#she's incorruptible and that's why there is always a force trying to drag her into the darkness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoutitallout · 3 years

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So, I know that everyone is pissed that the detective side story seemed to amount to nothing but it’s actually a very clever and very realistic plot point. When you look at any country, to include Japan, the amount of corruption that has pervaded for decades and that is still being unearthed is breathtaking. There are constant investigations that start and that amount to nothing because politicians hold an absurd amount of wealth and power and can sweep investigations into themselves or those close to them under the rug.

The point of the detective side story was likely to show just how POWERFUL ADAM’s family and influence is in the country. Here’s a guy who was raised from birth to be the next politician in the Ainosuke family dynasty and he is so powerful that one measly detective can’t touch him if her bosses won’t back her up.

The biggest investigations have been those where the bosses did not cave under pressure. In the US, a great example is the Watergate scandal and the investigation into Spiro Agnew (the vice president at the time). Everyone should listen to Rachel Maddow’s podcast Bagman on this because it is FASCINATING. The only reason anything was uncovered and that we know anything about it is because the Attorney General at the time (who was a Republican and the same party as Nxon and Agnew and appointed by Nixon) resisted political and family pressure to drop the investigation and instead he shielded and protected his attorneys and the investigators from the politicians who were trying to discredit their investigations to get away with their crimes. That is something that is rare to find in any human being and takes immense conviction of character.

The point is that any investigation the detective lady would have conducted would have taken months and much longer than 12 episodes. She would have needed resources and for her bosses to be incorruptible in order to protect her investigation. There was never any way this was going to happen. The point of her was to show how powerful ADAM was, how untouchable he was, how dangerous he continued to be (so much so that he threw another politician under the bus in order to save his skin).

But even though the detective lady wasn’t able to do anything about him (and who knows, if there’s a season 2 maybe we’ll see more of her), Langa was able to do something about ADAM. Because Langa realized that ADAM lost his purpose for skating and no longer skated because it was fun. Instead, he skated because, like everything else in his life, it made him feel powerful and untouchable and unbeatable. When Langa got in the zone, he felt nothing, he heard nothing, he saw nothing. It was a place of grief and depression for him, where he’d gone before when he dad died and he tried to snowboard for the first time. But for ADAM, the zone represents the only place where hecould just BE without the pressures or the expectations of others. And he wanted to drag Langa there with him because he didn’t want to be alone there. Except that Langa don’t need that shit because he’s found his happiness with Reki. Whereas ADAM has no happiness. He only has power and it’s always lonely at the top.

We see the just a couple of scenes where ADAM may be on the precipe of a paradigm shift and that he may have realized that he lost sight of why he skated, but toward the end, he walks back from it. When he started shouting that it was “insignificant” and that fun had no useful function at all, that’s him walking back from the ledge of the paradigm shift that would have allowed him to become a different person. People don’t change once they’re adults, and the only times they do is when something so jarring happens that it forces them to confront and accept a paradigm shift in their reality.

ADAM has money and power and conviction that he is untouchable, and therefore he has no reason to jump that ledge and undergo a paradigm shift. The detective lady never had any chance at touching him and bringing him down, and her character arc supported the idea that ADAM would not change and cannot change.

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 the infinity spoilers #detective lady #does she even have a name?#who knows #ADAM is every corrupt politician that gets away with murder and never goes to jail #ADAM is every politician that gets away with assault and harassment because investigators and attorneys get bought off #ADAM and the detective side story is everything that is wrong with our political systems today #this is the most realistic plot line in the entire anime #i like my fictional villains to go to jail please #i get enough of asshole politicians roaming free in real life #PUT ADAM IN JAIL #MAKE ADAM SUFFER CONSEQUENCES

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cake-writes · 4 years

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Compromise (Interlude #2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Seven / Master List / Spotify Playlist

Bucky woke to a sudden crack of thunder and the sound of rain pelting a rapid cadence against the windows. A summer storm – a stark contrast to such a beautiful Sunday, but the house was eerily silent.

He quickly discovered why.

Winnie’s bed was too warm, too welcoming, because she was curled up on one side of him and you were fast asleep on the other – pinned against him with his arm around your waist.

Oh.

The breath caught in his throat at the realization that he’d dragged you into bed with him. He must have; you wouldn’t have been lying here otherwise. You wouldn’t have chosen to, not in a million years.

You had boundaries.

Boundaries he hadn’t respected.

While his were more for show, he always tried to respect yours. This time, he hadn’t, and it bothered him – horrified him, if he was being honest, so much that his grip immediately went slack.

The bedside lamp was still on, warm yellow light illuminating your features so beautifully that he just couldn’t look away. His eyes traced every single one: the perpetual dark circles under your eyes, the slight part of your lips as you slept so soundly despite the fact that he’d trapped you here. Flaws, but he didn’t consider them to be. The delicate rise and fall of your chest with each breath. The softness of your body against his. The way your leg was thrown over his so casually, reminiscent of the past.

God, you were gorgeous.

What caught him off guard was that your brows furrowed at the sudden lack of contact, and you pressed closer to him, cheek to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

It made his heart ache. He missed this – missed you. Over two years later, and he still needed you. He still wanted you. He still loved you.

