morning I realized I was going to have to start because I need to ask you for a favor."

"Y/N," he starts, "the only time someone is prescribed edibles is when-"

"-when someone has cancer. When the chemo becomes too much and the patient can't keep food down."

Jeff's eyes close as he deeply exhales. "Jesus." A moment of silence passes and then, "what's this favor?"

"I need you to shave my head."

"What?"

"During chemo, hair starts falling out anywhere between two to four weeks. It's been a little over five for me and I noticed it falling out this morning."

He gulps. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Your voice wobbles and tears fill your eyes, but you're quick to wipe them away before they fall. "I don't want to go to a stranger for this. This is really personal and I would rather the person shaving my head be someone I trust."

"Then yes. I'll do it." You smile, but you can't help the tears. "Christ, Y/N, come here." Jeff opens his arms for a hug and you unbuckle your seatbelt so you're able to hug him over the center console. "You know you're gonna have to tell everyone. And soon."

"I will. I kind of have an idea of how I want to tell them, but you'd have to agree to it."

Pulling out of the hug, Jeff grins. "Okay then. We'll talk details over dinner because I'm sure you're starting to feel really hungry."

"I am." Jeff chuckles and then starts to drive. On the road to the chosen restaurant , you finally say, "Thanks, Jeff."

"Don't even mention it. I will always be there for my friends." He flashes you that dimpled smile of his and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

Letting someone in on this secret of yours feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

"So are you gonna tell me why we're doing a special edition of Jeff's Barbershop in my living room?" David wonders.

Zane and Heath are helping Jeff setup, pushing back the furniture and laying down some plastic so hair doesn't get caught in the carpet.

"You'll know soon enough."

"Can you at least let us know whose hair you're cutting?" He then asks.

Jeff sighs. "You'll know soon enough, man." David frowns, and Heath and Zane suddenly look interested in Jeff's vague answers. "Just- no jokes. Alright? This is going to be pretty serious."

"Jesus. What the hell is going on?" Zane nervously chuckles, attempting to cut the tension. It doesn't work.

"Okay. Well who's all coming?" David asks.

"Mariah, Erin, Carly, Y/N, Natalie, Jason, Todd, and Matt. Everyone else couldn't make it, so we'll call them afterward."

"Man," Heath sighs. "I've got a bad feeling about today. If Jeff isn't cracking jokes, something must really be up."

Jeff only shrugs, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

- X - X - X - X - X -

By the time everyone is gathered at David's and has calmed down from greeting one another, Jeff stands next to the chair in the middle of the room. He picks up the black cape from the seat and holds it in one hand, staring out at everyone. "Ready?"

Everyone then glances around the room, anxious to see who's going to stand, and you almost laugh at their surprised exclamations when you push yourself up to your feet.

"What?!" Erin shouts, smiling. "No way!" She then looks to Jeff. "I thought you didn't cut women's hair? You nearly panicked when I asked you buzz my baby hairs."

"This is a special occasion of sorts. You'll understand soon enough," he says.

Now standing next to Jeff, you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him for some much needed comfort. "I know you're all probably confused," you start, "but I have something to tell you and I figured I'd tell as many of you as I can in one go because this is kind of hard to say out loud."

Mariah frowns and leans forward. "What's going on, girl?"

You take a deep breath, but it doesn't help. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, even as you try to screw your mouth and nose up to keep them at bay. The tears suddenly have everyone on edge. "I.. I have cancer." The entire group goes silent and those who'd been staring at their phones immediately drop them. "I found out a little over a month ago and have been having chemo sessions for about just as long."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" David wonders.

You shrug. "It was hard to process at first, but then I just got scared that you'd all treat me differently once you found out. And now that my hair is falling out and Jeff kindly accepted to do me a favor, I figured I'd tell you instead of surprising you with my bald noggin'."

Heath and David are the first out of their seats, the two young men sandwiching you in a hug. You laugh, but then your laughter turns into sobs as you cling to them. One by one, the rest of your friends stand to embrace you and whisper words of encouragement.

When they're done, you step back and wipe your eyes. "None of you guys actually have to stay for the cut, but you're more than welcome to. Jeff's gonna film as if he were back at his own place and I'm just going to talk about how I found out about the cancer."

"We're staying," Jason says. "We're gonna be here for you every step of the way."

You finally take a seat in the chair and Jeff wraps the cape around your neck. You gulp down the lump in your throat, inhaling and exhaling loudly to prepare yourself for what's about to come. The sound of the clippers turn on and you close your eyes when you feel the teeth of the clippers at the front of your hairline.

Then almost as if he's unsure, Jeff slowly drags the clippers atop your head. The moment you feel your hair being cut, you can't stop the tears that start to flow once more. This time, however, they're silent.

"So, uh, how did you find out about the cancer?" Jeff asks.

He continues to cut and it takes you a moment to find your voice. "It was stupid, really," you huff. "I was just feeling kind of worn down, but I wasn't sick. So after being utterly exhausted for no apparent reason, I went to the doctor where they drew some blood and found abnormalities in my blood."

"Didn't you lose your mom to cancer?" Natalie asks.

"I did." Shakily smiling, you take a moment to control your warring emotions. "Since my mom had it, the doctors urged me to get checked out early. I refused. And then I refused again when my dad's sister was diagnosed and my chances of having it as well were even higher."

"God," Erin sighs. "I don't think I could not know. I'd have gotten checked out as soon as possible."

"It's easy to say that if you haven't seen anyone go through it," you tell her. "But I watched my mom go through chemo several times and watched her health slowly deteriorate. I didn't want to get as sick as she did. It was horrible. So I came to the conclusion that if I didn't know, then it was okay. It'd take forever to actually show symptoms and I was fine with that."

"But the symptoms showed up early," Zane guesses.

You nod. "They did."

"What- what kind of cancer is it?" Matt asks.

"Breast. Exactly like my mom had, but nowhere as advanced as hers was."

"So that's a good thing. Right?" Todd wonders.

"I mean.." you trail off, shrugging. "My chances are better than hers were, but I'd rather not have cancer to begin with."

Everyone falls silent and the only sound for a few minutes are the buzzing clippers.

You let Jeff move your head this way as he cuts, almost missing his question. "Now that you know, do you wish you'd have gotten checked sooner?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Because if they had caught it sooner, then I wouldn't need chemo," you admit. "So my advice to everyone is, is that even though you hate doctor visits, schedule them for at least every six months. And if your family has a history of cancer, get checked as soon as possible and schedule appointments every three months to make sure nothing pops up suddenly."

"Okay. And we're.. done."

Jeff cleans you off and unlatches the cape from around your neck, but you're frozen in your seat. Your head feels a whole lot lighter and though you asked Jeff for this haircut, you don't want to see it.

"Y/N?" Carly's soft voice pulls you out of your mind.

"I'm okay." You shakily smile. "I just- it's just a lot to take in. Now I know how my mom felt when my brother cut her hair those three times."

Jeff comes around to stop before you, he grabbing your hands and gently pulling you to your feet. "Whatever you need, we're here for you." He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. "If you want to go to a wig shop, we'll go to a wig shop."

You sniffle, chuckling. "No offense to your fantastic cut, but we're definitely going to a wig shop."

"Hell yes we are, baby," Zane agrees.

The others slowly start to unwind from the serious situation you dropped into their laps, and though there are still tears in their eyes and pity in their expressions, they try to make the best of it.

Plans are made to keep you decently active, your friends wheedle more information out of you about your family's health history, and then before Jeff can leave you follow him outside.

"Hey," you call out, stalling him, the hood of your jacket pulled up and over your head. "I know how annoying some of your viewers are, so if you want I can make an intro or outro for your video to let everyone know the video was my idea and that you didn't make it for the views."

Jeff sheepishly smiles. "You watch my videos?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" You grin. "Of course I watch them. So what do you say?"

"I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Y/N."

"Mhm. And thank you. For everything."

Jeff's dimples make an appearance as he smiles, he nodding before getting in his vehicle to take his leave.

The news of your cancer took every one of the fans by surprise.

Jeff had edited his video as quickly as he could and posted it with your permission. Then as soon as his video was up, you took a couple of selfies and posted them to Instagram with a link to the video that explained everything. The love and support that had quickly followed left you in tears, and feeling quite content with yourself for your decision to no longer keep your illness a secret.

The chemotherapy eventually got the best of you and there were times when you couldn't even get out of bed. It went from your friends constantly checking on you to moving you into David's spare bedroom when they found you struggling to breathe one day from an anxiety attack. You hadn't wanted to become a burden, but everyone was in agreement that they'd feel better if you lived with one of them until treatment was over. And seeing as you lived closest to Natalie and David, it was their home you moved into.

You filmed bits for everyone's vlogs to talk about your journey with cancer and about the progress you'd made while getting treatment. But soon the treatments stopped and you had to endure yet more testing to see if the chemo was doing it's job.

Then a week later, you're getting ready to go visit the doctor for your results.

As you're sliding your feet into a pair of sneakers, David's just getting home.

"Hey, Y/N. Going out?"

"Yeah." Pulling a beanie atop your head, you fix it just right before meeting David's gaze. "Today's the big day. I find out whether or not I can stop chemo for good or have to have another round."

His eyes subtly widen. "Yeah? Can I go?"

"Sure. You mind driving? I'm a bit anxious."

"Not at all. Lets go."

The drive is mostly a relaxed one, David asking about your plans should you get good news. You told him that you'd be moving back into your own apartment and that you were going back to work as soon as possible because your job was still waiting for you.

David then proceeded to assure you that no matter what he and all your friends would be there for you to fall back on should you need it. Of course you knew that, but it was nice to hear it again.

The following wait in the waiting room is quite excruciating and David grips onto your hand as your knee bounces anxiously. Smiling sheepishly, you try to quit the knee bouncing, but it starts back up moments later.

When your name is finally called, you drag David with you into the back room. Hand in hand, you enter the doctor's main office and only have to wait another hand full of minutes. Your doctor's expression is quite unreadable and even David's knee starts to bounce anxiously, but when she beams at you, you break down.

Remission. You are in complete remission.

Your face is in your hands as you sob, David's rubbing your back, and it takes you a moment to calm down. Then when you're finally able to control yourself and glance up, even the doctor is teary-eyed. She tells you that all tests and scans came back clean, but she'd still like to see you every three months to make sure nothing suddenly pops back up. You're more than okay with that and after gathering some paperwork, and standing up to hug your doctor, you and David are soon on your way.

Outside the office building, you and David stare at one another before he opens his arms and you throw yourself at him. He's laughing, you're crying and laughing, and the two of you just hug it out far longer than a hug should last.

"So who are we telling first?" He wonders, grinning.

"Jeff. Definitely Jeff," you say. "He was the first to know I had cancer, so he should the first- well, second now- to know I'm in remission."

"Well alright then. But just so you know, I'm recording their reactions."

You laugh. "Of course you are."

#fanficimagery #imagine #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad x reader #vlog squad #jeff wittek imagine #david dobrik imagine #jeff wittek #david dobrik #heath hussar #zane hijazi #erin gilfoy #mariah amato #jason nash #natalie mariduena #matt king #toddy smith #todd smith #carly incontro

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

Text

Done in the Dark

Summary: Your secret relationship with Bucky comes to light in the worst possible way. Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Niece!Reader x Tony Stark Word Count: 3805 Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Drinking, naked Bucky, bubble bath with Bucky, implied smut, nightmares, Winter Soldier type violence, choking (not the fun kind). Square Filled: Hurt/Comfort for @marvelfluffbingo Square Filled: “What Did You Do?” for @buckybarnesbingo [M] A/N: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I have no desire to trigger anyone with my fics, but this was an idea that came to me based on a personal experience with my ex-fiance, a Marine who suffers from PTSD. What happened with him was nowhere near as bad as what happens in the fic, and we are no longer together, but it had nothing to do with this particular incident. If you need to skip this fic, I completely understand.

You watched the yellow cab pull away from the Avengers’ compound, waiting until it disappeared into the horizon before you bit your lip and approached the front entry. Security put you through the third degree, but before too long, you were finally buzzed inside.

“Well, look who it is,” Tony Stark grinned, coming towards you. “The prodigal niece.”

You smiled as he hugged you tight. “Hey, Uncle Tony.”

“You should have told me you were coming, kid. I would have let security know, you wouldn’t have set off alarms, had weapons on standby …”

“Did I really?” Your eyes went wide.

“It’s nothing,” Tony winked, leaving you unsure if he was kidding or not. “What’s the occasion? Been a while since you came to see me.”

You licked your lips, eyeing the man with the dark hair who was passing by. “Oh, well, you know, I just … I needed a getaway. Mom gets crazy sometimes, you know, and Dad’s away on business.”

Tony glanced where you were looking. “Right, of course. You’re welcome, as long as you need to stay. Y/N, you know — you’ve met the darker of our two supersoldiers, yes? Sergeant Bucky Barnes, my niece, Y/N.”

Bucky gave you a tight smile and nodded, quickly shaking your hand. “Yeah, we’ve met. Nice to see you again, miss.”

You drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, you, too. Uncle Tony, I’m starving. What are the chances we could get something amazing to eat here?”

Bucky went his way as you and Tony went yours. Your surrogate uncle showed you to an empty room where you could stay for your visit. He called it a room, but it was more like a suite, complete with a small living space, a kitchenette, and a bed tucked into a smaller room off of the living space. A bathroom completed the setup, and you already couldn’t wait to get into that tub.

“Hungry? I’ll take you to dinner. You brought a dress?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course I did. I know better than to stick with my usual casual attire when packing to see you.”

Tony winked and left you in the room alone to wash up and get ready for dinner. You unpacked first, laying your dress on the bed, then heading to the shower in the bathroom off your room. You took your time, making sure that your appearance would be on par for anyone associated with Tony Stark in public. Oh, you knew Tony didn’t care one way or the other, but you didn’t want to be a disappointment.

