#well???? it is somehow not actively killing the fish and they both seem happy so????? great??????? not gonna question that actually | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dogbearinggifts · 4 years ago

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What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever.

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

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yandearest · 5 years ago

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May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #yandere #yandere bts fic #yandere jung hoseok #bts x reader #dark bts #dark bts au #y!hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok x reader #hoseok au #dark jhope #HUNGER GAMES AU

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inventors-fair · 3 years ago

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First Name, Last Name, Occupation Commentary

You guys really swung for the fences for this one. I was inspired to run this by fun little cards like Cat Warriors, Goblin Assassin, and Dragon Turtle. Cards that do one type by way of another. You guys, for the most part, tried to get as weird as possible, more akin to Urza’s Saga. I purposefully left it open ended to allow non-creatures, but I did not expect about half the cards to be a type other than creature. Some people in the Discord tried to break the rules even more than that. Personally, I wish there were more simple creatures, but I’m happy with what I got.

So without further ado, here’s the commentary! They’re alphabetical by submitter’s tumblr name or preferred credit.

@alextfish - Fractal Fish

Holy moly that’s some fish, visually and mechanically. So let me try to parse this: the first time, you attack, get two fish, then next time you turn those two fish (which hopefully also got in for damage) into two counters. So every other turn it doubles the number of counters, assuming you get in with it every time. At a minimum, it’s a little Tana/Living Hive that can’t be used moe than once. It feels weird for this effect to be in blue, though I get why from a flavor perspective. This does feel like a fish, though, and it definitely feels like a fractal. This card feels top down, which is fine, but I’m just not super into it. It feels unnecessarily complex for an effect that you probably only want to trigger once, maybe twice. I still think it’s really cool.

Allie - Urza’s Treasure

It’s a bit of a stretch to have a land named “Urza’s Treasure” but it’s less of a stretch than urza’s saga, so you’re good. The idea of a treasure land in general is cool to me: it’s worse than Tendo Ice Bridge and Aether Hub, but the artifact synergy is notable. Then we get to the last ability: this card is a mox opal. Or maybe a glimmer void? There are a lot of comparisons, but I don’t know which is the most appropriate. A land that effectively doesn’t tap for mana unless you have metalcraft seems awful, but I’ve seen enough affinity to know that that won’t slow it down a bit. So this is essentially a card that’s only good for broken decks, and honestly, I don’t think they need the help. I think the fact that it’s so all or nothing is a bit of a deal breaker. Every part of this card is either massive downside, massive upside, or both. You could argue that makes it balanced, but I’d argue it just makes it broken. I also wish the “Urza’s” part of the typeline played into it more, but I realize the type doesn’t have much of a mechanical throughline.

@arixordragc - Warrior Dragon

Ooh, a bold choice. Dragon Warrior and Warrior Dragon send two completely different feels, and this one is definitely the cooler one. Six mana 6/6 flyer is a good rate, but not so good it doesn’t get good abilities. The abilities it gets are a ghostly prison and two circle of flames. I really like how they both have a similar feels: 2 damage and two mana. However, I think the two abilities are att odds. If you need one, you probably don’t need the other. If your opponent has a lot of 1/1 or 2/2 creatures, they won’t be able to pay 2 for each them, and if they do, they’d just die. The damage does have a little bit of meaning, though, because if they attack with a big creature you don’t have to deals as much damage to it. I also just would have expected a warrior dragon to be more offensive than defensive. This feels more like a guard or defender rather than a warrior. So it might be better to have one be offense and one be defensive. Perhaps one ability could affect blockers and one attackers? This is a good card, and a cool set of effects, I just think it needs to work on multiple angles. I also think this could be a rare: it’s not so powerful you wouldn’t want it appearing more often in packs, and it’s not too complex.

@bread-into-toast - Zombie Mole

I like the flavor of a zombie mole, since it’s already in the dirt. I do think this sounds better than your original entry, Graveborn Mole, but I think the old one told a more complete story. The card itself is pretty neat, it’s a classic red black aggro card with a big body and a risk payoff. There’s some stuff I don’t like about it. First, sacrificing a land is one of those things that players don’t realize how bad it is for you, so this could lead to a lot of players screwing themselves over, especially if it’s as uncommon. Second, the fact that it can be recast with it’s own trigger, such as when you attack, sac a land, let it die, and then get it back because you had a land die is a bit too synergistic, especially because it gets him back untapped. This means that you have a 5/5 on turn two that if you somehow get to kill by blocking they can just pay two to save and untap it. Again, at uncommon, this is very strong, even if the downside is also very strong. The design as a whole is pretty cool, but I think it’s going to lead to a lot of unhappy players on one or both sides of the field. As a final note, I really liked that you put some art direction in the submission (for those at home, it said “Mood: a giant undead mole attacks, startling the giant (living) moles and miners around it”). It’s a cool way to get a lot of the benefits of art without having to make your own or go hunting.

@charmera - Giant Golem Knight

I think the name here is pretty close. It feels a little awkward to say, but I’ve seen worse. The card is a little weak and a little poorly templated, but nothing that can’t be fixed. For the templating issue, I think telling a player they can’t do something then telling them they can in a different place doesn’t work. Cards like Manor Gargoyle that do this just remove Defender. Since this also says can’t block, though, you’d need something different. I might suggest just changing it to “~ can’t attack or block unless you sacrificed an artifact this turn.” It would power it up just a little in the process, but I think that’s called for. A 6 mana 6/7 is not really above the curve, and the activated ability is hard enough to activate that it doesn’t really pump up the power level of the card as a whole. Vigilance also seems weird on a card that needs to pay to both attack and block. I could see a specific format being able to break this card, but as something you’d see in a core set, it would need a lot of support to see play. I really like the design and concept, it just needs to be rebalanced a bit.

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion - Arcane Trap

So, this one is interesting to me. The base rate on this card is good. Glimmer of Genius and Glimpse the multiverse are both super playable and both have a little something extra. In this case, the little something extra is the trap text, and the idea of repeating this card with arcane spells is pretty enticing for the decks that would play it. But there’s something missing here: the trap text doesn’t feel trappy. It’s a bonus, sure, but if you look at all of the existing traps in the game, the difference between hard casting and trap casting is usually massive, sometimes the entire cost! This instead reminds me more of “gotcha!” from unhinged, where the punishment for a player doing something is that you get a card back from your graveyard. It also doesn’t feel very trap-like because it doesn’t punish a player doing the trap-thing. Usually if an opponent is drawing cards it’s a good idea to out-draw them, and splicing helps with that, but it’s not like this is the “ha, you fool!” card that most traps are. It’s just a little bonus. Like when your opponent adds to your storm count. Functionally, I think this card is cool and feels unique, but doesn’t quite feel like it’s representing its types well. Also, nice job giving trap card art to a trap card.

@davriel-canes-tea-supplier - Hellion Demon

You did this for the pun and you know it. Demon straight out of hell...ion. I’d love to see what this guy would end up looking like (not gonna dock points for that or anything, just on my mind). So first, the templating. You don’t need to tell them to sacrifice a totla of X, since X is undefined at that point. You can just say “you may sacrifice any number of creatures. If you do, ~ gets +X/+X until end of turn and deals X damage to target creature you don’t control, where X is the total power of creatures sacrificed this way.” I also might suggest swapping it to a reflexive trigger, AKA swapping “if you do” with “when you do,” which means your opponent will be able to respond after knowing what you sacrificed. Right now, you could target one of their creatures on attacking, then they wouldn’t know what you’re sacing to do it until after they decide if they want to protect their creature. Then again, maybe that’s for the best, since it would also mean if they bounce their own creature in response, you don’t have to sacrifice anything because it wouldn’t do anything. And actually the trigger would be stifled anyway because it has no targets, which is awkward if you were planning to just use it as a pump. What I’m trying to say is that this card has an incredibly complex trigger with a lot of pieces going on. I think it might be worth it, though, because this is a cool effect. A mix between a fling and a nantuko shade effect. It’s a really cool concept, but it’s doing so much that it doesn’t do a great job at mimicking either, and in the end I just wish it had two different abilities that were linked or something easier to parse.

@Deg99 - Instant Trap

Okay, this is a silly card, and I’ll judge it as such. The blue = water is flavorfully pretty fun and funny, but color hate is always going to perform a little weird. But traps are famous for that! Usually, though, traps care about colors if they are built to be good against that color, and in this case, maybe? I don’t know if casting a free trap is particularly good against blue, so I’m firmly putting the trap text in trinket text land. The card itself does exactly what you’d expect. It tutors and plays a trap. Instantly. None of the traps in the game are super powerful, so you’re kind of avoiding the usual tutor issue of always searching for the same card / having exactly one tutor target that’s good. This is especially cool because the traps are by design extremely situational, so having this as a toolbox option is actually kind of useful. I think you’d usually end up getting needlebite trap, lavaball trap, or maybe mindbreak trap because it would be good in the matchup anyway. As a whole, this card is both kind of silly and kind of cool. I like it, but I wish there was some way to make this more interesting.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Droning Licid

Wait a second, did you just make licids make sense? Putting bestow on a licid makes it feel just like a licid. Turning drone into droning is pretty clever, though you got the types backwards on the typeline. Granting abilities not on the normal creature is something we saw just the barest amount of bestow cards back in OG Theros block. The eldraziness of it I wish was more relevant. I love the idea of using colorless as the alternate cost, since colorless is sort of treated like a bonus, not a given, especially in limited. But the two abilities need keywords. I played that block a lot, and even I kind of forgot what they did. It’s also weird that it grants devoid, but doesn’t have it itself. You could have even given it a colorless mana cost, since nothing it does is particularly black. Every ability on the card was in every color (yes, even devoid, you know what I mean). If this was a purely colorless card it’d be cool, but it’s fine in black. This card has a lot of things meant to make other things easier (enchantments for constellation, devoid for colorless matters, ingest for processing, bestow for heroic), so I’m super curious what set this would go in! But in a normal set, this is just a really weird card. I still think it’s neat, and again I’ll reiterate I’m happy you made a sensible licid, I’m just a little confused by its existence.

@dimestoretajic - Hag Fish

A hag fish is a real thing, and a hag that is a fish is what we have here. This card seems pretty powerful. It’s somewhere between a thallid and a tendershoot dryad and an ant queen. I wish the slime counters had some other use, like granting hexproof or unblockable or something. It would up the power level, which I don’t think this card needs, but it would make it feel more like it was slime on her rather than slime coming off of here. On a grander design level, I think this card requires a lot of paying attention for very little benefit. You get slime counters quickly enough you’ll rarely run out of them, but you will just often enough that you do. The tokens have evolve, which is a hard trigger to remember some times, especially on tokens that you might not have printed versions of. Plus, putting dice on tokens is also hard, since some players use dice for tokens. So while the card’s flavor and concept is pretty cool, I think it’s too complex for how simple it wants to be.

@fractured-infinity - Treasure Goblin

I’ve been told this is a reference, but sadly I don’t get it. Instead, I get golden goblins. The fail state on this card is still pretty good. A 2/1 haste for two mana ain’t nothing! And just using it as a bad skirk prospector can be useful too. I like the utility of it, too, in that once you are unable to attack with it as a 2/1, you can sacrifice it for mana to power out a flying dragon or something. This card isn’t super exciting, but it certainly gets the job done.

@gollumni - Gold Drake

Gold: the long lost parent of treasure. I didn’t even know that it had been errata'd to be its own artifact type. Anyway, the card itself is a reference to gilded drake. It even got hit by the card Gild! However, gilded drake is a super broken card! This is worse in the sense that it costs one extra mana and you ramp your opponent, but the artifact typing makes it easier to tutor and cheat into play, or to kill. Also, the way the last ability is phrased, I think you can sacrifice it to the gold ability and still get your opponent’s creature. If it said “exchange,” it wouldn’t, because exchanging needs both things in play. So this is a three mana permanent control magic that gives you one mana back immediately. I don’t think that was the intent.

@grornt - Skeleton Samurai

Now that is a skeleton samurai! It reanimates itself like a skeleton, it bushidos like a samurai. Three mana feels pretty good for it, since it fights as a 4/3. Now, normally, skeletons enter the battlefield tapped, but I understand not wanting to do that here. After all, it’s got bushido, blocking is a huge part of that! But the reason cards like this enter tapped is to stop you from blocking with it every turn and stonewalling your opponent. But how often is that? Well, this is where it gets tricky. Depending on the standard format, losing life on your own turn is either something you have to build around or effortless. In formats with shocklands, painlands, fetchlands, or even a single mana confluence, you’ll be casting this essentially for free. So assuming it’s in something like current standard, where it’s a little tough, maybe this guy is okay. I just worry about a 4/3 blocker that can’t be easily killed. But I guess that’s why you put it at rare, which was a good choice, but I think almost every player would be disappointed to find this creature as their rare. I do love the name and effects of this card as a pair, but I think it could lead to frustrating games.

@helloijustreadyourpost - Phyrexian Druid

This card has a lot of style and flair, but I’m a little cautious of it. A good comparison point for this card is Oasis Ritualist. Both can tap for one mana or two mana but at a higher cost. The mana cost and body are an important difference, and I think might balance each other out, as well as the fact that the phyrexian can only tap for green or green black. I do like that it implies that the set leans black, which feels right for return to new phyrexia. I’m having a little bit of difficulty judging power level: the life payment doesn’t really power down the card that much, but we’ve seen double ramp at 3 mana before, albeit never this versatile or at common. Still, maybe it’s fine in 2021 magic? After all, this is new phyrexia we’re talking about. Speaking of, I like how the life payment mimics phyrexian mana, and specifically phyrexian black mana. That’s a cool bonus for experienced players. I think this is a very well designed card, but I’d be very scared to print it unless I was certain there weren’t any green 6 drops at common that would be oppressive to the format when played on turn 3.

@hypexion - Skeleton Knight

Undead in white are something I wish we’d see more of. The idea of duty extending beyond life feels super white, but is only ever represented in spirits. But here we have a skeleton! I like the base body, and it does feel pretty skeletonny, though the knight aspect is a little weak. Vigilance is cool but at 1 toughness I don’t know how often it will be able to attack and still block. The reanimation clause is also a little funky, since it returns it to play on attacks, but doesn’t put it into play attacking as I’d expect. It’s also odd that it comes back tapped, though for gameplay reasons I understand. You don’t want to give players a creature that can block for free every turn. Templating-wise, I should also bring up that there needs to be and “if ~ is in your graveyard” between the words “knights” and “you may.” I’m using cards like Auntie’s Snitch and Master of Death for reference there. My final thoughts on the card is that it’s fine, but the two types don’t mesh as well together as I had hoped.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Spirit Shade

What a strange little creature. Shades are weird, because their signature ability is incredibly powerful and they need a pretty big downside to make them balanced. In your case, tying them to swamps is pretty clever! They already like swamps because of their heavy black costs, so this is a cool way to reinforce that. I still think this is pretty aggressive for a common, but I might be being a little too cautious. My bigger complaint is how awkwardly the sludge counters feel. This is a creature who’s already going to be tough to track since it’s constantly changing P/T, so having counters on it that change a bunch is a lot of complexity, especially at common. If there were also +1/+1 counters in this set, this card would be impossible to track in paper. I also think I would have preferred the name the other way around, but I’ll admit that’s a preference. I like this card in general, but I wish it were more player-friendly.

@loreholdlesbian - Sand Elemental

Sand is a creature type not a lot of people expected, but I have a friend with a Hazezon Tamar deck so I knew. It’s a really clever answer to the prompt, especially since you’re using the word “sand” as an adjective, but it is still also made out of sand! A colorless 3 mana 3/2 is good power level for a common I think, and the ability on it is tough enough to make work that it doesn’t push the card too hard. The fact that it’s asking you to pay 7 mana also means that, so long as you have at least a few deserts in your deck, you’re probably going to have one in play or in your graveyard. The graveyard clause fits the theme of other desert cards, but I don’t know if you’d need in a theoretical future set with deserts. Their inclusion in Amonkhet block was mostly so players wouldn’t feel bad for cycling their deserts in the early game. But hey, maybe that’s just what deserts are now! So as a whole I think this card is pretty well designed, if a bit bland, but it works well with the theme of the week and possibly the set it's in. Good work!

