#like seriously i don't know how anyone could watch the train scene and then be like 'oh yeah some gay sex would be enough to fix these guys
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“all the deaths could have been prevented if andrey and goncharov just had gay sex” well what if they had gay sex and then still did the killings. i think they deserve to have some killings as a treat
#like seriously i don't know how anyone could watch the train scene and then be like 'oh yeah some gay sex would be enough to fix these guys#OR THE BRIDGE SCENE?!?!?#come on now#goncharov#goncharov (1973)#martin scorsese#robert de niro#film#cinema#gonrey#my art#i'm really glad goncharov is getting popular on here so i have a chance to post some gonrey 🥲#unreality
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I finally got Four's spotlight fic done. To be honest, he's one of the harder characters for me to write given that I just don't know much about him (game wise) and that handling the Colors can sometimes be rather complex. Still, I did my best to portray our favorite littlest man of the Chain. I hope you all enjoy!
TW: Yandere themes, Neglect, Mental Breakdown (Four), Talk of/ descriptions of blood and gore, Use of brightly colored text, All is Not Okay in Fourville
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It was secret to none that Four was picky and rather strict when it came to handling weapons and armor. While the usual victim of his scolding was Wild and his reckless use of his equipment, he wasn’t afraid to chew out anyone else. Plus, he wanted to make sure for himself that the tools and weapons at the group’s disposal were in tip-top shape. Besides, daily maintenance was something he could do blindfolded.
So, when Time came over to poke around at what he had in his bags, Four was instinctually on edge. He knew well that Time wouldn’t abuse the weapons he had stored away, but he knew the purpose for his perusal.
“Do you have anything blunt? Like a mace or hammer? Warhammer, even? Anything that’s a spare will do, honestly…” Time finally questions as he looks the little smithy in the eye. Four lifts the sword he had been sharpening off of the grindstone before him and puts it to the side to show Time that he’s listening and thinking. After tapping on his chin for a bit, Four slowly nods.
“I have a mace and a warhammer. Both need some fixing up, though. So our… newest arrival will have to wait a few days before they can be armed,” Four answers. His eyes flicker over to the other side of the camp where you, along with a few others, were “training”. Wars and Sky were trying to take it more seriously; one was beside you to help adjust your… everything, really, and the other was your sparring partner. The rest that were huddled around were smiling and laughing at just how clunky you were with a sword in hand. It seemed like you were out to prove that people could have two left hands rather than feet.
“Whatever you can get will work. They may not have finesse, but they do have an arm. I suppose they’ll just have to loot weapons from monsters for the moment. Or see if they can get Wild to fess up any bokoblin clubs,” Time tutted while also watching the scene. Four nodded and hummed in agreement before swifty going back to what he had been doing. Time left to go supervise the rest to make sure no one was getting too rowdy and Four was now left by himself. Well, selves.
“I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them! And with how big they are, I couldn’t do it far!”
“I can’t really tell what to make of them. Everything they’ve told us about who and what they are seems genuine…”
“Let’s not put much faith in them at the moment. They’re no Hero of Courage, they barely know how to protect themselves, and their whole presence here is accidental. They’ll undoubtedly either split from the group, find their own way back home, or die.”
“Do we have to be so harsh on them? Even in the face of our judgements, they’ve still been kind and understanding!”
Safe to say that Four was, and would easily remain, uncertain of your presence. Experience told him that the nicest faces and friendliest smiles could still put a knife in your back. A part of him- a very small part, he had to emphasize, wanted to believe that you were truly genuine. Whether or not you were or were just putting on a convincing act, Four was ready to respond how he deemed just.
“Hey! Uh, Four, right? Time said that you may have some weapons for me to use?” You spoke up as you approached the little smithy. He was perplexed as to why Time had sent you over when Four had just told him the weapons wouldn’t be ready at the moment. Given how the oldest member was currently talking with the rest of the group about something he couldn’t make out, Four surmised that it was his turn to watch you.
“Give me a moment to get them. They aren’t in the best shape right now, but you can at least give them a few test swings,” Four finally responded. He got up to go dig through his supply of spare weapons to find the aforementioned mace and warhammer. They weren’t hard to find as their state was an absolute eye sore. The metal heads of the weapons were rusted over and the leather strapping on the mace’s handle was coming undone. There were some noticeable splinters along the wooden body of the warhammer- to the point he may have to ask Sky in helping him create a new one. Their sorry states were enough to embarrass Four. Spare weapons or not, this was unacceptable!
“Oh, uhm… I can come back for them later. I don’t want to break them,” You mutter and give Four a sheepish smile. It only makes the deepening blush of embarrassment on his face worse.
“You can give them a few swings, at least,” Four allows although he knows well it’s not a good idea. It’s clear that you know it too due to your hesitance, but you don’t let it stop you from picking up the warhammer first. Due to its splintering body, its impossible to wield it properly without gloves to protect your hands. As such, you only get a few swings out of it before it slips from your grip and lands on the ground with a thud.
“Okay, uhm… sorry…” You mumble before picking up the mace to try instead. Whereas it may have been a sizeable mace in the hands of a Hylian, it seemed far more normal sized in your hands. Based on your nearly white knuckles as you gripped the mace, you didn’t plan on letting it slip from your grip this time. Four still made sure to give you your room.
As you swung around the mace, it was clear to Four that Time hadn’t lied about your arm. Even if you said you had lived a rather quiet and mundane life beforehand, it was obvious your human genetics were on your side. With enough training, Four could see you trading blows between a Gerudo or a Goron.
With a cry, pop, and then another thunk, the head of the mace was on the ground. The spiked ball of metal had luckily landed far from anything delicate. Before Four could say or do anything, you nearly thrusted the mace’s handle into his hands before taking off. In your eyes, you had just broken two weapons in the span of a minute and most likely thought that Four was angry with you- livid, even. Four was upset, yes, but far more at himself for his neglect than anything else.
Thus, Four began to get both weapons back into tip-top shape over the course of the next few days. Despite their sorry state, it wasn’t like he was having to forge a new weapon. The metal just needed some polish and refining, the wooden rods of the body needed to either be resanded or replaced, and the leather wrapping of the handles needed to be redone. With skilled hands, and some help, the mace and warhammer were nearly as good as new before the week was over with.
When you had been given the weapons, you didn’t act how Four expected you to. Typically, when someone was given a new weapon, it had about the same effect as getting a new tool. That’s really what weapons were- tools.
But you acted like a child finally getting the toy they’ve been wanting for ages. You smiled and laughed as you swung around the fresh steel like it weighed nothing. Your joy was infectious as a few others helped set up makeshift targets for you to smash or even tried their hand at sparring with you now armed with a weapon you could handle. It was a refreshing sight to see- to know he had made someone so happy.
It was that night, Four believed, that everything changed for him.
He didn’t notice it at first. He had begun to have your two weapons fixed up first before anything else. He had excused it as being efficient as you had nothing else in your arsenal besides the two weapons. Plus, they regularly received a heavy beating and Four needed to make sure that they weren’t about to break in the middle of battle.
As you began to handle battle and training better and better, Four began to think more and more about getting you a better mace. It was your preferred choice of weapon as having a free hand in battle was useful. Rather than a replacement, maybe he could get you a different style of mace instead? Maybe see how you’d handle a ball and chain?
It was when Four got a good look at your hands one night did his plans change.
You sought him out to pick up your weapons and then be on your way. Illuminated by candlelight did Four see how quickly your skin had calloused and scarred. They were the hands of a fighter, sure, but they’d quickly grow pained and stiff if they weren’t taken care of. Something Warriors and Hyrule were likely already chiding you for, but Four knew of something that could help out. Something that only he could provide as far as he was concerned. Not like he’d let you be serviced by any other blacksmith or get near that sleazy merchant friend of Legend for equipment.
Thus, Four began to work on a fresh set of armor. It had originally started out as nothing more than brainstorming up a pair of gauntlets, but it’d be wrong not to have the whole set.
While most of the boys preferred leather armor with a layer of chainmail beneath it, Four felt like something more robust was in order. You were big and strong without a doubt, yes. While you easily outclassed any typical Hylian in that regard, you weren’t as nimble on your feet as it took time for you to accelerate into a full sprint or scale a ledge. Leather or chainmail didn’t fit you in the eyes of Four’s mind, but full plate certainly did. Why worry about having to dodge if the enemy couldn’t even get past your armor, after all.
He knew it would be a momentous task to fulfill given that he didn’t have access to a ready forge every day. Still, Four was determined. “If there’s a will, there’s a way” the saying goes. And oh does Four find himself willing when it comes to you.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking when it was finally time to start the measurements. For days and nights on end did he brainstorm your armor. From its design to how it’d be forged, it all had to be perfect. He was too young and too early on in his craft to already be creating a magnum opus but dammit he would just for you only ever for you.
Measuring the dimensions of your hands was the only easy part of this for Four. Even though hands were a complex shape to work with, that wasn’t exactly the part that had Four jittery. No, Four had to brace himself for touching you anywhere else. The arms were fine as well and the shoulders… sort of were. But… then he got to your neck and he really tried not to stare at the way your throat bobbed up and down as you swallowed or how his eyes followed the tiniest drop of sweat as it ran down your skin and along the line of your collar bone. The skin was mostly untouched and unblemished so what would it look like if it was littered with kisses and love bites and licks and-
Four shakes his head and you give him a raised brow but say nothing. He moves past your neck and his hands are quick as lighting to get your chest done and over with. Then it was time to deal with your abdomen and he couldn’t help but let his hands linger there for a bit. It’d be a crime not to, really- you’ve done well to hone in your build and the effort shows. The lines of the abs are gentle and subtle thanks to the soft plush of fat Wild is keen on you keeping. Four can recall many nights where he used the expanse of your midsection as a pillow. When you were dead asleep and he couldn’t get a wink, kneading the flesh beneath his hands was a welcome sleep aid. There were also night when he wondered how the flesh would twitch as hands ran down them or even jiggle like it did in his fantasies where he-
Four nearly has to slap a hand across his face to shut Vio up. He plays it off the best he can by carding a hand through his hair. He hunches over a little bit to get a better angle of your lower body since you were kind enough to sit down for him. He got the measuring tape ready and began to take in the size of you thighs and he really, really had to not focus on the fact that his hands were all over your thighs. He can’t blame anyone but himself for this torture as he told you he needed you to strip to your undergarments to get an accurate measurement. He’s just doing his job, nothing more! A-And if he happens to squeeze your thigh here and there its not like he means to! And he really, really has to not think about what the sheer strength they contained would do to, say, a hydromelon or a pumpkin or maybe… someone’s head. Or… or how they would clamp down on his head like a vice if he were to-
“Uh, Four? You okay bud?” You call out. Four startles and looks up at you with wide eyes. Your expression has gone from perplexed to concerned and you were even reaching your hand out to the little man to ground him. Four gulps and winces at how dry his throat was but he didn’t feel like going off to get a drink of water not like he needed to when one was right in front of him.
“F-Fine. I’m… I’m fine,” Four lies through his teeth. It was the most obvious lie he feels like he’s ever told, but you don’t press him on it. You let him continue on and he is fine. He’s fine finishing up the measurements on your thighs and he’s fine with finishing up your calves. And he is fine when he get to your feet. He is perfectly fine- the epitome of fine-ness. So what if your feet are too? It’s not like he’s some weirdo, you just have nice feet! But not like that, you- you crazy! They’re strong and have carried you well in life! Did he mention that they’re strong- like, really strong? Strong enough that he’s watched them, even clad in nothing more than leather boots, stomp in the head of a bokoblin. O-Or that one time that you managed to subdue a group of bandits with a few of his sword brothers and forced their leader to kneel by planting the heel of your foot between their shoulders. Goddesses, he has to admit that that was one of the hottest things he’s ever witness- especially with how you berated the pigs like dirt beneath your boot, which they were. He can’t recall a time in his life where he’s been so simultaneously surprised, spooked, and horn-
“And done! Y-You’re free to go and get dressed and I’ll go do what I need to do!” Four announced as he stood straight up like an arrow. The action startles you and raises your brows to your hairline, but Four is gone and out of sight before you can even open your mouth. Rather than thinking about the smith’s strange actions, it’d be easier on the mind to just go about your business as planned.
The days pass by but with a distinct lack of Four. Not that he was missing from the group, but it was clear he had chose to distance himself. It was worrisome at first but when he threatened to cave in Wild’s skull should he try to tear him away from his work again, it was decided that he sooner needed his space more than anything.
Crafting your armor was something that quickly consumed Four’s mind. He had to get it done as soon as possible but he couldn’t let it be a botch job. If it was a botch job, you wouldn’t like it. If it was a botch job, it could sooner harm you more than help. If it was a botch job, then Four might as well be handing the others a golden opportunity to woo you.
Yet his absence also meant that they had more time with you than he did. It ate him up inside to see others always next to you or doing something he could easily do for you. Were it not for Vio and Green’s combined patience, then he’s sure he would have gone ballistic by day three.
Slow and steady wins the race. When the armor would finally be finished, he’d be there for every buckle you fastened and every strap you adjusted. He’d be there for the first steps you took while covered in steel and for every battle from then forward. No matter how many scratches or dings the armor may get in it, it’d be top priority above anything else to get it fixed back up.
His brothers could tire themselves out and make his life a lot easier when it was time for him to shine. He would sit by and let the lot of them buzz around you like fruit flies to honey. If he presented himself as lesser competition, then they’d sooner focus on one-upping each other even more. He could observe their tactics and strategies at a distance while he kept his cards to himself. And when it would be time for him to strike, he’d tear through the competition like it was nothing.
He didn’t mind, let alone care, about how he had to get resources. If he had to buy his metals from merchants and haggle about the price for an hour, so be it. If he had to venture out into the wilderness to source his own ore or hide, he’d do it. Even if he had to steal or pull what he needed from the bodies of his slain enemies, he didn’t care. If it all resulted in him getting your armor finished and receiving your love and praise sooner, he’d do it all.
Despite now constantly working himself to the bone, he still needed breaks- and to treat himself whenever he made good progress for the day. Nowadays, you were rarely allowed to do night shifts in guarding the camp. Four would watch you like a hawk as you slowly sunk deeper and deeper into sleep. When he was sure you were fast asleep and whoever was on shift wasn’t looking, he’d shrink himself down, down, down until he was the same size of a Minish. He’d scurry over to you and carefully scale your sleeping body until he was sat on your chest. He’d put his ear to your sternum and listen to the steady and solid beat of your heart. And, if he was feeling a bit cheeky or had to hide or maybe just cold, he didn’t mind crawling beneath your shirt for the night.
The days led to weeks and then the weeks to nearly two months. Two months, Four had toiled away on this armor as if his life depended on it. It may not have, but his future and happily ever after did. Were it not for the endeavors of you and his brothers, he’d have worked himself to the pits of neglect and more. Still, it wasn’t a far off statement to say that he’d seen better days.
But that didn’t matter right now! Finally, finally, his work was finished. Every buckle and strap of the armor was secure and every plate was as polished as a mirror. It was practical and protective but it didn’t lack in any ornate fashion either. Truthfully, the set sooner looked like it had been forged by a royal blacksmith. Now, he just had to present it to you!
“Hmm? Ah, Four! There… you are? Four, bud, what’s in your hands- are you okay?” You questioned as the smithy stumbled walked over. His usually straight golden bob of hair was messy and tangled with soot. His face bore a shaky and unsteady smile like he was ready to either crash right then and there which he was or go mental that too. Your obvious concern over him was something Four may have relished earlier, but it wasn’t important in light of his accomplishment.
“Look! I… I got yyyyyyyyooooourrr armor finishhhed,” Four slurred. His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth and his arms were as steady as gelatin as he presented you the cuirass of your armor. You snatch the armor away from him and Four’s elation only lasts a moment when he sees just how upset you were. You… you didn’t like it?
“Four, buddy, look at you! By the goddesses- I knew you were overexerting yourself for the past few days but I didn’t think it was like this! Y-You’re filthy! Gods, when was the last time you ate something more than fruit or nuts?!” You fretted as you began to check over Four. Your worries were but static in his ears as Four focused on the now discarded cuirass. It laid on the ground like trash. Was that what you thought of his work? Trash? Was that what you thought of him?
“You… don’t… like… it?” Four whispers out as his eyes remain laser focused on the armor piece. The ever twisting and bright colors of his eyes were dull and stagnant. You groan- growl, even- and pinch the bridge of your nose.