You called Tony when you were done, and he said he would meet you out front with the car so the two of you could head to dinner. You made sure you had what you needed in your purse for the evening, then opened the door and gasped.

“Sorry,” Bucky smirked, “I didn’t mean to spook you.”

You chuckled and waved him off. “It’s fine. Is anyone around?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just you and me. I wanted to see you all dolled up before you left. You look … you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” You smiled coyly and went up on tiptoe and Bucky bent down, the two of you meeting in the middle in a sweet, brief kiss. As soon as you were flat back on your feet, as much as your heels would allow, you looked both ways, then sighed. “Someday we won’t have to keep this a secret.”

Bucky brushed his knuckles over your cheek. “You’re right. Sooner, hopefully, than later. How do you feel about having a sit down with Tony while you’re here this time? We’ll tell him everything, together, and whatever his reaction is, we’ll handle it, together.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “You really think you’re ready for that?”

Bucky smiled and nodded, taking both of your hands in his. “I’m ready to let everyone know that you’re my girl. I think Tony’s trusting me much more these days — the missions are helping with that. If he doesn’t want me dating his niece, then …”

“Then he’ll have his niece to deal with,” you finished, one brow raised and your feisty side coming through in your tone. “I’d better get to the car before he comes looking for me. I’ll come find your room tonight, after everyone’s asleep?”

Bucky kissed you again. “I’d hoped you would.”

You smiled and walked towards the entrance to meet Tony and the car, your fingers mingling with Bucky’s until the last possible second.

The restaurant was crowded. You were always surprised by the number of patrons these extravagant places attracted; could that many people really afford such a bill? You didn’t have long to linger on that thought today, as the hostess immediately saw you and Tony to a table for two.

You trailed behind them, watching Tony nod and wave to a few people along the way. Your hands smoothed out your dress and tucked your hair behind your ears. You felt as though all eyes were on you, as if everyone knew you didn’t really belong here. You wondered how many of them thought you were nothing more than one of Tony’s young, less-than-brilliant conquests.

“Stop fidgeting,” Tony told you when you were seated and the hostess had gone off to relay your drink orders to the waiter. “You belong here just as much as any of them.”

You smirked. “It’s like you read my mind.”

“I have known you for a while now, and I’m a genius, so.” He shrugged, as if that one statement explained everything.

Once you had a little wine in your system, the other patrons were less intimidating. You were able to focus on the conversation with Tony and the filling meal you had picked from the menu.

“Tell me really why you came,” Tony prompted when the plates were cleared and a second bottle of wine was delivered to the table.

You licked your lips. It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him that Bucky was part of the reason you had come, but you didn’t want to step out on the plan you and Bucky had made to sit down with Tony soon and tell him about your relationship. You left that part out and reiterated what you had told him earlier about your mother.

“It’s like when Dad is out of town, she really loses it, you know? I don’t know what it is, but she just — she’s so angry all the time. Dad makes good money. She’s got everything she’s ever asked for and then some at her disposal, but if he isn’t there to answer her beck and call personally, she’s mad at the world.”

Tony pursed his lips, carefully weighing his words before he spoke them — not something he did often. “When your father told me he was marrying your mother, I wasn’t sure if that was the greatest idea. But, then again, I wasn’t one, at the time, to speak well of any relationship. He’s one of my oldest friends, and he seemed happy. You maybe haven’t always seen it, Y/N, but she has been this way since they started dating.”

You let out a breath. “Why does he stay?”

Tony’s answer was simple, matter-of-fact. “He loves her. That’s all he needs to know.”

You nodded. Love was something you had only begun to understand as more than fairytales and pretty lies when you had met Bucky and got to know him. His dark past made him somewhat dangerous, and he had warned you that sometimes he could feel the memories sneaking up on him. You didn’t care. You fell for him fast and hard, and that was all you needed to know.

“Did I lose you, kiddo?”

You snapped your attention back to Tony. “Sorry, yeah. Maybe. Just processing, I guess.”

Tony smiled. “You’ve had a busy day, traveling and coming out with me. Let’s get you back to the compound and let that wine put you to sleep.”

You smiled, too. You were tired, and the wine had calmed you even more, but it wasn’t either of those things that was going to put you to sleep that night.

Tony dropped you off to the room that was yours for your stay, then told you he would be in the lab if you needed anything. You kissed his cheek and bid him good night, then slipped into your room and shut the door behind you. A few seconds after the lock clicked on the door, soft music floated from the bathroom. You bit your lip and smiled, hoping your suspicions were correct about who was waiting for you there.

“I was hoping I had the timing right,” a shirtless Bucky smiled at you were you stopped in the doorway to step out of your heels. “The tub just finished filling.”

You looked over to the tub and saw a layer of bubbles right at the brim of the tub. A few candles were lit on the counter, filling the space with the lovely, calming scent of lavender. The soft music continued to play as Bucky took your hand and pulled you gently to his chest, kissing your lips.

“Hi,” you whispered, looking up into his blue eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky returned with a sexy smirk. “C’mon. Let’s get you into the bath.”

Bucky slipped his vibranium arm behind you, found the zipper on your dress, and slowly unzipped the garment. His hands moved under the straps of your dress then, pushing them away from your shoulders, following them down until the dress was piled at your feet. He held your hand to keep you balanced while you stepped away from the dress; he pushed it to the side with his foot. He sucked in a deep breath at the lacy, navy blue bra and panties you had on.

“That’s … something,” was all he could manage to say as he continued to stare at you and his eyes darkened with need.

You giggled. “I wore it for you, Buck.”

Bucky met your eyes and smiled, his hands gliding over the skin on your back before spreading over the lace that covered your ass. He met your lips with hungry kisses, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth, massaging your tongue and making you wish you had worn nothing at all under that dress. Too abruptly, Bucky ended the kiss.

“All right, sweetheart. I know what you’ve been dealing with, with your mom. I want you to relax before I work you up again.”

“Too late for that,” you muttered.

But Bucky only smiled and unhooked your bra with one expert hand. He dropped the lacy garment to the floor before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and moving them down your legs; you used his shoulders to balance you as you stepped out this time.

You put a hand on Bucky’s belt buckle. “You’re going to join me, right?”

“Of course. Let me get you in there first, then I’ll be right behind you.”

He held tight to your hand until you were settled safely under the bubbles. The water was the perfect temperature and you delighted in the way the bubbles surrounded you.

Bucky was right behind you, as promised, discarding his jeans and boxers in one swoop. You bit your lip, reminding yourself this bath was about relaxing. Bucky had put in the effort, and you didn’t want to ruin the evening.

Once Bucky was settled behind you with a leg on either side you, you leaned back against his chest. He reached for a washcloth on the side of the tub and dunked it under the water before running it softly over one of your arms, across your chest, and down the other arm.

“Is it helping?” he asked.

You nodded. “It really is. Dinner with Uncle Tony, and this bath, and the rest of the night with you. It’s all helping.”

“Good.” He kissed your hair and continued on running the washcloth over your body, helping you relax even more.

When the water was chilling off and your fingers were pruny, Bucky got out first, reaching for one of two fluffy towels. He helped you to stand, then wrapped the towel around your body. You secured it in place while Bucky used the other towel to dry himself off, leaving it wrapped around his waist.

“What now?” you asked, your tone anything but subtle.

“Now,” Bucky said, slinking towards you, “I find other ways to make you forget about the things your mother said and did.”

Without warning, he lifted you into his arms, bridal-style. You yelped then laughed, kissing Bucky on the cheek and anxious to get into the bedroom with him.

3:41 AM.

That was the time on the clock when you were pulled from sleep by a writhing Bucky next to you. His hair was sweaty and his brow was furrowed deeper than you had ever seen it. Droplets of sweat beaded over his face, his neck, his chest. You sat up and let out a breath; it wasn’t the first time Bucky had been plagued by nightmares while sleeping next to you. You flipped on the lamp on the nightstand and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, shaking gently.

“Bucky,” you said, not too loud but not a whisper either, “wake up. It’s a nightmare, you’re having a nightmare. Everything’s okay. Wake up, Buck.”

His eyes snapped open and looked at you. That wasn’t a first, either. You had seen him looking at you in fear, trying to make sense of the real world and his nightmare world. You would kiss him, assure him everything was okay.

Tonight was different. Bucky’s eyes were cold, distant — almost empty. There was no fear when he looked at you. Your hazy brain couldn’t process fast enough that the dangerous part of Bucky, the one he had warned you about, had come to the surface.

His vibranium arm shrugged your hand away from his shoulder before both of his hands gripped your arms and effortlessly tossed you off the bed. You hit the wall with a hollow thud, spots of different colors and sizes filling your vision. You shook your head in an attempt to normalize your vision, but it didn’t help.

Bucky stalked toward you, still with that cold, empty look in his eyes. You managed to get yourself up on all fours, so you worked to scramble away from him, but he was too quick. Metal fingers wrapped around your ankle, dragging you across the carpet.

“Bucky! Please! Bucky, it’s me!”

But your pleading made no difference. He pulled you up to your feet and slammed you against the wall you had hit less than a minute ago. His flesh hand pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. He pushed you up the wall until your feet dangled inches above the floor. You held tight to his hand, trying in vain to pull it away from your throat, wishing for only enough air for one more breath. In your mind, that would be enough to keep you going. To keep you alive.

Then, all at once, he dropped you. You crumpled to the floor in a coughing, sputtering, gasping mess. You turned to look at Bucky, too afraid now to have your back to him.

There was the fear you had been expecting, glazed over with guilty tears. He looked at his hands as though they weren’t his, then looked to you.

“Y/N, I’m … I don’t …”

He reached out to you, and you slapped his hand away. Once you had caught enough breath, you scrambled to your feet and left the suite, running down the hall to Tony’s room. What a sight you must have been, crying and still coughing, pounding on his door in one of Bucky’s t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts.

He wasn’t entirely awake when he answered the door, but as soon as he saw you, Tony’s eyes went wide and he pulled you into the room. He closed the door behind the two of you.

“All right, all right,” he soothed, kissing your hair. “It was a bad dream. It’s all right. I’m here, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

Tony led you to a couch and sat you down. You kept your head down as you cried, waiting for the light that came on and your uncle’s inevitable reaction to your appearance.

“Look at me,” Tony directed softly.

You did as he asked. The hand mark on your throat was visible now. Tony’s jaw set and his chest puffed out in anger. He asked you, again and again, what had happened, but you refused to tell him. You refused to let him leave your side.

You didn’t remember falling asleep again, but you woke to the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen in Tony’s suite. He brought you a cup, and you raised it to your lips. Your head was throbbing; you reached behind you and found a nice knot at the back of your head. Your whole body was sore and bruised from Bucky throwing you off the bed, and your throat was dry and sore. The coffee felt warm and soothing going down.

“I recognize that shirt,” Tony said, slowly, “so you can tell me what happened, or I can go after him myself and find some answers.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to decide what you were going to do. “It was an accident, Uncle Tony. He didn’t mean to do it.”

Tony nodded; that was all he needed to know. He set his coffee cup down and unceremoniously walked out to the hallway you had come down the night before. You heard him ask FRIDAY for Bucky’s location, and that set you on your feet quicker than you thought possible.

“Sergeant Barnes is in the training room, Mr. Stark.”

Tony set off in a run, and even on your best day, there was no keeping up with him. You moved as fast as you could, arriving at the training room only thirty seconds behind Tony, just in the nick of time to see Iron Man armor wrap around your uncle’s arm.

“Uncle Tony, don’t!” you begged.

Your cry was enough to pull Bucky’s attention. He turned directly into a punch from Tony, knocking Bucky to the floor. He wiped blood from his lip and sat back on his heels.

“Tony …”

“What did you do?” Tony demanded of Bucky. He had his arm extended in Bucky’s direction, a small blaster coming up and out of the armor. “What the fuck did you do, Barnes?”

“Stop!” you cried, planting yourself between Bucky and Tony. “Uncle Tony, it was an accident, I told you. Bucky was having a nightmare, I tried to wake him up. It’s not the first time, but it doesn’t usually go this way. He’s never before and never would, in his right mind, lay a hand on me.”

Tony looked at Bucky, still on his knees, his head hanging in guilt. You sought your uncle’s eyes and pleaded with him to stand down.

“How long has this been going on?” Tony asked you.

You swallowed hard. “A few months. We didn’t tell you because — well, for obvious reasons. But we were going to tell you this weekend. We wanted to sit down and have a conversation about it, but then last night …”

Tony looked at you and then behind you at Bucky. The armor folded back into the watch on his wrist. Bucky muttered something neither of you heard.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, ready to don the armor again at a moment’s notice.

You stepped aside and knelt down next to Bucky. You took his face in your hands and met his eyes. “What’d you say?”

He drew in a breath. “I said, I’m sorry.” He looked to Tony. “I would never hurt her, Stark. I swear it. I was dreaming about HYDRA. I woke up but I — I don’t know. I remember seeing her when she woke me up, and the next thing I remember is choking her. I would never intentionally hurt Y/N. I love her.”

That was news to you, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on such things. Tony stared harshly at Bucky before extending his arm again; both of you jumped a little, until you realized Tony’s hand was reaching out to help.

“C’mon, tin can. Let’s go get both of you checked out.”

Bucky glanced at you, guilt clouding his eyes, before he took Tony’s hand and hoisted himself off the floor. Bucky held a hand out to you and you took it, content to walk with him to the infirmary. You wanted to apologize for panicking and running out the night before, but you didn’t even know how to begin.

Bucky squeezed your hand as the two of you trailed behind Tony. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I love you.”

You put a hand on his face. “I love you too, Buck. I’m so sorry I ran out last night, I —”

“I scared you,” Bucky sighed. “I don’t blame you, and I’m glad you ran, sweetheart. It wasn’t safe for you. I’m not safe for you.”

You stopped in your tracks. Bucky stopped with you. You threw your arms around his middle, hugging him tight until he embraced you around your shoulders. You tilted your head up, and Bucky obliged you a kiss.