@morbidlyqueerious - Nightmare Spider

This card has a lot going on. The name feels okay. It’s a little odd, but it works in context. The ability feels creepy and scary, which is both a nightmare thing and a spider thing, but a spider without reach will always feel strange. As the for the ability, it needs a little work. There’s some strangeness with the revealing. It only really matters during a multiplayer game, otherwise just revealing every draw would be simpler and save some text, which I think this card needs. Second is the split payment: you lose 1 life, but you also pay two mana. One is optional, one isn’t, and one is 1 and one is 2. I could see this getting confusing to players. I could see swapping some things around to either make them all optional, all life, and/or all 2’s. Lastly, and this is the important one, this card isn’t fun. WotC is pretty solid on not wanting fateseal effects in the game. It makes what is already a frustrating part of the game (the variance of topdecking) into a more frustrating part. Because of the mana payment, is also means that both players will probably end up doing nothing on their turn. The fact that it can’t hit lands is actually kind of odd. Often that’s what you’ll be doing with this card anyway: forcing them to draw lands. I also sort of wish you would have swapped the P/T. I know spiders usually have higher toughnesses, but I’d like this card if it were easily killable but would end the game quickly if it really did take control of the game. Plus, the fact that you keep losing life regardless of if you pay the two means this kind of has a downside that would be more fitting on an aggro card. So while I think it fits the theme of the contest pretty well, and flavorfully it feels very nightmarish and spidery, I worry that it’s too complex and could lead to frustrating games.

@nicolbolas96 - Urza’s Fortification

This is… a weird one. So, you have made a land that can attach to other lands. I would be much more okay with that if it couldn’t still tap for mana. As is, it performs more like soulbond, since both things can still do the same stuff, they just get a little better. I’d also like it to turn off the original because the ability it’s granting is bonkers. Paying three mana to turn a land into a tolarian academy is an incredibly low cost. The land itself being an artifact also means you don’t even get the normal downside of tolarian academy not tapping for anything if you don’t have another artifact. You can even attach it to a land, tap that land for mana, then use some of that mana to tap another land. This means once you have four other artifacts, each of your lands tap for two mana or more. Being legendary and coming into play tapped isn’t enough of a downside for that. This would be strong even in a modern horizons set. I will say this: I do love the flavor. This really feels like an Urza’s land, which is not easy to do. The idea of a land that moves to other lands and is also a machine somehow feels cool and flavorful, too.

@nine-effing-hells - Constructed Cleric

Remember when they printed an artifact cleric in Guild of Ravnica and no one knows why? Well, here’s a robot cleric that feels more clericy. The name is a great fit, and I love the flavor of it. The twobrid mana symbols are a cool way to make it feel more artifacty, but I think they weren’t particularly necessary. No one is going to play this in a colorless deck, and splashing for it doesn’t seem worth the effort. The difference between 4 and 8 mana for the activated ability is huge. So yes, I think this card would see play almost exclusively in mono-white decks. And how is it there? Pretty good! Granting lifelink to your whole board every turn is very powerful, it makes it nearly impossible to race, but you do need at least a bit of a board. I think this is a solic card in a lot of decks, pretty well balanced, so far as I can tell, and the only real issue I have with it is how weird the twobrid is in it.

@pocketvikings - Hamster Advisor

What a pleasant little fellow. Not something I’d normally expect to see in MtG, but I’ll let it slide. I wish there were some flavor text explaining what he’s advising me on. Is he just telling me not to eat my food? So this card is very similar to the card Tajurur Preserver, what with being two green and preventing sac effects (primarily a counter to annihilator), but this guy has the upside of making a food but the downside of turning off your own food. I might suggest using that card’s templating or Angel of Jubilation’s templating. Maybe “You can’t sacrifice permanents or discard cards to activate abilities,” then on another ability the text from Tajurur preserver but with discard added on. It seems strange to see this card at uncommon, since it feels mostly like it’s protecting you from very specific effects that may or may not be in the format. It’s actually a pretty big downside in some decks, like turning off fetchlands, and of course if you’re playing this in a food deck you won’t want in play for long. That’s cool, and we’ve seen that on some black cards like Priest of the Blood Rite. I think this card feels out of place in a lot of formats and a lot of decks in particular, but I’m interested in the implications of it.

@partly-cloudy-partly-fuckoff - Aetherborn Angel

This is one I didn’t see coming, but not in abad way. This feels like a natural name, and immediately conjures an image in my mind. The fact that both angels and aetherborn are sort of non-natural creatures makes he combination feel fitting, but them being opposites of the color pie and origin intrigues me. The card? It feels alright. Artifact matters seems pretty aetherborn-y, though that’s mostly just because they're in Kaladesh. Counters feel pretty angelly, but that’s usually just because white has +1/+1 counter themes all the time and big white creatures are often angels. What I’m trying to say is that while this does feel like it’s an aetherborn angel, it doesn’t feel like it’s THE aetherborn angel. But I still think the card has a place in whatever set it’s for. It seems powerful, and I like that it’s usually the best place to put your counters, but has some utility, plus I’m sure there are ways to go infinite, but when you’re paying seven mana for it that seems fair. I love powerful commons because there’s nothing saying a common can’t be powerful, just not complex, and while this does add a little strategic complexity, it’s not gonna burn any brains. This is a well made card.

@reaperfromtheabyss - Goblin Knight

It sure is. This feels pretty right on the money, not just because the name feels real and the creature types fit well, but because the text on the card feels like how a goblin would be a knight. They aren’t particularly any better at fighting or better equipped, but it at least can scare some people or keep them at a distance. I very rarely ever say this but I think there was room for flavor text here. I’d like to know how this goblin got in this position, and what they’re doing to stop creatures from blocking. The cost also seems great, perfectly in between fervent cathar and voldaren duelist.

@shootingstarhunter - Island Turtle [the 0/4]

One of two island turtles this week. So it’s a 0 mana 0/4 (or U if you count coming into play tapped as paying a cost). I think with literally no other text, that would be a pretty cool card, if a touch strong. There’s also the issues with land creatures, which there are some weird rules for that mostly just annoys judges more than players. However, you decided to put on some… interesting text. It can turn another land into a creature, one with a little bit more power and toughness. That seems… okay? I think if it had just said something like “Adapt 1: sacrifice a land” it would be almost identical mechanically but far, far easier to understand. I think you made this card to fit a very specific idea you had in your head, but I think you needed to step back and look at the final card and see if there was some way to make it simpler, or if not, what that extra complexity would get you.

@snugz - Island Turtle [the 0/2]

Interesting. I like the simplicity of it on the surface. It’s just a Dryad Arbor but with a little more toughness, and it’s blue. A 0 mana 0/2 is on curve, I think, though I don’t know what kind of deck would want it. It doesn’t block anything but the smallest of creatures, which decks you’d need to block against probably aren’t playing. But it can chump, and doesn’t die to 1 damage from stuff like Chandra Pyromaster or Goblin Chainwhirler, so that’s something. The reminder text is appreciated, though the “isn’t a spell” feels less necessary considering the first line, but reminder text can be there anyway! The first line I feel like is trying to fix something, but most of the issues with land creatures are about integrating them into the comprehensive rules, which Dryad Arbor is already forcing WotC to do. But I guess it has it’s uses here and there. Rules aside, I think this card is fine. Like I said, I’m not sure what decks would want this, but it’s unique enough I think someone could find a use for it.

@starch255 - Enchantment Class Saga

Oh boy, what did I do to deserve this? First, the elephant in the room, no one at wizard’s would ever call this Enchantment Class Saga. Is it supposed to be the story of a class about enchantments? Mechanically I guess it’s at least tied to everything. I don’t think I have to tell you this is too complicated. This has more words on it than a pack of homelands. I also don’t know if it’s phrased right, because we don’t even have the comprehensive rules for classes out yet. Setting X to a certain number at the top of the card also may or may not work? We’ve yet to see a saga with a static effect like that. I also think just playing it and waiting till turn four to level it up gives you a crazy amount of advantage, digging 4 cards deep every turn if you have another saga, plus getting through those sagas even quicker. I’m having an extremely difficult time judging this one, but I can at least say it’s too complicated, and that’s enough to keep it out of the running.

@thedirtside - Treasured Clue

This is a really cute card, but I don’t think it quite hits the mark (pun intended?). One mana for a treasure is kind of weird. We saw a lot of people thinking like that for a while with golden goose, which generated a mana on turn one and rarely did anything else, but let you ramp out a three-drop on turn two, and doing this on a colorless card just feels kind of dangerous, especially because being common means you could crack two on turn three for a 5 drop two turns early. But I also like the combination of the two types, since if you don’t need the treasure then you probably need the card. Reminds me of the Horizon lands. The name is also really close, better than some this week, but feels kind of forced. I wish there were a little more you could do with this guy to make him worth tacking on an extra mana. As is, it’s just a little too swingy to be fun.

@wolkemesser - Orgg Hag

I actually had to double check to see that these were both existing creature types, but lo and behold, they were. And they’re both pretty thematic! Orggs are just like big 4 armed goblins, and hags are I guess like witches? But now witches are warlocks. Anyway, the card. I think it’s alright. Trample feels very Orgg, lifelink feels haggy, but that last ability just seems odd. Orgg itself had an ability that cared about size, and the sort of curse flavor of it feels haggy, but it just feels so out of nowhere. I feels like if you removed the white mana in the cost and the ability it would feel just as appropriate a card. Humility in general also has a lot of rules issues that don’t really make them worth it unless they are on big, swingy cards, which this isn’t quite. Still as a whole I think the card is perfectly fine, but a bit off for this week’s contest.

And that’s everybody! If you want to get a hold of me, you can contact me on the Discord. Thanks again for entering! Good luck next week!

-Mod Mr. ShinyObject

#same name #commentary #custom magic card #mtg #magic the gathering #inventor's fair

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dancedelion · 4 years ago

Text

A Dangerous Thing

Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending Word Count: 4202 Summary: Just when Geralt thinks he might have a good day for once, he is surprised by drowners and has to fight them off without weapons. Jaskier wants to take care of his wounds and Geralt is sure the only reason for that can be that Jaskier wants to pay him back for letting him come along on his travels. (Jaskier doesn't quite agree.) ao3: A Dangerous Thing

Geralt is humming under his breath, just quiet enough that Jaskier will not hear him over the current. Jaskier, who is leaning back against the rocks on the bank of the river and playing a song on his lute, one of the old favorites. Geralt watches him over the water, only interrupting himself briefly when he drags his shirt over his head and throws it to the side. Glowing, he thinks. Jaskier is glowing in the light of dawn, red illuminating him like visible magic.

He sighs deeply, contently, and runs his hands over his wet arms. This will get Jaskier off his back about the smell for at least three days. Washing is a low-priority activity, fairly useless in the scheme of things, so the fact that Geralt is doing it anyway rightfully earns him a reprieve from Jaskier’s lectures on cleanliness and hygiene, and Melitele, Geralt, is there at least a chance you heard about the existence of soap, even in passing?

Maybe later, Geralt can hunt for deer in the forest. Or even fish right here in the river. He wouldn’t have to go far. They could make a fire in the spot Jaskier is sitting and lay their bed rolls right next to each other under the starry sky. Geralt lets a smile curl in the corner of his mouth like a small secret.

It’s ridiculous, really. All over the continent, men lie and start wars and make foolish mistakes to get what they want, when all anyone really needs is something like this, the sun on your bare back, one of Jaskier’s songs in your ear. There’s nowhere Geralt would rather-

“Geralt!” Air – water in his lungs – no air – hands clasping his hair – where’s the fucking air – claws hooked deeply into his shoulder, there’s no -

Strength always concentrated, but the fingers are everywhere, grasping his legs, around his wrist, precision is impossible, Geralt can only buck upwards, feet lashing out, his whole body shaking. One of them grabs his hands and tugs, and it hurts and he screams only he doesn’t because no sound comes out and more water pours into his mouth.

Fuck.

It’s drowners, bloody drowners, dragging him under. Where is he?

He’s a child, he’s supposed to fight, no, survive, but he’s only a child and the water is everywhere and they won’t let him lift his head. Survive. A body only learns when it has to.

He swallows more water, everything is black, but it must be drowners, musn’t it? Corpse-like, fish-like humanoids. That’s what they’re doing, they are drowning him. Teeth grazing over his calves.

His body is small and he is screaming at his lungs to grow the fuck up, to hold enough air to make it through, because he has to make it through. He is under water for months, he doesn’t try to come up, he stops squeezing his eyes shut. Poison in his blood, yellow-eyed, he came up after minutes and did not drown and was not a boy.

He is -

He has to get a grip. He presses his lips together and starts holding his breath. One elbow hits the drowner’s stomach and it eases its grip. He struggles with his whole body, until the fingers slip from his legs and he can come up – finally, finally come up and breathe again.

With a few quick strides, he’s on land again and he stumbles backward, his movement still not as smooth as he would have liked. He counts three of them and they close in on him.

And he –

doesn’t have a weapon

doesn’t have a plan

doesn’t have the slightest amount of common sense, what moron would leave his weapons at camp, would listen to the birds, would take off his shirt -

He won’t be subdued so easily, not by drowners, he could kill those in his sleep. He casts Aard to knock one of them backwards and Igni on the other two so they go up in flames.

He should have been able to smell the foul stench from miles away, should have heard the water moving around them, should have seen them in the corner of his eye, he should have sensed them some way, any way.

A punch straight over the ugly grimace knocks its head back. It doesn’t matter. He closes his fingers around the thing’s throat and lets his other fist rain down. He will learn from his mistakes. The drowner’s eyes start bulging, its pale skin turning to gray. It doesn’t matter. He won’t let his swords out of his sight again. He will keep a dagger in his boots. (He won’t take off his boots.)

He lets go off the drowner’s lifeless body once he is sure it is lifeless and gets up, still breathing heavily.

“Jaskier,” he says.

Jaskier is still where he was, only now his eyes are wide and his lute is the wrong way around in his hands, like a haphazard weapon. One quick glance tells Geralt all he needs to know – that Jaskier is safe. The drowners didn’t get to him. He is still whole.

The breath leaves Geralt’s body.

He frowns deeply, then, and walks over to one of the rocks by the river to sit down on. He doesn’t spare Jaskier any more glances. It was all his fault anyway, with his dumb lute-playing and his hang-ups on bad smells. With his contagious idiotic optimism and perpetual good mood. A mood so good even Geralt could feel it and isn’t that just hilarious? He shouldn’t have moods, good or otherwise. He should only listen and watch and ignore anything even remotely resembling a feeling. Eyes on the path. That’s all that’s important.

He is aching all over now, which puts a bit of a damper on his plans. None of it seems bad enough to require tending to, but for a while the pain will slow him down. If only Jaskier hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened. Geralt growls silently.

“I’m sorry,” says Jaskier.

Geralt huffs, presses a bit of bitterness through his nose.

“You should be.”

Finally, too curious not to, Geralt turns his head to look at Jaskier, too reachable over the short distance between them. The last rays of sun still make him look other-worldly. It’s just not fair.

“I -” Jaskier puts down the lute, seemingly irritated to be holding it. “I don’t know what was happening, suddenly I was just frozen – and I didn’t now what to do and I couldn’t think and then it was over so quickly. I should have grabbed one of your swords, done something, anything, other than just stand there like an idiot.”

Geralt’s mouth drops open. “What?”

He shuts it with a snap, suddenly, impossibly, angrier.

“Are you insane? Are you honestly telling me you feel bad now that you don’t have a death wish? You get to live another day. How tragic. The whole country is weeping.”

Geralt shakes his head and continues: “For Melitele’s sake, Jaskier. If you came closer and made me protect you as well, we might have both died. You should have just run.”

Run from the drowners or better yet, run from him. That’s what would have saved Jaskier, could save him still. He doesn’t have to die violently, die tragically, die young. No one ever chose this life for Jaskier. He can walk away. But Jaskier is bristling.

“And leave you to the drowners? I think not. I know friendship is a foreign concept to you, but some of us try not to be complete bastards all the time.”

“Listening to common sense is not bastard behavior, it’s smart.”

Jaskier tilts his head at that. “Well, I did turn by back on the academics.”

“Apparently, you turned your back on being alive.” Each word hurts more than the wounds on his body, but Geralt can’t stop spitting poison. “Honestly, if you had tried to participate in the fight and somehow made it through, I’d have killed you myself for being so stupid.”

“And you’re surprised no one ever offers to help you,” Jaskier has turned to him fully, a stoic look on his face. “Is this how all Witchers respond to affection? With scathing insults and threats of violence? No wonder people throw tomatoes at you.”

