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immaturityofthomasastruc · 4 years ago

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IOTA Reviews: Lies

You guys ready for almost twenty straight minutes of Angstdrien Depreste? Neither am I.

Let's get into the third (chronologically the second) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Lies (Oh, I get what they did there).

We open with Marinette struggling to decipher the grimoire she inherited from Fu, before two of the Kwamis screw around and play a video about Adrien.

Jesus Christ... it hasn't even been an episode since she broke up with Luka, and the writers are already back to making her simp over Adrien again. And this part of the episode takes place during “Truth”, where she's still dating Luka. This is supposedly meant to show her conflicting feelings regarding both Adrien and Luka, but it just comes across as yet another joke about Marinette simping over Adrien because the writers have forgotten she has other interests outside of her hero life.

And here we go. The writers are going to go out of their way to make the audience feel bad for Adrien in this episode by showing how tough his life is. What do we see him do that is allegedly so exhausting? He models for another statue, goes to a photoshoot, and then goes to some drama class where he repeats some phrase (I think it's supposed to be a warmup, but it's never explained why he's there in the first place). That's it. This is his definition of an “endless day”? Oh yeah, his life must be soooooooo hard.

Adrien is a rich white boy who is the son of one of the biggest names in fashion across the world, has legions of fans, an honest education, and is also one of the most beloved superheroes in the city while not having to struggle with the same responsibility his partner has. But no, Adrien's life is much harder than anyone else who has suffered this past year. It's yet another trick the writers are pulling to make people feel bad for Adrien instead of criticizing his behavior. I'm sorry, but I find it a little hard to relate to someone whose biggest problems amount his diamond shoes being too tight.

Good lord, I'm not even a minute in...

So Adrien transforms into Cat Noir and heads off to patrol. Keep in mind that the first part of this episode takes place during the events of “Truth”, so we see how he reacts to Ladybug not showing up for patrol. He waits for a while before he starts, but not before leaving a message for his partner.

Now, this moment honestly could have worked. What doesn't make it work is the air quotes Cat Noir starts off with. If he had said something like that honestly and kept his feelings a secret, it could have shown he understands the burden Ladybug has to bear now that she's the Guardian, but doesn't want to worry her. The problem is that the way he phrased the first sentence coupled with the air quotes make it seem like he doesn't care about what Ladybug has to deal with now, and only wants her to spend time with him.

You think I'm being overdramatic or I'm just jumping to conclusions? In the very next scene, Cat Noir actually tries to see if Mr. Ramier is emotional enough to get akumatized into Mr. Pigeon again just so he can see Ladybug.

This is just... why? Why would any of the writers expect the audience to feel bad for Cat Noir here? It's one thing for him to miss Ladybug's company, which is natural considering how much time they spend together, but wanting to start a life-threatening situation just to see Ladybug just isn't cool. What makes this any different from Chloe causing a subway to go out of control so she can save it herself, or Lila intentionally akumatizing herself and working with Hawkmoth just because she hates Ladybug? If you can find a reason other than “because the plot says so”, I'll want to hear an explanation.

So Cat Noir goes to Le Grand Paris to drown his sorrows in alcohol with his favorite drink, a White Russian without the vodka and coffee liqueur. Also, instead of cream, it's skim milk. And speaking of Chloe, we see her get into a brief squabble with Sabrina over missing a bag she has underneath her shoulder, and Cat Noir gets excited again at the prospect of getting to fight an Akuma, but thankfully, the situation is resolved fairly quickly.

Ignoring how unheroic this makes this supposed “superhero” look, I have a quick question. SHOULDN'T CHLOE BE IN PRISON RIGHT NOW? She essentially committed treason against her country by willingly conspiring with a terrorist. I get that everyone in Paris was paralyzed at the time, but did Ladybug not tell anyone what happened? How is she not in trouble? Did her father pardon her or something? Is she not even going to do any community service? You would think given how much Astruc hates her, Chloe would be forced to face more consequences for her actions other than losing her Miraculous permanently. Hopefully, “Queen Banana” will shed some light on Chloe's situation, but I'm not exactly holding my breath on that.

But yeah, Cat Noir actually gets excited at the prospect at fighting an akumatized Sabrina, while ignoring how cruel Chloe's being to her, because I guess it's a day that ends with a “Y”. Remember when Adrien actually called out Lila and compromised with her in order to get Marinette back into school? Good times.

Cat Noir keeps calling and leaving messages for Ladybug, but changes his mind as soon as he sees Kagami, because he has the attention span of a puppy looking for someone to play with. Adrien stares at his phone's wallpaper of Ladybug, implying he still has feelings for her, and is then informed by Nathalie that his fencing class with Kagami was moved back by an hour. In reality, it was a trick by Kagami to get the two to spend some quality time together.

They choose to hang out in the art room because, get this, Kagami has always had a passion for drawing. Of course! That explains why it's never been mentioned in any earlier episodes, not even the one where she attended the premiere of an animated movie, which is a similar form of art. It's almost like the writers wanted to have Kagami do something that doesn't involve swinging a sword around. It's a good reason, mind you, but maybe if it was foreshadowed more, I would be more open to it.

Kagami says that she loves drawing because “art never lies”. Because it's not like someone can draw something completely inaccurate to what's actually being depicted, much like a certain character who likes to make up stories of people she knows to get others to like her, right? Kagami also says that her mother doesn't let her draw because she doesn't think her art isn't good, even though she's blind. Because when it comes to parents in Miraculous Ladybug, they're either amazing people who love their children, or they're emotionally abusive pieces of garbage who make you wonder why they even had kids in the first place. There is literally no middle ground. Maybe some of the writers have daddy issues?

So Kagami decides to draw a picture of Adrien, but wants him to give her a more “natural” pose instead of the standard model poses he usually gives.

Okay, this scene is raising so many red flags, the dialogue might as well be in semaphore. Where the hell did this side of Kagami come from? Why is she so controlling and forceful all of a sudden? In fact, why is she so obsessed with Adrien being “perfect”? The two made jokes before in the past (Desperada), and even spent half of the Season 3 finale playing around with Marinette? Why is she now Little Miss Serious?

Also, Kagami is really overstepping boundaries with Adrien here. Like, to a seriously uncomfortable degree. I get she isn't good with social cues, but how can she not see how anxious Adrien looks while she forces him into a pose, all while saying how wrong he is for doing what he sees as “natural”? This is not what a healthy relationship looks like, and spoiler alert, this isn't exactly why they even break up at the end of the episode.

Before the two can kiss while they're actually at fencing practice, Adrien is forced to leave Kagami to help Ladybug fight Mr. Pigeon (which means the narrative basically gave him what he wanted for no reason), leading to the same scene where Ladybug almost kills him, while he jokes about how he likes how angry she gets, and she apologizes for something that wasn't her fault. Just remember, he flirts with Ladybug right after he left his girlfriend to join her for an Akuma battle. The same montage from “Truth” happens, only it's Adrien missing opportunities to be close with Kagami, culminating with the little Kitty Section concert that happened right before Luka got akumatized.

While the two wait for their rides, Adrien accidentally drops the charm Marinette gave him all the way back in “Gamer”, which Kagami picks up. When he sees an Akuma flying, Adrien soon heads off to fight him, saving Ladybug from blowing her cover. After the events of “Truth”, Adrien apparently heads to Prince Ali's birthday party (yet Rose isn't there for some reason), meaning the second half of this episode takes place immediately after the previous one, even though it's been established that Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth needs time to recharge.