“We’re going to figure out why this happened, and I’m not leaving until it’s all cleared up,” you told him definitively, leaving no room for argument. “I love you, Bucky, and no matter what you think, regardless of what happened last night, the safest place for me is to be with you.”

Bucky seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. You realized he had been prepared to part ways for your safety, but it wasn’t what he truly wanted. He was just as scared as you were, maybe more.

At the infirmary, Tony quietly explained to Dr. Banner what had happened. Bruce looked at you, then at Bucky, and nodded.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this. Y/N, I’m going to have you and Tony go into that room over there, I’ll be there shortly to check you out. Sergeant Barnes, if you’ll follow me, we’ll start neurological tests right away.”

You hated the idea of being apart from Bucky just then, but it was necessary. You would be right back with him when you could. You turned to follow Tony, and Bucky followed Banner, but he held tight to your hand, your fingers touching right up to the last possible second.

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @softrogers

#marvelfluffbingo2020 #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #uncle tony #tony stark #stark niece!reader #tw #trigger warnings #ptsd #nightmares #choking #queue and i remember budapest very differently

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greywindys · 4 years

Text

I had a fic I was working on for 2Doc week, but it betrayed me and turned angsty when I wanted something softer. So instead, I thought I could share a fic I never published, and I believe the first fic I ever wrote (dated in Google as complete on June 17th, 2016. Holy moly!)

It fits into day 3′s prompt of firsts - the first night the spent together on good terms. The beginning of the bond, I guess. It could also be considered the first head massage (lmao), as I like to think 2D is good with his hands in various scenarios 😉. (I adapted the head massage into scenes in later fics, but this was the first time I worked with it as a concept.)

If there are any “M” or “D” I apologize! When I was starting out, I was too self-conscious to write their entire names (lmao @ me). Oh, how things have changed. Hopefully, I corrected them all, along with most of the typos...

The rating here is T. Essentially, Murdoc encounters 2D late at night when he can’t sleep, and ends up watching a movie with him. They begin to form a tentative bond, head massages are had as much needed sleep. Takes place during P1.

Also happy bday again, Murdoc 😭

For Murdoc, sleeping is a daunting game of chance. First, there are the good nights, when he drinks enough to remain in a complete stupor until daylight. Then, there are the bad nights when his body’s need for genuine slumber catches up with him. On these nights, he dreams. More often than not, they come to him in the form of nightmares ranging from painfully specific to vague and unsettling. Like a flood, all of the emotions and thoughts he had intended to leave behind in Stoke return.

Tonight is one of those nights.

This one, in particular, is the reason he’s left the grimy safety of his Winne, head still aching. He intends to rummage through the studio mini-fridge for the half-consumed bottle of rum he started that morning. (after all, his anxiety wasn’t going to fix itself). Instead, he's thrilled to discover the fridge has been restocked, and he's about to grab an unopened bottle of rum when he's interrupted by a crash coming from the direction of the lobby.

The noise is coming towards the kitchen now in slow, shuffling steps. Murdoc presumes it could either be one of the wayward demons he summoned the other day, or it could be another one of the building's many intruders looking for a blank wall to vandalize. Nothing he wants to deal with now in his anxious state. Murdoc considers making a run for his Winnebago but decides against it. ‘You’re Murdoc Niccals” he thinks to himself, ‘Bass god and creative genius. You're not ten anymore and you don't get scared.' With that, he braces himself and he turns to face the unknown figure that was now in the doorway.

“Oh...Hi, Murdoc.”

It’s 2D.

“I've got half a mind to lob you through another car window,” he says trying to mask his surprise. “What the hell are you doing walking around with the lights off in the middle of the night?” That must have been the source of the noise. Typical. It’s as if 2D is intentionally searching for a way to get injured.

2D scratches his head. “No need to get so steamed up about it. I, uh, well, I guess I was trying to keep to the ambiance and all that. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake right now.”

“I don’t know what’s so unexpected. I get more done in a night that you would in a year,” Murdoc replies. He takes a sip of one of the bottles of rum he’s assembled on the counter. “So long as there are still songs to write, the siestas can wait.”

“Not sleeping well then?” 2D asks blithely. Murdoc can’t tell if the singer has seen right through him or failed to comprehend a word of what he just said. He finds him very unreadable at times, and in the most infuriating way.

“No. I was working. Being productive. You ought to try it once in a while,” Murdoc grumbles in response. “Anyways. What’s all this about the ‘ambiance’?” As if 2D is that deep. “And why here?”

“That new zombie movie, you know the one I was telling you about? Well, it arrived today,” 2D says with a grin. “And now I’m watching it. It’s a lot scarier when you do it the dark.”

“Well you have a TV, no, THREE TVs in your room,” Murdoc retorts, exasperated. “Just go away and watch it there.”

“Yeah, uh, l thought about that, but the special effects in this one are supposed to be wicked good and the screen in the lobby has a clearer picture than the screens in my room. I would have watched it this afternoon, but Russel said Noodle shouldn’t be watching all the blood and guts, so I waited until now. It’s better watching scary movies late at night anyway, you know?” 2D is looking at Murdoc now, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. “A couple blokes on this forum I was reading were describing it like a Romero meets Raimi type film, really over the top.”

“Sounds like a real Oscar winner you have there,” the sarcasm in Murdoc’s voice is palpable.

“Actually, it was a straight to video release, but you should check it out,” 2D says. “I’m only about ten minutes in now...if you have...time,” he trails off awkwardly.

The band had faced many inexplicable and absurd situations, but it is 2D’s consistent attempts to be friends that confounded Murdoc the most. His first inclination to tell the singer to fuck off. Yet the thought of the solitary journey back through the car park gives him pause. He isn't sure he can handle being alone right now. He needs an immediate distraction, a mood lifter, and making fun of 2D has the potential to be a two in one solution. At the very least, it was a safer gamble than going back and running the risk of falling asleep again.

Murdoc makes 2D wait for an answer in uncomfortable silence before replying. “Fine,” he says, “This better be entertaining.”

2D brightens at his response. “Just let me grab some snacks and then we can go back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and this time turn on the damn lights.”

With some newly acquired light and a bag of crackers in hand, 2D leads Murdoc to the lobby. A collection of pillows and blankets litter the floor. All the while, and to Murdoc’s annoyance, he takes the time to tell him every detail of the conception of his setup. He had been in the lobby for the past four hours watching movies. According to 2D, doing so in such an open area was much scarier than in his room or even in the building’s cinema. He was also sorry because they would have to turn the lights off again when the film starts. “Because well, you know, Muds. The ambiance.”

“Just start the bloody movie will you,” Murdoc replies from his spot on the floor. The size of Kong is intimidating at night, and it’s not helping him calm down. He hates how much his dreams still affect him. Physically, he had left all the bad energy behind ages ago, but mentally it follows him like a low-hanging mist, threatening to completely engulf him daily. He couldn't seem to make it go away, but he could control how much he thought about it. Alcohol was typically his mainstay but right now, that job belonged to an unwitting 2D. If he didn’t start the movie soon, Murdoc was going to set his entire movie collection on fire.

“It’s the little triangle that does the trick, right?” 2D asks as he studies the remote. “Never mind. I think I have it. There we go.”

The scene starts with a group of young adults in their twenties hiking through the woods as night falls. Occasionally, the camera switches angles. It shows the group from alternate perspectives such as the bushes or the tops of trees.

“The director wanted to flip the whole slow zombie portrayal on its head,” 2D explains. “There’s already been talk of fast zombies in the indie horror community, but he wants to take that one step further. In an interview, he said that not only were his zombies going to be fast, but they were also going to fly.”

“That’s stupid. And you thought this was worth the twenty or so quid you blew on it?”

“He’s ahead of his time. You’ll see. Look,” 2D says through a mouthful of crackers. He points to the current scene. One of the protagonists had wandered away from his group in search of a good place to set up camp. “See what he does with the camera there? We’re watching the main character from the perspective of a flying zombie. The director wanted to make a movie about an outbreak that emerges in the wilderness, not because of some virus. It's meant to add to the impossibility of the situation. How do we fight against something not man-made? Watching the film through the eyes of the monster emphasizes how alone and insignificant we are in the face of well, everything. Man versus nature, nature versus man.”

Murdoc grabs the bag of crackers from 2D. “Oh please. This is hardly cutting edge. We all know they’ll all be dead in the end because nature is bigger than man. Duh.” He takes a handful for himself and continues watching.

2D ignores him and continues his reflection. “It makes me wonder whether it would be better to be a zombie at the end, rather than survive. Not sure I would want the loneliness that comes with it.”

Murdoc is beginning to realize that 2D is in one of his chatty, philosophical moods. He attempts to tune out the singer’s blathering with another drink from the bottle of rum he brought with him from the kitchen. He came here to watch a ridiculous movie. Instead, he's stuck listening to banal musings about the true nature of humanity from someone with a half-functioning brain.

“Well if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse here, I’ll be sure to let them eat you first if you’re so eager. You’re already halfway there anyway, and certainly no better off than these divs on screen.”

“Thanks, Muds. If I ever get infected, I’ll make sure not to bite you...unless you want me too,” 2D replies.

This time, it’s Murdoc's turn to ignore him. “Anyways, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who’s too pathetic to fight against a zombie apocalypse deserves whatever is coming to them.” He gets a twisted sense of comfort from blaming.

“I dunno...I don’t see any shame in being afraid of a monster bigger than you. That’s what makes these movies so scary. We all have our own monsters that seem impossible to overcome,” 2D says sagely. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.”

Murdoc scowls. “Does watching movies at this hour always turn you into a half-braindead Socrates? Or Plato? Hippocrates? He's just naming names now. He fidgets.

On-screen, another character screams as one of the zombies bites her arm.

“Are you alright there, Muds?” Why did 2D have to pick up on everything? “Movie too scary for ya?”

“No!” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not that… It’s just...” Neither 2D nor the rum he grabbed from the fridge earlier had done anything to dull his current bout of nerves. Instead, all the tension has been gathering at the base of his neck. The throbbing in his head from before is even worse. He groans in frustration.

“You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”

“...It’s my head.”

“Oh, you have a headache,” 2D says, seemingly pleased that it’s an issue well within the breadth of his expertise. “Do you need any help with it? I was talking with my mum about mine just last week; she gave me something good.”

Murdoc perks up. He could count on one hand the number of scenarios where he would place his trust in 2D. Pain medicine was one of them. A strong painkiller could change everything. “Do you happen to any of those buggers with you now?”

“Sure,” 2D says, smiling as he moves closer to where Murdoc is sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m um, well for this to work I’m actually going to have to touch your head.”

Immediately, Murdoc jerks away. “You what?!”

2D shrinks back in response. “It’s just a head massage, Muds. My mum’s worried about the number of prescriptions I have so we cut one of the stronger ones out and replaced it with this. We wanted to see if it made a difference. I’ve been going to a massage therapist for the past two weeks or so. It doesn’t quite do the trick but it works well enough, I picked up some technique myself, uh, I think.”

“You can take all that geeky zen rubbish and sod off,” Murdoc mutters.

“Okay, Muds...alright.”

They continue watching the screen as victim after victim gets infected. 2D continues to interject with overlong descriptions about symbolism, zombie lore, and film technique. Murdoc weighs his options. If he’s being honest, he’s at a point where he would accept anything that might make him feel better. But why did it have to be 2D? On the other hand, the singer wouldn’t stop talking. Considering it was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have to find out, Murdoc makes his decision. Allowing 2D to touch his head in this scenario was justified. Interrupting yet another explanation about the folly of man, he asks, “Hey uh...2D? You know that massage you were talking about? Will giving me one make you shut up for more than ten minutes?”

“Oh..uh,” 2D sounds surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, we can give it a try.” Hesitantly, he moves behind Murdoc and begins.

2D’s fingers send tiny sparks along Murdoc’s scalp as he kneads the muscles in his forehead, moving downwards along his hairline. He dwells on how amazing it feels but pushes that thought to the side with haste. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen and the excessive depictions of gore and chaos. It’s an apt representation of turmoil he is currently feeling inside. What he finds so maddening about 2D, even more than his inscrutability and empty-headedness, was his willingness to be kind to Murdoc. Murdoc had spent the past twenty or so years convincing himself that kindness was not meant to be a part of his life. There was something inherent to his existence that repelled it from him. And he had come to accept that until 2D had to come along and mess it all up. It had to be because he was just too stupid, there was no other answer. Murdoc wasn’t sure he would be able to handle any other answer.

As 2D moves his hands to the back of Murdoc’s head, he begins softly humming. He begins following along to the soundtrack of the movie but soon trails off on his own. Evidently, watching the movie without any sort of verbalization was not going to happen. However, the melody he’s come up with is wistful and soothing. Murdoc makes a mental note to ask him about it in the morning to see if it would fit with some lyrics he had drafting. Slowly, and a bit self-consciously, Murdoc feels himself begin to relax.

“How does it feel so far? Is it working?” 2D asks.

Oh, it was working. More than that, Murdoc realizes a significant amount of his tension had abated. The darkness of the lobby no longer looks so menacing, the unpleasant memories that were hovering over him seem to have floated away. He's never been able to settle himself down from a bad night without copious amounts of alcohol. It’s an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation.

“I think the movie is almost over. Didn’t quite live up to the hype but it was still pretty entertaining after all. How about you?” 2D asks, still looking for a response.

Murdoc yawns. “I’ll give this director you were so excited about some credit. He knows his way around a good death scene. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fake blood used that way before.”

“The fake blood actually cause a lot of controversies because some of it was real animal blood. I almost didn’t buy it myself.”

“Ah. A man after my own heart.” 2D’s hands are still kneading the back of his head when Murdoc moves to lie down on his stomach.

“Oh, are you going to sleep now?” 2D asks.

“No. Keep going.” He would have never considered it earlier in the night but, as the singer's fingers continue to run through his hair, Murdoc muses that sleep may not sound so bad after all. Even though it was just 2D, it’s comforting to have him there.

