#i think he likes adam needing him so wholly and when adam’s unable to see through the clouds in his mind and lawrence gets to be a hero | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jjungkooksthighs · 3 years

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (8)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 7.8k we really can’t ever have a short chapter around here smh

Summary: Alacrity augments you in the aftermath of your alpha’s perfervid performance and in his subsequent summoning of you, neither of you can stave off sin from overwhelming you in the desire for each other that consumingly captures the wolf and his mate.

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, dirty talk (lbr I love that shit), praising, fingering (just a smidge), grinding, fellatio (cock sucking), cock worship (just a bit), breast/nipple play, nipping, sucking, begging, muscle kink, scratching, cum eating, manhandling, cursing, wet and messy sex (kind of), size kink, hair pulling, impreg kink, dual orgasms

A/N: So, this chapter took a bit longer to get out due to graduate applications, schoolwork and inclement weather that took out my Wi-Fi, lol. It also went through a series of deletions because I felt self-conscious after the original posting of chapter seven, but eventually, it came along to what I had pictured in my mind despite the rework to the style of this chapter that I hoped to make easier for you guys to read with lessened uses of terminology/vocabulary. Also, I’m not the best at writing this type of smut, so please go easy on me!

Oh, and the gif that you guys see at the top? That’s Jungkook’s outfit inspiration for what he wears at the end of the chapter. :)

As always, please share with me your thoughts about my work! There is no greater reward to writing than seeing what your readers think of what you spent so much time to create. I am eager to know what you guys make of my story, so please don’t hesitate to let me know what your thoughts are because I love to hear it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Meekness muddies you in the solid substratum of it that settles over your throat as you try to keep from liquifying under your alpha’s scorching gaze that leaves no part of you unscoured by its high heat.

It muffles you to a mutter as you struggle to swallow what little spittle has not dried up in your mouth at the parching sight of him as you manage, “Alpha….what are you doing?”

There had been something else you’d wanted to ask him, but in the roots that tangle thoughts around him, your perception is twisted by your peripheral field that extends only for the half nude man that looks fixedly at you.

Jungkook smirks before cocking his head to the side in quick movement in a display of avid amusement before he utters, “Is it not obvious to you, pretty? I’m stripping and shedding myself of the clothing I wore to entice you. It has served its purpose,” He turns to pierce you with a dark glare as he leans back on the wooden table behind him, the burled brawn of his arms bearing his weight as he leans back on them while his supple skin shines with the sweat that sluices it as he taunts, “I no longer require them here. Others may look at me, but no one but you, my mate, shall ever be able to touch me.”

You whine a that, your silver irises interspersed with golden streaks shimmering over him as they sliver down from perfectly plump lips that have spoken such sweet nothings to you and bedecked you in his brand as your hand absentmindedly rises to lay over the purpled petal he’d made ascend amidst the garden of you in his efforts to tend to his terrace.

You trail your visage over to the Adam’s apple that juts proudly out from the column of his neck, an irrational urge sprouting to life within you in the need to nip it for daring to sweetly stick out like the ripest berry from the sturdiest stem you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

You lick at your dried lips that are not slicked against the tongue that tries to wet them from the arid desert of your mouth that your alpha radiates away from you as your sight slides lower until it settles over the bodacious bough of his chest that branches brashly with muscles along every inch of him, your fingers twitching in remembrance of how strong and sinewy he’d been under your digits as you’d brushed them against him.

When your sight drops along the thatched thighs that the fabric strains stiffly against in its stretch over them, a picturesque memory of what you’d done atop of one of them paints colorfully itself in your mind.

Its vibrant vividity has you biting your tongue to keep from releasing another sound as your cheeks turn themselves red like the rose you are to him while your alpha grins at the vivacious view of you, wholly intrigued by the spectacle that is you as you struggle against the slump that soon has you falling back against the door as you whimper in the damning distance between you and your alpha that takes him away from you far too much.

“Jungkook,” you imploringly plead.

Your alpha chuckles at that to push off the vanity behind him with no effort at all before he strides over to the chaise lounge made from the leather of aged cattle against the timbered wall. He is slow in the languid lowering of himself over it, his back resting against the arm of the piece of furniture as he husks, “Bring yourself over to me, pretty,” his voice deepens before one hand rises, his fingers curling inward in a come-hither motion that has your heart stuttering in the excitement electrifying it as he orders, “Come and sit on your alpha’s lap, my omega, and tell to me all that you thought of my performance that was devoted solely to you.”

In the scarlet moonlight crimson as blood that drips like wax from a never burning candle’s wick from the glass window behind him, the color sinfully stains him in a dangerous sheen of a garnet glow that emanates effervescently off him in everything that promises impurity as his eyes glint goadingly at you from around the blackened wisps of his locks that have fallen around them.

As a creature that has only known chastity’s constraining shackles your whole life in your wait for your mate, you very much want them to be crushed under your alpha’s heel, for he has already caused them to crack amidst the sweet pleasure he’s delivered to you in the forest and in the sanctity of your own chambers.

As if caught in his unyielding undercurrent, your body moves under his watery sway that sweeps you forth. Perhaps it is the omega in you that is utterly unable to resist temptation taking its form in Jungkook. Maybe it is the inescapably inexorable draw to him that paws at you to be near to him lest you incur its fangs if he is absent and away from you.

Conceivably, it could be both that have you pad forward without pause as he watches you with interest while you move, his golden irises never drifting from your own as a wave of heat falls over them and, in your undertow he’s surrounded you in, it washes over you, too.

Once you stand before him, he makes a sound of appreciation as he appraises you attentively.

One hand sinks under the furs that hide you from him, each finger suggestively sidling up along your waist while the other palm joins it on the other side as you close your eyes while your arms wrap around his muscled shoulders, his calloused and strong digits dipping deliciously over your soft skin as he hums, “Mmm, that’s a good girl. I like it when you’re obedient like this. You’re so receptive to me already, pretty,” His hands sensuously slide downward, his fingers streaming outward like a consumingly surrounding sea that washes you over in his thrilling touch while he splays his legs out before, all in one fluid motion, he pulls you forward until you fall like the tide over his hips as each of your legs pools on either side of him only for him to smirk as he amusedly muses, “So responsive to me, too, my mate. You do not resist me at all. You’re so willing to submit, aren’t you, sweetling?”

Not prepared for the sudden shift in position, you gasp in surprise, your eyes shooting open to be submerged by his golden irises beginning to seep with the licentious lust that dooms you in their dusky dimness. They beckon you to lose yourself in his deep depths, one hand diving under the thin terrain of your gown only for him to trickle the phalanges of his fingers along the soft skin of your leg. He’s unrushed and unhurried as his digits drip their warmth over you to flow over your ankle through his ascent upward, his digits oozing along aqueously while his fingers spread outward like a tributary that must get its fill as he drags them ceaselessly along.

Your breath wells up in your lungs in the anticipation that swims there and when his hand torturously trails over your thigh only to brutishly, brutally halt his ministrations, that’s when you whine, your arms tightening around him as you lean forward to lay your forehead against his own as you whisper, “Please, alpha.”

Your alpha croons, his index finger running in circles along the innermost part of your leg that borders along the sex that has not stopped crying for him since his performance as he says, “I know what you want, pretty. Do you want your alpha to take care of you again like I did in the forest? It would be so easy. I could make you fall apart so quickly with how readily you receive me, my mate,” His digit dribbles impossibly closer to where you want him most, a shaky breath falling from your lips as one of your own hands veers down over his chiseled chest, catching on all the defined muscles that ripple in its wake before it settles over his heart that beats briskly in the same time as your own that instantly stammers when his finger stops once more as you whimper out while your alpha’s eyes narrow, “Much as I wish to give to you what I know you desire, you’re going to answer to me before I do anything else, pretty. You have such a pretty voice. Use it for me, my mate.”

Your irises slip below to his lips that move so very precariously with how close you are to them and an urge soaks you to feel them, your other hand dowsing him in your touch as you draggle it along the back of his nape and up along his neck until your fingers tentatively trace the outline of them. You etch his rounder and fuller lower lip into your memory as you draw your digit around the upper one, entirely entranced by the cupid’s bow that crowns the middle of his top lip and the way that a long, pink tongue is swift to poke out of the mouth he parts for you in your exploration of him.

He laves it first along the bottom one to carefully coat it in saliva that gleams against the soft firelight that licks at your alpha from the corner of the chamber and when he dares to lap the muscle along the underside of your finger at the same time the palm on your thigh trails forbiddingly forth to cup your womanhood, you mewl.

The lewd sight stirs within you a hunger for that which only your alpha can sate.

It is as if his tongue are hands are the keys that unlocks the cage of words in your mind that he’d been the one to padlock there as you breathe, “I would very much like that, but you’ve been so good to me. You made me feel so wonderful in the forest and even dedicated that stunning performance to me that made me fall impossibly harder for you, my alpha,” you breathily profess while you pigment the column of his neck with the stain of your lips as you lightly graze your teeth along the notch you’d been staring at before to whisper, “You were so mesmerizing up on that stage while you danced for me. I’ve never seen a creature as enchanting as you were,” the hand that you’d left over his heart begins its journey anew as you veer toward the bulge in his pants that he unabashedly displays to you while you offer, “You’ve done so many other things that have exhibited your sentiments for me and I want to give you something in return. Please, let me show to you how special you make me feel, Jungkook.”

Your hand has barely even lain itself over his member that hardens at your very words before there’s a growl, your alpha’s hand extricating itself from between your legs to encircle around your dainty wrist as he roughly pulls it up and between the two of you before he warns, “Do not toy with me, my omega. Once you start, you’re going to finish, yeah? I can only control myself so much with you looking so goddamn beautiful for me while you’re on my lap like this.”

You lick your lips to whisper, “I have no intentions of playing with you, Jungkook. I only wish to please my alpha if he will allow me to indulge in him like I’ve wanted to for so very long,” you fully seat yourself on him, your clothed sex rubbing against him as you grind atop him while the hand on your waist bunches the fabric around it to draw it up and away from you to ease your access as your head dips down so that you can imbibe yourself of his taste after being denied it in the woodland, “I’m so parched, alpha…please, help me. You’re the only one that can.”

The moment your mouth ghosts over the sternocleidomastoid muscle along his neck and your breath warmly whisks itself over him, he releases you only for his hand to tangle in your hair as he rasps, “That’s right, my mate. No one but me can quench you like I can. You want to satisfy me, pretty?” His hips impetuously impulse upward against your own as he hisses, “Do it, then. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Needing no further coaxing, you press your lips against him in a chaste, short osculation that earns a rumble from his throat in a sound that has you smiling against him as you string a line of wet kisses over him, your hips rolling atop the tented bulge that hardens inconceivably more under you as you moan at the delicious friction that cascades through you with every eddy of your hips along his member that is all too fast to try to escape his trousers.

Raptness for you floods his irises and it swells around you until you take one of his hands to delve under the furs that conceal you from him, his head falling back when you swirl your sex over him while you slide his fingers over the exposed sliver of skin between your breasts, his digits diving under the thin material of your bodice to palm at your tit as you sigh in satisfaction at the way his long, slender fingers sinfully swathe you in their hold.

Your alpha husks, “Gods, these tits were fucking made for this. They were made for me.”

“Yes, alpha…all for you,” you breathe as he kneads at your tit while you continue your expedition along the mountainous terrain of his chest and when he brings his lip between his teeth at the sight of your hooded gaze as you stare hungrily back at him, he watches the way that your irises flick toward the peaked summit of the same nipple that had taunted you from under the enclosure of the sheer shirt he’d worn to agonizingly afflict you earlier.

When you glance back at his eyes for permission, they flash dangerously at you and with a swivel of your hips that has him momentarily shutting his eyes, you seize your opportunity and enclose your mouth around the dark nipple to suckle at him only to earn a guttural groan from him as his back bows inward while his fingers dig into your hip at the same time that the digits in your hair curl inward to pull tightly as he utters, “Fuck, pretty. That feels amazing. Keep going, my omega. You’re making your alpha feel so good.”

Your wolf preens at the praise, your tongue daubing his tender areola in kittenish licks as you suction the sensitive skin between your lips, your other hand pawing at his pectoral while his thumb flitters over your own nipple only to have you quicken your pace as he strums you like an instrument atop of him.

You soon shift your attention to the other neglected bud, your lips enveloping him as he grunts with the way that you scuff your nails down his swollen peak while you twirl your tongue along the abandoned areola.

Distracted by your ministrations to his chest, your alpha does notice the way your hand seeps down his chest until it bears down over the fully hardened member to have him buck from underneath you. The movement jostles you atop him and, accidently, you nip at him only for him to pinch your own nipple between his fingers in punishment as you whimper.

Through it all, your hips do not cease their undulations over him as they continue to rotate rapturously around him, the pleasure too sweetly succulent as it glazes over you the longer that you lather yourself on him.

You are steadfast in your venturous voyage to discover more of your alpha as you frisk your tongue along the underside of his pec before continuing your descent toward the steep sierra that rises tall between his legs.

You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at his now engorged, edematous buds, but the fingers in your hair constrict around you to condense your vision only to golden irises that flare fiercely at you when he rumbles out, “Up here, pretty. I want to see your eyes while you use your mouth on me.”

“Yes, alpha,” you obediently reply as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss over each of the eight abdominal muscles that comprise an impressive slew of sinew over the skin of his belly.

With the choker clasped around your neck, you can only go so far before it unforgivingly cuts into you and with one last sweep of your tongue along the ridges between his abs, you rise to plant your hands on his chest as he rolls your nipple expertly between two fingers, a moan tumbling from your lips as you grind with fervor over him.

Wanting him to feel just as pleasured as you are, you lay your palm flat over him, your fingers furling around him to give him a small squeeze that earns a groan him that is drawn out when you lean forward to drag your lips along the underside of his jaw that he presents to you under the light, soft brush of your mouth over him.

One of his hands finds itself under your chin, two fingers grasping your jaw as he pulls your chin up while he husks, “You really do want to please me, don’t you, pretty? If you want me that bad,” he sits up with you still sat on his lap, his eyes scintillating lethally as the pad of his thumb slides up to nudge along your lip, your saliva dripping and coating the digit that he uses to penetrate the warmth of your mouth that you close around him as he growls, “Get on your knees and take this cock into your mouth. Drink from me until you’re so full of me that you won’t wish for anything else to feed that thirsting desire within you.”

Under his command that sidles swelteringly through golden irises from under his locks, you shakily exhale when he extracts his finger from your mouth, each of you watching the way your spittle clasps itself to him before breaking off and falling between you.

You whine at the loss of him, but you know that you won’t leave you empty for long and the thought energetically bounds through you like a sylph springing through the air.

He easily lifts you from his lap and sets you on the carpeted floor, your limbs far too weak to support your weight without him as he helps you to fold your legs under you so that you sit on your heels like he’d ordered you to do.

A lagoon of fabric from your skirts profoundly puddles and spills outward around you as you stare at the bloated bulge in his trousers, your salivary glands secreting spit as your mouth waters at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Your fingers fiddle with the linen lining the end of your alpha’s trousers, however, as diffidence coils around your ribs.

You have never pleasured a man with your mouth before, for it is a rule that such intimate practices are not to be engaged in unless a wolf has presented as either an alpha, omega or beta.

At your hesitance that is made palpable in the way that you chew at your lip, your alpha softens if only for a moment as he hunches over you, both hands laying along the sides of your jaw as his tone lightens when he asks, “What is it, pretty? Are you having second thoughts? It’s alright if you are. I would never have you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

His support only makes you want him more, for there is care that he’s imbued innately in each word that flowers within you under his reaching radiance.

His irises search your own beseechingly and you place your own palm atop of his as your cheeks redden with embarrassment that shyly quiets you to a whisper as you tentatively confess, “It’s just…it’s just that I’ve, well…I’ve never done this before. I want to satisfy you, alpha, but I just don’t know if I’ll be good at it or if I’ll even make you feel half as fulfilled as you did for me in the forest.”

Your alpha only smirks at that, his expression darkening damningly as understanding shadows him while he utters, “All the better for me, my omega,” He turns his hand to capture your fingers between his own as your digits intertwine with his own as he drifts your joined hands toward his weeping member, “The only cock you will learn to fuck with that little mouth of yours will be mine. You shall only know my knot on your tongue. I alone will gladly teach and instruct you on how to pleasure your mate, pretty.”

Familiar fire ignites in you as his promises plunder your being with anticipation. He strews your hand just above where his tip leaks through the linen before, with a scalding glance, one of his palms is crossed over the other and without pause, he trails them seductively slow up his thigh in a path that will drive him right where he needs it.

You watch, entirely engrossed, as fingers are rubbed against his member, a heaved breath forcing itself through ajar lips that follow with a clenched jaw as he rasps, “The first thing you would want to do is get me hard like this, pretty. I don’t have to be for you to take me in your mouth, but it’s better if you, ah-“ you spare no time in replacing his hands with one of your own, your fingers stroking him through the fabric as he groans, “-Yes, pretty, just like that. Shit. Take my cock out now. The pleasure is increased tenfold when there are no barriers that bar you from me.”

You obey, your breath hitching at his considerably large size once again as your alpha makes quick work of his soiled trousers.

Your ardent awaitment of him is not long when he sheds the last piece of clothing he’d had only for your eyes to widen as large as stars at the sight that greets you.

Your eyes widen in wonderment as you quietly gasp, “Alpha, it’s… it’s enormous. You’re magnificent, but,” you gulp as you stare, “do you think that will fit?”

Your alpha caresses your jaw as he coos, “It will fit if I wish it to. You were designed and created for me by the moon above, pretty. I know you can take me.”

Nestled between thick thighs, his sizeable shaft arcs upward like a crescent moon with constellated veins spanning through the sky of his skin, the bulbous head framing it all where it hovers over his abdominals like a planet that you’d very much like to explore yet have never seen before.

“Still, how are you even larger than before, Jungkook?” You blurt, your fingers dipping down to gingerly pad over him in your fascination of his behemoth dimensions as he bites down on his tongue to keep from bucking underneath you, for he does not want to startle you.

Between his legs, you stare at him with the eyes of a doe rather than a wolf from your inexperience that tucks your tail between your legs and he is intent on ensuring that nothing will deter you from venturing out into the field where he waits anxiously for you.

“This is what you do to me, pretty. You make me like this, for it is my need for you that makes me so much bigger to you than before. I have been denied of you for far too long, my omega,” his fingers enclose around your wrist as fervid fervor fills his irises before he orders, “Put your little hands around me, pretty. You can be as gentle, or as rough, as you wish.”

You do as he says, instantly wrapping your hands around him and then blinking innocently at him as you tilt your head to the side in question.

The moment your touch titillates him, his brows pull together in concentration, for your fingers are far smaller and more delicate than his own in their timidity that holds them back.

Despite it all, you are a sight that is far too beautiful to behold as he encourages, “That’s it, my omega. Now, open wide and take me.”

Tentatively, you part your lips as each of your hands bring his member down to your gaping maw. The closer it gets to your mouth, the more colossal it towers over you. All it takes for you to gulp and push down the lump of apprehension in your throat is one glance up at your alpha, whose irises simmer over your own with the heat of the sun as he draws his lip between his teeth while he devours the vivid visage of you between his legs.

There’s so much you want to say to him, but right now, there’s only one thing that can possibly show to him what you feel for him.

When he finally breaches you and his heavy girth falls over your tongue, it is warm like the rest of him and engorged with the blood that rushes to it as you try to nestle him between your lips the best that you can.

He tastes of a musky tanginess that is mixed with a salty, briny tint. You find that it is not an unpleasant flavor.

Your walls contract around nothing when you watch his face contort to one born of pleasure in an accidental brush of your tongue along the underside of his shaft in your attempts to gorge yourself of more of him. Like this, his base is still grasped by each hand as he sinks his fingers into your tresses to urge you forward impossibly more.

Like this, he’s resplendently ravishing as he succumbs to the damned delirium that you are solely and wholly the bringer of.

You’re not sure if the human body was created for this purpose, but you do know that your alpha’s pleasure is the only thing that matters to you now. There’s a feral rawness in him that has slept in him and you want to be the one to awaken it. You’ve always been a stubborn creature and you aren’t about to let unseeded unsurety stop you now when you can see the glimpses of the satisfaction you could grant him like he has for you.

There’s something so gratifying in knowing that you could be the source of his pleasure and so, you experimentally swirl your tongue around his tip that sobs with precum as you allow him to plunge himself even deeper inside your mouth.

Your alpha’s head is thrown back at that as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, pretty. Gods, I knew you could do this. So fucking perfect me, my omega… my mate.”

Inch by impossible inch, your alpha penetrates you inconceivably as you lick at him like a cat starved of its water for days. The hand in your hair starts to push and pull you to and fro and you watch, captured by captivation, as your alpha’s breaths begin to become uneven and heave into pants as he stares heatedly at you.

“Use your hands, pretty. Touch me.” Your alpha husks and you obey, each of your hands constringing around what you can’t fit inside your mouth as you stroke him up and down, your fingers catching along the veins that you take care to caress as you squeeze in a vice-like grip his member that throbs under you.

Your alpha gives a grunt of approval, his back arching as his eyes screw shut under your ministrations as his lips part in pleasure.

Your confidence grows the longer that you lave at him, unsure of what you are doing but nonetheless spurred into action as your alpha clutches your hair between his fingers to secure you to him as you fleetingly flick your wet muscle against his sensitive glans while your alpha laments.

As you stare up at him, he is carnality’s manifestation in the way that the scarlet light erotically colors him in passion’s dangerous hue, his sculpted brows scrunched together under wild curls that curve voluptuously along his angular face.

Lost in him, you make the mistake of scraping your teeth against him only to earn a sharp hiss from him as his fingers tighten in your locks.

Breathless, your alpha’s eyes open while he grimaces, “Loosen your jaw, pretty girl. That hurts, yeah? Try not to graze me with those teeth of yours. I know you can do that, can’t you, sweetling?”

You pull off him with an apology already on your lips, “I’m sorry, alpha. I didn’t mean to harm you. I’ll be better for you, I promise.”

Your alpha coos, “You already are the best for me, pretty,” he brushes his knuckles under your mandible, “There is no one I would do this with beyond you. You’re mine and you will learn, my mate. I do not expect you to be perfect when this is your first time. You’ve been doing so well already, my omega. All you need to do is relax for me.”

Your wolf bays at his praise, affection for him blooming inside you as his words water you.

You heed your alpha’s command, your maw slackening as you guide him back between your lips. This time, you swallow him as far back as you can possibly guzzle him, your mouth flooded of all that is him as you whirl your tongue lasciviously around him.

Your fingers compress around his base while one hand, with renewed spirit, seeps over his balls as you fondle them, your alpha’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as you claw away at the last of his control to cause him to buck into your mouth, his cock driving itself even deeper down your throat until it buries itself so far back that it blocks your airway, hot tears quick to burn at the edges of your eyes as he hits your pharynx and blocks your airway.

“Fuck, don’t stop. Suck me, my mate.” Your alpha drawls out, the efforts of speaking laboriously difficult in the breaths that strain to dislodge themselves and leave him.

It is a sensation you have never felt before to have your mouth so thoroughly filled and though it is not the most comfortable, the pleasure lies not in you, but rather within your mate and in what you are swiftly reducing him to. You would do this a thousand times if it meant wracking your alpha to this.

Ever the dutiful omega, you follow his decree. You hollow your cheeks as you bob your head along his length while you suckle him enthusiastically, inhaling through your nose in spite of the breath that eludes you throat.

“Gods, yeah, pretty. Right there, right there. Fuck me, you’re going to drive me crazy, ” Your alpha rasps as you unsuccessfully try to silence the gag that erupts in the back of your mouth while his fingers knead into your hair to tug at the roots as he thrusts into your mouth to plummet lecherously lower.

Spit pools in every crevice of your mouth until you’re overflowing with it and, as he rams himself into you, all you can do is bear it as your slobber falls like a fountain from your lips in his jostling movements that shake your vision. His eyes have become hazed with craving craze for you and you relish in the way he struggles for breath just as you are in your damning decimation of him.

Transfixed by the way your eyelids flutter as his dick disappears into the wet warmth of your mouth that he could spend forever in, he husks, “You’re so hot like this with my cock between your lips, pretty. You like this, don’t you? You like sucking your alpha’s dick?” He asks while he watches in interest the way that your saliva escapes the cushion of your lips that pillow him inside you, his thumb brushing it away and back over your lips.

You moan to let him know that yes, you really do enjoy seeing the way you’re wrecking him through your own devices. Right now, this is about him and seeing his pleasure is far more satisfying than anything you could have imagined. Knowing that you are the one that is affecting him in this way is inexorably exhilarating. It makes you feel powerful. Now, it is you that holds the key to his raptured raptness.

When your alpha drags his digit along your lower lip, you hum in agreement and the vibrations shoot straight into his member as he arches his back, his head falling even farther as you work him in your mouth while he utters, “Shit, of course you do. You really are perfect for me,” one hand grabs your own to pull you down to the neglected testicles that ache for you, your fingers closing around one delicately to give him a gentle squeeze as he bites at his lip while he growls, “I’m not going to last much longer, pretty. Gods, use that tongue of yours like you did out there when you told those bastards that you’re mine. Show me you meant it, my mate. Let me see how badly you want to please me.”

His words send a wave of blazing heat through you, tenacious tenacity sweltering within you at the realization that he’d been watching from the shadows and had seen and heard everything that had occurred between you and the two wolves that so stupidly believed they would win you from your soulmate.

You swallow fatally around him, your muscle swishing and swiveling around him as you unhinge your jaw to completely take him in his entirety when he tugs you down on him. His facial expression detorts to one of unadulterated, unbridled bliss as his own tongue lolls to either side of his parted lips, his eyes closing yet again while the sounds of slurping drip from your lips with the spittle that dribbles below them.

Your alpha hums, “Mmm, fuck, you’re so good with that little mouth. You fuck my cock with it better than any bitch in this pack ever could.”

Your cheeks running red at that, you fondle his balls with one hand, your other running your nails down his chest to leave reddened marks of your own over his skin all while you greedily ingurgitate him while he stuffs himself inside you with another dangerous undulation of his hips.

When your fingers roll his balls like dice between them, that has him keening as he pants, “I’m close, pretty. I’m going to fucking fill you up so much that the taste of me will fucking linger in that hungry mouth of yours for days. You want that, yeah?”

You nod instantly, your stomach grumbling your salivary glands producing more of their offspring at just the thought of it as you suction him with eager earnestness betwixt your lips.

By now, he’s swelling and throbbing between your lips, his end near by the way his testicles palpitate as you titillate him.

