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kasagia · 1 year

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Our little game

~Part 2~ ~Part 3~ ~Part 4~ ~Part 5~

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x witch! reader Summary: You and Klaus have been playing this game between yourselves since your first meeting. One day, you two would fight with each other like dogs, and the next day, you would flirt and act like people completely mad with love. But whatever was between you two, you would never lose this game and admit that you fell for him. He would only use you for your power, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself all this time. Words count: 4,2k

I had no idea what I was doing here.

Wearing one of my fancy black dresses, I was staying in the middle of Mikaelson's compound in New Orleans, with hundreds of people surrounding me.

I was definitely making a huge mistake.

But a few hours ago, when my Mystic Falls gang tried (and failed) to kill these crazy heretics who came to our town two weeks ago, I could only think about coming here.

I needed to find a safe place to stay until Damon or Stefan called for my help.

But after hours of driving here, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to be a part of their group. Yes, I loved them all, especially Bonnie, who became my main "witch-teacher" after I found out I was like her, but sometimes I felt used by them. My power was stronger than any typical witch's. Even Bonnie was surprised to see the things I was able to do until my strength was exhausted and my nose started to bleed.

One day, Damon said that I was their greatest weapon. Then I burst out laughing. Now I'm not so sure how much the black-haired man was joking and how much his words were true. But I had to keep the promise I gave myself and stay with them, if only for Bonnie's sake. She would have killed herself trying to protect her friends, and I wouldn't let that happen. After all she did for me, I have to repay her debt of gratitude.

I turned on the radio while driving to nowhere and heard one of my favorite Mikaelson's, beloved, old songs, which was "better when it played at ball without this strange background sound." That's when I remembered Rebekah and her last words before leaving for New Orleans with her brothers: "You know, if your gang falls apart, you can always come to me. It would be funnier to have a partner in crime against Nik."

After a lengthy moral debate within me, I decided to fuck Salvatore's opinion of me and visit their nemesis. If Damon was so smart to make and realize his own crass plan without telling anyone, I could do something really stupid too and spend a week (or more) with Rebekah. After all, no one could control me.

Then it seemed like a very good plan.

Now with so many people around me, I decide that I have made a great mistake.

I totally forgot that four days ago, Bekah told me about the "engaged party" of Katherine and Elijah. (Thank God for my magic. At least I could turn pants and a T-shirt into a pretty dress.) I sent my gift to the happy couple with separate, joking congratulations to Katherine for "entrapping her Mikaelson after a long couple of centuries" without actually intending to attend the party.

Elena and Caroline would skin me if they knew that instead of buying them fancy birthday presents, I spent my money on something special for my best friend's big day.

In retrospect, I'd like to see their faces. They would be invaluable. Especially Damon's.

"My God, look who arrived!" a familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Hi Beks." I turned around to face her.

"Hi Beks? You appear here without telling me or Katherine anything; you hide in the crowd with a mean expression on your face, and all I get after months apart is a simple "hi"?"

"Well, in my defense, I was thinking about bringing you wine, flowers, cake and saying, "I'm sorry, baby," but I figured it would be only a waste of time and my money because you're going to yell at me anyway. Also, your boyfriend would be jealous." she started laughing and pulled me into a hug.

"I haven't seen you for too long."

"Bekah, we were talking yesterday morning."

"You called her yesterday and didn't call me?!" I heard Katherine's resentful voice behind me.

"You look gorgeous, honey. Engagement suits you." she gave me an unimpressed look. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be angry. I'm here now, ready to give you compliments and fight with your fiance's brother, who loathes you. Now, show me the ring. I want to see how much money Elijah was willing to spend on you." she burst out laughing, waving her ringed hand in front of my eyes.

"You realize you're not getting off so easily? Besides, something must have happened for you to suddenly decide to come."

"We can talk tomorrow. Tonight, it's about you and your undying love for her brother." I pointed to Rebekah.

"Talking about my brothers. We'll use some help with Nik's composure for the rest of the evening."

"It is so bad?"

"Yes. He's been following Elijah and trying to convince him to change his mind since this morning." Katherine complained. "He doesn't leave us alone, even for half a second."

"Do you two really think I'm able to "charm" him for the rest of the night?"

I asked, doubts about his supposed affection towards me. Since our first meeting, I and an original hybrid have had a kind of love-hate relationship. At the beginning, we only had short, verbal skirmishes, then it evolved into an open war (he tried to hurt Bonnie, so I gave him a headache and snapped his neck. After that, he used one of his hybrids to crack my car, so I convinced Rebekah to steal his car keys and give them to me. He gave up after two weeks of our teasing and after I (with little of Damon's help) ruined all his dark plans. The original hybrid bought me my own car, trying to bury the hatchet between us.) After a month of these events, the hatred between us began to develop into a kind of mean-companionship. At least no one had tried to gouge out the eyes of the other one anymore. Our "game" developed so much that one day he began to tease me with flirtatious phrases. And it's not true that I choked on my drink and blushed like a teenager from a romance book when he called me for the first time his "innermost, darkest pleasure," whispering it with his seductive tone, which he undoubtedly used for many women before. It was at our school party in the style of the 20s. Since then, I've figured out how to play by his new rules. I couldn't be worse than him.

"Well, you're doing your job even now. He's been staring at you for about five minutes, and you haven't even used any magic. I think we all know why, but you're too stubborn to admit it, so you might as well use his soft spot for you as reparation for your silence for 3 days."

"It's not a soft spot or any other stupid feeling you assume. This is a game."

That was our way of communicating: by circling around, lulling the other person's vigilance, and attacking when he least expects it. At the end of the day, I was just a toy for him—a mortal witch who was never scared of a 1000-year-old hybrid. He proved it after he moved with his family to New Orleans, and I never heard from him again.

"I like spicy stories, but please, keep my brother's kinks away from me. BOTH of you. It's just disgusting." Rebekah shuddered.

"I'm not…"

"Did I hear something about kinks? Y/N darling, it's a pleasure to finally see you here!" Kol suddenly appeared from nowhere. He got closer to me and gave me a strong hug.

"What the bloody hell? You should be on Hayley's tail!"

"Relax, sister. Our brother's formal one-night stand peacefully came back to her husband and wolves. Which means I'm free for the rest of the evening. Y/N do you want to dance with me?" without waiting for any response, he took my hand and led me to the dance floor, where other couples were dancing.

"Alright, what did you do?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I have no idea what are you implying. I just wanted to dance with a friend I hadn't seen in a long time."

"Kol."

"Y/N."

"Okey, okey. Don't look at me like that. In a nutshell, there is a girl." Oh, I've heard about her. I was curious how much of the original's interest in this girl was genuine.

"My God. I never expected to live to see the day Kol Mikaelson finds his epic love." I cut him off with a smirk.

"She is a hag like you, by the way." he continued, ignoring my taunt. "She doesn't want to know me, but she loves me. I just need a little magic of jealousy, and voilà, I'll be kissing her at the end of this night."

"And you didn't think, Sherlock, that acting like this would make her think that you only play with her?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. The gears in Mikaelson's head began to turn.

"F*ck. So what should I do? I've tried everything. Flowers, jewelry, old grimoires, unexpected almost-dating, puppies, cats, and all of this modern stuff."

"The idea of coming to me with a "love problem" is as ridiculous as expecting an answer, but I will try my best because you are kind of my friend and seem desperate. I don't know if you thought of it, but speaking with her and making a true confession seemed too simple, didn't it?" I said it sarcastically.

"You mean… "L" word?" he cleared his throat, ashamed.

"For the love of God, Kol Mikaelson! Do you love her?"

"Of course."

"Then get out of my eyes and tell her, not me." he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me alone in a sea of people.

"Little bastard." I said it to myself while trying to get out of there.

But someone made sure I wasn't left alone for too long.

"Hello, my love."

I would recognize that voice even on my deathbed, and I undoubtedly knew that he would someday be the reason for my death.

"Hello Klaus." I turned around to look him in the face. He had grown more handsome since the last time I saw him, which worried me a lot. I tried to hide my unwanted emotions behind a sarcastic smirk.

"If you're wondering if Stefan or Caroline sent their regards, I'm going to have to disappoint you."

"Actually, I'm wondering who I have to kill." I frowned, not understanding him. He swept me into his arms and whirled me about the dance floor as the orchestra played. "I knew you were planning not to go to this party. Katherine was very upset about that."

"So you must have had an enjoyable couple of days." I can't stop myself from interrupting him. He gave me a small smile, shaking his head in amusement. I was so close in his arms that I could feel his every breath adjust to mine.

"You don't usually change your plans, so it's obvious that your bunch of stupid friends must have done something impressively dumb. And quite possibly, it has to do with the emergence of competition vampire's group in Mystic Falls."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about anyone but his family."

"Ouch. As mean as I remembered."

"And you're as irritating as always. It looks like no one changed."

I sighed as I looked around the room. Mission successful - Katherine talks to Elijah. The only problem was that they looked like they were gossiping about me and Klaus…

"Tell me, did you miss me?" Klaus' taunt diverted my attention.

I thought for a moment about how to answer his question. Of course, I missed him. I frequently found myself recalling memories of us in locations where I was at the time. But as I said to Rebekah and Katherine, there was no bond between me and Klaus. We were just two bored souls who were looking for entertainment. We liked messing with people and making fun of them. That's all. There is no feeling involved. But it doesn't mean I will miss my chance.

"Yes." I whispered this while staring into his ocean eyes, never taking my gaze away from him.

He was surprised by my bold, direct statement. He leaned slightly closer to me. His gaze was moving from my eyes to my lips.

"I was bored as no one was trying to hurt me or my friends. Fortunately, Miss Salvatore came back with her own, special family." I got a little closer to him so I could whisper in his ear. "And then we had a new member of our group. Enzo. He's incredibly handsome and was an excellent substitute for your company."

He moved his hand slowly as he extended his arm to encircle my back. Then he dipped me deeply, looking at my eyes all the damn time.

"Be careful, my love. You may fall for him, of course, if you have a heart." he whispered, tightening his grip on me. I held my breath, too enchanted by the moment to respond to his taunt.

I should feel uneasy, distrustful, and disgusted that I am at his mercy, for he could drop me at any moment. Instead, all I could feel was being hypnotized by his blue eyes until he helped me get back on my feet again.

"Every girl would love him. He has dark hair, plays the guitar, and speaks with an English accent. Everyone's type, espessialy mine." I said, when I came back to my senses. If he wanted to tease me, I'd make sure I was a worthy opponent. I just had to keep my emotions under lock and key.

"So your "type" has to have an English accent? It's good to know."

"Yeah, but not as old as some of the people who live here. Also, not this one who wants to get closer to me only to use me for my power."

"You really think that little of me?"

"Is it truly important what I think about you?"

"No, not if you want me to remain a stranger to you. Not at all. But I'd like to think that we are more than we're willing to admit."

"Are you drunk?" I asked, taking a step back to examine him more closely. He began laughing at my reaction, drawing me closer to him once again.

"No, my love. I'm honest. But I'm not sure if there's a big difference between these two."

"You're honest only if you know it's in your interest. Clearly, you want something for me because you've been nicer to me than you have in the last few years. But you have to know I'm not that stupid to let you control me." I got out of his arms and went out in search of a room free of anyone.

"Running away isn't a solution, Y/N! I hope you know that." He shouted as he followed me. We came to a halt as we entered his art studio. Of all the fucking places in this huge villa, it had to be the den of the big bad wolf.

"Katherine has managed to escape you for more than 500 years." I said this without giving him a single, damning look. I much preferred to admire his works.

"Yes. Because she wanted. I'm not sure if you share her desires." He grabbed my arm, turning me to face him.

"What kind of fucked-up game are you playing right now?!" I yelled, yanking his hands away from me. He confused me. We never crossed that unspoken line in our banter. Few months apart, and now he shares the attitude of our crazy friends. That kind of playing wasn't fun at all.

"Did I bring up a sensitive topic? You're not ready to finally stop lying to yourself?" I laughed, mocking him.

"I've never claimed to be a saint." I growled at his face.

"You also never admitted being a sinner."

"That's good I've always wanted to be an anti-hero, then." I whispered, looking into his mesmerizing eyes, not even realizing that as we talked, we were getting closer, as we were suddenly a foot apart. I felt his hand slip around my waist like a snake. He pulled me closer and then I found myself pressed between his warm chest and cold wall.

"If only you weren't such a paranoid woman and suspected me of using you whenever I wanted to get closer to you. Maybe you would understand who you should be scared of and what is truly between us."

"Said the man who murdered his biological father because he was afraid Ansal would endanger Hope."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about me."

"Katherine and Rebekah are gossipers. You can't blame me for listening to them."

"You have an excuse for every circumstance, don't you?"

"It's not my fault you can't accept the truth. Whatever you've been taking today, you'd better take less of it. It's damaging your immortal, ancient head." I started to turn towards the door, but he stopped me by grabbing my hand.

"Don't turn your back on me, love." he threatened, keeping his firm grip on my wrist.

"Or what are you going to do? Dance with me again? You're right, it's so dangerous and horrible that I can't take it anymore." I ignored his warning and tried to leave the room.

He used his vampire speed and pinned me against the door. He leaned in, his eyes closed, and rested his brow against mine. In a silent, peaceful room, our hard, synchronized breaths were the only sound I could hear. My world shrank to just the two of us. The party outside was long forgotten by me.

He rubbed the tip of his nose on mine. I shivered as I got close enough to him for the first time to feel the warmth of his lips (and yet they were so far from mine).

"You have no idea… what you're doing to me."

His deep, hoarse whisper reminded me of who was standing in front of me and why I couldn't give in to my inner, treacherous desire. Before his lips could catch mine in his intoxicating trap (and possibly destroy me for any other men), I wrapped my hands around his neck and pinned him against the door, keeping a decent distance between us.

When he felt a piece of wood on his back, he opened his eyes, looked at me, and gave me an impressive glance. He giggled sinisterly, sending a shiver down my spine.

"For your own good, if you're not ready for a fire, don't play with it, love." I leaned slightly toward him, still catching his gaze with mine.

"Who said I wouldn't be the one to burn you?" I whispered against his neck, placing a burning kiss on it.

His soft, strangled moan after I gently bit into his skin was enough reward for my patience and a sign to stop before things got deeper.

I slowly took my hand from his arm and put it on the doorknob. I smiled on his neck because he was too preoccupied with the feeling of my lips to notice anything. I decided not to tempt fate anymore. Hybrid could easily take control from me (which wouldn't be good for me at all). So I pulled the handle and opened the door. The original nearly fell down because of my sudden, unexpected move.

I left Klaus behind in my haste, casting a quick glance behind me. It was definitely worth it. His look of indignation will stay in my mind for a long time. This battle was mine. We gonna see what future bring.

I walked into the room in a magnificent mood and took the glass of wine from one of the waiters.

"Can everyone get together, please?" Elijah caught everyone's attention. "Thank you. I wanted to thank everyone for coming to our engagement party. Me and my beloved fiance are very happy to see people around us who are wishing us a long, beautiful future." the crowd began to applaud, interrupting his speech for a moment.

"Such a diva." I whispered under my breath as I sipped my wine. Rebekah somehow heard this and tried to hide her laughter.

"But I didn't gather you all here just to talk about my luck. We wanted to announce who, from our closest friends, will be the second-most important couple at our wedding. My best man and Katerina's maid of honor, I don't think it will surprise you that my best man will be my brother Niklaus."

Klaus stood on the stairs next to the couple, wearing his trademark sly grin. He scanned the crowd. His gaze lingered directly on me, and he didn't want to take his eyes off me. The little bastard must have been up to something.

"I've been thinking about this since the day we got engaged, and to be honest, the decision wasn't as easy as it seemed to be. It was my desire to have this person as my maid of honor, but circumstances indicated that, unfortunately, my dream would not come true. You don't know how happy I was when I heard a few hours ago that she agreed. So without further extensions. My chief bridesmaid and best friend, Y/N Y/L!"

Applause erupted around me. It took me a second to recover from the shock and climb the stairs. I was standing right in front of this smug son of a bitch.

"Thanks for asking." I said to Katherine when Elijah ended his speech and people spread around.

"Klaus didn't tell you?" she asked, looking at her future brother-in-law.

The original just shrugged.