“So I guess it’s been helping then? My mum will glad to hear,” 2D says. “But you might want to run a comb through your hair a bit more often, it’s all greasy...also a bit tangled in the back.”

“Just...shut up.”

So he does, returning to the reflective melody he had been humming just minutes ago. It’s the singer’s soft croon that sticks in Murdoc's mind as he finally drifts off completely.

-------

When his eyes open, the first thing Murdoc notices is the half-empty bottle of rum he had left by his side. The next thing he notices is that he's still in the lobby, surrounded by blankets. He must have slept there the entire night.

“Oh, morning, Muds,” comes a familiar voice just to the right of him. “You’re awake.”

Turning quickly in the direction of the voice, Murdoc finds himself face to face with 2D. “What the hell are you still doing here?” M demands, mortified, “Why didn’t you go back to your own room?”

“Well, I was going to do that, but once you laid down, I wanted to lay down too, and you rolled over on my arm and wouldn’t budge. I tried to tell you, but all you did was try and elbow me. You missed though,” 2D mumbles. It sounds like he’s still half asleep. “Then I guess I just nodded off.”

Murdoc feels his embarrassment beginning to morph into anger but decides to ignore it. He's pretty comfortable right where he is. “You’re lucky you’re my lead singer.” 2D was also lucky that he gave good head massages. “Because otherwise, you would be on some really thin ice right now.”

“We’ll be lucky to see any ice at all this winter what with all the warm weather.”

Usually, an obtuse response from 2D would have earned him a string of insults or a swat on the head. Today was not going to be one of those days. Murdoc turns again so that he’s facing away from the singer, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the light. He was going to savor the moment a bit longer. Despite 2D being 2D, it’s rare that he’s ever felt so at peace.

“Hey, Murdoc? Wait,” 2D says, “You never gave me my arm back.”

“Too bad. I’ll check back in a couple hours,” Murdoc grins beneath the blanket. He still couldn’t pass up a chance to inconvenience the singer at every opportunity. It was too much fun.

“Don’t be such a wanker,” 2D says as he attempts to jerk his arm out from underneath the bassist. “I was nice to you!”

He was right. And he was probably nicer than he deserved, given their history. For that reason, Murdoc would roll off his arm soon enough. He still wanted to talk to him about that song he had been humming.

The singer had surprised him last night. Murdoc knew that 2D had an uncanny ability to figure out how to annoy him to maximum effect, but he never would have expected him to also know what to do to put him at ease. Underneath the covers, he ponders what exactly this realization means to him. He isn’t sure, but he knows it means something. It wasn’t going to eliminate the underlying resentment he still clung to, nor was it going to solve his infinite list of issues. But at the very least, he could rest assured knowing that he wasn’t completely alone.

#ficpost #2doc week 2020 #it's interesting to reflect on what's changed #anyhow! just a little thing to close out the week

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

90+96?

90. Unexpected Virgin + 96. Scars

from fanfiction trope mashup here

continuation of me filling ancient, 2 year old prompts in my inbox! sometimes you just gotta return to the basics and write post-movie first time :’) this is the first thing ive written on my new laptop, MOMENTOUS OCCASION. as u might have guessed 18+/NOT SFW BELOW CUT

—————

They’re about an hour into the impromptu We Didn’t Die! party currently ravaging the base when Hermann–stripped out of his sweatervest, and clutching his cane like a lifeline–suddenly grips Newt by the forearm and swings him around to face him. “Newton,” he declares, as the contents of Newt’s plastic cup slosh to the floor, “I would like to invite you back to my quarters.”

It’s probably due to the two shots of vodka Newt downed in quick succession about twenty minutes into the impromptu party that the innuendo flies right over his head, and, instead of accepting enthusiastically, he merely draws his face into a pout. It’s not unusual for Hermann to force him to go to bed, especially after a week of all-nighters in the lab, but now? During this? They’re practically guests of fucking honor. “To sleep? Lame. I’m not tired. Hey, unwind, have a drink!” He pushes his plastic cup into Hermann’s face.

Hermann pushes it away. “I believe you misunderstood me,” he says. “I’m asking you to have sex with me, Newton.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

They’re out of LOCCENT in a flash, and bursting through the door of Hermann’s cramped quarters in another. Newt has been fucking vibrating with energy all day long–excitement, elation, fear, straight-up terror–and he’s more than ready to unleash all twelve hours’ worth of it, plus twelve years’ worth of pathetic pining, on Hermann in the most awesome, cathartic victory sex the world has ever seen. And now that they’re finally alone–now that they’re finally alone together–

“I am so fucking horny right now,” Newt breathes. He kicks off his boots: one of them flies across the room and knocks over a precariously-balanced stack of books, while the other smacks against Hermann’s dresser and sends a photograph of Newt and Hermann crashing to the floor. “Holy shit, you have no clue. Oh my God.” Truthfully, he’s been sporting a half-boner since he threw his arm around Hermann in LOCCENT, and Hermann gave him that little smile and tucked up against him, but Hermann doesn’t need to know that.

Hermann’s eyes are dark, and his pupils are wide. He wets his lips as those eyes sweep over Newt. “I. Ah. I am, as well.”

“Fuck yes,” Newt says. He moves his hands to his collar, where he rips off his tie, but he stops at his buttons with a grin. He could at least pretend to play hard to get. “Hey, you want me to take my shirt off?”

“That’s typically what’s done, isn’t it?” Hermann says. “During–” He clears his throat. “During these sorts of things?”

“Right,” Newt says. “Okay, do yours too.”

They take their shirts off. Hermann is sporting a nice set of shoulders and biceps, and an even nicer set of pecs, and Newt thinks that trim waist would be the perfect size to wrap his fingers around, but his too-pale skin hugs his ribs a little too-tightly. There’s not a hint of hair in sight. The exact opposite of Newt, basically, in all his hairy, tattooed, out of shape glory. It’s kind of perfect. Newt bets they’d fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.

He wolf-whistles before he can help himself. “I should’ve known you’d be even hotter under all those stupid sweaters.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. His mouth twitches up into a coy echo of his earlier smile. “Thank you. I think.”

Newt wants to get all over that hot bod, and so he does, inching up to Hermann until their stomachs brush and their chins bump, and planting his hands on either side of that neat, sexy waist. He’s right about it being the perfect size to grab. Hermann watches him through his dark lower lashes, standing perfectly still; he’s holding his breath. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

They kiss. It’s pretty cool, even if Hermann stands as stiff as a board, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even if when he finally decides to use tongue it’s at the moment Newt decides to use teeth and he ends up firmly biting down on it. “Ow,” Hermann hisses, pulling back sharply.

“Sorry,” Newt says. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages. I kinda forget how to, uh...” He tries to kiss Hermann again, but at Hermann’s darkening, skeptical expression, drops it. “Uh, you wanna take this to the bed?”

“Take off your jeans first,” Hermann says.

They stare at each other.

“Not–I mean yes, but–what I mean is they’re filthy,” Hermann snaps. “I’m not having you dirty up my sheets. Grime and blood and who on Earth knows what else.”

“Sure,” Newt says, and grins again. He fumbles with his belt and drops his jeans, and Hermann’s gaze drops too. Never one to pass up putting on a show, Newt tips his crotch forward to make his boner just that bit more prominent, and just that bit more in Hermann’s personal space. “Like what you’re seeing?”

Hermann nods.

Newt takes Hermann’s right hand and places it on his hip, just the waistband of his boxers. “You wanna take these off?” he says. He punctuates the question with a little kiss to Hermann’s throat. It’s so smooth–not at all like the scratchy, stubbly mess across Newt’s. He kisses it again, just ‘cause it’s nice, and feels more than hears the low rumble of a groan that rises in the back of it. Hermann’s shut his eyes.

“Ah–Newton–”

When it becomes clear Hermann won’t be sticking his hands down Newt’s boxers any time soon, Newt backs him up to his bed and pushes him down into it. Hermann sprawls backwards with a small thump. His cane clatters to the floor. “You gotta do some of the work here, dude,” Newt laughs.

To his surprise, Hermann flushes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I haven’t much. Er. Experience, with this sort of thing. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

This comes as no small surprise to Newt. Hermann’s just…Hermann, y’know? He’s bitchy, and weird, and kind of weird-looking, but he has a sexy way of rolling his r’s and a sexy mouth and, apparently, a sexy bod, and if Newt–the guy’s certifiable rival–has wanted to get into his pants for ages, he’s sure he can’t have been the only one. But hell if the thought of being the first one to do it doesn’t turn him on likes crazy. “Luckily for you, I’m a pro at sex,” he lies. “I’m amazing. Just ask anyone. Wait, uh, not anyone, I don’t mean–”

“I know,” Hermann says. He sits up and plucks at Newt’s waistband. “May I take these off now?” He wets his lips again.

“By my fucking guest, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann tucks two elegant, nimble fingers under the elastic and slips Newt’s underwear down to pool around his ankles, finally letting his erection breathe a little. Newt leers down at him. “What about now?” he says. “Huh? You like this?”

But Hermann isn’t looking at his dick, inches from his nose though it is; Hermann’s looking to the left of it. “You have a scar here,” he says, and pokes at a small expanse of skin on Newt’s thigh between two tattoos.

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah, dude. I rammed into a table when I was rollerskating in the house once and had to get stitches.”

Hermann traces his fingers over the scar. “You must have been quite the handful as a child,” he says wryly.

The incident in question happened when Newt was twenty-four, but he decides it’s best to not divulge that particular bit of information to Hermann. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hermann reaches down and unbuckles his own belt, then begins to partially wriggle out of his stupid baggy pants and tighty-whiteys. “We’re matching,” he says. “Look.”

His left hip and thigh is a mess of scar tissue that Newt imagines, at one point, must’ve hurt like a bitch. Way more than Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. Way more than could even be compared to Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. But he smiles anyway: he likes the idea of it being some giant, flashing sign from the universe of their drift compatibility. “Have you looked in the mirror?” he says, and shuts his non-bloodied eye to make his point. “We’re not just matching there.”

“Hopefully not permanently,” Hermann says. He finally turns his attention on Newt’s dick, scrutinizing it like it’s one of his incomprehensible equations. It gets Newt even hotter. “Would you like to have sex now? I’m eager to put your renowned skills to the test.”

Newt doesn’t miss the sarcasm. It’d be kind of hard to. “Jackass,” he says. “Move over, I’m getting in.”

Hermann divests himself of the rest of his clothing and shuts off the overhead light while Newt makes himself comfortable on Hermann’s bed, though he leaves his small bedside lamp on to cast them both in a cozy yellow glow. All of Hermann’s room is shockingly cozy, in fact: the quilt tucked in neatly to his cushy mattress, the tea kettle on his dresser, the soft rug on the floor, the space heater (shut off) half-hidden in the corner. No wonder Hermann sleeps in so late. If Newt’s setup was like this, he’d never leave his quarters either.

“We could get under this, if you’d like,” Hermann says, pinching a bit of the quilt. “It’ll be warmer. It can get very chilly in here.” He fidgets. “And. Er. It’ll be easier to wash my sheets, rather than…”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Newt says.

They move under the quilt. Hermann’s breath is warm on Newt’s face, and losing a layer seems to have imbibed Hermann with a newfound sense of confidence; his hands begin wandering across Newt’s body, up his sides, down his back, squeezing and pinching his skin, cupping his ass, and he layers kiss after kiss to Newt’s neck, his throat, his jaw. Newt rocks into each touch and moans helplessly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermann murmurs into his ear.

Newt laughs weakly. He’s gotten cute once or twice, but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful. It’s nice. He likes it. “Aw, dude.”

“You are,” Hermann says. “I’ve always thought you were. It’s been a terrible distraction in the laboratory.” He leans in and kisses Newt, still as graceless and chaste as before, but his low murmur has returned when he finishes, and it makes heat pool in Newt’s stomach. “Mm, sometimes all I could think about was how badly I wanted you.”

“Sometimes I used to jack off after we argued,” Newt blurts out.

Hermann blinks, surprised, and laughs. “Did you?”

“In the bathroom. Once in the supply closet. Nnh. Ah, fuck, Hermann, fuck–”

Bored of talking, apparently, Hermann’s decided to creep his hand lower and curl it around Newt’s dick. His touch is light, and unsure, and it kinda just makes it all even sexier. “I wish you told me this was your first time,” Newt whines out, pushing into Hermann’s fist. “I would’ve, guh, bought you dinner. Or something. We could’ve waited. Made it–made it meaningful.”

“Darling,” Hermann says, “this is perfect.”

Hermann kisses him; Newt comes, gasping and whining into his mouth. It’s a little embarrassing. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful, but he knows no one’s ever called him darling, and with Hermann the one being so sweet to him--it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pants afterwards, while Hermann examines the sticky mess on his fingers with mild interest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I wanted to last longer.”

“Oh, we’ve got all night,” Hermann says, sounding pleased. He wipes his fingers off with tissues from a box on his bedside, then drags Newt’s hand under the covers to cup his own neglected dick, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. Newt swallows down a whimper. It’s not fair that Hermann is doing better at this than Newt. “I would like very much for you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Newt squeaks.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw /////

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tothedarkdarkseas · 3 years

Note

I think it's interesting to think about the less intimate relationships the two might share. You said something a whiiiiile ago about Murdoc "getting the same pleasure from fucking vs watching Stu shag a girl then getting told to clean it up" which got me thinking.

If Stu hated the idea of "doing favors" for Murdoc so much, what if he never even touched Murdoc? What if Murdoc was only allowed to watch him shag girls, and that was it? How do you think it would affect Murdoc's fantasies/how he pictured himself in certain fantasies?

Even down the line, years from then, if all Stu let him do was "blow him like a chick", would Murdoc be content with just that?

(I'm sorry for the delay responding to this, I was out of town for the past few days, but I'm back!)

