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grain-my-beloved · 3 years

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For real though watching yhs has lead me to the conclusion that despite Grian seemingly has such an active fight instinct....most of the time he actually doesnt respond to situations with half the fight attributed to him.

When faced with a traumatic situation Grian will absolutely bare his teeth at the nearest threat. He's absolutely vitriolic towards Sam at all times without fail and has even initiated physical violence in their confrontations once or twice. He's often on edge, often quick to angry outbursts, just overall rather hostile when faced with a dangerous/frightening/harmful situation. Which definitely indicates his main response to these scenarios is to fight. Hard.

However the more I engaged with fanon the more I faltered. A lot of fanon does portray him as very hostile in the face of trouble. Which should make sense. Canonically Grian knows when to say no, when to argue, and even sometimes when to physically fight back. Any episode with Grian present will likely have examples of him pushing back against harmful situations. And yet something always feels very Off about that being the start and end of it in a lot of fanon. Which led me down an interesting line of thinking.

I honestly suspect that Grian's volatility and will to fight back isn't nearly as strong as one would believe from observing him on surface level. In fact, his on the surface hostility feels like it's borderline a facade altogether to be honest.

I mean look at examples throughout canon of Grian in distressing situations.

Yhs halloween episode. The one where Taurtis got stabbed. And the following situation where Grian is famously forced to dress up like Taurtis. Grian would later be very upset about Sam stabbing Taurtis, however his initial response was to nervously laugh and even give Sam appeasing praise. I mean, Grian says "you weren't supposed to stab him" pretty clearly, but he anxiously laughs before and afterwards and even tells Sam he's proud of him when prompted. Obviously Grian was very upset about the whole thing later on after taking Taurtis to the hospital however in the moment he's mostly silent and when he's not he's just nervously laughing throughout, even agreeing with whatever *Sam* says when he's outright prompted by name for an opinion, then when everyone else tries to play it off casually Grian actually goes along with it almost entirely, even agreeing to let Taurtis drive him home for some reason. Then, according to his own story, he had an opportunity to talk to police at the hospital and he didn't incriminate Sam. He knew they were supicious of *him* but he still didn't incriminate the actual killer. "I told them I found him like that" Grian alleged. Honestly it sounds like he didn't tell them much of *anything* before being released and making the walk back to meet Sam. The next morning Grian was significantly more vocally upset about Taurtis being stabbed and expressed being upset with Sam however he seemed significantly more anxious than he was angry throughout the interaction. Then Grian immediately pretty readily agreed to go with Sam and Yuki to school and willingly put on the Taurtis outfit before the other's even started with the threats in the name of making things 'less awkward'. He certainly objected, however he was once again a lot more anxious than angry, nervously laughing, coming up with really weak unimportant excuses, and agreeing within ten seconds of being asked. Pretty much the rest of his time dressed as Taurtis goes very similarly. He objects to most things he's told to do and brings up Sam stabbing Taurtis multiple times despite the other's not wanting him to but is primarily nervous rather than hostile and he never actuslly puts up enough resistence for it to stick. Even when the other's were stuffing plastic down his throat and he told them he thought it may kill him Grian still did it and told the other's he *liked* it when pushed. Eventually he got out of it by running on Rowan's command and no sooner than being told to get out of there. When Sam found him again Grian immediately even reverted back to doing as he was told and cowering away from him in obvious fear up until Okami and Rowan showed up and shoved Grian behind them. Then he *still went home that night* knowing Sam would be there. When they found Taurtis it was pretty clear that Grian was hoping Taurtis would help him once he got his memory back however when instructed to stop telling Taurtis who he was Grian for the most part did aside from subtle pushing about the familiarity of certain things and then later when Taurtis got his memory back and made it pretty clear he wasn't going to help Grian? Grian conceded. He spent a good few minutes arguing about everything he'd gone through- everything they both had- and insisting it wasn't okay but when Taurtis made it pretty clear he wasn't going to do anything and they collectively agreed Grian was the real problem? Grian kinda...stopped. When Taurtis made it clear he wasn't going to be helping, Grian just kinda fell back into their normal routine with the other's, and when Sam demanded an 'apology soda' from Grian for what he'd apparently done, Grian bought it for him saying "If that's what it takes for things to go back to normal".

Let's also look at Grian's involvement with the law during/shortly-after the Halloween situation. When Sam and Yuki dragged him to join the Yakuza he was upset and objected anxiously but caved as soon as he got pushback. When Sam wanted to steak from the Yakuza he once again got objections from Grian who nervously insisted that it was a terrible idea but once again Sam shoved aside Grian's complaints and once again Grian just kinda fell into place despite being upset. When the police also started threatening the trio's lives to work for them, Grian objected. He questioned if they were allowed to do that and was very openly not happy about any of it, however he very quickly submitted under pressure. Both times Grian was locked in solitary confinement he loudly protested his sanity and both times he voiced how disturbing it was on a really deep level being locked up like that but both times when he was let out he just went with the other two again and let them brush it all off- even knowing full well they let him out to be *death fodder*. He just went with them relatively quietly save for maybe a token remark or two. Honestly the large majority of this bs Grian was involved with was under physical threat and he almost always bent under it. Even down to his fight with Pie over Ellen. Pie showed up and started challenging their relationship. Sam, Taurtis, and Yuki insisted they have a knife fight. Grian said *no*. Pie said yes. Sam, Taurtis, and Yuki affirmed there would be a knife fight. Grian objects more. Everyone else present discusses how the knife fight will work. Grian gets stabbed. Grian suggests they just ask Ellen who they want to date *obviously*. Ellen chooses nobody and leaves. Grian was upset but then just kinda accepts it and goes on with what the whole group was doing before.

And just to round this out with one more example. The Starwars Cosplay Incident. Apparently Sam burst into Grian's room, undressed him, shoved him into Leia Cosplay complete with fake boobs, and locked him in the basement for three days. Grian sits there for three days until Taurtis rescues him. Grian has a moment of being rightfully very angry and finally even tries to physically attack Sam, demanding to know if Taurtis is aware of what Sam did to him and insisting that they can't expect everything to be fine now. Except it kinda...was. Taurtis stopped Grian from attacking Sam, they both brushed it off as a joke and not a big deal, and then they went to school. And Grian just *went*. He walked with the other two, he wore the outfit Sam put him in, and he just kinda moved on. Grian would later object when the clones tried to pull him out of class, snapping that he just wants to learn and get an education like a normal person and demanding to know why he's not allowed to. But he goes! And when he's released he walks right back to Sam and Taurtis, makes some bitter remarks to them, and let's them shove it all aside as if it's unimportant. Later when it's Grian, Sam, and a member of school staff alone in the closet, some innapropriate remarks are made to Grian. He very quickly says he's reporting the remarks made by school staff but Sam tells him not to be rude and it doesn't seem Grian ever does. Later on when Geode makes a comment about Grian's outfit as well Sam and Taurtis start pondering *giving* Grian to them. Grian repeatedly said *no* but with a lot more despair than defiance and we don't even know if he'd have actually followed through with fighting back if they'd tried to actually give him away because they were interrupted before the situation got to that point. Grian once again just let the other's move on as if that didn't happen and continued following them around, though! And he wore that damn outfit he was very explicitly uncomfortable with. All day.

Which is kinda all to say that when it comes to fighting back Grian is a lot more bark than bite.

Grian throws out a lot of bitter remarks, makes his objections very apparent in most things, and even has more than one vitriolic rant to his abuser(s) throughout the series. But that layer of his responses to things is so fragile that it tends to fall away within minutes- if that, sometimes *seconds*.

Of course ive seen other people take note of this and argue that it means Grian actually *wants* to do these thingd he's objecting to but I think that's silly. If it were just things like group crime or violent acts then id possibly see it but Grian puts up the same kind of response to having plastic shoved down his throat and to being locked in the basement for days which there's no way in hell he was any kind of okay with. The more likely scenario here isn't that he secretly wanted to do any of these things and made his resistence weak so he could pretend he tried while still doing it.

The likely scenario here is that his fight response is much more for show than one would think. Because Grian's strongest most influential response to things really never seems to be to fight. Aggression is really hardly Grian's overall stance on handling a distressing situation.

Much more frequently you see the most influence coming from completely other instinctive responses.

Looking for outside help in adults, friends, and classmates like when Okami and Rowan protected him during his time dressed as Taurtis or when Grian tried desperately to get Taurtis to be on his side and help him after Sam seriously hurt him both when Taurtis first got his memory back after Halloween and when Taurtis found Grian in the basement during the Starwars Cosplay Incident, hell, even during his fight with Pie it can be argued that Grian calling for them to just ask Ellen was an appeal to outside help as he hoped Ellen would agree to end the fight and save him from the situation as a result.

Running away- or trying to at least- from the threat. Most notably seen back during the halloween incident when he quite literally ran out the back of the gym and hid from Sam+Yuki then hiding behind Okami and Rowan when they showed up in an attempt to flee from Sam which is how he got away from the other's at all during that situation. Grian's consistent need to exclaim every so often how much he wants to go back to Europe is a subtler example of this, though, of Grian's urge to get away.

Honestly though being quiet and moving as he's directed seems to be the most common winning response. You see little sparks of reaction from him but most of the time Grian is just quiet, nervously laughing, following Taurtis and Sam around in what they ask of him, and even outright appeasement strategies to maintain a calm environment. This is So common from Grian. This is what usually wins out. His quiet nervous laughter and agreeing with Sam when Taurtis is first stabbed. The fact that he didn't tell the police what Sam did when alone with them during questioning and then immediately walked to meet up with Sam and went to school with Sam+Yuki with literally no objections. The fact that he didn't say no like *at all* to putting on the Taurtis outfit in the name of not making things awkward and complied within seconds of first being asked. How he proceeded to do what he was asked all day and didn't make any move to get away until Rowan outright instructed him to run. The fact that he went back! The fact that he went along with it when they joined the Yakuza and when they stole from the Yakuza and when they joined up with the cops and when they *forced him into a knife fight*. How Grian eventually just lost his spark of defiance after Taurtis first got his memories back and made it clear he wasn't helping Grian, with Grian agreeing to buy Sam a fucking *apology soda* if it meant things would go back to normal after hearing everyone else agree that *he* was the problem in all he'd been put through. The way he just goes back to following Sam and Taurtis after they got him locked in solitary confinement on blatant lies because they *wanted* to. The way he walks around school with the other two while wearing cosplay that made him feel gross and uncomfortable that Sam had literally physically forced onto him and just went along with what he was told in the end.

Grian always puts up a fight but not a good one. He makes side comments, he makes objections, he even has more than one emotional rant about the hell he's put through, however this never wins out in the end and this presenting fight is very frequently just barely holding down much stronger freeze and fawn instincts that usually win out pretty damn quick.

Which!!! In a situation like Grian's it actually makes significantly more sense to have strong freeze and fawn responses than to have a strong fight response! I mean, think about it. A fight response is primarily useful in scenarios in which it's possible to take strong action to remove the threat. You're attacked by a dog so you throw stuff at it till it backs away. You're picked on by an upperclassman so you punch em' in the nose expecting fully that they'll leave you be after. Someone attacks you while you're walking home so you try and stab them with your key. Fighting is an incredibly good response for random/one time attacks. If you're ever kidnapped you wanna scream and punch and kick and make a scene so they can't take you to a secondary location. You fight. Fighting is optimal for unexpected stranger conflicts. That's not the situation Grian's in though. Grian suffers from serious long term physical, emotional, and financial abuse. He's in a country he doesn't have residency or family in, he doesn't have a readily available source of income, he doesn't have his own mode of transportation, it seems that most of the time he doesnt have a clear way home, he's often dealing with long term friends of his and seemingly his biggest source of support prior to this situation, even back in Europe he doesn't have much support system to run to given his parents canonically left him, he's frequently under threat of physical danger, etc. This is not the kind of situation in which an intense primary fight response helps. This is the type of situation in which an intense primary fight response either gets you seriously hurt or wandering the streets with no way to provide for yourself. It would likely be similar if he presented an intense primary flight response to be honest. In long term abuse situations where there's no rational way of escaping safely or no rational place to escape to? Often the primary responses that promote survival are fawn and freeze. Appeasing the aggressor or sinking into the background. Those are your ways to stay alive when you can't expect to 'win' or escape. It absolutely makes more sense for Grian to have primary fawn and freeze responses than a primary fight response.

But then why does he present so much hostility? What's with all the bitter remarks and the attempts to voice objections and the occasional overt insults/screaming? How does a fawn/freeze response present as fight when first pressed at?? Well fun fact, I have experience with that kind of presentation because I *was* that kind of presentation. Oh boy did I try to push strong fight responses towards my abusive father with token resistences and petty remarks even though most of the time I crumpled under the slightest pressure and spent my time ignoring the problem or dissociating or trying very hard to avoid future conflicts. You put up a token front of fight even if that's never going to be your primary response for the sake of your own mental health, really. To assure the world- and *you*- knows that you don't *want* this situation. So you can say you tried. Out of some misguided hope that your attempted bravado won't be seen through and that maybe this time they'll just stop pushing instead of calling the bluff. Which. Makes sense with Grian as well. I mean looking at the times he really truly goes off before reverting back to a more appeasing stance, most notably his rants from when Taurtis first got his memory back as well as from when he got out of the basement during the Starwars Cosplay Incident. Most of those rants were taken up by Grian loudly and passionately reiterating what he'd been through, insisting he was the victim, and calling Sam an awful person before the defiance fades out and he becomes more willing to just go about their day. It's one attempted push hoping the other parties present will vie in his favour and a reassertion that he's not okay with this and that *he* is being hurt which gives way within minutes to a much duller attitude. That's just a painfully familiar format. Adding on Grian's token objections/passive aggressive remarks to many situations that distress him and how quickly those objections give way as dismissed by others. That kind of behaviour feels strongly like an attempt to preserve your own mental wellbeing as much as possible with the knowledge that you tried to some extent and with just generally hearing out loud that you are the victim even if from yourself. Grian's behaviour just really feels like a facade of defiance to cover up general helplessness which makes a Lot of sense for the scenario. Probably more than just plain defiance would.

#yhs #yandere highschool #yhs grian #long post

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vivithefolle · 3 years

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Can I join your anti-Hermione club? Is there an application form? (In all seriousness, I'm so glad there's someone on Tumblr who is anti-Hermione for good reasons. It drives me absolutely insane how much the fandom worships her. I respect her intelligence, but there are so many absurdly unethical things she does. The hexing of Marietta Edgecombe - I researched it, it's both against contract law and would almost certainly be considered assault - was crazy, and even crazier was that it's excused.)

Hahaha, no application form needed, just a lot of bitterness and a touch of rage.

Something that really annoys me is how people are trying to tell me I'm doing Hermione-bashing when I give her the what-for. Or try to say "but she was a teenager :(". Really, freaking really? So when Hermione scars people on the face she's being a teenager but when Ron is pissy for a night in fourth year he's a total asshole? No, nope, not gonna let that lie.

My issue is that Ron's mistakes are teenager-sized; making an ass of yourself during a soirée, dating someone you're not really interested in because you're flattered by the attention, getting mad at your friend over silly stuff, saying stupid things without thinking... teenage mistakes. Those are teenage mistakes. (Something could be said of his leaving on the Horcrux Hunt but. Bitches. Voldemort himself (a part of him at least) was there singling him out for torture. Not to mention the heavy blood loss, the fact that his family's in danger, etcetera... But of course nobody is willing to accept those circumstances, nooo, it's only Ron who's the sole responsible for leaving absolutely, right, "Hermione is a teenager :(" and "Harry has PTSD :(((" but Ron isn't allowed to have problems of course. Fucking hypocrites.)

Meanwhile Hermione wakes up everyday and chooses violence and not for good reasons. I mean when your first reflex to distract someone is to set them on fire surely that indicates some issues? (Later on she forgets that she can use magic to light a fire... against a plant. I mean. How. How do you come to the conclusion that you should light a person on fire to "distract" them but cannot apply that reasoning to a goddamn killer plant.) The thing is people just... because we're constantly told that Hermione is intelligent/has good grades/works hard, people are quick to assume that she's obviously the most mature one in the room. But being a hard worker isn't necessarily a "proof" of maturity. It's just that people's expectations are that "a studious kid" is a mature kid, but really what they mean by "mature" is "doesn't annoy me to hell and back by playing noisily".

There’s this huge manipulation that plays on people’s expectations: being coded as “the studious girl” people are told through stereotypes that Hermione is smart, mature and logical… and the text is quick to try to reinforce the idea by having her spout definitions (=”smart”, for a degree of it; it’s mostly good memory), scold others for being rowdy (=mature, except that she’s not above it all either and a big part of maturity also involves REALIZING YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES which, Hermione’s don’t, so oops) and have her solve some puzzles or explain things (=logical… but sometimes her reasoning is based on emotion and she just tries to find evidence to justify why she thinks it’s right, rather than go from one thing to another).

When people try to brush off the fucked-up things Hermione did with "well she was a teenager" or "it was the war effort"... no. Fuck no. She didn't have to wipe her parents' minds and memories, there was the Order, the Dursleys were treated better than Hermione's parents for God's sake. But the only thing that matters about Hermione's parents is that they can be conveniently sacrificed to let us know how brave their daughter is right, it's not like she's in anything called the House of the Brave or something, it's not like she's constantly being thrown in mortal danger and is scared but keeps pushing forward, no we absolutely HAD to have a plot point that involves Hermione destroying two people's identities so we know how brave she is (how was any of it brave? Bravery is risking yourself, not the life of two innocents who barely know what's going on and are in no position to fight back).

And with the Romione fandom trying to push back to "nooo but she was a teenager m'kay she had her reasons for everything"... You want to get back to the Dark Ages where Hermione can do anything to Ron and it's his fault for not being perfect enough for her? Because that's how you go back to the Dark Ages.

In concept I love Romione. In the books I love it till about Book 3 (and even then that's pushing it because Hermione's utter disregard for Ron's pet sits very unwell with me, BUT okay fine she's still a child, it's her first pet, she has no idea how to own a pet and she's not used to being mindful of others' feelings. Then she gets validated by the plot because Scabbers was Pettigrew and somehow that means Hermione wasn't horribly callous to Ron's feelings or anything... meanwhile had it been Ron buying Crookshanks and Scabbers being Hermione's pet everyone would have been like "but who cares that Ron was right in the end, do you see how horribly he hurt poor Hermione's feelings!!!"...

It's just. No more excuses. Hermione is fucked-up. As a person, not just because of the war. She had a vicious, vindictive streak that only got enabled through the books because she never was called out on it. And I mean, I'm all for standing up for yourself, or for slapping Draco Malfoy's bitchy ass ferret face. But fuck. When you're doing the magic equivalent of an acid attack on someone's face, when you're physically abusing someone you're supposed to love AND THREATEN TO DO IT AGAIN AS IF IT WAS SOMETHING CUTE OR QUIRKY, when you're brainwashing your own parents into compliance because you can't be bothered to lie to them or make the Order get them... You know how many fics I've seen that take the "I did actually Confund my examiner" exchange from the Epilogue and run away with it to make it so Ron gets in a horrible car accident or invent entire collapses of the Statute of Secrecy as a result of an investigation connected to this "ha ha look it's funny Ron cheated on his exam" moment? Why don't I ever see a fic talking about how Hermione erasing her parents from existence leads to the destruction of Wizarding society through the legal bullshit that follows? Because Hermione dear, did you think to alter "Wendell" and "Monica"'s birth certificates? Their marriage contract? Their VISAs? Their bank accounts? Otherwise you've just turned your parents into homeless vagrants hopelessly lost in Australia who can't ever find a home anywhere because they simply don't exist in the eyes of any government. But hey nobody ever thinks of that because it's so much easier to nitpick everything Ron does. The only thing folks notice about Hermione nowaday is Emma Watson's boobies.

... I'm sorry, I just... Ugh. People.

#vivi answers #ask #hermione granger #hermione granger critical #hermione critical #ron weasley #ron weasley defence squad #ron weasley defense squad #harry potter #harry potter series #hp fandom #hp meta

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curlsofsagesmoke · 3 years

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TMNT (2012) characters as dysfunctional family roles

here I go again analyzing a kids show that ended four years ago. anyway, I saw a tiktok by user doinbigthink where they gave a quick overview of the six kinds of dysfunctional family roles, and I immediately thought of tmnt bc it’s my current hyperfixation. so I spent almost an hour doing research and writing up this analysis, as one does.

as a preface: dysfunction in a family can be caused by anything from someone struggling with addiction to a parent being abusive or unavailable/neglectful to someone having narcissistic personality disorder (npd) etc. etc. Usually there is one person who is the root cause of this (very deep seated) dysfunction and the others in the family (often the kids) fall into these roles in order to cope.