"Don't worry, Kath. I won't make a scene. I'm not going to play according to the script of this drama queen. It will be a pleasure to be your maid of honor."

"I'm not a drama queen." the hybrid interjected, frowning.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I responded, giving him a small look.

"If you're so worried about my good sleep, why don't you join me in my bed, love?" he asked, coming to my side, so I had to give him my attention.

"Ha ha. Not even in your wildest dreams."

"In my wildest dreams, we don't need a bed, love." he said, casually adjusting the strap of my dress on my shoulder. His icy fingertips brushed against my heated skin, right next to my collarbone.

"You're the thousand-year-old father of a little girl. You don't think it's time to act like an adult and not a horny teenager?" I asked, grabbing his hand and pulling it off me.

"Ouch. But then you wouldn't even notice me." he pretended to be offended. He also tightened his grip on my hand without thinking of letting go. I fell into his trap with my own fucking wish.

"Believe me, it's impossible to miss you. I've tried. Many times." I growled, trying to free my hand from him.

"Aw, is that your way of telling me I'm special to you?" he asked, clearly amused by my annoyance. I've never seen such a huge smile on his face.

"Yeah, like a plastic, red punch cup at a school party," he laughed, reluctantly releasing my hand.

I turned to say something to Kath, but then I realized that she had left us in the middle of our conversation. I sighed as I was alone with him again. It's going to be a very long week (or month).

"By the way, when are you going to tell me I'm Katherine's maid of honor?" I asked, favoring him with my look again.

"It must have slipped my mind when you were passionately kissing my neck, love."

"Oh, I remember. You were moaning for me like a street lady."

I turned to leave, but he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his hard, well-built chest. He placed my head on his shoulder and cupped the tip of my right ear with his lips. His fangs came out, reminding me of his superhuman strength. Sometimes I forgot that the man I was teasing could easily break me with a flick of the wrist. Of course, if I let down my guard and drop my magic for a moment. We both knew that was impossible.

"Maybe I should return you a favor, and then we will see which one of us is making the most tempting moans?" he whispered suggestively and placed a small kiss under my ear. "What do you think about it, love?" he asked, rubbing his nose against my neck. He took one deep breath before placing his revange-wet kiss there.

And then, when I was burning for even his littlest touch, he just walked away like nothing happened.

I stood there, frozen in shock, watching his receding silhouette (definitely with a proud smirk on his face).

There was only one thing in my head.

1:1 motherf*cker

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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The Criminal

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 1,528

Rating: PG-13

Summary: A follow-up drabble to my Brooklyn 99 drabble entitled The Suspenders. AKA we finally find out who Taehyung is in this BTS/B99 themed fic-verse.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

Slamming open the door to the observation room, Jungkook quickly ran in and came to a stop. Chest heaving, he scanned the walls before locating the glass panel which separated them from the next room.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “Taehyung,” he seethed.

On the other side of glass, dingily lit by fluorescent lighting and crammed into a chair much too small for his body, was Jungkook’s arch nemesis – the wily, cunning and morally ambivalent Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung wore a black hoodie and jeans, his hair artfully styled and pushed behind ears slightly too big for his frame. He didn’t look like a prodigious car thief per se, except for the continual tapping of fingers on jeans. Kim Taehyung wasn’t the type of guy who often sat still.

Leaning forward, Jungkook pressed the talk button.

“Kim Taehyung,” he growled.

Suddenly beaming, Taehyung’s head jerked up from his chest. “Jungkook – is that you?” Affable as ever, he shook his head. “What am I saying? Of course it’s you. I’d know that sweet, falsetto voice anywhere. Come on in, JK and give me a hug!”

When Taehyung tried to move, he was jerked back by his cuffs until his head hit the seatrest. Wincing a little, his smile remained large.

“You’re in handcuffs for a reason, Taehyung,” Jungkook said sternly. “Maybe I fell for that line once before–”

You gave him a pointed look.

“Alright, twice,” Jungkook admitted, a flush rising to his cheeks. “So, there’s not going to be a third time!”

Leaning forward as far as he could, Taehyung gave the two-way glass his best puppy-dog eyed look. You arched a brow beside Jungkook because, frankly, the look was a good one.

Ignoring Taehyung, Jungkook turned to face you instead. “Alright.” He removed his hand from the button. “What’s he in for this time?”

“The usual,” you said, handing over a binder. “Cops caught him running from a crime scene on 11th. Taehyung keeps saying he didn’t do it, but his fingerprints are all over the scene.”

“I didn’t do it, JK!” Taehyung yelled from the next room. “If that delicious detective you’re dating just handed you a binder and said I’m a criminal, don’t believe her!”

Your jaw immediately dropped. “How does he know we’re dating?” you demanded, glaring at Jungkook.

“I… um…” Jungkook reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. The action inadvertently flexed his bicep, which you tried – and failed – to ignore. “I maybe posted about it on Facebook and Taehyung maybe sent us congratulations?”

“Jungkook!”

“What?” Jungkook said, somewhat defensive. “It’s not like I can just control who I’m friends with on Facebook.”

“That’s literally all you can do on Facebook.”

“Oh, yeah – I guess you’re right.” Jungkook flashed you a hopeful smile. “Alright, so this one’s my bad.”

Heaving a small sigh, you bent forward and pressed the talk button.

“I do have a name, Kim,” you said.

“Damn straight you do, Y/N.” Taehyung’s grin widened. “And a damn good one at that. Did your parents name you after Y/N Korakova, the famous botanist? Pioneered the modern greenhouse, but that’s not the point. I was just trying to figure out who I’m talking to. Is Jimin here yet?”

As though on cue, Jimin burst into the room holding two mugs of steaming hot chocolate. He frowned when he saw Jungkook empty-handed, rushing over to give him one of his steaming mugs.

“Jungkook.” Jimin shook of his head. “You ran off so fast when Y/N called, you completely missed your chance to try my new concoction – hot chocolate with ox’s milk!”

Jungkook, who’d been eagerly reaching at the sound of hot chocolate, immediately recoiled.

“I – what milk?”

“Uh, yeah.” This was from Taehyung, who’d heard everything through the mic. Wincing, you removed your hand from the talk button. “I’m supportive of anyone who loves my best friend, JK, but that sounds nasty.”

Scowling, Jimin turned towards the window. “Number one – I’m Jungkook’s best friend. Number two, this doesn’t concern you, Kim!”

Taehyung cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t hear any of that, man – Y/N must’ve taken her hand off the talk button – but if you’re saying you believe in my total innocence – thanks, Jimin! I always knew you’d be on my side.”

Still beaming, he settled back in his seat.

“He’s not innocent, though,” you said as Jungkook opened the binder. “There’s so much evidence pointing to Kim as the culprit. His fingerprints are all over the interior of the car, he was caught fleeing the scene and there are two witnesses who swear they saw him hotwire the vehicle.”

Jungkook frowned, flipping through pages. The more he read, the deeper his frown got – you were right. There was a lot of evidence pointing towards Kim Taehyung. This, frankly, didn’t make any sense.

Taehyung wasn’t a sloppy criminal. He was the damn Pontiac bandit, a criminal who’d escaped Jungkook’s clutches many times and whom Jungkook had been unable to identify for years. It wasn’t like him to leave so much evidence.

Leaning forward, Jungkook slowly pushed the talk button. “Kim,” he said, looking troubled. “Two people swear they saw you hotwire the car.”

“They’re lying! Someone must have them on their payroll.”

“Right.” Jungkook paused. “And the explanation for your prints being all over the car?”

“Okay, so I was in the car, but I didn’t hotwire it!” Taehyung gave the two-way mirror a pleading expression. “An old buddy called and said he needed help, so I got in his car to talk. That’s when I noticed one of Banson’s henchmen in his side mirror.”

“Wait – Rico Banson?” you said, eyes wide. “As in, the drug lord Rico Banson?”

“That’s the one.” For the first time today, Taehyung’s smile faltered. “As it turns out I, uh... may have slept with his ex-girlfriend.”

Slowly, Jungkook lowered his head. “Shit, Kim.”

Guys like Rico Banson didn’t mess around when you went after their women. They tended to shoot first and ask questions later. Taehyung probably knew this already, but he was in some deep shit. Jungkook couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.

“I didn’t know she dated him!” Taehyung protested. “We only hooked up once, but I guess he’s had it in for me ever since. I swear on the soul of my mom, I’m being set up.”

Jungkook’s head jerked upwards. “He’s telling the truth,” he said immediately. “Taehyung would never swear on the soul of his mom as a lie. Mrs. Kim is a very nice lady.”

Removing your hand from the talk button, you glanced dubiously at your boyfriend. “I don’t know,” you said slowly. “Can we really trust the word Kim Taehyung?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said immediately.

Rolling your eyes, you looked at Jimin. “What do you think?”

“I’m torn.” Jimin chewed his lower lip. “On the one hand, I support Jungkook in everything he does and on the other hand, Kim Taehyung is a low-life criminal who continually undermines my best friendship with Jungkook.”

“Neither of those things are relevant,” you said.

“Taehyung isn’t a criminal anymore – he turned his life around!” protested Jungkook.

“I have!” agreed Taehyung, from behind the glass.

Everyone glanced at him in surprise.

His grin widened. “The fact that I’m getting no response must mean my random exclamation was timely.”

After another moment of silence, you cleared your throat. “Anyways,” you said, returning to the rest. “Everything points to Kim as the culprit, Jeon. Do you seriously think he’s telling the truth? I know you’re weirdly friendly with him, but…”

“Not that friendly,” Jimin interjected with a pout.

“Listen.” Jungkook set down the binder. “Have you ever known Kim Taehyung to be sloppy?”

“No,” you admitted. “Usually, he’s one step ahead of us.”

“And if he is telling the truth. How great would it be to finally have new intel on Rico Banson? He’s been off the grid for nearly a year now.”

“Really great,” Jimin said.

“Exactly.” Jungkook looked thoughtfully at Kim Taehyung. “I might regret saying this, but–”

“You want to drink the ox milk?”

“No, Jimin.” Jungkook narrowed his gaze. “I think... we should trust Kim Taehyung.”

Silence fell between them, with each person weighing the options and coming to the same conclusion. Banson’s name sealed the deal. The precinct hadn’t gotten new information on Banson in months and many regarded him as the lynchpin in his crime organization.

Shifting in his seat, Taehyung crossed a leg. “Damn straight you should listen to Yoongi,” he said with a nod.

Leaning forward, Jungkook pressed the talk button again. “No luck, bud,” he said. “Yoongi isn’t in the room.”

“Damn.” Taehyung frowned. “Oh, well. Good thing we’ve got the entire length of the case to work on our banter. Dream team!”

“Dream team!” Jungkook cheered before you reached out and removed his hand from the button.

“So.” Jimin glanced between you. “Does this mean no one wants this hot ox-late?”

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook drabble

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 06 (first part)

(Masterpost)(Episode 05)

Warning: This contains spoilers for All 50 Episodes

Bad Boys Bad Boys What You Gonna Do

Nie Huasang’s brought his nuts, and someone’s brought wine, so the boys are drinking in Wei Wuxian’s guest house. Finally he gets to drink some of the Emperor’s Smile wine that he’s been doing all those product placements for.

Boys, get a bowl or something for your shells, were you raised in a barn?

Wei Wuxian hits on waxes poetic about the wine, and Jiang Cheng tells him to shut up.

Wang Zhuocheng’s raw-fish-eating face may have failed him, but his drunk faces do not disappoint.

Wei Wuxian teases Jiang Cheng about his list of standards for a chick: She should have natural beauty, be virtuous and caring, from a good family, not too talkative, with a gentle voice, and not too capable. Also she should not spend too much money. Drunken running ensues.

Cue Maple Leaf Rag by Scott Joplin

(more behind the cut)

Much of the fandom has decided this list is a good fit for Nie Huaisang himself, and it sorta is. But he is both talkative and unvirtuous, what with all the current sneakiness, and all the eventual murders.

This also definitely doesn't fit Wen Qing because she's capable as hell.

This list is, however, a 100% a match for Jiang Yanli. Not in a weird, Jin Guangyao way--a lot of men want to marry a woman like their sister. In a gender-divided and generation-divided society, a man’s sister might be the only woman he’s ever known well. Jiang Cheng adores Yanli and she’s his ideal model of a woman, as opposed to his mother, who...isnt.

All these robes and talismans over the door do nothing to stop Lan Wangji from strolling in.

Okay so - Lan Wangji is the senior disciple of the Lan Clan, yea? There is no way that patrolling the guest area is in any way his job. He is just walking around here at night specifically to see what Wei Wuxian is doing.

I already did a gifpost of the boys and their totally nonsexual horseplay, over here. I’ll just add, for sad factor, that Jiang Cheng is play-choking Wei Wuxian when they’re all on the bed, and later in the running-and-crying episode he is gonna for-real choke him. Foreshadowing! or maybe just coincidence!

One fun thread running through the young-cultivators episodes is that Nie Huaisang is legit terrified of Lan Wangji while also having a major aesthetic crush on him. Look at how flustered he is here, trying to act sober while also checking him out.

Lan Wangji is shocked and visibly upset - what are you guys doing? This is not his busting face, this is, for a moment, his vulnerable and disillusioned face. He is super not used to what normal people are like.

Wei Wuxian doesn't lie or otherwise try to get off the hook, which has got to have Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang grinding their teeth in frustration. He invites Lan Wangji to join them for a drink. LWJ cites a the “no drinking on campus” rule and WWX tries to convince him to chill.

Then we have this lovely coordinated faint by the boys, to get out of going to get punished. Nie Huaisang has been practicing fainting in front of a mirror just in case he ever needs a skill like that in the future.

Wei Wuxian keeps trying to turn this into a date. Eventually Lan Wangji is so upset he admits he can’t take all three of them by himself.

Then the boys run away fake-barfing and Wei Wuxian hits Lan Wangji with a talisman.

Steal His Agency That’s What You’re Gonna Do

What Wei Wuxian does to Lan Wanji here is definitely wrong. But it's not entirely a disaster. It allows some crucial information to be shared between them, and it results in Wei Wuxian getting the utter shit beat out of him and never doing this again. I mean, he continues to mind-control his enemies and their eventual corpses, but he doesn't intentionally violate a friend or ally's autonomy in the future. Uhh not counting that whole golden core surgery-without-consent situation. And probably some other situations I’ve forgotten. He improves slightly, okay?

It’s important to note, incidentally, that the Lan rules about drinking and other “vices” should not be viewed through a Christian lens. The Lans are neither puritans nor ascetics (look at their clothes, furniture, and jewelry, for starters). Being drunk is forbidden probably because it’s a loss of self-control.

Speaking of self-control, mad props to Wang Yibo for being able to have zero physical reaction to fingers snapping in his face.

Drunk Lan Wangji

Under duress, Lan Wangji knocks back a cup of wine and promptly passes most of the way out.

Wei Wuxian puts Lan Wangji into bed not unkindly, but pretty much like a sack of potatoes. Compare this to how tenderly he handles Lan Wangji the next time he’s drunk.

WWX tells LWJ to call him Wei Gege, and giggles. Is this a term of endearment in this context? So far the various boys are calling each other -xiong, not -ge or gege. In Western media, men calling each other “bro” is basically saying “no homo,” but brotherhood and sisterhood in C-Drama is often a way of indicating stronger love than friendship, without saying whether it's sexual or not.

They finally start to have a conversation, and when Lan Wangji explains that no-one can touch his headband except, etc etc, Wei Wuxian stops trying to touch it. So at least he's not a handsy bastard in addition to all his other faults.

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji that his clan is boring and women won't want to marry him. Lan Wangji says that's fine. On one level this is the show acknowledging that he's gay, but I think he's responding in a gender-neutral way; he doesn't want to marry anyone. Marriage, from his perspective, is the literal worst.

We don't know how he felt about his father, but he definitely loved his mother deeply, and she had a profoundly unhappy marriage, in which her husband did not provide companionship and her children were taken from her.

A note about all that: The dynamics of heterosexual marriages in The Untamed are not based on contemporary companionate marriage. Sex and reproduction is a wife's job in this world, and giving a gentry woman the option to choose her husband is radical. Wei Wuxian is the only one who dares say that Jiang Yanli should have a choice when Jin Guangshan casually tries to give her to his son in front of everyone.