I think that I've mentioned this but perhaps failed to convey it as well as I'd like in the past: I'm very much on board for both removing intimacy or adding unconventional intimacy, because despite crude appearances on this blog, my main interest is not making their dynamic sexual in whichever flavour's on offer, but exploring how the addition or the lack of sexuality between the two plays with their dynamic, their identities, their codependence, so on. What's happening in their heads and how that is disguised or revealed by their physical actions is really what it's all about.

...And yeah, alright, I do also quite like Murdoc just having a lot of sexual dysfunction and think that vibe of willful-chronic-degradation says a lot. Were I in a position to do more writing than I have been lately (I'm sorry!) I would love to spend some time in a world where their relationship is entirely nonphysical (at least when looked at directly) but is clearly A Thing, A Thing Of Wordless Shape That Definitely Isn't Nothing. As intrigued as he would be by this proposal, I don't want to discredit Murdoc quite so much as to say he'd agree to go exclusive and/or nonphysical from the rest of the world if Stuart is never touching him... but presuming he's still having trysts here and there with groupies, I think this setup is extremely feasible, given his relationship with his dominatrix has already been alluded to as largely nonphysical.

Would it impact how he pictures himself logistically in fantasies? Surely, yes. I think it would tickle a particular (and not particularly healthy) bit of the ID for Murdoc to be made the voyeur, made the washrag, made the furniture-- and I don't think that last one needs to be literal, regardless of what he's seen on certain websites. I think the psychology of being so removed from the basic intimacy of touching, looking at, and sharing a physical experience with another human being that it renders him nonhuman can enable an unhealthy fantasy, one that Murdoc could find avoidance through. I reckon the lines of fantasy, escapism, and avoidance are hair-thin for him.

I'm unsure that Murdoc would remain entirely content with this situation 10-20 years on; again, if there is an exclusivity that bars him from full-contact sex with anyone, no, I don't think even Murdoc could edge himself or revel in the degradation of oral-only rosy palms alone for that long. If he's otherwise carrying on however he likes with whoever he likes, but this scenario is the only way he is allowed to exist sexually with Stuart... well, that would have legs to go on a little longer. I would not personally object to this as a permanent barrier between them, I love Baggage That Doesn't Go Away, but I do suspect one or the other would push, bit by bit, simply because they cannot stop themselves; it is their own law of inertia, be it in stillness or in sinking, the inevitability of consuming the other and being consumed. I don't think this should be confused with Murdoc not being content or not being satisfied, however-- I do sincerely think Murdoc would be more comfortable in this setup from jump than Stuart would be, and if dissatisfaction creeps along the edges it is probably not enough to stop Murdoc getting his. In some ways, the island-sized souring of their relationship and the compacting of guilt and an unfulfillable debt in Murdoc would maybe add something more to Murdoc's sense of eventually-greedless gratitude. Yaaaay.

#thank you for the question/headcanon and i'm sorry again for the delay!#nsft #headcanon posts

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retroateez · 4 years

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bandit king - s.mingi

hello!!! literally nobody wanted this but i’ve written it anyway and actually?? i quite enjoyed writing a character like this. i hope you enjoy! if you do, please like or any other way of letting me know!

// Apocalypse!AU Borderlands x Ateez AU Bandit King!Mingi x Vault Hunter!Reader I guess this is kind of??? angst // I’ve tried my best to write a gender neutral reader, but if i’ve slipped up anywhere please tell me and i’ll change it ASAP. Warnings; mentions of blood, death (murder), guns, graphic descriptions of violence and explicit language. if i’ve missed anything that may potentially be triggering, please message me and i will add it to this list. wc;4642

“Strip the flesh! Salt the wound!”

You aim your radiated Maliwan shotgun at the psycho who was hurtling towards you, screeching nonsense at the top of his lungs. Without blinking an eye, you pull the trigger and watch the shell plunge into his chest, knocking him to the floor in an instant. You lower your gun, and stand frozen in your position.

Wait for it…

His skinny frame is launched thirty meters into the air with an explosion that leaves your ears ringing. A toxic, mustard-coloured cloud trails after him as he flies upwards, then rolls over his corpse when he lands with a dull thump.

You had always favoured Maliwan’s range of elemental shotguns.

With a sigh, you sling the gun into its holster on your back, and step over the dead psycho with a small smirk.

One down, plenty more to go.

-----

Tracking the Bandit King had proven much more of a challenge than your contractor had initially let on. Bringing you from your home planet to the run-down, wasteland named Pandora, you’d travelled far and wide looking for them. Rife with rival gun manufacturers, various bandit clans and ‘ordinary’ civilians just trying to survive, your particular maniac could be anywhere. You didn’t know much about him except for his name; Inferno. It was a stupid name, for an equally stupid leader of a stupid bandit gang, but you were promised a substantial amount of pay for his murder, so he could call himself whatever he wanted; he would be dead soon.

However, the night was quickly approaching, and you’d been driving through the dusty Pandoran plains for far too long, so you pull up to the next bar you come across. You park your sandy brown Outrunner to the left of the tavern and walk towards the entrance.

‘The Blood Bucket’ flickers in a blinding, neon purple above the crimson stained double doors. A fine establishment for some fine patronage, you presume.

With a kick of your steel-toed boot, the doors swing open and a hush falls over the customers almost immediately; it’s not everyday they witness a vault hunter so out in the open.

“Ain’t no vault here, you scumbag!” a hoarse voice calls out from the crowd of drunks, and the rest of them break out into laughter.

You reach down and slightly withdraw your Vladof pistol from your hip, the crowd falling silent once more as you inch it out of it’s holster and clutch it in your hand. All eyes are on you as you approach the bar, and although you’re used to the staring and scowling from random people, it’ll always make you nervous. Not that you would ever show weakness, as a vault hunter, you’d sooner die than let anyone believe they had an advantage over you.

“A bed for the night?” You ask the bartender, although it comes out more as a demand than a question.

You can see by the way his lip curls up in disgust that he isn’t best pleased about having you, a murderer, thief and all-round terrible person who galivants across the galaxy facading as a hero, standing before him in his bar. But he knows how ruthless vault hunters are, how cold-hearted they can be and he’s aware that you can put a bullet between his eyes quicker than he can say “skin pizza”.

So he reluctantly points to his right, indicating to a set of rickety looking stairs, to which you assume the rooms are. You nod in thanks and make your way over to the steps, ignoring the glares from everyone else in the bar. Hurrying up them, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and unclench your fists from their stiff positions by your side. The tensest parts of these contracts were never committing the murder itself, it was always the journey getting there that made you anxious to your core.

Admittedly, you’d grown accustomed to your lifestyle, even if you had no choice. It was a dog-eat-dog universe, and you’d built yourself into a powerful lone wolf. Yet there were always bigger beasts out there, no matter how hard you trained or how many people you killed. It would probably never be enough, but for the time being, you had no other choice; you had to slaughter, or run the risk of being slaughtered yourself.

-----

The next morning, you wake early and wash the dried blood out of your hair from the day before. You sit on the (surprisingly comfortable) bed and pull out the contractor’s instructions from your bag. Skimming over the pages for the millionth time, you study Inferno’s face one more time.

You’d been hired to take out countless enemies for countless rich idiots, but there was something different about him, and you hated to admit it; but he was ridiculously handsome. One of the documents given to you was an old, faded ‘wanted’ poster, featuring a photograph of the bandit king himself. Judging by the photo’s setup, you guessed it was a mugshot of sorts, as Inferno is standing, facing the camera and holding a sign. Typically, there would be a name written on the board that the criminals hold, but this one has been scratched out, presumably to hide his identity. Whoever crossed that name out, wants Inferno’s real name kept quiet. You can relate though; you don’t go by your real name either. Nicknames are so much safer to use, especially on this wasteland of a planet.

You stare down into his hooded eyes in the photograph, responding to his stagnant smirk with a frown of your own. The height markers behind him indicate a healthy six feet and you wonder how somebody so good-looking managed to become the crazed ruler of a bunch of lunatics. You imagine his wildly curly hair is an obnoxious red, the blood spatters on your documents covering the sepia tones of the photo and giving him quite a nice hair colour.

The longer you inspect his face, the more and more you start to feel for him. It’s a foreign feeling, sympathy. You don’t like it. You hate that you think he could’ve become more, become something better than a murderous clan leader. Because this mugshot is clearly old, from a time before he was totally corrupted by blood-lust and greed. From before he could solve anything and everything with the pull of a trigger. And you realise it’s because this young, up-and-coming bandit king in the photograph reminds you of yourself. Before you were forced into fending for yourself and transforming into somebody deep down you were ashamed of, but realistically you had no choice. And it was likely that your next victim had no choice either. Nobody did. Not on Pandora. Not anywhere.

Abruptly, you stuff the documents deep inside your backpack and then haul it over your shoulders. Grabbing your shotgun and pistol and hiding them inside their holsters, you feel that same rush flood over you as it does everytime you pick up a gun. It’s similar to an unwavering calmness, a complete opposite to how any other ordinary person would be if they were to clutch a huge Maliwan shotgun to their chest. You pick up the new, DAHL SMG that’s leaning by the door and twist it around in your hands. Aptly named ‘Night Hawkin’, it switches from shooting pyro bullets to cryo (ice) bullets depending on the time of day, and you figure that Inferno is the perfect test-subject for your new toy.

Once you’ve gathered your few belongings, you march downstairs to pay the innkeeper.

“Five Eridium bars?!” you snap. “You didn’t say anything about Eridium fees.”

The innkeeper raises his smug little face at you and you resist all urges to pistol whip him across the room.

“I figured a vault hunter like you would have no trouble paying up,” he spits. “After all, you like to gloat about how much you rob from those vaults, right?”

“Two bars.” you bargain. He’s right, truthfully. You do have the money, more than enough actually, to pay him the full five, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Four bars,” he pauses for a second and eyes you from his side of the bar. “Four, and I’ll tell you where your bandit lover-boy is.”

You freeze. How did he know-

“You don’t think I check on the people who stay here?” his smirk grows and you realise he’s got you in the palm of his hand. He has information that, providing he was telling you the truth, could be extremely helpful. You’re also pretty bewildered that he went through your things while you were sleeping too, but now is not the time to unravel all of that.

“Fine.” you grumble. “But information first, payment second.”

The barkeep fixes his gaze on you for a few moments before crossing his arms and leaning forwards. He lowers his voice, despite the bar being relatively empty.

“You’ll find him at The Devil’s Footstool,” he mumbles. “Just north of The Salt Flats.”

“I thought that was Hyperion territory?” you question. Hyperion, one of the most influential weapon manufacturers and businesses this side of the galaxy had reign over the majority of Pandora. Naturally, you despised Hyperion and everything they stood for; a corrupt, power-driven company who stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. Butchering thousands of innocent lives for their own benefit. You loathed Hyperion.

The innkeeper shrugs.

“Inferno and his bandit followers waltzed in not so long ago like they owned the place,” he explained. “Not Hyperion anymore.”

You nodded, opting not to say anything else. Reaching into your bag, you pull out the four violet bars and hand them over to the innkeeper, unimpressed at having to fork out such a ridiculous amount.

It didn’t matter though, because the information he had just given you could save you days, even weeks in completing the contract. Even if it turned out he was lying out of his ass, you might still be able to find something at The Devil’s Footstool regardless. If not, you knew where he lived, and there was a brand-new shotgun with his name on it that you were just itching to try out.

You sling the backpack over your shoulder again, mumble a ‘thank you’ to the barkeep and make your exit. Jumping into the driver’s seat of your vehicle, and heaving the bag into the passenger seat, you prepare yourself for the endless journey through the boiling heat and dust. You hated it here.

-----

Five hours later, you finally arrive at your destination; The Salt Flats. Stocking up before embarking on tracking Inferno down for the final time was a very good idea, so you pulled into a small town just on the outskirts of The Salt Flats. You’d be in luck if the inhabitants (if there were any) weren’t hostile, but you weren’t planning on staying long. Luckily, you manage to find a nearby ammunitions vending machine, so you spend a good fifteen minutes buying shells, bullets, grenades, anything you think you might need to send Inferno’s cult of weirdos sprawling.

Also, what kind of dumbass name was Inferno?

There were so many crazy individuals spread across the planet but you’d never get over some of the stupid names they chose for themselves. One of the most absurd characters being King Wee Wee, a bandit lord in New Haven. You’d yet to find anyone dumber than him. But on Pandora, you’d probably find them soon enough.

Shaking your head and double-checking your bag is tightly secured, you throw it into the back of the Outrunner. But before you can jump into the driver’s seat, you freeze.

You squint into the distance, almost as if blinding yourself momentarily will make your hearing clearer. And somehow it works, the faint sound of rushing footsteps nearing closer and closer. The grunting and wheezy breaths immediately signal out to you; there’s a psycho nearby. And he’s not happy that you’re here.

The slim, weirdly ripped frame whips around the corner, bolting out from behind an abandoned car. His mask covers his entire face, and you’ve dealt with psychos millions of times before, but the blank, expressionless masks always chilled you to the bone.

“You’re gonna be my new meat bicycle!” he screeches at you, before hurling himself over the hood of the car and sprinting full-speed towards you, waving some sort of nailed bat above his head.

Instinctively, you withdraw your pistol and before you can even blink, there’s a deafening bang! and the hideous screaming stops, leaving the psycho as nothing more than a bloody, crumpled heap on the dirty ground. Catchihg your breath, you watch the pool of crimson seep across the earth below your feet, and put the pistol back by your hip. No matter how quick your reflexes were, psychos would always manage to scare the living shit out of you. It was their odd, unsettling catchphrases more than anything. They stuck to wild, close-range combat, so anybody with a gun would easily defeat one. But when they threaten to turn your face into pepperoni? That’s when you’re caught off guard.

You hop into your car, turning the engine and pressing on the gas as hard as you can. Eager to get out of this town in fear of what else might come barreling around corners and out of alleyways.

Yet it’s in your haste that you fail to see the tattoo inked onto the psycho’s body. You overlook the dark outline of the bursting flames on his torso, something you’ll end up wishing you hadn’t missed.

