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talatomaz · 3 years

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crossing paths pt.i | diana prince x lance!reader

a/n: reader has the powers of telekinesis. since this was going to be really long, i decided to split it into two parts. also this may be slightly canon divergent since i’ve not watched flash in a long time.

warnings: mentions of fighting, death

word count: 1.9k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is sara & laurel’s younger sister who works with team flash. after her and cisco’s experiment goes sideways, she finds herself trapped on an unknown earth not unlike her own

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“You’re absolutely sure this will work, Cisco?”

You asked, tying your hair up into a ponytail whilst the mechanical genius typed on his computer; the keys clacking under his fingertips.

“Yes. 100%. Well, more like 99%. Okay, if we’re being truly honest, then 93%.”

Cisco paused after each figure before turning his head to face you.

“Cisco-“

You started before the former interrupted, “Trust me, y/n. You’ll be fine. You just need to travel there, have a look around and then come straight back. We’ve done it so many times before.”

You and Cisco had been working on modifying the extrapolator your team often used to travel between different Earths. Or rather, you used to use them before the rebirth of the universe following Oliver’s sacrifice.

You cleared your throat at the thought of the vigilante. Having grown up with him and he having dated both of your older sisters meant that he was practically like your brother. And you were broken when you’d lost him so you’d left Team Arrow and came to work with Barry and his team instead.

Working with Team Flash was...different, to say the least. But having known them for several years, you got on well with them all, especially Cisco and Iris.

However, this project you were working on was only known to you and Cisco; the others blissfully unaware, mainly because the two of you knew that if you told them, they’d guilt you into stopping your experiment.

You were the one who had gone to Cisco with the idea in the first place.

After the Crisis, many of you had assumed that everyone solely remained on one Earth however you believed that the multiverse still existed, but that it’d be much harder to access. Cisco had agreed to help you but had explained that he wouldn’t come with you due to his relinquished powers.

So here you were, getting ready to try out the extrapolator in order to confirm or disprove your theory that the multiverse still existed.

“Technically, we haven’t, Cisco. New Earth remember?”

“That’s just semantics.”

“Cisco, if this doesn’t work, you better be ready to explain to my ex-assassin of a sister what happened to me.”

You laughed as his face dropped at the thought of that conversation.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve done all the necessary calculations and made a few needed modifications, including a GPS chip. It’ll work, y/n. Here, take your mask. Just in case.”

He added as an afterthought, handing you the sleek black mask he had designed to disguise your identity.

You put the mask in your jacket and took a deep breath, readying yourself. Holding the extrapolator, you pressed the small button and a familiar portal opened in front of you; variations of colours swirling around the breach.

You looked back at Cisco and feigned seriousness, “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”

His eyes widened making you smile, “Be safe, Cisco. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you then stepped into the inter-dimensional breach.

***

“Okay, hopefully this worked.”

The breach closed behind you as you stepped into an alley; the several dumpsters providing some form of protection from anyone who may have seen you.

Wherever you were, it was bright and sunny.

Pocketing the extrapolator, you stepped out of the alley and walked down the paved sidewalk, listening for any indications of where you were from passersby.

You continued walking until you came across a newsstand that looked fairly out of place in this seemingly technological environment.

You stopped, peering at the front cover of one of the magazines.

The words “DAILY PLANET” were printed on the top of the paper. You reached down and picked it up, flicking through the pages, pausing when you saw a familiar name on the byline.

Folding the paper back into its original state, you placed it back on the stand, flashing a kind but brief smile to the newsagent who looked at you with intrigue.

Although you didn’t know what Earth you were on, at least you knew you were in Metropolis.

A place you had visited several times since the rebirth of the universe.

A place that, despite whatever Earth, was always home to one Clark Kent, better known as Superman.

You pondered in your thoughts for a little while longer before deciding to venture out and explore the city, eager to find any similarities or differences between your Earth and this one.

You ended up in a museum.

You weren’t sure exactly how you’d gotten there, having followed wherever your feet had taken you but, nevertheless, you were here.

Whilst you were never a huge fan of museums, you’d often found yourself being dragged to them by Laurel when you were younger.

There was something about them that she’d loved.

She tried explaining it to you once.

How the beauty of art told a story or something.

You didn’t really pay much attention and who could have blamed you? You were only 10 years old. You’d rather be out playing or hanging out with your friends than spending your Saturday afternoon in a stuffy old museum.

But this place was anything but.

In truth, you knew that you sought solace in places like these during times of distress or uncertainty.

It gave you a chance to feel closer to your sister after the world had cruelly taken her away from you. Even on another Earth, you still found peace and felt her presence next to you.

You sighed, your shoulders sagging before tensing once more, feeling someone behind you.

You never used to be so on edge.

When you were younger, you lived such a care free life, never feeling any need to be concerned or cautious.

But that had changed quickly.

Soon you had been thrust into the vigilante life, more determined than ever to become like your sisters and help them fight crime.

In fact, you had learned to fight from a reluctant Sara.

After several arguments about the danger of her world, she’d come to accept that there was no changing your mind and had decided that if you were going to purposely put yourself in harm’s way, you needed to be prepared. She had put you through vigorous training which Oliver soon picked up with you after Sara had been recruited to form the Legends.

So, suffice it to say, you were well-versed in the forms of self-defence and were constantly on the lookout for any form of danger.

And being on a different Earth certainly warranted your caution.

“How are you liking our exhibit?”

A feminine voice said, her voice thick with an accent you couldn’t distinguish.

Turning with a smile, you spoke, “It’s beautiful. I never used to appreciate art but now I find myself lost in the works of Rembrandt or Claude Monet.”

“Ah yes. They were most excellent artists.”

You blinked, not at her words but at her face.

The woman who stood before you was, quite simply put, the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life.

Realising you were staring, you cleared your throat, “Yes, I agree.”

You opened your mouth to say something else - what, you weren’t sure of - when you closed it again having spotted a man who’d just entered the room which held the small exhibit.

The figure wore a black cap, obstructing his face, his eyes darting around before landing on another male situated in one of the corners of the room. The latter gave him a brief nod which the other returned. Discreetly glancing at them, you noticed familiar bulges beneath their shirt, surely holding a gun.

“Okay, don’t be alarmed but I think this place is about to get robbed.” You said in a hushed whisper, faking interest in another piece of art beside you.

You noted the small but discernible flicker in the woman’s eyes, her name still unknown to you.

“How-“

“Let’s just say I’m perceptive. Do me a favour and take out your phone.”

You waited until the brunette had followed your instructions.

“Pretend to be talking to someone and walk out the room. They’re not going to do anything until you’re gone because they don’t want to run the risk of you warning someone.”

She nodded at your words and proceeded to carry out your plan.

You fought the look of surprise and confusion that surely would’ve shown on your face at the lack of fear on hers. Instead, her eyes seemed to hold a look of determination.

Determined to do what, you weren’t sure of.

Once she had left, your suspicions were confirmed when the two men simultaneously took out their guns and shouted.

“Everybody down on the ground. Now!”

Screams and shouts were let out by the small group of citizens in the room, replacing the quiet bustle of hushed whispers that had previously filled the air.

As everyone immediately fell to the ground, you slid down the wall until you were in an upright position.

You watched as they removed several of the smaller pieces of art, carefully placing them in a duffel bag. You waited until they grew closer to you before standing up causing both of their guns to be aimed at you.

“Sit back down or you’ll get a bullet in your pretty little head.”

They both moved to stand in front of you, blocking you from the view of the security cameras and the people behind them. Using your powers, you pulled the guns toward you and flung them to the far side of the room.

You took advantage of their momentary confusion and kicked both of them. One of them grabbed you from behind, his tight grip trapping your arms. You raised your legs and caged the other’s neck between them.

Twisting your legs, you threw him to the ground and then drew yourself closer into your captor’s arms, lifting off the ground for a brief second before throwing him over your shoulders and onto the ground beside the other intruder.

“Run!”

You yelled to the handful of citizens who watched you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Then you felt yourself being pushed against the marble ground as one of the men jumped on top of you, his weight crushing your small figure.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch.” He snarled against your ear.

You threw your head back, smirking when you heard the grunt of pain and several curses falling from the man’s lips.

You raised your hands and with it, the other man floated in the air. With a wave of your wrist, he went crashing into his friend and they slumped into a corner.

You quickly picked yourself up and ran out of the museum’s back exit, knowing you had to avoid the police at all costs.

Reaching an abandoned alley, similar to the one you first arrived in, you took out the inter-dimensional extrapolator, deciding it was way too dangerous for you to remain here any longer.

Pressing the device, you expected to see a breach form but to your shock, there was none. Inspecting the device, you saw that it had been broken, more than likely from when you’d been thrown against the ground by the robbers.

You muttered a foul curse before calming yourself.

Think, y/n. Think.

Your ears perked up at the familiar whistle and rattle of train tracks.

Okay, you knew what to do next.

You needed to go home.

Part 2 ->

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tiffdawg · 4 years

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Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Three

Gif: @javier-pena

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one's life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 3.1k

Rated: M | Warnings: Intense gazing. Mild language.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, you start to see a different side to Javier Peña as he struggles to adjust to academia.

A/N: Thank you for your comments and support on the last chapter! I'm so excited that someone is actually enjoying this story and I hope you know that literally every comment takes me out for twenty minutes because they make me so stupidly happy. I love you all!

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Three

When you entered your lecture hall on Wednesday morning, once again affording Peña plenty of time to clear out, the scene from Monday repeated itself almost verbatim. He was at the podium, shoulders slightly hunched and hands grasping either side of the cherry wood, surrounded by an excited crowd of students. You’d hoped you would miss him entirely – especially after what had happened in the library – but it seemed luck was not on your side. So, you sipped idly at the lukewarm remnants in your cardboard coffee cup, figuring you might as well watch the show. Speaking sure as hell never seemed to work well for the two of you.

The only difference was that this time, he noticed you right away. You suddenly felt self-conscious in your simple black trousers and modest blouse under his intense scrutiny, and you wondered what he was looking for as he stared at you for just a moment too long. You half-expected him to make some caustic remark. While neither of you had been particularly kind to the other the night before, you probably would’ve deserved it. His words had stung, but it was nothing you hadn’t heard a hundred times before. While you didn’t exactly regret anything you had said, you did wonder if you might’ve struck too deep a nerve. Instead, he turned to his students and told them to talk to him during his office hours.

“When are your office hours, sir?” a young man asked, the same overeager student from Monday.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know,” he said dismissively, scratching his brow. With that, the students started to wander off and you parted the sea of stragglers to get to the chalkboard. You intended to use it for your lecture and there was a scrawling mess of some Cyrillic language, no doubt not from Peña’s class. However, he beat you to the eraser.

“I’ve got this, doctora.”

You actually felt your head tilt to the side and it strangely reminded you of the way Sunny cocked her head when you spoke to her. Like she recognized your voice, heard your words, but didn’t understand the language. His kindness surprised you and you weren’t sure if he was taunting you with his new diminutive of choice or attempting to apologize in his own strange way. At least doctora was accurate, and it was a hell of a lot better than sweetheart. “Thanks,” you offered hesitantly, “I think.”

When he finished erasing the first panel and moved to the second, you picked up a scrap of chalk and started writing a list of key terms and important names you didn’t want to have to bother with during your lecture. All the while, you hated the way your eyes kept casting to the side, stealing unintentional glances at Peña. Your hand idled as you lost your focus in favor examining the way he moved even as he did something as simple and mundane as clear a chalkboard. But, as ridiculous as it was, you found that you were unable to stop yourself from watching the pull of his light gray suit jacket around his body or the clap of his hands as he attempted to remove the chalk dust.

And in your folly, he caught you.

He smirked at you as he adjusted his boldly pattern tie that should’ve been left in the previous decade and you turned back to your vocabulary list with warm cheeks and added the last few letters to the word you’d abandoned. Then, just as you thought he was about to leave, he took a seat in the last row.

To say you were confused would’ve been an understatement. Bewildered or baffled might’ve been more apt descriptors, but even those words seemed lacking. Deciding not to let Javier Peña distract you from your job any more than he already had that morning, you pulled out your lecture notes and focused on what really mattered: your class and your students. Not the man intently watching your every move.

… . …

Apparently, even visiting lecturers had to attend the weekly Thursday morning faculty meeting.

As Javier sat at the furthest end of the conference room table, only half listening to the department chair drone on about the new graduation requirements for undergraduate sociology majors and minors, he seriously debated the necessity of his presence. Dr. Campbell, as he’d quickly learned the first time that he spoke with the man over the phone a few weeks ago, had a preference for five-dollar words and loved the sound of his own voice. It was amazing he was as long-winded as he was considering the tightness of the obnoxious canary yellow bow tie around his neck. Javier pulled at his own tie, already loose and askew, suddenly feeling constricted by it. Aside from the fact that Campbell’s rundown on the new procedures seemed unnecessary –the regular faculty looked like they’d heard this news a thousand times already – Javier knew he had very little function beyond drawing attention to the school of social sciences. Sure, he technically had to teach a handful of classes this year, which was itself a task proving even more difficult than he’d originally anticipated. But, at the end of the day, he was only there because of his reputation and to lend his name to the university. He only hoped that no one expected much more than that from him.

They’d only be disappointed.

He glanced down the table to where you sat taking occasional notes in between drawing something in the corner of your notebook. He wasn’t sure how, but you’d taken one look at him and figured him out.

You don’t deserve to be here.

Your words from the other night echoed in his mind. While everyone else seemed intent on showering him with empty flattery and undue praise, you saw him for what he really was. And you were right. He definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to teach classes at a prestigious university, to hold any sort of position of prominence or power at an institution like this. He’d retired from the DEA, given up the only job he knew how to do, without any inclination of what he would do next. Accepting this job was nothing short of an unhappy accident that was the result of some sort of second-career-meets-midlife-crisis impasse. Come to think of it, he might’ve been drinking when he called Dr. Campbell and accepted his offer.

“I’ve but one final announcement before I release you all for the day. As is tradition, the planning this year’s student conference will fall to two of our youngest and brightest professors, so it should be no surprise which of you will assume the responsibility.” Campbell finally caught Javier’s attention when he gestured down the length of the table to you. You smiled brightly at the department chair and the rest of your coworkers. “You, my dear, have done a brilliant job in the past and I expect nothing less this year. And I’m sure our newest appointed professor, Dr. Sheffield, will be more than happy to assist and learn from you.”

“Fucking ecstatic,” the man next to him grumbled under his breath. He followed the man’s gaze back to you and watched your smile vanish. Looking back at Sheffield, he noted that he was younger than Javier, although not by much, and sturdily built but soft around the middle. His belt seemed to be cinched one notch too many. Definitely a beer drinker. There was something inherently boorish about the man and although he hadn’t noticed him until that exact moment, Javier decided that he didn’t like him.

“I’ll have Debra set up a meeting for the three of us sometime next week to discuss the issue further,” Campbell added, “And with that said I think we can consider this meeting adjourned. I do believe the Anthropology department has reserved the room for the upcoming hour, so we best leave them to it.”

The other faculty and staff started filing out of the conference room, but evidently Sheffield felt Javier’s stare. He turned to him and offered a hand.

“Javier Peña, I presume.” The way he mispronounced his name was almost embarrassing. “Been looking forward to meeting you all week.”

“What an honor,” Javier drawled, shaking the sweaty proffered hand.

“I’m Andrew Sheffield.”

“I gathered that.”

Seemingly oblivious to his curt responses, Sheffield continued. “Let me know if you ever need anything, man. And, if you’re into it, a couple of buddies of mine from the other departments golf on Sundays. You’re always welcome.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Javier responded, knowing he’d wouldn’t go golfing if his life depended on it, let alone with this guy.

“Cool, and like I said, happy to help.”

“You didn’t seem so happy to help your other colleague a minute ago.” He couldn’t stop himself. He’d been talking to Sheffield for all of a minute and he was already on his last nerve.

“Well, I, uh– I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sheffield stumbled, clearly flustered, “Besides, that’s different. She’s, well, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure,” Javier said, gathering his things and pushing back his chair. He slapped Sheffield’s shoulder, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary. “See you around, bud.”

… . …

By Friday, your hectic first week of the quarter had caught up to you. You were more than a little tired and couldn’t wait for the weekend. Still, you put on a smile as you prepared to start your lecture. You’d made a vow to yourself years ago that you would never become that jaded, joyless professor that made student’s lives miserable. It was for your own benefit as much as theirs.

You knew Peña didn’t have a class on Fridays – the lecture hall had been empty when you arrived that morning – so you were more than a little surprised when he showed up for your class. Just when you thought you weren’t going to have to deal with him that day, he quietly slipped into the back row.

You couldn’t escape the man.

At the same time, as much as you hated to admit it, you’d been looking for him everywhere you went on campus ever since your Wednesday lecture. His actions confounded you – you were sure he hated you after that night in the library, but yet, here he was attending your class again. For what reason? You had no clue.

Deciding it would be best to simply overlook Javier’s presence in your classroom, you started your lecture. However, you quickly discovered he was impossible to ignore. Especially considering the way his dark eyes trailed you, followed your every movement. It didn’t matter that he was sitting in the back of the room. You could feel him watching you.

It should’ve been annoying. Aggravating, even.

But it was something else entirely. Something that ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you. Something you steadfastly refused to name.

Once again, he didn’t wait for you after your lecture, and you weren’t sure why that disappointed you.

… . …

“How was your anniversary?”

“It was actually really fun. We got a sitter and Henry took me to this fancy restaurant downtown he’d been to on business lunches. He’d mentioned wanting to take me before, but I was still surprised that he’d actually made a reservation on his own,” Beverly explained, forgetting all about her chicken salad, “I’m sure you can understand why – you’ve met my husband.”

The two of you were sitting at your usual bench near an especially green spot on campus. The shade of a beautifully overgrown Moreton bay fig tree shielded you from the bright sun and your feet rested against a sprawling root creeping under the bench. “That’s so romantic of him,” you gushed. You sighed dreamily, playing it up for her benefit.

“I know! I don’t think we’ve had a night out like that since our youngest was born. So, what? Two years ago!” She made an exaggerated exasperated expression and you snickered at her. “I didn’t know the man had it in him. But it was very swanky, and they had these little chocolate cakes that, like, oozed more chocolate when you cut into them. Apparently, that’s the new thing but I never get out so I’m behind on the times.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you said as you stabbed at your container of sliced fruit, “I haven’t been on a date in months so I’m right there with you on that one.”

“We gotta fix that.” Bev nudged you playfully.

You made a discouraging face and shook your head. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty to worry about right now without having to deal with a relationship.”

“Doesn’t have to be a relationship,” she countered in a singsong voice.

“You really can’t be stopped, can you?” you asked with an amused laugh. She shook her head and took another bite of her lunch. “Relationship or not, dating is just too complicated. It’s too distracting.”

“Maybe,” Bev conceded, “But there’s more to life than work, sweetie. As much as I complain about Henry, I really do love the man. And he loves me. That’s something special. I can’t help but want something like that for you too.” You loved Beverly, but sometimes you hated how perceptive she was. Without ever having to voice your own thoughts or desires – sometimes without even admitting them to yourself – she always saw the truth to your words. Work always came first for you. Often at the disadvantage of the rest of your life. When you were quiet for longer than she would’ve liked, she lightened the conversation. “Of course, whoever your person is, would have to be someone as equally spectacular as you, so it might take a while to find them. But we’ll work on it.”

You returned her soft smile with one of your own. “We’ll see. But I’m not sure that person is out there, so don’t hold your breath.” You held out your plastic container. “Cantaloupe?”