Your alpha grunts before he rumbles out, “Gods, you are such a ravenous little girl for me. I bet that cunt of yours is just as starved to receive me, isn’t it, little one? Fuck, I could knot you, my mate. I could breed you so well. Do you want my pups, pretty? Do you want me to stuff you to the brim with my fucking seed so you have no choice but to get pregnant and bear my children?”

You moan at the thought of it, the ostentatious oscillations strafing over his dick as your head bounces back and forth while you quaff him to have him grunt.

There’s an urge to bask in his simmering gaze as you give him over to his end and, with another sinful swill of him within your mouth as you grope his gonads, you splutter amidst the very large cock currently nestled between your lips, “I want it a-all, Jungkook, but p-please…I w-wish,” you slabber him with your saliva as your tongue twists itself around him, “I wish for y-you to look upon me when you finish in my m-mouth.”

Each word trickles from you under the labored breaths you inhale through your nose and you hope that they are not burned by the fire that blazes in the corner of the chamber before they can reach him.

Your voice submerges and dives after him through the sea of exaltation that you have deluged him into and, in your final act to bring him back up for the air of his ecstasy, his eyelids flicker up to reveal golden irises that singe you in their voracious torridity.

You whine at the way the smoke of desire has smoldered him, his long tongue poking against his cheek as his head tilts back while he consumes you in his sights that leave you squirming along the floor as he husks, “You want me to see who has made me feel so fucking good, yeah? Very well, pretty. Watch me cum just for you.”

If the dangerous twirl of your tongue along his slit while your hand that had been attached to his testicles slides sinfully down to rub along his perineum isn’t enough to have him come undone, it’s the way that your eyes now gleam with the glazing of the yen of yearning that every blood vessel burns of yours is coated for him with as you fervently fix him inside your mouth.

You’re the picture of innocence in the white of your dress that curtains you in its angelic wing, but the cock between your lips that you ardently take between them damns you in sin’s tendrils that Jungkook captures you with.

It is his utter undoing when your cheeks fatally concave in their incurvation as you suck him with tightly compressed pressure inside your wet warmth while you run your tongue along his base at the same time he draws you forward so that your nose brushes the thicket of pubic hairs as you blink with innocent doe-eyes up at him as he howls, “Ah, fuck, I’m there, pretty. I’m cumming because of what you did to me.”

Euphoria pours itself through him like a cascading waterfall that does douse every part of him that it washes over as his knot swells inside you, his irises never abandoning you through his climax as his seed bursts out of him and spurts across every corner of your mouth.

You flatten your tongue to catch every bit of him as he feeds you his nectarous ambrosia. His thickened essence spreads and spills over your hot muscle and down your throat deliciously viscous as he makes good on his promise and nourishes your parched body with his sinful sustenance.

He spouts and streams his taint into you as endlessly as a river and when you think you might just overflow with it, that’s when he extricates himself from you, one hand rising so that his thumb caresses your swollen and abused lips as he coos, “Such a good girl for me. You did so well for your first time, sweetling,” his digit swipes at the stray bead of cum that leaks from you only to sweep his finger over your tongue and you close your mouth around him, moaning out at his tasteful tinge as his eyes flash darkly at you, “That’s it, pretty. Drink every last drop. We wouldn’t want you to thirst for me again while you watch me fight the other alphas for you, now would we?”

He pulls his digit from you with a ‘pop’ as you lick your lips as you breathe, “No, alpha. That would be a travesty, truly.”

Your alpha chuckles at that as he gathers you from the floor and when your scent wafts wantonly under his nostrils, he smirks wolfishly, “My, my, my… you really can’t get enough of me, can you?”

It takes you a second to realize, but when he settles you on his lap once more and your thighs skim each other in the movement, your eyes widen as you draw in a short, small breath.

Your alpha only arches a sculpted brow, amusement coloring his tone as he teases, “What? Surprised that you got off by humping my leg like the animal that you are while you sucked my cock, pretty?”

So focused on delivering your alpha over to his end, you’d hardly paid attention to the way your legs had clamped around one of his own as you rutted against him with fervor. You really couldn’t help it with the sight of sin that had commanded your capture under it.

You whine, your irises dipping low as you trace circles along his bare chest as embarrassment tints your cheeks red, “Jungkook, I didn’t mean to. You just… you did this. It’s your fault.”

Your alpha laughs at that, one hand settling along your jaw to coax your visage back up at him while your wolf hounds at you to obey as he rumbles, “I shall gladly take the blame then, beautiful. You know, the fact that you came from giving to me the best head that I’ve ever had,” the fingers of his other palm snake under the folds of your dress to drag through the deposit of wetness that now drapes your legs as he brings the digits to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his finger clean of you as he groans at the flavor of you while his irises dilate, “That’s hot as fuck.”

Your blush is as red as a ruby as you whimper at that and your alpha grins as his stray hand lands on your hip to trail up and down your back in soothing circular motions to reassure you. His mouth opens to say something else, but before he can, there’s a loud series of knocks against the wooden door interrupts the two of you amidst your illicit indecencies.

“This is the last call for all alphas that might remain here. The Offering is about to begin,” says the muffled voice of an elder that likely had been sent to collect any lingering wolves that were still in the den.

You whine loudly as your arms intertwine around your alpha’s neck, your baser being demanding you keep close to your alpha as he softens, the fingers on your cheek splaying out so that his digits caress you as utters, “Come, pretty. I must ready myself for what is to come and I require my mate’s aid to assist me in dressing, for you’ve temporarily robbed me of my faculties after what you’ve just done to me.”

Your wolf preens at that as your hand lifts as you lay your palm over his own while you implore, “Must we go so soon? I do not wish to leave your side.”

Your alpha stands and he’s careful to lift you up and off of him even while your arms tighten around his neck as he rumbles, “After this is all over, you will be free to be with me whenever, wherever and however you desire, my mate. You know the rules,” he moves back and you follow him in your embrace until his thighs hit the back of the vanity where his clothes sit on the abandoned chair, “I must duel anyone that tries to contest me for you, sweetling. It simply is the way of things and I will not hesitate to engage in battle with any wolf that attempts to take what is rightfully mine. You are everything to me and I will make certain that everyone knows it. Do you understand, pretty?”

You nod as you nuzzle the sensitive gland along his neck as a purr trembles from your throat while you scent him, “I understand, Jungkook. I only fear the bloody destruction you’ll leave in your wake for any fools that think they can tear you away from me.”

“That shall be their mistake, pretty,” he sighs in satisfaction as he tilts his head back to grant access as you paint him with the stroke of your lips over the tender skin along his clavicle, “I will not lose you.”

Tenet blazes in his eyes and conviction radiates his words that emit with the sun’s might their fierceness as they fall over you to set your own affection alight within you as you lace your lips along his jaw in a stripe of kisses that you thread there as you manage between them, “There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that you will be the champion amongst them all. However it may be, you have already won me, alpha.”

With that, you embellish him with the cloth he will wear in his battles for you. You help him delicately pull the garment over his head that shades him in the color of soot. It is akin to a sheet of thin charcoal that dyes him in its film of darkness that, like his earlier shirt, is grainy and dusts him lightly in its hue, his sun soaked skin shining brilliantly from beneath it.

Your mouth waters at the sight of it as you tuck it into cotton trousers that are black as night and your alpha smirks when the smell of your arousal drips down to collect itself amidst the pool of your taint yet again as he watches with interest the way that you chew at your lip while you tug the white blazer across bulging arms that catch at the heavier material as you drag it over him.

He makes certain to playfully provoke you by wrapping an arm around your waist only to schlep you forward, your hands planting themselves against his broad, strong chest as he asks, “Are you ready to watch me show everyone that I and I alone am the only wolf that is deserving of you as his mate?”

You nudge at the edge of his collarbone to catchily collect as much of his riveting redolence as you can before you sow another row of kisses along his skin only to pull away and admit, “Always.”

#werewolf!jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts abo #alpha!jungkook #alpha jungkook x omega reader #werewolf jungkook #bts scenarios #dom!jungkook #alpha omega bts #jungkook hot #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet

1K notes · View notes

mostlymovieswithmax · 3 years

Text

Movies I watched in July

Once again I’m doing my monthly round-up of movies I’ve watched. This was a good month for the cinema getting back on track and seeing new releases including the new M. Night movie, Old and James Gunn’s The Suicide Squad. Pretty sure Marvel put out a new movie also. I’m hoping that this list can help in guiding a decision about what to watch (or what to avoid) and introduce people to movies they may otherwise not have heard of or bothered to see. These short reviews are my own subjective opinions on each individual movie and maybe a more informal approach to movie criticism can help include others who are just passing through. Here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 31st of July.

Bridesmaids (2011) - 4/10

Off to a good start. I won’t say Bridesmaids is a terrible movie but I don’t think I’m exactly the target audience. As far as I know, this is a beloved comedy but I just can’t get on board with all the boring, juvenile humour; with Maya Rudolph shitting in the street, with Rose Byrne and Kristen Wiig trying to one-up each other at a toast that went on forever, with Melissa McCarthy shitting in a sink… the conflict is so done to death and makes the movie feel unspecial. I do understand the appeal of the film, especially for women in that before this movie the likelihood of seeing something like this, where women play up the more crass and gross side of comedy, was probably few and far between. But the story is very tired and while I did appreciate some moments, namely a couple of decent jokes and some of the more intimate scenes, for the most part it felt like they wanted to corner a more quiet type of line delivery in a way that was supposed to be understated but very funny so as to not rely on over the top body language or musical cues, and it ended up being super dull.

Spectre (2015) - 7/10

As far as I can tell, a lot of people don’t like this instalment of the James Bond franchise… but I really enjoyed it! I’ve really taken a shine to these Daniel Craig-era Bond movies and while I can’t say any of them are the most amazing thing, I have a lot of fun with them. The biggest problem I have with Spectre is the villain being utterly pointless and uninteresting in basically every way. The idea of every villain Bond has fought before being tied to this one organisation controlled by this one guy is ridiculous, and what makes it worse is that the villain is barely in it! There’s so much that doesn’t come together in this but as it goes, I still had a really good time. Daniel Craig holds the whole thing together; he is excellent as 007 and the main reason I’m up for each of these movies is because of him. Sam Mendes directs again after the previous instalment and for what it’s worth I do think he does a good job with some of the action set pieces and the locations. I’m so ready for No Time To Die.

Shazam (2019) - 7/10

Shazam is a genuinely fun superhero movie that doesn’t take itself seriously at all. I was having a great time throughout and while it could conform to some of the same tropes we’re used to with these kinds of movies, it still remained playful and used the character of Shazam to his fullest potential in a way that showed an understanding of just how silly the idea of a kid who can turn into an adult and shoot lightning out of his hands is.

High School Musical (2006) - 6/10

So as you may or may not know, I co-host a podcast: The Sunday Movie Marathon. It’s a film podcast and every week I get together with my other co-hosts and watch movies. For episode 38, we watched the High School Musical trilogy. This first movie blew me away. I was really surprised with just how much fun I had, and if you want to hear more of my thoughts on the film, please listen to episode 38 of the podcast.

High School Musical 2 (2007) - 4/10

We then jumped into the second and while it’s certainly not as good as its predecessor, there are still some brilliant songs that manage to top the last movie. Again, more of what I have to say can be heard on episode 38 of the podcast.

High School Musical 3: Senior Year (2008) - 3/10

Senior Year was pretty hard to get through. I don’t remember it being as bad as it was, but then I didn’t really remember it anyway. It did however have one redeeming quality, which you can discover on episode 38 of the podcast.

The Piano Teacher (2001) - 9/10

What the fuuuckkkk. The Piano Teacher is horrendously affecting and I was so upset when it ended, maybe not because it’s not what I wanted but because it’s just so fucking dour and unrelenting. This is the second Haneke movie I’ve seen (after the original Funny Games) and I’m so impressed with how well executed it is. Following a woman who teaches piano, we get a glimpse into the life she lives, how sheltered she is from living with her mother at an age where you’d reasonably expect a person to be living alone or with a partner or friends (even going so far as to be sleeping in the same bed as her), and how repressed she is sexually. It’s clear she’s never experienced any kind of sexual interaction or romantic love with another person, so she goes out of her way to take control and make that happen. The upsetting nature of it comes from just what she does in pursuit of it or as a result of her repression, and what is done to her. It is by no means a movie to recommend to your parents but The Piano Teacher offers so much in terms of the ideas it presents (and I’ll admit there seems to be a lot more going on than I think I picked up on a first go round) about women in modern society, and about the portrayal of sex and expectations of people when it comes to how that is represented in a person’s character depending on their gender. I really enjoyed this movie but it is not for the faint of heart.

Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure (2011) - 1/10

My podcast co-hosts decided it’d be a right laugh to add Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure to this episode and that might have been a fun idea for them because they got to watch it together, but I was just watching it alone. Just a 24-year-old man watching Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure alone and having a miserable time, I might add. But for a short and sweet ramble on what we all thought, please listen to episode 38 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

Dr. No (1962) - 6/10

A lot of very iffy parts of this movie. A lot of discomfort arising from how black people are portrayed that really didn’t sit right with me. As far as a Bond movie goes, this first instalment in the series is one I’ve seen before and it’s not wholly engaging but it plants the seeds for the rest, with Sean Connery breathing life into the role and making an otherwise lacklustre plot bearable.

Black Widow (2021) - 6/10

I think probably the best part about Black Widow is the experience I had while watching it. It was great being back in the cinema with a couple of friends in a packed theatre. The energy was high and I’m sure for a lot of people, this is the first time they’d been to the cinema since Endgame. For what it’s worth, I did have a lot of fun with Black Widow and I’ve explained more of what I thought about the movie in episode 39 of the podcast.

The Climb (2020) - 10/10

The Climb was added to Now TV recently and I already knew I loved it, having seen it in an empty cinema theatre last year, which I had an absolute blast with. The Climb details the years of a rocky friendship told over scenes filmed as one-shots. Not only is the presentation something to gawk at, but the performances by the two leads playing these friends with a terrifically dysfunctional dynamic is truly captivating. They’re both trying to figure out their own lives and where one can come across as being rather selfish, the opposite is true in his counterpart, whom everyone loves. This is a truly funny and heartwarming movie with a lot to say about how we choose to live our lives and who we choose to be with. It’s a shame the distributors of The Climb didn’t do a very good job because if not for it being available on Now TV, it would be near impossible to watch without forking out more money than is necessary to purchase a film.

From Russia With Love (1963) - 5/10

The second Bond movie. I thought perhaps I’d change my mind on it with another watch, having seen it for the first time maybe a year ago. But no, it’s still largely boring and it treats women like absolute garbage. From Russia With Love is one of those movies I forget as I watch it, and I was trying very hard (in the middle of the day!) not to fall asleep.

The Good, The Bart, and The Loki (2021) - 1/10

I don't usually talk about the short films I watch but for this I'll make an exception. As we all should know, Disney owns The Simpsons now, through their acquisition of Fox, so, coupled with another of their properties, that being Marvel, they decided to make a six-minute animated film wherein Marvel’s Loki is stranded in Springfield. This felt as though it was a minute long due to the horrendously jarring pacing; it is a movie that feels adamant that it needs to exist, while trying as hard as it can to be over as soon as possible. It serves only to stare the audience directly in the face and say “look, characters from The Simpsons are dressed as Avengers”, shit out three credit scenes, then end before you’ve even processed the atrocity you just bore witness to.

Russian Ark (2002) - 8/10

For this next episode of the podcast, we watched a few Russian movies, starting with Russian Ark, a film shot completely in one take as the camera moves about a luxurious museum in a first-person perspective as this main character watches what is happening around him, seeing people moving about the place but unable to interact with them, guided only by another man who seems to be just slightly out of his own perception of reality. This is a tremendous feat in filmmaking and more can be heard about what I have to say in episode 39 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

Ivan’s Childhood (1962) - 7/10

For my own pick of Russian movies to discuss on the podcast, I chose the debut feature from one of my favourite directors, Andrei Tarkovsky. It’s amazing that while this is not his best film by far, Ivan’s Childhood is still such a stellar debut, jumping around in its timeline as it details a child’s experience in the second world war. Again, I do go into more depth in episode 39 of the podcast, so be sure to check that out.

Outlaw (2019) - 1/10

The third movie chosen for this marathon is apparently the fourth Russian LGBTQ+ movie ever made. I’m unsure of the ultimate goal of this movie but what seems to be clear is that it hates the LGBTQ+ community. This is perhaps the worst film we’ve discussed on the podcast to date, so listen to episode 39 to understand exactly why it’s such trash.

Almost Famous (2000) - 7/10

I too love heavy music and also studied journalism so it stands to reason that a movie about a teenager who makes his way onto a band tour, following them through America and interviewing them as they hang out and play shows is going to be a premise that resonates with me. This certainly did. I enjoyed Almost Famous a lot; this kid is living the dream and I was so along for the ride, seeing a lot of myself in what was being portrayed. That said, the story itself is at times a bit by the numbers and I really would’ve been more on board if the visual component was more interesting. For what it is, technically it’s fine enough but nothing in that department ever jumped out at me.

Minari (2021) - 8/10

It’s crazy that this didn’t get a theatrical run where I live in the UK. It feels as though I complain about film distribution all the time but I really don’t understand the process by which a movie gets no cinematic release and yet, months later will pop up on the front shelf of hmv, taking pride of place. But of course I got the blu-ray straight away. Minari has a lot to say about the immigrant experience, specifically in America as a family comes over from Korea and tries to start a business and make something of themselves. You get to see a lot of what you might not think twice about when you think about immigration: the hardship of coming from a place where you know everyone to somewhere rural and sparsely populated, having to make friends with locals and integrate within the community; the strain it can put on a family and on a marriage where this idea is presented about the importance of making it on your own in order to live and not just survive, while also taking into account why you’re doing it in the first place and the value you place on being part of a family that you decided to make because that was more important than money, than economy, than proving you were good enough to make it in a place that gave you very little advantage from the offset. This concept of the promised land, of the American dream is a construct. There are times when it’s not pretty, when you have no running water, or you’re in debt, or a family member is dying and it just feels like you’ve been dealt as bad a hand as you can get. But it is better to know you’re not facing all that alone.

Roma (2018) - 10/10

This was my recommendation for the podcast episode on Alfonso Cuarón movies. Roma is as beautiful as it is heart-wrenching and I would recommend listening to episode 40 of the podcast to find out more about my thoughts.

An American Werewolf In London (1981) - 8/10

In all fairness, London is enough to make anyone a little crazy at the best of times. An American Werewolf in London showcases some fantastically grotesque effects, akin to something like Carpenter’s The Thing, in showing the dead brought back to life and a horrifically gory transformation scene. Although the film is from the perspective of an American protagonist, directed also by an American, the depiction of British culture and climate is something I’ve not seen many films pull off quite so well, and I was pleasantly surprised at the more comedic tone the film has overall, which is something that works more in its favour than straight horror would.

The Party’s Just Beginning (2018) - 6/10

Karen Gillan’s directorial debut is… pretty good! There are a lot of ideas I like in this movie: a woman living life and through convenient circumstances, is confronted with death in many ways. Gillan obviously knows her homeland as well as she can, imbuing the whole thing with an intensely Scottish vibe (though maybe not in the same vein as something like Trainspotting) that makes it a bit more unique than a more run of the mill movie of this ilk, backed up in no small part by her own main performance. The plot itself is no great diversion from the kind of story I’m used to with these smaller movies and for something that’s trying to include messaging about transgender issues and suicide, it probably could have been handled better or done in a different way.

Solaris (1972) - 9/10

Another Tarkovsky joint, one I thought I’d revisit to see if there was indeed more to get out of it a second time. Well, it’s no surprise that yes, there was certainly more to get out of it. Solaris is a crazy trip of a movie and I would liken it to Kubrick’s 2001 in terms of how grand the scale of it feels. Yet this is a film that comes across as deeply personal, choosing to focus on a specific character as he goes to a space station to help those on board who are experiencing some kind of emotional crises, only to feel the effects of the planet, Solaris invading his own mind as it has the crew. To many, I can see this lengthy Russian sci-fi being a tad slow but my personal experience is one of deep engagement. Solaris pulls its viewer in a lot of different directions and it is always doing something unexpected in terms of where its narrative goes. There’s a lot to think about with the movie and thankfully it’s no chore to watch again.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001) - 9/10

Another recommendation for the podcast episode on Alfonso Cuarón movies. This is a very relaxed experience, following three young people as they go on a road trip, visit different places and have sex. Listen to episode 40 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast for more of my thoughts.

Children of Men (2006) - 10/10

My favourite Cuarón movie, one that never stops being tense as its characters are constantly moving towards the end goal. Set in a future where humans are infertile, the oldest living person is 18, and London is the last city in the world that’s still keeping it together, somewhat. This is masterclass filmmaking. Listen to episode 40 of the podcast for more insights.

Minority Report (2002) - 5/10

I’m really not the biggest fan of Spielberg… Minority Report is an interesting movie in terms of its concept of stopping crimes before they happen by way of prediction, but I just didn’t connect with the heart of it. The colouring is way too overexposed in a way that’s supposed to be eliciting a futuristic vibe but instead feels so early-2000’s in the worst way. My biggest problem with Minority Report is just how long it is, clocking in at two hours and twenty-five minutes which allows for a lot of meandering, all while never quite developing characters enough for you to care about.

Caché (2005) - 9/10

Oh god! Another Michael Haneke movie! Here we see a couple periodically sent video tapes featuring hours of footage of the outside of their house. The anxiety ratchets up and the mystery gets deeper with every minute. There’s always at least one moment in any of his films that have so far made me realise just how out of my depth I am. Caché is no exception, and I won’t spoil anything here because I think it’s better just to watch the movie and see for yourself. He is a director that wants the audience to know something and that something is never what is explicitly shown at face value; it is pressed into the fabric of the film - plainly evident, yet hidden. Caché is so stupidly clever in displaying its themes and messaging - making reference to the Siene Massacre of 1961 as well as a deeper study of colonialism - and there’s no way to change a single detail of it without risking the Jenga tower crumbling to the ground. It all works in tandem. It is passion and fury and haunting.

Coco (2017) - 7/10

Pixar had a string of around seven forgettable movies before this point so thankfully Coco emerged to show the company still had something good in them. Coco deals a lot with themes of death and legacy, remembering those who are gone in order to preserve them and while its plotting is quite basic and there are certainly moments that either drag or cannot escape the same Pixar formula, most of what the movie has to offer is a lot of fun, with creative, colourful animation and emotional beats that resonate the way they’re supposed to.

Incredibles 2 (2018) - 5/10

Oh, they almost had it! There's a lot here that could have been explored in far more interesting ways. Setting Incredibles 2 directly after the events of the first movie was not a good idea. If it had taken place five or ten years after, the characters could have been in different places in life and it would feel as though they'd actually changed and developed. But instead of trying to be a film that actually cares about its characters and the journeys they go on, a lot of the film is wrestling with the idea that Bob isn't supportive of his wife and Jack-Jack has to fight a raccoon… They have to shoehorn in a villain that in no way compares to the genius of the original. The ending of the original introduces another antagonist that gets wrapped up within this film's first ten minutes, except they don't catch him and he's never mentioned again. It's a real shame because the animation is fantastic and the acting is superb and there are great ideas sprinkled throughout. It just doesn't come together.

Toy Story 4 (2019) - 6/10

I was rather reluctant to watch Toy Story 4 because from the get-go I’m not really here for sequels being made just for the sake of it. Everyone loves Toy Story and making another one is a sure fire way to make money. This is the first time I’ve seen Toy Story 4 and for what it’s worth, I did enjoy it. The animation is immaculate and that alone feels like a huge flex from Pixar who tend to step up the game when it comes to animation in film, despite not having the best track record for films generally at this point. While it was nice to see these characters again, I found a lot of them to be side-lined (namely Buzz) in favour of a story that focuses mainly or entirely on Woody, who I just don’t like as much as in the previous movies. Generally the movie is good and decent enough but there’s no real antagonist and the plot is quite loose… it doesn’t feel as though it needed to be made from a story point of view.

Onward (2020) - 6/10

And with that I have seen every Pixar movie. And Onward is a fine one to go out on. While I don’t think it compares to the likes of earlier Pixar it’s still pretty fun. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for a medieval setting filled with bright colours and magic! Speaking of which, the animation was super and the medieval quest element is something that hooked me with the film. Again, plot-wise it does feel very familiar and I don’t know, maybe I’m past the point now of expecting Pixar to mix it up where their formula for story-telling is concerned but the movie is quite predictable. Nonetheless, while I’m not rushing back to see Onward I would hardly turn it off or refuse if someone wanted to watch it.

Old (2021) - 3/10

Oh boy! New M. Night movie dropped and my word, was it fun! For more of my thoughts on this… masterpiece (?) of a movie, please direct your attention to episode 41 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

T2 Trainspotting (2017) - 5/10

Trainspotting is perhaps one of my favourite movies and I had never bothered with the sequel, 20 years on, because the ending of that first movie is so conclusive. T2 felt more an excuse for these guys to get together again and in that, I probably would have preferred a couple of pictures on Twitter of the main cast and director, Danny Boyle having dinner or something. This is a fine movie - very arty in its presentation but meandering and dull in its story that doesn’t offer much in the way of proof that it had to exist.

Taste of Cherry (1997) - 9/10

What makes life worth living? This is a central question and theme of Taste of Cherry, and one that leaves such interpretation not only up to its central character but to the viewer as well. This film got me thinking about times in my life when I truly have had no answer to hard questions. Because it’s hard to convince people of things they are so adamantly against and harder still to rationalise what you believe if you’re not even entirely sure why you believe it in the first place. We are all of us alive and in recognising that, does that make it precious? And if indeed living is not a happy thing, why then should we fight so hard to preserve it? I felt upset as I watched this movie because I’ve been asked these kinds of questions before and it makes me feel stupid when I’m unable to answer. But the only real answer I can give is, everything. And if you can’t see the point then you’re not looking hard enough. Taste of Cherry is beautiful in its exploration of these topics and in its overall presentation, offering some of the best visuals in any movie I’ve seen - fitting for a feature with so much to say about the beauty of life - and an ending that as much pulls the rug out from under you as it does pull you out of the dark and make you realise just how lonely you’ve felt.

Bones (2001) - 2/10

Snoop Dogg is Jimmy Bones! This film is super funny but I’m not sure it’s trying to be and I really didn’t love it overall. But I do talk more in depth about it in episode 41 of the podcast.

The Duchess (2008) - 5/10

Another recommendation for the podcast. The Duchess was pretty much exactly what I thought it was going to be and there’s a lot to like about it but generally it’s a bit sparse. For more chat on the movie, listen to episode 41 of the podcast.