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After Cat Noir flirts a little with Ladybug again, he heads off to the party to meet up with Kagami. When he had to leave to fight Truth, Adrien claimed that he left something on the Liberty, which Adrien later claims was the charm Marinette gave him. Kagami soon realizes he's lying about something, and doesn't take it well.

There's a good performance from Kagami's voice actress here, and it's a nice parallel to Luka, who also feels a sense of betrayal when Marinette can't be honest with him. But this scene does tie into the problem with Adrien and Kagami in this episode, and I'll get into it towards the end.

Kagami storms off, and is immediately akumatized by Shadowmoth, turning her into Lies.

Like Truth, the design here is really forgettable. The design is all white and gives Kagami a haircut that looks like it belongs in The Jetsons, but that's it. The one thing I like about her is the way her powers work. Instead of going from victim to victim, Lies creates an energy dome that slowly grows and paralyzes anyone has lied before in the past, which is basically everyone who comes into contact with it. It's a pretty interesting idea, and it means that Ladybug and Cat Noir have to rely more on strategy while avoiding any contact with the dome.

Adrien transforms into Cat Noir and charges into action, with Jagged Stone offering to help out.

I don't think you can say the same for your family, can you, Jagged?

Cat Noir tells Jagged to get to a safe place, but much like his one night stand with Anarka, he refuses to pull out, so he gets paralyzed by the dome, along with everyone in the building.

Ladybug meets up with Cat Noir and immediately summons her Lucky Charm, a remote control drone. Since it hasn't lied, it can go into the dome and be used as surveillance while Cat Noir distracts Lies. While it seems like nobody inside the dome can touch Lies, Ladybug realizes that Fang, Jagged Stone's pet crocodile, hasn't lied either, so she uses the drone to lure him out of the building.

Cat Noir thinks of a way to distract Lies by doing what he always does to increase the tension.

You know, I thought of a little game we could play. Why don't we count how many times Cat Noir sacrifices himself this season? So far, the Cat Noir Self-Kill Counter is at 1, but I'm guessing it will be higher the longer this season goes on.

So while Lies is distracted by Cat Noir's unconscious body, Fang runs over and breaks her corrupted object, Marinette's charm. So after using Miraculous Ladybug, Ladybug runs over and, for good reason, I may add, scolds Cat Noir for recklessly sacrificing himself yet again.

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You know if this plan failed, not only would Shadowmoth get your Miraculous, but Ladybug would be all alone, you idiot! And we're supposed to find this reckless endangerment funny!? Seriously, Ladybug smiles at Cat Noir's stupid little quip as he still flirts with her right after he got into a fight with his girlfriend.

The next day, Adrien apologizes to Kagami, but she says she can't trust him, not as a boyfriend, and not as a friend either. And here is the problem with the Adrigami breakup. Like with the Lukanette breakup, it chooses to focus on one detail instead of the other, and glaringly obvious detail. The episode is trying to say that the whole reason Kagami and Adrien can't work as a couple is because of Adrien keeping his life as Cat Noir a secret. In reality, both of them have problems that they need to work on before they consider dating. Kagami has shown herself to be a massive control freak in this episode because of her own vision of what Adrien is like, showing she doesn't respect his boundaries or beliefs.

And Adrien? Where do I begin?

Adrien clearly shows several signs that he hasn't moved on from Ladybug with how much he flirts with her, even before he and Kagami got together, and there's the fact that unlike Marinette who realizes how she can't have a love life, it doesn't feel like Adrien actually learned that lesson.

We are supposed to see Adrien focusing on his secret life as Cat Noir as the responsible thing to do, and that like Ladybug, he needs to prioritize being Cat Noir over dating. The thing is that this episode has only showed how he doesn't take any of the hero stuff seriously. Throughout the episode, he treats being Cat Noir as a fun pasttime, when it comes to craving Ladybug's attention to the point where he's just short of causing an Akuma attack out of desperation until he sees someone else to spend time with, constantly flirts with Ladybug despite how annoyed she can come across, doesn't understand any of the stuff she has to deal with now that she's Guardian, and will sacrifice himself all so Ladybug can do all the work for him. He doesn't care about anything unless he gains something in return. It doesn't matter if lives are in danger, he thinks his personal feelings are more important because his civilian life is sO hAaArRd.

At one point when we were all kids, we all wanted to be superheroes because we all thought the idea of having superpowers and the freedom to do whatever we wanted sounded awesome. But that's not what being a hero is. We never thought about the responsibility that comes with being a superhero. One of the main themes of superhero media that we all watched growing up was that they would help us to learn right from wrong, and that sometimes, personal sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and our feelings just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things. Whether we learned this lesson from Superman, Spider-Man, Sailor Moon, the Power Rangers, or even the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, what matters is that by the time we reached the age of these heroes, we would have a similar moral compass so we would understand why these heroes would make some of the choices they did, and we would be able to make similar choices if we encountered situations like the ones they went through.

Part of growing up is realizing that being a superhero isn't all fun and games. Sometimes, you need to put your own personal desires aside to make sure nobody gets hurt because of something you did or didn't do. We are currently in the fourth season of this show, and after 82 episodes, Cat Noir has still failed to learn that lesson. He doesn't understand that even if his “true self” is clowning around, that's not how a hero acts. You don't see Batman or Captain America acting this way, and you don't see real life soldiers or emergency workers acting this way either.

And that's not even getting into the fact that this is the same problem the Lukanette breakup had. Even though Marinette had a valid reason to break things off with Luka because she realized being Guardian was more important, the narrative framed it like she was still into Adrien, no matter if she was making an effort to get over him. Likewise, even though both Adrien and Kagami have issues the narrative refuses to actually acknowledge, they frame it as Adrien's hero life was ruining their relationship, when in reality, the reasons for both the Adrigami breakup and the Lukanette breakup should have been flipped. “Truth” should have been about Marinette coming to terms with her new responsibilities as the Guardian, and “Lies” should have been about Adrien realizing he needs to work on his own personal issues before he considers his feelings for Kagami or Ladybug.

So the episode just ends with Ladybug and Cat Noir saying that even if they have to keep secrets about their identities, they can still trust each other. Also, before Kagami dumped him, Adrien reaffirmed his feelings for Ladybug (the only time they were actually referenced outside of flirting and his phone's wallpaper), which implies that Adrien is going to continue to pursue Ladybug, having learned nothing from this whole episode.

You know, after watching both this episode and “Truth”, and seeing how it undid two of the major changes from the Season 3 finale, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all? Does it almost feel like you've been here before? How am I gonna be a optimist about this? Hell if I know, this episode's honestly worse than “Truth” was.

Put aside your feelings on the Adrigami breakup, the pacing here was awful. Because the writers thought it would be interesting to have some continuity for once by having it take place right after “Truth”, the timeline is incredibly confusing. Can Shadowmoth just create more Akumas at once without having to recharge? And shouldn't Ladybug and Cat Noir be exhausted from having to fight two Akumas and a Sentimonster in one day?

Even then, about half of the episode was spent following Adrien as he whined about how hard he supposedly has it, proving despite what Astruc continues to state, he is far from perfect, and like what he loves to say about Chloe, refuses to change. Wow, that's so interesting. And we're supposed to feel bad for Cat Noir and be mad at Ladybug for missing their patrol, forgetting everything she's been going through in the last week, considering how Gabriel just fixed the Peacock Miraculous, suggesting that the events of “Truth” and “Lies” happened not too long after “Miracle Queen”. Even the Akuma fight wasn't that interesting because it was crammed into about five minutes thanks to everything else going on in this episode.