“You know that’s my favorite,” she laughed as she skewered a few slices for herself.

… . …

After your lecture and lunch with Bev, you walked home to pick up Sunny before returning to your office. Friday afternoons were usually quiet on campus as students and professors alike preferred not to schedule classes that day of the week, for obvious reasons. You still had quite a bit of work to do before you were free to enjoy the weekend and your dog made for good company. Sunny was small and quiet enough that no one ever noticed her when you snuck her into the office. She was a mild-mannered dog, and that day she alternated between sleeping on your lap and watching birds and students alike from the window while you made a decent dent in the pile of work you had to get through.

She was as well behaved as always, but, unsurprisingly, a couple hours later she started to get restless and you took that as your cue to call it a night.

“Alright, let’s go home, girl,” you said to her as you gathered your things. You piled a few books into your tote, wavering for a moment on one particularly heavy tome you weren’t sure you wanted to haul back to your apartment before you tossed that one in too. You slide your flats back on, having had kicked them off while you worked, and reached for the door. As soon as it was open wide enough for Sunny to fit through, she sprinted out ahead of you.

“Shit!” you hissed taking off after her. She’d never done that before. “Get back here!”

Your eyes practically popped out of your head as she darted into an open office.

You burst into your colleague’s office, intent on dragging her out of there while apologizing profusely. Instead you froze at the sight before you. Sunny was perched on Javier Peña’s lap. To make matters worse, the devious little traitor was excitedly licking his face as he petted her, soothing her fur with a gentle hand. What was even more surprising than her wagging tail, was the goofy grin on his face. It was the kind of unrestrained smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger than his years. It was, for lack of a better word, charming.

“I take it this is your dog?” he asked, breaking you from your trance.

“Yeah,” you answered, shaking your head at the scene, “She– She really seems to like you,” you observed, not bothering to hide your confoundment.

“I can tell.” Sunny calmed down, panting happily as Peña scratched behind her perky ears. “At least one of you does,” he said, finally training his brown eyes on you.

“Eh, she likes everyone. Don’t read too much into it,” you said, shrugging off his insinuation. And it was true for the most part. Sunny was a friendly dog, but she did have a strong intuition when it came to people’s sense of character and she always knew who she didn’t like. Even you had to admit she was quite taken with Peña.

“What kind of dog is she?” he asked, turning his attention back to the dog on his lap.

“My best guess is some kind of border collie mix. All I know is Sunny is not a purebred and a bit of a runt, which is probably how she ended up on the street in the first place.”

“Sunny?” he said, cocking his head at you.

You huffed out a small laugh. “I found her on Sunset Boulevard. So, in a moment of sheer genius I called her Sunny as a temporary name before I found her owners or a new family to take her in,” you explained, “Turned out I was her new family and the next thing I knew she was responding to the name. It stuck.”

“She’s sweet. I’ve always liked dogs,” he said, quirking his brow as he looked up at you again, “You can trust their judgement.”

Pursing your lips, you made a noncommittal noise, not wanting to agree despite feeling the same way. With a final wet kiss to his cheek, Sunny hopped down from his lap and trotted over to your side, acting the part of the loyal pet. You glared at her as you quickly attached her lead to her collar, ensuring she wouldn’t cause any more trouble. She’d already provoked the first civil conversation between you and Peña – who knew what else she was capable of. You decided it was best if you took your leave before she caused another miracle. “Have a nice weekend, Peña.”

“You too, doctora,” he said with a smirk and a wink.

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

... . ...

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch

Curriculum Vitae Tags: @softpedropascal @roxypeanut

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña imagines #narcos #narcos fanfic #fic: curriculum vitae #hey look! they're actually being nice to each other for once

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nctzendreamz · 4 years

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Crazy, Rich, and They Hate Me :: Finale

Jaehyun finally takes you home, but he forgets to mention that his family is the richest in South Korea.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine

Jaehyun x Reader ft. NCT

Genre: Angst/ Fluff

You and Jasmine had ran to eachother for a lot of things. Boy problems, girl problems, health problems, money problems; any problem. But as you stood infront of her door, the audio of the doorbell making your ears ring even worse. You didn’t want to be here.

This had to have hit too close to home, right? I mean, during your whole friendship it was a running joke that the two of you were the complete opposite, when in reality you were more alike than either of you had wanted.

You knew if you just pulled up, sad attempt to confess what just happened, you wouldn’t be able to open your mouth. You were guaranteed to make up some lie about how his mom officially forbade you to be in a relationship with Jaehyun, so you told her the whole story as you walked to this destination.

Before an hour ago, you felt so pretty. Usually you hated red, but that way Jaehyun’s eyes just couldn’t leave your body made you feel a confidence you hadn’t felt in too long looking so dressed up. You hated him now. You knew it wasn’t his fault. But you did. You never wanted to see him again.

A now familiar sight to you, the door slid open, but the Jasmine you had known all your life wasn’t behind the door. There was nothing but pure sympathy in her eyes, and she opened the door at a slow place. She clearly didn’t know exactly how to react, not that she was supposed to.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled.

Tears were the only source of communication you could give her.

“I’ve been gone a month, Jangmi. A month!” Minjun screamed, clearly fuming as he paced back and forth around their eerily empty mansion.

Jaehyun hadn’t had such a moment since he was a child. No one in sight except the three of them. No workers running around, ready to do whatever they asked. Not even the smell of dinner from his grandma could be scented. And his dad being here? This couldn’t be real.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His mother argued, staying seated on her velvet loveseat. Her and her son both silently agreed that they couldn’t be near eachother right now. She was on one side of the seat, while Jaehyun had completely rose when she arrived to the scene, unable to look her in the eye.

“I told you that Jaehyun was serious about that girl, didn’t I?”

“Was I supposed to take you seriously? Hm?” She protested loudly, her voice raising in volume with each word. “Why are you yelling at me when you should be yelling at your son!”

“My son?” He scoffed. “You mean our son.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Our son found a woman that he loves. What’s the problem?”

“Did you not just hear what I told you?” She accused. “Her life will completely ruin our reputation. Every single thing the world thinks our son is, will crumble as if it was never there. Why can’t you see that!”

Jaehyun was trying his best to keep up with the heated discussion that echoed through his childhood home. But the only thing at the forefront of his mind was you. A nervous habit he had formed after falling in love with you; his body rocked back and forth, and his fingers couldn’t remove themselves from the grip of his teeth as he thought about all the terrible things that could’ve happened to you in the last hour.

He had never hated himself until today. Why did he bring you here? He should’ve just kept you a secret. He should’ve flew for the festivities, and came back to you tomorrow morning, where your life would still be intact. Your self-esteem would be at its normal level, where all he had to worry about were things that he could fix with his kisses and sweet nothings.

His bloody hands had been wrapped all alone, although in any other situation, his mother would’ve taken care of it. They probably would’ve joked around about his bruises, or something similar. That was the mother he knew. This vile, angry beast that he watched approach his father with sharp fingers wasn’t who he loved.

He didn’t want to be here anymore. Even in the bask of his fathers glory who was clearly fighting for him, couldn’t make him want to be here. His life was over, and not because of your news. It was because he knew; he fucking knew clearer than ever now that he had lost you for good. And it was his fault. All those times he tried to be the good guy, not trying to start any conflict. For the sake of you, and him, and your serenity, but it was doing nothing.

He let this happen, and now he had to pay the price.

He stood up abruptly, the both of his parents stopping their arguing to stare at him. He looked broken. He didn’t need a mirror to see that. He felt it. He felt too many things right now. If he didn’t go into his room right now, he didn’t know what was going to happen.

“Where do you think you’re going!” His mother spat. How bold of her. If anything, she should be begging for his forgiveness, but she couldn’t even stuff her pride.

“Jangmi, let him deal with everything that just happened. Let him breathe.”

“No. He needs to hear what we’re going through simply because of him. You came home expecting good news, but now we’re broken.”

Jaehyun continued to take gentle steps forward, remembering your own techniques for calming down. He never thought things like this worked, and he was correct in this theory.

“Your mother is—

“Mom! I am angry at you! More than angry!” He yelled suddenly, shaking the house. The minute he had to use his diaphragm, the burning of his nose took it as a signal to let the liquid drip from his eyes. “Do you not realize what the fuck you just did to me? Are you really that blind? You ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I let you.” He trailed, looking at his higher power in embarrassment. “I let you.” He giggled through his tears now, looking nothing less of a psychopath. “You, the cousins, Yuna, grandma, everyone here. I let you guys trick me into believing you could be saved. I watched you destroy everything she had going for her when she came here, and I let you.”

“Son...” his father attempted to approach him, but Jaehyun snapped his shoulder away, making him flinch at once.

He wanted to say so many more things. Things that he didn’t mean, just so his mother could feel the hurt that was making his body pulse. But he decided to keep walking, knowing he wouldn’t be stopped this time.

Days had passed, and your phone had been off for the same amount of time. You wanted no parts in seeing any pictures of you and him. You didn’t want to see all of his apologies. You wanted to go home.

“Y/N, you need to eat.” Jasmine would say everyday. Even Heechul, who always had a snarky comment was being extra sweet to you, making you little pastries that were said to soothe you.

You’d always eat just enough to protect yourself from any true damage you could do to your body. You would always feel as if you had to throw up, but it would never actually happen. You knew it was all in your head.

The silk sheets that rested on your body were so uncomfortable right now; more proof that this life wasn’t for you. They were making you so hot.

“Y/N.” Jasmine’s soothing voice whispered into the large space of her many spare bedrooms, one you had happened to choose. You expected her at this time, with a tray of your favorite snacks. But when she appeared infront of you, she was empty handed. “We need to talk.”

You couldn’t deprive her of that. Neither of you had spoken about what you learned, and you truly believed it was because neither of you knew how to approach it. You weren’t ashamed of being adopted, and you hoped she knew that. Your lack of eating, and showering, and good hygiene in general wasnt because your true parents. It was because you knew you and Jaehyun were officially done. And you knew you were probably going to ruin his life, as his mother was just too spiteful. She would probably get the information out just because he was surely fighting your love; even through all of this drama.

Just to make him look bad, she’d do it.

“Do you have any questions?” She questioned awkwardly, fiddling with the rings she never took off. A gift from her new family, she explained.

“No.” Was all you could say, unable to look her in the eye.

“I hope you’re not ashamed. Or see yourself as less than because of what you know. You still have great parent—

“Jas.” You whispered in a purely sincere tone as your eyes filled to the brim with tears, “do you think I looked at you differently because you’re adopted?”

“I just—I know it’s not ideal. And I didn’t come from good parents and I just—“ Her voice cracked, and for the first time in your life, you were watching her cry. Her fighting spirit had her refusing to be in your arms, but you didn’t listen to her silent wishes. You snatched her up just as she had when you were on her doorstep about to have a mental breakdown.

“I have never looked down on you. To be exact, I’ve always looked up to you. I know you had your demons, and things that upset you, but you were always positive. I always wondered how you could be like that. How you could be so damn strong even though you had every right to be pissed off at the world.” You kissed her forehead, hating the way you were mimicking Jaehyun’s every move right now. “I love you, Jas. And so does your family. I hate that you met them later than you wanted, but what do I always say?”

“That everything happens for a reason.” She choked out.

“Exactly.” You took a deep swallow, knowing that was slogan but wanting it to be un-true in your case. You didn’t want this to be what fate wanted. You wanted there to be mistake in that foreign world. A mishap. But as you continued to dwell on your thoughts, you didn’t have positive feelings on it. No optimism.

You woke up the next morning with Jasmine in your bed, her tears still stained on the pillow beside you. Today was your last day before you had to take your flight, but you couldn’t just leave.

You turned your phone on, knowing it had a chance of practically blowing up from all the texts you knew you recieved. They were all from him. Every single one.

Twelve missed calls. A no exaggeration—twenty separate text messages from him. They started off so concerned, begging you to answer the phone. He was explaining that he just needed to hear you voice to make sure it was actually you responding to him.

As you continued to read, he told you that his father was here, and that he finally told his mom off. He confessed that even so, he felt no better, because he was weak. He didn’t say everything he wanted to say, and he wanted to go back in time to say everything over, better.

He then went on to tell you how much he loved you. He seemed to be arguing with himself, as he kept mentioning that he wasn’t enough. That it was he who didn’t deserve you, and he hated how terrible he was with words. He was trying to fit all of his love for you in a text message, and believed he was failing.

Even as the days skipped, he updated you about his day. He said he wouldn’t eat until he wanted to, which was never. His apologies were never ending, and your heart was close to its end.

He told you he was crying, and couldn’t stop. He told you that he cried so much that he had thrown up, but that he needed it. That it made him feel better for all you had gone through for absolutely no reason.

You couldn’t read any longer, feeling sick to your stomach as you knew he was telling the truth. A man didn’t do all of this for a woman he didn’t love. At least, not a man like Jung Jaehyun.

But love didn’t matter anymore.

You texted her, setting a time and place. She argued, saying that it would be best if you just came to the house.

Unlike every other time you were at the Jung residence, you weren’t dressed up today. Even with the preaching you planned to do in just a few moments, you couldn’t help but to feel so insecure. So less than.

“Y/N.” Was all she said when she let you in. “As you can see, he’s not here. I wasn’t lying.”

“I didn’t think you were.” You whispered, looking at your toes.

She didn’t look good. Now more than ever could you see the resemblance between the two of them. His dimple always shined at you when he was happy, but the exact same one was now moped out, cause being because she had her lips sucked in. It was the kind of expression one wore when they didn’t know what to say.

“So, what did you have to say to me?”

“You know I love Jaehyun, right?”

She was quick to answer. “Yes.” You knew she wasn’t going to miss a beat just yet.

“Do you think Jaehyun loves me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you fight it so hard? Why wasn’t love enough for you?” Your tone was surprising gentle considering the words you were speaking. You preyed around her home, eyeing all of the artwork you never got to admire because you were always being bullied when you came here. Their family portrait actually read them to be great people.

“Because love isn’t enough. Do you know how many people in the world love eachother? If we married just for love, the world we be in a deeper hell.”

“So you don’t love Mr. Jung?”

“I got lucky.” Her voice waivered. You couldn’t see her facial expression. You didn’t want to look at her just yet.

“Lucky how?”

“Me and Minjun were soulmates who happened to come across eachother. We had love and the resources.”

“So you’re saying that if you didn’t have the resources, you shouldn’t have been able to marry the man you love?”

Her trailing of your moves stopped, as she could finally understand your game. She obviously didn’t like it. “Say what you want to say or get out of my house.”

You turned around from the splash art you were observing deeply, staring straight into her cold eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume she had no soul. But you knew that wasn’t the case. She just didn’t like you.

“This will be the last time you see me.” You confessed, and you saw the way joy sparkled in her eyes. It hurt, even though you should’ve seen it coming. “And I know even right now you’re planning my departure, and trying to figure out who should really be Jaehyun’s bride. Who actually deserves him. Your choice. But never forget, that it was me, a poor girl from Los Angeles that is the reason that you will get your son back.”

She seemed shocked at your strong words. She clearly thought this was a bold claim from the way her eyebrows connected immediately, scoffing in offense.

“You can say what you want about me. And you can say what you want about our relationship, but your son is in love with me. And I know that eats you up inside, but read my lips when I say that we were in love. And we made eachother happy. I will always love him.” Your voice cracked, but you quickly sniffed to pull it together. “So ten years from now when you have little grandchildren running around, making everyone in the house laugh, but Jaehyun’s sitting in the corner and you just can’t seem to understand why he looks so unhappy, know it’s because he’s thinking about me, and about how this could’ve been us if only; you didn’t make me leave.”

“You watch—

“I’m giving you what you want. So I hope your happiness continues to override his own. And I hope that whoever he does marry doesn’t have to go through half the hell I did.”

And with that, you left. Even with her yelling after you. Even when you wanted to badly to turn around, and run upstairs, because you knew he was listening. You knew he heard every word, and would probably go to cry again. But you had to. They got what they wanted. And now you had to sleep. You had a flight in the morning.

You forgot how hot the California sun could be. Especially on a day like this, where you were already in such a horrible mood, nothing felt right. At the same time though, it felt so good to be home. Even though you had only been here for a measly three days, it was so refreshing to not get weird stares and judge mental looks from people who didn’t even know you.

The streets were busy as always, people walking across the road to get to other shopping centers, but your focus was on the familiar diner that now brought you horrible memories.

God, you remember how excited you were when he told you about Johnny’s wedding. It had never even crossed your mind that it would be the last time you saw him, and the last time you would ever call him your boyfriend.

“Y/N! How was the trip!” The owner yelled in an enthusiastic tone, clearly missing your buisness.

“Good.” You responded simply, sitting down at your usual booth.

“Just good? And in that tone? Who died?”

“My relationship.” You chuckled sadly, feeling it all rush back to you at once. All the memories of you two wouldn’t go away.

“Don’t tell me...”

“Yeah.”

You hated that you sounded like this right now. This was exactly how you behaved before you met Jaehyun, and he made you bloom into this so-called beautiful human being. You always shut down.

You couldn’t see what the older man was doing. Out of your peripheral, you could see him whispering to the cook in the back through the tiny window they used to communicate.

Jaehyun hadn’t texted or called since your conversation with his mother. Maybe he hated you too. Everytime your phone would ring, or vibrate, you would rush to it praying it was him. You were so broken. All it would take is one more text, and he could have you back.

Gusto—the owner of your favorite eating place, sat across from you now. He had your favorite milkshake in one hand, and an abundance of fries in the other.

“Thought you might’ve wanted this.”

“Thank you.” You laughed, trying your best to be happy. Or at least look it.

“Listen to me doll,” his hand reached for your chin, lifting it up from its grip on the food. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know that you are a very strong girl. You know, your dad was just like this. When him and your mom would get into it, he’d come in here.”

“Did he really?” You sniffled, being reminded about the problems you had to deal with now. You were still trying to figure out a way to approach your mom about it.

“Yeah. And he would get this exact milkshake too.”

As it had been for the last few minutes, the bell connected to the door rung; indicating someone had swung it open. Probably some teenagers who had just came from the rink.

You put the straw to your lips, knowing that the taste of Oreo mixed in with chocolate would soothe your scrambled mind even if it was for a few. It didn’t feel the same now that Jaehyun wasn’t sharing it with you, but it was still so delicious. You hadn’t even realized that Gusto had risen from his position in front of you.

Your breathing unconsciously got deeper and deeper, trying to take in all the familiar smells of LA. One deep breath, and your heart stopped. You choked on the cookie that was so close to going down your throat.

It was him. He was here.

“Jaehyun—I—

“I know you have a million things you want to say to me.” He whispered. His hair was its usual messy nature, and he was no longer in a polo, or suit as he had been during your whole trip. His grey sweats made your heart beat for a few seconds at a fast pace, but his eyes finished the job.

They weren’t swollen. If you didn’t know any better, you would even say he was happy right now. His eyes were filled with sincerity as his scent hugged you all around.

“Usually people say that when they met their soulmate, they had no idea that they’d love them as much as they did.” He began, taking your hand into his own. “But when I met you, I swear I knew. I called Johnny and told him I had met my wife. He laughed, but I knew it was true. I knew you were the one, Y/N.”

Neither of you could notice, but the crowd began to form, clearly seeing something coming that you couldn’t.

“And still, right now, I look at you and know you’re the one. No matter what anyone says. No matter who tries to stop me from getting what I want, it’ll never happen.” He sighed, reaching for his back pocket and slowly skimping down to one knee.

“Jae...” you trailed off, emotions trying to come out from your eyelids.