Affection? Geralt is supposed to be insulted, he’s pretty sure that was Jaskier’s intention, but his mind is stuck on this one word. Affection?

“I’m not surprised,” Geralt says, just to say anything. “I don’t need anyone.”

Jaskier only scoffs and does not dignify him with an answer. Instead, he just scrutinizes him. Geralt almost balks at his measuring glances.

“That’s enough of that,” Jaskier says softly and steps closer, which he shouldn’t, because Geralt is sitting by the water and any minute drowners could leap out of it and drown them both. “It’s over now, I didn’t do anything and you got hurt. Just… Just let me -” Geralt flinches back at Jaskier’s reaching hand. He won’t be coddled. He’s not broken yet, the pieces are still holding together. Jaskier has got the wrong of it – Geralt doesn’t need to be fixed. So what if he can’t even tell where he is bleeding from? So what if he can already feel the bruises forming beneath his skin? Geralt’s skin will mend itself eventually. There’s no use in tending to wounds that will have to do the hard part themselves one way or another, only in carrying on.

“Don’t,” he tells Jaskier and turns to the river, ducks down to the water. He was here to wash, so he will wash again.

This is not pain. Geralt has had half his ribs bruised and the other half broken. A werewolf once took out a whole chunk of his leg. He has been stabbed below his heart and barely survived it. He has held a red-dripping dagger in his hand, could wipe off the blood - but never the guilt. He has seen Jaskier on the brink of death, pale like a corpse. This is not pain.

(The dizziness will pass if he closes his eyes for a moment.)

(So long as a sword is sharp, it does not need to be clean.) And he drips away into the sand. His jawline washes away, not a word to be said. Turning dirt an ugly red.

He drips and loses himself. There goes the price, there goes the pain, there goes the monster that was a boy a long, long time ago. His lips drip away, not a word to be said, in the angry sand.

A little less shape, a little more nobody. Dripping away.

The scratch on his thigh, deeper than he thought, starts to burn. Let it, Geralt thinks. Let it burn. The scratches hurt, but so do the scars. The bruises ache, but he’s had them before. He barely feels them anymore.

He reaches over to rub his side, but a stab of pain shoots through him – the groan is out before he can stop it. And Jaskier heard, of course. He never listens except at the most inconvenient times.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jaskier says and Geralt can hear him coming closer. Why does he always come closer to things that will only hurt him in the end?

“It’s nothing.”

He’d forgotten about his hand. It hurts, of course, but it is a dull throb among everything else. He chances a downwards glance but quickly looks away again. Surely his hand is not supposed to hang away at that angle.

“Then why the whine of agony?”

Jaskier, unbearably gentle, reaches out toward Geralt’s arm where one long scratch bleeds profusely and Geralt bats his hand away, with the hand that doesn’t feel numb.

“You could barely hear me,” he tries to argue.

“Okay, then why the small, tiny, hardly-audible whine of blasted agony?”

Why is Jaskier so stubborn in his pity?

“Might have broken my wrist,” Geralt admits. “Oh,” Jaskier says dumbstruck, then waves his hands around furiously. “Oh! Did you, now? And that was not in any way worth mentioning?”

“I can handle it.”

Geralt switches to rub at his rib cage with his other hand, but he brushes against his hurt wrist and has to bite down on his lip not to gasp again.

“Clearly,” he can hear Jaskier say.

“I have healing powers.”

“So do us mere humans, it’s called taking care of yourself. And your wounds. And it’s not like you can just snap your fingers and tada – wounds all gone. You’re still in pain.”

Jaskier is in front of him again, thinking he’s weak, thinking he needs something he doesn’t. Jaskier brushes the hair out of his eyes and holds his shoulders steady and each of his touches is inexplicable and foreign.

“How about,” he says gently, as though to a child, “we give your fascinating healing powers some guidance? Hm?”

“You want to set my broken bones?”

“I’d count that as a step of improvement!”

Geralt grunts, but he’s tired now. Letting Jaskier perform his useless healing rituals will be easier. And Geralt has never had the stamina to protest against whatever has gotten into Jaskier’s head.

“Just a minute,” Jaskier says and flurries off, toward their bags.

Geralt sinks down on one of the rocks, exhaling sharply and feeling like he just fought another battle and lost.

Why is Jaskier so insistent on this? Jaskier has always insisted on all kinds of non-sensical ideas, on accompanying him on monster hunts, on following him from town to town. But he has no benefit from this. Or is it about keeping a Witcher happy? Making him more agreeable?

Non-sensical ideas. Geralt never knows how to say no to him. Might that be it? A thanks, a gift? No. A price. Geralt lets him stay and in exchange… This. Touching a Witcher. Caring for him, against his every instinct. Yes, that makes sense, but also – (red-dripping dagger, broken ribs -)

Jaskier returns quickly and holds up a piece of cloth in front of Geralt’s mouth, clearly intending for Geralt to bite down on it.

“Here.”

Geralt can feel the annoyance rise in him again. “I don’t need -” “A tongue? I beg to differ, even if you don’t use it much.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but he takes the piece of cloth anyway. Jaskier puts a piece of wood against the underside of his arm and Geralt lets out a small hiss when it touches his wrist.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jaskier says, voice high. “Geralt? Am I doing this right?” “I’m not sure. I know how to fight. Was never too concerned with the aftermath.”

Geralt knows the basics of course, knows how to get hurt and keep fighting anyway, but he isn’t familiar with the details.

“You’ll have to push it back into place.” “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Geralt puts the piece of cloth between his teeth. Jaskier turns white when he looks more closely at Geralt’s limp hand – (white as a corpse, as pain disguised as bravery, as a cursed wish) – but he takes Geralt’s hand, almost as gentle as a lover’s touch, and Geralt can barley feel it but something warm rises up in his chest.

(Jaskier has already paid, hasn’t he? In blood, in headaches, in those small hurt expressions on his face.) “Oh my,” Jaskier mumbles, “I should have just become a – oh wait, I am a bard. Why do I have to deal with this again?”

Geralt would tell him he doesn’t have to, if it weren’t for the dry fabric in his mouth. But then Jaskier pushes and Geralt screams, only that he doesn’t because no sound comes out. In a second, it’s over and his hand looks less like it’s hanging from a string.

(And Jaskier still holds on to his hand, for one moment, two, three, four -)

“Now imagine your crazy Witcher powers had grown your bones together in that position – the water hags would have been very impressed,” Jaskier says with an invisible smile.

“Hm.”

Finally, Jaskier wraps some bandages around Geralt’s arm and a few around his palm, keeping the piece of wood in place. Geralt doesn’t know what to do with this kindness.

Pain is easy. Pain is passive. You only need to endure it. You don’t need to talk to it. You don’t need to be afraid of scaring it off.

Once Jaskier has secured the bandages, Geralt moves to turn away again, glad the whole ordeal is over, glad he doesn’t have to see the horror in Jaskier’s eyes any longer, but Jaskier grabs his elbow to make him pause. (Again, so gently, like Geralt is breakable – no one has ever seen him this way, something must be wrong with Jaskier’s head.)

“No, no, I’m not letting you off so easily,” Jaskier says.

(But he doesn’t want Jaskier to grit his teeth.) (He wants to be paid in laughter and lute melodies.)

Jaskier won’t be subdued by his glares. Instead, he grabs a bottle of alcohol from his bag and brings it to the wide gash on Geralt’s arm. The liquid runs over the wound, burning him.

Pain is the price. And Geralt doesn’t want to owe anything, so he always pays. Sticks and stones in exchange for yellow eyes. Bruises and broken bones in exchange for brute strength. Heart like tender meat in exchange for a bit of magic. Geralt doesn’t accumulate debt, he pays and pays and pays. (If he didn’t, if he let the debt grow, he might not live through paying it off.) Jaskier wraps him in more bandages and each point Jaskier touches with his fingertips burns too. Each brush hurts sweetly.

Ease me, placate the darkness in me, satisfy my pain.

Jaskier moves on to the scratch on his thigh. He moves the fabric of Geralt’s trousers and pours more alcohol. Geralt holds still and holds his breath. He can’t intrude on this moment. It could pop like a bubble if he made any movement that wasn’t careful.

Ease me, calm the storm in my mind, humor my misery.

For a moment, it hurts more, but then it hurts less. It’s not the alcohol or the bandages, it’s those touches, the tender ones that Jaskier bears for him out of a misguided sense of honor.

Ease me. Take me apart slowly and take care in putting me back together.

Once every wound is treated, Jaskier is standing close to Geralt and he looks up at him with wide eyes, like he hasn’t even noticed it.

You, with your soft smiles and your beautiful eyes, I can not touch you. I would absorb you. I would devour you. I will be your predator, just look at your small hand next to mine.

Jaskier has soft looking hair, but here is what Geralt does not touch: clean silk clothes. Porcelain dolls. Dainty flowers. Anything he wants to keep whole.

And then, as if he has to give Geralt anything more, Jaskier takes a rug and one of his expensive soaps and lets them hover above Geralt’s skin, asking for a permission he does not need. Geralt knows he should put a stop to it here, should have put a stop to it right after he set his wrist or before, but nobody has ever touched him like this. He lets the protest rest in his mouth, feels the bitter taste of it on his tongue.

(Don’t feel obligated. I know you want to pay me back, but you don’t owe me a thing.) (I won’t be your currency, don’t let me be your pain.) Jaskier moves behind Geralt and starts washing his back in circular motions. Geralt braves the touches like he braves any fight. One minute the world is kind, the next it could be scratches or even a knife. That’s how it goes. But the movements continue and his skin stays whole.

But then – and this might be too much to bear – Jaskier steps in front of him again – and how could Geralt let Jaskier touch him and have to look at him?

Jaskier seems reluctant too, his hand hovering right above Geralt’s chest, right where -

Please don’t touch my battered heart, please… Is it not enough it keeps beating? Slowly, but beating?

Thrum… Thrum… Thrum…

Barely, but beating.

I will let you touch my calloused hands, I will let you wash my hair, but please don’t reach into my chest, I couldn’t bear it.

When it comes to this, Jaskier is not merciful. He puts the cloth onto Geralt’s chest and lets it rest there. Geralt wants to say he can do it himself, but his mouth won’t open.

Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.

Why must you do this to me? A heart this dark will blacken your hand. Jaskier starts cleaning him slowly. Each time he moves the cloth, his fingers brush against Geralt’s skin. And each time it burns, with warmth and something shaped like love and Geralt should stop and really look to see that it’s not.

thrum thrum thrum

How could you make demands? It was beating, wasn’t it? What more do you want? Geralt wants to catch Jaskier’s wrist, but that would be too much. As if he were in a trance, Jaskier suddenly drops the cloth, but instead of picking it up, he splays his fingers against Geralt’s chest.

thrumthrumthrumthrumthrum Who gave you the right to make my heart human? So quick, so fluttering, so fit for love.

Jaskier keeps his hand there and Geralt is afraid he can feel it, will know a Witcher’s heart is not supposed to beat like this. He can’t stop himself any longer – he places his hand over Jaskier’s, just to hold it, only once. He finds Jaskier’s eyes and they are big from this close.

But he has forgotten what even the children playing in the forest know – when you are looking at something, it can look back.

“Oh,” Jaskier says and looks down at their joined hands in wonder.

Obviously, he didn’t expect this.

(Jaskier will not love the anvil. He will not love the mill that grinds and grinds. He will love the metal and he will love the grain, but he could never love Geralt.)

Geralt swallows, manages to press out: “Sorry.”

(Geralt is not unfinished. He does not have potential. He is all done, all ready, all used up.)

Jaskier draws his hand away and covers his mouth with it, as though to hold the shock in. Geralt does not sigh. He pays his dues.

“Why are you sorry?” Jaskier’s eyes are still wide. “You didn’t ask for this.”

Geralt is almost ashamed, not to feel this way, but to burden Jaskier with it.

“Of course I didn’t ask,” Jaskier says quietly. “You’re… unattainable. But I would have liked to.”

“But you’re just here for the adventure. Are you saying this because -”

Jaskier has done so much already. What if he’s willing to go further? What if he would give even this to Geralt, thinking he owes it to him? It does not sound like something Jaskier would do, but neither does the alternative.

“I’m here for – for this, for -” Jaskier reaches out to Geralt again. “I mean, someone has to take care of you. You certainly can’t manage it yourself, and where would I be, if – I mean, where would everyone be -”

“Better off?” “No. No. Stop being an idiot.”

“You’re the idiot. Are you saying you want this?”

Geralt gestures down on himself, half-naked, bruised and scarred. Age in the wrinkles around his eyes, menace in the yellow of them. Everything about him clunky, misshapen. Him and Jaskier like two parts that don’t fit.

“Want it? I lo-”

Jaskier breaks himself off, but Geralt’s breath still catches. Geralt lifts his uninjured hand to Jaskier’s head and impossibly, Jaskier leans toward him. Jaskier’s hair is soft and Geralt draws a small circle on Jaskier’s cheek.

Geralt can have this, Jaskier seems to be saying, and among all the things he can’t have, this is everything.

“I just want you to live,” Jaskier mutters into the space between their lips. “Not just live. Live well.”

He leans his head closer, until their lips are almost touching. “I want you to take off that gruff uncomfortable armor every once in a while. I want you to let me take care of your wounds, even if I can’t stop you from getting them. And I want you to sit with me. Just that.”

Geralt kisses him and hopes Jaskier knows this is every permission and every demand. I will let you kiss me and I want to kiss you. You can have my palm. You can have my open back. Just give me this.

And Jaskier does, kisses him like it’s a promise and Geralt hopes that it is. He does that now. He hopes for everything and thinks he might even deserve half of it.

Jaskier is holding his heart in gentle hands and Geralt can’t stop it, but he doesn’t want to. After all these years, it’s on the mend.

#the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #witcher fic #the witcher fic #the witcher #geraskier

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cowboisadness · 4 years ago

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Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x OC} Chapter 13

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: Micah being Micah

.....

Chapter 13

I couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur's reaction after telling him I wanted to kill that no-good bastard. Currently stood in the cover of Arthurs tent as Miss Grimshaw checked my wound for any infection and helped me apply fresh dressings. She had seen so much of me at this point it didn't bother me anymore. She really was the mother hen of this gang. His reaction was one of confusion at first. His brows furrowed and his mouth hanging open like he had a million questions but didn’t know which one to start with. The moment I began to laugh his expression relaxed, snorting out a laugh along and shaking his head. Like it was a lighthearted joke shared amongst friends. To be honest, I am undecided on if it was a joke or not, I couldn’t see myself going through with something like that but I imagined it none-the-less The rage was true, I felt it from the depths of that pit in my stomach and as it spread throughout me. I wanted him to die, to be rid of him for once and for all, it would be the only thing to quell this feeling.

My wound travelled from my breastbone and down just shy a couple of inches from my navel. A clean-cut that wasn’t deep enough to require stitches but enough to scar. Another to add to the collection.

Once done I made my way to the scout fire just on the edge of camp. It was hardly used by other members of the camp so the fire was out, everyone preferring to sit amongst each other at the main fire. Kicking the burnt logs on top I collected what I was after, the charcoals that sat at the bottom. Old wood that was burnt for so long and almost starved of oxygen. It was perfect for what I needed. I took my blackened treasure to the lakeside, collecting a pestle and mortar as well as a spare metal cup on the way. Sitting on the small jetty I began to make my concoction, breaking down the charcoal till it was nothing but dust and adding small amounts of water. Mixing it all together till a black paste was formed. I kept at it crushing as much of the charcoal until it was thoroughly mixed. The sun was high in the sky at this point, its rays reflecting off the ripples as it licked the stony shore. I continued what I was doing even as I heard footsteps on the jetty coming towards me. The person stopping just a couple of feet away from me, my back still turned away from whoever it may be. “What you up to girly?”

It was Micah. I had only interacted with him a few times since being here. His comments always seem condescending and slimy. The girls had warned me about him, none of them liked him and actively tried to keep away from him after comments he had made towards each of them. I wouldn’t have guessed he had been here only a handful of months given how he hangs around Dutch like a bad smell. “Charcoal mixed with water. Going to use it as eye makeup to hopefully make me less recognisable while out of camp.” “I thought only whores painted their faces. Whores and clowns.” He sneered

“They possibly do.”