In an attempt to make the audience sympathize with him, this episode only made me loathe the way Adrien is portrayed even more. Seriously, he reaches “Frozer” levels of unlikability in this episode. Maybe he'll get some much needed character development, but given how much Astruc will put him on a pedestal and ignore his flaws, I don't think it's going to happen anytime soon.

But I still don't see the point of spending so much time building up this relationship for two seasons just to end it as soon as they hook up. At the end of the day, all Lukanette and Adrigami amounted to was filler. It was a way to get in some romantic scenes for the fans while the writers continue to drag out the Love Square drama like a taffy puller. And now that Luka and Kagami have served their purpose, watch as Astruc and the other writers start to slowly remove them from the narrative until they appear about as often as Nino does now.

After all, why care about anything in this show that isn’t related to the Love Square? It’s clear none of the writers do.

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javajunkieao3 · 4 years ago

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Beth/Benny Fic: Being Alive - The Parent Years

The one where Beth and Benny’s five-year-old daughter challenges Vasily Borgov to a Candyland game.

AKA, the one I had way too much fun writing. Set in the “Being Alive” universe.

Beth sits at a familiar board, resting her chin on her folded hands as she studies the squares laid out before her. She can see the path to victory clearly, but there is too much uncertainty on the board for her to know exactly how it will turn out. As it stands, Beth’s opponent is ahead and it is her opponent’s turn, which gives her another chance to achieve an even farther lead. Her opponent reaches forward and draws a card. It’s red. Beth frowns, watching her daughter push the gingerbread man four spaces up.

“Your turn,” her daughter says crisply, taking a sip of her apple juice. Chess tournaments didn’t allow beverages other than water, but for a Candyland tournament, Alma considers the apple juice indispensable.

Beth reaches forward and takes a card. It’s a measly yellow, which only takes her one square forward.

Benny walks into the kitchen and takes a look at the board. “I see this game is going about as well as usual.”

“How do I keep losing?” Beth says unhappily.

Alma draws another card that takes her directly to Gumdrop Mountain. At this rate, she’ll reach Candy Castle in another three moves. Maybe two. Alma grins up at her mother.

“No gloating,” Beth says lightly. Looking over at Benny, she remarks, “She gets that from you.”

“I don’t gloat. I simply enjoy my wins.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?”

Beth draws another card, swearing under her breath when she finds herself pulled into a Molasses Swamp. She really hated this game.

Benny crouches next to his daughter and says, “Your mother is very bad at this game.”

“Daddy, you’re distracting me,” Alma says with exasperation.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Benny says. He straightens up, and when he passes Beth he says, “That she definitely got from you.”

Three turns later, Alma arrives at Candy Castle and stretches her hand across the board, just as her parents taught her.

“Good game, Mommy.”

Beth smiles, once again struck by the fact that she had made someone so absolutely perfect. She shakes her daughter’s hand and then calls out, “Carol, you’re up.”

Mrs. Watts comes into the kitchen and says, “Another win? Good for you, Alma dear.”

Beth plants her hands on the table and stands. “I think she’s going to sweep the tournament again.”

Mrs. Watts takes her seat. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Beth ruffles Alma’s hair before she goes to find Benny, leaving Mrs. Watts to play the reigning Candyland champion. Benny is seated on the couch reading a magazine. He looks up at her when he hears her approach, and says, “Another crushing defeat?”

“I swear she stacks the deck.”

“Honestly, if she did, I’d be a little proud.”

Beth laughs, sitting next to him. She rests her head on his shoulder and he says, “How are you feeling about Paris next week?”

“I’m as ready as I can be,” Beth says.

“Borgov is still supposed to be there, right?”

Beth nods. Despite both of them being relatively active after Moscow, it is the first time they are facing off since her win all those years ago. She feels nervous, but in a less unsteadying manner than before. The thought of him didn’t frighten her anymore.

“Do you think Alma will like Paris?” she asks.

“It’s the country of bread and cheese. I don’t think she’ll want to leave.”

“And your mom?”

“She doesn’t mind staying here. She says she doesn’t like the French because they wear too much black.”

“Well, naturally.”

“Besides, I think a little trip just the three of us would be nice. We haven’t done that for a few years.”

They had purposely built in a few extra days in Paris to do some exploring. Beth is particularly excited to take Alma to see the Eiffel Tower. Cleo brought her back a small figurine of it after her last trip there, and Alma kept it next to her bed, saying goodnight to it each evening before she went to sleep.

Benny goes back to reading his magazine, holding it so that she can read along, too. After about twenty minutes, Alma runs into the room and exclaims, “I won again!”

----

Six days later, the family is in Paris, Alma asleep in her father’s arms as they check into the hotel. Both Beth and Benny played enough over the years to be recognized, and a few people even ask for autographs. They make their way up to the room and Benny puts Alma down on the bed, covering her with his coat.

Beth glances over at their daughter and says, “You should wake her. Otherwise, she’ll be up at two in the morning.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get up with her. I’m not playing, anyway.”

Beth nods. While they kept true to their prior intention of not having children get in the way of tournaments, at a certain point, they did recognize the virtue of having one parent available while the other competed. And so, after a few years, they tried to only have one of them playing at a tournament, if possible. Benny played Paris the year prior, so this year, he happily took on the parenting duties.

They order room service and after a quiet dinner, Beth tries to get some sleep, feeling her usual pre-tournament jitters. It takes her a while to fall asleep, but when she does she sleeps soundly, and she wakes up feeling refreshed and ready for the day. Alma is already up and she notices Benny put her in a dress that mimics the one she had chosen for the day. She laid her dress out the night before and she wonders if Benny had purposely matched them, grinning at the thought.

-----

When they go down to where the tournament is being held, the first person that Beth sees is Borgov. He is standing across the room with his wife, his demeanor its usual reserved and collected. He feels her gaze and looks over, offering her a small wave that she returns. Benny walks over and lays a hand on her arm.

“Are you ready?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“I saw you have Ballister up first,” Benny says. “He’ll be a good warmup.”

Beth smiles slightly. “I heard he got better after Mexico City.”

“I saw him running pawn formations. You don’t have to worry.”

“Good to know.”

Benny looks over her shoulder. “Borgov’s here.”

“Yeah, I saw him.”

Benny senses her hesitation and says, “Don’t worry. You’re going to beat him. You’ll beat all of them.”

-----

The day flies by with one game after another. Some are challenging, others less so, but by the end, Beth is relieved to head toward her family and get some rest before starting up again the next day. Benny is over by the restaurant, Alma with a piece of baguette in her hand.

“Where did she even get that?” Beth asks.

Alma doesn’t answer, her mouth currently full of bread.

“She just outright asked one of the waiters. They were so flustered, they just gave it to her.”

Someone clears their throat behind Beth and she looks over her shoulder, surprised to see Borgov and his wife. She immediately greets them, shaking his wife’s hand who he introduces as Katarina.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Beth says.

“And you. I have heard so much about you.”

Alma steps to her mother’s side, baguette still clutched in her hand, and says, “Hello. I’m Alma.”

Borgov smiles warmly down at her. “Hello Alma. Tell me, how old are you?” “I’m five,” Alma says.

“You are?” Katarina says pleasantly, crouching down to be at the young girl’s height. “You look so grown up for five.”

Alma nods and says, “But I am five. And a Candyland champion.”

Borgov chuckles. “Is that so?”

“We hold tournaments in our kitchen,” Beth explains with a grin.

“It’s all very official,” Benny adds.