“Let me finish.” His voice was wavering, a clear indication that he was incredibly nervous. “I love you, baby. Every damn thing about you, I love. I love how much you love to stay at home, doing absolutely nothing. I love how strong you are, even when you don’t have to be. When every damn thing in the world is trying to get in your way, you kick it down, and I admire you. I can’t even properly get my words out because their aren’t enough words to describe you. Hell, I even love the excessive amount of ketchup you put on your fries. All of that makes you, and I want it for the rest of my life.” His hand was shaking now, but he still managed to open the box, revealing the ring that was seemingly forbidden in his family. His grandmas ring was standing right infront of you.

“Oh my goodness.” Was all you could breathe out, clutching your chest for support.

“Please, make me the happiest man in the world, Y/N. Let me show the whole world who I love. Marry me. I can’t live without you and I know you love me just as much. Please.”

The hell you went through was trying to replay through your mind like your favorite song, but you had to block it. It didn’t deserve to win in such a moment, and all your focus was on your boyfriend. The man who you would die for.

“Yes. How could I say no?” You choked out, letting him place the ring in your finger as you bounced around like a child, immediately jumping into his arms as he held you tighter than he had ever held you in your whole relationship. His face nuzzled into the crevice of your neck, and even in this crowd of people, you couldn’t save it. You had to kiss him.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered as you two embraced once more. “And I meant it when I said I always will. No matter what.”

“No matter what.” You cooed with a head tilt, pressing a teary kiss to his plump lips once again.

This was fate. This was how your story was going to end. It may have hurt like hell to get here, but you were going to marry the love of your life, and you didn’t care what anyone thought about it. Neither did he.

A/N: Wowwwww it’s crazy how long this series has been going on. I am so appreciative of the love y’all gave this, and I am truly sad to see it go. I know you guys probably hated this as the final part, but I plan to do an epilogue soon and also a surprise conversation between two people that I think you guys would enjoy. Thank you so much and I can’t wait for you guys to see the things I have planned next.

#nct #nct 127 #nct jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun #nct imagine #nct imagines #nct series #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct angst

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unordinary-analysis · 4 years

Text

Episode 166

Honorable mentions:

I always love seeing a student with John’s old ‘loser’/helmet hair lmao it makes me happy

For the first time ever, when I say ‘Remi, pop off queen’ you know I actually mean it lol

Tldr: the high-tiers (can’t really call them “royals” anymore can we) establish themselves and prove their worths as paragons (perfect examples) of what royals should be and i applaud them for it

The amount of joker masks that the superhero posse brought in has to be representation of their power. Isen, the lowest-ranking of the superhero posse brought 1, Remi brought 3, and Blyke brought 3. You might be thinking ‘hey remi is more powerful than blyke’ but we know that he’s been working hard recently and because he only has one more mask than Remi, i think this idea is plausible. so let me believe that blyke is more powerful than remi please.

Nothing to really say about Isen except that he needs a hug

Going to ignore that remi listed cecile as someone she wanted to recruit help from because i would just get my hopes up

Only occured to me now that i could pull off a John and Rei comparison especially after reflecting over episode 150

Arlo and seraphina give off such close vibes and it’s obviously because they got close (or at least intensely familiar) when they were the king and queen and i just- i absolutely love when plots or characters go full circle and reflect (revisit?) the start of the story even though that sounds anti-development, it’s not im just bad at explanations.

WHAT I WOULD GIVE FOR CECILE TO BACKSTAB JOHN not that i don’t like john because i absolutely aDORE him because of his impact on the story, but i just want to see Cecile backstab someone and john is convient

just me talking for a bit, scroll if you want to skip to the actual content i understand ;( :

Okay: so.

I’ve figured out that instead of putting little talkative comments in the honorable mentions like I’ve been doing lately, I can put them here and not feel like total trash and that I’m downgrading the post so that’s fun.

Anyway, sorry if the massive ton of parentheses(?spelling) i'm using is confusing or hard to read. I mean, I won’t fix it, but I hope it’s not too bad ya know

Again: sorry for talking like im texting someone in 2017 it’s an issue, im aware. No one ever says anything, but yeah?? Im sorry???

Im panic-writing this an hour before the new episode drops so hopefully this is up before then, there’s no real hope though it takes me 10 minutes just to transfer this from my google doc to tumblr because i have to manually re-add all of the bold and italics and bullet points. Still not removing this bit tho even if (lmao “if”) it’s late ;)

Talking too much, but whenever you see (?”spelling/grammar/word choice/etc”), that just means that I messed up in that way, but I’m too distracted to fix it. Figured i should say that eventually seeing as i literally do that every post

Next post will not be written in first person at all because i think it makes these feel way too familiar and makes new readers uncomfortable which is stupid but is how i would feel so we’re experimenting. If you’ve never read one of my posts, i just act very informal with everything i do and i just want to say, i'm not in this tightly knit niche group that reads these and that ive been friends with for years. i just. Talk like this. So don’t feel like you’re eavesdropping by reading one of these. I really hope im not an outlier in feeling this way when reading other peoples post because if nobody actually feels this way, im bout to be real embarrased oops.

Im getting the talking out of my system because no talking next post.

Yeah this post is late. But: i stopped for pizza in the middle and my webtoon isn’t loading so im like sitting around waiting for it to

Remi:

Now, in this episode particularly, it has occurred to me that I need to give Remi credit where credit is due. I made a post (AN: multiple posts but we’ll ignore that) over a year ago talking about her abilities as queen and- I did her pretty dirty. Not unfairly, but dirty. I basically dissed her a lot and said that she wasn’t a good queen in any sense. And I’ve done this multiple times (AN: ignore last AN) because I can remember at least 2 other times when I just berated Remi over and over for being shit queen.

I’m not going to disagree with myself in this post (because I didn’t lie), but I want to give her some credit because I do believe she has changed recently and it has affected how I view her as a position of royalty. And, yes, while it is unclear if she is currently technically still a royal, what with John having somehow destroyed the entire concept of Wellston having royals (?), she has been taking the actions and responsibilities that a royal would. So-

What made me want to write this out was in this episode, episode 166, I really realized/noticed her attitude and actions dealing with and revolving around this whole joker situation (currently more about the fake jokers) was?? Actually productive?? To explain: In this episode, we see Remi approaching a group of low-tiers who are worriedly talking about the joker situation and 1. Analyzes the conversation in reference to the measures she, Blyke, and Isen are taking to prevent the situation, 2. Reassures the low-tiers that qualified help (her, Blyke, and Isen [aka the superhero posse]) is doing the best they can, and 3. Asks if they have any suggestions or ideas that might help them attain their goal. Like?? Hello?? The Professionalism? And the way she didn’t let her disappointment that her previous efforts up until now affect her is a stark contrast from the Remi of the past. I’ve ripped her apart because of just how often her emotions would completely overwhelm any sense she had. So: that stood out. But, anyway, big picture again: This whole short little scene from her was so impressive?

Honestly, the fact that Remi is going through all this effort to stop the fake jokers and make sure the low-tiers are safe is very different than what we would’ve seen from her in the past. One of the common reasons that I kept saying Remi was a bad queen was because she didn’t care about her responsibilities and didn’t take her authority seriously. There are even examples of Arlo, or others, telling her this (the example that came to my mind was when Remi was warning students about EMBER and Arlo stepped in [and the reason behind the events of this example helps to support my next point] {ALSO (sorry) afternote: I was reading through everything I’ve ever said about Remi’s leadership and I used this exact example in my post “Remi” from just over a year ago}). Another reason that I was against Remi as queen, which ties nicely with the previous reason (this sounds like repetition of like two seconds ago when I said that my last reason would support this point, but it’s not because words), was that she prioritized personal missions over things her school needed her to do. I remember being very pissed around episodes 110-120 because she ignored the big conflicts happening at Wellston in order to track down this separate crime organization (EMBER) and took Blyke and Isen with her (royals)(who were both against the idea). And I know that her reason for doing this is valid and I do respect her for attempting to avenge her brother, and I would have let this slide if she gave one thought or listened to Isen and Blyke at all about Wellston. I know this still sounds bad on my part, but it was many instances stacked on top of each other of Remi being, not just unconcerned, but unknowing, about Wellston’s current state as a school. At that time, Remi was the queen, she was one of the school’s royals, whose job was to maintain order and peace within the school. I couldn’t see any instances of Remi even attempting to do that. That was in the past though, because obviously, things are different now, like I said. Currently, Remi has gone out of her way to dedicate herself to the wellbeing of Wellston, that is obvious in the way she has been talking with low-tiers and unmasking fake Jokers. I only hope that her new motivation isn’t just a phase brought upon her due to her personal relationship/conflict with Joker, with John. I want to know if John ever happens to be dethroned or Remi somehow gets her technical authority back, will she still be dedicated to the school, or is her motive purely situational? I hope not? Because we’ve seen lots of change from her recently what with learning of the low-tiers mistreatment and all, so let’s cross our fingers.

Regardless, there has been improvement in Remi. In her leadership and dedication. And that needs to be acknowledged. So I am doing it. Yeah. Here you go. Badge of honor for Remi.

Obviously, most of what I’ve said also applies to Isen and Blyke, who are honestly going above and beyond (especially Blyke), just this section is a response to my previous statements of how Remi is not a good queen, not only for Wellston, just in general. And, again, while I still agree with my evaluation of Remi as a queen in reference to her past self and past episodes, This is a new development I felt obligated to talk about. :).

Blyke’s idea (?word choice confuses me):

Wowee this is a fun one. So: Blyke broke up a fake joker fight in a hallway this episode, and i just have to acknowledge this like I did for remi: props, but anyway, I was very intrigued by the way he handled the damage control like?? He refuses for the fake joker to be unmasked (?grammar) and gives the reason, “I’m not about to show his face so that you all can just gang up on him later!” And: applause. I think that this has occurred to me before, I just never dwelled on that idea, so I was taken off guard by this from Blyke. He was able to understand this and form a plan with how to deal with it? I don’t know about you, but that screams king behavior. Anyway, what Blyke does is take the fake joker to a separate room and unmasks him privately then talks with him as a way to both protect the fake joker’s safety and discourage him from any future stunts like the one he pulled a sec ago. And?? This is so great because, guys, this is liTERALLY the concept of like anger management and behavior therapy??

I especially liked how Blyke took the time to hear the low-tier out(something that the high-tiers are really starting to do [technically because of john because john became joker and caused all of this {and since john wanted to destroy the hierarchy because high-tiers didn’t give a shit about the low-tiers in a way he’s achieved his goal, albeit unknowingly}]). And, like i literally just said, by hearing him out, he’s creating yet another bubble of safety around the low-tier because immediately after (okay maybe not immediately, blyke did scold him a bit), Blyke says that whenever the low-tier is being picked on, he can come to Blyke. And NOT ONLY does this whole thing help with the fake jokers issue, but Blyke, along with Isen and Remi, are creating trust and respect between the low-tiers and high-tiers. This is them doing the hierarchy right! They are establishing themselves as leaders and as people that can be relied upon, which is exactly who the royals are supposed to be.

Just want to say: He also talked about how the guy who got attacked should also reflect on his actions, and yes, this deserves recognition, but this has been a common theme, so I didn’t think it was worth really discussing. Blyke got bonus points for this. Extra credit if you will.

Remi’s idea:

Back to Remi, but her idea about recruiting John to help get rid of the Jokers? Excuse me? The innovation, the growth, the potential. And, I know this was shut down pretty quickly by Blyke, but I still have to talk about it??? And this section is starting off horribly because there was absolutely no transition or introduction but hello??

Anyway, obviously the fact that Remi would even suggest getting any help from John (Joker) is astonishing. 1. He literally beat up everyone present in the scene 2. Honestly from what john’s doing for all anyone knows, he likes that low-tiers are faking being joker (remi even points this out lmao) 3. Again, he beat everyone up? Not exactly looking good for any kind of compromise. And yet despite these obvious reasons, Remi still lists him as a possible ally. Why?

Because when she met up with him before he completely dethroned the Wellston hierarchy, she noticed similarities in their goals and their beliefs. She says, and quotation marks mean quote, “When I spoke with him… I really thought both of us wanted the same thing… Just that our methods of approaching the situation were different.” !!!!!!! Remi knows that they really want the same thing: a safe environment for low-tiers. That was the one thing that John kept repeating over and over when they met up and talked (episode 150) (other than the fact that royals are shit but-): he wanted to create a school environment that was safe for the low-tiers. Whether or not that’s his goal now, or if he’s acting with that goal in mind, Remi obviously remembered this the most from their conversation because it seemed so similar to the way she was thinking. And Remi thinks that it would be possible that John would prioritize this over his dedication to his own personal project of destroying the school :).

Anyway, this whole idea is scrapped by Isen and Blyke who give valid arguments as to why trying to ally with John is a really bad idea, but oh my god the way my heart stopped.

This section is basically a summary and very quick, but this scene in the comic was riveting because of this. I just don’t know what else to say.

#unordinary #webtoon #uno #official #unordinary webtoon #episode 166

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hollenius · 5 years

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I'm so so sorry but I have to: Werner for the character meme (and/or Chuck McGill, if you can't think of anything!)

What the hell, I'm gonna do Werner AND Chuck

Werner

Fav thingabout him: He is so sweet; if I had a German uncle or grandpa or something, I'dwant him to be mine. He obviously takes his work very seriously too. He(initially) seems like a very cautious, careful sort of guy...unfortunatelythis attitude does not extend to all aspects of his life.

Least favthing: He's too sweet, dammit. His naivete and trusting nature made megenuinely angry, because I couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid aboutanything when he seemed fairly smart about everything else. I don't think youhave to be "street-smart" to understand that breaking out of an enclosedcompound without permission isn't the sort of thing you'd be allowed to getaway with. I was annoyed at how he felt like a plot device at the endthere--that he just existed to force Mike to have to kill him. It's a fault ofthe writing more than the character. Everyone could see the end coming from amile away, which is (as far as I can remember) unprecedented in the series.Even things that were heavily telegraphed and seemed obvious usually carriedsome sort of unforeseen twist, i.e. everyone thinking the lantern was going tobe involved in Chuck's death, but not knowing it was going to be a suicide. Thesecond they showed Mike building up a relationship with Werner, everyone knewexactly where it was headed. Also, this is a weird pet peeve, but I hate how healways called Mike "Michael". Bro, you've been working with him formonths, you are the only one who calls him that.

Fav line:(agh, unfortunately I can't recall any because I don't have any way ofrewatching season 4 at the moment. I love that he was courteous enough totranslate into English that he felt like he was going to throw up in the bumpyvan ride.)

brOTP: Him& Mike as cute old man drinking buddies.

OTP: Werner& his unseen wife, I guess. (That phone call before his death was so sad. I hope nothing happens to her, but this is the Breaking Bad Cinematic Universe, so bad things often happen to innocent people.)

nOTP: idk,Werner/Kai? I haven't really seen him shipped with anybody so I can't say Ihave any strong opinions on the matter.

randomheadcanon: (again, I need to rewatch all of season 4, because I remember thestory arcs, but not enough of the little details in dialogue and stuff.)

unpopularopinion: I have to admit, I don't know enough of what the popular opinions onWerner are to know what an unpopular opinion would be. I liked him, I just wishhis character arc felt less contrived and that he was treated like less of adevice. I also have seen some people in some places comparing him to Walt,which doesn't really make sense to me, because personality-wise they're justtoo far removed from each other. (Then again, people were even comparing dopeyPryce to Walter White, which was also a stretch!)

song Iassociate w/ him: I...I have no idea! Sorry. (So long, farewell, aufwiedersehen, goodbye?)

fav picture: the cute little drawings @callmcgills did of him! (Also, ugh, the shot where he is, uh, shot...is beautiful. Depressing, but cinematically beautiful. I’m not posting that here though.)

Chuck

Fav thingabout him: Honestly, as a fellow cowardly, anxiety-ridden, socially maladroit, perfectionistolder child, aspects of him are extremely relatable, frightening as that may beto admit. (My younger brother is of the slacker/moocher variety, rather thanthe con man variety, though.) I don't agree with everything he does, but I understandwhy he does it. (This is actually pretty similar to my attitude towardsSkyler's actions in Breaking Bad--I don't necessarily agree with her decisions,but I mostly understand why she acts the way she does.)

Least favthing: I think he should've been willing to at least put Jimmy on some sort ofprobationary path to HHM after he landed Sandpiper. HHM was under no obligationto hire Jimmy after he passed the bar (a lot of fandom seems to feel otherwise,which makes no sense! I don't think any other firm would've wanted to hireJimmy either!) Jimmy probably would've still managed to screw something up, butat least then if Chuck wanted to officially bar him from working for HHM forgood, Jimmy would know why, and what it was that he had done to cause that. Itdoes no good to punish someone if he doesn't even understand he's beingpunished, which is what the whole issue is in the first place with Chuck goingbehind Jimmy's back and using Howard as the perpetual bearer of bad news.

Fav line:"Because if there's one thing kids love, it's local printjournalism."

brOTP: lmao Chuck is bros with nobody except his space blanket, and his ol'sipping-scotch-and-chortling companion Howard, before that relationship gotdestroyed...

OTP: ...althoughI must also confess a SHAMEFUL desire to ship Chuck/Howard, because it's gotsuch a messed up power dynamic, because they've known each other for at least18 years, because Howard's clearly still so much in awe of Chuck (which Chuckprobably enjoys), and because neither of them seems to have any other friendsor close relationships. (Are we ever going to learn what's up with Howard'swedding ring? Even my mom thinks Howard is gay at this point! And what's upwith papa Hamlin? Did he die? Retire?) Canon-wise, I'm actually really curiousabout Chuck & Rebecca's relationship, because I have to wonder what it washe did that caused her to divorce him, but not bear any particular grudge oranimus towards him afterwards. He was clearly really upset about the divorce,but doesn't bear any ill-will towards her either. She doesn't appear to enteredinto any new relationship after the divorce either. It's all very mysterious.

nOTP: I can'ttell if this person was serious or not, but I swear I remember seeing someonepropose some theory that Kim had fucked Chuck at some point, and that's gonnaget a BIG NO from me.

randomheadcanon: oh god I've got like five hundred of them at this point. Themassive infodump that was Chuck's obituary in the season 4 premiere contributedto a lot of them, I think. I imagine Chuck's freshman year of college, at age14, was absolute hell for him. He was so proud to get accepted to an Ivy Leagueschool, but had been upset it wasn't a more prestigious one, like Harvard,Yale, or Princeton. (He had applied to them and had a few interviews, but unbeknownstto him, he had been heavily penalized in their byzantine admissions proceduresbecause, despite his sterling academic record, they didn’t find him outgoing or athleticenough.) His parents put him on the train to Philadelphia by himself, with afew suitcases, a map, and $50. He had no problems getting to the university,but was pretty overwhelmed right off the bat by the fact that everyone else wasolder and wealthier than him; he had dealt with this to some extent in high school, butnot to this degree (I headcanon his fictional alma mater, Francis Xavier HighSchool, as a typical Jesuit all-boys preparatory school that draws heavily fromupper-middle-class suburban families). Here he was, a literal child, thrustinto the adult world, and the world of the elites, at that. He probably feltself-conscious about things he hadn't even realized he could feelself-conscious about before, and spent at least a couple nights sobbing intohis pillow, and praying that his roommate couldn't hear him. He made a coupledesperate attempts to fit in, with a relatively low level of success (e.g. goingto a party and trying to impress people there by playing piano, only to get abeer spilled on him instead), before deciding it wasn't worth it and he wouldthrow himself singlemindedly into his classes and extracurriculars. He had hisfirst-ever panic attack sometime during his first semester, and wound up at thecampus doctor's office because he had convinced himself he was having a heart attack.On being told he was physically fine, he was indignant, but all the same, henever told his family about the incident, or anyone else either. Somewherearound this time, he also gets a letter from his parents, telling him he'sgoing to be a big brother in a few months, and won't this be exciting for him?(He wants to tell them his life is too exciting for him as it is, but saysnothing, instead writing back that he is sure having a younger sibling to helplook after will be the greatest experience of his life. He almost convinceshimself that he means it.)

unpopularopinion: I DON'T HATE CHUCK. (The most unpopular opinion of all!) He's myfavorite character on the show, with the obvious disclaimer that saying acharacter is my favorite doesn't mean I approve of all the character's actions,etc. Also, I know he's just a fictional character, but I'm still pissed offabout people celebrating that he killed himself & saying they hope it waspainful & stuff like that. Like, how much of an asshole do you have to be?What a horrible thing to say.

song Iassociate w/ him: Burning Down The House j/k, probably Faure's Sicilienne,because I too, cannot play it on piano without screwing up

fav picture: Not a picture, but I can’t resist.

