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#I just can’t get into the classic mold anymore so it’s not her
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Synopsis: It's 1966. Elvis and Frannie are laying in bed and he pours his heart out to her about his mismanaged movie career. She comforts and encourages him. This will be incorporated into a later chapter of my fic, Gambling on Your Love. Enjoy!
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“Wait, you’re serious? Parker takes fifty percent of everything you earn?”
Elvis is silent, but his nod speaks louder than words. 
“Elvis, that’s robbery. Nobody’s manager takes fifty percent. He’s robbing you blind!” Frannie sits up in bed, covering herself with the blanket. “And he’s got you tied to a picture contract four years in advance? And you can’t give final say for scripts or storyline or anything else? If my manager did that to me, I’d kick him right in the ass and send him packing!” She is practically beside herself now, her arms crossed in indignation at the thought of him being exploited. 
Elvis slinks lower into the blankets. “Yes,” he responds faintly as a whisper. “That’s how it is.” He takes a deep breath, “Y’know, there are some things I really wanna do. I want to be in a serious film. I want to make a classic film that people will remember. Sometimes I get violently ill thinking about the things they got me doin’. People don’t think I care, but I do. I care. I care,” he winces.
“So do it.”
The advice couldn’t have been simpler. Just do it.
Deep down, Elvis knows he’s a cash cow for so many that he can hardly think about himself, even to his detriment. As a good Southern boy, he never ever allowed himself to, not even back in 1954 when his star was starting to rise. Elvis has always put the others around him first. 
I’ve got responsibilities, he tells himself. I’ve got people—hell, family—on payroll. Is it any wonder then, that he swallows his pride and lowers himself time and time again for the bottom-of-the-barrel projects Parker scrounges up? The kinds of things that not even a lesser star, let alone Elvis Presley should be doing?
He wishes with every fiber of his being that he could just fire the leech. But Parker, for all his carny faults, was there when Elvis was just a pup. He'd guided him, molded him, made him into the man he is today, including all of his riches and privileges. A man made of far sterner stuff, Parker took care of Elvis when his own blasted father couldn't. Elvis feels loyal to Parker and has given him his word, even though he sees more than anyone else that Parker's choices are tanking his career. This puts Elvis in an untenable position, for being at heart just a poor kid from Mississippi, loyalty is everything. And God, he's afraid. He's terrified that if he doesn't keep working somehow, all of it will disappear. He'll have to go back to driving a truck and everyone in his orbit will be destitute. The stress is unbearable.
"I have obligations and upkeep and maintenance, and everyone turns to me with their goddamn mouths open and hands out and eyes expectant," he growls.
Everybody except Frannie.
Elvis looks at her and his expression immediately softens for a moment. She has her own money and career and she's never asked a single thing of him except his love. And for that, he is eternally grateful.
In her bitingly direct New York way, Francesca Ferrara was the first person ever to give him the permission to be selfish. Now, her stark advice cuts through his fog like a knife and he sits up next to her, practically rumbling as his anger returns. 
“I’ve had enough of these bullshit movies. If it’s got me singing in it, I don’t wanna do it anymore. I’m not who Hollywood thinks I am!” Elvis’ voice grows bolder. And Frannie knows it’s true. Her Elvis is an introspective person… soul-searching, even. A man who is surprisingly deep, thoughtful, and intelligent beyond his high school education. Frannie knows him to be gentle and kind and curious about the world. She smiles at the thought of the man she loves one day showing the world who he really is, testing his mettle with a meaty script or even playing to crowds abroad.  
Elvis’ hands ball into fists of rage. “A-a-and I wanna go back to touring, especially outside the country. I miss going out and seeing the people. I miss making music I care about. I miss being on stage and connecting and moving and doing what I want to do. I’m sick of singing to turtles. Man, that shit is beneath me!”
Frannie can see the excitement building in his eyes, the hope flashing through them. It exhilarates her to see him this way, seeing him take front seat in his career for the first time in years, knowing that she's not the only one who believes in him—that he's finally starting to believe in himself, too.
“It is,” she adds, her voice a calming presence as she gently touches his arm. The thought of the world wearing him down makes her heart ache. She wants to care for him so badly. To just miniaturize him and carry him around with her all day to shield him from all harm and hurt.
“Elvis, you have the talent to do whatever you set your mind to,” she cards her fingers through his tousled hair, “So why don’t you go out and do it?”
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morathor · 1 year
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Pokemon: Lancer Theory
That title sounds way too self-important but it is the phrase that stuck in my head.
I’m actually not sure why this concept is so stuck in my head, maybe it's what I've seen of Scarlet/Violet and gym leaders terastalizing their ace pokemon.  But I need to babble it out, so here we are.  I wanna talk about type-themed trainers like gym leaders, elite four members, etc having off-type Pokemon.
It seems like they try not to do this anymore, and I get that, because people complain about it whenever they do.  Which I also get, I guess.  But I dunno, I think it's kind of cool when even a themed trainer has a somewhat diverse team.  The central type should still be visible as a theme, of course, but I don't think it's inherently a bad thing if they have an off-type here or there.  It makes the battles more interesting, it makes the characters more interesting by introducing a little more nuance.  It also plays to the idea of these trainers being talented, which they are supposed to be--I think every pokemon game I’ve ever played has some NPC to tell you that using varied types is the best strategy (even though I recognize a lot of people just bulldoze the game with an overleveled starter).  But when gym leaders and even the elites ignore that beginner advice, it makes them feel a little less competent, a little less threatening.
That said, I think this is more effective if it is applied consistently.  So in the same way that every major trainer needs their "ace" pokemon, I would love to see every major trainer have a "lancer."  Just one off-type pokemon (and the team would need to be a minimum of three so that it's not an even split), probably their second to last/second strongest.  They might fit the aesthetic of the type without being of that type--like how Lance classically has pokemon like Gyarados or Charizard (although I'd want him to pick just one).  Or they might be more focused on the aesthetic of the trainer.  Bonus points if they're a type that helps cover the weaknesses of the main type, but that can be reserved for the higher ranks.
So because I am, one, bored, and two, Like That, here's what incorporating this lancer idea might look like in kanto games/remakes.  Just because they feel like the characters people are most likely to be familiar with.  (And also some other changes because why not.)
Brock's Team
Kabuto--I'm really on the fence about this, but there are other NPCs with fossil pokemon, and Brock uses Kabutops and Omastar both when he shows up in later games.  Besides, type diversity isn't just for the lancer.  And even though you can't catch Kabuto in Mt Moon, you can at least get the fossil there, so we're kind of still showcasing a local pokemon?  Ish?
Cubone--Not a rock type, but not straying far from the mold for this early lancer.  I thought about a Zubat to showcase a local pokemon (plus he has one in the anime) but it's too far outside his tanky preferences.  Actually, if we wanted anime influence, a Vulpix would be a great call, although haven't Bulbasaur players suffered enough?  Anyway, Cubone is neat because it's sturdy and looks ominous, fits the aesthetic, but when you find out more about its Inherent Tragedy it maybe makes Brock look a little more gentle in retrospect.  I think that's neat.
Onix--Ace unchanged, no notes.
Misty's Team
Poliwag--I actually prefer not to have multiple members of the same evolutionary line in one trainer's roster.  I won't always have a good alternative, but there are so many water types.  Also, when possible, I do want to have one mono-type pokemon on the team.  (Not possible for Brock, there are no mono-type rock types in the Kanto dex.)
Dratini--I'll be honest, I'm stupidly proud of this lancer.  Dratini is aquatic without being a water type, and aesthetically fits very well.  In Gen 1, I think Misty is the first trainer to get "good AI", which really isn't all that good but it still shows they wanted her to represent a step up in terms of tactics.  So giving her a lancer that specifically resists the weaknesses of her main type is very cool.
Starmie--Ace unchanged, no notes.
Surge's Team
Magnemite--Not a lot of type diversity for electric types.  But if this hypothetical game is a later generation remake, at least this throws in a steel type.
Mankey--A fighting type seems like a good companion for a military man, and as Surge likes his pokemon fast and hard-hitting, Mankey seemed a better choice than some of the other options.
Raichu--Really considered Electabuzz instead; the stats are incredibly similar, and I feel like it fits Surge's aesthetic slightly better.  But only slightly, not enough to change out such an iconic ace.
Erika's Team
Tangela--Don't know if I have much to say, other than please make sure this has grass moves.  Thank you.
Butterfree--A butterfly pairs real well with all these flowers.  Additionally Butterfree's access to powder moves and its special attacks make it fit Erika's strategy even though its not a grass type.
Vileplume--Really torn between this and Victreebel, since I'd rather not have two grass/poisons if I can help it.  I often here Victreebel presented as more of a threat, since it's more aggressive, especially in Gen 1.  But Vileplume is tankier, so it might hold out a little longer, and I think that gives it more of a presence.
Koga's Team
Tentacruel--Koga is spoiled for choice on poison types, and something menacing that lurks in the water fits his ninja theme pretty well.
Golbat--It was this or Beedrill, but Golbat's access to confusion moves makes it fit Koga's tactics better.
Magmar-- Originally I was thinking Scyther; as a fast blade-wielder, it's more of a ninja than anything else on Koga's team.  But for Koga, that theme is all about debilitating foes with smoke and poisons, so a pokemon that packs the poisonous fumes of a volcano is a good fit.
Weezing--I could easily have dropped Weezing and elevated Muk to the role of ace, but I don't feel strongly enough about either to drop his classic.  Plus, and maybe this is just me watching too many solo runs, the looming threat of self-destruct carries more menace than anything Muk has ever packed.
Sabrina's Team
Mr Mime-- There are so many psychic types in these games, I don't want a Kadabra and an Alakazam.  Honestly I don't even need two mono-psychic types, I could have gone with something that adds more type diversity, but strangely I do like Mr Mime for Sabrina.  Plus in later gens, leading with a screen setter might be a pain for the opponent.
Slowpoke-- There's that type diversity.  I considered a Starmie for that fast, hard-hitting feel that Sabrina tends to go for, but let's not step on Misty's toes.
Venomoth-- I thought about giving her a Haunter, but nah.  Venomoth is a non-psychic type that can pack psychic moves, and I can kind of see a connection to Sabrina's sort of aloof, otherworldly vibes.  Moths are creatures of the night, dancing on the edge of the light... it kinda works.
Alakazam-- Ace unchanged, no notes.
Blaine's Team
Vulpix--Thought about a Ninetails and an Arcanine, but I kinda feel like that diminishes Arcanine as the ace even if its higher level.  Still, replacing Blake's leading Growlithe with a Vulpix gives him a little more diversity in his team.
Rapidash--Speaking of diversity, I really thought about Charizard.  I did.  It and Moltres are the only Kanto fire types with a second typing.  And while there are other NPCs who have starter pokemon, I feel like giving one to a gym leader felt a little off.  So it's gonna have to be all mono-fire types except for the lancer.
Exeggcute--Eggs equals bald?  I dunno, Blaine doesn't have strong theming to me, but what he does have is a role as the second-to-last gym leader, one the game expects you to treat as a major threat.  Honestly we're here more for a move than a pokemon--solar beam, which both fits a fire theme and covers fire's weaknesses.  And Exeggcute is like the only Kanto mon to learn it at a level Blaine is likely to pack.
Arcanine--Ace unchanged, no notes.
Giovanni's Team
Dugtrio--Moving this to the lead, who needs Rhyhorn AND Rhydon?
Sandslash--I really thought about keeping both Nidoking and Nidoqueen, they're not quite the same evolutionary line.  But they're close enough, and I have... other plans, for her majesty.
Nidoking--I love how over the course of the game, this ground theme gradually crystallizes, without Giovanni dropping too many pokemon.  This started out as just a poison type, which most Team Rocket members lean towards, and only for this final fight is it evolved into a ground type.
Kangaskhan--You could go with Persian here if you wanted to emulate the anime, but in most of the games Giovanni uses a Kangaskhan prior to this point.  Whichever one you have him use for the rest of the game, I'd want him to keep it till the end, but now it's reframed as not even his final form--I mean, strongest Pokemon.
Rhydon--The fact that rock/ground doubles down on so many type weaknesses almost wants me to let Giovanni keep his old Rhyhorn and elevate Dugtrio (or maybe Sandslash?) to ace.  But neither of those match Rhydon's raw power, so I don't think we need to change this.
Now, as for the elite four...
Lorelei
Dewgong--Not a lot of ice types in this game, and Lorelei already has all of them (except the legendary).  So there's not much room for me to improve on anything but the lancer.
Cloyster--No notes, move along.
Jynx--Originally Jynx was the only break from the water types, and her psychic type could be a good counter to any fighting types giving you trouble.  Problem with that is, Lorelei's Jynx doesn't typically have psychic moves.  I know in Gen I the learnset was bad, but suck it up and give her psychic or something.
Nidoqueen--A surprise I'm sure, but hear me out.  As I just noted, three of Lorelei's ice types are also water types, and adding in Slowbro made it four out of five.  That meant that, one, she was just as much a water type trainer as an ice type, and two, water was her more exploitable weakness.  Grass types might have struggled, but electric types could sweep her pretty easily (Jynx isn't weak to electric, but she's a glass cannon and not too much of a threat).  Adding in a bulky ground type that can learn ice moves and fits Lorelei's color scheme seemed like a good call.  And yes, this is part of the reason Giovanni doesn't get to have the queen.
Lapras--Ace unchanged, no notes
Bruno
Hitmonlee--I'd have Bruno lead with Hitmonlee just because it's one of the more straightforward fighting types.  Hits hard, but doesn't have a varied move pool.
Hitmonchan--Obviously we can't separate Hitmonchan from Hitmonlee, so here we are.  
Poliwrath--Doing what we can to get some type diversity into this roster.  Plus Poliwrath's access to hypnosis and halfway decent special stats (sorry Hitmonchan) represents a pretty sizeable tactical shift.
Pinsir--This one does not represent a tactical shift.  Big and bulky, well known for moves like seismic toss and submission, Pinsir feels like an honorary fighting type.  A bit of a straightforward lancer, but Bruno's a bit of a straightforward trainer.
Machamp--Ace unchanged, no notes
Agatha
Gastly--Okay, this one's a problem.  Ghost and dragon are supposed to be rare, mysterious types, each represented by only one evolutionary line.  I don't mind that in theory, and I also don't mind showcasing the rare mysterious types within the elite four.  But boy does it make it hard to have a varied team.  Gastly's move set should focus mainly on spreading status more than inflicting damage--hypnosis, confuse ray, maybe toxic or in later gens will o wisp.
Haunter--Same evolutionary line, but now focus a little more on damage, and maybe coverage.  You can keep hypnosis and maybe confuse ray, but moves like night shade are keepers, and maybe throw in a TM move like psychic.
Haunter--Now we have two of the same exact pokemon and I hate it.  At the very least give this a different moveset.  Maybe mega/giga drain, dream eater, and hypnosis as its core?  Let its focus on life drain set it apart from the tactics of the first haunter.
Hypno--Finally a break from the same evolutionary line.  This team already has more poison types that Koga, so I didn't want to double down with Golbat or Arbok.  Hypno's emphasis on status moves and dream eater fits well into Agatha's theme, while providing a good wall against psychic types that may have been giving you trouble.
Gengar--In gen 1 at least, Agatha's final Gengar didn't have hypnosis, which kind of meant a sigh of relief when you reached it.  And while I do want the ace to be threatening, I kind of like the idea that you've gotten past the worst of the debilitating effects and are ready to square off in a more head-to-head battle.  Nightshade, thunderbolt, maybe keep dream eater even if you can't put things to sleep yourself.
Lance
Dratini: Yep, same problem as Agatha.  I have similar ideas for solutions, just trying to keep the movesets distinct.  Dratini's a little bulkier than Gastly, but doesn't hit very hard.  Dragon rage doesn't depend on stats, so that's a good attack.  Then throw around thunder wave, maybe set up a reflect.
Dragonair: I think Yellow had more or less the right idea for the Dragonairs.  This one can focus on electric moves, but make sure not to entirely give up on dragon moves.
Dragonair: And for this one we'll focus on water and ice moves, though again try to keep at least one dragon move.  We want to show off the diverse move pool of these mighty dragons.
Gyarados: There are so many pseudo-dragons to choose for the lancer.  No Charizard for the same reason I didn't give Blaine one.  Aerodactyl is really neat, I think it's something no other NPC in the game has, but it also really doubles down on the ice weakness, and if we're talking about a Gen I version it doesn't even have rock moves.  Gyarados offers good bulk and is at least neutral to ice, so a player just spamming ice beam or whatever will have to be a little more tactical for a bit.
Dragonite: We had one dragonair focused on electric and one focused on water/ice.  For the ace, pairing fire moves with dragon gives it solid coverage and a strong turnaround on ice types (though many of them are also water, but still a neutral fire blast from a powerful pokemon can be scary).
That's it for Kanto.  I uh.  My brain is already buzzing with Johto.  So that might be a thing.
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luciana-vega · 2 years
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girls say their doll family is complete and then it goes from 2 to 4 over the course of a month 🤡
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gotnofucks · 3 years
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Ball’s In Your Court
Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader, (platonic tony x reader)
Summary: Steve and Y/n have been playing games for years. But now that Rogers is acting like a little bitch, Y/n throws him a curve ball that will either make them or break them.
Words: 2.7k
Warning: None man. Its fluff and angst. Language (?)
A/N: I was experimenting with the third person P.O.V for reader. Hope it’s to your liking.
MASTERLIST
+++++
For as long as Steve could remember, their life together had been a game; bet after bet, challenge after challenge. He had met her when she was just entering her teens, a little girl with a lost wild look in her eyes. She was in all respects Tony’s daughter, rescued by him from the wreckage of his own weapons. He had almost done a double take when Tony had introduced her to the team.
“This is Y/n, she will stay with us from now”
The compound was not used to the pitter patter of little feet or their furniture appearing embellished overnight. She had lost everything, including it seemed herself. So, their first game ironically had been Hide and Seek. She was small and he lost count of how many times she had bested him by crawling under the cramped spaces of desks or vents (Thanks for teaching her that, Barton).
When Tony had complained about the hundredth time that she just wouldn’t eat, Steve would challenge her that whoever finished their breakfast first could choose the movie for tonight. When she refused to let them leave for missions, he would challenge her to a game of cards. She was too young to win against him but her stubborn streak never turned down a game.
Their every interaction had been a game. They could get each other to do anything by playing chess or softball or a game of Horse that drove everyone else up the wall. He got her to open up about school bullies by besting her at Pictionary and she had effectively gotten him to shut up about healthy food by kicking his ass at video games. They dealt with drama via games (Whoever tosses the least paper balls in the bin tells Bruce we fucked his experiment ), they dealt with humor via games (let’s see who can manage to steal Nat’s gun without getting caught), they dealt with grief via game (if you beat me at Heads Up I’ll let you choose the gravestone).
Growing up, she was Tony’s daughter and Steve’s best friend. While Tony raised her, Steve gossiped with her. They were pals and all was fun and games until she grew up from a little girl into a young woman. Steve didn’t know when things changed but the first he noticed it was when she had run into his arms bawling because some idiot boy broke her heart. It was when he found himself conflicted between anger at the boy and jealousy that this shit started.
He had tried, he had really tried to keep it in check. He had tried to keep up with their game’s night ritual, their silly bets and ridiculous challenges. He had tried his best to be a friend, but this was one challenge he lost. She was no more the 14-year-old girl asking him questions for her history project or the 16-year-old nightmare who would put cockroaches in his bed as revenge. This was a young woman in her 20s with curves for days and an attitude that raised hell. It was a classic falling for your best friend story (if only he weren’t old enough to be her dad or was her dad’s best friend).
He had of course been under the impression that he was being subtle about his change in feelings. He tried not to stare when they went out for a swim, he resisted the urge to lick her lips after a nacho eating contest. He was trying so fucking hard, but as anyone could have told him, “Steve, you don’t have a subtle bone in your body, you frisbee throwing maniac”. She was Tony Stark’s daughter; she was not raised to be stupid. She was smart and observant and almost as quick a study as her father. It was no surprise then that she figured out what had Steve so wound up around her.
Maybe it would have creeped her out had it been anyone else, but Steve was her person. He was her one constant, from kissing her boo-boos to getting her home after she drank herself silly, Steve was there. It shouldn’t have surprised Steve so much then when she cornered him one evening and planted a wet one smack on his mouth with a muttered, “This sexual tension it killing me, gotta do something about it because you won’t”.
He wished he could say he clutched her body to his and dragged her to his room for a wild night of passion. But in reality, he chickened out like a bitch and ran away. Not just from her, but he completely disappeared from the compound for two weeks. When he came back, it was with the intentions of telling her they couldn’t do it, it was wrong and a betrayal to Tony. But Steve needn’t have worried because he came back to the compound to find her introducing the team to her boyfriend.
As far as others know, Steve didn’t deliberately break those glasses that night or push the idiot boy in the pool. It was an accident, and if such accidents kept happening around men she dated then it was purely coincidental.
It was a new kind of game they played then, a more dangerous one and if one’s being honest, a very sensual game. She would date someone; he would scare them away. One of them will find the other, have a passionate make out session, probably end up straddling the other on a desk and then one of them will get up and leave with the same lie “This can’t happen again”. Repeat.
Gone were the days of challenges and competitions, in its place was a sexually charged game of Tag. A cat and mouse game where they always chased each other, touching fleetingly before retreating again. Neither would be the one to make a commitment, neither would concede to being the person who would put their hearts on the line. They were two bulls who were made to butt heads (who occasionally took time off to play a quick game of tonsil-hockey).
Steve had known there had to be an end to this. It had gone on for so long that he could bet other people suspected some shit. He had honestly expected for Tony to sucker punch him half a dozen times by now. Right now, he would have taken those punches to the news she had just given to the team.