Leo: The Hero

The Hero is often the oldest child. They cope with the dysfunction in the family by being high achievers or perfectionists, and they need a sense of control in order to feel safe within the family. They are seen as very well-adjusted, balanced, and high-functional and are often used as an example of how well the family as a whole is doing. They may allow this misconception to continue (whether consciously or unconsciously) in order to hide the family’s problems. They may be parentified as children (that is, forced to take on a parental role for their younger siblings) and usually feel a lot of pressure to solve the family’s issues. With Leo in particular, you see these two behaviors in the way he approaches leading his brothers as well as the way he obsessed over bringing Karai into the family for Splinter’s sake after discovering her true identity. As an adult, the Hero is often drawn toward romantic partners who are emotionally unavailable (again, see Leo’s crush on Karai) and tend to throw themselves into their work (Leo’s obsession with ninjutsu)

Leo: The Golden Child

The Golden Child is not a dysfunctional family role but instead describes a relationship that develops between a parent/guardian with npd and one of the children in the family. In these cases, the parent tends to favor the Golden Child because the Golden Child exhibits all the traits the parent loves in themselves. In Splinter and Leo’s case, these characteristics are their devotion to ninjutsu, their general temperaments, and their more spiritual/mystic natures. There are MANY examples of this favoritism in TMNT canon; for example, Splinter teaching Leo his reiki technique (the healing hands) in “the deadly venom” because everyone things Leo is the most capable of learning such an advanced technique (in the episode, Donnie says that he doesn’t think anyone else on the team could’ve done what Leo did, i.e. using the healing hands on himself and saving the others from karai). The parent has a volatile relationship with the Golden Child and often their love is conditional (that is, the parent will favor the Golden Child as long as the Golden Child continues to act like the parent). Because of this, the Golden Child often has trouble establishing an independent identity (see: Raph calling Leo “Splinter Jr.”, though I can’t remember if this happens in 2012 or just in the 2003 version). The Golden Child may also participate in the narcissistic parent’s abuse against the other children in order to protect themself (this is less explicit in canon, but I think that Leo’s leadership style fits this bill)

Raph: The Scapegoat

The Scapegoat is often the second child. As the name suggests, they are often blamed for things that go wrong in the family regardless of whether it was actually their fault or not. Scapegoats are often very aware of their position in the family and as a result they may feel rejected, isolated, and unlovable. I think a good example of Raph feeling like this is the fact that, early in the show, he only openly expresses his emotions to Spike. Scapegoats learn that negative attention is better than no attention (especially from a parent/guardian) and they often engage in high risk behaviors such as sex, drugs, etc. (in Raph’s case, his reckless fighting style and the way he seeks out fights, and this also explains his temper and overall angry demeanor). Because of this, they tend to get into a lot of trouble and are often singled out as the child who needs individual help (aka therapy) even though the root problems lie with the family as a unit. In cases where the parent has npd the Scapegoat is often pitted against the Golden Child. This is called splitting and it is another way to distract from the family’s deeper issues. I feel like I don’t need to explain the way that Leo and Raph are pitted against each other.

Donnie: The Lost Child

The Lost Child, as the name implies, often fades into the background. Usually this is on purpose in an effort to keep themself safe, as they might be scared to draw attention to themself or rock the boat, especially in an abusive household. They may often feel ignored or neglected and are often described as loners who have difficulty developing social skills or self-esteem. Like the Hero, the Lost Child is often used as an example of the family’s stability and success because they aren’t causing trouble. They tend to struggle when forming friendships/romantic relationships, and they are usually praised for not needing a lot of attention/being independent. Because of this, they feel safer when they’re by themselves. Although Donnie does cause trouble sometimes (see: all the times he’s blown some shit up in the lab, the Mutagen man thing, etc.), he’s not seen as the troublemaker. Raph (and Mikey, to a certain extent) definitely takes that title. Donnie is often alone in his lab---working, admittedly, but he still tends to isolate himself, and he is often seen as the most socially awkward of the brothers (see: his relationship with April). There’s also this very interesting exchange from the episode “Enemy of My Enemy” when they’re in the Shellraiser and Leo is about to take the stealth bike to help Karai:

Raph: Hey, the stealth bike’s my thing. Leo: Now your thing is sucking it up. Donnie: Hey! That’s my thing!

Mikey: The Mascot

The Mascot is often the youngest child. They use humor and goofiness to diffuse tension and distract the family from their issues, though when this works, they feel increased pressure to continue to step in when things become tense or volatile. The Mascot acts from a place of anxiety and trauma, and they may have bouts of depression. They also tend to feel as though they cannot express their negative emotions (because they often see themselves as responsible for their family’s happiness). They tend to bend over backwards for people with little regard for their own safety/comfort, and they are drawn to intense and dysfunctional relationships (whether romantic or platonic) where they will be called upon to diffuse tension. This can be seen in the way Mikey approached his friendships with both Bradford (pre-mutation) and Leatherhead. Mikey is also very rarely shown as being sad, angry, or depressed the way that the other three are, and it’s only in times of extreme emotional distress (like the season two finale) where he drops his humor. Even in the midst of tough battles or tough situations, Mikey tends to insert himself into the middle of the tension and is almost constantly cracking jokes or trying to keep things lighthearted. When he does show more negative emotions, it’s in (mostly) one of two ways. One, giving comfort or seeking comfort, usually from Raph (again see the season two finale, where he hugs Raph to calm him down after Splinter “dies” and seeks comfort from Raph in the Party Wagon as they’re driving away from the city). Two, acting combative with Donnie.

Note: Mikey and Donnie acting combative

This second one in particular is really interesting to me because both Donnie and Mikey exhibit a level of comfort/feeling safe with each other that they don’t display with the other two. Mikey only ever gets physical with Donnie (their little slap fight in “Turtle Temper” or attacking him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”), while Donnie only ever purposefully antagonizes Mikey to get a reaction (slapping him in “Turtle Temper”, which prompts the slap fight, or teasingly insulting him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”, which prompts Mikey to attack him). Mikey likes to get under Raph’s skin, but he never retaliates when Raph gets physical with him. Donnie does occasionally argue with Raph and Leo, but usually backs down after Raph threatens him with violence (see “New Girl in Town”), and with Leo it never escalates past a verbal fight (see the season two finale, “the fourfold trap”). Actually, it seems that in Mikey’s and Donnie’s relationship, they take on the roles that you usually see in Raph’s and Mikey’s relationship. Mikey antagonizes Raph and Raph retaliates; similarly, Donnie antagonizes Mikey and Mikey retaliates, but neither of them would act this way toward their other two brothers.

Splinter: The Root of the Dysfunction

I’ve made a lot of allusions by now to Splinter having npd, or at least some narcissistic tendencies. There are many times where he shows favoritism toward Leo or acts in a very stubborn or even self-absorbed manner. In the season one finale, for example, he refuses to help the turtles fight and only leaves the lair after april is kidnapped by the shredder. In “the pulverizer returns”, he makes the turtles switch weapons (for literally no good reason), they almost die in a fight and switch back, and as punishment, he takes their weapons away entirely; this isn’t addressed in the episode, but i do believe that if they’d had their weapons, they could’ve prevented timothy from being mutated in this episode. (Admittedly there are times when he apologizes, admits he’s wrong, and changes his mind, which is why I hesitate to say he exhibits fully narcissistic behaviors). There’s also the physical aspect of their relationship. He’s teaching the turtles ninjutsu, so you can expect a very physical relationship in the form of training, but there are times when he causes the turtles pain for the sake of pain as punishment (e.g. randori, which we see a few times, or when he goes for their pressure points, or when he trips mikey in the episode “monkey brains”, or when he stabs raph with his cane in the episode “turtle temper”, and these are just the examples i can think of off the top of my head). There has been discourse in the fandom about whether these characters (splinter and raph in particular) are abusive, and i don’t want to get into that. However, i think it’s undeniable that splinter raised his kids with the intent to turn them into child soldiers, and also i fully believe that this (plus his parenting style) is the root of the dysfunction in the hamato family.

#I cannot believe I spent 45 minutes researching dysfunctional family roles and writing this up #anyway #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #leonardo #michelangelo #donatello #raphael #splinter #Leo 2012 #donnie 2012 #Raph 2012 #Mikey 2012 #splinter 2012 #analysis

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sunmoonandeddie · 3 years

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feelings are fatal (23/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,018

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, funeral

masterlist

a/n: this little chapter drop!!!

The funeral was three days later.

You’d taken it upon yourself to stay in the Stark cabin, licking your wounds and mourning the loss of the man you’d spent almost a decade of your life with. You’d mourned losing him before, but this was different.

This was permanent.

There’d be no more chances to go see him in Buffalo. There’d be no more watching him paint in his home studio, seeing the life he built for himself.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since you left the hospital.

You had walked out of Steve’s room, tears rolling down your cheeks. It felt like a death march as you had to face his family, had to face Peggy, the daughter that was named after you. “He’s gone,” you’d said, hands trembling. “I…”

“Oh, honey,” Peggy had whispered, moving to hug you as her own pain welled up in her eyes.

“I have to go,” you had insisted as you quickly slipped out of her grasp, speeding down the hall. You’d left the members of your little family in the waiting room, knowing that they’d gotten to talk to him before he’d passed but still feeling so guilty because you were the last one he’d seen. The last one he’d talked to.

You hadn’t even stopped when Bucky and Wanda had called out your name. You had the car keys in your hand, since he’d given them to you at some point in the blur of the day.

You’d left him there.

The pain was unbearable.

You’d spent the past three days at the bottom of a bottle, blasting all the playlists that Tony had saved. At some point, it had switched to a playlist full of old jazz music from the forties.

You’d thrown the bottle against the wall and watched it shatter.

Sweeping it up while absolutely plastered had been… an adventure. You had the bandages on your feet to prove it.

But you’d gotten it all swept up and into the trash before moving onto the next bottle.

You’d turned off your phone after the fourth phone call and the eighteenth text.

But Bucky didn’t show up. He didn’t come banging on your door like you hoped he would, swooping in and kissing you like the prince in a fairytale.

It was monumentally disappointing.

When you arrived at the funeral, you’d thrown the car into park and then sat in the lot outside for at least forty-five minutes. You’d shown up early entirely because you knew that you’d need time to gather the courage to go inside.

You’d had to order a black dress and heels with express shipping, since you hadn’t exactly thought to pack them when you and Bucky had gone on your little vacation and you didn’t really feel like going out to go shopping.

Your mistake.

It had taken a lot of effort to actually shower and do your hair and makeup. Your ankles felt like they’d give out any moment as you slammed the car door shut and headed inside.

“Hello.”

You almost tripped over your own feet as you heard a feminine voice call out to you. “H-Hi,” you said as you finally came face to face with the woman who had your name. “I’m—”

“I know,” she said, before getting a weak laugh. “Me, too. I’ve heard so much about you. My dad… uh… He really, really loved you.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice a little stiff. You hadn’t done much talking the past few days, unless screaming out lyrics counted.

Yeah, it counted.

Sorta.

“Um… H-How is Peggy—I mean, your mom—doing?”

“She’s handling it about as can be expected,” she said with a smile as she glanced to where the Brit in question was. It was strange, seeing the woman that was named after you. She was older than you by a few years, and had a few gray hairs. But she looked so much like the perfect mix of Steve and Peggy… “But dad was getting up there… more so than any other man. They both knew it was coming. I just don’t know if mom will be able to hold on without him much longer.”

Great. Because that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Here, let me introduce my siblings!” She said, calling them over before you could say no.

By the time the actual service started, you’d met far more Rogerses than you had ever wanted to.

It was exhausting. They were all so… kind. Despite everything, despite the fact that you were literally their father’s ex girlfriend, despite the fact that you were the last person their father spoke to before he died, and not his wife.

“My husband, Steve, has always been what his best friend called him. A punk,” Peggy said as she stood up before everyone, letting out a weak laugh as she glanced back at the open casket. “But he was so many things. Brave. Outspoken. Generous. Stubborn…”

Your eyes stayed on her, even though you stopped hearing what she was saying. You didn’t have the energy to listen to a eulogy.

That is, until she said your name.

“Huh?” You said, suddenly on high alert. Some part of you was aware that your team was sitting in the front row, including Bucky. You’d been too busy speaking with Steve’s children to talk to them, not that you minded that. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face them.

“Would you please come up and say a few words?” Peggy asked gently, getting down and holding out her hand to you.

“I…” Fuck. You couldn’t say no. It was a god damn funeral. “Okay,” you said after a long moment, placing your hand in Peggy’s and letting her lead you up to the podium. The sea of people staring at you made your blood run cold, your hands trembling as you gripped the wood. “Um… H-Hi…” You introduced yourself, you voice cracking. “I’ve known Steve… since I was eighteen years old. And we were together for almost a decade.” You snorted, shaking your head as you glanced back at the casket, your heart stopping for a moment when your eyes rested on his face. “I know… most of you are probably wondering why the hell I’m up here. Why the hell anyone would want their husband’s ex girlfriend speaking at their funeral, but uh… Steve helped make me the person I am today.” Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, threatening to break your ribs. “He taught me when to push myself, how to trust my instincts.” Also all things that Bucky taught you. You could feel his seafoam blue gaze on you, pinning you in place. “I know it’s cheesy… But he taught me what it means to do the right thing, even when it means standing up to someone you love and telling them so. He taught me how to keep going even when my world was crumbling.” Your heart was shattering as your eyes met Bucky’s. “He taught me to chase after what I want the most in the world, and to accept nothing but the best.” Tears were starting to roll down your cheeks. “Steve was a bright light in the world, even when he was in his darkest moments.” You gave a watery smile, your hands clammy. “Steve was not the shield, and those of us who knew him personally know that. The shield was Steve. He made it into the symbol that it is. A symbol of what every person can be, what they should be. What we should all aspire to be.” Your throat was starting to close up. “But he was showing us that even before the serum, wasn’t he? Because it doesn’t matter how small you are, or where you come from. You can make the choice everyday to make the world a little better.” Sniffling, you swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And I know I’m rambling, but I really didn’t expect to be speaking here today, so please forgive me, but I just… I never thought he’d die like this. There were hundreds of missions where I thought… this is it. This is where I lose him. I always knew he’d fight until he couldn’t anymore. The fact that he got the honor of passing like he did… what feels like a million years old and surrounded by his loved ones in a hospital… just like any other man… I can’t think of a better happy ending for him.” You took a deep breath. “But there’s someone who should be up here more than me. Someone who knew him from the beginning. From playground to battlefield and beyond, right?”

Bucky’s entire body was trembling as he slowly got to his feet and walked up to the podium. But before you could leave, his hand slipped into yours and squeezed, a silent question being asked.

Stay?

And how could he ever think you’d leave him?

You squeezed his hand back, staying by his side as he slowly started to speak. He spoke about the first time they met, all the fights he broke up.

Until the end of the line.

You guessed it really was the end. The grand finale of a life that wasn’t always easy, but was always worth it.

Watching Steve’s casket being lowered into the ground felt like a hallucination. How could it possibly be real?

The feeling that you’d gotten in the hospital was washing back over you like a tsunami. The overwhelming feeling of despair, of disbelief.

Of anger.

You wanted more time. There wasn’t ever enough time and now he was gone.

You slipped away after the funeral ended, getting into your car and just… driving. You knew you’d eventually make it back to the cabin, but you needed to roll the windows down and just feel the icy cold wind in your hair, on your skin.

Making you feel alive.

When you got back to the cabin, the sun had set, stars twinkling overhead in a brilliance you’d never see in the city.

You held your heels in your hand as you stumbled into the house, tossing them to the side as you headed for the kitchen. “FRIDAY, put on some music,” you said quietly.

“What playlist would you like?”

“Read the room, Fri,” you said simply, sighing as you grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen. She started to play music throughout the house, and you bit your lip as she started to play a blend of your favorites. Mostly Black Pumas and The Teskey Brothers. “Fri, can you turn on the fireplace?”

Warm light filled the living room and kitchen, flickering softly.

You didn’t bother changing as you collapsed onto the fur rug with just your wine and your bottle opener. “Dumb… cork…,” you huffed as you worked to get it open.

You were about halfway through the bottle when you heard a car pull up, followed by the slam of the door. Your mind was fuzzy as you watched the front door open and Bucky walk in. “Hi.”

He stopped in the entryway, still wearing the all black suit he’d donned at the funeral. “Hey,” he breathed out. He couldn’t help but snort as he saw the bottle of wine in your hands. “Yeah… It has been that kind of day, huh?”

When you held it out to him, you couldn’t tear your eyes away as you watched his pink lips wrap around the bottle and he took a swig.

Fuck, you had it so bad.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you watched him stand by the end of the sofa. “It’s been… a rough day.”

“I’ve been better,” he said simply as he took another drink. “But I know I’ll feel better once you and I are speaking again.”

Your heart squeezed inside your chest as your eyes met, your cheeks flushing. “Right… I… I think we were both… frazzled… But I’m so sorry.”

Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers started to play over the stereo, filling the house with soothing R&B. It was one of your favorite songs in the whole entire world.

“I've been in love, honey, you know it's true… Was since that day I first laid my eyes on you…”

“Malen’kaya,” he said as he set the bottle on the coffee table, holding out his hand to you. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Could you forgive me for how I acted?”

“Love is a crazy game, baby… It's how I feel… It makes you oh, so high, but it takes so long to heal…”

You nodded after a long moment, slipping your hand into his and squeezing as he tugged you to your feet. “I can. I do,” you said, the wine making your head fill with bubbles.

“So, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone, it's all pain and misery. Honey, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

Something inside of you clicked back into place as he pulled you close to his chest, the two of you immediately starting to sway. Falling back into step with him was as easy as breathing, you were finding.

Perhaps even easier.

“Sometimes I curse that day of when you came along… I was happy but it's been pain now for so very long… Oh, I'm begging you, honey… Please, won't you stay? 'Cause I been so lonely since you gone away…”

“I don’t like not talking to you,” he said quietly, his lips pressing to your forehead. “Feels so wrong… Like I can’t breathe.”

Funny how you’d just had almost the same thought.

“Everyday is pain… In the end, it's hard to see… Every fateful day is oh, so sad, now that I've lost the best friend that I ever had…”

He was so warm, so comforting. Like a teddy bear.

“I don’t like not talking to you either,” you admitted as you nuzzled closer to him, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Can we please never do it again?”

“Honey, please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's all pain and misery…”

He grinned against your forehead, his hand moving from your hip as he slid his arm around your waist to pull you even closer. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Honey, please, whoa please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

“Jamie…,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to gather the words you wanted to say.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He asked, resting his head against yours.

“Hey, I'm begging you, honey… Whoa… I want you to love me… Yeah, I want you to love me… I need you so bad…”

“What does this mean?” You asked as the song ended and it shifted to another. “For us, I mean?” You were starting to panic, anxiety welling up in your chest and causing you to word vomit. “Because I can’t do this back and forth, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t survive it. I can’t keep pretending like we’re just friends and that the way you make me feel doesn’t make me… doesn’t make me…”

“Doesn’t make you what?” He asked quietly, not letting you move away from his secure embrace. “Please… Because I can’t keep acting as though you’re not my everything.” He held the back of your head, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. “Please… Please, tell me you love me. Because I…” He rested his forehead against yours, a tear rolling down his cheek. “The love I have for you has rewritten every piece of DNA in my body,” he said. “It’s in my blood, my bones… You are written in my heart, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. And…” He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And if you don’t love me the way I love you, that’s just fine. As long as I have you in my life… I’ll be whatever you need.”

“Jamie…,” you said with a weak laugh. You were openly crying, though you weren’t sure when you had started. “Oh, Jamie… Do you really think I could ever not love you?” Your nose nudged against his as you wrapped both of your arms around his neck. “If you don’t kiss me, we’re gonna have a fight.”

The smile that split open his face was blinding. The kiss he planted upon your lips was absolutely filthy. A mess of teeth and tongue and grins and giggles, a tangle of feelings pent up for so long that you were sure you’d never get them all out. You’d spend the rest of your life unraveling all the ways he made you feel, and you’d do it with a smile.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” you said as you pressed yourself against him. “I never wanna be without you ever again.”

“You never have to,” he breathed out as he nipped at your lower lip. Without further ado, he reached down and slipped his arm under your thighs. You let out a squeak as he scooped you up, carrying you bridal style up the stairs. “I’m gonna love you so good,” he said with a growl.

You almost hit your head on the door frame as he carried you into the guest bedroom you two were occupying, squealing as he tossed you onto the bed. “Jamie!”