OP made this today but will totally reuse it when episode 23 rolls around

So Lan Wangji’s parents' marriage was extremely problematic but not necessarily for the reasons it would be in contemporary terms. Having signed on to marry Lan Dad, Mom would have expected to live together and get laid regularly (important for health, in some traditional views, regardless of love/no love) and to have the company of her children. Instead, she was isolated. Lan Dad wanted to have it both ways and so even though he loved her and apparently hooked up with her sometimes, he didn't do his duty by her. She didn't love him but she did her duty.

Wei Wuxian continues to not get it, calling Lan Wangji dull and babbling about Lan Wangji’s parents until he realizes that LWJ is an orphan like him.

A nice shift happens here. Once the penny drops, Wei Wuxian doesn't ask a single additional question - he just sees - by reading Lan Wangji’s face - what the deal is, and shares his own story to show he understands.

This is the first time Wei Wuxian mentions being chased by dogs, which is kind of a big deal, because why was he left all alone when his parents died?

Why didn't anyone take him in before Jiang Fengmian found him? How isolated are independent cultivators in this world?

Tea Time

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen are having tea, and the Lan Clan is so uptight they don't touch each other's teacups. I don't know what this thing is called so I'm going to call it a tea speculum.

Lan Qiren is back from the cultivation conference and says the red crack plague is happening over in Qinghe where the Nie clan lives. Lan Xichen fills him in on the water demon, specifically saying Wei Wuxian figured out the connection to the red crack dudes, and explaining who WWX is, as if Lan QIren hadn't already thrown stuff at him and threatened to eventually kill him.

Fun fact that I just noticed this week so didn't make it into earlier posts: In Episode 46, when Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are in the Jiang ancestral hall, WWX says he was often punished to kneel there, and LWJ said that they heard about this in Gusu.

So when WWX came to Gusu he already had a reputation as a troublemaker, and the Lan brothers were aware of it.

Busted and Beaten

A Lan snitch comes in to say that Wei Wuxian has successfully corrupted Lan Wangji, which really shouldn’t cause as much surprise as it does.

“Wei Wuxian got drunk”

“Lan Wangji got drunk”

Lan Xichen takes a moment to consider carefully whether Wei Wuxian is a good friend for his little brother and whether perhaps he was too hasty in throwing them together. Ha ha ha no he doesn’t.

On the punishment porch, Lan Xichen tries to lecture Lan Wangji in a calm way, but Lan Qiren wants to beat him and Lan Wangji wants to get beat. Wei Wuxian can’t understand why Lan Wangji doesn’t let him take the blame for the drinking.

Lan Qiren goes way the fuck overboard with this punishment because he's angry--losing control and losing his sense of proportion--and Lan Xichen is shocked. The drone camera watching from above is also shocked.

Lan Qiren has a few (very few) redeeming qualities, but his extreme rigidity and chronic resentment of anyone he perceives as bad are serious problems. His nephews are both struggling with complex moral quandaries as they get older, and he is absolutely no help to them in resolving their conflicts.

This is definitely...a style of parenting & teaching, but you can see how poorly it works, with Lan Wangji straight up saying “fuck it” after many years of conformity. Lan Xichen is devoted to the middle path and tries to be obedient. But he is actually not walking anywhere near the middle path, as he gets pulled into colluding with a murderer at the same time as getting dragged onto his brother’s carnival ride. These men need parenting that isn’t so, uh, fucking stupid. (Yes, grown adults still need good parenting; watch Go Ahead if you doubt me)

Wei Wuxian initially yells and falls down when he gets hit, but then he sees Lan Wangji is taking the beating without any reaction and he tries to do the same.

Aftermath

Jiang Yanli gently lectures the boys, blaming Jiang Cheng for Wei Wuxian's drinking. Jesus Christ, he's the younger sibling, could you just NOT, Yanli?

Both boys ask Yanli not to tell their parents. The boys bicker about who's at fault and then Wei Wuxian shifts to baby voice and starts whining to Yanli about the pain.

Yanli tells him to suck it up, and says after school she'll -- ok and I know this will be a surprise for everyone -- make soup for them. The boys immediately get back on the same team, which is team Please Put Meat In the Soup.

There's a nice character building moment for Wei Wuxian here. When he sees Lan Xichen he initially turns away to avoid running into him, but then he adults-up and goes to face him and greet him, giving him a half of a bow because of the pain, the pain. Rather than complaining about his punishment he meekly asks if he's broken another rule.

Lan Xichen tells him that he did wrong but that Lan Qiren’s punishment was too harsh, and then in what is one of my favorite Lan Xichen moments, invites Wei Wuxian to use the cold spring to heal, but doesn't invite Jiang Cheng to go with him even though Jiang Cheng also was beaten. Lan Xichen, Matchmaker Auntie Extraordinaire.

Then he answers Wei Wuxian’s question about his mom by saying she was just like Wei Wuxian and drove Lan Qiran up the wall. Jiang Cheng's reaction to that is really sweet. He does enjoy Wei Wuxian at the same time as being constantly irritated by him.

Lan Xichen does his patented “breaking off in the middle of saying something and leaving out a chunk of the story” maneuver, although this time he doesn't include a flute solo.

OP is mildly obsessed with Xuan Lu’s shoulders in this outfit. Also Yanli has an interesting sword, that's got some wood carving similar to Subian, but without the organic look, which OP only noticed because of screen capping Xuan Lu’s shoulders.

Club Ruohan

Wen Qing continues to be pretty and slightly evil at this stage, sending magic fire notes to her boss using this talisman that is definitely floating in the air and not just hanging from a string.

Wen Ruohan is in the mosh pit with his zombie groupies while he reads Wen Qing’s extremely vague status update and says "it all makes sense."

Reach out and touch faith

Soundtrack

Maple Leaf Rag by Scott Joplin Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode

Writing Prompt

How did Wei Wuxian’s parents die?

Admin Notes

I’m going to start spacing out my “first part” and “second part” posts by a few days. I’ll update this post to link up the second part once I post it, and my masterpost is always up to date.

Also: if you want more of my original content but don’t want to follow my whole blog (not following is fine!), I keep a pinboard of fun stuff at the top of my blog. I try to post original content at least once a week.

Continued in the second part later this week!

#fytheuntamed #wangxian #the untamed #cql #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #my gifs #restless rewatch the untamed #restless rewatch #canary3d #the untamed spoilers

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

At all costs

Pairing: dark!Steve Rogers x Reader (Survival Games AU)

Warnings: obsession, depiction of violence, death of minor characters, swearing, slight allusion to non-con.

Words: 2959.

Summary: What was the reason to keep fighting when there was no end to all of this? Yet every time somebody chased you with a gun you were ready to rip their throat out if you needed to. Your sense of self-preservation and vital capacity were way stronger than you had ever anticipated.

P.S. This was written for Shameless hoes for Chris challenge! Dear @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18, hope you will enjoy <3

Dialogue prompt #12: "Don't you dare take another step."

____________

You had never moved that far to the North, but the ones following you cut all other ways out, forcing you to enter territories you had never been before. Although Wanda had warned you about it, there was not much you could do - you almost ran out of both bullets and food. It seemed the game masters had finally paid attention to you and wanted you to move, and it was a damn bad sign.

Carefully hiding an empty can in a heap of garbage just like Wanda taught you, you glanced around again, checking your surroundings with Beretta in your hand. Apparently, there was nothing much in this area apart from ruined buildings just like everywhere else in this abandoned city. You were in desperate need of bullets since you had precisely two left in the magazine of your gun. You wasted most of your resources to fight off three men following you, but then suddenly game masters more coming after you.

You didn't know how much time you had already spent there, fighting every goddamn day just to stay alive. If not Wanda, you would die shortly after you were brought to the abandoned city.

She called it a sick game for sick people. All of the ones in this place were brought here against their will, you included. The last thing you remembered was walking home after going to the grocery store in the evening, and then you woke up on a dirty mattress in the back alley with a gun in your hand and a small bag with food and water supplies. No medication, no hygiene supplies, nothing else. Well, there was a possibility to find or buy a few things like painkillers and bandages, for example, but it was so rear you only really saw a little pack of Tylenol once.

When Wanda found you, you had already eaten all your food and finished your water, hiding behind a huge garbage bin in the alley, trembling so bad you couldn't hold the gun properly. Funny enough, you didn't even know how to pull the trigger as if you had never seen it on TV thousands of times. You were so pathetic that you didn't really deserved to die from a bullet in your forehead. A stone from the ground was enough to smash your head to pieces - this is what Wanda told you, dragging you to her hideout. She didn't try killing you, though.

She used to be a child soldier, she said. Sokovian civil war, a conflict you barely heard of. Although Wanda looked fairly young, maybe even your age, she had the eyes of an old woman. Unlike you, she had been kidnapped with a purpose of making the game more interesting - Wanda knew everything about surviving in the middle of chaos. You, on the other hand, were snatched up and used as cannon fodder for this little artificial war.

It was a game, Wanda said. There were cameras everywhere in the city, and all players were tracked with the chip-things buried in them. The only purpose of the game was to stay alive as long as you could. Maybe there was a chance to be released if you killed enough people, but she didn't believe it. Wanda was sure there was no way out.

All those apocalyptic and Hunger Games type of movies could never live up to the real thing. You were always moving from one place to the other, never staying somewhere for too long. Hiding wasn't easy, but it couldn't be compared to the mad chase when other players discovered where you were. Even Wanda who handled rifles and guns as if she were born with them in her hands wasn't able to predict who would come out alive. So, your main goal was to remain hidden as long as you could. The game masters didn't like it, but with so many players, many of whom were either soldiers or dangerous criminals, no one really paid attention to the two of you.

You often asked Wanda why she was taking care of you. Indifferent, unfriendly, unsympathetic, she seemed the perfect soldier to you while you were too normal to be able to live long in a place like this. Wanda stayed silent despite all your attempts to learn her motives. The only thing she was willing to talk about was how to stay alive.

"Steal. Kill. Open your legs of you have to. Do whatever it takes to survive." That's what she once told you after she shot a dying man asking for help and took all his posessions.

There was no justice, no moral, no honor, no sense of right or wrong, nothing to believe in, nothing to hope for except seeing another day. All of you were just animals fighting for your life every fucking second.

There was no meaning behind it, you thought. What was the reason to keep fighting when there was no end to all of this? Yet every time somebody chased you with a gun you were ready to rip their throat out if you needed to. Your sense of self-preservation and vital capacity were way stronger than you had ever anticipated.

When you thought about her words, you found it odd that Wanda who cared only about survival took you, a dead weight, to take care of. Wasn't it literally the opposite to what she taught you? Why diminish her own chances to stay alive just to save you? Maybe she wanted to team up with someone, but there were much better players for that, not some girl who had troubles even pulling the trigger. Nevertheless, your grim savior had never opened up to you about the true reasons behind her actions, and, eventually, you just stopped asking.

Wanda kept teaching and guarding you until the day she died, shielding you with her own body when someone tried shooting you. She broke the most important rule she set herself, and you couldn't understand why. There was so little human left in her, and yet she sacrificed herself to give you a chance to pull through.

Suddenly, you froze, feeling you were being watched. You couldn't see anyone around or hear anything suspicious, but you had that uneasy feeling of something crawling under your skin. Your instincts were telling you somebody was very close, and you didn't fucking like it. With two bullets, your chances to stay alive were minimal.

There was a shift in atmosphere, and you ran to the next room of the abandoned building, hearing the sound of gun firing. Shit.

"If somebody is chasing you, don't think." Wanda said, watching your eyes opening widely at her. "All this TV bullshit makes you feel like you'd be able to make a right decision in a second while they shooting at you, but that's not true. It will slow you down. Keep your eyes open and trust your instincts instead. If you're lucky enough, you will survive."

She said to reserve time for thinking when you would break away from pursuit, and her advice had never even once failed to save your life. Maybe you were damn lucky just like Wanda said.

But where could you run from here? The room where you were now had just one door. There were a few windows, too, but jumping from the third floor to the cemented road would probably cost you a broken leg or even a spine.

Shit, shit, shit.

You could hear the sound of someone's footsteps and hurriedly hid behind an overturned table to your left, keeping your finger on the trigger of your Beretta. The one who was going to enter the room in a few seconds would first see a huge wardrobe lying on the floor to their right, big enough to hide behind it, too. If you were lucky, the player would first pay attention to it, giving you a second or two to shoot. When the man set his foot inside the room, you quickly stuck your head out for a second and aimed your gun at him. When you fired the first bullet, you knew you missed his head right after you pulled the trigger. Fuck. The second bullet was gone the next second, but it hit the target perfectly, and then you saw the wall covered in blood as if it were a picture made by action painter. Well, now you could probably call yourself that.

Turning away, you exhaled loudly when the body hit the floor with a loud thud. You were still alive.

Carefully lifting yourself up, you glanced at the corpse of a player, the feeling of being watched finally gone. He was alone here. However, the sound of guns firing could be heard by others, and you needed to relocate immediately. The next moment you were looking through the man's belongings, finding two cans of chicken - you preferred to have something more nourishing, but any food would do now - a water flask, and two combat knives. No ammunition. He waisted all his bullets trying to kill you.

Biting your lower lip, you hurried to the first floor, doing your best to avoid windows. Knives weren't bad, but most of the time you preferred not to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Any decent soldier would easily outpower you, and you couldn't risk it. Damn, you waisted all your bullets to kill the bastard with no ammunition left. How lucky was that? Cursing under your breath, you carefully observed the street, seeing no one, and moved as fast as you could, a gun still in your hands to make players believe you could still shoot.

You wanted to return to the South so bad. You knew that part of the city to perfection while here everything was new. More than that, here the players teamed up in a big groups, guarding their territories like animals, while in the Southern part everyone always moved around and worked in a pair of two or three people maximum. It was a shame you couldn't return because of game masters chasing you like a mad dog.

All of a sudden that feeling of being watched returned, and you hid in a little alley where huge metal dumpsters were - or what was left of them. Somebody had spotted you, but you couldn't stay in an alley for long. It was a dead end.

"I know you ran out of bullets." Somebody's deep voice cut the eerie silence, and you shivered, gripping your Beretta. "Please come out. I'm not going to hurt you."

The stranger was either guessing or bluffing. He couldn't really know you had no ammunition whatsoever, so you stayed where you are, trying to locate him.

His loud sigh sounded closer to you than you had expected.

"Y/N, I'm telling the truth. You have just wasted your last two bullets, haven't you?"

The next second you were clenching the combat knife Wanda had long passed to you. There was a tall beefy man coming to you with a rifle in his hands, apparently, Kalashnikov or M16, you couldn't see well from a distance. However, you did see he was oddly handsome with his well-built body, his arms solid, covered in dirt and what seemed like ash. But what truly made you grasp was that he had no beard. The man had a clean shave, his dirty blonde hair cut. Except for game masters, you had never seen a man looking so civil.

But he didn't look like a game master at all. Who the fuck was he?

"Don't you dare take another step." You growled like an animal at him, gripping your knife. It was a pathetic weapon against a rifle, but it was the only thing you had.

He stopped for a few seconds, his expression heavy and dark, but then the man kept coming, and you took a step back in return.

"I just said I'm not going to hurt you. Stop looking at me like I'm a butcher and you're a little lamb." He sneered and narrowed his dark blue eyes at you while you clenched your teeth. Whoever he was, it wasn't going to end well for you.

"How do you know my name?" You barked back at him, thinking what he's going to do next.

"From the game masters, of course. How many times do I have to tell you I won't hurt you?"

"What the fuck do game masters want from me, then?"

His handsome face darkened, and you realized he could fire his rifle any second. Moreover, even if he had no bullets, with those arms of his he could probably break you in half, and no knife would save you.

"Don't swear, Little Red. This your one and only warning."

As you made a step back, staring into him and understanding nothing at all - how the fuck did he call you just know? - you had stumbled upon something and fell on your back, crying out in despair. Shit, you were out of luck, weren't you? You would probably die today.

Before you could react, you saw the stranger's large body hovering over you, the muzzle of his rifle pressed into your stomach as his angry eyes pierced through you. He was clearly done with you and your stubbornness. "I came to offer you join my group." He said, furrowing his brows at you, laying on the ground. "The Howling Commandos. Ever heard of us?"

