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messwriting · 4 years

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Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol).

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel, @pleasantanathema and @linestrider. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn.

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor.

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.”

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight.

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number. “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves.

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation.

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.”

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss.

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping.

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee.

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.”

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.”

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?”

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question.

“What do you mean?”

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?”

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you… And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side.

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional.

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression.

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

“I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess.

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent.

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin.

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.”

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides.

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue.

“I think I may need a little…” Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks.

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback.

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry.

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.”

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start.

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips.

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest.

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment.

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself.

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants.

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table.

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud. There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already.

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh.

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him.

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee.

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil.

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers.

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching.

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins.

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan.

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk.

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his.

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.”

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it.

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this.

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt.

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning.

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you.

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something.

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going.

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you.

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting.

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know.

He’s not stopping. Until he does.

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin.

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.”

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth.

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin.

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound.

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it.

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt. “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm.

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat.

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.”

This.

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire.

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are.

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.”

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.”

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip.

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure.

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you.

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that.

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that.

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure.

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence.

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.”

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding. Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes.

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core.

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever.

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit.

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking.

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes.

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect.

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it.

You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat.

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it.

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had.

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?”

#osamu miya smut #osamu miya #osamu miya hq #haikyuu smut #tw dubcon #thesmutpilecollab #hq fanfic #osamu miya x reader

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

Number Eight pt.1

A/N-I had fun with this request and kind of want to make it into more parts. What do you all think??

Warning-swearing, angst

Based off Episode- 1x01

————

The sound of your fork scraping on the bottom of your empty bowl echoes around the table. Feeling your siblings eyes focused on your slumped figure, and watching the “bad” manners you displayed as you put your elbow on the table top to rest your chin on your hand.

No one dared at first to speak on your posture in fear of angering your father with speaking while eating, but Allison as always dared to correct you to do better even if she wasn’t allowed to talk. “Y/N—”

“Number eight.” Your father interrupted sharply, “sit up right and get your elbow off the table.”

Your eyes dart to him to shoot him a glare as you slowly drag your arm off and sit up straight, huffing out dramatically. Usually Ben would tell you to stop and just listen, but as you looked to where he usually sat, it was empty. A fact that made you even angrier. The feeling causes you to stab your fork on the table, the sound making everyone around look to you.

“Yes, number eight?” Your father spoke, his eyes like all the rest on you before you erupted from your seat and snapped.

“Are we going to do nothing about Ben? Are we not going to try and get him back?”

“The only possible way to have done so was with number five, but he as you know is no longer with us.”

You scoff, “and are we not going to do anything about him either? He just disappeared and you did nothing!”

“He made a mistake, there was nothing we could do. Now don’t talk about it anymore.” He argued, expecting you to sit back down after he finished but noticing you that you weren’t and you remained defiant. You looked to your other siblings to see if they would back you up, but as you looked at each of them one by one, none said a thing and instead avoided your gaze, making you let out an irritated huff of air and look back at your father to continue arguing.

“But I could. I could use my powers to try and bring them back! Both Ben and five!”

“No!” He sneered, “you are not, your powers are not fully developed, nor discovered. If you try anything you will end up just like number five did! Sit down number eight, right now!”

You scoff, “no, if you’re not going to try anything, I will.” You open your palms and a purple energy hue begins to surround your hands, turning brighter and bigger as you begin to use all your strength.

“Number eight!”

Shooting him one last glare you try your best, mostly unaware of what you’re going to do and just going off what you’ve been taught so far and have been learning yourself. It was a daring choice that could have an dangerous outcome mainly for yourself, but all you wanted to do was bring your brothers back and well you had faith that it was going to work and everything was going to be fine. It was going to work—

The purple hues that emitted from your and surrounded your hands turned brighter and this time you saw some of your siblings stand to watch what you were doing, their attention going to you and the purple hues. Before any could stop you, as you felt the energy of your power built up inside you, you shot it out in a big wave that blinded you for a couple of seconds.

A couple seconds that you only realized changed everything as you blinked repeatedly and your eyesight refocused on your surroundings, focused and noticed the same sunny day, but only something was off. As the sun peeked inside there was a purple hue as well. Actually now that you looked around, the purple hue was everywhere. And everyone was gone.

You raced to the living room to look over the chimney and notice that Five’s picture was gone...strange—where was everyone?

It was quiet, mom wasn’t around and neither was Pogo. Hmm—hesitantly you leave the living room area and head to the main hall, looking up the stairs to wait if you would hear the usual noise your siblings made. But as you focused, nothing was heard. So again with some hesitance you followed to move along, walking up the stairs and going to check the rooms. When you reach the hall you freeze as you hear commotion coming from Five’s room.

“No.” You whisper before your attention gets stolen by more noise further down the hall. Your eyebrows furrow and your heart begins to beat rapidly inside your chest.

It couldn’t possibly be any of your other siblings, if it was them you’d know. They were gone, but there was obviously someone here. You slowly approach Five’s room and before you could poke your head inside he walks out. You blink and he raises his eyebrow.

“Five.” You breath in a state of shock.

“Y/N.” His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly, “are you okay?”

You swallow thickly, “are you? Where have you been?”

“Here.” He said slowly and slightly confused, “because you want me here. Don’t you remember?”

You blink once more and step back, snapping your head to the end of the hall as you hear quick footsteps run towards you—Ben. Holy shit. What’s going on?

“Y/N! No more training, let's go outside and play that new game, Klaus made up.” He stops a few feet away from Five and you, and looks happily between the both of you. “Five join us.”

“Ben?” You manage to roll out slowly. “You’re here?”

Five looks to you and shoved his hands in his pockets, “again he’s here because you want him here. You have the power of Chaos Magic reality warping, it’s as dad says, your powers are still not fully discovered. This might just be an extension of them.”

“But why aren’t the rest here?”

Five shrugs, “you tell me.”

Your eyes fall to the ground and think, even if deep inside your mind you knew. You left because you wanted to help Five and Ben. You were just following your own plan.

The corner of your lips fall into a frown at the fact that he might’ve been right about your powers. Maybe this was a crazy idea, but Five and Ben were here. You missed them and you also couldn’t leave them. Maybe you could take him back? Or maybe not? What did you even do?

Father was right….

“So do you want to come or not, y/n?” Ben asked again.

You looked up to him and then five...noticing the smile that Ben so rarely displayed and only did so around either of your siblings or you, while also showing his usual playful side that father barely let him show with all the training and fighting. That he let either of you show. So maybe this wasn’t the worst choice, maybe you could stay for a little while...just a little while.

You grin and nod, “let’s go!”

——

1 year later

As time passed the illusion of having both brothers back was one that you didn’t want to let go, even as much as the presence of your siblings were beginning to slowly weigh down your heart. Yes they were loud and they could sometimes get on your nerves, but they were still your siblings, you still wanted them around. Even if they fought and didn’t listen you missed them, it wasn’t the same without them. As the year passed that feeling didn’t leave your mind. But you also couldn’t find a way to bring them here nor take Five and Ben back with you.

Endless studying also resulted with the same knowledge you had learned before your trip here. Just like everyone and everything remained the same. Just like the purple hue surrounding the world you made.

It was probably time to go home…..even if your father would be furious—hopefully a whole year passing has called him down.

“You know….” You mutter as you put down the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, “I think it’s time for me to go back.”

Five and Ben both look at you and put down their own sandwich.

You fiddle with the sleeve of your uniform jacket and feel tears sting your eyes, hear the crack in your voice as you try and continue explaining. “You know I’ve tried to take you guys back but I can’t find a way. But maybe with more practice I can try again later on.” You sniffle and wipe the tears of your cheeks. “For now though I think I need to go back with the rest.”

Five nods, “if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” Ben agrees with a half smile, “we understand.”

The corner of your lips tug into a sad smile and you reach to grab both of their hands to give them a gentle squeeze. “I’ll come back again.” A purple energy hue begins to emit from your palms and surround both hands, the hue brightening and growing more powerful with more strength. You sniffle and shut your eyes, feeling warm tears roll down the curve of your cheeks just as you send a wave of the purple hue energy out. The power of it once again seeming to explode in a bright light, changing everything and taking the feeling of both of your brothers hands away.

As expected when you opened your eyes they were both gone—exhaling shakily, you pull both arms off the table to push yourself off your seat, looking to the dining room and seeing the sunlight begin to slowly dim as dark clouds began to cover it. It was a normal occurrence, but the day you left it was a sunny day all day, and well your family had been here, now they were gone too, like when you left the first time.

No.

Quickly you ran out of the dining room and rushed to the living room, skidding to a stop once you recognized five and a strange woman standing in front of the chimney looking at a painted portrait of Five and you placed over it. “What the hell?” You mouthed completely stunned.

They both turn their heads and the woman seems to be more surprised than…Five was; while you were more shocked to see Five.

Did it work? Did you bring him back? No, he would’ve been next to you if you had and he was suddenly here now next to this weird woman who looked familiar.

“Five?”

“Y/N?” The strange woman voiced in a surprised tone at the same time you called Five. “What the….how are you back?”

Your gaze drifted to her and your eyebrows knotted together. “Who are you?”

She blinked as her lips were left parted in surprise. “It’s Vanya.”

“Vanya?” You scoffed and shook your head, looking back at Five to question him too. “How are you here?”

“Holy shit! Y/N?!” You turn around at the sound of your name and see a thin man with dark hair and in a skirt who looked familiar as well. “What?!”

“Who are you?” You ask as you take a cautious step back, noticing more adults walk down the stairs and walk into the living room, all of them expressing the same shocked expression as they spotted you. But also seeming familiar to you. It wasn’t until you noticed Pogo come along as well did you feel some type of reassurance. “Pogo! What’s going on? Who are these people? Where’s dad?”

“Y/N?” He questioned as well, almost as if they had never seen you when you’ve been gone for only minutes or a couple hours.

“Where are the rest? Allison? Mom? Klaus? Diego? And Luther?” You queried in a panicked voice

The tall and pretty women approached first, “it’s us, y/n. We’re here. How are you back?”

You blink repeatedly and shrug, “I used my powers, like when I left. How are you older?”

“You’ve been gone for sixteen years.” A buff and tall man answered for the lady, the answer makes you gasp and shake your head in disbelief.

“Wow today has just been an exciting reunion.” The same man in the skirt shares with a smile, “First Five comes back from whatever time he was in and now you come back too.”

So Five is actually back for real….that’s good to know. Now all you need to know is what’s going on with you? Is this just another effect of your powers? No, couldn’t be. As you looked around the room there was no purple hue. It all looked normal.

“Where’s dad?” You question again. “I need to talk to him.”

They all look at each other and their shell shocked expression falls and turns serious and almost sad.

“Who’s going to tell her?” The man in the skirt asked.

Pogo walked closer and took your hand in his, looking up at you with a saddened look. “Y/N, your father has unfortunately passed away.” You grow quiet and your eyes again look to the ground. You exhale deeply and repeat what Pogo had said.

Your father wasn’t the best, but he was still your dad. A man you haven’t seen in a year...or sixteen apparently. Not only that but he might be the only person who understood your powers and understood what had happened. Now he wasn’t here to explain.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, looking up to the people that claimed to be your siblings. “How do I know you guys are telling the truth?”

The man in the skirt lifts his jacket sleeve and shows the tattoo you had as well. A sign that only the selected few had.

“Okay.” You nod, looking up to meet his gaze and then the rest, trying to place a name with a face. “You must be Klaus,” you say as you point to the man in the skirt, who smiles as a response before you look at the taller women, “you’re Allison,” you then turn to the buff man, “Luther,” and then you turn to the man in all black with knives sheathed around him, “Diego.”

“Yes you’re correct.” Pogo speaks for them, “all your siblings are here. For your father's funeral.”

You nod, “okay.”

“Where have you been? How are you still young?” Vanya asks as she walks around you to be in front of you.

You shrug, “I don’t even know, here but not here. I don’t know. I used my powers and they took me to the house, I saw Ben and five but that’s all. Only a year passed though. Not sixteen.”

“Well,” Allison spoke up as she walked closer to you, “we’re glad you’re back. We missed you.” She then wrapped you in a hug you didn’t hesitate to return.

“I missed you guys too.” You whispered.

“Now come on, we have to go outside.”

——

The rain poured down, making the energy around even sadder. Adding actually a tension around the group that you had felt before and only increased tenfold. Not only that but Mom had been acting weird. She reacted to your return in a weird way. Acting as if you had never been gone. Acting a little clueless to everything. “Did something happen?”

All of you turned to her after her question and Allison answered first. “Dad died. Remember?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“Is mom okay?” You ask them, which Diego of course is the first one to do so.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She just needs to rest. You know, recharge.”

Pogo walks and joins the group and turns to Luther holding the vase. He opens and all the ashes fall lumply to the ground. His added words make things just plain awkward. “Probably would’ve been better with some wind.”

You scratch the back of your head and suck in air through your teeth softly, looking to the ground and avoiding the awkward tension as Pogo questions the group and no one answers. “Does anyone wish to speak?” He only pauses for a moment and continues with his own words that Diego soon harshly interrupted.

“He was a monster...”

Klaus chuckles and you frown.

“...He was a bad person and a worse father. The worlds better off without him.”

Allison calls to him sharply, “Diego.”

“My name is number two.” He corrects her. “You know why? Because our father couldn’t be bothered to give us actual names. He had mom do it.”

“Would anyone like something to eat?” Mom asks, making Vanya dismiss her kindly.

“Look you wanna pay your respects, go ahead.”

“Diego,” you call, “stop.”

He shakes his head and continues, “but at least be honest about the man he was.”

Luther having enough finally speaks up. “You should stop talking now.” But Diego doesn’t stop and continues, making Luther swing his fist at Diego. Who instantly fought back, their punches loud as their fists came in contact with their wet skin—at least nothing has changed.

Pogo leaves and Allison pulls you back with her as both boys continue to the point where Luther the statue of Ben breaks as it falls. Making you have enough and shout at them to stop, a little too late as Diego manages to throw one last move, cutting Luther's arm with his knife. “Guys! Stop! You guys are brothers! Not wild Animals! Yes dad was not the best man but he was still our father! If you have nothing good to say, Diego just be quiet and at least show respect for a little while.”

Those siblings left standing around all look at you and their faces fall, none of them speaking or continuing the fight, all of them except for Luther staying quiet. “Sorry, y/n, I know it must be harder for you, I’m sorry.” Just with that he proceeded to leave, holding his wound and disappearing inside, before you also disappeared inside with Allison. And soon falling into a loud silence inside as you left to your room that had remained the same after all the years you left. Which was at least good, that way you knew mom never forgot you. Just like your father didn’t as the portrait of Five and you hung above the chimney. The only thing that changed was your siblings. Well all except for Five. He at least remained the same, some sense of familiarity in this strange new time.

“Where’s Vanya?” Allison asked as she joined Five and Klaus and you in the kitchen.

“Oh, she’s gone.” Klaus answered nonchalantly.

“That’s unfortunate.” Five responded as he turned away from what he was looking for, only not to talk about Vanya. “An entire square block. Forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, but not a single drop of coffee.”

“Dad hated caffeine.” You mention.

“Well he hated children, too and he had plenty of us.” Klaus laughs.

“I’m taking the car.” Five says abruptly, before he blinks away and Diego’s walks in with his bags.

“All right, I guess I’ll see you guys in, what, ten years? When Pogo dies?”

Allison scoffs, “not if you die first.”

“Yeah, love you too, sis.” Diego says as he steals food from your plate, patting your shoulder to talk to you. “I’ll see you soon, y/n.”

“Will you?” You quirk your eyebrow.

“Of course. You know you were always my favorite.”

You chuckle and shake your head, the smile not lasting as he makes a rude comment about Allison. “Good luck on your next film. Hope it turns out better than your marriage, huh?”

Allison ignores and storms out of the room, disappearing out of the room just like Diego and Klaus. Leaving you to dwell with your confusion and sadness alone.

#the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy #tua fanfiction #tua imagines #tua imagine #tua #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #luther hargreeves #pogo #Grace tua #tua reginald

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ato-matsuri · 3 years

Text

On Agartha

Been a while since I’ve written a long text post, most of all one about Fate. It honestly inspires a lot of rambling in me, after all. But I don’t think, this time, it’s due to its good writing, the emotions it makes me feel, or anything good. This, my friend, is about Agartha. I should probably prelude that this contains a metric shit ton of Agartha spoilers. If you haven’t seen Agartha, and you’re actually wanting to see the story -- scroll past. But, having played through Agartha completely and rested on the story for a bit, I think I want to repeat what everyone else has for ages lol.