“I am getting married!” She announced, offering her left hand so others can admire the gorgeous diamond ring that sat on her ring finger. She looked happy, absolutely radiant and it was all Steve could do to stop himself from dragging her out of here by her hair and throwing that offending ring into the garbage chute. What the fuck kind of game was she playing?
He waited until everyone was asleep before he broke into her room. Well, breaking into would suggest it was forced but truly only him and Tony had the authorization to enter. Their relationship may have changed from ‘you’re my best friend’ to ‘I want to be your best lay’, but they still knew each other the best and cared just as much as before, if not more.
She was under the covers in her bed, a small nightlamp on. It had been a while since Steve had been in her room and it was like taking a big gulp of nostalgia. Her room was her sanctuary, so it reflected her heart’s desires. Every surface of the room was littered with one of their memories together. Her pinboard was still holding the notes he would write to her in school, the birthday cards he made himself and the portraits he would sketch for her. On her desk stood the numerous gifts he had gotten her, each well taken care of despite the years between. Right beside her on the cabinet was a picture of them together, both of them holding hands and smiling at each other in what could only be called as “lovesick smitten idiots”.
He was cautious as he lowered himself next to her on the bed, her face so peaceful he felt like he would taint it by his touch and presence. He had looked at her for years, sketched her details hundreds of times and yet each time he beheld her, he felt his heart skip a beat. She was a memory that he tried to forget and yet it emerged every time he closed his eyes. She was in his skin, a part of him in a way that defied all laws of nature and social customs.
“Are you going to keep staring at me and be the creep from Twilight or do you plan on getting inside?”
Her voice made him jump because she hadn’t opened her eyes. She was smiling that lazy smile of hers when she would catch his bluff in poker. He chuckled and shifted the sheets, climbing under them and curling his body around her. It may as well have been cliché to say that they fit like a puzzle, but it was true. They were molded to fit against each other perfectly, like that lid you close over a box and the satisfying ‘tick’ sound it makes when it clicks into place. That’s what being with her felt like. Fitting in. Coming home.
“Why are you doing this Y/n?” Steve asked and she pushed her body into his so he could hug her tighter.
“Because you won’t do anything Steve. We’ve been running around in circles for so long now, and every time I think that finally we’ll be together, you abandon fort and run. I can’t do this anymore.”
Steve took her left hand and watched her ring twinkle in a taunt. It could have been him. It should be him.
“Don’t marry him. He will never give you what you want.”
“I know that Steve, no one can give me what they want because they aren’t you. But I can’t keep waiting for you in the sidelines hoping you’ll pull your head out of your ass. I want to be loved, preferably in this life.”
His arms were like tentacles around her, but she didn’t complain. Every embrace and moment between them was so fleeting, a stolen moment that she enjoyed what she could get. This was probably the longest in a few years that they had held each other without one running for the hills.
“I love you, you know that.” He whispered in her ear, longing evident in his voice.
“I know that, as much as I know that you won’t do shit about it. Loving someone is not always enough Steve. It’s just the beginning. I – I won’t keep my love a secret. I don’t want ten angry sensual minutes in the broom closet. I want walks in the park and two dogs and a cat. I want picnics with our family and pictures that are not restricted to my room. You can’t give me that. You won’t.”
She had run out of tears. Her fiancé may not be Steve Rogers but at least he was an honest man who tried his best to love her the way she deserved. She had met his family and they had met hers; they could post pictures on social media with cheesy captions and hold hands as they drank coffee from a cheap corner place.
“You can never love anyone like you love me” It was a sulky declaration by a hurt lover and she almost cooed to him like a mommy consoling her baby. Steve may have been older to her in years, but when it came to love he was an immature brat.
“That may be true, but I will try. I am not Penelope waiting in the balcony for Odysseus to return. I love you, and that love may never fade away. But my life will go on. It is your choice if you want to be a part of it.”
She faced him, her eyes open and clear. He didn’t know when the little girl who needed help to reach the jar on the shelf had grown up in this headstrong woman who could beat a sailor when it came to cursing. But he couldn’t bear the thought of her staying like this in someone else’s bed, looking at them the way she looked at him. Steve rarely coveted something in his life, but he didn’t realize until now how much he coveted her love. If he lost that, he feared he would lose himself.
“Your father is going to kill me” Steve groaned, and she laughed. Her head was on his chest and an arm around his torso.
“We can elope, you know. Run away and get married. It will be too late to do anything then. You’ll be stuck with me.”
“Did you just propose to me?” Steve questioned and she nodded, her eyes naughty.
“I’m always a step ahead of you Captain. I figured you would take another month at least to ask and I have wasted too much time already.” She whispered against his lips. He leaned up to kiss her deeply, unhurried for the first time. It was like their first kiss all over again, like two star-crossed lovers smashing through their final obstacle and uniting. Steve didn’t know how he had survived so long without having her like this, but as his hands found her soft curves, he swore he can’t go a day without it.
“Stop stop!” She said, pushing his chest and rolling away from him. “We’ve waited this long. You’re not getting your dick wet until you finally commit to me.”
Steve looked more dumbfounded than offended and responded by finally taking off the ring on her finger and throwing it away carelessly.
“I’ll steal the Quinjet, meet me in the hanger in half an hour. Don’t pack shit. We’ll make one stop for the rings and get the first officiant I can find to marry us. We’ll probably be back by breakfast. And then,” His arm wound around her waist “I will lay rest to the sexual tension of years by getting my dick wet. Repeatedly.”
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It was to be expected that Tony’s daughter wouldn’t do anything halfway through. A flair for dramatics was her inheritance and she and Steve walked into the compound newly married in rumpled night clothes and shit eating grin. They found everyone eating in the kitchen, and greetings stopped halfway when the rest of the team noticed their clasped hands.
“What the fuck…” Bruce said, half eaten celery dangling from his open mouth.
Y/n flashed them her award-winning smile and showed the matching rings on her and Steve’s hand. It was a riot under a minute, chairs scraping as they crowded them, trying to see if it was a joke. Then just as suddenly everyone stopped and Tony stepped forward, a spatula in his hand that to Steve looked as threatening as a gun.
“You sick son of a bitch!” Tony shouted and Steve flinched. He looked at Y/n but all she did was wear a smug look on her face that should be illegal in about three continents. “You little bitch! You are supposed to be from the 90s! You were supposed to ask her hand from me like a gentleman you sick little fuck!”
Steve blinked in confusion while she laughed, hopping like a little girl to hug her father.
“Pay up, daddy! You owe me 500 bucks.” She said and Tony groaned, pulling out his wallet and handing her crisp five 100s.
“I – what? What happened?” Steve sputtered, still surprised he wasn’t being beaten by the Iron Legion.
“You weren’t supposed to elope you bastard. Always knew chivalry was dead!” Tony huffed then went back to cooking. “Congratulations by the way. Fucking finally. I’m not surprised my girl had to do everything anyway. She’s taken after me.”
This was a plot twist Steve never expected and he looked at his new wife with a look of horror on his face that could only be translated to as ‘what the fuck have I gotten myself into’.
“I told you baby, I’m always a step ahead of you.” She said, trying and failing to blush like a bride.
+++++
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tobiosmilktea · 3 years
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umpah umpah! smau
↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi
[029] — when the party’s over!
masterlist | prev. | next
a/n: ah yes,, classic xiao writing this chapter instead of writing her final exam essay (this isn’t proofread either 💀)
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it got colder and then it got warmer the moment alcohol burned through your esophagus in the dead of night. it was winter now, the arid tokyo air was on the cusp of freezing as if it were to rain, snow would be covering the city in a blanket of white.
other than those who were apart of the g-force groupchat, the bar wasn’t as crowded with strangers as it would usually be on a saturday night, yet you suppose that it’s the biting chill in the air that’s driving people home in the comforting warmth of their houses.
you liked going out, especially to go out drinking with your friends, but after the past few weeks, you needed to take a break from it all. sure, a drink would surely ease your tension in your shoulders, but what good would it be if you ex-boyfriends clung to you like two lost puppies? the entire night you have been pulled back and forth between bokuto and iwaizumi that you had lost count how many times you ran laps around the bar because of it.
so now, the first and probably the final time to yourself sitting alone at the bar was cut short as iwaizumi placed himself on the barstool next to you. 
you flicker him a look, one so nonchalant, yet so obviously asking him why the hell was he next to you. his mouth parted then as if he was suddenly being interrogated just by the plain look in your eyes to explain himself.
“let me guess,” you say first before a single syllable could even leave iwaizumi, “you want to buy me a drink?”
“only as an apology for annoying you earlier.” there was a hinting smirk on his lips as he turned towards the bartender, waving him down before ordering something fruity for you. at least he remembered you preferred sweeter drinks than liquor that would make your eyes water and your throat burn.
you sent him a smile. the words ‘thank you’ were laced in your grin that it was enough to send iwaizumi’s heart racing even without the words having to make its way past your peachy lips. 
peaches, huh? iwaizumi liked peaches. he wondered what they tasted like...
“after tonight, do you think you and i could talk—” he tries to ask in a hushed voice. it was discrete as if he feared that someone would hear his words and suddenly interrupted.
just like right now.
“hey! hey! hey!” bokuto erupts from behind them, sending a downpour of annoyance through iwaizumi as he watched the volleyball player sit on the other side of you. “a round of shots for us, please!” he tells the bartender upon placing your drink right in front of you.
you were about to open your mouth and decline since you already had more than enough alcohol coursing through your body, but you figured you needed the most you could get knowing this is what it would be like for the rest of the night. honestly at this point, you have come to accept the fact that you just had to just deal with them. you kept your mouth shut as you downed half of the sugar-rimmed margarita as the bartender placed down the shots in front of you.
you took the shot first, face contorting slightly at the stinging of the vodka while bokuto and iwaizumi lagged behind. unbeknownst to you, their glares made up of bullet holes and stab wounds clashed against each other as they tilted their head backs in a swing. they slammed their shot glasses down at the same time.
“another round, please!” bokuto calls again, pointing a wink at you as you looked up at him.
bokuto nods as he gives iwaizumi a look, “yeah. why? can’t your alcohol?” his voice teased as if he was proposing a challenge.
“you’re one to talk,” he scoffs.
like a domino effect, another trio of shot glasses were place in front of you, eyes widening into saucers as both bokuto and iwaizumi didn’t spare a sign of hesitancy as they grabbed their respective glasses.
a nervous laughter emitted from you, “don’t you guys think we should slow it down on the shots? i just barely swallowed the first one down.”
after the boys hadn’t answered you within a few beats of silence, it was clear that it was no use trying to slow them down. hell, they have already thrown their heads back before you could mutter another word to stop them. you wanted to roll your eyes at their careless actions—acting as if they needed to prove that their were the superior one to be sitting by your side. if anything, you could easily beat them if you actually had the energy to do so. instead, you lifted your shot glass to your lips and sipped its contents.
“another one!” iwaizumi said this time.
an obvious sigh left the bartender as his expression was unreadable. it was deadpan and nonchalant that you questioned whether or not he was annoyed or just didn’t give a single damn. either way, it was understandable. he had even thrown you a look from over the bar to ask if you wanted a shot too considering you were sipping your second one.
you shook your head. this was more than enough for tonight having to deal with the idiosyncrasies of your ex-boyfriends.
if you had to be completely honest, you near really pined yourself as someone who got annoyed easily, especially not towards iwaizumi nor bokuto. and yet the sudden influx of envy taking over whenever one of them catches you with the latter was forcing you towards the end of your rope. a simple smile towards one of them led to a jealous look at the other, but it only molded into something worse. from discrete, sly motions to full of cacophonies of backhanded compliments, you should’ve known it was going to only get worse ever since you did in fact visit the gym during practice.
long story short, you weren’t visiting anyone in particular but iwaizumi and bokuto liked arguing otherwise. it seems that professionalism was completely thrown out of the window once satomi was out of the picture, you’ve come to notice.
“next one!” the boys next to you shout again, snatching you out of your thoughts in a rough tug that it almost scared you.
you pulled a concerned look on your face as you finished your shot. “guys, i don’t think you two should be downing so many—”
but before the sentence could even leave your mouth, their fifth (or was it sixth?) shot was already burning down their esophagus. their voices were strained slightly as they called for another one, yet rather than in unison, their words started to slur into one another in an incoherent tangent. they slammed the frail shot glasses haphazardly. they were practically ignoring you at this point just to prove a point. granted, you weren’t sure what point they were trying to make anymore.
how ironic.
“seriously?” you scoff, the annoyance finally radiating off of you. “first the text messages, then causing a commotion during practice, and now this? do you guys have to turn everything into a competition?” you raised your voice higher than last time, yet it wasn’t like you were speaking softly anyway.
iwaizumi swallowed the contents of his shot quickly, swiping his wrist over his lips to capture the alcohol. “bokuto started it!” he exclaimed childishly. it was something so out of character that it was obvious he was just a few shots away from being completely blacked out.
“and you followed suit!” bokuto retorted upon slamming the shot glass on the bar. his biceps unconsciously flexed beneath your gaze at the action that you were surprised those poor glasses weren’t broken, let alone cracked. “i never even proposed a competition until you started calling over shots as well!”
“what the hell are you trying to prove, anyway?” iwaizumi bites back with the same energy. “least time i remember, you got absolutely shitfaced and poor (y/n) had to deal with you.”
by now you were sure every single person in this damned pub was all ears for a drunken argument. you feared to even crane your head slightly to see if anyone was staring at the three of you, hoping that your hand was enough to shield you a bit from the embarrassment (news flash: it did not). “okay, let’s not—”
“just shoes how much (y/n) cares about my wellbeing. isn’t that right, (y/nnie)?” the volleyball player mused as he slung his arm over you.
“y-yeah, but—”
and you were cut off once again as iwaizumi scoffs. “yeah right, you’re probably just trying to get wasted just to get her to take you home again. you’d probably take advantage of the situation like some people you know.”
a hard look flushed over bokuto’s face. his brows furrowed, creating lines of annoyance upon his forehead as you swore you heard his teeth grit. the anger was brewing within him and perhaps this is the first time in a long time you have seen bokuto act like this. “are you comparing me to satomi, right now?” the words were like venom spewing out of his lips.
“if the shoe fits,” responded the latter, “close friends typically act on similar wills, if you know what i mean.”
“iwa...” you say disappointedly upon facing him, hoping to stop them by any means necessary.
but perhaps you focused on calming down the wrong boy as the cringing screech of a bar stool being pushed back ravaged your eardrums. bokuto lets out a grunt, hovering over you and iwaizumi.
oh god, you thought. if you didn’t do anything now, it would only escalate even more and you were a hundred percent not in the mood to get kicked out of a bar right now. besides, for a bunch of drunk dudes, they put up a good fight in the way their words impacted the other.
“bo, stop.” you hissed at the volleyball player, your palm splayed over his chest to stop him from getting any closer. “we were supposed to celebrate tonight and not fight, remember?”
bokuto didn’t respond to even spare a knowing glance down towards you. there was a wildfire igniting around you and iwaizumi was only adding fuel to the burning fire. he stands himself, landing just a few significant inches shorter than bokuto, and yet his intimidation still stands.
what the hell were you going to do now? you weren’t exactly one to get into physical altercations, especially with men built like adonises. helpless, you flicker a look towards someone—literally anyone familiar to help you as your gaze lands of akaashi and kaori. they send you a pitied look, yet even they themselves weren’t in the mood to stop anything physical.
that’s it, you scoff with a roll to your eyes. “unbelievable,” you spat out, pushing past iwaizumi and bokuto as you finally managed to capture their attention.
they attempt to call out your name, yet you ignored their calls as you made your way over to akaashi’s table. akaashi scoots farther into the booth slightly with just enough room for you to squeeze in. yuko was also in the booth, placed just beside kaori as they shared a drink together.
“boys,” you huff.
“maybe i don’t envy you that much in the love department anymore...” kaori mused.
you bite back a chuckle, shaking your head at the thought. “there was nothing to be jealous about in the first place, anyway. besides, they’re getting annoying now. it's like after we get over a problem, a new one comes around and i’m sick of it.”
“if it makes you feel any better, i have a solution for you.” akaashi clears his throat, letting his offer simmer a bit as he sips from his glass.
“hm?” you hummed curiously, “what is it?”
akaashi shrugs, “tell them your true feelings.”
“huh?” the sound of surprise fell out of your mouth. a sarcastic laugh left you as you roll your eyes, “yeah right.”
“good luck getting that out of (y/n) anytime soon,” yuko added with a snicker.
“what is that supposed to mean?” you say rather offendedly. like sure, you didn’t exactly disagree but hearing it from a dear friend was different.
kaori flickers you an amused look, “you did lie and not tell them about the webtoon for years.”
“not to mention neither of them new they dated you until just recently,” yuko adds.
you pursed your lips together as the thought lingered in your mind, waiting until you come up with a rational answer that wasn’t an excuse. but truth be told, you have told lots and excuses and you were running out quick.
“you’ve never been good at telling people things that they need to hear.” that was the last hit on the nail as you sighed out. of course it was akaashi who had to mention your irrational inability of preferring to run away from things that were hard.
you didn’t really know what to say. everything they said was spot on, so it wasn’t like you had anything to add onto or defend yourself with as you fiddled with your fingers. “why did they have to come back to me at the same time?” you ask without thinking, catching yourself mid-sentence, but it was too late. your thoughts were out in the open now.
“the universe probably knows you’ve never really moved on and neither have them.” says yuko as she rests her head upon his palm. she had to be spitting out bullshit at this point.
“please,” you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time in a span of thirty minutes, “you sound like one of those tarot card readers on tiktok.”
“i’m actually serious, (y/n)...” she continues, “you literally wrote a wholeass webtoon about them.”
“why does it matter when so many people use their personal experiences to make things. i don’t see you blaming taylor swift for all her scandals from writing so many break up songs.” you state matter-of-factly because it was true. why did it matter? it wasn’t like there was anything you could do anymore considering the film’s preproduction is almost over and the webtoon is finished.
yuko opened her mouth again to say more, but kaori quickly stopped her. “no, (y/n), you’re right. but i agree with akaashi on this one. like, who knows how things will turn out when you tell them how you feel. it’s clear both of them like you, it’s just a matter on who you reject and who your accept.”
that was the very last thing you wanted to do—choose. you loved them both and the thought of even having to give more love to only one of them was like tightening a fist around your heart. “do i really have to choose?”
“i mean...”  akaashi finally speaks after another sip from his glass, “who said you couldn’t have both?”
the thought melted smirks upon yuko and kaori’s faces, but only sent your heart racing and crimson red blush to creep up onto your cheeks. did it get hot all of a sudden? no offense to those who do have open relationships, but like hell would you ever be in one. granted, you don’t really knock on things until you try it, but the concept is something you never really expected yourself being in. besides, bokuto and iwaizumi both dating you? those men are the literal epitome of possessive that a relationship with the both of them was just a train wreck waiting to happen.
but then again, how would you know?
you shake your head from the thought as your heart beat was only getting louder and louder and faster and faster the more you thought about the both of them. it even reached to the point that if you three were to ever get intimate that you would absolutely lose your mind knowing that you would be in between two of the hottest men you— “whatever!” you exclaim rather loudly, ignoring the hushed giggled from the yuko and kaori just by looking at your expression. “i’m going to talk to semi and suga, they’ll probably be more of a help than you guys. where are they anyway? oh, there they are.”
you lift yourself from the booth, but akaashi stops before you could even make a step. you turn over your shoulder, “you can’t keep running away from your problems, (y/n).”
capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you let out a frustrated sigh. i know, you wanted to say, but instead you opted to take akaashi’s drink from his hand and finish its contents. “fine. what do i do?”
“when the party’s over, you tell them everything.” he explains upon receiving his now empty liquor glass from you. “besides, we only have a few weeks left before we have to leave.”
you let out an amused huff, “why does it matter when i’ll end up leaving again anyway?”
fun facts! —
y/n felt bad for drinking akaashi’s drink so she ended up buying him another one
after y/n left iwa and bo, it’s safe to say they argued a bit more on who was the one who drove y/m away
sakusa and atsumu had to pull them away
also at this point, everyone is drunk asf (esp y/n) which will explain her actions next chap
taglist: (closed!)
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movedtodykedvonte · 3 years
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Bad ending AU with the Winterses where Ethan and Mia become lords?
Oooooh, now I gotta think of lord concepts for Ethan and Mia. Let's say that they get rid of Miranda but Rose dies and the mold takes them over but in a bad and negative way due to grief.
They wouldn't be around each other as I believe Lord Winters would blame Lady Winters and be hostile towards her while Lady Winters is busy trying to repent. Ideas undercut
Lord Ethan Winters - Headless Horseman/Zombies
So sticking with the gothic literature/classic horror monster theme I chose the headless horseman for Ethan. The horseman is a character driven by spite and the desire to get back once was his (his head, but in this case, Rose) This is also because you're not supposed to see his face and it is funny
The zombie part is obvious as this man just keeps coming back from the dead.
The spot where his head should be is usually empty, yet tendrils may sprout from it if angered. He can still talk and hear but rarely does so. This is to contrast with how he is in canon. Lord Winters listens more and comments less so he can hunt better
He can detach and reattach his limbs but cannot regenerate them anymore, if you were to fight him you'd have to use explosives (this is due to how Zombies need to be burned and irony towards the headless horseman's flaming head)
Physically he remained the same, but just looks a lot more mold covered and has areas of rot on his body
He carries his head in an old-style baby basket and it is impossible to see unless you are very close... but if you are that close it is far too late for you.