“Yes, malen’kaya?” He asked as he shoved off his suit jacket, toeing off his dress shoes at the same time.

“Nothing,” you said, giggling as you started to strip down, too. “Nothing at all.”

When you two finally finished hours later, the wine had worn off, and he was asleep. You’d curled up on top of his chest, his cool vibranium hand resting on the small of your back, helping you cool off.

“Jamie?” You murmured, testing if he was asleep. When he grunted, you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his flesh hand. “I love you…”

“I love you more, baby.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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Things the boys canonically do in the movie that I base their personality around:

Dwayne steps away from the fight in the beginning, but immediately kicks Michael in the face in the ending battle. Messes with Sam by flying him around and pretending to be dead. But, also drives Laddie and is seen helping him onto the fountain and having Laddie sit by him during the maggot scene. Not a big talker, but is seen sitting with Paul during one scene and next to David in another.

To me, this has always read that he's not a super big fighter. It's almost like he would either not fight at all, and doesn't take fighting seriously when he does have to. At least when he's fighting a kid. And when he does have a serious threat, he just neutralizes them as soon as possible. Or maybe he just hates Michael. Either way, very driven and straight to the point kind of guy, but definitely has a weird sense of humor where he likes to mess with people. The fact that he's the main care-taker of the boys always screams to me that he has to have the most common sense/be the kindest of the boys because a) Laddie chooses to sit next to him (so Dwayne is probably even nicer to him than Star is) and b) Dwayne is a safe enough driver that Laddie can be with him and not fall off. Overall, most responsible out of the lost boys. I also wanna point out that perhaps the reason Dwayne doesn't actually fight Sam is because he's a kid, and Dwayne could potentially have a soft spot for kids. Finally, I think Dwayne is a huge introvert because he has the least amount of lines, and he's only ever seen (besides the bridge) hanging around the extraverts of the group.

David rushed to join in the fight in the beginning, but fucks with Michael after he punches him/messes with him at first in the last fight and asks him to "join us". But, runs after the Frogs/Sam in full vampire mode. How much dialogue actually belongs to David, his monologue scene, how he asks Paul for the joint, asks Marko to push his chair around, and volunteers Marko to go first on the bridge. Dwayne standing next to him in one of the scenes, and the fact that Dwayne's bike is next to his.

To me, this has always screamed that David is the most protective/most willing to fight (after Marko) of the boys. He rushes head first into any conflict the second he sees any of the boys involved/having gotten hurt. However, I don't think David blamed Michael for Markos death whatsoever. I think he solely blamed Sam and the Frogs, and, if he had convinced Michael, they would've been the ones to pay for it. Is the type of guy that only really blames those directly responsible for a conflict, and doesn't believe in guilt by association. I think David is a total extravert, simply because he and Paul are the two biggest talkers of the boys and because of how willing he is to boss others around. Also, I think David is closest to Marko, simply because the second most common name out of his mouth is Markos name. He interacts with him the most, about the same that Paul does in the movie. And the boys who are seen next to him/near him are usually Marko and Dwayne. Since he hangs out with the least talkative/introverted ones of the group, I think this just supports my theory that David is an extravert.

Paul is the one that helps Laddie down into the cave. Spends most of his fight scene talking rather than fighting, and holds Marko back in the beginning. How he protests when Michael tosses Marko. Asks Laddie to get him the rock box, and helps Dwayne lift him onto the fountain.

I think Paul is actually one of the more kinder boys, and is only second to Dwayne when it comes to taking care of Laddie/being the kindest. I will die on the hill that if Marko had been in his shoes during the fight, it might not have gone the way that it did. He's actively trying to talk Marko down in the fight at the beginning, acting as a calm voice of reason. Not to mention, even when Michael tosses Marko when going to confront David, he protests, but doesn't result to violence. He reaches his arms out, but they never land on Michael in the next scene. And instead of breaking the Frogs skulls the second he sees them, he takes away their weapons, takes time to threaten/scare, and doesn't even use his strength against them. This man can rip a door off of a car, but it looks like he's struggling against holding off both Frogs. Basically, I think he's not a fighter, and, even if he's pissed about what they did to Marko, he's showing hesitance/that he's stalling. Even when he says "you're mine", it just seems like an emotional response and/or a scare tactic. And the fact that he takes time to push them and say "no, you're next"? Major stalling vibes, but maybe he's also just a himbo that will take any opportunity to talk. The only time Paul grabs them is when the Frogs rush him, and even then he could've just let them come close and have sunk his teeth into one of them. I think that he planned more on scaring them more than anything, but was mostly either supposed to or was going to stall until all of the boys had regrouped and David could decide what to do with the Frogs/Sam. I'm not going to make a case for Paul being an extravert, because if you watch any scene with him I think it's pretty obvious.

Is one of the only active participants of the first fight, yet how he looks at Paul when he pushes him. Immediately goes off on his own/away from the others to go hang out with his birds. Never talks to Star/doesn't offer her any food. Is willing to go get the food by himself, and interacts with David/Paul the most. How he is nearly constantly watching Michael.

Most easily angered, most willing to result to violence. He literally has to be held back by Paul on the carousel scene, otherwise we don't know how far he would actually go in a situation like that. However, when pushed by Paul, he gives him a quick smile/smirk before starting his bike and resuming watching Michael. To me, this shows that rough behavior may not just be an angry thing for Marko. Perhaps, being a rougher/angrier person, play fighting can also be a way he shows/receives affection. The way he is nearly constantly watching/observing Michael and stands behind David's chair speaks to me that maybe Marko is more centralized to the group than previously thought. It can be interpreted that Marko is either always planning/scheming, or maybe he's waiting for Michael to slip up. Both can be supported by the way Marko taunts Michael. The way he distances himself from the group in the beginning makes me think that he's more introverted, with the only other member of the group doing anything like that being Dwayne. He's even fine to go get food by himself, when I know in most friend group settings at least one person would've offered to go with him, unless he preferred to go alone. He also doesn't interact with Star at all, and doesn't even offer her food. This makes me think that their relationship is strained at best, for reasons unknown, or that perhaps Marko is simply just quieter/more choosy with his inner circle than an extravert (David) would be.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

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Full metal jacket preference~ The boys with an s/o who has an ex that stalks them

(A combination of my gifs and other peoples)(Requested by anonymous)

(Hope you enjoy the blogs first preference post! <3)

Joker~

When you first tell James about the situation with your ex, he sort of thinks you’re joking. It certainly wouldn’t be out of place in your relationship. He figures its an “oh, yeah, my ex is stalking me” as in he’s still got a thing for you and is trying to strategically find himself at the right place in the right time in hopes that you’ll talk to him.

Once he can see that you’re completely serious, his smile somewhat drops as well. For a while, he’ll remain humorous (i.e. trying to cheer you up and make you smile while you deal with the mess) but understanding; not wanting to freak you out even more by making it a whole big thing. He tells you to give him a call whenever you want him to stay over and that he’ll handle things as soon as he can. The next time he has the chance, he’ll have a little conversation with your ex.

James certainly has no problem standing up to or for people, and on top of that, he’s completely willing to use violence or his smart mouth to scare them off so expect an altercation of some sort when he finally spots the dickhead who’s been making your life difficult.

You’ll either wait for him to be finished or gratefully pull him away yourself before he has the chance to really mess the guy up. Once he’s calmed himself down, he’ll make a joke about being your knight in shining armor with a smile, chuckling as you roll your eyes and pull him in for a kiss.

Just Beware, from that day forward, he’ll get almost smug any time he see’s your ex in public.

Cowboy~

Robert is; more or less, a bit more logical/mature with his attempts at diffusing the situation although it does depend on the extent of which this guy is bothering you and the responses you get. He’s more patient, giving the police a chance to do something before he takes matters into his own hands, though he certainly stays close to your side during that time.

He definitely goes full handy man on your ass and installs extra locks and alarms on your house and out of all the guys, he’s one of the most comforting. He’a a hugger so the instant you seem frightened, he’ll pull you close and assure you everything’s alright.

If the authorities™ aren’t going to do anything about it then you bet your ass he will. He’s a proud Texan and has that “if you fuck with my stuff, I will blow you away” type of mentality that most; conservative, gun owning southerners have.

He won’t go out to hunt your ex but he’ll wait for him to come to the two of you and make a good show of sitting on your porch with a sawed off shotgun in hand and a scowl on his face.

Animal mother~

Animal Mother is borderline feral when it comes to his “territory”. The instant he hears about someone bothering you, he’s fully prepared to teach them a very painful, possibly lethal lesson. There’s not even any waiting until they come around themselves; he’s going to go out and find them.

He doesn’t find it funny at all; not on the inside at least. He might act like your ex amuses him; most likely to his face to show that he isn't scared of him, but in actuality he’s pissed. He’s two seconds away from throwing a punch at any given moment so if you don’t want that to be the outcome of their confrontation, you’ll have to try very hard to pull him away. He’s definitely the guy who scares off your ex the quickest and most effectively.

He’ll never admit to it, but a part of him is almost proud of the predicament. He certainly isn’t happy that this guy is harassing you but he feels proud over the fact that he’s the one who has you; the girl that's so desperately sought after by this guy that he’d go to such great lengths to get close to you again.

Though I should warn you, depending on the situation and how you explain it, the whole ordeal may make him a bit suspicious of you; at least at first. He’ll wonder why this guy isn’t leaving you alone and if you could possibly be trying to play him for a fool. We know Animal Mother isn’t the brightest or most sensitive of the bunch so don’t hold it too much against him. Once he sees how much the mans stalking is bothering you, he’ll drop those ugly thoughts and trust you completely.

Eightball~

Alice has got a surprisingly short temper, especially when he’s being personally insulted. And when someone messes with you, he takes that as a personal attack on him. If he has the chance to confront your ex then he’ll do it, most likely scaring him off with his brutal words before he even throws a punch.

He insists on being your escort, driving you to work, staying at your place when you want him to or when he feels like there's a need. He’ll magically seem to show up at the right place at the right time, a snarky somewhat nonchalant comment leaving his lips as he intercepts your ex and gets you behind him. He’ll try and play it cool but if the guy isn’t standing down, he’ll drop the smile and use some intimidation.

He’ll make it very clear that you’ve moved on and if he doesn’t too, he’ll be missing a few teeth the next time he comes around you. He’s sorta cocky as your ex stalks off but you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed by his smug smile, not after he just scared off the bane of your existence.

Crazy Earl~

Earl has the ability to remain oddly calm no matter what’s going on around him. So when you tell him that your ex is stalking you, he listens carefully, nodding along before asking you what you’d like him to do in the most earnest voice you’ve ever heard. He’s willing to do whatever you want him to, all you have to do is ask.

Another important thing about Earl: he’s sorta strange. He thinks violence is fun and dark subjects like stalking interest him. He’s a weird guy so if your ex and him ever had an actual conversation, the guy would probably leave you alone on account of you dating a lunatic.

On that note, he’s more than happy to talk to your ex for you. He’ll confront him and; at first, try to be levelheaded albeit in his own strange way. He’s sort of just weirdly intimidating in general so even though he’s trying to talk to the guy like a normal person, he’s probably giving off serious serial killer vibes the entire time.

If things go south, or if he feels his message isn’t coming across clear enough, he’ll get violent …but in a calm way. He’ll beat your ex boyfriends ass but it’s as though he’s an outsider in the situation and isn’t personally invested in it. …Like I said, he’s strange.

Once he’s finished “talking”, he’ll return to your side and give you a kiss on the head, silently assuring you that you’re not going to be bothered again.

Rafterman~

Although Rafterman likes to think of himself as a tough guy who isn’t scared by any man, he really isn’t very confrontational. If it really came down to it then he could certainly hold his own or get physical but he tries his best to avoid that. Instead, he’ll go with you to get a restraining order, install locks and alarms at your place or have you stay with him so that you feel more safe, but he isn’t really eager to go out and fight your ex.

He’ll make it very clear that you’re together when you’re out in public and walk you wherever you need to go so that he doesn’t have as many chances as getting close to you. If he’s forced to or he’s had enough then he’ll talk to the guy himself, telling him that he’s freaking you out and that he needs to leave you alone.

Once he’s finished threatening the guy, he’ll come back to you sort of jittery though the kiss you give him calms his nerves and fills him with pride. He tries to act like he wasn’t nervous but you know he was and find it both cute and sweet.

Sgt Gunnery~

Oh he’ll handle it. Handle it with a beer and shotgun pointed at the maggots face.

It’s quite literally Gunnery’s job to put people in their place so obviously he’ll be quite efficient in his attempts at getting the boy to leave you alone. In fact, it’s very likely that the instant your ex see’s him, he’ll just book it the other way. Everyone in your town knows about the man and what he does for a living so it’s very rare that anyone messes with him; at least not on purpose.

If your ex doesn’t immediately run away with his tail between his legs then it’s probably because he doesn’t know who he is. And when I tell you he learns fast, he learns fast. It takes all of two second for your darling drill instructor to land a blow to the boys stomach and verbally tear him in two. Obviously, after that, your ex boyfriend won’t be too keen on getting close to you anymore.

Overall, Gunnery takes the situation very seriously and assures you that he won’t let anything happen to you. He’ll most likely teach you some self defense as well, or at the very least get you a can of mace and tell you to give him a call if anything happens, no matter how small.

Pyle~

Leonard's a lover, not a fighter. To be entirely honest, he’s sort of useless in this situation. The only thing Leonard can really do is scare him off with his size/looks alone and get him to back off since it’s obvious that you’ve found someone else.

I suppose that if it really came down to it, he could fight but merely because he could use his weight to his advantage. He’s not particularly well spoken or coordinated but he could throw a mean right hook if need be.

Mostly, Leonard's good for comfort. If you’re scared or upset than he’s a shoulder to cry and and arms to be held by. He may not be able to get your ex to stop but he’ll still be able to make you feel more safe and less alone.

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rorodawnchorus · 3 years

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Ep 2-4: Theatre of Justice

No, I didn't come up with the title. While looking at some scholarly works around Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil, I came across this paper which very aptly describes what this whole live TV show in The Devil Judge is. The entire process, the production team behind the TV show, the public voting process and the live televising of adjudication are all theatrics for both entertainment and catharsis. It is created to placate the people by creating the illusion that justice is now in their hands and that the people knows best although manipulation by people behind the scenes leave much to be desired in terms of achieving idealistic justice.

Perhaps even as an audience, the concerted effort to properly portray the unforgivable evilness that seem so innate in the Minister of Justice's son prompts the audience to cheer for the judges who mete out severe punishment against the rich. In a deeply divided society where the rich is unimaginably wealthy while the rest struggles and straddles the poverty line, it can be cathartic to see powerful, rich people being severely punished.

Kang Yo Han begins to have a cult following in which members wear T-shirts with his face on it, wave the Korean flag and cheer for him, flailing their hands in the air as though worshipping a deity. Ga-On looked on at the small group of young men who struts into the street and cheer loudly (although this was muted; I'd imagine they were extremely loud from everyone's reaction). This is very symptomatic of what seemed to me like the inception of a violent cult which can grow into something more sinister. Genocides in different countries have all seen a process of designating certain groups as deserving violence inflicted upon them, that they should be exception to the rules of human rights.

The way audiences of the People's Court TV show reacted and were a little too keen about flagellation wasn't surprising at all but it still made me squirm. In my head, the most recent scene of flagellation (albeit also fictional) was the scene in Outlander. Whipping/flogging/flagellation are extremely brutal methods of punishment. Caning still exists in prison, behind closed walls, tucked away from the public eye and mind. Like some others who have mentioned, this form of punishment does nothing to address the problem which the justice process is trying to deal with.

Here we have a young man who seems to have the world at his feet. Groups of older men who seem like executives in his father's company tremble before him. He treats everyone beneath him as though they were dust, only deserving to be trampled on. He drives around the city threatening or actually running into people. But then we are given a glimpse of his backstory where he was raised without his parents' affection, love or attention. He seems to be on medication for perhaps anxiety or other mental health issues and also has substance addiction. Do I think any of this can be mitigating factors? No. But his eventual explosion of emotions in court, his plea to the judge in utter fear and his lashing out at the spectators of his trial ("Do you think you're better than me?") do point to certain things. 1) people wanted an outlet, revenge, and something through which they can vent their frustrations. 2) his anger at society stems from his emotional instability and childhood which continues to be left unaddressed. 3) is it perhaps a latent desire in people to want to have violence inflicted on others and a justifiable reason would easily prompt them to cheer on such use of violence?

1. Both Kang Yo Han and the people from the foundation are using this in the theatrical performance of the People's Court. Kang Yo Han knows that people want to see these politicians and elites punished so he uses this to serve his personal purpose of revenge.

Ultimately, Kang Yo Han brings up the proposal to punish him by flagellation. The TV producer immediately gets his team to search what that means and project images and description for the punishment on screen. Then, Kang Yo Han announces that the audience can vote whether or not to flog this man through the voting app. (Because the lawyer was saying imprisonment is an unsuitable sentence for his client). Because the court seems to be constructed on this concept of unprecedented justice process, Kang Yo Han uses the voting app to create this public demand for the punishment which the minister of justice cannot possibly prevent unless she is ready to throw her political career away.

There are sentencing guidelines and a presumably developed human rights principles with regards to punishment (ie. State violence). Even if we consider this version of Korea to be different from the current one, I believe it can at least be premised on development closer to our society before it diverged into the one found in this drama. That said, Kang Yo Han is overriding all of these and urging the public to choose. He tells the voters, here's your chance so what do you choose? Witness statement without verification of identity, reliability of statement, evidence, cross-examination were all thrown out the window and he sentences him right after a public vote. Having been provoked by the videos and testimony of random people who were mostly working class, this can be likened to a virtual type of mob violence. They were out for blood because of how this man (with issues that should perhaps be dealt with through therapy, etc.) treated all these people who were working and serving him in some way.

I think this juxtaposes the war Kang Yo Han initiated in his classroom when he was young; he knew what it was that pushes all the right buttons to get the outcome he wants. Is it manipulative? Sort of. But it only works because he knows how people will react to something if prompted.

This leads to the 3rd point I mentioned. Kang Yo Han is banking on the frustration that has been aggravated by a widening gap between the rich and poor. The poor has nothing but the smartphone app where they could seek some form of justice. Indeed, we do not live in a very different world from the one which is depicted in this drama. We have virtual mob violence, or perhaps what most calls "cancel culture". Because the justice system cannot deliver the justice people want, Twitter and other forms of social media are used to deliver the brand of justice that people want. In Korea, online communities are where people initiate a certain exposé that could take a celebrity's career down. Just very recently, Kris Wu has been exposed online to have been sexually involved with a minor. Now allegations that he has asked for sexual favours from fans. His career in China, it seems at this point, is well over. It is too early at this point to tell if he will face legal consequences or be officially investigated. The entire process in these few episodes struck me as very true to life (perhaps with lesser flair and live TV theatrics).

I think the judge who wrote this script is really crafting an intricate commentary of our society. How public justice is delivered and how different it is from the judiciary. Kang Yo Han thinks like a politician, as Ga-On's mentor says. He wants to give the people what they want, not deliver justice as a jurist by following legal principles. In fact, he abandons almost all of that and offers an extremely violent solution to quell the anger of the mob. It isn't until later (in the next few episodes) that random comments of a civilian squirms at the violence inflicted on this despicable young man while watching TV. It is different to say you want punishment against a person and then to actually see it happen before your eyes. Yet, there are people who indulge in this spectacle of state violence. Perhaps they are working class and have experienced bullying by the rich. Kang Yo Han builds a cult following (albeit unwillingly as he complains about the difference between his fans and Ga-On's fans lol). His avid fans are often performing an obsession for Kang Yo Han as a symbol of new justice. They praise and practically worship him like cult followers tend to do, raising their hands in the air in praises, hollering his name and has Kang Yo Han's face on the front of their T-shirts.

(This got a bit too long but the next 2 episodes are also a rather similar commentary which continues this one. It can be seen as an extension of this case and the theatrics that emerged around it.)

#The Devil Judge #Kim Ga On #Kang Yo Han #Jisung #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #Kdrama

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oristromboli · 3 years

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If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 6

Chapter Title: Punishment

The fierce sounds of arguments melt into clashing weapons in the Liyue landscape as all frustrations are released in bloody fury.

Punishment is thus dolled out on the sore, sore loser.

(Smut this chapter: Reader/Childe, M/F)

(Warnings: rough and angry sex after a fight, power dynamic struggles, being very very mean to each other - not a fluffy first time between them given that it's Childe and his implied mission. please be careful if this isn’t your cup of tea!)