“Bit of a shame to ruin that young pretty face with makeup don’t you think? If you ever want to leave camp for a drink just come along with me. I’ll make sure to take care of you.” His voice turned lower with seductive tones. Worthy to make the bile from your stomach make its way up and stick to the back of your throat.

“Um, thank you for the offer, Micah, but I think I’ll feel much safer disguising myself somehow no matter who is with me.” I still didn't turn to him, hoping that he would take the hint that I didn't want his company.

“Suit yourself. But the offer still stands, I’m willing to take you out on the town. Show you how us folks really party. None of that pricey wine and fancy petticoats you’re probably used to.”

I finally turned to him, looking at him deadpan in the hopes he would get the hint. He seemed too as he raised his hands in defeat and began walking backwards back into camp. That man desperately needs to go into town himself and pay for a woman. Hopefully, then he might just be a bit more bearable to converse with. But no woman would be paid enough to lay with that man.

Once done I poured the contents into the metal cup then cleaned out the pestle and mortar before returning it. The camp was much quieter than this morning when Sadie threatened to slice up Pearson. Arthur decided to take her out of camp and help with collecting any provisions Pearson needed. Knowing what Sadie had been through, losing her home and husband brutally and thus having her life flipped completely on its head, I wasn’t surprised by her overall behaviour. A once hardworking and happy woman with nothing to lose. I understood that in a way. They both arrived back, Sadie now sporting pants instead of a dress. They both unloaded the wagon and then Arthur was off again to meet Dutch back in Rhodes. I made my way over to the wagon to help organise the provisions and to offer my help in preparing the stew. Give Sadie and Pearson a break from each other. “Nice look you got going on, Sadie.” I smiled at the woman as I approached. She turned towards me, a box of vegetables in her hands.

“Why, thank you. Thought I would take a leaf outta your book. They are sure more practical than a damn dress.”

“More comfortable too.” She hummed her agreement, placing the box down and then leaning against the wagon and lighting a cigarette. She offered me one to take from the box and I gladly accepted. She lit another match and presented it to me for me to light it with. Smoke quickly fills the air between us.

“So how are you doing?” She asked, waving the match in the air and then flinging it into the dirt.

“I’ve had worse. What about you?”

“This place is driving me nuts. Glad I could get out for a while. Shooting those no good Raiders that ambushed us helped me relieve some of the rage.”

“You got ambushed?” I looked at her with wide eyes, smoke being exhaled as I spoke.

“Relax, I ain’t afraid to hold my own...Ain’t afraid of dyin’ neither.”

“Hmm, I knew that feeling once,” I replied, thinking back to that night looking over the balcony railings in Saint Denis. Dying by his hand was a petrifying thought but dying by my own was something I thought about often back then.

“Oh, I got what you asked for. Sumac flowers and beet juice?”

“Thank you so much, Sadie. This is perfect.” I boasted, taking the items from her.

“What you need it for anyway?”

“Sumac and beets are natural dyes. Hoping together they will change my hair colour to a dark red.”

“Well, that sounds mighty smart.” She smiled, blowing out smoke into the air above and then flinging the cigarette into the dirt along with the matches. We parted ways after that and I began to help Pearson prepare the stew. He seemed considerably more at ease with me as his assistant chef this time around. We exchanged mindless chatter about the weather and what variations of stew he could create. That was until he mentioned his time in the Navy. Once he started he couldn’t stop. But I listened along with a smile on my face and the occasional ‘uh huh’. After the threats he received this morning and gave out no less, I wasn’t in the position to stop him from having this moment of happiness. Once everything was in the pot and beginning its slow boil, I made my way over to Karen for a towel I could borrow. Collected a fresh pair of clothing and a bar of soap and made my way to the lake. Beet juice and Sumac in hand. I'd crushed the Sumac into a powder after preparing dinner then mixed it in the jar that held the beet juice. It was very dark red, like old blood or wet artists paint. With my dark blonde hair, it should have no problem changing the overall colour while still looking somewhat natural. I’ll look like a new woman no doubt. I followed along the waters edge until I was out of sight from the camp but still close enough I would be heard if anything was to happen. Placing the towel and soap on an old fallen log I made work on stripping my clothes and dressings, dropping them on the dirt around me. They were sweat-soaked anyway with how hot it can get here during the day. Opening the jar I was met with the powerful smell of beets, that earthy smell along with the scent the sumac was giving off was overwhelming but thankfully not too unpleasant. Making my way into the lake I began pouring the mixture onto the top of my head, making sure to get every strand completely saturated and not paying any mind to how it will stain my skin on the back of my neck and down my back where it lays. Leaving a trail in my path I flung the jar back onto the shore once I was waist-deep. Thankfully the lake remained shallow quite far out, given that I couldn’t get my wound wet. I began to wash, humming to myself at the delightful coolness the water granted. I’m starting to get used to this. Bathing in lakes instead of warm and deep porcelain tubs. Fish surrounding me instead of bubbles and the smell of the earth instead of Lavender hair oils. Although I'd probably be saying the exact opposite if I was in colder climates. I spent more time than I usually would bathing. Cupping the water and letting it pour over my shoulders and arms to wash away the soap and dirt, being careful to avoid the cut as I went. The scabs formed a ridge along my flesh, the skin tight and red around the edges. A constant reminder.

Leaning back I dipped my head into the water to remove the dye and just hoping it had done its job. The water surrounding me turned the same deep red as I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling out any knots as each digit travelled from the top to the ends. An overwhelming sense of tranquillity washed over me as I looked out beyond the lake to the land ahead and around me. A small flock of ducks milling about further up, diving under the water to catch any small fish swimming below them. I slowly started making my way along, hoping I didn't disturb them. The cool water lapped around my waist and rippled behind me. Perching myself next to a large boulder standing out of the water to watch them as they quacked and ruffled their feathers. I was lost in my thoughts once again for a short while, the sounds of my name being called from the shore behind me bringing me back to where I was. I made my way around the boulder to see Arthur standing at the shore beside my scattered clothing. We saw each other at the same time, my arms coming up to cover myself, him turning around to face away from me. No doubt he saw. I could feel the heat flushing to my face, my cheeks probably as red as my hair should be. “Jesus...are you okay? Your cut opened up?” He asked, fidgeting on his feet as he looked in the direction of camp

“What? Erm, no, I’m fine.” I shook my head. He turned back slowly then, his eyes going everywhere else until they landed on me, then looked down to where my clothes lay.

“W-well what's with the blood all over here?”

“Oh...that’s beet juice. I’m fine, Arthur. I’m coming out in a moment.”

“Okay...Well, Hosea is looking for you.”

“Okay...Thank you, Arthur.” I said more quietly, my cheeks still burning and my arms wrapped tightly around my chest. His eyes met mine for a moment and I expected him to turn away again like the gentleman he usually is, but he didn't. And neither did i. He inhaled deeply, nodding his head then turned to make his way back to camp with some haste.

I leaned against the boulder, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding in. The chill of the water returning as my body began to cool down.

Despite the embarrassment of what just happened I thought to myself, out of all the men in the camp he was the only one I was glad came looking for me. Anyone else I would be mortified.

I didn't mind Arthur seeing me like this. I trusted him...I liked him.

My whole body shivered, goosebumps forming all across my arms and chest. It wasn’t caused by the water or the air was beginning to lower in temperature.

With my lips curving up into a smidgen of a smile and a quiet sigh I admitted to myself that I liked that he saw me. I wanted him to.

@kashasenpai

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x fem oc #rdr2 fic #fanfiction

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psychemeanscure · 4 years ago

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PART 5 {Images and gifs aren’t mine. Hehe. Just a simple reminder. Lol. Happy reading! :)}

Indeed, this couple of weeks and months was hectic days for the both of them. Especially for Jang Taeyoung, true to his words he did manage everything without involving Sung Eunyoung who’s just with her usual business prowess maintaining every aspect of her trades. Truth be told, she was anxious as well, fortunately he certainly did well, from the shipment of both Cargos up to meeting the son. Thus, today they have been invited for dinner by the Spanish old man as gratitude of their partnership.

“Welcome! Welcome, to my humble home lovely couple.”

A greeting from the former anyhow as they walk through inside, linking each other’s arms. “Thank you for inviting us Señor.” A respond from him as well. “Oh, Come on. This is just a simple thing to do. Speaking of, the dinner is all set. I bet you two are starving already. Or rather I, was the one who’s starving? I think the latter I guess.” Answered by a humorous remark from the old man then as they went inside it’s dining room, talking random stuffs, compliments to complements and of course business should not be an exemption, and until Jang Taeyoung seems to be looking for someone.

“If I may ask Señor, I haven’t seen your son today. Where is he somehow? “

“Oh, Zilo? Hm. Obviously, enjoying the time of his life out there of your Nightclub. I guess introducing it as a dealing abode is good thing for him surely, since he has no knack for casinos. You really did a good job to that boy. How I wish you’re my son as well.”

If only the old man knew that it isn’t even their reason choosing the Nightclub over the Casino as the dealing premise. Truth be told, it’s simply because his Casino is already famous with the all so loyal fishing police officials that it’s going to be chaos being busted. Well thanks to the connections of her, it never happened.

Hence, seconds later, the whole dining room were filled with their constant laughter certainly. Not for Sung Eunyoung though. She may have the face of an anticipating fiancé, yet the back of her minds says she wants to puke numerous times, cringe at every statement the Spanish gambler is throwing. How she wished he’s aware how many times did she kill him in her mind.

“Papá~ Your dearest son is home~ Where are you my dear el papá?”

The resonating voice of his son echoed effortlessly from the hallway that made their conversation halt for a bit. “Oh! There you are. Ooh… And with a guest. You did not tell me. Hi brother! And you---” as if a shotgun phrase from the young boy definitely, and before its interest motion to her, his father already barge in. “Could you even sit down first, son?” a bit unpleased being interrupted, he followed still anyway, sitting beside his father.

“Happy?” a mockery response from the son indeed, unbothered by his father’s frowning face, as he’s already eager to be able to know the dashing lady across him. Sensing the explicit stare of the latter on her. Well she can’t blame him though, for it’s certainly their first time meeting each other.

Therefore, she chooses to initiate the introduction in some way. “Amilia Martin. Nice to meet you.” Her firm primer indeed while handing her hand to him who’s only delightedly smiling the whole time with her. “Zilo Alcaziar. Pleasingly pleased to meet you as well m---“

“My fiancé, brother.”

He was stop surely for planning to kiss the back of her hand as a greeting, for as Jang Taeyoung dominantly cleared his throat while frivolously snatching the hand of his one and only fiancé. “What? Oh! Come on brother. Do you have to ruin the mood? Urgh. What a great timing. Now I have to call you sis.”

A humorous grumpiness from the troublemaker son indeed, that is once again filled the dining with laughter. If she has one thing wants with the Alcaziar, It’s the humor definitely cause even her was humored unpreparedly. He got her there certainly. But well no thanks. She would rather forget it if it only means coming from them.

Zilo decides to go upstairs first, leaving again with the three of them. Thus, another round of their casual talk follows. It was so-so at first, but not until the curious Jang opens a certain talk he did not expect may fume her.

“Know what, Señor. I’m still fascinated on how you manage to support your son’s activities. I mean, yes there ain’t no parent who wouldn’t want to fulfill their kid’s dream but don’t you doubt teaching Zilo in such a young age? He come a long way for a 20-year-old.”

Only answered by a grinning father while slicing the meal on its plate. “Nah, that boy isn’t even look like a 20-year-old anyway.” As if its backstab remark of his own son that as a matter of fact, indeed mature for his age, given a growing beard from his chin, even still born with a pale skin the built obviously deteriorate it caused from recent addictions.

“But seriously. If you can’t pamper your children as early as now, they only end up getting stubborn. Worst, they’ll only hate us as well. Besides, the younger they started the powerful they could become. Am I right?”

Answered by their agreeing smile anyhow. As they listen to his proceeding sentiments. “It always works for me--- Oh right. Except for one.” Intends to stop its words after wiping his mouth with a cloth and a sip of wine.

“Let me tell you a story. You see, stubbornness is the exact point here and this friend of mine is exactly the same. We were once partners in any ways. The same perspective. We click each other’s company. In short, we simply share the same mind. Then it happens that things didn’t work out for him. So I offered a special deal. I started pampering him things, opportunities and chances but he’s a rock head. He doesn’t glimpse with the idea even with all my efforts to persuade him. To help him. But, still. Nothing.”

Shrugging from reminiscing the memory, as he takes another sip of his wine. “So what happened to him now, Señor?” Jang Taeyoung’s casually following the flow of the conversation somehow. “I killed him, of course! What more should I do if he’s going to be useless anyway. And you know what’s funny?” its cliffhanging sentence then, while a stun flexed by their physique. Worried that the latter may notice their sudden stiffness, Jang instantly reverse indeed. But looking Sung Eunyoung who chooses to eagerly torture the meat on her plate is dangerous.

That he had to hold her gripping hand from the utensils hoping to calm her as the least he could do. It helped somehow maybe. That’s what he wants to believe for he was confused also by her calm but somewhat raging aura. Lucky the Spanish man is completely unaware someway, as he started his proceeding sentences.

“Funny when after all my killing of him I am still seeking for my price. Back in… Barcelona I think? 20… oh, yes! 2001. That year. Jeez. I thought I had learned to forget that but No!” He was even laughing while remembering it. “You see; I don’t usually note the dates of my victims really but I guess he’s an exemption indeed. Tss. If only I had claim it back, then. Unfortunately, the one I was looking for is nowhere to be found. Just a snap, vanished. Unlucky isn’t it? Or is it because it’s raining cats and dogs that day? I guess I’m going to go with my superstitions. It’s the rain’s fault then.”

And she lost it. As the halted screeching sound of the table knife she’s using is finally visible to the ears not just with her acting fiancé but with the old man as well. For she already concluded that the one he’s talking is definitely her father. Her inside is fuming definitely. Completely oblivious of the scratch she made on the plate. She was just there, looking down her meal with ferocity.

That even the concern remark of the latter is already out of her range. She’s dying to kill him right there and then and just has to perform striking him with the keen knife she’s holding and viola, end of her misery. “Amilia.” And yes. If not because of Jang Taeyoung who’s trying to get her composure back with a soft touch of her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

As much as she does not like to suppress her anger this time. She had no choice anyway. She can’t sacrifice a possible outcome of her impetuosity. “Yah. I’m good. Just a bit nausea though. But it’s bearable, don’t worry.” And nausea, is definitely the understatement. For she intended to throw it to the man across her. Vomit is the best word. But the filthy Spanish man had misunderstood it instead. “Nausea? Oh… Why am I having a good hunch on this, huh? You two. You can’t wait aren’t you?” squinting them with a suspicious look.

And she knows what it meant absolutely. Bringing a fork of meat to her mouth, she speaks. “Shall we go get myself a check-up, then?” Looking lovingly to the man beside her who’s already cringing from the inside. Left with no options. “Well, I guess we need to. Before father may scold us more.” His humorous go with the flow response anyway before giving his all not so forced smiles on them. Only to end him up as a joker though.

“So it’s settled! We are going.”

While she managed to give her all not so fake smiles as well. Especially to the man who’s name she want to engrave to the ground so badly.

“Hijo de puta!”

“Did you see that? Did you see how he talk about my father so casually? And that puto is basically enjoying! Mierda.”

That’s it certainly. He was literally punished by her nonstop curses again even he hasn’t done something wrong. She wasn’t even aware that he still following her up to her apartment, only notice when they were already in her doorstep when he walks ahead of her after. “Did you just followed me up to here?” her dumbfounded question indeed that she has to eye between her door and him as if to make sure she’s right. “Obviously? Unless you want to be called as a crazy woman talking by herself though.” And when she was about to proceed for another cursing he stop her promptly then by shutting her mouth with his index finger.

“Shh. Enough of that. Can we just celebrate for now?” thus confusions hunt her at the moment, frowning from his remark. “What has to celebrate?” unwelcomingly rummaging to her kitchen, he went back successfully with a bottle of champagne, a wineglass for two, and a wine opener in his both hands. Setting it up to her bar table which is as well set towards a window glass overlooking the busy neon lights of the city. And with the final pop-up from the cork stopper, he speaks.

“For seeing each other finally after several days?” His blunt answer surely while she was left from a distance. Wandering eyes staring at him who’s already sitting, impatiently waiting for her. True somehow that they haven’t seen each other personally these past hectic days and only talking through phone calls. But why the hell she cares though? “Come on. Don’t keep me waiting, Ms. Sung.”