A pipe dream.

Flesh fingertips brushed a few stray hairs from your forehead, skin softening under his touch, crease between your brows dissipating almost instantly.

He tried not to read too much into it. An easy task to be sure, because he was too caught up in his own thoughts.

Why did he still feel this way?

Bucky found himself wishing that things could go back to the way they used to be. He’d make more of an effort this time. Lord knows he tried back then, but his insecurities got the best of him. He wasn’t worthy of your love, or of Winnie’s, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be happy.

Somehow, he found happiness anyway. And then he ruined it.

He ruined it because he was afraid – afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize what a mistake you’d made, afraid that he’d finally let you in and you’d realize what a terrible person he really was. A murderer. An assassin. Blood stained his hands – serum-enhanced and vibranium weapons – but the only thing on yours was the faint scent of coffee.

His very fears became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Ironic.

And then there was Winnie. His daughter. His little girl. Innocent and incorruptible, but with him as a father that wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t.

So he ran.

He went on too many missions to count, to prevent that from happening. He kept his distance – kept his heart locked in a box, even though you’d given him yours on a silver platter. He kept you at arm’s length. Never let you get too close. Never gave himself the chance to ruin you, let alone his innocent baby girl. Never let either of you see that he was already broken beyond repair.

When you finally ended it, it came as a relief – at least until he realized how alone that made him feel. He hadn’t expected the agony of coming home to an empty apartment, an empty life, an empty nest. Crib and cradle gone – moved three hours upstate, as far away from him as you could possibly go without crossing state lines, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

No, the custody battle was a special brand of hell. You went for the jugular. He saw a side of you he’d never seen before – pure, unbridled spite and a viciousness that rivalled that of The Soldier. He would have rather faced the European Theater again, rather faced Hydra again than fight with you.

Trials and tribulations through and through. In between his court proceedings on Capitol Hill, he stood in another courtroom, too – one with you less than six feet away, where tried to defend himself and his actions for the umpteenth time in hopes that you’d give him a shred of something he had no right to have.

One visit per month with his daughter.

That was all he got, and at first he thought it was enough. More than enough, because he didn’t deserve it to begin with. Even though the visits were supervised, he was grateful. Even though you didn’t trust him, he was content.

For a while.

Then it wasn’t, and it hurt. It was all his fault to begin with, but it hurt. He’d been too afraid to see what was right in front of him until it was gone – until it was too late to make amends, and you and Winnie were living your best lives without him.

The visits were an uphill battle, too, with him fighting against the deepest recesses of his mind but he tried. God, he tried, but he missed so many of them. By immersing himself in his work, by trying to make amends for all of his misdeeds, he was able to forget his misery for a little while.

And then you’d text him, and he’d remember.

Don’t bother coming, you’re three hours late.

We have shit to do, Bucky. Thanks for making us wait around for you, like always.

Your daughter really loves it when you don’t show. She’s crying, Bucky. Well done.

Nasty, terrible digs at him, but he deserved them. He internalized them, and he didn’t put up a fight. He made the two of you suffer over and over again until something finally changed in him.

He still didn’t think he deserved to be happy, but he didn’t want either of you to suffer anymore.

So he tried harder. He pushed for recruitment, for new Avengers, and with that came a change of hours. He’d be stateside more often than not. He’d be around, especially after the move to the compound.

Natasha helped him pick out the décor.

Steve helped him adjust to a smaller workload.

It wasn’t until then that Bucky finally had the nerve to talk to you about it. He didn’t want to show up unannounced at your home, especially because Winnie would be there and he didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of her. So, instead, he went to your workplace. The conversation didn’t go as planned; his words came out more as a demand than a request, and he could tell by the hard look in your eyes that you weren’t pleased.

But you acquiesced for him. Always for him, and he loathed how much he loved that you did.

Looking at you now, he still didn’t know why you were so kind to him. A spitfire, absolutely, especially when it came to Winnie, but he loved that about you. He loved that you were so sweet and giving, even when he didn’t deserve it. He loved that you were willing to compromise, even though he’d forced your hand about visitation, about custody.

And you gave in about other things, too. The car. An olive branch, perhaps.

He wasn’t sure whose.

Slowly, gently, Bucky pulled himself out of bed and lifted you into his arms – did his best not to disturb you or Winnie. He knew you’d have to work in the morning, and she’d have preschool. He wanted you to get enough rest, and sharing a bed with your daughter wasn’t the best thing for that, even if she was so small.

You deserved the world. You deserved everything, and so did she.

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest at the familiar feeling of you in his arms – so soft and sweet and absolutely perfect. Unfortunately, he only managed to reach the hallway when you stirred with a groggy whisper, “What’s going on?”

“Just taking you to bed, sweetheart,” he answered, keeping his voice low to suit the late hour. “Go back to sleep.”

You let out soft sound of acknowledgement, then, and the sleepy smile you gave him caught him off-guard, but not as much as when you snuggled closer to him – rest your forehead against his shoulder as he opened the door to your bedroom.

Your breathing went steady and even before he even lay you down on your bed, but when he did, you didn’t let him go. Your delicate arms were wrapped snugly around his neck, which he was able to pry away easily enough, but you let out some incomprehensible grumble at the action just like you used to do.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

He pulled the sheets over you and pressed a kiss to your forehead – too familiar, he realized after the fact, but he didn’t freeze up until you mumbled sleepily, “Love you.”