The Man With One Red Shoe (1985) - 1/10

This was another one for the podcast and man, was it awful. We had to watch it at 1.5x speed towards the end because it just wasn’t getting finished otherwise. To find out more, make sure to listen to episode 41 of the podcast.

The Emperor’s New Groove (2000) - 7/10

Pull the lever, Kronk! Haha! Slays me. I do quite miss this era of Disney, where the animation was hand-drawn and the stories were actually compelling and funny. The Emperor’s New Groove is vibrant, it’s got great characters and memorable moments that will forever be ingrained in the memory of culture. All in all, it’s just a solid flick that doesn’t waste time, developing the standard fall from glory type of arc but smoothly and in an entertaining way.

The Suicide Squad (2021) - 8/10

Oh, bloody hell! They actually made a good one! The Suicide Squad is not only better than the ‘Suicide Squad’ of 2016 in every way, it’s a genuinely great film! This time, James Gunn (director of Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy movies) is at the helm and it seems clear that Warner Bros. basically let him do what he wanted with the movie, as it doesn’t seem to bog itself down with the restrictions of a more family-friendly rating. The result of this is a far cleaner, colourful film with a clearer vision that takes from early Vietnam movies and uses that style to craft a superhero/villain movie that differentiates itself among the copious amount of existing films of the genre. The Suicide Squad wastes very little time, introducing fun, crazy characters we’ve not seen on the big screen before and isn’t worried about killing a whole bunch of them, with standouts being Elba’s Bloodsport, Melchior’s Ratcatcher 2, Stallone’s King Shark (expertly rendered with fantastic visual effects), and Robbie’s returning interpretation of Harley Quinn. A lot of Gunn’s trademark sense of humour is laced throughout and more often than not, it hits. The audience at the cinema were truly loving this movie and I’ll admit, I was right there with them. This mix of the gritty, gory and absurd is not something that should work as well as it does but the basic premise of the film is already so silly (and boy, do they know it) that it just works! Certainly one of the best DC movies since The Dark Knight and one I’d be more than happy to watch again. This is what the modern comic book movie should be: just balls to the wall fun!

68 notes · View notes

fairlyspnfanfic · 3 years

Text

The Ties that Bind Us

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because...well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2826

Tags: Angst, Fluff, nightmares, all the fun stuff.

I wrang my hands together nervously. They were all sweat; clammy and cold while simultaneously uncomfortably hot. My breathing was deceptively calm, though every other part of me shook as my anxiety climbed. I closed my eyes, pushing my hands down on the mattress on either side of me and took a deep steadying breath. Talking myself into pushing my body into a standing position, I opened my eyes and left my room, consciously putting one foot in front of the other.

“Guys?” My voice rang out in the echoey halls, shaking and hoarse. I cleared my throat and ran my hands through my hair as I continued making my way into the main room. There they were. Dean, his feet kicked up on the table, a large, brown dusty book sprawled on his lap and a beer firmly clasped in his hand as he focused on the words on the page. Sam, pacing back and forth silently behind him.

It had been weeks since we had found a job. The last actual gig we had been on was pretty small-fry. A pair of ghouls wreaking havoc in a college town that we had taken care of in less than a weekend. The local fraternity parties didn’t even notice, and the drunken sorority girls went on with their lives none the wiser.

But this? This job was going to be huge. If not in scale, then in emotion alone. Not for the boys. They wouldn’t have any clue; I’d make sure of that. The pack had been on the prowl for decades, maybe longer. Long enough to have destroyed my life, killed my family, and upend everything I knew to be true when I was only four years old. And now they were back. I rubbed the sweat from my palms that would have given me away on the back of my jeans, before grabbing the chair opposite from Dean. The wheels moved faster than I expected as it began to roll behind me. I lowered myself quickly into the seat, as if the mishap was entirely intentional, but the smirk at the corner of Dean’s smile let me know my attempt had failed.

I hated the chairs in the map room. The side armrests dug into my hips and I was never quite comfortable in them. But who was I to question generations of decorum? I crossed my legs as eloquently as I could, adjusting so that I was practically sitting on one hip in order to keep the bars from digging into them.

The laptop Sam had out on the table was still booted up. I reached out, grabbing it and quickly pulled up the article that I had found this morning. “Woman’s Body Found Mangled in Historic District.” I spun the screen around, allowing Dean to see. He skimmed through it quickly before sneering. “Doesn’t really scream monster there, Y/N.” I rolled my eyes, returning control of the computer to myself and pulled up three more articles, all within the last two months. “Teen Killed in Apparent Pit Bull Attack,” followed by “Couple Maimed in Forrest Preserve” and “Missing Child Found Had Been Attacked by Unidentified Animal.” I pushed the screen over to Dean again.

“Well, maybe that does merit a look-see.” His tune changed. Whenever there was a lapse between jobs, Dean would get antsy. His temperament changed, he was jumpy, and nothing could make him happier than a new destination and a big bad to gank.

“What’s that?” Sam said as he practically skipped up to the table like an excited puppy.

“Get this,” I began before Dean cut me off.

“Y/N,” he chastised. “That’s Sam’s line.” He winked at me as a smile spread widely across his face. That smile. The one that could bring world peace as far as I was concerned. At the very least, it made my knees weak, breath hitch, and I lost all train of thought.

I quickly pulled myself back together and pushed my daydreaming mind back to the task at hand. Dean pushed the laptop over to Sam, allowing him to read through them quickly. “So, what are we thinking, Werewolves? Hellhounds?”

“Werewolves,” I said definitively. My face was deadpan, and it didn’t seem to go unnoticed. “Look at the descriptions. There’s something they aren’t saying. The bodies were all attacked at night, and each one was during the full moon. Plus, the missing kid? He was 8. That’s not enough time for any demon deal to go down and a Hellhound to get involved. No, it’s a werewolf. No doubt in my mind.” I was all seriousness and they knew it. Sam simply nodded, his eyebrows creased suspiciously, but he didn’t question me.

“Well then,” Dean said, clapping his hands together as he all but jumped to his feet. “Let’s get on the road. It’s a little over seven hours to Missouri. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready.” He was like a kid at Christmas as he bounced down the hallway to his room.

“Only guy in the world to get the warm and fuzzies from a bunch of dead bodies,” I laughed, shaking my head, closing the laptop, and uncrossing my legs. I stood up slowly and stretched my arms above my head.

Sam didn’t take his probing eyes off me as he crossed his arms. “Y/N?”

“Yes, Samuel?” I mocked him in response.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

I did my best version of shock and outrage, looking around as if I wasn’t quite sure what he was alluding to. “What?”

“You’ve never been so adamant about a job before. Hell, you’re usually the one trying to talk us out of taking jobs. What gives?” I rolled my eyes as dramatically as I could.

“Nothing. It just seems like a pretty clear gig to me. And if bodies are dropping every month, and more bodies each time?” I shook my head. “Then the next ones are on us.” I locked eyes with the younger Winchester, attempting to convey my point with a look.

His expression still seemed doubtful, but he nodded his head and walked towards his room, patting my shoulder as he passed by me. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Half an hour later, we were all piled into the Impala. Dean driving, Sam riding shotgun, and I lounged across the backseat, scouring the news for any updates. The next full moon wouldn’t be for another week, but I wasn’t willing to allow anything to be missed. Not when I could stop it.

A couple of hours later, my eyes began to droop, and my cell phone slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor between my feet. But my exhaustion won out over my need to secure the phone.

I looked down at my hands. They were sticky and coated with a thick layer of blood. I had no idea if it was mine or someone else’s, but the terror that rose in my chest didn’t care. All around me, the only sounds I could hear were the violent gnashing of teeth, the moist squelching of flesh being torn from bone, and the small, muted whimpers from someone that I had yet to lay my eyes on. I looked around but everything around me was coated in darkness. Only my hands were visible in a dim red light that seemed to come from nowhere. I took a step forward, feeling my foot slip as the wet floor beneath me was coated in that same tacky liquid that was all over my hands. Looking in front of me, I came eye to eye with a single pair of vibrant yellow orbs that seemed to stop me in my tracks. Paralyzed with fear, I froze, unwilling and wholly unable to continue forward. A low grumble began emanating from those same eyes as they moved closer to me. The grumble turned quickly to a growl; vicious and hungry with a deep, bone chilling timbre. Suddenly, the eyes were directly in front of me, inches from my face. So close that I could feel the hot, rank breath on my cheek before a loud, piercing snarl rang in my ear.

My eyes snapped open and the sweat running down my neck sent a chill down my spine. My sharp inhale was the only sound made and I did my best to calm down before making any further noise. My nightmares had always been the same and had always been my own. Nobody had ever found out about them, especially the boys, and I fully intended to keep it that way.

Stretching my arms to my sides as best as I could, I made a dramatic show of waking. “Where are we?” I asked.

Glancing to the front seat I could see Sam slumped against the window, his head tilted back, mouth open, and very much asleep. Dean was still in the driver’s seat, bobbing his head and mouthing along with Steven Tyler as he belted out the lyrics to “Dream On.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, giving me that same world-peace smile that only he seemed to know how.

“About 100 miles outside St. Charles. I’ve gotta stop for gas though. You hungry?” I nodded back to him as I rubbed my eyes, clearing out the sandy bit of sleep that had formed in the corners.

“Do you need to change out? I can drive the last of the way.” I offered, knowing he’d never go for it. He never had before.

“I’m good. Got a solid three hours of shut eye last night.” He winked at me in the mirror. Pushing down the butterflies in my stomach and doing my best to suppress the blush that I was sure was creeping to my cheeks, I looked out the window. The sun had just come down, creating an orange sky with just a hint of pink. I took a deep breath and turned back to facing the driver.

Dean pulled off onto an exit ramp and turned into a QT Gas Station. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked me. I shrugged.

“Surprise me.” The glint in his eye and the devilish smile that he gave me in return elicited an exaggerated eye roll from me. “Just go get some road food.” I waved him away. “I’ll pump.” I opened my door as quietly as I could and stepped around to the gas pump. I twisted the gas cap, put my card in the machine, or rather Stacey Abrams’ card, and began filling the tank.

I watched Dean walk up and into the convenience store, his bowed legs taking long strides as he did so. He grabbed the door and held it open, making a big show as he gestured for the woman coming out the door to pass before him. The leggy blonde walked by, tucking her perfectly silky hair behind her perfect ears as her perfectly perky tits bounced their way out of the shop. I watched as Dean’s eyes followed her out, obviously and lustily eyeing her up and down, appreciating the view.

The sharp stab to my chest wasn’t new. The jealousy mixed with disappointment happened pretty frequently after all. But each time felt like ripping off a band aid before the wound had begun to heal.

The gas pump stopped, the telling “clunk” of the machinery drawing my attention back to my task. I tapped the spout on the edge of the tank before fully withdrawing it and hanging it back up on the pump. I ripped the receipt off quickly, shoving it into my back pocket as I walked back around the car and settled into my seat again.

“You know, you could always just tell him.” Sam’s voice rang out, surprising me, from the front seat.

“Shit, Sam.” I said. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Tell him.” He had turned around now, staring me dead in the face as if we were locked in a staring contest that I hadn’t agreed to participate in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said a bit too defensively.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes at me. “You do realize I know every tell you have, right?”

I shook my head at him, chuckling. “Samuel, I think you must still be dreaming.”

“Like that.” He pointed at me. “You’re biting your cheek. You only do that when you’re lying. Next, you’ll be pulling on your ear lobe, just like that.” He accused me as I did just as he said.

“No, I’m not.” He glared at me in response. “Shut up.” I bit at him, jokingly, sticking my tongue out at him as I crossed my arms.

Dean opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Dude,” he said excitedly, holding up a white paper bag. “Taquitos!”

A little over 100 miles later, we were pulling into the local motel. Sam had gone to check us in while Dean and I grabbed the bags from the trunk.

“Peartree Inn?” I said, dejectedly. Dean looked at me, a curious expression on his face. “Just once, it would be so nice to stay at a 5-star hotel. Hell, I’d settle for 4 stars if it meant a comfy bed that didn’t have my back aching in the morning and a hot tub to soak in at night.” I closed my eyes and sighed, dreaming.

“I’ll be sure to get you a hot tub at the next place we stay in. Long as I can join you,” he said, cocking his head towards me with a smile. I rolled my eyes and playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam said, running up to us both. “So, they only have rooms with two beds max. No roll-away’s or cots. But I got us two rooms. Best I could do.” He handed a card key to each of us. A small sticky note was attached to each. “Dean, we’re in 213. Y/N, you’re in 436.” I nodded my head, handed Sam his bag and headed inside.

The front desk clerk waved at me as I went in and pointed towards the elevators. Thanking her, I walked over and pushed the call button. The doors opened instantly, and I stepped in without waiting for Sam and Dean to catch up. Once I dropped off my bags and went to the bathroom, I planned on heading to their room anyway to go over our plan.

But just after I’d used the restroom and rinsed my face, there was a solid knock at the door. “Gimme a second,” I shouted as I grabbed a hand towel and dried my face off. The peephole on the door was small with a silver dongle covering it up until you swung it to the side. I checked to see who it was before unlatching the deadbolt and opening the door.

“Bad news, Y/N.” Dean said as he walked in, making himself comfortable on my King size bed. He was lounging back, his head resting on a combination of my pillows and his own hand as his legs sprawled out in front of him. “No hot tubs in the whole joint.” I laughed at him, throwing my hand towel into the bathroom.

“So, where’s Sam? I figured we needed to get our plan of attack sorted.”

“Oh,” Dean said, straightening up a bit. “He’s down in our room. We didn’t get the fancy penthouse view you did.” My eyes wandered over to the balcony and the sliding doors that lead out to it. I pointed to it and tilted my head, silently asking if he’d like to join me outside. He all but leapt out of bed and over to the door, yanking it open. The track was rusted and in desperate need of some WD-40, but he was able to grant us egress.

We walked onto the balcony and looked down. The penthouse view as Dean called it wasn’t the greatest. A moderately busy highway for as late at night on a weeknight as it was, and some unkempt trees just barely allowed us to see the airport beyond it. But the fresh air and the sounds of the cars rushing by was a tonic to the anxiety that had been eating at me all day.

I leaned on the railing, my hands clasped together, as I inhaled the fresh air and felt my hair blowing ever so slightly in the wind. I could feel Dean walk up and join me. “Feels pretty nice out here,” he said softly.

I smiled. “Yeah, it does.” I opened my eyes and looked down again, remembering the reason we were here. As peaceful as it felt right now, there were monsters just down the road. The very monsters from my nightmares. And no matter how terrified it left me, I wouldn’t be leaving before I drove a silver bullet through each of their hearts.

To Be Continued......Part Two

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624@waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy @carissime72 @deans-baby-momma @formulafun @woodworthti666 @yetanotherreader @crashlyrose @hobby27 @gabby913 @jxackles @polina-93@supernaturaladdictsblog @fandomoverdose666 @deans-baby-momma @deanwanddamons @tazzi-baby @acertainhero

119 notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 29

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 5.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part four

Silence is like an old friend: always present and there for you even when everyone and everything else left you. You find comfort in the quiet, and as such, you normally wouldn’t find yourself so bothered by the absence of sound. Yet here you are, standing a few feet from Jongho’s bed in a room that is all too cold and all too quiet. Truly, there isn’t much to say, but that doesn’t keep you from wanting to speak up and offer some sort of weak attempt to get him to stay. Before you can, however, San beats you to it. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or not because the lingering goodbye just hovers on your tongue now.

“Are you truly going to do this, Jongho?”

The Berserker hesitates where he stands near the bed, hands clasped around a small bundle of clothes. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore San’s question and continue to pack in silence. Then, he offers a shrug.

“Hongjoong didn’t stop me, did he?” You shake your head with a certain fervor to your movements.

“There’s no way he wants you to leave,” you counter. Perhaps it is merely an attempt to cling to that hope, but the Hongjoong you saw in his quarters was a version of him you’ve never seen before. Jongho shifts to look at you, eyes a bit melancholy as he drags his gaze over your face.

“Obviously information is far more important than I am.” He says the words with a bit of a laugh to his tone, though all three of you know that there’s no humor to be found in this situation. Your lips fold into a delicate frown.

“Why is this even an issue? Is there a reason why Hongjoong is so adamant about bringing Mingi to the arena? Why can’t he just stay on the ship while the rest of us go on the mission?” You shake your head a bit as you ask the questions and drop your gaze to the floor. There is no reasonable explanation as to why Hongjoong would behave this way in your mind, no matter how many excuses you try to give in his defense.

“Because Vladimir plays dirty,” San says through a sigh. “He knows that Mingi is on this crew, and he’s been after Mingi for years. Offered countless deals and bargains for Mingi’s head, trying to get Hongjoong to give him up. Hongjoong has always turned down the offers without a second thought, but that doesn’t keep Vladimir from trying time and time again. He wants Mingi. And he is a man who is used to getting what he wants.”

“Do you think that what he’s after?” You inquire, blinking over to where San stands with arms folded neatly over his chest.

“If he has agreed to meet Hongjoong, then yeah. That means he, in the very least, has eyes on the ship. So if he sees every member of the crew leave the ship except for Mingi, his men will ambush and take Mingi by any means necessary. Even if someone stays behind with Mingi, the risk is still there. Thus… Hongjoong would rather risk Mingi having an episode in the arena or take the easy way out and wipe his brain.”

“But why?” It still doesn’t make sense to you, but at this rate, it’s seeming less and less likely that it will ever make sense. “That seems too pricy a cost for such a small risk, along with the assumption that Mingi can’t protect himself.”

“It isn’t about cost,” Jongho cuts in. “Nor is it a failure to believe in Mingi’s capabilities. It’s… deeper than that. Hongjoong always worries about something happening to Mingi when he isn’t there. He thinks it’s risky enough to send Mingi with San and me, but he can’t bring him to Vladimir. That would be the worst of all shitty ass ideas. Do I see the logic in bringing Mingi to the arena? Of course, I do. Having him be off to the side and in one of the wings – that would make it easier to keep him out of Vladimir’s sights. It would help him blend in with the crowd, hide from whatever guards Vladimir will have, more space to run if the need arises. You can’t do that on a ship with only a few exits. Hongjoong is thinking, and he’s thinking hard, yes, but at the same time, he’s being a complete dumbass.”

The steady thrum of silence follows Jongho’s explanation, and you can’t come up with anything to say in response. Neither can San, or so it seems, because he offers a nod but nothing other than that. Then, like a switch being flipped in his brain, he spins to face you with inquisitive eyes.

“You’re the only one here who has actually had the procedure done.” It isn’t spoken like a question, moreso a fact, but you find yourself responding as though it is one nonetheless.

“Yes? As far as I’m aware.”

“Well, that would also make you the only person who knows what it’s like to go through that even if the memories of it are hazy and foggy.” You press your lips tightly together, unable to look San in the eye any longer. The embarrassment of your earlier collapse and partial breakdown is still fresh, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you also are struggling to get past the harsh memory. “Would you willingly subject another person to that?”

Ah, morality. An equally funny and tricky thing to handle in any situation. Now, it seems even more delicate and fragile, something you have to weigh ever so carefully to keep from saying the wrong thing. What is wrong when it comes to criminals though? Are there different rules to play by, a separate set of guidelines that all should follow to decide what’s best, or does one leave it to fate instead? Let the universe decide how morality should be weighed on the scales of justice?

You’ve never been one to listen to the universe, even when it stands in your path and screams for you to listen.

“Only if they want it,” you start in a whispered tone. “Never against their will obviously but… but if someone were to ask for it and agree to it, then yes.”

“So if Mingi truly wants it, then you would be okay with the method?” San’s question stops you in your tracks. Perhaps you have said the wrong thing or made a mistake in saying what you did — you are well aware of what San’s response would be, so maybe that is why he is so frustrated with yours. San would have you say that it is impermissible under any and all circumstances, even with clearly defined guidelines and consent. His morals make you question your own even though you know where he is coming from. To him, it is all a matter of relations. Having a relationship with a solid foundation means that it is perfectly alright to think that way. Yet using San’s moral guidelines, that would mean that the closer you get to someone, the more you take away from them. Their choice, their thought process, how they decide things, even their own moral standards. Can you truly permit that in good conscience? For once, your answer seems clear.

“Yes,” you relent after a few breaths of hesitation. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Would you say the same if it were myself or Jongho? Or Seonghwa?” Again, you hesitate – this time longer than before, and you almost neglect to answer the question entirely. You muster up the courage at the last second, however, but you don’t think it’s the response San wants to hear still.

“Again, if it’s what you truly want, then why would it be fair for someone to stop you? Why take away that choice?”

“But Hongjoong is taking away Mingi’s choice now!” Jongho argues, stepping towards you with knitted brows. “He is abusing his power as Captain! He knows that Mingi would do absolutely anything that he told him to do. It’s not free will or a choice if someone only gives you one option.”

“And yet… it’s not all Hongjoong, is it?” San inquires through a delicate frown. “Yunho is the one who brought it up and made it an option in the first place.”

Jongho brings a hand to his hair, carding his fingers through the dark locks sitting atop his head. He drops his gaze to the floor too and refuses to look in San’s direction until he makes it back to where he was packing clothes.

“Yeah, I already ripped into him for that.”

“Do you know why he did it? It doesn’t make sense for Yunho of all people to bring it up. Out of everyone, he’s the one with the strongest moral compass, so why – no, how – how could he do something so immoral?”

“Morals are different for everyone.” Jongho huffs air through his nose and lets the sound fill the air without interruption for several moments. “What’s moral to one person could be wholly immoral to another. Look at how Mingi was raised, how he was taught that the way he thinks is right and that it’s the proper method of thought and morality. Others consider him to be an immoral monster with no concept of right and wrong, but in his own mind, that isn’t how it works. Yunho… Yunho genuinely believes that doing this is truly the only option. We’ve never seen eye to eye on Mingi’s condition, of course, but – or how to help, now that I think about it – but I know I can’t convince Yunho to change his mind. Hongjoong however? I can change his mind for certain.”

“What do y–” The door interrupts you, sliding open before you can complete the question, and you whip to face the source of the sound. San and Jongho move with you, eyes reaching the door before yours do. You almost expect to find Hongjoong standing there just based on the sigh that through Jongho’s lips, but you’re even more surprised to see that it is Seonghwa instead. He pauses midstride upon seeing you, no doubt expecting to find Jongho alone in the room. His mouth hangs slightly open as his eyes dart up to meet yours. The stare lingers too long, continuing to bore into you as he shifts his chin in Jongho’s direction.

“Lieutenant,” Jongho greets. His tone is cold and flat, almost like nothing is different about this situation. You know better than to believe that. Jongho’s next words only solidify that fact. “I suppose that’s the last time I’ll be calling you that.”

It’s like a knife in the chest yet somehow ten times worse. San’s expression visibly twists, and he turns away so that no one sees the extent of his pain.

“Don’t think so negatively, Jongho,” Seonghwa murmurs as he steps further into the room. “Hongjoong doesn’t want you to leave. Why would he ever want that?”

“Then why isn’t he here to tell me that himself?” Jongho snorts out a laugh following the harsh question. “Why is it that good Lieutenant Park always does the dirty work for him?”

“Come now, Jongho. Don’t get bitter now of all times.”

“Oh, fuck off! Let me be bitter! Mingi is the only fucking person on this ship who knows what it’s like to feel the way I feel and suffer the way I suffer. He’s the only person who I think can give me the redemption I need so desperately. He has always been my responsibility and mine alone. I know how to help him, I believe in him, and I put some damn faith in him getting better without any fucking procedures. I can be bitter all I want because Hongjoong is putting zero faith in Mingi.”

“I understand, Jongho.”

In the blink of an eye, Jongho has moved from the edge of the bed to the wall, the only thing between him and the metal being Seonghwa. His hand closes around Seonghwa’s throat while the other draws back as though he’s about to punch the lieutenant.

“You don’t understand shit!”

Seonghwa doesn’t dare to budge, but both you and San snap into action, rushing to grab Jongho and pull him off the other man. Before you have the chance to do anything, Seonghwa lifts his hand and makes a halting motion.

“You can hit me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jongho’s fist wavers where it is, and he lowers it back down to his side after a moment without doing anything. His hand falls away from Seonghwa’s throat as well, letting the lieutenant breathe easily once more, and he steps away while heaving a deep sigh.

“You shouldn’t take everything for Hongjoong. If I’m gonna hit someone, it’ll be him.” Jongho waves a hand towards the door. “If all you came here to do was be a punching bag for Hongjoong, then you can go.”

“No, actually... that’s not why I came.” Seonghwa pushes himself off the wall, straightening the collar of his turtleneck as best he can. “I don’t want to use the serum, Jongho. I don’t want Mingi to go near the arena at all. Hongjoong and I -- we never came to an agreement about it after everyone left. He merely made the decision as the captain. I tried my best to change his mind, I truly did, but I couldn’t -- I-I don’t understand why I couldn’t.” Seonghwa’s gaze darts to the floor, looking over the patterns along the carpet before pulling back up to look Jongho in the eye. He stretches a hand out and clamps it over Jongho’s shoulder. The Berserker allows the touch, albeit begrudgingly. “I truly don’t want any harm to come to Mingi, but I can’t stop Hongjoong just by talking to him.”

Seonghwa glances past Jongho’s shoulder to stare San in the eye with such intensity to his gaze that you get a chill down your spine.

“The mission tomorrow cannot be successful under any circumstances.”

“Yes, you’re right.” San hums to himself for a moment, then looks off to the side. “The only way to stop Hongjoong from getting his way would be to fail to get the serum. What’s the plan then? We should destroy the serum if we find it, no?” San turns to you now, eyes expectant and waiting for some sort of input on your part, but you genuinely don’t know what he wants you to say.

Instead of saying anything, you shift your chin in the opposite direction and avoid his probing stare.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you mutter back quickly.

No matter which way you look at the situation, you can only see it as taking away Mingi’s choice. No one is asking him what he wants, and while you understand the reasoning behind that, you cannot grasp how this is the just thing to do. Whether you give him the serum or not, he won’t have a say in the matter. Where is the line drawn? When it comes to morality, when is it okay to take away someone’s consent and leave them with nothing? Surely when it comes to protecting them, but both these options... both can defend him. What then?

No one presses you for answers, and you’re immensely grateful for that because it allows you to ask your next question with relative ease.

“How are we going to pull this off with Yeosang on the mission? Wouldn’t he tell Hongjoong?”

“Even Yeosang will see reason,” San argues. A sigh passes through Seonghwa’s slightly parted lips.

“I would take Yeosang’s place on the mission, but given my resistance to the plan... that would be suspicious. Hongjoong knows me far too well and would see through it in an instant. He picked Yeosang and San because they follow orders best and do what’s asked of them. And he picked Y/N because she’s the one with the most military experience. Yeosang has experience but… he was a prince, not a soldier. His specialty was out in the field, whereas yours was in teams, working in units, not being at the front of the line. That’s why you’re being put on the team, for that experience.”