His face is contorted and his head can speak on its own, it is delirious and constantly asking where Rose is in a guttural, panicked fashion. Has the features of the concept molded (pictured below)
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He would be the lord of the deserted village which is now inhabited with headless mold creatures. They cannot hear or see but can sense your movements and will go towards you if you run or break things (sensation based lickers)
He stalks you and you can only really tell he's nearby his head calling out for Rose as he sorta blends with the rest of the mold creatures. This is intentional as Ethan was just some guy, so of course, he'd trick you into a false sense of security by being some mold creature
If you somehow destroy his whole body his head would mutate into an awful pumpkin sort of head creature. Veiny and moldy tendrils would come from its decapitated bottom and it would whip and lash at you until dead, sometimes lunging to try and devour you.
This is a reference to how the horseman is often depicted with a pumpkin but also pumpkin patches which are often used in tandem with the myth babies come from gourd/cabbage patches (ixnay he is not over not being able to save Rose.)
Lord Mia Winters - The doppleganger/la larona
So for Mia, these may seem super weird but let me explain. Mia's relationship was always two-faced with Ethan like she gave him a version of her while the real one was tucked away. As if she gave Ethan a doppelganger. Being possessed by the mold made it seem like another Mia, not just an evil Mia. Akin to a doppelganger (Plus Miranda literally acted as her doppelganger)
La Larona is because she is constantly mourning Rose as the weeping woman does and also like the weeping woman, the death of her child is on her own hands.
She reins on the outskirts of the village and copies the image of tourists and travelers. (Cannot copy a person she has not come into contact with or make new features)
She has no face as she has been lost in the lies of other people and herself, can't recall what she looks like
Poses as copies of people to lure them in think all these people are Rose and kills them when she finds out they aren't
Can speak when she is mimicking someone but it is usually their voice unless she is between turning into them, then you hear some of her real voice
Will try and trick you by mimicking then getting closer until she can strike, the only thing to clue you that it's not you're friend or ally is that she wouldn't blink and there is mold in her eye whites
This is of course is to see/notice but it is your one saving grace.
I don't believe they would be traditional hostile like the other lords, more like Donna in that they don't really get all that happening around them due to the grief. They both are just looking for Rose, too bad she's gone...
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just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES
we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)
The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.
In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.
His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.
Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”
His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.
But there's good news this morning.
“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.
“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”
He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.
“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.
He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.
He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”
When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.
The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”
Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.
Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…
“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.
“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.
“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.
“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.
“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.
“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.
“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.
“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”
“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”
He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.
Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316
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isazulabaeorwhat · 3 years
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Rachel Amber, The Broken Angel Who Demonized Herself
Fair warning, please bear with this probably incredibly **longass** (I’m not kidding it’s rlly long) analysis of one of the fandom’s most controversial disliked characters, Rachel Amber. This is just my attempt to analyze her character based on observation from BtS to LiS so by no means do you have to accept them. Productive discussions are obviously very welcomed :D
In LiS, when we asked about Rachel around campus, most of them had nothing but compliments and praises for the missing girl. She was essentially an honorary Vortex Club member who socialised with the snobs, yet she also hung out with the skater stoners and was friendly with those at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Then we see those graffiti around where it hints at Rachel’s promiscuity, debts and conflicts with other people. That’s the first sign we see that Rachel Amber isn’t as perfect as everyone was making her out to be. Afterwards we discover that Rachel was a stoner herself and into whatever drugs there were, partied harder than anyone else, promiscuous, entered a relationship with local drug dealer Frank Bowers while having a secret relationship with Psycho teacher Mark Jefferson— all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA in her studies and being considered perfect and adored by practically everyone in her school. The girl’s incredible, obviously, or maybe scary for someone to be so spread out in everything.
Rachel was a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA, an administrative assistant to the Principal, beloved by students and faculty alike, literal goddess beauty, had ambitions to be a model and study international law, daughter of the DA and was the closest to perfection anyone would ever be— so what went wrong? What made her romanticise the idea of running away from a town where everyone loves and adores her?
Because of the above.
Yes, it may sound whiny and dramatic to feel tired of being loved and being the center of attention all the time, but there’s no point to it if it’s not you who they adore, but the person you’re pretending to be— (“I was feeling angsty and reckless. Tired of living up to the perfect image everybody expects out of me.”) —especially when you have to do so much just to maintain the lie.
Throughout LiS and BtS, Rachel’s ability to get along with everyone was always mentioned. At face value she was akin to a social butterfly. She hung out with stoners regardless of their social status (skaters or the vortex club), was friendly with anyone regardless of their place in the social hierarchy (eg; Daniel/Evan/Steph/Drew/Nathan) or even to strangers others usually ignored (Samuel/Homeless lady). Like Evan said, Her friends were her friends. She wasn’t one to let peer pressure affect her relationships so she wasn’t afraid to make all those acquaintances.
However, for those who knew her closely (Chloe and Jefferson), she was referred to as a chameleon, someone who blended in with everyone and everywhere seamlessly. This was an important detail regarding who Rachel was and her intimacy with others. To be able to make that comparison, they would’ve needed to know who the person Rachel actually was underneath the masks she’d created over the years. Chloe was the first to truly see and accept her for who she was. Jefferson was the one who exploited her for it.
For most, being a social chameleon would count as a beneficial social skill if they’re subtle. So long as the person doesn’t lose themselves in the process and is able to separate their personas from their true self, it remains a skill and will be used as such.
The problem with Rachel was that it transcended beyond a skill. A social chameleon was *what* she became, and that led to losing her own sense of identity, to becoming a stranger in her own body.
We see her confiding to Chloe about this feeling in Brave New World: (“Do you think there’s a point when you’ve been acting so much that you don’t even have your own personality anymore? You’re just whatever you think other people want you to be?”) —to which Chloe tells her she does have a personality because she assumed Rachel was talking about herself. But Rachel apparently wasn’t and clarifies she was talking about her father. She then elaborates on how her father doesn’t really exist, that how he was in the principal’s office was a mere performance and then the actual truth— that she’s afraid she’ll end up like him.
No matter how you interpret that scene, the conclusion is that one of Rachel’s fears was becoming like James— someone who’s been so wrapped up in all the lies and manipulation that he no longer seemed recognisable to even his own daughter.
At that point her defence mechanism of deflection and avoidance came into play after Chloe got a little too close to home. We first see this on the train scene when they play Two Truths and a Lie. Rachel gave factual statements as opposed to Chloe who gave facts that elaborated into her personal life. At one point Chloe can ask how Rachel knew about having a distal radius fracture and It’s a very minor detail, but when she explains that it’s because she broke her wrist when she was 10, she says it extremely fast. When Chloe is about to press for more info about something personal no matter what option you choose, Rachel dismissively turns around the conversation from herself back to Chloe again.
The next time we see her deflecting is right after witnessing her father cheating. When Chloe asks about her, Rachel deflects and guilt trips her into somehow thinking she’s at fault for failing to get them wasted and then proceeds to drown her sorrows into alcohol instead of opening up. Afterwards when they find the junkyard, Rachel chooses to isolate herself from Chloe and withdraws to the corner, getting irritated if Chloe chooses to invade her space. When Chloe confronts her about her sudden moodiness, Rachel yet again deflects and shifts the attention to Chloe by essentially telling her she’s self-centred. This scene was classic Deflection 101 brought by Rachel’s defence mechanism to cope with her father’s betrayal.
Rachel uses deflection and avoidance as a defence mechanism, a habit which stems from the dynamics of the Amber family. When you have a Politician as a father whose life work is to manipulate and lie, and a Stepford Wife as a mother who wilfully acts like a servant to her husband out of sacrifice and duty— an environment of deceit and suppression of one’s feelings will be fostered. This is what shapes Rachel to be distrusting and unhealthily altruistic as we see in BtS.
And so Rachel’s deflection is driven by 2 things: mistrust (James) and her unhealthy altruism (Rose).
As a district attorney, James unfortunately carried his work persona into his personal life and can be presumed to lie to even his own family on a daily basis to the point that Rachel can tell when he’s lying: (“When your Dad is the District Attorney, I guess lying is...something you're used to.”) (Why can't you just tell me the fucking truth?! Stop lying! Stop being a politician for one fucking minute! Can’t you just be my Dad?”) What that tells us is that Rachel’s actually used to being lied at and treated with cynicism, so naturally that would make her guarded around others. Not to mention since James often exercised his professional prerogative (just recall how he spoke to Chloe and her comment about his micro-aggressions towards his own family), it’s most likely that he was also cynical towards people in general and carried that mindset forward at Rachel as well.
As for Rose, you have to really observe how she carried herself and her choice of words. A lot of people pointed out how robotic she sounded and blamed it on bad voice acting, but I think that was actually intentional. She was too mannered, too submissive and too robotic as a person. It’s not exactly a bad thing, but a lot of her personality seemed to be too... *political* for the sake of her husband’s political career. It was altruistic in the way that she sacrificed her own needs for her husband’s and was unfailingly supportive (eg; preparing dinner all by herself, *respectfully* asking James for his drink, even going so far as to excuse James for kissing Sera like wtf). Point is, Rose was the stereotypical political wife whose job was to shut up, look good and smile for her husband while he does the talking. At one point in the dinner scene when they start fighting, James even dared to say ‘Rose, let me handle this’ as if Rose’s voice was irrelevant and unimportant to the table (when he literally just got exposed for cheating lmao).
So what happens when your family environment consists of a father who actively lies and uses manipulation to twist facts, expects you to be compliant in exchange for rewards (birthday money), has the ability to read people, and a mother who does too much for someone who does the barest minimum for the family and represses herself for the sake of others? An environment of deceit and suppression will be fostered, and you develop all of their qualities, for better or worse. That’s difficult to change when your own family dynamics molded you to be that way and then reward you for it. If you recall, Rachel’s mannerisms changed completely when in front of her family and if Chloe complained about having to play the goody two shoes formal well-behaved humorless girl, Rachel would say: ‘try doing it your whole life’. So not only was she playing different roles in school but evidently at home as well.
But It’s not as if the Amber family was aware of the toxic environment they’d created. That’s just what their normal was: to be well-mannered, formal, professional, mature and well-articulated.
This is where Rachel’s social chameleon tendencies develops. Social chameleons usually have reasons for blending in when it comes to personal relationships:
1. Being liked is important for them (they value what people think of them).
2. They want to blend in so as to not stand out (they don’t like attention).
3. They’re doing it to make the other person comfortable (the needs of others come first before theirs).
Considering how Rachel was extremely popular, active in all sorts of school activities and enjoyed the attention of being the star, no. 2 is out. She confessed to wanting to stop being a social chameleon and didn’t seem to care much about Victoria’s dislike of her + she also did it to her family so no. 1 is out as well, which leaves us to no. 3— doing it for the comfort of others. In other words, because she *gave too much shit about other people all the time*.
What further supports the point of Rachel’s unhealthy altruism is what she says to Chloe at the junkyard— (“Maybe you should try giving a shit about other people for once.”) —which essentially tells us that she’s been doing exactly that to be able to lecture Chloe into following her own perspective. Another example would be what she tells Chloe during their therapy session: “—Because she was tired of having to give so many fucks all the time.”
One thing however that all *extreme* social chameleons share is the fact that they **loathe** themselves, or at the very least— dislike who they are. Why else would they go all the trouble of creating different personas for everyone to the point of forgetting their own, if they actually liked themselves?
One of the many things that Chloe and Rachel shared in common was their self-awareness in how undeniably shitty they can be, and that they hated who they were. Whereas Chloe embraced that whole part of her down her self destructive road, Rachel tried to cover hers up by playing other roles for people. Both girls played their sides to the ends of the spectrum; Chloe being selfish (causing problems for everyone in general unnecessarily) and Rachel being selfless (posing no problem for anyone in general even if there was a problem). They had no healthy balance and their unhealthy mindset ultimately drove them down a self destructive path.
Rachel knew she was selfish by nature, and that she’d take it out on Chloe in Ep 1. That’s why instead of talking about what was wrong, she chose to drown herself to alcohol and distance herself from Chloe. When Chloe confronts her about it, she either tells her that not everything revolves around her or that she should try giving a shit about people for once. In other words, ‘Other people have bigger problems than you so shut up and don’t make it worse for them.’ That was Rachel’s mentality and in that moment of poor lapse in judgment, she applied that logic to Chloe expecting her to think the way she does— to put others before yourself.
With Rachel, she always had her walls up and couldn’t help it even if she wanted to because it's practically second nature to have her guard up (“I never said how dearly I hold thee; my habit's been to keep my soul well-draped.“). It’s only in her lowest vulnerable moments is when she finally let her walls down because that’s when she’s too tired to keep them up.
Luckily (or unluckily) for Rachel, she recognized her problem. The only thing is that she didn’t know how to solve them. She confided to Chloe about feeling like she doesn’t exist, but then backtracked and clarified she was talking about her dad instead when Chloe got too close to home. Even IF she was genuinely talking about her father, it doesn’t erase the fact that she believed there was a possibility she was going to become like him— because she already saw the signs and made the comparison between them.
Remember her infamous outbursts in Awake? Unlike Chloe, she’s the type who keeps everything bottled in until it’s too much. Seeing her father kissing another woman was the breaking point and that’s why she reacted badly. And then when she kicked that bin, that was equivalent to Chloe smashing up the junkyard. And then that scream. That scream was the result of years bottling her pent up frustration, stress, anger at everyone including herself. Because she did everything to make her family proud, to please everyone to the point that she felt so empty and hollow, only to realize that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying her family. It wasn’t just a betrayal from her father but a betrayal to herself.
And then there’s Chloe Price. The girl who is the total opposite of her, yet who she can somehow still connect with at the same time. While she cared too much about what others thought, Chloe gave absolutely no fucks. That was her most attractive and admirable quality for Rachel. So what does she do? She latches onto Chloe to do exactly what she knows best. Become the ideal version of whoever wants her to be. In other words, the Rachel Amber who would finally give no fucks.
Rachel was the closest to her truest self when she was around Chloe. Just as she brought life and hope back into the girl’s life, so did Chloe for her. Chloe broke the walls she put up, and she’d seen her vulnerable enough times to let her mask slip. Chloe saw her at her lowest, ugliest self even when she wasn’t doing her usual thing of keeping everyone around her happy, yet she didn’t mock or leave her for it. For the first time, she was selfish, and *still* Chloe came back. That was a BIG reason to trust each other for the both of them. And that’s ultimately what bonded them for so long— the fact that they could be the shittiest people on earth, yet still see the best in each other even if they only see the worst in themselves.
Chloe was the first one to see through her social chameleon act because she slipped, and she continued to let her unmask who she was because that night Rachel just didn’t care enough to hold up the act any longer. This detail of Rachel’s chameleon act slipping *only* when something was wrong is a vital part in understanding the context around her. The first time was when she witnessed her whole world crash, the second was when she realized she was becoming like James, and the third was when she discovered what a monster James was. The fourth— when she asked that trucker for a drive out and didn’t bother to be her usual social chameleon self. We may never know what happened, but something wrong was going on in Rachel’s life that she didn’t want Chloe to be a part of— because why would she put the girl who stuck by her during her darkest hours through her bullshit again?
But at the end of the day, that wasn’t enough. Chloe wasn’t enough. And that’s understandable because a teenager truly can’t and shouldn’t have to be responsible for someone else’s happiness. No matter what choice Chloe makes at the end of BtS, the truth inevitably gets out and leads to Rachel having a fall out with her parents. When that happened, she lost a big pillar of her support system which only leaves her with Chloe who’s another emotionally damaged teen that’s on the road to self-destruction. Chloe can’t help others without helping herself first. But still, who else is there to make them feel a little less shitty except each other?
After her fall out with her parents and her father in particular, she seemed to have developed a taste for men twice her age: Frank Bowers (32) and Mark Jefferson (38). Whatever the reason her relationship with Frank was, she still wrote him those letters and seemed to have cared for him to some extent. Not only was he the source for drugs for her very much needed escape, but he was also the man who helped save her life in one of her most vulnerable moments, and a possible lead to find Sera. It’s not that surprising she’d seek comfort and safety in his arms when he already proved himself once. But clearly it wasn’t serious because she was fooling around with Jefferson at the same time (and Frank knew they wouldn’t have lasted anyway).
Now, Jefferson. The devs confirmed that Rachel was in love with Jefferson and honestly, that’s the least surprising thing ever considering how he basically had the female population of Blackwell head over heels for him. Even Rachel wasn’t immune to that psychopath’s charm. He was a well reputable photographer, had the connections to propel her modeling career, was attractive and mysterious and apparently a damaged soul. He was the perfect one way ticket out of Arcadia Bay. He was her photographer and she was his muse. He was basically the perfect solution to her problems.
The girl clearly had deep rooted daddy issues and was ashamed of it herself since she couldn’t even share her secret relationship to the one person she trusted the most despite sharing her other relationships with her (except Frank).
This is where the drugs and partying come in. They’re a way for her to escape the bullshit in her life for a few hours. Chloe was what made her feel real, but the drugs and partying was what made her forget— forget that her biological mother chose drugs and money over her (twice), forget that her own father was so despicable that he was planning to overdose Sera (this is what Chloe said in the silent dialogue), forget that her biological mother may just be dead somewhere because of James, forget that her own family was a lie, forget all the expectations placed upon her, forget that she herself was a lie, forget that she was so insecure that she had to seek warmth and safety in the arms of men twice her age, forget the guilt of knowing the girl who would die for her was still not enough, forget that at the end of the day all her problems is caused by her own mind and that her own fears had come to reality. And she hated herself for that.
But still, Rachel wasn’t a total junkie or outwardly self destructive to the point that she abandoned her studies like Chloe did. She didn’t let the drugs and partying dictate her life, hence the 4.0 GPA. After all, she still had a reputation to maintain. She was still the DA’s daughter, and getting into college was still a way to get out of Arcadia Bay.
BUT SEE, that was exactly Rachel’s problem. She could never choose which to be; The Problematic Junkie of a Disappointment (Sera), or the Golden Child (James & Rose) everyone expected her to be. She wanted to be as free as Chloe, but she also didn’t want to be a disappointment. She was tired of everything but couldn’t allow herself to fall because it was her nature to demand the best of herself for others as long as she could do it. But what happens when it’s your very own nature you’re going against? It gets really complicated. So instead of choosing, she doesn’t and becomes both. That was ultimately the worst decision she ever made.
Make no mistake, Rachel was an absolute idiot for being so indecisive. She could have easily solved her problems if she just finally gave no shit and did whatever she wanted to. But that’s the problem with people who’re labeled as perfect growing up. They eventually believe it and demand perfection of themselves. They care too much about everything because if they have the ability to be perfect, then why would you choose not to be? When someone is seen to be perfect, disappointment is 10x worse. Even Chloe was guilty of idealizing Rachel to be this perfect girl and was disappointed when she realized Rachel was just like everyone else who puts in hard work—(“Rachel's always made being an A student seem so easy. Almost sad to see all this... effort."), but it’s Chloe accepting Rachel for who she was despite no longer being the perfect girl she believed her to be that mattered.
With being seen as perfect usually comes with the assumption that your whole life is. Just as everyone invalidated her problems because she’s Little Miss Perfect with the perfect grades and the seemingly perfect family, so did she.
‘Cause hey, what does she have to be mad about when she’s a rich white girl who’s been given everything she’s ever wanted, right? (James basically said that). At that point the only problem Rachel had was that she was acting as the perfect daughter and perfect friend and perfect student at the expense of her own happiness, and then throw in the sudden slap in the face that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying the family she’d tried so hard to do proud.
But then again even if that wasn’t enough reason to spiral, it really would mess you up if your own father told you that your biological mother chose money and drugs over you, that everything you’ve done so far was all for a lie and worst of all, that your own father was going to kill your biological mother and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I mean really, I’m not a therapist or anything but I wouldn’t be surprised if Rachel’s mental health was suffering by that point.
I mean get this: she abused drugs and partied harder than anyone else and got wasted even though she knew they were wrong (Sera would’ve been a painful reminder), slept around with older men who undoubtedly took advantage and controlled her, continued to act like the perfect student and pretended to be someone she’s not just to keep everyone happy even though it was causing her to question her own existence— it’s almost as if she was punishing herself for continuing down that path.
Ultimately what Rachel was running away from was who she had become in Arcadia Bay. Once she’d be out, she wouldn’t be Little Miss Perfect anymore. She wouldn’t be the DA’s daughter. She wouldn’t have to keep lying. She would be able to start over. She would just be Rachel Amber, the nobody.
She cared too much in contrast to Chloe’s ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude, and that’s why she still managed to maintain her perfect image even when she was already so broken. Whereas Chloe’s first instinct was to blame others, Rachel’s was to blame herself. Both never had a healthy balance when it came to accepting responsibility and that’s what connected them so well together.
Call it selflessness or selfishness or stupidity or melodrama, but at the end of the day Rachel tried to keep everyone around her happy, just like Max tried to do with her powers except Rachel used lies to do it. She was greedy and selfish, no disagreement to that, but she also tried to be selfless for most of her life. She was her own enemy and she demonized herself for it. And that got her murdered, thrown and buried away like the used rag doll she treated herself to be.
She was Chloe’s angel and Chloe was hers, but she was also her own demon. And there’s only so much two broken angels can do against a demon.
**TL;DR:** Idealizing her to be the Perfect Girl was what made her want to run away. Her family was what broke her. Desperation for escape was what killed her. Her family just *really* suck.
Now, I’m not trying to justify Rachel’s actions but merely rationalizing her character. I acknowledge that she was capable of being a shitty person at times, but just as Chloe had her issues, so did she, and so I choose to see them both for what they tried to be. Good hearted people just trying to make their shitty life a little easier. At the end of the day, Rachel Amber was a deeply flawed, insecure and emotionally damaged girl that pretended like nothing was wrong to forget about her troubles for a little, and was just dealt a bad hand in life. Literally.