Sweet words followed by a soft snore.

With his heart hammering inside of his chest, Bucky switched off the light.

When you woke up the next morning, everything was in its place – doors locked, lights off, two lunches packed. The third was gone, and so was he.

For an entire week, your calls and texts went unanswered. Things were the same as before. Nothing had changed – except everything had.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Part Eight

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #compromise

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themoomoorn · 4 years

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Hoshidon’t You Dare Be Peaceful, Corrin

After spotting the well-tread topic of Hoshido and Nohr again, there’s now plenty of spotlight as to why Hoshido is as flawed as Nohr, and moreso in some ways. However, the issue I have with that is that Hoshido’s flaws are rarely, if ever, presented in the story itself, and when they are (I.E the Kouga-Mokushu debacle which led to the former’s prince, Asura, being forced to live as a vagrant), they aren’t played up as being bad, or worthy of note. And heck, some things like Mikoto’s brain-mushing peaceful behavior barrier? Viewed almost as a good thing.

Ryoma shitting on the way of Bushido while espousing its values all the while? Never portrayed as a flaw, whereas Xander’s devotion to his country and fear-driven loyalty to his father definitely are. Corrin will always harp on Xander for his loyalty to his country in Birthright, whereas they have absolutely nothing harsh to say to Ryoma for withholding medicine from Elise on Conquest. Camilla’s maternal latching onto Corrin is portrayed as gross and disturbing on Birthright, whereas Hinoka’s almost pathetic fixation on saving Corrin at the expense of her relationship with her siblings and her other royal duties is portrayed as noble and tragic; Other characters question her choosing the way of the warrior to begin with, but that’s more Hoshidan gender roles at play.

Azura will happily stick by Corrin on Birthright and Revelation, but on Conquest, she has to be forcibly dragged along as a prisoner by Hoshidans three Chapters later in order to actually fight at Corrin’s side. Despite having been kidnapped and mistreated in Hoshido, she still vastly prefers it over Nohr, and if you give her a spouse and her son, she raises him in all-Hoshidan trappings, with his regular ending and the Heirs of Fate DLC having him work for the Hoshidan government. Azura’s Hoshidan Corrin support has her prostrating how she had the audacity to be Corrin’s “replacement” Hoshidan sibling, while her Nohrian support has her trying to dissuade Corrin’s masochistic guilt from killing Hoshidans.

Garon’s being horny for his concubines is shown as a bad thing, and it resulted in the remaining Nohrian royals clinging together, with some of them featuring distressing behaviors such as Camilla’s maternal overbearing (that escalates once Corrin is bought into the picture) and Xander’s fear of his father. Sumeragi being a horndog in his youth - something that you can only find through Fuga’s Revelation support, and something that the localization actually erased - is not. Him having his wife Ikona (the mother of the four Hoshidan siblings) and his mistress Mikoto (the mother of Corrin) living together is paid no mind, likely because it has no overtly negative consequences. The separatism and penting up of their emotions is generally dismissed - Corrin is with them now, so nothing to see here. There’s consequences when Takumi’s distrust of Corrin allows for Anankos to overcome him and manipulate him, but it only plays out on Conquest, as its Birthright equivalent is stopped within ten seconds of its discovery.

Ah, and lest we forget the lack of consequences of Ryoma flat-out lying to Corrin about them being the “blood” siblings.

Revelations features two poignant scenes of the Hoshidan siblings getting final moments with Mikoto and Sumeragi’s manipulated spirits, while the Nohrian siblings get left high and dry other than a token shock scene of Garon getting eaten by Anankos.

While Corrin retains their naive, kind, yet pragmatic (when required) behavior on both Revelation and Conquest (albeit the latter takes it to masochistic levels of guilt), Birthright sees them as being uncharacteristically violent. They show absolutely no quarter to their foes, finds the average Nohrian a mook at best and sick (like Niles) at worst, ultimately doesn’t bother to consider their adoptive families’ reasons for their behavior, or even how the majority of the country supports Garon’s bid for conquest only because they’re constantly plagued by famine and resource-strapped. While the player may lose out on Azura and the truth, Valla, and Anankos, choosing Hoshido is framed positively. No consequences are faced for choosing them in anger, for being unquestionably violent. Corrin never questions this choice, and that’s fine. The other routes frame picking either side as poor options, but you wouldn’t get that idea if you played Birthright, because Corrin is lauded for picking this “right” choice.

What’s more, not only do you have this violence be excused, but you get one of the game’s derided “Avatar favoritism” moments - Flora protecting the Ice Tribe from Hoshido and from Garon’s wrath is entirely (and melodramatically) pinned on the latter by Corrin, not even remotely factoring the idea that these non-Hoshidans are trying to defend themselves, and you have Felicia and Jakob having the audacity to shame her for protecting her damn family and doing her duty as future leader of the tribe as heinous because she’s not being nice or loyal to Corrin - heck, they don’t even bring up Garon bringing the heat on to her like Corrin does, it’s because she used to be one of Corrin’s servants!