“Experience that’s absolutely useless,” you snort, folding your arms over your chest. “I don’t remember what the serum looked like. And no offense, but I sure as hell don’t want to try to remember what it looked like either.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Seonghwa shakes his head, barely sparing you a second glance in favor of looking at San. “In order to get the serum, you’ll be breaking into a military base.”

“Have you gone fucking mad?” San seethes, hands balling into tight fists at his sides. Seonghwa levels him with ease and sends such a heated glare his way that Jongho stands up a bit straighter.

“If you think even for a second that I did not try my damndest to get Hongjoong to change the plan, you would be horribly wrong,” Seonghwa hisses through gritted teeth. San shifts under the weight of his tone but doesn’t say anything in response. “The only reason I left Hongjoong’s quarters was to keep from knocking him out. If there was any other option, I would take it.”

Jongho clears his throat and effectively breaks the tension between the two men, shaking his head slightly as he steps closer to them.

“There is another option.” Jongho jerks his head towards you and San. He points a single finger in your direction, aimed right at your head, and you press your lips together tightly as confusion washes over you. “I’m leaving in the morning at the same time as you two and Yeosang are to leave for the mission. You will have comms on hand, obviously. Yeosang and San can sneak into the base, guided by you over comms, but you won’t have to set foot inside. And at least for your peace of mind and security, I can stay with you at a secure location while you guide them through the base.”

“That...” Seonghwa trails off and draws his lips together in a tight knot. “That might work, actually.”

“Wow, don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I’m not surprised,” Seonghwa retorts through a scoff. “I’ll be in charge of listening over comms throughout the mission. If we can come up with a system – a sort of code word – to keep Hongjoong from catching on, we might be able to pull this off. I’ll be at the comms station on the bridge, so Hongjoong won’t hear anything except for what I say. Thus, I can’t very well say that it’s time to destroy the serum.”

“When I was – in my team in the military, we had a system for explosive and detonation squadrons,” you cut in, fingers snapping together in sudden realization.

“I didn’t realize you were a part of an explosives team,” Seonghwa remarks. His brows draw together a bit as he speaks, and you can sense the question on his lips before he even asks it.

“That’s the thing you’re most concerned about right now?” You don’t intend for the question to come out so aggressive, and the slight shock that passes over Seonghwa’s expression only serves to make you feel ten times worse about the slip of your tongue. “Anyway, there was always a worry of someone listening in on our comms, so it was a failsafe more than anything else, but we used ‘package’ as a keyword for a bomb. ‘Secure the package’ meant it was time to place the bomb, ‘package secured’ meant that the bomb was in place and ready to be detonated, and ‘come home’ was a go signal for detonation. A bit basic, yes, but useful nonetheless.”

“That should be a perfect plan, no?” San inquires, blinking over at where Seonghwa is standing. The lieutenant maintains his stare on you for quite some time; he almost seems lost in thought to a certain degree, and it takes San clearing his throat for Seonghwa to snap out of it.

“Yes, we’ll just need the package to be the serum rather than a bomb. Jongho—” he outstretches a hand to the Berserker, hesitating a few inches from his arm, “—does this mean that you’ll stay then?”

“Only if you manage to pull this off.”

“I’d like to think I know what I’m doing.” Seonghwa huffs out a light laugh and pulls his hand back to run it through his hair. “This isn’t the first time I’ve gone against Hongjoong’s wishes. Right now though, someone needs to go talk to Yeosang about this plan. Preferably one of you two.” Seonghwa angles two fingers towards you and San, and you glance over at the Spectre before saying anything yourself.

“Yeosang will never listen to me,” San cuts in with a sharp shake of his head. “And I’m not all too inclined to have a one on one conversation with him anyway.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jongho mutters through a sigh. “I need to talk to Wooyoung about… this mess. I know he’s the most upset by it.”

“Right, that’ll be fine.” Seonghwa thumbs over his chin, seeming to drift off into thought once more. The wear is starting to show more clearly on his features; the way his blinking has slowed considerably and become a bit hard to keep up with. It’s more than evident that he is struggling to stay awake with each passing second, and that alone makes you wonder exactly how much he and Hongjoong have been up over this past week in preparation for this mission. “Y/N, inform Yeosang of the plan. If Wooyoung is there, it should be easier to convince him since Wooyoung will most certainly agree with the plan. Hopefully, this can be a smooth and painless mission for once, but nonetheless… good luck. I won’t be able to talk to any of you until we’re on comms tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to Yunho about what the hell is going through his head in all this mess.”

Seonghwa turns to the door and readies himself to leave, but Jongho doesn’t let him get far, hand darting out to catch hold of the lieutenant’s arm.

“Keep… keep working on Hongjoong, would you?” Jongho’s request is spoken in a soft tone, and he barely glances up at Seonghwa as he speaks. Seonghwa smiles back at him even though the other man can’t see his expression.

“Of course. We’ll get this worked out as best we can.”

Jongho’s hand falls away from his arm, and Seonghwa takes the opportunity to step out of the room without saying anything else. The silence that drapes over the remaining three of you is not welcome, but you relish in it while you can, knowing that these next few days won’t be peaceful in the slightest. San lets it linger for a few seconds, fingers combing through his dark hair, then he releases a deep sigh.

“Good luck with Yeosang. You’ll need it. I’m gonna head down to the hangar bay to get weapons sorted for tomorrow.”

Jongho nods, and you follow suit quickly when San’s gaze travels over to where you’re standing. He smiles a bit, gaze unreadable as he moves out the door and leaves you and Jongho alone. There’s an opportunity now – you could ask Jongho if he’s truly alright now that it’s just the two of you, but your voice dies in the back of your throat before you can even think about what to say.

“Let’s go get this over with. I’m not looking forward to chatting with Wooyoung.”

“Why not?” You rush to ask the question before you can second-guess yourself, falling into step with Jongho as he leads the way out of the room.

“Outside of Yeosang, I’m the closest to him but… if there was a way to avoid this, then I would have done it. There’s always too much collateral damage when it comes to fights like these. Hurting him is the last thing I wanted to do.” Jongho pauses, lips stuttering and remaining parted for quite some time before he speaks again. “The worst part about being a Berserker isn’t the – the rage or the violent tendencies I feel. It’s t-the pain. When I hurt someone I care about, I feel that pain so strongly, and I – sometimes I wish I could be like Mingi instead, not have the ability to feel bad when that pain comes or not be able to understand it because understanding is worse. This just… it has to work out.”

“It will,” you murmur. Your eyes trace the edges of Jongho’s features – his knitted brows and downcast gaze – and you are in the midst of reaching out to grab his arm when he halts all of a sudden. You forgot how short the walk would be; you’re already standing outside Yeosang’s door, the metal nameplate on the wall reading his name in small letters. Jongho knocks hard at the door with the back of his hand.

“Yeosang, you in there?”

A high-pitched yelp resounds, followed by a hefty thud that sounds something like a body hitting the floor, then Wooyoung’s squealing tone apologizing, and you and Jongho exchange confused glances. Whatever hit the floor – most like Yeosang from the sounds of it – groans and pulls itself up before coming to the door and heaving a deep sigh. The metal panel slides open to reveal a disheveled Yeosang, hair a mess but overall collected. Wooyoung seems to be in a much more scrambled state with his shirt haphazard and untucked, eyes bloodshot – no doubt from crying – and lips a bit swollen and redder than usual.

“Oh, yikes, did we interrupt something?” Jongho asks, taking a step away from the door.

“Oh, shut up!” Wooyoung huffs as he shoves his way past Yeosang to tackle Jongho with a tight hug. “You’re a dick,” he mumbles into Jongho’s shoulder, and the Berserker laughs at the snarky remark.

“You got me there, I’ll admit it.”

“Why are you here?” Yeosang cuts through the intimate moment to question you, eyes glaring holes into your skull as you linger outside the room.

“I – We need to talk about the mission,” you explain. Yeosang arches a brow at you and continues to stare without making a sound, then he draws his arms up to fold over his chest. “It’s important, Yeosang.”

“Hm, must be for you to actually call me by name. Come in.” He waves you into the room, eyeing Wooyoung as the man continues to cling to Jongho for dear life. You step in and wait for the door to snap shut before beginning to speak again.

“Tomorrow, you and San are going into the military alone. I’ll be with Jongho at a different location guiding you over comms. Seonghwa is going to be listening in and helping where he needs to, as well as keeping Hongjoong from figuring out what’s going on. We’ll ne–”

“And what exactly is going on?” Yeosang interjects. His gaze grows colder by the second, hitting you with such intensity that you feel a chill rush through your body.

“Keeping Hongjoong from getting the serum,” you counter. You’re pushing as much assertiveness as you can into your tone, yet Yeosang still seems unfazed. “We have to keep him from wiping Mingi’s mind!”

“And why is that?”

“Why is that? Are you being fucking serious? Why the hell wouldn’t you be okay with this?” Your tone practically burns your throat as you hiss the words out. You dare to take a step in his direction, but that quickly turns out to be a horrid mistake.

Yeosang sneers, upper lip curling upwards, then suddenly his fist connects with your stomach. You double over at the impact, and Wooyoung is calling out Yeosang’s name, but the blond is already hellbent on giving you a piece of his mind. Lithe fingers curl around the base of your neck and push you back until you slam against the wall. There’s a striking sense of familiarity to this position – one that takes you back to the dusty desert of Medra where Yeosang left you with a thinly veiled threat concerning your intentions on the ship and crew.

“You are on thin fucking ice as it is, Y/N. I only maintain civilities with you for Wooyoung’s sake, but honestly, I would have no qualms ending your life where you stand now if not for him. You had best take into consideration that you are not one of us. You haven’t been on this crew nearly long enough to be making such demands, and you haven’t earned an ounce of respect from me. If I were you, I wouldn’t dare to test my patience any more than you already have.”

“Yeosang, stop!”

Wooyoung pulls away from Jongho and starts to move towards where Yeosang has you pinned. The fingers around your throat tighten to a dangerous degree. Black fills the edges of your vision.

“Yeosang.” Wooyoung slips through the small gap between you and Yeosang, hands sliding up to cup Yeosang’s cheeks. Yeosang doesn’t relent in his grip. He stares past Wooyoung’s head in favor of glaring at you and doesn’t budge an inch as Wooyoung tries to push him back. “Stop it. Let her go. She’s right about this, and you know it. Are you really okay with forcing Mingi into this? All the progress we’ve made over the years would go down the drain, and for what? Absolutely nothing. Do you really think this is right?”

Yeosang’s grip wavers against your throat, but he still refuses to budge. Wooyoung pushes his head, the grip on his jaw tightening as he forces Yeosang to look at him.

“Look at me, Yeo. Look at me, please.”

“I’m an Elitist, Wooyoung, not some easily swayed Normie with a moral compass. It is in my nature to choose the most logical option. Getting on Hongjoong’s bad side isn’t logical. That won’t protect you in the long run. Taking away the most dangerous part of Mingi, taking away his aggression and hypersensitive trigger happy nature – that protects you.” Wooyoung snorts, head turning to the side as he laughs at Yeosang’s logic.

“Then tell me, Yeo, was shooting the chains of a prisoner and pushing him into an airlock the logical decision?” Yeosang’s eyes flash with barely contained rage. “Or was it the right thing to do?”

Wooyoung drops his hands away from Yeosang’s face and tugs at the bindings over his injured hand. Yeosang doesn’t seem to process what he’s doing fast enough, and neither do you or Jongho because next thing you know, Wooyoung has his sleeve pulled up and is ripping at the barely closed wound. By the time Yeosang snaps into action, hand wrenching off your throat to stretch towards Wooyoung’s arm, blood already drips down the length of his forearm. Wooyoung smacks Yeosang’s desperate hand away from him and steps out of his reach.

“You can protect me from all sorts of things in the universe, Yeo, but you can’t protect me from myself. The logical thing to do would be to keep me from hurting myself, not allowing it, locking me up in chains and a straight-jacket. Put me in a room with padded walls and no sharp object where I can’t hurt myself. But you can’t do the logical thing, can you?” Wooyoung curls his fingers into a fist and extends his index finger towards Yeosang’s chest. Blood drips to the floor with the motion, and when Wooyoung jabs his finger into Yeosang’s torso, the Elitist lurches as though punched. “There’s a difference between a logical thing and a good thing. It’s time to do the right thing. If not for Mingi, then for me. Because I’m asking you to.”

Yeosang blinks down at the finger pressed to his chest without saying anything for what feels like an eternity. When he next looks up, his expression has lost every ounce of hostility. He matches Wooyoung’s stare with a considerably gentler one, and something akin to pride shines in his dark eyes before he shifts to face you once more.

“I’m on board for now. At least until it’s not the right thing to do anymore.”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi guys wow this was longer than i anticipated??? i didn’t mean for it to be so long whoopsie bUT!!! big chapter kinda a filler chapter i was gonna make it longer but i decided to save that for the next chapter, so this one is more of an intimate in depth look at things 👀 how do we feel!!!

if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

334 notes · View notes

adam-dumortains · 3 years

Text

longing - adam du mortain x detective

An unexpected visit from Adam to the Detective’s apartment brings both of their feelings to the surface.

“And all I've seen since 18 hours ago is green eyes, and freckles and your smile.”

words: 1620 | warning: swearing

Requested by @goldenforever17

The detective sat on her couch, a patterned blanket draped around her whilst a pile of papers and case files were strewn across her coffee table. It was supposed to be her day off, but the detective couldn’t relax knowing that somewhere, there was a young girl terrified, wanting to be back in her parent's arms. The mug of tea on the table had been left untouched due to the Detective's attention being fixed wholly on the case. Not only was a young girl missing, heartbroken parents and a supernatural culprit, but the case also had little evidence to go on and Bobby had been incessantly harassing her for details. A faint ache had plagued her head for days accompanied by heavy eyes. Her eyes fell onto the mug on her table, which she quickly took a swig off before grimacing at the cold liquid hitting her throat. She groaned as she slammed the mug back onto the table, her body sinking back into the couch. Why couldn’t anything go right recently? She cursed herself as she could feel the emotion bubbling inside her and the lump that was slowly forming in her throat. She rubbed her head as a single tear of frustration fell from her cheek before she snatched the case file from the table, opening it up to see a picture of Addie smiling up at her. She just wanted to find the young girl and bring her back home.

There was a knock at the door. The detective lifted her head up and peered over to the door with a confused frown. She wasn’t expecting anybody today and Rebecca would have called if she was going to visit. The only person she could think of that would be bothering her on her “day off” would be Bobby. The detective groaned as she moved the case file off her lap, forcing herself to walk to the door.

“Bobby, if that’s you, I’m gonna lose my shi-” Her words fell short as her gaze travelled up to meet the icy green eyes she had not stopped thinking about since she last saw them. “Adam?”

“Detective.”

“O-Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you were Bobby.”

Adam’s lips slowly turned into a disgusted grimace. He wasn’t sure whether it was because she mistook him for someone as incompetent as Bobby Marks or whether it was the reminder that Bobby was her ex. “It’s just me. I came to see if you were... alright.”

The detective rolled her eyes. “Did Rebecca send you? She knew I wanted a few days to look at this case. I love her and all but she doesn’t need to check up on me, or send anyone else to for that matter.”

“Rebecca didn’t send me... I came on my own accord.” His voice was soft. The admission shocked the detective for a split second before the shock turned into a small smile on her lips. He had come all the way to her apartment just to check on her. She quickly moved out of the doorway, gesturing Adam to come inside. Adam stepped in, yet again, inspecting her apartment.

“How is the case going, Detective?”

“How many times have I told you to call me by my name? It’s Adaline, in case you forgot.”

Adam’s jaw clenched slightly at the sarcastic tone in Adaline’s voice, but it wasn’t enough to hide the amused smile appearing on his lips. “How’s the case going, Adaline?”

Adaline laughed out loud at Adam’s attempt to be funny as he purposely said her name with a hint of sarcasm. She liked when he loosened up from his usual stoic expression.

“It’s... not,” she sighed. “There’s barely any evidence to go off. I just want to save this poor girl and bring her back to her parents.” She slumped back onto the couch, throwing her head into her hands in frustration. Adam’s gaze followed her to the couch. He moved over to sit beside her before he even realised what he was doing. He looked at his hand, a silent battle in his mind on whether to put his hand on her back to comfort her. The urge to do it won as he gently placed his hand on her back.

The sudden touch of Adam’s hand on Adaline’s back sent her heart into overdrive as her breath hitched. Just his touch alone was enough to make her feel alive. Her head slowly rose from her hands, before lifting up to meet Adam’s green eyes. The space between them was barely there, and Adam’s emerald eyes felt as though they were looking into her very soul. All she wanted to do was kiss him. Her hand moved to his arm, her voice a breathless whisper in her now silent apartment. “Adam..”

The gaze was interrupted by an awkward cough from Adam who quickly jumped up from the couch, almost knocking Adaline over in the process. Adaline frowned as she felt pricks of pain in her chest. Every time Adam moved from her touch, she could have sworn her heart broke a little each time. It was draining. She yearned for his touch. She looked back up at him before snapping her gaze away, shaking away the need to let tears spill.

“I’m getting really tired of this, Adam.”

“Of what?”

“Of you, I’m tired of-”

“You’re tired of me? Then I will leave.” He hissed through gritted teeth as he turned around and walked towards the door.

“You didn’t let me finish! I’m tired of you denying what we feel for each other.”

He shook his head, refusing to turn around. “I don’t.. I don’t feel anything.” As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them.

The detective laughed to herself, shaking her head. “You can keep lying to yourself, Adam. But that won’t change how you feel. What we both feel.”

Adam finally turned around to meet her gaze. The words of Sanja still playing in his head after all this time. That fall will crush you both. He stayed silent. He turned again towards the door, putting his hand onto the handle before feeling a harsh hold on his arm.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Adaline yelled, the anger from his silence and ignoring what she had said bubbling over the edge. Adam’s eyebrows shot up as he turned around, before frowning angrily at the Detective.

“I told you. I feel nothing.” He barked.

“Fuck you, Adam. If you’re not going to be honest, then I will. Cause I’m tired of acting like your touch doesn’t send shockwaves through my skin. I’m tired of acting like your eyes aren’t all I dream about and I’m so damn tired of wanting you!”

The words left Adam speechless. His eyes searched her face as his mouth fell open.

“Tell me you feel the same, please,” Adaline pleaded. “Or just leave.” There was another moment of silence. Adaline looked at him one final time, before shaking her head.

She should have known better than to think Adam would actually care for her in the same way she did for him. She wiped a quick tear away from her cheek as she turned around from him, unable to look at him in case she broke. She waited for the sound of the door opening and shutting behind her, knowing that once she heard that, she could finally break down. But she didn’t hear it. Instead, she felt Adam’s fingers delicately on her arm and his presence behind her. She turned her neck slightly to see him stood behind her, the space between them only a few inches.

She could hear Adam’s nervous breathing against her neck, the shaky breaths warm against her skin. Adaline slowly turned around to face him again, their faces the closest they’d ever been. She looked into his green eyes and could see the fear in them. Not fear of her, but fear of what was about to happen next and what it could mean for them both.

His hand slowly traced up her arm to rest on her cheek, the touch causing Adaline to close her eyes. Adam’s thumb grazed against the skin of her cheek ever so gently, and to Adaline’s surprised, she felt his lips close to hers. Their lips hesitated against each other for a brief moment, unsure of whether they should go any further until a sigh of relief escaped Adaline as their lips melted into one another. The kiss was gentle, as though both were trying to savour every second of each other. It felt like time had stopped as their tongues slid against each other before the months and months of yearning came to a grinding halt as their kiss became more fervent as though they had both wanted this moment their entire lives. Adam’s other hand draped around the detective’s back, pulling her closer as his hungry kisses trailed down to her neck, before moving back up to her lips, missing the feel of them against his already. Adam moaned into the kiss, breaking the space between them as Adaline’s arms moved over his shoulders and wrap around his neck as her heart pounded against her chest.

Suddenly, Adam pulled his lips away from Adaline with a small frown on his face. Adaline moved closer to him as though it was instinct before realising he had pulled away, a small disappointed look washing over her face. The only sounds in the room were the unsteady breaths of them both as they tried to catch their breath. Adaline could feel the tingle on her lips left by Adam, bringing her fingers up to her lips to feel them as though she wanted to savour the feeling just a little longer. Adam’s eyes followed her fingers to her lips before meeting her eyes again. Their gazes never wavered for each other as they both realised that they crossed the line they never thought they would.

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #agent du mortain #agent a #mc x adam du mortain fanfic #adam x detective #Adam x detective fanfic #Adam x detective fanfiction #Adam x mc #mc x Adam #detective x Adam #twc #twc fanfic #twc fanfiction #the wayhaven chronicles fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

geeks-universe · 3 years

Text

& To All a Goodnight.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: For requests could you do a dean x reader where they spend Christmas together and it's a lot of fluff?😳😳

Requested by: Anonymous

Holidays were never really celebrated at the bunker.

If you were being honest, most of the time you weren’t even sure what day it was, let alone preparing for festivities regarding some day that was probably tied to some horrible historical event.

But, if you were being more honest, you really did love Christmas.

It wasn’t so much the religious connotations- which had grown considerably more complicated when you considered your relationship with angels- but more so the idea of holiday cheer, and an unexplainable magic in the air. As a kid, you had loved Christmas. You celebrated from the beginning of November, right up until the day itself, baking cookies, watching cheesy holiday movies, and decorating every square inch of the house.

After losing your parents, and the subsequent descent into the life of a hunter, you hadn’t really been able to celebrate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, though it was considerably a difficult time for the first couple years, but you hadn’t had a chance. You were constantly on the go. The closest thing to a home you had was the warm embrace of Dean Winchester and the backseat of the Impala, which Sam had argued he was too big for. (He was, but you liked sitting shotgun.)

With the bunker though, you had an opportunity to celebrate like you hadn’t in years.

And you did.

Sam and Dean had left for the week. Well, five days maximum, if Dean were to be trusted, but you knew him well enough to know that meant seven days minimum. You had cracked a couple of ribs on the last hunt, and with Castiel MIA, you were stuck healing the old-fashioned way.

Never one to be cooped up for an excessive amount of time, you had gone all out with the decorations. Every room had an overwhelming amount of Christmas cheer, save Dean and Sam’s room.

And the tree!

Oh my goodness, the tree!

You had gone out and got a fresh tree, straight from a Christmas tree farm. Red and gold adorned the green needles, creating a homey atmosphere among the living room typically used to unwind after rough cases. You decided on a star to put atop the tree, as opposed to an angel. (It was bad enough you had them popping up in real time, you didn’t want them to ruin the Christmas cheer.)

You hadn’t stopped there, either. You bought and wrapped both Sam and Dean enough gifts to fill out the empty base of the tree. Dean had confided in you once that he couldn’t even remember what a normal Christmas was like, so you were determined to give the boys the best one yet.

And, when four whole days had passed of decorating, you moved onto baking. Chocolates, cookies, pies- you name it. You had gone slightly overboard, but the boys still weren’t back yet, and Christmas was slowly creeping closer.

Would they be back in time?

You certainly hoped so. They hadn’t given you an update in nearly a full day, but you had a 48 hour rule- 48 hours before any of you unleashed hell upon whatever case the one who hadn’t contacted was working on.

Though, after putting away all of the goodies, you’d snuggled up on the couch and put on a cheesy, and wholly predictable, Christmas romantic comedy while waiting for your boys. You were worried, and it took three and a half movies before you were able to fall asleep, but eventually, to the gentle lull of Christmas music, your eyes slipped shut on Christmas Eve.

Sam and Dean were practically dragging themselves into the bunker by the time they made it home. It was a long haul back, and they hadn’t even managed to check in with you.

Dean had been adamant about making it back before Christmas. He had been holding onto a special gift for you for months, and maybe it was a little cheesy, but he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.

“Wow.”

Sam had been the first to step back into the bunker, and Dean couldn’t see over his giraffe of a younger brother, so he was left to wonder what “wow” meant. He wasn’t left waiting for long though, because as soon as he got through the door, he saw the decorations all placed precariously throughout the room, making the bunker feel a little more like a home.

“So much for rest,” Dean muttered, already preparing his worried, yet heartfelt speech about why injuries were not to be taken lightly.

“That’s exactly what I need,” Sam hid a yawn behind his hand. “I’m heading to bed, I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Dean waved him off, following the string of multi-colored lights to the living room. You had a habit of waiting on the couch for him when he was gone, like you thought you could stay awake a few extra hours just in case he made it home early. It brought a smile to his face.

As expected, you were stretched out of the couch, clothed in an old, oversized t-shirt of his. His blanket was wrapped snugly around your body, and the corner of your lips were pulled up like you were having a good dream.

Unable to help himself, he slipped his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of you. He had an album in his camera roll, labeled with just a heart, that consisted solely of the photos that made him fall a little more in love with you.

It was created the day after he met you, and there were already several hundred photos in it.

“(Y/N),” Dean called softly, careful rousing you. As a hunter, you were sometimes a little too aggressive if you were suddenly woken up.

“Dean,” you whispered back, your eyes still shut, but the beginnings of consciousness seeping in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied, dropping down onto his knees to get closer to you.

By the time you opened your eyes, he was right there, running his thumb along your cheek.

“How’d the hunt go?” You inquired, leaning into his touch.

His lips quirked up.

“A few bruises, Sammy’s hair got a little messed up, nothing serious.”

You breathed a laugh, reaching up to cradle his head with your hands. He kissed your wrist as you did so.

“Looks like Santa got here early,” Dean commented after a moment, nodding his head in the direction of the tree.

“Guess so,” you stated, failing to keep the smile off your lips. “Hope you’ve been good this year.”

His brows raised, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Darling,” he drawled, “You and I both know I haven’t.”

You giggled at his silly joke, moving to sit up so you could embrace him a little better. He took the sudden vacancy as an opportunity to slip into the spot beside you. His arms wrapped more firmly around your waist, tugging you onto his lap.

“I missed you,” you hummed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Of course you did,” he teased, pressing his lips to your cheek. He stayed there for a moment, letting the warmth of your skin seep into the cold whispers the days without you had brought.

“I’ve got a present for you,” he said suddenly, shifting a bit to pull the gift from his pocket.

“I think you’re supposed to open gifts on Christmas,” you reminded him, listening to the strong beat of his heart against your head.

“I mean, it’s passed midnight,” he argued, holding a small box out in the palm of his hand.

It was made of wood, and had a symbol you didn’t quite understand carved into the smooth mahogany, but you took it with a smile nonetheless.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift,” you stated. You had meant for this Christmas to be all about him and Sam.