After writing all of this, I realize that holy shit this girl was fucking complicated and a single post doesn’t do her justice nor explains her character properly enough. I thought it’d be simple enough to word it out, but then again, someone who was basically a junkie yet still managed to maintain her perfect reputation amongst her peers and the faculty is bound to be this complexed. Also as you can see I got very lazy at the middle of the elaborations and repetition has probably made this unnecessarily long but thank you for reading and finishing this overall confusing and messy essay.
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superbadassnatural · 4 years
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Start of Something New
Summary: When Y/N gets hit by a witch spell, Dean starts to worry even more about her well-being. Nothing seemed to happen to her. That is until it does. Square filled: magical pregnancy Pairing: Dean x Angel!Reader Word count: 2,050 Warnings: mention of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), mention of possible abortion, pregnancy, fluff, little bit of angst A/N: this was written for @spntfwbingo. Please enjoy it!
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“Hmm, I don’t wanna get up,” you nuzzled into Dean’s bare chest. His fingers traced up and down your spine.
“Me neither, but we have to,” he mumbled. “We promised Sam we’d clean up the bunker this time.”
“I know,” you grunted, tightening your grip around his waist. “Just five more minutes, please.”
“It’s been an hour since we decided to sleep for five more minutes,” he chuckled, lips pressing to your temple. “Alright, come on. Get your feathery ass up,” he called, hand tapping your butt.
You grumbled, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. After pulling up your most comfortable clothes, you walked to the kitchen to meet Dean. He was already making you breakfast. You both ate in silence. Once you finished, you picked all the cleaning products you would need to clean the bunker.
“I hate Sam,” you pouted, taking the bucket from Dean’s hand.
“No, you don’t,” he pecked your lips. “Library?”
You nodded and headed towards the library. You picked the duster and sighed. The bunker was too big for only you and Dean to clean up.
“You know we’d go way faster if more people helped.”
“I know,” he said. “Once Sam is back from the grocery store, he’s cleaning the bathroom and some other rooms. Maybe if Jack comes out of his room, he can help us out too.”
You sighed, eyeing the tables and the bookshelves with the feather duster in hand. You just wanted to stay in bed today.
Classic rock echoed through the speakers. A smile appeared on Dean’s lips. He noticed you didn’t move and frowned.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you muttered.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Ever since that witch hunt-“
“I’m fine, De,” you flashed him a smile. “It’s been almost ten days since that hunt. We still don’t know what she hit me with, but it did nothing. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“I’m always worried,” he shrugged. “‘Sides we don’t know what that spell was. Maybe it’ll affect you after 10 days, maybe it never will. We still don’t know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You know your girlfriend happens to be an angel, right?” you chuckled, standing in front of him. His green orbs stared deep into your eyes. “You don’t have to worry.”
“I’ve already lost you once because I was sloppy. I can’t lose you again.”
“You won’t,” you pressed your lips to his. “Stop blaming yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault,” he shook his head. “You know what would make us finish this much faster?” you tried to lighten up the mood.
“What?”
“If you remove the dust this time and I mop the floor.”
“Nah, it isn’t worth it.”
“Why is that?”
“I like the view,” he shrugged. “You bending over the bookshelves, over the table… it’s a sight to see. When you climb up that ladder, I get the finest view from this ass.”
“You’re such a perv,” you shoved him, giggling.
You started dusting off the tables while Dean mopped the floor, humming Metallica. Climbing the ladder, you started on the bookshelves. You heard light steps coming from the hallway.
“Hey Jack,” you beamed.
“Hi,” he smiled.
“Do you wanna help, kiddo?” Dean asked and Jack nodded. “Great, how about you finish what I’m doing here while I get the kitchen done?”
Jack smiled, taking the mop from Dean’s hand. He really enjoyed helping. He wanted to be helpful.
“Oh, and Jack?” Dean called before heading to the kitchen. “Focus on what you’re doing, okay? Eyes on the floor.”
You snorted a laugh. Jack stared back at him confused before starting to mop the floor. Both of you were mostly quiet, focused on getting the work done. In no time you and Jack finished cleaning the library.
“We did a great job,” you high-fived him.
“Y/N?” he frowned, eyes scanning you up and down. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Jack,” your lips curled into a smile. “You don’t have to worry. That witch-“
“No, it’s not that,” he interrupted you. “There’s something different with you. Your aura... it’s not the same. It might be your grace or something.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you look different,” he pointed out. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m feeling fine, Jack. Thank you,” you assured him. “When Cas gets back we can ask him if everything’s okay, right?” He nodded. “Right. If you still want to help, you could pick out the trash while I start on the war room.”
You started by dusting the map table, bending over it. A pair of hands rested on your hips. Dean leaned over your body, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
“Hmm, you look so hot,” he mumbled against your skin.
“Dean,” you tried to repress a moan. “Jack is in the other room.”
“We’re not doing anything,” his body molded against yours.
“You really are unstoppable today, huh?”
“What can I say?” he pulled away. “I’ve got a super hot girlfriend.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Dean picked the mop in the library and started to wipe the floor. You worked in silence. The only thing echoing through the bunker was the sound of Led Zeppelin. By the time you and Dean finished with the war room, you were both sweating.
“Man, good thing we don’t have any kids running around in here,” he sighed. “Or we’d never get it done.”
“Do you want that?”
“What?” he played dumb.
“Kids,” you said, dropping the duster on the table. “Do you want to have kids running around in the bunker? Kids of your own.”
“Y/N, where’s this coming from?” he stepped closer to you. His green eyes stared under furrowed brows.
“We rarely talk about this. About our future,” you sighed. “We never talked about what we want. About what we can have and what we can’t.”
“I know you can’t have kids, Y/N,” said Dean. “I don’t care about that.”
“Dean, I shouldn’t be holding you back.”
“You’re not. I promise,” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Do I want kids? Yeah. But I want to be with you. Kids or no kids.”
“You deserve to have a family. You-“ tears welled in your eyes.
“I have a family,” he smiled, his lips pressing to your forehead. “Don’t overthink this. The only thing that really matters is that we’re together.”
His lips captured yours into a passionate kiss. Dean held you close to him. He put all his love into that kiss.
“There’s something you should know,” you said when you pulled apart, biting your lower lip. Your eyes didn’t meet his, suddenly finding the floor more interesting. “Jack said there’s something different about me. He doesn’t know what it is, but according to him my aura is not the same. He said it might be my grace or something.”
“Jack, come over here,” Dean called, his eyes not leaving you.
“Did something happen?”
“No, Jack,” you shook your head. “Everything is okay.”
“Jack, what’s going on with Y/N?” asked Dean.
“I don’t know,” he frowned. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I think Cas might know what it is.”
Dean nodded.
“We’ll wait for him then.”
You, Dean, Jack, and eventually Sam finished the bunker. Everything was shining. If you wanted to, you’d be able to eat on the floor. You and Dean headed to your shared bedroom and spent the rest of the evening laying in bed, enjoying each other’s company whilst waiting for Castiel.
“Do you think it’s something bad?” you asked, fingers tracing patterns in his naked chest.
“I hope not, but I’m worried. Especially because we don’t know what that witch did to you.”
“I’m worried too,” Dean’s hold on you tightened as the words left your lips.
“Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
Three soft knocks on the door were heard before the person behind it opened. Sam’s head peaked inside. His lips curled into a smile.
“Cas is here,” he said.
“Thanks, Sammy,” you smiled. “We’ll be right out.”
He nodded and closed the door. You drew in a deep breath before standing up. Dean doing the same. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers before exiting the room. You headed to the war room. Sam, Jack, and Castiel sat across the map table.
“Y/N,” Castiel frowned as his blue eyes landed on you.
“Hey,” you smiled. “Cas, Jack said-“
“You’re pregnant,” said Castiel.
“She’s what?” Dean frowned with a tilt of his head.
“What? No, Cas,” you scoffed. “I can’t. But we still don’t know what’s going on and we figured you might know.”
“Y/N, you’re pregnant.”
“How? That’s not possible. Cas, we angels can’t have children.”
“Lucifer had,” Sam stepped in.
“Yeah, but his vessel was alive. Mine isn’t.”
“Maybe the spell the witch threw on you has something to do with it,” Dean said.
“Cas, are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Kelly looked just like that when she was pregnant with Jack.”
You were astonished. You couldn’t believe Castiel’s words. That was impossible. Even for you. Things like this don’t happen to you. An angel pregnant? That probably never happened.
“Y/N, that’s great,” Jack approached you with open arms and a smile, ready to hug and congratulate you.
“No,” you shook your head. Your eyes were welling with tears and you ran to your room.
“Y/N,” Dean called, ready to go after you, but Sam grabbed his arm.
“This is too much to process, man,” he said. “She needs a minute alone to wrap her mind around what’s happening.”
Dean waited for what seemed to be forever to go after you. He didn’t want to give you space. He wanted to comfort you, to talk to you, but he knew Sam was right. So he waited. Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and listened to what Castiel had to say about what was going on. It was possible this only happened because of the witch. You and Dean didn’t use protection. As far as pregnancy wasn’t possible and you were both clean, there was no reason to use it.
“Y/N,” his voice was softer when he opened the door.
Dean’s eyes found you sitting on the bedroom floor by the bed. He stepped in and sat beside you. Your arms held your knees against your chest, your head buried in your forearms. Dean noticed you were shaking and his heart shattered.
“Hey,” he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. “Please, don’t cry.”
“How could we do this?” you stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes. “We were so stupid and now-” “Y/N, no one knew that could happen. We didn’t know,” he cupped your cheeks, his thumb wiping the tears away. “I’d never make you go through something you don’t want to. If Cas is really right and you want to end this, I’ll support you no matter what.”
“But you want this,” you sobbed. “You want a family. I can’t take that away from you.”
“I do want a family,” he nodded. “But I want you to be okay.”
“I failed, Dean. Angels aren’t supposed to be with humans let alone have a child. I’m gonna die, Dean. Just like Kelly did.”
“No, you won’t,” he shook his head, tears welled in his green eyes. “Cas said this probably isn’t going to be like Kelly’s pregnancy. She was carrying the child of an archangel. It was too much for her. You’re an angel carrying the baby of a human.”
“But it’s still a nephilim. It can kill me. If the angels don’t kill me, I’m gonna die in childbirth.”
“Cas said there’s a difference between an archangel’s child and an angel’s child. He’s seen it happened before and the woman survived.”
“Say we get through this pregnancy,” you started. “You know we won’t have a baby. We’ll have a teenager with seconds of life.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe ours will grow up slowly.”
“I’m afraid, Dean,” you sobbed once again.
“You don’t have to. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he assured you, engulfing you in his arms. “This is a miracle, Y/N. This is our chance to start our own family.”
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Dean Sweethearts
@maya-craziness @akshi8278 @herfalsegod
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What a Jerk
It’s Valentine’s Day. For Castiel & Dean, that means war. 
Read below or on AO3: HERE
"What a jerk," Castiel grumbles, closing the door as the delivery man leaves.
"Who?" Benny asks from his spot on the couch a few feet away. He turns to look at Castiel, more words about to come out. Then he sees the giant bouquet of flowers in Castiel's hands and grins. "Oh. Dean."
"Stop smiling. He's an asshole." Castiel storms off to the kitchen. Since his penthouse apartment is an open-floor plan, though, he doesn't escape Benny. He just gets his bitch face from a new angle.
"Yes," Benny says sarcastically. "What an asshole for buying you flowers."
Castiel huffs as he searches for a stupid vase for the stupid flowers. "I told him not to do this."
"Yeah, bad idea. Telling Dean not to do something is pretty much the equivalent of challenging him to a duel."
There's a dusty vase beneath the sink. Castiel takes it out and fills it with water, not bothering to clean it first. When it's filled enough for the flowers to survive - because Castiel isn't a monster, he's not going to purposely kill beautiful flowers - he stuffs the bouquet into the vase.
"There." He sets the vase on his kitchen island and breathes a sigh of relief. "At least it's over now. Right?"
Benny snorts. "Dude, it's 8 AM. There's no way that's all he has planned for the day."
"You work for me, ya know," Castiel says in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but isn't. "You have to take my side."
"I'm your bodyguard. I keep you safe from bullets and kidnappers. Not overbearing lovers."
Castiel sighs in frustration. He pulls out his phone and very aggressively types in Dean Winchester's number.
Dean answers almost instantly. Clearly, he had been waiting for this call.
"Hey, C-"
"This stupid romantic nonsense is a waste of money and I swear Dean Winchester if you get me any more presents today I'm going to break up with your stupid ass!"
"So you got the flowers," Dean says with a smile in his voice. "Good. You should get ready for work, my love. Don't want to be late."
"Don't ignore me, Dean! You promised. You promised not to do this!"
"No. You ordered me not to do this. I never agreed."
"Dean-"
"Have a nice day, babe. I'm sure I'll be hearing from you soon."
"Dean!"
"Oh, and Cas?"
Castiel grits his teeth, fuming. "What?"
"Happy Valentine's Day."
Castiel growls - yes, growls - and hangs up. He throws his hands in the air and turns to Benny. "What a jerk!"
----
When Castiel stops at his favorite coffee shop for his usual morning Americano with cinnamon, the barista already has his order ready. It has a message written on it in Dean's hand writing, black sharpie scrawling its way across the disposable cup.
You are so brew tiful. I love you like I love my coffee - inside me (;
Castiel rolls his eyes. "What a jerk."
"Sorry?" the barista says in confusion.
"He's a jerk." Castiel grabs a disposable cup from the stack beside the register. He pops the top off the one Dean wrote on and pours his coffee into the fresh, non-Valentine cup. Then he tosses the graffitied cup and nods at the barista. "Have a good one."
"Uh… yeah." The barista watches him go, looking crestfallen. Clearly she had found it romantic. Disgusting. "You too."
----
Another bouquet of flowers is waiting for Castiel when he enters his private office. He glares at it from the doorway for a long moment before huffing in annoyance, going over and grabbing the damn thing. Still dressed in his trench coat, still with his briefcase in his left hand, Castiel walks down to the bull-pen and lifts the vase in the air.
"Who fucked up today and needs a Valentine's Day present for their significant other?" he yells, his anger making most of his employees shiver or tense up.
It takes a second but then a woman in the back tentatively raises her hand. Charlie. She's dating Dorothy from accounting. They're a cute couple.
"They're yours," he announces, thrusting them out in the air to silently tell her to come get them.
Blushing, she makes her way to Castiel. She mumbles something about not forgetting but running out of time this morning. Castiel couldn't care less whether Charlie forgot or not. He just doesn't want to stare at the damn flowers all day.
Once they're out of his hands, Castiel waves a hand in the air and says, "As you were."
Benny is smirking when Castiel gets back to his office.
"What's so funny?" Castiel asks in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but just makes Benny's lips lift higher. "What?"
"I'm assuming you didn't see the box of chocolates."
Castiel parts his lips, about to ask what Benny means, when he sees a heart-shaped box beside where the flowers had been. He deflates. Goes over to his chair. Slumps down. Sighs dramatically. Then he takes the box and reads the attached note.
Life was like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get. - damn glad I got you, babe ♡
"What a jerk," Castiel growls at the box. He rips the lid off and snatches a piece of chocolate before pushing it toward Benny. "Stop fucking smiling and eat. And don't tell him I ate any of it. That asshole knows I can't resist chocolate so you have to lie."
"Sure thing boss," Benny says with a wink. "Sure thing."
----
"Are you Castiel?" a man dressed in a cupid costume asks.
Castiel shakes his head. "Nope."
Unfortunately, he's in the breakroom at work and his employees think this whole battle between Dean and him is hilarious. Balthazar says, "He's lying" at the same time Chuck says, "He's Castiel."
Castiel decides he's going to fire them both.
The cupid smirks and turns to Castiel. Castiel puts a hand up in protest. "Whatever it is, I don't want-"
"Lord Almighty,
I feel my temperature rising
Higher higher
It's burning through to my soul
Boy, boy, boy,
You gonna set me on fire
My brain is flaming
I don't know which way to go
Your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir
You light my morning sky
With burning love"
"Nope," Castiel mumbles under his breath, grabbing his lunch and heading out the door. "Nope, nope, nope."
The damn telegram follows him. Everyone in the office stares, their jaws dropped open as the goddamn CEO is followed around by a glittery man dressed as cupid singing an Elvis song. Castiel isn't even embarrassed. He's just pissed.
Castiel enters his office and shoots a glare at Benny who had conveniently been gone to the bathroom when this all went down but is now back at his rightful place by Castiel's side. "Make him leave."
"It's coming closer
The flames are now lickin' my body
Please won't you help me-"
"Why? He isn't a threat."
"He has a weapon!"
"It's a plastic bow, boss."
"And my chest is a-heaving
Lord Almighty
I'm burning a hole where I lay."
"I own this goddamn building and I'm telling you, head of my security, to kick him out!"
Benny gives him a wry smile. "I'll get right on it, boss. Highest priority."
"Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir-"
"You're fired."
"Oh, well, in that case I suppose he'll get to stay."
"Ah, ah, burning love
I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."
Castiel grabs his office phone and presses 7, gritting his teeth. With every ring that passes, his rage boils. He's a breath away from exploding.
"Singer's Auto, this is Dean."
Castiel slams a finger down on speaker phone and turns to glare at cupid as he finishes the damn song.
"Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."
Finally, it's over. Cupid winks at him before leaving. Benny smirks. Dean - the jerk that he is - is laughing hysterically on the other line.
"I hate you," Castiel states very matter-of-factly.
"Oh come on!" Dean snorts a laugh. "It's Elvis! You love Elvis!"
"Not anymore! Congratulations, Winchester. You have officially ruined Elvis for me."
Dean laughs harder. "God, I love you babe."
"Gaaaah, no!" Castiel hangs up the call before Dean can use his mystical powers to sweet talk Castiel into forgiving him. It ain't happening.
Castiel bangs his forehead against his desk a few times before deflating against it. "What a jerk."
----
Castiel walks into the first jewelry store he comes across. He storms past all of the stupid Valentine's decorations and up to a young man in a sharp suit who is smiling far too wide if you ask Castiel's opinion. Castiel smacks the palm of his hand on the glass display in front of the man and growls, "I need a goddamn engagement ring."
----
A ring box heavy in his pocket, Castiel stands outside Dean's small two-bedroom house. The yellow paint is peeling back in places, revealing the blue beneath. They come from two completely different worlds. Dean, the eldest son who sacrificed everything he had to raise his baby brother, dropping out of high school, working two jobs, scraping his father off whatever bar floor or sidewalk he ended up on most nights. Castiel, the eldest son who had the world handed to him, private prep school, undergrad at an Ivy league, two master degrees, no student loan debt, a $100,000 no-strings gift from his father to start up his own company.
Dean lives in a house that was foreclosed and rotting on the inside. He’s owned it for three years now. The floors and roof have been replaced. The staircase rebuilt. The walls repainted. The kitchen remodeled. The bathroom gutted. All Dean’s doing since he couldn’t afford to hire contractors.
Castiel lives in a penthouse apartment in a building that’s only seven years old. He got to pick in a catalogue what model of every room he preferred. Professionals molded his home into exactly what he wanted it to be in two weeks, handing it to him furnished and beautiful.
Dean works 60 hour weeks at his uncle’s auto shop, always smelling of oil and sweat. He drinks Jack Daniels. Listens to classic rock. Wears stained jeans and cotton shirts so worn they have holes in the collars and become see-through in certain lighting.
Castiel works 80 hour weeks, but only 30 of them are spent in the office, the rest spent on his phone or at his home so he can lounge on his couch and peruse documents without worrying about employees bothering him. He’s currently working through a bottle of 1926 Macallan. He listens to classical music, as well as plays it himself on his own grand piano that overlooks the city. Wears tailored Brioni suits and silk ties to work, settling for Gucci denim pants and cashmere sweaters when he's casual.
They should have never even met. Castiel would never take his car to a low-grade dealership like Singers. Never. You just don’t do that. Castiel was sure they wouldn’t even know what to do with a custom built Tesla like his. Yet, there Castiel was, broken down outside of the city with a migraine the size of Texas and stubborn impatience that made waiting for the professionals from the dealership that would take 3 hours a choice he wasn’t willing to make. So, he typed in auto shops on google and picked the one nearest to him.
Singers Auto.
Dean had showed up all southern drawl and warm smiles. Flirted right past Castiel’s foul mood. Stroked the hood of his Tesla like it was a cherished pet. Spoke to Castiel confidently about his knowledge on the vehicle. He offered to tow it into the city for Castiel if Castiel wanted but assured Castiel that if he chose to let Dean bring it to Singer's Auto, Dean would be able to take care of it.
“Easy fix,” Dean had said. “In and out. Twenty minutes.”
Castiel had agreed. It was completely out of character but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more time with the mechanic.
He left that day with a fixed car and Dean Winchester’s number.
They never once brought up the salary gap between them. Some nights they’d crash at Castiel’s. Some nights at Dean’s. They’d go to five-star restaurants and gorge on filet mignon and lobster. They’d go to McDonalds and demolish burgers and chocolate milkshakes. Neither of them so much as blink.
Castiel smiles to himself as he looks at the house again. Where will they live? Castiel could care less, if he’s being honest. He’ll move here if Dean wants. He can deal with the furnace that needs to be kicked every few days as a reminder to work again. He can deal with the pipes that always freeze in the winter. He can deal with the way the fifth step creaks because Dean messed up when building the staircase. As long as he has Dean Winchester, he has everything.
“The hell you doin’ out here?” Dean yells from the front porch, snapping Castiel from his thoughts.
The ring box in his pocket grows hot in anticipation.
“It’s Valentine’s Day!” Castiel yells back, casually walking across the street from where he parked. “I figured if you’re going to insist on celebrating the idiotic holiday, I might as well win by outdoing you.”
“Oh, really?” Dean huffs a laugh, taking the porch steps two at a time until he’s on the grass of his front lawn. “How do you expect to do that?”