Alma looks up at Borgov and asks, “Would you like to play?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Beth says immediately, garnering an accusatory look from her daughter. But, really, they were at a world chess tournament. She doubted Borgov had the time or desire to play Candyland against her five-year-old-daughter. However, much to her surprise, Borgov says, “I would be honored.”

“Really?” Beth asks curiously.

Katarina links her arm through her husband’s and says, “How can he say no to a Candyland champion?”

Before them, Alma beams.

-----

When Beth packed the Candyland board in their luggage, she never could have imagined that her daughter would be playing against Vasily Borgov. And yet, here they are, doing exactly that in her hotel room. Alma has her requisite apple juice, and at the last moment, she insists that Borgov have a glass of water because as she puts it, “You might get thirsty.”

Borgov tells her this is a very reasonable concern and takes the water. Alma starts off the game and Beth watches Borgov approach the play with the same sort of intensity that he did with chess. He draws the cards carefully, moving his gingerbread man deliberately across the squares. When he is sucked down a cherry hole, the discontent on his face mirrors what she might have seen if someone had captured his Queen.

Katarina sits down next to Beth and says in a low voice, “It may not look it, but your daughter is really indulging Vasily with this. He used to play with our son, Sergei, but he’s too old now.”

“How old is your son again?”

“Twelve. He’s just at the age where he wants nothing to do with either of us.”

The game goes on, and after a particularly serendipitous draw of cards when Alma found herself sidelined in the Molasses Swamp, Borgov picks up his gingerbread man and holds it out to Alma.

“The game is yours. Well done.”

Alma takes the small figurine, smiling wide.

The next day, Beth beats him, too.

Read the full story HERE!

#The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #Vasily Borgov #Being Alive #fanfic #fanfiction

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tentavamp · 4 years ago

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Here’s a drabble (at least by my definition, it’s way too big otherwise) requested on Twitter for some Pirate Lesbians Jolymes. Not beta read, just meant to be a fun, quick warmup. Apologies if there are any mistakes I missed. This really ended up being an excerpt from one of those cheesy dumb romance novels on accident.

“So, the Platinum’s captain is your father? How sweet.” The ship’s current prisoner leans casually against the bars of her holding cell, hands locked firm to keep herself in place against the rocking of the vessel.

“What would you think if I asked him for your hand as compensation once my own crew comes back to get me? That counts as a lass for a lass, I think.”

“Quiet, you damned church bell! You’ve been at this for an hour now!”

Jolyne finally rises from her seat in frustration. There’s a rhythmic, aggressive clanking of boots as she stomps to stand the woman’s opposite, eyes locked in a scowl and her grip threatening to pull the knife from her hip. This pirate’s crew (she identified herself as Costello) made an attempt to board their ship during the night. It was clumsy, failed; they very easily plucked a prisoner from the chaos for their trouble. It seemed almost too easy, in fact. Jolyne, the captain’s daughter and general deckhand, had been ordered to keep watch and pry information when she could. As rightly guessed, the unfamiliar crew had heard of the Platinum’s success and wanted their own cut from the group’s last reward. The woman however, with dreads stained just a touch by sea salt and skin that glows gold in the rays that penetrate the ship walls, hasn’t personally left the girl alone since she took her position.

“And you aren’t pretty enough to be a siren! Quit while you still have some dignity, why don’t you!”

“But am I handsome enough to be your husband?” Costello replies, not a hint of expected sarcasm to her voice.

Jolyne’s lip twitches.

“I’m well-off for that already!” The girl stuffs her arms against her chest, turning away from the gaze that’s starting to heat up her face.

“I’m engaged to be wed to a man on the mainland! A rich, handsome man who could have me and our crew stable for life!”

“Does he know you’re a scoundrel and a cheat like me?”

Jolyne scoffs. “What the hell does that matter? He proposed and I said yes, didn’t I?! That means it’s going to be a marriage!”

Costello’s knuckles visibly tighten around the bars with the rising of a wave. She takes the opportunity to shift, straightening out to stand a few good inches above her jailer.

“Come here.” She requests low and soft, the accent falling off of her tongue in ways Jolyne has never heard before.

The captain’s daughter doesn’t comply. Instead, the prisoner gets a daggerish evil-eye shot in her direction from the corner of the girl’s vision.

“How many has it been? Many? Or is this your first?”

“That’s none of your business.” Jolyne can’t hide how tense she grows at the probing question.

“Preserving the sanctity of your political marriage, then?” The older woman’s lip curls.

“Perhaps I’m just ill-minded, but I don’t take you for one who looks at any man with eagerness.”

Jolyne finally turns to lock eyes with her charge, this glare filled more with melancholy than the last. She knows it’s malice, it has to be, but it’s wearing her down in a more intimate way than torture would.

“I’m not going to live selfishly as a spinster like you when I could aid my family...” She mumbles, wanting only to slough the weight from her shoulders with heroic semantics.

“So you’d rather them make you a tool for wealth than be free to love as you see fit?”

A lightly freckled hand rises from between the bars, cautious as to not draw alarm. It cradles half of the blonde streak falling over Jolyne’s face like one would a drooping flower, but the woman remains stoic in face of the attention. So stoic, in fact, that she leaves the pair lost in a moment’s silence with her refusal to respond.

“I can let you free, Miss Cujoh.”

The woman’s golden eyes grow wide when she feels a sudden, aggressive grip of hands around her leather vest collar. It yanks her against the bars, close enough for Jolyne to snort a hot bull’s-warning into her face.

“How dare you try to seduce me like this, you witch!”

“Oh my-“ Costello tries her best to suppress a cough, the feeling brought on by metal hitting her square in the sternum.

“You seem quite thirsty for something, Miss Cujoh.”

Both parties remain steadfast in their own ways, Costello with confidence and Jolyne with her burning red desire not to make a fool of herself. Being quite attracted to the thrill of danger, this woman is pushing the girl’s buttons just so. She teases her in a way that feels like a dare, yet seems skillful enough to hide its origin. Is it really the prisoner’s tongue working magic, or is Jolyne’s own stubbornness holding her to a flame? From the green tattoo on Costello’s forehead, Jolyne finds her focus trailing downward: down the woman’s sculpted nose, her years-worn lips, the scar that mars her chin and came a mere lick away from splitting the lower of the two.

“With nothing around but salt water and brandy, I suppose you’ll just have to drink of me instead...”

Jolyne hesitates, but takes her attitude all the way to the grave as she finally indulges the temptation. They kiss between the bars, the captain’s daughter panting her frustration with herself into the fellow pirate’s mouth. She can feel the other smirk against her and the subtle display of victory prods into her sensitivity.

“I only-“ Pause.

“Am doing this-“ Another pause.

“To shut your mouth!” Jolyne feels inclined to specify amongst her own efforts.

“Mmh. I’ll be quiet if it means having you this close, hermosa.”

Serving as a distraction to the noise she hears above-deck, Costello draws the girl closer with a tug. A skilled hand snakes down to Jolyne’s hip, the other around her back to brush under her messily-tied braid and hold her there. They don’t break away from their moment until there’s a loud thud directly above them, startling Jolyne into a daze.

“What in God’s name-?!” She pries herself from Costello’s arms, leaving the woman still reeling with an exhilarating rabbit-heart from the interaction.

“C-Consider my offer, would you mi sirenita?” She shouts as Jolyne rushes to check on the commotion.

“You won’t regret it!”