"And who the f... who would I be there? Someone's whore?" With your face burning with deep hatred and humiliation, you were ready to spit in his face. "You think I don't know how little women are left here and what you do to them?"

Obviously, you hit the nail on the head as the man grabbed you by the collar while still having the muzzle aiming at your stomach. He was clearly mad.

"Do you also know what's gonna happen if you keep up with that attitude?" The stranger snarled, his eyes furious. "I know you've got fire, and I like it. I want to keep you. But if you're not going to submit to me right here, right now, I will shoot you. Don't make me do it."

Both of you fell silent, your chest heaving up and down as the man waited, not moving an inch. You needed to have a minute to gather yourself.

What other choice did you have? He'd shoot you dead before you even blinked.

Steal. Kill. Open your legs of you have to.

"Alright." You said through your teeth, feeling the smell of gunpowder and gasoline coming from him as he kept you close, still gripping your collar with his huge hand. "I'll come with you."

"Good."

The man raised you on your feet in the very next second, pushing your combat knife on the ground away with his leg and gesturing you to move forward. However, he did put the rifle down as he took you by the elbow, leading you somewhere to the huge parking lot and watching you intently. However, he didn't radiate anger as before, seemingly content with your submission, so you kept your mouth shut despite all those questions in your head. Why did game masters give the man information about you? You had never heard of them interacting with any players aside from chasing them from one location to the other. Besides, why did this bastard call you Little Red? What the fuck was that?

"What's your name?" You asked, turning your head to him as you kept walking.

"Captain Steve Rogers."

"So, you're an ex-soldier, huh? A war vet, maybe?" You coughed a little, your mouth feeling dry like the Sahara Desert.

"Something like that, Little Red."

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Little Red? This is how the ones watching the show call you." Steve chuckled. "Wanda Maximoff was the Scarlet Witch, and since you're her protege, they called you Little Red. Kind of sweet."

You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but decided it was safer to stay silent. Sick bastards. They treated Wanda as if she were a character in some silly video game. Her death probably made them happy.

Blinking the tears away, you bit down on your tongue and felt metallic taste filling your mouth. This was not the time to mourn your dear friend, this was what Wanda would say to you. You had to gather yourself and think what to do after. You were in Howling Commandos now, and only God knew how many men were there. Would you have to sleep with them all? Fucking hell. It was better to die than go through this.

"Why the hell everyone's paying so much attention to me?" You grunted as Steve hummed, crossing the parking lot and turning you to pass under the bridge. "Do they want me dead so desperately?"

"No. They want you to team up with someone who will take care of you just like Wanda did, and I fit the role perfectly. I've been wanting to have you for a long time."

"Are you fucking insane?" You hissed angrily at him, becoming rooted to the ground right where you stood. "Take care? Is that how you take care of women? Throwing them to your men to be fucked to death?"

"Language." His iron grip on your arm made you squirm as Steve pulled you closer to him.

You stared at him with disgust, your dirty face distorted, and then you saw familiar fire in his deep blue eyes as Captain loomed over you, grabbing you by the chin.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten what I just said, Little Red. I will keep you for myself."

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @lovelydarkdaydream @angrythingstarlight

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #captain america #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #yandere #depiction of violence #obsession #death of minor characters #slight allusion to non-con #swearing #shamelesshoesforchris

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 3 years

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Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics. He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it.

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side. The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer. I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission. The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family? Family is whoever you say they are.

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow. He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time. Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

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

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward. She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349

#paying it forward #moby #jamie and claire #Mortimer Hepplewhite #revolutionary war #arabella the cat #ol fanfic #My writing #Here Goes Nothing #good to flex the writing muscles

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detectivehannibal · 4 years

Text

Two Timed (pt.2)

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of cannibalism

Part 1: Here

A/N: Here it is, friends! Thank you for your patience!

Word Count: 2,113

“I’m done giving second chances. I don’t even know if I can give anyone even a first chance ever again.”

God, it was cold. Like freezing cold. No, it wasn’t the snow that was sticking to your windshield or the fact that everybody was bundled up in layers that gave it away. It was the usual sting and the ache as the coldness rushed through your body. The way your movements were ever slightly slowed each time you went to do something. The shivers and shakes as your body’s natural response to retain as much heat as possible. You didn’t care though. You were fueled by anger and hurt. That was enough energy to keep you going for days.

Truthfully, you weren’t really sure where you were going or how long you had been on the road. Instead of packing your things from Hannibal’s house as you had planned, you immediately got on the road. Hannibal basically pleaded and begged (all while maintaining his composure) for you to stick around as he chased you to your car. He claimed there was a misunderstanding and that had never been unfaithful. But of all things, there was one thing you knew to be true about Hannibal Lecter.

He’s a damn good liar.

You figured as long as you were familiar with the area around you then it was safe to keep going. You knew your way around the state well enough to do so. You wanted to be alone. For now anyways.

Will was frightened out of his wits. Not knowing where you were and being unsure of your mental state terrified him. He had been calling and texting you nonstop. He knew you needed to be alone, but even a simple text from you would ease his nerves. He didn’t like the idea of you being out and about with no real sense of where you were going.

Hannibal was scared too, but it didn’t show. He was much more patient than his dog loving companion. He knew you’d come back eventually. He just had to wait you out...no matter how long it took. He would be the first to admit, he ended up waiting MUCH longer than he expected. So much longer that he was beginning to wonder if something terrible had happened to you. He was relieved, however, when he caught word that you had contacted Will, 2 weeks after that fateful night. You didn’t say much in your text to Will. Just a simple phrase letting him know you were okay. Hannibal knew you’d be there shortly.

You walked up the steps of your and Hannibal’s...well, now Hannibal’s home. You could hear two voices inside arguing.

“I suggest you take it easy, Will. You’re pacing.” Hannibal’s thick voice rang out.

Will chuckled incredulously. He was unbelievably angry at Hannibal and himself. Hannibal for doing such an awful thing to you. Himself for not being able to save you from a world of hurt.

“Take it easy? Are you serious? This is your fault and you’re telling me to calm down?” He asked his refined therapist; “She’s been gone for 2 weeks without any word. Who knows how she’s feeling right now...I know how I’d feel.” He mumbled in fury.

Hannibal looked at Will the way he always did. A sense of mystery and fascination. He didn’t respond, curious to see if Will would go on. And go on he surely did;

“You know, I was beginning to think I was wrong about you. The way she always talked about you had almost convinced me that my initially feeling of you wasn’t accurate,” He hissed; “I guess I was wrong about being wrong. You’re just as I thought.”

The light snow melted into your clothes and transformed into water droplets on your boots as you entered the warmth of his home, not able to bear hearing anymore of this conversation. He had been sitting in his study with Will, his ears seeming to perk when he heard his front door close. Will’s pacing stopped and he exited the study to the breezeway. To his surprise, you didn’t look any different. He half expected you to look like a hot mess. Instead you just looked...empty.

“Oh...Will,” You breathed out, honestly happy to see him; “I didn’t know you were here.”

Will pulled you into the tightest hug you had ever felt. This was a little out of character for your beloved friend. He usually kept physical touch to a minimum. You had no intention of scaring him the way he had been. He understood you just didn’t want to see anyone for awhile. Still, he couldn’t help but worry. He eventually let you go, looking deep into your eyes to ensure that you were really in front of him.

It wasn’t long before the man of the hour stepped out from his study. You looked into his eyes the way Will had looked into yours. Hannibal’s eyes were always a mix of blazing fire and a calm sea. He was so complicated. It was a wonder you were ever able to understand him.

“Hannibal,” You greeted flatly; “I’m just here to get my things. It shouldn’t take me very long.”

His hands were in his pockets and his posture was perfectly upright. His eyes shifted to the dining room for just a brief moment before returning to you;

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you to stay for dinner? I’m sure you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.” He proclaimed.

Damn him and his spot on perception. He was right. You hadn’t had what he would consider a “real” meal the entire time of your absence. You knew what dinner meant for Hannibal Lecter. Even during your marriage, the thought of it never failed to make your stomach flip. You didn’t understand it and you’d be lying if you said you never felt guilty about being the only other person who knew he was the one Jack Crawford had been looking for. You wrestled with it often. That was the power Hannibal had. He could make anybody question their morals.

“I’m fine. I’ll just be getting my things,” You repeated.

You turned towards the staircase and began the trek to the bedroom. You refused to let Hannibal steer you back to him. Throughout your 2 week disappearance, you went back and forth trying to decide if this was the last straw. He had hurt you in the worst way possible and there was no reconciliation for that. Then why did you still have the slightest desire to make things work? At the end of the day, you guessed that a part of you would always still love him.

A pair of heavy footsteps followed behind you up the staircase. Once you reached the top, you turned around. Expecting to see Hannibal, you clenched your jaw as a response. You were surprised to see Will instead.

“Can we talk?” He asked as he continued to follow you.

You didn’t respond until you entered the bedroom, retrieving your suitcase from the closet;

“Sure.” You replied.

He watched for a moment as you began rifling through drawers and packing them away.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know there’s still a part of you that wants to stay.” Will claimed.

“I don’t want to stay.” You bantered back a little too quickly.

Will chuckled in disbelief. He could smell your lies from across the room;

“Don’t lie to me. I know you,” He said; “I know you don’t just get over things like that.”

A heavy sigh heaved from your chest. So maybe you had two extremely perceptive people in your life.

“Will, I-”

“No, please listen. I know how you are. You’re going to doubt your decision to leave at some point and think about coming back,” He said standing firmly next to you; “You’ll wonder if it was worth leaving and I’m telling you that there’s no way you can come back here.”

He saw the tips of your eyes begin to narrow and your brows dip as annoyance arose in you;

“You think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know how stupid I’d be to come back to him? I didn’t want things to turn out this way,” You spat; “Why are you telling me this?”

Without hesitation, Will dropped a huge ball of truth on you;

“Because you care too much. You always give people second chances. I told you not to give him a second chance. Ever. You believe that everybody has a good reason for hurting others and that they are good inside,” He fired off; “I know you’re going to try to come back thinking that he won’t do it again. And I’m telling you that’s not a risk worth taking.”

His words knocked you silent and brought tears to your eyes. You felt like everybody around you seemed to be right. You put a few final items in your suitcase and zipped it shut. You’d be staying with a friend of yours for awhile. Just until you could find somewhere else to live. You had to admit, you hated leaving this house behind. It had so many memories. Good and bad ones. You just wished that your last time in it didn’t have to be the worst of them all.

You knew that right now was probably the last best chance you’d ever have at getting the ultimate revenge on Hannibal. You had his deepest, darkest secret at your disposal. You just had to tell Will that Hannibal was The Chesapeake Ripper. Just five measly words. But then you’d be no better than anybody else. That wouldn’t mend your pain.

“I’m not coming back, Will. I can promise you that,” You quivered; “I’m done giving second chances. I don’t even know if I can give anyone even a first chance ever again.” You said lightly.

Now he was silent. He figured he’d have to put up more of a fight. His shoulders eased and his head lowered a little. He knew it’d probably be awhile before he saw you again. But he knew, at least, that you’d call him to check in. God, he loved you. He was beginning to think he loved you in a way that he shouldn’t. You were his best friend. It felt so wrong to romantically be in love with his best friend.

“Thanks for caring about me, Will. I know how you feel about me. I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.” You whispered.

You brushed past him with tears spilling down your cheeks. You couldn’t stand to look at him right now. You knew you had just shattered him. The feeling of hypocrisy crept over you. Now it seemed you were the one breaking hearts.

There was no sign of Hannibal as you re-entered the breezeway. Now, at least you could get out of here peacefully. That relief was short lived when you heard a familiar accented voice just as your hand placed itself on the door handle;

“My infidelity wasn’t committed with the intent of hurting anybody. I never intended to hurt you,” He calmly stated. “It wasn’t meant to be an act of mistrust.”

Your back was to him, afraid if you turned around that you’d go running into his arms. You shook your head;

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. It’s over.” You mumbled.

Truthfully, he thought you would stay. It wasn’t until really hearing you say it again that he realized it was truly over. For the first time in his life, he actually felt guilty. He was willing to take accountability for his actions. He knew he had truly hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.

“It doesn’t have to be. My time with Dr. Bloom is over,” He said walking up to you; “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.”

“We can’t go back to being the way we were and you know it. I wouldn’t be able to see you without always wondering why I wasn’t enough.” You growled.

He was looking at the back of your head, accepting that you weren’t going to face him;

“[Y/N], I-”

“Don’t say anything else. Please,” You begged; “I’m sorry this ended the way it did. Hopefully you’ll find someone who is enough and more.”

And with that, you finally opened the door to be met with a blast of freezing air. Hannibal didn’t chase after you. He knew better. Even the best hunters knew when it was time to let their prey go. So, he let you go. He watched you disappear into the falling snow. Your only wish was that you could somehow find someone new one day.

Someone who wouldn’t ever need to have a second chance.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal imagine #Hannibal TV #hannibal nbc #will graham hannibal #will graham x reader #will graham imagine

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mst3kproject · 3 years

Photo

The Ape

In the vein of movies that should not be confused with eerily similar previous entries, The Ape is distinct from The Ape Man... but not by much. Both feature a slumming horror superstar, glandular secretions, and a stupid gorilla suit. All these things also showed up in early seasons of MST3K, of course, and The Ape Man also has a surprise bonus. Apparently, the guy in the gorilla costume is none other than Crash Corrigan, of Undersea Kingdom!

Long ago, Dr. Adrien lost his daughter to polio, and ever since he's been obsessed with finding a cure. That sounds pretty noble, but unfortunately, Adrien is a mad doctor, so the cure he comes up with requires killing healthy people to drain them of their cerebralspinal fluid! In order not to arouse suspicion, he kills and skins a gorilla that escaped from a circus, and wears its hide when he murders people... you know, as one does. To nobody's surprise but his, he ends up getting shot, but hey, at least he cured beautiful young Frances' paralysis!

This is a weird, dumb movie but one thing I can say in its favour is that everybody seems to have given it a good try. This material was far beneath Boris Karloff but he takes it seriously and actually gets a couple of decent moments, as does Maris Wrixton (who was also in The Face of Marble) as Frances. Nobody else is even close to Karloff's level, being just bland 40's actors who talk too fast, but none of the main cast are phoning it in, either.

Conversely, the worst thing in the movie is its truly horrendous gorilla suit. The puppet face shows the actor's eyes and can curl its lip, which is cool, though the features don't look very gorilla-ish. The rest of the suit, however, is terrible. It's way too shaggy and in order to give it a gorilla-like silhouette, they stuck a big hunchback on it. This might have worked if Corrigan had tried to walk on all fours like gorillas actually do, but instead he waddles along upright like a toddler with a full diaper, which ruins it. The people who made the movie also appear to think gorillas are nocturnal which, for the record, they are not.

Gorillas were kind of a big thing in movies of the 40's and 50's. The species had been scientifically described a century earlier, but hadn't really been studied until the 1920s and most people had never seen one outside of King Kong. Films of the period were not kind to the gorilla. One of the first gorilla movies was 1930's Ingagi, which purported to be a documentary about gorillas kidnapping women as sex slaves. That kind of set the tone, and subsequent movies depicted gorillas as creatures prone to violence and rape. Examples from this blog alone are numerous: The Ape Man (1940), Panther Girl of the Kongo (1955), and Bride of the Gorilla (1951) for starters... Robot Monster (1953) might also count.

The Ape has a slightly more nuanced approach to gorilla behaviour. Yes, its gorilla does maul people to death... but the first victim is its trainer, who has been shown mistreating it. Another circus employee even tries to tell him that he'll catch more flies with honey. When the ape batters its way into Dr. Adrien's house, it does so in order to get at the trainer's coat, which Adrien left draped over a chair when the dying man was brought to him for treatment. We see far more fear of the escaped ape than we do of the animal itself, and it does not commit near as many murders as Adrien does while dressed in its skin!

So that's halfway progressive for the 1940s. We can also look at the treatment of Frances, the wheelchair-user partially paralyzed by polio. She is clearly meant to be an object of the audience's pity, and Adrien is obsessed with making her able to walk again – as he could not do for his own daughter. To some extent the movie infantilizes her, as she is clearly dependent on her mother, unable to have much of a social life, and her boyfriend Danny professes his willingness to 'take care of her'. When she regains movement in her legs at the end of the movie, she and her mother immediately burn her wheelchair. Apparently she's not allowed to build up her stamina slowly... if she walks ten minutes from home and then can't continue, she's just gotta sit there until she recovers or somebody finds her.