Castiel stops when he’s on the sidewalk, about five or so feet between them. He gives Dean a cocky grin that makes Dean’s smirk fall just an inch. Dean Winchester doesn’t like to lose at things - especially all of these silly competitions they get themselves into.
How long can they go without having sex or masturbating, and who will break first and beg the other to fuck him?
Who can eat the most pie in one sitting?
Which one can buy the best Christmas gift?
Who can win the most tickets at the arcade?
How long can they keep their prank war going, and who will be the one to finally throw in the towel when it goes too far?
Who can scare the other badly enough to make them scream?
Which one of them will win the cheesy romantic award of Valentine’s Day 2020.
Castiel won the 1st, 3rd, and 6th.
Dean won the 2nd and 4th.
Neither have won the prank war bet - it’s still on-going.
But Castiel Novak is going to win this damn Valentine’s Day award. If Dean wants to play this game today, it’s on.
“Cas-”
“Dean Winchester,” Castiel says softly, in a voice sickly sweet and loving. He lowers himself to one knee and reaches into his pocket.
Dean’s eyes flare with rage. “No! Don’t you dare!”
“You’re the love of my life-”
“Stop!”
“I can’t imagine any possible future that doesn’t have you in it-”
“I hate you so much right now,” Dean chokes out, eyes welling up.
Castiel smirks and opens the ring box. “Will you marry me?”
“No,” Dean grumbles with a pouty look on his face. Then he growls low in his throat and shakes his arms like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “Fuck - fine! Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Grinning, partly because the love of his life just agreed to marry him but mostly because instead of Dean evening the score Castiel is now 2 points ahead, Castiel pushes to his feet and slips the ring on Dean’s finger. He tugs Dean into his arms and kisses him breathless.
“Proposed to me on Valentine’s Day,” Dean says with an incredulous huff, resting his head on Castiel's shoulder and hugging him. “What a jerk.”
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bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years
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Lex Luthor: I actually really like him and Supergirl made me mad
     So, Lex Luthor is a very interesting, sometimes thought provoking, but most of all very enjoyable character.
     Lex is many things, a classic egomaniacal villain, an example of what lies can do to a relationship, a walking, talking red flag, a warning of how hubris and jealously can destroy you, and much, much more. He is not the typical strain of insane— if crazy at all, highly competent, and best of all knows every one of Superman’s buttons and exactly how to press them.
     I love watching Lex in every media I’ve ever seen him in going back to the original Christopher Reeve Superman. Every media, that is, except Supergirl. Why?
     Because she isn’t fucking Superman.
      Obviously, I love Supergirl— I run a blog with her in my icon— but there are certain things she is not and was never meant to be. Nemesis to Lex Luthor is right up there with a mass-murdering nazi (which is why the multiverse exists-- so that you can make her the first super on earth, Lex Luthor’s ex-friend, and not completely ignore the foundation of who they are as characters)
     Lex is fun because he’s so smart, but also because of the personal stake he has with Superman. Lex felt jealous. In many cases, he felt betrayed. He let that fester into mania and then he built an evil radioactive robo-suit and committed mass murder. You know, like reasonable people do.
     Lex was Superman’s friend and that gives his hatred of Kryptonians not only purpose, but emotional weight. Their relationship has that itching tension of painful history. In addition, Lex is extremely prideful. To him, Supergirl would be second class, she’s backup. And there is a story there: a story when Lex has a breakdown when backup knocks him into the sun, or the (in my opinion, less entertaining) version where Superman shows up to save her, reaffirming Lex’s worldview that he’s everything and defeating Superman means that Lex is the greatest and smartest, and even more stories beyond those that still adhere to its core principles— Kara and Lex as characters.
     But Supergirl chose neither. Instead they chose another recycle Superman plot. And then another. And another.    
     I should make time to say that I like Jon Cryer; I think he’s doing a great job with what he’s been given. He’s got the charisma. He’s got the smarmy self-congratulating swagger down perfectly. The scenes where the real Lex pokes its ugly head through his facade are just great. I think in anything else he would have made an excellent Lex Luthor, but not here.
     I was… disappointed with season 4. I liked 4x20– Kara and Lena investigating was fun at worst and at best had some really good edge of my seat moments. I thought that 4x16 “The House of L” was one of the best episodes of supergirl in a very long time and it still holds its place at least in my top 10, probably my top 5. But you will notice Lex wasn’t even in 4x20 and his places in 4x16 I actually enjoyed could easily have been occupied by any other intelligent villainous character. From a very basic point of view Col. Haley would have fit the mold of the manipulator training the compassionate but confused alien to kill— Wouldn’t have been her first time.
     The later usages of Lex in Supergirl are also attempting a common Superman plot. Lex “redeems” himself, tricks the public into trusting him again by framing Superman for something, and eventually is once again revealed to be evil. It sounds like a repetitive, boring plot that would lose the audience suspension if belief after a few tries— “Seriously, this again. How are they not expecting this by now?” And that complaint works for Supergirl. Because Supergirl isn’t Superman.
     Clark Kent was Lex Luthor’s best friend. Clark Kent ignored every warning sign and red flag waved in his face because Lex Luthor was his best friend. Clark Kent harbors a deep, abiding hurt and resentment from Lex’s betrayal. He has no trust for Lex, just like any hero would, but he also has the built up anger from repeated clashes with Lex and the initial betrayal. So when Lex returns, once again proclaiming he’s changed his ways, Superman’s response is a very public, very obviously bitter “yeah, right.” When Lex lays one of his traps for Superman, Clark is a little too rash. Lex Luthor knows how to push all of Clark’s buttons, even if he doesn’t know that they’re Clark’s. Lex can play him like a fiddle, and as for the general populace— would you be so steadfast in your trust of the invulnerable alien that could laser you in half in the blink of an eye and seems to be getting a little too comfortable in his role as peacekeeper? Would you, when even the slightest chance could slaughter your entire planet and you would have nothing and no one would could stop him— except, of course, Lex Luthor?
     We’ve been shown through many media that when Lex can’t manipulate his opponent, when villain comes that is simply too big for him to work on, he is at incredible risk. There are several stories I can think of of the top of my head where Lex becomes a temporary ally of the heroes simply because he realizes he can’t manipulate this new, powerful player and that therefore they are a risk to him (I actually really like those stories because the dynamics between him and the heroes are incredibly fun and interesting— you start to get an idea of who Lex is underneath all of the wit and ego).
     This is Supergirl’s great failure with Lex. The show understands that he is a genius— makes a great fuss about it. They understand that he is a manipulator— it’s his entire plot line with Lena. But they fail to understand that Lex’s ploys don’t work because he’s just so smart like the smartest ever. They work because he knows Superman and he knows that people are afraid of him— even the ones who trust and love him live with the knowledge that if he gets mind controlled or goes crazy, he could kill them all with ease, and that it’s happened before.
     Supergirl wasn’t around for Lex’s turn. This Supergirl wasn’t even in that steady of contact with Clark. She has no stinging betrayal, no anger and bitter history to make her rash and predictable. Certainly by now, two seasons into Lex’s placement in the show, she is angry— but by all the evidence we’ve been given, Kara’s anger just makes her more volatile, unpredictable and sometimes genuinely down for murder, which is definitely not something Lex needs. We have seen her both let Lex “fall to his death” (when she wasn’t all that angry— she just accepted his suicide without trying to force him into prison) and nearly shoot him with laser vision (this time she was angry and emotionally unstable after the death of Argo and the more Lex centered anger that he revealed her identity and destroyed her relationship with Lena. There is no question that she would have killed-- or at the very least maimed-- him if The Monitor hadn’t intervened). If Superman just murdered Lex when he got angry, he would have died a dozen times over.
     Lex doesn’t even have a basic understanding of Kara’s mindset. He can’t. Superman was raised by American humans in Kansas— he has a worldview that Lex could easily pick up on because it is at least based on watching most of the same events unfold as they grew up— and that’s if they had never met before they started fighting. Sure, he could assume Superman had some quirks from being an alien, but the base Americanized cultural standpoint was already affecting Lex’s machinations because he was an American. He’s familiar with the culture and values Superman follows— not so with Kara. I don’t even know if it was possible for him to obtain information on her religion, let alone the cultural views on justice. His research on her past fights would have been choppy at best, given that there are so many things that only Kara or the other Superfriends were there for. He can’t have the information about that fight on Mars where Kara literally disintegrated at least 3 white martians. He can’t know what happened with Reign beyond “she’s not going to be a problem anymore”. He might have more information about the Daxamite invasion through government records and his mother but the information is still limited. As for Non and Myriad, we don’t even know what happened to Non, and did they report to the DEO that J’onn literally tore Indigo in half (very graphically I might add). Or did they just say “They won’t be a problem anymore.” Lex may have been spying on Kara since Season 2, but how much is watching her civilian life going to help him understand her, when Kara’s civilian life was constructed to hide? Kara Danvers doesn’t say a lot of what she thinks to avoid notice, and even Supergirl keeps her mouth shut a lot of the time to try and maintain human-alien relations. The episodes where she squabbles with the Col. Haley and President Baker are full of her smiling and gritting her teeth through statements that clearly make her very angry.
     Lex “falling to his death” and then getting shot at the end of season 4 was a great moment— it fit with the characters motivations, but it also unfortunately illustrated the problem with Supergirl characters interacting with Lex. J’onn was a soldier who kills people. Kara has killed people. Alex has killed people. This scene was not the first time we watched Lena try to murder someone with that gun. They are not restricted by the moral code Superman uses, which makes it both more difficult and more dangerous for Lex to try manipulating them— so he doesn’t and instead they skip the intermediary and rely wholly on him being able to manipulate the public. This works to an extent with Red Daughter, but only because anti-alien sentiment was at an all time high with the Children of Liberty, and because Lex lucked into an amnesiac supergirl clone. So little of the heavy lifting was actually done by Lex it feels less like his accomplishment and more like he cheated off of 3 different people and then bragged about his math skills. I said it before and I’ll say it again. The season 4 villain could have been anyone with moderate intelligence and resources. After crisis, the excuses just get weaker and weaker. I mean come on, he confessed to trying to mind control the whole world in front of the jury while screaming vile things at his sister who’s sitting there visibly flinching at his words and they unanimously voted not-guilty? Are you kidding? (Also after watching all the courtroom scenes in Supergirl... do they know how courtrooms work? I mean, I laughed as hard as anyone at the “I plead the 5th” line, but seriously. Do they?)
    And Crisis was… a choice. I personally hated that they brought Lex back to life— more so because the in-universe reasoning was so weak. Lex Luthor does not face a whole lot of consequences, it’s true, but that’s because he has the genius, guile, and money to avoid them. To give him such an unearned out— especially after all the damage he’d done by dying— really hurt the both the stakes and the character. Lex is a human, and he fights Superman by taking advantage of very human things: corruption, anger, and fear as well as ingenuity and resourcefulness. He loads the deck in his favor— he doesn’t win on luck. And Lex in the CW Supergirl, seems to only win on luck. First he finds Red Daughter right when anti-alien sentiment is blowing up, then he is resurrected, then he finds out the crisis world loves him. He has had exactly 1 major victory based on his own work— manipulating Brainy. A manipulation which was really hard to believe when Brainy was, in canon, much, much smarter than Lex, familiar with his tactics, lying to the superfriends for no reason, and had no emotional reaction to cloud his judgement. 
      And even so, this one plot line was one of the more interesting ones in season 5 and the most Lex Luthor-like plot line the show has had. Even when I felt my suspension of disbelief slipping, it wasn’t entirely in tatters. Lex’s win felt somewhat earned. 
     He has been in the show for 2 1/2 seasons and he has had 1 major victory that felt at all earned. 2 and 1/2 seasons. That’s currently around 45% of the show’s run time.
     All in all, we have 4 deeply related problems that plague the CW Supergirl Lex Luthor:
Lex Luthor’s plans rely as much on effective manipulation of Superman as they do on his own genius. Without that manipulation, his victories rely much more on happenstance and luck, making them feel less earned.
Lex Luthor cannot effectively manipulate Supergirl— at the very least, not in the beginning of their relationship, which CW Supergirl focuses on— nor does he try to manipulate her or much of the cast beyond Lena and once with Brainy.
Supergirl kills people. Supergirl has killed Lex. Superman doesn’t kill people.
Lex fighting Supergirl does not have the kind of inherent emotional weight that Lex fighting Superman does.
     There are some other issues I have with the CW supergirl version of Lex, but I think if it was a Superman show I wouldn’t have minded. The large amount of screen time dedicated to him would make sense there, and the fact that he’s a cockroach seemingly impervious to any plot consequences would also fit more in line with Superman’s increasing frustration and make his manipulations more effective.
     The only problem I have that wouldn’t been solved purely by making it about Superman is the crowding problem. In season 1, Non and the DEO were highly connected and fed each other as villains. Season 2 also fit that same block of alien vs. anti alien. Both of those secondary villains (the army/DEO in s1 and Cadmus in s2) were very much not as big a villain as the main. Season 3 sort of had a secondary villain with Morgan Edge, but he was mostly just a Lena problem. All of these seasons had a good balance between the villains screen time and also between the villains and heroes. It got a little more complicated with the extra world killers in s3, but still functioned fairly smoothly with focus on Reign. This is one of the main reasons that seasons 1 and 3 are my favorites. S4, however, got more cluttered. A lot more cluttered. Manchester Black, the Children of Liberty, Lex Luthor, Red Daughter, and Eve Tessmacher were all villains with multi-episode arcs handled directly by Supergirl herself. There was too much to cover, not enough connection, and not enough time— plus 2 new main cast members (Look, I love Nia and Brainy but that season had way too much going on). Season 5 had Leviathan, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor and 2 new mains. Each of those villain arcs had their own distinct plot from one another and screen time started to become more choppy and spread out. Season 6 now has so far Lex Luthor, the phantom zone, and Nyxly, as well as the Zor-El mini-arc, and while I’ll give them some leeway for Melissa Beniost’s maternity leave, there is again too much in too little time. Villains are underdeveloped or not given weighty closures, each main gets less and less personal screentime, and every shot that doesn’t serve a good or entertaining purpose feels like pouring out water from a canteen in the desert, especially now in the last season. Lex has greatly suffered for this both in the rage at how much screen time he gets compared to other characters, Kara in particular, and because of how his arcs are still hobbled by the lack of it.
    I just find myself wishing they’d restricted Lex to a 3 or 4 episode mini-arc, or just season 4 and saved him for the Superman and Lois show. They could have played the crisis resurrection as just an unfortunate coincidence of fate and had it be Superman’s problem from there on. 
    To Jon Cryer, may you never see this. It’s so very not your fault.
If anyone actually reads this whole thing and I got something wrong let me know. I’d love to discuss it. Today, I’m just trying to isolate the main issues I have with Lex in Supergirl. 
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thelazycat220 · 3 years
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The Fight Female Reader x Cooper x Prince Darnell
Everyday in your life was always the same thing: waking up every morning to eat breakfast, go over your daily schedule in life, and wind down to go to sleep. It was the same things over and over. Trolls in your life were always so happy about their everyday lives that you wondered if they ever grew tired of the same thing.
So today, you decided to do something different. Ripping up your glitter-covered paper, you that huffed to yourself saying that it was time for change, you were the boss of your own life, and a flimsy piece of paper can't control it. You got to your room and got out your berry-picking basket and your hat, rushing out the door without even caring if your door was closed or not.
The sun was pretty bright, almost being a bit of a blind sight to look at. Walking into the forest were shade was constant year-round was a lovely choice. Wild strawberries were at its reddest and biggest. Your mother once told you that a juicy strawberry was a good strawberry. And you believed that once you picked a strawberry. Licking your lips with hunger, you reached out for a strawberry when you saw a glimpse of something. Turning to the left side of your body, you saw one of the strawberry bush leaves being a stain of red.
Kneeling, you examined it a bit more, realizing that it wasn't strawberry juice, since it was pink. No, this red stain was a maroon, and it smelled metallic. You swiped the leave with your finger and before you knew it, it was blood.
A shiver was sent down your spine. Was there a chance that a troll was wondering in the woods and he or she got hurt? What if they were attacked by a creature? Or a Bergen? Dropping your basket, you looked around to see if their was anymore blood in sight, walking to North. Indeed there was, in blood-red footprints, smears on trees' trunks, not to mention a few skinny branches dripping some. Queasiness started to settle in your body, growing more and more fearsome. Everywhere you looked was like the inside of a murder house, or horror movie for that matter.
You walked some more, before the sole of your foot rested on something soft and fuzzy, like one of your knitting projects. Looking down, you saw a green scarf, dirtied by small amounts of blood, swipes of dirt and leaves clinging to your fabric. Taking your foot away from the scarf, you picked it up and realized that it was a Christmas present you made for Cooper. Oh, God, Cooper! What if he was the one injured?
Panicking with fright, your troll ears perked up to listen to something. It sounded like echoing shouts and screams of frustration. But you didn't know where they were coming from. You stayed quiet and listened, the sounds were coming from the West side, just beyond the thorn bushes that bloomed poisonous Nightshade berries. You knew that once a troll ate a Nightshade berry, they would die in brutal ways that would even traumatize a baby. The first incident you heard from Nightshade berry-related deaths were just straight-up horrific: a Pop troll ate one and puke blood; two Rock trolls ate a handful and died from overdose of it; a family of Country trolls were found dead with their parts hacked off and hanging from trees, the dad survived only cause the he was the one who ate the Nightshade berries, giving him hallucinations that resulted into murdering his family.
And the last incident was a small little Classical girl that ate a couple by accident, her belly swollen painfully before the skin bursted and her organs fell out.
You shuddered, whatever was behind those bushes were the only way of saving Cooper. Slowly, you crept up to the bushes the sounds more clear to what sounded like Cooper and...someone else? Being careful with your fingers, you pulled apart the thorny bushes, gasping from what you saw that shocked you from the core.
You watched in horror as you saw the royal Funk troll brother--Cooper and Darnell. You figured out everything--the blood, Cooper's scarf, even the screams. They all belonged to the brothers. They were standing in a circle of dirt, already splattered with large amounts of red blood that seemed enough for a troll to bleed out. Cooper and Darnell were circling each other, growling at one another with eyes of anger and bloodlust.
They both looked horrible. Cooper had a gash on his forehead that drenched his face with his own blood; his front left leg had a deep bleeding wound that had a large stick stuck out, which had him limping a bit; he had inch-deep lashes on his back, his once pink fur now dyed with red; his hind legs wrapped in the Nightshade berries' bush thorns, covered in scrapes and scratches along with a couple thorns digging into the skin; his long neck covered in bruises.
Darnell had sustained more damaged than his twin: he had a blackeye with a bloodshot eye, no trace of white was replaced by red; all four of his legs appeared to be stabbed terribly, gushes of blood pouring out; his ear had no piercing, it had been torn off; twigs and leaves clung to his fur, a vine of Nightshade thorns pierced his skin that was wrapped around his body; and his neck was covered in bites, bleeding out, Cooper must've done that, which were proven by Cooper's teeth being stained with a dark pink. And his feet were covered in lacerations.
Both of them succumb heavy breathing, then, charged at each other with screaming out their lungs. Attacking each other with all their power. You watched in horror as they continued to fight each other to death. You knew that you had to stop from killing each other, but were afraid about what might happen if you stood yourself between the two.
Cooper then punched Darnell in the face, striking him down to the earthly soil, his knuckle dyed with Darnell's blood. Alas, due to the damage Darnell had, he was weak and fell back down on the dirt. Cooper smiled as he walked up to his brother, kneeling with something in his hand. Darnell's head was a bit up, until you heard something sizzle that was mixed with Darnell's scream of pain. Cooper had a thick birch branch that had its end glowing red hot, burning Darnell's cheek when the tip touched his face.
Spitting out blood, Darnell growled out to Cooper, "You bitch...(Y/N) is mine and will always will be..." A tingling sensation flowed through your body, hearing your name through the weak Funk prince almost made you fell in love.
Cooper scoffed, looking amused. "Oh no, twin bro, she's MINE. You're just going to be wolf meat, and when the wolves can't finish you off, the maggots will come and eat away what's left. And then, all that's left of you will be rotten bones covered in mold; no one's going to miss you."
You gasped, immediately coming out of the bushes and started to shout: "STOP IT! Both of you--just stop!" Both twins looked up to see you terrified. Cooper dropped the fired-up branch and smiled nervously at you.
"Heeeey, (Y/N)! S-Sorry you had to see this, we were just, uh, playing a game!" Cooper smiled, but you frowned.
"Playing a game that involves both of you to fight to the death? That doesn't even sound fun!" You then gasped once more, kneeling down the weak Darnell, who groaned in pain. "And look what you two are doing to each other! Do King Quincy and Queen Essence know about this?! Imagine what would happen if they found that their own sons tried to kill each other?"
Both of them had a moment of reality, the two looking guilty that they tried to commit an act of murder to each other. Darnell tried to sit up, but the pain overflowed his body and he fell down once more. New trickles of blood began to stain your hands and the cuffs of your sweater. "Oh no, Darnell! You're bleeding! We have to get you help before it gets worse." You wrapped one of his arms around your neck, grunting to realize that he was heavy. "Cooper, help me."
Taking his other arm to help you out, both of you began to exit out of the forest, then Cooper said apologetically: "I'm...sorry about the fight. We were just...well..."
You sighed, then smiling at the Funk twin. "It's alright Coop. You don't have to fight over me. I love you both." You grunted once more. "C'mon, let's get your brother to my pod, I have some medicine stuff for him."
(Written by LGBTQLover on FanFiction.Net)
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kosmosguk · 4 years
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You. Me. Us| Yandere Jimin x Reader
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[Summary: The handsome guy you meet briefly in a bookstore is intent on intertwining his fate with yours, although his methods themselves are unorthodox. After all, he’s intent on his belief that in the end, it’s you. Him. And the word Us. And it doesn’t matter how he gets to the ending he deserves.]