“The armor is cool and all Four, but I could care less about it right now. Look at you- look at the state you’re in! I need to get you to help fast,” You whine. Your tone was dismissive and your words were so choppy when referring to the armor. Golden Three, you… you really didn’t like the armor. You must hate it! You must hate him!
“Why… what… am I doing wrong?” Four sobs out as he falls to his knees. He crumbles like a wet paper towel and is little more than a sobbing, snotty mess on the ground in seconds. “What am I doing wrong?!”
“Whoa-kay there, Four. L-Let’s calm down, okay? You’re not feeling well right now and it’s making you feel sick and bad about yourself,” You hush and reach out to soothe him. He grabs your hands with a bone-crushing grip you think not even Twilight was capable of as Four looked up at you. It was a look you’ve never seen before- and a look you’d never want to see again. It was pained, crazed, violent, and insane. His eyes threatened to bulge from his head as his lips formed a dangerous smile- like a snarling animal.
“Tell me- TELL ME! WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!” Four demands. It’s scary to see him so out of control. You expected to see his eyes alight with blue but every color in them was perfectly proportioned. This cry for an answer was from all of him.
“Four, that’s enough! You’re starting to scare me,” You admit as you try to break free from him without hurting him.
“Scared? You, scared? You’re not the one scared, I am! I put blood, sweat, and tears into your armor and you throw it to the ground! Two months of painstaking work- work that bled into every ounce of my time is just… chucked aside!” Four yells and doesn’t let up.
“Four, please-”
“Is it not the style you wanted? Did you want it embellished with gold? Embedded with jewels?! Tell me, dammit, tell me!”
“Will you shut up about the armor?!” You finally scream back. Being gentle wasn’t working, so the only choice in the panic of the moment was to yell right back at him. “It’s not the armor I’m angry about, Four. It’s you.”
“Me…? I’m… I’m the problem?” Four mutters out as he seems to loose all the color in his skin. You grimace and realize the very poor choice of words that had just left your mouth.”
“Shit- Four, I don’t mean it like that. I’m angry with you, yes, but it’s not about you! It’s about your actions and-”
“I’m… the problem. I’m the problem. You hate… me. You hate me. You hate me!”
“No, Four, I don’t-”
“What do I need to change?!” Four howls as he throws himself at you. He latches on like some sort of stubborn parasite. He’s practically yelling in your ear as he hounds you for answers. “Well?! TELL ME! Do you not want to be seen with a blacksmith?! I-I can change careers! It’s not too late to learn something like carpentry or-or tailoring. Hell, I can learn those skills from Sky and Legend! Please, tell me what you want me to be! I’ll do it- I’ll do it all! I can prove that I’m better! I am better! Whatever it takes for you to love me and be with me, I will do it!”
“Four, are you even listening to yourself?!”
“I hear myself loud and clear, (Name)! Loud and clear! Maybe it’s all this time we’ve spent apart- yes, that’s it! I’ve barely been around you for two months while my brothers practically did everything they could to be by your side! You haven’t had time to know me, but I can fix that! I can make up for all of that lost time in so many ways! I can take you to where I grew up, I can take you to meet my grandfather- I can even have you properly meet the Minish! That sounds like a good first date, right?!”
“Fucking hell, what the fuck? I can’t do this-”
“Not into classical romance? That’s fine- perfectly okay, in fact! I’m nothing but charged nerves right now, so why don’t we go off and just kill some things?! Monsters or bandits, it doesn’t matter! Watching them fall to our blades, cowering at the sight of our blood soaked figures- it’ll be great! Plus you look absolutely amazing when you’re caving someone’s skull in, have I ever told you that? Your focus, your intensity, and your strength? Goddesses, even I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be turned into muck and mush by you!”
“TIME! TWILIGHT! WARS! FUCKING ANYBODY!-”
“NO! NO! You DO NOT call out to them! You just need me- you’ll only ever need me! I can do so many things that they can’t- I’ll prove it! I’ll spend every waking moment of the rest of my life to prove it, (Name)! I cannot be without you and I’ll prove that you cannot be without me! I love you, (Name). Heart, body, and soul- I love you. Just say it back, (Name). Say that you love me- say it! Tell me that you cannot live without me! Show to me that under all of your walls and layers that you are just as depraved as me and everyone else! Say it! SAY IT!”
THUNK!
Four’s body sags down before flopping over onto his side. In his fleeting vision, he can see your eyes ablaze with nothing short of raw terror. Tears he hadn’t noticed before streamed down your cheeks as your body shook like a leaf in the wind. Four barely caught the sight of large arms reaching for you before he finally blacked out.
~~~
When Four came to, he half expected to either be a specter floating above his corpse or waking up in his bed to find that everything had just been a dream. What he didn’t expect, though, was to find himself being slowly cascaded in water. In fact, most of his body was submerged in bubbly water that was pleasantly warm. Fatigue still hung heavy in Four’s bones and the relaxing water to the pleasant smell of sage and lavender in the air made it tempting to fall back asleep.
“Don’t you even think about falling asleep on me, mister. Not after what you did,” a voice croaks out from beside him. It takes Four a moment to register that it’s you and gosh do you look like you’ve been through Hell. No offense, but it was one of the worser states the young man had seen you in.
Four’s head aches and throbs as the mother of all headaches grapples him. He whines- it’s all he feels he has the strength to do. You don’t bother to massage his temples as you’re still busy washing his body. He’d derive pleasure from the action were it not for the terrible headache and the looming sense of unease in the room.
It was clear to Four that he had done something. He vaguely remembered confronting you about… something. The most vivid part of the memory was the agony and fear etched into your face before the blurry memory ended. Regardless of what happened, he knew he was going to get chewed a new one by every one of his brothers when they got the chance.
“I’m.. not mad about the armor. It’s a beautiful set, really,” you mutter and Four’s gaze flickers over to you in surprise. The armor? What about the armor? Oh, that’s right! He finished it! He must have given it to you then but it sounds like something went wrong.
“Then… what are… you mad at?” Four whispered out. Gods, his throat hurt like hell too! Did you and him get into some sort of argument? Maybe? He couldn’t recall but it felt more complex than that. Anger wasn’t the only emotion that seemed to be brewing within you. Disappointment? Concern, as well? Maybe even sadness?
“I’m mad at how you’ve been treating yourself, Link. You had basically become slave to your craft while you forged that armor! It was scary, Link- really scary. I’ve… I’ver never seen you go ballistic like that- I didn’t know you were even capable of it! Once I know you’re cleaned up and rested up, I’m having Hyrule and Wars check you out. And don’t think I’m gonna let you be unsupervised any time soon! Even if I have to be the one with you 24/7, I’ll do it!” You hiss. Your eyes light up with more than just anger or disappointment- dedication and a sense of duty are evident within you. It’s a beautiful look, if Four could be so bold. Not only that, but you’re referring to him by name! Progress!
“Oh… okay. I’m… sorry… for what I… did…” Four apologizes.
“No, it’s… don’t worry about it, okay? Your lack of sleep and food had clearly pushed you off the deep end. You just ended up snapping and I know that the neglect you’ve been through just made it worse. Not to mention what it must have been like with the addition of the Colors,” You sigh. Despite your dismissal, things were not okay. Four had said and done things that had upset you and certainly hurt you in come capacity. He wanted to apologize again but you had dropped the topic and clearly wished to no longer discuss it.
The bath continued on in silence as Four soaked in the moment. Even with the pain and exhaustion hounding his body from overworking himself, it felt worth it in the moment. You were so attentive and tender as you helped him. Even after he was out of the tub, you assisted in drying him off and basically swaddling him like a babe in towels. You even pulled out fancy creams or pastes Four hadn’t seen before. Beauty products, he had to guess, that were most likely given to you by Wars. Four let himself be pampered as its what he deserved. This moment, along with likely future pampering, was his reward for what he went through. Although he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Four was curious as to how far he could stretch this pampering and affection. Hyrule and Wars would undoubtedly tell him to rest for some time which could then easily be turned into time with you.
“Hmm… (Name)?” Four piped up as you searched through Four’s belongings to find him any clean clothes to wear.
“Yeah?” You respond and look up at the man. No matter how quietly he said anything or did anything, you’d perk up at full attention towards him. It made him feel special- to so easily have your attention.
“Can… I sleep with you for awhile? Until I’m better?” Four asks as he tries to make his tone as innocent as possible. Excitement was gnawing at his bones and trying to push through his exhaustion. He couldn’t let it show- not yet. He’s finally secured his way into your arms and he can’t blow it.
“Uhm… sure, I don’t see why not. If it’ll help you sleep easier,” You agree and Four is only a little miffed by the statement. It sooner sounds like you’re fulfilling his request just to make him feel better- not to spend more time with him. Oh well- at the very least, it’s a starting point. All relationships start somewhere, right? Even if there was a… bump in the road earlier (of which he still finds himself still incapable of fully remembering- Twilight had to have hit him hard).
He’s finally- finally by your side.
He’ll do every task you give him to a T- you deserve nothing less.
He’ll rip out the hearts of your enemies and put them on a silver platter for you.
He’ll show you what it means to be loved by him- every inch of his being, physical or intangible, belongs to you.
He’ll do anything it takes to be by your side for the rest of his life and after. Even if it’s something as simple as putting a ring on your finger or finding out if it’s possible to go from being Four to Five. Don’t think he’s above anything anymore. Everything he does now, big or small, is going to be for you.
And the only thing he’ll never do, no matter how kindly you ask or how desperately plead, is leave.
#yandere linked universe#yandere linked universe x reader#yandere lu#yandere lu x reader#yandere lu four#yandere lu four x reader
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Hey there Alex! So, I've loved your content for a bit of a while now and your explanations/insight really gives a lot of clarity to people who either might not understand certain points about Good Omens, need a reality check, or may have missed something. You've also really helped me stop being so shy about my love and defense for Crowley in response to Azi apologists weaponizing his trauma as excuses for the way he treats him.
Anyways! I don't know if you've talked about it before, I think you mentioned it briefly in passing but could you possibly go more in depth about the scene in s2 between them about the Bentley situation. The first time I watched the scene, I remember thinking it was so adorable how Crowley trusted Aziraphale enough with his car and how Azi changed the color of it. However, there was always.... something! Idk that struck me the wrong way and you realize upon watching it again that it wasn't as straight forward at at. I'd like your opinion, since I feel it really plays into that constant dynamic of Crowley being uncomfortable for Aziraphale's sake once again.
Do you think he was actually okay with it in the end?
Why did Azi choose this rather than by train?
Does the Bentley truly like the Angel?
If Crowley is connected to the Bentley, how come he doesn't seem to realize when Shax was in it with Aziraphale?
Thank you, that's really nice to hear! I'm glad that my posts have been helpful in a number of ways 💚
Now, I have THOUGHTS on the Bentley scene, excellent questions!
It is another one of those moments that seems sweet on the surface but is actually deeply uncomfortable to watch once you look past that. Let's start with the easy ones and then work our way through the scene in chronological order.
Why did Azi choose this rather than by train?
Aziraphale is basically roleplaying at this point. His weird obsession with his "Clue" has turned into a performance similar to his horrible magic acts; his facial expressions and body language change and become more theatrical when he talks to Crowley about it. At this point, he has probably already decided that he will pretend to be a journalist for no other reason than fun. Driving a car instead of going by train is presumably a part of that, it's an elaborate fantasy he's trying to live out—similar to the ball later on.
We have to keep in mind that while Crowley is aware of the gravity of the situation, Aziraphale is actively choosing to ignore it. Going to Edinburgh for fun is a horrible idea considering the danger they're in, but Aziraphale does not care.
Does the Bentley truly like the Angel?
I think the Bentley likes him exactly as much as Crowley likes him, simple answer but tbh that's really it.
Do you think he was actually okay with it in the end?
Now, the one million pound question: Did Crowley willingly give him the Bentley or did Aziraphale coerce him into doing so? Before we answer this one, there are some more things to consider.
Firstly, the circumstances.
With Shax in his flat and Jimbriel in the bookshop, Crowley has exactly one safe place left: the Bentley. It is HIS, it is mobile, it does not belong to anyone else, and he has a connection to it, meaning that he protects the Bentley but the Bentley also protects him.
We saw Crowley's intense reaction to Gabriel's presence, and it's not 'funny' or 'dramatic', it is Crowley being deeply traumatized by heaven, his fall, and the trial, and there's a very high chance Gabriel was involved in his fall, too. What Aziraphale is essentially demanding of him the entire season is that he locks himself in close quarters with his abuser, who can literally kill him on the spot.
Crowley is fucking terrified, he cannot sleep, he is hypervigilant and even more paranoid than usual, his mood swings get worse, he is a mess—and Aziraphale does not take any of his concerns, emotions, or needs seriously.
Secondly, past experiences and boundaries.
Whenever Aziraphale needs a lift, Crowley is happy to provide one, he enjoys driving him around. Emphasis on him being the driver. Aziraphale has not once driven the Bentley, and it is safe to assume that Crowley has never once OFFERED that he could drive it. That alone should be enough for Aziraphale to not ask that question in the first place, but it isn't.
It also means that Crowley does not expect the question and—when probably at some point asking himself the question whether he'd be okay with Aziraphale driving it—decided he does not want anyone but himself in the driver's seat.
So how does Crowley react when Aziraphale demands the keys to the Bentley?
Oh right, yeah, let's actually talk about that first. He does not ask.
Aziraphale does not ask. I cannot overstate how important it is that he does not ask Crowley if he can drive the Bentley. This is how their conversation goes:
There is no question. "I will take the car" is Aziraphale informing Crowley of a decision he has already made without consulting him—wow, I wonder when that will become relevant again?
final fifteen *cough*
Before he asked, Crowley was rather relaxed (or as relaxed as he can possibly be in his situation), but that changes immediately.
First picture is when he asks Aziraphale about what time his train is, the other two are when he says 'what car'.
His back straightens, his shoulders tighten and freeze, he snaps his jaw shut and grinds his teeth, chin up, mouth lips pressed together—I interpret this as initial panic plus a spark of anger over "our car".
Crowley denies Aziraphale ownership of the Bentley, saying that no, there is no "our" car, this is MY car. It is clear, simple boundary, but Aziraphale went into this conversation having already decided that he will take the car, no matter what Crowley thinks about it.
While he might sound all cheery and excited, look at his body and the expression on his face. That smile is fake, it's bordering on angry, and it is sending a very clear message to Crowley: I want this car and you will give it to me. Once again, my way or the highway.
Bringing up the bookshop is him trying to "out-logic" Crowley, but it does not work because
a) Crowley very much does not consider the bookshop to be "theirs"
b) even if he had, the bookshop is no longer a safe place because of Jimbriel
c) Aziraphale KICKED HIM OUT of the bookshop in the first episode, establishing that Crowley is a guest and nothing more.
He then intentionally misinterprets Crowley saying that he "can't drive [his] Bentley" and mentions his license. Again, entirely irrelevant because that is not even remotely the problem.
Throughout their conversation, Crowley becomes more and more uncomfortable and panicked. This is not a squabble or banter, this is Crowley trying to protect the one thing he has left and Aziraphale not giving a fuck.
Now, the REAL banger here is that after pushing Crowley this far, he then suddenly dumps the rest of his "decision" on him: stay with a person that has severely harmed you, alone, without a way of escaping. This is where Crowley grows from panicked and angry to genuinely frightened.
He stops Aziraphale from touching it—rightfully so—and then reaches out himself to calm himself; it is right there, my car is right next to me, it's okay. Aziraphale ignored all of his attempts to set and enforce boundaries, ignored his panic and emotional state, ignored what Crowley was telling him, ignored everything Crowley told him BEFORE, and keeps pushing pushing pushing until the very end.
So to circle back to your question, no, Crowley is absolutely not fine with Aziraphale taking the car by the end; he fights him right up until the moment he begrudgingly gives him the keys.
It is a very good example of their current relationship dynamic, and personally it actually hurts to watch it happen. Anyone who has gone through trauma around privacy, safety, and personal effects knows how terrifying and traumatizing it is to have your boundaries repeatedly violated like that.
Aziraphale is being manipulative and coercing Crowley into doing what he wants; it's fucked up, and this doesn't even begin to deal with happens later.
If Crowley is connected to the Bentley, how come he doesn't seem to realize when Shax was in it with Aziraphale?
Maybe he did but did not really care because Shax has been in the Bentley before (just like Beez), maybe he is too distracted by Jimbriel and potentially being murdered in his sleep to pay much attention to Aziraphale on his way back.