There’s meta-textual favoritism towards Hoshido that the localization actually did try to downplay, but because there’s so much of it in the game, there was only so much they could, well, downplay. The most obvious examples are the softer lyrics for the light half of Azura’s song (”The incorruptible silver sword/will slash in order to wake/those slumbering hopes/Bringing peace to the world”), and the renaming of each version of Chapter 6.

Now this dissonance is nowhere near as severe as 3H blatantly presenting Edelgard as a narcissistic, childish variation of the Red Emperor archetype and one of the de-facto villains alongside Those Who Slither, while game dialogue and extraneous material like Heroes go out of their way to make that seem untrue and present her as a cute revolutionary and a good person (*snort*). But it’s still pretty present, and even when I got the Special Edition all-in-one cartridge of Fates mailed to my apartment back in February of 2016 and beat the game to the ground, this particular dissonance really bothered me, and in a way it was the reason why I ultimately didn’t 100% the game the way I did Awakening, or Blazing Blade, or Sacred Stones.

#fire emblem fates #fire emblem fates critical #hoshido critical #corrin #felicia's shaming flora for doing her duty is the real reason why i hate her #not her silly cute clumsy maid schtick #and her father freaking favors her and keeps her ignorant of her prisoner status to boot #felicia you dont deserve your sister #ramblings #fire emblem ramblings

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eglantinian · 7 years

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well goodnight moon, i want the sun (e/é modern AU)

For @hihiyas and @decembersiris

Title: well goodnight moon, i want the sun Summary: Enjolras and Éponine are locked out in the balcony one summer evening as their best friends Combeferre and Grantaire fuck in their apartment. What's the worst that could happen? Pairing(s): Éponine/Enjolras (e/é), Grantaire/Combeferre Read below, or find it at AO3 | FFNET

"It's just a fling, I'm telling you."

The tightness in his voice made her look at him. His lips were set in a fine line, as he skimmed through some academic treatise listlessly. Raising a brow, she peered at what he was reading and saw that the paper was entitled Rebel Governance and the Politics of Civil War by Didier Péclard and Delphine Mechoulan from the Swiss Peace Foundation. Crinkling her nose and turning away from him, she shrugged, letting the comfort of the soft beanie bag warm her and take her mind away from hearing Combeferre and Grantaire going at it. They were going to be stuck in the balcony for quite a while until those two stopped fucking.

"You sound as if you're jealous, hmm," Éponine commented lazily, looking at some dormitory pegs she saw posted at Pinterest. "Conscience bugging you this time, Enjolras? Since you turned R down?"

She swore she could feel his blue eyes narrowing at her before it happened, and when it did, the satisfaction of seeing his irritated face made her look at him. True enough, the scowl was apparent in the deep curve of his lips as he breathed through his nose. He appeared to be trying not to let her get to him, but was failing spectacularly.

Oh, he is so easy to annoy, she thought, a smirk already present on her mocking visage.

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

"I just think that Combeferre is wasting his time with that drunkard, and no amount of 'Change, but with Compassion' arguments by my best friend will change my mind about the propensity of that person to err and use alcohol - a less than stellar way of coping with the fact that I can never return his feelings. So he tried to get it on with my best friend," he retorted, his blue eyes flaring. Gritting his teeth, he moved farther away from Éponine and held his phone more tightly.

She gasped loudly, and smacked his forearm. "What the actual fuck? I really wonder what exactly it is that R saw in you. You must think the sun shines out of your derrière!" Crossing her arms, she couldn't help the venom in her voice as she snarled, "Is that what you think this relationship for him is? You think he's that shallow? Ha! Fucking ha! I pity you, and I pity Combeferre that he has a best friend like you who thinks that way!"

Enjolras stood, putting his phone in his pocket, as he glared at her. "You just don't get it, do you? He drunk-texts me sometimes! I already blocked his number, but for some reason Bahorel thinks it's all right to let him continue doing that!"

The fury Éponine felt for her best friend made her gasp inaudibly as she stared at this fair-haired connard, vitriol making her ball her hands into fists.

"Our best friends are dating for about a year now! I thought you would've changed! But no! You're still the spawn of satan!" she spat tersely as she rose up to meet him, throwing her phone to the beanie bag. A certain spark of electricity crackled in the air, but she ignored it as she matched his fierce stare with one of her own vindictive glares. The kind that says, Bitch, I'm so going to ruin you.

He drew nearer to her, until she could almost feel the wrath that emanated from him with the way he looked at her. "Huh, that's rich coming from you." The usual silkiness of his voice grew raspy as he hissed at her. "You used Montparnasse to get over that booby Marius Pontmercy who chose Cosette Fauchelevent over you. I? Shallow? Look in the mirror, Éponine. Look." The way he said her name made it seem as if he dragged it on a muddy patch of earth and repeatedly stomped on it with gusto.

Her breath shook with anger, and she struggled to compose herself. She stabbed a finger to his white polo-covered chest, and advanced towards him. She ignored, once more, how it was unbuttoned slightly and that if her eyes dropped to that particular area, she would be able to perceive a bit of his skin. That was not the focus, however, and she treaded nearer to him as the hostility in her adenoidal voice became apparent when she harshly retorted, "How dare you bring that up again? I thought we could be friends, but no, monsieur, you fucked us up again. We agreed to have a truce for them, and in that agreement, if I may so remind you, we decided not to bring that up! What's the matter with you? Why are you doing this?!"