Type: Horror/Thriller fic
Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, masturbation, voyeurism with no consent from one party, brief mentions of alcohol, near-death experience, obsessive behaviors painted as normal
A/N: based on the tv show You, so credit goes to the show and its producers! I didn’t vibe with the second season that came out yesterday so I decided to write a fic based on the first season but with a different ending. This is the first part, and if it goes well, I’ll update other parts!
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December 27, 4:33PM
He had met you on that day, a cold gray day in the unforgiving city of Seoul. Two days after Christmas, Jimin remembers how frigid the city was as the warmth of the holiday season seeped away. He remembers every detail about that afternoon, that meeting; hell, he remembers every detail about you.
You’re soulmates. Lovers cast by the stars of the universe and molded with brushings of stardust. It’s inevitable that he had seen you, that he had met you. 
Pretty, with wide eyes shadowed by long, curled lashes. Rosy lips arched in a pleasant curve. A scarf--he remembers the color: crimson, like blood roses--loosely circled around your delicate neck. You, you were perfect.
"Hey," you had called to him. Had spoken to him. Did he even deserve to be witnessing you, the you that glowed in this worn down bookstore in Seoul?
"Hello?" he heard you speak again, like cold water splashing on him, and he blinked his vision clear.
You smiled gently, a little shyly as you met his gaze. "Is this book any good?"
He cleared his throat, flitting his gaze to the worn book you had in hand. "Yes. Victor Hugo, a classic. Although it gets a little tedious sometimes to read, it's amazing to see how major issues from the 19th century can still be applicable to modern times. That and the way he manages to describe societal anguish in a poetic manner leaves a feeling of satisfaction."
His voice trailed off. Shit, he did it again; he talked on and on about something that people as pretty as you most likely didn't care about. You must be bored, must see him as boring.
But instead, your smile grew just a little bit bigger. "This sounds interesting. I'll take it."
And Jimin felt his heart speed up a little bit more. This, you, him. It must be destined.
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December 27, 8:41PM
You're a writer. He can't help but notice the bundles of paper delicately clipped together in your bag when you open it to find your wallet.
And he also can't help it when he catches your name when you answer a call. It seems that he can't help a lot of things when it comes to you.
He looks you up on social media first. Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. Twitter. Hell, even Tumblr. It's advantageous for him that you use the same username for each social media platform.
Spending some time with friends to take my mind off of writer's block. The caption follows a shot of drinks, glistening in the low light of a bar, lined up on a table. There are three people tagged. He makes a mental note to look at their profiles later.
Wishing I was back in the sun. It's a shot of you in a bikini, lying underneath the golden sun. He can't help but feel a little jealous that all of these people--218 according to the likes on your post--get to witness your body like this. But it's okay, he tells himself. This was posted months ago, long before you met him, someone who looks past superficial aspects.
He scrolls until his thumbs grow tired. As he turns off his laptop, he can't help but feel a little disappointed that you haven't posted anything, not even a short hinting tweet, about the cute guy you met at a bookstore.
He remembers your latest tweet, posted 2 minutes ago. You're at a bar celebrating your friend's birthday. He decides that a peek or two won't do any harm. Besides, he's only there to make sure you're safe.
His cap is pressed over gray-dyed hair, and he's in clothes that will allow him to blend into the crowd. A girl sidles up to him, resting her hand on his shoulder flirtatiously. He shrugs it off; she's not you after all. The girl, obviously more than a little tipsy, gets up and stumbles away.
He sits in a place that allows him to see and hear you, but he's not too close so that you can see him.
"Minyoung! Happy birthday!" he can hear your voice, high-pitched and bubbly. It's a lot different from the voice you had used in the bookstore. He can't help but feel just a little prideful that he knows the real you more than your supposed friends do.
He remembers Minyoung from her Instagram profile. Minyoung herself, with 2K followers, is pretty with a straight small nose and cropped hair dyed neon green, but in a phony way that leaves him swallowing bile. She doesn't deserve you, and she especially doesn't deserve the expensive gift. You'll be lucky to get something a quarter as expensive for your birthday; he knows your friends almost as well as he knows you. And he also knows that they don't deserve you.
"Bitch, you didn't!" Minyoung tears through your delicate wrapping with sharp and long acrylic nails. Jimin can't help but wince from his seat.
"She did! Flexing on us, huh, babe," your next friend he recalls is named Ji-Ah. She's the kind of phony pretty that Minyoung is too, with long brown curls and glossy lips. Jimin thinks he hates her almost as much as he hates Minyoung.
You smile, though he notices how it's just a little strained, and he feels anger as he watches Miyoung toss your gift on the table without even as much as a thank you. Fuck Ji-Ah, Jimin doesn't think he hates anyone as much as he hates Minyoung.
Your gift, one you poured care in, cast aside. You are an angel. Your "friends" don't deserve to be in your presence, let alone receive a gift from you. Jimin's clenches his hands, and when he relaxes them, there are crescent-shaped indents, drops of blood smeared on pale skin.
"Come on, let's move to a club! This bar is so fucking boring," Minyoung coos after she’s done opening her gifts.
You shake your head. "I have to work early tomorrow and a manuscript to write. I’m so sorry, but have a fun time without me!"
"Boo! Don't be a boring bitch," Ji-Ah sticks her tongue out as she gets up and walks off with Minyoung.
It only leaves you and your last friend. Haeun looks the least fake of your friends, but Jimin knows that she's the same level as them. Rich. Fake. Obnoxious. Only using you. 
"(Y/N), why did you buy that for her? You know you can't afford it. Minyoung doesn't deserve that at all. Next time, if you need money, just ask me," Haeun pushes her long black hair fixed in a high ponytail off her shoulder as she gets up to leave. You just force a smile as Haeun sidles away. The smile drops when none of your friends can see you anymore.
Condescending isn't she. You really know how to pick your friends.
You take the nearest glass of alcohol and pour it back rapidly. When you've swallowed it all and wiped your mouth, you pull on your jacket and leave the bar. Jimin follows behind you, your silent protector in a bitterly empty world.
You wander into the train station. A nearby drunkard tries to accost you, and Jimin makes a move towards you. You manage to fend the drunkard off before Jimin can be your hero, but your phone slips out of your already shaky grip and falls onto the tracks.
You stumble into the tracks. Jimin rushes towards you. You grab your phone and stand up as the train whistles begin to grow nearer, and Jimin watches as your eyes blow wide, frantic as tears drip down your cheeks.
"Take my hand!" he yells over the sound of the train. You look up, your eyes bleary, and grab his hand. He hoists you up as the lights of the train glow brighter.
"Um," you manage to sputter as you try to grab ahold of yourself," Thank you."
Your hazy eyes focus on Jimin and clear a little. "Oh! Bookstore guy!"
You look adorable like this, hair slightly messy and lips parted in confusion. Jimin's heart tugs a little. God, he's already fallen for you so deep.
That moment fades as your cheeks puff a little, and you vomit over his shoes and the bottom of his pants.
He finds himself in a taxi cab, his shoes in a plastic bag next to him, as you snore softly by his side, having passed out after telling him your address. He catches sight of your phone, the case dirty from its fall into the tracks.
You won't mind if he just...peeks, do you? He acts before he can think, grabbing your phone and fiddling around with it. Perfect, now he'll be able to watch everything you do on it. He feels a little guilty, but the train incident proves that you need him just as much as he needs you. He sets the phone back down next to you. It looks like nothing has happened, but Jimin knows better.
The taxi rolls to a stop in front of an apartment building. He reaches out to nudge you awake, but you're already blinking glossy eyes open before he can.
"Thank you," you say before your mouth falls open," Oh my God, I threw up on you. I threw up on you; that's so fucking embarrassing! Here, uh, my phone number is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Call me, and I'll, um, get you new shoes."
"It's fine, really. These shoes were getting old anyway, and I needed a new pair of shoes soon. How about a drink instead?" Jimin beams in a way that has swooned the hearts of many, crinkling his eyes into upside-down crescents. You smile back at him as you get out.
"Sounds good! Just text me when!"
The taxi door shuts behind you. Jimin is left temporarily breathless. Just like he thought, you’re meant to be together. 
When you get into your apartment and look back out, the taxi is gone. You can't help but feel a little guilty that you hadn't done much for your savior after he had done so much for you.
A knock bangs on your door, and you look at who it is.
"God, leave me fucking alone, Seojun," you spit out, sliding open the door. Seojun’s standing there, his body swaying slightly; he can barely stand straight.
"I'm sorry, babe! I swear to God nothing happened with me and her," your ex-boyfriend sputters out. He smells of booze; you’re not surprised.
"So you tripped and your dick somehow managed to land in her mouth; don't be a fucking lying cunt, Choi," you bristle, making a move to slam the door.
"Baby, baby, listen to me," Seojun steps in closer before you can, sliding his hands onto the curve of your waist," She didn't mean anything. I've missed you. I’ve missed the way you feel, baby. My cock misses the way you squeeze down on me. Aren’t you lonely, baby?’’
You hesitate before pushing him off of you and slamming the door shut on him. "God, don’t fucking talk to me anymore. Just leave me alone, Choi. Don't come back."
You hear boots scraping against the pavement as he walks away from your door and hopefully out of your life. He always was and always will be an asshole. You had dated him for the fun of it after he made a move on you at a party, and all of your friends had insisted that you ‘’try him out,’’ whatever the fuck that meant. 
But still, his words make you remember just how lonely and untouched you are.
Sagging against your sofa in front of your window, you push your pants down your hips, spreading your legs apart slightly as your hands slide down your body. Your fingers circle your clit, quick, short movements that leave you quivering slightly and clenching down on empty air.
You think of the guy from the bookstore. His handsome features with his sharp facial structure, puffy eyes, and rosy plump lips. He’s ethereal, a fairy. His voice was soft and just a bit high pitched. You think of how tempting he looked, clad in a soft sweater and dark jeans that showed off his thighs and ass. You bite your lip as your thighs close around your arm. 
You come with a cracking moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you shake slightly from the pleasure.
You sail down from your peak, crashing back into sobriety that leaves you feeling more empty and more guilty. God, you really are pathetic, aren't you? Fucking yourself to a guy you barely even know, barely even talked to.
Wiping your fingers on a tissue and pulling your pants back up, you stand up and walk away from your spot by the window, having forgotten that you had left the curtains open.
Jimin had seen the whole thing from his hidden spot across the street, and he softly moans to himself as he rubs himself hard through his jeans. Fuck, you look so, so pretty when you come. If only you weren't thinking about that jerk ass who had come to your door.
Jimin comes hard, groaning softly into the fabric of his coat as images of fucking you and how good he would make you feel overtake his mind. He sags against the rough brick wall of the building across from yours, his chest heaving, and he makes up his mind right then and there.
He would do something to make you forget about that jerk ass. He would do anything for you after all.
Choi Seojun, the man plastered over your Twitter for a solid six months, would be hard to get rid of, with his status as an esteemed rich party boy and your ex-boyfriend.
But for you, Jimin would do anything.
After all, in the end, it was you. Him. And the word Us.
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laurawritesandgames · 4 years
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Title: Objections
Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara, Charles/Delia
Prompt: Wedding
Content Warning: Set during coronavirus pandemic
Summary: It’s Delia and Charles’s wedding day. The Maitland-Deetz household tries to keep their irreverent demon from spoiling the big day. Little do they know it’s not Beetlejuice they need to worry about….
It had taken ten minutes, but Barbara was finally satisfied with Delia’s lashes. “There. I think we’ve got it.” She moved aside to let Delia see herself in the mirror.
Barbara had put her hair and makeup skills to the test and helped Delia out on her wedding day. Why invite over a makeup artist and hair stylist during a pandemic if you didn’t have to?
Delia examined her reflection and beamed. “It’s perfect.”
That was being kind. It wasn’t exactly one of the dramatic looks on Delia’s wedding Pinterest board. More dramatic makeup would’ve suited her dress better. Ordered from Italy, her dress was a gold ballgown with dramatic tiered tulle flounces on the skirt and a deep V neckline. The gold in the dress played off the gold accents in Delia’s bright orange hair, which was in romantic waves down her back. It was daring and sweet all at once.
When the pandemic hit, the household had talked about postponing her and Charles’s wedding. But Charles’s parents were old-fashioned, and since Delia and Charles wanted to try for a baby right away, they decided to have a virtual wedding instead.
“I can’t thank you enough, Barbara.”
“I’m not letting you do your own hair and makeup on your big day!” She gestured to the laptop. “Now go show the girls.” Her bridesmaids were eagerly awaiting drinking mimosas and celebrating Delia’s look. Barbara had met them at Delia’s virtual bachelorette party, though, of course, they hadn’t known Barbara was there. The bachelorette party had also been rather subdued, considering Delia’s usual standards. She, Barbara and the bridesmaids had streamed both Magic Mike movies, ate popcorn and drank champagne. What else could you do in a pandemic? “I’ll go check on the preparations.”
Delia’s phone, face down on the makeup table, buzzed again. Someone had been texting her all morning, and Delia had been ignoring them. Her gaze flicked to the phone, jaw tightening before she looked back into the mirror.
Barbara gestured to the phone. “I can grab that for you, too.”
A hint of a frown worked its way between Delia’s brows. A moment later, her expression relaxed, and she waved the suggestion away. “I’m fine, darling. I’ve been getting so many robotexts lately. You know, you could stay and have a drink. You’re a bridesmaid too, dear!”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I like keeping busy!” And if I bump something or the camera catches me drinking a mimosa, the focus is definitely not going to be on the bride. Barbara excused herself and went downstairs.
The walls of the living/dining room were decorated with curled gold ribbons and champagne-coloured tulle banners beneath the crown molding. The ghosts and Beetlejuice had moved all the furniture—quite easily, with telekinesis—and added two rows of four chairs on either side of an elegant pale gray runner. The rug led the eye to the laptop, set up on a crystal-laden table where the officiant would’ve stood, and the pale-wood wedding arch wrapped in the same champagne tulle. Everything looked perfect.
Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia, the family’s impromptu wedding photographer/videographer, were gathered around a photo album. It took Barbara a second to recognize it.
“Aww, our wedding album!” She joined the group, resting her head on Adam’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, pulling her closer with both arms. The book continued floating in mid-air.
“Obsessed with sunflowers much?” grumbled an unimpressed Beetlejuice.
“I guess so,” Adam said. “My family’s farm had a little sunflower patch. That kinda became our thing.”
“Love the mason jars,” Lydia commented.
“Hey, those were the big thing in 2009,” Barbara said. She supposed their wedding had followed a lot of popular trends: an outdoor barn wedding, lots of tea lights in mason jars, and even a photo booth. But they’d managed to be ahead of the curve on a few things. “Remember our party favours, sweetie?” she asked Adam. “They were little terrariums in stemless wineglasses.”
Adam grinned and squeezed the arm around her waist. “They were tied with ribbons that said ‘Thank you very ‘mulch’ for coming to our wedding!’”
Lydia chuckled; Beetlejuice rolled his eyes.
“Don’t encourage that,” the demon said to his friend. He continued scowling at the wedding album, but Lydia seemed happy to keep looking at the photos.
The most pages they turned, the more Barbara’s mood slid closer to Beetlejuice’s. All those photos were full of friends and family she couldn’t see anymore. Most of her friends’ Facebooks or Instagrams were private, so she couldn’t even do any light internet stalking unless she wanted to log into her old accounts and confuse everyone. Was Lisa still going back to school to get her Masters, or had the pandemic put that on hold? Was Alison still having issues with her mother-in-law? Barbara had no idea. Dead women didn’t have friends. Not to mention her family….
But a wedding was no time to be sad. She pasted a smile on her face and even managed a few cute wedding stories.
“Remember when your uncle Eddy tried to drink his wedding favour?” she asked Adam, who chuckled. “He almost choked on a succulent!”
“But he kept trying to drink from it! Three times!” Adam chuckled. A moment later, his smile faltered. “Probably because he’s a massive alcoholic.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” That story wasn’t quite as cute as she remembered. “So, um, why don’t we do a last-minute check? Make sure we’ve got everything.”
“All right,” Lydia said. She took the photo album from midair and put it away, frowning slightly. “This is probably going to be the nicest moment I have today, so thanks for that.”
Barbara and Adam shared a worried look. Lydia was deeply ambivalent about her father marrying another woman only six months after her mother died. Lydia had used that fact to extract a lot of concessions about the wedding: Delia had let her wear a black dress and take photographs on her analogue camera instead of a digital camera.
“C’mon, kid!” Beetlejuice said. “Just wait ‘til I get the party started!” He blew a party favour, and sparkly beetles flew behind him.
While Lydia rolled her eyes fondly at her friend, Barbara and Adam shared another worried look. The young woman went upstairs to get changed.  
Barbara turned to Beetlejuice. “I just wanted to remind you about your promise, Beetlejuice. I know it’d probably be very funny to interrupt the ceremony. Maybe Lydia would even appreciate it. But this day means a lot to Delia and Charles. They’ve found each other through a lot of pain and hardship, and they deserve a fun, special memory.”
Beetlejuice waved her words away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don’t know this about me yet, but I love a good party. And people can finally see me! Well, only people here, but whatever. Why would I mess that up and have everybody pissed at me? I’m here for the fun and the food, baby.”
As much as Barbara wanted to believe him, she suspected that the only reason he didn’t have a disruption planned was because of Lydia’s innate goodness, not his own.
“I noticed you didn’t love us going through the wedding album, buddy,” Adam said. “Is everything okay?”
He shrugged. “It just…it looked nice. Your wedding.” He glanced between Barbara and Adam, loudly announcing, “None of that boring-ass shit at our wedding, okay?”
Barbara tried not to look too surprised—Beetlejuice loved shocking them. “Noted. But it’s also not going to be jump scares every minute, or a projector that reveals everyone’s darkest fears, or some kind of Saw situation.”
Beetlejuice’s eyebrows rose. “I was just thinking there’d be singing cockroaches and banners made of bats, but those are way better! You wanna plan it, baby?”
“I said ‘not.’ It’s not going to be any of those things. Did you even hear that part?”
He darted in close and kissed her lips. “Eh, we’ll find a compromise that works for all of us. We’re all about that life, right?” His neck stretched cartoonishly to kiss Adam on the lips as well. Then he poofed away in a cloud of smoke.
After a few moments, Adam said, “Did he just ask us to marry him?”
“I think it was a joke proposal. You know him. If he really wanted to propose, there’d be a lot more pizzazz. And possibly dead bodies.”
“Right, of course.”
“Would you have said yes if he’d been serious?” Barbara asked, curious.
“Things between the three of us have been going pretty well, but I don’t think I’m ready to jump into another marriage quite yet. And you?”
It was exactly what she’d expected from Adam. They’d changed since their deaths—six months later, their afterlives involved parenthood, isolation from friends and family, a lot more free time, and a polyamorous relationship. But it was nice when she could guess what he was thinking. Not everything had changed. “The same. Maybe in a few years or so.”
*
Before the ceremony, Charles and Lydia stayed in the living room, helping older relatives log on to Zoom and greeting people as they logged in. Charles was wearing a pale grey tuxedo with a metallic grey tie and pocket square. Lydia looked like an elegant classic Hollywood starlet with a goth twist: her black lace gown had a subtle skull pattern to it, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. Her onyx choker and bracelets looked like thorny vines going up her pale arms and encircling her neck. On her head was a raven fascinator with golden bead eyes, her one concession to the wedding colours.
The laptop screen filled up with squares of happy, smiling faces. Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, wearing suits and dresses.
“Betcha most of them are wearing sweat pants,” Beetlejuice said.
“Well, hopefully we’ll never find out,” Barbara replied. The three of them were sitting on the white chairs on either side of the aisle. Most people watching this meeting online probably assumed these chairs were only there for symmetry. As far as they knew, Lydia was the only other person physically at this wedding.
Despite her earlier claim, Lydia was smiling and chatting with Charles’s parents and, to Barbara’s surprise, Emily’s mother. Coming to your son-in-law’s wedding six months after your daughter’s death must have been hard, but if there were any issues, Barbara didn’t see them, and she wasn’t about to eavesdrop on a family moment.
Emily was sick for years. I suppose her family had a lot of time to mourn her. She thought about her parents and her sister at her own funeral. What had that been like?
Lydia took video of Delia coming down the stairs to the bridal chorus, played on speakers set up throughout the room, then put the video camera on a tripod so she could participate in the ceremony.
“I want to thank everyone for joining us today,” the officiant said. “In lieu of wedding gifts, the bride and groom have asked that you donate to the Rural Connecticut Preservation Society. I’m pleased to share that we’ve raised $10,000, which will be donated after the wedding.”
If Charles had had any reservations about donating to a charity dedicated to stopping housing development in rural Connecticut, which directly impacted his career, he hadn’t brought it up during the wedding’s planning stages. Lydia had suggested the charity, after all.
Everyone applauded.
“We will now bless the rings,” the officiant said.
Lydia took out the rings, held them both tightly in her hands, and whispered her blessing into her clenched fists. She smiled mischievously at Charles.
“I suppose if they burst into flame, we’ll know Mom disapproves.”
There were a few awkward chuckles from the assembled, none louder than Delia’s. “That’s my darling, unique stepdaughter for you! Oh, Lydia, you’re so funny!”
In a mocking, little-girl voice, Lydia replied, “I appreciate the compliment, my dearest stepmother.”
Barbara and Adam made sure that they were holding Beetlejuice’s hands so he couldn’t raise them.
The demon scoffed. “You know, I don’t need my hands to do ghost magic? I could just set the rings on fire with my mind.”
“Do not—”
“I wasn’t gonna! Jeez.”