Maybe he DID notice since he does ask Aziraphale if something happened, and then once again makes the mistake of trusting him when he denies it.
Without more information I can only speculate, but, personally, I think Shax being in the Bentley was not too big of a deal for Crowley even if he noticed it.
As always, if anyone has follow-up question, feel free to ask!
#alex answers asks#alex talks good omens#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable wives#ineffable spouses#ineffable divorce#the bentley#good omens meta#alex's unhinged meta corner#good omens thoughts
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tw cough, implied emeto, fever, character making themselves sicker
testing the waters of illness that isnt emeto-based
Novak tossed and turned in the hotel bed, a chorus of coughs punctuating the otherwise silent room. The winter sun struggled to pierce through the curtains, casting a subdued glow on the scene. The warmth of the hotel room did little to alleviate the chill that had settled in his bones.
His head pounded with each heartbeat, a persistent ache that only intensified whenever he moved. Novak groaned, realizing that the ‘minor cough’ he had a week ago had turned into a full chest cold.
The thought of staying in bed and letting his body recover crossed his mind, but it was swiftly dismissed. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders.
After the seizures got worse, after that game against his old team, Novak had stopped playing. But, he didn’t leave the Mavericks. He couldn’t leave them.
Instead, Coach Henderson offered him the position of defensive coach for the Mavericks, and even though Novak was still in training technically, the playoffs were no time for absenteeism. Even from him.
With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cold floor met his bare feet. Novak reached for a tissue to stifle another round of coughing, his chest rattling with each exhalation.
As Novak took a shower, pulling on his Maverick sideline gear as soon as he could, his mind raced with thoughts of the game plan, defensive strategies, and the unspoken fear of failure. The idea of being perceived as weak or unable to fulfill his coaching duties gnawed at him.
“You sound like shit,” Yuliya said over the phone, after he came back to his room with something to eat and some coffee, “I assume that’s why I was your first call and not your mom.”
Novak managed a weak chuckle, the raspy quality of his voice betraying the toll the chest cold had taken on him.
“Maybe I just wanted to talk to my beautiful girlfriend,” Novak said.
Yuliya scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure. Should I text your mom and ask her about…”
“No, please,” Novak whined softly "Marina would have a fit. She’d come to the stadium herself and kidnap me.”
“Based on how you sound, I’d help,” Yuliya commented.
“You’re so supportive,” Novak rolled his eyes.
“I love you,” Yuliya said, “I don’t want you to get sicker.”
“I’ll be fine,” Novak said, “How’s Elya?”
“She’s fine,” Yuliya says, “She knows, though. She’s six, not stupid.”
“I never said she was,” Novak said, clearing his throat.
“She wants to make you chicken soup when you come home,” Yuliya chuckled, “So that’s dinner tomorrow.”
“Well,” Novak said, “That doesn’t sound bad.”
There was a pause on the other end, filled only by Novak's labored breathing.
"Novak, seriously, are you sure about this?" Yuliya's concern was evident in her tone.
"I can't let the team down, Yules. It's the playoffs," Novak replied, taking a cautious sip of coffee. The warmth did little to soothe his raw throat, and the taste made his stomach turn from all the coughing.
"You won't be helping anyone if you collapse on the sideline," Yuliya argued.
Novak sighed, his shoulders slumping for a moment, "I can't back out now. The team needs me."
As he spoke, another fit of coughing seized him, leaving him breathless and slightly nauseous. Novak resisted the urge to let it show in his voice, not wanting to add to Yuliya's worry.
"Novak, please take care of yourself. I can hear how hard you're pushing yourself," Yuliya pleaded.
"I'll be fine. I promise," Novak assured her, despite the uncertainty that lingered in his own mind.
Yuliya sighed on the other end. "Alright, just... be careful, okay? I'll be watching the game and hoping you don't make yourself sicker."
Novak's heart warmed at her concern. "I appreciate it, Yuli. I'll do my best."
After the call, Novak took a deep breath, suppressing another bout of coughing. The determination to fulfill his coaching duties battled with the increasing fatigue and sickness within him.
As he pulled on his thick coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck, Novak's mind raced with thoughts of the game plan, defensive strategies, and the unspoken fear of failure. The idea of being perceived as weak or unable to fulfill his coaching duties gnawed at him.
-
Novak stood on the sidelines, the winter chill cutting through him as he tried to focus on the unfolding game. The cough that had been lingering seemed to intensify with each passing minute. Novak was determined to see the team through the first half.
As the action on the field unfolded, Novak found himself frequently reaching for a tissue or using his scarf to muffle his coughs. The players noticed, exchanging worried glances, but Novak waved off their concerns, unwilling to be a distraction.
The crisp air exacerbated his symptoms, and the chill seemed to seep into his bones, leaving him shivering between coughing fits.
Landon, the quarterback turned coach, approached him during a break in the game. "Novak, you look like you've been through hell. You sure you should be out here?"
"I'm fine, Landon," Novak replied, his voice strained. "Just a cold, nothing to worry about."
Landon eyed him skeptically but didn't press further, returning to the field with a lingering glance. The first half pressed on, and Novak's attempts to focus on the game were repeatedly interrupted by his coughing fits.
At halftime, the team huddled in the locker room, their breath visible in the cold air. Novak, still wrapped in his Maverick gear, tried to project an image of strength.
However, the fatigue and sickness were catching up to him, evident in the lines etched on his face and the weariness in his eyes.
The halftime break offered a temporary respite from the biting cold, but it couldn't alleviate the relentless cough that wracked Novak's body.
He retreated to a quiet corner of the locker room, the echoes of his own coughs reverberating off the walls. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth from the forceful hacking, and he pressed the edge of his scarf to his lips, dismay etched on his face.
The weight of his own vulnerability gnawed at Novak's resolve. He wanted to be a pillar of strength for the team, but the persistent coughing fit betrayed his weakened state.
Sweat beads formed on his forehead, a combination of fever and exertion, as he struggled to catch his breath between coughs.
In a moment of cruel irony, the strain on his chest triggered an unexpected wave of nausea. Novak's stomach rebelled against the repeated assaults, and he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach into a nearby trash bin.
The bitter taste of bile and the acrid smell filled the small space, and Novak's shoulders slumped with exhaustion and a tinge of shame.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.
"This can't be happening," he muttered to himself, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice.
Novak had spent five years proving his resilience on the field, and the realization that a simple cold threatened to sideline him stung deeply.
As the halftime clock ticked away, Novak gathered what remained of his strength. He couldn't allow his personal battle to overshadow the team's pursuit of victory.
With a weary sigh, he straightened up and pulled himself together. The second half awaited, and Novak, despite the physical toll, prepared to return to the sideline, would not let his coaching status be brought into question.
The second half unfolded with Novak on the sidelines, the toll of his illness becoming increasingly evident. The biting cold seemed to exacerbate his symptoms, and his persistent coughing drew concerned glances from players, coaching staff, and even some of the fans.
As the game progressed, Novak's movements became slower, his reactions less sharp. The once vibrant energy that characterized his coaching demeanor waned. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, the fatigue and sickness etched across his face told a different story.
During a timeout, one of the assistant coaches approached Novak with genuine concern. "You sure you're okay, Daskalov?"
Novak mustered a weak smile, the effort to reassure both himself and his colleague evident. "Yeah, just a little under the weather. I'll tough it out."
The game continued. Novak continued doing what he did best. A particularly severe coughing fit drew the attention of the head coach, who shot Novak a worried glance.
The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. Novak, his shoulders slumped and forehead damp with fevered sweat, forced himself through the customary handshakes and nods of acknowledgment.
The victory was bittersweet, his contribution marred by the specter of his own deteriorating health.
As the players celebrated on the field, Novak made his way to the locker room. His movements were sluggish, and every step felt like a monumental effort. The realization that he had pushed himself to the limit for the team lingered in the air.
Once inside the locker room, Novak wasted no time. He shed his coaching attire, replaced by a hoodie and worn-out jeans. The echoes of the cheers from the field seemed distant as he gathered his belongings.
The journey home felt like an eternity. Novak's chest tightened with each cough, and the chill of the winter night seemed to penetrate his bones.
Yuliya greeted Novak at the door, her expression a mix of concern and relief. "Gosh, you look horrible…"
Novak managed a weary smile, "Well, hopefully I look worse than I feel…”
He took off his jacket, his shoes, putting them up. Yuliya doesn’t give him a second more, she’s standing on the tips of her toes with her hand to his forehead.
"You're burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?" Yuliya asked.
Novak sighed, "A couple of days. It hit hard today. But hey, the team needed me, you know?"
Yuliya frowned, "The team needs a healthy coach, Novak. Come on, let's get you to bed."
As Novak began to follow her, more ready than ever to go to bed, a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He placed a hand over his stomach, struggling to keep the contents at bay. Yuliya, sensing his distress, rushed to his side.
"Novak, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.
He winced, "I've been coughing so much, it's making me sick to my stomach. Happened at halftime, too."
Yuliya's eyes widened in concern. "Why didn't you say anything? You should have come home."
"I didn't want to let them down," Novak admitted, his pride warring with his deteriorating condition, “I think I’ll be…”
Another coughing fit took over. But this time, Yuliya sees the way his eyes widen in fear. The same fear he gets when he’s going to…
“Okay,” Yuliya said, jumping into action and turning Novak around, pushing him to the bathroom as the defensive coach continued coughing harder and harder
As Yuliya guided Novak to the bathroom, the raspy coughs racked his body, each one more intense than the last. Novak clutched his chest, the struggle to catch his breath evident. Yuliya could feel the tension in his body, the fear lingering in his eyes.
"Easy, Novak. Just breathe," Yuliya urged, her hands steadying him as he leaned against the bathroom sink.
Novak took deep, labored breaths, but the coughing persisted. It felt like an unrelenting assault on his weakened body. Yuliya reached for a towel, wetting it with cold water and gently pressing it against Novak's forehead.
Novak coughed, hard, spitting water into the sink, and whatever else was in his lungs that shouldn’t be there he assumed.
"I'll be fine," Novak managed to say between coughs, though the strain was evident. He placed a hand on one of his sides, a sudden pain making itself known the harder he coughed.
Yuliya didn't buy it. "You're not fine, Novak. You're sick, and this needs to be taken seriously."
Another bout of coughing seized Novak, and as it subsided, he slumped against the bathroom counter.
His fatigue was obvious, and the struggle to breathe lingered in the air. He was gasping, slightly wheezing, and now his side was hurting, more than usual when it came to coughing.
Yuliya placed a comforting hand on his back. "You need rest, and probably a doctor. This isn't something to tough out."
Yuliya's concern deepened as Novak continued to struggle with each cough, and now, a sharp pain in his side accompanied the distress. Novak kept coughing, at one point spitting a little blood from coughing so hard. Realizing the severity of the situation, Yuliya picked up her phone and dialed Willow.
“I’m calling your high school sweetheart,” Yuliya teased.
“She’s a les… lesbian…” Novak said through the seemingly endless coughing.
Willow answered on the third ring.
“Nurse Atkinson, Saint Michael’s general hospital.” Willow said through the phone.
"Willow, it's Yuliya. Novak is really sick, and he's coughing a lot. Like I’m talking can’t breathe, spit up blood a lot. What should I do?"
Willow's calming voice came through the phone, "Is he having trouble breathing, too?"
"Yeah, he's really struggling," Yuliya replied, worry etching her voice.
"Okay, here's what you need to do. I'm at the hospital right now. Bring him in, and we'll take care of him. It's better to have a professional check him out, especially with that pain in his side.” Willow said “Plus, it'll keep things lowkey from the media if you bring him here."
Yuliya nodded, grateful for Willow's guidance. "Thank you, Willow. We'll head to the hospital right away."
As Yuliya hung up, she turned to 4Novak, who was still fighting for breath. "We're going to the hospital, Novak. Willow will take care of you." She helped him up.
-
Yuliya and Novak arrived at the hospital, where Willow met them with a teasing grin. "Novak, getting yourself into trouble again, I see."
Novak managed a weak smile, still catching his breath. "You know me, Willow. Always keeping things interesting."
Willow chuckled, leading them to a room. "Let's see what's going on. Novak, you might have some explaining to do.”
As Willow conducted tests and examinations, she kept the atmosphere light with playful banter. Novak, though feeling quite miserable, couldn't help but crack a smile amid his coughing fits.
“What kind of idiot coaches playoffs in single digit weather,” Willow questioned, light hearted, “Especially when they’ve had a cough for a week.”
“A week?” Yuliya asked, looking at Novak, “You mean to tell me you’ve been coughing like that for a week, and still went to practice and…”
“Willow is being dramatic,” Novak said, “I promise, it’s only been a few days.”
After running some tests, Willow shared the results, "Well, Novak, it seems you've got yourself a nice case of pneumonia, and those coughing fits have left you with a bruised rib. You sure can’t do anything easily..."
Novak sighed, half in relief and half in resignation. "Guess I can't avoid the occasional curveball, even in my own health."
Willow continued with her good-natured teasing, "You'll be fine, Novak. But you'll have to take it easy for a while. No more coaching in the freezing cold until you're fully recovered."
Yuliya looked at Novak with concern, her worry turning into a gentle smile as the camaraderie between Novak and Willow eased the tension in the room.
“I can’t do much. But I will give you a cough medicine, and I’ll also give you a good recommendation of some over the counter cough medicine if you don’t want something that strong, though the prescription will help better,” Willow said, “Also, I’m going to give you an inhaler, just so you don’t give Yuliya anymore heart attacks, sound good?”
Novak chuckled, "Yeah, an inhaler might be a good idea. If I’m going to send my girlfriend into cardiac arrest with my antics, I assure you, it won’t be because I have pneumonia."
“How about let’s not send me into cardiac arrest period,” Yulia said.
Willow laughed, “I wish I could tell you it gets easier. But my girlfriend is a police officer, and a stupid one at that.”
Yuliya, relieved to see some lightness returning to Novak's demeanor, smiled. “Well, we’ll take anything to keep him from pushing his luck, especially when he’s this sick."
Willow handed Novak a prescription and the inhaler, advising, "Make sure to follow the prescription, get plenty of rest, and take it easy. Yuliya, keep an eye on this troublemaker."
Novak winked at Yuliya, "Don't worry, I'll behave. Thanks, Willow."
As they prepared to leave the hospital, Yuliya couldn't help but feel grateful for Willow's care and good-natured teasing that lifted Novak's spirits even in sickness.
“You’re an idiot,” Yuliya said plainly.
Novak nodded, “Yeah. Well, I’m your idiot.”
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"edge of tonight" part twelve ~ the meeting
pairing: namjoon x reader (lots of platonic ot7 x reader)
rating: T 16+
genre: mafia au, angst
this part: Your meeting with Mr. Wang (at a cheap downtown cafe) doesn't go according to plan.
tw: mafia au!, angst, swearing, violence, guns, injury, implied death, there's a the guy who didn't like musicals reference and if you get it i will love you forever, overuse of the term 'Coffee Girl' i'm sorry i'm also annoyed with myself, i am horrible at writing action scenes pls be patient with this chapter, i also know next to nothing when it comes to medical procedures, seriously please just suspend your disbelief for this chapter, some of yall might not like jin by the end of this chapter and i'm sorry, not beta-ed (i need a new beta if anyone's interested)
word count: ~8.6k
track #15: Pick a Fight ~ Anna Akana: "Call me aggressive, contentious and so excessive, go ahead, teach me a lesson, baby, let me have it."
the edge of tonight masterlist
an: NO ONE TALK ABOUT HOW LATE THIS WAS OKAY I'M SO SORRY. really the last few hundred words of this chapter turned into a couple thousand and it was so frustrating bc i just wanted it to be DONE. but now it finally is so please enjoy and let me know what you think. thank you for being so patient!! and as always, the lovely moodboard at the bottom was made by the fantastic @mirahuyooo
The drive was quiet. And awkward. You sat in the backseat with Jungkook, but your gaze was locked on the passing scenery as your head rested against the cool window. The kitchen had been so lively, everyone chiming in and bickering. Part of you wanted to join in, but something kept stopping you.
You felt like you didn't belong anymore.
The way everyone talked, even with the addition of the other three, it was like nothing had changed. Like you were never gone. Like they just moved on without you and rebuilt their lives in a way that you weren't needed. Genius Labs, Just Dance, the hospital Jin would be going to later was probably the own Yoongi had told you he owned.