CW: the first segment describes Childe making a hunt! Canon-typical violence, but just in case: one paragraph starts with "Childe kneels down - " and another one is "With a firm - "

Childe takes a slow breath in, and on his exhale, releases the arrow, watching as it sinks into the boar’s side.

Damn, he was never good with a bow. He strolls leisurely up to the animal, frowning when he notices the pitiful struggle as it tries to move despite the mortal wound. Poor thing thinks it still has a chance.

Childe kneels down and reaches out to the pig, running his hands gently through the matted fur. He watches as its breathing becomes labored; each unsteady drag likely pushes its lungs against the arrow. How many ways did he watch the abyss deny death to the unfortunate prey wandering in? A quick death was mercy never granted in that suffocating darkness.

He feels black armor fighting to grow from his skin, feels the electricity pulling him taut as he smiles softly, running his hand up to cup the boar’s head.

With a firm twist, Childe snaps its neck and the body goes limp.

Blood from the arrow wound trickles onto his gloves, and he raises his hand to lick it idly away. His frown returns when he realizes that the flaming need in him is barely sated.

Warbled and demented noises creep up towards him from between the cracks in the earth.

Grunting, he hoists the animal over his shoulders and starts walking again while whistling a lullaby.

---

Birds call overhead while the wind rustles through the emerald leaves around you in this little outcrop by the river. The sun felt warm, kissing the back of your neck gently as you took in your surroundings, counting each fish that crested the surface as they leaped further upstream.

Though you normally take these moments of isolation to regain your internal serenity, you didn’t necessarily hate the fact that Childe insisted on tagging along. Yet, confusion still wrung your head as to why he came along on a commission so far off the beaten path. Even Aether would complain at such a wildlife excursion.

“Hey girlie,” Childe calls, grinning wide and bubbles up a rare, genuine laugh when he sees your surprised expression. “I got lunch!”

Your eyes bulge as you watch him carrying one of the largest boars you’ve ever seen with a skip in his step like the animal weighed nothing. When he drops it unceremoniously to the ground, you hear the resounding thud and decide firmly that yes, Teyvat’s animals are ridiculous.

Childe cracks his knuckles and materializes his hydro knife to kneel at its side, and you just… You just watch.

Some deeply primitive part of you is hooting like a shameless dog as you watch him handle the meat with ease. Good man. Strong man. Can feed and protect.

“ – girlie, hey, you listening?”

You shake your head and blink at him. He starts laughing and gestures to the fireplace. “O-oh, right!” In a flash, you turn your back to him to hide the rising heat to your cheeks. “Um… That’s a lot of meat, you know.”

“Well, nobody ever complained to me about that, pretty bird.”

Nevermind. Big, strong man gone. “Why are you always cracking jokes? It’s like you never take things seriously.”

Childe pauses for a moment, stilling his hands. He never looks at you before he resumes skinning the boar, though you recognize the flash of a bygone memory nonetheless. “Nothing wrong in trying to get people to laugh occasionally in this shithole of a world. What else can you do? Tell your siblings that this place isn’t the fairytale they grew up believing in?”

You swallow and nod. Some time passes, and as you finish setting up the makeshift stove, it occurs to you that… There’s two of you. And one very big, very fat pig.

You’ll need a bigger fire.

“Hey, how do you plan on cooking this?”

“You’ll see.”

---

An hour later and you’re in awe at how good the food is. The meat is practically melting off the bone as you eat the roasted pork, slight drool dribbling down.

Childe just stares as you lick your lips. “Did you learn this in Fatui boot camp or something?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice a pitch lower. “Closer to the ‘or something’ part though.”

Idle chatter starts between you two, soft banter and long talks about nothing. You ask about his past, he gives curt answers and you do the same, but there’s this silent understanding between you two about it. There’s little to say on the matter as neither party wants to remember. At least that’s something you have in common with Childe.

“So, along your travels,” he starts, wiping his mouth with a crimson handkerchief. “Did you come across any gods? Besides our resident funeral consultant, of course.”

“A few,” you reply. “Some also stepped down to join mortals too, but in those lands, they gave up their full divinity instead of just the title.”

“Why anybody would ever give up power willingly is beyond me.”

You laugh, though it sounds more vindicative than you intended. “Don’t you know? The gods envy mortals because their lives are fleeting and any moment can be their last. It’s all the more beautiful to them.”

Childe narrows his eyes. “Who said that? Seems to me the gods here don’t really care for us.”

You smile bitterly. “Yeah, I can see your point. The gods in Teyvat are different, but what about Zhongli? Don’t you trust him?”

“Ha, I trust him to pursue his own self-interests. If they align with mine, then great, there’s no problems between us. He’s reliable and stubborn. Shockingly, he has my honest loyalty, and I trust I can predict his next move.”

“Always the tactician.” You both chuckle at the thought. “I would’ve thought there was more than that.” You pray he doesn’t realize how you test the waters, and with the way he looks in the distance, you’re safe.

“You’re not wrong. I care about him. He drives me insane, but come hell or high water, he’ll be my friend to the bitter end.”

Friend. Your heart throbs again, though in deliverance or bewilderment for their strange relationship, you’re not sure.

“With your powers, were you ever seen as one?” Childe says, breaking your thoughts.

“A god? Sometimes, though only if people haven’t seen real divinity. We were also called demons. Unnatural. We keep to ourselves mostly and avoid too much trouble, but with our powers sealed, we don’t even have that going for us. We’re not really welcome among humans or divine, hah.” His eyes relax briefly, shifting to an indescribable emotion. There’s something in them, some light of understanding.

You hate it.

“Don’t act like you care,” you say, turning away and hugging yourself. Yeah, you know you’re being unfair, but you can’t handle Childe’s pity at the moment. He sighs as he tosses his leftovers over his shoulder and tries putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey – “

“Don’t.”

“I don’t care. Look at me,” he says, tone sharp and commanding you to listen. During easy exchanges, it became so easy to gloss over the fact that Childe is, indeed, a general of the Fatui.

He’s all but glaring down at you, matching your petulant stare. “What is with you? I’ve been trying to fix things between us, but I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one. This goes both ways, you know.”

“Us? There is no us, Childe. It’s just you. It’s always been about what you want,” you seethe. Stars, you sounded so much like a kid, but some sick part of you is enjoying this. All your words are underhanded and you both know it. “Did you even care? At any point, any at all, did you care?”

His blue eyes slowly widen as realization dawns on him. “Ah. You’re still mad about that. About me using you, huh?”

“What the f – Yes, I’m still mad! Congratulations, you’ve got a pair of eyes. Don’t you know that I – nevermind.”

“No, say it,” he says, placing both hands on each of your shoulders now and caging you in. His face leaves no room for argument as he says your real name. “Say it. Don’t back out now.”

“Stars, you stupid, selfish son of a – “

“Hey, don’t you bring my mother into this,” he says, though a lopsided grin works its way onto his face regardless.

“Very funny, Childe. I just… I kept it, you know? It’s no Mr. Cyclops, but it’s still mine,” you say, looking down. His eyes flick to the starconch dangling from your journal.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your shoulders.

“Of course I did. I made a promise to you, and I have a feeling you’re the type to actually cut my pinkie off.”

“Ha. Who’s being funny now?”

You shake your head. “My question still stands: did you care? I’ve forgiven you – you know that – but I’m mad because… I need to know if our friendship was...”

When you look up again, he’s – oh holy – when did he get so close? His deep blue eyes are resolute and you’re holding your breath. Childe is close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him as his lips parts. “Honestly? I didn’t at the time.”

Oh. Of course not.

You close your eyes as you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. Great. Just fantastic. Nothing can get worse than this.

“But now…”

His fingers gently grab your chin and lift up as he tilts his own down at you. “I can’t remember that time without guilt. When I saw how Teucer showered you all with adoration, it just reminded me of what we had.”

“What we had? What was that? Friend? Enemy? Sparring partner?” You scoff and lean out of the space he made that threatened to suffocate you. “I don’t want to believe a word you’re saying, because even though I’ve been honest every step of the way – “ You pull his right hand off your left shoulder and lock a pinkie with it. “ – I can guarantee that you haven’t.”

Do you feel a sense of joy when you release his hand with a glare?

“You’re no better than the gods you hate.”

When he has the gall to look offended?

Yeah, you do, and know what? Fuck him.

Suddenly, your hand is harshly yanked up as he leans close again, locking a pinkie before you can escape. “You don’t want to believe me? Fine. But don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for your duty if push came to shove. At least this time I had the decency to tell you why I’m here, why I’m ‘using’ you again. You beat me to it though, or did you forget?”

Childe sneers, fury now raging in those watery depths. “I’m not mad, I’m happy that you’re as shrewd as you are strong. Yes, I didn’t care then. Yes, I care now, even if I don’t regret it. I want to leave that in the past because today, this moment, is all that matters. C’mon, eye for an eye.”

“What are you even talking about?” You’re seething now, matching his frustration. Seriously, he can’t spout this crap and expect you to suddenly understand. “I am not doing this with you, to you, whatever ‘this’ is. Despite being upset, you’re still my friend.”

“No, we weren’t just friends and you know it,” he growls. “Or enemies. So just give the word and get it over with, comrade. Fight me, use me, do something and get it out of your system.”

He’s… He’s crazy, he’s just insane, you have to get out of here. You swiftly stand and pull your hand away, staring down at him. “I said no, Childe. Not everything is a battle. I can’t believe you… You would think that. Think that I’m no better than the people who treated you like some pawn.”

You sigh and turn away, but your hand is yanked behind you again. May the stars give you patience.

When he turns you, he’s looking at you with a familiar glint as his lips curl. It’s the same expression he wore in the aftermath of Osial.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to them. You aren’t one of those out-of-touch bastards. I just… I wasn’t sure what else to do to get you to believe me.”

Who would’ve thought a Harbinger could be so maudlin. Torpor replaced your irritation and quiet resignation flickered in your mind. Why you still bickering with him? It’s pointless.

You take the hand holding you and bring it up to the center of your chest.

He freezes and stares at his hand, breathes growing shallow and quick.

“This is going nowhere. Leave it in the past, right? There’s always more to argue over, ha.”

When you squeeze his hand, you smile at him, meeting his bloodthirsty eyes. “You’re right, Childe. Let’s get this out of our system.”

You don’t want to, you really, really don’t, but seeing the way his shoulders relax with barely contained relief shoves that regret aside. Childe was never the best with words – while his fellow Harbingers wove tale after tale with silver tongues, he simply collected others’ tongues with that sharpened silver.

As you both pace yourselves apart, you pull out your journal, long modified to be a weapon of sorts in this world. You know you are at a severe disadvantage as you were never great with other tools, so you had to find a way to either stay out of his range – difficult with his bow – or get close enough to his personal space to land a direct blow with energy gathered in your hands – difficult with his water shields.

Childe summons his hydro blades and begins twirling them, head bowed as he watches your every step. Slowly, you circle one another as both try to find weak points to exploit. His eyes are nothing short of predatory, and as his lips barely twitch into a snarl, you’re once again reminded of just who is in front of you.

Tartaglia, the Vanguard of the Harbingers, whose arrogant and ruthless madness could only be soothed on the battlefield. He’s not so much like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a monster in wolf’s clothing.

On instinct, you immediately tilt your head as an arrow whistles past your ear, nicking the edge. You feel warmth trickle down and your ear stings something fierce as you start to dodge his incoming folly of arrows.

Is it too late to back out? Like, right now? You can handle the proverbial tail between your legs but you cannot handle –

You curse as water rises from the river to wrap around your ankle and shackles you when you drew too close. Cruel laughter bubbles to your left as you turn and see him charging, serrated blades out for the slaughter.

When he gets close enough to leap, nearly too close for comfort, you immediately summon a wall of stone in front of you. A soft thud echoes, so you form a fist and push the wall forward and away from you as the hydro chains break with Childe’s concentration shifting to his predicament.

Normally, you would be more prepared and calculating in your attacks, but the sheer ruthlessness of his onslaught took you by surprise.

Russet-colored hair juts out from the top as he leaps up and over, twirling in the air. With a clear opening, you reach out energetically to the smattering of small – yet sharp – stones around you to use as projectiles. He laughs as he slices each stone, but your goal of interrupting his trajectory is accomplished.

Childe lands a distance away as you sprint farther back, summoning small pillars of stone between you two as he immediately chases after. Though he’s chaotic, his movements are somewhat predictable; you summon one stone in a bluff to get him to move to his right to dodge, but immediately slam another stone to his ribs on his side from the direction he moved towards.

He grunts, but hardly flinches as you see him double his efforts in chasing you. Belatedly, you realize he’s been herding you towards the massive waterfall the entire time. Either you finish him here or he finishes you there with the elemental advantage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not as fast as Aether, this is why you stay on the backline, fuck –

Childe’s lance smashes the shoddy stones rising quicker in your panic to separate you two. Not your finest work, but it’s a bit hard to focus on their construction when you have a maniac sent from hell on your ass, thank you. When you see how he leaps from your most recent stone, utilizing the momentum in its rise to propel himself forward, you tuck tail and run.

Safe to say, two thoughts occur as he tackles you and his iron grip is wrapped around your body to restrict movement as you both tumble along the ground.

One, you’re absolutely torn between humiliation and feeling shameless as you realize your undergarments are soaked with his husky pants filling your ears. His head tucked against your own in the roll.

There’s definitely something wrong with you, you decide, since you were nothing short of terrified two seconds earlier.

Two, when your head slams against the ground and you open your bleary eyes, you realize how lovely the snapdragon flowers lining the riverbank are this time of year.

You hiss as you feel heavy thighs cage your arms to your side and look up. Childe is leering down at you and snarling as his right hand curls into a fist, purple lightning slowly dancing across it. His left hand glows blue as you recognize the sensation of the infamous riptide mark forming over your chest, eyes glazed over with concentration.

In a moment of paralyzing horror, you realize just how far from civilization you two are.

Ha, haha, good one Childe. He’s… He’s playing, right? This was just friendly brawling. Ha. Oh shit.

He’s not slowing down.

When his hand clamps on your shoulder to still your frantic movements, you whine – high and feeble – at the pain blooming from his grip. For a split second, he falters as his eyes regain clarity, hand loosening a fraction to no longer being unyielding. You take the opportune distraction to flick your hand and throw a stone to his chest.

It’s not much, not without the power of your book – now discarded somewhere – but it does the job as he is knocked to the side and off of you.

In the action, you scramble to keep with the flow and slam him on his back, perching on his chest as your hands glow with accumulating geo energy.

Seeing his soft pants, a sparkle in his eyes, and how blood trickles down his forehead, the shattering in your heart is deafening when you realize how young he looks. His laughter is wet and harsh as his arms are splayed.

“Do it,” he grunts. “End the fight, ‘cause I won’t stop.”

No. No, you’re not doing this.

“Aw, is little birdie too scared?”

You lower your hand and wrap it around his throat, and stars, is his grin growing?

“Come on, just do it – “

“Shut up,” you hiss, leaning forward. “Stop it Childe, I’m not punishing you.”

“What if I want you to?”

You freeze as your mouth parts in a silent gasp, his expression never faltering. When you jump back, you grind against something hard and insistent against your ass, and oh. Was this his plan all along…?

Childe’s hands fly to your hips and pull you down, and oh fuck, a moan fumbles from your lips before you harshly cut it off. Your eyes glance down to see his hooded eyes and he’s panting as he watches you. “Pretty bird is suddenly backing out now? So weak, you won’t even take your venge – “

His words are muffled as you lean forward and kiss him, but you yelp when you feel sharp teeth suddenly bite your bottom lip. Something angry twittering in you possesses you to reach into his hair and fist it, yanking his head up to meet your irritated gaze. When he moans again, loud and shameless and grinds against your core, you’re seized by the same fierce need.

“You’re sick,” you say as your tongue darts out to taste a hint of blood.

For some reason, those words still him as his eyebrows furrow slightly. “I know.”

Stars, you hate how he stares you down, daring you to do something about it. You hate how it feels like it was your fault, that crack in his shield as you see your own shocked eyes reflected in his ocean blues. They flicker between yours, and that something whispers in you again: for whatever reason, he wants to be punished.

Maybe that’s how he gets his sick kicks. Yeah. That’s it.

(You shove aside any lingering doubts.)

You pull him to you this time, kissing him as you simultaneously begin a slow, rhythmic roll of your hips against his throbbing bulge. When Childe’s mouth parts in a strangled moan, you take the opportunity to dive your tongue into his and hum in approval as he rubs his hands along your thighs.

As you part, a thin trail of saliva stained red with blood connecting you two, you lean back and smirk at his whine from the loss of contact. Instead, you lean back and arch your back to apply more pressure to his bulge. “You’re such a challenge sometimes,” you murmur, scanning his features.

Childe moans, ragged and hoarse, as his hands find purchase on your hips. “Please,” he replies desperately.

“When was the last time someone put you in your place?” you say as your hands slowly trail down to his chest and meticulously begin undoing each button. Each time your nails scrape his skin, the contact is minuscule but enough to hitch his breath.

“N-not since the Tsaritsa,” he whispers, keening as you dip your fingers beneath his jacket to open it fully, baring his pale chest. “The people in Liyue are too… Let’s call it traditional in bed, hm? A bit too tender.”

You both snicker (unknowingly at the same man), but his laughter is cut off as you lean down to kiss along each scar littering his chest. There is a smattering of slashes and burns, enough to paint a picture of a life hard-won and deserving of his name.

When you ghost your lips back up, you pause at a pale, crescent-shaped… Is that a bite mark? You raise your hand slow to that juncture between his neck and shoulder, and you feel blue eyes watching you intently. As you trace it, you murmur, “What’s this? Did a lover leave this? Doesn’t seem very becoming of a Liyue native.”

Childe releases a puff of air instead of a laugh and rolls his head back. “Let’s just say it’s a trophy for the one time I managed to get a stupidly sentimental man to realize I’m not fragile on my last night here. He even apologized for it.”

Huh. You choose not to comment on the strange memory, but instead, opt to kiss the scar lightly. Childe openly moans, breathes becoming shallower as you move down the expanse of his creamy abdomen from there.

Gloved hands fly to your head and grab. His shallow thrusts against your chest halt when you lift away from him, glowering at him to stop. Childe’s eyes narrow, but when he tries again, you lie your palm flat against his bulge and push down.

Childe cries out at the border between pain and pleasure, and good, that fucker needs to learn when to stop.

Oh, gods, when did you get a mean streak? Except, when you lay your eyes on the Fatui again, memories of each time he’s pushed your buttons surface, directly compromising your promise to Aether to be kind to the locals in Teyvat to expedite finding Lumine.

Yeah, Aether isn’t here right now. You can make a special exception.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you grunt and you lean up again, choking back laughter when you see how his eyes widen at your abandonment. Ha. “Maybe I’ll go slower and, how is it called, ‘make love to you like the people in Liyue? Maybe I’ll stop pursuing you like this, where none else dared challenge the almighty Harbinger, huh?”

Admittedly, the lust in you skyrockets when you see how he tries putting on an intimidating façade again, yet the flush across his face and chest absolutely ruins it. Oh man, you can keep doing this all day.

Only… When the devil smirks at you, your heart begins hammering.

“Oh? Maybe you should,” he pants, and you pointedly look at his erection now forming a slight damp spot on his pants. “Tch, but don’t tell me you’re not curious. You’re too fucking nice all the time, you’d hate that slowness as much as I would.”

Irritation seers through you again as you suddenly – and perhaps unnecessarily roughly – grab his pants, purposefully dragging your nails along his skin as you begin to pull it down. “What makes you think I’d hate it?” you huff.

Childe aids in your struggle, shimmying his pants down and off as he kicks off his boots while you clamber on top of him again.

“Come on,” he sneers, snaking his right hand around your neck to pull you closer while his left makes begins to slide down your belly. When he leans closer, he pauses short of kissing you and stays like that. “Don’t you want a taste?”

“You – “

Fuck, you didn’t realize how he distracted you until one finger brushes your clit and slides along your folds. Fuck, fuck, you hate how he drinks in your quiet and strangled moans as it begins to slowly dip into you. When you feel something smooth and cold instead, it hits you that he never took off his gloves.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he coos and rolls his hips upwards to grind against your ass. You grit your teeth, though Childe takes this moment to kiss you again and suck on your bottom lip, massaging you all the while. It’s… It’s not enough, damn him.

"Give me a safeword," you rasp as you break apart. "Right now. So I know this isn't a trick up your sleeve."

He grunts and leans forward again to press his lips against your nose, though he pauses in his ministrations. "This isn't -"

"Childe."

"... Calla lily."