Agartha, on paper, is incredible. A subterranean world built off fantastical story off fantastical story, made by a woman known for her ability to weave story after story, within stories, on the fly, and from a database of every possible Arabian Nights tale. Where the fear Scheherazade has due to Shahryar's endless abuse and fearmongering has stretched even to men as a whole due to literal years of having to survive Shahryar. Where the only leaders were queens, where the only rebellion force was a man so horrifically corrupt that he'd easily fall for the tricks she played. Her intent -- to reveal magecraft forever, removing any power magecraft has, saving her from ever having to fight and face kings -- and die -- ever again. That... sounds pretty good when I describe it that way, huh? Now if only it were executed with any modicum of sense.

From the beginning, Agartha's writing struck me as remarkably odd. It was like I was watching someone desperately try to emulate Nasu's writing style -- but had absolutely no idea what made Nasu's writing so good. Its exposition dumps, rather than being interesting, ended up being thoroughly boring -- as they focused on the mundane, like the fact that moss glows to light up the landscape -- instead of the magical implications of a world like Agartha even existing to begin with. Albeit, with the mystery of Agartha at that time, we can safely assume that there wasn't much to focus on, but then why spend so damned long talking about this stuff?

The worldbuilding, while passable, feels fairly flawed in execution. The idea of a world made the way Agartha was could've made for some interesting commentary about the way men treated (and still do treat) women in modern society, but Agartha not only misses the point, but tumbles head-over-ass into the uncanny valley and makes the whole thing sound like a continent-wide BDSM session. There's barely any actual subtle or well-done symbolism to showcase misogyny in this way -- and while hyperbole can serve a good point at times, the hyperbole combined with the strangely sexual writing of these segments makes it feel less like commentary and more like a badly-done doujin.

For example -- El Dorado was as simple as it gets. Men are slaves/breeding machines/whatever. The whole 'breeding machine' thing is played off extensively, even with Penth -- a minor at this stage, mind you -- comments on using the protagonists as such breeding machines. I'll come back to this later, because this serves as another point.

Ys was a fucking cool concept -- a world ruled entirely by rampant consumerism and chaos. Men, in this world, are still second-class citizens, pretty much the playthings of the women around them. I say that Ys is the best kingdom comparatively, as it was at least more bearable than its other kingdoms, but it still felt weirdly sexual in its writing tone. Of course, following tone, Dahut (who I'll get back to later) smashes men constantly, and is very keen on fucking Guda as well, following a trend. It's played for comedy, mostly, but it's still uncomfortable as all hell. Even so, I note it's more bearable because it's a very slightly more subtle take on the whole 'misogyny' allegory -- these people are using men for basically whatever they want, and tossing them away after. I'd compare it to a few true crime cases of people who murdered, or assaulted women for no good reason at all, purely out of a want that was either denied (for good reason), or that the want itself was to inflict harm. While the allegory still does feel unintentional here, it's at least slightly less unintentional. It was probably mostly just by accident due to Agartha's generally uncomfortable writing style, but the allegory here feels a little more potent when it's not so blatantly a BDSM fic.

I hate the Nightless City, despite it again being a cool concept. A 'utopia' where speaking out at all means death -- where men are in concept free citizens, but in practice fall victim to the law if they look at someone funny. Again, in concept, great allegory. The law does not treat men and women the same -- and while it differs depending on the case which is preferred, the vast majority of the time, women are pretty much shafted by the legal system (see Brock Turner), especially in very conservative areas. Cases can be made for both genders being shafted, of course -- but for the purpose of this allegory, picking out the prejudices of the legal system against gender is a fair critique. But, like everything else Agartha does, these neat ideas fall flat in practice.

They barely touch at all on the allegory, and nobody seems to even realize it in the cast, making me further believe the allegories aren't intentional at all. In due fact, it's as if the writer didn't even realize that this could be read as an allegory. The men's plights make some sense, as they were yoinked out of nowhere into a world that hates them. But the Servants and Guda don't think about it at all past the 'wow men are slaves that sucks' -- barely even considering that this could be an allegory the world's creator made due to their own horrific circumstances. They do point this out, but to my knowledge, it's very late -- when Scheherazade's called on her bluff, only then is it ever mentioned, and only in passing at that. If anything, the fact they point this out so close to the ending makes the ending itself that much more insulting. But before I get to the ending, I think there's something else about Agartha that sets the scene for just how awful it is -- and that's the way the characters are written, and the dialogue that comes of it. For this, I'll split it up into the characters who portray this the most. I'll even describe their personalities in Agartha's context.

Guda: Crouching pervert, hidden Mash stan. A few non-sequiturs of Guda complimenting Mash despite the mood being completely broken by it. Guda's incapable of taking a situation seriously in Agartha, even when the world's basically due to be changed forever. They keep cracking jokes, creeping on Astolfo/d'Eon, and other such things even when people are literally dying all around him. For that matter, I clearly recall the scene where -- for no real reason -- Guda just changes gears with Mash in tow, and starts trying to decipher d'Eon's gender. There's absolutely no real context to this, nor any reason for Guda to do this. Further noted is the fact Guda has worked with d'Eon before, and should've probably realized d'Eon's situation by this point. The Nasuverse has always been a bit, er, behind on gender norms and such, but it's so prevalent in any scene with d'Eon it hurts -- especially in that particular scene.

Astolfo: Oddly enough, the most tolerable person here (sans one other person). Agartha's refusal to take itself seriously works remarkably well for Astolfo. And while Astolfo isn't exactly written well here either, the fact that Astolfo's always been a bit loopy makes them seem, well, more in character. They're responsible for some of the funnier moments in Agartha, with their input composing approximately 3/4 of the, like, seven or eight funny moments in Agartha proper. Even so, Astolfo's appearance sometimes hurts Agartha as much as they help it, probably since Astolfo is a bit of the reason Agartha won't take itself seriously.

d'Eon: Deserved fucking better. The previously mentioned scene was the worst offender by far in my eyes, with it coming out of fucking nowhere. d'Eon's paired with Astolfo as a buddy and fighting partner, which itself could've made for good material -- instead, d'Eon is constantly dragged into Astolfo's fanservice-y gimmicks, and d'Eon themselves are pretty often creeped on by Guda. I'd go out on a limb to say that d'Eon's implied dislike of gendered clothing (see the maid outfit) made their scenes wearing such outfits far more uncomfortable, especially with how distinctly sexual the Agartha humour is. I just hated it.

Columbus: I can't fucking believe I'm saying this, but Columbus was the funniest character in Agartha. And I don't even think that was intentional. Something about how unabashedly horrible he was caught me completely off guard -- I thought he'd end up sort of like Napoleon at a glance, someone whose Spirit Origin was completely changed due to Europe's collective worship of the dude -- but holy FUCK was I wrong. Something about the hilariously cursed faces Columbus pulls, combined with his loud-and-proud irredeemable evilness, made him a blast to watch -- and an even bigger blast to beat the shit out of. His, uh, toothy grin still cracks me up even a few weeks after playing it.

Penthesilea: One of a very large amount of people who really deserved better. She barely ever shows up -- and when she does, she voices her desire to turn Guda and co. into a breeding machine/slave (recall she's like. 16?), and pretty much throws the whole 'reasonable-ish zerk' thing out the window instantly, because Agartha decided to forego decent writing in favour of 'funny berserker hates achilles haha brrrrrr,' therefore losing pretty much all the characterization they could've given her. The lack of 'alternate views' that show her in greater detail make this far worse, which I'll go into later.

Dahut: God, wasted potential out the asshole! A woman who made an entire world that fucked around and needlessly consumed stuff, she's the epitome of such a belief. But that's all she is. I'd be able to forgive this awful writing if Scheherazade, who 'implanted' Drake onto Dahut, was a bad writer -- but she's fucking Scheherazade! Dahut's a completely flat character, who constantly tries to bed (and kill) Guda, and generally likes the idea of needless consumption. That's literally it. Again, could be explained if Dahut had difficulty keeping control of Drake's body and conscience -- but this isn't explored either! She's just a walking, talking missed opportunity.

Wu: God, look at her design. Do I even need to say more?! She falls under the same problem that the other rulers do -- shallow characterization, no opportunities to flesh them out, etc.

Scheherazade: She could've been so fucking amazing. Scheherazade's story is one ripe with interpretations the Fate series so loves to utilize -- and on paper, her character is amazing. It'd only be natural for someone like Schez to be this deeply traumatized after so many days on death's door -- not many could really get through that okay. The incredible storyteller who fears death, kings, and unconsciously, men as a whole -- creating Agartha as a subtle way of ensuring none of them harm her while she prepares her ultimate plan of revealing magecraft to the entire world. However, as with the other Agartha characters, she becomes cripplingly one-note. Bringing her fear of death above all else, she comes off as an unreasonable asshole, constantly freaking out about death and preserving exclusively herself to a fault. While one could argue it's partially due to a Pillar's influence, Phenex doesn't seem to have a hold on her at all -- it's a basic alliance, and nothing more, as the ending shows us. It just leaves her as a one-note death avoider, with no other character traits at all. I'd go into further detail, but I'm saving that for later.

Fergus: God fucking damnit, man. A literal child version of Fergus, who the entire cast constantly expects to sexually harass every woman in sight. He's a one-note flanderization of Fergus, just without the one character trait Agartha gave Fergus. It just makes him... boring, a character whose only character trait is his refusal to hit a woman. Like... Come on. The fact the entire team is so sure this literal child will start trying to hit on women is just uncomfortable to witness, and the fact he slowly starts gaining these traits feels less like him 'meeting his fate' as Fergus, and more like Agartha wants an excuse to sexually harass more of the cast.

The Fucking Ending I'm giving this its own category, because of just how much of a punch to the face it was. In short -- the plan to reveal magecraft is revealed, more jokes are made, bla bla bla. Agartha can't keep a serious mood at all. ...But the final few scenes take it to a whole other extreme.

Wu Zetian comes out of nowhere despite being squashed by Megalos earlier, stuffing Phenex into a pit of her weird water shit, placing Phenex in a state of 'life and death.' Child Fergus then sac's his own Spirit Origin to summon Fergus inside himself(???), thus gaining the power of Caladbolg to weaken Phenex enough for the player to destroy. ...However, Child Fergus just summoned Fergus inside his own body. So, what happens when you put Agartha!Fergus, a one-note sexual harasser, into the body of a child? You get the final scene of Agartha. For some reason, I guess you need more help from others to take out Phenex. To this end, Fergus decides to convince Schez to join their side. I'd like you to recall that FGO!Scheherazade is implied to have the trauma of Shahryar's abuse, sexual and physical, burned into her memory -- not just the whole death thing. In every form of the story, Shahryar abuses her in such a fashion almost nightly. It's to the point where Schez' first line of defence, and much of her skills, are as much oriented around storytelling as they are charm and seduction (moreso the former than the latter, albeit), because her defence mechanism was that as much as it was storytelling, to keep her abuser happy. This is a part of why Agartha is the way it is -- to keep such men away from her. Hell, there's not a single King in sight, save technically Fergus, and Chaldea's d'Eon and Astolfo. Fergus knows this. Hell, he heard this being called out. He's well aware how terrified she is. So, what does he do?

SEXUALLY HARASS HER. He claims she has to live to have kids. That men and women have to live to have kids. He claims that she should live, because he'd smash her. ...Now, that's insulting enough -- moreso, that it's played dead serious. Nobody even as much as calls him on such a shitty persuasion tactic, and nobody even mentions how awful it is to sexually harass a woman who'd been sexually assaulted at best for the better part of almost three straight years. AND IT. FUCKING. WORKS.

SCHEHERAZADE. IS IMPLIED. TO BE INTO IT.

And because of this, she's swayed to join the heroes and seal Phenex away for good -- giggling about how Fergus' worldview was partially correct even as she fades away. The epilogue features Fergus, sexually harassing Scheherazade ON SIGHT -- calling out 'tits on my 12:00' or whatever, as Scheherazade darts off. However, Schez isn't avoiding him due to trauma. She's avoiding it because, while she's into it, she doesn't want to 'die' so fast. This fucking ending highlights among the biggest issues with this damned Singularity. Even Blavatsky coming out of fucking nowhere to Deus Ex Machina a grail and help into Guda's hands -- despite seemingly being slaughtered by Columbus in a (admittedly a bit funny) way to get the base of the Resistance -- means nothing to me compared to the blatant slaughter of two characters at once. Fergus is a total horndog even outside of Agartha's reach, but he even notes he respects his partners' consent, and doesn't overstep his bounds if he makes them uncomfortable. Scheherazade isn't exactly trusting in the slightest, least of all in Agartha - she barely even begins trusting Guda due to Guda treating her with actual respect. Even then, she isn't actively prostrating herself for Guda in that sense, very likely due to the fact that's more of a defence mechanism to her rather than something she'd enjoy, due to extreme trauma. Albeit, Fate writing does leave the possibility in the air for Guda specifically, but that's very likely just due to Guda being Guda and being careful to treat her properly and help her than anything else (and also the whole 'self insert harem' thing, I guess, but that's a hell of a lot easier to ignore esp in contrast to Agartha) And yet, we see that epilogue, that butchers both of them in one fell swoop so badly that I almost ended up hating both of them. Agartha's biggest problem is that it tried to be deep and intriguing, while having the writing quality of the goddamned Valentine's events. It picked all the right characters to have an incredibly intriguing storyline, and fell flat because the author decided that playing sexual harassment, d'Eon's everything, and even the most serious scenes for comedy was more important than telling a story even half as meaningful as the chapters before it. Lo and behold -- to my knowledge, Minase wrote it. Of course he did. He chose the best, the most interesting characters he could find, and made them so fucking one-note that the story lost all its charm in moments. He chose to emulate Nasu without understanding what made Nasu's writing so good. He chose to make Agartha a laugh fest despite simultaneously trying to make it 'deep.' He chose to fall head-over-ass over a possibly interesting allegory into misogyny and fall right into sexualizing it to the point of feeling like a femdom BDSM fic. And go figure the only character he did decently was Christopher fucking Columbus. I have a hatred for Agartha I can't reasonably place anywhere else. Prillya was just as shitty, but I ignored it, because Prillya itself wasn't great, so of course the crossover sucks too. Valentine's events written by him weren't great, but whatever, it's a Valentine's event. Septem, written by someone else, was similarly not great. But it wasn't insulting. It simply wasn't great, and had a lot of wasted potential. But its ending wasn't out of character to the point of being insulting. Its story didn't make incredible mythological and historical figures too infuriating to like anymore. It didn't almost ruin entire Fate characters for me. Not the way Agartha did. I should probably contextualize that Scheherazade is among my favourite mythological figures. I introduced myself to her through Magi (lmao) due to further research into the base stories -- as well as a favourite Magic: The Gathering card, Shahrazad, which forced you to play a game within your game, like how Arabian Nights featured stories within stories.

Even in Fate outside of Agartha, I liked her. Her design didn't make much sense to me considering her character, but whatever, I didn't need to think too hard of it. It's just a design, and despite my hatred of Penth's design, I still love Penth as a character, so I can handle Schez. But Agartha painted her in such a way that all the subtlety and interesting parts of Schez went completely out the window. No longer was there any hidden references to the aftereffects of her life beyond 'i dun wan die,' and there was hardly an ounce of sympathy or kindness in her bones at all. While her being an anti-hero made some sense, especially as she was only a normal person with far above-average storytelling prowess, there was a point when she stopped being a 'good, but terrified person' and started being a complete asshole. And Agartha was that time. If it weren't for her Interlude, which redeemed her considerably, and Ooku, which did wonders for her character despite being written by Minase (as I believe Nasu was overseeing him at that point), I very likely would've never gone for her at all, despite my love of the myth. In Conclusion This rant is just to say that Agartha is bad. Horrific. Insulting, even. At every step where it could've been good, it tumbled head-over-ass into the most insulting, uncomfortable shit you could imagine. It failed to take itself seriously, and paced itself like a comedy event, but simultaneously acted as if it expected its audience to take it seriously. Like a clown brigade deciding to take on Les Mis, it loses all of its punch when every few lines is interrupted by a jab at Fergus, sexual harassment, or something that comes close to being cool before suddenly turning into a badly-timed joke, or suddenly becoming laden with dialogue so sexual it feels straight out of a porno. It's aggravating, awful, and with only brief reprieves of bareable comedy in between long, long lengths of hellish text and awful characterization. The only good part was the gameplay -- which, laden with interesting mechanics not seen elsewhere, was legitimately fun. My take? Avoid all Agartha cutscenes and plot, and just play the gameplay. The gameplay's fun, and if enjoyed on its own, would probably make for a far better experience than observing the story surrounding it. But good gameplay doesn't make up for a horrible story, especially in a game where plot is as important as it is in F/GO. Agartha's a pile of shit in my eyes, but that's ultimately only my opinion, and nothing more. If others have an opinion counter to mine, that's completely fine -- and don't let this analysis ruin your fun with Agartha if you enjoyed its plot. To be frank, I'd be happy if you enjoyed it where I could not. And if you think my takes are misinformed, or if I missed a spot (or overreacted to a spot), that's what the reblogs and comments are for! I'm definitely not the kind of dude who has the final say in matters like this -- this is only what I picked up. Thank you for reading!