On the other hand, Frances' family aren't trying to force Adrien's possible cure on her, but let her choose it for herself. Her mother doesn't mind looking after her, and Danny is happy to accommodate her by, for example, hiring a cart so she can accompany him to the circus. Danny in particular is very suspicious of the fact that the injections Adrien gives to Frances are causing her pain, and takes the doctor to task for it, telling him he would rather have her disabled and happy than walking but in pain. “I'd rather carry her around all my life!” he says. Her loved ones are willing to try for the cure, but it doesn't seem like anyone will be miserable if it fails. Frances herself wistfully admires the acrobats at the circus, but shows no anger or bitterness that she cannot be like them.

Frances is even allowed some initiative, as she hurries down the road in her wheelchair calling to Dr. Adrien and trying to warn him that the gorilla is in the area. This, ironically, is what leads to Adrien getting shot, as it attracts the attention of the posse hunting the animal. But as Adrien lies dying, he gets to see Frances standing for the first time in ten years, so I guess we're meant to think this was all worth it.

But was it? Several people died in order to provide the spinal fluid that helped Frances heal. The movie shows them as terrified of Dr. Adrien and/or the gorilla, but other than that it is oddly uninterested in their fates. None of the deaths are presented as tragedies, with families left in mourning... the only family we hear about for the gorilla trainer is a father who is already dead, and another one of the victims was an asshole who told his wife if she didn't like him cheating on her she could always drown herself(!??). So... are we supposed to think they don't matter? That their deaths are acceptable because they helped Frances – who was not dying or even deteriorating, and was satisfied with her life as it was – to a cure?

It is notable that we do not see what happens when Frances finds out that people had to die for her to be able to walk. She would have to reassess her opinion of Dr. Adrien, whom until now she has thought of as a loving father figure. She would have to figure out what this means for her future and perhaps need reassurance that she is not culpable. Her unconcerned happiness at the end suggests that nobody bothered to tell her, and that she has not yet made the connection herself. This is really quite unfortunate, because it deprives Frances of her only real chance to be a character rather than a plot point – which is ultimately all she is here.

Nobody else is shown dealing with the aftermath, either. The town has long mistrusted Dr. Adrien because of rumours that he was experimenting on his patients, and a recent spate of missing dogs is shown to be his fault. An early scene shows a group of boys bothering the doctor by throwing rocks at his house (which made me wonder if toilet paper hadn't been invented yet. According to Wikipedia, it dates to 1857, so there's your Fun Fact for the day). Seeing their worst fears realized really ought to have some effect on the people. Even if nobody bothers to tell Frances how her miraculous cure was effected, others will surely figure it out and have to weigh up what he achieved versus the crimes he committed to get there.

Yeah, I know: this is a movie about a guy killing people while wearing a dead gorilla. I'm thinking too hard.

Finally, I want to note some interesting possible connections between The Ape and a number of other movies I've seen. Both The Ape and The Ape Man appear to have been inspired by the 1932 movie Murders in the Rue Morgue, which also features a gorilla and injections of bodily fluids in the name of mad science, and did not feature very much resemblance to Edgar Allen Poe's story of the same name. I don't know if these films directly inspired each other, and it's been ages since I saw Rue Morgue... but the combination of plot elements here seems weirdly specific to be something different people came up with independently. I should watch all three again and see if I notice any more similarities between them.

There are also interesting likenesses between The Ape and another Boris Karloff movie, 1945's The Grave Robber. The latter is the story of a doctor who needs fresh corpses as part of his research, which culminates in surgery to allow a paralyzed girl to walk again. The doctor in this film is more a victim than a villain, himself, as he finds that the man he's been paying to rob graves for him is actually murdering the homeless, and he can't expose this criminal without jeopardizing his work and incriminating himself. It's been a long time since I saw this movie, either (as I mentioned a few weeks ago, I've had some shit going on and I haven't had a lot of time for movies, bad or otherwise), so I can't actually say if it's better than The Ape, but it's definitely less silly.

Anyway, the moral of this story is vaccinate your fucking kids or a gorilla will kill you.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the ape #40s #guys in gorilla suits #tw: rape #allow me to recommend a better movie #we're running out of plots

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pomsdoodlefort · 3 years

Text

Oh! I like this! I have the basic premise for one, but I’m going to take time sorting out the prose. I’ll post it when it is finished!

The premise is a family of big rough Cattledogs get delivered a kitten to take care of by the storks. The family expected another burly dog but got this scrawny little kitten to care for instead. They begrudgingly accept the responsibility, what else could they do? So the kitten grows and the family doesn’t change their ways for him, so he struggles to keep up. He is small and fragile and sensitive compared to his siblings and gets both bruised up and shunned often. The kitten tries to fit in, but fails time and again. The kitten grows in to a cat and nothing seems to change. One day there is a large storm coming and the dogs work together to shore up their home. All the windows are boarded up and all the doors are secured. They leave the front door as it is already sturdy and they need a way out in case of an emergency. The cat tries to help but always ends up underfoot and is eventually forced to sit in a corner out of the way. The storm hits and at first it seems like the family is safe in their secured cabin. But, uh oh, a large crack and crash and an ancient oak outside is struck by lighting! Part of it collapses in front of the cabin and lights it on fire. The fire is quickly spreading and the dogs’ strength isn’t enough to push out the boards on the windows. All seems lost!

But then the skinny scrawny cat comes from the corner and looks into the fireplace. He could fit through the chimney! Without hesitation he dives in to the fireplace and starts climbing his way out to safety.

The dogs despair at their impending doom and are sure this is the end. When one of the boards to a back windows pops off, and then another! The cat opens the window and calls to his family to hurry. Everyone makes it out safely because the cat was small and scrawny but had always been a good climber. The family of dogs learn to value different skills and abilities and the cat becomes a beloved member of the family. Eventually, the storks deliver a new member of the family. It is a baby leopard gecko. Who grows up in a warm loving household who values her for her unique way of being. - So, sort of a Rudolph, Ugly Duckling kind of story. Something that still has a lot of flaws and some unsavoury messages (difference is only okay if it is useful! See they only respected the cat after he saved them all!), but trying to curve the end to an upward trend of acceptance (lil’ baby gecko is just accepted and isn’t expected to be like anyone else in the family). It is a popular folktale in Naia because it also is a metaphor for their history. When animals first arrived from elsewhere it was hard for them to shed their prejudices at first, but over time they learn diversity is an asset to everyone and acceptance grew even in the most stubborn holdouts. It is my favourite kind of folktale that combines basic morality lesson, history and metaphor for more abstract concepts all in one.

Oh and storks still deliver babies, because I thought it was funny that storytime trope would survive and apocalypse. Except now the storks can talk but still just fly away leaving the baby on your doorstep. I just love the image. Like there is certainly an Edgy Teen version of the story with the stork just saying something like “Listen, fucko, you are in Naia now. You knew that when you signed up for our service. Stop being a bigoted asshole and take your baby.” and just flies away. Probably flipping the bird as it does.

#pugmire #asks #ask me anything #writing

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yokelish · 4 years

Text

Worth millions.

Remember that? Back by popular demand. Reworked, improved, but only miserly so. And with chapter two coming soon~

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Nakahara Chūya, Dazai Osamu ✏ Word count: 3,650 ✏ Warnings: swearing, smoking. ✏ Part I; Part II

Worth millions.

Chūya narrowed his eyes at the figure near on the pier. It was close to midnight and no sane or law-abiding citizen would wonder around those docks alone. He did not expect a fight tonight but would be willing if it come to that. It was, after all, his mess to deal with. And whoever was standing in the way would be crashed by gravity. Chūya took a minute to observe what the person on the pier was doing. If it was some vagabond scaring them away wouldn’t be an issue. At first glance it seemed the figure wondered around the pier aimlessly — looking around to satisfy their curiosity or satiate the desire to observe small beauty of the world, —but only at first. Nakahara didn’t have to waste another minute to understand the person on the pier was looking for clues, evidence. And that was Chūya’s job. Then, it wasn’t a simple-minded wanderer or a drunk wondering in the moonless night. This person had a purpose to be here.

“You better know how to swim,” Nakahara said with a dangerous cadence. With his silhouette shrouded in darkness, he knew and meant the danger emitted. There was no escape from the pier unless they wanted to swim. Or face him. He had no issues with either option.

“Shiiiiit,” the voice uncertain echoed. “I’m taking too long.”

Chūya smirked and moved closer, slowly, biding his time. There was no need to be hasty with this interesting encounter. It was rare for something interesting happening on the job in the dead of the night. Someone else was here with the same purpose. It couldn’t be boring. But he wasn’t planning to let them go. If they were a part of those thugs that dared to challenge Port Mafia, there was only one way out for them.

“Port Mafia, right?” the voice asked, refusing to move, standing their ground. Intimidation was only present in their voice, and Chūya wondered if he was carefully toyed with. Pretending to be frightened before making a move.

The stranger raised their hands in surrender. “I am not looking for a fight,” they continued talking to him confident that they were listened to. The pier wasn’t enough for the two of them. Nakahara came closer, close enough to recognize their features in the moonless dark.

“That’s unfortunate,” Chūya said, smirking. “I might be.”

The person didn’t say anything, didn’t back away from him or step close as if kept there by stubbornness, ignorance, or blind bravery. Instead, they reached inside their pocket. And if this stranger thought a gun could scare Port Mafia, they were both wrong and stupid. A figure dressed in black and wrapped in deep-red glow, For the Tainted Sorrow. Suddenly, the dark space between them brightened. It wasn’t a gun they were reaching for but a torchlight. The light was aimed at the sky enlightening them about this encounter. They didn’t even use it to blind the mafioso and make a run for it. Even more stupid than he gave them credit for.

“Well, damn,” they said with a bright and irritatingly unafraid smile on their face. “Nakahara Chūya, the gravity-manipulator and martial artist. I am not buying lottery tickets this month.”

Chūya tilted his head in question. A very well-informed enemy or… simpleton Dazai never failed to open his big mouth. “Dear Detective Agency,” he sighed with irritation. “Suicidal moron can’t shut up about me.”

“That’s where you’re right,” they confirmed, straightforward and facile.

“What do you want?” Nakahara asked, crossing his arms. The Agency was an enemy; however, fighting them here and now would do nothing for the greater conflict. Boss, too, proclaimed temporary ceasefire. Acting against Boss’ orders was equal to betrayal. Also, they didn’t look like a challenge or threat in any way with that too eager to please and appease attitude.

“Just looking for something stolen,” they replied, nonchalant. “My guess is that you are here for the same reason.” This openness of theirs was getting on mafioso’s nerves. He wasn’t known for a patient temper. The Agency member could have tried to dance around his questions, run or offer a trade-off. But it seemed like they were trying to work out some semblance of functional cooperation. As long as it went within the lines of his loyalty to Port Mafia, he could match this pace.

The smile grew on their face before they turned off the light. It was bright.

“We can help each other!” Agency’s detective offered in a chirpy manner.

“Can we now?” Chūya scoffed, amused. “Just say you need my help.”

“I don’t,” they shook their head. It wasn’t spoken in mockery or false confidence. While the darkness blurred their features, he still heard the smile on their lips. “But you need mine.”

Nakahara raised a brow, antagonized. Dazai must have been giving out lessons. Bandaged freak had an unmatched skill, but they were gravelling him fairly fast too. Chūya didn’t need help, especially from a detective of the Agency. Nakahara was a Port Mafia Executive; he was the merge of a human and a god Arahabaki. Help was the last thing he needed. He expected them to prove the point, but his patience was running dangerously thin each second.

“The smugglers,” the person started talking quickly as if sensing the heat, “didn’t finish their transaction. What did they do with the merchandise? It’s a pier. Not many places to hide things.”

“If they had half-a-brain, an airtight aluminum case would take a day or two underwater,” Chūya shrugged.

“I bet you don’t want to swim tonight, it’s cold, brrrr,” they rubbed their shoulders, mimicking the experience. “So, I will graciously save you from that.”

Mafioso crossed arms on his chest and smirked. There was no way of impressing him, less so of doing him any favours. But he was allowing for this to happen simply because it was quite fun. It didn’t last long, however. Soon, the sound of moving water filled the dark and silence around them. And something rectangular came from the water and floated into their hands effortlessly. It was the case, unmistakably, it couldn’t be anything else.

“I can beckon objects towards myself if I know what they are,” they succinctly explained. “Since I know yours, it’s fair that you know mine.”

Chūya didn’t ask but was given an answer. Perhaps, by some strange morality it was fairer for him to know their ability since they knew about his. But this wasn’t the world that cared about fairness. They were coming from two different worlds, opposing views. They were enemies. It wasn’t personal. From the wrong side, one of them for sure was, had to be. Yet the Agency’s detective continued with the task as if nothing were amiss. Chūya watched them take out a lock-picker’s set. He chuckled, amused. All that talk about morality…

“You are probably here for the valuables,” they continued to talk, unbothered, while trying to pick the lock. “Allow me take one thing. Our client has sentimental value attached to one of the objects inside.”

“They stole more than just valuables,” Nakahara replied. Wittingly or not, he almost said more than needed. Chūya had to hold his tongue from saying anything more. Speaking more than needed would be more than just unwise.

“Ah, is that an invitation to take everything else but what you need?”

“No.”

“Kidding, kidding.”

The case opened with a distinct click. A sound of a skilful lock-picking. From the Armed Detective Agency, indeed. But, true to their word, only one thing was taken. Nakahara had no clue why that would be an object of sentimental value, however, but Lady Luck was on their side. He didn’t need that.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” they said, standing up, and offering a polite and reserved smile.

“That’s it?” mafioso asked, unimpressed. There were a few things he could imagine being spoken, tastefully mixed into the conversation, to make a little sharper, a little more dangerous. “Nothing else to add, dear Detective Agency?”

“Gimme a sec.” There was a theatrical pause perfectly executed. Acting worthy of the effect it produced, with a finger to tier mouth and a thoughtful expression on their face. “Oh, no, Port Mafia! How could you! That’s not right, Port Mafia!”

Chūya shook his head. It was amusing it its twisted, overly dramatic way, but the comedy was too close to reality to be truly funny.

Their act was quickly dropped, switched for a more serious expression and tone. “You could have thrown me into the water the moment you saw me or a moment after when you realized who I was. But you didn’t. And agreed to cooperate.”

“That’s—”

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” Nakahara dismissed the protest. For one, defending his perfectly logical actions seemed foolish. Second, and most importantly, there was no need for him to voice it and neither it seemed to be heard. If that’s gratitude they were offering — to hell with it.

“Scatter,” Chūya commanded in slight jest. “I have work to do.”

The detective bowed to him in jest, most graciously bowing out of their encounter. He let them go and afterwards sighed. There was much a lot of work left to do.

One would safely and reasonably assume this one chance of an encounter was the only time he’d meet someone from the Agency outside of conflict. It wasn’t so. Sometime later he got to see them again. It wasn’t anything related to a job and happened in the light of day. He saw them with jinko and young murderess approaching the local shopping centre. At the entrance, however, they stopped and waved goodbye. The kids proceeded on their own inside. That would have been it: Chūya saw them, they didn’t see him. Such was his conviction, until they waved at him. From afar, sure, and it could have been anyone else who was in his general direction. But somehow, he had a feeling it was aimed at him and no one else. He didn’t acknowledge them in any way.

“C’mon out anyone who’s still alive,” he grinned maliciously into the camera. Chūya was having a bit too much enjoyment with this. After all, it was about time he’d get to play cat and mouse with the Agency. Ceasefire wasn’t much fun.

In the dark tunnel, finally echoed footsteps other than his. Playing the messenger was a boring beat, but a brawl wasn’t completely out of the question, ever.

“Just two of you? What an insult,” Chūya sighed. Just two enemies and not even the most intriguing ones. It all unfolded just the Boss’ predicted. The Agency cannot help itself but to be predictable this way. A confrontation was started to make the blood run hotter. He wasn’t a good match for a messenger job anyway. Everything was working out splendidly. Except for when the voice came from the speakers. The voice belonged to an enemy, the other side that Port Mafia will never reconcile with. He knew the voice — knew exactly who it belonged to — but still hearing it here and now was somewhat unexpected. Something he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“President, with all due respect, I’d like to say something,” came from the speakers. Nakahara stilled the moment he heard it coming from the speakers, he wanted to hear everything.