-----

Crouching behind a semi-blown up road-block, you’re just outside of Inferno’s compound. After scouting the area, you were certain that nobody was patrolling the areas outside. You wondered how Inferno had managed to seize The Devil’s Footstool from Hyperion. The central focus of the area was a massive arena, where you assumed Hyperion personnel would train. What did Inferno want with a fighting arena?

It was suspicious too, how there was not another living soul out here with you. You supposed that maybe there was a meeting going on inside the building attached to the stadium, one where literally everybody had to present for? Although psychos could barely tell apart their own limbs from hotdogs, so if there was an important gathering, it’s unlikely they’d be invited.

Still, you keep your guard up, head down and make your way towards the building. As you gain on the entrance, you hear the roaring of engines rise up into the air; there must be a race in the arena. But the track is behind the main building, and you can’t see or access it from here. So the only option is to go through the building.

With one hand clutching your pistol, you slope around the left of the building, deciding that going through the front doors would be stupidly reckless, instead looking for a side door. Alternatively, you locate a window, which conveniently is already open. You peer inside, scanning what appears to be a study or an office, with nothing but a wooden desk and a chair in the middle.

You should’ve sensed that something was off because of how empty the room was; offices should have shelves, plants, bits of paper everywhere, right?

However, you think nothing of it, continuing to hoist the window up and combat roll into the room. You stand up immediately, about to reach behind you and grab the shotgun slung across your back but suddenly, an arm flies in front of you, wrapping around your throat with your chin buried in the crevice of their elbow. You dig your nails into their forearm, your vision firmly planted onto the tattoo shaped like a burst of flames on his arm. Caught off guard, you don’t make the connection in your head between the tattoo and the obvious.

“Hello,” a deep voice purrs into your ear, causing goosebumps across your entire body. “I’ve been expecting you.”

-----

The barrel of his assault rifle presses painfully against your spine, and his bicep is squeezing against your jugular so hard you think you might pass out. You bite your bottom lip harshly to stay quiet, and to ground yourself. Panicking now is the last thing you want.

“It’s not everyday a vault hunter comes tumbling through my office window.” you feel him smirk against your ear and you curse yourself for not checking the room properly.

“Where’s Inferno?” you demand. “I have business with him.”

“Business?” he echoes, easing his grip on your neck a little, but still restricting almost all of your movement. “Are you sure? I don’t recall him having any business to attend to today.”

You attempt to twist your head around to look at him, but he catches your chin in his hand which thankfully, removes the pressure from your neck. But now he’s tightly gripping your face and you can feel his fingers press against your teeth through your cheek.

“Tsk tsk,” he reprimands you, tutting into your hair. “Face forward. If you agree to behave, I’ll take you to Inferno and you can handle this so-called ‘business’”.

Nodding, (or at least, as best as you can with his vice-grip on your jaw), you agree. The gun is still prodding into your spine, and with the way he’s towering over you, there’s no way you could possibly escape from this.

So you allow him to march you through the building, reverting back to having his forearm basically crush your windpipe, causing you both to shuffle awkwardly through the hallways. He leads you up three flights of stairs, multiple twists and turns, (the building definitely didn’t look this big from the outside), until he bustles you into a random room at the end of another, identical hallway.

Only when you’re inside and he’s checked the door is locked, does he retract his grip and move away.

You swivel around the second he lets go, retrieving the pistol and aiming it out in front of you. The sight before you shocks you to your stomach, and you almost drop the small firearm.

Inferno himself is standing right there, the smuggest grin on his stupid face. His eyes are hooded, yet still sparkling mischievously with his gaze fixed directly on you. Taller than you thought he was too, you have to look up a fair amount to meet his stare. He has a sharp, narrow nose that suits the rest of his face and a few, prominent freckles splattered over his cheeks like blood. What strikes you the most is his hair. Curly, wild, and obnoxiously red. So the blood on the paper was right.

“Hi, darling.” he drawls. “Expecting somebody else?”

He’s rolling the Night Hawkin submachine gun in his hands, inspecting it from the stock to the magazine with an impressed pout. He flicks the manual switch between pyro ammunition and cryo, and chuckles shortly at the icy bullets.

“Nice weapon,” he compliments you. “Let me guess, DAHL? Those bastards love to make guns that make my life difficult.”

His playful tone irks you, and you scowl angrily at him. Not only has he stolen your brand-new weapon, he’s playing mind games with you. It’s just a shame that you’re playing yourself right into his hands. Inferno raises an eyebrow at your silence.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases. “That’s okay, I’ll do the talking.”

Making no reply, you keep your pistol aimed at him, thanking the gods that your arms aren’t trembling the same way your breath is.

He paces around the room, slowly making a circle around you and you’re forced to spin on the spot to keep your gun aimed at his head. He’s still smirking, even as he begins to speak.

“You’re here to kill me, correct?” he nods in acknowledgment as you confirm that yes, you are in fact here to murder him. “I thought so.”

“You see, I have a slight problem with that,” he continues, strolling over to the window and glancing at the blazing sun outside. “It’s beautiful weather outside today, and I’d really prefer not to die and miss out on topping up my tan.”

What?

You don’t even know how to reply to that, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to do so.

“Not only would you be murdering me on a wonderfully hot afternoon, you’d be committing yet another crime against me. And what have I done to you, vault hunter?” he fake pouts, and you catch yourself before you feel sympathy creep back in.

But what did he mean ‘another’ crime? You haven’t met him before now. Murder contracts are nothing personal; you’re simply the messenger.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” he’s in front of you before you can even register his fingers curled underneath your chin, tilting your head up to glare dead into his eyes. The tip of your pistol is pressing into his chest, just right of his heart. Yet he doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“Let me jog your memory.” he murmurs, fanning hot air all over your face.

In an instant, he’s seized your pistol, wrenching it from your hold and spun you around so your back is leaning against his chest. You can feel his jaw resting on the top of your head, and the way he moves round to your right, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear like before.

“Not so long ago, I believe you had an encounter with a very good friend of mine.” husky voice eerily calm, you hate to admit that you’re terrified.

You’re used to dealing with the most insane individuals the planet has to offer, but there’s something human in him. Something so raw that it’s thrown you completely off balance. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could have prepared you for a bandit king who wasn’t completely crazy. For someone who reminded you of yourself, somebody who was trying to survive in this barren, apocalyptic wasteland, albeit through entirely immoral means.

“My friend is dead now, thanks to you.” there’s no bitterness or even anger lacing his words, and you’re conflicted on whether he’s furious or grateful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you exhale, finding your voice eventually.

“Oh? The vault hunter speaks!” he feigns surprise, but the arm you hadn’t even noticed wrapped around your waist squeezes you closer into him.

You truly had no idea what he was on about though. You’d killed a lot of people, although you’d spent the majority of the day driving, so unless you’d accidentally fallen asleep at the wheel and taken part of an unconscious hit and run, you were clueless.

“The town just outside of The Salt Flats,” he snaps, losing his temper with you. You feel his chest rise and fall as he recollects himself, and you wonder how short his fuse must be. “Steve only wanted to show you his new bicycle.”

Bicycle?

“That psycho was your friend?” you blurt out.

“Steve was my second-in-command,” Inferno mumbles into your ear. “And you put a bullet in his head. I don’t appreciate that one little bit, vault hunter.” as he finishes his sentence, he raises his free arm and plants the barrel of your pistol to your forehead, the cold metal a cool change to your burning skin.

“I don’t like it when people mess with my things.” he growls lowly. “I also don’t like having to find new second-in-commands.”

“You’ve got plenty of lunatics to choose from.” you whisper.

“No. I don’t think any of them are fit for the job, you see.” he retorts immediately, barely waiting for you to finish your own sentence.

“Yet how convenient it is,” he carries on. “That there is a new vacancy, just as you break into my office.”

“No, I don’t thi-”

“You don’t think anything, vault hunter,” he interrupts you, his tone getting aggressive and rougher. “I regret to inform you, but you don’t have a fucking choice.” You can tell from the pistol digging into your skin that he isn’t sorry at all, and that he might be right; do you really have much of a choice?

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

His clutches weaken ever so slightly, finally allowing oxygen properly into your lungs. It was looking more likely for you to die from lack of breath rather than a bullet to the brain.

“I just told you,” he says. “I want you to be my second-in-command, seeing as you killed my previous one. Think of it as an exchange.”

“An exchange? For what?”

He leans over your shoulder, his cheek pressing against your own as you try to look him in the face.

“Put it this way, you join us, or you die. Does that make sense, Y/N?” he examines your reaction with an ecstatic grin, watching as your face drops and your breach catches in your throat.

How did he know your name?

The panic that shoots through you is immeasurable; nobody is supposed to know your real name. Nobody should know your real name. So how the fuck does this stupid, mind-game playing bandit king who you’ve never met before, know?

Satisfied with your response and knowing you’re putty in his hands, he completely lets go of you, even removing the pistol from between your eyes. You sense him moving away, the space around you turning empty and cold. Part of you wishes, hopes that he’ll put his arms back around you and make you warm again, and the other half of you wants to yank the small ice pick out from your sock and jab it into his eye socket over and over and over again.

You stand in the center of the room, motionless for what seems like an eternity, just thinking. Inferno waits behind you patiently, and you secretly commend him for being the sanest psycho you’ve ever met.

But clearly his patience begins to wear thin, as he comes round to stand in front of you. He bends down to match your height and uses his fingertip to lift your chin up a little, the same way he did previously. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a polar opposite to the way he was choking you and harshly grasping you not even five minutes ago.

“So?” he hums. “What do you say?”

Inferno searches your eyes as you mull over your answer. Although, there isn’t much thinking left for you to do; he’s metaphorically backed you into a corner and realistically, you have no escape.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you rasp, the pressure of his gaze weighing down heavily on you and making you tenfold more nervous.

“Excellent!” he beams, standing up straight and clapping his hands together. “You’ll make a much better second-in-command than a vault hunter-”

“On one condition, I’ll join you.” you interrupt him, and his excited demeanour drops.

His dark eyes bore in yours, and he raises an eyebrow, indicating for you to name the stipulation.

“Tell me your name.” you request. “Your real one.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the power dynamic here, darling.” he scoffs.

“No, I understand perfectly,” you quip. “I just don’t think it’s fair that you know mine, but I don’t know yours.”

You hold your palm out in a mock handshake pose.

“Say the name, and I’m yours.”

“Say my name?” he snorts, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue and turning his head away from you.

Suddenly, his large palm slaps into yours, his long fingers curling around your hand and he performs a strong, steady handshake.

“Mingi.” he says quietly. “You can call me Mingi.”

You smirk, reciprocating the formal shake.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mingi.”

// if people like this then i already have ideas for a part two... hehe

#ateez #ateez au #borderlands x ateez #apocalypse!ateez #mingi #song mingi #mingi fluff #mingi angst

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secretgamergirl · 4 years

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Hate Mobs Gotta Go

Last night, I did something I have never expected to do, and just full on gave up on a fun RPG writing assignment. Which I had to do because I hit a point where it was so overdue and unfinished that I was falling asleep sitting up and stress vomiting and other such things. There’s a whole lot of factors behind that. Other health issues, the toll of being on total pandemic lockdown for months, with neighbors just straight up open mouth coughing at my door, emergencies with friends and family, multiple fires and hardware failures, but the main thing was, and still is, the constant harassment from a militant hate mob, completely out of touch with reality.

Years ago, I remember there was this thing the internet at large was fond of doing with foaming at the mouth far right religious extremists- Mercilessly ridiculing them in public to expose how disconnected everything they said or did was from reality. Remember seeing this one float around and laughing your head off?

And if I mention the Westboro Baptist Church, you immediately picture a single family of raving bigots picketing funerals and such with their big homophobic signs, with a bigger crowd mocking them, right?

For some reason, the modern version of that particular flavor of fringe weirdo doesn’t get that sort of ridicule. Presumably because they’re focusing almost exclusively on trans people, and most people have this weird thing where like if you stick up for trans people you get cooties or something and never dig into the real juicy ridicule fodder. But for real, this stuff is OUT THERE. Just look at a few examples here.

Come for the weird ravings about harvesting baby organs. Stay for the... adult woman who apparently believes breasts get their shape from actually being sacks filled with milk under women’s skin? Now, how about this colorful comparison?

For anyone who wasn’t aware, pronouns are words like “I” “you” “he” “she” “it” and “this,” while rohypnol is colloquially known as “the date rape drug,” so this is utter gibberish. The full context of course is that this person is trying to make the argument that forcing this bigot to refer to women she’s prejudiced against as “she” instead of arbitrarily tossing around “he” or “it” is... raping her brain, I guess?

So... this is pretty clearly some creep’s weird little fantasy. The obvious giveaway is pretending that trans women “aren’t in the correct bathroom” when going to... the correct bathroom, and that the non-existent law about this is somehow enforced by... random bigots opting to deputize themselves. What DOES happen for real though is bigots like this being arrested for barging into public restroom stalls with camcorders aimed at the crotches of women on toilets and trying to defend themselves by insisting they have some duty to check what their genitals look like. On which note...

That’s just disgusting. It’s also as close as I feel comfortable to posting all the graphic fantasies I see from these people about the barbaric genital mutilation they imagine trans women subject ourselves to which really has no basis at all in reality. Well maybe I can post this one.

I’m not going to go through and itemize all the baldfaced lies in that, because I really kinda hope I don’t have to, and also because the person who slapped this together was kind enough to break it up in such a way that I legitimately can say “every single line of this is a completely baseless lie.” Also the art in the corner is stolen from a child-friendly comic whose author is trans, so, that’s extra slimy. Also wow that “bone scans” bit is actually one I’ve never seen. Where the hell do they even get these ideas?

Also this one needs some setup. If you have time, this right here is a freaking journey, if not, I’ll try to summarize.