#fate grand order #fate #f/go #fate/grand order #mash kyrielight #agartha #agartha fgo #tldr i hated it lol #agartha spoilers #rape tw #rape cw

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

Text

The Nature of the Beast

Blurb: The Doctor is taking you to the one person who has dealt with the Monks before and you weren’t expecting the ‘monster’ in the Vault to be quite so hot.

Content Warning: hopeless lesbian, a thing for hands (because who doesn’t)

Taglist: @kjaneway1 (if you would like to be added please fill in this form)

Beep. You eyed the Doctor with some worry as he fiddled with the extensive locks, each part letting out a further bleep of approval as he came closer to completely unlocking the Vault. He had said he had to do this, that he had no choice and that’s what scared you the most. What monster could he have locked up deep in the basement of the university? You’d never seen him so visibly nervous and your muscles felt frozen at the prospect of coming face to face with the creature. As the doors swung open, you gripped tightly onto Bill’s hand, bracing yourself for whatever beast was within.

The delicate strains of a single melody echoed around the expanse, the piano eerie in the total silence. A woman sat at the stool, head resting on one hand while the other fiddled with the keys, playing the repetitive melody. You shared a confused look with Bill as you dropped her hand, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

The Vault was bigger on the inside, perhaps Time Lords needed to overcompensate for something, and there were even wide windows letting in grey light. As you continued further into the room, you noticed that the woman and the piano were inside a hexagonal containment field. Glowing blue posts outlined the raised podium, sparse bar the figure and her piano, and a few ratty-looking pieces of furniture were scattered around the rest of the room. The Doctor flopped into a leather armchair as the doors swung shut behind you, flicking his coat out before sitting. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“But it's, it's just a woman,” Bill blurted, arms spread wide as she hesitated. The aforementioned woman stopped playing and turned around to fix the Doctor with an unimpressed look. “God, the way you and Nardole have been carrying on, I thought you had some kind of monster in here, or something!”

You eyed the woman curiously, wondering what about her was so terrifying. Hair awry, eyes a brilliant burning blue, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the spellbinding figure.

“I do.” His gaze never once shifted from eyeing the woman and he sighed. “Missy, Bill and Y/N. Bill and Y/N, Missy, the other Last of the Time Lords.”

Bill raised her hand in a small wave as the woman eyed the two of you up and you smiled weakly. You shivered involuntarily as her eyes brushed over you, feeling oddly drawn towards her.

“Wait a sec.” Bill turned to the Doctor with a frown. “Why have you got a woman locked in a vault? Because even I think that's weird, and I've been attacked by a puddle and she’s snogged a Zygon.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a snort as you realised it was not the time nor place to be making fun of the current state of your love lives. Although it was understandable why they were in such a state, considering you had the hots for an incredibly dangerous Time Lady.

“She's going cold turkey from being bad.” The Doctor glanced up at Bill, eyes finally straying away from Missy. Missy hmphed, not looking away from the piano as the Doctor zeroed back in on her. “I want to ask if you've had any dealings with the Monks before.”

“Of course. I've had adventures too,” she preened, her voice lilting as she twisted her torso to face you all. She had a strong Scottish accent, maybe that was another Time Lord thing, and her voice dropped as she teased. “My whole life doesn't revolve around you, you know.”

“Did you defeat them?” Bill piped up, desperate, brow creased. The guilt was dripping off of her and you winced, wishing you could do something to alleviate it. You knew she blamed herself for the state of the world but, despite the Doctor’s remonstrations, she’d done what she believed was right and you would stand by her for that.

“I did.” Her self-satisfactory tone was tinged with affront, as if there was no doubt in her ability to defeat the Monks. Your teeth tugged on your bottom lip as you watched her, completely enthralled.

“How?”

Missy seemed amused with Bill’s bluntness, painted lips pulling into a savage grin as she exhaled a short laugh. Giving her a once-over, her eyes caught on you again, lighting up as you fidgeted under her gaze.

She turned away again. “I've got some requests. I want some new books, some toys,” the Doctor sighed, “like a particle accelerator, a 3-D printer, and a pony.”

“I don't think that you really grasp what's going on here,” he huffed, his accent bleeding through stronger as his frustration grew. “Nice people generally don't haggle over the fate of a planet.”

“I once built a gun out of leaves. Do you think I couldn't get through a door if I wanted to?” The tension hanging in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and you gulped as her stare drilled holes into the Doctor. You weren’t sure what you were feeling at her somewhat veiled threat, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t solely fear. Missy jumped up, spinning to face the Doctor by the side of the piano. “I'm here, all right? I'm engaging with the process.”

“Okay,” Bill jumped in, glancing at you for support. You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we can, we can get those things for you.”

“C'est supère.” Missy overenunciated the French and you bit back a grin, noting her disappointed expression at the lack of reactions. She sighed, crossing her legs, and tilting her head. “So, what have you got so far?”

As the Doctor rose, so did Missy. He began to pace, each step leading to more thoughts tumbling out of his mouth. But you were distracted by the divine figure in front of you, enshrined in a tight purple suit and sinfully demure white blouse. “They hold on to power by targeting the part of the brain specifically to do with memory and perception, correct? Right?”

Missy closed the lid of her grand piano, fingers deftly clasping around the stand for the lid and folding it down. “Getting warm. Fingers tingling.”

“But they target it with what exactly? How do they sustain it?” Missy sat on the piano lid; hands clasped in her lap as the Doctor rambled. “How do their lies infiltrate the brains of billions? Is it some kind of airborne psychoactive?”

She shifted to lying on the piano lid, gaze following him as he paced round. Something in the shrewd look in her eyes reminded you of a cat watching a mouse.

“Oh my God.” The reverent gasp slipped your lips as she kicked her legs up. The smirk tugging at the corners of her lips gave away that she’d heard you and you flushed.

“No, no, that's very cold, very cold.”

“Something that's constantly being fed to the populace, constantly consolidating its hold. Is it in the water?”

“God, no. It's freezing, freezing.” She gestured wildly; legs kicked up in the air behind her. “Absolutely freezing. Couldn't be colder. Very, very, chilly. So, so chilly.”

Missy swung her legs round and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as she straightened up and jumped off the piano. She winked at you, smoothing down her skirt.

“Oh, come on. I'm bored!” She whined. “You haven't been to see me in six months. No-one has! Not even that bald bloke who looks like an egg.”

“What, you left her alone in here for six months?” You and Bill both whirled on the Doctor, mouths agape.

“Six months,” Missy whispered, repeating Bill with an expression of mock horror.

“I was in prison for six months.” The Doctor protested.

“Start at the beginning.” She ordered, treating him as a teacher would a little kid. “How do they get a foothold on a planet?”

“Some idiot asks for their help.”

Bill glared at the Doctor and you narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, it hadn’t been the greatest idea to ask the Monks for help, but he could have at least been somewhat grateful for how much she was willing to sacrifice for him. And for regaining his vision.

“Well, not just any idiot. It has to be a properly consenting human mind. A pure request, one without agenda or ulterior motive.” Missy’s lips twitched as the Doctor spun on his heel, stalking away from you all. The mania lurking in the back of her eyes frightened you and you shrunk closer to Bill.

“It's them.” The Doctor faced you again, a resigned smile on his face. “That person creates a psychic link, which forms an anchor that keeps the Monks in power. They're the lynchpin.”

“Scalding. Ow.” Missy’s eyes darted surreptitiously from the Doctor to you and back again, lips forming a perfect ‘o’. Your brain short-circuited, eyes caressing the sharp contours of her cheekbones and jawline. God, she was hot.

“But the brainwaves of one person wouldn't be powerful enough to contain an entire planet,” he trailed off; you could almost see the cogs whirring in his great mind. He paused, waving a finger. “The statues! As soon as they got here, the Monks put up statues in every town square, and every park, and every playground.”

“You're on fire, you're literally on fire you're so caliente. That's Spanish for hot.” Missy called back to you and Bill, who could do no more than stare and try to follow on with the Time Lords’ discourse.

“The statues are transmitters. They boost the signal and beam it out all around the world.” The Doctor grinned smugly.

“Boom! You've exploded.” Missy gestured with her hands, the light glinting off the tops of her cheekbones. You inhaled sharply. “Now, all you have to do is find whoever opened the door to the Monks in the first place.”

The Doctor glanced at Bill, raising his eyebrows. “Say I already have.”

“Oh! Well then, you're sorted. Just kill them,” the Doctor’s grin dropped, “that weakens the Monks' grip on the world.”

You grabbed onto Bill’s hand tightly, watching as her face fell, crestfallen. She almost seemed resolved and you rubbed your thumb over the back of her knuckles.

“No, no. No, no, that can't be right,” the Doctor scoffed disbelievingly, somewhat taken aback. Though wasn’t this response unsurprising? “There are planets that the Monks have ruled for thousands of years.”

“It's passed on through the bloodline. Usually the lynchpin goes on to lead a normal life, have their own family, and the link is passed down through the generations.” Missy strode forward, resting one arm up against the supporting poles, the other resting on the enticing curve of her hip.

“But the Monks must have worked that out. They've been doing this for millennia.”

“Why? If the link is passed on, the Monks stay in charge, through, they think, their ruthlessness and efficiency. But if the lynchpin dies and the link isn't passed on, and the Monks get booted off the planet, well, they just chalk it up to experience,” Missy gesticulated, each new point greeted with a flick of her wrist.

She sat down once again, resuming her place at the piano and her fingers ran daintily over the keys. You followed her hands with an unnecessary fixation, wetting your lips nervously as the joints flexed and danced across the notes. Bill’s sudden movement broke your concentration, and you shared a look with the Doctor.

Bill caught the expression on your faces. “No, it's okay. I want to speak to her.”

“Yes?” You couldn’t help the rising disappointment as Missy turned to face her, hands dropping off the piano.

“So when you defeated the Monks, that's how you did it?”

“Well, at this point, all that was left of the bloodline was a wee girl,” you swallowed harshly at the thickened accent, “and I just pushed her into a volcano.”

You could have sworn Missy glanced at you when she repeated the stressing of word in her heavy Scottish accent, that her lips had twitched at your visceral reaction.

“It's me. The lynchpin is me.” Bill’s voice trembled, tears threatening to break from her eyes. You inched closer to her, not close enough to touch but enough to provide some sort of support.

Missy’s attention jumped straight back to Bill, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

“Awkward,” she sang, leaning back on the piano with a hint of smugness at the discordant chords.

“So you're saying I have to die.” No. The Doctor would come up with something else, he couldn’t just let your best friend die.

“No. If you were just to die, everyone's false memories would have to fade, and that could take ages. It's actually better if you keep breathing, if your brain just keeps transmitting, well, nothing. That would blot out the residue false memories.” The grin on her face almost convinced you that the option she was providing was an improvement. Almost.

“What would be left of me?” Bill’s eyes never left her face.

“You'd be a husk. Completely and irrevocably brain-dead. You couldn't even get on Celebrity Love Island.” It was her matter-of-fact tone that riled you, the inevitability in her voice.

“No.” You stepped up beside Bill, face to face with the Time Lady and almost fearful at the feral look buried deep in her eyes. A hand clasped around your elbow as the Doctor yanked you and Bill back from the containment field.

“Even if that was the truth, the fact that you're suggesting it shows there's been no change, no hope, no point.” The Doctor’s words were harsh and the spark in Missy’s eyes fizzled out, replaced with an all-encompassing sadness. Your heart ached for her, despite her sole resolution to your problem being for Bill to virtually die. “We don't sacrifice people - it's wrong - because it's easy.”

“You know, back in the day, I'd burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made. I'm sorry your plus one doesn't get a happy ending, but, like it or not, I just saved this world because I want to change. Your version of good is not absolute.” A watery sheen covered her eyes, missable as she blinked it away moments after it appeared. “It's vain, arrogant, and sentimental.”

As the Doctor backed down and you were left staring at the forlorn Time Lady, a pang of empathy struck a chord in your heart. The Doctor made it very hard for you to feel like a ‘good’ person - the very first time you met him, he had yelled at you for taking a decision which had saved the entire planet, albeit whilst risking your own life. And forever was a long time to be stuck in his shadow of goodness.

“If you're waiting for me to become all that, I'm going to be here for a long time yet.”

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

I wanted fluff but I’m in an angst mood now so make an angsty breakup headcanon for Ethan X MC (set in book3) but at the end they get back together because I’m not that much of an angsty teen LOL - your tumblr niece 😌

Ayla 🥺💖💖💖

buckle up this is a long one.

Ethan x MC (Becca) OHSY/OH3 Breakup

The time after the Valentines Day argument was weird. They made up kind of after MC sent the Thank You text, and didn’t address any of the lingering issues about the future of their relationship and what hospitals she should apply to. Ethan’s response any time they got close was that he’d “write a glowing recommendation” for wherever she chooses to apply.

They rarely spent time together outside of the hospital, both of them throwing themselves into helping as many patients as possible. Using work to avoid one another and their fears as best as possible.

Ethan couldn’t take it anymore.

One day, he made sure their office hours were scheduled together.

They sat at the diagnostic’s table reassigning files in stark quiet. He broke the silence: “Come over for dinner tonight. I think we need to talk.”

Ever since the blow out, he had been working up the courage to tell her. There wasn’t a point in holding onto it any longer - it’s been almost a year since he recognized his devout feelings for her. But there was never a good enough time. He waited for a sign or any seemingly perfect moment to let it all slip.

He’s gonna do it tonight. It had to be tonight. The words had been eating away at him even more so knowing she’s giving him the cold shoulder.

Without looking up at his intense gaze she responded, “Yeah. We do.”

Ever since the Amazon stint, Becca promised she would never ever fall for Ethan Ramsey again. She failed miserably. Spectacularly, actually.

She’s more in love with him now, after everything, than she could ever possibly fathom.

But she wasn’t going to tell him.

She vowed she wouldn’t be the one to say it first. And now with everything going on, all their doubts, there really wasn’t a point to setting those three words free. Not anymore.

When she got to Ethan’s condo, he was in the kitchen finishing up plating chicken piccata. It smelled delicious and her stomach rumbled in response.

But Becca wasn’t planning on having dinner. If they sat and ate, then they’d talk and they couldn’t talk. Not yet. She wasn’t ready for them to implode.

So she kissed him. Hard. Hungrily. Desperately. She needed to have him one last time. Ethan melted right into her, abandoning dinner.

MC accepted a position in Arizona.

She leaves in three weeks - moves away five days after Edenbrook shuts its doors. She hasn’t told Ethan yet.

The words come out before she was ready to say them.

She couldn’t hold them in anymore. The way his blue eyes were so crystal clear and how he was looking at her, cupping her face and keeping her close. Everything in his eyes told her what was coming next. Her stomach did flips and stirred inside. He was going to say it. His swollen lips parted and he was seconds from saying those three words.

She could not hear it. She didn’t want to hear it.

So she told him about Arizona, cutting him off.

All Ethan said was: “I’m happy for you.”

He didn’t fight. He didn’t say it. He didn’t beg her to stay or volunteer to follow her. All that he said was an assertion that she made the right decision.

They were devastated. -

If working together was awkward before, it was worse now.

Ethan was more on edge than ever. Everyone noticed. There was gossip about their break up, spreading more wildly than the news of their coupling.

The gang did their best to keep them naturally apart. If one was in the office, the other would be advised to stay in the clinic or take lunch in the cafeteria.

Both spent more time at work than they should have. Staying there for at least 16 hours every single day. They should have wanted to be at home, less risk of running into the other. But they stayed. A part of them always stayed together.

That last day, Ethan was more irritable that usual. His own emotions of failing Edenbrook and starting over reigning supreme. He was back to cynical and jaded Dr. Ramsey.

Then Leland Bloom came in with one last case.

They both needed it. Neither wanted their final moments of working together to be tainted by their failed romantic endeavor.