They didn't need you.
So you stayed silent, and watched the snow-covered trees slowly turn into snow-covered buildings, and tried not to think.
"I can't believe Jin-hyung didn't make us crêpes," Hobi mumbled from the passenger seat.
You could hear Yoongi's smirk. "Don't worry, Seok-ah, we'll get us some shitty croissants at a cheap downtown café."
"He said he would, though, if..." Hobi trailed off. You could feel his eyes on you and put together the end of his sentence easily. If you stayed.
"No he didn't," Jungkook said. You were grateful he took the attention off of you so quickly. "He said me and Taehyungie could have raspberries, he said nothing about making breakfast for everyone."
"It was implied!"
"It really wasn't, hyung."
Your lips turned up ever so slightly. It was nice, in a way, just listening to them. You missed this kind of light-hearted banter. No one was actually angry. No fights were going to break out. No arguments would be created. It was peaceful. It was easy to focus on them.
You didn't want to think about what you were going to do after your meeting with Mr. Wang. You didn't want to think about Jackson, blowing your phone up with call after call. You didn't want to think about Namjoon and... well, you never wanted to think about Namjoon. You thought about Namjoon too much.
You were thinking too much.
"Hey, Honey Bunches of Oats." Hobi's voice broke through your train of thought. You kept your head pressed against the window but turned to him, biting back a chuckle at the name. "You look like you're contemplating the meaning of life there, you okay?"
You smiled at him, but could tell he wasn't convinced. "I'm fine, don't worry." You looked back out the window. "I wasn't thinking about much of anything, really."
"I call bullshit," Yoongi said. "There's no way your head is empty." It wasn't, but you didn't want to talk about any of it either. You were tired of answering questions and explaining yourself. Just because you had most of their answers didn't mean you had all of them, nor that you wanted to share them. The car fell back into awkward silence as they realized you weren't going to speak again.
You needed a plan. That's what you forced yourself to think about. You had known Song wouldn't let you go so easily, but you had hoped that offering to return the obscene amount of money Namjoon and his gang were apparently worth would sway things in your favor. You were going to a new location, too, so you wouldn't have a lot of time to scope out an escape route if things went bad.
That was probably why Namjoon had sent these three with you. If it came down to it, you could survive Hobi's driving, Yoongi was probably a better shot than you were, and Jungkook looked like he could hold his own. It also explained why Namjoon didn't come with you himself.
The biggest thing was making sure it looked like you were alone. As much as Yoongi had offered, no one could sit in the meeting with you. It also meant you couldn't be seen getting out of their car.
"How much farther?" You asked as you sat up.
"About a kilometer and a half," Yoongi answered, "why?"
You undid the seat belt. "Drop me off here."
"Why??"
"Because they don't know I'm with anyone and I'd like to keep it that way, so either pull over and let me out, or I'm jumping." Yoongi started pulling over as Jungkook protested.
"But we promised RM-hyung—"
"You did, I didn't." RM must have been Namjoon, and that promise must have been to keep you safe. "I'm a big girl, Bunny Boy, I can take care of myself. Besides, we're in a populated enough area that Hobi should be able to hack into some camera system and you can stalk me that way."
Hobi rolled his eyes, but you could sense the concern rolling off of him in waves. Yoongi gave you the last few directions and told you they would be waiting down the block for you. "Don’t freeze your ass off."
"Busan gets colder." You opened the door and climbed out before they could protest more. You crossed the street with a quick glance to make sure you wouldn't get prematurely hit with a car, then made your way along the sidewalk.
Plan, you needed a plan, and you needed one fast. The biggest issue you had was you didn't know what game they would be playing: Seoul's, or Busan's. A meeting like this in Seoul would consist of an exchange of information and then you potentially getting sniped 24-48 hours later. A meeting like this in Busan would consist of an exchange of information and then you getting stabbed or shot before you even left your seat.
You looked all around you as you weaved through the light crowd on the sidewalk. Wang sent you to a public place, so chances of you getting directly attacked mid-meeting or right after were slim; but the tall buildings around you left far too many opportunities for a sniper open. There were a number of open alleyways that could be used for a quick escape, but the chances of getting cornered in them was also pretty high.
Would they attack you? Or would this be nothing more than breakfast and a send-off? Would they wait until you were back in Busan before joining the many who want your head?
Did you even want to go back to Busan?
...
Okay, nope, you weren't going to think about that right now. Right now was about survival—survive, then you could think about things like that.
If Busan made you good at one thing, it was surviving. If it made you good at two things, it was surviving and improvising. This was a situation where you couldn't plan ahead very far, you'd have to think on your feet in the moment. You couldn't think about it like a game of chess; that would get too complicated and you would get bogged down with details.
It was a game of rock-paper-scissors: either you'd get shot immediately, sometime later, or you wouldn't get shot at all.
Those outcomes were basic enough you could create rough drafts of a plan around. Not getting shot at was ideal, and required the least amount of work behind it, but not getting shot at was also the least likely of these outcomes. Getting shot sometime later had the most variables and was most likely, but later meant you could worry about it later.
Getting shot at immediately was the big problem, and unfortunately one you couldn't really address until you saw the environment you would be dealing with. Would there be lots of space to move around in or would things be cramped in tight? How many people, civilians, casualties could there be? And could you avoid them altogether?
You had stolen the gun beneath Yoongi's seat as you got out of the car, and the weapon was safely tucked into your waistband and hidden by your jacket. You weren't walking into this unarmed. But Seoul liked handling things quietly; the less chaos in the streets, the more the families and gangs could achieve. So for your benefit, and Bangtan's really, you couldn't shoot first.
You stopped in front of a decent-sized coffee shop on the corner. Windows lined the walls facing the street, and you could see a fair amount of customers inside, both standing in line and already seated with their drinks and laptops. Beanie's was printed on a sign hung above the door, with a doodled coffee cup next to it.
It was cute.
Why the fuck did Wang want to meet you here?
What trap were you about to walk into?
You looked around one last time, and from the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of a familiar black car pulled up against the curb just a block or two away. You didn't glance at it for long—you couldn't, in case you were already being watched—but knowing someone familiar was here gave you a small sense of calm.
They wouldn't let anything happen to you.
Well. They wouldn't let anything within their power happen to you. You had a lot more autonomy than you used to and you were more than capable of getting yourself into and out of trouble; after all, you weren't sixteen anymore.
You took a deep breath and pulled the door open, making a small bell jingle overhead. You were grateful for the rush of warm air against your skin. You looked around the shop but saw no sign of Wang or any of Song's men, at least not inside. You did arrive a bit early, so you could use this time to your advantage. You got in line to order as you made note of everything around you.
There were no booths, just tables and chairs, and those could be used for either offence or defense. Chances were the windows weren't bulletproof, if anything they might be tempered, so there were several easy albeit obvious possible exits. Hot coffee itself could be a weapon and you wondered if asking the barista to make it as hot as possible would tip anyone off.
"You know what?" The man ordering in front of you caught your attention as his voice rose. "I'm never coming back here again. That sign's bullshit!" You took a step to the side to avoid being run over by him as he stormed out.
"Oh my god, so mean," came the came a high-pitched mocking whine from the barista behind the counter, currently flipping the retreating figure off.
"Happy holidays, sir!" A different barista yelled over her coworker, her voice overly chipper the way only someone who worked in customer service and was constantly yelled at could be. "Ohhhhh-kay, Emma, why don't you go take a break in the back, alright?" You watched the man's retreating form for another moment, then stepped up to the counter.
You froze.
"I am so sorry about all that," the barista continued. She hadn't looked at you yet, still pushing buttons on the register, probably clearing out the last order. "Anyways, uh, hi, welcome to Beanie's, what can I—" She finally looked up at you and paused, then broke into a real smile. "Oh my god! Y/N, right? From the ball last night?"
Jin's date, who he had just introduced you to last night, was standing on the other side of the counter.
And suddenly you knew exactly why Wang wanted to meet you here, and you knew exactly what kind of trap you just walked into.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, not bothering to keep your tone light. "Does Jin know you're here?"
She giggled. Giggled. Like she didn't know her life was about to be in danger. "Of course he does! I work here, obviously, and he's gonna stop by for lunch before he heads to his shift at the hospital."
She didn't know her life was about to be in danger.
"Has Jin told you anything?" You watched as her smile fell and her cheery disposition turned confused.
"About what?" She asked in return. You looked her in the eyes for a moment longer. This wasn't clever avoidance, the I know what you're talking about but I can't make it obvious that I know what you're talking about type of look.
She. Didn't. Know. Anything.
Two. They were about to be two members down.
"I'm gonna fucking kill him," you muttered, getting yourself as close to the counter as you could without climbing over it, and leaned over so only she could hear you. "You need to get out of here. Now."
"Why?" She whispered back. At least she had the common sense to look scared.
"You're not safe, not anymore." You glanced over her shoulder. "Is there a way you can get out through the back?" She nodded hesitantly. "Go hide out, call Jin to come get you now, and if you start hearing gunshots you run."
Her eyes went wide at the mention of bullets possibly flying. "I—what?" The bell above the door rang.
You pulled away, back to what a normal customer-employee distance would be. "Yeah, can I get a large black coffee?" Your voice went back to normal, but your eyes kept boring into hers. It took a second too long for her to perk back up.
"Of course!" She smiled and tapped away at the register. "Is that for here or to-go?" She looked at you again, and while you hated the fear you could see badly hidden in her eyes, you knew that fear would help keep her alive.
"For here," you answered, and she visibly relaxed a bit. "I'm meeting someone in a few minutes." She nodded and tapped again.
"Anyone special?" She asked you, her tone almost teasing. At least she was a good actress.
"Afraid not, just business."
"Will that be all today?"
"For right now, yeah." You glanced at the total on the screen facing you and pulled a small stack of cash from your pocket, handing it to her.
"We'll have that ready for you in just a minute," she said as she sorted the money into the register.
"Anna."
She paused, once again confused. "I'm sorry?"
"The name for the order?" You offered. "Anna." Her brows pinched together for a moment, and she looked like she was about to ask about your fake name, but she carried on instead.
"Right, of course, I'm so sorry. We'll have that right out for you." She scurried away to begin making you the drink you weren't planning on drinking and another barista filled her spot to help the person in line behind you.
You took a seat at a table next to one of the windows and looked out at the half-busy street. On the outside, you were fine. Just chilling, waiting patiently for your coffee. On the inside you were screaming. How did you not connect these dots earlier?
Song's men were watching you all night. They saw everyone you interacted with. They made note of who they were and how they could be used; and when they couldn't find much, if anything, on Jin, they turned to his date.
This sweet, innocent girl, who worked at a cheap downtown café and was probably falling in love with one of your old best friends, and had no idea what she was getting herself into.
You were going to kill Jin. He fucking knew better.
And when you ran out, it was her they decided to try and use against you solely because she was a civilian, she was innocent. They were trying to appeal to your humanity while putting you in a Catch 22: do what we want and she won't get hurt. Fight back and she's dead.
You knew Song wouldn't let you leave easily, even if you returned all 8 billion won. They knew you knew something, and they were going to do anything to try and get it out of you, including dragging other people into your mess.
Your simple game of Survival Rock-Paper-Scissors had turned back into the game of chess you were trying to avoid.
You could keep yourself alive. There weren't many scenarios where you would actually wind up dead. Injured, sure, there were plenty of those, but not dead. But you were much less sure of your abilities to keep yourself and someone else alive, especially when that someone else didn't have nearly the same training or skillset as you did.
"Order for Anna!" You twisted in your seat, about to get up and go fetch your coffee, when a set of legs came into view in front of you, stopping your movement. You didn't look up. You didn't need to.
"Please, allow us to get that for you," he said as he sat down in the chair across from you. One of the guards, you assumed, who had come with him went to the front to collect your drink. You turned to face him.
You were out of time.
Mr. Wang was a stout man with more muscle than fat, and probably about the same age as your father, maybe a few years older. He was Song's Right Hand, and you often wondered why Song would send someone so high up the hierarchy just do deal with someone like you.
He smiled. "Good morning, Ms. Lee." It was always unnerving, the way he said your name. Like he knew it was fake.
"Good morning, Mr. Wang." You kept your voice polite, trying to mask your worry with boredom. "I believe you promised me breakfast?"
"And yet you've already paid for your coffee," he said as the steaming drink was placed on the table in front of you. The guard took a seat directly behind you. They were trying to keep the outside appearance of the meeting casual.
"You should've gotten here before me, then."
Wang chuckled. "For someone who didn't want to meet this morning, you certainly are excited."
"The sooner I got here, the sooner I could leave." You were already tired of the forced pleasantries. "Why are we here, Mr. Wang?"
"You know perfectly well why, Ms. Lee. You're a clever girl." A chill ran down your spine at the phrase. It wasn't the first time you'd heard it, but it always carried such a sinister tone. Your father's voice always echoed in your mind. "I'm positive you've already figured it out."
"I have, and it's funny how you think I care." You rested your head against your palm, leaning on your elbow.
That got Wang to pause, but only for a small moment. "I recall you telling me that you didn't deal with innocents."
"If she attended the ball last night, then she isn't all that innocent, is she?" She absolutely was, but the more you could get Wang to think otherwise, the more he would focus on you instead of her. Wang only hummed, and stared you down a moment longer before folding his hands on the table.
"The information, Ms. Lee." His voice was harder now, lower. The small talk was over. The waters had been tested. The pieces were in place.
The game had begun.
"And what information would you like? As I said on the phone, I have plenty, but not much of it requires your attention."
"And as I stated—"
"You'll be the judge of that, yes, yes, I remember." You rolled your eyes and looked back out the window. "Ask away."
Wang was silent. You people-watched as you waited for him to take his turn. There was a small advantage you had over him: he was probably playing seven mind games right now, and whatever happened here would effect most of them. You were only playing this game right now, so all your attention could stay focused here.
It was a very tense two minutes before he spoke again. "The information, Ms. Lee," he repeated.
You turned back to him and smiled ruefully. "And what information would you like?" You asked again. Normally, you could play this game all day, but it wasn't just your life at stake right now. "Specific questions get specific answers, Mr. Wang."
The man let out a sigh, as if he were indulging a young child. "The information on Bangtan, Ms. Lee. We had originally hired you to kill them, still none of them are dead. But surely in the past four months you've managed to do something of use."
Actually, no. You really haven't done anything. Had you not run into Jungkook your first night in Seoul, and had he not mentioned Namjoon's name, perhaps the past four months could have turned out differently.
But instead, in the past four months you've done next to nothing but have a panic attack nearly every day, get maybe two hours of sleep each night, and occasionally run into someone from your past. The only times you actually tried to do what you were hired for was the night you first met Park at the bar, and last night at the ball.
You have done nothing but bullshit your way through this job.
"I've learned a number of things," you told him, "does that count?" Wang only lifted an eyebrow at you, but it had no effect. He was far from intimidating, and you were far from impressed. You continued, "I've learned what the Southern Underground means when they say that the North is boring; I've learned that public transportation is much better here than it is in Busan; and I learned that I am pretty enough for Park Jimin to sleep with."
You have not slept with Park Jimin. You did not want to sleep with Park Jimin. A very large part of you still wanted to cut Park Jimin's dick off.
But if it was going to upset them to think that you did sleep with Park Jimin and that that was the reason he was still alive, then yeah, sure, you slept with Park Jimin. Best sex you've ever had, ate you out like a champ, his hips did not lie.
Wang stayed quiet, merely observing you. You didn't like the way he was looking at you. You expected him to be angry, sure, but there was an air of disappointment about him too. Like he had expected better from you and you had let him down. "So what you're telling me, Ms. Lee, is that we paid you an obscene amount of money—in full, in advance, in cash, just as you required—to kill several people, and you have spent the past four months whoring yourself out to them?"
The hand in your lap curled into a fist and you dug your nails into your palm. It was still sore from last night, but that helped. The pain was the only thing that kept you from reacting to his words.
You hated that word. You hated that word. There was a phantom stinging on your left side, right over your ribs, and your father's voice rang through your head again.
You wanted to be a whore that badly, Darling...
"Well maybe you shouldn't have lied to me." And this was where the bullshitting continued. Wang's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the accusation. He opened his mouth but you kept going. "I am a clever girl, Mr. Wang, and I did my research once I got the job. I'm not sure who is kidnapping women and children, but it's not Bangtan. They're far from saints, but they still have some decent morals."