With crossing of arms and a groaning reaction, she had no choice definitely but to follow his path. “And then, what?” her unwilling words somehow after sitting across him. ”Tell me the whole story.” And just by looking with her ignoring reaction, he understood. “I won’t take a no for an answer this time Eunyoung. I can’t understand anything if you still leave me hanging of everything. I need to at least know something for me to avoid incident just as what happened a while ago.” Shrugging from the thought, he proceeds.

“It’s your lo---“

“Fine. I will.”

He was cut-off undoubtedly, yet relieve after realizing her answer. Readily noting every detail, she would share in his mind. So, she started while all he does was listen. Then until they reach to the crucial side of the story that left him unprepared as well. “Bankruptcy has hit dad bigtime absolutely that he had to seek help with that coño amigo of him. Only to find out his condition as a risk.”

“Did you found out about the condition as well?”

“Unfortunately, No. I only grip with this information of him from NIS.”

She handed him her phone as he is expecting a file from it, too late to realize… “What the f*ck! You have access in NIS?!” his curses in no time indeed as he was actually shown by the actual system of it. Only to receive a bragging laugh from her. “Jang. I’m no Amilia Martin for nothing. You should have known that. Tss.” She, who’s now confidently sipping her wine then.

“Whatever. You shouldn’t make it hard for me to search their whereabouts when you can just help me with this. You, secretive volatile.” Twitching his brows in a way as he handed back her phone. “Sorry, but I don’t share. Besides, I’m paying you for that job. Why would I waste my time helping? You should work for it.”

“That’s just it, really? Are you sure it isn’t because you want to keep seeing me as well?” Thus their bickering starts again. Eyeing her suspiciously. “Look who’s talking.” Rolling her eyes unwillingly. Only to see a placing elbow to the armrest of the seat he’s occupying just to caress his smirking lips by his thumb while desirably staring at her. She knew right there, he’s starting again.

“I missed you.”

Like she expected, and she’s lying if she says she didn’t even stiff by that certain remark because she did eventually. But as if she’ll let him take chances. Screw him. Putting down her empty wineglass, sternly looking at him. “Can you at least end a day without picking me up, gilipollas?” only to hear his nonchalant laugh instead. “You know what, you’re really something. Back there and today, don’t you know how I eagerly want to applause you with that façade annoyance of you? How did you do that, huh? Maintaining a classy calm face but blazingly livid inside?”

“Is that a mockery or a compliment? Cause I do think it’s the former. You---“

“Oops! Please, halt there. Can’t you see my ears bleeding already?”

Before she could utter another swear, he instantly stops her with his idioms absolutely. “And picking? Great, look who’s talking as well. For my mind can’t process how did I become an instant father when all we did was still kissed. Unless you do like to brought it to life though. Just one word and I’m so open Sung Eunyoung.”

A frowning her indeed. “Shut up! I’m not one of your perra, you cabrón. And for your information, It wasn’t even me. It was Amilia who’s talking. Please, see the difference for yourself.”

“Uhuh. That’s why I love Amilia, more than you. Her impulsiveness is my everything.”

And she’s finally full of him absolutely, uncontrollably shut her eyes out of frustration. “Are you even--- “

“Jealous with your own identity?”

She was cut-off by his syllabic sentence indeed, even it isn’t what she meant otherwise. That with a final slap of her palm on the bar table, pushing herself to stand up, grab him by his suit gorge and drag him out of her premise is the only way. But not all of it happened though. For by the time she tries to grab his gorge, she was the one been grabbed by him instead. The next thing she realize…

His lips have already pressed to hers. “Don’t worry. I’m still more passionate for you, though.”

Their stares and closeness had her off guard already what more with their position nonetheless. She’s factually cornering him in between his seat. Hands that had to land to the armrest while the other on his beating chest makes it worse. “Feel that? Amilia can never do that. Only you can, Sung Eunyoung.”

His hoarse remark this time, only to mark it as her worst then. ‘Shut up.’ The silent word she keeps on reminding on her pounding heart as well. She knew that it was just one of his usual taming actions, but her inside is fighting again. Thus, with his last farewell gesture. He takes her hand from his chest only to kiss the side of her palm between the thumb and wrist. As if the peck a while ago wasn’t enough and doing so is his only way of satisfaction.

“Shut up, shut up, Shut. Up!”

Voicing it out definitely after a close from her door was heard that means he left finally.

#kim soo hyun #seo ye ji #seo yea ji #psycho but it's okay #itsokaynottobeokay #ko mun yeong #realkoreanmovie #real #jangtaeyeong #jang tae young #sung eun young #by quantum physics #quantum physics #nightlife ventures #moon gang tae #hyunji #hyunjicouple

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graaid · 4 years ago

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After nearly 36 years of cold hard denial, Arthur Morgan realizes he likes men. Don't get him wrong, he likes women too, but he's been crushing over Charles since his arrival, and he wants to tell him that he likes him more as just a fellow gang member. But that requires a lot of mental effort.

(Entire fic (don’t worry it’s a oneshot) under the cut, but if you’d like to leave a comment/kudos on AO3 I’d really appreciate it!!)

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky over Clemens Point when the members of the Van Der Linde gang woke up. Lenny and Kieran were, of course, the first ones up and active, ready to prove themselves to the rest of the gang.

The smoke hadn’t even begun rising from the main campfire when Arthur got out of bed. Out of everyone in the gang, he was somehow the most and least punctual; he may show up to a robbery late, but he’ll always wake up at 6:30 am every day, even if he had gone to bed at 3 am that night. Thankfully, this early rising habit gave him the time to get his chores and other tasks done so he could have a little relaxation time later.

“G’morning Arthur, have a good night?” Charles called from his tent as he stretched and started to weave a feather into his long black hair.

“Ughhhh, as good as it’ll ever be,” Arthur groaned, hiding just the tiniest of blushes. Arthur knew he shouldn’t be so gruff with the other members of the gang, but being the no-nonsense uncle of the family had more or less become his thing over the past few years, especially with all the younger folk joining. He had been trying to cut down on the cynicism lately, but sometimes the jokes just write themselves. He figured he should probably leave the joke making to Sean, or at least the assholishness to someone like Micah.

Even though he would usually go straight to chopping wood or transporting bags of grain to Pearson’s wagon, Arthur leaned back on his bed and looked out over the camp. Strauss was nose-first in some ledger book, probably wondering where he could find his next victim to send Arthur after. Javier was tuning his guitar, no doubt readying it for another late night sing-a-long session at the campfire that evening. John was avoiding Abigail like the plague, but Arthur didn’t really blame him; it had always bothered him whenever the two of them yelled at each other. Obviously all couples fight sometimes, but the bickering had gone on so long Arthur wished he could just snap his fingers and have them become a happy couple again, if they had ever been one in the first place.

Arthur’s eyes wandered over to the tiny dock with it’s equally tiny canoe. Hosea had thought it a good idea to purchase the canoe for the camp a week or so ago, and the sight of Sean trying to stand in it and falling over comically into the lake made the purchase definitely worthwhile. It had also allowed the gang to get access to better fishing spots, which made Pearson’s stew almost edible.

That’s what I’ll do , Arthur thought, I’ll go fishing. A fish fry tonight sounds pretty good.

Getting dressed took no time at all, and walking down to the dock, making sure to give Micah an obligatory death stare was even easier. Arthur noticed John sitting on the edge of the dock, staring off into the distance, probably thinking of running off again. Probably.

“Hey John, wanna come fishin’ with me?” Arthur asked, untying the boat’s rope from the dock.

“Arthur, you know I can’t swim, right? If that little dinghy tips even a little we’re both goin’ in.”

“Then don’t tip the boat, dumbass.”

“Oh c’mon, you and I both know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well if it does,” Arthur continued, stepping into the boat, “Your big brother Arthur will be there to drag your ass to shore.”

John rolled his eyes, sighed dramatically and stepped in the boat, shakily sitting down on one of the planks. “Fine, but if we tip… I’m allowed to look at your journal.”

“If we tip there won’t be much of a journal to look through,” Arthur chuckled, patting his back pants pocket.

Arthur, sitting in the back, pushed off from the dock and started rowing out towards one of the small islands not too far from Clemen’s Point. He’d been affectionately calling it “Bird Island”, on account of all the ducks and ravens that populated it. It was a good spot to think on any other day, but not when bringing John along.

“So Arthur, you did remember to bring bait, right?” John asked, trying not to turn around in the boat too fast, since he really honestly did not know how to swim.

“Nah, bait’s for rich folk, we’re using lures,” Arthur remarked, “Plus, it’s easier to see the shiny, pretty lures than some dumb worm.”

“You sound like a crow, Arthur.”

“Oh shut up,” Arthur replied with a hidden smirk, splashing some water with his paddle in John’s direction.

“Hey no fair, I can’t get you back there!”

“Then jump in the water and get me yourself, coward.”

Arthur didn’t need to see John’s face to know his friend was giving him the dirtiest glare. Thankfully before any revenge could be plotted, they pulled up to Bird Island.

“Alright, here we are, pick a spot and get comfy, we’re gonna be here a while.”

John grumbled in agreement and pulled a downed log to the beach so he could sit on it.

The two of them cast their lines into the water and began the waiting game, slowly reeling their lures back to the beach in hopes of catching some perch or trout.

As Arthur had imagined, John had somehow scared away all the fish. He didn’t know how, but he assumed it was something about his aura, or whatever Hosea called it, that just made it impossible to catch anything.

By the time it was noon, the two of them had only caught about 3 fish in total. Arthur didn’t especially mind though, he enjoyed days when he wasn’t robbing banks and killing innocent folk. He enjoyed his personal self-care days more, but he knew he should take what he can get.

Even from far away on this tiny island, Arthur could see some of the other gang members back on Clemens Point. He could easily make out Sean’s bright red hair as he chased after who must’ve been Mary-Beth around Pearson’s wagon, no doubt on another mission to woo her. Scanning over the edge of camp, he also spotted Charles chopping wood. Normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off of the fact that Charles happened to be chopping wood shirtless. Which he normally never does. Arthur suddenly wished he hadn’t asked John to come fishing. He couldn’t make out anything specific, but he had seen Charles shirtless once and the guy was built like a brick wall. He’d seen him knock a man out in one punch before, and the witnessing of it both scared him and made him feel just a little constricted by his pants.

Arthur must’ve been lost in thought longer than he imagined, because before he knew it, John was kicking sand at him, yelling that he had a fish on his line.

Arthur quickly diverted his attention back to his line, reeling it in and trying not to glance back over at Charles. Eventually he pulled in a 5 pound trout, so at least that came of something.

“Hey Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve never been married, right?”

Arthur laughed, “God no, John. This life ain’t really one that allows for much marrying and settling down.”

“But you’ve had… relationships before, right?”

Arthur reeled back his line and sat down next to John on the log. “Is there something you want to talk to me about, Marston?”

John scooted over a bit to give Arthur more room on the log and reeled his line back in as well.

“I… I don’t know Arthur,” John started, “It’s just that, like, I know Abigail and I have been fighting pretty much since we met, it’s just… I thought we would’ve figured it out by now, even just for the sake of Jack, but it just seems to be getting worse every damn day!”

Arthur grimaced. Relationship trouble was never his strong point, but he’d at least try for the sake of his friend.

“Well, you have tried talkin’ it out, right?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah of course,” John continued, “It just never seems to be the right time to talk. We’re just always doing something else, and when we do have free time to talk it just… never feels right, or we just don’t agree.”

“Oh c’mon, you must agree on something.”

“Yeah, that I’m a miserable no-good deadbeat dad.” John chuckled, resting his head in one of his hands.

Arthur sighed and looked out over the water. He knew John didn’t really mean that, even if Abigail’s point had some validity. It’s hard having a relationship in a life like this, you never know if the person you love is going to return that night. It must weigh pretty heavily on Abigail every time John goes out, not knowing whether to tell their son now or later that his daddy might not ever come back.

“Y’know John, I think I have the opposite problem from you,” Arthur observed, “You’ve got someone who cares too much about you, while I’ve got someone who I’m not even sure cares about me.”

John picked his head up from his hands. “You do? You mean that Mary girl?”

Arthur chuckled and looked back at camp where he spotted Charles, unsurprisingly hard at work, “No, this one’s a little different.”

“Is it one of the girls in camp? You know I’d support you but you are a bit… old compared to them.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Close, but no.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Arthur could tell John was really thinking hard.

“Jesus, Marston, I know I’m dumb but you’re really pushing the bar. It’s Charles, okay? Don’t think too much harder, you’ll break somethin’.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Charles, like the one working with us?” John hesitantly asked.

Arthur’s silence told John all he needed to know.

“Huh,” John began, “I uh… never thought you, y’know, swung that way.”

“Me either,” Arthur admitted, taking a drink from his water flask, “But it took me nearly 36 years to figure it out, so don’t go telling me it’s fake or nothing. I did like all those girls I dated, but I just never really clicked with them, I suppose.”

John chuckled. “Well I guess it makes sense you’re the way you are. You probably rubbed off on me, certainly explains the eyes I’ve been making at Javier lately.”

Arthur almost choked on his water. “Say that again cowboy, you’ve been WHAT at Javier?”

John picked up a stick and began drawing in the sand with it. “Eh, it’s nothing really, Arthur, nothing really at all, it's just that… sometimes when Abigail and I fight I just want to run away with someone new, y’know?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Arthur smirked, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder, “I ain’t gonna let you run out on us again, you’d find me cold in the ground first!”

John beamed back one of his rare sunshine-y smiles. “Aww, I guess big old tough Arthur Morgan actually does have a heart inside afterall!”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Arthur replied, standing up to cast his line out again, “You ever gonna tell Javier how you feel?”

“You gonna ever tell Charles how you feel?”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Hey, maybe Charles can give you a little pain in the ass, if you know what I m-”

“Marston you shut your trap before I drown you myself!” Arthur half-jokingly reprimanded, kicking some sand at his adopted brother.

A bit of time passed. Arthur happened to catch 4 more perch, and John devoted the rest of their time on the island to picking some herbs and flowers, knowing that his skills as a fisherman were almost completely useless.

By the time the sun was going down, John returned with a bundle of burdock root and purple flowers.

“Hey uh, Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Are you ever uh, gonna actually tell Charles or anyone else at camp how you feel?”

Arthur sighed and packed up his fishing pole. “Probably not. It took most of my effort just now to tell you because I knew I could trust you, so you’d imagine what it’d be like to tell someone like Micah, let alone Dutch and Hosea.”

“Aren’t Hosea and Dutch together?” John asked, packing his herbs and flowers into the boat.

“Haha, very funny Marston, they’re just good friends, they’ve been that way for a long time. I would’ve thought you would know that.”

“Well that’s certainly strange, I never knew “good friends” kissed each other on the mouth.”

Arthur stopped what he was doing. “Dutch and Hosea? They’re a… a thing? I thought Dutch and Molly… Hold on a second…”

John wholeheartedly laughed. “Jesus, Arthur, I thought I was slow to get things but I think you just broke the world record for ‘slowest time a man’s taken to figure out his adopted fathers are homosexuals’. All those smart reflexes went to your Deadeye skills instead, huh?”

“Alright now I’m going to drown you in your sleep instead.”

“I’d like to see you try,” John beamed, hopping into the boat, almost tipping it over, “Plus, if you kill me now, who’s gonna help you kick Micah’s ass when you come out to everyone?”

Arthur turned his head away so John couldn’t see his smile. “Let’s just get back to camp first and give these fish to Pearson. I’m almost terrified to see what he does with them.”

Arthur and John rowed back to Clemen’s Point with minimal water damage to their clothing, at least on accident. John, apparently moved by Arthur’s mini-therapy session, made a beeline to Abigail and gave her the bouquet of purple flowers he had picked. Arthur could see her blush all the way from the dock.

“Had fun on your fishing trip, Arthur? I’m surprised you convinced John to come out with you on the water.” Hosea, sitting under a tree, book in hand, called out to Arthur as he made his way to Pearson’s wagon.

“Yeahhhh it was alright; John and I got to talkin’ about some stuff, and we caught some pretty good fish, so expect them in the stew a few weeks from now.”

Hosea grimaced, scrunching his nose. “Can’t wait for Pearson to overcook them too. Oh well, at least we’ll have something to eat.”

Arthur cracked a smile and sat down next to his adopted father under the tree.