And it turns out Edenbrook needed the case too.

They got funding from the Blooms rather quickly. And negotiations happened. And people kept their jobs. And Ethan has a bigger role to play than ever. He spent her last few days arms deep in bringing Edenbrook back to life.

Formal invitations and job offer extensions were sent to all Edenbrook staff. A few members of the gang cancelled their plans to be part of this new adventure and stay in Boston.

All except one.

The hospital survived but she was still leaving.

There was no heartfelt goodbye between Ethan and MC that final day working together. Just a “good luck” and “keep in touch”. Professionally speaking. The picture of simply colleagues - not even a hug or misconstrued squeeze of the arm.

She was off to Arizona.

A younger Becca would have loved Arizona - the Phoenix music scene, the perpetual warmth and sunshine.

She hated Arizona. It was too hot and there were too many weird bugs making their way into her apartment and everything was just a little too dry.

With only a year of residency left, MC barely made it six months there.

She could have gone back to Edenbrook. Back to where she yearned to be. But it was too painful. Too many memories. And he’d still be her boss.

His flashy new title making Ethan nearly every employee’s direct superior.

So she reached out to June.

Mass Kenmore still had room on their team, and at least MC knows their newest surgical resident.

MC didn’t have a place to stay when she got back to Boston. So she stayed with Sienna in their old apartment. Everyone went down with the ship. Everyone but her and Bryce. The new roommate that took over MC’s room was nice and a second year surgical who transferred to Edenbrook.

MC hadn’t even started her new position at MK before Edenbrook was abuzz with the news she was back in town.

Elijah let it slip to one of the nurses that Becca was staying with them and that none of the doctor’s could work late because they were throwing her a small Welcome Back party. Though she’d already been back for two weeks and survived her first full week at MK.

Ofc the news made its way to Ethan swiftly.

The rumor was that the group had rented out the beer garden at Donahue’s to celebrate the moment she got off the plane.

So Ethan sat at his usual stool waiting for her to walk in.

She never did.

So he went to her apartment at midnight and knocked on the door.

Aurora answered. “Dr. Ramsey?” she was confused, taking in the dejected man in front of her. There was only one reason he’d be back in this bubble. “She’s not here.”

The group dinner ended at a sensible time and MC, Jackie and Bryce decided to keep the fun rolling. Doing their favorite late night activity - swimming in the river.

Except this time they were actually caught.

They bolted back to the apartment nearly half naked. The whole thing was so liberating and fun and they laughed so hard, Becca nearly doubled over from laughing that Bryce threw her over his shoulder “Bryce!” “We gotta keep moving, Becks. We’re too hot to get booked for public indecency.”

Jackie stops in her tracks when she reaches the building door: “What the fuck?”

Causing Bryce to bump into her and almost drop MC. “Jeez, Jackie, what -” Bryce follows her line of vision to see Ethan. “Shit.”

And MC is just hanging out with the best view of Bryce’s toned ass, the blood rushing to her head because gravity. “What’s going on? Guys?” “Varma. Lahela.”

MC freezes and her blood completely drains from her at just hearing his voice. That velvet baritone cadence of her conscience.

Ethan holds the door open for them, awkwardly signaling for them to enter.

Jackie takes the door from him. Bryce is frozen, not really sure if he should put her down or not. MC hoped he wouldn’t.

But he did. He had to use more effort than anticipated to get her off of him, but gradually she slipped down his body and onto her feet.

Bryce shot her sympathetic eyes, which she repaid with a scowl. Bryce shrugged and turned to follow Jackie inside. “Hey, man.” he patted Ethan on the shoulder as he passed.

She folded her arms across herself, trying to cover herself. Overly aware that she was in her underwear in the middle of the night. “What’re you doing here.” “I could ask you the same thing.”

The silence between them was palpable. “You’re back and working at Kenmore.” he stated as indifferently as he could muster through his hurt. “It’s my first week.” “Were you going to reach out? We would love to have you back on the team.”

She didn’t say anything. and that said everything.

“Why are you here, Ethan?” “I came to talk.” “Talk? What could we possibly have to talk about? Edenbrook’s doing better than ever under your supervision, I hated Arizona and now work at MK. There. We’re caught up.”

He just looked at her with a sinister smile.

Her ragged breathing, goosebumps and flushed skin and how her eyes darted everywhere but at his face gave him courage. Or maybe it was the three scotches he downed before that moment.

Four strides. That’s how long it took to get to her.

He was so close she clutched her balled up clothes tighter to her chest, using it as a shield. Shielding her heart and exposed skin from him.

Ethan’s voice was deep and breathy: “No, we’re not.”

She finally looked up at him, lips parted with disbelief.

His eyes searched her face for any sign of regret or hesitation. For any sign she didn’t want him just as badly.

All he got was a brush of her trouser against his midsection as her grip on the ball of clothes loosened.

Their eyes glued.

One shallow breath... two... three...

They collided. Neither sure who moved first.

#Anonymous #asked #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #open heart headcanons #hc #not happy with the ending but whatevs #feat: bryce's toned ass

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welcome-to-green-hills · 3 years

Note

Hi, I do have trouble asking questions (feels like I'm a bother -_-), but I had this realization - Everybody talks about Knuckles being in the sequel, but I see nobody mentioning Echidna Clan from the 1st one - Do they still exist? I'm more interested in them actually, and if Knuckles would have and keep part of their clothing. I think that would be a nice spin on Movie!Knuckles. Seeing Tikal being part of the present could be cool. What do you think? :-) Best Regards :-)

🥺Awww🥺

Listen Friend, you are always welcomed to have a voice here. You are not a bother at all! I think that you are a wonderful person to talk to and it’s always a pleasure to have you here! I love having you around! You are not a bother. Never!

Like you, I have not seen many people talk about the Echidna Tribe and their role in the second film. I’ve seen many hypotheses on the use of chaos emeralds, as well as Knuckles himself, but nothing of the tribes.To be honest, I haven’t really thought much of it due to some... fears of a certain someone wrongfully wanting to claim “ownership” of the Echidna Tribe. You know who I’m talking about. However, I have had some time to think about the Echidna Tribe’s role yesterday before answering your question.

I think that they might not have a lot of screen-time, but they might be heavily mentioned a lot from Knuckles and/or Tails in order to tell the story. I also want to bring up the book for a hot minute. In the book, it details that Longclaw and Sonic were on the run from them due to the tribe wanting to kidnap Sonic and use him as a “battery.” There was also some form of mention concerning Perfect Chaos in the very last pages, but that’s another topic to bring up later. As we know, the book is not the same as the movie, and the movie went through extensive changes. I feel like the team would keep some of the material that was written in the beginning stages of production and incorporate them into the second. What I mean is elaborate more on the whole “battery” use of Sonic Wachowski in the film... and a major plot twist.

I feel like we may have painted the Echidna Tribes as villains, but I think that this would be the perfect opportunity for the writers to come out and say that they’re a misunderstood tribe. They could be portrayed as savage-like beings, as they were in the first film, but could be completely harmless individuals. Correct me if I’m wrong--I haven’t played Sonic Adventure 1 in years--but the Echidna Tribes on Angel Island gave off a similar vibe as well. They looked intimidating, but they almost harmless for the most part. What if the reason for them tracking down Sonic and Longclaw in the first place was due to working for a boss? Say, a bigger villain? Not Dr. Robotnik, but a villain for that island specifically? (yes, I’m relying a bit on Sonic 3 & Knuckles here a bit). What if they were led to believe that Sonic and Longclaw were the bad guys and they were bringing Sonic to their leader?

It could help out with Knuckles’ role just a bit when he encounters Sonic. Knuckles could still view Sonic as a threat, even to the point where--if this happens--if he does meet Dr. Robotnik, he just willingly hands him over. This could also play in development for Sonic as well. He wouldn’t just view Knuckles as a “villain” on his end, but he could consider the whole Echidna Tribe as “villains” and try to stay away from them. (Lil’ baby has some PTSD and trauma to work out with them in between). With this in mind, it gives us more lore to explore from the first movie, the book, introduce old and new characters (Tikal), and for the team to get creative.

Or, better yet, maybe not a villain. What if he was taken as viewed as a fallen demi-god of sorts instead? I know that there’s this hypothesis going around about Sonic being emotionally attached to a chaos emerald, it’s a nice hypothesis, but what if Sonic was viewed as a fallen demi-god instead? Sonic could be a “positive conductor” and a “negative conductor” would need to be found in order to restore power to the universe in its entirety? (I’ll elaborate more on this later, but this was just a thought I had moments ago. Maybe his whole kind could be viewed as Demi-gods and he just happens to be the one with the strongest connections to the power of chaos and his clan was wiped out? Maybe that’s why he was given to Longclaw).

It’s a rough idea, I know, I’ll work on it some more. To conclude, what are some of your thoughts? I’ve shared many of my thoughts for Tails in the past, but I’d like to hear everyone else’s thoughts as well. I hope that this answers your question, friend!

#mystery anon #off topic #ready4round2withtheblue #my hypothesis #sonic wachowski #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #echidna tribe #sonic movie novel

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cherrysung · 4 years

Text

walks & paws

pairing: jeno x reader

genre: strangers to lovers au / fluff

warnings: none

prompts: none

summary: walks were never your favorite; but maybe after an encounter that changed your life, you can manage to appreciate them a little bit more.

requested by anon.

word count: 1.5k

note: *smashes hands down on table* this is so adorable! thank you anonnie for requesting such a lovely scenario!

cherrysung’s navigation

Destiny was something you strongly believed in. A phenomenon that had no logical explanation, but somehow worked according to one’s actions and decisions. Everyday, you hoped faith had something awesome in store for you, and often wondered what your future would be about in years to come.

On a Friday afternoon; when the shining sun wasn’t as burning hot as it usually was during the peak of daytime, and the never ending skies were covered beautifully in warmer tones—you decided a walk through the park near your small apartment would do you good to start off a fresh weekend. Although you absolutely detested walks, one every two months felt fine.

And to top it off, you brought your lazy cat along.

Birds were chirping loudly in perfect melodies, and the breeze was blowing nicely against your face. Your cat’s fur flowed comically with the wind, it’s tiny legs struggling to keep up with your much bigger steps as the two of you walked through the sidewalks, the familiar sound of an electric fountain and children’s laugh pleasantly invading your ears the closer you got.

Upon arriving at the small park, you realized it was not as crowded as it had appeared to be. A few families were having picnics, sitting on red and grid blankets with a couple of bamboo baskets storing food, snacks and drinks for a decent variation. Kids were running around the green grasses, occasionally playing around with the water that splashed out of the huge fountain located at the center; or watching the colorful Japanese koi fish that swam happily in the beautiful pond not far away, with their parents worriedly holding onto them in fear they’d fall into the waters.

A smile etched its way onto your face, your unbothered furry friend had chosen to take a much needed seat on the grass, realizing you had yet again stumbled into nostalgia. With a slight pull on the leash hooked around its collar, the two of you continued an improvised path around the park. The smile never left your face, admiring the emerald green oak trees as their leaves seemed to dance along with the winds, or the countless sunflowers that stood with exuberance pridefully in an extensive sea of daisies and gardenias.

Your eyes were everywhere but the path in front of you, and due to your already clumsy nature, you failed to catch sight of the boy that walked the same cute, dirt trail. The opposite way.

“I’m so sorry!” He apologized profusely when your head hit his hard chest and you went flying backwards, landing with a light thump on the ground.

In a failed attempt to remain aware of your surroundings, you clashed against him with an embarrassing amount of lack of elegance, your cat scurrying quickly to the side in fright as your bottom slightly cushioned your landing. Your cheeks were burning red, and your pet could only lovingly lick your wrist with its rough, pink tongue. Maybe if you looked anywhere but him, he would leave.

“Are you alright? I’m really so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He continued to endlessly apologize, offering you his hand to help you up to your feet. “Are you okay? Is your cat okay?”

“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry—”

“You got a scratch on your elbow!”

You turned your arm to confirm for yourself before he became even guiltier; indeed, there was a tiny scratch. Tiny.

Letting out a laugh of disbelief, but thankfulness nonetheless, you waved your free hand around dismissively with a sweet smile on your face. “That’s the smallest scrape I’ve ever seen! Don’t worry about it! You did nothing wrong, I was the one who wasn’t looking, I should’ve been more careful of my steps.”

He sighed in relief, and only now had you noticed he was walking two cats. “My name is Jeno,” you shook his hand, “I noticed you have a cat too!”

“(Name), and yes, but I’m starting to think yours are way cuter.” You joked with a chuckle. “Mine has been lazy this entire walk.”

Jeno laughed at your confession, eyes creasing adorably into crescents as his grin lit up his features completely. He had a sharp facial structure, and had it not been for his smile, you would’ve never assumed he was capable of pulling off such a sweet expression. Then his eyes beamed so brightly, and you were proved wrong.

“Well, I’m genuinely glad you didn’t hurt yourself. Except for that scratch, though. Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m totally fine,” you soothed his worries with a nod of your head, “I’m more concerned for you. Your chest is hard, Jesus!”

Jeno blushed a deep shade of pink, small eyes widening adorably as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head with a soft smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I work out occasionally.”

Neither of you had become aware of how long the time you had been speaking for was, only then noticing the beginnings of a new sunset to come. You’d argue you were in the middle of a recent golden hour, flocks of starlings flying by the gleaming sun. The skies appeared as if they were painted, random shades of faded orange and yellow slowly engulfing it whole as the minutes ticked by and the clock announced the nearing of an early evening.

You turned to face the boy again, eyes widening at how red and itchy his neck was. “Jeno! Are you okay? Your neck is very red.”

He smiled, “I am. I’m allergic to cats, this is normal.”

“You’re allergic to cats but you have two of them?” You laughed, crouching down to pet his companions. One was almost entirely black, and the other was mostly brown with a few black spots located in random places.

“I actually have three, but my mom said I wouldn’t be able to keep up with all of them.”

“That’s cute.” You admitted simply before standing up, prompting yet another wave of rosy red to fill his cheeks, the tip of his ears also burning with embarrassment.

Needless to say, although the darkness of night was getting closer and closer by the moment, Jeno thought staying to watch the sunset would be a great idea. One you did not oppose either. The two of you took a seat on a random wooden bench that was in great needs of some new paint, as its previous one was already scraping off.

He sat next to you, your cat surprisingly happy under his touch as it rested on his lap, hand running over its fluffed up fur due to all the breeze it had endured. One of his cats slept between the two of you, while the other one also laid lazily on your thighs.

The rash on his neck has simmered down a tiny bit; yet, to you, he still looked handsome under a dim lamp post light that shined over the both of you.

Soon enough, the sun had set, the sky now darkened with a few tints of lavender and pink fighting to show up. Most families had left, and only a small amount of people remained besides you two. You turned to face Jeno, finding with shock that his gaze was already on you, eyes scanning your features swiftly before finally locking with yours. He smiled again, and you weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were the ones tickling you, or if it was his cat’s fur that brushed against your legs.

“Would you want to hang out some other time again? Without cats that give me allergies and actually planned beforehand so you don’t end up bumping into hard chests anymore?” He thanked whatever god was above that nighttime had arrived, and that you weren’t able to see how flushed his face was.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Stutters stumbled off his lips at your unexpected question, “do you—do you, um, want it to be a date? It doesn’t have to be! But if you want to, it can be—”

“A date sounds fine to me, Jeno,” you smiled sincerely at him, pulling out a notepad from your small crossbody handbag and writing your phone number on it before placing the small paper on his palm. “I would love to. I had a great time with you.”

Jeno gratefully returned your smile, nodding with utter happiness as the both of you got hold of your respective pets, standing up with a sigh and warmth that refused to leave your cheeks. “Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, “it’s fine. I live very close, so don’t worry. Just make sure to text me once you get to your own home and you’ve taken some pills for that rash.” He chuckled, nodding at your words as he looked down at you with a loving stare. “Goodnight Jeno, it was nice meeting you and your cats. I’m looking forward to our date.” With a quick peck on his cheek, you turned on your heel and on your way back to your apartment, not needing to look back at his face to know he was unbelievably flustered, red as a tomato.

Destiny surely had something awesome in store for you.

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theycallmebecca · 3 years

Text

February Ice Storm

It just occurred to me that I hadn’t really told you guys about the experience I had back in February with the ice storm that nailed us and knocked out power for us for 3 days but people in my city for up to 10 days.

Originally, I had planned to turn it into a drabble and I actually started it, but it wasn’t exactly something I wanted to revisit. Mentally, I wasn’t in a good place thanks to anxiety and an emotional rollercoaster of what’s going to happen.