You nod and sigh, tilting your head to the side.

The hand formerly around your neck slides down to pull down your clothes, allowing more access as it pools around your thighs.

You pull away entirely – ah, there goes his fingers – and stand, beginning to strip. As he watches you, you see how his jaw clenches, impatient and yet thoroughly enjoying the impromptu strip dance.

When you’re bare, you begin to walk over and have to bite back a whimper at how Childe’s tongue darts along his lips as you approach. Hmm…

You pad over to his head and grab a fistful of his hair again as you kneel by his head, concentrating on how his face contorts with pleasure again.

“What makes you think you’re so special, huh?” you gruff at him as he grins up at you in that wicked, wicked way.

“Because I’m all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” he responds daringly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Oh, stars forgive you if you (not so) accidentally strangle this man. You swing one leg over his head and pull it up as you lower yourself. At least he needs no further instruction as he immediately rests his hands on your thighs and tilts his head to lap at the wetness dribbling down.

Let it never be said that Childe didn’t know how to use his mouth, because fuck, the eagerness he begins devouring you out with is nothing short of a man approaching his last meal. You become hyper-aware of your wanton moans, how you grind your core further along his lips while his aching cock is behind you, devoid of all attention.

When his tongue dives deeper between your folds, truly fucking you with it, you slam a hand behind his head to prevent your fall. Fuck, you can’t fucking think –

Your thighs are trembling as the pleasure shoots through you, building with each rock of your hips. It’s slow and steady, but you feel yourself surfing the rising pleasure when you mentally short-circuit. At some point, he crept one hand under you and – without warning, the asshole – plunged two fingers deep as he turns his attention to your clit.

It’s pathetic how you mewl, it really is, and like a bloodhound, Childe senses your weakness. He doubles his efforts while humming against your clit, vibrating it with the motion, and fuck, you feel it coming, it’s, it’s –

You open your mouth in a silent scream as it shoots up, pulling you taut and your muscles stiffen. It’s like you’re a bow strung along and Childe is the man just using you like this.

Stars, he needs to stop, he needs to – stop it, it’s too much –

“Stop, Childe, fu-ah – “ When you frantically roll off of him, falling on your side, he merely turns and grins. It’s absolutely sinful how he slowly licks each finger that was knuckle-deep in you, never breaking contact.

You wish he’d say something because for once, he’s not actually talking. He just. He followed your initiative and was promptly shut up, drinking you in. You don’t know what to say to him, so you opt instead to reach over and grab his scarf, yanking him up.

He follows, nearly as eager as a pup, and crawls to you on all fours as you sit up. Childe blinks at you, the smile never wavering as his eyes wander to your chest rising and falling with soft pants. Something in you, some small and evil voice whispering on your shoulder tells you to ruin this man, this arrogant warrior still clad in his Harbinger jacket and gloves and mask –

“Your mask,” you gruff. Childe tilts his head (oh no, that was cute), but follows your command nonetheless.

When he hands you the item, you fidget slightly and fight back that creeping uncertainty. Fuck it, you’re the one punishing him, so why are you getting embarrassed?

In a desperate bid for confidence, you hum and refuse to look at him, pretending to inspect the mask as if just now seeing it. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, so you firmly pull on the scarf like it’s some leash. “You always get your way, don’t you?” you hum.

When silence meets you, you yank on the scarf again. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. You smile softly and look at him, look at his wide eyes as you’re met face-to-face. Each of his arms has settled next to your sides as his legs hold himself over you.

You hazard a glance at his cock and smile at how it twitches in response, leaking driblets of pearlescent pre-cum and just throbbing red. Oh, he wants it so badly. “Beg for it,” you say, looking back into his eyes.

Childe narrows his own, gritting his teeth in a snarl. “Beg for it,” you repeat slowly, “or we stop here. Your choice.”

“Please,” he mumbles, and… Oh, oh is he shy? Pink begins to dust the tips of his ears as he dips his head.

“Please what?” you tease and he huffs.

“Please, let me… I want it, I want you.” Each word is punctuated and forced out like it took all of his willpower to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

Some quiet, dark part of you is slightly disappointed he didn’t.

Well, you’re merciful, and he did say please. You lean forward and tilt your own head, catching his lips in a kiss entirely too soft – and yet, Childe doesn’t complain, only sighing in relief as he moves his head with yours.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment, you remind yourself vehemently. That lustful side of you rears its head, screaming at you to stop whatever it is you’re planning because Childe is here, on his knees and begging to fuck you.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment. Damn it.

Childe seems to recognize the idea swirling in your eyes when he pulls back and he frowns. You smirk back and slide his mask into place, thoroughly relishing in how his breath hitches seeing his own face staring back at him.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He jerks his head back like he’s been slapped. “Oh, you’re kidding me, right? You just made me beg, you charlatan.”

“Exactly,” you chirp back. You push him back while retaining your hold on his scarf and run your hand down his abs, pausing at the naval above his aching cock. He moans when your nails dig in there and he spreads his legs wide to allow you to move closer. When you finally, finally grasp his cock with a firm squeeze, a strangled groan is wrenched from his chest from somewhere high and deep like he wasn’t expecting the noise either.

“I’m still mad at you, so this is all you get. Nothing more than this, not even spit.”

Gods, how badly do you want to weep and take it back, but you have a point to prove, damn it.

Childe opens his mouth to protest, but you pull on the scarf to effectively cut off his air, watching how his eyes haze over with pleasure when you do an experimental pump. Is this… Is this how you looked when you fought for dominance with Zhongli?

Oh, you really can keep doing this.

Slowly, you shift forward more until you’re pressed close enough to lean next to his head as you gather the pre-cum leaking in torrents to twist around the head of his cock. “Does the Harbinger like this?”

Childe releases another strangled moan and nudges his head against yours, bucking his hips in demand for you to just go faster. You don’t, you’re mad at him, but the insistence is cute. That infamous earring of his dangles in front of you, tantalizingly close, so you grab it with your teeth and pull sharply as the pressure from your hand increases.

Childe cries out in a mixture of shock and pleasure, hands flying to your back to pull you closer to him as you release it to begin whispering filth into his ears.

With each movement, each tug and twist and sin tickling him, you watch as he slowly becomes unraveled and pulled from the seams. The contrast between you two, how you watch with startling clarity as Childe loses his sanity in chasing after that edge, serves only to thrill you. Your core starts to throb again, practically weeping with your own slick as you fight back the instinct to mount and ride him to hell here and now.

As his thighs tense and his breathing drawing quicker, you pause abruptly to stop him from cumming and – oh shit – he yanks your hair back as he growls in your ear, “Don’t you dare – “

Wish granted. You laugh openly and release his scarf to cup his jaw, leaning forward enough that he can catch the whites of your eyes through the slits in the mask. “Then don’t look away.”

And, blessedly, you resume your ministrations with a sudden increase in speed that has Childe panting so beautifully, so raggedly as he whines at the sight of his own mask staring him down. His hips rock into your hand needily, clinging to your back like his life depended on it.

“Ah, f-uck – “ Childe’s words are cut off as he flushes red and you feel warmth spill over your hand. You never pause as you continue milking his cock, jerking it well past the point of pleasure and deep into oversensitive pain. His blue eyes are squeezed shut as a string of Snezhnayan curses tumble from his lips, clinging to what shreds of euphoria are left before you slowly stop.

His chest is heaving, each exhale hoarse and dry as he buries his head against your neck.

Huh, what does a Harbinger taste like…?

As you idly bring your hand up to lap at the cum, you smirk behind your mask when you hear Childe’s breath hitch and he begins mumbling something indistinctly, watching you all the while.

When he’s this close, you can nearly count each freckle dotting his cheeks and nose, and… And you can almost draw constellations between them.

After a moment, he leans back to stare at you before pulling off the mask. When you both see each other again, a lazy smile tugs at his lips before he looking you up and down, then towards the scene around you.

“… Well, this is unsanitary.”

What – what the fuck? You bark out a loud laugh and Childe joins you, though his sounds huskier still as he recovers. “That was a little mean of you to keep going,” he says, pouting when you snort.

“You wanted it.”

“I wanted to fuck you,” he grumbles. You shrug and try to stand, though admittedly you’re no better than a colt with how your legs shake.

Eventually, you manage to waddle your way to the river and take slow steps into the freezing waters. Fish dart between your legs, barely brushing by with slick flutters, and you sigh as you force your muscles to relax.

Some time passes before you hear movement and splashes behind you, though you don’t turn to meet him. If Childe is upset with you, he can deal with that himself, you’re too busy trying to find some peace.

You just need a hard reset. Just once, you need to get one merciful moment alone.

Still, that wish remains ungranted as strong muscles wrap around your front and you jolt at the sudden contact, but more so when you feel Childe rest his head against the back of yours. Neither of you move, opting to instead sway lightly with the currents drifting by. Each wrist is wrapped in a leather brace with a Vision inlaid in the right while the Delusion is in his left.

When you glance down at the water, you suck in a breath upon realizing he’s been staring at you through the reflection the whole time. Soft aquatic plants dance at the corners of your feet, brushing ever so slightly with each tug.

It’s nice, but something about the stillness sparks uneasiness in you. But… It’s not the kind you felt staring down Childe’s lifeless eyes seconds before he struck, no, this is different. This feeling left you feeling both heavy and light, clear and foggy like you were alone with the dawn breaking and somehow that fact makes it all the sadder.

You… You want this to last, you realize. Stupid. You’ve gotten yourself stupidly attached already, two for zero with these men in your life.

He sighs as one hand reaches up, tracing idly over your chest again. “Do you ever feel like it’s some game,” he begins delicately like each breath is an affront to the world around you.

“What do you mean?”

“These gods, these… Not-humans, I guess. The one that took Aether’s sister, the ones that laughed at you for not being good enough in your travels, the adepti that thought Liyue too fragile… Do you ever think it’s a game to them? Like we’re just puppets on strings?”

He whispers these words, writing them like clandestine letters, ones that will surely get him executed should the gods ever see yet he writes them all the same.

“Like the fabled strings of fate?” you reply, and his lips twist in a wry laugh. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to answer, since I’m not…”

Human.

Childe hums, understanding the tacit sentiment. “Doesn’t matter, you were never welcome among the divine anyway, right?”

“As if the humans would welcome us instead.”

“I would. I already have.”

Without skipping a beat, Childe continues hastily, once again obscuring that something in his voice. “Do you think they understand us? Actually care about their people?”

You shake your head, a barely-there motion, and should any soul look upon you two now, surely they would never see how you squeeze his hands. “I don’t think gods understand true strength.”

You don’t know why, but those two words, that single combination seems to still Childe completely as he listens, utterly rapt with another memory flickering across his expression. At least, that’s what you think, judging from the reflections.

“Gods may shape the world and play with the pieces, but mortals are the ones living in it. I don’t think they remember that humans are not – “

“Things.”

Another beat of silence passes before Childe breaks it again. “They think we don’t understand anything just because we haven’t had an eternity behind us, ha. I don’t blame them, I think I’d take the opportunity to be immortal too.”

You frown and turn in his arms, coming face-to-face with him. “Why?”

“So I can finally make right everything that’s wrong,” he mumbles, placing his hand on your chest again. When you look down, you see how water tickles and caresses your skin – almost lovingly if you were so bold, but you’re not – as it forms a vague riptide mark. You feel cool hydro energy seep into your skin before disappearing entirely, though you suppose more elemental energy could always trigger its appearance once more.

Childe sighs again, massaging the spot from the mark before roving hands move to your shoulders, rubbing along them. When he looks at you again, your heart stutters at the glittering image of wide-eyed wonder and determination staring back at you – the sight of it renders you mute. A cheeky grin pulls his lips. “And more time means more journeys, right? When my plans are complete, I can finally put this all to rest and go adventuring.”

(You vow then to never tell him that Teucer long spilled these secrets to your motley group.)

And then. And then he smiles, though it’s all teeth and wicked intentions, and then you feel your heart race with sudden fear as the sweet moment left as soon as it arrived.

“You know comrade,” he begins charmingly (oh no), “I did warn you about one thing.”

“Y-yeah?” Oh no, you didn’t mean for that to come out as quiet and breathy as it did. Childe chuckles as he slides one hand to cup the back of your neck.

“That I won’t stop.”

That’s all the warning you get before your world is turned askew, everything blurring together in motions of blue and rippling colors.

This is… He’s taking you somewhere, you realize belatedly, this is how he escaped the Golden House. When his face materializes before yours, peering out of the water as the element obeys its master’s commands, he holds one finger up to his lips in a signal to keep holding your breath.

So you do. You hold as long as you can, eyes darting as the world passes by and you’re struck by the kaleidoscope of light as it ripples along the outside of this shell.

When Childe leans forward, slotting his lips against yours, you swear then that he meant to steal your breath.

Hard rock slams into your back suddenly and you break the kiss, gasping for air and flopping your hands about you for purchase. Air, hallelujah, there’s air –

You grumble at him, sulking at the unexpected journey as his drenched hair trickled droplets onto you. Childe rears his head back, roaring with laughter at your cross attitude, but you can’t hear it. As a matter of fact, you can’t hear anything really.

Wait, did he just take you behind the waterfall?

Amusement dances across his face as he watches you drink in the sights around, of how you two are in a small enclave behind the waterfall roaring overhead. It’s not much, probably two lengths of Childe’s body long and wide with temperatures freezing you to the bone.

So, why did he bring you back here –

You keen when he suddenly dips his head to kiss along your sternum, one thigh nudging your legs apart. His hot breath fans across your skin, licking a long stripe up your neck to your ears as he brings one hand up to squeeze one breast.

“Sweet girl is always so far away,” he whispers huskily. “Will you finally let me hold you?”

“Childe,” you huff, your soft breath cutting off into a moan as he pinches one nipple. His teeth graze your jaw, kissing along it and moving steadily towards your mouth. “All this time, you never needed to ask. You already had me.”

He groans, capturing your lips again with the barely constrained ferocity of a starved man as the hand fondling your chest moves down. Stars, you’re already so slick with anticipation; Childe moans appreciatively as one finger slides easily in, then two, then three.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so hot, sweet little thing.”

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that Childe is whispering something about fair trade and equal punishment, is sinking his fingers knuckle-deep into you and ruthlessly finding that sweet spot in you with a single goal in mind. You encourage him further, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue as he explores your mouth with near-invasive energy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize how his cock is already at attention and ready to spear you, how it waits patiently for you to cum first.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. You wail as his fingers press harder, palm now rubbing your clit while he nips along your jugular and scatters your thoughts. Childe shifts so he no longer needs his other hand to hold himself over you, and instead places it over your throat as he pulls back to stare into your eyes.

The devil grins at you. “Don’t look away now.”

“Ah – oh, Childe – “ His hands squeeze, tentative at first, then with more conviction – and a terrifyingly practiced technique – around your neck, cutting off just enough air to leave the images blurring around you. Fuck, fuck, you’re clinging to consciousness, holding onto that pleasurable spike for dear life and –

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he pants, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours and you wail. It comes out softer and quiet, like a lamb being laid bare before a wolf, and you’re shivering with the fuzzy pleasure blanketing your body. Calloused fingers work you over as he grins, murmuring praises as you come undone from his unrelenting pace.

Your orgasm is nothing fierce like when he ate you out, but as air steadily becomes harder, the pleasure refuses to fizzle out like the fireworks you felt earlier. No, it only builds and builds and builds like it refuses to let you go, dragging you through this sex-addled haze whether you like it or not.

“Stay with me now,” Childe grunts, dark hunger swirling in his eyes. “Come on, don’t black out on me now, that’s too easy. Do I have to be mean?”

What the fuck is he talking about –

You cry out in sheer panic and blinding euphoria as you feel light sparks dance along your clit. He’s using his fucking electro element, all fine control and just playing you like a fiddle while you writhe underneath him. You can’t take it anymore, this is too much to all once and impossible to describe, you can’t –

Childe blessedly releases his grip and you gasp in lungfuls of air for the second time in a short window; though his fingers slow, they don’t stop. He coos at your writhing underneath him, moaning with you as you ride out a second orgasm from his electro currents.

You’re biting your lip to stop from whining even more, but that must’ve irked Childe because he moves down to kiss you again, pulling your bottom lip away with his teeth. As the stimulation slowly pushes into pain, you hiss and swing your left leg up to kick him away.

Of course the fucker caught your foot and exploited the momentum to wrap it around his right shoulder, of course. “Pl-ease,” you cry out as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure quickly becoming too much again. “Please!”

“Mm, you’ll have to beg for it,” he replies, too casually for a man whose fingers are working up a storm to bring you to a quick and merciless orgasm again. Your hands fly down to his wrist in a pathetic attempt to slow him, but he curls his lips in a challenge and speeds up, shifting closer to you to brush his cock along your cheeks.

Fuck, fuck – You cum again, though somewhere in you tells you that you never actually stopped. A last-ditch idea desperately hits you. “F-Fuck me!” you cry out, voice pitching a tune that’s dangerously needy. “Please!”

Childe laughs again, all cruelty and thrilled at your begging, but you can’t find it in you to give a damn, you just need him to stop fucking you with his fingers. You need a break.

But the Harbinger is a merciless god.

He hums as his fingers slowly, slowly withdraw and he makes a show of sucking each one clean before he takes his cock to line up with your entrance. As he does this, he tilts his head and looks at you again, pretending like he doesn’t see you plead for – for what, exactly? For more? For less?

And in a single thrust, he enters entirely into you. Two voices bounce off the walls, pitches varying but both as broken, and Childe immediately begins a harsh pace.

“Please,” you whine and he tilts his head again, grinning through each harsh thrust. He’s rubbing one hand along the thigh draped over his shoulder while the other holds your hips in a bruising grip.

“Please? You’re such a greedy thing, look at that, sucking up my cock like that.” Each word is punctuated with another harsh thrust, each word is met with your loud cries – and when he angles his hips enough that you can see the outline of it pushing against your naval with you on your back, you cum again.

The Fatui starts speaking in Sneznayhan again as you clamp down around him, squeezing and milking his cock for all you’re worth, but gods you can hardly care right now. Your back is surely going to be scraped raw with how you’re being dragged across the floor, but you fucking love it, love how pain and pleasure mix in some addicting cocktail you’re absolutely drunk on.

You make a long, anguished whine as Childe begins kissing along your leg and peppers your skin with nips to pierce that pleasurable fog. His words sound slurred, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s trying to call your name, but you’re not sure if it’s him or your perception that’s screwed up on this side of the river.

And then he’s laughing. The bastard’s laughing at your blissful misery.

Oh. Oh no no, no you’re not about to be humbled by some Harbinger –

“T-tartaglia!” you keen suddenly when a particularly fierce thrust hits you.

You both freeze.

Oh no. Oh shit. Cold panic rushes through you at that, at how you just admitted defeat by calling him out – and when he purrs your real name, low and husky and thoroughly vindicated, he knows it too.

“Pretty thing wants to wear my mask, but you forgot who’s fucking you like you wanted,” he snarls.

After he hoists your other leg over his shoulders, he presses his body into yours and folds you in half, the new angle devastating for your pleasure as he somehow reaches deeper. His hips start again, mercilessly hitting that spot deep in as his hands cage you in by your head. Childe leans in and nudges your head aside, brushing his nose along your cheeks. "What's the safeword?"

"C-calla lily," you murmur and he nods, turning to stare you down again.

When you try to look away, close your eyes, do something, one hand brutally squeezes your jaw to open your eyes again.

And it works. You gasp as he forces you to attention, forces you to address him as those dangerously blue eyes threaten to swallow you whole in the treacherous deep ocean. “Baby, look – hah, shit – look at me. Y-you want Tartaglia, huh? Isn’t that right?”

Your throat is betraying your mind, whining and begging and blabbering something in response as the grinding pleasure continues to drown you.

It hurts so fucking good as euphoria tears you apart, rips your insides as you start openly sobbing from the pleasure he’s dragging out, and the fucker has the audacity to shoot forward and press an open kiss to your tear-streaked cheeks. Chi- Tartaglia lets you claw at his back – hell, he encourages it with how he groans – and he torturously continues his pace.

You’re not sure if you have the energy to continue, so you smack at his back weakly as you mumble against his lips. Your cunt is squeezing and spasming around him in a vice grip, but he continues fucking you through it. “P-please, please c-cum, please, I don’t know if I can keep going,” you beg desperately.

“N-no,” he grunts and your heart sinks. “Fuck, pretty birdie is letting me finallyy – hah – fuck her, I warned you, I won’t st-hhop.”

“It’s too much,” you hiccup through the overstimulation and scream – your throat hurts with the force of it – as you feel electricity twist your muscles, clenching around his cock as white-hot plasma seems to seer you from the inside out. He moans in response, a low and gruff noise.