Wang closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath in, slowly letting it out. You weren't sure if he was buying it or not, but you really hoped he was. "Enough." That single word set you on high alert. It could mean anything. This wasn't how the game usually went.
"Enough," he repeated, then looked over his shoulder at the man behind him. "Call my son, tell him the game is over." Wang stood, and you felt the one behind you stand with him. "Grab her, let's go." A hand grabbed your shoulder.
"Don't fucking touch me." You shoved the hand off and glared up at Wang. "I am not going anywhere."
"Let's not make a scene, Ms. L/N." You froze, eyes wide. "Please make this easy and come quietly."
L/N. They knew who you really were. How did they know? You had been going by Lee Anna for the last six years. This job was far more dangerous than you had ever thought.
You shoved the panic down, Jackson had taught you years ago that you can't panic in the middle of a job, not if you want to stay alive, box it up, shove it down, get the job done, you can break down once you get home.
I'll be there to help you when you do.
"If you didn't want me to make a scene, Mr. Wang, you would've chosen somewhere more private for us to meet." Like hell, would you ever go anywhere quietly. Besides, making a scene gave you several advantages.
Like chaos you could better escape in.
You grabbed your coffee and threw it at Wang, smirking in satisfaction at the cry he let out as the scalding liquid soaked into his suit. The man behind you grabbed your shoulder again, this time more firmly. Instead of pushing him off, you grabbed him by the wrist and stood, twisting his arm around as you moved. He cried out from the pain, his limb in an unnatural position. With your free hand, you pulled the gun from your waistband and shot.
Blood splattered as he dropped and screams erupted from the other customers and employees. You turned and shot the other guard, the one that had sat behind Wang, and though it wasn't a fatal shot the man was still down for the count. You ran to the front, people moving out of the way of the crazy girl with the gun (several of them on their phone probably calling the police), and vaulted yourself over the counter.
You crashed into the back kitchen, calling out for Jin's date. She had followed most of your instructions and gone into the back after making your drink. You saw her pacing in fear by the back door, her phone clutched in her hand. "I told you to run if you heard gunshots!"
"I didn't want to run alone!" Okay, you couldn't really blame her for that. "This leads into the alley out back." You grabbed her hand and shoved her out the door.
"Stay in front of me, run as fast as you can, and whatever you do, do not let go of my hand." Her grip on you turned harsh as she did what you said and the two of you took off running through the alley. "I've got a car waiting two blocks over, but we need to get to it through the alleyways."
"Why?" She was already panting, which didn't bode well for either of you.
"Because we'll be easier targets if we run out on the street. That's probably where the rest of them were waiting." Wang was probably expecting you to run, but he had probably planned for you to run out the front instead of the back. They were bound to follow you, but they'd be behind you, which gave you a better chance of protecting her.
"Who even are they??"
"People who want my head and were willing to use you to get it." She turned to look at you over her shoulder, and you were satisfied at the fear in her eyes. Fear would keep her alert, and hopefully, alive. "Turn left."
You could hear footsteps coming. If you were alone you could just take them on, get it done and over with and leave their bodies as a message: This is what happens when you mess with me. But you couldn't risk anything happening to her, not because of you.
The alley you were running down lead to the street with no other turnoffs you could use. It was still too early in your escape for the two of you to be back out in the open. You risked a glance over your shoulder, trying to see if it was clear enough to turn back, but you didn't get a good look at the man in the distance before Coffee Girl gasped and stuttered to a halt. Your gaze shot forward once more and fell on a dark silhouette holding a gun.
You raised yours to shoot, acting on more on instinct than rationality, when you heard a familiar voice yell out "Joystick!" You recognized the codeword instantly: drop. You wrapped your arm around Coffee Girl's shoulders and forced her and yourself to the ground. Her string of mumbled "oh my god oh my god oh my god" was cut off by a scream as another gunshot sounded followed by a thud.
"Photocopy," Yoongi called to you, signaling that it was clear to get back up. He jogged over to help both of you up, though it quickly turned into you and him trying to help Coffee Girl. "I'd hoped you'd know those."
"Spent a week in Daegu," you told him, looking behind you at the dead body now laying in the alley.
"And you survived?"
"Barely."
"Yoongi?" Coffee Girl asked quietly, her voice shaking. You turned your attention back to her; she wasn't doing okay, not that you expected her to be. "You're involved in this too?" Yoongi gave her his bracket smile in response, but it did little to comfort her.
"Where's the car?"
"Coming back around," Yoongi answered. "Once the gunshots started we needed to appear as though we were fleeing civilians. I jumped out to come find you and J-Hope took the wheel."
"J-Hope?"
"Hoseok."
Dread rushed through you. "Great, Hobi's driving."
"He really has gotten better."
"I call bullshit."
"What is going on?!" Coffee Girl yelled, catching your attention once more. You turned to face her fully and placed your hands on her shoulders, hoping to help ground her a bit.
"Hey," you said, your voice firm but gentle, "I know things are confusing and beyond scary right now, but you gotta keep it together for just a bit longer. We're going to keep you safe, and you're going to be okay, and soon you'll be back with Jin and you can ask him all sorts of questions. Okay?" She took a deep, albeit shaky breath, and nodded. You dropped one hand, then looked at Yoongi. "How much longer until Hobi pulls up?"
"A couple more minutes?" He sounded like he was guessing. "Traffic gets backed up when people start panicking—thanks for that, by the way."
"Remind me to apologize later." You let Coffee Girl go, both of you leaning against the brick. "How many people do we think are looking for us right now?"
Yoongi shrugged. "Can't be too many left, with how many we've alre—"
There was another gunshot, too close for comfort, and the brick next to your head burst in a small spray of rock. Coffee Girl screamed in your ear again, covering her head and dropping to the ground. You dropped with her, trying your best to cover her body with yours while Yoongi shot back. You heard the click of his weapon and a soft fuck.
"Trade me," you told him.
"Not a chance in hell," he protested, dropping into a crouch to trade out the magazine.
"Let me take care of this, Yoongi."
"No."
"Yoongi—"
"We aren't losing you again." That made you pause. In a way, you could understand what he was feeling. There was a big difference between then and now, though.
"I'm not sixteen anymore, Yoongi," you told him, "and beyond that, I've spent plenty of time surviving down south. I can take care of myself. She can't." He turned away, and you recognized the I don't like what you're telling me but I can't argue against it either look. "Get her out of here, and let me go."
He let out a deep breath. "Fine, but I expect you to be right behind us."
"Fine." You stood up to aim for the shooter, and to draw his attention, while Yoongi helped Coffee Girl up enough to get her on her feet so she could run. After a few seconds of not getting shot at, of not seeing anyone, and when you were sure the other two had a chance to get further away, you called out, "What, too scared to shoot?"
"Don't provoke them!" Yoongi hissed at you. You ignored him, taking careful steps backwards.
"Come on, don't be shy! I don't bite hard! And my aim isn't that great!"
"Y/N!"
You rolled your eyes, but turned to follow them, only speeding up when you heard thudding footsteps behind you. So they wouldn't shoot at you, but they'd chase you? That was definitely worth looking into later.
You were right behind Yoongi when you left the alley. The once kind-of-busy street had been essentially abandoned, the occasional car driving past replaced with several police cars; though surprisingly the roadway hadn't been blocked off from any potential oncoming traffic. Then a familiar black car shot past, and the three of you ran for it.
"Don't let her get away!"
Hobi skidded to a stop against the curb just ahead of you, Jungkook jumping out of the back before the car had fully stopped moving. He pulled the passenger door open then raced towards you. Yoongi pushed Coffee Girl forward, Jungkook catching her wrist and pulling her ahead, then pushed her into the front seat. Yoongi went to the side facing the street, flinging the car door open and throwing himself into the back. Jungkook opened the opposite back door, and held it open for you.
You heard the gunshot before you felt it. A hot, tearing pain ripped through your left side right as you dove for the opening. Jungkook jumped in after you, slamming the door as Hobi took off. Coffee Girl was in the passenger seat, probably in shock, and you were sandwiched between Yoongi and Jungkook.
You clutched at the wound, trying to slow down the bleeding, clenching your jaw against the pain. It was a lucky shot. You would need to deep clean your jacket again.
Hobi was focused on driving (and no, he had absolutely not gotten better in the last ten years, you definitely felt just as sick as you used to); Jungkook was leaning around the front seat, trying to talk to Jin's date; and Yoongi was on the phone. You wanted to pay attention to that, to stay focused on something, but the new wound was disturbing an old emotional scar.
You knew what was going to happen. Eventually one of them would notice you were injured, Yoongi would inform Jin, Jin would probably strap you to a medical table so he could take care of the new hole in your body, and then he would see the scar. And then he would tell Namjoon.
And Namjoon couldn't know about it.
Despite knowing better, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. You needed to stay awake. You needed to stay alive. You needed to not be so damn tired.
You needed Jackson.
Your free hand patted around your jacket pockets, looking for your phone. You needed to call him back, and he definitely needed to know about the shot. You also knew it had been too long since you'd last talked with him, and with the new developments this job had, he needed to be in the loop.
He was also 100% going to get after you for getting injured and for not answering his calls and the sooner you contacted him the sooner he could get every bad word about you out and move on to the important things.
"Where's my phone?" you mumbled, feeling nothing but soft jacket as you continued searching. "What the fuck?" You definitely had it in the café, you had to check and make sure it was on silent so Jackson's calls wouldn't interrupt your meeting.
"You okay?" Yoongi asked, turning his phone receiver away. Jin was no doubt bombarding him with questions about how Coffee Girl was doing.
You tried taking a deep breath, then had to hide a pained grimace you were sure he picked up on. "I can't find my phone."
Yoongi's eyes narrowed. "And beyond that?" he prodded. You didn't look at him, and tried to make the hold you had on your side casual. "Y/N?"
"I smell blood?" Jungkook said, trying to wrap his large body around the front seat. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"
"N-no, no, I'm okay." Coffee Girl reminded you of when you were sixteen. You could vaguely remember having been pushed into a dark car, someone you cared about injured and resting in the back, the smell of blood.
"Jin, we have a second problem," Yoongi said into his phone, "and this one's worse. Seok-ah, step on it." Hobi somehow started driving faster, and you squeezed your eyes shut hoping to avoid getting motion sickness on top of what you were already dealing with.
"Y/N-ssi? Did you get hurt?" Jungkook turned his questions to you, and you could hear the same care and concern in his voice that he had in your apartment last night. Honestly, why did he care so much? The kid barely even knew you.
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't the question."
"Yoongi—"
"No, not this time, not when you're bleeding out in the back of my car. Jin, we'll see you at home. Try to keep Namjoon calm."
"Good luck with that," Hobi said, probably to himself, as he whipped the car around a corner. You grunted as the movement made you slide into Jungkook. You held onto your side tighter, trying to hold the wound and yourself together.
Namjoon couldn't know.
"Y/N-ssi, please, that's a lot of blood, let us help you."
"I'll be fine, just get me to the estate—"
"I'm working on it!" Hobi interrupted.
"—and then I'll get stitched up!"
"Would this help?" The quiet voice shocked you, and you turned to see Coffee Girl offering you a rumpled up piece of fabric. "With the bleeding? Your jacket looks a little..." She trailed off, looking for the right word but coming up empty. You didn't blame her.
You blinked at her for a moment. Slowly, your free hand reached out to take the fabric from her. It was her apron, you could see the coffee stains on it now. "Thanks," you told her quietly as you tucked the apron under your blood-stained jacket, wincing a little at the movement.
"Hyung, text Jin, tell him our ETA is five minutes," Hobi spoke up, taking what you recognized as the forever-long driveway back to the estate. If you thought about it, having such a long entrance; Hobi had probably hidden cameras and motion sensors in the trees that lined the road and kept a close eye on them. Any extra time to see that someone is coming could be the difference between life and death.
You leaned your head back and closed your eyes again, trying to mentally prepare yourself to see Namjoon and to fight with Jin. This wasn't the first time you'd been shot, and you could take care of yourself just fine. You knew Jin would have a fully-stocked medical room somewhere in that building, you'd just need someone to point you in that direction and you'd manage on your own.
But Jin wouldn't go down without a serious fight - if at all - and Namjoon was probably losing his mind already. Getting him to stay away from you wouldn't be possible without help from some of the guys.
Really, why wouldn't they all just leave you alone? Why wouldn't everyone leave you alone? No more jobs, no more Jackson, no more past coming back to haunt you.
"Don't fucking fall asleep."
"Min Yoongi I swear to god—"
"You aren't in any state to make threats."
"I don't remember you two fighting like an old married couple," Hobi sighed. "You ready for the panic?"
"Kook, hold Namjoon back," Yoongi said.
"But—"
"Do it. We gotta get Y/N downstairs with as little interference as possible."
"She'll probably need to be carried in," Hobi added.
"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" You yelled. "And I can walk!"
"You probably shouldn't though," Jungkook said softly.
"And they are all waiting for us on the front steps," Hobi announced as he pulled up to the estate. You opened your eyes to look out the window. Namjoon had paced himself a little path in the snow, while Jin was endlessly tapping his foot. Jimin and Taehyung had apparently returned and were leaning against the front door. "Good luck to all of you."
"We aren't going to war, hyung."
"OH, yes you are." Hobi put the car in park and everyone but you and Coffee Girl started moving. Yoongi opened the door and climbed out of the car, Hobi and Jungkook following suit. Jin ran up to the passenger door, followed closely by Jimin, who looked a lot more concerned for Coffee Girl than he had seemed with you earlier that morning.
Namjoon tried lunging towards the car and tripped going down the stairs. Tae reached out to catch him before he could fully fall, then pulled him back and said something to him that Namjoon didn't like.
Jin opened the passenger door and immediately began bombarding Coffee Girl with questions. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt at all? I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry."
"Hyung, give her some space, let her get out," Jimin gently chided him, holding his suit jacket in his hand.
Jungkook caught your attention by holding his hand out to you. You looked back and forth between it and his face. You saw nothing but quiet determination and gentle earnestness. "You can trust us," he whispered, repeating his words from last night. You gritted your teeth, and held your side harder.
Namjoon couldn't know.
You glanced back at Jin and Jimin. Coffee Girl was now out of the car, with Jimin's jacket wrapped around her shoulders to help protect her from the cold. You could hear Jin telling her, "I'll be with you as soon as I can, I need to help Y/N, but this is Jimin, he's the one who drinks a lot but he'll take care of you."
"Hey! Don't slander my good name in front of her!"
"Y/N," Jungkook said again, "please." He held his hand closer to you, like that would make you more likely to take it. Jimin wrapped his arm around Coffee Girl and began leading her inside. Yoongi and Hobi had joined Tae in holding Namjoon back. Jin turned his sights on you and any sympathy in his voice vanished.
"Y/N, get out of the car, now."
You really didn't like being bossed around. "Jungkook asked me nicely."
"And you didn't move. My turn. Out. Now."
"You're not—"
"Not your friend right now," Jin interrupted you. "Right now, I'm a doctor trying to save your life and giving you the option of autonomy before I risk making the wound worse and pulling you out."
"You can't do that."
"Try me."
"Hyung, please, let me hand—"
"Three."
"Are you fucking serious Jin??"
"Two."
"Don't fucking touch me!"
"Hyung!"
"One!"
"Can't win the game if you're dead!" Taehyung's voice rang over all of your arguing, the line directed at you. "Is this really how you wanna go? Bleeding out in a car because of some cheap shot and refusing help from your friends?"
…
Well, when he put it that way, no, not really. You'd contemplated your death before, but a cheap shot in the side was never on the list. If and when you did go, you wanted it to be on your own terms.
Not something like this.
You met Jin's eyes, matching his ferocity. "Only you." Namjoon couldn't know.
"If that's what it takes," he yielded easily. "One of us will need to help you with the stairs though, you've lost a lot of blood."
"I haven't lost enough to lose coherence," you mumbled, finally taking Jungkook's outstretched hand. He helped pull you from the vehicle and caught you when you wobbled after standing. Jin turned and quickly made his way up the front steps and into the estate.
Namjoon still stood on the porch, being lightly held back by Hobi and Yoongi, all three of them watching you with concern (and in Yoongi's case, a bit of frustration). You looked away quickly, not wanting to chance making eye contact.