“I believe in the Agency’s strength just as much as you do, you know it. But we cannot take on the Guild alone. There’s one thing Nakahara was right about: we are short staffed,” the voice on the other side spoke with underlined worry. Mafioso wondered how it felt to speak rather defensively of your enemy. What he’d like to know even more is why even speak in defence of an enemy. But since it was serving Port Mafia’s purpose…

“But if you think such crude tactics would work on us, then Mafia is unfit for waging war,” the President’s voice spoke.

“Veiled threat from the enemy leader himself? Such an honour,” Chūya mocked.

“What are you hiding?”

“Not a thing.”

“He is not lying,” familiar voice interfered. The gravity wielder grinned devilishly. He wasn’t lying, they were correct in that assessment. But it was no good news for them. A shame, truly. For them. So bravely and insistently speak in the enemy’s support. That was the luxury or stupidity few could afford. He couldn’t.

“Why would we need to move?” Nakahara asked with the same smile on his face.

“Alright, fancy hat,” another voice spoke up. And then there was a snicker. Chūya never heard them snicker before but had no doubts it was them. Otherwise, it was the enemy leader and that was a far less appealing thought. Fancy hat?

It wasn’t because he had any doubts about Boss’ plan or because he didn’t trust in the abilities of his fellow comrades. It was because he hated Dazai. Because he wanted to see what was going to happen, what that schemer had pulled this time. And because deep inside Nakahara already knew what sort of deal the Boss would make given the chance. Mori wanted Dazai back in the Mafia, and while Chūya was perfectly content without the failed suicide around, it wasn’t for him to say so. Whatever cliché game he was asked to play, he’d play it till the end.

From up here he could witness the whole thing and, if something were to go terribly wrong, he’d be down there in seconds. But he had unwavering faith in Boss’ planning. Still, the cigarette in his mouth was burning. It was boredom. From up here, he could see everything but not hear it or be entertained by any other means. One, two, three, four…Number four is deadly, according to superstitions.

“Fancy seeing you here!” said the voice from behind. Familiar voice, sure, but it was not supposed to be heard here. Chūya turned his head. That very same detective of the Agency coming to him at such convenient time? It couldn’t be a coincidence. What a cliché, Dazai, especially for you.

A huff, a puff. The cigarette started to taste a lot better now. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t a question but a warning.

“Don’t worry, no one knows I am here. If you throw me off this roof, it’s a perfect crime,” they quickly assured. And while there was a small laugh at the end of that sentence, he could hear it was filled with anxious tension. “I wasn’t invited for the meeting either but still came to watch. It’s not as concealed up here as you’d think.”

Mafioso kept quiet, feeling annoyed, feeling played for a fool. But before the right words to scare them off came to mind, the voice spoke once again.

“Here,” there was a nudge on his shoulder, “it’s a far better thing to put in your mouth.”

Nakahara looked at what was offered. Goddamn ice-cream? He raised a brow in question. This was more than just a little strange. This was getting a little ridiculous. And the idea of throwing them off the roof didn’t seem as alien as before. Nonetheless, under his murderous gaze, they didn’t relent, continuing to hold up the ice-cream in stubborn generosity.

He had to look away from them. “Damn it.” Agitated, he still begrudgingly put out the cigarette and accepted the ice-cream. The packaging wasn’t messed with, with drops of water from being in the freezer just recently. They, too, had one. An ice-cream for themselves with the packaging matching. Mafioso tore it open. Damnit. It was cold and sweet, vanilla flavour hidden underneath dark chocolate.

“See? I was right. It is a better thing to put in your mouth,” they grinned at him. Not malicious, not mocking, it was a cheerful, kind smile of a friend. They were enemies, people from different sides, fighting for different things. Reconciliation was not an acceptance — a strategy.

“Choose your words better,” Nakahara scoffed.

“Sorry, sor—"

“Or I will throw you off the roof.”

“I said sorry. So, um, what do you think? It’s going fine, right? Even if it’s just to defeat the Guild, we can come to an agreement of sorts? You’d help, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I am… worried.”

“About?” he asked without any interest whatsoever. But since this was a conversation — a very used play at social norms and small talk — he would indulge them only for the duration of this ice-cream. A shame to let a good thing go to waste.

“My…comrades,” the enemy answered. That was a delicate answer. Too delicate for such situation. Even Chūya could understand the worry one would have for one’s friends and comrades. Yet something didn’t sit right with him as if a gut feeling telling something he couldn’t yet understand.

“So, if you are fighting alongside one of them, would you help them?” they asked. It sounded so naïve and genuine. Terribly sweet, just like this ice-cream. Underneath the dark chocolate, something awfully sweet and innocent white in colour.

“Is that what their life if worth?” Chūya asked, thoroughly amused. Quite a conversation maker this one. “An ice-cream?”

“Nah, a life is invaluable. And smoking kills. Take care of yourself.”

Chūya laughed. Loudly, thunderously, profoundly regaled. He was pillorying them and their ideas. But, still a nudge on his shoulder, playful in its manner.

“I am counting on you, Nakahara Chūya!”

This was getting too ridiculous for Nakahara to comprehend as a sane person. “Scatter.” He didn’t even mean it maliciously or as a sincere threat. It was a reminiscent jest. And like before, they bowed to him and offered a polite smile, graciously leaving the situation.

Chūya hated Dazai. He hated all the faces Dazai had: arrogant kid, suicidal failure, scheming bastard, traitor, liar, and womanizer. It wasn’t even all the list of masks his ex-partner had. But Chūya would take out the trash once they were done here. The reunion was a temporary arrangement. After, he would be free to deal with Dazai as he wished. What else he hated? The number of body bags his people came back in. All at the fault of a child whose ability was abhorrent.

“Do it,” Chūya said with certainty. He would remember that number for a good while after this is all over and is but a history.

“Oh yeah?” Dazai sounded too chirpy for himself. “Well, in that case…” The knife Dazai conveniently snitched slashed the wooden cage Q was trapped in. Nakahara watched, and the mafia-black blood boiled inside him.

“Your hypocrisy makes me want to vomit,” he stated with sincere spite. The knife stopped chipping at wood as Dazai started to explain such hypocritical act. Excuses, excuses, that was the core of this traitor. Chūya knew for a fact what his ex-partner thought of Q’s ability. What a pathetic, lying bastard.

“It’s a logical decision,” Dazai excused his actions. “Plus, I don’t know how I would look them in the eye.”

“The Agency?” Nakahara shrugged, uninterested.

“Aren’t you curious, Chūya?” It was taunting. “Nosy about my personal life?”

“Personal life? You don’t have such a thing, womanizer.”

“People change, Chūya,” Dazai replied with a sickeningly familiar smile. The bastard meant what he said. Gravity manipulator hated him all the more for it.

Nakahara crossed his arms. “People? Maybe. What do you have to do with them?”

His ex-partner pretentiously pouted. “You know, Chūya, I know your moves down to pacing and breathing.” Dazai stood up. The knife remained plunged into the wood. “But I never knew you liked ice-cream.”

“Bastard, I knew it was your scheme!”

“What? No.” Ex-mafia shook his head. “What would be in it for me? But relationships are built on trust and honesty. So, naturally, I came to know of it. I was as just as surprised as you were.”

That sickening smile, that arrogant tone! Chūya had Dazai pinned down as well. The assortment of face masks of his once-partner…and the appalling pleasure to study them all. But the most abhorrent thing was that the hypocrite wasn’t lying. The bandaged bastard was taking pleasure in speaking the truth.

Dazai was slowly shortening the distance between them. “So, why did you behave like an obedient dog, Chūya?” The languid steps forward, putting them dangerously close together. The shorter mafioso pressed his fingers into a tight fist. The leather gloves squeaked.

“Answer me, Chūya, for old times’ sake,” Dazai continued to provoke. “I don’t think it’s because of ice-cream, was it? Could it be…? Oh.”

You are on thin fucking ice, Dazai. It wasn’t for any other reason than killing time. It wasn’t because he found them strangely intriguing in their passive acceptance of him being from Mafia. And it wasn’t because they spoke in his defence. To speak in your enemy’s benefit was the luxury or stupidity few could afford. He wasn’t impressed by their stubborn kindness despite knowing that he was stronger than them. That he could kill them. That he was an enemy.

“You never could hide your emotions, Chūya. Your face does say it for you,” Dazai was now grinning viciously. “You like them, don’t you? You like them.”

Chūya pushed forward, angry, provoked, with all the spite he could muster. The fist landed hard. The force of his punch sent Dazai stumbling backwards. But there was glee in those dark eyes. The delight Chūya rarely witnessed, but it wasn’t totally alien. It felt good for him too — to punch Dazai in the face like that. Yet his blood was still boiling hot. And there was a bitter and tight feeling in his throat, tasting of sweet vanilla ice-cream.

“Oh, the look on your face, Chūya,” Dazai mumbled, mocking, gleeful, and seeming to ignore the swelling on his face and the pain that came with it. “How did you say it before? “Better than a masterpiece worth millions”?”

#yokelishtorturesenglish #bsd fanfic #bsd scenarios #bsd imagines #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader x dazai #will it show in the tags a second time?

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Dirty Water

Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x Robyn Banks (Black!OC)

Summary: Robb met a couple of shady characters calling themselves cops. Well it just so happens they are, and they're worse than she first thought.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k words

Rating/Warning(s): +16 Mature | kidnapping, mild torture, tied up, wanna be clear: IRL I do not condone hooking up with a person who kidnapped you or was complicit in kidnapping you, it just don't work out like that in reality

AN: so basically I'm gonna write and post this in whatever order I please, then go back and figure it out later. Since my brain has jumped back on the Pascal bandwagon, it's hard to focus outside of his body of work but I'm still coming back to this story with relative ease.

Just when she'd started to warm up again, a another shower of ice cold mop water was pitched over her head. Robyn sputtered and coughed, trying not to swallow the suds in her mouth or let them see her cry to keep the dirt out of her eyes. From the shadows that danced beyond her eyelids, she could tell the alleged cop who called himself Nick was crouching in front of her.

"Last chance, sweetheart," the dirty cop said. "Tell me how you know Tony D'Onofrio."

Fuck.

Seven years ago, two federal agents walked in on officer Robyn Banks being sentenced to traffic duty. She didn't mind– she was fed up with the secrets her colleagues were forcing her to keep anyways. Maybe stepping down could help her clear her head, maybe give her time to compartmentalize those events and feelings. Only now could she say that the rest of her career was already out of her hands.

"Those agents on that file? They approached me about D'Onofrio. Said he was my moby dick. Made a big deal about 'justice' and 'law and order' and 'the sanctity of the badge." Robyn spit more mop water onto the floor and continued, "I told them I didn't know what the fuck it had to do with me and they just sorta looked at each other."

The blond man– Nick called him Z, she thinks– crossed his arms. "Quit jerkin us around, Banks, get to the fucking point."

Nick held up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I asked for a story and that's what I'm hearing. Keep going, Robbie."

Robyn scowled on the inside. "They told me he was my father. More like a sperm donor than anything, he probably didn't even know I was alive."

"Now that is interesting," Nick purred.

He cut the zip tie binding her arm to the rolly chair and handed her a towelette to wipe her eyes. She dared not reach for the tie on her other arm, lest her captors think she's pulling a move to escape. Instead she dabbed the sweat and mop water that soaked into the skin of her neck and face to pause and think about her next words.

"That was the basis of the deal. I join their investigation undercover, see if I can get somewhere with my connection, and help them put one of the biggest crime bosses on this side of the coast away for good. In exchange, I get to call the shots, they'd put in a good word with my CO and elevate me to detective status instead of beat cop."

"Thought you liked being a beat cop," the one in the silk flamingo shirt said.

"Apparently nobody believes that."

"So," Nick steepled his fingers beneath his aquiline nose in thought, "your end of the deal wasn't even your idea? How does that work?"

"Sounds like she got something else out of it," the bald man in the white polo accused.

Robyn glared at him, but she didn't contradict him. If she wanted to be listened to, she needed to stay calm. Stay calm, stay alive. Go home with the minimal amount of PTSD.

"Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?" When nobody raised any more objections, she continued. "I agreed to their terms. Next I know, I'm climbing the criminal ladder, dropping bread crumbs about my parentage, two years goes by, yada yada yada, and then bam. I have a meeting with the heir apparent to the Italian mafia.

"At that meeting I told Tony D'Onofrio he knew my mother and that I knew they had been dating around the time I was born–"

"Conceived–"

"Yeah that– he stared at me for so long I forgot how to breathe and then… he… believed me."

A pin dropped somewhere in the empty parking garage. A dog barked wildly a mile away but could still be heard in the silence that followed. Robyn still couldn't believe he'd bought it either.

"He just… believed you," Nick said skeptically.

Robyn could do nothing but shrug. "I never got the details, I couldn't ask my mom about it and Tony never gave me any indication that he knew about me before that meeting. He just asked me what I wanted and did it."

Nick dragged his eyes over her form, shivering and glistening, and then-- "what did you ask him?"

Robyn felt her eyes gloss over as she tried to remember what mysterious force compelled her to say the exact right words. "I told him all I wanted was for him to know, to see him with my own eyes and know he was real. I said I didn't need any favors or special treatment. I just needed some closure."

That was all. And the agents had been fucking furious with her. They had accused her of using them, of being a traitor and a spy for D'Onofrio or a mastermind cat-woman type villain and all manner of other terrible things. They were ready to pull the plug on the whole operation when Tony had offered her a better job. A job where she would come face- to- face with every schmoe on Tony's payroll.

"Tony offered me a job 'running errands.' Not quite in his inner circle but higher in his ranks than I had any business being," Robyn said. "Most of the people doing these jobs were kids, easy to get around the city undetected and reliable. Now he knew I wasn't a kid but I guess he wanted to see more from me, put his best eyes on me to see if I was legit."

Nick nodded and stood up (his knees popping like broken branches). He walked over to Murphy in the flamingo shirt and passed a few inaudible words between them. Robyn wasn't skilled in the art of lip reading, and failed to catch anything from Murphy except the word 'pointless.' It rubbed her the wrong way, sending a spark of fear through her that quickly dulled back into the numbness of being helplessly bound to a chair. She needed to finish this soon before she completely cracked.

Nick returned to her side, chasing some pepto bismol with a flask of what smelled like tequila in it. "That's a very sweet story, Robbie, really it is. But… what I wanna know is why you're not in this file."

"That's not what you asked me," she griped, then backpedaled into, "I'm trying to tell you why I'm not in the file. But in order to tell you that, I have to tell you what was left out of the file first. I'm getting to the point, I just… there's a lot of shit to sift through."

Nick nodded like a patient father (yeah, right). "Just the good parts then."

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "just the good parts..."

"The good parts, uhm. Well he did learn to trust me. I barely had to do anything just… let him try to kindle a relationship between us. I started calling him dad at his request, nobody bothered me or questioned me after that and I didn't abuse it, expect on the downlow giving info to the feds. He liked that about me– he liked me. We'd talk about my mom and he'd let his guard slip, started taking me to his meetings and asking me to deliver his important paperwork."

"I let him think I was with him and documented everything I could for six more years." In truth, she had had some doubts. About putting him away and the vacuum of power it would create, about the dichotomy of good versus evil, about her career. In that last year, she had actually warmed to the idea of becoming a detective and getting to do work with her own moral backbone and not someone else's. "We made the arrest January 19th and put him away for a dime."

Nick leaned so far forward in his chair Rob had to lean back. "This is the part where you wrap it up, sweetcheeks."

Robyn gulped. "Gomer and Valentine pushed me out. They'd been acting really strange at the end, wearing these shit eating grins and looking at each other, and then they iced me out. Had me fired on the grounds that I was too close to the perp, used a fucking Christmas photo for evidence. There went the Italian mob's heir and seven years of hardwork, and I wouldn't even be mentioned by name in the case file. No testimony, no credit, just a dishonorable discharge and dumped on my ass in the streets."

"Wow." Nick rubbed a hand down his face like he was the exhausted one. "That's quite the story, princess."