“Hey Hosea?”

“Hm?”

“Are you and Dutch, y’know…?” Arthur asked, making a lot of vaguely suggestive motions with his hands, none of which Hosea could gather meant anything literally, but he understood what Arthur was getting at.

“Heh, well I was sure it was going to come out at some point,” Hosea said, closing his book and resting it on his lap, “Yes, Arthur, the two men who have raised you since you were 13 are indeed romantically involved with each other.”

Arthur leaned back on the tree. “Huh, I guess it makes sense. I just… I just wanted to make sure Marston wasn’t lying ta’ me again, y’know?”

Hosea chuckled, brushing his gray hair back into its place. “Oh don’t you worry Arthur, John doesn’t need to lie; and I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m surprised it took you this long to catch on.”

“Eh, well, I’ve got my mind on other things, I guess.”

“Oh? Do you need to talk about something?”

“Not really,” Arthur began, “I mean… it’s just that…”

Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s okay son, take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur felt a tear well up in his eye. Between his two adopted fathers, Hosea had always been the one that Arthur knew he could come to with his non-outlaw related problems. Maybe it was his calm, almost flamboyant mannerisms, but it made Arthur, and he was sure plenty of the other members of the gang too, feel like you could trust him like a father.

“I… I’ve been thinkin’. About… things…”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, love things, I guess. ‘Cause I mean… I’m getting up in years, and I look at people like John with Abigail and Jack, and you and Dutch, and I just keep wonderin’ when I’m gonna meet someone, y’know?”

“Ah, those kinds of problems,” Hosea mused, scratching his chin, “I remember being your age and thinking the same things. Even when I was with Bessie I was thinking those same things. It’s hard to know when you’ve found ‘The One’, Arthur. I loved Bessie, I really did, and I thought she was my One for a long time, but there’s something about Dutch that I just clicked with all those years ago that I could never get enough of. So now I’m here, with the rest of ya’ trying to make sure you all don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Arthur nodded his head and started drawing in the dirt with a twig.

“But that’s enough about my sordid old past,” Hosea continued, “Is there something that’s happened that made you think about all this?”

“Well yeah, I told you, I’m getting up there in age and-”

“No, I heard that Arthur, I mean is there someone you’ve met that’s made you feel this way?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Yes.” Arthur muttered.

“Do I know them?”

“Mhm.”

“It isn’t John, is it? I know you two are pretty close, but I’m not sure how… close.”

“What? God no, Hosea, it’s not like that,” Arthur proclaimed, looking around to make sure no one was listening in, “It’s… Charles. Charles, like the one we work with, the one over there.”

Arthur pointed over to where Charles and some of the rest of the gang were hanging around the main campfire. It had become dusk by now, and the gentle orange light from the fire made Charles’s dark skin look like it was glowing.

“Hm I see,” noted Hosea, “Have you told him how you feel?”

Arthur snickered, “Y’know, John asked me the same question earlier. I didn’t even know you and Dutch were together, so no, I haven’t.”

“Well whenever you want to, I’ll be behind you.”

“Thanks… dad.”

“Oh come now Arthur, you don’t have to get all mushy on me, just be confident and speak from the heart and you’ll have no trouble at all.”

Arthur sighed. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll try to remember that.”

The rest of the evening passed normally. Pearson served everyone stew for the Nth time in a row and Uncle roused everyone’s spirits with another vaguely sexual song as they sat around the firepit. Charles was too invested in his dinner to see Arthur shooting glances at him. Arthur knew he didn’t have to tell Charles how he felt, but the constant burying of his emotions was beginning to drive him insane.

Arthur began thinking about ways he could confess his feelings. He could always ask Charles to go hunting with him, but it’d probably be a bit awkward to profess your undying love next to the corpse of a recently deceased deer, so Arthur scrapped that one. He could always just invite him to his tent and tell him there, but then Strauss, who’s tent was right next to his, would definitely hear them.

By the time Arthur came to a conclusion, everyone had settled down and were now just enjoying each other’s company around the fire. Even old Uncle, who was usually the first to a song, was silently leaning back on the grass, already half-finished with his second bottle of whiskey. Nearly everyone was there, and the thought of coming out to that many people at once frightened him, but Arthur knew he just needed to get it over and done with, then everything would be better, right?

Arthur set his mostly empty bowl down on the grass, stood up, and cleared his voice.

“Uh, everyone, I have a, uh, announcement to make.”

“You’re pregnant?” Joked Sean from the other side of the fire, causing a few giggles to be heard.

“Haha very funny Sean,” Arthur continued, rubbing his hands together, “But this is important. It’s, uh, something that I’ve been thinkin’ on for some time now, and I felt like I needed to get it off my chest.”

“Arthur, my boy,” came Dutch’s voice from behind as he sat down on the log next to his adopted son, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“No! No, god no, it’s not anything like that. I just… I just… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Well then just say it as simply as you can then,” Lenny piped up from next to Sean, “That usually works best for me.”

There was a short pause.

Arthur took a deep breath. “I…well… I like… men.”

The pause after Arthur spoke might’ve only been a few seconds, but to Arthur it felt like years. His eyes kept bouncing around to the other gang members, trying to read their expressions before they spoke. His eyes eventually fell on Charles, who’s expression hadn’t changed since Arthur’s announcement, although it might’ve been his imagination, but he could swear there was the faintest twinkle in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken.

“Same.” Came Bill’s hoarse but quiet voice as he took another swig of his drink. There seemed to be a collective sigh from the group.

“Jesus Arthur, I thought you was going to tell us that you were dyin’ or somethang.” Said Sean.

Arthur chuckled timidly. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait plenty more years before you see me go down.”

“Well that’s good, son,” Came Dutch’s warm voice again, “I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

Arthur chuckled again, this time with a bit more confidence. “I mean,” he continued, “I like women too, I just wanted to say this ‘cause I didn’t want y’all to make a big fuss if you ever see me bein’ sweet on another man, y’know?”

There were lighthearted chuckles around the fire. It was pretty obvious that this whole situation was really awkward for everyone involved, but Arthur could tell that they were all at least trying to be supportive, so he sat back down and took a few more deep breaths.

Some time passed and most of the people around the fire had left to go to bed. Arthur had been feeling a lot more relaxed, now that his big secret was out, but at the same time he knew that once Micah heard about it there’d be a whole new line of harassment coming Arthur’s way. Arthur hoped that maybe, just maybe, if Micah was being an asshole to him about this issue now, that Dutch may finally come to his senses and kick the bastard out of the gang. But getting Dutch to go back on his word was like trying to tell a bird not to fly, so Arthur didn’t get his hopes up too much.

Soon enough it was nearly 2 am, and everyone figured that they may as well go to bed. As Arthur was settling down, he heard Dutch’s voice half-whisper from his tent.

“So uh, Arthur, about what you announced at the fire tonight…”

“Yeah, Dutch?”

“You mentioned bein’ sweet on a man. You found someone?”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up fast and consciously moved his head so Dutch couldn’t see.

“No. I was just, uh, sayin’... like in the future, y’know?”

Arthur heard Dutch chuckle to himself. “Y’know Arthur, considering all the time you spend with Hosea I would’ve thought you’d be better at lying. I won’t press it though; take your time, I certainly took mine.”

Arthur heard Dutch’s tent close and breathed a sigh of relief. Coming out to everyone about his attraction to men was already a lot, coming out about which specific man he liked was just a little too much for one evening.

That night Arthur dreamed that he was looking down on three houses facing each other in a wide, open field of grass and lavender. Off to the side of the houses was a field of plants and other herbs and a small wooden chicken coop. There was a big lake not too far away with a dock and a large fishing boat. It reminded him of the area near Big Valley. Sitting on the porch of one of the houses was Dutch and Hosea in twin rocking chairs, Dutch just basking in the sun and Hosea nose deep in some book. Even from Arthur’s far away point of view, he could see a glass of something cold in Dutch’s hand. It was nice to see his fathers relaxing as opposed to what they usually have to deal with.

Sitting on the porch of the second house was John and Abigail. Abigail seemed to be showing John how to sew, who must’ve been doing a spectacularly bad job beforehand. Jack was there too; he was chasing some big golden dog around the field, throwing a big stick for the pet to catch and bring back. All three of them were smiling and laughing at some unheard joke. Arthur felt happy for them, and he wished he could be like them. Maybe someday.

Arthur looked to the porch of the third house and saw no one there. He came closer, and to his surprise, there was a tiny carving of a deer standing at the top of the steps. Next to it was a same sized carving of a wolf. Arthur felt a strange pull to the carving of the deer and he reached down to pick it up. As he did so, he saw a hand out of the corner of his eye pick up the wolf carving. As he stood back up with the deer in his hands, he saw that it was Charles who had picked up the wooden wolf. The two men were standing mere inches apart, eyes locked on each other. Arthur so desperately wanted to kiss Charles, even if this one was just a figment of an overactive and horny imagination. But instead of a kiss, Charles took Arthur’s free hand, led him up the steps of the house to the porch, and sat him down on a large wooden chair next to his own. Neither Charles nor Arthur spoke a word to each other, but the feeling of Charles’s large, warm hand on Arthur’s own as they sat and looked out over the lake together as the cool air wafted past them made Arthur feel an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time: contentedness. The feeling was so comforting he even forgot that this was all a dreamed-up fantasy. Arthur wished he could skip having to tell Charles that he liked him and just go straight ahead to this perfect moment. But Arthur knew that he’d just have to get it over with, like with his coming out. But thankfully now, with the thought of (just) about everyone behind him, he knew he could do it.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr1 #charthur #vandermatthews #arthur morgan #arthur rdr2 #charles smith #lgbt #graaidart #but writing this time #writing #hosea matthews #Dutch Van Der Linde #fanfiction #fanfic #trans #transgender

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petroltogo · 4 years ago

Text

full disclosure, this got complete out of control (you’ll see that below the cut) and for those who prefer to read longer texts elsewhere I also posted the full story on AO3. @hopeswriting I hope you like it!

So Hana takes a step back. She let the stress of being field-active, of having to cover for Sawada and keeping their squad upright run her down and never once took a moment to breathe and think. It worked, for a time, but it can’t work forever. Hana won’t be around forever to pick up Mochida’s slack when he’s hesitating, to push Sawada down when he gets ideas about helping, to shoot down Miura’s more crazed ideas that she makes sound horrifyingly reasonable.

In other words, she needs to start working on a solution instead of being the solution. Which means approach the problem in a new way.

Since Vongola Inc.’s bureaucracy is as nightmare-inducing as Hana expected it to be, getting another member assigned to their squad is a spectacular failure. [Hana cannot believe the bullheadedness of people who have never even seen a gun in real life but somehow think they can tell her what she does and doesn’t need in a fight.] Unsurprising but it was worth a try.

Which brings Hana to Plan B: Get Sawada off the squad. He’s spent the past two and a half months flapping around on the field like a fish who’s jumped out of an aquarium only to realize that he does, indeed, need water to survive. He’s panicked and cried and thrown up [in Sawada’s defense, they all have, but unlike Sawada they usually manage to control themselves until after the crisis is over] — in short, he’s had his fun.

It’s time to end this.

[continues under the cut]

Since the last time Hana tried to hammer a rational thought into Sawada’s brain, she’s payed attention and realized that Sawada won’t ever get off his ass and do something to improve his life if the only thing to be gained is more happiness and less lethal danger for himself. Which, frankly, is a thought that boggles her mind but alright.

If Sawada refuses to make decent life choices, Hana will make one for him. She doesn’t usually meddle like this, this is 100% Kyouko’s bad influence on her, but Hana has spent too many months keeping this idiot alive. He’s not gonna die on her now.

So Hana files the transfer papers for Sawada.

She does it properly too. Researches Sawada’s high school grades — which range from passable to terrible, how did he make it into the Vongola Inc. attack squad training in the first place? — and interests — of which there are barely any, seriously, does this guy not have a life? — and pays attention to Sawada in action. Most of the time that’s like watching an avalanche come down on top of you in slow motion, but there are parts of their work where Sawada doesn't hold them back. Even — dare she say it — makes himself useful. Like the whole talking to witnesses and calming survivors down part. Especially when there are children. Sawada is awkward and too sensitive and gets too restless around the adults, but with children he’s actually— Not bad.

Based on those same observations, Hana fills out the appropriate forms to get Sawada transferred to Human Resources. Sawada will be fine there. Maybe even do well. Not that he could do any worse than an attack squad but whatever.

The request is denied.

Transfer requests out of attack squads aren’t denied. No one wants a well-armed operative who doesn’t feel stable and confident that they can handle their job running around.

At this point Hana has repeated the phrase so often, the words have lost all meaning, but in the face of such a monumental, senseless idiocy it bears repeating: What the fuck, Vongola.

Practice doesn’t make perfect but it does make better.

A week passes and then another one. With every successful and unsuccessful mission that they survive together, they get better. Their teamwork improves, their instincts sharpen, they learn to play off each other. They learn to navigate around Sawada. And even Sawada does improve.

He doesn’t panic as much or as obviously anymore. He’s getting better at not getting in the way. He’s getting decent at hand-to-hand combat, even if he sucks at applying those same skills in an actual battle. Hana still isn’t happy to have him at her back, but she can trust him not to bowl her over from behind anymore. And besides they all do their best to keep him out of the actual fights whenever possible. It’s progress.

Not enough but it is what it is.

In the end. It’s not unexpected. It’s the opposite of unexpected and even that doesn’t seem a strong enough word for it. Because Hana is a planner at heart. She’s imagined this very outcome too often to be slowed down by shock or surprise now that it's actually happening.

[Numbers don’t lie. They can’t show the truth but they reflect trends and probabilities and just because every human being thinks they are the exception doesn’t make it true. Numbers don’t work that way and exceptions mean there’s a majority there whose story is told in those very same statistics.]

Hana knows what it means to walk into a battle with a squad member that can’t handle themselves by her side. She’s gone over the dangers too many times to count at this point, both inside her head and out loud. They all have. They’ve been doing this job for four months and by some miracle they’ve been managing, but beginner’s luck only holds out for so long.

It’s a bad mission.

Not their first one. They’ve already had close calls — too many of those — have gotten injured, hell, Sawada has even gotten himself kidnapped once. None of that knowledge helps prepare them for another once though. None of those past terrors make it any easier to remain calm and level-headed in the heat of the moment.

Most importantly none of it prepares Hana for a super who can control electricity. Whose powers apparently aren’t stopped by their uniforms, going by the charred body of what used to be one of her squad member that's lying crumbled on the other side of the room. [What does it say about her, about this squad that Hana’s first hysterical thought when she watched Nakamura go down screaming is 'At least it wasn’t Sawada’s fault.'?]

Communications are down, she’s cut off from possible reinforcements, trapped somewhere in the lower levels of the building. She doesn’t have any smoke bombs left, doesn't have a paralyzer, doesn’t have an exit and her only backup now that Nakamura is dead is Sawada. Sawada who is cowering in the corner furthest away from her and Nakamura's body, back pressed so hard against the wall he’ll have bruises if he survives this, wild, panicked eyes fixated on the crazed super who’s staring at him like Sawada is the fucking North star.

Or his next meal, going by Sawada’s luck.

Hana’s drawn her gun like Sawada should’ve because he’s armed, Hana knows he’s armed. She can see the gun from across the room. And Sawada isn’t fucking drawing it.

"Stay back!" she calls out towards the super who's glazed eyes remain fixed on Sawada. "Or I’ll shoot!"

Sawada still isn’t moving. The lightning guy is moving slowly, a demented grin on his lips, blood caking the left half of his face. And Sawada isn’t fucking moving. Not to defend himself. Not to run over and seek cover behind Hana, where she could fucking reach and protect him.

"Why are you so surprised?" Hana can almost hear Kyouko’s voice ask her, curiously puzzled. "You always knew he would be a liability."

Hana fires a warning bullet, half hoping the insane super will miraculously flinch back and let himself be arrested, half praying it will shake some sense into Sawada. Both is too much to ask and when lightening guy takes another step, Hana knows she’s out of time.

He’s too close to Sawada. All he needed to burn Nakamura alive was one touch. [The room is still echoing with his screams. Or is that only in her head?]

Hana doesn't kid herself: She's known how this story would end from the start.

She shoots.

[As the daughter of a lawyer and a librarian who fell in love over their shared passion for justice in a society that sorely lacked it, Hana didn’t grow up with the system-friendly propaganda her classmates were fed every day. She grew up with heated arguments over human rights over the dinner table, with long-winded discussions about the failures of the system and where and how to best address them.