Jungkook helped you take a few steps, your breathing abruptly becoming shallow and labored from the movement. You clutched at your side and felt the stares boring more holes through your jacket. Jungkook paused after getting you up the first step. "Maybe I could carry you again?" he asked timidly. "It'll be faster, and maybe a bit less painless for you."
Maybe it was because you had just been shot, and you had already fought with two of your old friends, and you saved a poor innocent girl from possibly getting killed today. Maybe it was because you wanted to get out of Namjoon's sight as soon as possible, and you wanted Jin get things over with, and you wanted Taehyung's words to get our of your head. Maybe it was because you were tired, and you were in pain, and part of you had already given up. Maybe it was a complex combination of all of these things that made you say yes to Jungkook's offer to carry you for the second time in twenty-four hours.
He picked you up even more gently than he had last night, mindful of your wound, but that didn't stop the pain and discomfort from being put in a new position so quickly, nor from being bounced in his arms, even as he tried to keep you as steady as he could.
You won't admit that you curled into his large chest as you passed the three men still standing and staring at you, hoping to keep them from getting too close a look at you, to keep them from seeing you wince at Namjoon's soft, "Y/N…"
Jungkook carried you into the house and to the door that you assumed led down to the basement, and where Jin kept all his medical things. Going down the staircase was bumpy and Jungkook kept muttering "sorry, sorry, sorry," all the way down. You were relieved once you reached the bottom.
The basement was large, and gave off a more homey and lived-in vibe than the rest of the estate did. There was a section full of gym equipment, a couple large couches in front of a wall with a projector hanging on the ceiling above, and a few table games like pool and table tennis. Another wall had a full bar and an open pantry with stuffed with snacks, and some bookshelves lined with both books and what looked like DVD cases.
It was close to what you expected to see from a bunch of single men in their mid-to-late twenties.
Jin was in one of the rooms that branched off, and Jungkook took you there. It was basically a room taken straight out of a hospital with how many medical supplies Jin had stacked and organized in it, complete with an uncomfortable looking hospital bed that Jungkook gently placed you down on. You leaned back with a sigh of relief to finally be in a more horizontal position.
Jin had a tray of tools and supplies next to him, and he was getting the IV set up. "Upstairs, Kookie," he said, "go help keep Namjoon calm."
"But—"
"Now, Kook. I need to focus."
"Won't you need help though?" Jungkook asked in a last-ditch attempt to stay with you.
That got Jin to pause. He looked at you. "If I do need a second pair of hands, who do you want down here?"
You sighed again, but had an easy answer. "Yoongi." He was Jin's stand-in nurse back when Jin's medical room was the smaller bedroom in his apartment, and if Yoongi did see anything you knew he wouldn't snitch.
Jin nodded, then continued working. "Tell Yoongi to be on stand-by, now up you go." Jungkook rolled his eyes, but left, grumbling something about how even though he's the youngest he can still do things and help people.
"Keep this on." He clipped a sensor onto your middle finger and the screen next to the bed lit up with your vitals. "Okay, first we need to stop that bleeding, then I can insert the IV to start replacing it. I'm guessing you won't let me cut your jacket off you?" Your glare was the only response he received. He exhaled. "Then this is going to hurt."
"I'm already in pain, Jin." You dropped the apron and tugged your jacket off your arms, then rolled your shirt up to expose the injury. It was small, and wasn't complete through your torso. It looked more like a large bug had taken a bite out of you than it did a gunshot wound. The bleeding had started slowing, although it was still constant.
You hoped Jin was too occupied with it to notice your scar directly above it.
"Alright, so what I'll do is clean around it first, then—"
"This isn't my first time being shot, Jin," you told him, beyond exasperated at this point. "I know the process, let's just get it done please."
He didn't say anything back, probably just as done with you. You kept your eyes firmly on the ceiling, despite the brightness of the lights hurting them. Jin worked quickly, just as knowledgeable in the procedure, considering all the bullet wounds he's definitely worked on over the years.
"I don't know my blood type." you said as he tied the tourniquet around your arm.
Jin shrugged. "We're all different types, the seven of us, so I just have a large storage of O-neg. Make a fist." You complied, wincing slightly at the pinch of the needle going in. "Alright, let's get some pain killers in you, shall we?"
You didn't like the feeling of new liquids being forced into your veins, but you did welcome the quick relief they offered. That relief was short-lived, however, as your body started to relax a bit too much and your eyes started drooping.
"Did you sedate me?"
Jin wouldn't look at you. "Your body is going to need plenty of rest in order to fully recover."
"That is a bullshit answer and you know it."
"I'm sorry, Y/N, I truly am, but you've fought just about everyone today, and I can't have you fighting me while I'm trying to take care of you." Your eyes stung from the betrayal he didn't understand.
Instead of responding, you closed your eyes fully and accepted it. It was another things being in Busan had taught you well: accepting things that were happening to you. You had fought as hard as you could, but in the end you weren't strong enough (you never were), so it was time to just accept the will of someone else. Jackson told you time and again that your life would be easier that way.
Your last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was remembering that you still hadn't called him back.
ta-daaaa~~~ thank you again for reading!! please comment and reblog and let me know what you think. hopefully the next chapter will be up soon!! and a super special thank you to my taglist peeps, lemme know if you want to be added to list and subsequently become a Cool Kid™️ @illnevertrustmyselfagain @misschino @youlook-likehell @dany-but-not-targaryen @nyx-goddess-of-choas @fangirl125reader @wordsaremyswords @clowdyblue @tutnotmytea @scentedsope @hope122598 @veronawrites @ayoongiverse @myooniverse @jiminrings @mirahuyooo @cafemyg @lolalee24@elyte @hyungieyoongi @singukieee @hello-neema @thebadassmotherofmyshotas @kawaii-bear @notsooperfect @mintyoonjisworld @glams00 @thisisnotangel @fangirl-and-stuff @dprssdgal @irony-of-living @hobateas @remmykinsff @gukieater @cherrie11113 @lovra974 @girlwithluv0613 @whatsakilo @yoursoontobestepmom @juju-227592 @zahraaelamira @xyahrinx @belladaises @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lookhere-2seok @imnotokayfuckup @rjsmochii @theealanis @mintsugarmy @rosesarehim @smol-grandpa @highly-functioning-mitochondria @jinsquishes @maximofftrash @diamonddia-mond @soliloquyboopboop
#bts#bts mafia#bts mafia au#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts writing#bts angst#yoongi x reader#hobi x reader#jungkook x reader#edge of tonight#part twelve#jin x reader
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You talk a lot about the HOTD actors misbehaving on set but especially focus on Oliva, Emma, Phia, Paddy and Rhys. Do you know how Fabien, Ewan, Tom and Matt behaved on set? I'm curious to know about the inside and stuff of the show.
It also strikes me as weird for Rhys to be cast in such a role because everyone always says everything in him is funny so I would thought they would have looked for a more settled character (I ended up liking him as Otto though, but I thought it was a bit weird)
Usually when I talk about the actors that are the exception, I talk about Frankle, Mitchel, and Glynn-Carney.
I'm not saying they didn't fuck around on set, but I've never heard anyone say a bad thing about them. They all seemed to have taken the job and their characters seriously. Yeah, I'm sure they goofed around on set - who doesn't when everything is hurry up and wait - but the point is that they seemed to care, and when it was go time, they were professional and really into their job.
I'll always point out the difference between Ewan Mitchell and Tom Glynn-Carney vs. Olivia Cooke and Emma D'arcy.
In the 1x09 documentary, Mitchell and Glynne-Carney had an entire segment where they got deep into their characters and so embodied them that they made up little brotherly chorography of biting and tickling one another to show a closeness.
However, when Olivia Cooke and Emma D'arcy are interviewed they talk more about the social and political commentary of their characters as vessels of the message, or they simply make things up that have no baring on the character - like Alicent being secretly a Lesbian or Rhaenyra being "Gender-Fluid".
Mitchell and Glynn-Carney took two characters, deep dived into who they were, and built upon that to make them real people. Cooke and D'arcy took two characters and tried to fundamentally change them to fit what they wanted to play for their own mercenary ambitions.
Now you tell me who are the real actors and who are the narcissists?
I've also never heard a bad thing said of Matt Smith. I'm not gonna lie, after the stuff that Lily James accused him of, I will always be suspicious of him - though I'll admit that I'm always bias toward Lily James. But from what I've heard, Matt Smith tried to take a leadership role in production and bring order when it seemed that Sapochnik wouldn't. He also cared, and made suggestion and took point when things could've been a lot worse to make them better. I don't think anyone could claim that Matt Smith isn't a very talented actor. And when you watch the behind the scenes stuff, you can clearly see him taking charge in a good way and actively caring about the project when it seemed that a lot of people around him didn't.
Rhys Ifans is a really funny mutha'fucker and he is a really talented actor - I love him as Curt Connors and as Nigel in "The Replacements'. However, you need to have someone to balance that energy out. And that's the problem with a lot of producers and projects today. Everyone idolizes comedians, cause, every asshole these days thinks they're so witty and fucking funny. So they jump at the chance to have comedic actors in their projects. But they're a utility, not your main stay. You have to have someone that is funny but also knows when to pick their spots and takes things seriously.
On "Game of Thrones" both Peter Dinkledge and Conleth Hill were comedic actors, but they were also classically trained enough to respect the gravity of the world they're playing in. They played subtle comedy and didn't over sell it. The problem is that Sapochnik wanted that same thing that he got in "Game of Thrones" but he didn't respect the professionalism and maturity that came with Dingledge and Hill. He just thought any old comedic actor would do, he just wanted funny men that he liked. Thus, when Ifans and Paddy showed up, they did what they do best ... but there was no one else to off-set their energy. Therefore their bad habits dominated the set and encouraged bad behavior from the younger actors.
I don't blame Ifans and Paddy, like I said, they're gonna do what they do. I blame Sapochnik for his childish finger painting understanding of how leadership in a production works. He seemed to think that years of continuity, chemistry, and talent from "Game of Thrones" could be replicated by him, because, he was the genius behind it all.
Now, HOTD is suffering because they didn't put any respect on the name of the production and crew of "Game of Thrones" that made it so effortless that a bunch of mids and mediocre talent thought they could just replicate it without any trouble.
#House of the Dragon#Game of Thrones#tom glynn carney#Ewan Mitchell#Olivia Cooke#Emma D'arcy#Matt Smith#Rhys Ifans#Paddy Considine#peter dinklage#Conleth Hill
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I don't see why we as green fans can't complain or say anything at all about Aemond's characterization and the overuse of certain tropes in fics when black fans do it all the time also?? Be it Aemond/OC, Aemond/Rhaena, Aegon fics paired with OCs or team black characters like Baela, Daemon/Alicent or even pure time travelling crackships like Aemond/Sansa or Sansa paired with any team green guy (yes some of them have complained about this as well because allegedly if Sansa were to time travel back in the Dance era she would only fall in love with Jace! Fine! But guess what no team black stan who has complained about this aspect has written or comissioned a fic with her and their guy, they just complain that the already existing ones aren't about what they want) and they will always find time to lash out on their accounts about how the evil green authors are mischaracterizing the team black OCs or already existing characters. At least we are not leaving hate comments or criticism that nobody asked for (or I hope no one does this! Please don't!) on the fics we read and were disappointed by (and didn't even mention them as examples in these asks).
Anonymous asked:
okay i’m game for some anti-lucemond inbox antagonism.
while op did indeed make some good points regarding the formulaic nature of aemond x OC i still contend they do not know the difference between a minor character and a plot device.
helaena is a minor character, the cargyll twins are minor characters, laenor is a minor character, heck with a bit of massaging and extrapolating harwin could be consider a minor character. Unlike strong boy #2 at least I can say what they were doing between their respective time jumps.
helaena — having babies, enjoying her bugs
cargylls — aegon watch + introspection which results on them being on different sides
laenor — fighting in wars, hanging with his boyfriend, parenting (?)
harwin — bangin’ rhaenyra, being a goldcloak, preparing to take on a lordship (just cause harrenhall is practically unliveable doesn’t mean they don’t have peasants in the vicinity to tax I suppose idk)
These are characters. They have jobs and hobbies, actual relationships.
lucerys in contrast, what has he being doing for the 6 years during the time skip. training? possibly, all we know about him is that he gets his ass handed to him in a fight and gets seasick. what are his hobbies? does he have any responsibilities? friends? anything?
I will grant he seems to have a decent grasp of HV. during the incident Aemond in his anxiety starts giving his command in English whereas Luke maintains HV when commanding Arrax, for all the good that it did. maybe there is something there, but I don’t want to read into it too much it because it was likely more for the audience than a way to develop the characters because those are commands not sentences, like jace was working on.
Speaking of Jace, even he has something going for him, minor though it was — he trains, attends meetings, is not doing so good in his LOTE classes, really doesn’t like his stepdad, still cannot take a joke. Jace has some serious emotional problems which could be worth exploring, but Lucerys? Nothing, nada, zilch. Who is this person
It seems Lucerys only role was to gas up rhaenyra; just so we in the audience know she is in fact perfect, make this face ☹️ in the background of scenes, smirk one time like a asshole, and then die.
he is not a character, and while I initially had no problem with him, beyond a mild distaste because he hurt aemond (I actually put more blame on Jace) the way TB started riding this non entity so hard for the last year just made me loathe lucerys.
Lucemond can occasionally be fun. I like the fics which are just absurd AUs but anyone who actually takes it seriously. The folks who insist on ‘Fated Feud’ or whatever it’s called, are reaching so hard they might tear something, pretending there is any chemistry or motivation for this relationship. And don’t get me started on the ones who call Luke the pearl of driftmark, that makes me want vom.
But people need to quit pretending Lucerys is something other than a plot device, first blood in the DoD, that is all. I hope him and this ship goes away soon.
[anyway sorry you’ve got to be the repository for this nonsense. How do you like your aegond? The thing which should have been the main mlm ship for this ridiculous fandom.]
ironically this is probably exactly the type of content the previous anon wanted to avoid 😂 but you can't expect to go in someone's inbox looking for drama, stirring the hornets' nest so to speak, and not expect a reaction. surely everyone can deal with their inbox messages whichever way they want, on the spectrum of not bothering to react at all vs ranting about it. i don't subscribe to this idea that you should hold your mouth shut and refrain from any kind of critical diatribe bc the other side might see it and might be up in their feelings about it.
absolutely not referring to vitriolic hateposting or other forms of bullying, but the institution of the Rant is sacred and must be protected. you can be annoyed at some fandom stuff and simply want a space to air out those thoughts - ofc you're going to be posting in designated fandom platforms, bc it looks deranged to complain about this IRL. i feel that people need to accept that users should have their own barbie playground, but, equally, there should be some spaces (keeping a respectful distance ofc) where criticism or just random rants about that thing can happen, undoubtedly respecting the parameters of decency and not resorting to crazy insults
i agree (and this is a v important caveat) that it becomes bizarre when it's the same people doing it every day, bc then it turns into an unhealthy hyperfixation which you might want to interrogate, but once in a while it can be cathartic, like shooting the shit with your bffs. moderation is key to everything, we can all co-exist and get along without taking everything to heart
this isn't even about lucemond, honestly, it's more of a general fandom criticism, because this is not the first time i've encountered people who simply refuse to mute the tags, willingly read the anti posts, find themselves irked by something, then vent their frustrations on OP
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as for luke being a plot device vs a minor character, i can't say i''m too bothered about that distinction to argue either way. minor characters can also be plot devices and he is effectively fridged for rhaenyra's and jace's) pain. i do think he has more going for him in the show, like they really tried to give him more screen time towards the end and focus a little on his supposedly conflicting feelings about inheriting driftmark & his bastardy
anyway the "how do you like your aegond" sent me 🤣 i'm really drawn to modern setting AUs for some reason! the constraints of modern society are like a breeding ground for angst
#anyway idk how this reads but i promise i'm not up in arms abt it#i'm honestly more amused than anything#anti lucemond#fandom critical#ask#anon
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I absolutely adore Albus but sometimes....
Like srsly, one thing I noticed back when I was a nerdy, snobby(who regarded people with average intelligence as not important[I was annoying, I know!!! Also, I had very high standards on who was considered to be smart, so basically everyone was dumb to me]) 13-year old, was that despite what everyone seemed to say, Albus was so fricking smart. Like his creativity has no bounds! That blanket plan was genius! I don't think anyone would've thought of that idea. When he was standing on the roof of a moving train, he was planning on where to land, which charms to use, etc. ON A MOVING TRAIN!!! The dude decided to humiliate Cedric Diggory to make him give up and stay alive and even though that had huge consequences(aka Voldemort Day), that still worked. Albus seemed to understand the mentality that people tend to have and used it to his advantage. If the consequences weren't so dire, I would've been impressed. And also the plan that the adults used to defeat Delphi was a variation of Albus' og plan and they were highly clueless before Albus told his plan. He was an incredibly determined boy who wouldn't let any setback stop him(first time the time-travel went wrong and he still wanted to do it for the second time[I wish I had his confidence]) and he was highly ambitious.