So a while ago, this one particular unhinged bigot decided the most productive way to spend all her time was to get in touch with a bulk sticker printing business and order thousands if not millions of these weird gross poorly framed slabs with a really crude drawing of a penis and bunch of gibberish she really wishes were the names of popular twitter hashtags that nobody else but her ever uses. And then after receiving these, just... wandering around the city she lives in all day every day plastering them on phone booths and power poles and the mirrors of bathrooms in like.. elementary schools and park benches, just everywhere. And then makes multiple passes a day apparently to make sure nobody has tried to remove any of them, as detailed in this amazing thread I’ll link again.

So the latest break in that particular saga is that same zealot going around plastering stickers like this around too, to make it seem like “both sides do it.”

It should be obvious that that’s a “blacks rule!” sort of fake between the baffling text and using the extra inclusive, particular emphasis on supporting people of color, general purpose LGBT+ flag, but also, like their fellows on 4chan, they plan this sort of “false flag” crap in broad daylight:

I should really properly credit the whistle-blowing on that particular oddity, and I should also note that aside from the breast milk sacks, this is all just stuff I saw TODAY catching up on my twitter feed, but my main point with all this is to illustrate that we really are dealing with Jack Chick/Westboro Baptist-level unhinged zealotry... but again, nobody’s out there pointing and laughing. And it turns out, when you don’t have people pointing and laughing at this sort of thing, you get people taking it seriously. So... when I went to quickly search for a news story to link with the bit about creeps barging in on women with cameras, the results I got were... this.

That... sure is a lot of stories about totally innocent people in a demographic I belong to being murdered by total strangers goaded into blind murderous hatred by the sort of people I’m pointing and laughing at! Ha ha! There’s a very real chance of that happening to me every time I step outside, for any reason! Tee hee! I live in a state of constant fear! Whoopsie!

And it’s not just stuff like that. The people posting these rambling tirades about “breast milk sack implants” and putting crude penis stickers everywhere, never being called out as the unhinged weirdos they are, either have the world turning a blind eye to all this crap, or have everything they do downplayed in the media to the point where outright sexual harassment, doxing, and slurs I don’t want to repeat get headlines like “so-and-so made comments that some fringe trans activists on the internet deem ‘possibly transphobic’” and that’s AT BEST. More often you get stuff like the one incident I managed to bring a lot of public attention to way back when, where some bigot just literally walked up to someone on the street, grabbed them, savagely beat the hell out of them until pulled apart, had friends film the whole thing, and bragged after the fact about it, and every story that appeared as a result claimed the assailant was the victim, because they were all written by her friends.

Face obscuring provided by me here, by the way.

And that isn’t a one-off incident. Because, see, most of these unhinged weirdos spewing out all this transphobic gibberish are not, as you would think, a bunch of barely educated Trump hat wearing members of some fringe religious congregation. They’re editors and producers in major British news outlets. This isn’t me shouting conspiracy nonsense either, this is well-documented. Like, The Guardian gets public internal protests over this crap. So does the BBC. Yes, other respected news sites cover this. Media watchdog groups do their best to reign this in with hearings and such, but, don’t actually have any power to enforce anything really. So when there’s “reporting” on this crap, it’s coming directly from the “breast milk sack implant” people. Oh and here’s some screenshots of the headlines of those stories you’re too lazy to click through and actually read:

And of course, sometimes when they want to really come across as respectful, they try to find “scientists” and “doctors” who back up their ravings but all they have to fall back on are disgraced quacks who spend most of their time on activism work to normalize pedophilia.

I’m not bringing that point about Cantor up to discredit his writings about trans people by the way. He doesn’t really HAVE any writings about trans people. He just pasted the names of a bunch of random studies from the 70s about whether playing with barbies makes you gay into his blog a few years back and this crowd was so desperate for validation they declared him an “expert in the field” and started passing out links to his.... pro-pedophila blog. Which is part of this whole pattern, but I’ve written about that before. Oh and the governments of multiple countries manage to treat all these people as “experts” and make policy decisions based on their ravings. That’s fun.

Anyway, aside from encouraging random people to, you know, just randomly murder anyone they see who looks like maybe a trans woman, every so often this weird little cult pulls in an actual celebrity who then has a public meltdown as they post all this gibberish to a wider audience. Currently this is going on with Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling (who’s actively promoting the pedophile guy up there on Twitter), and I think also William Shatner, but I haven’t really looked into it. The last big one though was Graham Linehan. Who you might remember from co-writing some sitcoms that were popular decades ago in Britain, or from being the weird cartoon villain who tried to kill the funding of a children’s charity, prompting this strange pledge drive marathon of Donkey Kong Country.

You might also know him as one of... I think honestly just two people who have ever managed to be such out of control stalking hate mongers that they were actually given a permanent no possible appeal ban from Twitter. Personally though I know him more as, you know, that one absolute creep who’s been obsessively stalking me for like 5 years and never shutting up about his weird personal obsession with me.

I WOULD link the recent freaking filmed interview he did where he spent forever rambling about me, but I’d have to actually watch it to confirm I had the right link, and also the only place I could quickly find a link to it would be on his twitter feed, which as stated, no longer exists. Oh and random side note there, despite being personally, by name, the person he was explicitly targeting all his hateful ramblings at, he wasn’t banned from that site for any of the disgusting stuff he said to me. He just slipped up and mentioned a cis woman with a professorship while shouting about this crap recently and that caused people to actually take action. I do so love being invisible.

Anyway, point is, prior to Rowling grabbing the baton from him as his social media presence went up in flames, this guy was name-dropping me a LOT. Presumably he still is, just in places fewer people see it. And when you have as big an audience as he did, and that audience is as full of hatemongers as his was, that has a pretty noticeable effect. I’ve been deluged with so much hateful garbage for so long it’s impossible for me to put any numbers on it. The closest I can do to quantify it is note that hate dump was big enough that I was also flooded with more weird messages intended as support from total strangers than I could deal with, totally losing access to social media feeds and my e-mail from the volume for a good bit, and THAT flood was big enough that I got this whole second wave of creepy stalkers who’d built up this whole weird fanon where this stalker here is like, someone I used to date or be business partners with and not just some creepy dude like twice my age stalking me over the internet, from a completely different hemisphere.

And I mean... in the broadest of strokes, I can kinda laugh all this off. Because... these people are completely ridiculous, out of touch with reality, and mostly live in other countries. But... all the threats and shouting are very real and very constant and like.. picture someone outside on the street shouting at your windows about how they’re going to break in and kill you. You really can’t ignore that. Even if they’re unarmed, and all they’re really capable of doing is shouting and pounding on your door, you can’t really just ignore that shouting and pounding and just watch a movie or play a game or write this article you promised would be done 3 months ago. You can certainly try, but a pretty big part of your brain is going to be occupied with thoughts about how maybe you should call someone to see if they’ll escort this violent person away, or maybe you should barricade your door in case all that pounding does something.

And I mean this isn’t a bad metaphor for how all the constant threats and stalking I’m dealing with thanks to celebrity bigots personally obsessed with me impacts my life, but it also does a pretty good job of describing how my night went pretty recently when I ACTUALLY DID HAVE SOMEONE POUNDING ON MY ACTUAL REAL PHYSICAL DOOR SHOUTING ABOUT STABBING ME TO DEATH, and no, there was no resolution to that beyond the sound of sirens causing that person to back off.

I also had an experience not too long ago where I was supposed to take a cab to a routine appointment, a car showed up with the cab company’s name on it, somewhat early, and proceeded to drive me... out to the middle of the freaking woods like an hour from where I live, and when my phone rang with my actual cab asking where I was the driver freaked out, had me get out of the car, and took off leaving me just... stuck in the middle of nowhere freezing to death and trying to find a landmark an actual cab could pick me up from. Still don’t know what the hell that whole thing was about and whether a cab driver just REALLY didn’t know what he was doing and panicked or what, but I do know that talking about it publicly in the vaguest of terms lead to a bunch of unhinged shouting from... apparently some unconnected ride share driver with a habit of dumping trans women between stops when they try to get medications or something, convinced I was calling him out for that.

So.... yeah. Things aren’t exactly going great in my neck of the woods. I’d really appreciate it if people would properly treat these unhinged violent weirdos like unhinged violent weirdos and not respectable members of society so they quit getting so bold and public with the violent stuff, and people who listen to them get properly shouted down for doing so.

#transphobia #stalking

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

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RWBY Recaps: “ACE Operatives”

We’re back, folks! I have to say, I think overall this is one of the strongest episodes we’ve gotten since “The Lost Fable.” Are there still concerns? You know it, but on the whole I’ve got to give credit where credit’s due. So with that unexpectedly optimistic mindset, let’s dive in.

We open right on the group’s first mission and for a moment I was worried that, like with Oscar’s shopping, this time skip would be passed right over. Especially after we hear Pietro apologize for “holding onto your weapons for so long,” telling us that between the Academy tour at the end of last episode and this mission today, at least a few weeks have passed. Long enough for one guy to re-design multiple combat outfits and weaponry, plus an additional boost here and there. Luckily, the first part of the episode cuts among three distinct times: when they got their weapons, when they first heard about the mission, and this present day flight/landing, which as a technique I like quite a bit. It gives us a sense of each time while keeping us moving forward. No one is thinking, “Ugh. Do we really need to hear a mission briefing when most of last episode was learning about this plan in the first place?” because we already know this is taking place in the past. Just sit through the snippet and then the rest of the info will come through voice-overs while the group jumps out of an airship. Good balance of exposition and action.

What we learn in these flashbacks is that Ironwood wants to use an abandoned dust mine for the satellite’s launch. Only problem? It’s inhabited by a very old, extremely dangerous geist. Kudos to the writing team for the Volume Two callback. I’ve always been intrigued by Oobleck’s comment that grimm are capable of learning if they continue to survive and here we finally see an example of that. This geist isn’t just strong, it’s smart enough to hide in the mines themselves.

Shot over all this we see Atlas military personnel taking out the everyday grimm in the surrounding area, proving that their weapons can handle that task in most situations. Why doesn’t Ironwood’s robots have that then? Or as others have pointed out, something even more powerful like Penny’s lasers, or some of the upgrades the team gets? Chock it up to lack of funds... or simple plot setup. If the robots had been able to take out a bunch of grimm easy-peasy then there wouldn’t have been any cool premiere fight for our group. Then again, all of this casts their snarky comments about Ironwood’s defenses in a new light. Clearly they’re a force to be reckoned with when the plot actually allows it.

We likewise see the group receiving their new gear and... okay. Here’s where the griping starts. Though it’s admittedly small compared to most of my criticisms. First off, why is Jaune receiving a random scrap of Pyrrha’s outfit? Logically this makes no sense to me. Pyrrha’s body disintegrated into a bunch of dust. I can buy Jaune incorporating other armor and fabric into his gear because they were living together and Pyrrha must have spares, but where did this come from? Did Pietro go ask a family member for a random memento for the (from his perspective) equally random teen that showed up? It’s entirely possible that I’m missing something---I’m sick as a dog at the moment and am probably one fever degree away from mild hallucinations---but the whole setup seems incredibly weird. We see Jaune open his box. We see his look of shock. He see him fingering a torn piece of Pyrrha’s skirt. But how does all that come together in any logical way?

More importantly... why? Why is this still a thing? I get it, Jaune is grieving, but to be frank this has been his one-note characterization for over three volumes now. More importantly, everyone else is grieving too. This is another case of the writing prioritizing what the audience knows over what characters know. Meaning, we got to see how close Jaune and Pyrrha were. We know they were in love, but outsiders like Ironwood and Pietro see them as a unified team. Why not give a scrap to Jaune, Nora, and Ren? Really, that’s what rankles the most: this continuing focus on Jaune over the rest of his team. Especially when that focus just leads us in circles of the ‘Jaune is sad’ variety. I thought we were supposed to be learning more about Nora this volume, so why not give her something to remember Pyrrha by? I realize we’re only through the third episode, but in a series that averages twelve each volume, that’s a fourth of our material gone. Please. I’m begging you. Enough about Jaune. We’ve watched him cry and rage and lash out for three years now. He’s gotten to move through every type of grief the writing could throw at him. Let someone else take the spotlight for a change.

(It’s also just all around weird because Jaune is smiling sadly, implying he’s moving on, but then we have Clover narrating about how they’re “going to kill this thing...” which reminds us of Pyrrha’s murder in a way not really conducive to the whole ‘moving on’ vibe... it’s just odd.)

Second gripe: why doesn’t Oscar get anything? I’ve written before about how overall the group still treats Oscar as the outsider and boy oh boy, do we see that trend continuing here. I’ll speak about this more in a moment when we get to the Ozpin situation, but for this scene in particular there’s no reason he shouldn’t be included. If Jaune can get a cool addition to his shield after updating his own outfit, Oscar can get a cool addition too. Take five seconds to have Pietro point out that, as a random farm kid buying combat gear for the first time, he didn’t totally hit the mark. Here are a few things to keep you safer. Hell, you could even have Pietro---who we have established goes above and beyond in his inventions---pull Oscar aside with an updated weapon and Oscar could have gotten all quiet, examining his cane, eventually thanking Pietro, but emphasizing that he doesn’t think he should change things just yet. Or without anther’s input. Or, if Atlas doesn’t want to waste funds on the farm boy let him get a haircut like literally everyone else! We could have allotted Oscar a few seconds of screen time instead of getting what we always get: the team banding together and him nowhere to be seen.

He’s a part of this mission. He’s integral to this mission. He is a main character now. It’s about time the writing started acknowledging that.

The final flashback, at least, includes Oscar a little more. I realize my screenshot isn’t the best, but the expressions here really do say it all: Ruby mindlessly geeking out over new tech while Oscar stands sadly in another doorway.

We hear him say, “Hey... Ruby?” before he’s cut off and we return to the present.

We’ll get back to him in just a moment. For now, the airship opens to reveal everyone’s new look, which isn’t actually a reveal because this scene dominated the trailer.