“Then suffer.”

And he keeps going.

---

You never notice how he traces along a barely-there geo sigil with the smallest, briefest Cor Lapis glow beneath your navel. You never notice how it throbs in time with his thrusts, with each exertion of his elemental visions as if protective over your body in a lingering memory of whatever divine beast spurred its awakening.

You never notice how he grins.

---

The Harbinger is a cruel and merciless god.

---

He ruins you, thoroughly devastates you with a meticulous precision befitting the Vanguard of the Harbingers. You’ve been manhandled and manipulated into a myriad of positions until pebbles and scrapes litter both of your bodies. True to his word, you suffer through each orgasm he tears from you.

And fuck, do you love it.

Your back is to the wall as your hands are interlocked with his own by your head, hips rapidly thrusting you up and down against it as you wrap your legs around him for purchase while he nips your neck like a rabid dog.

Stars, you can’t concentrate, your eyes keep losing focus – and each time Tartaglia notices, he bites or thrusts or squeezes with that iron grip, electricity lacing each action jolting you to the present. He refuses to let you sink, refuses to let you black out as you’re dragged through hell and back by the devil himself.

“Please,” you weep as he rests his forehead against yours, dutifully watching how your chest bounces with the movement and how his cock is thoroughly drenched with your juices. The ease with which he slides in and out of you is downright criminal.

“T-tartaglia, please,” you whimper and his blues meet yours again. “Tartaglia… I want…”

A single eyebrow arches as he presses his body impossibly closers, now chest-to-chest as he cages you in and looms over you. “I want you,” you gasp between thrusts, “all of you, please. I – ah – I trust you, please.”

Tartaglia freezes for a split-second before groaning, raw and thunderous and wild as the storms that herald his coming, and when he kisses you, you feel wetness dribble down both of your cheeks.

In your haze, you weren’t aware you were crying again from it all, but a lot of things snuck past your attention.

You don’t know what happens after that, but you know it’s hot and wet as his body flexes over yours. Somewhere in your consciousness, you hear a voice cry out Tartaglia’s name, utterly shredded to ribbons from how it was abused.

Was that your voice?

His cock is throbbing in you as you feel him empty load after load of cum, more words in a foreign language wrapping you in warmth his tone lightens, his eyes grow soft and his lips curl up. It’s all you can do to squeeze your wet cunt around him, tightening around him to milk more out of him until Tartaglia is gasping desperately in time with the stutter of his hips.

Eventually, he slumps over you, draping his muscled body over yours with sheer exhaustion and sweat glistening in a thin sheen over his skin.

He whimpers your name, almost going unheard and the noise is halting as if he didn’t expect to say it either. Frankly, you’re too tired to unpack all the layers woven into that right now. So you don’t. Instead, you squeeze his hands as you start to feebly sing softly in your native tongue.

Childe freezes instantly as he sucks in a sharp breath. “What is that?”

“Hm? My people’s language?” you respond and he nods dumbly. “Sorry, probably sounds bad.”

“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head enough that his auburn locks bounce lightly. “Just familiar.”

Huh? Whatever. He’s probably too blissed out to make sense right now.

You both stay like that for a time in a slow-going bid to steady your breathing. You… You never honestly expected this to happen when he invited himself along your commission. Not that you’re complaining, of course, it’s just… It’s not what you expected.

Some lust-addled part of your brain, utterly fucked out and blissful, is already planning another ‘excursion’ into these deep woods.

And then you start to giggle at the gooey mess pooling between both of you. Childe huffs against you and you feel his smile against your cheek. “What’re you laughing at, pretty bird?” he slurs out.

“Oh, just. This is just unsanitary.”

Childe just grunts, too tired to join your laughter, but that’s okay. Your bubbling joy is enough for the two of you in this little enclave behind the waterfall.

---

Hours have passed, and somehow – through sheer and utter spite – you both manage to drag yourselves back to Liyue Harbor despite the protesting aches from your muscles. Nerve endings are set alight with each step, but judging from how Childe winces, he feels it too. Night has long fallen and you remind yourself to apologize to Aether and Paimon, since you said you’d be back by dinner at the latest.

Do you regret it though? Nope.

Eventually, you stumble (literally in your case, tripping over a rock in your lethargy) across Zhongli scrutinizing various wares on display with a careful eye.

Zhongli’s smile is brilliant and warm as he spies you two, immediately weaving his way through the crowd to make his way over. In a way, the movement is serpentine as he manipulates each person away. It’s fitting, really.

“I expected you two to be back much earlier,” Zhongli rumbles, though there’s no disappointment. He looks pleased to simply see you both safe and sound.

“Ah, it was a little far,” Childe chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know how it is.”

“Where are the others?” you interject, too tired to maintain any sane conversation. Or sanity in general. You need a bed and you need it now.

The former Archon tilts his head as he peruses through his memories. “I believe they moved to Wangshu Inn. They said that since you both took too long, we are to meet again at midday tomorrow near Jueyun Karst.”

You nod weakly and tune out their conversation, trying to muster what little energy you have left to begin the trek to get outside the city.

“I saw the most interesting thing,” you hear Childe say conversationally. The tone feels off, though. “Did you know geo sigils can stay on skin? I got a most intimate view of it! Even left a little hydro mark of my own,” Childe’s teasing voice continues with something else lacing the undercurrents of it.

Your heart sinks and you slowly turn around, thankful that in your brief glance at their faces, Zhongli was all-too distracted with Childe’s words to see you. However, when one eyebrow raises, you immediately duck your head.

Fuck. What the fuck. You’ll sprint if you have to, but for now, walking away is okay too.

“Oh?” You hear a curiously deep rumble from behind you as you slowly make your way out, but you can’t place the tone. Zhongli is as stoic as ever and you can’t get a read on him from his voice alone, oh no. “Is that so.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact, an observation, and it’s delivered so flatly you want to cry from sheer mortification and horror as your mind shifts into maximum overdrive with panic at all the worst possibilities.

What’s he thinking? What does either of them think of you now? Did you cross some unspoken line?

Well then! Now’s as good a time as any to flee.

“See you at Jueyun Karst!” you throw over your shoulder as you wave, but the words are broken since you’re shaking like a leaf in a fierce wind.

As you make your exit, you feel two pairs of eyes burning into your back as neither man says anything.

Haha! Terrific! That’ll surely help you sleep tonight!

notes:

i love how the 1.5 leaked cutscene says there’s a liyue saying that goes something like “waiting for rain to fall on earth once again” like hello?? metaphors??

#childe #Childe fanfic #genshin childe #genshin fanfic #childe x reader

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everlastingdreams · 3 years

Text

Weeping Monk x Reader : Playing With Fire chapter 20

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Chapter Summary: Both you and Lancelot find yourselves growing more comfortable around each other and you tell him you know of a safe place to travel to.

Notes: Just know that the more comfortable they get around each other, the worse they will annoy each other lol

Warnings: None, I think.

Word count: 2344 words in this chapter.

Chapter: 20/ 33+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The conversation with Lancelot about how your brother had treated you was still going through your mind when the sun went down. He was more compassionate then you had first believed him to be. It dawned on you that it could be because he himself had undergone a similar treatment by Father Carden. The moment Carden had slapped him hard across the face was burned into your memory. The look in his eyes one you would never forget. In that moment you had seen yourself in him. And now you felt strangely guilty for slapping him in the forest that night. Sure, he had threatened your life but he had never struck you. He had always remained quite civil and now it was clear that he did not approve of the sort of violence your brother had made you endure. Percival was tossing leaves into the fire and watching as they burned to a crisp. He looked tired and bored, mostly tired. You softly brushed a hand through the boy's hair “You should get some sleep, we will wake you when it's time to get up.”

The boy let out a loud yawn that distorted his voice “Fine.”

Lancelot was busy checking Goliath's saddle when he heard you approach and stop next to him.

"I feel like I need to apologize." You stammered awkwardly.

His brows drew together and he turned just enough to look at you "What-"

You interrupted him before he could speak "For hitting you. I wish I had not."

It confused him greatly until it dawned on him that you were talking about the time you had slapped him across the face in the forest. He had almost forgotten it, but what you had said about his soul then was etched into his memory "I understand why you did."

Looking up at him, you fumbled with your hands "Still... I...we both know what it's like to get slapped like that."

His eyes fell to the ground "You saw me as an enemy. And I believed you to be mine."

You crossed your arms in front of your chest "We're good then ? Or are we still uh..."

You nodded to the sword at his side and he let out a light scoff and actually chuckled.

"I always thought you were more interesting alive." He confessed, not thinking it through.

You quirked a brow and a sly smirk krept on your lips "Did you now ?"

You messed with him a bit to lighten the mood, but the fact that he failed to respond made you wonder if what he said did not in fact mean more. And the slight hint of pink now gracing his cheeks added to that.

“Anyway, I'm sorry for slapping you in the forest that day.” You broke the silence.

Lancelot looked at the ground, the corner of his mouth turned up “And I am sorry for dragging you and the boy through the forest that day."

His apology took you by suprise “I'm sorry, what was that ? I didn't quite catch that...”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, realising that you were messing with him “I said I'm sorry, y/n.”

You smiled victoriously, and he shook his head "Hey... uhm...how are you feeling ?" It was a question he had never been asked before. Not that he could remember at least. And the fact that it was you asking him that came as an even bigger suprise. Weeks ago you had looked at him as if you wanted to strangle him with your bare hands and now you were asking him how he felt ? Lancelot didn't even realise he was staring at you for a moment after the question, then he blinked and uttered a quick answer "Better." You raised a brow, doubting that answer "Better ? Even after that punch to the nose ?" Sure, he certainly had felt that punch the Huntsman had landed on him. But the fact that he had settled that situation gave him an euphoric feeling. "I've been through worse and survived." The injuries caused by the Trinity Guards had been far worse. And had you and the boy not helped him, he would have bled out in the forest. Or perished from the fever by now. Lancelot realised he hadn't actually thanked you for that yet. You had been frightened of him and you had still been brave enough to treat his wounds. He took a deep breath "I wouldn't be alive now had you not helped me. For that I am grateful to you, y/n. I owe you my life."

He meant it, these few days he had spend with you and Percival had reignited something that he thought he had lost forever. Hope. He had not felt this alive for so long, he was not just mindlessly following orders, he was living. He finally found something that filled the emptiness inside of him. "I wouldn't be alive either if you hadn't helped me...twice." You reminded him. Then he asked a question that had been going through his mind for a while now, and the moment it left his mouth he wished he had kept quiet. "I wonder why the Huntsman believed that we...that..." Lancelot let the question fade out. It felt too personal to ask, even feeling lightly embarrassed now. You gaped at him, almost rolling your eyes "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you kept following me around and showed up in my home at night ?" He noted the heavy sarcasm in your voice "You know why I was doing that." You tilted your head arrogantly "But they did not. And know that whole town thinks that I...that we..." Now it was your voice that faded out as you awkwardly gestured to him. Lancelot cleared his throat, visibly regretting ever bringing that up. Finally you shrugged "Damn them. They never helped me when they saw how my brother treated me. I never thought you would...but you did. Thank you." He gave an inclination of the head, acknowledging your expression of gratitude even though he did not expect you to thank him for such a thing. You shifted on your feet nervously, weeks ago you would never have told him what you were about to tell him "I know of a safe place where we could go to, unless you have another idea ?" He thought about it for a moment again, it had gone through his mind non-stop right after he had saved you and the boy from the paladin camp. He was not able to think of a place where it would be safe. People knew him, they knew of his reputation and the markings beneath his eyes were not helpful at keeping a low profile. Finally he shook his head and waited for you to speak. You started to explain your plan to him "There is a place... it shouldn't be far from here. Some feys once told me about it when I was...uh..." He smirked smugly and quirked his brow "When you were not warning them ?" You narrowed your eyes at him "Will you ever let that go ?" No. No, he would not. You had spend too much time driving him insane with it. Besides, he caught himself liking that dark look you gave him when he annoyed you. Lancelot sighed and looked at the ground "Do you know where this place is ?" You nodded "I do. I've never been there but the way they spoke of it...the place exists." He gave a nod "We will rest here for a while. I believe we could use some sleep if we are to continue our journey."

“Sounds like a good plan. I have barely slept.” You mumbled more to yourself and walked away.

OOOoooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooOOO

Night had fallen and Lancelot had insisted to keep watch while you and the boy would sleep. Percival had fallen asleep quite fast and you had taken off your jacket and drapped it over the boy. Lancelot watched in silence how you covered the boy with your jacket. He was sitting against a tree, a bit further away from the fire. He saw how you had clutched your abdomen with your hand when you had bend down to tuck in the boy. It suprised him that you had not complained about the pain yet, but then again, both of you seemed reluctant to admit when you were in pain. He watched as you walked over towards him and looked up at your face when you stopped next to him. You placed a hand on the tree before slowly moving to sit down against the other side of the tree. Your shoulder brushed against his as you sat against the tree as well now. Both facing another direction. He couldn't describe the feeling that coursed through him now. Were you becoming more comfortable around him ?

For a moment there was silence and to his suprise, it did not feel uncomfortable. It dawned on him that he was getting used to your presence close to him. Somehow it even calmed him.

“Back in the paladin camp...” You quietly started, so it wouldn't wake the boy “You could have left and just saved the boy.”

Lancelot knew it was true. Yet when he had decided to save the boy, he just could not leave you there to die. He would have been a hypocrit to let you die for the same thing he was about to do. Saving a fey. And deep down he knew that it was not just his conscious deciding that, no, somewhere along the way he had grown fond of you. You were one of the few who didn't seem to truly fear him, who saw him not as a monster but as a person. And truthfully, he enjoyed to be around you. You challenged him and he liked that. He replied quietly, letting his gaze fall on the grass in front of him “It would have made me a hypocrit, don't you think ? That would mean I would have let you die for something I was doing as well. We have both helped fey.”

You leaned against his shoulder a bit "So, you didn't want them to kill me either then ? Why is that exactly ? I mean, I did get in your way by doing what I did."

Lancelot fell silent, deep down he knew he never really wanted to kill you. He just wanted you to stop getting in the way of things. That day in the forest, when you made him face the truth he knew he could never kill you even if Father had commanded it. By then you had gotten under his skin, you had gotten through the cracks in his soul.

He gave an honest reply to you "I suppose I no longer saw the point. Besides, as I said before, you're more interesting alive. Usually people don't try to have a conversation with me."

“Conversations ? Is that what you call them ? I don't remember those being very friendly...” A hint of sarcasm in your voice. He smirked at that, it was true, they had mostly been arguments. But those had held more meaning to him then any conversation he had ever had with Father.

“Are we not acting friendly now ?” He talked over his shoulder but didn't look at you.

“It's an improvement. At least now you're not holding a sword to my throat while we talk.” You deadpanned.

This time he looked at you and saw the smirk on your face, he sighed but felt the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk as well. “You may not have listened to me when we spoke, but I listened to you. You made me face the truth. I've never met anyone before you or the Green Knight that had tried to do that. That talked to me like a person and not like the monster that I am.” Lancelot confessed, his eyes landed on yours.

“You're not a monster, Lancelot.” You almost whispered it “Not to me, not to Gawain and not to that boy over there.”

He moved his eyes away from you when he heard you say that, he swallowed the lump in his throat. All his life he was taught that he was demon born, that he needed salvation...

And hearing you say that you didn't think of him as a monster felt as if some of that weight had been taken off of his shoulders.

You could sense by the silence that he was reacting to your statement. And when you tried to look at his face he tilted his head. You wanted to lighten the mood “You're a person to me. An annoying one at times, but definitely a person.” Another second of silence passed before he spoke.

“I feel the same way about you.” He jested and you knew by the sound of his voice that he was smirking.

Your mouth fell open, realising that he had just turned your own words against you. You snapped your head, now glaring at him and he was definitely smirking.

“You're such a git !” You shook your head and turned to lay against the tree on your side facing away from him. You groaned and rolled your eyes when you heard him chuckle at your response.

It wasn't long until you fell asleep, exhaustion carried you into a deep slumber. He looked over his shoulder but couldn't see your face. He could only hear your slow steady breathing and concluded that you had fallen asleep. Even though he tried to keep his focus on the forest or on the boy sleeping close to the fire, he felt it wander to the sound of your breathing. It sounded so calm that he felt himself relax at it as well. And as much as he tried to fight the alluring embrace of sleep, his eyes grew heavy.

He did not win that fight.

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Not Your Average Love Story (SPN x CM)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~3490

Warnings: Show-level violence, but that’s about it! It’s bizarrely fluffy.

A/N: My first square for @cmbingo: “meet the parents.” This is essentially a rewrite of Supernatural 12x01, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” except Spencer and Sam are adorable dorky murder boyfriends.

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for the read-through!

When Spencer realizes he’s in love with Sam, he’s on a plane, hoping to make it to Kansas before the sun goes dark.

He looks out the window at the too-orange light, thinking, this is a weird twist for a love story. He turns that thought over in his mind and realizes: love.

Oh.

It takes him by surprise, for some reason, but only for a second. He’s starting to get used to surprises.

* * *

Spencer has always been self-aware enough to realize that his intellect and his lack of social skills would not make it easy to strike up a traditional relationship. Then, of course, you factor in his obsessive tendencies, his attachment issues, and the stresses of his job, and it’s not actually surprising that he made it past the age of thirty before he fell in love for the first time. Considering how that ended, it’s definitely a surprise — if not a minor miracle — that he’s made it this far with Sam.

Then again, nothing about their relationship has been predictable. Spencer never guessed he’d meet his future partner while dissecting a dessicated brain.

Ever since Spencer Reid met Sam Winchester, his life has been one surprise after another.

* * *

The third unanswered call makes him nervous, but he figures Sam must be asleep, or at least he should be asleep. If Spencer finds himself doing ninety mph in his tiny rental car, it’s mostly because Kansas highways don’t seem to follow the usual laws of physics. They’re flat and endless and eerie in the grey pre-dawn light.

The moment he opens the door, Spencer knows something is wrong. He spares a wishful thought for his Kevlar, and then he draws his gun, falling automatically into the too-familiar stance as he silently descends the stairs.

There’s blood on the floor.

This doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

* * *

Spencer tends to spend a lot of time visualizing hypothetical problems and their solutions. He’s good at imagining all the potential outcomes of a particular scenario and calculating their likelihoods based on given variables. He frequently does this at night, instead of sleeping.

In other words, he worries a lot.

If he were in a normal relationship he would probably worry about normal things. For example: whether Spencer was misreading the situation, whether it was okay to run a thorough background check on them, and what to wear on a date. What would their first argument be about? What would their parents think of him? What would his mom think of them?

About thirty-six hours after they met, Sam saved Spencer’s mom from a wraith; first impressions don’t get much better than that.

The normal worries were rapidly eclipsed by Sam-specific worries. For example: what if he got cursed, what if he got possessed, and were there angels or demons after him this week. Why couldn’t Dean either drive a little slower or get a car with less antiquated safety features? How would Spencer help if Sam got hurt on the job? Should he tell the B.A.U. what he’s been learning about the supernatural?

He does end up telling them everything; Sam and Dean show up at a crime scene, Hotch almost arrests them, and it turns out that one of the serial killers they’ve been hunting for a decade is actually a skinwalker.

But the point is that when Spencer sees blood on the floor, he isn’t surprised. He’s visualized this scenario — and several hundred variations on it — before.

* * *

He hears a raised voice in the library and takes the steps two at a time. There are two complete strangers there, a blonde woman aiming a gun at a man, and Spencer’s training kicks in before he can figure out why she looks familiar.

“Federal agent, hands in the air,” he barks.

He can see the split-second when the woman thinks about turning her gun on him, but she seems to think better of it, and she sets the gun down slowly before putting her hands in the air.

“Who are you?” the man demands. “What did you do with Sam?”

“What — Sam?” Spencer asks, panic rising in his throat. “Spencer Reid, FBI. Who —”

“You’re Spencer?” he asks, brow furrowed.

Spencer realizes: “You’re Castiel.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, gun down,” Dean interrupts. “It’s okay! She’s okay, Spence!”

“Dean? You’re alive?” Castiel grabs him before he can say anything else.

Spencer lowers his gun slowly. He’s starting to hyperventilate. He wants to know how Dean is still alive, yes, but he’s watching the way they embrace, the smile on Cas’s face and the way Dean’s shoulders seem to drop like he’s relaxing for the first time in a long time, and all he can think about is —

“Can somebody tell me where the hell Sam is?” Spencer asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

“He’s not here,” Castiel says.