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lightsandlostbells · 6 years

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SkamFr Episode 6 reaction

For some reason the read-more keeps getting removed from my long-ass posts even though I make an effort to put it in, I apologize for that.

This episode contained some really great things (Alex 💖💖!) and also made me able to articulate something about the remake that is part of why, despite having things I’ve enjoyed, I don’t feel it is that emotionally resonant. It lacks fragility.

Clip 1: Lucas gets the dirt from Emma

You know I don't have a problem with Yann being a skateboarder or whatever, that's where they're going with his character, but it low-key exasperates me because (as we just heard this week) Jonas was into skateboarding because Marlon Langeland was. Similar example, Sana played basketball because Iman Meskini plays basketball in real life. I believe Eva’s Black Swan costume was a nod to Lisa Teige being a dancer. Is Yann’s actor into skateboarding IRL? I don't know. Maybe he is. But by sticking to the original characters so slavishly, they're missing on opportunities to personalize them and play to the actors’ strengths. Like these are really simple things they could do to differentiate the characters to make it more of a personalized production.

I mean it’s totally fine and even a little charming if Yann is kind of a crappy skateboarder, lmao (I am not an expert).

I forgot how much Isak leads into this conversation with Eva, trying to get the details. But that actually makes more sense to me because in this version, Lucas just sits down, asks if everything is okay, and then Emma confesses right away. If this has been weighing on her (which it has), she could have told one of her girls, who would have been a “safer” choice to tell? Maybe not Daphne, but Manon wouldn’t have cared and wouldn’t have any reason to tell Yann - ignoring Lucas’ real motivation at this point, he is also Yann’s BFF and might feel a sense of loyalty to him. Any way you look at it, not a great person to confess to. Isak was at least leading Eva a bit and encouraging her to open up, so it makes sense that she would cave and share with him in that moment.

I never noticed before but at the beginning of the original clip you can see Isak and Eva walking together, cute.

No offense to these actors but Lisa and Tarjei are the ones from the original I miss most. For all of the social media for Lucas and Emma that makes them seem like good friends, within the clips themselves I don't really feel like they're close.

Clip 2 - girls at lunch

On the one hand, I get why they picked episodes 7 and 8 to merge, gossip travels fast and I could see these events unfolding rapidly. On the other hand, there’s a lot of really weighty material in these episodes so it’s unfortunate.

So the big thing here is obviously that Alex hooked up with a girl! I saw the post about the actress confirming her as bi, so that’s terrific. What would be great is if this was integrated into future seasons - what if Kasper was a girl??? A deeply weird girl. I would be all kinds of into it. Or just keeping up the trend of her casually talking about girls, having her chime in to correct Vilde/Daphne’s ill-advised comments about lesbians, etc.

This is also pretty big because she’s apparently out, at least to her friends? There’s not going to be a coming out season for her unless it’s for her family or something. So should they decide to do an Alex season or involve her sexuality in a future storyline, it would be from the perspective of someone who is already open and seemingly comfortable in her sexuality. I seriously hope they do some exciting stories with this piece of information.

Poor Daphne clinging to her delusions. Her enthusiasm about double dating with Emma, Alex, and Charles is so sad.

Were the jerseys in the previous episode at all? Manon being like “I can’t stand seeing you in this jersey” when it’s the first time Daphne’s worn it (though I agree, once is enough). I checked and Daphne wasn’t wearing one, she had on some cute sweaters. Did Charles have to like ... order one in her size ... and the shipping took a week ... because that was a big thing to overlook, costuming wise.

I was going to say that they could have shot the rest of the scene in the cafeteria, with Manon pointing out girls in there wearing the jerseys, but we got Manon taking Daphne by the hand so that was nice. And I guess it might be awkward for Daphne to realize this at the lunch table.

OK, Emma launching herself at Yann for a makeout session during this heartfelt moment where Manon is trying to make Daphne feel better about a boy not liking her is rather insensitive. Read the room, Emma. (I know she’s trying to alleviate her guilt. It’s still pretty WTF.)

I know that a lot of criticism has been directed at the remake sticking to closely to the original, and I’ve certainly done my share of this, but I’m really disappointed they choose to cut Vilde’s line about feeling like there was something wrong with her. It was so raw and heartbreaking and real and it’s too bad that of all the things they’ve been keeping the same, they got rid of that part. For example, the Alex and Lucas “flirting” could have been cut to make room for that line; that moment felt forced and stilted anyway, and it’s the exact thing they should be cutting if they’re having to compress the story for time.

Clip 3 - confronting Charles

I thought the whole bit about Vilde not having dignity was one of the less excusable Sana moments from S1 since it’s not directed at something Vilde did wrong or said to help her, but Alex snorting after Imane says it is probably an added sting for Daphne.

Charles is the fucking worst. I feel like he’s even worse than William at this point, tbh. He just seems smarmier and sleazier. I’m not saying the actor’s bad or anything, I just find this dude to have an extra layer of creep. William seemed kind of checked out of the Vilde confrontation, what is this interrupting my day, Charles seems more deliberately trying to twist the knife.

Uhhhh I guess it’s nice that Charles and Alex have more of a friendship and Alex can tease him about getting verbally shredded by Manon and all but he was also cool with standing there as his best bro told a girl that he fucked that she wasn’t pretty enough for him so frankly, Raptor Alex is the worst, too.

I will go into Manon at the end but this moment was fine, it wasn’t my favorite thing she did this episode but I thought she showed more fire this week than in previous ones.

I also missed the moment where Vilde called Sana out on throwing water in Ingrid‘s face and Sana replies that she had a good reason for that because it was a little reminder of that incident and foreshadowing to the reveal of why she did it. I get why they cut it but it might’ve been nice since I’ve seen more divided opinions on Imane and whether, in making Daphne less offensive and less willing to speak up for herself, they’ve made Imane seem unnecessarily rude.

But also, in watching the original clip, I think Vilde was inspired or bolstered by Sana’s comments not to confront William (who are you to tell me what to do, you just put me down, you’re telling me not to ruin things when you also caused a scene) and Noora‘s encouragement (Noora had previously comforted her and given her the idea to confront him).

Clip 4 - The fight

Depending on your POV, the fourth wall breakage about a Norwegian tv show was either groan-worthy or cute. I thought it was sweet.

What kind of books do you think Daphne reads? I assume, much like Vilde, she reads exclusively The Secret, The Game and other self-help/relationship manuals.

I also liked Emma calling Manon “Booba” and giving her that little shoulder squeeze.

You know I never realized quite how much this would’ve been embarrassing for Vilde. Not just because of what William said, but because that was supposed to be her moment. Confronting William was supposed to be her proving to be a badass. Instead William cruelly put her down in public, and instead it was Noora who got to be the badass. You know, Noora, who in Vilde’s eyes is prettier, thinner, and cooler than she is, and who William instantly has an attraction to (not that Vilde got to see this). Vilde’s words didn’t land a blow to William at all, but Noora managed to leave William speechless. He didn’t put Noora down, it was Noora he was impressed with. So even when the girls are like good job, Noora, about this epic moment that Vilde didn’t see because she had to walk off in shame and hurt, Vilde’s empowering moment was snatched away from her. Ouch.

Manon was a boss in this fight. I kind of hate the term “mama bear” but that’s what came to mind here.

The fight itself went on for too long, Manon’s excellence aside. It also made me think that a physical fight inside the school would be a more serious deal than a fight outside of it, in the sense that teachers/adults are definitely going to notice. IDK how French school works but at my high school everyone involved would be hauled off to the principal’s office right away.

Clip 5 - Emma on the steps

The bit with Emma being called a whore on Facebook - I wouldn’t say that’s a NICE touch, but it adds to the aspect of social media being used for bullying.

Yeah Ingrid is straight up intimidating. Manon is like a little mouse beside her. But lmao at Sarah immediately folding when Manon stood up.

I did like Ingrid stepping in front of Sarah. That’s her girl.

THEIR INSTAGRAM POSTS ARE SO DRAMATIC. JESUS.

Clip 6 - Manon comforting Emma

The scene was cute, especially Emma starting to sing along.

I legit do not care what anyone ships but I’m so ????? at how people could ship Manon and Charles at this point except by already being a Noorhelm fan and having the knowledge that they are a future couple. Because like ... if you were watching this not having seen the original show, Charles’ role has to been to be a jerk to a girl he slept with and spoil this lovely moment between two friends in order to deliver some rapey as fuck dialogue about how No is a Yes in waiting. WTF. I don’t want to get into the discourse but he is deeply creepy here!

I would not be surprised if Blurred Lines is Charles’ cheer-up song of choice.

I kind of laughed about Manon watching House of Cards because isn’t House of Cards considered a prestige show, Spacey scandal aside? I watched several seasons of it; although it is like a political soap opera, I thought it was supposed to be kind of an award bait. It doesn’t seem that weird that Manon would watch it even if she’s not a TV person, lol. But maybe it is, I don’t know! I thought Suits was more of a sort of guilty pleasure procedural but I’ve never seen that show, so maybe my perception is all wrong.

Clip 7 - Daphne’s extraordinary meeting

Alex’s hair is indeed very pretty. Nice job.

Soooo this scene.

In the original, while Vilde tells the story about Ingrid and Jonas, the camera stays on a close-up of Eva’s miserable, guilty face while memories of what happened flash by in her mind. In the remake the camera focuses a lot on Daphne as she’s telling the story, with some shots of the group, and only cuts to Emma for a few short moments. The result is that this scene is much less emotionally effective. Yes, I already know the story, I know the twist, perhaps that matters. But I’m not deep in Emma’s pain. You really feel it with Eva, how her past is coming back to haunt her and how her mistakes are being exposed in front of her new friends against her will, and she probably feels like she deserves it. When I watched the original scene, I felt gutted for her. Here the emphasis is on Daphne’s judgmental face as she tells a story that she’s not personally involved in. That creates an emotional disconnect. This is the moment that should make us understand Eva’s behavior over the season even further, this is the moment that should explain the mysterious feud with Ingrid, this is a defining moment for Emma’s character and it’s not hers.

I do like that Daphne seem almost like she’s appealing to Manon by saying that people should know not to steal boyfriends, because that is the kind of thing that feminist Manon would be strictly against. Although obviously the attempt backfired.

Also lol at them working on the party “for months” it’s been one month since you even formed the squad! Though I do think it’s implied Daphne has been working on it for longer, and that she doesn’t want her pet project to be ruined.

The bit about Imane saying you stand for your friends “even when they don’t deserve it" was added from what I can tell; I think that’s a decent part though it might kind of be unnecessary, like sometimes less is more, the point is still there even without it, we get that Daphne just messed up. It’s not a huge sin or anything but there are a few occasions where I think the dialogue has been too on the nose (like Yann being all WOW SO MUCH TRUST BETWEEN US right after Emma cheated).

I do like Alex comforting Emma. I think Alex is a little more OK with confrontation then Chris was. Chris was a little flustered and didn’t know quite how to respond in the original, and we later saw that sometimes she struggled with how to be there for her friends, and Alex seems a little more chill with open displays of supporting her friends. She’s a very chill character in general.

Clip 8 - Yann and Emma in the skatepark

Time to talk about fragility.

When I think of Skam at its best, that is something which comes to mind. Not fragility of storytelling, but fragility in its emotions. Stripping away all the bullshit that you encounter in everyday life that leads you to put on a mask and say hollow words, as well as cutting out all the bullshit that you see in 90% of teen dramas and TV shows that go for noise and overblown, nonsensical emotions in order to produce drama, and just letting the characters say something real to each other. It’s not just about characters being sad, but being vulnerable. To be vulnerable means you can be easily broken. Fragile.

Not just Noora in the wake of her assault, but Noora telling Vilde about the nutritional benefits of potatoes as a way of talking about Vilde’s eating disorder, because to address the subject outright is too much. Not just Isak falling to the ground in tears, but Isak trying to talk around and delay his coming out to Jonas, turning it into a guessing game, because if Jonas rejects him or says the wrong thing, it would shatter him. Not just Sana crying alone in her room, but Sana writing a text to her friends explaining how much she feels she doesn’t fit in and asking her friends to forgive her.

And I heavily associate that concept with Eva’s season in particular. Every moment with her feels like we are with someone whose vulnerability is right there on the surface. Her old friends now hate her, her boyfriend seems to be keeping secrets from her, she’s struggling in school, her mom isn’t there and doesn’t know about her life, she just doesn’t know who she is. Think about how delicate a moment is the end of episode 2, when Eva is upset and can hear the boys laughing from another room, not caring, and she sees that Noora has accepted her friend request. A tiny, tiny gesture like that feels enormous. This really mundane thing because powerful because the show has demonstrated how Eva’s fragility, how much this friend request means to her.

The best scenes of Skam France, IMO, and the aspect has been working for me personally, is Daphne. And in a lot of ways, that is because she is fragile. We can see her hurt coming a mile away even if we hadn’t seen S1 before - because we can tell how much Charles means to her and how she is nothing to him. She is really, really fucking vulnerable when she puts herself out there for someone to love only to get rejected. She is vulnerable when she sends Charles a topless picture and when she tries to win back his attention. She is vulnerable when she tries to stand up for herself only to get put in her place. The show has done a good job with the actress and with demonstrating that raw, realistic pain.

Where I don’t feel that fragility is with Emma. Or Yann. Who knows if we’ll feel it with Lucas, with his upcoming parental woes and confession to Emma. But Emma is the focus of the season, and that’s a problem.

Some of it is in the acting, personally, and some of it is the writing. I know a lot of people like Emma and even prefer her to Eva because of her self-confidence, but I’m not a big fan and I think part of it is that her attitude and essence don’t work as well with the material. Like it feels less like a teenage girl having all her insecurities and mistakes bared. Again, it’s not just about Emma being sad. We have seen her sad. I don’t find her as fragile.

Another example from this episode: not focusing on Emma when hearing the true story of what happened with Ingrid. Eva’s vulnerability was the focus of that scene. We could not get away from her haunted face as she had to relive her past regrets. We missed a chance to follow how much the Ingrid incident has broken Emma.

Another non-Emma example: omitting Vilde’s line about feeling something is wrong with her and knowing she shouldn’t feel that way, an incredibly raw, wounded line we didn’t hear from Daphne.

There are several other key scenes where I think some aspect of the production has undermined a potentially vulnerable moment - what sometimes seems like the overuse of music, condensed conversations with less room for silences to speak for themselves, camera work that keeps us at a distance. Also some times where it has worked, too, I’m not saying there are no emotional moments like this, and I’m not saying that it needs to follow the original in these exact ways. But it’s a repeat issue.

This is not to say every character has to be troubled and vulnerable, by the way. But - this is a show about being young and dealing with problems. Vulnerability is vital in our ability to empathize with these characters. These are kids getting their first taste of adult problems and not knowing how to deal with them, they should be fragile. Almost all of the best coming of age films, books, and TV shows excel at depicting vulnerability. It doesn’t matter whether it’s French or Norwegian, youthful fragility is universal (and if not then why the fuck are you making a show about teenagers and their feelings).

Anyway, this scene.

This is an angry conversation. Sure I know Yann is upset. But I don’t feel that personal fragility coming from him. I have seen it before at time - like when Emma came over while he was playing video games with the boys, she made to leave, and he asked her several times to stay. Other times we’ve missed that vulnerability from him - for instance, when Jonas asked if Eva wanted a break, he genuinely seemed kind of fearful that she would say yes. When Yann asked Emma, he was throwing it in her face, and didn’t really seem afraid until she walked away and he gave her a dramatic speech.

Like Yann just skateboards up to her and doesn’t have much patience for what she says. He seems pissed. And hey, maybe that is how he expresses vulnerability, you could certainly make a case for it. But the acting and directing didn’t really make me feel it at all. It just feels like he’s angry (understandably).

However, Yann is also such a jackass here, jeeeeez. Obviously I can’t know for sure because I don’t speak French, but even his tone of voice to me sounds like he’s making fun of her. And of course he has to go on about her stupid parties and her friends, when I think Jonas seemed to mostly go for the idea that she doesn’t know what she wants. It wasn’t that Eva’s friends were dumb, it was that she changed who she was and what she wanted based on who she was with. But Yann seems to be mocking her specifically for trying to throw those parties and making fun of her friends. He's really aggravating and almost seems to resent that she’s no longer fitting into the image of what he wants his girlfriend to be. I do think Jonas did say something that cut Eva to the bone, but I don’t think he was trying to make fun of her. He was angry but he did seem vulnerable himself, not as much as Eva, but it was evident.

I do think Emma is being vulnerable here, moreso than we’ve seen her in some other scenes, but overall she doesn’t really have that vibe for me. It’s probably more effective for people who are fans of her character.

The last shot of Yann smashing his skateboard into the ground is a dramatic TV moment. The last shot of Eva sitting by herself, tiny against the skate park murals, is a fragile moment.

General Comments:

This was a really big week for Manon. The scenes were a little hit and miss for me. I think Manon lacks the withering disdain to really nail scenes like telling off Charles, but is stronger when she’s in full on angry protector mode, like during the fight or standing up to Sarah and Ingrid. She did finally make a much stronger impression with all of her big moments.

The moments where Alex ogles Lucas don’t really work for me and I wish they’d be cut to make room for other things, but you know how it could work? If Alex and Lucas form some kind of friendship later on, gay dude/bi girl solidarity.

There was a lot of social media this week after the big events, like Manon telling off Charles, the fight, etc. and it was like a flurry of vagueposting and flinging shade all over the place. I kinda feel like it’s too much, lmao? But I also kinda think teenagers are overly dramatic on Instagram.

Because they combined episodes seven and eight, several scenes are missing from the original, for example Jonas and Eva in her bedroom while Eva texts P-Chris, Eva and Isak in her room after Jonas finds out, and Eva arguing with her mom. It’s possible some of these moments like the Isak or mom scenes could come in later, like I guess they could have Emma and Lucas hugging it out this week. I did miss that scene because it was an important moment for their friendship (also fragile...) and more painful when we learned what Isak did. I’m not feeling the friendship between Lucas and Emma that much on screen and that could have helped. However, I do understand why these where the scenes they cut.

Personally I think having time limits to the French episodes is a strong case for doing more comprehensive rewrites, but blah blah it’s in the contract blah blah.

I was pretty nitpicky this time around but it was not a bad episode, there was a lot going on.

I sure hope someone did a parody of Yann spiking his skateboard to this song.