Ah well. I have to say though, from here on out one of the main reasons why this episode feels strong to me is because of the overall dynamic among the characters. First, it was smart to break everyone up into different teams to search for a hidden grimm. If they’d tried to cram twelve characters into the same shot for the rest of the episode it would have been a disaster. Second, these smaller teams allow for the sort of teasing/comfort/playfulness we’ve grown used to among these characters, but have largely lost over the last two volumes. One of my favorite moments is when Yang is caught staring at Blake’s new haircut and we get a look at this massive blush.

Not to ship on main, but please note the parallel between this moment and Nora/Ren, two characters who are more firmly established as a canonical couple. Although... here when Nora compliments Ren’s hair he shuts her down pretty hard. There’s none of the casual indulgence we’re used to from him. Since when does Ren insist that Nora take a mission seriously, outside of making those requests in an equally teasing manner? Nora notices as much too, clearly upset, and Jaune is just... dense. It makes me wonder though if this is the direction they’re heading in for Nora. Give her romance troubles in the form of Ren pulling away now that their relationship has had a chance to sink in.

Not sure I’m a big fan of that. Granted, it depends on how they handle it, but on the whole I’m not really invested in reducing Nora’s rare and much needed development down to a cliche ‘Oh no. A boy doesn’t like me’ plot-line. We’ll have to see though.

I also really liked the moment between Weiss and Blake a little later. This is how you tackle racism in your story. Not by having the group risk their world-saving mission by Weiss impulsively throwing civilians into the trash, but by having an incredibly privileged woman acknowledge her privilege. Weiss mentions how angry this mine’s failure made her father, but she doesn’t use the abuse she suffered as any sort of excuse, like she would have in the earlier volumes. Instead, Weiss acknowledges for herself how hard that time was and then apologizes not only for what he’s done to the faunus, but also for “all my complacency in it.” Weiss was a child. We can’t hold her to the same level of responsibility as Jacques. But as a privileged woman in this world Weiss’ complacency does perpetuate her father’s active sins. So it’s fantastic that she admits as much to Blake. In front of all the others, no less. To me, that’s a far better sign of growth than what we got last week.

It’s also during this time that we see Blake eyeing the SDC boxes with anxiety. It could just be bad memories. It could imply that she had some hand in this particular attack. I hope it implies that she’s thinking about Adam because... is anyone going to bring him up? Seriously? Two teammates killed a guy. The self-defense aspect doesn’t erase the fact that they each rammed a piece of a blade through his stomach and watched him topple over a waterfall. We should be dealing with this! Not reducing it to one hug from Ruby right before a major battle. Hopefully this is setup for some (now long overdue) reflection.

Meanwhile, an interaction that doesn’t work as well is when Ruby comments on how freezing she is and Weiss notes that without proper equipment or aura insulation you can freeze to death in an hour. So... is that what the group is doing then? Wasting precious aura whenever they’re outside because Blake wants her arms unzipped, Weiss wants bare spots around her chest, and Yang needs to artistically keep one leg and one arm totally unclothed? The issue is not, “How does the group stay warm?” because plenty of stories have logistical questions like that and unless you’re a fan overly invested in the minutiae, you shrug it off. When is the group going to the bathroom during these endless missions? Who’s carrying pads for when three of them hit their periods at once? No one cares. Rather, the issue is that the writing draws attention to the question and then fails to answer it. Just like they did when suddenly death via cold was something that had to keep them in the creepy town when death via cold was never a concern up until then. Where was hypothermia when Yang insisted Ozpin hash out all his secrets in the snow? It’s a rather convenient ‘Sometimes it’s an issue, sometimes not,” situation. Obviously aura isn’t doing much to keep them toasty though if Ruby feels the need to comment on how cold she still is. And that attention then invites further questions like, “Why then are they still dressed inappropriately for the weather? Should we expect them to fall more quickly in battle because aura is going towards making sure they don’t freeze to death in under an hour?” Better to just leave it alone.

Talk of the cold leads into Oscar though because Yang comments, “I suddenly don’t feel so bad about leaving Oscar behind.” Which... no. You did leave him behind. Don’t try to make that palatable with stupid upsides like, ‘Well at least he’s warm!’ Worse, the group does nothing to justify that decision. Realistically I can buy why they’d leave Oscar out of this mission. We’ve established that this particular grimm has already taken out a lot of people and, without Ozpin, Oscar is still a newbie fighter. With the exception of the train and one grimm in the premier, I don’t think Oscar has fought many grimm at all. So really, it would take two sentences to establish this. Tell us that this mission is way out of his skill range and throw out that he’s training with Ironwood or something. That’s it. That’s all it takes, but the writing bypasses that and leaves us with, ‘The group left Oscar behind... for reasons?’ Which, in the context of his entire time with them looks really, really bad. Because they left him out of the dinner in Haven. And the hunt for supplies at the farm. And in retrieving the relic. And left him alone at the Argus house. And left him out of the upgrade joy. We’ve now established a trend of the group outright ignoring Oscar, whether it’s during bright celebratory moments or agonizing traumatic ones. Doesn’t matter, he’s left out of the loop, and now we see the same thing happening here. Rather than a simple and logical, ‘Oscar isn’t ready to fight a super old geist,’ what we’re left with paints the situation as, ‘Oscar is left behind because Ruby disagrees with him.’

Because without clarification, that’s the context. We get another (very short) flashback where he (thank you, thank you) points out that what they’re doing to Ironwood is precisely what Ozpin did to them. (Although Oscar tries to soften this by saying it only “feels like” the same thing.) Ruby looks guilty for a second... and then that’s it. We’re back to at least a day later where they’re on this mission, they’ve left Oscar behind, and Ruby is re-explaining why her morals are sound.

I’ll admit I’m pleased that Yang points out that they agreed no more lies and no more half-truths. I honestly didn’t expect her to say even that much against her precious sister. But still, on the whole this dilemma isn’t much of a dilemma at all. It’s reading precisely like the airship debacle: a few characters giving token disagreements but when push comes to shove whatever Ruby wants, Ruby gets. You know how above I pointed out how much I like the split present/past business so that we can have a balance between talking and action? Yeah, that only works if the talking is generic exposition. We don’t need a long-winded discussion about the details of this mission. We do need a substantial discussion about the absolute hypocrisy the group has fallen into. That split between past and present is important. Are you honestly going to tell me that over all these days---if not, arguably, weeks---the group never once had a conversation about this? That we don’t get to see that downtime filled with some actual growth? And we could have easily achieved that with the current setup. Extend Oscar’s flashback into something significant, leaving the geist battle for next week. Let him be angry for once, furious that after all the shit they put Ozpin through, and by extension him, they’re just going to turn around and do the exact same thing without even an apology? An acknowledgment that they were wrong? Or create space to have that discussion now. Harriet comes out of the mine saying a part of it has collapsed and they need time to clear it, giving Team RWBY the chance to really hash some things out and disagree for once. Instead, as expected, secret keeping is framed as the right decision without anyone but Oscar acknowledging the hypocrisy in that. They even go so far as to say, “Why don’t we play along for a while before me make any major decisions.” Newsflash:

Graphic design is my passion, all.

Overall it’s not quite as pro-protagonist as it could have been, but it’s not great either. We’re left with the fact that the group has this time sitting with their own lies and apparently, after all that, what they’ve settled on is denial. Great. Fantastic. I hope Oscar finds new friends at the Academy who encourage him to really call them out on this later.

We also learn that Ruby gave the relic back to Oscar. So the writing is self-aware enough for her to acknowledge that carrying it around on her belt is a horrendously bad idea, but not self-aware enough to keep her getting it back in the first place? Imagine you hired someone to transport a priceless painting to your super safe vault and then when it finally arrives you go, “Actually, you did such a good job getting that here I think it’ll be safer in your hands as you go about your life. Rather than the vault I specifically built for it.” Except the painting is a magic relic, the vault is also nearly impenetrable via magic, and the transporter is now a 14yo who, as established, is the weakest fighter of the group. For the love of Ironwood’s characterization, please let that relic be a fake.

Really, on the whole that moment could have been touching... but again, context. ‘Here’s the relic back that I basically stole and then ripped all Ozpin’s trauma from him by wasting an invaluable question.’ Yeah. All the while everyone is still talking as if Ozpin isn’t even there. Ironwood, in his ignorance, has been the one person to actually address him, despite the fact that the entire group knows he’s listening in. You know that feeling when you’re sitting with a bunch of people you’re not particularly close with and it’s clear they’re deliberately not including you in the conversation? Yeah, it’s like that only a thousand times worse. No wonder Ozpin still hasn’t tried to come out. No one cares about his vessel, they still actively hate him, and they’re all hypocritical to boot. I’d stay hidden too.

Anyway, back to the actual plot. Qrow has been paired off with Clover and at first we get a really excellent conversation about teamwork. We as the audience know precisely why Qrow prefers to work alone, but when he slips and Clover manages to catch him, it functions as a fantastic counter. See? Qrow might have bad luck, but this is precisely why he does need to be around others. They can help him when things get tough.

However, that message is severely undermined when it’s later revealed that Clover’s semblance is good luck.

Not only does that remove the previously stated wonderful message---because now it’s not about Qrow learning to accept help, it’s about how Clover’s semblance just conveniently cancels his out---it’s just an iffy stretch of my suspension of disbelief. Really? Out of all the people they could have met, that Qrow could have been paired with, he happens to find the one guy with the exact opposite semblance to him? Clover is an incredibly handsome and charismatic guy. He’s the leader of the strongest kingdom’s strongest team. He just happens to have the best version of Qrow’s greatest weakness. I know I said I wanted more passive semblances, but I would have preferred something other than this heavy-handed introduction.

Although... are they passive? I had to pause the episode for a moment when Qrow throws out, “sometimes I can’t keep it under control” because excuse me?? There are times you can keep it under control? Since when? How? I know we’re loose on our semblance rules here, but c’mon. Is Qrow’s entire life governed by a trait outside of his control or not?

We see a similar issue cropping up at the end of the episode when Harriet informs Ruby that there’s “something else” going on with her semblance. Look. RWBY isn’t Dragon Ball Z. The characters don’t need to tap into unheard of powers every season to keep things interesting. As Yang herself points out, Ruby already has super special silver eyes.

Her semblance is speed and transformation and transforming other people along with her. Weiss is already a super special Schnee with a super special hereditary semblance that creates glyphs and summoned fighters of whatever she’s killed. Blake is already a super special Belladonna with ties to the world’s biggest resistance group. Yang... okay, Yang is admittedly an ordinary girl with an ordinary background and that’s one of the things I still love about her. She grows stronger through more training, better strategy, and turning any weaknesses into strengths---like her arm. It’s so much more powerful to give characters that kind of arc than to fall back on, “[gasp!] You were secretly special all along.” So who knows what else they’re going to add to Ruby’s semblance. Whatever it is, it’s not needed.

I will say though that semblance issues aside, I’m liking the Ace Ops way more than I thought I would. Given that introducing five more characters was, objectively, a bad move. But they’ve got real personality attached to them. I appreciated that Clover thanked Qrow for the save (they could have made a guy that ‘perfect’ way more arrogant) while the rest spent a good portion of the time teasing RWBYJNR like they’re little siblings. Which I adored. For the first time in volumes we got to see our heroes portrayed exactly as they are: teens in training. Nora says that it “feels like we’re an actual huntsmen team,” acknowledging that they’re not yet. They’re the students following the professionals, helping out without getting in the way. It stood out to me that the geist fight is identical to the one we got in Volume Four, with the exception that it’s way, way better. They come up with Jaune’s strategy to remove the limbs in an instant, rather than taking the entire fight trying and failing to do damage. I don’t think a single member of the Ace Ops took a hit, despite the fact that this geist was a huge threat to the rest of the Atlesian army. Like Team RWBY at times, there was seamless communication, perfect execution, and the one time they made a mistake? Ruby was there to help them out. I really appreciated that the writing had RWBYJNR sit this one out until their particular skills---in this case Ruby’s speed---was actually needed, as opposed to an arrogant, ‘How dare you not let us fight!’ where they endanger themselves and others by insisting that they know best.

This is the RWBYJNR I want to see more of. Ozpin remains a huge, glaring issue, but if the writer’s can keep this sort of attitude in mind we’ll be making good strides away from the horror that was Volume Six. No more, “We don’t need adults,” please. As a bunch of adults just demostrated, they’re way out of your league.

Finally, we end the episode on Tyrian again. Showcasing RWBY’s new love of horror tropes, he appears beneath the flickering lamp light (complimenting the jump scare we got with Blake earlier on). He approaches Forest, the activist from the airship, and we end with Tyrian’s tail coming his way. Did he just poison him? Did he kill him? What’s the end goal here? Just sow chaos by leaving a bunch of bodies lying around? It’s unclear, but whatever is going on, Tyrian sure is busy.

Also, RIP #FRWBY.

Until next week!

Minor Things of Note

I like that Jaune and Blake both looked at their hair before we cut to them with new looks. Still not over Jaune’s style though. He’s french fry head now and no one will convince me otherwise.

It looks like Blake’s blade has been welded back together with a bit of yellow something-or-other...

Bad execution on an otherwise cool introduction to Marrow’s semblance. That was epic how he managed to stop both centipede grimm at once, but then Harriet just... slams them? Awkwardly? They don’t even disintegrate? Idk. Her end of that team attack didn’t live up to Marrow’s.

Team JNR has a very “headfirst approach.” True enough. Although, it’s not like they had an easy way to stop like their Ace Operative teammates. They did the best they could under the circumstances lol.

Jaune also has a landing strategy! I would have rather the writing just acknowledge that than give us that weird moment with Pyrrha’s fabric.

Not sure if I like Qrow’s new outfit or not. To be fair, that man would look stunning in a paper bag, so I’m not sure I’m an objective judge of any change here. Also to be fair, my own fashion ‘skills’ leaves something to be desired. So I think I’ll just bow out of this particular conversation.

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #mymetas #rwby recaps

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