The woman looks between Cas and Spencer, eyes wide, and it’s not clear who she’s talking to when she asks, “Who are you?”

“He’s my —” Dean starts.

Cas cuts him off by saying, “He’s Sam’s —” at the same time Spencer blurts out, “He’s an angel.”

“Come again?” the woman asks, and when she sees the way Dean shifts nervously, she adds, “Not that, I don’t care about — you said angel?”

“Angel. You know. Wings, harp.”

“Not actually,” Spencer tells her, just as Cas scowls and says, “No, I don’t have a harp.”

“Cas, Spencer,” Dean says, and he pauses, swallowing hard. “This is Mary. Mary Winchester.”

Spencer and Cas speak in unison again, Cas in a gruff monotone as Spencer’s voice goes squeaky: “Your mother?”

Of all the things Spencer has worried about, he never thought he would never have to worry about making a bad first impression on Sam’s parents. Sam’s parents are dead.

Except… apparently not. Apparently Sam’s mom has been resurrected, and Spencer just pulled a gun on her.

“Nice to meet you,” Mary says softly, with a tentative smile.

For a second he freezes, staring at her, and his mind starts racing, recalculating, replanning, getting his worrying done after the fact, and Spencer has no idea what to say. He never made a plan for this.

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, flushing. “Um. Sorry about that.”

“I’d have done the same thing if I were you.” She smiles, and she doesn’t look much like Sam, but the kindness in her eyes is so very familiar. Spencer’s breath catches.

“She’s not kidding, shoulda seen the way she pinned me when I tried to introduce myself,” Dean grumbles. Then he turns to Castiel and says, “Tell me what happened to Sam.”

As Castiel starts to explain the details, Spencer calls Penelope.

“FBI, office of the brilliant but under-caffeinated,” she says, slightly less chirpy than he’s used to, and Spencer realizes how early it is. Oops.

“It’s me.”

“Oh! Boy genius! They did it, huh? Hotch called us back in, like, as soon as the sun came back on, because apparently criminals don’t stop just because the world is ending, or whatever, but he wanted to give you a day at least — hey, are you okay? How’s that handsome lumberjack of yours?”

“Sam’s missing,” Spencer says without preamble. “I need your help.”

It takes Penelope approximately a minute to find the car and identify the driver, but the identity of his passenger is a little more elusive. She types away, keys clattering ceaselessly in the background, as Spencer yawns.

“Got it! Okay, I have a cell number. If you call her, I can track it. You ready?”

“Dean, give me your phone?” Spencer asks, holding out a hand. “You stay on the line with Penelope. She can tell you as soon as she gets the address.”

“I can make the call,” Dean says. “I want to have a word with this bitch.”

“Dean,” Spencer snaps. “First of all, I’m the only person here who’s trained in hostage negotiation. Finding people is literally in my job description.”

“This isn’t a fuckin’ bank holdup, this is my brother,” Dean retorts. “It’s my job to take care of him.”

“If you call her a bitch and start in on your threatening macho bullshit, she’s going to hang up, or worse, she’s going to believe you, and then she’ll be trying to get you before you can get to Sam. I know how to talk to people like this. If I can convince her I’m scared, that I’m not a real threat, she might give something away.”

“But —”

“Secondly, the only people who know you’re alive are in this room right now, which means you’re our best chance to take her by surprise when we get there, so shut up and let me do my job.”

“You really think you can find him,” Dean says, and it’s not a question. He holds out his phone with a look of begrudging respect.

“Yes.”

Spencer thinks, I have to.

* * *

People aren’t all the same, but if you could quantify the concept of normal, if you could look at it statistically, most people would fall within the standard deviation. Most of their lives take an even, predictable shape, Spencer thinks. There are plenty of other people like them, and they seem to fit with each other, too, interlocking in an easy way that Spencer has always envied.

Spencer’s got all these awkward uneven edges and strange angles. He’s not normal, and he’s always known that.

For a long time, he doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone who’ll fit easily, not without changing him, trying to reshape him in some way. He doesn’t want to change, but he gets lonely. Most people (friends, let alone lovers) don’t last long before they get sick of his quirks. Some try longer than others, but one way or another, there’s always some jarring part of him that doesn’t match what they want.

What if they like to sleep with the windows open, even in the winter? Or if they sleep with the air conditioning cranked up in the summer? Spencer knows he should be better about compromising on little things like that, but he really prefers things a certain way. He knows it’s neurotic. He can’t help it.

Spencer is used to people staring blankly when he starts talking, but at what point will it drive someone away? When will they stop pretending to care about his Doctor Who opinions? When will they get bored of his info-dumping?

And then there are the really difficult questions. How does he tell someone he used to be an addict? What if he doesn’t want to tell them about being kidnapped and tortured? What if he does, and then they start asking questions? How does he explain his PTSD, or his nightmares, or his bedtime routine of triple-checking every lock and setting his gun within arm’s reach?

At first, when he met Sam, Spencer worried about arguments and parents and all the other normal things, but more importantly, he worried about himself. He wondered which of his irregularities would finally make Sam give up on his attempts to fit Spencer into his life.

Neither of them sleep much, but when they do end up sharing a bed, Sam has his own routine; while Spencer checks the locks, Sam draws warding symbols, lines each window and door with salt, and sets his gun within reach. He likes the windows closed and the thermostat above 68, because, he explains simply, “Lucifer runs cold.”

Speaking of Lucifer. Sam understands addiction, kidnapping, torture, PTSD, and nightmares, and he doesn’t ask Spencer to tell his stories before he’s ready. Sam has stories of his own.

Sam also has his own Doctor Who opinions, and those opinions were the cause of their very first argument. Sam is wrong, but Spencer loves that he cares enough to argue.

The first time Spencer started rambling about serial killers, he noticed Sam frowning and cut himself off, embarrassed, ready to apologize. Sam just pulled out a journal and asked him to repeat what he’d said, so that Sam could do more research on the subject later.

Sam doesn’t expect him to change. He doesn’t try to re-shape Spencer. His life is just as weird, and by all logic they shouldn’t fit, but they do. And Spencer doesn’t feel any less himself, but suddenly he realizes that he must’ve changed along the way, because he can’t imagine his life without Sam any more; if they can’t find him, his absence is going to tear Spencer apart.

* * *

It’s a tense car ride, to say the least.

Hell of a first impression, Spencer thinks again, glancing at Mary’s pale, worried face in the rearview.

Castiel and Mary are in the backseat, and they’re trying to make small talk, but Castiel seems to be about as good as Spencer at the whole “casual conversation” thing. Sam’s told him so much about Castiel, Spencer feels like he knows him, but they’ve never actually crossed paths before.

And then there’s Dean, who’s got his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Spencer gives him directions, and he grunts or nods, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Dean intimidates the hell out of him, but they’ve always gotten along fine, maybe because Spencer’s never yelled at him before. He’s very aware that arguing with Dean Winchester is usually fruitless at best (and deadly at worst), but he’s never been good at holding his tongue when he’s upset.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer manages to mutter eventually.

“Huh?” Dean looks at him, frowning.

“About earlier. I didn’t mean to — um.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean says gruffly.

“I was upset. I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs, and he hesitates before adding, “You were right.” He looks as surprised to be saying it as Spencer is to hear it.

Spencer blinks at him a couple times before hurriedly saying, “Turn left. There.”

Cas and Mary are having a quiet conversation about the weirdness of technology, and Spencer is about to join them when Dean speaks up again.

“Garcia — she said something funny.”

“Uh oh.”

Dean snorts. “Nah, not like that. Before she hung up, she told me not to worry. Said of everybody she knows, Sam probably has the second-best odds of escaping any poor sap who tries to abduct him.”

“Second best?”

“That’s what I said. But apparently that title belongs to you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. All I can do is talk myself out, he’s stronger.” Spencer gives him a crooked attempt at a smile; it feels awkward on his face, but he means it when he says, “He’ll be okay.”

* * *

The funny thing is, Spencer has been in this situation before.

When it was Maeve, though, he panicked, because all he could think about was how she must feel: scared, helpless. Spencer has too much empathy sometimes. Imagining Maeve’s helplessness made him feel like he was drowning.

This is different. He’s not exactly zen about the whole situation, of course; it feels like a piece of him is missing, but he’s clear-headed, because he knows that Sam is anything but helpless. He trusts Sam to take care of himself.

Aside from the supernatural element, Sam’s job is astoundingly similar to Spencer’s, and he’s astoundingly good at it. The Winchesters have consulted on a couple cases, now, for the B.A.U. (Spencer’s still not sure how Hotch manages the paperwork) and they try to find cases in the same general area as wherever Spencer winds up, so they’ve gotten to work together a few times. Sam’s sheer competence at his job might be the most attractive thing Spencer has ever seen.

Spencer used to imagine a quiet, mundane romance. He always just assumed he’d find someone whose life was more normal than his, and he was resigned to the stress it would cause in a relationship. He’d forget to call, he’d miss dinner, he’d have to cancel plans and be absent from so much of what constituted a normal domestic life, and his partner would be left at home, alone, all too aware of how much danger Spencer could be in, helpless to do anything about it.

Instead, Spencer found Sam. Spencer never has to feel guilty about missing dinner, because Sam isn’t at home worrying about him. Sam is out there saving the world.

Sam is not going to wait for Spencer to rescue him; he might not even need rescuing, at this point. Instead of worrying about what Sam is doing and whether he’s scared, Spencer can focus on his own plan.

* * *

He and Dean circle slowly around the house. They spot the entrance to the basement, and Dean almost runs right to it, but Spencer grabs his arm and points to the sigils around the door.

Spencer notices movement through a window next to the back door, and when they creep up to get a glimpse inside, he sees two women. One is the blonde — the brains of the operation — and the other is stockier, clearly the muscle.

After a quick conversation in whispers and gestures, Dean sneaks around to the side of the house opposite the basement, and a second later Spencer hears him shout. He waits a couple seconds and glances in the window again, and sure enough, the bigger woman is gone while the blonde is watching something on a computer monitor, looking agitated. Security cameras, maybe.

Spencer is about to go inside when he sees the blonde start, look around, and grab a cattle prod. Then she’s hurrying toward a door, sliding back a heavy deadbolt, and Spencer sees a dark stairwell that must lead to the basement.

He slips through the door and follows her.

For a split-second, the scene in the basement almost stops his heart. Sam is lying on the floor, completely still, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood.

But before Spencer can really process what he’s seeing, let alone react, Sam is in motion: lashing out, grabbing her by the throat, shoving her against the wall. Spencer descends the stairs quietly with his gun at the ready, trying not to make any noise that might distract Sam right now.

Sam doesn’t need his help. There’s blood on his damp clothes and his arms are shaking as the blonde goes limp in his grip, but he’s alive; he doesn’t need Spencer’s help, and Spencer isn’t the slightest bit surprised.

When Sam turns and sees him, he doesn’t look surprised either. He just smiles, all dimples and sparkling eyes in spite of his obvious pain as he limps over.

“Sorry that took me so long,” Spencer says casually, trying to control his grin. He doesn’t want to holster his gun yet, so he keeps it trained on the woman and hugs Sam one-armed.

Sam wraps his arms around Spencer, holding on tight. Spencer rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, taking a second to breathe as he feels missing pieces sliding neatly into place.

“Love you,” Sam says, and the words sound like a sigh of relief. He pulls back, and he looks surprised, like he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.

Spencer’s about to reply when he sees the woman struggling to her feet, reaching for her cattle prod, and so instead he says, “Look out.”

Sam steps sideways to give him a clear shot. Spencer shoots her in the thigh and she screams as she falls to the floor.

“See how you like it,” Sam tells her, with a vicious little smile.

“I love you too,” Spencer blurts out.

For a second they both pause, grinning at each other like idiots, their surroundings forgotten.

Then there’s a sound from overhead, and Sam asks hurriedly, “The other one. Did you take her out already?”

“Dean’s got her,” Spencer tells him. “We should check on him, then we can come back down and deal with — Sam?”

At first he can’t figure out why Sam’s mouth drops open like that, shocked and disbelieving. Then he remembers.

“Dean’s alive?” Sam asks, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Spencer nods, wrapping an arm around Sam’s ribs, supporting him as he limps gingerly toward the stairs. It feels like he’s forgetting something.

There’s another noise, and then Mary is in the doorway, looking down at them.

Oh.

Sam turns to Spencer silently, like he’s waiting for confirmation that she’s real.

Spencer nods. “Yeah. So — um. Surprise?”

Sam doesn’t actually seem all that surprised, because… of course he doesn’t. He blinks at Spencer a couple times and then he grins.

“You met my mom before I did,” Sam says, breathless and amused, and grabs the banister to haul himself up the stairs. Spencer laughs and follows him, smiling to himself.

It’s not your average “meet the parents” scene, but somehow, it fits Sam and Spencer perfectly.

Nothing about their love story has been normal. Why start now?

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester x spencer reid #spencer reid fic #sam winchester fic

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paradife-loft · 3 years

Note

xue yang and jin guangyao genuinely like each other. (I'm curious about your thoughts here.)

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

Ahh, man, I hope I’m not going to be disappointing here then?? Idk, I don’t know that I have super complicated thoughts on this?

Just kidding, I apparently wrote a goddamn essay 🙃 Cut after the next paragraph for length.

So, first of all - yes, I do think they like each other! I would say “agree” though rather than “strongly agree” just because... I mean I don’t think that’s the whole of it? There are absolutely several notable ways they each piss each other off and can actively dislike each other on occasion, mostly centering around Jin Guangyao’s need for control and for respectability, and Xue Yang’s need to be an uncontrollable chaos agent. But, that aside!

Like, okay, I figure Xue Yang’s the easiest part to explain bc he’s never really all that discreet with his emotions, and as we see numerous times depending on the canon, he doesn’t exactly stay tied down in a place that he doesn’t actually like for long? And even though the material comforts of Jin patronage are nice, the presence or lack of such things clearly isn’t a dealbreaker; a steady supply of ~fun demonic cultivation victims to play with is likewise nice, but he can demonstrably get up to shenanigans of that sort of his own perfectly well.

So yeah, it seems quite reasonable for me to conclude that a part of why he’s willing to stay working with the Jin for a while is because he does enjoy Jin Guangyao’s company? Both of them are very clever and kind of... equally-matched, in a way that I don’t think Xue Yang is super used to encountering? Not just/necessarily in a power sense, but in, hmm... an ability to be reciprocally honest about a lot of things, and not be judged or rejected for it in the way they often are in the rest of the world? They have similar-ish worldviews, though Jin Guangyao ofc buys into some of the aspiration of goodness and respectability that Xue Yang thinks he’s ridiculous for - but then at the same time, I think whenever he does encounter that drive toward being genuinely good, he’s drawn to it despite himself? (In Jin Guangyao, it’s a totally hypocritical interest in being ~good, if you ask Xue Yang, but hey, at least that’s funny and fun to poke!)

Oh, and also - Jin Guangyao demonstrably likes to take care of people, and provide for them in a material sense, and I think even though luxury is not itself a huge draw to Xue Yang (certainly not for long), the reality of being cared for and given those sorts of tokens is absolutely something that Xue Yang enjoys and craves even if (especially at this point) I don’t think he’d admit it to himself. It’s very heady, meaning something to someone, even if it’s kind of fake because you’re their demonic cultivation and murder employee, y’know?

Anyway, on Jin Guangyao’s side - yeah, I think it’s definitely... relieving, to be able to not put on quite so much of the perfect servant/perfect gentleman/eternal conciliator face when he’s around Xue Yang? He spends so much time having to self-monitor, and be hyper-aware of everything going on around him, and like - it’s not as if he’s doing none of that with Xue Yang, because there’s a certain extent of it that’s just who he is and a layer of remove and control that he tends to keep to be the most comfortable, but. Even buying into gentry values in a way that Xue Yang of course doesn’t, it’s... something Jin Guangyao appreciates and values, I think, having someone to interact with who, again, isn’t going to flinch at the ugliness, the violence, the cynicism that he can’t display or admit to in any other sort of company.

(Which, actually - so, obviously Jin Guangyao can, in a literal sense, “admit” to lots of violence and the ugliness of politics around his father, because he’s the one he’s doing it for! But I think what’s more important than the literal fact of like, having a whole bunch of people tortured and killed, is the... place he’s coming from in doing it, and the valence it has as something he’s getting orders for, not just doing on his own for funzies. And that subordinate position in the context of the violence he does, and the ugliness of cultivator society, I think is kind of the key to why he appreciates Xue Yang in that specifically, in a way I don’t think he would feel as comfortable with during e.g. his stay with the Wen sect, for example. Even though Xue Yang is much more openly “lol violence fun”, they still both have an understanding of being ruthless and vicious from below, as a survival strategy, with the implied threat from their “betters” always hanging over them.)

But yeah, beyond that - I do think again, there’s the sense of being intellectually on a level, and Xue Yang being different from most of the people he hangs around with in a way that’s interesting/intriguing to him. Spontaneity and mayhem! Most of the time something Jin Guangyao does not enjoy at all, but hey, in small doses, directed at the right targets.....? I think he can appreciate a little shake-up of routine and expectation very occasionally, when it’s something that’s not threatening to his sense of control and therefore safety. And Xue Yang also has a sense of humor! That again, Jin Guangyao can actually just appreciate as a person without having to navigate the minefield of Everyone Else In The Room Needing To Be Managed! It’s nice.

(A last sub-point, also - I think Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao working together at the specific point in Jin Guangyao’s life when they did, is also fairly key to them developing this dynamic of actually liking each other? Like, if they met and had to be interacting at a point later in his life, when he’s established as Chief Cultivator and not having to work as a very fancy sort of servant for his father, I think the lack of those pressures would remove a pretty essential ingredient to Jin Guangyao finding Xue Yang something of a peer and a relief from the rest of his life, and Xue Yang finding him at all relatable and not just totally removed from his own experience and perspective. In that context, I think the reasons they’d have to dislike or grudgingly tolerate each other would play a stronger role in their interaction, and they wouldn’t end up any sort of friends.)

#veliseraptor #ask a James #opinions meme #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #Jin Guangyao #Xue Yang #rambling #headcanoning #op

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nikosheba · 3 years

Note

I just finished the last chapter of Outlast The Forest and it was quite painful to read, but also beautifully written. Would you mind to expand on what you wrote in the notes, about the plausibility of your interpretation? Just out of curiosity....

Thank you so much, I’m glad you’re here in Turleg hell with me (and that you’re enjoying the story)!

All right, so I’ve been meaning to write this out for a while, but here’s my reasoning behind why I think the Gaurwaith’s captivity of Beleg went down Like That:

(warnings for discussions below the cut of rape/sexual assault)

The first thing I want to note is that Tolkien often speaks very delicately of any matters of sexual violence. The closest I can think of him saying it outright is Morgoth threatening Lúthien in the Lay that he has “a use for every thrall” and that he conceived “an evil lust” for her. Apart from that, it’s mostly references to forced marriages (Mithrellas, Aredhel).

And then...there’s Children of Húrin.

Second point: the Gaurwaith are rapists. Andróg specifically.

When Forweg and Andróg are going after girls from the nearby village, he talks around what they’re doing. Túrin doesn’t know where they’ve gone, and asks where they are, and the others laugh, then say, “Away on business of their own, I guess [....] They will be back before long, and then we shall move. In haste, maybe; for we shall be lucky if they do not bring the hive-bees after them.”

This could be robbery, of course, but Tolkien also notes specifically that Andróg was driven from Dor-Lómin for the slaying of a woman. When Túrin confronts Andróg about the girl from the village, who has run up with her clothes torn, Andróg just says, “Outlaws know no law but their needs. Look to your own, Neithan, and leave us to mind ours.”

Ulrad afterwards asks if Túrin killed Forweg because they were “seeking honey from the same hive,” and asks, “Did the bees sting him?”

Andróg also reports, “What business Neithan had there I now wonder. Not ours, it seems.”

So here we have a whole conversation, literally about the serial and customary rape of girls, without once speaking of the act itself. I’m just mentioning this because I think it’s clear (to me) that Tolkien intended his audience to pick up on this from context clues.

So, now we get to Beleg. And once again we start speaking around things. When he announces himself to the Gaurwaith, he comes to them with his hands open and outstretched, and Andróg immediately lassos him:

“He came forward with no weapon in his hands, and held the palms turned towards them; but they leapt up in fear and Andróg coming behind cast a noose over him, and drew it so that it pinioned his arms [...] Then he bade them tie Beleg to a tree beside the cave; and when he was bound hand and foot they questioned him.”