#skamfr reactions

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thinkingaboutsanfrancisco · 4 years

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Like water bursting free from the confinements of the dam, he finally starts to pour out the cocktail of sweet, delectable, context for me. It quickly drowns out his meaningless suggestion of being concise, but I'm not going to refute statements of immunity. I'm not mad, his lack of pith doesn't bother me. Shocking, I know, but at this point it's the only thing that is going to get me to any potential realm of understanding so I can possibly add anything of value before I eventually return home and resume anxiously stewing in my own regrets. It has to be getting late by now. Pulling out my phone and openly checking the time would be rude, so I have to take a long deep breath to still that pestering, habitual, urge. My homework was done on Friday night, surviving school on no sleep is a mastered art by now, my phone hasn't buzzed and the owl cars can carry me home if need be. I don't need to look at it. I don't need to be reminded again. Shifting more towards him, I extend my arm on the back of the bench and bring it up to rest my cheek on my palm, tuning into the spectacular story of S and Lyd.

It all begins when they're...even younger than I am? Really? Yes, he's older than me, but not by much. Certainly not enough to warrant this old man-whippersnapper dynamic he keeps putting us in. But, technically, he is right. They're...thirteen and fourteen? Middle school?! Oh Jesus Christ...

Say no more, S. I get exactly the nauseatingly obnoxious tone you're going for. Anything that sprouts in eighth grade is destined to be a fucking weed. I seriously believe that it'd be best if we just abolished that year completely, let puberty set in some so that no one has to witness the horrifying process and then resume in highschool. The slight decrease in bullshit exposure would have a major impact on the state of humanity, I assure you.

His story starts off more Wonder Years wholesome than initially expected. He sees her, that dangerously random and impalpable switch is flipped in his head where everything else in his world is rendered nebulous and she's now the only thing he can focus on, he does something with it and asks her out, gets luckier than a lotto winner when she agrees, and they date. I have to admit that I'm continuing to struggle thinking of him as anything other than his current form of a lanky college student by day and my coke supplier by night. Trying to visualize his last story that took place this morning was hard enough, but I eventually could conjure it. Beyond our burners and serving our burnouts, there's always the shining side of the coin: the life that makes walking carefully through these shadows worth enduring. It might've taken a while to grasp, the autopilot we run on out here that blinds us to the human qualities of our customers and dealers takes a minute to switch off, but it's not too hard to buy him having it to comfort someone who means something to him. We've all had to be someone's shoulder to cry on at least once in our lives, him selling me discounted grams and eight balls on a Friday night doesn't exclude him from doing that on a Saturday. He's human too.

Him as a teenager though, younger than I am...I fucking can't. I keep having to put his current self in as a visual placeholder, despite knowing damn well that he didn't have facial hair or probably as long of a drawl at fourfuckingteen, but what the hell else can I do? Imagine him freaking out on her with that same cracking barely pubescent voice that I mouthed off with too? I'd rather not. It's an amusing discrepancy but just makes it more glaringly obvious of my weird spot that I've put myself in: too deep to where I'm hooked, still not deep enough to make something out of it. I need to settle down though. He's still setting up the foundation for me and I find my lips spreading into a sardonic grin when he puts out a metaphor he knows I understand. Addiction. But him being addicted to her being akin to how he's addicted to his favorite movie is such a saccharine view of it that my stomach turns like I've eaten too many Pixie Sticks. He doesn't realize how natural his voice picks up that speed, how his eyes can still grow that agape and filled with wonder. Everything he's talking about is so innocuous that it's practically rated G, which should be a welcome change given the complete smut film that was this morning, but I've seen that same foolish look in so many other people that I can't revel in the glory of that summer pinnacle he continues to hold within him now. It's a good thing too. The comedown's already here and, while there's never any subtly to the crash, there's something painful in his frank brevity. He has to rip this moment off like a band-aid because it still hurts to think about a decade or so later and...

Is this what's going to happen to me?

I know everything feels eternal on a bad night but...is it truly going to be like this forever? Am I still going to want to bash my phone against my head over all of my miscues with Ray when I'm my fucking twenties?

Quit worrying about it. I won't even know her then.

Surely I'm never gonna cross her mind twice once she graduates and leaves my sight for better pastures---or even before if she caught my stupid drift and already said bon voyage in my inbox. God knows where the fuck I'll be, but she's too good to let herself linger in my rotting brain. She's like a shooting star, a bright little blip that dazzles into my highschool life as quickly as it leaves the sky with nothing and all I can do is sit here in the dark and watch. That's just how the world works.

You can't control fate like that.

I wish I could tell New Year's Eve 2006 S this, maybe it could've spared 2015 S from having to recount a story that chews up my silly moment of existentialism and spits it out...

Initially, it doesn't start off bad but that's becoming a reoccurring theme so I'm able to brace myself for the first bout of secondhand cringe. It's nine years ago, he's drunk and oblivious this time, and she unexpectedly breaks up with him. New Year, New Me makes me groan, but it's manageable. Unlike what happens next...

"My best friend, he looks at me, and he says - I saw Lydia making out with some guy in the bathroom. Before she broke up with you.”

Any humor that I could ever have found in this situation has drained out of me like the warmth in my body as I just stare at him, struck as stunned as his friend who had the misfortune of watching it unfold. The maniacal laugh is back again, but it does nothing to shake me from being frozen by the complete and total violation of trust that thank god I've only had to aurally witness. If anything, I at least can understand his reaction now. Hell, I can fucking respect it. It must've taken years to develop the ability to even breathe normally again after hearing about that, much less pace back and forth trying to escape the inescapable. I can't even fucking move, despite my brain screaming at me to tell him that I absolutely don't want to hear anything more chilling because I think I've heard enough of this story that I've regretfully asked for. I get the jest. They had a decade long unstable relationship, everybody's wrong, and the right thing to do is for them to not get back together again. Fuck, I can even offer him a slice of optimism now. It's a good thing that it didn't work out today, S. It's a really good thing. She's as insouciant with your feelings now as she was then and the only way it's ever going to stop is if you stop being oblivious and quit letting her walk all over you. You know it and--- "It was a day after I told her I loved her for the first time. She said it back, but…I guess she didn’t mean it, huh? Anyway..."

Now I do too.

He keeps going on, something about 2008 and...I don't know why the hell he feels it necessary to bring up James Dean but it doesn't matter. I can't listen and I don't have to. There's absolutely nothing that he can say or she could do that could shock me more than that. There's nothing anybody could do that's worse. Her physically ripping into his chest and taking his heart only to run over it several times before apathetically tossing it back to him would've been better...at least the pain would have to stop after a while and he wouldn't have to linger with the chronic ache he's been suffering from. It's humane in comparison to her fatal lie...but... "I feel like I’m fucking dying. My head hurts. So that’s the brilliant story of how I went balls deep on my ex-girlfriend right after she got cheated on. You like it? You got any fucking thoughts? Let me know. Let me know, because I’m about to have a conniption if I can’t find any reason in her unceremonious sort of break-up text. Swear to god..."

If it weren't for that, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to come back to the present...which is weird because I've never physically left it. Every memory of his is new information to me and there's so much of it that it actually makes what was exchanged with her tonight seem like an eternity ago. I have to remember that he's supposed to be the one who committed a heinous act by sleeping with her after her boyfriend cheated on her, I have to remember that she came to him crying over it, I have to remember that she isn't totally heartless and that he was the only person who's ever truly been there for her. I have to remember that this is my drug dealer and some girl I've never even met and...I have to remember to be careful. I'm definitely in too deep now and it'd be just about my luck if my fate got sealed out here without any coke at stake just because I saw past all of the nostalgia and possessed the audacity to call a spade a spade.

Maybe that's why he called me out here. Maybe I'm the only person who can say it.

My eyes close as I remove the disintegrating Parliament from my lips, breathing in and trying to bring myself back to all those fucking thoughts that I had...

"Well...there is a reason. As nonsensical, unfair, and sometimes downright cruel the world can be, within it's burning core always remains a reason and...I think you know it. Or, at least, I'm led to believe you maintain a good idea of it. You said yourself that you don't know why you're surprised because it ends up in the same shit every time and I don't think you need me to elaborate on the inevitability of the result. You two are not meant to be, and no matter how good both of your intentions are or everything else that's changed in your lives, this decade long track record cements the truth. She knows what you want and if she couldn't give that to you ten years ago and couldn't give it today, she's not going to give it to you tomorrow either. The only thing that's gonna change is when you realize that Lyd the majestic fucking angel is a joke that you don't have to keep falling fool to. You shouldn't have slept with her last night and she shouldn't have slept with you either, you're both wrong and you've both have been wrong. You've come full circle. We can sit here for another two hours and agonize over how shittily she's gone about it, but the fact is that it was honest. Brutally honest, but that's become her specialty. At least it's clarity. She's decided to move on and, if you want to finally break this long and suffocating chain, you should too. No one person is worth that much pain."

#/stopyourtrain #the bros #04122015

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xswestallen · 7 years

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Iris Remembers: Chapter 5

Summary: This chapter goes with the episode Tricksters.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“He’s headed for 5th and Main.” Cisco told Barry over the com.

Iris was sitting in a chair between Cisco and Caitlin in the cortex of S.T.A.R. Labs. Dr. Wells was was across the room, absentmindedly looking at the wall, surely deep in thought. Barry was running 1,000 mph after a jewelry store thief. Everyone but Iris was unfazed by this. She knew The Flash had superpowers and has faced a lot worse than a simple thief, but she was still concerned for best friend.

‘5th and Main’ Iris thought. Her eyes widened in sudden realization.

“Barry,” she leaned over Cisco and spoke into the com, “There’s a power plant on that street. That’s probably why he’s going there. You have to stop him before he-”

A strong gust of wind blew her hair all in her face before Iris could finish her sentence. She looked up and saw Barry removing his cowl and smiling proudly.

“Done.” he said.

Cisco high-fived him. Caitlin smiled and continued eating her lunch. Iris was impressed. This past week she jump to every chance she got to sit behind the scenes at S.T.A.R. Labs while Barry was out fighting crime. The insanity and impossibility of the whole thing hadn’t worn off yet. She wanted to shake everyone her for not freaking out about how cool this is.

Dr. Wells spun around in his wheelchair to address the group. “Another fine job, Mr. Allen. But you should always run at your maximum speed. You need to get faster. You can’t do that if you are not pushing yourself at every opportunity. Don’t get lazy, don’t get cocky with the easy criminals. Think of them as, training exercises.”

Barry looked disgruntled at these words. Nevertheless, he said, “Ok. I will next time.”

Barry looked at the clock and then waved goodbye to Caitlin and Cisco. Within seconds, The Flash suit was back on the mannequin and Barry was walking out of the cortex in his normal clothes. Iris rushed after him.

“Barry!” she called down the hallway.

He turned and looked pleasantly surprised to see her following him. “What’s up? Do you want me to give you a life to CCPN?”

“Um fun as that sounds, no.” Iris said. Barry looked a little disappointed. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“You can tell me anything.” He said.

“Mason Bridge is missing. He hasn’t shown up for work in a week and he NEVER misses work. He hasn’t called in sick or contacted anyone. We’ve called him, emailed him, but get nothing in response. I asked Eddie to look into it but he thinks it’s nothing. Something is wrong, I feel it. I’m worried something bad must’ve happened.”

Barry just looked at her, unblinking. She feared for a moment that he was going to burst out laughing or say she was overreacting.

“I believe you.” he said finally, Iris let out a sigh of relief.

Barry looked around the hallway before lunging toward Iris. Next thing she knew, she was standing outside CCPN. Barry kept his arms on her and looked in her eyes seriously.

“Iris, I don’t want to lie or keep secrets from you anymore.” He took a deep breath before going on, “I think Dr. Wells might’ve had something to do with my mom’s murder.”

Iris was shocked. Before she could ask questions, Barry kept talking.

“It’s a long story and not a lot of it makes sense right now, but Joe’s been helping me piece it together. I think maybe, Dr. Wells could’ve done something to Mason Bridge since he believed there was something going on at S.T.A.R. Labs.”

Iris covered her mouth in disbelief. She shook her head. “I thought the weird thing going on at S.T.A.R. Labs was The Flash!”

“It may not be the only thing.” Barry said. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Iris could tell he was conflicted and angry. She had a million questions she wanted to asked, but knew this wasn’t the right time. She put an arm on his elbow as a small sign of support. He smiled weakly.

“Just, promise me you’ll stay out of it? It’s not that I don’t trust you, I don’t want you getting hurt. If you start asking questions about Bridge then something might happen to you next. And, maybe you shouldn’t come to S.T.A.R.Labs again for a while.” He sounded scared. “Please, Iris. Just be careful.”

Iris nodded.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to be in danger, that’s why I didn’t tell you about my powers sooner. I will do everything I can to find out what happened and keep you safe. I-”

He stopped for a moment and Iris could see on his face how he was rethinking his words.

“Tell Eddie to drop it too, I don’t anything happening to him either. I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Iris was opening her mouth to speak when they spotted a gigantic cloud of black smoke rising from down the street.

“It’s coming from the park.” Iris said.

Barry was gone a second later.

Iris pulled out her phone and to text Eddie. She wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t reveal Barry’s secret identity and she couldn’t explain a situation that she could barely even fathom. Iris didn’t want to lie to Eddie, but it was the only option she thought would keep him safe. At last understanding why Barry and her dad lied to her, Iris texted Eddie.

“Mason is back at work today. Looks like you were right after all.”

Iris used her key to open the locked doors of Jitters. She walked into in the empty store and waited for Barry to meet her. She’d asked him to come here tonight and explain what was going on. A few minutes passed and Iris huffed at Barry’s perpetual tardiness, even with super speed. Before she got too annoyed, Barry arrived.

“Hey.” Barry said. He looked like he’d had a long day. He took a seat in one of the chairs and massaged his temples.

Iris sat down next to him. She was desperate to find out more about Harrison Wells and what he could possibly have to do with Barry’s mom’s murder. She wanted to know if he’d found out anything about Mason Bridge. But, she just took his hand. He smiled and gave it a squeeze. Holding Barry’s hand had always been comforting. Iris hadn’t realized she was in need of console too.

“I’m sorry, Iris. For everything. I know I’ve dumped a lot of information on you in the past few weeks. Time travel, that I’m The Flash, that we….” He turned his head and Iris saw him once again reconsidering whatever he was about to say. “That Harrison Wells might not be such a great guy after all.”

His heart seemed heavy. Iris wanted to make him feel better. “You saved kids at the park from The Trickster’s bombs. Everyone at CCPN is talking about how you’re a hero.”

Barry didn’t look proud of his accomplishment. “It’s hard now, fighting bad guys. I don’t think I can trust Dr. Wells but then, I think about all the bad guys he’s helped me stop. If he’s a murderer why would he care about protecting the city? He’s helped me stop so many criminals.” His face displayed his inner turmoil “Why didn’t I see this?”

He was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. Iris let him vent, it was obvious he needed to. She scooted her chair closer to his so that he could lean his head on her shoulder.

“Barry, you’ve gotten a lot of help from Dr. Wells, Cisco, and Caitlin. But, you’re still the one who’s out there fighting these guys. You’re the one putting your life on the line to save people. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve cared about helping people. Their help has been great, but S.T.A.R. Labs or no S.T.A.R. Labs, you would still feel the need to save people. You’d still be The Flash and you’d still take down as many criminals possible.” Iris told him

“I wish that were true.” Barry said, close to tears. “I’m not the hero you think I am. It’s all them. I’m just the feet. I would’ve been dead if I didn’t have them. I would’ve screwed up and let so many people die if they hadn’t told me what to do.”

“Barry, they might be geniuses who can tell you about metahumans and building super suits and stuff. But you, Barry, you have a good heart. That’s what makes you a hero.” Iris was on the verge of crying now. “And you’ve always been a hero to me.”

She looked adoringly at him. Barry looked simultaneously proud and unworthy. He put his head in his hands. Iris stroked his back gently to try and relax him. Barry’s phone dinged and he pulled it out to see who texted him.

“Can I borrow your laptop?” he asked.

“Sure.” she didn’t saying the word before Barry speed to her computer and pulled up another broadcast from The Trickster.

Iris was standing in the entryway of the cortex. Her dad, Dr. Wells, Cisco, Caitlin, Barry, and Henry were all inside.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Iris said, alerting the other to her presence. Her dad and Barry looked nervous. Henry beamed.

“It’s my dad and Barry’s fault, they don’t always tell me things right away.” Iris teased.

“Iris!” Henry said, coming over to hug her.’

“It’s good to see you again, Henry.”

“Thanks for looking out for Barry.” he said, making Iris blush. “He needs to get out of that crime lab sometimes.”

“I try to get him a social life.” Iris saw that Barry looked a little embarrassed. “I also try to remind him what an amazing hero he is.”

“You’re all heroes in my book.” Henry said to the group.

Iris looked at the floor. That comment wouldn’t help Barry’s self-esteem.

“Especially you, Dr. Wells.” Henry moved towards Dr. Wells and shook his hand. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done for my son.”

“Your son is an extraordinary man, Dr. Allen. And I will do everything in my power to ensure Barry’s future.”

Iris felt as if she could reach out and physically feel the awkwardness. She looked at Barry, who seemed to be trying to hold himself together. Henry pulled Barry in for a hug. When they separated, Iris could tell neither of them wanted to let go.

“It’s time, Joe.” Henry put his wrists together, ready for her dad to slap on the handcuffs.

“No.” her dad said.

“No?” Henry questioned.

“No.” her dad repeated.

“Ok.”

They walked off together, no cuffs necessary. That made Iris happy. She was glad their strange situation didn’t prevent her dad and Henry from getting along. Caitlin put her arms around Barry as he watched his dad leave.

“It seemed like you could use a hug too.” Caitlin said before leaving.

Iris walked out the cortex behind Caitlin, expecting Barry and Dr. Wells to come too. She stopped walking when she heard Dr. Wells talking to Barry.

“Your father is an extraordinary man. You’re lucky to have him.”

“I’m lucky to have you too.” Barry said.

Iris was surprised to hear him say that. Had Barry changed his mind about Dr. Wells being involved in his mom’s murder? Barry came out of the cortex. Iris took his hand again and they walked out together.

Iris was standing with her dad, nervously looking out the window of Barry’s lab and mentally preparing herself for what was about to happen. She heard footsteps, it was time.

“Hi, Joe.” Eddie said. “Iris, what are you doing here?” Iris couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry and her lips were cemented closed. Her dad looked at her hoping she would start the conversation. Iris spun Barry’s desk chair towards Eddie and gestured for him to sit down.

“We need to tell you something.” Iris stuttered.

“I know that you asked a few people about Mason Bridge’s disappearance. So, people know that you know he’s gone.” her dad said.

Iris gulped. She felt guilty for ever asking him to look into it. She put him in danger.

“Yeah, but then Iris told me he was fine.” Eddie said.

“I lied.” Iris admitted.

“You could be in trouble and so could Iris, so need to be in the loop so you can protect yourself and her.” her dad said.

Barry entered the room in his Flash suit. The wind he created blew the papers on his desk.

“Detective.” Barry said, not bothering to mask his voice.

Eddied watched in astonishment as Barry pulled back his cowl. Iris braced herself for what Eddie might say. He was still gaping at Barry as he slowly stood up.

“You’re going to start the rumor that Mason Bridge moved to Brazil for year to be with a girl and hike in the Amazon.” her dad told Eddie.