Idc what anyone says, this dude was a success story in the making! Sure his magic wasn't the best(though I'm pretty sure it was because of his low self-esteem), but he had the qualities that a successful person might have.
Yet, (deep breath)....
Dude decided to use all that qualities on a dangerous time-travel adventure!!! Talk about priorities. All because he wanted to impress his dad! Like c'mon Albus, there are better ways to impress your dad and you are absolutely capable of it. Now that I think of it, his determination needs to tone down. Like his cousins got deleted out of existence and that did not stop him from his kinda idiotic goal. The second time I read the book, I was literally screaming at him, "ALBUS, NO!". I swear he's so smart yet he's such an idiot at the same time and I don't know how he managed to be like that.
And Albus had some seriously low confidence on his abilities. He has some amazing abilities! Just because you are horrid at magic doesn't mean that you are a failure! All he needs is a bit of confidence, a positive environment(f the bullies) and a nudge in the right direction(because god forbid that he has proper priorities), then he'd be successful and way better than those bullies of his!
Now I think of it, I kinda understand the frustration teachers must feel when they see a talented kid not utilising their skills. Like I know people should follow their passions and all, but you gotta admit, time-travelling to the past? After their cousins have been deleted out of existence??? My snobbishness have toned down over the years but my frustration over this still hasn't. Albus just needs to believe in himself! He doesn't have to embark on a life-threatening adventure to impress his dad!
P.S. - When I realized later that family counseling was a thing, I grew even more frustrated. There's a good chance that all of Albus' and Harry's issues would've been solved with counseling. Why the time-traveling? The blanket scene was a huge indicator that they needed help. But now I realised that wizards probably don't have services like this and, the story wouldn't have been that interesting(especially since it was meant to be watched). But that doesn't stop me from feeling annoyed that the characters could have skipped the manipulation by evil witch and other dangerous stuff and went through the safe route.
#albus potter#albus severus potter#hpcc#the cursed child#harry potter and the cursed child#cursed child#hp next gen#harry potter
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hi everyone!! and thank you sm for all the welcomes 💕 it's me again wenjun's mun with a second muse !! i'm super excited to bring jaehyun!! he's a sort of (??) fresh trainee and has been around since july 2022 so he's just reached his one year mark woohoo! a just slightly above average dancer and less than average singer who's only getting by thanks to his okay personality 👍🏻 you can find his profile here ! i would love to plot with everyone so pls feel free to like this post and i will fly straight into ur ims!! i also have a twitter @haoylt if anyone would prefer to plot there! i have a discord as well 🫶🏻
underneath the cut i've got a basic profile and some plot ideas!!
both his parents were news anchors
they would bring him to their work place and their colleagues would always comment on how jaehyun looked like he could be a celebrity
received a lot of love from his parents
( tw death ) his mum passed away when giving birth to his little brother when jaehyun was three ( tw end )
jaehyun really adores his little brother!! since they're close in age jaehyun thinks of him as one of his best friends
his dad is still a news anchor for a big broadcast station ( kinda like kbs or sbs ), and even after his mother's passing, jaehyun would still visit the broadcasting station as a kid with his little brother
got through school pretty easily – not because he was particularly smart, but because of his laidback attitude and how easily he made friends
got scouted by an entertainment company when he was a first year in highschool while he was performing at his school's festival
the company went bust though, and jaehyun was forced to leave 💔
was kinda juggling between whether the celebrity life was something that he really wanted and decided yea fuck it it is !! auditioned for legacy and somehow made it in
is a pretty okay dancer, but can't really sing or rap so he really has no idea how he got through the audition
very much the kind of guy that will send funny "good morning... have a beautiful day" messages like this to his friends or in the gc ... is he serious about it?? who knows he just likes sending good morning messages to friends
just trying to get through life with no real direction 👍🏻
plot ideas
friends from childhood, school, etc! jaehyun grew up in seoul all his life
someone who doesnt like him... like you have no idea how he even made it in lgc... sure he can dance but he can't hold a note and his rapping is barely considered 'rapping' to your standards... jaehyun also doesn't seem to take things seriously enough which rightfully annoys you!!
someone who debuted before july 2022 and jaehyun's a huge fan like "i bought your albums" "i voted for you" fan
jaehyun's actually surprisingly a pretty okay actor and your muse helps him realize this ... maybe youre watching dramas together and jaehyun suddenly decides to imitate one of the scenes for fun
jaehyun is a bit of a weeb and the type of guy to text your muse "lets play genshin" in the middle of the night even tho you have training early the next day
your muse has a bit of a crush on jaehyun ?? could be because of his easy going attitude or because jaehyun is the kind of guy who may tend to give off ~ wrong signals ~ when he's trying to be friendly
an ex... could be pre or post lgc era! things don't have to have ended amicably ( because who doesnt love some angst 🫶🏻 )
jaehyun has a bit of a crush on your muse and doesn't know how to act ( stuttering on words, tripping, avoiding eye contact )
anything !!! really!!!!!!
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While I enjoyed this underwater temple arc more than I usually enjoy any given arc in Black Clover, I still just cannot ignore or get over how poor the writing is. Even putting aside my general issues with the overarching plot and inconsistent themes and lack of worldbuilding, I am regularly disappointed with the writing of just, single scenes, featuring single characters even.
I've gone over this specific problem way back when Noelle was first introduced -- how her backstory was not only clumsily overdone, but pointlessly so. And this exact same thing keeps happening! This scene with Vanessa talking to and for her thread puppets would have been far more poignant without the lines of “You're all puppets I created with my magic. You're right, this whole conversation is just you talking to yourself. Hopefully you can find friends one day" beating the point into the ground by just bluntly stating exactly what she is doing and desires.
Anyone can look at the frame and know that they are puppets she made because they're made of thread, which we know is her magical ability -- why have them state “we're puppets made of your magic''? Why audibly confirm that she is talking to herself, why literally state that she has no friends and feels powerless? She's talking to self-made puppets in a giant bird cage for God's sake, we get it. Without any dialogue, we could have got it by just looking. I mean really. It is so unnecessary and robs the scene of any palpable emotion -- it actually ended up making me laugh because of how overexplained it was. I don't want to incredulously scoff at a sad backstory snippet, but the patronizing writing makes it hard to take seriously!
And then, almost immediately after this badly written backstory snippet, we get another one, this time for Finral.
And again, it comes off as ridiculous -- why would his father be compelled to remind him where he is living, who his family is, and what magic they specialize in? It's like the characters are speaking directly to the audience, it completely takes me out of the scene. Imagine if we just got to see Finral training and getting frustrated, and a mysterious figure who we can safely assume is his father is watching for a while, before dismissively turning away. Cut to Finral looking devastated. Imagine if we just got to see Vanessa weaving together her threaded dolls, smiling for a little while, asking them if they would speak to her mother for her. Her smile becomes sad, and the dolls unfurl, and she turns and looks to the window, maybe we hear her sigh.
The point of these scenes is to illustrate how these characters felt powerless or worthless in the past, and those feelings could have been illustrated so much more believably if there wasn't awful, overwrought dialogue telling us exactly what is happening to the point of feeling like a parody.
Fifty-two episodes later and my impressions from as early as episode seven are yet to be challenged by Black Clover: It still shows its cards at every opportunity, refusing to rely on audience participation and insight. It still actively robs itself of any potential intrigue.
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Thoughts on book 5 🍎💀
Except "thoughts" is being generous
Who made apple cry!? Do i have to cut a bitch??
Vil making a terrible first impression at the whell scene. Like dude tells Epel to watch his tone but he calls us potatoes before I could even say "what's your damage?" Yeah Vil. You're being a villain. Comically so.
"Keeping your act together"?? Well some of us don't have to be two faced to get somewhere, Vil.
And Im getting EXTRA offended cuz IVE HAD VOCAL LESSONS BEFORE. If anything I could HELP Epel practice! Soso glad Deuce and Ace are on the same wavelength. Even tho we gonna get our asses kicked.
Me picking a vil card to pit against him in the battle at the well: hehe Why are you hitting yourself why are you hitting yourself hehe
A'ight. We found who's been making Epel cry. Time to ruin this bitch's weekend, week, month, maybe even year!!
SHUT UP. Deuce is being Epel's Prince Florian. SHUT UP I love them
Tbh If it were me I'd rather find out more about the situation first since for all I know at this point Epel could have some agreement with Vil and if he doesn't pass the audition he's screwed but eh. Adeuce jumping in head first is occasionally handy
~Jamil-sensei training montage~
Rook appears outta nowhere and I instantly bark
There he is! The Chaussure (shoe).
Now I feel stupid cuz i had no idea dandelions was from french. Then again I only learned the English word for that flower last year... But DEUCE of all people knew it!!!!
Oh my god Ruggie really is eat-weeds poor. Good on him for being resourceful tho.
Rook, honey, I have not a doubt that you do mean respect with that nickname but most people would assume it's a mock... If they didn't know you.
For a moment i was like "wait. Why do we have to find you if there is no form to fill out?" And then answered myself "because anything you fill out in a form he ALREADY knows about you and anyone else in school. Vil and Crowley are basically using him to save paper."
Rook is being so sweet giving everyone full marks T ^ T and Vil is being a nitpicking karen. Perfect balance.
no one can believe they passed that audition, not even the boys themselves
WHY THE FUCK DID THE POMEFIORE DORM TURN INTO AN RPG CASTLE!?!?!?
I see this dorm is full of theater kids. Predictably.
*crowley shows up* me: NO!! NOT YOU!! NO!! NOT AGAIN!! I am suddenly no longer happy to help.
Grim: I could by a bonanza of tuna with that money!!! Me: I could buy a skirt! Finally!! *gasp* Or a BOOK!!!
Not Ace thinking he was gonna be free from riddle's rule when actually he just swapped one tyrannical queen for the other 💀 he really-
At least Vil doesn't trow away food and "did you seriously just gender movements?" Is going right next to "all clothes are gender neutral if you stop being a little bitch about it" in my vocabulary. Wish he DIDN'T bend Epel's ear altho I know it's something *I* woulda done to Ace at least once for misbehaving.
Speaking of ace, he really tried to snack at night and NO ONE WAS SURPRISED. Are you gonna get a fever and combust if you don't misbehave or what!??
I still don't like vil
I could tell Vil's a perfectionist, and he has a point about mastering skill but I think he's starting to miss the point of art. It is meant to convey feeling and connect with the audience through that.
He tells Epel to hide his accent, while singing too, meanwhile every vocal teacher I've ever had told me that's the kind of thing that makes my voice more distinct from others. And he stucks him into a role that doesn't fit his personality all based on the same kind of superficial thinking that gets him stuck with villain roles he wants to break out of.
HE CURSED OUR FOOD!? very on brand but YOU KEEP MY CAT OUT OF THIS!! HE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO GET DRAGGED INTO THIS IF YOU WON'T EVEN LET HIM DANCE ON STAGE!!!
*sees Mickey* me: SATAN!!
Btw i still don't know how to pronounce Vil's last name cuz i don't know a lick of german if i had to pronounce it out loud I'd probably do what i do when i say van Gogh and just choke on the last syllable so it annoys EVERYONE
Very appropriate that the sound for when you mess up the twistune is a slap. It represents the slap Vil is giving me for fucking it up so badly.
I am not liking Vil's attitude at all. Oh, you DO think about the authenticity of the performance? Then what the fuck—oh shit. Epel finally snapped. What's 'the usual'? ROOK. WHY ARE THEY TAKING OUT THEIR WANDS IF IT AIN'T A FIGHT!?
Epel did NOT have a tantrum. He had an understandable reaction after all the stress of all this bullshit and dismissing it is NOT a mature reaction either!!!! Raise your hand if Vil has been stressing you the fuck out! 🙋♀️
'Hard work doesn't get you what you want in real life' Vil has never seen a pixar movie so he doesn't know there's always something of worth to be found if you care to look and see. He doesn't know sometimes life does shape up the way you though it will but you can still have a "happy ending." Which sounds about right since this is a disney property.
Vil, baby, who tHE FUK told you you have to be beautiful before you can be yourself? Why are you putting your worth on how many people said you are beautiful? At this point I think I don't even proper hate you, I just pity you. (Ngh... I can feel my character development coming up...)
I love Rook.
I love Kalim.
WAIT KALIM TRANSFERRED HERE that explains so much.
I love Deuce.
HE BROUGHT A BIKE AND THEY ARE GOING ON A BIKE RIDE LIKE IT'S A DELIQUENT ANIME 😭 (said the girl who only ever watched TR) SHUT UP I LOVE THEM
Epel dreaming of how he could have a moustache in a year has the same energy as how Riddle brought a PE uniform a size bigger thinking he was gonna grow up in it and then... Didn't.
Vil did something nice!?!! Awww (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡
now that our getting together the team arc is complete all that's left is for me to slave away at the twist tunes till i have 10/10 at all the ones we got so far... Wait, you guys don't do those obsessively?... Just me?
Malmal was so happy to FINALLY get an INVITATION 🥺 he did an evil laugh
I appreciate getting to see everyone's clubs. Altho at this point it's just pure fluff and filler. New proverb: "I know Azul is out there capitalising on something, I just don't know what."
The SDC is turning into the finally of Camp Rock 2 except we're with the bad guys
LOOK AT THEM THEY ARE ADORABLE
Okaaay I'm starting to feel for Vil... Wait no Vil DO NOT look at it now! Someone take his phone- SIRI SHUT THE FUCK UP
I know it was just Vil's paralysis curse (i think. Rn) but for a minute there I thought Vil put actual LETHAL poison and almost killed Rook right there. My heart stood in place 💀
Rook was really about to drink that too. What the fuck is wrong with him? Respectfully. I adore by this point but wtf Rook?? {I'm prob not one to talk given that I named the last fanart I did "i would eat poison if it was from your hand"}
"If you didn't interfere then Neige woulda been the only casualty" JAMIL. i don't hate you or anything hut sometimes i can't with these fuckers smh
Vil's overblot did NOT kick my ass I'll have you know!!
Deuce got his signature spell first 😢😢😢😢 my boy! I'm so proud of him 😭
And there it is. The big Ooh YOU'RE Malleus moment. Holy shit- the power Mal got-
On the other hand. The twistunes ARE kicking my ass
It really is the Camp Rock 2 final except the "good" guys win.
Epel and Kalim are crying, I can't-
Are those.
Tears!? He is crying! 🥺 awww i do feel for Vil. I had a bit of Character development myself with him.
ROOK. ROOOK. I KNEW HE WAS GONNA DO THAT AMD STILL. THE BETRAYAL.
"Why's Rook quiet all of a sudden" he's trying to stay sane and civil while on the inside he's having a Tsukiama Shu moment. Be grateful quiet weeping is all he did
Vil. VIL DID YOU POISON ROOK'S HANDKERCHIEF!?!?! for once, I wouldn't blame you.
Oh no. Grim.
#vio plays twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland#twst disney#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst
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Interview with 5tr8tch, Neurotek 7/21/23
“You have to be adaptable. There are no excuses in this shit.”
There are a lot of DJs in LA; there is no point in denying that. However, for most, it does take them a while to master their craft, let alone anyone mention their name. During a six month period, Kian Stretch took a liking to vinyl and started spinning techno and other tunes and hasn’t stopped since. 5tr8tch is not someone that you should take your smoke break during.
I had the luxury of seeing his first gig sometime in Febuary at a small store-turned-soundspace in Santa Ana. At the time of this performance, I had no clue that it was his first time ever spinning for a crowd. He has worked alongside some of LA’s current golden child DJ’s, giving much credit to Amir Karneh or 1Morning.
Originally from Seattle, Stretch moved to LA for a change of scenery. At 13, he was already scratching over hip-hop records, all the while expanding his musical talents. At home, he was a producer for the underground rap scene as well as a talented jazz drummer. Playing in jazz clubs and salsa/Latin groups, he applied the technical skill and trained ear into techno.