"You're such a connard!" she growled, stabbing another finger to his chest.

Enjolras walked towards her rapidly, forcing her to back up to the ledge of the balcony. Éponine swallowed, willing herself not to be afraid of the ferocity of his strides and to stop certain traumatic events from clouding her vision. Brows raising, she taunted him with a laugh. "What's this, huh? Resorting to this level of persuasion?"

"I don't even know why I bother explaining," he responded, and the sudden deadness of his voice alarmed her. He neared her again, and this time, she felt some sweat prickling at the back of her neck as his lips almost touched hers. "I am a demisexual. I know you understand what that means, but I also am biromantic. Grantaire knew these, and he has tried to interact with me a lot of times. But it was all just surface-level conversations. I was too busy and focused with my work to form any sort of bond with him, or anyone else for that matter. In the end, when he confessed, I just could not return it. After that, he drunk more. I tried to talk to him about that. But no - the man is a sceptic to a fault. So I asked Combeferre to help, being the reasonable man that he was, and what did R do? He kissed Combeferre, who was too kind of a person to push him away! So do forgive me for thinking that their relationship will end badly and shortly."

Éponine grabbed his collar, and saw his eyes flash with something undecipherable to her at the moment. Heat. She filed it away for later, as she shot back, "Let them try! For fuck's sake, Enjolras! Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe it started as a rebound, but evolved to something real? Huh? Is that not something to check out first? Shouldn't you not judge them for trying to heal together?"

Enjolras neared her again, and a certain swooping sensation in her stomach almost weakened her knees as her eyes suddenly drifted to his lips. She briefly noted how plumped it was, until she realised where her thoughts were going, and it made her stand erect immediately. What the actual fuck? she thought, her grip tightening on his collars.

"I'll have you know that I have," he scoffed, and he turned his head away for a bit as he put his hands on the railings beside her arms. She stilled for a bit, but shrugged it away as his fair curls caressed her cheeks. He didn't appear to realise how Éponine released a deep breath as she eased her hold on him, and she noticed the way his shoulders stooped lowly.

Fighting with Enjolras drained a lot out of her. It frustrated her a lot because she really wanted to keep trying to befriend him. He was difficult, but his honesty and sincerity always managed to level her tenacious personality. She also treasured the way he held her sometimes when she cried, especially when her brother died. On that doleful day, he had looked at the way shadows were present below her eyes and simply put a hand to her waist to lightly beckon her to him. A sob whimpered out of her lips, and he took her in his arms, embracing her fully. He was quiet, even as he tried to pretend that he didn't drop a kiss to her hair. But she felt its warmth, and it was enough to lessen the weight in her chest.

In the end, they made quite a pair of friends, and she treasured his friendship, so having this kind of discussion with him stung.

Nonetheless, she agreed that even she herself found Combeferre and Grantaire's relationship odd at first, but when she saw the gradual change and desire for redemption in her best friend, she relented. It finally made sense. Combeferre was always so understanding and caring towards him, and she guessed that was why they worked so well.

If only Enjolras would stop being so stubborn, he would see this kind of reasoning, but it would probably take more time. It was nice that he was incorruptible, but sometimes, this made him dogmatic when it came to people whom he perceived were not as steadfast as he was towards their goals in life.

Eyeing him from the corner of her lids, she saw how firm the curve was forming on his lips. Mirroring his frown, she felt her eyes tear up a bit. It always sucked when they fought. She bowed her head in exhaustion, feeling the argument deflate within her.

"I just wish that people would understand -" he began again, facing her as she was raising her head, and accidentally met her lips in a kiss.

The silence in the night grew more immense, and the two found themselves stuck in the position as they stared at each other in interest. His blue eyes flickered as she felt her eyes widen at the contact.

A certain lightness thrummed within her heart as a rather peculiar feeling of serenity filled her whole being.

Éponine blinked, and was about to move her mouth away to scream at him when he jolted away from her, his hands grasping her waist in an attempt to break his fall. But that was not to be, and so they began the quick descent towards the ground in the balcony.

Quite clumsily, she would say, as he fell to the floor and dragged her with him in a PLOP, his back meeting the beanie bags. Her head lay on his chest, and Enjolras grunted from the slight ache. She felt a bit winded, but she continued to stay still so she would not make it worse before looking up at him. His eyes were focused towards the night-time sky, and she noted that his cheeks were incarnadine from embarrassment.

"It really had to come to this," Enjolras muttered to himself, his voice low, and she became aware of his hands on her waist once more. A line of warmth spread itself across her visage as she processed what his statement probably meant. Maybe it would finally clarify the reasons she has been making up in her head to avoid fighting with him.

There was a reason why she was known for her veracity, as well, though, so she rose up a bit by putting her hands by the sides of his head. She bit her lip and tried to resist the urge to slide her fingers through his curls. It was just so near to touch, and she found herself aching with the desire to do it.

I want to finish that kiss, her traitorous mind whispered, and she mentally nodded in agreement. She just wants to know something first.