#westallen fic #westallen #westallen fanfiction #barry allen x iris west #barry x iris #iris remembers #iris west fanfiction #s1e17 tricksters #tricksters #the flash tricksters

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liamakorn · 7 years

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Never Tell Them

Pairing: Crowley x OC (female)

Word Count: 7474

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrom to the max, babes, omfg. Angst. Fluff. Profanity. Mentions of abuse, mentions of rape. be careful if that triggers you, friend. Ummm, Crowley might be a bit out of character??? I really bumped up the romance, okay, I just really miss my king X’3 ALSO THIS IS TOTALLY OUT OF SYN WITH THE ACTUAL TIMELINE,OKAY. IT’S ALL OVER THE PLACE, i’M SRY ^w^

Summary: Okay, so. I suck at summaries, but here I go. There’s a new supernatural weapon of mass destruction in town. Sam and Dean wanna get rid of it. Crowley wants to use it (also Heaven rlly wants it too but, that isn’t really mentioned in the story, just fyi). Crowley gets his demons to kidnap OC (Elizabeth Carter), long time friend of the Winchester. He thinks she has it, she does not, obvi. Alot of torture, all for nothing. Or so they thought, but LO AND BEHOLD, LOVE HAS BLOSSOMED in a very not healthy way, like seriously, you are being tortured, girl, I know Mark Sheppard is super sexy, but lock it up.

Anyway. Hopefully, you enjoy this little blob I made. It’s really fucking sappy, I laughed, I cried, I threw up in my mouth a little. (I also hella miss Meg, btw. She deserved better, ChuckDammit. :<)

“So.”

There came that voice again. A dreadful, nerve fraying-ly sexy voice laced with a false courtesy that continued to push each and every one of her buttons. It always started like this. He’d waltz in, crisp black suit adorning his figure, polite smile on his face, and ask the same, boring ass questions.

“How are you this fine evening?”

Slowly, she let her auburn gaze drift up to meet his dark one. A tired smirk lifted the corners of her chapped lips, voice rough and crackly.

“Better, now you’re here.”

An almost amused chuckle slipped from the man, clicking his tongue sarcastically.

“Flattery, my dear Elizabeth, will get you everywhere.”

Demeanor the epitome of calm, he brought a chair in front of her, flipping it to sit backwards in an infuriatingly casual way. Elizabeth’s gaze hardened, smirk slipping from her features.

“What d’you want, Crowley?”

He huffed, leaning his chin in his hand with a bored expression.

“You know what I want. Where’s the box?”

The blonde rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat as much she could with the chains and rope holding her still. They didn’t play with this whole interrogation thing, did they?

Her voice came out exasperated and patronizing when she next spoke.

“For the last time, you stupid, insolent prick, I don't, nor have I EVER, known where that god forsaken box is. Why don't you go torture someone with actual information for a change?”

Of course, the box being referred to was none other than Pandora’s very own. See, while most of the terrible things inside had already escaped, there were still millions of monstrous beasts waiting to be unleashed. Anyone with that kind of power could easily overrule Heaven, Hell, or even Purgatory. It had become the job of the Winchester boys to find it, and seal it away for good, before anything remotely supernatural could get their hands on it.

Problem? Crowley, the self proclaimed King of Hell, wanted the box. Bad. And he was willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goal. Including, kidnapping the Winchesters’ best friend, and hunting partner; Elizabeth Carter.

Another problem? She didn’t know jack.

Crowley sighed yet again, looking like he wanted to be anywhere apart from there. Scooting his chair closer, he was within reaching distance, a knife suddenly in his hand. His accent, previously soft and lilting, took on a hard edge, brandishing the weapon close to her face.

“Listen here, pet. I have no time for your games. This is very serious, quite life and death. So I’d appreciate a little less attitude. Understand?”

Liz raised an eyebrow, not remotely fazed by this poorly guised threat. She leaned forward, lips practically brushing his.

“I. Don't. Know. Shit. You’d think you’d take the hint by now.”

Growling, the Demon King slashed the blade against her cheek, blood flowing from the wound down the side of her face. She barely flinched, licking her smirking lips as some of the liquid landed in the area. Crowley stood, storming away from the platinum blonde in frustration. However, what she said next brought both confusion and curiosity to his mind.

“You do know what’ll happen if you get the box, right?”

______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pivoted, narrowing his eyes at the petite girl. In many ways, she could be considered beautiful. Even in those ratty conditions, it was visible. Light, almost white hair, now hanging in knotted, greasy clumps. Large orangey, yellowy, light brown eyes that shifted with a fire, bags clinging for dear life beneath them. A curvy, yet lean figure, with bones peaking beneath the skin due to lack of proper food. Still, she held that spark, that drive. To be perfectly honest, it fascinated him. To have spent weeks, almost a month in hell, enduring torture and rigorous interrogation, and still maintain a sense of humor? It was a very rare sight, indeed. But of course, he forced himself to ignore her beauty. Tore his gaze away from her full lips, focused in on those burning eyes as her statement drew him in.

A questioning quirk in his brow, Crowley graced her with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“By all means. Do enlighten me.”

He wasn’t sure whether her proud smirk turned him on or pissed him off. It could really go either way. He decided for the latter at the girl’s condescending tone.

“Once you have it, it’ll be the perfect opportunity for Lucifer’s return. You’re lovely hag mother will steal it, right under your nose, and use it to gain Satan’s favour once more. Then the Apocalypse, yadda yadda, you know the drill. Humans die, no more deals, sad Crowley has no more fwiends.”

A mix between a smile and a pout formed on her lips. He would’ve been angry if she didn’t have such a good point. Crowley fought to keep an even tone.

“Now, kitten, you know me. I would never let that happen.”

The giggle that escaped Elizabeth’s mouth was maybe the most irritatingly lovely thing he’d ever heard.

“Aww, look at you. So sure of yourself. So confident.”

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, sending a flirty wink his way.

“I like arrogance in a man.”

The sarcasm was grating on Crowley’s nerves more and more as time went on. It frustrated him to no end, in more ways than one. So, he decided, he’d switch tactics.

A small smirk on his face, a click...click… followed the demon’s black dress shoes, echoing around the dungeon as he slowly made his way towards the bound woman. Taking his time, Crowley kneeled down, squatting in front of her to achieve eye level. The smallest quirk of his lips revealed his satisfaction as she jumped, the King’s fingertips just grazing her thigh. Of course, the skin on skin contact allowed him to feel her heartbeat as well as hear it -it had been racing since he’d entered the room, and only accelerated at the touch.

Hm. Interesting development.

Focusing his gaze unto hers, Crowley allowed himself a moment to examine her. Well. More like ogle. Though she might’ve thinned a bit since her arrival, the minor malnutrition had done nothing to diminish her figure. In fact, at least in his opinion, the lack of muscle definition only accentuated her curves, gave a more...feminine appeal to her look. Her hips stood out most to him. Wide, sloping into an amazingly thin waist, achieving an effortless hourglass shape. And in those booty shorts? He had a difficult time staying professional, if he was absolutely honest. Which he never was.

He only allowed himself a few seconds before focusing back on task. It was enough, though.

“You’re drooling, Majesty.”

Crowley raised his brows, feigning shock for a moment before digging his thumb into a relatively fresh wound on the inside of her leg. Biting his lip, he watched as she gripped the arms of her chair, trying to contain a scream. Emphasis on try. Crowley was reluctant to admit the...effect it had on him, but hey. He was just a boy, sitting in front of a girl, trying not to cum in his pants as she cried out in pain.

Leaning forward, he was genuinely surprised at her sudden smile, observing in fascination as Liz actually pressed her thigh closer to his hand. That, mixed with the fire dancing behind that auburn gaze, was quite easily the most erotic thing he’d ever been witness to.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, hot stuff.”

Slowly, almost gently, he removed his thumb from the wound, sucking the blood from the digit with an audible sigh. Goddammit...it was delicious. He’d never been one of those demons, but fuck, if all blood tasted like that, he might have to try. After a series of very R rated thoughts, all compressed in a single moment, Crowley ran a finger down Elizabeth’s cheek, tangling the same hand in her matted hair and tugging sharply as he stood, keeping her eyes on him. He didn't fail to notice the way her thighs clenched, lips parting as a sharp gasp filled her lungs. A low chuckle escaped his chest.

“Ooh. Kinky.”

Using slow, deliberate movements, Crowley leaned forward, his lips brushing hers for the second time in the past five minutes. He’d be lying to say his face didn’t tingle while this close to the honorary Winchester. It amused him greatly when her body, almost unconsciously, leaned up toward his, seeking friction on her otherwise neglected lips.

He wasn't stupid. She was a hunter. A bloody good one, at that. A natural actress. This could be a very clever ploy to get him off his guard. That, or, she was just very horny. Either way, he scolded himself, it doesn’t matter. This is an interrogation. Are you gonna torture her, or flirt her to death? This is business.

Of course it was. Just business. Just. Business. He knew that. Still. It took a few repetitions for his breathing to calm.

Just breezing by her lips and cheek, Crowley pressed his mouth just below her ear, murmuring in the most rumbling, sensual voice he could manage:

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Elizabeth. Just give me the box, and then...we can start the real fun, hm?”

Pulling away the tiniest bit, the demon caught her gaze, faces inches from each other. Suddenly her lips quirked. A rattle of chains was all he heard before his knife was out of his hand and being swung at his neck. Somehow, his guard had faltered, allowing the girl to slip her bonds, if only by one arm.

Thankfully, she was slow. Tired. It was easy to grip her wrist and slam it to the chair, practically snapping the bones in the process. Not so easy to stop imagining slamming her hands to the wall, ravaging her mouth and claiming her as his own. He practically groaned aloud at the cruelty in her eyes. That anger. Oh, the hate sex they could have…

Quickly, he wrapped the chains back around her arm, making sure to fasten the bonds extra tight. Squatting in front of her yet again, Crowley tutted, lightly tapping his fingers against her thigh.

“Now, now, darling. That wasn’t very nice, was it? Do it again, and I’ll have to punish you.”

A curt laugh.

“Nobody likes a tease, Crowley.”

Smile matching hers, the demon king stood, making his way towards the door with a sigh.

“Well, dear, when you’re ready to talk, just scream my name. Lord knows I’ll enjoy it.”

Then, with a final wink, he was gone, leaving Elizabeth in the darkness once more.

~~~~~~~~

The next time Crowley visited Elizabeth, maybe two weeks later, she seemed infinitely more tired. She barely managed to lift her gaze, that fire dimmed to mere embers. Her light hair fell in matted clumps, greasy and untamed. Her skin was marred with bruises and fresh wounds. Her clothes, mere torn rags by that point, hung off her frame, bones straining from underneath her flesh. From his vantage point, Crowley could make out deep scratches in the wooden arms of her chair, nails ripped back from their beds. Still, she managed a half-assed smirk, voice shaky and rough.

“Long time, no see, lover. Didja miss me?”

The King almost growled, a sickened twist in his stomach rattling him as he witnessed the damage done to his girl prisoner. He could barely manage a disinterested tone.

“Whatever happened to you, darling? You seemed much more lively last time I checked on you.”

Her attempted laugh made him flinch.

“Well, darling, some of your dogs took it upon themselves to get some info outta me.”

She gave the tiniest tilt of her head, smirk widening.

“There was a very pretty one yesterday. I think she liked me. The determination in her eyes, so desperate to please.”

She gave a sarcastic shiver.

“Gave me chills.”

A snarl found itself on Crowley’s lips. He couldn’t quite place the discomfort in his gut. Why did the thought of other hands touching the girl make him want to crush every bone in that demon’s body?

“And who would these demons be, if you don't mind me asking? I want names, kitten.”

Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the ceiling, over-dramatizing her thought process.

“Good thing you’re puppies are so chatty. Let’s see here...Jasper. Kenny. Elijah. Aaaannnddd…..Regina.”

Rejoining her hard gaze to his own, the petite woman was about to continue when a sudden coughing fit overtook her, small spatterings of blood covering her bare legs. Without thinking about it, Crowley snapped in a glass of water, perching on the arm of her chair before holding it up to the girl’s lips gingerly.

His voice was much too soft for his liking as he murmured,

“Drink up, darling.”

Taking a slow gulp of the cool beverage, Elizabeth gave him a strange look, exhaling shakily.

“....thank you.”

Crowley almost smiled. Almost. He caught himself, quickly resuming his uncaring attitude before she could notice.

“Yes, well. Can’t have you dying on us now, can we? Not when there’s still information to be had.”

Snapping his fingers, the water was gone, smirk set like stone on his lips. The demon didn't miss the subtle fall of Elizabeth’s face, almost as if she was...disappointed. Trying, and failing, not to read too far into that, Crowley stood; not before turning and asking the same question as always, though, this time much gentler.

“Where’s the box, Elizabeth?”

A tired shrug was all he got. Sighing, yet again, the Demon King left the small dungeon, determined on finding and setting an example of those wretched pigs who dared interrogate his prisoner.

“Food will be sent down in a small while, kitten. I expect you to eat every last bite. Lord knows you need the strength.”

He could’ve sworn he heard her sigh in relief.

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t more than a few days before Crowley went to see Elizabeth again. Then again, a week after that. Barely even a full 24 hours the next time. Each visit, he was pleased to see that she got a tad better since the one prior. He’d made an effort to keep his demons away, sending food and water down more frequently. He also made an effort to ignore the whispers of the kingdom, gossip being spread of her ‘special treatment’ and how maybe the King was a bit too fond of Miss Carter. Whatever. It was nonsense, anyway. Peasant talk. She wasn’t getting any special treatment. This was merely a tactic. To keep her alive. To make her comfortable. To get the information.

It was like a mantra in his head. Almost as if he was convincing himself.

As he crossed the guarded threshold, Elizabeth’s eyes darted up, a surprisingly genuine smile lighting her face. Though her voice was still hard and throaty, sarcasm oozing from her words, there was something about that innate reaction that tugged Crowley’s blackened heartstrings. He almost felt...guilty for holding her there, wrapped in chains, treated like a prisoner.

She is a prisoner, dumbass.

“Howdy, Growley. How’s my royal pain in the ass this fine evening?”

She paused, an almost Cas like expression crossing her face.

“Or is it day? I can't really tell down here, it’s all so boring.”

Crowley bit his lip to contain a grin, secretly relishing the nickname. It was moments like these, where the banter and bickering seemed almost friendly, that really messed with his head. He shouldn’t want to laugh at her jokes. He shouldn't want to stare into her eyes, mesmerized by the flames flickering in their auburn depths. Her laugh shouldn't make his heart pound like it did, her smile shouldn't give him that fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Disgusting. He was the King of goddamned Hell, he shouldn't be getting goddamned butterflies for this measly human.

And, yet, there he was.

Again, Crowley swung a chair around, leaning with the back of it facing Elizabeth. He could tell the nonchalance bothered her. That’s probably why he did it.

“Lizzy. Dear. All I need is a simple answer. Then you will be free to go wherever you choose. Paris, maybe. Italy. New York. Hell, back to Moose and Squirrel if that’s what you really want. It’s not difficult. Just tell me. Where. Is. The box?”

The heaviest possible sigh escaped her chest, then, almost as if these repetitions annoyed her. To be fair, they most likely did. That was sort of the point. Leaning as close to the demon as her chains would let her, Elizabeth startled him with the desperation in her tone, features soft for the first time he’d seen.

“Crowley. I really, truly have no idea where Pandora’s Box is. If I did, I would’ve told you ages ago. Even if it brought the Apocalypse. To be honest, I don't give a crap about the world. Humanity can burn for all I care. But I don't. Know.”

For a few seconds, there was silence. Crowley had multitudes of reasons not to believe her. After all. Hunter. Manipulator. Lying was kind of her forte. However, looking into her eyes, he couldn't help but want to trust her words. To unlock those restraints and set her free. But one thing still nagged at him.

Slowly, almost cautiously, the King stood from his perch, stepping around his chair to stand before the girl. Sometimes, he could forget how small she was. With a mouth like that, it was easy to neglect how truly fragile a human soul could be, even one as tough as hers. But now, he could see something; lurking in the back of her mind, standing just beyond the shadows.

He crouched before her, reminiscent of their previous meetings, a curious, wondering look upon his rugged face.

“Though I must admit, I am under every inclination to believe you… I am curious…”

He braced his hands on either side of her, thumbs grazing her outer thighs as he angled himself even closer, as if the proximity would easier reveal her secrets.

“...What makes you so keen on world destruction? As a member of the human race, you’d think you would be quite object to the idea of world wide extinction.”

As quick as it appeared, the softness subsided, gaze hardened like glass against his own dark one. When no answer came, a short chuckle emitted from the demon, smirk wide and amused.

“Ooh, sore subject, I see? Well, obviously something happened along the way to taint your view of your own species. Tell me,”

A growl seeped from the back of Elizabeth’s throat, but still he pressed on, determined to figure her out.

“Tell me, how old were you? You know, when you lost faith in humanity. 14? 20? Was it a boyfriend? A sister?”

Silence was his only answer, much to his dismay. Contrary to his flippant tone, Crowley was genuinely curious. However, it was obvious she was adverse to the subject, to say the least. So, hopping up, back on his feet, Crowley dared a bold move; he lightly tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Elizabeth’s ear, not missing the subtle flutter her eyes gave. Curiously, her gaze remained on the floor, as if...ashamed. Of what, Crowley couldn't be sure. At least, not for a few moments.

As he turned to leave, hand almost on the door, she piped up, tone low and murmuring, as if speaking too loud would be blasphemy.

“Seven.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, fingers frozen mid air as her answer washed over him.

“....I’m sorry?”

Her voice was shaky again, but for a much different reason than before.

“You asked when I lost faith. I was seven.”

Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. How could you come to such a cynical conclusion at seven bloody years old???

He was almost afraid to ask. But, apparently, he didn't have to. All through her speech, Elizabeth’s eyes remained cast on the floor, voice quiet, almost fearful of what saying this truth aloud could mean.

“It was February. A few days before my birthday. For some reason it had snowed during the day, I remember because I’d spent the entirety making snowmen. After every one, I prayed to a different angel, wishing to be taken far, far away...For social services to bring me to some orphanage, or to be kidnapped or something. I wasn’t sure exactly where I wanted to go, but...but, yeah. A few days before my birthday. It was nighttime, and all the people had gone to bed. Which meant it was time for the gross smelling amber stuff to come out. I know what it was now, but then?”

She gave a sad huff of a laugh.

“I was so naive. I thought it was a...a potion that made you angry. And violent. I thought it was evil. Some form of witchcraft, or something...Which is why I never made a sound as I waited for the nightly visit from my father.”

The way Elizabeth spit the word out, as if it tasted bad on her tongue, made Crowley’s gut twist. He wanted to ask her to stop. He knew where this was going.

Instead, he sat back down, eyes trained on her face even as hers remained downcast.

“Any minute, he would walk through the door, and...and...but then, there was yelling. The sound of glass breaking, a loud thump. Two gunshots. For a moment, I-

Her lip quivered, causing her to pause. Quickly, she regained her composure, even as her voice trembled with unshed tears. She seemed to be looking everywhere but at Crowley.

“For a moment, I hoped that maybe he’d offed himself. That he had shot the nanny, or the dog, and then himself. I prayed to every angel I could name that I was finally free. Or that someone had broken in. Had killed them all. That I was ne-ext.”

For the first time, Liz’ eyes drifted towards his, that fire he so loved snuffed by the memories.

“I was seven. And I hoped beyond hope that I was alone. Seven years old, and praying for death.”

Her gaze dropped yet again, mind caught up in the past.

“But my prayers went unanswered. My door slammed open, and there he was. Brandishing a still smoking shotgun as he glared at me with such hatred. Such anger. His own child, and he hated her guts.”

Suddenly, her tone evened, the thickness gone in a matter of moments. The next sentences were uttered in an almost terrifying monotone.

“He grabbed me by the hair, dragged me through the house, and tossed me outside without a second thought. Didn't bother with a coat. Or food. Just tossed me out like the trash I was. Didn’t spare a second when I screamed, tears freezing on my cheeks as I saw my mother, half her face missing and splattered on the wall. Maybe that was why I didn’t jump, or scream, when I heard a third gunshot. Why I didn't run for help. Why I didn’t pray. No angel had answered my calls. Nobody had saved me. I couldn’t rely on anyone. I didn’t just lose faith in my father, or in humanity. I lost faith in Heaven. In God. If he truly existed, if his angels were so good and just, they wouldn’t have left me alone. Left me to suffer, to die.”

A single tear slipped past her cheek, even as her beautiful face remained stoic and expressionless. Gradually, she glanced up, a new fire lit in her gaze, this one angry and vengeful, like a witch’s pyre.

“Is that what you wanted, Crowley? My sob story?”

For the first time in his entire existence, Crowley was speechless. What could he have said? There were no words to describe what he was feeling, no words to make it better. This was a very old, very infected wound, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

It wasn't until he was stood before her that he realized he’d been unconsciously walking, reaching for her restraints without having to think about it. Elizabeth’s face contorted in confusion as the shackles were removed, chains and rope untangled to let her loose. Without a word, Crowley snapped his fingers, transporting them outside some rusty old bunker.

Crowley couldn’t even force himself to look at her, afraid she’d see the emotion in his eyes, the anger burning in his chest as he thought of what’d happened to her.

“You’re free to go.”

The shock on her face was evident, auburn eyes wide, jaw slack.

“W-what?”

It took every ounce of self control he had not to kiss that dumbstruck look off her face.

“You don’t know where the box is. There’s no point in torturing you for info you don't have. I will just have to find some other way. In the meantime, you’re free. To go. This,”

The King gestured widely, focusing on the abandoned warehouse to keep from meeting her gaze.

“This, is the Winchester’s ‘secret hideout’. They’ll patch you up, keep you safe, all that jazz. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have very pressing matters to attend to. Tell Moose and Squirrel I said hello.”

Then, without giving her a chance to speak, Crowley snapped his fingers, returning to his throne with the biggest only a slight urge to return and snuggle kiss her senseless.

______________________________________________________________

What. In. The. FUCK. Just. Happened???

That was all Elizabeth could think for a solid five minutes, staring at the spot Crowley had been just moments before. It wasn't until the cold set in that she remembered, hey, she was kinda bleeding out all over the place. As quick as she could, the blonde limped towards the warehouse looking building, rapping as steadily as possible on the metal door. An iron slot was pulled back, eyes she knew all too well peeking out before widening almost comically, fumbling to yank to entrance open with a gasp.

“Elizabeth?!”

She tried for a reassuring smirk, only succeeding a grimace as she stumbled forward into Sam’s arms. Head against his chest, she could feel his heart quicken as he took in the blood, quickly lifting her and kicking the door closed as he rushed towards what looked like a library.

“DEAN! DEAN, C’MERE, IT’S LIZ!!!”

It wasn’t ten seconds later the man in question stumbled into the room, almost tripping in his haste. A short growl left his throat at the sight of her, not hesitating as he helped get the matted rags that used to be her clothes out of the way, while Sam searched for a first aid kit.

Elizabeth scoffed at the worried glances the older Winchester kept giving her, the sound forced and laced with pain.

“Don't worry about me, Thumper, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest up a few hours.”

Sam rolled his eyes, making his way over to investigate the wounds.

“I just need to rest up a few hours,” He mocked her, raising the pitch of his voice an octave to do so.

“There’s only serious damage done to my torso and limbs, it’s no biggie!”

Elizabeth deadpanned, ignoring the snickers coming from Dean.

“Are ya done, Sasquatch? Im kinda busy bleeding out here.”

There was no playfulness in Sam’s face as he cleaned up around the wounds, clenching his jaw every time she winced. It was silent for practically half an hour as they stitched her up, disinfecting as they went along. Finally, almost finished, Dean piped up.

“So, where were you, anyway? One day you just up and vanished! No note, all your stuff where you left it. I mean, we checked everywhere. Nobody had seen or heard from you in weeks!”

A soft sigh escaped the petite girl, glancing between the boys thoughtfully.

“...honestly?”

They nodded. Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“Hell.”

The word resonated in the room, shock clearly painted on the faces of her ‘brothers’. It took a few seconds for them to find any words, even more to put them in a sensible order.

“Wait, wait...Hell?! You were in Hell?!?!”

She gave a small nod.

“Yeppers. I was on a supply run, when demons cornered me. I wasn't fast enough, and they got the upper hand. Apparently, Mr. Crowley is very interested in a case of ours, and thought I had answers. Which obviously...I didn't.”

At the mention of the demon, Dean’s jaw clenched, fists gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Even Sam, the usually calm one, seemed pissed, flipping his knife back and forth in his hands agitatedly.

Attempting to sit up, Elizabeth winced, landing back on the table with a thud. After a few moments of tense silence, she spoke.

“...he wants the box.”

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, heaving a long sigh that slurred into the beginning of his sentence.

“Uuugghh, of course he does.”

Sam’s eyes furrowed, glancing over her wounded figure thoughtfully.

“Wait a minute...you’re pretty beat up.”

A bitch face.

“Oh really? Thanks for lettin’ me know, Sasquatch, I hadn’t noticed.”

He rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean: You couldn’t walk more than five feet on your own. How in the hell did you escape...well...Hell??”

Elizabeth opened her mouth. Closed it again. Began to talk, stopped.

After a few seconds of thinking, she spoke again, quieter this time.

“He...he let me go.”

The room went dead silent, both pairs of eyes trained on her face. Dean was the first to recover.

“He what?! Sorry, I thought you said he let you go.”

“....he did.”

Sam crossed his arms, while Dean threw his arms up in the air, looking the epitome of exasperated.

“W-why?! Why would he just let his hostage go, it doesn’t make sense! I mean, unless-”

The older brother suddenly stopped talking, causing Liz to glance up at him. His eyes told a story of possible betrayal. She didn't even need to hear him say it.

“Liz, did yo-”

“What? Dean, no. I would never!”

He held his hands by his face in a defensive manner.

“Liz, if you made a deal-”

Suddenly, she was angry. Angry at Dean for insinuating that, angry at Sam for just standing by and letting him, angry at Crowley for confusing her so much. Even those old, vengeful thoughts rammed their way into her skull, reverberating in her chest. She was angry at Heaven, and Hell, and everything in between. So pissed, she couldn’t even breathe.

“How could you even-”

And then, just as suddenly. She wasn’t. As Elizabeth thought about it, she hadn’t been angry in a long, long time. When she first started hunting, when she first met the boys and John, she was so vengeful. She was furious, at everything and anything. Every monster was her dad, every victim her mom. It faded ever so slightly over time, so gradual she hadn't noticed. Until she met Castiel. And Balthazar. And Gabriel. And suddenly, she was mad again. This time at Heaven, at all the angels in the sky who had heard her. Heard her cry, heard her pray, and did nothing.

But then....that faded, too. All the hatred she had felt, all that rage, melted into...fatigue.Routine. Elizabeth tried so hard to be angry at Dean, to will up a comeback, to start screaming. But....she couldn’t.

It was almost like they could sense her mood swing, could see the defeat in her eyes. Something more than if she’d made a deal, or bribed Crowley somehow. Sam straightened, going to stop her as she gripped the table for leverage, heaving herself to her feet. He reached, fingers brushing her arms.

“Liz, no, you’re gonna tear your stitches-”

“Don’t touch me!” She spat, stumbling to her feet.

Sam retreated as if he’d been burned. Which he might as well have. She’d never snapped at him. Ever. Not in the 19 years she’d known him. Even Dean seemed rattled, regret filling his gaze at what he’d said, how little he seemed to trust her. That’s not how he meant to come off. It didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t looking. Instead, Liz limped her way down the hallway, slowly but surely moving towards one of the empty rooms she’d noticed while being stitched up. Neither stopped her as she slammed the door.