“Drumming helped me with everything most, [...] playing the drums and understanding the timing helps me with everything. You have to be able to keep timing and um, beat matching. I see some people like, learn it on vinyl and its a lot going on. I already had my ear trained to play along.”
Stretch is completely self-taught in every aspect of his music. Although drumming is no longer a passion he pursues, he commends it deeply.
Before techno, he credits artists like Burial and LTJ Bukem for introducing him to the world of electronic music. What truly changed for him was watching Karneh spin for the first time. He had already loved the music and seen some DJs, but it wasn’t until his friend of seven years performing that flipped the switch.
Their friendship had started long before his move dating to when he worked on SoundCloud rap. At the time, Stretch wasn’t taking music seriously and more so just enjoyed being involved in musical projects and the chaos of couch surfing.
Stretch isn’t stuck to any specific styles yet. I had asked him if this was because he was still relatively new, but he wasn’t sure. For the most part, he does whatever sounds good, his style is fluid more than anything else.
if anything, his sound is technical chaos. Although I will put my fascination with vinyl DJs and their ability to flip through their records at lightning speed aside, I was curious about his setup and knowing which vinyl he was about to play, to which he replied, “I just winged it.”
“Maybe some people plan it out, I don’t know. The way me and my homies do it, we have a general idea but we don’t like–, fucking memorize the BPM and do it this to this to this. Nah, there's no fun in that.”
I wanted to know if he had noticed any significant mistakes in his set that night. For the audience, if you can play off anything good enough, your worst nightmare could be your best transition.
“I don't think I did. [...] It’s vinyl, it’s never going to be perfect. That’s what it’s about. I don’t want it to be perfect, there’s fun in fixing your shit.”
He compared techno and its similarity to jazz music, my friend adding that techno became the evolution of jazz. Stretch has learned how to play the audience and never show sweat, something which can be attributed to his time in jazz bands.
While he doesn’t have a signature yet, he doesn’t believe he can place that label upon him. He wants the audience to decide, with the only end goal being a good set that others can enjoy.
“Every time you do that shit and the homies have you hyped, it’s not like you can remember what you did.”
Stretch also vends at the Silverlake Flea market and eventually is planning to open up a record store.
TOP INFLUENCES:
Jeff Mills
Claude Young
#dj#tecnho#lamusicscene#music journalism#music posting#journalism#vinyl#vinyl dj#tribal music#jeff mills#rave#undergroundrave#industrial music#hardware#industrial rave
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Why do you like Mineta?/genq Also has anyone ever questioned you for why you liked the "problematic" characters or pairings in a fandom?
uh oh
Funnily enough I think for the most part I like Mineta because I'm just not that into BNHA, meaning I don't take it very seriously when I watch it, so I don't find him THAT out of place. There's a couple Mineta scenes that had me almost in tears of laughter when I first saw them I just think he's a silly guy;;
When he explained his quirk to Deku + Tsu and was like "I can place balls on things :D..." and there was a long silence before he just started crying so fucking loud out of nowhere KILLED me i think about it so much
His whole training under mount lady was very funny to me and how he said all women were demons and then immediately got over it idk he makes me laugh. Just a shitty little teenage boy. My son
According to my LetterBoxd review of Two Heroes: extra stars for mineta climbing up to the among us vent and just chanting "haremharemharemharemharemharem"
I WILL SPECIFY BEFORE SOMEONE GETS MY ASS- I do in fact loathe the the low-hanging fruit of "spy on the girls bath," "haha momo's boobies," "I can't wait to see this 6 year old when she grows up," or just general sexual harassment and straight up groping is like. Hashtag Not Funny and Just Weird + Cringe, but also I'm kinda unphased by it because I'm SO used to that in anime that it's like ok whatever. sure buddy. If I personally liked BNHA better and were more attached to some of the serious characters I'm sure it'd bother me a lot more and I would hate him too, but alas.
I ALSO JUST REALLY LOVE HIS DESIGN HE'S SO ROTUND BUT SHARP NOSE+MOUTH AND FUNNY LOOKING SLASH POS I LIKE HIM !!!!! ODDBALL CHARACTERS CAN BE SO FUCKING FUN!!! Purple/yellow is a good combo!!
His dynamic in the class also steadily gets funnier to me because he just gets less and less reactions. everyone is just eternally putting up with him forever. I don't know how much anything changes from like season 4 and up (or especially anything in the manga) because I'm behind but ykno.
...
As for your second question I laughed VERY audibly because I fully respect the notion that you think anyone could possibly go anywhere in any fandom space without being questioned or just straight up attacked for liking the problematic aspects of media. I will not elaborate on this too much because :) but it's something people used to get on my ass for a LOT back when I was newer to fandoms, but I think over time they gave up and I started caring less which is SO nice on the brain.
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I woke up painfully early again, so I guess my New Year's musings can go here.
It's really strange to think about how, not even a year ago, I wasn't writing or drawing at all. I hadn't seriously sat at a keyboard for years, and hadn't picked up a pencil for even longer than that.
I always loved writing, but I just didn't feel like I had much to say. I've always felt confident in my ability to write fanfiction believably, but original stories seemed so far beyond me. I tried to write something once dealing with my grief of losing someone important to me, but even then, the problem was I was too focused on what other people would think of it--and this was before the word 'problematic' was thrown all over the internet. 'Is this character too mean? is this one too much of a 'mary sue'? She's sixteen and he's an ancient fae, is that too much of an age gap!?' (Even back then, it was a human-inhuman relationship, although the characters were all human-looking--something I'm a little bored by now, if I'm honest!) I really didn't get very far in this... and I'm almost positive I unthinkingly deleted all copies.
My biggest mistake was I felt I needed to write in order--so of course I'd get stuck! I think it was Calvin Wong who said, drastically paraphrasing, 'painters don't start by always painting the top left corner blue, why is writing different?' I cannot explain what a breakthrough it was to understand that I didn't have to write scene A, then B, then C, etc--I could write scene D or even M or Z, whatever came to me at that moment, and go back and loop them together--or discard them if they no longer fit. There really are no rules.
My other major breakthrough was realizing I didn't want to write about human relationships. I actually can pinpoint when that occurred, after playing a few seasons of Noel TMF, I started to feel hungry for something, some specific story with specific dynamics, but I couldn't say what. After being unable to find something that hit that spot, I realized it was up to me to create it myself. I sat down one day and started to write for myself only. I never intended to share it with anyone, and that was very freeing--especially as literally all of my artistic work for years was made to be shared, it didn't have meaning otherwise. It's not really an art form I would do 'just for me.'
Noel wasn't the only inspiration here. A few years ago, The Ancient Magus' Bride came out, and I cannot overstate the impact that had on me. Chise and I went through almost the exact same thing which just blew my mind. I cannot describe how cathartic it was to read the words 'I don't forgive you' about such a situation. Watching her learn and grow and become happy meant so much to me, and while back then, I would never have considered myself capable of writing such a story myself, now I know it's what I want to do. I want to help someone else, the way that helped me understand recovery is possible no matter what you've been through, no matter how cursed you feel. Sometimes, I do still feel cursed, it's like people drag that curse back to me, like I can't escape it--which was why I was struggling so hard this month. I had to understand that the familial relationships I craved my entire life were not the familial relationships I was ever going to have, and let that dream go.
And so, I set out to write my own stories of healing and understanding and mystery and just a touch of horror. And I haven't been able to stop since. I'm not sure if, by excitedly looking forward to writing every day, to write something that 'hit the spot' I was seeking, that I trained myself into needing to write every day--I know that's how it worked for drawing, a habit is much more important than motivation!
I think the final reason I write so much is, well, you! The support and enthusiasm from this handful of people who read my stories, starting with fanfic, and then actually caring about my original content, has blown my mind. The burst of joy I get from reading a comment--any comment--is one of the best feelings of my life. Even a 'like' on a post excites and inspires me to keep sharing, and even thinking that I'd like to reach more people for whom my stories 'hit the spot.'
This is long, so maybe my art musings can be done another day. Or maybe I can go back to work on writing, after all, I really love it now!
Thank you again for all your support. That matters, far more than you might think. I hope I keep creating things that make you smile!
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i'm bored so here's a list of yuri on ice headcanons that i have concerning attachments to
yuuri studied music in college. doesn't matter if he majored in it or minored with a more "realistic" major but i refuse to believe that music hasn't played a part in his life (also there's a lot of evidence that he's a pianist.)
victor is an avid literature enjoyer. in the blu ray version of the show the scene with victor's home is changed to have literally wall to wall bookshelves filled to the brim. you cannot tell me that man hasn't read every single one backwards and forwards.
when phichit and yuuri met in detroit, phichit immediately attached himself to yuuri. at first, yuuri probably didn't understand phichit's extroverted insistence. but eventually phichit drew yuuri out of his shell and got him to actually socialize like a normal college student.
to add on to the last one, yuuri actually was pretty well known at his college but he himself thought he was invisible. little did he know, he was actually pretty popular but many people thought he was intimidating or scary to approach when, in reality, yuuri thought that of everyone else.
yuuri arrived in the united states already fluent in english. it is really REALLY common in the skating world that camps and coaches teach you english as a second language if you're competing internationally. also, it would make sense for the katsuki's to know at least a little english as they run a one-of-a-kind inn in a town popular with tourists.
yuuri never really was into anime as a child/teenager but was formally introduced when phichit forced him to watch a handful of shows after learning his friend had little anime knowledge. yuuri responded well and took interest to various soundtracks and anime composers.
phichit introduced yuuri to vocaloid and yuuri's life has not been the same since. phichit almost regrets it as yuuri became obsessed with the technology behind the vocaloid software but is glad he's obsessed with the music aspect rather than the anime girls.
yuuri has attended a hatsune miku concert. do i really need to elaborate.
yuuri hated wearing warm and super bright colors for the longest time. if it wasn't blue, purple or black, get that shit out of here. victor slowly opened him up to the idea of other colors though.
victor isn't fond of teenagers. i mean, i think we all know how close he was to snapping at yurio multiple times throughout the show. he's fake nice to their faces but is probably fucking tired of teenage angst.
victor's had some sort of major injury in his career. it's been alluded to in the show but i seriously wouldn't be surprised with his work ethic and constant training since he was a teenager.
yurio knew of yuuri before the sochi gpf. maybe he was even a fan of yuuri's.... but he'd rather be six feet under than admit it to his face.
victor and yuuri don't get married until a few years after their barcelona engagement. while i feel like victor would want to rush into marriage, yuuri would most defiantly push back and need more time to adjust to the new state of their relationship. they went from strangers to fiancés in the span of only 8 months after all.
yuuri and victor don't stay in russia for long. depending on in-universe laws and stuff, same sex marriage might not be legal in russia and, to be honest, i don't know if i could see yuuri or victor happy in russia for the rest of their lives.
yurio absolutely hates the faux parental roles yuuri and victor have adopted and pisses them off on purpose. he grows to appreciate it eventually and values their commitment to him even while he was an angsty dick of a teenager.
yurio has a handful of bands he listens to in secret and would murder anyone who found out. these bands consist of my chemical romance, panic at the disco and other emo classics.
victor eventually takes on more students in addition to yuuri and quickly realizes that he has no idea how to properly coach younger skaters because how are you supposed to train children when your only coaching experience is the unprofessional methods (literally just flirting) you used on the man you crushed on
#yuri on ice#yoi#god help me#yes most of these will be in my fic#and yes i have thought about yuuri being into vocaloid a lot#his favorite producer would be kikuo fight me
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Happy Halloween! It feels like October 2nd was just yesterday. This month went by crazy fast. Today I am dressed up as Joe from Bladerunner 2049, which basically is just a long black coat, brown pants, boots, and that bandage he wears during the "you look lonely, I can fix that" scene. I really like it. Idk it makes me feel sooo like, cool. Like my internal is now external. I really do feel like that movie and it's nice to listen to that kind of music and walk around with a "bloody" bandage on my nose and have my coat flare out behind me in the creeping winter cold.
I didn't manage to write my Shakespeare essay but that's okay because he extended the deadline. For some fuckin reason. I have to get that done by Thursday. So I'm not doing it today, and probably not tomorrow. Most likely the day of. Because that's how I roll. Oh and I;m in British writers class (obviously) HOLY FUCK how many fucking times can the people in my class reference Jane Eyre in one day?? it's literally not in the curriculum people are just teacher's pets. and freaks. Um anyway, I lost my train of thought lmao. But on another note As I was walking through campus I noticed literally NO ONE was dressed up until you got closer to the English building. lmao. Someone as their OC (probably), someone as Kobeni, someone as scarlet witch. And a really ugly guy in my class dressed as Dazai who looks more like an extreeeemely hungover and ugly version of him. Very sloppy. Do not approve.
I posted a new chapter of my fanfic which yayyy but I haven't gotten as many projected hits as I thought or a single comment which is odd because there's always one user who comments very enthusiastically. Eh, whatever. People have shit going on. ANd no one is going to be reading fanfic near Halloween. Other than me, of course, bc I am reading a longfic about Avatar bc Anthony got me back into it.
So anyway. This weekend. Me and Anthony went to SLC and stayed at Amy's. We ate ramen and hung out at Amy's house Thursday. It was really pleasant :) Friday we... uhhh I don't think we did much until we went to the FNAF movie. I could write a whole dissertation about how much I hated that movie, but all that to say, it was a huge let down. And no Markiplier! Sat we hung out with Amy and went to "witchfest" which was really fun and more like a farmer's market than a hallloweeen festival but still fun. Sorry for typos I'm being quiet. After that we got hotpot which was BUSSS. I'm getting better at talking to Amy but I'm not sure why. Sunday we literally did nothing but watch IT and eat In N Out. We got burritos and left yesterday.
Yesterday. Oh boy, yesterday. I walked into my apartment to go into my room and got stopped at the door by Priya, who gave me that -kayla-english-madeline-hubbart STARE and said
"HAnnah! We haven't seen you in so long!" "oh! I've been gone all weekend. HAhaha. For halloweekend. Hhaha." "ohhhh did you go to the parties down there?" "*scoffs for some reason* no, haha, not at all." "You should hang out sometime!" "okay :)" "no seriously, you should hangout sometime." "I want to!" "Okay!" "Okay!" which, okay, I can see what you're thinking. Hannah, she was being so nice and inviting you to hang out with them! You don't know how girls work. She said it like a threat, or at least it felt like one.
Anyway, I go into my room, tidy it a little, check to see if I can do my laundry (for the first fucking time in three weeks. It''s full). Take out my room trash. Shower. All the while, hearing them in the living room. I want to document what Jimena said because I seriously think she is the least self-aware, miserable person I fucking know. "People always think I'm bisexual. But Im straight. Straight latinaaaaa! but when I'm drunk, I'll seriously make out with anyone. Even girls." like. holy fuck. How does she not realize how actually fucking (and I don't use this work lightly) RETARDED she sounds. Also, Stephen got a girlfriend (fatJay, who is not fat at all and Jimena is a cunt for calling her that) and Jimena bought mini pickles and said "hey guys! this is how big Stephen's penis is!" Yeah okay bitch who led him on and was a completely fucking mess----- okay, ranting about her is cathartic but pissing me off. So basically, they were really annoying and sang star spangled banner at the top of their lungs on a karaoke machine from Five Below and burped like Hailey does, so I pledged not to come out of my room until everyone had gone to bed. Which would have been fine.
If not for the migraine.
Always the fucking migraine. I holed myself away in actual anguish, waiting for them to go to bed, all the while watching depressive tiktoks (I redownloaded it) of landscapes with Silent Hill audios n shit. and I can't express how much I was suffering and for how long. My suffering and my migraine were what I remember most about the night, despite the details I shared about my roommates. everyone went to bed at 3am. I darted out to get some water. And my chickpeas. Anthony came over and brought my leftover burrito. I broke down in his arms. I seriously felt like i had knives on the right side of my face. He tucked me in and I fell asleep. At 5:30 am. Had a dream where someone was drilling peoples faces and realized it was my rommates with the blender and woke up 15 minutes before my alarm at 11:15. Got dressed. Blade runner. Went to class.
well, that was depressing. *zooms in camera like a millennial*
On a lighter note, today is me and Anthony's second anniversary. I have no Idea what we're going to do for that tomorrow or for Halloween today, but I really like being blade runner. It's fun. I want to make a tiktok of me in the mountains and post it later.
I'm so glad I met Anthony. I love him more than I can express. I want to write about him later. I will.
Later.
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