Hana didn’t grow up glorifying supervillain deaths and she never, ever wanted to take a life. There is a reason why Hana planned to stay no longer than six months with her squad and it’s a simple one: Hana never wanted to become a killer.

But who does?]

Kurokawa Hana has been an active Vongola Inc. operative on an attack squad for four months, three weeks and six days when she kills René Moretti during a sanctioned mission with a clean headshot.

The official investigation is an open and shut case.

A month after the incident and three weeks into her mandatory therapy, Kurokawa Hana is cleared for the field once more.

Mandatory therapy is a joke. Hana isn’t going to let a therapist on Vongola Inc.’s payroll get into her head and brainwash her into believing killing isn’t a problem as long as it is for the organization’s gain, thank you very much.

[That’s not quite what the woman said but Hana can read between the lines and even if she couldn’t, she doesn’t trust Vongola. How could she, at this point?]

But Hana is smart and resourceful and has supportive parents who get in touch with some old friends and give her the contact of a psychologist that at least won’t have divided loyalties from the get go. So Hana goes and hopes it’ll help.

In the meantime, she pretends Sawada doesn’t exist.

[He doesn’t thank her. The one time he approaches her, he stutters out an apology of all things as though that would somehow erase the brain splatters Hana can still see behind her closed eyelids. She doesn’t snap and she doesn’t kick him out of a window because Hana is better than that.

She grits her teeth and turns on her heels and locks herself into the bathroom and smashes the mirror until her knuckles are bloody and there are glass shards sticking out of her skin and the screams inside her head finally shut up because Hana is a murderer and nothing anyone does will ever erase that.

The worst part of it is that she doesn’t feel guilty about the life she took. Only grieves for what she broke within herself.]

Here’s one truth Hana has to live with every day: She has taken a man’s life. [And it was easy.]

Here’s another one: If she’d been in that room with anyone on her squad other than Sawada, she wouldn’t have had to.

Sawada stays out of her way whenever possible and that’s the way Hana likes it. It doesn’t help and at some point she grows used to the bitterness that still twists her insides up into knots at irregular moments when she catches sight of him, but she can bear to look at him again, to give commands and order him to back up and cuss him out for breaking the coffee machine without actually murdering him.

Which she could do. She’s done it once already after all.

That first time is not the last time. Of course it isn’t. The longer she stays in the field, the more chances there are for something to go wrong and probability theory alone will tell you that sooner or later Hana will find herself in a similar situation, having to make the same choice.

Not every person Hana shoots is to protect Sawada. Some are to protect a civilian or even herself. Does that make it better?

Hana doubts it, but she realizes she doesn’t truly know.

[If there’s one thing she’s learned in the last month and a half, it’s that Hana is a good killer. Enough conscience not to turn a machine gun onto a crowd of civilians or throw a child off a building, but not enough to feel bad about snuffing a stranger’s life out of existence. Just the way Vongola likes its operatives.

Hana never pictured herself in this gritty, bloody world of field work, never wanted to be, but she makes herself at home all the same.]

One slow Wednesday morning while cleaning up the mess on her desk, Hana stumbles upon the transfer papers she never handed in. They’re filled out already, even the signature is already in place. Have been for — over a year now, that’s how long it’s been. Back when she first planned out every step of her career at Vongola Inc.

Staring down at her own handwriting that reads like a strangers, Hana considers. She could still hand them in, she supposes. Get transferred to the legal department just like she planned. What’s a delay of a few months?

There’s no reason to think that she couldn’t do the job. In fact, Hana is sure she’d be good. Great even. Certainly she’d make a better lawyer than a field operative.

"Kurokawa, you coming?" Mochida calls from the briefing room. The rising impatience indicates it’s not the first time he’s called her and a glance at the clock tells Hana their daily team meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago.

"Yeah, one moment."

She gets up. Takes one last glance at those papers. Throws them in the rubbish bin underneath her desk and doesn’t look back as she crosses the room in sharp, determined steps. There’s no point to it.

[What she wanted to protect when she made those plans is already lost. And Hana might be a better lawyer but she’s a decent operative. She’s keeping her squad members alive, keeping Sawada alive, which is an achievement all on its own.

She’s already taken lives for the sake of her team, for the sake of the mission even. What’s a few more?]

In a strange way it makes almost sense. [Out of the two of them, Kyouko is the villain. But it’s Hana who’s always flirted with the darkness looming at the edge of every super’s consciousness. It’s Hana who’s cut out to be a monster.]

"Why are you here?" Hana asks Sawada on a whim, roughly a year and a half after they were first assigned to the same squad. There’s no deep motivation or reason, not even any real curiosity.

Sawada blinks stupidly at her. "You said the first one to go home and leave you alone with this tower of paperwork would be dangling from the Vongola sign on top of this building by a rope made out of their own entrails."

Hana rolls her eyes. "I meant why did you join an attack squad." You idiot, she almost tacks on but leaves it unspoken in the end. It’s nothing Sawada hasn’t heard before. Damn she needs coffee if her tongue is getting away with her again. It’s not even two in the morning yet.

"Huh?"

Sawada looks honest to god confused. He’s lucky that punching him would require too much effort. Now that Hana thinks about it, so would getting worked up.

"I mean," she says very, very slowly, "that you are the least violent person I’ve ever met, Sawada. You’re a terrible field operative. So why haven’t you quit and applied for something else?"

Sawada stares at her with those illogically huge eyes that are supposedly cute — if Kyouko is to be believed — but that Hana finds off-putting. Possibly because they look at her like that all the time. "Oh." Sawada says as though none of what Hana has just said ever occurred to him. "I’m terrible at everything. And Vongola Inc. were the only ones who offered me a job. So." He shrugs.

Which. Hana isn’t even gonna touch that one. Nope.

"Just get the damn coffee, Sawada," she groans and hopes she’ll have forgotten this conversation in the morning.

[She doesn’t know what she’d hoped to find here, what kind of revelation she’d been waiting for but the worst self-esteem in the history of self-esteem hadn’t been it. If she thinks about the fact that this entire shit-show could’ve been avoided if someone had given Sawada a proper motivational speech as a child, she is gonna burn something.

Probably Vongola Inc.]

[On bad days, Hana cancels her coffee and cake time with Kyouko, doesn’t look at Sawada unless it is to glower and locks herself into an empty briefing room or her own apartment whenever possible. Her hands don’t shake when she holds a gun or a knife or a rope — they never do — but sometimes when she catches sight of her reflection she breaks it until it breaks her.

On bad days, catching sight of Sawada makes Hana feel every drop of blood drying on her hands, chunks of skin getting caught under her nails, gun powder sticking to her fingers. On bad days, she hates Sawada for what he’s made her become.]

By the time they’ve all been working together as an active squad for two years, every member of the team except Sawada has become a killer.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t acknowledge it.

[The shots one of them took so Sawada wouldn’t have to — because he wouldn’t have. They don’t even send him out with a gun anymore because what’s the point of handing someone a weapon they refuse to use? The shots they took to save him. The tasks Mochida assignes specifically so Sawada won't have to see some of the worst they’ve had to face, won't be forced to make choices he isn't prepared for and has too much heart to make. The missions he’s been put on desk duty for that no one else came out of unscratched. It's not even always about blood and death, is the funny thing. There’s so many things worse than murder.]

There’s nothing to talk about.

[On good days, Hana is grateful that it was her behind that trigger. Because even at her worst she’s never wanted Sawada dead.

And. Being a killer suits her, them. That's why they were chosen after all. That's why they qualified. That's why Sawada should've never passed his entrance exam. And perhaps one day Hana will make her peace with that knowledge. But the unvoiced issue remains: Sawada isn’t like them. Sawada cares in ways no one on the squad does, no one on any attack squad should, and— It’s not concern that compels Hana to shield him. It’s certainly not empathy. It’s self-preservation.]

Sawada doesn’t thank her for any of the lives she takes on his behalf. Hana doesn’t expect him to. She doesn’t think he understands what she’s protecting him from and a large part of her — a part that pulls the trigger without flinching, that has nightmares about Nakamura’s burned corpse, the smell of his flesh, but never about the man she killed — hopes he never will.

[It’s not the life Kurokawa Hana thought she would want, certainly not the life she planned, but most of her original squad is still alive, Sawada is still alive, even though Hana still doesn’t know who within Vongola is moving against him. And though Sawada is still useless, he’s calmed down a lot over the past two years. Could almost be classified as an asset on his rare good day.

And it’s not always great, not even always good, but. It is.]

aaand i think that concludes hana’s POV. if you have any further questions though (or if there’s other characters you’d like to see more of, don’t hesitate to let me know in a comment or an ask)!

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mego42 · 5 years ago

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i totally agree with you about annie and rio being bi, so i thought if you wanted to, maybe you could write a fic about them talking about their common experience. i would love more sibling in law camaraderie! but i feel like the only way rio could truly be that vulnerable is if he were high. would love to read about them high together! thank you in advance! #highwhilebi

Oh my god, anon, I wish you could have seen my face when this came in because yes.

I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking this as an opportunity to also write a little something for @nickmillerscaulk because she is the actual best and it’s literally the least I can do to say thank you.

I hope you both enjoy 💖

“Where’s your sister?”

Rio straight up, like, materializes in the kitchen, startling the fuck out of Annie and making her drop the chip bowl she’s refilling.

“Jesus, fuck,” she says, scooping a handful of potato chips off the floor. Five-second rule, right? Besides, Beth keeps the floors clean enough to eat off of. Literally. “You should wear a bell.”

He doesn’t answer and for a second Annie thinks—hopes?—maybe he’s disappeared as silently as he appeared. But, when she looks up he’s still there, staring at her and the floor chips, clearly horrified.

Feeling thoroughly judged, Annie belligerently pops a chip in her mouth, gratified when his look of horror intensifies.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, chewing noisily just to be obnoxious and tossing the rest of the handful in the trash. Yeah, fine, it’s gross.

“Where’s your sister?” Rio asks again, ignoring her question.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Annie retorts, grabbing some salsa out of the fridge.

She realizes that it’s probably unwise to taunt the crimelord in her sister’s kitchen, but it’s not like anyone would ever accuse her of being wise. Which is kind of annoying, actually, because she is in many ways, but it goes unappreciated.

Besides, it’s not like he’s going to do anything to her. She likes to think it’s because in the past year since he and Beth have stopped actively trying to kill each other, Annie and Rio have become...not friends, but cordial enough that she hopes killing her would at least be awkward.

Except, she’s not stupid. He runs a gang for Pete’s sake, awkwardness is not a barrier to him, you know, taking care of business. The real reason Annie’s relatively sure he isn’t going to do anything to her is Beth. Annie’s perfectly safe as long as he wants to keep doing whatever it is he’s doing with her sister.

It gives her the shivers, honestly. She can’t believe Beth—Beth—is into it, him. The whole situation is so weird.

Annie gathers up her snacks and supplies and heads back to the couch and TV, dumping it all on the ottoman Judith had sent over ages ago that’s still serving as a makeshift coffee table. Beth had finally started replacing her furniture—that Rio stole. And that’s another thing, they have the weirdest foreplay Annie’s ever seen, and that’s saying something given some of the people she’s hooked up with—but was doing it slowly.

The couch was one of the first big pieces she’d bought before even a bed. Which is another weird thing, actually, given that Beth’s finally getting some on the regular. You’d think she’d want someplace more comfortable than an air mattress to—

Annie sits bolt upright, feet flying off the ottoman, nearly upending the salsa and chip bowl. Oh god, is this their sex couch?

Her eyes fly to Rio, still hovering like an awkward lurker by the kitchen door, glaring like it’s somehow Annie’s fault that Beth’s not here. Which is rich, him holding anything against her, when she’s the one over here sitting on the sex couch.

Oh, fuck it, she thinks, dropping back onto the cushions. It’s not the grossest thing she’s ever sat on by a mile.

“I don’t know when she’ll be back, she ran out to help Ruby with some church play costume emergency,” Annie relents, fishing around for the remote. “I can tell her you came by, or you can hang out, whatever, just stop hovering. It’s creepy.”

She crows, triumphant when she retrieves the remote, but it ends in a squeak as he sits down on the other end of the couch. She’d invited him to stay because that’s what people do, she didn’t think he’d take her up on it.

But, okay, sure, he’s here. The scary-ass gang banger her sister’s boning until the cow’s come home is chillin’ with Annie on an ugly ass floral couch Beth picked up at the ReStore, thumbing through his phone like this is all perfectly fine and normal.

Annie never wanted her life to be predictable, but this is a left turn she never saw coming.

Shrugging to herself, Annie hits play and dips a chip into the salsa. Nothing left to do but lean into it, apparently.

“M’watching Shitt’s Creek, by the way,” she says around a mouthful of salt and tomatoes, bizarrely satisfied when he looks over at her with a pained expression. “It’s about this family—”

“Yeah, I fuck with it,” he says, looking back at his phone as he casually upends Annie’s mental picture of him and what he’s into like it’s nothing.

“You do not,” she says, crunching down on another chip for strength.

“What?” His eyes flick over to her. “It’s good shit.”

“I know that,” she says. “It just doesn’t seem like, you know.” She waves in his general vicinity. “Your thing.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, going back to his phone. “What’s that sayin’ ‘bout judgin’ books by their covers?”

Which, ouch. Annie doesn’t judge. Okay, so she judges but not like that. She knows better than anyone how deceiving appearances can be.

She digs around in her purse for her bowl and her weed. The whole situation is way too surreal for sobriety without being called out for being shallow and judgmental by her sister’s crime husband.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything when she pulls out her pipe. Not until she packs it and pulls out her lighter.

“You sure you should be doin’ that in here?” he asks, which is just—no.

“Okay, first of all,” she starts, waving a hand in his face. “I don’t care what you guys get up to, you do not get to tell me what to do in my sister’s house. Ask Deansie how that worked out for him.”

He smirks a little, and Annie can’t help grinning back. What can she say? Deansie sucks ass, and she appreciates anyone who recognizes that.

“Second,” she continues, calmer now. “He’s got the kids for the week, so there’s plenty of time for the smell to dissipate. I brought a candle.”

“Besides—” Now it’s her turn to smirk. “It’s not like there’s all that much furniture to absorb the smell.”

Rio laughs at that, bobbing his head in acknowledgment of her point, and Annie squirms a little, pleased at his approval and annoyed that she’s pleased.

“Now shut up and let me watch my show.”

She hits the bowl a few times, loving the warm, loose feeling that spreads in her head. It’s too bad Beth won’t smoke with her, it’d do wonders for that stick in her ass. Though, who knows, maybe she likes the stick. Beth’s a total fucking mystery to her these days.

Annie laughs a little to herself, and Rio looks over, curious.

“Want some?” She asks, offering him the bowl and lighter. She isn’t expecting him to take her up on it. If nothing else, he seems more like a joints or blunts than glass kind of guy. But she is apparently entirely shit at predicting anything about him because he takes it from her and lights up, smooth and easy like he’s had plenty of practice.

They smoke in silence for a bit, passing the bowl back and forth until it’s tapped, and Annie’s feeling pretty warm and fuzzy. She grabs the chips and salsa, moving them to the couch between them for easier reach before snuggling back into the cushions. She nudges the potato chip bowl at him, dipping one into the salsa and popping it in her mouth.

“What?” She asks at the look he gives her. “It’s good. People act like you can only dip tortilla chips in salsa, but really they just lack vision.”

He shrugs and grabs a chip. The satisfied hum he lets out when he tries it makes Annie downright giddy after all of the shit Beth and Ruby give her over her weird condiment and food combos.

“You know what else is good?” She asks, recognizing a kindred spirit and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Syrup on potatoes.”

He dunks another chip and chews slowly as he considers her insight.

“Yeah, I could see it,” he says after a long moment.

“My man!” Annie shouts, throwing up a hand for a high five and nearly upending the snacks.

He laughs, and for a second, Annie thinks he’s going to leave her hanging which, unsurprising but a little disappointing, she can’t lie. But then he raises a hand and taps it to hers.

It’s probably the weed, but it feels like she won something and makes her absurdly happy. She turns back to the tv, smiling a little wider when she sees Rio pocket his phone and settle back out of the corner of her eye.