~~~~~~

She didn’t speak for weeks. Didn’t leave her room. Sam brought food, left it at the door. She wouldn’t take it if he was there. She’d never tell them why she did it. That being in a small space, alone, was comforting. That while she’d been tortured, those hours by herself had been a blessing, that she’d trained her mind to think “alone=alive”. That every small noise outside her door caused her to flinch, anticipating a demon to come back and carve into her again. She would never tell them about the nightmares. How she woke up at 3 in the morning, every morning, breathing heavy with tears running down her face, skin sticky with sweat. She’d never mention these things, not even when she finally walked into the kitchen one morning, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Eating the breakfast Sam placed in front of her without a word. Reading quietly in the library. Staying there for hours, staring at the same pages, the same words.

She wouldn’t tell them when she slipped from the Bunker, to an old abandoned shrine a few miles away. She wouldn’t tell them how she’d easily broken in. She wouldn’t tell them when she spotted what they’d been looking for for months.

She wouldn’t tell them that she’d found Pandora’s box.

______________________________________________________________

As he appeared, Crowley furrowed his brow, confused. Looking her over, up and down, he almost didn’t recognize the ravishing woman in front of him. It’d been so long since he saw her actually healthy, he’d nearly forgotten how breathtaking she could be.

Elizabeth stood before the King, no long malnourished, yet not muscly as he expected. A loose pair of jeans adorned her long legs, paired with a stretched out shirt and boots. The tank top formed beautifully around her curves, cleavage ever present above the collar. Her hair looked soft, almost white curls falling elegantly around her shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. That fire, the blaze of justice and strength that he so loved, seemed...dull. Fake. Like she was trying so hard to seem alright, but she wasn't. It shouldn’t have hurt him like it did.

That’s when he noticed where they were. A crossroads. But nobody else was there.

He smirked, trying to put off his growing dread.

“Well, don't you look lovely, darling. Can't say I’m not happy to see you...but where could my client have gone? Don’t tell me you scared them off.”

“...you’re lookin’ at her.”

He almost winced.

Keeping up the whole ‘asshole king’ schtick, Crowley sighed, giving a pleasant smile.

“Come on, darling. Really? After all that fighting, now you wanna deal? I don't give second chances.”

Her smirk matched his own.

“You will if I have what you want.”

“What could you possibly have that I-”

He stopped. Tilted his head. Assessed her expression.

“....The box?”

The smallest inclination of her head. A real, giddy smile lit up his face. Finally.

But…

“Hold on...I thought you didn’t know where the bloody thing is?”

Crowley sarcastically gasped, placing a hand over his heart.

“I’m hurt.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a miniscule smile. Suddenly, she placed her own hand on her chest, matching his tone almost...playfully. He could barely hear her over the pounding in his ears.

“I would never lie to you, Growley. I had no idea where the box was, honestly.”

She dropped the act, spreading her arms wide.

“But now, I do.”

Again, he sighed, taking a few steps closer.

“And why, exactly, would I not just torture you for that information?”

A smartass shrug.

“Didn’t work before.”

“Yes, but, you didn’t have info then. Now, you do.” He murmured, mocking her words of before. She gave a fake pout, drawing Crowley’s attention to her full lips.

“Aww, your Majesty, I thought you loved polite conversation!”

She suddenly gave a wicked smile.

“And I know you love to deal.”

He couldn’t help but grin back.

“A woman after my own heart.”

Again, the King took a step towards her, merely a foot across from the small woman. From here, he could perfectly see the different flecks of yellow and orange in her eyes, bringing such warmth and passion into the auburn depths. There was something different, though. Something that he couldn’t quite place, but seemed awfully familiar. Still, he ignored it, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if bothered by the chill, when in fact he couldn’t feel a thing.

“So.”

Her gaze flicked to his, and it was only then he realized she was checking him out. Crowley smirked, winking playfully at the blonde. To his surprise, a soft blush dusted her cheeks. He forced himself to believe it was just the cold air.

He continued, staring deep into her eyes.

“Where’s the box?”

Elizabeth smirked, shrugging yet again.

“I can't tell you. Not until we deal. You get the box. I get what I’ve always wanted. I think it sounds pretty damn fair, don’t you?”

He shrugged back, just to annoy her. He loved the frustrated gleam in her eye.

“Perfectly. So, what can I do for you, love, hm? Money, fame...a Lithuanian prostitute?”

Slowly, in the seconds of silence that followed his statement, Elizabeth’s facade cracked, revealing the full expression he’d glimpsed minutes ago. That had seemed hauntingly familiar. He’d seen it when she was talking about her past. About being abused and raped and tossed away. It was pure defeat. Fatigue so deep, no amount of sleep could heal it.

Her next words felt like he’d been stabbed in the lungs.

“...kill me.”

______________________________________________________________

Elizabeth couldn’t read his face, which scared her more than anything. After her statement, his expression slackened, completely blank for the longest time. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke, tone softer than she’d anticipated.

“Why?”

A sigh escaped her, eyes trained on the snow dusted dirt beneath her feet.

“Because I’m tired, Crowley. Tired of hunting. Tired of fighting. Tired of getting up every morning, dreading the day because it’ll just be more of the same. Going through the motions. Pretending to be there. Pretending to be angry, acting like I give a shit about what happens to the world.”

She looked at him then, astonished by the emotion in his gaze. She decided she was imagining it. He didn’t care. He was curious. He didn’t care. He didn't care.

“I’m so tired. So please. Just kill me. Hellhounds, maybe, to seem like I put up a fight. Just...please.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Crowley moved towards her, now a mere inch away. She could touch him if she wanted. Which she definitely didn’t want. At all. She did.

Then he pulled an angel blade from his jacket.

“Gladly.”

She almost flinched. But then, her eyes shifted, catching the motion of his hand as he flipped it to face towards him, point pressed against his sternum.

“Right after I kill myself.”

A gasp left her, hand grabbing the blade without her consent and dropping it to the ground. She stared at it, breathing hard as she realized what’d happened. How quick her reaction was. How strong the urge to protect him had been. How angry she was that he’d try and pull something like that.

“No.”

Feeling his fingertips on her chin, Elizabeth looked up, not even concealing the tears in her eyes. Crowley’s gaze was almost tender as he caught one beneath his thumb, wiping it away while maintaining eye contact. His next statement caught her completely off guard.

“Then don't ever, ask me to do that again. Understand?”

Though his tone was gentle, it left no room for argument. She couldn’t even nod. Just stood, confused, unconsciously leaning into his hand.

“...why?”

She hated how weak she sounded in that moment. Voice shaky, thick with tears, breathing fast and short. He took a while thinking, grazing his thumb over her lips while doing so. Eventually, he spoke, though not about what she expected. Or wanted.

“New deal.”

Though kind of disappointed, she nodded anyway, curious as to what this entailed. He had a mischievous gleam in his eye, drawing the tiniest of smiles from the blonde. He seemed to have that effect.

“New deal is: You show me where the box is...and I take you away from this life.”

Her smile grew, liking this deal already. A shaky laugh left her.

“H-how?”

“Simple, my dear. You could stop hunting. No more fighting, no more bruises. No more broken bones or broken hearts. You would live in luxury. Anything you could ever want...like a queen.”

Her breath halted, eyes widening. She didn’t dare let herself hope, but...could he mean..

Elizabeth’s voice was trembling with barely contained joy, expression melting into an impish grin. She hesitantly moved closer, their bodies almost pressed together by that point.

“And...w-whose queen would I be?”

His smirk softened to a fond smile, searching her gaze apprehensively.

“Well...mine, hopefully.”

She couldn’t help the face splitting smile that graced her lips, shocking even herself at the giggle that escaped her chest. She mischievously placing her arms on his shoulders as she pretended to think.

“Hmm...I dunno. Does Lucifer need a queen anytime soon?”

“That’s not funny.”

Even as the words were said, Crowley had a million dollar grin on his face, as if he just won the lottery. Which, unbeknownst to her, was exactly how he felt.

She still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d turned her mood around. Just an hour before, she was ready to die. Now? For the first time, in a long time, she was excited to live. Without pain. Without hunting.

Hunting.

Elizabeth grimaced, thinking of the Winchester boys. They were like her brothers, how could she just become the Queen of Hell, and not betray them? How could she hand over Pandora’s box, and allow Crowley to take over everything, and not hurt them in the process?

“Moose and Squirrel will not be harmed, if that’s what you’re thinking. Earth, pretty much, I’ll leave alone. No need to mess with the livestock.”

She gave a playful glare, only causing him to waggle his brows suggestively. After a few moments she couldn't help her laugh, leaning her forehead against his chest as her giggles faded. A soft sigh left the blonde as he wrapped his arms around her body, soft black material encasing her, trapping his body heat in to block the cold.

“So.”

His voice broke through her thoughts, causing her to look up into his dark eyes expectantly. He smirked and winked.

“Should we seal this deal, then?”

Pretending to be exasperated, Elizabeth heavily sighed, acting annoyed before reaching up and crashing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

She would never tell the Winchesters how close she came to death. She would never mention how relieved she’d been when Crowley pulled out the blade. Or how scared when he turned it on himself. She’d never tell them how soft his lips had been as she kissed him, relishing the dig of his fingers at her hips as he groaned, the embrace long in the making. She’d never tell them about showing him the crypt where the box was hidden, protected from all eyes in Ancient Greek letters even time had forgotten about. She’d never tell them about the first night she spent in Crowley’s castle, falling asleep quickly. How, for the first time in weeks, she slept soundly, waking more rested than she’d ever been. She’d never tell them the feeling of opening her eyes to see Crowley staring back, not having had to sleep yet staying by her side anyway, just to make sure she was alright. She would never tell the boys the rush of relief and peace she felt that morning. How, for the first time in her life, she was home. Even in this weird, unlikely romance, she felt safe. Warm.

She would never tell the Winchesters the story of her ascent to the throne, or of the love her and Crowley shared.

And she would never tell Crowley that, in finding him, and the passion and dedication he showed her everyday, she’d found it. What she’d been missing her whole life.

She’d never tell anybody but Castiel. That, in finding her king;

She’d found her faith.

(HUGS AND KISSES FOR ALL OKAY, LUV YA, BABES!!!! ~Ali)

#Supernatural #Crowley #My King #crowley x reader #crowley x oc #original #trigger warning: abuse #trigger warning: rape #My poor baby #Sappy af #all the fluff #hugs and kisses

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sailorspazz · 7 years

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[Fanfic] No Words (Black/Zamasu)

Yup, look at me, still caught up in this damn ship that isn’t getting nearly enough attention in the form of fan works. Hence, I was “forced” to write another story :3

Title: No Words

Series: Dragon Ball Super

Pairing: Black/Zamasu

Rating: M (for sex)

Words: 5,100

Summary: As a jealous Zamasu enacts punishment upon him, Black wonders what's really on his other self's mind.

Where to read: Posted on fanfiction.net and ao3. Or just click below!

Well well well…looks like this piece of fujoshi trash is at it again! A few months have passed since I wrote my previous fic about these two, and I’m still sailing hard on the Black/Zamasu ship. I’m a bit disappointed to see that not many on the English-speaking side of fandom have joined me in creating fan works, though :/ Seriously, the number of fics out there right now can be counted on one hand! So here I am, adding another one to the very small pile with the hope that we can someday make it into double digits…!

But I can at least take solace in the thriving Japanese ZamaBlack fan-art community, which led to the inspiration for this story. In fact, the premise is based on a particular comic by a highly prolific artist. Though the scenario may be distinct enough that those who’ve seen the original piece will probably recognize the source, it’s basically the setup and a small amount of dialogue that are similar, and I do my own thing with it from there.