I know I shared bits and pieces of what had gone down, but this a more in-depth account of my experience from the ice storm that hit Oregon Valentine’s weekend of this year.

Let me preface this by saying that we knew that we were going to get an ice storm... but it was the worst ice storm we’ve had in a long time. And it did an astonishing amount of damage that we are still trying to recover from a month and a half later. Driving around, it looked like a tornado had ripped through and knocked down trees randomly. With as many trees that fell, it’s shocking how many didn’t.

The storm hit Friday night, February 12th, and it was just cold. Then about 3 am, the power went out. I know this because that’s when I suddenly found myself in the complete dark (no alarm clock, etc.) I didn’t think much of it and went back to sleep.

I was rudely awaken a few hours later by the sound of trees cracking and crashing to the ground. Let me tell you, that is a terrifying experience.

Knowing I still didn’t have power, I put on multiple layers and tried to make myself comfortable. However, by this time, it had started to warm up so there was lots of trees cracking all around me. Which was great for my anxiety.

Neither was the fact that the power outage had taken out the cell phone networks in my area. More on that in a moment.

Then I heard some neighbors outside, so I went out to talk to them and saw that a large limb from the pine tree by my building, was practically laying on my car. Some guys walking past, assured me that it was just on my car and not in my car.

It was cold, so I went back inside and tried to distract myself. But my main source of distraction, aka my phone, wasn’t really an option to me. And I could not access any of the music I would normally use to help myself relax when my anxiety is acting up.

I finally found a place in my apartment where I got good reception... by the sliding glass door that over looks the backyard where one tree had already uprooted itself and where more trees could easily come crashing down.

Anxiety is being amazing at this point. I’m sure you can tell.

Especially when on top of the trees cracking... I got the beautiful thunking of ice dropping out of trees as it warmed up. And we’re talking like chunks of ice as big as baseballs!

It was about that time that I heard a crack that was too close for comfort and knew, without a shadow of a doubt that the limb had broken and it was on my car. Two steps out my front door confirmed my fear, but when I tried to go see how bad it was, I heard the cracking of limbs and had to run back to the safety of my apartment as more limbs and ice baseballs dropped.

I was able to text my parents and asked if someone could try and come get me. They live parallel to me across two major roads, so it wouldn’t be a long trip if they could make it a little later once it had warmed up some more.

While I waited, I packed some stuff and tried to read, but it honestly was just too much.

And as annoying and little brother like as my brother-in-law can be, I have never been so happy to see him as I was that day when he and my mom showed up to get me.

By that time, I was flinching at every little noise that seemed to echo through my small apartment. And it was just becoming way too much. Even as I write this, the memory of that morning has me crying because I was too scared to cry on that day.

While he was waiting for me, my brother in law looked at my car and saw that the branches were resting on it, but the car looked ok.

The short drive to my parents house was shocking with the number of trees and power lines that were down. Also shocking was how many trees that didn’t land on houses. We did see a couple of cars smashed by trees though. And street lights were out every where.

I was very happy when we got to my parents house which is bigger than the building with 8 apartments that I live in. Their backyard is full of pine trees and they had lost a lot of limbs and stuff, but with everyone else there, you couldn’t hear the noises that had ramped up my anxiety.

Once I was there, the rest of the day passed relatively easy. I was with my family and that helped calm my anxiety because I knew I was in a safe place. We ordered pizza from a place that still had power. My brother in law built fires my parents fire places and my mom and I played dominos by flashlight. I also got some reading done.

Then I slept in my parents guest room... and the bed isn’t comfortable and the house was probably in the 45F range.

Sunday morning aka Valentine’s Day was warmer than the day before and my mom and I drove to my apartment to see what we could do about the limb on my car... only to find that someone had already pulled it off and chopped it up. We confirmed that my car was ok and the only damage to it was that my $5 license plate frame had been broken and the corner of my license plate was bent.

After that, we drove out to a grocery store that had power for some food, more logs for the fireplace and coffee... that my mom had to stand in line for 20+ mins to get.

When we got back to their house, we found a flurry of activity happening as my parents next door neighbor had rented a giant generator the day before to keep his house going and offered to let us plug some extension cords in so we could charge stuff, use small appliances and use a small heater.

So our Sunday afternoon was spent with our phones plugged in and a small space heater barely keeping us warm. But it was an improvement from the day before.

Then my uncle showed up. He’s been going back and forth between living with his ex girlfriend and living with my parents. With him at my parents house and knowing that my own apartment was still above 50F and therefore warmer than my parents house, I opted to sleep in my own bed that night.

So after getting pizza for dinner again (🤢) my mom dropped me off at my apartment for a cool night.

I started in my living room knowing that my back wouldn’t like 10+ hours in my bed and I actually got some light from a lamp by plugging it into my computer’s battery backup, which really did raise my spirits a bit.

But eventually I ended up in my room with the door closed, knowing I’d be able to lock in more heat that way. And it did work... but it was still a long night.

Because of no power and the fact that I’ve been working from home since March 2020, I told my boss I was taking the day off. At that time, the power company still still quoting power back on Monday. For me, they were even saying early Monday.

But my apartment was still cold and dark when I woke up. Which meant I cleaned out my fridge and freezer and then took my laundry out to the laundromat by my mom’s office that had power and heat.

So I took care of my laundry and then was going to head back to my parents, until I decided to see if Office Depot had any sales going on with laptops. And I ended up driving across town to buy one in case I needed to find some place to work other than my apartment for a couple days.

After that, I went to my parents house and watched a movie with my niece while power crews worked outside. I was still hoping they’d be able to get the power and internet back up so I wouldn’t have to drive to work Tuesday, but it wasn’t looking good.

By 5:30, I knew even if the power did some how come back on, I was still going to be without internet, so I left my parents and went to the grocery store for things to make a lunch that didn’t require a fridge since I still didn’t have that. And they were operating on their backup generators and actually stopped letting people into the store as I was checking out.

That evening, I played on my new laptop a bit and chatted with friends since my cell network was almost back up to speed, but I was in bed when the power came back on around 10 pm. And you sure as hell know I got out of bed and turned on every light switch just because I could!

I slept much better than night and did end up going into the office the next day for a partial day, but when I got home I had internet again.

For me and my family, we were without power for some 56 hours or so. But we had family friends and coworkers who went a good 10 days without power.

We don’t get storms like this and we were not prepared for it to be as bad as it was.

But the biggest take away for me is now necessarily how dependent I am on technology to entertain me... but for how to help me get through a rough situation.

Other than seeing a few members of my family once a week, I’ve been relatively on my own for the last year. And it’s been my “pocket friends” that have been my saving grace, my connection with the outside world. They’re the people that I turn to when I’m having a problem. And I was almost completely cut off from them for two whole days.

Add to that the rain storms and other anxiety reducing sounds that I’ve come to depend on. With the networks down, I couldn’t access any of those coping tools either.

My anxiety was the worst that Saturday morning than it has been in a long time. But by Monday evening, I was so tired emotionally and physically that I was just a mess. The roller coaster of the unknown was the worst part. You could make plans... but without power, there were things you just couldn’t do.

All in all, it was a once in a life time experience. As in, I don’t want to experience it again. Ever.

I think it will be a long time before a power outage doesn’t trigger anxiety within me. Because this last one was rough.

And now that I’ve relived this all in hopes that it might help me recover a little from what happened, it’s time for me to try and get some sleep. Probably shouldn’t have written this at night.. but oh well.

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razorblade180 · 3 years

Text

Venqua Week:Music

“When you-gah! No, that’s not right. When- ugh! Come on Ventus, you can do this!” The boy said, frustratingly tuning a guitar. He had been at this for months now. It all started when Namine moved into the Land of Departure with him, Terra, and Aqua. The boy had stumbled upon her drawings and by extension, the arts itself. He was completely hooked. Outside of fighting, Ventus didn’t have much time to explore possible talents. He was determined to find a hobby he was good at! It took all of ten minutes of Namine teaching him about color theory for him to realize that maybe literal art wasn’t his calling.

That’s when Namine recommended music. Seemed like a good idea. He didn’t want to brag, but Ventus always thought he was a bit musically inclined. Between dancing and the ice cream beat machine, he thought learning an actual instrument would come easy. Wrong! It was critically difficult! Three months into learning guitar and his confidence was was fading like the golden sunset that washed over him as he sat at the edge of the trio’s stargazing spot. Ventus played a few more strings and sighed. It didn’t sound off. Honestly it never was. The problem was his nerves. Ventus was trying to be a perfectionist with the only song he’s been able to learn so far. All for a special someone, Aqua.

He had always had certain feelings for his friend, but expressing them was beyond impossible. Any time he tried to show her a cooler, more mature side of himself it never worked out. He’d either screw up really hard, or Aqua would do her pretty little giggle while patting his head like he was some sort of puppy. He was not a puppy darn it! Ventus wanted to at least be a cooler, older anime. Something like a fox or a leopard. Just once, he wanted to leave Aqua speechless. He thought a singing to her would be his best bet. His face face grew redder at the thought of her listening to the song in awe, her deep blue eyes captivated by his feelings.

“Geez, I’m so hopeless.” He said, covering his face. Ventus turned his head towards his master’s keyblade that rested peacefully just several feet away. He wondered if Master Eraqus had any hidden talents? No way keyblade wielding was his only gift. If Aqua’s fighting style was any indication, the old man was probably a bunch of fun on the dance floor. The thought of him doing even half the moves Aqua did was enough to make Ventus laugh lightly. Once again he strummed his guitar. “Oh master, you think I stand a chance?”

“Stand a chance at what?” A voice asked from behind. Ven’s face went bright red, then pale in a less than a second when he realized it was Aqua. She smiled her beautiful smile like she always did and held a crown of flowers in her hand.

“A-Aqua!?” He stammered, “W-What brings you up here....!?” He wanted to hit himself right now. The answer to that was quite literally in front of him.

“Changing out Master Eraqus’s flowers” she answered anyways. Aqua walked over to the memorial and did just that. The old ones weren’t dead yet, but their color was obviously starting to fade. Still, they looked rather pretty. So pretty in fact, Aqua took it upon herself to sat right next to ventus and hang it around neck. “Wow, I’m a little surprised it passed your hair so easily. I thought it would sit on top.” She teased, ruffling the wild dew.

“Hey! It’s not that spiky! Also my head would have to massive for it to sit on top!” He pouted. Why is always a head rub!? This time he was minding his own business and still wound up like this. “Do you have a thing with my hair or something? You’re always doing stuff like this.”

“Of course. You always pout and turn red. It’s cute.” She answered, watching him get redder. Aqua couldn’t help herself. Teasing Ven like this was just irresistible. “So, what is it that you were trying to stand a chance in? Maybe I can help?”

“What? Oh! Umm it was nothing! Just talking aloud is all.” Lying was not a strength Ventus had.

“Really?” Aqua said sarcastically. She reached over to the guitar in his arms and ran her fingers across the strings, making a subtle but pleasant sound from it. “Nothing to do with the acoustic currently in your hands?” She looked at the blue eyes that were inches away and avoiding contact. Aqua tilted her head, a bit confused by Ven’s shyness. “Ven, I’m not a mind reader. Tell me what’s up?”

“If you read minds then you know mine only has you in it.” He thought to himself. “I’m just having a little trouble with a song I wanna sing. I learned all the notes and everything, but I get anxious anytime it comes to playing the whole thing.”

“How come?”

“I’m...self conscious is all.” It wasn’t a lie but it was certainly vague. “Any time I think about singing it the way I intend to, I get worried if it sounds bad or if I look like an idiot.” Ven could feel his heart beating so loudly that he was afraid Aqua might here it. Here being this close was nothing new, yet it too much to deal with.m right now moved back a little by pretending to readjust how he was sitting.

Aqua could the boys hand fidget a little. He wasn’t kidding at all about feeling anxious. She had never seen him so flustered when it came to things like this. Aqua had caught him a few times over the past few months really putting an effort into learning when nobody was around. She had even secretly caught him sneaking off early in the morning to find a place to practice. Learning this song must’ve been really important. For Aqua, that only left one response to this.

“Can I hear it?”

Ven was going to have a heart attack. “What!?”

“I wanna hear it.” She repeated, “We’re often our own worst critics. If you only play with no one around then you might always think it needs improvement, so let me hear it. I’ll give my honest opinion!” She said, excited to listen.

“That’s the one thing that scares me!!!” Ventus could not believe this was happening. How was he supposed to explain to her that she couldn’t listen because he was doing it all for her!? She even gave a valid reason for helping! “Oh, no I uh- you don’t have to do all that! Hehe, I just-” he stopped when he saw Aqua move to sit on her knees. His crush sat patiently with her hands resting her hands on her lap, a heart stealing smile still on her face. Here she was. Here they were. Two people bathed in the golden light of a sunset. Warm air and breath stealing views anywhere you looked. A gentle breeze made Aqua run a finger across her face. All attention was on him. Well, no time like the present right? Ven stood no chance of resisting with a face like that.

He sat facing her, legs crossed. He new his face was still red and the sound of his beating heart hadn’t gotten any calmer. However, a comfort came from that with a mix of excitement. An honest truth about his feelings. He really had fallen for her and wanting nothing more to express his feelings with all of his heart.

“Aqua...can I ask a favor?” He somehow managed to say. “Can you...close you eyes while I sing to you?”

The request was surprising but understandable. This was more about sound then sight anyways. “Okay.” She closed her eyes in earnest. “Ready...” For some reason Aqua felt herself get a little embarrassed as well. She hoped it didn’t show on her face.

Ventus took the deepest breath he could. Mustering his resolve and composing himself, Ventus began to strum.

🎶When you walk away, you don't hear me say

"Please, oh baby, don't go."

Simple and clean

Is the way that you're making me feel tonight

It's hard to let it go....🎶

Yeah, Aqua could totally feel herself starting to blush. Ven was only a few lyrics in, but she couldn’t think of a time she heard a more stunning voice.

🎶You're giving me, too many things, lately

You're all I need, oh~

You smiled at me and said...

"Don't get me wrong, I love you

But does that mean I have to meet your father?"

When we are older, you'll understand what I meant when I said

"No, I don't think life is quite that simple"

When you walk away, you don't hear me say

"Please, oh baby, don't go."

Simple and clean

Is the way that you're making me feel tonight

It's hard to let it go🎶

Ventus felt his nerves melt away as he kept playing. His mind was too focused on the notes to worry. Too focused on the girl in front of him. He was starting to find his stride.

The daily things, Like this and that and what is what

That keep us all... busy are confusing me~

That's when you came to me and said

"Wish I could prove I love you but does that mean I have to walk on water?"

When we are older, you'll understand it's enough when I say so

And maybe some things are that simple.

When-🎶

His serenade was unexpectedly cut short. Aqua had reached for his hand and stopped him from playing. Ven’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, nothing but dread filled his thoughts. Did she hate it? Why else would he stop him midway. He would’ve asked, but Ventus couldn’t find the words. Not out of fear, but because of the look on Aqua’s face. Her calm demeanor was entirely gone. A the warmest smile Ven has ever laid eyes on was on her face with rose red cheeks. “A-Aqua...?” He finally spoke.

“S...sorry.” She spoke, “it’s just...well....” finding the words was a little difficult. Aqua couldn’t help but laugh at her own skittishness. “You confessing to me like this might be a little more than my heart can handle.” There, she said it. She watched a Ven’s eyes start getting bigger and bigger while his face tried rivaling hers in terms of red.

“Y...You knew I-”

“Of course.” Aqua giggled, “I watch you just as much as you watch me you know? Because...I like you...too. A lot.”

Ventus must’ve been dreaming. Chirithy has to have put him in a special dream. It’s the only way this made sense. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Like he was one to talk.

Aqua rubbed the back of her neck, “I’m not very good with this kind of stuff. Even though I had a feeling you liked me, I just couldn’t find the nerve. Then I started thinking about how I could be wrong and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I kept finding reasons to keep quiet. But next thing I know is I started thinking more and more about these feelings sense we got back home and I-” Aqua jumped at the touch of Ven’s hand grab hers. She’s glad he did it, or else she might’ve rambled for hours.

A pressure weighed on their chest. One that was slowly pulling them together. The two of them couldn’t speak, only lean closer. They wanted the same thing. They knew it buy all the blushing moments and not so secret glances. Aqua moved the guitar away from Ven to get even closer. Ven invited the approach by tugging her hand closer to him. Her face had to be only inches away. Way to far for his liking. Aqua finally spoke.