“Open it,” he urged, ignoring your objection without hesitation.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, popping the box open with a soft click.

It was a necklace. The chain and pendant were both a shiny silver, though the pendant was shaped like a compass. You gasped, reaching out to run a finger along the craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful,” you told him. “Why the compass?”

Even in the dim light provided by the Christmas decorations, you could see the red on his cheeks.

“So you’ll always find your way home to me.”

It was very much an un-Dean thing to say. He had, in recent months, been exceedingly comfortable with you, and had allowed himself to say some of what he had hidden under his gruff, macho exterior.

It was endearing.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“It’s made from the knife you stabbed me with.”

While that sentence would sound totally bonkers from anyone else, and honestly make you question whether you should be in jail, the story wasn’t quite as cut and dry as Dean made it seem.

You and Sam had to perform a ritual to force the creature possessing Dean out of his body. In order to do so, you’d had to get some amount of blood. However, the creature had made it nearly impossible, and in the end you’d sent the blade through his hand.

Cas had been there to heal him up, but Dean hadn’t let you live that one down ever since. It had been used in one too many guilt trips.

“I was-”

“Saving my life, I know, I know,” he interrupted with a laugh.

You lightly pushed against his shoulder.

“You’re a jerk,” you claimed, admiring the gift. It was really pretty, and the details were immaculate.

“But you love me,” he sing-songed.

“I do,” you agreed, leaning up to kiss his jaw. His eyes slipped shut as you did so. “Somehow.”

“Funny,” he retorted dryly. “Now let’s get you to bed, since you obviously didn’t rest while we were gone.”

Yeah, you were definitely expecting some sort of a lecture on your inability to rest, despite being injured. At least he’d let you cuddle some before launching into it.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader

46 notes · View notes

g0dspeeed · 3 years

Text

Unconditional Positive Regard, 5

I’m thinking of not posting fic updates anymore on here, but I will be updating this Smasher/OC fic on ao3!

=========================================

Assessment

A faint whisper.

Soft.

Barely there.

The only noise in the Arasaka gym facility was its overhead air vent, but Adam felt absolutely annoyed by it all the same.

Silent and brooding, the mercenary stood in the middle of the gym mats with arms crossed and his red eyes staring heavily on the entrance. No doubt he was ready to lay into her, practically frothing for Lumen to feel how intensely pissed off he was at her lateness, at how she kept him waiting around like a fool.

Even before his days in the military, Adam was punctual. Or incredibly early. Had to be. As a hardened resident of NYC’s underworld, he could never predict what mob boss would lose his absolute shit over Adam’s ass being late, job fulfilled or not. Such a life seldom provided a second chance, and after watching many a comrade receive their due punishment for inconveniencing some trigger-hungry gang leader, Adam knew better than to press his luck. Though tucked back several decades into his past, the lessons learned in the streets of New York prepared him well in all their cruelty.

Other Arasaka staff wandered near the mats, completely oblivious to Adam until their eyes locked. Without a word, the staff members scurried out of sight.

A growl hummed past his lips. He checked the digital clock above the room for the sixth time in the last ten minutes. His jaw tightened.

Damn her.

Damn that fucking bitch and her bullshit contract.

Just as Adam was about to rip into her via holo, the rushed sounds of pattering feet echoed into the space. Lumen at last made her appearance, jogging through the entrance dressed in a grey tank top, black leggings, and tennis shoes. If anything, she looked prepared for Adam’s physical assessment.

Though her focus, Adam quickly observed, was clearly elsewhere.

As if not even noticing him, Lumen had tossed a small gym bag at the edge of the mats and quickly made work of her dark hair, her fingers running themselves frantically through its tangles in a vain effort to tie them back. Stray hairs stuck to the sticky sheen on her forehead as she struggled to compose herself.

Adam caught Lumen peeking over her shoulder near the entrance, gold eyes wide with anticipation.

Alit brilliant red, his own eyes shined as Adam conducted a quick scan of her vitals. Just as expected, the results read all racing pulse and rising body heat.

He frowned.

The woman was scared.

That force of rage soothed into a dull static. Still pissed? Absolutely, but his curiosity for her anxious state outweighed the anger, especially since the woman at this point seemed unable to experience anything resembling fear. She had stood brave in the face of his wrath before, multiple times even. Not budging, not wavering despite his powerful presence, despite the tight grip he had on her arm in the office.

If not terrified of him, Adam Smasher, what the hell could cause her to be so flustered?

Adam waited as she at last noticed him watching her, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m late,” Lumen stated sheepishly. “I know that.”

Eyes narrowing, Adam didn’t grace her with a response.

A sigh.

“It won’t happen again,” she continued. “I promise.”

He wholly expected a flood of excuses, but Lumen offered not a single one. Instead, she casually approached him, giving one final look over her shoulder towards the opening of the gym.

“Expecting someone?” he questioned.

She turned away.

“Hm?”

At that, Adam snapped.

“You’re not a stupid bitch so stop fucking acting like one!”

Lumen flinched at the sudden harshness in his voice, at how he somehow managed to make himself larger as he loomed over her frozen form.

However, much to Adam’s annoyance, she then squared her shoulders. In a showing of grace, Lumen chose to maintain her ignorance.

“It’s nothing,” she quipped. “Let’s just get started, yeah?”

A tense pause filled the air while the pair refused to break eye contact with one another, too stubborn and too prideful to back down first.

Adam rolled his eyes. So be it. He didn’t really give a fuck anyway. Temper steaming, he conceded, allowing the moment to pass so they could finally start his assessment.

“Stretch,” he ordered. “Then I’ll give you some exercises-”

“What kind?”

“Physical ones,” he replied sharply. “Just do what I fucking tell you. You’ve already wasted enough of my time tonight.”

It was then did she truly regard him. Amusement soon touched her features as she scrutinized his attire. Gone was his large Arasaka jacket, replaced with a gray tank of his own that clung to his large frame. More of his implants could be seen under the bright lights of the gym, and without the jacket’s neck guard Lumen was able to appraise the thick, black cables that snaked down his neck and shoulders, as well as the sharp jawline from the implant on his chin. He still wore his black cargo pants and military-grade boots, but seeing more of his broad shoulders and some RealSkin was a nice change for the good doctor. In a strange way the look humanized him.

“Gawk at me all you want,” stated Adam. “But don’t start anything you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

Her lips twisted into a scowl, but Lumen began stretching as he had told her to. Adam felt pleased at her obedience, eyes lingering on her body as she bent over to tap the mats. Her toned physique curved deliciously at her hips, ass, and breasts, and he blatantly allowed himself an eye full.

Denial served him no good. Adam knew that he was physically attracted to the woman. Knew since they first met in the lobby, her beauty and confidence stalling him in his tracks. Always more drawn to the feminine figure, Lumen’s body lacked any qualities that suggested any weakness. Her legs were lined with muscle, arms, too, showing evidence of some athleticism.

How unfortunate that she was the client, he thought. Might’ve be fun to-

“You good?”

Gold eyes pierced him like knives as her hands gripped her shins.

Adam smirked. No guilt filled him. No shame forced his eyes to avert. Instead, he held her stare in a welcomed challenge.

“Never better,” he responded.

Lumen scoffed.

“To start,” continued Adam. “I need to know what implants you’re outfitted with.”

The annoyance on her face melted away into a blank stare.

“Just my eyes,” she answered. “Kiroshis-”

“I’m not stupid. No one has eyes like yours.”

That last comment spilled out of him before he could stop it. Another pause followed. Adam pushed through the awkwardness, ignoring her quirked brow.

“What other cyberware?”

Her shoulders rose.

“That’s it. I don’t have-”

“There’s no use lying to me-”

“I know. I’m telling the truth. I don’t have anything else.”

His teeth grit.

Of course.

Of course that’s all she had.

His latest security job is an organic meatbag with a savior complex, and his future career with one of the leading corporations in Night City is hinging on her survival.

Lumen frowned as if sensing his disapproval, but he asked nothing more. Instead, Adam led her to an indoor track in the facility and commanded she run a mile. The woman did as she was asked, again stirring a sense of pleasure in the mercenary as he openly lusted at her body while she bounded away.

Meatbag or not, Adam planned to push her. To break her in. To see what she looked like when she crumbled, when her body gave out. To see how she handled pain. Eyes lingered on her ass as she lapped him, his mind forcibly ignoring how his body twitched.

The evening drawled on in a slower pace than what Adam preferred. True, Lumen did all that he asked when it came to assessing her physical prowess. She ran, lifted, pushed, pulled, twisted, and carried whatever weight, time, or distance that Adam commanded. She scored high in each test, even as patches of sweat darkened her top. Her stats mildly impressed him though he would never admit that. It was a small relief that he wouldn’t have to drag her ass through the field as he might the lazy corpos from past security details, their bodies clammy and panting from mild exercise. Though her body was strong, her understanding about defense tactics was certainly not. That’s what made time drag on, the hours stretching with each new technique and modeling of skill. Each drill was met with more questions and coupled with Lumen’s furrowed brow as she tried to learn proper stance and follow-through. She stumbled. She forgot where her hands were supposed to rest. He had to repeat himself, sometimes three or four times until she got it right. To be fair, her opponent stood more than a foot taller than her, his body broad, heavy, and hard. The average citizen of Night City wouldn’t have the same build, but Adam saw value in testing her all the same. No complaints left Lumen, though as time pressed on, Adam could sense her fatigue.

If asked, he would ignore any implications that he enjoyed testing her. The woman was surprisingly open and attentive to his teachings, even when bested by the merc or met with criticism. Adam caught her off guard multiple times to challenge her reflexes, shoulder checking or roughly shoving her back onto the cushioned mats. Frustration was evident whenever she made a mistake, usually in the form of a sharp exhale or her teeth worrying her bottom lip, but Lumen did not allow any self-pity. Instead, she quickly rose from the mat to try again. Such persistence and the true power he felt behind every blocked blow loosened Adam up. Perhaps he lingered in his holds a little longer than necessary. Perhaps he savored how his body was pressed against hers, the heady scent of her perfume and sweat intoxicating him. Maybe he enjoyed her shit-eating grin whenever she felt that she bested him. Or when he let her land some hits just to see her golden eyes light up in pride. Or Adam gave a short ‘good’ whenever she seemed to master a concept, the closest thing to praise that he ever gave anyone.

Denial served him no good. But he would deny to anyone watching them spar that night that he permitted himself a smile.

For his own amusement, Adam dodged her attempt to strike him in the face, side stepping and immediately wrapping an arm around her waist. A shriek escaped Lumen as he lifted her from the floor with ease and tossed her a few yards away, her body landing hard on the mats and rolling before she settled with a groan.

“Again,” Adam repeated for likely the hundredth time.

When Lumen spoke, her face was still turned away, muffled and listless.

“Does this gym not have a closing time-”

“No.”

A heavy breath left her, her body deflating from exhaustion.

“We’ve been doing this for like, six hours, Adam. I think I’m done for the day.”

“You’ll be done when I say you’re done. Get up-”

“Nah.”

She heard his steps and could practically feel the challenge rolling off of him in waves.

“I know that your little assessment is over,” she chided with the same amount of liveliness. “Safe to say that you like tossing me around.”

A sneer spread across Adam’s lips.

“Maybe I do,” he agreed. “Or I just like the view of you on your back.”

A laugh. Weak, but genuine all the same.

“Preem. Glad to know I’m not losing my mind.”

Rolling over, Lumen dared to look into his red eyes. Never got old, the way her eyes shined. The directness set him back.

“Did I pass?” she asked. “Are you willing to babysit me now?”

“Willing? Never.”

Her eyes rolled.

“But do I pass?”

“It’ll take years before you’re passable, but for one day a week I guess it’ll do.”

Lumen chuckled as she pulled herself to her feet. Every muscle and joint ached at the effort, a silent scream retching from her body after all the work that he put her through. She knew that the intensity and duration was all unnecessary, but she chose to humor him all the same with how he conducted his assessment. Especially after catching how Adam watched her, glimmers of his suppressed amazement glowing each time Lumen completed an exercise well ahead of her expected time.

“Holy shit, it’s midnight,” she breathed.

Adam said not a word, choosing to watch her stretch and pack her things in silence. Lumen’s gray tank top was soaked all the way through, evidence of her labor practically dripping off her face. The woman was still standing after all the hell he pushed her through, even smiling to herself as she took off her tank and slipped on a windbreaker. Wasn’t shy, not one bit. His eyes drank her in, committing her curves to memory. Just below the band of her sports bra, Adam saw the beginning of a black tattoo.

“Are you above fraternizing?”

The words took a moment to register, his mind wondering more so about the hidden ink.

Lumen’s smile weakened, feeling the sting of rejection in his lack of response.

“Hey,” she tried again in a new, soft voice. The change snapped Adam back into focus, suspicion filling him immediately.

“I’m sorry about how I treated you back at my office,” continued the woman. “That last time, you know, with my client?”

Her tongue wet her lips.

“She’s just a child,” continued Lumen. “And, well, I guess tantrums match the level of body modifications? I don’t know. Anyway, it wasn’t right that I took out my frustration on you. You just tried to help, and I’m sorry that I was…”

And just like that, her warm smile and how deeply she looked into his eyes captivated him. He froze at her authenticity, at how brazen she was with her vulnerable emotions. A whim that Adam seldom allowed himself to have, lest it maintain a sense of control.

“I was a bitch,” she concluded. “And I’m sorry.”

Adam wasn’t quite sure what to do next. No one had really apologized to him before, not out of anything other than pure fear anyway, and he was so taken aback by the genuine sincerity of it all that he found himself staring off towards the far side of the gym to avoid the intimacy of her gaze.

“I don’t give a shit,” he stated coolly. “You’re just part of the agreement with Arasaka, a means to an end unfortunately. Even if you were being a total cunt.”

Hoping that she would do something predictable like maybe argue or insult him, Adam dared his eyes to venture back to the woman. Lumen appeared not to take offense at his latest label. She laughed heartily.

“I guess I was being a cunt,” she mused. “That’s fair.”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Lumen approached the door. She gave a small wave from over her shoulder. Adam was left speechless.

Before leaving the building himself, the merc took an elevator to one of the other lower floors. Too preoccupied by what occurred that evening, he nearly forgot to retrieve a finishing touch from the Weapons Department. He didn’t typically find much use for this particular item, the other contracts either not important enough or Adam not giving a shit either way, but in this case he thought it wise to play it safer rather than risk any unnecessary setbacks to his missions with Lumen. The check-out process was easy enough, especially with his level of clearance. Item in hand, Adam was lost in thought as he travelled down to the parking garage of Arasaka headquarters. The woman had asked him about fraternization.

Why?

To what end?

Did she expect him to want to have a drink with her? Dinner?

As if they were friendly?

As if he was interested in learning anything about her that didn’t have to do with their contract?

Enigmatic. That would be a great word to describe Lumen or at least one that satisfied Adam in that moment. Each time they met she surprised him. Each time she challenged his assumptions about how she’d respond, react, treat him, even in the face of an insult or threat. What bothered Adam more was how unbothered he was becoming to her defiance. He allowed her to roll her eyes, to argue, to bait him, to tease. Not once had he laid a hand on her with intent to harm. Unlike her colleague, Lumen walked away from their conversations unscathed, or more honestly, he felt the need to walk away from her due to how off kilter she made Adam feel with that smile and gentle touches of the hand. He shivered at the memory of her warmth, at how deeply she looked into his eyes with her palm pressed to his cheek. Couldn’t recall the last time someone held him like that, even if she was only doing it to distract him from his rage.

A scoff.

That’s the only reason she did such an intimate thing. To survive. To fend off her imminent demise at his hand. She must recognize how tentative her role is, that the moment Arasaka deemed their contact over all reserve and patience went out the window. That must be why he staved his anger, why he showed her such undeserved mercy even though she was such a festering pain in his ass.

And yet.

Preem. That’s what she had said with that classic smile. That’s what she said at their shared acknowledgment of his attraction to her.

Preem.

Almost flirtatious.

The elevator doors opened and let in the cool air of the parking garage. It smelled of oil and exhaust, coupled with the strong urban smells of the city street. Something about a city at night stirred within Adam a sense of belonging. Of home. Maybe it was the kind of people who roamed freely at night, who clubbed, drank, and drugged themselves to excess in primal escapism. The kind who found comfort in the shadows as he did, who took refuge in the lapse in reality that Night City’s underbelly provided.

He breathed it in to feel the taste on his tongue, already debating on how to spend one of his rare, free nights off.

Just as Adam was about to leave the garage, a far-off figure captured his attention.

She stood in heavy contemplation by the opening of the garage, her attention completely void of Adam’s presence. That plump bottom lip of hers were tugged in her teeth with her fingers also pinching the skin as she thought on, clearly weighing upon an important decision.

Adam frowned at seeing Lumen still lingering around the corporate building. Their time had concluded half an hour ago, yet there she was. Stance rigid, Adam took note in how uncomfortable she appeared, recalling how strangely she had entered the gym earlier in the night. He scanned her, not surprised to see her heart rate was elevated and breathing slightly labored.

Fear.

Textbook fear, but why?

Following her stare, Adam quickly understood.

Down the street stood a small group of young men. They stood huddled amongst each other near the hood of some beat up car, their scrappy clothes alit by streetlight. They smoked and talked to one another in hushed voices, but even in their best efforts to appear nonchalant, Adam was aware at how each one would periodically stare in Lumen’s direction. Eyes hooded and with a hint of a smile, one man even nodded towards her. Lumen flinched.

No one was aware of Adam. No one knew he lingered in the shadows, how he was privy to all who were involved. How he had access to their bounties and criminal charges in seconds, how his temper blistered at seeing the nature of their offenses.

With a heavy hand, Adam reached out from the darkness and placed his palm on the base of her neck. Lumen jumped instantly, a scream catching in her throat.

“Do you know them?”

His voice was stern, though unreadable. Beneath his touch, he could feel her body relaxing, at how calm she became at hearing his voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered. “Why the fuck would you do that-”

“Do you know those men?”

She swallowed.

“No.”

Adam stepped out from beneath the shadows of the parking garage, his grip still on the back of Lumen’s neck.

When he spoke again, his voice was louder and held a sort of lethality in its tone.

“Go home,” he commanded.

Before she could respond, his other hand left his side to reveal the item he took from the Weapons Department. She frowned in confusion as he held up a large white ring, the device clearly some form of modification. Without asking, Adam moved the device over her head and hung it around her neck.

“What is this?” asked Lumen.

“A Halo.”

Adam’s red eyes glowed an amber color, the device then chiming to life. Lumen felt a dull vibration coming from the ring as it activated and synced with the mercenary, her anxiety bubbling even more. It shined a bright white, the color illuminating her face in a faint glow. Adam gave her neck a squeeze.

“What, what does it do?” she asked him.

“Stops anyone from hacking in, even if its just your optics and processor. Tells me where you are at all times and any irregularities in your vitals. Also has a panic feature. Not that you’ll need it.”

That last part was said while Adam gave his coldest stare to the men on the opposite end of the street. He knew they could hear him, knew they recognized who he was, his name falling off their lips the moment he revealed himself. Adam reveled in how quickly they avoided his gaze, at how fast they scrambled.

Turning back to Lumen, he caught her letting out a sigh of relief.

“Go home,” he commanded again. “Turn this off when you get there.”

She nodded slowly.

Adam’s eyes lingered on her face a moment longer, taking in the redness of her cheeks and how quickly her pulse raced, his thumb feeling its drumming beneath his touch.

He let her go and turned down the sidewalk, not bothering to look at her again.

Just as Adam thought that he finally had the final word, a faint ‘thank you’ was whispered from behind.

#adam smasher #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077

8 notes · View notes

eat0crow · 4 years

Note

Maribat prompt - Bruce adopts Marinette please? (Sorry if I misunderstood and this is what you did Not want. If that's the case just ignore this, sorry)

Nope, you didn’t misunderstand at all Anon! I hope you don’t mind a bit of humor, I had a really shitty night-so many customers decided to yell at me it’s not even funny. I needed something lighthearted.

Beta read by some lovely people on the Maribat Discord server.

Who Needs Paperwork?

Bruce is done. So painfully done, that the only one who can’t see just how thin a line he’s walking is the source of his annoyance. Hal Jordan, the very man who makes homicide look more appealing every day. Did Bruce really need a moral code?

It just seemed to get in the way.

From behind him doors slam, people scatter, and yet Hal won’t catch the hint. “All I’m saying is that, isn’t it time you guys settled down, and had a whole flock of little birdies?”

Bruce has never, not once in his life, desired friends. He hadn’t wanted a relationship either, yet here he is, six months into a decades in the making relationship with Clark Kent. If Bruce had known that the League would take his relationship as a sign of him getting soft, he would have sworn Clark to secrecy.

“I’m going to the training room.” Which should have roughly translated to 'follow me, and I’ll use you for target practice'. Several people within hearing distance shudder at the implication. Bruce is darkly satisfied; he hasn’t seen this much fear directed at him in months. Hal Jordan, well Bruce has theories on how green lantern cores affect intelligence.

None of them are particularly positive.

“It’s never too early to start working on your ninja kid army,” Hal says lightly, as if he’s talking about the weather, and not something as morally bankrupt as child soldiers. Sure he trained Robin young, but it’s not like Bruce had a choice. Dick would have been fighting mob bosses with or without his consent. Training had been the only thing keeping him out of even more danger. “Who’s going to carry on your terrifying legacy?”

“I already have Robin.” And because Bruce can see Hal’s next sentence before he even says it— “And Clark has Conner. Aside from procreation being wholly unnecessary, it’s also physically impossible. You are aware that it requires a woman to produce off-spring, right?”

“Yeah, tell that to LexCorp,” Hal mumbles under his breath. Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t ever wondered about that. Sure Conner’s a clone, but he’s also the most stable clone Bruce had ever seen. He wouldn’t put it past Luthor to have spliced in a secondary set of DNA. “Just think about it Spooky. Combine your brains with Clark’s powers and bam! You’ve got the one person on earth who could defeat Doomsday without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that a better tomorrow?”

Bruce stops, because things make a lot more sense now. Doomsday had been terrifying, he opened up a whole world of possibilities. Of threats too strong for the League to deal with, just waiting. There’s no escaping this conversation. Even if he tunes it out now, Hal will just bring it up again and again, until Clark finally catches on. That will make the man pout.

Bruce really doesn’t like it when Clark pouts.

He might not have the patience to deal with Hal’s solution to apocalypse inducing threats now, but he’ll have even less later when Barry no doubt joins Hal’s crusade. One idiot is bad enough. Bruce is not willing to explain to Dick why he killed his best friend's uncle.

“That’s why the Young Justice League was formed,” Bruce points out slowly, his voice careful, like he’s explaining the concept to a toddler. Hal probably has an I.Q that stalled around the fifth grade, so same difference. “Their role is to carry on our legacies in protecting earth after we’re unable.”

“That’s not what I mean! Sure, by the time they graduate out of the little leagues they’ll be ready to take over, but that’s just it. They’re a miniature Justice League. They’ll have the exact same blind spots as us. I’m talking about combining skill sets here.”

Bruce actually hadn’t thought of that, and as much as the words choke him to admit, Hal is right. They would be subject to the exact same failings as the current League. They’re a group trained to take over specific positions. They’ve been trained for years and no one, not even Robin, would be able to break close to half a decades worth of habits.

They make it to the training room, and a flash of vivid, bright red catches his eye. The newest member, Ladybug is talking to Clark. Bruce hadn’t been aware that he would be joining him for this training session, but it all works out nicely.

Ladybug looks worn, and Bruce doesn’t doubt she is. The girl is Diana’s apprentice, not sidekick. They've both been adamant about that. No one, not even Diana, knows her identity. Bruce could respect a healthy dose of secrecy, but she’s only around Dick’s age. The information on her is scarce, and Diana is tight-lipped. Partially out of ignorance and partially out of some vague magical pact her mother made.

A combined skillset.

Ladybug doesn't have years of habits to break. If her own admissions are anything to go by, she doesn’t have any formal training outside of noncombatant magic. She’s dangerously smart too. Bruce has seen her improvise enough times. Sure, she might not have as much super-strength as Clark, but Bruce has seen her lift far more than her frame should allow. Maybe strength proportional to a ladybug’s? Her skin is certainly reinforced by what has to be the tensile strength of an exoskeleton.

Which is glossing over her ability to create solid matter through pure will—maybe he'll have Hal train her a bit, her powers are similar enough to a Green Lanterns’.

“You have a point, Lantern.”

There’s a suspicious pause. “I do?”

Bruce offers him his most deadpan expression. So even Hal knows that ninety percent of what leaves his mouth is garbage, good to know. “The League will be comprised of individuals with the same failings as current Leaguers. In the event of world-ending threats, we can not afford these failings. So I will be taking your advice.”

“Oh, that’s...good.” Hal looks perplexed, like he hadn’t expected his argument to land him anywhere but in a body cast.

“However,” Bruce continues, walking over toward Clark and Ladybug. “I have no interest in experimental science that’s no doubt illegal in numerous countries. So, we’ll be adopting.”

“We will!” Clark shrieks from his left.

Everyone else in the room gasps. Bruce ignores them, reaching out instead to grab Ladybug. “She’ll be the perfect candidate.”

"Bruce," Clark whines. "That's not how adoption works. You've skipped so many steps."

Bruce sends him a pointed look, the one that says play along or you're sleeping on the couch. Clearly, Clark gets the message because he shuts up. The look on his face also implies that Bruce is going to be out in the dog house for this stunt, but he chooses to ignore it anyway.

So what if Alfred likes Clark more. Bruce still owns the house.

Ladybug, to her credit, only blinks.

Wide blue eyes stare at him, she looks eerily similar to Dick and Conner. They all share the same coloring: black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. She has Dick’s delicate bone structure, Bruce could probably pass the two of them off as twins.

Dick is going to be roped into teaching her some actual acrobatics as soon as possible. Would a grappling hook be an appropriate ‘welcome to the family’ gift? Bruce doesn't trust her yo-yo.

A beat passes. “I already have parents.”

“Not superhero parents.”

#maribat #crow writes #dcu #clark kent/bruce wayne #bruce wayne #hal jordan #marinette dupain cheng

661 notes · View notes

imagine-that-one-thing · 4 years

Text

Her Majesty. || 7

If You’re A Bird, I’m a Bird.

♔♔♔

I’ve been in and out of sleep for a few hours, my mind is unable to cease thinking about what my mother has said, and I’m still under the weather. I thought I was doing fine but this summer cold is proving to be a pain in my ass.

I feel Anna’s body move between the sheets and I feel her begin to move with more energy.