He looked at each of his mates, every face stonier than the last. Especially the silent one's, the latino guy. Then he looked back at Robyn and smiled with a lot of teeth.

"I do have some questions though, if you'll let me." Sure like I have a choice. "Now it wasn't public knowledge you were in on the investigation, but I find it hard to believe your dad's lackeys didn't know it was you who turned him in. And what I find even harder to believe is that they'd let you live for it."

Robyn said nothing. There was a part of her that didn't quite grasp it either. When she had arrested him, when she'd slapped the cuffs on him herself and read him his Miranda rights, after the shock of her betrayal wore off, Tony had congratulated her.

"I'm proud of you, kid. You may be a narc but at least you got your head straight. You got guts, kid."

As far as she understood it, his last order as the leader of the mafia was not to harm her in any way. Nobody bothered her. They still knew her face on the streets, sent glares her way but never touched her. One of his underlings had come to her place and suggested she skip town permanently just to be safe. It was not a courtesy she ever expected from anyone let alone a man with a reputation for high profile robbery and murder.

She didn't know what to expect. "I guess he really did love me." And Nick left it at that.

Robyn was unbound, blindfolded, and dumped right back onto the street those so called cops had snatched her from. Her legs shook as she walked the last block to her place, utterly miserable and in desperate need of some sleep. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what the fuck her life had come to. She showered (and cried) and picked up the half drunk beer from her fridge and brought it out on her front steps, taking a sip of the flat beverage and wishing it was something stronger.

People passed below her on the streets, never once looking up. The traffic never disappeared but it did lull this time of night. She didn't mean to– barely noticed she was doing it– but she found a pack of cigarettes in her overcoat and lit one up.

"Next time," she promised herself. I'll try to quit next time.

Just as she was beginning to ease the tension that had been weighing on her all night, a man climbed the steps to her building and pointedly slowed down to a stop a few feet away from her. She chanced a glare at him and found him no stranger which was somehow infinitely worse.

"Fuck off," her nerves got the better of her, "I told you everything, can't I at least get some sleep first?!"

The man lifted his hands in defense, carrying a bottle in a brown bag in one of them. He was, well, he was the handsome one. The Cuban with the neck tattoo and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed a lot softer now Despite the dark setting.

"Swear on my life, I'm not here for Nick." He took a single step up, waiting to see how she'd react, and when she didn't run, he took another and set the covered bottle down next to her before backing off. Still skeptical, Robyn carefully unwrapped the thing, revealing an expensive looking wine label. Dark red. "It's an apology," he explained with his hands in his pockets, "Nick thinks he's this big, clever actor but he can be a real bully when he drinks."

Robyn gave him the 'do I look like an idiot' eyebrow and he had the decency to look at his feet. "We could really use your help with this, Banks. Nick forgot to mention the part where Tony was put on parole for good behavior. He'll be out tomorrow."

"He what." That's just the thing isn't it? The case that ended her career permanently and he just got to walk off after only serving two years of his sentence. That was the real crime here. Robyn gritted her teeth, gripped the neck of the bottle and squeezed. She started shaking it like it was her criminal father, or the weasel federal agents who took her credit, or the dirty cops who kidnapped her tonight.

Borracho looked concerned. "Do you need a corkscrew or– "

Robyn shrugged off her jacket and looked him dead in the eye as she wrapped it around the base of the bottle and gently banged it on the porch step until the cork exploded into the air (along with a third of the bottle's contents but whatever). Borracho raised a hand to protect his face from the spray, and turned away to hide a silly grin.

"Nevermind," he said, shaking the excess drink off his hand. "Listen, if he calls you about anything, please let us know."

He pointed to the bag, which had a phone number on it. "Don't let your work be in vain."

"You try that line on everybody?" Rob was feeling a little facetious in the face of mercy, over tired from the revelations, and pissed off by these fucking pigs. "Your good cop, bad cop routine needs some balance. Did you know I was kidnapped today? Now this wine is a start but you'd better step it up, good cop."

He started to walk away but she called out, "I got Nick, Z, and Murphy. Clocked 'Gus' by the name written on his underwear. Which one are you?"

"Benny," he threw back, and disappeared into the nighttime traffic.

"Benny," Rob scoffed. "Cute ass."

Robb drank the equivalent of two glasses, then passed out from exhaustion. She slept dreamlessly and tried to forget last night had ever happened. Benny, in the meantime, returned to the office where his crew was huddled around a phone receiver.

"Don't appreciate you throwing me under the bus, B," Nick growled from his seat.

"Shup up and drink this," Benny pushed the glass of raw eggs closer to his boss' hand, a so called 'hangover cure'. Nick shrunk back a little.

"Told you she'd be sweet on him," Z elbowed Murphy in the ribs and ignored his protesting 'um actually I said that.'

"Wouldn't call her sweet," Benny said, grunting as he took up residence at his own desk. "She looked like a feral cat."

Nick laughed. "Yeah well don't go getting mixed up with that pussy, B, we've got work to do."

It was gonna be another long night for everybody.

#three bees writing #god it's been so long #i don't know what to call this series #benny borracho #benny borracho x oc

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scribbledghost · 4 years

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I really really love your blog pretty girl, I check it multiple times a day to see your writing updates, you’re so talented!!! I’m not sure what I would want to request, but I would love to hear any headcannons you have about Whiskey, Din and/or Frankie that you haven’t shared yet!!

Note: thank you so much for taking the time to read my stuff, I appreciate it so much and I’m so glad you enjoy it!!! And I can absolutely whip up some miscellaneous headcanons that I have for them!! 💖💖

Agent Whiskey:

Has two dogs: a big German Shepherd and a tiny mutt of a lapdog, and he spoils both of them rotten. (They absolutely sleep in bed with him. This is non-negotiable.)

An absolute cuddle monster when he gets into a secure relationship. He’s always got a hand on you, an arm around you, or just as much of him on you as he can get if you’re laying in bed or relaxing.

Good at flirting when he has no feelings for the person he’s flirting with. Very Not Good at flirting when he HAS feelings for the person he’s trying to flirt with.

Uses pet names more than your actual name. In fact, he really only calls you by your name if he’s really serious about something or if he absolutely needs to get your attention.

This may be one I’ve talked about before, but I think about it constantly: Jack Daniels loves with everything he has. He absolutely does NOT half ass relationships, especially if they’re serious.

Despite his rough and tumble nature, Jack is surprisingly good at tending to plants. Any type, in any condition, he can probably bring ‘em back and make them thrive again. Flowers, fruits, vegetables, trees, you name it.

A surprisingly good dancer, but not in the traditional sense. He can dance circles around anyone in a bar or club, but he’s gonna fail miserably if you try to make him go ballroom dancing or something similar.

Din Djarin:

I fully subscribe to the touch-starved!Din headcanons. Someone give this man a hug!!! Preferably without all the bulky armor on!!

He’s always keeping an eye on you, especially when the two of you are outside of the Crest and in public somewhere. He’s not above gently grabbing you by the scruff of your shirt to keep you close so you don’t run out of his sight in a crowded place.

At first he’s very hesitant to show any kind of affection, but once he’s used to the idea of it, he’s all over you. He’s especially fond of taking his gloves off just so he can feel his skin on yours in calm moments.

Often has one sided conversations with the child, particularly if something goes wrong with the ship or tracking a bounty. It’ll help him figure out the issue if he can just talk through it, and he figures it’s probably good that the kid hear some speech just in case he ever learns to talk.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t ever really see himself settling down and getting away from bounty hunting. Not completely, anyway. The chase is a part of him, like it’s in his very blood now. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to fully part from it.

On that same vein though, I can see him mostly settling down with someone. He may still run off once every few months or so to help track a difficult target for someone, just to get the itch under control, but he isn’t opposed to living a life close to someone he loves.

The first time someone’s gentle with him, instead of rough or afraid, he’s not quite sure how to handle it. Once he’s gotten used to it, however, he’ll melt every time. Someone be gentle and soft with this man I’m begging you

Frankie/Catfish Morales:

Got his nickname because he’s the best at catfish noodling. He will NEVER admit this fact, and will 100% deny it if someone asks.

Definitely has an old beater truck that he drives. He could probably afford to get a newer one, but that one has a lotta memories with it and Frankie is a sentimental man.

He is firmly of the opinion that only tent-camping in the middle of the woods can truly be considered “camping”. Using a camper or RV is unheard of for him.

Probably tried to hunt as a sport, but couldn’t do it. He bagged a couple of bucks once, but wound up giving them to locals who used them for meat and other things cause he couldn’t bear to keep them around.

He doesn’t talk about his time in the military. Other than flying, he doesn’t even like to really think about it, honestly. The memories haunt him.

He’s very fond of wrapping you up in a hug and keeping you there for as long as he can. He likes having you close, it’s almost like a security thing for him. He wants to make sure you’re safe.

Likes to take long drives at night, when the rest of the world is asleep. He doesn’t have a destination, he just likes to drive around for a bit and maybe stop to look at the stars at some point if he gets far enough away from the city.

#agent whiskey #din djarin #frankie morales #catfish #ghost scribbles

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bellamygateoldblog · 4 years

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i will never be over the way this show has continuously tried to frame bellamy and clarke as heroes and good people, or the way the fandom has almost completely embraced and supported that narrative

the amount of times i’ve read “[clarke] saved everyone’s ungrateful asses” makes me seriously consider turning evil. like aren’t y’all bored? don’t you have a different sentence you would like to say for a change?

i want to talk about this but i probably don’t remember a lot of the details of this show so if im forgetting something or get something wrong i apologise, but i never have any desire to rewatch past s2.

clarke isn't even the hero of her own side, she took power of them using the military force of the grounders, someone else’s people, she’s forced them into alliances without their knowledge that weren’t in their best interest (while she literally had no idea what they were even going through because she’d abandoned them after upsetting their entire political structure, and this leader she’s bowing to is responsible for the slaughter of their children, has broken an alliance previously with them, has hung the threat of genocide over their heads, and who isn’t even wanted in power by her own people- dragging skaikru into that conflict, too), she’s sacrificed them and what’s best for them in order to cater to/concentrate on the grounders newest demands or pursue her own personal mission, she’s lied to and patronised them, she’s abandoned them and surrendered them to die while they were under her protection and responsibility, and in Book 2 (and these aren’t her people but in canon she’s their leader anyway apparently despite trying to blow them all up a few days before...) she’s abandoned them again, and is speaking for them without consent or any connection to what’s happening with them again,.........her inner circle/her ‘friends’ have to be extremely careful to remain important to her or on her team or they’ll be sacrificed, harmed or become acceptable losses to whatever her newest goal is too (but hey at least she says she cares about them) all while acting very ‘woe is me’ about the whole crushing weight of responsibility she shouldn’t have.

but she’s the hero, she’s beloved, she’s special, she has relationships that were never built, she and only she saved everyone again and has all the lines telling us so no matter how dishonest those statements are.

like this is where i personally see what you said in your ask most: when it concerns clarke.

bellamy on the other hand...i don’t place him at all on the same level as clarke when it comes to this. clarke has privilege that bellamy just never had as a character. and i think that does probably play into why i like him.

him being a hero to the delinquents/the 48 is completely believable to me. he was the original leader, he got them through a tough time, he chose to put himself on the line for them, and he’s the one who stayed. i also think it’s reasonable that fandom might romanticise him this way because he is one who has been shown to value the one life as well as the many of his people, a guy doing his best and making big mistakes along the way, a mixed complex bag of good and bad, i find him very likable and i love the toxic/pained/vulnerable ones lol but more than anything i find him to be one of the more interesting/entertaining characters on the show (Book 1).

we also see him torment himself with his own mistakes instead of just having other people do it for him/remind him like we see happen with clarke- and we all know fandom loves equating that with a “redemption arc” and as much as i personally dislike seeing pity parties i do like self-awareness and responsibility in characters that goes beyond a 3-second-long puppy dog look or straight dismissal of someone else’s pain, and for the most part bellamy’s expressions of this don’t come across as demanding sympathy from others but from genuine self-loathing and an honesty to himself, internalising the effects of his actions/childhood.

i know i personally prefer The Flawed Protector over The Tortured Saviour nobody asked for (same white male hypocritical moral hero in a woman’s body).

i don’t believe in assigning “hero” to any of them though like that’s the whole entire point of the show lol “there are no good guys.” and i also think a major chunk of fandom/shippers have warped bellamy’s character so much that it isn’t even him anymore, so this man they’re celebrating as a hero/good person isn’t even bellamy sometimes.

all of the genuinely “good” and kind people are dead.

i don't think i'd say bellamy was ever framed as a hero. like he was just never important enough to be, he’s just not put into those positions (despite being the male lead), clarke is. as the protagonist ig. bellamy...he’s the protector/knight of the heroes, but not the actual hero himself (applies to octavia too i think, where she acts and he reacts).

like take mount weather, clarke becomes empowered by her “wanheda” status, bellamy’s (and monty’s) part in that is lost...clarke is “bearing it so they don’t have to” (rme) which simultaneously strips the other boys from claiming the ‘victory’ of saving the 48 while still leaving them with the guilt, like it suits how i see clarke perfectly that she’s the only one to refer to the genocide (and shutting down the CoL, i realised) as “i” while monty and bellamy say “we” and it was clarke’s actions that got them to that point in the first place, but this is one of those times she’s clearly The Protagonist. if that makes sense lol.

bellamy is on the opposite side to clarke in s3 and s7 and he needs to be moved to her side in order to be on the ‘right’ one. now i don’t agree with that one bit mind you (when it comes to s3, idc about s7 lol) and i didnt see it that way but imo that’s how the show wrote it, to the point he was either demonized endlessly by fandom or woobified in a way that denied him his own agency. during s5 i don’t i think anyone was framed in a good light. i can see this applying in s6, though- where he was his absolute worst self yet, betraying his own development, failing at every point to “do better” despite claiming it, but still was given that reasurring line that they did better and saved people and was in that “heroic” position i guess? but is that because he was back to being clarke’s “good little knight” tho? (but do we claim s6??? do we really??? do we claim it ladies???)

s6 was 100% dedicated to making clarke look good/like a 'good' or sympathetic person. the bodysnatching plot (and the s6 sheidheda plot because if it was supposed to be about bellamy and address his s5 actions he would’ve been present to experience/observe those consiquences himself but he wasn’t lmaoooo. instead it was to tell the audience ‘actually clarke was right last season and here’s another reason to feel bad for her and how those ungrateful bitches were treating her’) has no other purpose for existing. clarke's character has consistently been elevated at the expense of everyone else's. but im not sure the writing did a very good job convincing me she was a good person if it was trying to do that LMAO like my interpretation of her is so fitted to canon, and no amount of throwaway lines telling me how good she is did anything to change what i saw yk? and in s6, combined with being patronised by the writers, i found her to be at some of her most obnoxious.

i don’t agree with placing bellamy and clarke in the same boat tbh. like they just come from completely different places and come across differently, especially in the way they interact with other characters.

in my experience this fandom (on tumblr) is extremely skewed in favour of clarke, like ive never seen a fandom so obsessed with their protagonist. there’s A LOT of clarke stans who stan her for being one of those “deserves better :(” characters, selfless and heroic, and support that view that she’s the superior character, entitled to other character’s devotion, love and validation yet doesn’t have to reciprocate any of it. the CL/BC ship war was just a bunch of people fighting over clarke, who deserves her more, which character is more toxic to her, which other character would 100% be her bff supportive of that relationship, treating her as a passive whose actions don’t take affect. im not sure how much i blame the writing for that because if so many of us are capable of recieving her character in this way then...why aren’t so many other people? how is there such a massive disconnect between the ways we see her?

and imo a lot of the bellamy love in this fandom comes from shipping him with clarke too rather than being because of who he actually is.

#the 100

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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This isn’t really much of a defense as it is just a acknowledgement of the difference: Oz NEVER planned on telling anyone anything, if a way to stop Salem cropped he’d have probably still never told anyone. Ruby, DID plan on telling people, just after they earned her trust. The reason this is still a criticism is because SHE SHOULD FUCKING TRUST IRONWOOD.