As Jolyne scrambles to the top deck, she’s very quickly directed by the rest of the crew to the sight of a ship growing in the distance. It barrels forward fast despite the Platinum’s late attempts to outrun it, having used a sudden layer of fog to sneak up on them. It’s no doubt going to be another attempt to overtake them.

“It’s the Green Dolphin again! She’s approachin’ off the stern! Got some death wish comin’ at us again so soon!” A deckhand exclaims.

Jolyne goes ignored by her father as he barks his commands to the rest of the Platinum’s occupants. Even still, a gear seems to set in place in her head as she puts two and two together on her own. There’s a furious hiss that’s forced through her teeth as she throws herself back down into the holding cells, only to find her charge’s cell door open, the keys gone from her belt, and the prisoner gone without a trace.

“COSTELLO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jolyne cujoh #jolyne kujo #hermes costello #ermes costello #jolymes #stone ocean #part 6 #pirate AU #drabble #bone rattling

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final-fantasy-imagines · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a drabble of Reno and his s/o training? Like his s/o is a soldier or another turk? Thank youu

Hey there! Sorry that it took me forever to finish this one, it was a bit challenging since I struggle with fighting scenes (even in my native language). But I think it turned out okay, so I hope you will enjoy it too. Have fun reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

Hit me baby – Reno x turk!reader

Training. Usually one of your favorite parts of being a Turk but today, Tseng hat paired you up with your boyfriend Reno, and you somehow felt like you needed to hold back, even though he was a way more experienced fighter than you.

You had started working for Shinra only one year ago and were still trying to climb up the career ladder while Reno had already fulfilled countless difficult missions on their behalf. You knew that he was one of the best fighters Shinra had – and you strove to be as good as him one day.

In previous training sessions, you had practiced with other newbies, trying to figure out your own weaknesses while also learning to rate your abilities in comparison to others. Tseng had often told you that you had potential – but never, not even in your wildest dreams, you would've thought that he would pair you up with that handsome guy you fell in love with almost eight months ago. You had no idea why Tseng wanted you to train with Reno. Since you never made the mistake to overestimate your own abilities you knew exactly that you were inferior to him. You probably were going to make a fool of yourself.

At the thought of embarrassing yourself like that, you bit your bottom lip. You didn't want the others to think that you were weak but how on earth were you supposed to take it up with Reno?

You sheepishly gazed at him, watching as he laughed at something Rude had said. Much to your relief, there weren't a whole lot of other Turks around to watch the training but you were still nervous. What if you fought in such a bad way that Tseng decided to dismiss you?

You shook your head to get rid of discouraging thoughts like this and tried to focus on your warmup. You had worked hard to get where you were right now and you weren’t going to give up, just because you were insecure about a training session.

When you noticed that Reno was approaching you, looking at you with an almost smug grin on his face, you straightened up and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You look upset,” he said. “Worried about the training? Don’t worry, baby, I’ll go easy on you.”

The teasing undertone in his voice made you frown. You hated when others made fun of you and it was even worse when Reno did it, especially since he knew how you felt about it. “No,” you replied ostensibly calm. “I was just wondering how much it’s going to hurt your ego if I kick your ass.”

“I’d love to see you try, (Y/N).” With that, he squared off and before you even realized what was going on, he was standing right next to you, quickly grabbing your wrists as you raised your fist to punch him right in the face.

“Not nice,” he said with a pout. You tried to free yourself from his grip but it only caused him to hold on to your wrists even tighter. Then, when you gathered all your strength to tear away from him, Reno suddenly let go, causing you to stumble backwards and fall down to the floor. He gave you a nonchalant smile. “Oops.”

You glared at him as if he was your worst enemy before you jumped to your feet and lunged at him, effectively throwing him off balance and drawing first blood when you hit him. Before he could regain his poise, you were already attacking him again, trying to remember everything you had learned in previous trainings.

Reno ducked most of your attacks with ease, and when you finally took a few steps back to get out of his reach, he wasn’t even out of breath. “Is that really all you can do?” he teased. You knew that he was only trying to provoke you but you had to admit that it worked nevertheless.

The next moment, he swooped down on you. You dodged his attacks and quickly spun around to smite him again but this time, he caught your fist before you could hit him and then, he smashed his forehead against yours, effectively making you stumble backwards. You found yourself on the floor once again and as you tried to sit up, you realized that you were feeling a bit dizzy. You blinked a few times to get rid of the vertigo when Reno appeared in front of you, offering you his hand to help you stand up. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m fine.”

That was when the slightly concerned look in his turquoise eyes turned into excitement. “Excellent,” he said and winked at you. “Wanna continue?”

#reno ff7 x reader #reno ff7 imagine #reno ff7 #final fantasy 7 imagines #ff7 x reader

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anianimol · 4 years ago

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Moonlight Melody | Ushijima Wakatoshi

Ushijima x Fem!Reader

Fluff/Imagine/Slow Burn

Synopsis: As he heads into his senior year at Shiratorizawa, the last thing Ushijima expects is a distraction; his last year was supposed to be smooth sailing — another trip to nationals. When practice begins for the fall semester, he finds himself lured by something strange, someone strange — perhaps someone he had never known he needed.

Author’s Note: Hi guys!!! I had started this a little while ago and wasn’t sure exactly what I should do with it and I was planning on making it a little series:) Let me know what you think and requests are open as always!

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

Taking his usual path down the corridor towards the club room to get changed for afternoon practice, Ushijima solemnly listened to his sneakers padding down the stairs, stray rocks crunching under his shoes as he left the main building. Making his way across the sunlit courtyard, he continued on his routine walk before warmups, checking his watch as he always did, reading “3:02”; he was exactly on time to make it to the gym before the others. Blinking sunlight out of his eyes, he had almost reached his destination, circling around the fountain as he heard faint music, a warm breeze rustling his windbreaker. Music? He paused. That was new. He had made this walk over a thousand times in his past two years at Shiratorizawa and had not once heard music. Shrugging it off, he headed up the stairs, hoping to run into as few people as possible before making it to the gym.

As the final bell rang the next day, Wakatoshi slid out from his desk, beginning on the same trek as usual, passing by other students walking to their club activities. Paces away from the lockers, he heard it again. The music. He turned, head swiveling in an attempt to find the source of the sound. Sighing, he moved once again as the notes subsided, this time set on making it to the club room. His foot almost in the door, he felt a soft chord land on his ears. This time, his curiosity got the best of him—curiosity? Since when was he the curious type? Shaking his head, he began heading towards his locker, his feet already moving. He was halfway down the stairs when he realized he was not walking in the direction of practice; no, his body, practically in a trance, was leading him towards those sweet sounds, tripping him in the process.

Pulling himself together, he felt his heartbeat quicken its pace as the music grew louder, eventually leading him back across the courtyard towards an unfamiliar building with a door left ajar. He had never been to this part of the school, strange to him as he was now in his senior year at Shiratorizawa. Peering inside, he opened the door further as quietly as possible.

You sat at the piano, eyes closed in concentration, dextile fingers drifting across the keys, padding them so softly that any onlooker would think that they were not even making contact. Breathing deeply, toes pressing down on the paddles, you allowed yourself to drift further and further from reality, letting the intertwining melody and harmony carry you far away. Lost in the score, you almost missed the faint creak of floorboards behind you.

Spinning in surprise, you found a towering figure looking back at you with an identical expression on his face; “I, um—” he started, as you squeaked out a frantic “Hi!”. As the olive-green pupils looked back at you, you felt your cheeks growing red hot with embarrassment. Shit. ‘ Did you forget how to speak, or were you just an idiot?’ your inner voice sneered, as the boy in front of you continued. “ I apologize for intruding,” he began, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as possible as to not startle the tiny figure in front of him, failing miserably with his deep register.