“Anna?” My voice is hoarse while I cock my head to the side to gaze at her.

She’s still asleep.

I watch her settle in her sleep and I adjust the sheet over her shoulders before I get comfortable and fall back to dozing in and out of sleep.

It’s an unexpected gasp, and shift in the bed that alerts me immediately. I open my eyes and notice Anna breathing heavily with her hand gripping the covers. “Hey,” I softly whisper, moving closer as she sits up. “Bad dream?” I question the only logical explanation for her sudden lack of breath and sudden jolts.

Anastasia nods her head. I caress my hand to her back and rub soothing circles. I’m not quite sure what to do. I’ve never been with her when she has had any sort of bad dream. Whenever I have a bad dream, I usually roll back over and go to sleep, but I can see that she’s quite startled by her dream. “Harry…” Anna begins with a heavy breath, “Where’s Henry?”

“I don’t know… Would you like me to get you some water?”

“No… I want you to find Henry.”

”I can’t, I’m a bodyguard, not a detective. Matthew is handling it. Has he gotten you all worked up again? He won’t find you. He’s harmless.”

Anastasia shakes her head, “I don’t know about that.” Anastasia grimaces while she sits up a little further and takes in a deep breath.

I lean over and turn my lamp on, the dim glow illuminating the room immediately and causing Anastasia to groan. “Here we go,” Anna mutters unhappily. I know this isn’t going to end pleasantly. She hates when I do this, but I can’t help it… I can’t act like I don’t care.

“You’re in pain.”

“And you’re under the weather. We are both avoiding the obvious.”

“Christ sake,” I shake my head, tired and irritated with her.

I know she hates when people fret over her, but it’s my job to do so, literally. Her life is in my hands at the moment, whether she likes it or not, I can’t just turn a blind eye. And as her boyfriend, I can’t go back to sleep knowing that she’s worried over a piece of shit Prince and hurting because she fell off a horse and doesn’t want to have doctors up her ass. “It’s either you tell me or I have to call your doctor. You parents were strict on this rule, and right now, I don’t want to piss the King off. He’s already pissed, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Why is he pissed with you?” Anastasia questions, somewhat shifting the subject.

The king is pissed off with everybody, he is taking his frustration out on all the staff, right now, he’s having his best go at the security team. Right now, Matthew and I are on the firing line. The king wants Henry’s location, but I’m here; I can’t do much. Matthew can only do so much in a few hours while also being in charge of other security staff. The king is taking his wrath out on everybody— yesterday it was the maids and housekeepers— today it is myself and Matthew— tomorrow it’ll probably be Anastasia again.

I contemplate telling Anna the truth, I have to draw a line between work and our relationship.

There are some things I keep from her for her own sanity. “Your Dad is mad at the world, I’m trying to defuse situations. So, what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry… This whole Henry thing was my fault. It’s all escalating and snowballing.”

“Anna, stop deflecting.”

“My side hurts, nothing new.”

“Can I take a look?” I softly challenge, wanting her permission.

I know she despises when I have to do this, but right now I’m attempting to be her boyfriend. I genuinely care. It’s just a plus that my job has me trained for taking care of her. Anastasia rolls her eyes and lifts her pyjama top up, revealing the side of her body when she took the hardest hit.

“Doctor wasn’t joking when she said you’d have bruising. Looks like you definitely have bruised ribs. Why must you be so stubborn?”

“Same reason why you keep trying to cover the fact you’re unwell and still more worried about me. Please, don’t make a big deal of this.”

“Anna—“ I begin but I stop myself, “Okay,” I sigh, “But if it gets worse, you’ll tell me?”

“This isn’t a life or death situation. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“If you insist.”

“Can you really not find Henry? I feel uneasy about him.”

“It’s not my field of work. Matthew is working on it. I know a PI and I’ll call him in the morning.”

“Aren’t they expensive?” Anna questions and I can’t help but chuckle to myself.

The woman who literally has no reason to worry about money or the cost of things is concerned a PI expensive but doesn’t seem to take into consideration that half the jewellery in her possession is worth thousands of dollars.

“I’ll handle it and pay for it, stop worrying about things you don’t need to fret over. It’s my job to worry.” I respond.

I kiss her cheek and move away from her, dismissing the conversation and settling back down into the bed. Anna doesn’t hesitate, instead, she shuffles closer and rests her hand on my chest as she gets comfortable. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her breaths while I allow my mind to wander.

I won’t hesitate to find everything I can about Henry. We should have done an intense search on him when he first came into the picture, but the King was adamant that he knew better and knew the family. Sometimes, the king isn’t always right. I should have listened to my gut instinct. Now, all I can do is keep an eye on Henry and keep Anastasia safe and sound. I don’t want her to worry about anything, and as much as I hate to admit things, Henry makes me uneasy as well. I don’t like how he seems to have gone off the deep end over something as small as losing a bet on a horse. It’s almost as though losing a bet and money triggered him to lose the plot. Perhaps, I’m overthinking things, but from the way Anastasia is acting and reacting, I think she feels the same way.

For now, it’s my job to worry, not hers. I won’t hesitate to take her worries and pain, and I’ll do everything to keep her settled through chaotic storms. I can’t help but feel like the storm is just starting to brew and it’s about to get worse.

♔♔♔

I find Anastasia relaxing in my mother’s garden, enclosed by the summer flowers that flaunt their beautiful colours even in the moonlight.

I wander closer to her sitting figure, offering her a modest smile when she stares up at me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t give me her usual grin, instead, she offers me a fake smile that indicates she’s hiding something.

“Been looking for you for a minute,” I begin, wanting her absolute attention.

“Sorry,” Anastasia gazes away from my gaze, “Jus’ needed a minute.”

“What’s wrong?”

Anastasia grows withdrawn for a moment and I grasp the silence as a time to step closer and sit beside her. I caress a kiss to her cheek before I arrange my arm around her, “You know, whatever has you down won’t last forever. Things will be okay.” I decide to go with words of encouragement, mainly because I know that she is more than likely stressed over more things than I’m even aware of. I know she was working on a few royal duties this afternoon while it rained, I assumed she was responding to letters or keeping up to date on public, political, and cultural affairs. Her job never truly stops.

Anastasia heavily laments before resting her head on my shoulder, “My father is losing the plot, Harry.”

“How so?” I challenge.

I have to admit, I’m not wholly surprised. He seems to have been on a steady decline since last year when word got around that he needed to pass down the crown.

I have yet to figure out why he is determined to pass the crown down to Anastasia this year or early next year, nobody has heard of a thorough reason. The house staff have their own conspiracy theories, one being that he wants to leave the crown to Anna so that he doesn’t have to handle royal duties anymore. I don’t think that’s the case. I believe there would have to be a solid foundation for what he’s doing. After all, only one British monarch has ever willingly abdicated the throne, and the King wouldn’t make the second unless it were for a better reason than simply not wanting to do royal engagements. He won’t abdicate. He will likely give Anna the title of Princess Regent, putting her in charge of his official duties while he’d get to keep his title as His Majesty the King— of course, that’s if he wants his title.

“My Dad is being a prick.”

I chuckle modestly, “Sweetheart, that’s because he’s the King.”

“That’s no excuse. Are you saying he has always been a prick?”

I become withdrawn for a minute, debating my answer. “Well… kind of…” I nod my head, “It depends on the day. There’s a reason why the Palace staff don’t enjoy being on his service.”

“Is that why you’re never on his service?”

I don’t know how to answer Anna. It isn’t that I’m never on his service because he’s a prick, it’s more that I just don’t savour being on his service. He can be a very arduous man to keep a watch over. He tends to go against the books and plans on purpose. He doesn’t desire any of the staff listening to too many conversations and will deliberately strive to throw me off his whereabouts. I wouldn’t necessarily say he has secrets, but he definitely likes his privacy and isn’t a fan of me doing my job. “Matthew and I just agree not to have me with your Dad unless he requests me, which is rare.”

“So, the staff don’t like him?”

“I don’t think we should discuss this. He does have a say in my wage.”

“I’ll ask my lady’s maid then,” Anastasia mumbles, “That’s of course if I haven’t been abolished from the monarchy by the time I get home.”

“What? What happened?” I immediately challenge, uncertain of how she can be abolished from the monarchy. Although, it could work in our favour if it occurred.

“The King has threatened to take away my title and to make sure I don’t become Queen.”

As much as I desire to relish in the thought of Anastasia being stripped of her title and not under the thumb of the royal family and monarch, I know that she’s probably upset to hear her father threaten such things.

“And I know I shouldn’t care and that I don’t really want to go through all this but at the same time… He is being an outright prick for no reason. This Henry situation isn’t my fault.”

“First of all, sweetheart, the King has no legal authority to alter the succession to the throne. That would require an Act of Parliament,” I inform Anastasia, reminding her of what she already knows.

“I told him that, he responded with ‘we will see about that.’” … “Henry seems to have my father in a rage.”

“Is he threatening this because you won’t date Henry or just because he can’t fire palace staff?” I curiously ask, unaware of whether he’s serious or just taking his anger out on Anna since there’s nobody else. I haven’t heard anything from Matthew but I’m also somewhat off the clock, so Matthew won’t bother me unless it’s urgent.

“I don’t know.”

“And unless there’s a secret love child, you’re the only one who is eligible for the crown. He can’t do anything,” I continue to explain.

As bitter as it is, no matter what, Anastasia has no choice but to take the crown. There’s no other heir, she’s the only child of the King and Queen.

Even if she did want to abdicate for us to be together, where would that leave the monarchy?

In the hands of a distant cousin or relative?

Almost every living English citizen is somehow a descendant of an early monarch.

“I don’t know, Harry. I think Parliament would decide to whom to offer the crown. But surely there has to be someone else in line, I don’t think I can do this. This is becoming a mind game, it’s driving my father insane and it’s stressing me out.” … “I wanted a nice weekend away from it all and it followed me. Are you sure you don’t want to run away together?” Anastasia asks me and for a brief moment, my mind wanders to the ring in my pocket that wants to make an appearance, but a proposal right now isn’t the right time.

How can I ask her to marry me when she’s gradually going down the rabbit hole of self-destruction because of a monarch who relies on her when she isn’t even Queen.

“Where would we run off to, my dear?”

Anastasia lifts her head off my shoulder and stares at me with glossy eyes, “I’d go anywhere with you. Just say the word.”

She is on the verge of tears and it breaks my heart.

“Well, you said after this Henry charade is over you wanted to come forward with the relationship…”

“I’d rather run away. We could go to Greece?” Anastasia continues to look at me, wanting an answer. I can’t tell if she’s half-serious or not. “Let’s go to Skopelos.”

“Anna, I don’t even know where that is.”

“The small Greek island of Skopelos. Nobody would find us.”

“You just want to run away without even being married? What would I do for a job? What will you do? The monarch won’t pay for us.” I’m trying to logically process what she’s saying. There’s a small part of me that wants to bring that ring out and propose but logically how could we pull this off?

We can’t just run off together and fall off the grid. Her father would have everyone looking for her and would presumably kill me with his bare hands.

“I’m sure there’s a small church somewhere. We could make it all work.”

“We’d need residency permits and a Greek tax-file number, running off to Greece is going to be just as hard.” I think my girlfriend has lost her marbles.

Anastasia shakes her head, “Never mind,” Anna whispers, a tear managing to fall down her cheek.

“Hey,” I breathe out, pressing the pad of my thumb to the warmth of her cheek, “Don’t cry, we will work it out, I promise.”

“How can you promise me that?”

If only she knew about the damn ring. Things would be different.

“I just can,” I respond. Every part of me wants to propose right here, right now. But she deserves something better than a proposal while she is upset. She deserves something nicer than this. “I promise that things will be okay. You and I will work it out.”

“What about the monarchy?”

“All due respects, but fuck the monarchy. Right now, you are my priority, not everyone else. Darling, I will make things right, have faith in me.” I wipe a few more tears away from her cheeks and she grants me a small smile. “How about we go inside? Play some Scrabble? Watch a movie? Something?” I offer, gesturing towards the house.

Anastasia nods, standing to her feet, waiting for me. I stand up and I take her hand before I gently lead her inside the house.

It’s when I step inside my mother’s house and let go of Anna’s hand so she can make her way towards my mother, that I realise, there is a chance Anastaisa and I may not get the chance to have a small, ordinary house together. If we get married and she is the Queen, we would be living the high lifestyle, living in the Palaces. There would be no ordinary home that could use with some fixing up. We wouldn’t do mundane things. Life would be different, that’s for sure.

Would we manage to live life together by the rules of the monarch?

Would she manage to have the best of both worlds and balance a sense of normalcy?

♔♔♔

Anastasia’s POV.

The cool breeze from the ceiling fan taps against my skin and I nestle further into the delicate covers of the bed. I leisurely open my eyes, a dull ray of sunshine peeking through the curtains. I tilt my head to the side, Harry’s still fast asleep. It’s rare that I’m ever awake before him. He’s usually out of my bed by five in the morning when we are at the Palace, for obvious reasons. And even when he has no reason to hurry away, he still tends to be the first one awake.

I know he’s exhausted, dealing with the palace isn’t the easiest of tasks and having to look after myself and anyone else isn’t easy. He’s constantly working without much of a break. He’s still under the weather, as much as he hates to admit it. It’s nothing major, but it is still enough for him to need the extra sleep. I’m not quite sure what time he came to bed last night. After a quick game of scrabble, we started a movie, unfortunately, after twenty minutes, his phone went off with a call and he excused himself. I can only assume Matthew was the one calling. Matthew has a knack for calling at the most inconvenient of times. I tried to wait up for him but by the time he got off the phone, I was already in bed. I’m not sure what happened after his quick kiss goodnight.

The man that lies beside me, peacefully sleeping, is wholeheartedly the best thing to have walked into my life. I’m not sure where I went right to deserve him. To be honest, sometimes I don’t think I deserve him. Somehow, he never takes the easy way out, he stays. He has seen me at my best, he has seen me at my worst, and has yet to run for the hills. Most men by now would have thrown in the towel and found someone else. By the grace of God, Harry stays.

I spend the early morning helping Harry’s Mum with the animals, giving them their morning feeds and making sure everybody has water before the day gets too hot. I don’t assume I was much help, but I did try.

I wander into the bedroom just as Harry is placing the last pillow on the bed, he turns to glance at me and raises a brow, “What happened to you?” He gestures up and down, taking note of my mud-covered jeans and grass-stained t-shirt. “Please tell me you didn’t take a fall.”

I shake my head, “Did you know horses like to nibble on clothes? I didn’t…. Also, the goats… uh… they’re not charming at their morning feeds.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just a bit of mud. The princess is fine, relax.” I inform him, with a nod. I understand he just cares, but he needs to relax, a little mud never hurt anyone. “I was wondering if we could leave the house? See where you’re from?”

“I assume my mother put you up to this?”

“She may have mentioned some nice places.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t know, Anna.” Harry responds with uncertainty to his voice, “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“We are in the middle of nowhere; what could possibly happen?”

I am aware that anything could quite literally happen, it is me we are talking about, I do not have the best of luck with things. It would be my luck something out of the blue happens and pushes me into some sort of lockdown.

Harry rubs his temples and looks at me before dropping his hands to his side, “Let me have my coffee first and then we can figure something out, okay?”

“You said we could be normal.” I remind him of the fact he specifically said I could be normal out here. I had it in my mind that we would be able to be more free, we could walk in and out of stores, go to parks, the beach or really anything.

Harry nods his head, “I know, let me have coffee and then we can decide on where to go, okay?” Harry presses a kiss to my forehead, “I love you.”

“Do I get a say in this or are we still doing the whole Princess act thing?” I question with furrowed brows, irritated that the normal weekend I have been promised is consisting of my father pulling strings from the palace and Harry acting as though he’s still on duty and my bodyguard.

Harry sighs. “Darling, please, just let me get some coffee… I promise we will leave the property today.” … “I am not trying to be a prick, I am not trying to be your security guard. I just… I just need coffee.” Harry continues to emphasize his need for coffee.

I nod my head, dropping the subject as I turn on my heel and walk out of his bedroom. I decide to get a head start on getting him his coffee, it is the least I can do for him. I know he was up for most of the night working, and I know it probably isn’t easy being all the way up here while his security team is back home. I know there are a lot of things that could happen that probably runs through his head. I also know I am not always easy to deal with.

I stand in front of his mother’s coffee machine, bewildered on how the contraption works. I tilt my head to the side, suddenly feeling like a privileged idiot; I have never had to make my own coffee before, nor do I even know how to. It is always poured for me or made for me. I place a cup under where I assume the coffee pours from and I hold my breath as I press one of the button in hopes that it brews coffee. I am out of my element.

I hear chuckles from behind me and I turn around to see Harry smirking as he sits upon the stool at the counter. “Don’t mind me, just sitting, love,” Harry informs me, trying to hold back his chuckles.

I bite my lip and heavily sigh, watching as the brewed coffee fills the coffee cup, but I don’t think he wants straight coffee.

“At the risk of sounding like a privileged princess, Harry, I have never made coffee,” I begin with a soft voice, embarrassed as I look at him.

He holds back his chuckles and nods his head, promptly removing himself from his position at the counter and walking around to me. “Sweetheart,” Harry begins, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “What are you trying to make?”

“You a coffee… I just… Where does the milk go? What do all these buttons do? What happened to just having tea? Do people not just make a pot of coffee?”

“Some of us need a little kick of caffeine in the morning. Some, not all. Here, to make a cappuccino you froth the milk like this,” Harry takes the stainless steel container holding the milk, showing me how to froth the milk like they do in coffee stores.

“Why is this contraption a thing? Is this a normal thing?”

Harry laughs, “For some, it is normal. The palace has one, your mother loves it. Convinced me to buy this one for my Mum.” Harry gestures towards the expresso machine as Harry works his magic. “Glad that you still live in the old times of no expresso machines.”

“I thought they were only in coffee shops.”

“You need to leave the palace more,” Harry comments, placing the stainless-steel container on the counter. “Here, you can pour the milk into the cop. Gonna have to teach you how I like my coffee,” Harry winks playfully, “Or, perhaps, we will leave it to me to make morning coffees,” Harry gently pokes fun at me.

I roll my eyes at him and I pour the milk into his cup, quite proud of myself for not managing to make a mess of things.

♔♔♔

The warm breeze whistles through my hair and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore becomes music to my ears. It has been a while since I have had the opportunity to stand on the beach without a care in the world, and without having to look over my shoulder to make sure nobody is taking pictures. For the first time in quite a long time, I have a sense of being normal. The sand nestles between my toes, I take a deep breath of the salty air as I tilt my head to the side and glance over at Harry.

A smile spreads across his pink lips and he stares at me with awe in his eyes. Lord, I’m one lucky girl to get to stare back at the man I’m entirely in love with. We may have our ups and downs, we might not have a conventional relationship, but there’s no other man I’d want to be with, there’s nobody else I’d want to be standing on a beach with.

Harry takes my hand and we wander closer to the water’s edge until the tip of my toes finally hit the tepid water. I let out a heavy breath, more so relieved and belatedly, happy. “I’d give anything to be able to feel like this more.”

“Feel like what?” Harry questions, guiding us to stroll along the water's edge.

I grin to myself, taking note of the birds soaring high over the ocean, “Like a bird,” I chuckle to myself, well aware my description is not ordinary, then again, I’m not ordinary either, “Free and happy,” I respond. “There’s no restraints, no duties, no photographers, I could run into the ocean with my clothes on and nobody would give a damn,” I gladly smile.

Harry smirks and lets go of my hand, “Well, go on.” Harry gestures towards the water, “By all means, darling, enter the water with your clothes on, be a bird.”

I shake my head and gesture for him to join me as I step into the water, loving the way it feels to have the sand move under my feet and the water dance around my calves, “Harry, join me.”

Harry shakes his head, “Not a chance in hell, love.” Harry chuckles, his hands in his pockets as he stands at the edge, the water barely missing his toes.

“Do you think I could've been a bird?”

“Oh, god. No. Don’t—“

“Say it! Say I'm a bird,” I insist, well aware of what I’m doing.

Harry brings his bottom lip between his teeth and he glances around.

“Anastasia, you, my darling, are bonkers.”

“Say I’m a bird!”

“That would mean admitting I’ve watched a romantic movie.” Harry shakes his head, watching me as I shrug my shoulders and walk further to the sandbar the tide has exposed.

I spin around, allowing my dress to dance around me. I glance over my shoulder and see Harry shuffling closer, his hands still in his pockets.

My feet dance at the edge of the sand bar, thoroughly relishing the freedom, “Tell me.”

“Tell you, what?” Harry questions, stepping closer to me.

“Quote my favourite movie.”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, “I’d never do such thing.”

I gasp, stepping away from him with a laugh escaping my lips, “Darling,” Harry laughs, reaching out and wrapping his hand around my wrist, causing me to laugh louder as I playfully attempt to pull away from him. Harry tenderly tugs on me and forces me to face him, “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Harry recites the line and I draw my hair away from my face, still giggling like a schoolgirl. I beam at Harry and he smiles back at me, his eyes bright and full of more love than I could ever imagine. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird. Anastasia, I’ll be anything you need me to be, and I’ll go anywhere I need to go. I’d walk to the end of the earth if it meant being with you; I’ll do everything that it takes, I’ll fight any battle thrown at me, I’ll fight for you and for us. I’ll protect you, at all costs. Darling, I love you, and I honestly couldn’t imagine this life without you.” Harry’s sweet words take me by surprise.

Harry clears his throat and bites his lip as he gets down on one knee.

I stare at him, stunned. Is this— is this happening?

“It won’t be easy, but I promise to love you through everything. Princess Anastasia Annette Leanor, Duchess of Edinburgh, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

As the man I’m madly in love with opens the ring box, I can’t help but think about the fact that it would be MY honour to marry him. He is my knight in shining armour, in more ways than one. He’s everything to me. Perhaps, I haven’t always been gracious to him, nor have I always made things easy. The monarch doesn’t make things easy, but this isn’t the monarch's decision. This is mine. For the first time in a long time, I feel free, and for the first time in a long time, I’m going against all traditions and rules; I’m going against the monarch.

“Yes… Of course. Yes. Harry.” I can’t contain my excitement; how could I ever say no to a proper proposal?

Harry slides the ring on my finger and for the first time in forever, everything is perfectly right in the world. Before I can blink, I’m wrapped in his arms and he’s spinning me around, “I love you,” he whispers, bringing me to a stop and placing me down.

“I love you,” I whisper, gazing at him like he has hung the stars in the sky and moved all the oceans just for me. I lean up and kiss him, slowly and sweetly— nothing else in the world matters.

#harry styles imagines #imagine harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences #1d imagine #imagine 1d #imagine one direction #harry styles fanfics #fanfic one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fan fiction #one direction blurbs #harry styles blurb

50 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Note

mayhaps a friends to lovers jungkook fic where they’re total opposites and mayhaps some mutual pining? hakjdkf I hate how when requests are open I can never think of exactly what I wanna say lol 😩

Anonymous said: Request: “Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” “No. I hate you because you’re a bitch.”

smolchimchimhandz said: one of those “:0 sharing one bed!!!!!” fics but tae has a dream about a hamburger and bites the reader in his sleep

Anonymous said: I have a request! I always wanted to read a Nana( the anime/manga) inspired Au (If you haven’t seen it that’s okay) except I want the oc to be the punk rock badass girl who loves to sing and doesn’t take shit from anybody. Anyway I love your writing! I hope you continue to love what you do ❤️❤️

↳ Die for You

2k words || 96% Fluff, 3% Smut, 1% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || Band!AU

He was a decent lay.

As decent as he could get with that handsome face of his and blessed package — but those things he was lucky enough to be born with. As far as actual skill goes, you had to do all the work. At least you could look at his face while you got yourself off. You weren’t too mad.

But the last straw is when you’re suddenly awoken in the early morning with his teeth sunk into your shoulder. What the f— “What the fuck!”

You slap his head, kick him as hard as you can in his abdomen and he wheezes, shoved off to the ground and shocked awake. The blonde man drags the soiled sheets with him as he falls. And then he blinks away his sleepiness, utterly confused while he scratches his scalp.

“You bit me!”

“Wh—…Oh. Sorry,” Tae…Tae-something, smiles sheepishly. You don’t remember his name. “I was having a dream about eating a hamburger.”

Was this guy serious?

“Are you serious?” You eye him in horror, wondering if his last two brain cells evaporated in the middle of the night. Taekwon grins and he shrugs. You’re wholly unimpressed, hitching your thumb to the door. “Get out.”

“You look like you had a rough night,” Hoseok comments, grinning once you enter the dressing room. You drop your guitar case with a sigh, flopping down onto the armchair and propping your feet up on the vanity.

As fun as it is to chase after fame and perform on stages across the country as a band, there came hardships and exhaustion — sometimes even outweighing the benefits. But Hoseok helps to keep the morale going, even in his playing. He has a knack for bringing more colour into the songs with his drumming skills.

It’s not to say that Yoongi’s composing is bleak and dark, but it’s bleak and dark. He’s the primary composer of the group, a keyboardist, and you sing what he gives you. Most of the time, it’s about agony and heartbreak — but you enjoy vocalizing his anger to the audience. His passion and rage is always tangible and similar to that of your own.

When you don’t see him in the room, you assume he’s off somewhere smoking a cigarette. It seems to be Yoongi’s routine before a show. Jungkook, on the other hand, is scrolling through his phone quietly. It doesn’t look like he’s warmed up with his bass for once. That thing is usually glued by his side.

“It wasn’t pleasant, I’ll give you that.”

Hoseok smirks. “Was Mr. Handsome not good? What was his name again?”

“Taemin, Taeyin, something like that.” You motion lazily and Hoseok laughs. “He bit me.”

“Kinky.”

“In the middle of my sleep. Woke me the fuck up. Said something about how he was dreaming of eating something.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing with tears in his eyes. It only pours more salt in your wounds with how he bends over, clutching your stomach, relishing in your disgust. He laughs for a full minute, stopping before exploding into even more laughter. A small part of you hopes he gets a heart attack from it and dies. “What did you do?”

“Kicked him to the curb.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with fans,” Jungkook pipes up, eyes flickering up from his screen, self-inviting himself into the conversation.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have a stick stuck up your ass.” Your mouth curls. “But you probably get off on it, don’t you, Jeon?”

Hoseok grins at the banter, borderlining argument. But this isn’t a rarity. “Guys, guys, don’t fight. It’s bad for the team environment. Try not to kill each other while I go grab Yoongi, please.”

It’s no secret you and Jungkook don’t exactly get along. You’re neutral at best to one another, trying to be civil on most days. But you’re just not compatible together. How can you be when he’s a righteous bastard who thinks he’s better than the rest of the band. You also can’t understand why he’s so strict and disciplined just to self-suffer. He’s rigid too, not at all spontaneous like you are.