“I think we should both close our eyes this time.” She said, flustered by her own suggestion. She was glad she managed to say it though. The moment his eyes closed, Aqua understood why he asked before. Filled with ease and courage, Aqua pressed her lips against the ones that had just serenaded her moments ago. Neither kept track how long they remained like this and neither cared. The only thing that mattered was it had finally happened; and it was only going to keep happening for many days to come.

[many thanks to @venquaweek because fun fact, I’ve had this music idea for three years and never wrote it 😂]

#kingdom hearts #ventus #aqua kh #birth by sleep #aqua x ventus #venqua #venquaweek

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cranberry-bar · 4 years

Text

Doukyuusei BLANC CH 9 [SPOILERS]: really long post about Sajou’s internalized homophobia

SPOILER ALERT: don’t read if you don’t want spoilers for the entire Doukyuusei series, including chapter 9 of Blanc

A/N: this is just MY interpretation of the chapter.... spoilers below the cut :)

Ok so in Blanc chapter 9 there’s this scene where Sajou pulls Kusakabe away from the funeral pews, and it’s identical to the panel in Doukyuusei chapter 2, when Kusakabe dragged Sajou away from Harasen’s office. It’s a great parallel, mostly because the juxtaposition of these two scenes pretty succinctly summarizes Sajou’s character growth, but also, it serves as a concise metaphor for the entire series’ overarching conflict: Sajou’s internalized homophobia.

Kusakabe is not homophobic. In fact, as Sajou points out in Sotsugyousei, Kusakabe is painfully optimistic and open-minded. We see this throughout the series… Kusakabe doesn’t care who knows he’s gay. He wants to kiss Sajou in public and hold his hand on the crowded bus — requests which Sajou nearly always refuses. Kusakabe proudly announces to the sales person at the jewelry store that he’s buying a wedding ring for a man. In Blanc, he wants his music video to reflect that his song was written about Sajou, not about a woman.

On the flip-side, Sajou is deeply insecure — especially about being gay. He pushes Kusakabe away almost compulsively; in public, he rejects Kusakabe’s affection for fear of being seen. In private, he repeatedly closes himself off emotionally from Kusakabe. We see it again and again. He refuses to cry or admit to his feelings. While Kusakabe freely gives and receives love, for Sajou affection is a constant battle. Sajou never lets himself believe the affection Kusakabe gives him is genuine or will last.

This is the real conflict in Doukyuusei — the theme that spans every installment in the series, the reason we needed Blanc in the first place: Doukyuusei is still, at it’s very core, a “getting together” story, even after all this time, because even though Kusakabe and Sajou technically get together in the very first chapter, Sajou continues to wall himself off from his emotions, and by extension, from Kusakabe himself. They’re not truly, equally in it together until this very moment, in chapter 9 of Blanc.

And so, we come to these two parallel scenes: the one in Blanc, and the one in Doukyuusei.

In Doukyuusei chapter 2, Harasen exploits Sajou’s fears of Kusakabe leaving him. When Kusakabe pulls Sajou away from Harasen, he isn’t just saving Sajou from a physically uncomfortable situation, he’s yanking Sajou away from his own insecurities.

Early on in the chapter, Sajou closed himself off and pushed Kusakabe away, but Kusakabe eventually sees through it. That’s what makes Kusakabe a great character. After he realizes what’s going on, he goes back for Sajou to essentially rescue him from his own overthinking.

If Harasen represents Sajou’s fears, then Kusakabe is his salvation. Kusakabe reassures Sajou of his feelings for him, and for a while, they’ve put a band-aid on the bigger issue.

It’s interesting, then, that the over-arching symbolism for that chapter is Emperor Tenchi’s poem about the leaky roof in the harvest hut. The roof hasn’t collapsed yet, they’re not in imminent danger of flooding. This is a slow and gradual leak, which over time will become a bigger and bigger problem until it consumes them. It’s foreshadowing what will happen later on in the series. Kusakabe grows more and more eager to progress their relationship, but Sajou is still stuck. He can’t move forward until he moves on. It’s a little ironic that Kusakabe knows only the first part of the poem — “Course the rush-mat roof / Sheltering the harvest hut / Of the autumn rice field…” — but he can’t seem to remember the second part. Metaphorically speaking, he’s not yet aware of how monumentally this leak is going to effect their relationship. Sajou, though, he knows the end of the poem — the more famous line, or in other words, the one everyone else sees coming — and he completes the poem which Kusakabe cannot remember: “And my sleeves are growing wet / With the moisture dripping through.”

By the time we get to Blanc, the leak has sprung.

Sajou’s reluctance is holding their relationship back. They break up, but by chapter 3 Kusakabe is ready to call Sajou and beg for a second chance, and it could have gone down that way, nothing learned nothing forgotten. Instead, Sajou’s mom falls ill and it’s the catalyst for Sajou and Kusakabe confronting their problems. We know what happens: Kusakabe comes through for Sajou like always, he proves his dedication, he’s there by Sajou and Kumi-san’s side, and then we get chapter 8. Kumi-san has passed away and Sajou, grieving, wants Kusakabe’s comfort, except this time, the literal physical embodiment of the looming homophobia Sajou has always feared is standing in their way.

In chapter 8, for the first time in the entire series, Kusakabe and Sajou experience a trial as a couple which is directly caused by external forces of prejudice and homophobia, and ironically, in a roundabout way it still comes from within Sajou himself, but this time it comes from within Sajou’s family. It’s his insecurities come to fruition, in the form of his father. And now we see where Sajou’s fears of acceptance and his internalized homophobia stem from. It’s ironic, then, that only a few chapters prior, Sajou had told Miyamura-san: “I don’t have confidence in myself. It’s fine if I’m alone… if something happened it would be my responsibility, but with him it’s different. I’m scared. He pulls people into his life. If people look at him weird, if he loses something or gets hurt, it would be my fault. So I can’t do this anymore.”

All this time, Sajou has agonized over the fear that Kusakabe will suffer because of their relationship. He fears Kusakabe will face judgement and discrimination, and one day he’ll have had enough, and he’ll leave Sajou. Except, Kusakabe has already left him, and it wasn’t because of any external force of homophobia. It was because of Sajou, himself, that couldn’t own up to who he is, that he couldn’t truly accept himself or his relationship. He couldn’t truly accept being gay. Really, the entire series has led up to this moment: Sajou must choose between overcoming shame and confronting his fears or succumbing to them.

And Sajou stands up for Kusakabe.

It’s the first time in the series this happens. Time and time again previously it’s been the same. Sajou runs, Kusakabe runs after him. Kusakabe reassures, emotional peace is restored, and Sajou’s dangerously precarious self-worth lives to see another day. Kusakabe spends his whole life running, chasing, pining, and waiting for Sajou. After the fight with Sajou’s dad, Kusakabe tells Sajou “I was waiting for you.” Not just now, but forever, since the very beginning, Kusakabe has been waiting for Sajou to truly be ready, to accept not just Kusakabe, but himself, and what this really means is “I will keep waiting.”

It’s especially poignant when you look at Sajou’s parents as two halves of Sajou in opposition — his mother representing the part of him that embraces himself whole-heartedly, that loves Kusakabe, and his father representing the part of him that feels obligated to conform to society’s standard of normal, to push people away and build walls, to shield himself from emotional pain. It is meaningful, then, that Sajou tells his father “I wish you had died, instead.” Because, really, this is Sajou choosing which part of himself he wants to survive. And he chooses the better part, the part of him which gives love freely and accepts himself and his sexuality full-stop.

And so… and so and so we come to the panel in Blanc chapter 9. Kusakabe has shaved his head (oof don’t remind me), he’s taken out his earrings, and shown up to the funeral in a respectable suit and tie, all in the name of appeasing Sajou’s father, and Sajou hates it (can’t blame him, the hair looks so bad) but really, in a way, seeing Kusakabe like this is what Sajou’s always feared: that Kusakabe would some day have to change himself, or make himself smaller, in order to be with him. Though other characters may refer to Kusakabe as idiotic or foolish, Sajou has never thought poorly of Kusakabe. He has only ever thought poorly of himself. What Sajou loves about Kusakabe is his fierce determination to go after what he wants and to express himself freely and openly. But now, for the first time, Kusakabe is stifling himself for Sajou’s dad, and really by extension, for Sajou. Of course Sajou hates it.

Sajou’s dad orders him to sit, but Sajou ignores him, he pulls Kusakabe away from the stands and they run, and they talk, and finally Sajou admits what we’ve known since the beginning: he was afraid, because he couldn’t let himself believe that Kusakabe truly wanted to marry him. He apologizes, they cry, and when Sajou’s dad barges in and interrupts by asking what the hell they’re doing, Kusakabe’s absolutely unbothered and responds with “We’re talking about getting married.” And I love what comes after: “His dad didn’t say anything after that.”

In the Doukyuusei version of how this scene plays out, Sajou nearly succumbs to the extortion and pressure of his adult male role model. Harasen tries to convince Sajou that he and Kusakabe shouldn’t be together, and it works. His fears get the better of him and it’s only Kusakabe coming to his rescue that saves him. This time we see the reverse. An adult male role model is trying to break up his relationship, but this time Sajou isn’t a kid anymore, and when Sajou’s dad tries to break down Kusakabe’s resolve, and it starts to work, Sajou does for Kusakabe what Kusakabe did for him all those years ago: he saves him.

When you juxtapose the meaning behind these two parallel scenes — one where Sajou had to be rescued, and the other where Sajou not only saves himself, but Kusakabe as well — we see that the story has come full circle. Blanc needed to happen, because Sajou needed to move past his shame, to allow himself to be vulnerable and loved, in order to fully commit to Kusakabe.

Finally, finally! Yes, unfortunately we do have to witness them bone with Kusakabe’s hideously shaved head, but the chapter ends with them agreeing to get married, so there’s the silver lining.

#op #doukyuusei #sotsugyousei #sajou rihito #doukyuusei blanc #blanc #nakamura asumiko #kusakabe hikaru #not sure why i wasted all my time on this #but this chapter was such an emotional upheaval

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Distant Daylight

vii. On the Streets

Harsh winds gusted down from the mountains and Yunho could feel them in his bones.

Everything was sore from walking and carrying his entire life with him, but his numb fingers were locked around Gunho, even as his weight seemed to grow more and more with every step.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew which path led back to town so he pushed forward with everything inside him. The night was deepening and the winds were growing colder, and even the claw-like branches of empty trees against the pale moon did their best to stop Yunho in his tracks.

“I’m freezing,” Gunho sniffled pathetically into his shoulder. He sounded much younger than he was and the sickness had ruined his voice, making him difficult to hear.

“I know,” Yunho told him, lying easily just to help him hold on a bit longer. “We’re almost there.”

He had no idea how close they were.

Eventually, the trees surrounding them became more familiar and an identifiable landmark appeared on the horizon.

A marking stone, one that indicated an intersection.

“Home is this way,” Yunho said aloud, hoping for a response to let him know Gunho was awake, but nothing came.

Unsure where else to go, he made his way across the fields to the street where he knew their old estate still stood, owned by the King and repurposed as whatever he used it for.

The town was quiet, even more hushed and closed down than it usually was at night, but a few lights were on in the windows, including the window Yunho used to gaze out of in his bedroom.

Clearly the house was bigger now and more ornate, with a scary looking gate in front. Sighing and redistributing Gunho’s weight, he walked through it and up to the door and knocked.

A frazzled looking woman opened the doors a few moments later and blinked at them in surprise. “Children?” She remarked, glancing past them down the street. “Where are your parents?”

“We need help,” Yunho said quickly, veering away from that question. If he answered honestly, they’d end up right back at the orphanage. “It’s very cold, could we come in and speak to whoever is in charge?”

Convinced by his professionalism beyond his years and the little boy passed out on his back, the woman let Yunho through and instructed him to sit on some floor cushions in the waiting area, where he lay Gunho down next to him.

The interior of the house was completely different. It seemed like everything homey and warm had been replaced from the floors to the colour of the walls to the furniture to the layout of the rooms.

With surprise, as Yunho read the signs above the doors, he began to realise what the place had become.

“They turned our house into a government building?” Gunho’s voice cracked as he turned his head around and squinted at their surroundings.

“You’re awake!” Yunho gasped, a bit too loudly for the formal space and sleepy adults scattered throughout various rooms.

“Excuse me,” a man’s sharp voice reached them from the end of the hall where he and the woman from before stood, staring at them. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My brother is sick,” Yunho began to explain, getting to his feet and bowing respectfully though Gunho was still too drowsy to follow his lead.

This man was a council official of some kind and it would be a bad idea to offend him.

“We just need somewhere to stay while he recovers, and there was a maid here once named Jaein who promised to help us, so I was wondering if—”

“Don’t come any closer!” The man cautioned with an outstretched hand. “You say the boy is ill? What are his symptoms? I’m sure you’re aware that disease is spreading like wildfire through So-ai.”

“Well, yes,” Yunho stuttered nervously. “He caught some type of sickness and he’s feverish, but no one else will help him...”

“I’m sorry, but you must leave at once,” the official told him immediately. “We will not risk the plague’s spread in the magistrate’s office.”

Yunho’s frustration doubled and he walked closer, appealing to the woman who had been sympathetic earlier. “Please, we don’t know where else to go, can’t you at least tell us where Jaein went?”

“Visit the medicine man in upper Hagilsan,” she sighed, glancing at the apprehensive official as if communicating silently. “He has herbs that may help your brother.”

“And Jaein, I believe, moved to the archipelago,” the man followed up briskly. “Now, you have your answers, please vacate the premises. Without touching anything.”

Yunho obeyed after several bows of thanks and scooped up a drifting Gunho as well as the single bag they’d brought with them, venturing out into the cold again and looking for somewhere to regroup.

The best they could do was an alleyway behind a teahouse where the greenery at least provided some shelter from the winds.

“Remember that time we came here with Mother and Father?” Yunho asked, trying to keep Gunho awake and aware. “And you got lost in the topiary garden?”

Gunho hummed in acknowledgement, eyes cracked just enough to take in his surroundings.

“I need to find the medicine man first, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring you along,” Yunho finally sighed, laying out the single blanket he’d stolen when he stole his sick brother from the orphanage and lowering Gunho onto it.

“But I—”

“You’ll be just fine, I promise,” Yunho insisted through the huskiness in his voice. “Just stay here and stay warm, alright?”

Gunho’s eyes shone with fear for himself and his brother, but he nodded regretfully and curled up into a ball. The steam coming through the window eased his tension, and his eyes began to drift shut again.

Knowing it would tempt him to stay the longer he lingered, Yunho made his way back out through the alley and turned northwest to the hills.

Dawn was streaking the sky with greyish strands by the time he reached the hut, exhausted and shivering uncontrollably.

The “closed for business, out of medicine” sign on the door made Yunho’s heart stop for a moment but a candle was on inside and he knew the man could hear him.

“Please, I need help!” He screamed, pounding his fists on the rickety door. “I know you’re in there, please let me in and listen to me!”

The attempts went on for some time before Yunho stepped back and peered into the covered window where the light of the candle was leaking out.

Sure enough, a doctor was there at the table, an empty plate in front of him and his head in his hands.

Angrily, Yunho knocked on the glass and repeated his pleas to no avail. It was if the medicine man simply did not want to hear.

Just like the caretakers at the orphanage and the adults at the office, they would rather allow children to die en masse than put themselves at risk.

A wave of hopelessness crashed over him and he could only stumble away, outraged, and look for something to break in with.

As Yunho’s eyes fell on a large rock in the man’s extensive garden, he noticed a few other items of interest as well.

“Herbs...”

They were the type that could heal if mixed correctly, and while Yunho didn’t know the first thing about herbal remedies, Gunho had always been interested in plants.

Climbing over the fence and hurriedly pocketing two of every type of plant he found, Yunho worked quickly and turned back to the mountain path, aiming to arrive at the teahouse before the sun broke through the bushes and woke Gunho.

The sky was lighter on his return, but thankfully Gunho was breathing and mercifully asleep. Yunho gently rubbed his back until he came to, not saying a word as his brother first fed him some bread and then pulled bunches of herbs and roots out of his pockets and held them out.

“Gunho, do you recognise any of these? Do you think any could bring down your fever?”

The younger boy frowned in thought and looked more closely before gasping and taking a few in his own hands. “This ginger... you could make a tea out of it and some honeysuckle and perhaps elderflower... or you could try a soup of the garlic and coriander seeds. If only we had bone broth or cinnamon bark.”

“Just tell me what to do,” Yunho said with a comforting smile, immediately grateful they had chosen to seek shelter behind a teahouse of all places. Gunho didn’t chide him as he broke in through the window and snatched a few more supplies and key ingredients.