“That’s alright” you stuttered, clearing your throat as you took in his presence. As he was still in his school uniform, there wasn’t much you could gather from his appearance, other than the fact that he was tall—well, he was extremely tall, almost unnaturally so.

His face, though stoic and a bit intimidating at first look, was softened by the kindness hidden in his eyes—though his opponents would likely argue otherwise. You continued, “So, what brings you here? Are you…..” you trailed off.

As she spoke, Ushijima noticed how small she truly was, her figure appearing almost fragile in front of him. She pushed wavy black strands out of her face as her lips moved, doe-like brown eyes gazing up at him as her cheeks were lightly flushed a soft peony. The girl before him looked up at him expectantly, causing him to frantically realize that he had been staring for way too long.

Attempting to engage him in conversation, you quickly deadpanned, realizing that he was staring down at you intently, eyes boring straight through you. ‘Was he staring at you? Did you have something on your face?’ You scrambled think of whether or not your choice of bento for lunch had been a horrid mistake. Trying in vain to mask your apparent embarrassment, you glanced up to see a mirrored expression, the giant before you gazing with a smoldering expression, the tips of his ears beginning to go pink.

“I’m sorry I…” he stumbled over his words, caught off guard by his own actions. You giggled, drawing a dazed look from the oblivious boy before you.

Smiling, you stood, walking towards him in a surge of confidence (source unknown, possibly from one blushing giant).

“I don’t think I introduced myself. My name is ____. Judging by your bag,” you pointed at his volleyball bag with his last name and number sewn in, “I would assume you’re the captain I’ve heard so much about.”

He bowed formally; “Ushijima Wakatoshi. Nice to meet you________.”

You laughed quietly at his stiff manner; “ Want to learn some piano Ushijima-san? I must say I am a pretty great teacher.”

“Wait I—”

Not allowing him to finish, you dragged him by the strap of his bag behind you to the bench, plopping down next to him. Shrugging his bag off, he realized that it would be no use in fighting the headstrong girl beside him; she wouldn’t likely take no for an answer.

Lifting the cover and scooting a tad closer, you grabbed his wrists, your fingers not even reaching fully around them; “ Relax your fingers” you commanded, your hands gently tugging on his calloused ones.

He peered over at you curiously, watching silently as you used your own hands to guide his, your dainty fingers dwarfed by the ones underneath them.

As you controlled his hands, you felt his hot gaze on the back of your neck, hairs standing up at attention.

Once again, the melody began, slowly this time. Ushijima found his eyes closing, entranced once again by the song, the corners of his lips. Peering down at the girl beside him, he thought to himself silently;

‘Maybe this year will be different.’

#haikyuuwritersnet #underratedhq #haikyuu!!#ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu hc #fluff #fanfic #ushijima x y/n #ushijima fic #ushijima smut #hq anime #anime #shiratorizawa #hq imagines #imagines

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

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Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fic #six fanfiction #anne boleyn #katherine howard #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: pus #tw: body horror #nana boleyn #skin bone and scales

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ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Note

are you gonna do anything for kookie's birthday?? i know a lot of writers are and i was hoping you might be one of them :)

I don’t have anything, tbh, because I’ve been mostly working on my fic for the Love Yourself Collab (which you should def check out bc I know at least one or two have posted theirs and I’m so hype to read them!!) and the sequel to mechanic!joon from the poll a while back.

I will give you this crumb though, for everyone who read Chasing Butterflies and thoroughly enjoyed it the way I did.

“I just don’t get it,” Nayun says as she straps her pads on. Jisoo doesn’t react and Rose looks like she might actually kick your asses if you aren’t on the court in ten seconds. “What do you not get? Like what about this situation is confusing?” You ask. “I’m whipped for Jungkook, we been knew, and he’s apparently through some great act of mercy also whipped for me, and he’s bringing every single one of his nerd friends to the match today. Which isn’t at all nerve-wracking. Whatsoever.”

Jisoo rolls her eyes and tugs harder at your laces. She always does your laces, she’s the only one with the upper body strength to tie the things well. You think she might actually be moonlighting as a secret BDSM dominatrix just based on the way she handles them.

“No, I don’t get why you’re nervous. He’s seen you play before, didn’t he tell you that he tries to come to as many home games as possible? And his friends know nothing about the sport, they won’t know if you fuck it up.”

“Which you won’t,” Rose says from the door. "Because you’re good at this.”

“And because you’ll kill me if I fuck it up.” She doesn’t respond verbally, but the look she sends you radiates ‘yeah and what about it’ energy. “Look, I’m just...scared of disappointing his friends. He talks me up all the time apparently, and if they get bored or are unimpressed then...”

“What, you think he’s gonna break up with you?” Jisoo’s tone is teasing, but when she looks up to see the insecuirty on your face, she softens. “You put on a cosplay for him, and he’s liked you for almost as long as you’ve liked him. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

You just nod, tugging at the laces as she finishes tying them. Realistically, you know she’s right. It’s been a couple months since that night in your apartment, and things have only gotten better. He still comes to the coffee-shop to hang out with his dweeb friends, even if he does spend the time waiting for them talking to you now. He still watches his dumbass anime, thoroughly enjoying your flat-screen to do so, even if he gets consistently distracted by the way you lay in his lap. You talk about your practices that he knows a fair bit about because of some anime, he tells you about his nerd shit that you don’t understand but enjoy hearing about anyway, you help him with his essays and he helps you with Organic Chem, and you even buy him little cupcakes every time he gets a new comment on his fanfic. Things between you are good.

You have no reason to worry, you decide as you push out of the locker rooms and head to the court to get warmups started. You spot him, sitting with his group of friends beside where Jimin and Taehyung sit with the rest of the guys’ team to watch your game. Your boyfriend - your whole chest gets warms as you think it, and you let yourself bask in it for a minute because it took three fucking years to get - looks adorable today; big, round glasses, with that soft beanie and a softer looking shirt. It’s got some kind of weird pumpkin(?) on it, with a point and sharp teeth and the back has a scythe and you vaguely recognize it. You’re pretty sure he watched it at your apartment a few days ago, but you also had his dick in your mouth, so you weren’t paying much attention to anything else.

You wave back when he waves at you, big and excited and cute, and you’re once again hit with the urge to cover him in kisses while also maybe dangling him off a fifty-story building. His nose scrunches in that way you love and you ignore the way it has your stomach flipping.

Rose pelts a ball at you and you catch it on sheer instinct.

“Are you actually going to warm up or are you gonna be entirely useless today?” She asks. You glare at her and throw the ball back in response. If you didn’t have firsthand experience with how good she is, you’d wish she was your opponent so you could wipe the smirk off her face.

Warmups go well. The team you’re supposed to be playing is good, supposedly pretty well-matched to your own, and you’re excited to see if it holds true. They don’t look especially intimidating. The biggest threat seems to be their captain - which is true for your team as well, Rose is terrifying - and there are a couple girls milling around in jackets and over-shirts. One in particular catches your notice; as you look, you realize it’s because Jungkook has the same jacket. Black, with a big-ass Old-English-styled L on the back of it, and some kind of writing you can’t see on the front and can’t remember from Jungkook’s, small and in the corner where logos usually go.

You make a note to ask which anime that’s from, just to know in the future, and return to your warmups.