It’s surprising a boring man like him would want a job like this that includes glitz and glam, attention and the spotlight.

“Did you listen to that recording I sent?”

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ with your lips, grabbing your electric guitar out of your case to begin warming up as Hoseok leaves to find Yoongi before all of you are late on stage again. “I was busy fucking myself on that Taejoon guy, remember?”

“When are you planning to listen to it?”

“I don’t know. When I have time.” You shrug, plucking some simple strumming patterns. Jungkook pockets his phone, jaw clenched and an annoyed look etches on his face, one you know well. Sometimes it’s good to get him riled up. It sets the mood for the angrier songs.

“Yoongi and Hoseok already heard it.”

“If Yoongi thinks it’s good, then it’s good,” you mutter. It’s as simple as that. Yoongi is the one who writes the songs. Sometimes Hoseok might help with coming up with the lyrics, but you don’t know why Jungkook is trying to write music too these days.

You’ve only written one song. But you don’t perform that one.

The silence is suddenly broken by Jungkook’s cold laugh. Your eyes flicker up to him, brow cocked, wondering if he finally lost it. “What?”

He’s condescending. “You seriously don’t care, do you?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” you say shortly, looking away. “You’re not the only one who’s serious about music here, Jeon.”

“Really?” he questions. “Because it sure seems you’d rather get your pussy wet.”

“Can you not be so anal about what I do in my spare time?” You put down your guitar, unable to focus. “Last I checked, I got away from that bitch mother of mine.”

“I care if you’re neglecting your duties.”

Your mouth twists into a smile, and you loll your head to one side. “ Are you sure it’s not because you’re jealous?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Your ego is incomparable.”

“You hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“No, I hate you because you’re a bitch.”

“But you like it.” You lean towards him, elbow propped up on your knee, cheek rested in your hand. You stare and bat your lashes in an exaggerated manner. “You have a hard on for it, Jeon. You don’t need to keep it a secret. I see the way you look at me.”

“You shouldn’t project your own desires onto other people,” he says, challenging you. But Jungkook still diverts his vision elsewhere. And you see right through him.

“I mean I’ve thought about it.” You shrug, having no reason not to be honest. “I’ve thought about everyone in our group, including you.”

More than anything, you want Jungkook to admit it. So you coax him, getting to your feet, moving to hover above him, cornering him in. You lick your lips slowly. “I’m sure you have too, Jeon. You want me to suck your cock, right? Backstage, like I’ve done for our fans numerous times. You’ve seen me on my knees before.”

“You’re cocky because you’ve never been fucked well before. Everyone’s been so subpar that you think you’re the best. It’s a bit sad actually,” he says it like it’s a fact, unfazed by your attempts of seduction.

But you wonder if that’s a proposition. If he’s suggesting something else, and you try not to show your surprise too much. “Oh?”

Air rushes out of his nose. He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling. Somehow, arrogance is a good look on Jungkook — it makes you want to fuck him right now, right here, just to shut him up. “Too bad your personality is too ugly for me to waste my time on you.”

You’re taken aback by insult, standing straight with your arms crossed. He gets to his own feet, shuffling his belongings and opening his bass case. “You’re all talk and no action, Jeon.”

His voice drips of sarcasm. “Yeah, and that’s how I was able to hold onto a girlfriend for three years.”

You roll your tongue in your cheek. “Are you slut-shaming me or are you saying I could never do long-term?”

Jungkook smirks. He leans down to match your height, connecting your eyes together. Your faces are an inch away from one another. “I’m saying that you’re all talk and no action. You might be able to get people into your bed, but that doesn’t mean you can get them to stay and actually like you beyond a superficial level.”

You scoff, tipping your head. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth and that cute mole dotting below it. You swallow hard. “Really? That’s hypocritical of you, Jeon. I know you’re soft for me. Hoseok told me you were writing a love song. That’s not like you. Where’s the teenage angst about anger and death?”

“You’re such an annoying brat, you know that?”

His hand comes up to hold your jaw in place, but he isn’t rough. It’s a tender touch that you could easily shake off — but you don’t. Your lashes flutter and you catch him staring at your own lips. You lick them just to tease and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“So you admit it?” You throw your arms around his shoulders, pushing him even closer to you until you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you, Jeon?”

“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself when you sing my love song on stage.”

It’s intoxicating. You both lean closer to one another, no one giving in just yet, struggling to stay afloat. Jungkook whispers, his voice husky, “You’re missing out on what could be the best lay of your life.”

“Then show me.”

You lose. You give into the sexual tension that’s electrifying, practically tangible in the air. And the consequences are absolutely gratifying. You kiss him with a vigor and hastiness of being kept on edge, of long anticipation.

The pad of his fingers presses against your jaw in a silent command. Immediately, you open your mouth for him and his hot tongue intrudes, rendering you breathless. It’s overwhelming with his unforgiving force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s hungry for it, like he’s out to prove a point. You don’t know that his eyes are slightly open, taking in your pleasured expression.

You damn yourself when he draws a desperate, pathetic whimper out of you. When he smirks against your mouth. Someone with as much experience as you do shouldn’t be so flustered.

But the fucker knows what he’s doing. He’s making you hot and bothered, smearing your lipstick shamelessly. He’s more aggressive than you thought was possible. You make an attempt to try to regain control, pushing up against him, rolling your hips. But he grabs a hold of your waist.

Suddenly, Jungkook bites down on your lips. His teeth sink into the soft flesh.

You draw back with a hiss. “Ow! What was that for?”

You’re caught off guard, mouth swollen, eyes watery.

“I know you, Y/N.” Jungkook smirks, running a hand through his long black locks. He grabs his bass as normal. As if the kiss didn’t even begin to affect him. “It’s not fun for you anymore when you get what you want.”

You blink several times and when he notices your dazed expression, he barks, “Get yourself together! We have a performance!”

Jungkook leaves you with weakened knees.

It’s only then that you begin to realize just how severely you underestimate him.

You were so fucked.

#Requests 2019 #bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #Jungkook scenario #ngl this is my favourite drabble out of twelve of them #I don't think I've ever written such a sexy pair before lol #the tenth of my requests #Anonymous #smolchimchimhandz #Jimlings

160 notes · View notes

ofhelens · 4 years

Photo

HELEN WORTHINGTON: AUDITIONING FOR THE ROLE OF LADY MACBETH

oh boy. okay, so without rambling too much..........originally, i wasn’t going to have helen audition for anyone. why would she? with the possible exception of lady macduff, macbeth is full of characters who are totally unlike helen & anyone she’s played up-to-date. plus, the subject of the play is just a little too on the nose for her - and given her self denial at the moment, that isn’t a can of worms she’s looking to open. however, as i was writing this, it became clearer and clearer to me that helen playing lady macbeth would go really well alongside her general trajectory in the roleplay (downhill, like a damn roller coaster) and i could definitely see the “out damn spot” monologue playing well alongside some juicy orson reveal stuff :) also poetically...seeing “the ingenue” go from basically being the embodiment of an angel to playing one of shakespeare’s darkest heroines is...chefs kiss.

it’s strange to say that my character surprised me...(because im writing them?!) but yeah...helen surprised me!! she’s absolutely terrified by the idea of playing someone who is a little darker, a little stranger - but that’s exactly why she should do it!! i also genuinely think it’ll help her grow as an actor, which is something i really want to see happen. helen is pretty mediocre - but she doesn’t have to be!!! the only way we can grow as individuals is by challenging ourselves - something i’m keen to see heidi make happen.

having said that, i am not ride-or-die for lady macbeth and do not expect her to be cast as her at all!! if orson was casting, helen would be lady macduff without a question (we stan a self aware queen!) - and now that she’s made that point explicit to heidi, i feel like the latter will be way more inclined to cast her as anyone-but-that. if not lady macbeth, i could definitely see her playing one of the witches. essentially, i just need helen to play someone with a little more meat, someone who is darker; meaning that as she tries to nail their characterisation, she’s forced to confront some ugly things about herself and almost deal with the darkness in a therapeutic way.

“Helen Worthington.” She had expected stepping out onto the stage to feel more poetic. There was supposed to be sorrow in finality, grief in endings. And this was it. This was the final time she would audition for a play as an Alderidge student - perhaps her final audition all together. Whilst her peers clamoured for the limelight, she would have been perfectly comfortable making this her swan song. A moment passed. “I’ll be auditioning with Cleopatra, Act 5, Scene 2.” She could still hear Zahra’s words of encouragement in the back of her mind, quelling any doubts.

A brief look of surprise crossed Heidi’s face, she glanced down at her paper, as if trying to match the person she saw before her with words on a page. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Alright...am I to assume you’ll be auditioning for Lady MacBeth then?”

It took a moment for Helen’s mind to make the connection. She shook her head firmly. “No - no...no. I could never play Lady MacBeth...she’s...” Too monstrous. Too big a part. Too much like everything I never want to be. Settling on diplomacy, Helen sighed. “I could never do her justice.”

This seemed to interest Heidi. “Why not? Looking at your previous roles - “ She shuffled the papers in her hand “- you seem to have done a standout job with Celia. Lady MacBeth isn’t such a jump. Lines wise, at least.”

Helen shook her head, adamant that Heidi see what she did. “Playing Celia isn’t hard. She’s soft. Dreamy. And a character in a comedy.”

Heidi frowned. “So it’s Shakespeare’s tragedies you’re opposed to? Or being challenged?”

She was so unlike Orson that Helen had to blink twice, just to be sure her senses weren’t tricking her. “No. I don’t like tragedies. Everyone dies. I love theatre because it’s an escape - because it’s a chance to live out someone else’s stories. But why would I want to live like...like Lady MacBeth? She’s a terrible person. She’s a monster. I’d hate to even feel an inch of who she is.” Because what if I’m good at it? What if it’s easy to become her? What does that say about me? About what I’ve done?

“And being challenged?” A dog with a bone, Heidi continued to tug at the remaining loose thread. “Is it a fear of letting people down? Are you afraid that you’re not talented enough?”

Back against the wall, Helen was forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. The purest of which was this: she never had been challenged. Any malevolent thoughts were packed in dusty boxes at the back of her mind, never to be opened. She was practically adored by her peers. Orson had never dragged her out of her comfort zone. She had no idea what being challenged was like. All she knew was that she didn’t want it. “I don’t know.” She conceded, sighing. “I’ve only ever played Celias.”

“And you want things to stay that way?”

Helen closed her eyes. Her mind was awash with a thousand memories - hanging out with Chandler in between As You Like It auditions, kissing Jonah backstage, laughing with Harry, cooking with Julian...she didn’t want things to ever change. That was why she poisoned Orson, wasn’t it? So that they could stay in a glorious summer, where no one ever got hurt. “Yes. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

Heidi shot her a thoughtful glance and opened her mouth as if she was about to ask another question, before shutting it abruptly. “Alright Helen -” She said slowly, nodding. “The stage is yours.”

Now nervous about her audition piece, about what it said about her and about whether she’d be able to deliver; Helen closed her eyes. She had never been to Egypt, never even left the country - but conjured the sensation of balmy evenings, a heart full of love and a crown weighing you down. “Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me - “ Perhaps she and Cleopatra weren’t so different. She understood what it was to long for immortality of another kind. You could have even said she was desire itself. It was those parts of Cleopatra Helen chose to emphasise.

Pretending to shuffle on a robe, Helen stared out into the audience. Cleopatra saw a kingdom.

“now no more the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act; I hear him mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: now to that name my courage prove my title!” The love between Antony and Cleopatra, Helen had decided, was ugly. It was brutal. It should not be celebrated. But she also thought she understood it - the sensation of being bound to someone, of loving them so intensely you would do unspeakable, regrettable, things in their name. If someone dared lay a finger on Antony, would Cleopatra burn them to the ground? Helen was sure she would. As she came to understand Shakespeare’s heroine, she began to lose herself in Cleopatra’s skin in a way she never had before.

Opposite her, but unseen by Helen, Heidi sat up a little straighter.

“I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.” Her kiss brings death. It was a terrifying kind of beautiful. Against her better judgement, Helen’s mind began to wonder...to remember. A wine glass. A toast. Poison. A deceitful smile concealing burning hatred. Who was she to judge Shakespeare’s characters...when she had wrought such destruction...

Lips trembling, Helen paused - momentarily unable to continue with her performance. See, this was why she hated Shakespeare’s dark and decrepit creatures. They drew something carnal out of her...they overwhelmed her, threatening to seize her voice and take it as their own. To be on stage was to be exposed...and this was one reflection she refused to peer into.

Why did Zahra encourage her to use this piece? Did she know something? Or did she just want to see her falter?

Ten seconds later, she regained her composure. Her break did not go unnoticed by Heidi.

Kneeling on the floor, Helen took Iras’ imaginary body into her arms, cradling him as he took his last breaths. Childish and impulsive she may be, but Cleopatra had heart. She wasn’t wholly wicked. Maybe in her performance, Helen could find her a kind of redemption; a thousand years too late.

“Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, the stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world. It is not worth leave-taking.” Was Cleopatra brave to watch Iras take his last breaths? Was she a coward for letting Orson die alone? Panic’s familiar sensation threatened to take a hold of her. Breath quickening, her last sentence was slightly slurred as she raced towards the end, to the moment she could be done with Cleopatra, toss her aside and never wear her face again.

Her story was not Cleopatra’s. She and Jonah were not Antony and Cleopatra. She was just a role. It was all make believe.

“See -” Helen began, gentle, but sad. “There’s a reason I don’t get cast as the Lady MacBeth’s of the world.”

Wearing an expression equal parts confusion and sympathy, Heidi returned her smile. “It’s not your fault you’ve never had an opportunity to dig deeper with your characters. Now that isn’t to say that his comedic characters don’t have depth - but it’s like the other side of a coin. If you want to excel as an actor, it’s important you learn how to play both kinds. Life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows.”

Why not? Knowing better than to vocalise her disagreement, Helen swallowed her words. Idealism never...carried well with people. They thought she was a child, head in the clouds, living in a world of fantasy. Had she been a crueller person, she would have asked them why they were so adamant to continue living in a world of grey. So instead, she nodded politely. “Thank you for letting me audition.”

"Thank you for coming in Helen. And props for choosing something we wouldn’t expect.” Glancing down at her sheet, she tapped her nails against the paper. “You still haven’t told me who you’re auditioning for.”

Her first instinct was to steadfastly refuse to audition for any of them - and let the chips fall where they may. Or even to ask to be moved down a year, to the third year’s comedy. “Orson would probably cast me as Lady MacDuff.” It was the only character she ever could have volunteered herself for. Domestic bliss, it was something she embodied easily.

“Well - “ Heidi said, inclining her head, “I’m not Orson.”

No, Helen thought, you’re not. May that be a blessing, and not my curse.

“Would you toss your hat into the ring for Lady MacBeth?”

No, Helen thought. Not a chance in hell. But then, betrayed by her mouth, she nodded. “I’d consider it.”

As she exited the stage, Helen couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

#this is literally the first thing i have ever...designed myself #em did all the thinking on the main graphics #ensembletask

17 notes · View notes

waitingtoexhale · 3 years

Text

Queer Media One Tragic at a Time Has Reprogrammed My Brain

I find myself continually lowering my standards for the type of media I consume. Queer character? Check. Limited tragedy? Check. At least once instance of happiness? Check. Alright, that’s good enough for me. I LOVE THIS *insert media type here* SHOW, MOVIE, SONG! But, along with the good comes the bad and the ugly. Along with the brief instances of happy, complex, characters come the violence, the stereotypes, the woe. At this point, simply having a queer character that doesn’t die is the best I can hope for and that truly stresses me out. On a regular basis.

In Queer Youth Cultures, Karen said it perfectly, “I think there's a lack of homosexual characters who are presented in a positive and uplifting, or not even positive and uplifting but just represented on the screen or in the media in general. I guess it's a desire to have a voice. I know this sounds like pure shit, but it's a desire to have a voice, to feel that l'm being spoken for or even just represented. But that there's a voice up there that's representing, or at least trying to represent my own experience. I want to have a say in what's going on and I'm not willing to just accept the images that are represented in front of me as being the only possibility. I take it maybe beyond its limitations of what's there. I try to expand, try to just open it up to possible choices that exist for me that might not exist for the creators for that particular film or TV show. But I will be heard” (2008, p.175-176).

Shameless acceptance of the toxic gay dynamic:

While sexuality is particular to each individual, the social constructions of heterosexuality and homosexuality are cultural categories humans use to make sense of their sexuality (Queer Analysis, 2010, p.198). Shameless, an American comedy-drama television series based on a British show of the same name, stars Cameron Monaghan as Ian, a closeted teenage boy who realizes he is gay and navigates the complexities of his queerness as a social identity and Noel Fisher as Mickey, a closeted homophobic thug who upon realizing he is gay engages in a sexual relationship with the one other queer person he knows who also happens to be the kid he violently bullied. Ian and Mickey start as a toxic portrayal of settling and acceptability in its truest form. Ian is in a predatory relationship with an adult and still possess a great deal of internalized homophobia when he is essentially propositioned by Mickey and their turbulent relationship begins. Mickey is struggling between his desires as a closeted gay teen and his need to match the criminal ideals expected of his father and family name. They are an explosive pair that seem to cause each other physical pain and mental anguish, yet the fans are wholly supportive. Even when healthy potential partners are introduced, the toxic couple of Ian and Mickey are reunited time and time again because media has established a trope where queer characters are only allowed complicated togetherness. Queer characters are punished for choosing their queerness and therefore not allowed true love and happiness. Despite having this knowledge and nothing in common personally with these characters, I love this couple and I love this pairing, so I am part of the problem. I am a product of this generation of idolizing toxic behaviors between characters because unfortunately those are the only “happy” queer characters I have seen continually produced. I have settled into a pattern of accepting negative stereotypes as simply good enough. I have traded the simple fact that the queer character doesn’t die for the harsh reality of their lives.

Another sad queer lacking Glee:

When queer characters are introduced, there are a set number of personality types and lived experiences they are allowed to have. Take Dave Kurofsky from Glee who serves as the closeted homophobic bully who after being outed in the “On My Way” episode attempts suicide and is comforted by the out-and-proud effeminate Kurt, a previous victim of Kurofsky’s wrath. We get to observe the pointed shift in Kurofsky’s personality from homophobic bully to repentant closeted queer, but the lack of character development unfortunately makes it difficult to feel sorry for him as a character. Instead, as an audience, we are forced to revel in “media representations of queer culture as essentialist, marking out the dichotomies between male and female, heterosexual versus homosexual (Queer Youth Cultures, 2008, p.175). Kurofsky is unable to learn what it means to be a queer man and grow from his internalized homophobia because he is coming his existence and framing his life experiences through that of Kurt; this is apparent when Kurofsky is unable to dance with Kurt at prom because of the perception of gayness. We accept Kurofsky’s story as powerful and real and heartbreaking because it is, but at what point do content creators have an obligation to tell the story a different way, in a positive uplifting light?

Degrassi: The Next Generation of bury your gays tropes:

Degrassi: The Next Generation, a Canadian teen drama television series, made history for tackling the tough social issues affecting teens, but frequently not talked about. They embraced diversity in their casting and range of topics covered while spearheading a progressive movement of introducing characters traditionally absent from popular media. Adam, a trans male character played by a cis female actress is a well-rounded first introduction to many into the lives of trans youth. The audience is familiarized with concepts such as passing and outing as well as the complexities involved in sexuality vs gender. Adam, besides being inaccurately portrayed by a cis woman, which is damaging to the idea that trans folks are the gender they have identified with rather than their gender assigned at birth, provides a much needed avenue of representation for queer youth in popular media. Continuing with our previously identified tropes, as a result of Adam being happy, relatively healthy, and well-liked he has to die. Queer characters are not afforded regular happiness in media they are given a taste then sacrificed as tools of writing via violence, sacrifice, or martyrdom. Adam is not gay bashed or driven to suicide as other queer characters are, but instead tragically killed as a texting while driving PSA. This death is particularly hard felt because Adam was truly shaping out to be a normal high school kid facing the complexities of life and surviving, but the creators, once again, took a queer character as the source for a lesson in some predetermined idea that queer happiness is short lived and tragic regardless of circumstance. There is a need for punishment of their queerness.

Queer punishment, a Supernatural concept:

What do shipping, fandoms, and heteronormative dominant culture have in common? Queerbaiting. Queerbaiting, “a term employed by media fans to criticize homoerotic suggestiveness in contemporary television when this suggestiveness is not actualized in the program narrative” (Brennan, 2016, p.1). A concept typically negatively connoted is a primary tool of heteronormative culture ensuring queer culture remains as a subculture rather than its own, established independent source of media. Audiences, particularly queer individuals, are forced to imagine scenarios and worlds where their identities are represented and dominant. “By creating a fantasy space, queer youth have an environment where they are free to explore many possibilities” (Queer Youth Culture, 2008, p.174). From these creative worlds come the likes of couples like Dean and Castiel (#Destiel) from Supernatural. The creators introduce intimacy and connectedness; the couple is ideal and non-stereotypical or superficial. Unfortunately, our trend of no happy endings for queer media continues because despite the fan observations and urging this couple is never acknowledged or confirmed as such. They instead give several seasons of romantic teasing culminating in a teary subversive confession immediately preceded by death and not just any death, a death where Castiel, an angel character is drug to hell. The sub context is overwhelming in deciding queerness is so offensive that any acknowledgement to the sort should result in punishment akin to biblical reckoning.

Lingua Franca, the road to universal language and communication:

Even as queer media continually evolves becoming evermore accurate and inclusive the conditioning I have been subjected to, as a consumer of queer media, completely reprogram my brain. While watching something as relevant and present as Lingua Franca I am unable to completely enjoy the film as I am waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Lingua Franca is a progressive film about a trans Filipina woman seeking a path to legal immigration in Trump’s America. The film is written, directed, and stars Isabel Sandoval an actual trans woman of color and therefore the portrayal is very real. As a film about a trans woman, the pace is melodic and light while the subject matter is focused on the life of Olivia rather than her transition or identity as a trans woman. While watching the film, I found it beyond refreshing that there were no invasive surgery questions or blatant misgendering by supposed loved ones. That being said, as a first watch through, it was anxiety inducing; the lack of discussion regarding Olivia’s trans identity led me to worry for her safety in a cis-heteropatriarchal world. When Olivia is engaging in her relationship with Alex I see the natural connections, simplicity, sensuality, and beauty, but I also worry about the potential for the violence I have come to expect when viewing true queer happiness. The scene where Olivia is outed by Alex’s friend shifted the entire tone of the film for me as I watched Alex spiral and truly cringed at the thought of watching another film showing an act of physical violence against a trans woman of color. While that thankfully did not happen, the fact that I remained restless throughout the entirety of the film waiting for it alludes to this reprogramming of sorts that has occurred. Creators show queer characters as poor unfortunate souls brought down by their queer identities therefore, I have come to expect and root for in some regards, a victim. There are limited instances when I can truly enjoy a queer film without a sinking feeling in my stomach waiting for the catch, waiting to exhale and simply experience queer joy.

#queer representation #intersectionality #queer youth culture #tragic queer #shameless #glee #degrassi #supernatural #lingua franca

1 note · View note

septembriseur · 5 years

Text

A comprehensive theory of The Terror, pt. V

Hickey.

Oh, Hickey.

Or should I say: not-Hickey?

Hickey is a man who, over the course of the series, undergoes a profound transformation. When we first meet him, he’s a sullen and fairly useless caulker’s mate whose clumsy manipulations always seem to go slightly awry— he mistakes Crozier’s eagerness to get sloshed as an overture of friendship; he deploys his awareness that the tuunbaq isn’t really an animal to an unimpressed panel of officers; his daring escapade to kidnap Silna gets him flogged. Yet by the end of the show, he’s become a kind of ragged, savage would-be prophet, an unstoppable and hardly-human consumer of other men.

The seeds of this are already present in his initial appearances. The first time we see Hickey as Hickey, rather than as one of a group of seamen, is when he helps to bury David Young in episode one. There is a miniature transformation that takes place here: at first, he’s a comic figure, flicking Tozer the V before hastily turning it into a thumbs-up, but when the other men leave him to work, he opts to climb down into Young’s grave. This is ostensibly so he can fix the broken lid of Young’s coffin, but in fact (we later learn) to rob Young’s corpse, and perhaps for some other, less articulable reason.

The scene in the grave is lit dramatically, which my terrible capping probably can’t really capture; there are several distinct moments at which the sun is positioned just above Hickey’s head, obliterating him like a particularly ruthless halo.

When it isn’t, he remains wreathed in a foggy light, or else struck by a sort of painterly chiaroscuro.

There’s something uncanny about the effect thus produced, particularly at the moment when Adam Nagaitis does a brilliant bit of physical acting: a lizard-like head-flick and lip-licking that will recur later, when Hickey kills Irving. It’s a gesture that looks wrong, at the same time as it communicates a kind of joy or a physical release.

Hickey wants to be in the grave, face-to-face with the dead body. I’m undecided how much he’s indifferent to any potential taboo— how much we should believe the casualness with which he later says, about the ring he steals from Young’s body, that he got it from “someone who didn’t need it anymore”— and how much it’s the very violation of that taboo that excites him, the touching-the-corpse and the going-down-into-the-grave. Either way, we know from this point on that he is someone whose nature is to transgress boundaries.

Sometimes that transgression is sympathetic! Why shouldn’t he get off with Billy belowdecks? He seems genuinely besotted with Billy, in a sort of feral, half-formed way. But the explanation he gives as to why Irving won’t inform on the two of them should raise red flags. Irving won’t say what he saw, Hickey says, because to do so would mean “he’d have to open his imagination to what he didn’t... That’s a man afraid of chaos. He’s not going to invite more if he can help it.”

Here, “order” becomes what is seen, and “chaos” what is not seen— not only what is not seen, but what cannot be seen without puncturing order. This is tremendously important, I think, because the grave scene above also features one of several moments in the show at which the camera deliberately does not follow Hickey, barring the audience from seeing what he sees.

This is what the audience sees while Hickey is actually in the process of rifling through Young’s corpse: a long, slow push in on the exterior of the grave. We hear Hickey’s noises of effort, but we don’t rejoin him until he’s slipped the ring into his pocket.

This is exactly the technique used in the scene in episode six where Hickey puts his fingers into Heather’s exposed brain. We see Hickey pull the “veil” back to expose Heather’s injury, then bend over his body to inspect him:

However, we then cut to an angle at which the camera is positioned behind the veil, watching Hickey’s face yet concealing his actions.