Gunho was growing tired again, instructing Yunho how to make remedies and drinking them despite the bitter taste.

“It’s alright, just sleep,” his older brother soothed, placing a towel soaked in rice water on his forehead. There were signs of activity in the rooms above the teahouse, so it would be best to stay quiet for awhile and hope they weren’t discovered and sent away.

Yunho had no more faith in the adults of So-ai.

He slept on and off that first day, eating no more than a few nibbles of bread smeared with a paste he made from the herbs Gunho didn’t need. All he could do was wait for the fever to break and hope the shop owner wouldn’t notice a few missing bowls and his pestle.

The second day, Gunho seemed to be doing better, but the unbridled cold was taking its toll on both of them and Yunho began to feel under the weather.

While Gunho focused on making more medicine, Yunho took to the streets to busy himself, digging through the garbage collected behind houses and shops, picking up the spare ratty blanket previously belonging to a sick person and any food that wasn’t spoiled.

On the third day, Gunho could walk and move around with some support, and it was time for the two of them to embrace the street life or make a plan.

There was one place the military hadn’t touched, where access was still available to all, so the brothers took the familiar walk to the university library, ducking their heads so the attendant wouldn’t recognise them, and holed up in the map section to find the archipelago.

“Remember when Father taught here?” Yunho commented quietly as he pulled atlases off a shelf, trying to cheer Gunho up. “He would let us play in his office as long as we didn’t break anything, and you always liked watching the students in the courtyard.”

Gunho nodded absently and flipped pages until reaching the eastern coast.

“Look how far away it is!” He groaned, falling back onto the carpet and covering his face with his hands. “We’ll never be able to walk there.”

Yunho took a closer look at all the marked routes and scratched his head. “I imagine most people ride horseback or drive carriages. If we want to take the safer main roads we’ll have to travel east to this city, Panhang, and from there follow the shoreline south until we can take a boat from Kon to the islands.”

He was very proud of his correct interpretation of the map, but his brother immediately started poking holes in his suggestion.

“But that doesn’t even tell us where Miss Jaein is,” Gunho whined from the floor. “It could be any of the nine islands with villages.”

“One problem a time,” Yunho said firmly, sitting back on his heels and formulating a plan. “We need money to travel. Even if we sneak into a caravan, we’ll have to pay for the boat and our food will run out soon. I hate to say it, but I don’t think we’re leaving So-ai for some time.”

Gunho lifted his head and eyed him carefully before sitting up and hugging his legs.

“I don’t want to steal,” he whispered, avoiding his gaze and staring intently at the map. “I know that’s the fastest way to get money, but I just can’t do it.”

He was still pure and untainted despite everything he had been through, and Yunho wanted to continue to protect him, to shelter him from those deeds.

“We’re too young to work for pay,” Yunho reminded him gently. “One of us has to steal.”

Suddenly, he remembered Sangwoo’s words back at the orphanage. Gunho had a baby face, he could use that to his advantage.

“How about this,” Yunho lowered his voice and moved closer. “You can take up a street corner and ask passersby for food and coins. There aren’t many beggars here, which means less competition, so I’m willing to bet it will work.”

“But I’m just a child,” Gunho pointed out. “What if they try to take me to the orphanage?”

“Tell them your parents are sick and unable to work,” Yunho supplied quickly, taking Gunho’s face in his hands and running a thumb over the lingering rash wounds on his cheeks. “Show them these scars and emphasise the fact that you recovered and are now the sole breadwinner, and it will work, I’m sure if it.”

Before Gunho could answer, the library attendant approached them, hands folded and eyes vacant behind his spectacles.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closing. All visitors must exit.”

Yunho drew back and held up the atlas. “Can we take this map?”

The man sighed and reached out to take it from him. “No, I’m sorry, without proof of enrolment in the university—”

“But our father used to work here!” Gunho interrupted before the attendant could get his hands on the book. “I’m sure you recognise us, we used to be here all the time!”

The man hesitated and then relaxed.

Already Gunho’s charms were paying off.

“Very well, I’ll loan it to you until next week, but a class comes in during the mornings so I’ll need it returned. Understood?”

Like perfect little angels, they nodded and skipped out of the library, taking the atlas with no intention of giving it back.

Without the warmth of the building protecting them, they could only leech off any steam that escaped the teahouse and attempt to make small fires of their own.

They snuggled up and shared body heat through the night, but while Gunho’s lingering exhaustion granted him sleep, Yunho could only lay awake and watch the stars, worrying that an early winter would put a damper on their progress.

There was no time to lose, so as soon as the birds were stirring Yunho shook his brother awake and prepared a quick meal of broth for both of them, hiding the bowls and any remains of the fire in the garden with their blanket and setting up shop near the treasury.

“Let’s hope several sympathetic rich people come by today,” Yunho tried to joke, rubbing Gunho’s arms comfortingly when he shivered and rubbed his nose. “I’ll be out looking for food and things to sell, alright? If anything goes wrong, meet me at the teahouse.”

And quickly, they eased into a routine. Gunho would change spots every few days, begging outside the government building and the university during the week and then moving to the town square in the busy mealtime hours. He was reluctant but smart about his tactics, unafraid to put on a show and act younger than he was.

Steadily but slowly, he collected coins for their travel fund, while Yunho watched the street like a hawk, memorising the residents’ schedules and sneaking in when their houses were empty. He tried to steal food from those with excess who wouldn’t notice anything was missing, but two weeks into his new day job, it was becoming difficult to find enough to provide for them.

Dinner was a measly slice of bread, torn in half and shared between them, and partially rotten fruit Yunho gave to Gunho.

“Is it enough yet?” Gunho asked hopefully as he handed over the day’s earnings.

“No,” Yunho told him honestly. “But we’re getting closer,” he encouraged quickly, trying to boost morale. Gunho didn’t need to know how far they still were from their goal.

“I’m still hungry.”

“Well, this is all we have today,” Yunho sighed. “It’s more important that we find water, so I wasn’t able to get much food.”

Gunho shivered again and nodded, laying down without another word and stroking the music box longingly. They couldn’t play it or the teahouse owner might hear.

The crunchy leaves they used as pillows were crumbling into dust, and Yunho knew what that meant.

We have to get out of here before the snows arrive.

Yunho had hit almost every house on the street before realising his method wasn’t sustainable. Sooner or later they would be discovered and blamed for the disappearance of certain foods and valuable items, even if they stayed away during the daytime.

Even the gracious gentlemen Gunho typically swindled would wonder why his worn nightgown still hadn’t been replaced with a shirt and trousers and where his supposedly sick parents were, since by now they should be dead or recovered.

While at the pawn shop selling a nice watch he had pickpocketed, another idea dawned on Yunho.

A faded deck of cards was tucked away into a corner with some other game pieces and before he handed over his goods, he pointed to it and asked how much it was worth.

“Five silvers,” the shopkeeper decided after humming in thought for a moment.

“I’ll trade three for it,” Yunho bartered back, and the man gave in quickly, not really desiring to hold on to the shrivelled deck.

Excited, Yunho passed over the coins and saved the watch for the card tables. He needed to learn every possible gamble and learn it well if he wanted his income to double— maybe even triple— without losing any money or valuables.

He sat in the tavern by the fire for as long as he could before the bar maid sent him away, observing the games that went on there and catching every trick the locals used.

He may not have paid much attention in school, but he was clever when his situation drove him to adapt, and by the arrival of the first snow he was ready to play.

Yunho approached a table of slightly inebriated university students and joined the game, putting the watch and a good chunk of the week’s silver into the pot.

In a scam he formulated by watching the rice field workers, he feigned defeat and got all three of his opponents to bet a significant amount before losing it all the moment he revealed his trump.

The students were shocked, but Yunho made off with their money before they could question it.

Feeling bad that he played games in the tavern while his brother begged in the snow, he hurried back to the teahouse and proudly displayed his earnings, handing over his coat and extra blanket and rubbing feeling back into Gunho’s limbs. His brother needed them more than he did.

“And it’s not even stealing!” He whispered excitedly. “They willingly handed it all over because they knew they’d been beat. You should come to the tavern tomorrow, I’ll show you some tricks and then we can both be making ludicrous amounts of money!”

Shyly, Gunho nodded before snuggling up as usual and watching the fire die down.

He’d been quieter than usual the past few weeks, and Yunho thought he knew why.

At least in the orphanage they’d been fed and clothed and sheltered from the cold. Now they could only dig holes in the snow and hope against hope that someone out there actually wanted them.

If Jaein said no, everything was pointless.

Yunho fought back tears and pulled his brother close. It was like hugging a sniffling ice block.

“We’ll be out of here soon, I promise.”

And Yunho didn’t break his promises.

When the weekend arrived, so did the wealthy customers, looking to unwind in the tavern and maybe bring home a few extra silvers.

For Yunho, the matter was a bit more life and death.

He managed to slip into a seat at a table of store owners, one of whom he recognised to be the teahouse owner. The man didn’t seem to know him, so he exhaled in relief before gambling away money he’d earned by selling some of the man’s own items.

Yunho put almost everything he had in the pot. If he lost, it would set them back until mid-spring, he knew, but if he won...

If he won, they could be out of there by tonight.

Anticipating his opponents’ moves and carefully calculating his own, Yunho again let them think they were winning before falling back on his favourite trick only to discover he’d been beaten at his own game.

The teahouse owner took the pot.

Yunho froze in his seat. It couldn’t end like this, he couldn’t let the man leave with all that money, everything he and Gunho worked for.

How could he face Gunho if he lost?

When the man finished the last drops of his drink and rose to return home, Yunho excused himself and made for the exit.

He knew the path the man would take and he knew a better shortcut.

Enraged, with hunger in his sunken eyes and hands itching for silver, Yunho waited in the shadows with a rock clutched in his sullied hand.

He was taking it all back.

The man didn’t know what hit him, slumping to the ground with a minor head wound and staying there while Yunho collected the entire bag of gold and rushed to the teahouse to collect Gunho.

While he shoved blankets and food into their shared bag, Yunho mapped out the fastest way to the coast and tried to consolidate their meagre belongings.

Gunho insisted on returning the cups and bowls to the teahouse owner, making him a pot of headache healing tea for good measure, and joined him as they sprinted through the night to the outpost at the main road.

It took until the moon was high, but a cart on its way to Panhang finally ambled down from the town in time for them to board it.

As he lifted Gunho up into the hay, Yunho caught sight of the beaming smile on his face and felt his own heart soar.

They were finally leaving So-ai, and soon the snow blowing through their hair would be far behind them.

It was a moment worth reliving.

And for one hopeful second, he had completely forgotten they were orphans.

...

A/N: Well it’s been awhile but coincidentally you get a super long chapter to make up for it, since there wasn’t really a good place to split it. Let me know your comments/ predictions and have a great day!

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shiorimizuyami-kyu · 3 years

Text

Angie Yonaga Analysis:

Angie Yonaga, a Danganronpa V3 character with the title of Ultimate Artist has the reputation of being disliked due to her obsession with Atua. Hopefully this analysis would show Angie in a different light.

Trigger Warning: This analysis will have discussions of sexual assault, sexual abuse, religion and possible other stuff that may be sensitive towards some readers. You have be Warned.

Atua:

In order to better understand Angie as a character, we have to include Atua. The term 'atua' is used as a plural noun referring to all gods and spirits within their religious practices among people of Polynesian descent, particularly native Hawaiians and the Maori people of New Zealand.

In other words, 'atua' isn't necessarily a specific kind of god, but the term is used in the English release of the game to avoid using a specific god such as Jesus. (So no Angie isn't Christian) In the Japanese release of the game, Angie refers to Atua as "Kami-sama" in which similar to Atua is plural for god without using a specific religious figurehead.

From the first interaction with Angie the most noticeable traits is Angie's devotion towards Atua, although some fans have theorized that Angie's religion could be Christian, however they're some religious acts that Angie has mentioned that don't match up with Christianity such as the extensive amount of worshipping towards Atua.

Angie's religion is shown to be anonymous to not only to avoid using specific religious figure heads like Jesus, but to show a darker side of religion. To be more specific, Angie's religion is actually a cult using Atua as a figure head.

During Angie's free time events, when talking about her homeland, Angie almost always brings up Atua. Here is the interaction between Angie and Shuichi about her island:

Angie: Angie lives with Atua on a divine island paradise.

Shuichi: Ah, right, but... Where is the island? What's it like?

*Angie: It's a tiny, divine island. It used to be much bigger...

But Atua used a natural disaster to make it smaller cuz He thought it would look cuter.

Shuichi: *That* was the reason?

Angie: My island has lots of plants and flowers too, y'know?

Shuichi: Ah, is that so?

Angie: But most of the plants and flowers on my island like to attack people.

Shuichi: They attack people!?

*Angie: Come to think of it...I'm honestly not sure if they're actual plants or flowers.

Shuichi: What...? What kind of island *is* this?

This comes off as strange due to the sound of uncertainty in some of her lines, quickly changing the subject as if she isn't aware of what goes on in her island in a geographical standpoint.

On an 'interesting' note, Angie has something called 'DeepSea' which is a website that's used for shipping the following:

magazines, food, clothing, organ meat, medicine, blood, children.

It's safe to say the 'DeepSea' is a black market website used for illegal activities like human trafficking.(and considering that Angie never mentioned her parents once through her free time event, there is the disturbing possibility of Angie being a victim of human trafficking at a young age)

Angie has also mentioned some of her traditional act that she along with the others on her island part-take(which might implied both child abuse and sexual abuse) in such as:

Angie: First, you're not allowed to feed children after midnight!

Angie: Cuz it's unhealthy! They won't grow up to be stable adults!

Angie: And they hafta undergo a divine initiation ritual before they can enter adulthood...

Angie: During the ritual, we perform intense physical workouts.

Angie: They all become adults at the same time, and feel all happy and relaxed afterward.

Sexual Assault:

Throughout this specific detail on why Angie's religion is most likely a cult based off this interaction between Angie and Shuichi:

Angie: That's right. On my island, everyone shares in our fun, happy times.

At weddings, for example, after the bride and groom consummate their vows...

The guests make their own vows, and then they consummate those, too.

Shuichi: What, everyone!?

Angie: After a successful consummation, the bride is blessed with a baby.

Of course, we all share the baby, too...

using a sickle...

...

Shuichi: What...the hell...are you going to do with that!?

Angie: Nyahahahaha! Just kidding! We can't share a baby!

We just share the bride!

Shuichi:...What does that mean!?

This island has a ton of strange traditions…

In other words, Angie has implied that everyone(which might include minors) can part-take in sexually assaulting the bride(and possibly impregnating her), more proof that Angie has possibly witnessed, part-take and experience sexual abuse from a young age. To a serious degree that she sees this behaviour as normal. This line from her FTE also indicates this as well:

Angie: On my island, if you feel sad and lonely at night, you stab a sickle into your window!

Shuichi: That's...an odd custom.

Angie: Anyone who sees it can't just ignore it. They gotta go console that person.

They gotta do anything they can to console them. And I do mean ANYTHING.

What we must keep in mind based off this discussion is that Angie has been on this island before becoming an Ultimate, meaning that her religious traditions and everyone else's are completely different. This interaction between Angie and Shuichi is proof of it(Although there's more proof of Angie sexually assaulting Shuichi in the Love Hotel Scene, I chose to not included it for the time being):

Angie: Very well... By Atua's divine decree, your training begins today.

Shuichi: 'Grinning ear-to-ear, Angie skipped over to me and…'

Shuichi: Whoa!

Angie: Huhhh? Why are you running, Shuichi?

Shuichi: Y-You grabbed me all of a sudden... And you tried to take my clothes off!

Angie: Of course. How else would I provide what you're lacking?

Shuichi: I-I think I'm okay, thanks anyway!

*Angie: Why are you afraid?

*Angie: Atua and I will gently embrace you.

*Shuichi: What does that mean? What are you going to do...?

*Angie: Huh?

Shuichi: I-I just wanted to talk, Angie! Just be friends!

Angie: …

Shuichi:...Ah! S-Sorry for yelling, I just...

Angie: …

Shuichi: I'm just worried about you.

Angie:...

Shuichi: Ah, Angie?

When Angie made her attempt to assault Shuichi, he reacted in fear and hostility. And yet Angie was the one confused on 'why would he react so hostile towards her advances?' And when Shuichi said he just wanted to be friends, Angie, just ran away. As if she doesn't know how to react.

While doing research on Angie's religion, this particular term show up on my Google search:

Religious Trauma Syndrome (RTS) is a function of both the chronic abuses of harmful religion and the impact of severing one's connection with one's faith and faith community. It can be compared to a combination of PTSD and Complex PTSD (C‐PTSD).