The game itself is...well, it’s challenging. The other teams is as well-practiced as yours, they’re balanced against you pretty well, and all of you are enjoying the competition almost as much as you’re frustrated that you aren’t getting anywhere. Their captain - a shorter girl with pretty eyes and dimples - is an absolute beast and Rose looks simultaneously enraged and turned on, and Weeb Girl has been blocking you at every turn. She volleys every serve you give, manages to block every spike without fail, and you can respect that she’s good at this, but you’re also really fucking frustrated.

It’s the end of the second set and both teams are ready for the ten minute break. You’re in the process of trying to drown yourself in your Gatorade bottle and really considering using the stuff to summon some kind of demon just so you can win the game, go home, stuff yourself with cheap burgers, and then fuck your boyfriend because you could tell from his face at one point that he was getting worked up watching you play, but before you can you catch sight of your friends whispering quietly to themselves.

It screams ‘hey we’re doing something really shady and don’t want you to know, maybe you should immediately storm over and find out what’s going on’ so you do exactly that.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘should we tell her?’“ You demand, keeping your voice as hushed as theirs. Nayun looks repentant and sorry, Jisoo actually literally makes the emoji face with the teeth, and Rose just purses her lips and gestures over her shoulder.

You really don’t know what you expect to see, but Jungkook hanging over the side of the bleachers to talk to Weeb Girl isn’t it. His eyes are crinkled at the corners like they do when he’s excited, his glasses are half-down his nose and in danger of falling off because you aren’t there to push them back up like he enjoys, and he’s gesturing happily to Weeb Girl. And she....she looks just as excited, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers and batting her lashes up at him as she says something else that makes him laugh. You can’t realistically hear it, it’s too crowded and noisy, but you feel it when he laughs, every time.

“We should call the police, she’s gonna kill her,” Jisoo says morbidly from behind you.

“No,” You respond, scoffing. Your eyes don’t draw away from where your boyfriend is talking to Weeb Girl. “No, I’m not. She can flirt all she wants, it’s fine. Yeah, she’s blocked me at every turn this game, yeah she’s kinda really pretty, and she definitely has the ass for those shorts, and she’s wearing weeb stuff that she’s probably interested in and can talk to him about, but it’s fine. I know Jungkook, he’s not gonna do anything. He’s a good guy.” And you mean it when you say it. If there’s one thing that you’re sure of in your relationship that isn’t Jungkook knowing random weeb stats, it’s that he’s loyal. You know it, deep in your bones.

You watch as Weeb Girl steps forward, cutting off whatever Jungkook’s saying to push his glasses up his nose, giggling as she does. Your fingers twitch because yes, that is your job, not hers, but it’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. Until her captain calls her back and she giggles again and waves, and Jungkook turns to sit and you see it. He’s got that pretty blush on his face, the one that tints his cheeks and makes him duck his head, the one you love so much but especially when you’re riding him and can get him to break out of the dominant persona he loves and turn pink with your words.

And you know that your boyfriend is loyal and sweet and wonderful, can tell by the way he searches for you and melts into a smile like the ice cream you’re pretty sure you forgot to put back in your freezer before you had to rush out to get to this game. But pushing his glasses up is your job and that is your blush and you aren’t about to let some weeb queen take it from you.

Rose looks pleased as you all take the court again. Jisoo looks convinced you’re gonna kill Weeb Girl, and you won’t lie; you’re definitely trying to see if you can will someone to set fire with only the power of your brain as you stare her down across the net. She looks entirely too pleased with herself and even dares to send a quick glance and a shy smile off at where you know Jungkook sits behind you, and you wish - not for the first time in your life - that you had Harry Potter powers and could just Crucio this fucker right now.

Alas, you’re gonna have to settle for slamming a volleyball into her face.

Nayun looks horrified at the sight, but you can tell Rose is holding back a smile even as the ref gives you a penalty that you willingly take. Weeb Girl looks pissed and also a little confused. Logically it’s not her fault that she chose to flirt with your weeb; and you can’t even fault her for it, because he’s gorgeous and sweet and perfect, but god damn what a day to do it.

Throughout the rest of the third set, you’re basically unstoppable. You score three times on her, and you take a sick pleasure in the bruise that’s already forming under her eye. Her entire team looks confused, and you are too, because none of you are sure of where this sudden burst of skill and fury is coming from, but you’re determined to ride it out for as long as it lasts.

When the game’s over, your entire team crowds you to celebrate. You’re a good player, you don’t have any allusions to that, but you’re also pretty much just reliably good. You’ve never played like that, not in your entire life, and you’re thriving with the knowledge that you even can.

When they finally back up, you bolt before they can throw Gatorade on you, already climbing the stands. Jimin laughs as you shove him to the side, and you decide to feel guilty about the way he almost falls later, because right now you’re on a mission. You straddle the stand and fist one hand in Jungkook’s shirt, pulling him into a heated kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. In seconds you’re almost on his lap, one of his hands gripping your jaw so he lick into your mouth the way he likes while your free hand tangles in his hair. When you eventually pull back, he settles soft kisses along your jaw and you take great pride in looking straight at Weeb Girl. She doesn’t look mad, exactly; more resigned and slightly impressed, and you send her a wink that makes her roll her eyes.

“Hey,” You whisper to Jungkook. He detaches himself from the mark he was determined to make behind your ear, and you revel in the blush on his face. It spreads across his face and along to the tips of his ears, and you want nothing more to than to make is spread further. “You wanna go put on some Haikyuu and break in your new mattress?”

You don’t think you’ve ever left a game that fast in your life.

#fic: chasing butterflies #cb drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #this is just as self-indulgent as cb itself im not gonna lie to you #but there isn't any actual smut lmao bc im too lazy to write it #Anonymous #questions #weeb jungkook #jock reader

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amaltheeia · 5 years ago

Text

Another writing warmup, because Proteus gives me the creeps and I’m projecting that onto Shockwave.

warnings for: stalking, threats of violence (implied), just proteus

His first mistake is taking the balcony exit.

For those with aerial alt-modes, it provides a quicker escape from the noise that is the interim conference centre. Meetings here are rare--usually only for the select few that occupy what he’s started calling the inner circle--but the Senate building is under modification. Something to do with Sentinel and the guard introducing tighter security measures. Cameras, audio equipment, the whole brigade.

He’s not one to lay down on these things, but Proteus has him beat. Argue against them, and you’re apathetic to the safety of the general public. As he’s pushed out of the fold, he’s had to learn some hard truths about what the future is going to be like. A lot of giving, not so much taking.

But speak of the undertaker: there Proteus is. He can’t be missed, not with his gold trim that reflects every ray of light that crosses him. He’s glowing like some kind of deity. To many, he is: he’s become a symbol of malfeasance, the protector of the corrupt.

He hopes to sidestep him and be on his way. Unluckily for him, Proteus turns just as Shockwave exits, and waves away the mech he’d been talking to, mid-speech.

“Senator Shockwave,” he calls out. It’s loud enough for everyone in the general vicinity to hear. “Come join me.”

He knows what he’s doing. To ignore him would make Shockwave look rude. Proper social etiquette leashes him, dragging him over to Proteus.

He walks close enough to be heard, and then spits out the first excuse that comes to mind. “I have work at the Academy, I’m afraid.” He forces a smile onto his face. “Another time, maybe, so I can fully appreciate what you have to say.”

“Oh shush. Spare a click, come here.” His voice hardens, as if to push Shockwave into believing it’s an order. As if to make matters more humiliating, he points down at the ground to where he wants Shockwave to be.

Shockwave tests the weight on his pedes, then walks over. He eyes Proteus with suspicion, keeping a reasonable, but far, distance between them.