They watch a few episodes mostly in companionable silence, sharing the chips and occasionally cracking up, and it’s...weirdly nice? Like hanging out with a friend which is a total mind fuck to be entirely honest.

She doesn’t know if it’s the weed or the weird level of comfortable they’ve inexplicably achieved, but he must be feeling it too. It’s the only possible explanation for what happens next.

“Gooood,” Annie groans, slouching down a little on the couch and pressing a throw pillow over her face.

“Hmmm?” Rio’s pretty boneless himself, the second rotation seems to have done the trick.

“I just, I can’t even look at them,” she says, waving a hand towards the screen where Ted and Alexis are having a moment. “It’s too much concentrated hotness.”

She flings the pillow away, realizing after she let go that she’d more or less thrown it straight at his head, but he lazily bats it down on his lap, so that’s fine then.

“You ever have that? That thing where someone is just like, too hot, and it ruins your life a little?” Not waiting for an answer, Annie studies the tv. “Alexis more than Ted for sure, but I would gladly bone down with either of them in a heartbeat. Fuck, I forgot how horny weed makes me.”

It’s like her brain catches up with her mouth all at once, and she freezes, replaying everything that’s just come out of her mouth.

“Okay, for the record, I know how that sounded, and I was not hitting on you,” she says, staring straight ahead and blushing so hard it feels like her entire face is on fire. “I want to be extremely clear on that.”

She hears this sort of wheezing sound and seriously wonders for a second if she just freaked out so hard she burst something. But when she darts a glance to the side, she sees Rio’s got a hand over his face, shoulders shaking, and she realizes the wheezing noise is him. Laughing at her.

Like, really laughing. Nearly helpless with it, honestly.

It’s so unexpected, so different from how she’s ever seen him, it snaps her all the way out of her embarrassment. She literally feels her jaw drop, which is something she always kind of thought only happened in like, tv shows.

And he just keeps laughing, it’s like once he started, he can’t stop. After a minute, Annie shrugs and goes back to watching the show, helping herself to more chips and trying to remember if she’d seen any of those mini pizzas in the freezer.

Eventually, Rio calms down, dropping his hand, and Annie glances over, attention caught by the movement, and he’s smiling at her kind of fond and shit, which is weird but also weirdly nice? She feels like she could get used to him liking her. Maybe even like him back a little. He’s pretty chill when he’s not like, threatening people with guns and death and stuff.

He’s got good taste in tv, anyway. Snacks too.

“So, Ted and Alexis, huh?” he asks and, right. What with the unexpected giggle fit she forgot she kind of came out to him.

“Yeah, you know,” Annie gestures at the screen, a little apprehensive. It’s been so long since she’s explained her sexuality to anyone. She’s totally chill with it, but she forgot that squirmy little edge that comes with saying it out loud no matter how little she cares what the other person thinks of her. “I like the wine, not the label.”

But Rio just nods, like it’s a foregone conclusion. “Yeah, I figured that part, I meant that’s what does it for you?”

“I mean, not that it’s any of your business,” Annie says, electing to ignore the fact that she started this. “But yes—wait, what do you mean you figured?”

“The jumpsuits and shit,” he says, frowning like it’s obvious.

Which like, yeah, she dresses to advertise sometimes, but the assumption gets under her skin.

“That’s ridiculous,” she shoots back. “How would you like it if I just, you know, called you out for your gigantic bisexual nose piercing?”

He’s smiling at her again, that sort of fond, sort of amused, sort of I-know-something-that-you-don’t smile that’s really fucking obnoxious, to be honest. She absolutely zero percent understands Beth’s thing with him, he’s so—and then the other shoe drops.

“Oh my god, wait, you’re…?” Annie trails off, not wanting to assume a label.

“Yeah, I guess I—” Rio pauses and squints at her like he’s trying to decide something. “I like a few different types of wine.”

“No shit,” Annie breathes. “Does Beth know?”

Not that it would matter to Beth, obviously, Annie just really loves the idea of knowing something about her sister’s boyfr—no, fuck buddy? Please, like Beth would have anything that crass, she probably thinks of him as her lover, the nerd—that Beth doesn’t.

Rio just looks at her though, eyebrow raised and fine; apparently boundaries are still a thing. Or so he thinks, he doesn’t know how persistent she can be yet.

“Whatever,” she says, putting the chips and salsa back on the ottoman before turning full body towards him, tucking a foot up on the couch and plopping the remaining throw pillow in her lap to lean on. “So, do you feel me on Ted and Alexis? Who’s your type?”

He huffs a laugh, closing his eyes and scrubbing a hand over his face like he’s already regretting saying anything.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell meeeeee,” Annie whines, nudging him in the leg with her toe. “You might as well get it over with, I’m not going to stop.”

“I like—” Rio cracks an eye at her, looking her up and down, and Annie does her best to look trustworthy and supportive. “Patrick.”

Annie’s jaw drops, again. “Darkhorse pick, man! I did not see that coming.”

His shoulders bunch up, and he starts to sit up, so Annie thumps him with the pillow until he settles back down. “No, no, it’s great, I love it.”

She stops, cocking her head and studying him. “That actually makes a bizarre amount of sense. He’s got that same bouncy, wholesome, fuck-with-my-people-and-I-will-end-you-but-politely vibe as my sister, now that I think about it.”

Rio frowns like that’s something he hadn’t considered before, and Annie’s absurdly pleased to have upended his mental equilibrium this time.

“Damn, gang friend,” she says, grinning wide. “I think we’re having a moment. I will be honest, I did not see this coming.”

He laughs again, sort of reluctant like he doesn’t want to, but Annie can see a little bit of a genuine smile teasing around the edges of his mouth.

“Admit it,” she says, poking him with her toe again. “You like me.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his head on the back of the couch and looking at her. “Don’t push it, yeah?”

“Fine, fine,” she says, turning back to face the tv. “I’ll let it go for now.”

They watch in silence for a minute before Annie gets an idea and has to forcibly tamp down on her grin. She starts to hum a little under her breath, getting a little louder when she sees him look at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re simply the best,” she sings, collapsing into giggles when he smacks her with the pillow she’d flung at him earlier.

***

“What the hell happened here?”

Annie nearly kicks the plate of crumbs—the only evidence of the mini pizza feast she’d made them—off the ottoman as she startles awake to find Beth standing in front of the couch, hands on her hips.

Her face is flickering as she tries to look stern but clearly wants to smile, and Annie realizes she’d passed out with her face against Rio’s shoulder and—oh god, she’d been drooling on it.

She shoves off of him abruptly, wiping her chin and sticking her tongue out at him when he grins at her.

“Nothing,” Anie says, opening and closing her mouth like it will help clear the moss that’s grown all over it while she slept. “Just watching tv.”

“Oh yeah? You’re friends now?” Beth asks, failing to hide the hopeful lilt to her voice like they’ve given her a birthday present or some shit.

“Yeah, I mean, what can I say?” Annie glances at Rio with a shrug. “He’s better than all the rest.”

She cracks up all over again when he pushes her off the couch.

#good girls fic #rio + annie #brio fic #kind of that tag feels like cheating tbh #nbc good girls #fic prompts #asks #anon #my fic #bless you anon this was so much fun

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cttrajan1206 · 4 years ago

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So maybe. While among us is booming rn. Cough, ill share a lil drabble i did, based on my games with my friends @dragonfruiteen and @justalexnoelle and @a-mega-sad-nerd

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(note this took me two nights and Mercutio was present for the first one and you can Really Tell Because It Reads Better, Frui's pov was All Me And It Shows akbdf)

Eyes. It always seemed to be the eyes that opened the gateway to emotion. To empathy. Humans lacked such a key feature. If they did indeed have eyes, the windows to the soul, the mind of another creature, then it was clouded. Hidden behind a frosted blue screen that provided a concealing shade to any hint of emotion. It was with these "eyes" that they looked upon CT.

And what they saw, they turned blind to, the fog of their visors deceiving them and clouding up their vision. What they saw was a monster, a hideous creature with unnatural limbs and eyes. What CT saw was the same. Except there were more of them.

Shrieking desperately, their cry of fear was taken as a roar of hunger and these multi-chromed cloned monsters closed in. Their hands held no warmth, gone from their bodies and empty faces was any sign of a living sentient being with a conscience. If there ever were any there in the first place.

The experiments were horrible. Terrifying masks devoid of any tainted spots betrayed nothing on their facade of a frigid outer exterior as they conducted the tests. CT was trapped, alone and afraid. The electrocutions didn't aid their jitters, their tendrils quaking with fear each time they were forced upon the podium. No manner other than Man's could be so cruel. Unspeakable things to do with drills and lasers occured in that test lab. Things too horrid to repeat.

And yet. There was a shining light that burned brightly and illuminated the path ahead. Frui. Frui always treated CT as a friend, fir dark skin patterned with glowing cyan networks that ended with the plant sprouting atop fir head. No matter the amount of experiments that day, Frui and Teddy always made sure to visit CT secretly afterwards, often bringing treats. CT could speak to them, using phrases and words they knew well. Though the constant screaming left their voice hoarse and sore, they always made sure to give them in turn their thanks - a love shaped by finding a blooming bud of friendship in a stale place of loneliness.

But that didn't last long. Because all beauty is meant to never last and alas, theirs was meant to have its time cut short ever swifter.

It wasn't on purpose. Not the first time. A tired security guard must have miscalculated their reaction time and left the door open. CT stared. They'd always dreamed, too afraid to dare and grab a hold of a rope to save themself. And Frui was due to visit soon. But what caged bird would ignore its chance for freedom? So they rushed out, slithering across the floor and through the corridors. Not one map could help their journey and each path they tried twisted endlessly like a writhing snake. It seemed hopeless but no light could be without the darkness. Determined, they pushed on, discovering the useful utility of the vent systems. Just as they caught sight of the exit, down from their eye they spied Frui's plant. Goodbye. That was what they wanted to say one last time. Goodbye and Thank you for all the time Frui had spent with them, for being the light in their life and for being kinder than the others. Entering the room, they waved a tentacle friendlily, happy to see their friend

Frui immediately gave CT up to security.

Blank eyes. As cold and clouded as a dead fish's. CT knew every human must've had the same but they somehow had convinced themself that Frui must be different. That some empathy lay behind that voided screen for eyes. They had seen how tender and loving fe was with Teddy and fe had always treated them as a friend.

Now, however, CT realised that such affection was reserved only for other humans. A lowly monster like them couldn't ever truly be seen as a friend. As someone to trust and set free. As someone to treat as an equal. Only as something to be used. After all, if that hadn't been the case, and Frui felt they were a friend, why did fe turn them in?

The experiments became more and more frequent and painful after that day. Each hour was torturous, excruciatingly beating the seconds past as slowly as possible. Frui and Teddy tried to visit CT anyway but they wouldn't let the two humans in. Never again would their lonely heart even consider opening up to another ever again. Never.

The second time was no mere accident. This time, CT had planned, schemed and plotted it all out. This time, __they__ would be the betrayer.

A squadron of humans were to depart on a mission through the dropship to the basecamp Polus. CT knew this. They weren't to cone as the investigation was on the lava's seismic activity not their alien form.

But that didn't deter them.

Frui was on that ship. Defenceless and wide open. So after killing a local human with keys, CT set their plan into motion. Their suit was lime, a nice enough bright green colour,

And looking through the owner's stuff made for the discovery that fedoras were the Ultimate Hat. A little bit of practice was needed but they handled it quickly and efficiently. Soon, they donned their screened eyeless mask and waited. They were ready.

Was Frui?

<•∆•>

Last Frui checked, the lime suit belonged to one of the security guards. It seemed weird since fe didn't recall them being on the mission. When fe went over to say hi, fe got no answer. Instead, the suit fished out a notebook and wrote inside.

“Throat sore. Can't talk.”

Frui nodded, understanding, and gave them a thumbs up. The guard seemed to study them before scribbling down.

“I'm new here and don't know my way around, could you help me?”

Frui nodded and then whipped around.

"Alex! I got a parasite for you to take!"

The fedora nearly fell as they flinched, seemingly disturbed by the nickname. Frui quickly explained.

"Oh we just do that since Alex leads the mission. We say neb 'hosts' the assignment since neb's leader and we joke that we're all parasites seeking to take over the ship."

Fe laughed and the guard nodded solemnly. It was a little weird, a bit sus, but eh. Who was Frui to judge? Fe lead the guard to Alex and waved goodbye just before the dropship landed.

That was the last fe saw of neb.

It was slow and subtle at first. Frui hardly notices any suspicious going ons as fe did fir tasks faithfully. Sure, fe passed Nerd once and never saw him again but fe figured he was just doing tasks too. Teddy was always with fir too. They held hands the entire time and went everywhere together. They were inseparable, doing tasks alongside each other and never leaving each other's sight. It was nice, they were nearly both finished as they headed to the medbay to get scanned the halls moaned emptt, haunted with absence. Their footsteps echoed as they headed past the laboratory. Teddy was right by Frui. He was safe so fe was glad.

And then the lights died.

Frui couldn't see anything, it took fir eyes time to adjust to the dark. Teddy yelped and fe instinctively reached out and grabbed his arm, sliding down to his hand. It felt… thinner and slightly more squelchy than bone but in fir panic fe overlooked it.

"Come on Teddy, let's go!"

Running to fix the light, fe pulled Teddy along with fir. Fe got as far as outside before Teddy pulled away, yanking his hand out of fir grip. Confused, Frui half whispered in choked shock.

"Teddy-?"

There was no reply.

Fe was left there in the dark cold. Alone and afraid.

"Teddy??"

This wasn't like him. Teddy would never abandon fir.

"Teddy!"

Suddenly, fe felt a presence near fir. A hand on fir shoulder. Teddy. In the dark, fe couldnt see it but that reassuring squeeze had to be Teddy.

And then the lights flickered back on.

And fe saw there was no one there. Just a wispy trail of snow. Confused, scared and worried, Frui ran into the lab. Desperately searching for Teddy. Any sign of him. Nothing. No one. What happened?? Where did everyone go?? Why was fe… all alone. Think. Think think think. Frui thought and remembered that Teddy had a task in the office. As fe headed there, fe reassured faethself that Teddy would be there. The hope was slim and delusional but fe needed it. Sliding open the east entrance, fe walked towards the office. Eyes constantly shifting, fe scanned every inch of fir sight for Teddy, skimming every surface when a flashing light caught fir eye. Wandering closer, it became evident that it was the vitals monitor, keeping track of everyone. Frui didn't move close. Seeking answers from this had the chance of solidifying one of fir fears. Did fe dare? Yes. For Teddy. Slowly, fir sights focused on the monitor and fir heart dropped.

Dead. They were all dead. No signs of life showed for any of the crew members. Not even Teddy.

All that still flashed and thrummed with energy was Frui's heartbeat…

...And the lime guard's.

Stomach dropping in an instant, Frui stared at the monitor in horror. No. Nonono. Why? Why would they? Fe felt sick, barely restraining faethself from puking as the timeline matched up in fir head abd fe realised what had actually been going on. Fir crewmates were being murdered in cold blood and fe had had no idea.

A squelching sound of something crawling out of a hole alerted fir of someone else's presence. Hesitantly, fe turned around, already knowing what would face fir. After all, who else? There, standing casually against the wall, was Lime. They waved cheerfully. Frui bolted for the doors and heard an inhuman laugh as fe realised. The doors were locked.

Thud. Thud. Thud. The monitor beeped quickly, matching Frui's heartbeat. The lime suit stepped forward and in time to it, walking leisurely and yet quickening smoothly. In a flash, they had Frui backed to a wall unsure what to do, Frui was about to try pushing them away and running when… curiously… they began to unlatch their helmet. A hiss sounded as they slowly unscrewed it off, the fedora falling to the floor. Frui couldn't believe fir eyes. Staring back at fir, almost mournfully, was…

"CT…?!"

They nodded and reached forwards with a tentacle. Frui flinched. This made CT pause and anger flashed in their eyes. Suddenly, Frui felt a stabbing pain searing througg fir stomach. Blood dripped from CT's mouth as the serrated tongue slid back in. They seemed sad yet satisfied as Frui's body fell to the floor, limp. The last thing Frui saw was the monster walking away, uttering a single word with their hoarse throat.

"Goodbye."

<END>

#cttrajan #among us #among us fanfic #imposter #crewmate #drabbles #drabble #ink #ink is alex #nevan #nevan is nerd #frui #frui is frui #XD

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conduitandconjurer · 4 years ago

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