Then they leave him there “without food or water, and they sat near eating and drinking,” and they’re about to brand his face: “Ulrad brought a brand from the little fire that was lit in the cave-mouth. But at that moment Túrin returned. Coming silently, as was his custom, he stood in the shadows beyond the ring of men, and he saw the haggard face of Beleg in the light of the brand.”

Anyway then they have their little reunion (and in the Lay they kiss, I’m never getting over it), and it says Túrin “tended him with what skill he had.”

So, already something has happened that Beleg needs tending from, despite the fact that all we’ve heard of the Gaurwaith doing is not feeding him. Already we’re talking around something. Then:

“[Beleg] said no more, and did not speak of Andróg’s malice, to which his evil handling had been chiefly due; for perceiving Túrin’s mood he feared to be disbelieved and to hurt their old friendship, driving Túrin back to his evil ways.”

So my question is, what does Túrin not know? He knows that Beleg was tied to a tree. He knows they were going to brand him. So something else, some “evil handling,” has happened that he will not speak of.

Then the next day, it says Beleg was “swiftly healed of his pains,” which, again, what pains? We’re informed of all the times the characters are physically injured, usually.

Then, when Beleg returns to Thingol and Melian, he “told them of all that had happened, save only his evil handling by Túrin’s companions.”

And to me, him being unwilling to say something like “They weren’t sure who I was so they tied me to a tree” doesn’t really...make sense. This is more than one time that he’s refused to say what happened to him, and it’s done in such a way that to me, it feels like Tolkien giving him the dignity and agency to not sort of make it a lurid spectacle.

So to sum up: Beleg was captured for multiple days by a group of known rapists and they did something to hurt him that he always refused to talk about from then on, that was bad enough to cause him pain and injury but that was easily possible to hide from people, even from people tending to his wounds.

I think if you’re determined not to see it that way, you don’t have to, but I think the interpretation that one or more of the Gaurwaith sexually assaulted him holds the most water. And thematically speaking, Andróg is said to have “the hardest heart” among all of them, and is certainly viewed as the most predatory among them after Forweg’s death. It also gives a LOT more weight to Beleg later healing Andróg of his wound, and Andróg eventually saving Beleg from the next time he’s bound and helpless at someone’s mercy.

But we’ll get there in a few chapters :)

#Beleg Cúthalion #meta #silmarilllion

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firebrands · 4 years

Text

flirting with disaster | stevetony

1.4k, M for gun-related violence (but tbh... this is fluff) | “stony bingo prompt fill: bounty hunter au | on ao3

It’s the third safe house he’s breaking into in a week, so when Steve kicks down the door, he nearly falters with surprise to find the place actually occupied.

Stark is prone on the floor, pale and covering his chest.

“Finally they sent a pretty one to come after me,” he manages to say, before breaking into a hacking cough. “Just my luck,” he adds, his voice rough.

Steve keeps his gun up and crosses the room slowly, his eyes darting from Stark’s face to where his bloody hand is pressed against his flesh. Once he’s close enough, Steve finally does falter when he sees the gaping hole Stark is trying to cover up.

“What in the hell—”

Steve reaches out instinctively to see the damage—no matter how many years of training he has, no matter how much bad he knows Stark has done, it’s still second nature for him to help, rather than hurt.

The move proves to be his undoing. In a flash, Stark pulls out a knife from behind him and pushes it against Steve’s neck, just beneath his Adam's apple. Steve’s hands fly up to his sides, his gun clattering to the floor.

“Don’t,” he says, threatening. He pushes the knife closer, just hard enough that Steve feels the first pinprick of pain.

“Let me help you,” Steve says, frowning down at him.

“And then what? You haul me off to Stane?” Stark barks out a laugh. “It’d be a pity, but I’d kill you first.”

Steve takes a step back, and Stark sinks back on the floor, catching his breath.

Steve holds one hand up. “I’m going to get some bandages from my bag,” he says.

“Don’t.”

“I need you alive.”

“So leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

Stark tilts his head and assesses Steve. “Of all the goons Obidiah’s sent after me, you’re certainly the stupidest.”

Steve opens his mouth to retort, but he feels a pain in his leg, small enough to feel like a dart, and the world goes black.

***

Another night, another safehouse, except Steve’s fears are confirmed and Stane’s sent someone else. After his first failure, he knew better than to hope that Stane would leave him to it.

Steve watches the man enter the warehouse, keeps him in sight through the scope of his rifle. The man stops by a window, inspecting something.

Steve takes a deep breath, and pulls the trigger.

The man crumples to the floor, and Steve doesn’t waste a second locating Stark, who pops his head over some crates to inspect what happened.

Steve’s about to pack up, make a dash down the building to catch Stark before he makes his exit, but Stark’s gaze locks on his. He smirks at Steve, then winks.

Steve’s throat feels tight, and he chalks it up to the strange feeling of being caught. He slings the gun over his shoulder and runs down the stairs. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and by the time he gets to the ground floor, Stark’s car is zooming out of the compound. Steve swears and slams his fist into the doorframe in frustration.

He checks his phone. There’s one message from an unregistered number.

if i didnt know any better id think u were on my side

Steve swears again, flexing his hand before typing a response.

His fault for getting in the way. You’re mine.

Steve stares down at his phone, then adds:

How’d you get this number?

Steve begins walking back to his own car, stopping only when his phone beeps.

u HAVE read my file, right??

Steve decides not to respond--he doesn’t want Stark to think he can just banter with him. After all, Steve still has to fulfill the contract.

***

Steve wakes up with a jolt. He sits up slowly, listening for what could’ve woken him up, but he already has a feeling—someone’s in his apartment. He’s immediately alert and sets aside the irritation of being woken up from a pleasant dream. He’s been having more of those, recently, and while they were mostly pleasurable, Steve still felt a little confused by the dreams--and the man who featured most prominently in them.

Steve slips his gun out from his bedside table, throws open his curtains to give him more light. He can hear the light steps of whoever has broken in, and he’s pretty sure this is his moment of reckoning—a former mark’s family member, someone from Stane’s gang finally tired of waiting and tying up a loose end, hell, it could be Tony Stark himself except Steve’s pretty sure he couldn’t be stealthy if his life depended on it. If it were Stark, he’d probably have just hacked into Steve’s microwave and made it explode.

The doorknob to Steve’s bedroom turns slowly, and Steve takes aim from behind his bed. It’s as fortified a position as any, right now, and he has the advantage.

His breaths are even as the door opens. For a split second, his eyes meet that of his attacker; he was right, it was someone from Stane’s crew, and Steve barely raises his gun and then the window behind him explodes with force. The man’s head tips back, a bullet lodging itself right in between his eyebrows.

Steve dives under his windowpane, looking over the window to see where the shot came from.

On his bed, his phone buzzes. Steve crawls over and takes the call.

“Hello?”

“Guess we’re even.”

“Stark?” Steve shouts into the receiver.

The line goes quiet and Steve looks over the window.

Just across the street, he sees a vague outline of a man holding up a rifle. With his free hand, he waves and throws up a peace sign.

“See you around, darling.”

Steve’s happy for the relative darkness and the distance between them; that way, Stark doesn’t get to see the blush on his cheeks at the use of the pet name.

“Wait—!”

The line goes dead, and Steve slumps against the wall, the adrenaline seeping out of him. He sighs and types out a message.

Thanks. But I’m not going to go easy on you next time I find you

Steve stands up, shakes broken glass off his clothes, and gets to cleaning up.

His phone buzzes with Stark’s response.

ofc not. wheres the fun in that? ;)

***

It’s been months of their cat and mouse game, so when Steve walks into another anonymous, rundown safe house, he’s not surprised to find Stark sitting on a chair by the dining table, a glass of wine half-full in front of him.

“Took you long enough.”

Steve sighs, sets his gun down by the small table just by the door where normal people would leave their keys. He walks towards Stark and sits down on the seat adjacent to him. If he wanted to, he could move his knee a little so it would brush against Stark’s, but he won’t.

Not yet.

“I didn’t know you were waiting.”

Stark smirks and pours Steve a drink.

“So, what now?”

Steve takes a sip.

Under the table, Stark’s knee rests against his.

Steve shrugs in response. The sudden truce between them feels fearless, both of them exuding the strange relief of finally speaking without the threat of violence.

Stane is dead; the contract is worthless. In the time between hearing the news and the drive to the last known location of Stark, Steve had made peace with the fact that Stark could still take his revenge after all the months of chasing and mis-aimed shots, shooting as if only to strike fear. For the first time in his life, he’s glad to be proven wrong.

Steve curls his lips up at the touch and opens his palm on the table.

Stark looks down at it, his own smirk softening before he lays his hand on top of Steve’s.

“You always knew where to find me,” he says. His gaze stays on their hands, their fingers only loosely interlocked.

Steve’s chest tightens. Stark—Tony, is holding his hand. He wants more, but doesn’t know where to begin.

“You were terrible at hiding.” Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s hand, and Tony looks up.

“Maybe I just wanted to be found.”

Steve sucks in a breath, surprised. “Is that so?”

Tony leans closer, and Steve mirrors the movement until they’re only inches apart. He moves his other hand and cups Tony’s cheek.

“Only because it was you that was looking,” Tony admits, looking down at Steve’s lips then back up at him.

Steve huffs out a laugh, then tips his forehead to rest against Tony’s.

“Then I’m glad I found you,” he says.

Tony reaches up, rests his hand on the base of Steve’s skull, and pulls him into a kiss.

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel ultimates #bounty hunter au #(SCREAMS) IT TOOK ME 20 MINUTES TO GET THIS TO POST #ANYWAY #things i write #tbh i was surprised by how much i enjoyed writing this one #esp bec i was HIGH KEY dreading it #but YA that's two bingos now!!! yay!

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

Owl House AU Ideas, ZA FIRST!!

Hello all, this has been a long time coming on my part. After procrastinating on the subject, I have decided to upload my personal AU ideas for the Owl House. Here’s hoping ya’ll like them, and feel free to make your own stuff based on them as you please!!

Tough Love: This AU is my own twist on the classic Siblings AU, in which I fleshed it out into my own little niche using whatever I had available in my brain.

Victoria Noceda: My name for Beta Luz, who in this Idea is the oldest of the three Noceda sisters. Brash, belligerent, always ready with a smart remark, Victoria is a tough girl who takes no crap from anyone, with her weapon of choice being a metal bat carved with glyphs. A short temper mixed with both a strict demeanor and a flippant attitude has earned her a reputation as a thug, one which she has done nothing to reject or deny. Growing up, Victoria quickly grew familiar with the uglier side of humanity, and when her sisters were born vowed to shield them from the harshness of the world, by any means necessary. She is highly cynical, yet being around Luz chips away at this persona of hers. Despite her attitude and behavior, she is highly intelligent, graduating from school as valedictorian to the shock of everyone bar her teachers. Victoria first ended up in the Isles by chasing down Owlbert after the Palisman tried (and failed) to pickpocket her. She and Eda, to their mutual surprise, hit it off rather well, with Victoria often acting as her Stall Manager, Gopher, Muscle, etc., and has amassed a large quantity of glyphic spells, which she keeps as tattoos climbing up both arms (she actually has enough to cover nearly her whole torso and part of her neck, but uses illusion glyphs to hide them so Eda doesn't ask how she discovered them... some of them were highly unpleasant for lack of a better word). Using her work with Eda to avoid getting a job on Earth, Victoria has a LOT of money, mostly due to Eda paying her with whatever bills and coins Owlbert brings her without consideration for how much they actually are worth. Offered to house her sisters so they could "branch out and get some real world experience," really an excuse to get her sibs away from the toxic environment at school. Convinced (threatened) Principal Hal to have Luz sent to stay with her for the summer. Her aggressive tendencies and willingness to use incredible violence to solve her problems has resulted in her relationship with her sisters partially atrophying, though she is unaware of it herself. Her first encounter with Boscha, in the body swap episode, is meant to illustrate this as she very clearly and deliberately tormented and ridiculed the girl for bullying Luz, refusing to let up even when Luz begged her to stop until Boscha apologized and begged for forgiveness; Luz rushing off to help bandage Boscha's nearly broken hands implies this isn't the first time she has done this, or at least something like this. Victoria has a bad temper when roused and often resorts to extreme verbal haranguing when she's cross with Luz, not knowing that this reinforces the idea that she doesn't like or care for her youngest sister, as she can't bring herself to raise a hand to her sisters. Finds Amaryllis hot and enjoys teasing her. Will answer to Victoria, Tori, or Ria, NEVER to Vic or Vicky, which will result in her threatening to break the offender's legs, THIS IS NOT A BLUFF SHE HAS DONE IT TWICE BEFORE. Mari Noceda: My name for Pilot!Luz, the middle child. Easily the most well-behaved of her siblings, though that isn't saying much. Unlike her hyper-impulsive younger, and her super aggressive elder, Mari is calm, logical, and significantly more easy going. However, she is an absolute snoop with a very poor understanding of personal privacy, resulting in her being sent to the principal for breaking into other students' lockers, on multiple occasions. After Victoria basically dropped off the map, she became hellbent on tracker her down, resulting in her discovering the Boiling Isles and magic. As is her usual, she quickly got over whatever shock she felt and proceeded to brow beat her mom, Victoria, AND EDA to let her stay in the Isles by homeschooling (Camila doesn't know she went to the Isles, just that she wanted to move in with her sister... it hurt her more than Mari thought it would), she soon set herself to studying everything the Isles has to offer, to Eda's chagrin. While her repertoire is much smaller than Tori's, she knows quite a few spells herself, all of which she has studied to a ludicrous degree. After reading up on some of Luz's fantasy novels, she has started viewing herself as an artificer, blending magic and technology together. Is VERY GOOD FRIENDS with Vela Blight (they are dating but don't want anyone to know). Often puts down Luz's fantasies as ridiculous. Luz Noceda: Canon cinnamon roll, sorta. Plucky, sweet, optimistic, and, oh yeah, Kinda mental. Was introduced to the Boiling Isles and Eda via Victoria picking her up and driving through a portal that opened up in Eda's living room. When she asked her sisters' to share what they know about magic with her, they both laughed and told her they would teach her how to use any spells she figured out on her own, and no more. Basically the same as canon, she is somewhat more fragile emotionally as a result of Mari's unintended put-downs, and Victoria's angry rants. She is convinced that part of the reason she didn't have friends was due to everyone being afraid of Victoria beating them silly, or Mari invading their privacy. While very similar to her original self, this version of Luz has a lot of repressed anger, which manifests as a slight twitch in her left eye and a compulsive hiccup when stressed. Eda: Due to taking in Victoria and Mari, she is much more in touch with her caring side earlier on than Canon, welcoming Luz easily and more willing to play the mentor role. Quickly picks up on the warning signs in the sisters' interactions but is repeatedly shut out, to her frustration and concern. King: Mellower than in canon due to having Mari, who considers him a fount of demonic knowledge, and Victoria, who appreciates his street wise wisdom when it peeks through his megalomania, to talk and interact with. Clings to Luz as a "new general in my Army! Rejoice, Mr. Ducky, REJOICE!!" Amaryllis Blight: My name for Beta!Amity, and the eldest sibling. Ruthless, ferocious, and feral, Amaryllis always possessed the hallmarks of a problem child, bucking her parents authority at every turn, which she got away with due to her immense magical power even as a toddler. Wears green hair dye to spite her parents after they virtually disowned her. Regularly forgets any and all information that she deems useless, which includes her parents' names, resulting in her always referring to them as Mr. and Mrs. Blight at all times, even in her head. Leads the Predators, an elite section of the Emperor's Coven tasked with locating and sealing dimensional breaches, as well as purging anything that crosses through. Has a severe survival of the fittest mindset; if you don't have the strength and will to survive and succeed, you are nothing. Ironically, she hates bullies, claiming them as weaklings who tear down those with true potential for greatness, and often curses herself for being too weak to separate from Belos. Her sheer power and accomplishments have forced the Blight parents to recognize her as their child, if only to capitalize on her success and prevent difficult questions being aimed their way, yet none are comfortable with the arrangement. Strongly admires Eda, genuinely believing her to be the greatest Witch of all time, which leads to her verbally, and sometimes physically, tearing a new one in anyone who speaks ill of her in Amaryllis' presence. The biggest inspirations for Amaryllis were Katsuki Bakugo from My Hero Academia, and Esdeath from Akame Ga Kill, being strangely friendly and amicable to her fellow Predators and anyone who she finds sufficiently impressive in terms of combat, though she has no ability to register those she thinks of as weak, often being incapable of recalling any real information about them beyond whatever part of their appearance stuck out most to her. She has no respect or regard for Emira and Edric, regarding them as fools and cowards, and is genuinely incapable of telling them apart, despite the fact that they are different genders, and often needs a moment to remember who they are. Often verbally scolds Vela for being weak, with the first "kind" thing she has ever said to her since graduating was congratulating her for taking the first steps to realizing her true potential. Admires Amity's dedication to be the best, but detests her kowtowing to their parents. Has a huge crush on Victoria, but is both better at hiding it than Amity, by a mile, and severely conflicted over it, due to regarding humans as "the weakest existence on the whole of the Isles." Amaryllis' animalistic mentality is considered extremely unusual, even by the standards of the Boiling Isles and results in everyone being incredibly wary of her. Amaryllis is insanely loyal to those she holds regard to and works with, viciously destroying anything that dares bring harm to her comrades, or "pack" as she insists on calling them, and has a win by any means necessary mindset, being genuinely puzzled by the crowd and Amity's distress at Lilith's cheating during the Covention, seeing the power glyph as a perfectly acceptable tactic and applauding Luz and Eda's mines to circumvent the Human's lack of spells, however even she disapproves of cheating that can result in permanent injury, which is her sole complaint about the duel. Vela Blight: My name for Pilot!Amity, and the Middle child of the Blight Triplets. Timid, meek, and polite to a fault, Vela is near totally lacking in confidence. Is hopelessly mediocre in every form of magic, despite her higher than average power, and regarded as a failure to the Blight name. Her parents disowned her shortly before Canon, but allow her to stay in the Manor as her siblings' attendant, even Amaryllis is better regarded than she is by the Blight parents. Is good friends with the Detention Track kids, and eagerly jumped on the bandwagon when they became multi-track students, joining Luz as an All-Tracker, which also exposed her immense talent for magic mixing, allowing her to merge different forms of Magic with ease and fluidity. Vela's sheer passion for learning magic exceeds both Amity and Luz combined, and is genuinely puzzled why more witches weren't trying to multi-track too. Is something of a teacher's pet, to her own embarrassment, as even with her poor abilities her sheer passion for learning has caused many of the Teachers and Bump himself to develop a soft spot for her. Has a complicated relationship with Ed and Em, as while she loves them, she envies their talent, and despises their pranks, as she is often punished for them whether she had a hand or not, and often when she tried to stop them. When her trip-mates decided to prank Amity, she lividly tore into them with a brutal "The Reason You Suck" Speech before storming off in tears, resulting in Ed and Em chasing after her and leaving Amity and Luz alone in the library. During the trip to the Knee, she was still bitter, and went out of her way to be as difficult for Ed and Em as possible, only forgiving them after took on the Slitherbeast. Vela is very close to Amity, as well as the Nocedas. Vela regards Amity as a treasure and has the healthiest relationship with her out of all their siblings, instantly pegging to Amity's crush on Luz (She ships them so hard), though she doesn't call her out on it. Vela is scared of Amaryllis. Ed and Em: Are wilder than in Canon, willing to resort to harsher pranks to meet their goals. They adore Vela, and assumed she adored them; having her verbally tear them a new one served as a massive wake-up call to how jerky they could be, and often were, provoking them to be better siblings and people all around, still tricksters though. Are jealous of Amaryllis due to her being unshackled from their parents, and are often rendered livid by her casual dismissal of them. Amity Blight: Mostly the same, but a bit more assertive against the toxic influences in her life. Idolizes Amaryllis due to her power and freedom, and trusts Vela with the same secrets as her diary. Sallix Park: Name for Beta!Willow. A maverick and an agitator, she enjoys stirring up trouble for the heck of it, but only when she's the one to cause it. Adores her little sister, but insists on her fighting her own battles, and enjoys training Willow through random plant attacks. Has been secretly gaslighting Boscha, in the hopes of the brat having some kind of epiphany and cleaning up her act, not knowing that her actions were causing the triclops to develop conflicting impulses and feelings regarding Willow, as well as an unhealthy fixation. Is good friends with both Victoria and Amaryllis, resulting in her serving as referee whenever they fight, which is often. Willow Park: Same as canon, but more assertive over her behaviors.

Let me know if any of you have any questions or opinions on it.

#the owl house #owl house au #owl house luz #owl house amity #owl house beta #owl house willow #owl house eda #tough love AU

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