Proteus takes note with a soft grunt that pushes hot air out of his vents. The exhaust fans over Shockwave, a brief pause in the cool night air.

“I’m sure you don’t scoff and moan as much when you’re asked to speak to Dai Atlas.”

“Because Dai Atlas and I are friends.”

“Ouch,” Proteus says, smiling. “No time like the present, however.”

Shockwave can’t tell if he’s joking. To play it safe, he doesn’t chuckle. Proteus doesn’t like being made into a humorous subject.

(He’d hate hearing about the jokes the outliers make. They get pretty creative.)

He hopes the pursuing silence will convince Proteus this is a waste of time, but for the second time that night, he doesn’t get lucky. Proteus is still circling his kill.

Proteus eyes him thoroughly. “What colours are you thinking of next?”

“What?”

“You scratch at the finish on your fins when you’re thinking of a colour change.”

It stabs at something deep inside of Shockwave, a fear he didn’t realize he could have until the words left Proteus’ mouth. The other Senator wastes no time elaborating on it either.

“What’ll be this time--oh, let me think,” he raises a hand to his temples, “what colour haven’t you done in a while? It’s getting hard to remember, with how often you change it.”

Shockwave pauses. It’s an odd question, one he’s not sure is asked with complete innocence.

No point in lying though. “Blue and red, if you must know.”

“Blue and red,” Proteus repeats. His mouth curls. “It’ll be hard to tell us apart.” As if it’s supposed to be a compliment to him.

“Not your shade. Something lighter,” says Shockwave, almost overlapping Proteus before he can finish.

A dark shadow passes over Proteus’ face, taking the humour along with it. The Proteus he knows from the closed Senate sessions comes out, and gone is the benevolent persona he wears for his constituents.

“I don’t see why you’re so,” he grits his denta, “hostile to me. You do all this work to counter us and always leave with nothing to show for it.”

“You wouldn’t understand why I do it.”

“I don’t. You turn on the very system that gives you what you have now.”

Shockwave shrugs. “I’m afraid we were never meant to compromise. You see what you’re doing as justified, as I do my own ambitions. That won’t change. Respect our differences, and there shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“That’s what you choose to believe. We all have a choice.”

“Not when it’s concerning what’s right.”

Proteus’ face twists. “Cut the slag,” he snarls. “We don’t exist in a binary. It’s not good and evil, it’s just better or worse. Good mechs do horrible things all the time, but it’s for the greater good. You just never learned that.”

“Or maybe you just can’t see it, because it wouldn’t fit your vision.”

On cue, Proteus looks up at his sky spies, no doubt with a few lenses pointed at them. “You do right by the criminals and leakers that come to you for help, instead of what’s best for everyone. That’s why our visions are different. If you had your way, the whole of the Senate would collapse.”

Shockwave flexes his fingers, saying nothing.

“Speaking of criminals: that cop of yours, Orion Pax, was out by the Ark-1 Monument a cycle ago. He seemed happy to see you. How about that?” says Proteus, with only a hint of glee. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s back from the dead.”

Shockwave flinches, though he keeps his faceplates clear. “Were you spying on me?”

“It’s not spying if it’s in public, and you’re a very distinctive mech.”

Proteus has the added size to intimidate him with. Shockwave takes a step back from the balustrade.

“What I do outside of the Senate is none of your business.”

He can’t move much farther back without drawing the attention of others, which is exactly what Proteus wants. An audience only ever benefits him.

“Not when you’re a Senator.” Proteus’ voice has turned deep. “What’s the concern? If you’re not doing anything wrong...”

“It’s an invasion of my privacy! You have no right.”

“We’re living amid the Clampdown.” The words spatter like acid. “No one has the right to privacy. Since you’re always so up our afterburners about practicing what we preach, I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? Forgive me for not finding the thought of you hanging over my shoulder reassuring.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m protecting you.”

Shockwave tenses up. The urge to shout profanities is off the scale, but he knows it will only give Proteus ammo.

Proteus takes over: “Call them what you will--I think Decepticons has become the universal term. Someone like you--high profile--is at risk.”

“Well, call it luck that I befriended a police chief then.”

Shockwave looks over his shoulder, trying to discern whether it’d be a good idea to depart from the conversation now.

Proteus advances on him, forcing himself into Shockwave’s line of sight. The look of satisfaction on his faceplates Shockwave’s tanks churn.

“Orion Pax cannot protect you. It would be wise to reassess where you have put your allies.”

“I don’t need the protection of anyone, thank you.”

“Really? In times like this, you need more than a police chief to be sure that those conspiring against you aren’t about to get the upper hand.”

“Meaning you?”

It tames the other mech’s expression. “Oh, come now. As I said, it’s not too late to give up this pursuit of yours.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Proteus takes him by the arm before he can step away. Shockwave pulls, but Proteus won’t release him.

“Don’t test my patience. I’m giving you a chance here.” He leans in close. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll darken that shade of blue, Shockwave, and accept my offer.”

“I don’t need handouts, especially not from you,” he growls, taking his arm back.

He prides his ability to keep his voice stable, considering it’s Proteus he’s talking to. There’s something larger than them that’s being propositioned here. Accepting anything he says, even something minor, will spin into some big conflict, he’s sure.

He quits while he’s ahead, turning his back on Proteus in a way he’s sure will be bruising to the ego. Leave Proteus without the last word and he combusts on the spot.

Which he does.

“You fancy him!” Proteus shouts, as if an accusation. The words singe his backstruts. It makes Shockwave turn, out of fear someone else will hear and speculate if Proteus continues.

Proteus’ grin is not kind. He shortens the distance between them once more. “You always did have a thing for dissenters. A shame; power should be kept in the Senate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s an Autobot, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, he proceeds. “Self-proclaimed, and all. Mechs like him, they won’t last long. He’s going to keep speaking up, and it’ll be the death of him.”

The thought of Orion and death in the same sentence makes his spark ache. Anger quickly replaces it, surging up and out of his voice box before he can hold it back.

��You don’t touch him.” He shakes with fury.

“Always so emotional.” Proteus smirks. “How about I make you a deal: I don’t touch him, and in return--“

Shockwave points a finger at him. “There’s no ‘in return,’ you don’t touch him.”

Proteus grabs his hand and takes it in his own. His grip threatens to disfigure the joints. Trying to provoke him, no doubt. Or at least, that’s what he chooses to believe. The other option is a lot less pleasant.

“You don’t call the shots here,” he hums. “So you should probably think about being nicer to me. For both his sake and yours.”

Shockwave doesn’t humour him with another word. He’s down the winding steps and headed Primus knows where before Proteus can say any more. Consequences be damned, he won’t subject himself to another minute of that nonsense.

His first thought is to go to his sanctuary, his School, but armed with the knowledge that Proteus has been following him, it isn’t a risk he’s wanting to take. Those ice-cold optics pierce him long after he’s gone, following him into the next cycle and then on.

He doesn’t know the extent of Proteus’ envy. His anger, he’s familiar with. It's made to look restrained, but can easily be minded if you know him personally.

Envy? Oh, it makes bigger mechs devolve into an entire moral upheaval. And Proteus never had morals to begin with. He loathes to think about what he’ll do to Orion, and how he’ll justify it when the dust has settled. All in the name of a conquest.

Suffice it to say, he’s more worried about Orion than he is himself. That’s his second mistake.

#tf shockwave #senator shockwave #senator proteus #tf proteus #my writing #my stories #transformers #fic

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