"Are you saying that you're in love with me, Enjolras? Or something, hmm?" she challenged, eyeing him as he closed his lids before opening them to meet her gaze.

She felt his hands curl at the small of her back, and it was a while before he responded clearly. "I suspected it already, and I'm not ashamed of it, really. But I don't know about you. You are so hard to read sometimes."

Éponine rolled her eyes, sliding her fingers to his blonde curls and watching his eyes flutter at her touch. "Say it," she demanded, straddling him suddenly, not at all minding that her emerald dress drew up and showed him a bit of a peek of what's down there. If he did, that is. Well, she's not wearing anything. She's in their apartment, so to hell with social conventions. It was freer that way.

A low moan escaped his lips, the raw desire present in the hoarseness of his voice. All the same, it did not deter him from quipping, "What do you want? For me to quote Victor Hugo's love letter for Adele Foucher in 1821?"

She moved her hips above his denims, and smirked as she felt something rise beneath her. "No, I want you," she teased, "but tell me, anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras decided that they could play this game together and cupped her arse before squeezing it. She hummed with approval.

Do that again, please, she found herself wishing, and it must have shown on her face as a smirk found its way on his lips. He regarded her with heavily lidded eyes before he relented.

"Fine," he said, amused as he watched her sigh happily when he caressed her buttocks through her dress before gripping it tightly. "He wrote to her: 'This union is love – genuine, complete love, such as few men can imagine. It is a love which is a religion, since the object of love is regarded as a divinity, with all the devotion and affection which turn the greatest sacrifices into the sublimest joys. Such a love you inspire in me, and such a love you will someday feel for me, although to my sorrow you do not feel it now. Your soul is incapable of an angelic love. It may be, therefore, that only an angel can inspire such a love'."

Éponine knew it was romantic, so it turned her on a bit. Words just sounded so good when it came from his lips. It was just so fucking hot. Fucking. That was it. They need to fuck.

Stretching her body a bit, she raised a brow, a fond curl forming on her lips. "Cool. I'm on the pill. Wanna fuck?"

Under the moonlight, his blue eyes darkened with pleasure. He placed a finger beneath her breast, tracing its path gently. The thinness on her dress made the gesture satisfyingly sweet and arousing, and she shivered as he asked, "Already, Éponine?"

"Well, in case, you're blind, I have been rather in love with you, too. We could talk about feelings later, though," she said in a blasé tone, a fond curl on her lips. The way her heart swelled, however, told her that it was the opposite of that. Nothing about Enjolras was. But she did not want to be eloquent right now because the heat starting pool in her stomach was making her sweat with anticipation.

"So yeah, wanna fuck or just dry hump?" No one ever did say that she wasn't shy from blurting out what she wants. "I firmly believe that you and I will find the former more... enjoyable."

"Why do I find your crassness appealing?" The playful lilt in his tone made her smile unabashedly as she gazed at him.

But of course, she has to balance the floating feeling with her candidness. "You're supposedly in love with me, so yeah, naturally, you would find everything I do appealing."

His chuckle widened into an all-out smile, as he murmured her name softly and stroked her arm tenderly.

Grinning at his ministrations, Éponine moved away from him for a bit before she unbuckled his belt, put his fly down, and released his cock from the tightness of his underpants. Stroking the length of it, she gripped it and put the whole damn thing in her mouth. She did this while he stared, his surprise giving way to excited and satisfied moans.

"Éponine," he whispered lowly, his fingers slipping through the ends of her hair.

Convinced that his dick was wet enough, she stood up a bit and lifted her skirt up, letting his eyes see underneath her dress.

"Y-you're not wearing anything beneath that?" he spluttered, his voice cracking a bit as his hands caressed her thighs.

"How astute of you, Enjolras," she sassed, placing herself above him until his pole was just a hair's breath away from her throbbing centre.

Enjolras grabbed her suddenly and entered her smoothly in her stupefaction. He pounded on her rapidly until she was panting and feeling herself slowly being taken apart. She gasped as he squeezed her breasts through the thinness of her garment.

A fond curl formed on his lips as he put a finger to play with her clitoris. Upon circling it, she shivered, and he laughed as he continued to thrust within her. He repeated all these ministrations until he felt her quiver and collapse on him. He dropped a kiss on her head, and slid a finger by her spine. He heard her sigh in contentment. It did not matter that he was not able to release. Yet.

"You are so terrible," she muttered fondly, exhausted but still not moving away from their position. She fingered the buttons on his polo, admiring the way it set his blonde curls to focus.

"I am," he acquiesced, threading her hair with his fingers. "Wanna keep fucking? Or do you want to talk more about this?"

"Neither. I just want to lay down here for a bit with you," she responded, finally releasing his dick from within her. He let her help him dress himself silently, and when they were done, he took her to his arms and let her lips stay on his neck.

"How long do you think have they been fucking?" he asked, tracing a line on her collarbone.

Éponine hummed, greatly satisfied with his affectionate gesture. "Ugh. I don't give a fuck anymore. It's been so long."

"It's good that it's still summer, then. If it's winter, fucking outdoors is a bad idea."

"I'm of half a mind to try that."

Enjolras laughed into the night, and pressed his lips upon hers once more.