Believe it or not, Angie in Kaeda's FTE, we see Angie suffer a PTSD attack(it was more of a nightmare then a PTSD attack) in the game, and when questioned about, Angie just brushes off like it was nothing:

Kaede: Well, how was it, Angie? This song…

Kaede: Huh!?

Angie: Zzzzz...zzzzz…

Kaede: She's sleeping!?

Angie: Zzzzz...zzzzz...zzzzz...zzzzz…

Kaede: Geez, she fell asleep even though she asked me to play. And it was a really lively song, too.

Angie: Ngh, grgh...zzzzz...zzzzz…

Kaede: Angie...scares me sometimes, but she looks like an angel right now.

Angie: Hmmmm…

Kaede: Oh, are you awake?

Angie: Wednesday morning... Need sacrifice... Hurry... Can't wait…

Kaede: What?

Angie: Not enough blood... Need more blood... So I'll... I'll...

Hahhh! Stop! Ngh, ergh... Ngahhhh... It's too much!

Kaede: Is she having a nightmare!? Angie, wake up! I said, wake up!

Angie: Huh?

Angie: Oh, hi Kaede. Was I sleeping?

Sorry 'bout that. But thanks to your piano, I got to have a wonderful dream.

Kaede: Are you sure about that...? You sounded pretty distressed…

Angie: Hehe, Atua says He was so enchanted by you, He accidentally poured His divine wrath somewhere.

Kaede: He poured it!? Where!? Divine wrath shouldn't just be accidentally poured somewhere, right!?

Angie: I'm starting to like your music, Kaede! Let's have a paint-and-piano jam session very soon!

To sum up the analysis, there's more to Angie character then just Atua even though Atua is a huge part of her character. The point of this analysis was to better understand Angie while pointing out some of the things she has done.

Thank you for reading!

#Angie Yonaga

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anistarrose · 4 years

Text

Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually (TAZ Balance AU)

AO3

Summary: In the aftermath of the catastrophe at the Miller Lab, Kravitz strikes a deal with his bounties. Their crimes against death will be forgiven if they can bring in two specific liches for arrest…

But unfortunately, those liches are named Lup and Barry J. Bluejeans.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, misc. BoB cameos

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz

I posted the second of three scenes in this chapter on Tumblr in January, not really expecting to continue it at the time, but it was well-received there, and I realized that I actually have a lot more ideas for this AU than I expected! This fic has been in the works for months, and I’m simultaneously so excited, nervous, and relieved to get it out of my mind and into the world.

That said, there is one other person who’s read this fic before, and that’s @fexiled! They’ve been an awesome (and patient) beta reader, and I’m incredibly grateful to them for all their advice, typo-catching, and encouragement!

***

Kravitz couldn’t even begin to fathom what kind of sinister agenda would possibly bring a lich to a train station, but he’d intercepted Barry J. Bluejeans in stranger places than Rockport. If he was after any other bounty, he’d be worried about the nearby masses of civilians on holiday getting caught in the crossfire, or worse, being used as hostages — but with Barry, he never knew what to worry about.

Barry, for his part, didn’t seem fazed by the prospect of facing down the Grim Reaper in a transportation hub staffed entirely by identical clones of Tom Bodett, and he addressed Kravitz calmly and amiably:

“Ah, there you are. Hope you didn’t have a ticket for the Rockport Limited, ‘cause it left a couple minutes ago.”

“I have a magical sapphire scythe that lets me teleport anywhere on the Material or Astral Planes,” Kravitz replied. “Why would I need train tickets?”

Barry chuckled — nervously? Awkwardly? Without a visible face beneath his hood, he was difficult to read. “I dunno, leisure? In case I got on a train and you wanted to follow me, but legally?”

Kravitz narrowed his eyes. Barry was normally talkative for a lich, but today, he seemed especially affable… not to mention unsurprised by Kravitz’s appearance. “Were you expecting me to follow you here?”

“You’ve followed me stranger places,” Barry reminded him. “Graveyards for dragons, necromancy conventions, the actual moon that isn’t just a secret society’s headquarters… point is, I kinda figured the ticket counter at a train station wouldn’t stop you.”

Kravitz adjusted his grip on his scythe, channelling a spark of the Raven Queen’s power to scan the area for magical traps. There were none.

“I don’t have any tricks this time,” Barry promised him, his hooded void of a face still frustratingly impossible to read. “No sabotage, no moon ogres. I just want to talk.”

A pigeon landed on the ground between them, pecking at a dropped sandwich without any acknowledgement of the two undead entities that could each obliterate it in a second.

“Let’s say I humor you, in the interest of not catching an innocent bird in the crossfire,” Kravitz replied. “What would you want to talk about?”

“I’m realizing this isn’t gonna sound that sincere, but… an apology. And a warning.”

“What world do you come from, where it’s appropriate to follow an apology with a threat? Are you going to, I don’t know, imprison my soul if I don’t forgive you?”

“The world I come from has nothing to do with it.” The lights beneath Barry’s hood flickered erratically, but he kept his composure. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for wasting so much of your time. You could be out there stopping evil necromancers, but I’ve been leading you on a wild goose chase for a decade, and I’m genuinely sorry about that. I’m sorry that I can’t do the things I need to do or save the things I need to save without being undead, and making what I can only assume is a gigantic bureaucratic mess for the Astral Plane.”

Kravitz sighed. “Are you hinting that I should just give up forever on chasing you, because you’re not evil? Do you really expect me to believe that, coming from a lich?”

“Well, I wasn’t counting on it, but that would be nice,” Barry admitted. “The thing is, whether you believe me isn’t going to matter a whole lot in… let’s see, at the rate we’re going, I doubt it’ll take much more than a year. You’re gonna have a bigger problem on your hands — and if you want even a slim chance of surviving it, you and your goddess and every plane in this system will need to be prepared.”

Kravitz eyed a clock on the station wall. “Keep making threats like that, and you’ll have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I end this conversation.”

Barry held up his hands. “Wait, wait, let me clarify — that wasn’t me threatening you! That’s me knowing what’s coming, and not wanting to see it obliterate this entire universe! I — I see, now, how that could get misinterpreted — but I promise, I’m not making this up just to mess with you! You have the ability to warn the Astral Plane, to warn the Raven Queen and by extension all the gods in the Celestial Plane, so that they can prepare for this and stand a fighting chance —”

“Excuse me, gentlemen? Is there anything I can help you with?”

A Tom Bodett approached them, completely unfazed by the lich and the reaper staring each other down of the Rockport Limited boarding platform, and Kravitz couldn’t help but wonder how frequently the humble employees of the train station had to deal with the undead making a scene.

“Stay back, mortal!” he shouted, twirling his scythe and jumping between the Barry and the poor, almost certainly underpaid Tom. “This is an arrest of one of the most dangerous death criminals in Faerun —”

But Barry had already vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the faintest wisp of red smoke, and Kravitz held back a curse.

This always happened one way or another, every damn time Kravitz had encountered Barry in the past decade. Barry had been right about one thing — he’d wasted an astronomical amount of Kravitz’s time over the years.

“Well, I guess that takes care of that,” Tom declared brightly, as if he caused distractions that allowed ultrapowerful death criminals to escape justice every day. “He was making quite a scene — any idea what his deal was?”

Kravitz shook his head. “Just a lich playing mind games. As liches are wont to do, you know.”

At least, I hope that’s all Barry is, he thought with a shiver. But if he wants to give me a reason to believe him, then… well, he can do it from a cell in the Eternal Stockade.

***

“Hey, Reaper Man! I’ve got an idea for you!” Taako called out. Something about the gleam in his eye piqued Kravitz’s curiosity, even though hearing out ideas from death criminals was an objectively unwise idea.

“Do tell, then,” Kravitz replied, and the mischievous smile on Taako’s face expanded into a toothy grin.

“You hunt down a lot of different bounties, right? And Lucas and Maureen and Noelle, they can’t possibly be the worst criminals on your naughty list, can they?”

“Naughty list? What is he, Santa?” Magnus snickered. “I guess it is technically still Candlenights…”

“Today has been a Day with a capital D,” Kravitz warned Taako, “and I’m not in the mood to hear an argument about why I should let them go because morality is relative —”

“Cool your collarbones, Skeletor, I may have come here to get the Philosopher’s Stone, but I’m no philosopher. I was just thinking: what if we tracked down one of your bigger bounties for you? You let some harmless death criminals go, we bring you a really evil one in return, you collect a big old bounty and also get to see my charming face again! Doesn’t that deal sound like a winner?”

“In practice, it just sounds like a good way to get double-crossed — but in theory, it would be quite a bargain, I’ll grant you that.” Kravitz mentally ran through his list of bounties, almost immediately focusing on one particular lich that had vexed him for years. “And I have to admit, I’d love nothing more than seeing you three take a crack at bringing in Barry J. Bluejeans —”

The second Barry’s name was uttered, Taako let out a wheezy laugh like a congested elephant, and Magnus and Merle weren’t far behind, guffawing so heartily that they fogged up the insides of their null suit helmets.

“I laughed at that name once just like you, but when you’ve been hunting him for years to no avail, it won’t seem so funny anymore!” Kravitz warned them. “He’s easily in the top five most dangerous liches in Faerun, not to mention the number one most elusive!”

“Barry’s a LICH?!” Magnus chortled, as Merle doubled over clutching his stomach and Taako rolled around on the floor in hysterics.

“All that time in Phandalin, we were at the mercy of an evil undead overlord and we didn’t even know it!” Taako cackled, evidently not too troubled by the revelation. “Fuck, we’re lucky to even be alive!”

That caught Kravitz off guard. “Wait, you’ve met Barry Bluejeans?”

“And lived to tell the tale!” Merle boasted. “We could totally do it again, by the way!”

“Hang on, Merle,” Noelle interrupted. “Was this what you meant earlier? When you said you were friends with a couple of liches?”

Merle blinked. “When did I say that?”

“Never mind.” Noelle sighed, then turned to Kravitz. “There’s gotta be some mistake. Some kinda identity confusion. The Bluejeans I met in Phandalin, he — he was a good man. He tried to keep us hidden while he fought off that awful dwarf, that dwarf that was setting everything on fire as far as the eye could see. Mister Bluejeans was so reassuring, and so brave — if anything, I’d call him a hero, not some horrible undead monster.”

“That doesn’t really sound like our Barry,” Merle said. “He was kind of an ass. Told me to stab myself with a rusty fork.”

As his bounties squabbled among themselves over the true nature of Barry Bluejeans, Kravitz took the opportunity to pray to the Raven Queen.

Your Majesty, if these criminals think they can really track down such a dangerous lich… would taking their offer be the right choice? Or am I about to be scammed?

The reply was immediate, as if the Raven Queen had already been observing the Miller Lab intently and contemplating the situation for herself. I cannot make this decision for you, Kravitz. But I trust your judgement.

Thank you, milady. Kravitz collected himself, and announced his terms.

“I’ll tell you what. One lich isn’t quite enough to sell me on this deal… but two liches would be, especially if the latter of the two hasn’t been detected in over a decade. If you bring me the both of them in the next two months, everyone involved in this whole Miller debacle goes free — but if you fail, I come to collect all your souls. You still up for this deal?”

Magnus looked like he wants to ask for clarification, but before he could get a word out, Taako casually declared:

“Sure, dude, we’re up for it. Who’s the second lich, other than Barry?”

“Her name is Lup, and she was last sensed in the general vicinity of Wave Echo Cave ten years ago,” Kravitz replied with a smile. “That’s all I know about her, so that’s all the information you get, too. Good luck!”

***

“You’ve got two months to capture a couple of liches? And if you don’t, the Grim Reaper will take your souls?!”

“Shh, not so loud!” Magnus hissed, pressing a finger to Angus’s mouth. “Do you want everyone on the moon to hear?”

Angus glanced around the cafeteria. Exempting him and the three Reclaimers, it was completely empty aside from a few discarded, tattered Candlenights decorations. “Have you at least told the Director about this?”

Magnus smiled sheepishly. “Uh, it never seemed like the right time to bring it up.”

“Carey knew because she was there, but she didn’t seem too keen on being the one to break the news,” Taako elaborated. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Angus sighed. “And your new robot friend, Noelle. Is her soul a part of this bargain, too?”

Magnus nodded. “Yeah. We promised her we’d take care of it, so she’s hanging with the Regulators now —”

“And I bet Lucas Miller isn’t even dead after all, is he?”

“Perceptive as ever, Agnes,” Taako confirmed. “Maureen really did die, though. She went back to the Astral Plane.”

Angus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a gesture that made him look far older than ten. “No offense, sirs, but why didn’t just gamble with the Grim Reaper for your souls like normal people? You might’ve actually had a chance at succeeding, that way!”

“Huh,” muttered Magnus. “Good question…”

“Yeah, Taako, why didn’t we just gamble for our souls like normal people?” Merle echoed.

Taako shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I just thought that Kravitz guy sounded pretty okay, like he’d give us a reasonable bargain…”

“Reasonable? He made Magnus chop my damn arm off!”

“Arguing isn't going to get us anywhere, sirs,” Angus spoke up. He hoped he was putting on a calm facade, even though his feet were trembling in his shoes. “Did Kravitz tell you anything about these liches? Names? Locations of recent sightings?”

“Already jotted down all the details for you, my little man,” Taako answered, handing Angus a single sheet of paper. “Didn’t want to forget anything that would help you work your boy detective magic.”

“As if you could ever forget Barry Bluejeans!” Magnus scoffed.

“A lich named Barry Bluejeans? That can’t be right…” Angus took a look at the sheet, titled “Case File” in loopy cursive letters and broken up into two subsections:

Lich #1

Name: Barry Bluejeans

Last seen: The circular glass mistake formerly known as Phandalin, a couple months ago

Weaknesses: Gerblins (unless that was a cunning play so we’d let our guard down), pants that aren’t made of denim, the temptation to party and drink while other people do his job for him

Other information: Used to be Gundren’s bodyguard, and didn’t do a very good job — but who could blame him? That dwarf was an even bigger asshole than he was.

Lich #2

Name: Lup

Last seen: Wave Echo Cave, 10 years ago

Weaknesses: I don’t know, probably holy water or something

Other information: Zilch

Each section was accompanied by an illustration. Barry’s was a cartoonish drawing of a skeleton with jeans, glasses, and a mullet, while Lup’s was simply a series of question marks. At the bottom of the page, Taako had written: Now have at it, Caleb Cleveland Junior!

“…You really have a lot of faith in me, don’t you, sirs?” Angus asked quietly.

Taako shrugged awkwardly, as Magnus replied:

“Well, we know you’re way better at this than us. And you know that’s not exactly a high bar to clear, but you’re obviously our best shot.”

Angus took a deep breath. “Do you remember the reaper’s exact terms? Were there any loopholes we could exploit?”

“Were there?” Magnus mused, tugging at one of his sideburns. “Does anyone remember what he said?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Merle asked, prompting a laugh from Taako.

“Well, in that case…” Angus took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll interview Carey and Noelle to make sure we’re not missing anything, but we shouldn’t count on being able to cheat the deal. Do you think we could book a transport sphere down to Wave Echo Cave tomorrow morning, to go search for leads?”

“Should be no problem,” Taako told him. “Back to our old stomping grounds! I can hardly wait!”

“Reliving our old mistakes! Hooray!” Merle cheered sarcastically, and with that, the Reclaimers all sauntered back to their dorms with easygoing attitudes that Angus could hardly believe.

How are you all so cavalier about dying? he thought. How can you bear to joke about this situation?

And what will I do, if I can’t help you find these liches?

***

Notes:

I really appreciate people commenting on/reblogging this fic, especially for this first chapter! There's absolutely no obligation to do so, of course, but it would mean a lot <3

For what might be the first time in my life, I already have a surplus of chapters written, so the update schedule should remain consistent for at least a month or two (fingers crossed). Since this chapter was on the shorter side and included a scene I posted months ago, I think I’ll post Chapter 2 in a week, then switch to updating every other week from Chapter 3 onwards. (Probably still on Tuesday evenings, plus or minus 24 hours.)

Also, I’d just like to give a shoutout to Angus McDonald for always, always ending up with a bigger role in my fics than I expect when I start writing! But I’m glad he managed to sneak his way into this one, because there’s a bunch more Angus scenes coming up that I can’t imagine this fic without!

#taz #taz balance #taakitz #taako taaco #kravitz taz #barry bluejeans #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #no-3113 #lup taaco #the raven queen #taz balance spoilers #rosalia writes fic #fic: FTRALA

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