With a theatrical flourish, Lydia showed off the rings to the laptop camera. Barbara half-expected them to be Netherworld green, but they were normal. “My blessing has been spoken. Please speak your blessings now.” Ideally, everyone would’ve been able to touch the rings and speak their blessings in private.
After a pause, Delia’s father spoke first, and others followed. The wedding program had provided a few sample blessings, but people were free to write their own. Delia’s mother began crying halfway through hers.
“Save something for the wedding speech, Amanda,” her father joked. He reminded Barbara of her own dad.
Barbara and Adam gave their own blessings. “Delia and Charles, we wish you health, happiness and love as you start your new life together,” they said, touching the rings, making sure not to brush Lydia’s hands.
Beetlejuice had declined to take part in “New Age bullshittery,” so he remained hovering over his seat.
The rest of the wedding was more traditional, probably to appease Charles’s parents. Barbara’s mind wandered. She and Adam had come so far, hadn’t they? She held Adam’s hand lightly, running her thumb up and down his palm—rather, she did until Beetlejuice forced his way between the two of them and sat on both of their laps.
“Poor baby, no one was paying attention to you,” she cooed into his ear.
“It’s the worst,” he agreed. She ran her fingers through his spikey green hair. Adam gave him some attention by resting his head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. That seemed to do the trick—he sighed and relaxed.
Readings were read, vows were said, and rings were exchanged. Charles’s vows were simple and straightforward—too curt for Barbara’s tastes—but Delia’s were long enough for them both. Barbara fought the urge to check the time. She felt like Delia had been going for 10 minutes.
Delia actually appeared to be wrapping up when “I object!” sounded over the laptop’s speakers.
A square popped up on Zoom, revealing that the speaker was a tanned older man with more salt than pepper in his hair and bright white teeth. He had a faint accent that Barbara couldn’t place. She’d never seen him on any of Delia’s photos or social media.
Delia made a few choking noises in the back of her throat, the colour draining from her face.
Charles glared at the screen. “You,” he spat out.
Clutching Charles like a lifeline, Delia drew herself up as tall as she could. “Jeremy, log off immediately! I don’t know how you got my number or how you got this link, but get out, you narcissistic psychopath! You don’t get to be a part of my life, not after what you did!”
“Delia, my love, I know you still feel something for me—“
‘My love’? This can’t be the ex-husband, can it? Years ago, Delia’s ex had sailed away to Rome with the secretary he’d been cheating on her with.
“Hey,” Beetlejuice whispered, “I never possessed someone over the internet before. Maybe if we all work together, we can do it?”
Jeremy had opened his mouth to speak again. If ghostly powers could stop this disaster, they had to try. Barbara grabbed Beetlejuice’s and Adam’s hands and held them out to the laptop screen.
“—and I—” Jeremy continued. His gaze abruptly unfocused. Barbara tried to force words into his mouth.
“I’m so sorry!” he said, just as she’d scripted. “I’m going to log off and…and…and throw myself into a dumpster like the piece of trash I am.”
She hadn’t told him to say that. Barbara glanced at Beetlejuice, who grinned back at her.
“And then,” Jeremy continued, “I’m gonna take my toenail clippings, and my belly button lint, put them in a blender, take a shit in that blender, start the blender, and pour myself a shit-shake. It’s my regular Saturday morning routine, baby!”
Lydia rushed forward and tapped a few keys. His square vanished from the screen.
“I blocked him,” she said.
“Thank you, stepdaughter.” Delia sniffled, and Charles handed her a Kleenex from his suit pocket.
As Delia struggled to compose herself, Barbara whispered, “A poop-shake? Really, Beetlejuice?”
“It was Adam!” He couldn’t even keep a straight face, and chortled. “Okay, you caught me. Hey, I had to make sure he’d never be able to look these people in the eye again.”
Delia glared at the laptop screen. “Lydia, darling, explain to me how you set this event up again.”
“I set it as a private Zoom event. Everyone involved in the ceremony had to have a link and a password.”
“So,” Delia said, “who gave my ex-husband—who, I’d just like to remind everyone, is a cheating bastard—the link and the password?”
Slowly, one of Delia’s aunts raised her hand, her face bright pink behind her makeup.
“Millie!” Delia’s mom exclaimed.
“Mom!” shrieked one of Delia’s cousins.
Most people on the Zoom call started shouting at once. It took a few minutes to hear Aunt Millie’s explanation.
“I had no idea he was going to object,” she squeaked. “But he was such a big part of our lives for such a long time, and I thought he deserved to at least see the ceremony….”
“Aunt Millie,” Delia said, “you are no longer welcome!”
“Of—of course. I’m so sorry, Delia.” Aunt Millie took out her glasses and peered at the screen. “Er, which button do I…?”
Lydia took care of it, and banned her.
“And everyone thought I’d use my ghost powers for evil,” Beetlejuice boasted. “Look at me, doing good deeds! Being a goddamn hero!”
Barbara would’ve responded, but poor Delia sagged against Charles, tears running down her face. She tried to speak, but only managed a quiet sob.
“We’re going to take a break,” Lydia said quickly, turning back to the laptop. “See you in 10 minutes, everyone.” She muted them and closed the laptop.
Beetlejuice waved his hand to grab Delia’s attention, grinning broadly. “Thought I’d mention that if you know where he lives I could teleport to his location and, well, cause a little havoc.”
“Do we need to go over the house rules?” Barbara asked. ‘No Murdering’ was the first one.
“No murdering, this time! Just a little non-fatal revenge.”
Delia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“Non-fatal?” Lydia asked Beetlejuice. “Are you sure? Our wedding did set a precedent for murder….”
Beetlejuice chuckled, and the two fistbumped.
After a moment, the demon frowned. “Wait, should I fistbump you for murdering me?”
“You already completed the ‘bump—you can’t take it back now,” Lydia said.
“Shit, you’re right.”
Delia stared at the living room, lips quivering. “Maybe…maybe this is a sign. The universe must not want me to get married again!”
Beetlejuice floated over. “Delia! Signs don’t exist. Trust me, I’d know! There is no heaven, no hell, no meaning to anything! The universe is cold, distant, and uncaring. It’s basically my mom,” he joked. “But the point is—it doesn’t care what you want, and nothing you say or do can affect it.
“Besides, girl!” Beetlejuice leaned in. “Chuck is rich as fuck. Lock him down!”
Charles glared at him before turning back to Delia. “I still want to get married to you, Delia.”
“Are you sure?” She blew into her Kleenex before continuing. “There are women who…who don’t have ex-husbands that ruin their weddings and—and make a scene in front of all their friends and family….”
“Delia,” Barbara said quietly, “you’re not the first person to date an asshole. I mean, look at me and Adam.”
Beetlejuice appreciated the burn, even if it was at his own expense—he cackled over Delia’s tepid chuckle.
“Don’t blame yourself for what just happened,” Barbara continued.
Delia whimpered into her Kleenex. Charles stroked her hair lightly.
“Delia,” he said, “I stood in front of our friends and family and told them how you were the brightest light in my darkest time. I meant every word of it. Nothing will change that. I love you.” He kissed her so deeply that Barbara looked away to give them some privacy.
When they were done, Lydia cleared her throat. “I’ll go get the digital camera so we can adjust the photos faster. That way you won’t have to worry about your makeup looking perfect.” She began to set her analog camera down.
Delia shook her head. “No—you said this was your artistic vision, and I won’t see it compromised.”
Lydia looked surprised. “Oh.” Her smile was small but sincere. “Thanks, Delia.”
Delia took this as an invitation to hug her stepdaughter. Lydia rolled her eyes, but patted her shoulder and didn’t pull away.
“Besides,” Delia added, “this camera was your mother’s gift to you, and I don’t want her coming back from the Netherworld to tell me off.”
Beetlejuice facepalmed. “That is not how the Netherworld works! That’s not how any of it works.”
“Well, it couldn’t hurt to make sure, could it?” Delia stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fix my face.”
“I can help,” Barbara said, and Delia nodded.
Once they were upstairs, Delia collapsed in her makeup chair, sighing heavily.
“I actually thought it was going to go well,” she commented. “That I’d have one beautiful day even in the midst of the world’s ugliness. I was so stupid. Nothing ever goes right for me.”
Barbara reached out to pat Delia’s shoulder before stopping herself. When Delia looked confused, she explained, “Lydia said touching me or Adam is like touching an ice cube tray straight from the freezer.”
“I don’t mind.”
Hesitantly, Barbara touched Delia’s shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched a living person other than Lydia in months, and hugs from a 16-year-old girl she didn’t know that well were rare. The older woman shivered but didn’t pull away.
“Lydia’s not wrong,” Delia admitted. She put her hand over Barbara’s, squeezing slightly. “But a hand offered in friendship should never be refused. You know, it’s been almost four months since I last touched someone who wasn’t Charles.”
“Hopefully this coronavirus pandemic will end soon.”
“I’ve been saying healing prayers twice a day.”
Barbara wasn’t sure they’d be effective, but healing prayers were more than most of America’s leaders were doing. At least Delia was listening to the science and wearing a mask when she went outside. She’d grown so much in the short time Barbara had known her.
Barbara missed her friends from when she was alive. That was natural. But she couldn’t let her loss keep her from recognizing that she’d made a friend after death, too.
“Thanks, Delia,” Barbara said. “Not just for the healing prayers, but for everything. Having two ghostly housemates and a demon would be a lot for some people, but you’ve taken it in stride.”
Delia chuckled. “I once lived in a commune of 200 people. Living off the land, growing our own food…and digging our own toilets.” She wrinkled her nose, then chuckled. “You three are a walk in the park compared to that!”
“If there’s anything you need from me or Adam, please let us know. We don’t want to trouble you or Charles.”
Delia opened and closed her mouth. After a moment, she said, “Well….I suppose I do have a rather personal question….”
“Shoot.”
“Beetlejuice—is he actually good in the bedroom?”
Barbara giggled. “He is. He’s had millennia to think about what he’d do if he ever had sexual partners again. He’s very…inventive.”
“I’ll admit, I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem the type to be concerned with another’s pleasure.”
“Oh, there’s definitely times he forgets. But then we get to teach him. Ahem. Now,” she nodded to the mirror, “let’s get your makeup touched up.”
*
Barbara wouldn’t ever be hungry or thirsty again, but the stuffed butternut squash was delicious. Delia and Charles had deferred to Barbara and Adam’s local expertise when they planned the menu at their wedding dinner. Adam knew most of the farms the vegetables had come from.
The Deetzes had said goodbye to all their guests, and the family was eating their wedding dinner in the dining room.
Delia had been going to give out the crystals on either side of the laptop as wedding favours—the stones were mostly rose quartz, moonstone and a pale white stone called selenite. But after Jeremy’s arrival, she said she needed to cleanse the crystals. “I’m going to give them a few lunar cycles, just to be safe.”
Barbara nodded, pretending she understood what that meant. “Adam, Beetlejuice and I are dead. We’ve got nothing but time!”
“I just want to thank everyone again for your hard work,” Delia said, smiling at them. “Lydia, for your photographic eye and leading the blessing. Barbara, for the hair, makeup, decorating and emotional support. Adam, for sending out all the emails and doing the tech support. All the ghosts, for intervening when a certain someone decided to crash the party.”
“It was mostly me,” Beetlejuice said. Barbara rolled her eyes at Adam, who chuckled.
“He is the ghost with the most,” Adam said, making Beetlejuice grin.
“My mistake—thank you, Beetlejuice. Thank you all for being part of one of the most important days of our lives. Thank you for being our family.”
Barbara sniffled a bit as she and Adam applauded the speech.
“I got the happy couple some extra gifts,” Beetlejuice said. “For the wedding night.”
“I’m going into another room,” Lydia announced abruptly, setting her plate down. “Another house. Another life.”
As she left, Beetlejuice grinned. “We’re rated PG-13, guys! It’s just rose petals on the bed and some boozy chocolates. Figured you two have your own toys—”
Lydia started singing loudly as she covered her ears, taking the stairs three at a time to get away.
Barbara tried to figure out what he had in mind. “These rose petals won’t become spiders, will they?”
“They’re totally normally and boring, if you must know. I ordered them off Amazon.”
“How?” Adam asked. “You have no money.”
“I typed in Chuck’s credit card, duh.”
“What?” Charles snapped.
Barbara and Adam sighed. Beetlejuice’s morality was a never-ending project that was not without its consequences.
Not for the first time, Barbara reflected that it was a good thing the Maitlands loved working on projects together.
*
After the wedding dinner, as Barbara, Adam and Beetlejuice were cleaning up, Lydia came downstairs. She was carrying another photo album and wearing a glum expression. She’d changed out of her party dress, and was wearing a comfy hoodie and sweat pants—all black, of course.
“Got a sec?” she asked quietly.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara said.
Lydia showed them a photo—a younger Emily Deetz on a younger Charles’s lap, grinning at the camera in a fancy restaurant.
“My mom and dad’s wedding wasn’t like today’s. There wasn’t any structure. It was just a big party at one of the best restaurants in New York, followed by wandering the city with all their friends and family. They stopped in at dingy bars to listen to live music, they caught a comedy show, they walked through Times Square at two in the morning. They almost got mugged! Mom was hard core like that. Daddy attracts dramatic weddings, doesn’t he?” she joked.
Her smile dropped a second later. “And Daddy looks just as happy here as he did today. I was photographing him and Delia the whole time. I’d know.”
“So,” Beetlejuice said, “the big takeaway here is that Chuck is in love with the women he gets married to?”
Lydia chuckled sadly. “Something like that. I mean, one of them was a woman he met in college, while the other was his employee…. But who cares about things like abuses of power when it’s true love? Daddy and Delia keep trying to make me comfortable with their love story, but how can I be? If it were any other situation, I’d be blasting Daddy online as he stars in the latest MeToo scandal, right?”
Barbara nodded. “You’re right. It’s pretty rare for a story like Delia and Charles’s to end this way. You sound like you’re carrying a lot, Lydia. Do you want to sit and—”
“No, thanks. I just wanted to whine for a bit. Delia’s family seem nice, at least. Except for Aunt Millie, obviously.” She closed the photo album in a short, frustrated gesture. “Well, goodnight, guys.”
“Do you mind if we check in with you tomorrow?” Barbara said. “See how you’re feeling?” Sixteen was such a tough age—particularly when your father was remarrying.
“If you want.” She shrugged, as if she really didn’t care, but her small smile made Barbara hopeful that she’d made the right decision. The only thing more difficult than being a teenager was parenting a teenager she’d just met a few months ago.
Beetlejuice was frowning as Lydia left. “Guys, we gotta help Lyds!” He was nothing if not loyal. “We should break Chuck and Delia up, right?” He leaned in to Adam. “I got the perfect way to do it. You know how Delia thinks Emily can come back from the Netherworld?” Beetlejuice became Emily Deetz for a moment, still with a few mossy patches and green hair. “Well, what if she can? And then we tell Delia to GTFO!”
That he was asking them instead of just doing it was a pretty good sign.
“Well, Bug,” Adam said, “think about it—if Lydia didn’t want this wedding to happen, she could’ve objected herself. Or asked her father not to get married to Delia.”
Beetlejuice became his usual self again, looking disappointed. “Oh. Right. Didn’t think of that.”
“She’s an intelligent, sensitive young woman with complicated feelings about a complicated issue,” Barbara said. “I think the best way to help her is to listen to her without judgement.”
“Why is the right way always the most boring way?” Beetlejuice said, sighing.
Barbara knew how to get him happy again. “Now,” she said, running her hand along his shoulder, “why don’t we finish up and go upstairs? After all this work for everyone else, we deserve some…ah, quality time together.”
Beetlejuice fistpumped and chortled. “Yes! Unfortunately, because of this fic’s rating, we gotta cut it off here. I just wanna let everyone know, it’s gonna be freakin’ awesome—'cuz I’m awesome, baby.”
Barbara had no idea what he was talking about, as usual. Adam kissed her cheek, and they went back to the dishes.
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theprincesslibrary · 3 years
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#4: Baleful - Close your eyes
Warning: violence, past trauma, mention of abuse, mention of rape, domestic abuse, blood, torture 
He’s waking up. 
He doesn’t remember much. He was coming home after a night out, drunk and alone, the girls weren’t receptive to his charms. And then nothing. Just darkness and a violent pain at the back of his skull. He’s fully awake now, though his reality looks like a nightmare. His reflection is staring at him from the ceiling, eyes wide from fear. He is strapped to an operating table, naked, unable to move. He doesn't understand why he's here. 
I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know any better. But I do.
I know what he did to his wife, to his previous girlfriends. I know what type of monster he is. But I’m worse. The saw in my hand is itching to cut, but I can’t start yet. Everything must be done to perfection. So I step out of the shadows and move closer, tape his eyelids open, so he can't close his eyes. Putting that mirror on the ceiling was a real pain in the ass, it’d be a shame if all that work went to waste. I wouldn’t want him to miss the show.
*****
When Thancred reaches the scene everything looks like it did for the previous murders: they still don't have the crime scene, just the dumping area. A godforsaken place where nobody cares what you do or say: welcome to Ul'dah's low town, where the jewel city doesn't shine so brightly. Here only the rule of the three wise monkeys applies: see nothing, hear nothing, and above all shut the fuck up. The perfect place to get rid of a body.
These corpses are not your typical murder victim though: no crime of passion, no hit-and-run. Everything is clean. It’s the third case of the type to end up on his desk, and it's a fucking nightmare. Let’s be clear, the modus operandi is dirty as fuck: shallow cuts all over the body, severed limbs, head cut off… all of that ante mortem, a fucking slaughter. But the scene is fucking spotless, perfectly ordered like a freaking Mog Station warehouse. They don't really have a corpse, more of a human puzzle: the organs and the head sit in separate jars, the limbs are all wrapped up mummy style, personal belongings in a cardboard box... And the cherry on top: not a single witness.  
That’s when Thacred's expertise comes to play. See, a regular cop would harass the lab, call them every 5 minutes, pressure them day and night… be a pain in the as. But not detective Thancred Waters. Nah. He has his way of doing things. He lets the lab rats alone, especially with a scene like that which is as much of a nightmare for them as it is for him. If puzzle number 3 is like its friends, CSI can’t do much for him right now, they need to unpack all that shit, literally. So he leaves them the fuck alone, they’re happy, and when they have something conclusive they call their favorite detective: how far one can go by not being an asshole is astonishing.  
Instead, Thancred likes to interrogate people. Relatives, of course, that’s police work 101, but he pays extra attention to the little monkeys on the streets: the guy no one notices sitting in the corner, the drug dealer in his vintage car, the homeless lady who sleeps here at night. He just knows how to make them talk. It must be his lucky day because he saw his favorite monkey when he arrived at the scene. It would be rude not to check on his old friend, although “friend” might be a bit of a stretch. He met Theodric in Limsa Lominsa, back when he was still a street urchin, stealing purses from unsuspecting passersby. They were in the same band of petty thieves, followed the same path, except one day Thancred targeted Louisoix Leveilleur. Instead of turning him in, the man saw his potential, and took him under his wing. His life changed that day. Theodric wasn’t so lucky. He got involved with the wrong crowd, took the wrong drug, and ended up here, in one of Ul’dah’s worst neighborhoods where not even the refugees dare to come. 
Yeah, not really friends, and considering what he's about to do to him, it's better that way.
 *****
Thancred’s fists hurt from punching Theodric’s ugly face, he needs a break from all that “friendly catching up”. He reaches for a cig and lights it up. Gods, how he loves the taste of tar… finally some stale air to help him breathe. He spares a look to the little monkey slouched against the tainted wall of a shabby restaurant. His face is covered in blood, but he’s not talking. He hates when they stay quiet, he’ll just have to be more explicit. 
“You know Theo, I can call you Theo, right? You know… it’s the weekend for me too. As you can imagine that I have other things to do besides fucking up your hideous face. I'm not asking you to share every tiny detail of your sad existence, I’m not your therapist. I’m not even asking for the name of your dealer. Just tell me who the fuck threw away the mummy. That would make me incredibly happy, I’d be able to go home, have a nice bath, you know, normal people shit.”
Thancred takes another puff from his cigarette and looks down at the man who was once his partner in crime. It’s almost like staring at a twisted version of himself, at the man he would have become without Louisoix. Six months ago, he might have gone easy on Theodric, might have tried to help him out. Six months ago, he would have been the man Louisoix wanted him to be, but that guy died in Lahabrea’s basement. All those months of sequestration and torture did a number on him, fucked him up so bad, his soul died back there. Now he's just this empty shell, pretending to be alive out of spite. Just to say “look at me now, I’m still there”. But he's not, not really.
He draws the last puff from his cigarette and crouches next to Theodric, his face on the same level as the junkie's. The little monkey has one open eye, just one, the other is too fucked up. There’s fear in that one eye, but he’s still not talking. Thancred gets his cig close to Theodric’s good eye, so he can understand what’s going to happen next. He likes to let people understand the rest on their own, it stimulates communication. 
“You might think I hate you Theo, but I don’t. I don’t give two flying fucks about you. But you see, my shrink told me I had to externalize my rage. When you don't talk to me, it pisses me off, so I have to externalize. On your face. You’re not a bad guy, a little drug here, a little dealing there, it’s not that bad. I’m a whiskey guy myself so really who am I to judge? Just tell me who threw this corpse, so I can calm the fuck down. I don’t need to externalize as much and we both go on our merry ways.” 
Thancred punctuates his question by crushing his cigarette's butt on Theo’s arm. His screams echo in the empty street so loudly dogs start to howl, not that anyone cares. Noone would come to his aid, not in this part of town, not when a cop is the one making him scream like a pig. The wise monkey rule reigns supreme. But now he’s in enough pain for Thancred to believe whatever he’s gonna say next. 
“Fuck Waters, I swear I don't know anything. You know me, I'm not that brave, if I knew anything I’d be singing like a fucking canary right now. Please let me go, I promise if I hear something I'll tell you. I swear Waters.”