Asking this to the fandom as an honest question: when do we learn that Ozpin never planned to tell anyone? To my recollection he doesn’t say that (and I admit completely it’s just my recollection, I could be forgetting something), but rather he says instead:

“Do you really think Leo was the first? That he didn’t say those exact same words to me? I’m sorry, but you have to understand that my behaviors are backed by experience. I’m not saying that I have reason to think you will betray me. I’m saying that I have reasons for the things that I do. The secrets I keep. I--”

(This is a speech that the group - and via them the audience - never has to grapple with because Ozpin realizes in this moment that the relic is gone, moving the conversation away from his defense and towards Ruby’s refusal to give it back/Oscar forcibly taking Jinn’s name.)

Saying, “My experience means that I have good reason not to spill these secrets carelessly” is not the same thing as “I never plan on telling them to anyone.” This is, in fact, the exact same reasoning that Ruby adopts: I plan to tell you things after you’ve earned my trust. Ozpin admits here that Team RWBY doesn’t have his trust yet. Not because they as individuals have done something to lessen that (though I’d argue that the group’s overall attitude makes trusting them justifiably difficult), but rather that platitudes - “You can trust us!” - have proven to be meaningless throughout Ozpin’s lifetime: “Do you really think Leo was the first? That he didn’t say those exact same words to me?” Here, Ozpin is in the same place with Team RWBY as Ruby was with Ironwood for weeks on end. I simply don’t trust you yet and you’ll just have to wait until I do. (Even though, as you say, Color2wheel, Ironwood had actions to prove his trust whereas Team RWBY just has those platitudes...)

The only “proof” I’ve heard in the fandom that Ozpin never intended to tell them about Salem is the fact that Qrow doesn’t know about her yet. The logic goes, “Well if Qrow doesn’t know after years and years of working with Ozpin then obviously he doesn’t plan to ever tell him at all.” It sounds damning on the surface but what this argument fails to take into account is what Ozpin himself points out, that his behaviors are “backed by experience.” Or, to put it more bluntly, this argument fails to take trauma into account.

Ozpin is grappling with trauma that, thus far, no other character has had to try and overcome.

Ruby actually gives us a good baseline. We can think of her trust as akin to an equation:

Being betrayed by one person (Ozpin) + encountering an ally who is doing everything possible to demonstrate trust (Ironwood) = needed a couple weeks in order to trust them.

Ozpin’s equation is more like:

Being betrayed by an unknowable number of people across a thousand years (Raven, Lionheart, and Team RWBY most recently) + encountering allies who do things that demonstrate that trusting them may be quite a risk (Qrow is called out for not being a reliable spy and is emotionally very fragile, Ironwood disagrees with Ozpin’s methods, Team RWBY is constantly pissed at him, etc.) = needing....?

How long does it take to trust again after all that? After a thousand years of people not just hurting you when they learn this secret (abandoning you for Salem, trying to kidnap you, kill you) but also hurting themselves as well (Qrow falls into an alcoholic stupor and only comes out of it when his niece threatens to leave him behind)? If Ruby’s experiences as a 17yo with (at most) two years experience outside the safety of Patch/Beacon means it took her weeks to trust again, how many years does it take someone who has been through as much as Ozpin? Probably the number of years that Qrow has been trustworthy “enough” to learn this secret but hasn’t. Needing more time to trust again because you’ve been traumatized by trusting others isn’t comparable to not trusting because you’re a bad person and you just didn’t want to. “Not now” doesn’t mean “never” and “I currently can’t” is not the same thing as “I won’t.” In addition, none of this takes into account that Ozpin kept silent during a time of peace when telling people (arguably) wasn’t necessary, whereas Ruby kept silent during a time of war when she knew Ironwood was putting time and resources towards a doomed plan. Those are radically different situations, even removing Ozpin’s trauma.

In the interest of boiling complex stuff down into more easily understood examples, let’s talk about another kind of trauma for just a moment. Something simpler, straight forward, and generally more accepted: a fear of dogs.

Ruby: I was bitten by a dog once. I wasn’t the worst bite in the world but it still effected me. Now I’ve met this other dog and he’s... kind of scary. Big. Looks mean. Barks a lot. I get intellectually that the dog isn’t attacking me and is showing that he will sit quietly if I were to approach... but I can’t bring myself to pet the dog yet. I need time.

The Story: Entirely understandable.

Ozpin: I’ve yet to have a good experience with a dog. I’ve been bitten by them throughout my whole life - which is over fifty times the length of Ruby’s. These bites have left scars. I’ve been mauled by dogs before. I’ve had people set their dogs on me. I get intellectually that all dogs aren’t bad, but it’s incredibly hard for me to pet any at this point, even those whose owners insist that they’d never, ever hurt me. I’ve heard those same words right before I was bit again...

The Story: Hmm. Seems suspicious.

Ruby: Okay! I’ve spent weeks with this specific dog now and you know what? I’m ready to pet him. I’m emotionally in that place now. There. I did it! Aren’t you proud of me?

The Story: We are! Wow that was so well done. You are such a good person for petting that dog and I’m sure your ability to do so is based entirely on your morality and has nothing to do with your individual experiences.

Ozpin: No, I still haven’t pet any dogs yet. I’m not ready.

The Story: Well Ruby pet one.

Ozpin: Forgive me, but Ruby had one bad experience with a dog. She’s been surrounded by other supportive, happy, loyal, gentle dogs her whole life! Has any dog ever tried to kill Ruby? I feel like that would have a bearing on how quickly she starts interacting with them again...

The Story: Nope. She’s just better than you.

Now replace all “petting dogs again” with “trusting someone with this secret again.” Before I condemn Ozpin and uphold Ruby, I’d like to see a version of Ruby Rose who went through even a fraction of what Ozpin has been through regarding trust, secrets, and absolutely horrific betrayal. Give me a Ruby who has told people the Salem secret and they leave her, attack her, try to kidnap her, kill her, deny her support, grow to hate her... and then lets see if it still “only” takes a few weeks to spill it again. Give me a Ruby who has to suffer through Blake abandoning her, or Weiss joining up with Salem, or Jaune trying to kidnap her to ensure his own safety and then we can start praising her if she trusts quickly after all that.

For me, it has never been established that Ozpin would have never told his allies this secret, only that his experiences mean he needs more than the average person to take that risk. I actually think having a Salem plan would have made all the difference. Reassuring someone that there won’t be repercussions for the awful thing they just heard is a great way to ensure they aren’t nearly as angry as they might have been:

Person A: I... accidentally left the gate open and the dog got out.

Person B: You what?

Person A: But don’t worry! I’ve already got a plan to get him back. Everything is fine!

Person B: It’s a damn good thing.

vs.

Person A: I... accidentally left the gate open and the dog got out.

Person B: You what? Well how are you getting him back?

Person A: I haven’t figured that out yet...

Person B: What the hell is wrong with you?

People like easy solutions to hard problems. It’s the first thing Ruby asks: We just learned that Salem is immortal and we know you’ve failed to get rid of her for a thousand years...but you have a plan to fix this in our lifetime, right? We don’t have to deal with this awful immortality business because you’ve figured out how to fix everything for us, right? And when Ozpin admits that he doesn’t have that solution fury gets the better of them. He’s punched into that tree. They drive him away. If Ozpin had been able to say, “Don’t worry! It doesn’t matter if Salem is immortal because I’ve found a way to circumvent that immortality! This reveal will have no negative impact on you moving forward,” we would have gotten a very different conversation. And very different actions on Ozpin’s part throughout his life. The whole reason he keeps Salem’s immortality to himself is because he has no way to circumvent it. He doesn’t want to tell people that this fight is (currently) impossible because that is what leads to them giving up/joining Salem/taking their fear out on him. There’s no longer a reason to keep her immortality a secret if the immortality is circumventable. A plan would have removed at least some of Ozpin’s (justified) fears. People aren’t going to attack him if he can easily fix this problem for them. If he can’t fix it? Well, then you’re disposable. We’re going to leave you for someone more powerful (Salem) or just cut you out of our life completely (Team RWBY).

What it comes down to is that Ruby’s experiences and Ozpin’s experiences simply aren’t comparable. It’s something he says outright in the story - “you have to understand that my behaviors are backed by experience” - but moving forward RWBY has chosen to ignore that. The man who has spent a thousand years being traumatized by trust going sideways can’t compare to the teen with just a spattering of experience under her belt trusting for the second time. Ozpin was Ruby at one point. There was a time when he trusted a second time and he didn’t get an Ironwood who sat calmly and accepted the news with such grace. So what proof do we have that without being so lucky (without a narrative that ensures Ruby comes out on top) Ruby wouldn’t have become Ozpin in time? There’s nothing intrinsic in Ruby that makes her a better person who is more able to trust others. It’s entirely that her experiences haven’t (yet) led to trust being a trigger for abandonment and assault. Ruby is just an Ozpin in the making because anyone can struggle due to trauma - even a “simple soul.” It’s a crucial difference and, frankly, I think RWBY has failed not to acknowledge it.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #color2wheel

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cobradoesmcyt · 4 years

Text

Black Rose (3/4)

Here comes part 3! Filed with “Death, forgiveness and rebirth”!

Bdubs walked into Idea's warehouse at a leisurely pace, Keralis just a few steps behind him. They had just finished a wonderful breakfast, made my Keralis with the help of Grian's big garden, and they couldn’t be any more confident. They'd ask Xisuma now, because if they delayed it nothing good would happen.

Sharing one last look they walked in, happily greeting Xisuma as they entered. They still don't know if the admin was a part of the Grian was like this, but they mostly lived by the "Innocent until proven guilty" thing so they had no reason to not be nice to him.

"Hi guys! Are you ready for today?" Asked Xisuma, a smile hiding under his helmet as he talked to his two friends.

"Actually, can we ask you something before we start?"

X looked at them curiously, but nodded his head non the less.

"Is what Iskall talked about when he went to new Hermitville really true?" Questioned Bdubs, he hoped that his lying skills were good enough to fool the admin, if not they'd be in a lot of trouble moral vise.

"What exactly was he talking about?" Asked Xisuma calmly, if not a bit stiffly.

"Grian, and how he disappeared two weeks ago and something about wither roses." Said Keralis flippantly, pretending that he didn't really care to remember.

"Ah, that," bit out X, fingers tapping together anxiously, "Yes it's true, we still haven't been able to find him."

"You'll find him eventually!" Said Bdubs faux happily, swinging an arm around his friend's shoulder, "Any idea why he ran away though? Maybe we know places he could be if we know his motives?"

Xisuma looked away from the two of them, guilt shining in his eyes. They deserved to know, he just didn't want to admit that he'd failed one of the people on his server so much that they ran away. But with one glance at Bdubs' curious eyes and Keralis' encouraging smile (both of which were actually mostly true, and not fake) he broke, "I don't know exactly why, but from what I've gathered from Iskall and Ren, the two people who have put themselves fully into finding Grian and apologizing, we poked fun at him without checking to make sure he was ok with it. There's a lot more stuff to probably, but that's the thing we are the most sure about."

The two nodded along to what he was saying, knowing that his words were true (you know, since they live with Grian now and all that). "But why did you wait two weeks to start looking?" Asked Keralis, the daunting question finally being asked.

"We didn't know he was missing until two nights ago when Iskall told us at the server meeting."

They hadn't been at that server meeting since Bdubs had been sick and both Grian and Keralis wanted to stay and make sure he recovered without a hitch, which he did. And Bdubs was thankful he hadn't gone, he would have probably punched Iskall if he'd said that in front of him.

Whilst X had been talking Bdubs had been secretly talking to Grian, telling the short man what was being said and how the admin was talking. After that last tidbit of information he sent Grian a text asking "Do you want to see X? Because we can bring him right now if your ok with it, he's really shaken about all of this"

A yes from Grian arrived a few moments later. Now he just had to get X to New Hermitville, which is actually the easiest part yet it seemed, because all they had to do was say that they had something important for him in the village and he followed along.

As they approached the gates Bdubs saw a badge with a wither rose attached to it. He walked over and detached it before quickly jogging back and handing it to Xisuma. The Void looked from the badge to him with confusion.

"You'll understand soon." Winked Bdubs, leading the admin towards Grian's little house which resides at the outskirts of the village.

They walked up to the house, but instead entering the wood building they walked around the house to the back. Xisuma was confused as to what could possibly be at the back, what was it that they even had to show him? Just as he was about to ask he turned the corner and froze.

They had just entered a garden filled with yellow, pink and blue flowers, there was also two cats and a dog resting on a grass patch near the back door. But that wasn't what made him freeze, it was instead the person in said garden.

Grian stood facing them, a small unsure smile on his face. He was gently holding a spring crocus in his hands, "Hi X."

"Grian?" Breathed the admin in shock, "You've been here all this time? And what happened to your face, and clothes too?"

"Sit down Xisuma, we have a lot to talk about."

And so Grian explained everything to him, about his feelings, the Hermit’s actions and his time with Bdubs and Keralis. By the end X wanted nothing more than to hug the small man in front of him, "Oh god Grian, we didn't realize. God-I'm so sorry!"

The violet eyed man observed the admin for a while, eyes narrowed in thought. He eventually gave a nod and walked up and gave the flower in his hands to Xisuma, "This is my answer."

X took the flower gently, not wanting to harm it and get Grian mad at him, "Uh, not to be rude-but how is this your answer?"

The dirty blond giggled at the question, "It's a spring crocus. It isn't just a pretty flower, it has a meaning. That meaning is my answer to your requests for forgiveness."

Xisuma seemed to hold the white and purple even more gently in his arms at that, as if it was the most precious thing in the universe. And at this moment, that was kind of true.

He looked up at Grian with thankful eyes, hoping that his expression could be seen through his visor, "Thank you. Is it ok if I come back tomorrow? That should give me enough time to look up the meaning of it."

"You can," said Grian, giving the admin a small smile, "It was good to see you X, have a good day." And then he walked back into his house, dog and cats following him back in.

Bdubs patted his admin friend on the back, "Was this important enough?" X could do nothing more than nod, unable to form words, "Good. Now do you want to go back and have the meeting, or do you want to look into the flower immediately?"

"I think we can skip a meeting." Said the helmet wearing Hermit, eyes not leaving the flower in his hands. He was about to walk away when he remembered the badge he was given, he took it out and showed it to the other two Idea members, "Hey, what's with this?"

Bdubs didn't even have to look to know what he was talking about, "It's Grian's crest. He chose it because what was cooler to have as a symbol then the thing that almost was your demise?"

Xisuma clutched the badge in his hand, the black painted metal heavy in his hand with meaning. He left for his base soon after that.

As soon as he left Keralis and Bdubs walked into Grian's house. Said man was sitting at the table, playing with the same badge that Xisuma now has. He put down the metal object once they got in and offered the two a smile.

"I'm curious, what did that flower mean?" Asked Keralis, arms crossed over the table.

"It represents our heart or soul, which blooms when someone we love forgives us. This is me forgiving him, because he hasn't done anything to me directly except forget to ask if I was ok with the few jokes he made." Answered Grian softly, fingers moving to trace the petals of the lotus flower in the bowl of water on the table.

"That's nice. Is he the only one who's forgiven? Or is there anyone else who also is?"

Grian continued to gently caress the pastel pink petals of the lotus as he answered Keralis, "Ren is also forgiven, he never made a lot of the jokes. Python and TFC are also forgiven, but I'm not as close to those two as I am with Re."

"Re?" Asked Bdubs with an eyebrow raised, smile playing at his lips.

"It's a little joke between me and Ren," smiled Grian, "He's Re and I'm Ri, I don't know why it stuck, but it did."

"Oh, that's so sweet!" Cooed Bdubs, the rave head grinning all the while, "So how are you telling the other four?"

The dirty blond stopped tracing the petals, his hand instead moving to tap on the polished wood of the spruce table, "I'll send letters to TFC and Python, with flowers included of course. And I'll invite Ren down here to talk."

"Sounds like a great idea!" Grinned Bdubs, "Now can you come help me pick out some new flowers for the castle? It's looking a bit too copper and white for me."

"Sure!" Chirped the dirty blond florist, "Just tell me what you feel you're looking for and I'll give you what you need!"

And like that everything went back to normal. Of course nothing was ever normal here, but the peace was back at least. And soon would many friendships also be back, or at least be on the mend.

#hermitship #hermitshipping #grian x bdubs x keralis #grian #keralis #bdubs #xisumavoid #black rose AU

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