We hear the wet noises as he touches Heather’s brain, but the show has literally drawn a veil across his actions, preventing us from seeing them and allowing us to leave them unimagined. (There is, I must note, a grimly clever little cut from this scene to Jacko the monkey digging his fingers into a tin of food.)

This isn’t a show that shies away from gore. I mean, in the final episode, we get multiple straightforward shots of Goodsir’s naked, butchered, and partly-consumed corpse. So it seems significant that there are these moments when the camera specifically will not let us follow Hickey where he is going, as though it does not want to implicate us in his violation.

When I say violation, I don’t want to imply that these things are somehow inherently morally wrong. What they are is exactly what Hickey says: chaotic. (I should note that the scene in which Irving finds Hickey and Billy having sex draws on elements of this same pattern— we distinctly hear Hickey and Billy going at it, but don’t see them until they’re clothed— but everything about the way the show depicts not only their relationship but also that of Bridgens and Peglar suggests that we are meant to find these relationships tender and tragic, not unpleasant.) Hickey is, characteristically and centrally, chaotic. To paraphrase a wise man: he sees a boundary, he eats a boundary and washes it down with a cup of hot steaming rules. He’s a social transgressor, having sex with men and drinking with the captain. He’s a spatial transgressor: he sneaks back onto the ship during Franklin’s funeral and wanders through everyone’s private places, touching their intimate possessions. He takes a shit in Billy’s bed. There are other elements of confusion: he’s a man who’s “punished as a boy.” And, of course, deeper than all of these things runs the abiding formlessness at the heart of Hickey: he isn’t really Hickey. We never know who he is. He has no name, no past; he’s just someone who wandered onto the ship, looking for a “change of everything.”

We find this out about him in episode seven, the end of which marks the break between his nascent chaos and chaos unleashed. Something... happens to Hickey. In the scene that sees Irving return from his meeting with the Netsilik, Hickey is shot from angles and in poses that are designed to make him appear inhuman. First there’s this—

—a weird, disturbing shot in which Hickey is crouched, mostly naked, concealed under a greatcoat, and vaguely monstrous over Farr’s corpse. Then, as Irving approaches, Hickey springs animalistically at him, stabs him, and proceeds to squat over Irving and hold a hand over his mouth until he dies. We see Hickey through Irving’s eyes while this happens, at an unnatural angle that not only accentuates the sharp, triangular shapes of his body, but also seems to distort him slightly. He looks demonic, even before he repeats his restless and lizard-like head-flick...

And then: yikes.

It’s a shedding-his-skin motion, is what I think of that head-flick. From this point forward, Hickey is no longer a resentful man kicking against his confines. He has escaped those confines. He slips into an easy, ruthless, natural command of the mutineers, including men who outrank him and have previously mocked him.

He also slips further and further away from humanity, moving towards something else. “I’ve shot smaller hawks than you,” Jopson says, but Hickey isn’t a hawk, exactly. He looks like a man, albeit a man who’s mostly running around in his long underwear and a greatcoat in the Arctic, seemingly unable to feel the cold, but gradually all his previous strangenesses come to the fore. With a rope around his neck (once more lit strangely through a haze) he tells Crozier that he “must pierce this thing [Crozier] calls truth,” and takes on Crozier’s own voice/accent to do it— another absenting of identity, another piece of evidence that Hickey is not so much a person or a thing as a void of anything, a formlessness.

I can’t help but think that what the mutineers are following is not Hickey, but the formlessness that has broken free from within him. At the mutineers’ camp, Hickey takes on the demeanor and appearance of a prophet, embracing the air with his arms open (in the same pose that recurs throughout the series as an emblem of chaos and collapse) while skinned of most of his clothing—

—or meditating alone on hillsides for hours, “listening to his thoughts.” (“I dare not go up” to interrupt him, Tozer says.) He’s killed and eaten Billy by this point, and if we were looking for a logic to his actions, it would be possible to read it in the toast he reminds Crozier of: “Ourselves.” Crozier intended it as a self-deprecating joke, he says, but for Hickey it’s become a tenet: he is a wholly self-interested being whose principle is survival, a formlessness that wants to go on being a formlessness.

Yet he has contrived a strange plan that he doesn’t reveal to anyone, which rests on an observation that Crozier makes about him: “You must be a surpassingly lonely man, Mr. Hickey.” I’m not sure how sincere Crozier’s being in this moment; it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t agree that he and Hickey were each other’s only “equals” on the expedition. The observation is accurate, however, I think. Hickey is a surpassingly lonely man, but: “Not for long,” he tells Crozier. He plans to bind himself to the tuunbaq, becoming a shaman.

So let’s talk about this plan.

Hickey arranges this bizarre sacrificial tableau in which he stands atop the boat, again almost unclad in the middle of the Arctic, and rambles from what seems like a place of holy madness, cursing all the national and religious figures of England while offering what are pretty nakedly incisive truths. “What if we’re not the heroes?” he asks. “Our empire is not the only empire. I’ve seen that now.” Arguably, what allows him this vision is that he now stands outside of all the empires, having transcended every taboo, every boundary line.

Yet when he offers his tongue to the tuunbaq, the tuunbaq rejects it and eats him. The important question is: why?

Let me get philosophical for a second: what is a connection? It’s a point of contact between two beings, right? It’s a touch; the place where two parts of the world are joined to one another. For this to happen, there has to first be a dividing line; there has to be a way in which the world is divided up into things to start with. I am separate from you. Man is separate from animals. The sea is separate from the land. There are these boundaries in the world that allot us places; there are rules that govern how we relate to every other kind of thing. It’s not good or bad, any more than chaos is; it’s just order. And fundamentally there has to be an interplay; we always have to be moving towards a synthesis of order and chaos. But when you have just chaos, with no boundaries, then what you have is an everythingness that is also a nothingness, which is: Hickey. Everything is permitted, is his attitude, pretty explicitly; or alternatively: everything can be consumed, an act that literally treats everyone and everything around him as just a potential part of his body. The result of this is that it is impossible for him to connect.

When I was first trying to figure out why the tuunbaq refuses Hickey, I thought to myself: is it because Hickey thinks he’s the shaman, but he’s actually the monster? It’s possible to view him as “a spirit that dresses as an animal,” or as an animal that dresses as a man. But I think it’s that, at this point, Hickey has become so formless that he simply isn’t enough of a thing to be able to touch another thing. I think that’s the birthplace of the urge that drives him to to bind himself to the tuunbaq in the first place, but it’s also the reason why he can’t.

I find Hickey quite tragic, actually, because I can understand his frustration with order— with boundaries that are arbitrary and don’t seem to make sense. But in breaking and breaking and breaking forwards past those boundaries, Hickey fails to understand that the boundaries don’t exist to be boundaries qua boundaries. They create the possibility of relationship. And while touch is perhaps the push of chaos that nudges us to new and more perfect iterations of order, we can’t allow it to become the will to consume.

And on that note... next time, I have much to say about Goodsir.

#tv: terrible people #a comprehensive theory of the terror #the terror #terroramc #very long post #i don't think he's this important just because he's #the two degree murderous cannibal

95 notes · View notes

danwhobrowses · 4 years

Text

Why Star Wars: The Last Jedi Deserves More Respect

So after a handful of posts I think it’s time to bring back this one, the conflict was that I was considering reviews for Pokémon Sword and Shield as well as a review for Rise of Skywalker, but the latter made me think that this is an opportune moment to talk about the previous entry. Like The Last Jedi, Rise of Skywalker has had divisive opinions, frankly I liked the film but I think TLJ was the best of the sequel trilogy, and I am going to explain why

Fair Warning, within this there’s gonna be spoilers for Rise of Skywalker, possibly Mandalorian, maybe Solo and definitely The Last Jedi...this will also be very long

So I know straight away that this is gonna get heat, there has been constant times where me saying that I liked TLJ has been considered trolling or ‘bait’, honestly I find myself baffled that people can hate it so vehemently, believing that the story is and I quote ‘the worst sequel ever’. While it is clear that Johnson had a different vision to Abrams, that was not a bad thing, a lot of the criticism the film gets are quite hypocritical in contrast to the Original Trilogy which is held to so much esteem, so to start I’m going to break that down. Small Disclaimer before I do: People are allowed to dislike things, not saying that if you do dislike it you are doing something wrong, just pointing out that it’s not wrong to like the film either. Disowning before Watching The first thing I think turned people off of TLJ was the interview Mark Hamill had before the film came out, people misconceiving his comments that it’s not the journey he expected seeing of Luke to mean that this is not a film he would approve of. The same almost happened with RoS with Abrams comment which was abridged to imply that Abrams disowned TLJ as well - he did not - but in a society where we want to home in on flaws and criticize before even seeing that was too wide a door left open. So without fault, TLJ already had a group of people set on disliking the film because it would be different to how they and Hamill wanted it to be and because it’s not exactly like the decanonized ‘Legends’ continuity - despite people being fine that Jacen Solo and Ben Skywalker had been merged to make Kylo Ren in The Force Awakens. It’s easy to point out that if you go into something adamant to dislike you’re going to get your wish, so the first point of order is to give something a chance to impress you, you can’t criticize something because an actor didn’t think it’d go that creative direction, Hamill did not hate this movie and people disliking their content does not automatically make it bad, Stannis from GoT hated the show, Alan Moore hates everything but that doesn’t mean Watchmen was bad, the actors for C3PO and R2-D2 hated each other but that doesn’t mean that when they acted their bond wasn’t great.

The ‘Luke is not Luke’ Criticism Hamill’s comments ease nicely into one of the main critiques that fans felt that Luke was not the same character he was in Return of the Jedi. People criticized his disconnection from the force which included tossing his lightsaber away in the opening scene, the Rashomon sequence where Luke considered striking down his own nephew - a move that ultimately turned Ben to the Dark, drinking green milk and that his last stand was a projection rather than a solid encounter. You know what I say to those criticisms?

They are bollocks, absolute nonsensical criticisms made to try and dismantle the best character of the movie. Hamill delivers his best for Luke in TLJ and his character arc is brilliant. I watched Blind Wave (a great youtube reactor channel) react to TLJ and the members noted how it was great that Luke had a character arc, something I wholly agree with. Luke was around 23 in Return of the Jedi (since the galaxy uses the standardized dating of Coruscant which has the most earth-like cycle), if you expect a 23 year old to have no room left to grow in the next 30 years of his life then I don’t think anything’s gonna get through to you, Luke is meant to be different, because since Jedi a lot of shit has happened. Luke’s discarding of the lightsaber shows his disconnect with the Force, something that had allowed the First Order to paint him as a myth and rendered everyone near-unable to find him, only tracked by the galactic map to Ahch-To from his past days of discovering remnants of Jedi past. Next let’s bring down the Rashomon sequence, the 3 tales of Ben’s turning. Initially, Luke painted a picture that he sensed that the darkness was too late, Ben woke and attacked him. Later Ben paints that Luke is lying, and that when Ben awoke Luke was there with his Lightsaber drawn with intent to kill him. The third story admits that both are correct, Luke drew his lightsaber in sensing the darkness, and Ben awoke to see it and retaliated.

This story peeves people mainly because they say that in Jedi ‘Luke was willing to fight for a single hope of light in his Father but was willing to kill his nephew for a bad dream’. A ridiculous comment that waters down and ignores the bigger picture though. For one, while Luke wanted to save his father and sensed good in him, he still ended up cutting his dad’s hand off, the indication that much like his father Luke - as he had always been in the Original Trilogy - was still susceptible to his emotions, including the negative ones. The other reason this statement is foolhardy is because they don’t listen to Luke’s narration, where he explains that it was a fleeting moment of panic and arrogance, his ego as ‘Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master’ took over when he sensed that Ben was already turned by Snoke, and it was only for a split second which he immediately regrets. It’s this moment that snowballs into why Luke disconnects himself from the force, his ego as a saviour to Jedi led to the downfall of his nephew - which led to his best friend and sister separating, the rise of the First Order being like a second Empire and the massacre of most of his other jedi students, he realised that this was the same ego that led to the previous Jedi’s downfall to Vader and Sidious and thus came to the conclusion that maybe the Jedi way is not the right way. Not only is this a brilliantly done tragedy for the character but it’s a progression that identifies with public opinion of jedi ways and the pompousness that led to Anakin’s turn to the dark side as depicted in the prequels. The use of Rashomon also connects to the Jedi/Sith connections to Samurai which was a great touch by Johnson. The green milk scene was a weird one I’ve seen being criticized, like people are fine with Calamarian fishmen but a Tatooine/Naboo humanoid can’t drink green milk? I think I need to remind you that Luke drinks blue milk on Tatooine, he is a moisture farmer as well, the ‘green milk’ scene was a depiction of how Luke survived on Ahch-To as Rey followed him, his lifestyle disconnected from the force as he lived as basically a farm boy. I don’t know why people got so mad about the colour of milk but you can’t expect those nuns to have fed him roast porgs every day The final criticism is his last stand, something I will touch on a bit later as well. In terms of Luke, people were disappointed that it wasn’t Luke actually there and while yes it would’ve been great to watch Luke tear down AT-ATs luke the EU, but he literally says that he won’t do that

it’s not a matter of can’t, it’s a matter of him strutting up to the army of the First Order will not end the war, most people don’t even know if he exists. Showing up will have inspired the resistance yes but if Luke was shown killed or captured that hope would then be instantly diminished, and Snoke and Ren would definitely be going for Luke’s head to make that so. This is why Luke goes via projection, instead of his ragged hermit self where he’d likely die similarly to how Kenobi did, he demonstrates a highly advanced force power to display himself as a clean-cut warrior who shrugs off the full might of the First Order’s arsenal and humiliates its brand new Supreme Leader, while disappearing. That stand does the Resistance far better than him showing up in person, because now the legend of Luke Skywalker lives longer than he does, he inspires a new wave of Jedi who understand his sacrifice and rebels who have just seen how one man can expose the weakness of the First Order. Luke’s last living gesture is one that inspires hope, before he becomes one with the Force at peace. If anything that is as beautiful as it is tragic of an end for Luke, but by no means is that bad. The Rose Tico ‘Issue’ Luke wasn’t the only character to get on the wrong side of criticism, undoubtedly Kelly Marie Tran got it the worst. Despicable people flocked to harass her over her character, throwing about racism just for that added content of being a horrid human being. Her character, Rose Tico, was a newly introduced character from the Resistance who joins Finn and Poe’s arcs, her main non-racist criticism is her act of saving Finn from the Laser Battering Ram ‘She has this stupid speech about saving people with love while a laser battering ram breaks down the door to kill a bunch of people’ A common theme seems to be that people are taking things the absolute wrong way. Rose’s journey with Finn is an interesting arc where she seeks to make sure her sister’s sacrifice - caused by Poe’s rash personality - is not in vain while accompanying a ‘hero of the resistance’, what she is unaware of is how her assistance relates to Finn’s journey as he tries to live up to the esteem she sees him in, he had always considered himself a defector rather than a rebel. Rose (and DJ) open his eyes to a reality that not everything is black and white, he left the First Order in TFA because he believed that they were ‘wrong’ and so by default the resistance had to be ‘right’ but TLJ challenged Finn to see both sides and make a choice for himself, a choice that is made thanks to Rose. However, his embrace of being a rebel is why he is adamant to try and sacrifice himself for the laser battering ram. I have to point out that until Rose stepped in I thought Finn was gonna die, I thought it really ballsy and a little disappointing that they were gonna kill him off, I also knew that the ship would not stop the battering ram so it was actually a relief that Rose did save him.

I think people dislike it for that reason though, they felt that Finn dying would’ve been a more shocking narrative turn and because Rose saved him she is to ‘blame’, I also believe that people didn’t like the relationship because Finn was clearly still on Rey and not everyone was on the Reylo boat or it got in the way of FinnPoe being more than just a bromance (side note, at the start of RoS I thought they were sailing on the ReyPoe for a moment, though I’m not mad about how they went), but again, that shouldn’t be the fault of Rose’s character. Rose clearly was inspired by Finn’s reputation and grew fond of his personality the more time she spent with him, likewise Finn found himself wanting to earn her esteem and taking care of her, it’s actually a shame that Rose’s role gets heavily reduced in RoS, because I do feel like Rose could’ve filled Jannah’s role (nothing against Jannah or Naomi Ackie of course) with the Canto Bight horse-things instead of the Kef Bir horse-things. So to conclude this section, Rose was good in this film, she served a purpose to grow Finn as a character and most constructive criticisms against her revolve around things either out of her control as a character or without would diminish her character role completely. The Communication Issue between Holdo and Poe Alright, let’s throw some hands up before I rub them together. I agree that Holdo should’ve told people the plan, I do dislike it when a movie creates conflict made by a lack of communication. But, he will say rubbing his hands together, this does not ruin the film. It’s worth reminding that Poe is recently demoted for reckless behaviour, the Resistance’s entire offensive fleet was destroyed due to Poe wanting to destroy one Dreadnought Ship. A reasonable punishment for Poe on his arc to realise that being a leader is more than just winning a battle, but more on that later. So Holdo comes in, new squadron she barely knows because she’s taking over for Leia, she has a plan that she and Leia know but are the only living members who know now. So why doesn’t she tell Poe? It’s quite simple, not only does the novel imply that she’s figuring out if there’s a mole - which is understandable because the First Order must’ve watched Star Trek: Into Darkness and thought ‘hey we could track ships in hyperspeed too!’ - but she’s also trying to enforce Leia’s punishment to Poe. Poe is in this shit because he refused to listen to orders, so Holdo is basically telling Poe to listen to orders, something he refuses to do and starts a mutiny. It is frustrating yes and we side with Poe because he’s the more familiar character, but had Poe just proved himself a trustworthy person who is learning from Leia’s last decree before she went into a coma she would’ve told him. This also transitions nicely into the next criticism people have Canto Bight and the Cryptographer Goose-Chase Poe’s plans of mutiny starts with sending Rose and Finn to Canto Bight, at the behest of the massively underused Maz Kanata, to find a Cryptographer so that they could disable the hyperspace tracker. People hate this scene mainly because it segue’s from the plot, it’s high on CGI and reminds them of the Prequel Trilogy

Now I can’t really contest the CGI but it was nothing bad, CGI still gets used well and the visit to the Casino aided in time for Rose and Finn to establish a relationship, have some lightheated BB-8 moments, introduce DJ the speech impediment ‘wrong hacker’ and continue to drive the shades of grey theme Finn is about to learn about. People never seem to criticize that they put their faith in the wrong guy because it leads to a more interesting conflict, so it’s strange that they hate this transition so much. The Brevity of Snoke and Phasma Two characters introduced that promised to be big deals were killed off in The Last Jedi, the nature of them both was a brave scene that many felt dropped the ball on these characters. And while I am inclined to agree on Phasma at least, Snoke’s death was actually a great turn. Before RoS we were none the wiser on who Snoke was, now we’ve seen it we know that he was basically a mass-produced puppet by the emperor...not the best of closures I’d admit but the anger towards Snoke being killed off is actually hypocritical ‘All Snoke does is sit in his chair and die’ You know who else sat in his chair and ‘died’, ol’ Sheev Palpatine. People are quick to criticize that Snoke was hyped up but barely got to show anything when Palpatine only really demonstrated the force twice in the Original trilogy before being thrown into a pit of apparent death, we allowed the Emperor a pass because we learned more about him through novels and future movies, and that’s something we eventually find out from Snoke as well.

Captain Phasma on the other hand was a sad disappointment, after one brush with death already she returned to basically be killed off again as a symbol of Finn shedding his ties as an ex-stormtrooper and embracing the role of a rebel. This is not really the fault of Johnson though, everyone seems to be more content with the alternate scene where Finn exposes Phasma’s actions for TFA, but that was a choice from the cutting room. While we can be disappointed that Phasma didn’t leave enough of a mark on the trilogy, we can always hope for prequel stuff as we had with Boba Fett, an equally wasted character in his main trilogy who could theoretically be in The Mandalorian (only a theory, nothing is concrete), but if we are willing to love the Original Trilogy despite similar issues we hate on TLJ for then aren’t we being hypocrites? tHaT’s nOt HoW tHe FoRcE wOrKs If you try to pick on Rian Johnson for ‘not getting Star Wars’ directly you would be in for a world of punishment. Two major force powers that get used in The Last Jedi is the ‘Force Skype’ and Force Projection, however both are basically using the same techniques, one is connecting minds while the other is connecting one mind to an individual place. It’s immediately told to us that this is an advanced technique but this is not something Johnson has made up. In the EU this ability is called Simifuturus or just Doppelganger, practiced by Luke, Dooku and Yarael Poof. Rey and Ben’s Force Skype is also used in the EU called Force Bond, Chain or Jedi Kinship, the ability had been fine in beloved Star Wars games Knights of the Old Republic I & II, the Clone Wars and Rebels series and aplenty of novels. For the legitimacy of these abilities cannot be contested. The fact that the ability kills Luke shouldn’t be criticized either, Luke is projecting himself light years away on Crait, with a copy of Han’s dice in a much more polished form, he physically interacts with Leia and takes on a barrage of AT-M6 blasters - turbolasers that can destroy speeders and ships with one hit - and two lightsaber slices, remember Ben felt the impact from Rey’s blaster on their first Force Skype, so Luke carried the feeling of all that damage and strain on his body and maintained his projection. So not only did Luke’s dying moments lead to an incredible display of using the Force but also one that forced him to sustain an immeasurable amount of damage and still manage to bide the resistance time to escape. Leia Poppins Ah yes, the Mary Poppins moment. I dunno how I can explain this one so easily but how about this. Leia is force sensitive, we have known this since Jedi, so to see Leia use the force was a massive moment, but she’s floating in the vacuum of space so there is no ‘up’ she is basically pulling a heavier object than herself in a vacuum, using it as an anchor so she can get to a blast door. As to why she survives in space, you can survive up to 2 minutes in space without a helmet, it is horribly painful though, it’s also worth reminding that Leia is not a human like you or me and if the Force can heal (as shown in The Mandalorian and RoS) then why can’t it keep Leia alive a bit longer in Space? She ends up in a coma anyway so I don’t see why complaints are rife here, she survives barely and it’s not like they knew Carrie was going to die sometime after the film was completed, they obviously had more plans for her so it would’ve been wrong to kill her off there when we were already killing Luke off. Did Disney Ruin Star Wars? This is a statement I’ve heard a lot in regards to TLJ, Solo and RoS, which is weird though, people were fine with Disney doing TFA, Rogue One and The Mandalorian, Mando’s journey with Baby Yoda proving that the utility of fanservice - something the trio get loathed for - can be enjoyable and it bodes well that the director of some episodes is doing an Obi Wan film. The phrase ‘Star Wars Fatigue’ also came about from post-Solo reviews, which I have expressed is dumb because MCU do 3 marvel movies minimum a year. But the reason Solo got low box office figures wasn’t because it was bad, it’s because it was released around the same time as Deadpool 2, it was left to the sharks without a chance to succeed. So no, Disney have not ruined Star Wars, if anything fan perception has damaged the franchise with people hating it because it’s not the Original Trilogy or it’s too much like the Original Trilogy, the same can be said for the EU. RoS is quite similar to Dark Empire but because Disney retconned most of the EU it’s the enemy, but let’s be honest, does anyone want the continuity to be that Chewie gets blown up? I doubt that. So WHY does The Last Jedi deserve more respect I think the mixed reviews of Rise of Skywalker has proved that maybe TLJ got a harsh end of a stick, even with Abrams’ vision back at the helm the film proved to be divisive and personally quite safe. This is probably why I liked TLJ the most, Johnson went to challenge things and build off of the previous movies as a whole, nothing really was safe, it took narrative risks that opened the door to a lot more things.

We explored Rey’s connection to the force and her desires for answers being unable to be sated by it because she’s expecting more from her level of learning, we also have Snoke’s gambit to bond Ben and Rey together to strengthen both, Ben strengthens into a more mature state but continues to conflict in a less whiny way, even relenting from trying to kill his mother. We also got some ‘reverse Jedi’ stuff with both Ben and Rey adamant that the other will turn but instead of turning one another, Ben’s hatred however proves too great for Rey to accompany him which leads to Ben getting a villain promotion to Supreme Leader. We have a solid arc for Finn, Luke and Poe as he finally learns to take care of others, because as Rose was saying, sacrificing yourself is not going to beat the First Order, heroes are great but dead heroes win nothing, protecting others is the essence of the Resistance and that’s what a leader is meant to do. Hell, we even get a little Hux stuff, the way he slowly considers shooting Kylo Ren while he’s down and his constant abuse culminating in the rather obvious RoS reveal that he’s the spy. Unlike RoS, TLJ thrived on giving every major character worthwhile arcs like these which all ended up entwining in the climactic showdown, while tertiary characters did end up getting underused there were still windows for them to do more in the next episode which was taken out of Johnson’s hands, but he laid a lot of groundwork for the story to be taken multiple directions, which is actually quite difficult when you’re midway through a trilogy and on the 8th outing of a saga. In addition, the film provided Hamill’s best performance as Luke Skywalker, giving him a fitting end to his journey which explored almost every dimension of a Jedi’s character; training, temptation, losing faith and redemption.

I also loved how Johnson described the Force in TLJ, it wasn’t about Dark or Light, the Force was the Force, an energy that flows through all that is harnessed by the force sensitive, even Force Ghosts. And using the Puppet Yoda was a great and fun addition, and it makes sense that he can fire lightning, because Force Ghosts are one with the Force, they flow with the flow of nature. We got lore and demonstration of great powers that made the ‘holy shit’ moment of Kylo Ren stopping a blaster shot mid-flow look like novice work. And while we’re talking about ‘holy shit’ moments

You cannot deny that TLJ had some absolutely breathtaking visuals, moments in this film are some of the best moments in Star Wars, a combination of intensity and hype from Luke’s standoff with the First Order to Holdo’s hyperspace ram, Ahch-To’s real-life setting was also beautiful as were the design of Crait from its Icicle foxes to its salt speeders leaving a red path of smoke

This film looks beautiful and the story is multilayered with character development, worldbuilding, good action and gutsy plot twists, you know everything people (rightfully) praise The Mandalorian for. It’s definitely not a film where you’d find yourself bored and when you set aside your fan theories and the illusion that the Original Trilogy was Flawless save for the Death Star plot hole you will find this movie a lot more enjoyable. Now I don’t want people saying it’s a ‘Don’t Question, Consume’ sorta thing, it’s a matter of accepting that there are flaws but not allowing it to ruin the experience, because The Last Jedi embodies a lot of the essence of Star Wars old and new, it is probably the best that the New Trilogy has provided and it is certainly worthy of respect.

#star wars #star wars spoilers #star wars the last jedi #the last jedi #luke skywalker #princess leia #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #snoke #supreme leader snoke #poe #poe dameron #rose tico #rian johnson

11 notes · View notes