#enjonine #e/e #grantaire/combeferre #enjolras #eponine #grantaire #combeferre #Les Misérables

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red-mafia-rpg-blog · 7 years

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Gregor ValiguraVolkov || Brotherhood || The Tempest

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Jon Bernthal Age: 39 Occupation: N/A Nationality/Ethnicity: Russian

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: The Challenger Alignment: Neutral Evil MBTI: ENTP

+ Incorruptable, Principled, Venturesome

- Callous, Caustic, Pugnacious

From a young age, Gregor has always been somewhat of a rebellious, reckless child that enjoyed provoking fights and stirring up trouble. This behaviour reached its peak once he was taken in by the military and trained among his new comrades, topping in what others might call self-destructive tendencies. Along with that, he has always been carrying somewhat of a cynical and bitter attitude towards society and life in general, but paired with a sense of humour — possibly rather bizarre — it made for a person that acted much like a jerk but could be tolerated once you got to know him.His first actual love and later wife was the one to slow Gregor down for a while and heal him from what he has endured. Still, he would not let go of his reckless demeanour completely, but slowly turned into a considerate parent who cared about his wife and son more than his own life. The events of the war and of the aftermath, however, especially with the consequences of the Secret Police trying to recruit him, seemingly destroyed the glimpse of hope and happiness his wife had sown and cherished so carefully.Now, Gregor has turned into somewhat of an irascible person that only ever seems to come to life when in a fight with fists to his nose or stomach. He does not do emotions except for anger, wrath and rage, making his core identity. Underneath it all, however, he never quite let go of his parental instincts and is subconsciously always looking for a family he seeks to protect. Even though he refuses to acknowledge that to himself, this is mostly the reason why he ranked up so quickly in the Brotherhood and makes such a strong commander of support. He subconsciously sees all of his trainees, the people who belong to his syndicate in general, as family and whoever threatens to harm them… well, better think twice if it is worth the trouble.

BIOGRAPHY

Not even born yet, the mention of Gregor only brought up resentment. His father being no less a man than Pyotr Valigura, third Pakhan of the Valigura Bratva, an infamous, old and strong brotherhood, there wasn’t a place in the world for a mistake made by one of Moscow’s most powerful men: a bastard son; a problem originating in a random one-night-stand with a random barista after a random amount of alcohol. So a plan was counted up to clean Pyotr off his mistake before his fellow Valigura could find out. However, as his confidant arrived at the barista’s house to get the job done, nice and quickly, they found it abandoned, the expectant mother having disappeared off the face of the earth, or so it seemed. Her sister-in-law had taken her in while her husband was fighting at the front in the First World War, but knowing that she couldn’t hide from the brotherhood forever, she gave Gregor up for adoption.

The baby boy was taken in by the Volkovs, a family name well-known with his adoptive father a man close to Stalin. His parents never kept it a secret to Gregor that they’d adopted him — even though unaware of his true origins —, but this knowledge didn’t make a change about their family bonds. A few years into his childhood, he was promised to live a comfortable life, enjoying the family’s money and respect. These visions were rapidly shattered, however, when soldiers broke into their home one night, dragging their father away and sending them to Gulag, claiming he’s betrayed the Soviet Union. While Konstantin was eaten up by the shame and hatred for his father, Gregor distanced himself from the latest events.

He wasn’t my father anyway.

However, he couldn’t close his eyes from the truth that the family was left with no money or power, no future for the two boys. His mother, in her despair, sold herself to the men her husband had interacted with, only worsening the life they were forced to lead. Gregor and his younger brother were left to their own demise, somehow had to weave their way through life, until one day they saw the soldiers again.

This time, they were coming for the boys. With tensions rising in Europe and a new war seeming possible only few years after the massive failures in the Russian Empire’s participation in the First World War, the military hungered for new recruits. In memory of the family’s past, the Volkov brothers were to be moulded into perfect little soldiers, cleaning their name under the Soviet flag.

Konstantin had always been more of a reclusive boy who works hard a quiet and stayed out of the trouble for the better part. He had a mission, an aim to achieve: wash himself off of his father’s shame. Gregor, on the other hand, wasn’t driven by anything resembling that honourable motivation. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what to do with his life, was bored to death by everything, and just gasping for a little thrill. He ended up throwing himself head first into conflicts at every chance, more often than not needing his brother to bail him out of the fights again. Early into the training at the military, it was obvious that Gregor didn’t excel at hand-to-hand combat or short ranged weapons. But oh boy, when he first laid hand onto a sniper rifle. Sharpshooting quickly became his speciality. Finally, he was able to define himself over something, distance himself from the others, and so he’d spend hours and hours of practicing until there wasn’t a target he couldn’t hit, no matter the distance, his positioning, its movements or the wind. He also developed quite a fascination for explosives of all sorts — bombs, grenades, mines, missiles — but the rifle would always stay his weapon of choice.

Only two years before the outbreak of the Second World War, Gregor met the love of his life, Ana Matkin. A quick wit embedded into a stunning dark-haired and blue-eyed beauty, she completely threw his world upside-down, and in a head-over-heel decision somewhat mirroring his way of life, they got married and moved in together. By the time, Gregor almost broke contact with his brother. He was finally having it all: a loving wife, an adorable son, a life everyone was striving for. There simply wasn’t a place for Konstantin and the constant reminders of their past.