*****
Theodric looks sincere.
It pisses him off, cause now he’s gonna have to resort to a more classic approach and act like a regular cop: talk to the wife and relatives. He hates to act like a regular cop, hates to talk to the wives. He doesn’t know how to deal with crying people. He used to be good at people skills, he’s not anymore.
He needs a drink. 
He ends up at the Quicksand like always. It’s a second house for all sorts of human trash: bikers, dealers, pimps, him...  
Thancred likes the atmosphere, and the barmaid, Lya. Lya is good. It sounds dumb, but she is. She smiles all the time and listens to everyone’s bullshit without judging. She’s pretty too, beautiful even. When she smiles it's a bit like a breeze blowing over a field of poppy, it shakes him to the core. It shakes up any guy. They all want to throw themselves in her arms and let her lull them to sleep as a mother would. She could turn the most vicious wolf into an obedient little lamb with just one smile. All the guys here come for her: the alcohol tastes like piss, the food is barely decent when it’s not expired, and the walls grow mold. But she's here. They all want her, but no one touches her. She’s broken, they all know that. They might be a bunch of heartless assholes, but they have principles. And Lya is off-limits. Her last boyfriend used to beat her up to a pulp, she still has a scar running down the side of her face. It doesn't take away from her beauty, but it drives him mad with rage.  
One night he was taking a piss behind the bar – mind you the alley’s hygiene is better than the loo inside – he saw the guy slap her, and felt the irrepressible urge to externalize his rage on the asshole’s face, so he did. Repeatedly, until he was the one lying on the ground, pissing himself. They’ve been friends ever since. She listens to his stupid jokes, gives him the best food, stops pouring drinks when she thinks he’s too drunk and smiles at him. She smiles so brightly he feels like a little boy in a candy store, hopeful and fearless.  
She looks out of place in this dirty joint full of heartless assholes, like a porcelain doll forgotten in a construction site, but she’s one of them: damaged. They don’t want to break her, they can all see the cracks in her porcelain skin, so no one touches her. They just pretend, pretend they have a chance, pretend they’re good enough for her. They even play this game where the last guy standing can ask her out. They drink until they either pass out or leave, and only one guy is left. The winner never asks her out, but still, they come every night to drink and dream. 
***** 
I always start with small incisions, quick and superficial. It stings just a little, but not too much. The most important thing is not the pain or the screaming, it’s the fear, the anticipation. It’s a wholesome experience: he gets to feel, see, and smell all of it. People often forget to mention the smell, iron and urea, blood and piss. The mix elicits a primal reaction: run, it says, run. But he can’t. 
*****
It’s Monday and Thancred has an appointment with the third victim’s wife. She looks vaguely familiar, must be from the file or the guy’s belongings. The murderer never bothered to hide his victim's identity. Hell, they even leave a special box for passports and other personal stuff. So yeah, she looks familiar, but he’s been in Ul’dah for a while, so it’s not a surprise. What he can’t stand is the way she's fidgeting on her chair. 
Thancred doesn’t like when the witness fidgets because a regular cop would think ‘hum, that’s suspicious'. Thancred tried being a regular cop once, wasn’t for him, so he stopped, started being an asshole instead with some instinct sprinkled on top, it was a wholesale price. Still, the fidgeting is annoying. And she still looks familiar, more than she should from just a file picture. Thancred can’t put his finger on it. Maybe he fucked her once. He was kind of a womanizer before his life went to shit, before Lahabrea. It doesn’t explain why she’s so nervous, or why she keeps nervously rubbing her arms. Nor does it explain the five layers of clothes. It’s at least 35° out, and she’s out in the sun with a freaking turtleneck. The outrageous makeup has to be the icing on the cake. 
And that’s when it hits him. He knows her, but not from the file, or a one-night stand. She’s from Lya’s support group for battered women. That’s why she’s nervous. Not because he’s her former lover, not even because he’s a cop, but because he’s a man. That’s why number 3’s dead: he was trash like the rest.
"Excuse me for a few minutes."
Thancred gets up and exits the room, leaving the widow alone. He spots Minfilia across the room and strides towards her.
"Hey Min, I'm gonna need you to take this one."
"Why?", she teases, "finally found a widow impervious to your charms?"
"Pretty sure our so-called victim wasn't the loving husband he owed to be."
Understanding flashes on her face, she drops the file she was reading on her desk and follows him to the interrogation room. Relief washes over the widow’s face when she sees Minfilia.
“This is my colleague, Detective Warde. She’s going to take it from here.”
Then he’s out again, leaving the two women alone. He goes to his desk while Min does her thing, and looks for the victim’s name in the database. He doesn’t need to watch Min do her work, he trusts her to get the answers they need. The petite blonde has great people skills, and she’s one of the good ones. She's so good, it's hard not to hate her. He doesn't though, never did, never will. 
She’s one of the few friends he has left, one of the few people to put up with his bullshit after Lahabrea's "incident". He loves her like the little sister he never had, and more than anything he respects her. She's a good friend and a good cop, something this city sorely lacks. Rhabdan runs a tight ship as chief of police, but there's always a few bad apples in the bunch, not Min though. She's one of the good ones, not some disillusioned asshole like him. It's hard to be hopeful in a city like Ul'dah where being rich means one can escape any form of responsibility. Like number 3 here. His wife's medical record is a testament to his behavior: bruised face, broken ribs, even lacerations. It's a miracle the woman is still alive. But her in-laws are rich, and influential: Lolorito's people. That's why Thancred is not so sure he wants to catch the killer, not when they're doing what he's not free to do himself.
When Minfilia is done with the interrogation, she motions for him to join her in the break room. She confirms what Thancred already knows: the guy was an asshole.
He needs a fucking drink. 
*****
First I remove his dick, not like he’s gonna need it anymore. I do this slowly, very slowly. I want him to suffer. This is also what the mirror on the ceiling is for, and the tape on the eyelids, no escape. He must see everything and especially hear everything, the slightest tear of his flesh, the sound of his blood dripping on the sanitized tiles, the scalpel cutting his flesh, my slow breathing. The shock of emasculation makes him pass out. It’s okay, we have all the time. I cauterize his wound, I don't want him to bleed out and die. Not yet.  
*****
Another corpse: emasculated, dismembered, and wrapped up like his buddies. 
Thancred lights another cigarette and crouches down in front of the jar containing the head. He knows this face, he broke that nose: Lya's ex. Suddenly the crime scene doesn't seem ugly anymore, it shines with glitter and shit. It makes him happy to see that stupid face in a jar, means he won't be a problem for Lya anymore. He's also the second "victim" who likes to take out his anger on women, there has to be something there. Thancred needs to take another look at the first three victims, they can't be all that clean.  
He ponders whether he should tell Lya about this. Would that make her happy? It might make her feel better, safer. "By the way, the asshole who used to beat you up is dead, a serial killer took care of it." 
Yeah. Maybe he needed to work on his speech. 
It’s just him and the old Bernie now, playing that secret game of theirs. The old man sends him a dirty look before finally getting up. Thancred wins tonight, and he plans on taking her out for real, not just in his head. It's a lucky day after all, maybe she'll say yes.   
The bar is empty that time around. ‘Good’ he thinks, 'Her smiles will all be mine.'
She’s smiling more than usual, she looks happy even, so he decides not to say anything. She smiles, but she’s seldom happy, no point in ruining the mood. The asshole will be just as dead tomorrow. So he sits at the bar to be closer to her, and drinks while he tells her stupid nonsense. One drink, then a second, and finally a whole bottle.
*****
He waking up again, and we’re back in business. Killing a man isn’t easy work, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. My mom used to tell me: “When things get hard, just put them in different boxes and deal with them one at a time.” So I do just that: I cut him into small pieces, wrap them up, put them in nice little jars.
First his right arm, the one he used to slap his women. I cut just below the elbow, he screams like a piglet being bled out. Then his left arm, all the way up to the shoulder, his legs, and finally his head. 
*****
He wakes up to an empty room. Of course, she’s not here, why would she? She’s in his fantasy, not in his reality. It was such a vivid dream, it left him hard and wanting. He buries his face in the sheets, and he can almost smell her. As if dreams could leave a scent behind. Fucking morning wood. He needs release and a shower, but first, he wants a smoke.
He dreams of Lya that night.
She's riding him like a fierce amazon, her breasts moving to the rhythm of their bodies. Everything about her is erotic, her hungry gaze, her mischievous smile. That smile excites him as much as it soothes him. Fuck, he doesn't want to get out of this dream, but his alarm rings, and the dream is gone.
He walks to the kitchen naked, he lives alone and doesn’t give a fuck about flashing his neighbors. She’s standing in his kitchen, a coffee mug in hand. She’s wearing one of his shirts; it’s a bit too big for her, but too short to be decent. She’s so fucking beautiful wearing his clothes, if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. And then he remembers everything.
She kissed him outside the restaurant, he wouldn’t have dared, but she kissed him. They ended up at his place. They made love on his couch, in the shower, in his bed. He didn’t fuck her, no, he worshiped her: kissed every inch of her skin, licked every freckle. He prayed to her body like a mad man, as much as he could, as much as she let him.
She said yes.
All the alcohol made his brain soft and mushy, but he remembers now. He helped her close the bar, and they went to that new place near his precinct. The one that stays open until 3 am. They talked, he told her he was a cop, she said she knew. It was written in the way he moved, in the way others moved around him. They talked all night long, and she smiled. Gods, that freaking smile got him good. They talked so much, they got kicked out. 
He must look like a fucking idiot now, with that surprised look on his face and his hard cock because she bursts out laughing. A laugh that explodes like fireworks and ricochets against the walls of his apartment, leaving notes of bright colors everywhere. It's crazy how beautiful she is when she laughs. He wants her, needs her.
He strides towards her, lifts her off the floor, and drops her off her gently on the kitchen table. He doesn’t want to break her, doesn’t want to worsen the cracks in her porcelain skin. Then he makes love to her, in the middle of his kitchen, with the blinds open for the world to see. Because he can, because she wants him as much as he wants her. 
***** 
His instinct about the victims being trash was right. 
After some heavy digging in the first two victims’ past, he finds what he needs. Victim number one’s a serial rapist: used to slip roofies in women’s drink, raped them, and filmed the whole thing, threatening to release the tapes if they tried to report him. Not that they would, the guy was filthy rich, another one of Ul’dah’s “cream of the crop”, these women knew they didn’t have a chance to see justice. If it wasn’t for his “barely legal” deep dive in the guy’s personal belongings - he might have stolen his computer after breaking into his parents’ house - Thancred wouldn’t even know about it.
Victim number 2 was no better, he had a long history of domestic violence and child abuse, but no open case, not even a complaint. Now adding number 3 and Lya’s ex to the list… these guys all deserved to die like pigs. He should say it, should even think like that, but he does. He doesn’t even want to catch the culprit, for all he cares they should be free to rid the city of these predators. Should even get paid for doing public service.
Looking at the so-called victim’s file drives him mad with rage. He wants to drink, but more than anything he needs to see Lya; He can even pretend to do police work while he’s at it. She knows at least one of the women, she’s a victim herself, maybe she knows more. 
The Quicksand is packed. He has to share her smile and his time, it annoys him, but it's okay. Tonight she will be his, and his alone. He sits at the bar, she smiles at him, and he’s not mad anymore. He orders whiskey, then another, and another. After the third glass, the rush finally dies down, and they can talk. He tells her about his investigation, and tells her about her ex. She's a little shaken up, but it's okay, she is strong. 
He shows her pictures of the victims, not the one from the autopsy, he’s not that stupid, pretty pictures with happy smiles and perfect lives. Moments of happiness he knows to be fake. He asks her if she knows the victims or their wives, through her support group, or by word of mouth. She nods. She knows the wives of 2 and 3, she talks to them often. She recognizes the last victim, of course, he was her monster. 
Thancred’s curious to know what she thinks about all this, that’s the cop in him, but he’s also worried about how it’ll affect her.
“I don't know… well I do. I know I shouldn't be happy, but I am,” she admits. “I'm a little less afraid.”
He hates that she feels guilty.
“I’m glad he’s dead,” he states, hoping she’ll feel relieved that those words are coming from him. “Now, I know he won’t  prowl you around anymore.”
She smiles softly, and he has the urge to make love to her on the bar, in front of everyone. But he won’t, Lya is a goddess, not a girl who gets fucked in a bar. He’s going to buy her flowers, and maybe a nice bottle of wine. He might even light some candles to set the mood, then he’s gonna make love to her, again and again until they both pass out in blissful exhaustion.
*****
I dispose of his body in one of the city’s garbage dumps. It’s the perfect place to get rid of a body. And this open sky trash dump is perfect for me: exactly what this trash deserves. The people who live here all look dead, the only thing that sets them apart from my guy is the steady movement of their hearts. That, and the fact that they’re all in one piece, for the most part.
*****
Reports come back on Lya’s ex.
Toxicology’s clean, no head trauma either, he wasn’t drugged or incapacitated like the others. He might have known his assailant. The rest of the report looks similar at first glance, cuts all over the body, severed limbs, emasculation, beheading. It’s the same MO but somehow it feels messier: the body shows hesitation marks, the cuts are deeper, meant to hurt... it feels more personal, like an act of revenge. 
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 
*****
He opens up his flat’s door and practically runs towards the kitchen. He needs a drink before seeing Lya. It can’t be her, when she smiles the ground shakes, she turns wolves into lambs. She’s so small, with soft porcelain skin, tiny hands… It can’t be her, yet his guts tell him otherwise.
He’s halfway in the kitchen when he spots her. She’s waiting for him, his backup gun in those tiny hands of hers. When he dreamt of coming home to her that’s not what he had in mind.
 She’s smiling at him, a sad little smile because she doesn’t want to kill him, not really. He might be an asshole but he doesn’t hurt women. Maybe she likes him too. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. It’s stupid but he still wants to throw himself in her arms. It’s stupid because she’s going to kill him. 
She’s gonna try anyway. 
*****
Gunshots echo in the room, followed by the loud thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground.
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teamhawkeye · 3 years
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unfiltered and massively spoiler filled thoughts on RE8 below the cut [MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD]:
The Good
The first half of the game
The initial village segment and the castle portion and even “the house in the mist” sections were all pretty taut and well put together. i loved exploring the castle - was more than a little disappointed that you get locked out after Alcina’s boss fight, i didn’t explore it fully D: - and the unexpected terror of Donna’s section really pulled me out of the sense of comfort i had started to fall into, right as i was saying to myself “this hasn’t been scary at all”
The return of some series high notes
Revisiting things in previous Resident Evil games is not always a bad thing. I really enjoyed the return of weapon customization and treasures, those were aspects i enjoyed in RE4 and RE5. The return of the Merchant, in the form of the Duke, was welcome as well. The Duke is a G - he’s a good guy and i respected him most
Graphics, scenery, etc.
It’s a pretty game to look at, there’s no getting around that. I liked the set pieces, especially the Castle portion
Ammo crafting
Now this was something i greatly enjoyed. There are often times you get too much ammo for the gun you use least or you run out of ammo in harder difficulty levels. Being able to collect scrap material and make your own ammo was a very nice addition that i greatly appreciated
The Bad
(some of these are going to be personal opinions about the storytelling and narrative choices, so be prepared for that)
Pacing and direction
RE7 was a return to the series’ “roots”: so back to the footnotes of RE1 and RE2. If that was the case with 7, then RE8 did a speed run of RE3, Code Veronica, RE4, RE5, and RE6 all at once.
I know i said earlier revisiting hallmarks from previous games isn’t a bad thing, and it’s not - but while RE7 did it masterfully with sticking to mainly RE1 and RE2 and pulling in just a few old hallmarks, RE8 went absolutely buck wild in trying to cram in as many past enemy types and encounters as possible. A callback to one standout enemy is one thing, ala the Stalker type that is Mr. X, Nemesis, and Ustanak that Lady Dimitrescu also serves as...but then also the giant water monster from RE4, the Executioner of RE5, the “chainsaw” enemies (here, drills instead) of RE4, RE5, and RE6. hell, even the Lycans after a time started to feel very Las Plagas-esque in their ability to use weapons and track and coordinate. And you can’t tell me you didn’t see very similar designs/similarities between Miranda’s boss battle that you did with Alexia’s in Code Veronica...
The pacing started off solid with the initial few segments, but quickly seemed to lose its footing once it oscillated violently between wildly different styles of play and storytelling and didn’t regain its stride the rest of the game. One moment, it’s classic RE. The next, it’s P.T. + Outlast. The next, back to “a mash up of action and horror, leaning more on action” styles of RE4 + RE5. Then the finale straight up started to feel like an entirely different game before you reached that final boss fight - it felt like i was jerked in one direction one minute, and a completely different one the next
There is a lot of exposition and explaining that doesn’t happen until legit the last 45 or so minutes. Not new for the series to withhold information until the back half of the game, but there was legit almost no build up to the very sudden plot bombs that got dropped successively in the last throes of the story. Previous games rewarded you with fragments at a fairly even pace - i felt like all of RE8′s story gets dropped on you in a single monologue and a handful of notes just before the endgame
I’m not even gonna go that deep into how hard it was to keep up with all the different infection methods the mold managed to have - it was just A Lot and i’ve played a lot of Resident Evil in the past, so i know just how many different ways a single pathogen can have on humans and animals...and it still felt excessive
I honestly felt like the third segment with Moreau wasn’t even necessary. they really played up these “four lords” to not have them do a whole lot of anything. and i know there’s always been mini bosses before you actually reach the final Big Bad, but seriously, Moreau’s segment can be blitzed through in a span of 20 minutes or so first playthrough. the castle segment with Dimitrescu was solid, the house segment with Donna was nightmare fuel, lmfao, but still engaging and challenging. by the time you get to the third and sprint right through, you’re left wondering what the point of it even was. you can tell that was the least cared about narrative arc in the whole story
A giant point of note is that a huge chunk of RE8′s story could have been avoided or altered had Chris just actually fucking spoken to Ethan at the start about what the fuck was going on. And for him not to is completely unlike Chris past RE5 and RE6, that made no narrative sense whatsoever. Just another opportunity to pile on some more trauma and guilt onto Chris’ shoulders by making him “responsible” for Ethan being pushed to far and dying as a result
“Ethan actually ‘died’ when first meeting Jack Baker and was completely taken over by mold, it’s a big secret to everyone but Mia. also, he’s gone too far, there’s no saving him, he had to die”
You’re going to tell me that Ethan still being infected or impacted by the mold from RE7 is some big secret??? did the BSAA not run tests on him and Mia to make sure they were back to normal levels??? how do they not know?!? the government was able to figure out that Sherry’s exposure to the G Virus altered her permanently and study her healing capabilities, how the fuck was that not the same with Ethan???
Also, how is it that the mold’s impact on him is so much higher? he was at the Baker estate for like, 2 days max and while, yes, he did sustain some serious damage, he never fell prey to Eveline’s control and showed absolutely no signs of infection outside of being able to heal/use his hand after it was chopped off. and depending on how you played RE7, the only major injury he sustains aside from probable bruising or broken bones is that hand being cut off as mentioned before
You’re also going to tell me of the number of Resident Evil characters who have been infected with viruses and parasites and what have you and have been cured or had the negative effects negated, Ethan was the only one “too far gone” to be saved??? Jill got infected with T Virus, Claire has been infected by two separate viruses, Leon has survived a parasite infection, both Zoe and Mia were exposed to mold for years and seem to be okay...why is it that Ethan was the only one who couldn’t be saved? because he “died”? how in the world did he get infected so fast - he’d been there an hour, max! - that he was able to be revived in the first place and it wasn’t even noticeable that he had changed at all???
“the BSAA can’t be trusted anymore, they’re involved in shady shit, like deploying bioweapons into battle”
we already went through this a bit back in Revelations 1 with the blackmailed director and double agents. but to full on go “well, the entire organization is now dirty” after it was legit founded by Chris, Jill, and Barry to combat bioterrorism really sits wrong with me. all i can think is that they are running out of villains at this point and now are poising the BSAA to be a Big Bad in the future. which, again, doesn’t sit right with me
Retconning
Tying Ozwell E. Spencer back to Miranda wasn’t such a huge dealbreaker for me, but it is a bit obnoxious to now have to go back and amend “he came up with the idea for Umbrella and its pursuits with Marcus and Ashford, its other founding members” to “well, he didn’t actually come up with the idea for Umbrella and its research with Marcus and Ashford, he already had the idea from his time spent with Miranda uwu”
More so, the retconning around Eveline is a bit of a pain in the ass. So she only came about as a result of Miranda crossing paths with the Connections and giving them some of her mold to work with? And Eveline was only a failed experiment to Miranda in her attempt to be able to transfer her daughter’s essence/subconscious/whatever into a living child? And there are pictures of ‘10 year old” Eveline in Miranda’s possession - how come Evie didn’t have any memory of her at all (speaking of Evie, why the fuck did she appear in 8 briefly as a hallucination [?] to explain to Ethan his condition???)
How are you going to try and tell me that some village from prior to the 19th century was using the “Umbrella” symbol and Spencer just snatched it for himself? that was just stupid, honestly - even more stupid how Ethan didn’t recognize the symbol, despite flying off in a Blue UMBRELLA helicopter at the end of RE7
Mocap and cutscenes
Was it just me or did parts of this game look severely unpolished compared to RE7??? some parts looked good - like the Dimitresus all seemed to be rendered very well. It became very noticeable to me in the back half of the game, mainly with Chris and Mia, but a little with Heisenberg too, where their mouths didn’t match up with the dialogue a lot and they looked a lot less put together than previous scenes and characters. Mia in particular, i was struck by how much better her mocap seemed in RE7 compared to RE8. Maybe because there was a bigger ensemble cast in 8 that they spread themselves a little too thin in that regard?
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