However, as war broke out, Gregor saw it coming and only waited for the day he and his brother were sent to the front. They fought side by side, had each other’s back, made sure to, one way or another, drag their sibling along and get them to safety. They made quite a team to be reckoned with. Until a mission in Germany went wrong, a trap, perhaps, Gregor doesn’t remember, but they got separated.

Gregor barely made it out alive and back to the camp where he was greeted with a simple “No” to his yet unspoken request. He tried to reason with the officer in charge, screamed at him, shouted, threatened him even, but all he was offered was a trip back to Moscow. Not just once, they told him that Konstantin as probably dead by now and if he wasn’t, God may have mercy on his soul. Gregor refused to let it end this way, and single-handedly slipped back behind enemy lines, only accompanied by a few comrades that couldn’t stand him so much but did it for his brother.

On a mission that should’ve meant certain death for each and every one of the soldiers, they infiltrated the Germans, found out where they were keeping Konstantin and delivered him from captivity. They never talked about what they did to him in those weeks, but he’s never been the same afterwards. Neither was Gregor, though, and when he finally returned to his wife and his son, eight years of age by then, he and Konstantin lost sight of each other and wouldn’t keep up any form on contact in a long while.

Processing the war, Gregor became quieter, calmer, but also more aggressive when provoked. Unable to talk about his emotions and claiming that no one could ever understand him anyway, he bottled up his anger, feeding that swelling hatred inside his stomach over the officer who had let down Konstantin just like that. After all that he’s done for his country. More and more frequently, Gregor would disappear down the basement for a couple hours, punching rough, solid stone walls until his knuckles broke and bled. Now that he’s witnessed it once, he couldn’t make the injustice unseen that loyal Russians like Konstantin and him, who had bled for their country, had to suffer.

Even though he desperately tried to ignore everything politics, the regular reports of how Stalin treated his people, the ones he should actually protect and care for, burnt a mark into Gregor’s heart. Ana was quick to realise the change of mind her husband was going through, trying to silence his rebellious, traitorous remarks about their government, but with no success.

Hardly a year back in Moscow, the secret police, hiding their true identity from him, of course, contacted him with an offer: either join them and go on mission for the Soviet Union in order to stabilise the country and preserve peace, or have them slaughter his wife and his son and all of his beloved ones. If only he knew who he was dealing with, maybe he would have decided differently. But then again, he’s always been somewhat of a bullethead, clinging onto his own principles way too strictly. And perhaps, too, he wanted to dare them to act on their thread.

Well, they did. A couple weeks later after he almost forgot about the strange encounter that had made him laugh for the first time in a long period, Gregor returned home from a run late in the evening and found the remains of his wife spread in their living room; crimson red had soaked into the furniture, covered all of the walls and read a barbaric note on the wall: Save your son.

He’s seen a lot while at the front; comrades carrying their own guts as they stumbled in shock, and others having their skin melting off their faces from the heat of an explosion. It was fair to say he had become inured to horrifying sights, but that scene that was presented to him in his very living room, made him double over and empty his stomach onto the carpeted floor. It was a moment of weakness, bare seconds, but a warrior doesn’t mourn the dead until the war is over. And so he pushed himself onto his feet, went for the sniper rifle he was carefully stowing beneath his bed, and climbed onto his home’s roof. They couldn’t be far, he hoped.

Yet he was surprised when he made out two silhouettes in the dark; a dark figure dressed all in black and his little Tad with his unmistakeable blonde locks being dragged to a car. Having a rough idea just which organisation he was dealing with, Gregor knew what awaited the boy; pain and torture and the fact that he was only nine years old wouldn’t make a difference to his capturers. So he raised the rifle, aimed and felt his finger sliding onto the trigger like it had countless times before. He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t trembling, he was as calm as he’s trained to be. Gregor exhaled and a shot echoed from Moscow’s walls.

Completely numb, zoned out even, he watched as Tad went down, but much more interesting was the reaction of his capturer. He knelt down, almost as if in despair, hands clenched tightly onto the kid, holding him as he shook, fighting for his last breaths. The man raised his head, staring directly to Gregor’s spot on the roof. And even though he keeps telling himself that his mind must’ve fooled him, Gregor still believes to have seen all too familiar blue orbs reflecting his own pain.

After the events of the night, Gregor ended up where his story had started way back; joining the Bratva for good. He had grown numb to pain and emotions. Only hatred and wrath, bottled up deep inside, kept him going, made him get up the morning. He proved his loyalty and value to the brotherhood not only once or twice, but over and over again until he was promoted to rank 3, training officer. The trainees that had been assigned to work with him, utterly hated every second of it, but he taught them everything he learned from the military, war and his years in the tunnels. If they survived his training, they’d survive anything.

Only a few weeks back, their Pakhan found a special interest in Gregor and shortly after, he was promoted to the position of commander of support. Even though he told him it was the reward for his exemplary qualifications and achievements, Gregor can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to it.

#new rp #new rpg #crime rpg #biotaken #bio #biobratva #jon bernthal fc

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