One more thing: after I put myself out of my own element by making my previous fic about these guys a bit dark and twisted, this time I’m back in my more comfortable fluff and smut zone♥ Try not to gag on any excessive cuteness that may occur :P

Completed: 2017.02.15

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“…completely unforgivable! How dare you!”

One moment I’m taking a well-earned nap following a hard day of working toward creating an ideal world, the next I’m being rudely awakened to hear the tail end of an accusation being hurled at me by my partner. I try to sit up, but find that I’m being pinned to the bed by an unseen force, still too groggy to comprehend what’s happening.

“I don’t care if you were just talking in your sleep,” he continues ranting, piercing me directly with a fiery glare now that he sees I’m waking up, “The only name you should ever speak is mine.” His hand snakes its way under my shirt, fingers stroking my chest and abs, and as I try to move again I realize that he’s using his godly powers to hold my mortal body immobile. Only my head and neck can move according to my own will, though it seems other parts can still move instinctually, as demonstrated by the erection forming in my pants. Even though I don’t know what’s going on, being forced down by him is undeniably a turn on.

The growing lump doesn’t escape his notice and his hand moves down to caress it, his gentle motions sharply contrasting with his irate expression. “Is this…for me?” he asks with a disconcerting amount of mock sweetness. “Or…for that Saiyan?” his tone darkens and he grasps my erection tightly. I cringe and gasp as he maintains his forceful grip for several unbearably long moments.

When he finally lets go, I look up at him, pleading for a measure of rationality. “Za…Zamasu, don’t be ridi—” He cuts me off with a brutal kiss, his tongue violently probing my mouth. I meet his lips with the same level of desire, even though as I’m clearing the fog of sleep from my mind, I find his behavior to be quite baffling. Based on what he’s said, I must have inadvertently mumbled Trunks’ name in my sleep. Yes, I can see why that could upset him, but his reaction still strikes me as rather extreme.

He breaks his lips away from mine, a silky thread of saliva briefly keeping our tongues connected as we part. “I have to punish you now,” he states coolly, making me leery for what sort of punishment he has in mind if that painful vicelike grip on my dick wasn’t even the start of it. But the menacing look in his eyes from moments ago has dissipated, and he now wears an impish grin as he slides my pants downward. “You need to repent for what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve ‘done’ is nothing. Talking in my sleep doesn’t…” I trail off as I realize he isn’t listening to my protest anyway, his attention becoming undividedly fixated on my dick as it pops up after he removes my pants. He takes it in his hands and is concentrating so hard that it almost seems as if he’s addressing it rather than me as a whole when he speaks.

“Now I’m going to make you come. For thirty minutes straight.” After making this declaration, he begins softly blowing on my erection, seemingly at odds with his stated goal. Such gentle stimulation isn’t going to get me off, after all, so if he wants to make me come over and over he’s going to have to get serious rather quickly.

But as he continues this seemingly unstimulating action, alternating between hitting me with cool, concentrated streams of air, exhaling warm breath onto me, and sucking air away from me, I soon discover that this is far more arousing than I would’ve expected. Perhaps the fact that I can’t move is making it even more effective (though if I tried, I could easily break out of his hold; even if his technique is highly effective on mortals, I have the mind of a god, not to mention a body that had access to godly ki even before I took it over). This teasing is making me yearn for him much more than I would if I could simply decide the pace as usual and do whatever I please.

And thus, an embarrassingly uncouth moan escapes my throat when he finally decides to take me into his mouth. After taking his time to work me up, he’s now going all out to finish me off. In an instant, he buries my erection so deep that the tip hits the back of his throat, then propels his head rapidly up and down. Not even a minute passes before his mouth fills with my cum, which he noisily gulps down, then he sloppily licks up small droplets that have dribbled out from his mouth onto my dick. He’s clearly playing this up, and looking so erotic doing it that I almost immediately become hard again.

My counterpart glances mischievously at me as he finishes running his tongue over my once again stiffened member. “Ready for more already?” he chuckles. He goes to work removing my remaining clothing, giving me a moment to go back to the thought of how odd this all seems. Of course I’m enjoying what he’s doing, but the reasoning behind it, this apparent jealousy over that Saiyan boy, makes absolutely no sense. How could he question our bond so much that he’d display such inexplicable insecurity? We’re working every day to create a utopia in which no one but the two of us will be left alive. Our dedication to our cause and each other is unshakeable. I would never—could never—betray him for anyone else; he must know this. So why…?

Zamasu undresses himself after he finishes throwing my clothes aside and lies on the bed next to me. Our faces are almost close enough to kiss, but he stays out of reach when I try to move my lips closer to his. He slides a hand down my body, firmly taking my erection in his hand, and begins stroking it at a leisurely pace.

I try searching his face for clues about what he’s thinking. Is this merely a sex game, and he came up with the contrived jealous lover act as a flimsy excuse to play out this fantasy? He notices that I’m looking at him and our eyes meet. I recall being told in the past that my face was highly inscrutable, and it was impossible for others to ascertain my mood just from looking at me. But knowing my own former face as well as I do, it’s usually easy for me to tell what my other self is feeling, mostly through those subtly expressive eyes. As I look into them, I can detect a myriad of emotions: a palpable sensual playfulness, a hint of steely determination, and, hidden a bit deeper, a sense of unease and anxiety. He’s not just putting on an act; there really is something worrying him. But I highly doubt it has anything to do with Trunks.

My partner seems to not appreciate the lingering, inquisitive look I’m giving him, and moves his face closer to mine. Just as our lips are about to touch, he fakes me out and pecks my cheek instead. Starting from there, he kisses a trail down my neck and across my collarbone, stopping once he reaches my chest. He drags his tongue over each nipple in turn, using long, laborious strokes to work them into rigid nubs. His hand starts working me a bit faster, though I can tell he’s still drawing this out and doesn’t intend for me to come right away, giving me a bit more time to think.

I know there’s no way he could legitimately believe that that Saiyan could tempt me to do anything other than use him to enhance my fighting skills. Zamasu and I have a link to each other that’s impossible to experience with anyone else. I’ve heard humans have a cliché of referring to romantic partners as being two bodies sharing one soul, but we actually embody that sentiment, and certainly have a far deeper understanding between us than those simpleminded pests could ever comprehend. No matter how long two separate beings have known each other—including gods who’ve spent countless millennia together—they could still never know the inherent kinship felt with another version of oneself. Calling it a relationship, a partnership, or anything of that sort that feels insufficient to describe what we share. There are no words for it; we are simply everything to each other.

Though our bond as a whole may be indefinable, obviously there’s a romantic and sexual side to it that’s heavily defined by mortal behavior. Gods don’t tend to form these sorts of relationships, so the way we act as a “couple” has ended up being based largely on what we’ve observed over long spans of human history. “Love” seems to be the closest representation of what we feel, though what we share goes far beyond that. And we do use that word to express our feelings for one another, even knowing that it’s basically meaningless to do so. Now I have to wonder if this jealous outburst is the result of Zamasu getting too carried away in the human-like influence of the romance we share, and he’s being swayed to act this way based on observations of how they behave when they betray each other.

The realization hits me that it’s a cover-up. This thought brings some sense of relief, knowing he doesn’t truly believe I would forsake our bond for any reason. But I can’t feel at ease yet, because there’s still something bothering him, and the fact that I don’t know what it is disturbs me immensely. As kindred spirits, it shouldn’t be possible to have misunderstandings or secrets between us. And yet, we’ve noticed during the years we’ve spent together that our personalities have gradually started to diverge. At our core, we’re both still Zamasu, but the differences in our life experiences, though in terms of time have been a very small percentage, have included hugely formative events like my decision to take over the body of Son Gokuu. Up until now, our emerging differences have been insignificant enough that they’ve only led to occasional minor disagreements. Now he’s intentionally hiding something from me, and even trying to cover it up. Still, I believe in our connection to each other more than anything, and I will figure out what’s on his mind, even if he doesn’t want me to know.

I can feel Zamasu becoming serious about getting me off as he starts to jerk me more vigorously. He breaks away from licking my nipples and looks me directly in the eye, maintaining eye contact as he repositions his body, silently imploring me to keep watching him. He puts his face near my dick, and though I expect him to finish me off with his mouth again, he keeps stroking away, still staring at me with a sly sparkle in his eyes. I finally succumb to his energetic hand job and release my load all over his face. The sensuousness of his joyously amorous expression increases many times over when covered in a fine sheen of jizz, I discover.

He can tell that I’m completely in awe of him, and grins lecherously as he licks his lips. “Mmm…the taste of you just drives me wild.” He wipes some of the cum off his cheek with his hand, then starts rubbing it against his nipples. “It feels so good on my body. I want to feel it…everywhere.” His hand moves down to his dick, touching the tip where his pre-cum is leaking out and mixing our fluids together. “I want it…Ah! Inside me…” He moans as he moves his hand around to his backside, pushing cum coated fingers into his asshole.

God damn, I wish I could move right now. He’s making me lust for him so hard, I can’t even think straight enough to figure out how to counteract his god powers and release myself from his hold. And he looks incredibly pleased with himself as he gazes down at me, relishing my obvious agitation. I’d love to throw him down and fuck that smug smirk right off him…though I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants me to be thinking right now, and doing so would only heighten his smugness to new levels.

He stops fingering himself and brings his face close to mine, offering me the cheek still dripping with cum. “Taste it,” he softly commands, quickly switching to his dominant side after teasing me with his submissiveness. We’re both capable of fulfilling either of these roles for each other, so I willingly submit and begin licking him. I brush my lips and tongue over his cheek, tasting my own essence, lapping up every last bit. When I attempt to move to the other side of his face to slurp up whatever he failed to wipe off before, he stops me by catching my mouth with his own, pulling me into a long, probing kiss. When he detaches his lips from mine, he scolds me playfully, “I said you could taste it, not have all of it. Now I’ll have to make more…”

His hand latches onto my dick again, though this time he’s slathering it in a lubricating substance of his own creation. He maneuvers his body so he’s straddling my lap facing away from me. I can see him peeking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching him; clearly he’s chosen this position to ensure I have a good view of what he’s doing. So I obediently look at the intensely erotic sight of my own erection slowly entering his ass as he pushes down on me. He slides it all the way in in one drawn out, smooth motion, then rises up again to repeat the process. After a few of these protracted establishing thrusts, his hips start moving with more speed and power, and he starts throwing in moans and yelps that I can tell aren’t entirely genuine, yet still sound so enticing.

And as I remember what he stated at the beginning of all this, I have to wonder, how the hell does he consider this a punishment? Immobilizing me and “forcing” me to endure incredible sex hardly seems like an effective deterrent. Then I realize that calling it such was also a cover-up to hide his true intentions. Thinking back to everything he’s done to me so far, it seems more like this is supposed to be a showcase of his skills.

I’m momentarily distracted by the feeling that I’m about to come…except right before I get there, he suddenly slows his pace way down, preventing me from hitting that peak. Which only solidifies in my mind that he’s indeed showing off how well he knows my body. Back when we first teamed up, it was much easier for me to pleasure him than the other way around, since I had the advantage of knowing everything about the body I formerly occupied. Zamasu, on the other hand, had to learn how to best satisfy the body of Son Gokuu…and did he ever. Over the past few years, we’ve spent countless hours enjoying each other’s company, exploring and experimenting, doing things this body’s original inhabitant would never dream of. I’d say at this point, when it comes to pleasing my body, my other self probably knows even more than I do.

He knows too much, in fact, as he again builds me up to just before the point of climax, only to deny me once more. I protest with a dissatisfied grunt and he glances back at me, looking more self-satisfied than ever. He doesn’t say a word, but looking into his eyes I can clearly imagine his voice: “See, you don’t need anyone else. No one knows you like I do.” I know he doesn’t believe I’d leave him for Trunks, but I can tell there’s some threat he doesn’t want to lose me to, and I still have no idea who or what it is.

He repeats this pattern again. And again. And my mind starts becoming so mired in desperation that I can’t even keep count anymore, but after at least a half dozen repetitions I feel close to losing it. My body is trembling, aching for the release he refuses to grant me. I try to plead with him, though I can barely even speak through my haggard breaths. “Za…su…”

“Beg,” he states bluntly, not even bothering to turn his head to address me.

“Pl…se…”

And he immediately picks up the pace again, thrusting himself down onto me vigorously. I’m quickly pushed over the edge, the primal vocalizations pouring out of me shockingly undignified and unbefitting of a god. He waits until all of my seed has been emptied into him, then lies down next to me on his side, watching my body shiver as I recover. “How was that?” he asks, and though my eyes aren’t even open I can just hear the smirk in his voice.

Despite the fact that my breath is still coming in shallow gasps, I attempt to answer anyway. “You…you’re not really…doing what you said…”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“You said…you’d make me come…as many times as possible…in thirty minutes.”

He snickers. “Well, that’s not actually how I phrased it. I never mentioned anything about the number of times.” I open my eyes and see that he’s giving me a highly seductive look with those smoky gray eyes. “Just that I’d keep you coming continuously. Of course that includes the buildup to that payoff. Wouldn’t you rather have quality over quantity?” His hand drifts down to my cock again, caressing it tenderly. “Although we still have a few minutes left, so we could try for one more…”

But after that last insanely powerful orgasm, I find it highly unlikely I’ll be able to get hard again before time is up, even with Zamasu’s unmatched skill. “I…I don’t think it’ll…”

A slight furrow appears on his brow as he tries and fails to make my flaccid member erect again. But his expression turns alarmingly sadistic in an instant. “Then…I suppose…” He sits up and appears to be stroking his own erection now. “…there are other ways to make you come.” I realize that he’s not merely touching himself, but is applying lubrication.

I look at him warily. It’s not that we never do it this way—though usually it only happens if I’m rather intoxicated. I certainly don’t mind letting him do whatever he wants to me, but I am concerned about that vicious grin on his face. I realize now that he’s been so focused on demonstrating his precise control over my body that he hasn’t come even once yet, so he’s probably incredibly pent up and eager to unleash his passion on me.

I suddenly find myself being forcefully flipped over. His hand connects with my ass, smacking it sharply. I instinctively cry out, though not entirely from pain; I have a masochistic side too, after all, so this isn’t actually unpleasant to me. He continues slapping, and I groan salaciously each time he makes contact; I can’t work him up quite as much as he did to me earlier since I still can’t move, but I can do my best to play this up.

I hear him chuckle after he stops spanking me, brushing his hand against the spot he had been concentrating his strikes upon. “My, what a pretty pink color. So your ass can turn Rosé too?” Once he finishes admiring his handiwork, he yanks me upright roughly by my hair. He wraps an arm around me to help keep me vertical as his mouth attacks my neck and shoulder, gnawing on me ferociously then dragging his tongue across the wounds he’s caused. He moves up to my ear, tickling me with his warm breath as he whispers demandingly, “Who do you belong to?”

“You. Only you,” I answer unwaveringly, wanting him to know how much I mean these words. “We belong…only to ourselves.”

His voice sounds slightly calmer as he chimes in, though still a bit on edge. “Only us two. No other…”

“Only us kindred spirits, sharing the same mind and soul, are worthy of each other.” As I’m about to turn my head toward him, he’s already jerking me back and kissing me fiercely. I can sense a surprisingly large amount of insecurity behind this action. Somehow my efforts to allay his unspoken concerns have only made things worse.

He lets go of my hair and unwraps his arm from around me, causing my limp body to flop inelegantly down onto the bed. He rolls me onto my side and scoots forward to position himself between my legs, lifting the top one slightly. I grimace as he pushes his hips forward and slides himself inside me, not at all bothering to start out slow and gentle. As he continues thrusting at a steady pace, at first I’m biting my lip and hissing at the pain, since I’m not used to being taken by him this way. But as he continues, he starts hitting me in just the right spot, and I find myself panting and moaning involuntarily. He takes my sensual vocalizations as a sign that he can ramp this up a bit, and begins plunging into me deeper and faster. The room fills with the sounds of the bed creaking, our skin slapping, and my own moans quickly increasing in pitch and fervor. He brings his mouth down to my nipple, sucking and licking and biting, sending me even more into a frenzy; if I were able to move, I’d absolutely be writhing in pleasure right now. It won’t be long until he makes me come…

But I’m abruptly ripped from this blissful state as he pulls out of me, leaving me bereft. I sit up and glare at him. “What the hell…?” I start to shout, belatedly realizing that he’s released his hold on me and I’m able to move again.

“It’s been thirty minutes. Your punishment’s over now,” he explains in an irritatingly matter-of-fact manner. But then slyness creeps into his expression. “Now you’re free to do…whatever you please.” Obviously he’s expecting—and hoping—for me to exact revenge upon him. And I’m very much inclined to do so, but after spending the last half hour completely at his mercy, I don’t want this to play out exactly as he thinks it will.

I shoot him a sinister grin, then shove him down on the bed and crawl on top of him. “What I’d like to do is…” At first he looks at me with anticipation, fully expecting me to spread his legs and fuck the hell out of him. Then he looks perplexed as I straddle his lap instead. “…finish what you started.” I press my hips downward, inserting him inside me once more. As I rock up and down, my smile grows as I see him gripping the sheets and gasping, the flushed coloring on his face spreading like fire all the way out to his pointed ear tips. Even after everything he did to me before, he still hasn’t come yet, so this’ll probably be over quickly. I start to buck my hips wildly, relishing the lustful moans coming out of him. My hands are pressed against his chest to brace myself as I grind against him, and his hand moves up to rest upon mine. One of his fingers brushes against the Time Ring, and in that moment I see a hint of distress in his eyes.

And after more than thirty minutes of unsuccessfully trying to figure out what’s been bothering my other self, all it takes is one almost imperceptibly subtle change of expression to give me the one hint I needed to tie all the clues together. It’s true that we’re the same in most ways, but the biggest difference between our personalities is my high level of ambition. My need to exact justice on the evil I could no longer sit back and watch is what brought us together, but I realize now that he worries it could also tear us apart. It’s likely a fear he doesn’t want to legitimize by speaking aloud, but he thinks it’s possible that I’ll reach the point where I won’t need him anymore. Of course he knows no other god or mortal could come between us, but knowing that other versions of us exist in other worlds means there’s still someone else out there with whom I could form the same kind of unrivalled partnership. This reason for his jealousy does make logical sense, but I still can’t help but feel he should believe in our bond more than that. He needs to recognize how important he is to me, without having to resort to trying to “prove” his value.

I cease my hip movements momentarily, bringing my face down close to his. “Zamasu…” I cup his chin in my hand and smile tenderly. “I don’t need any other me but you.” His eyes widen, then soften, and he beams with pure joy and relief. I push myself up for leverage again and thrust him deeply inside me a few more times, bringing us both to our climax simultaneously. He throws his head back and lets out a tantalizing shout as his body shudders and ejaculates inside me. I wait for him to finish filling me up, then roll off of him onto my side. We wrap our arms around each other and spend several long moments just listening to our own heavy, perfectly synced breathing.

“Th-thank you,” Zamasu stutters once he fully regains his breath. “I…I realize it may have been unfounded, but I’ve been worrying about that recently.” He looks timid, almost ashamed that these doubts even crossed his mind. “I know you’ve noticed too that we’ve been diverging lately. We don’t always agree anymore, so I thought…maybe you’d rather move on and start over with another Zamasu. You could learn from what happened with us and find another version that you could stay better in sync with.”

I shake my head adamantly to dismiss his fears. “Traveling to another time in the first place was a huge risk. With each world having its own circumstances, there was no guarantee that I’d find another me. Other versions of myself could’ve not existed at all, or might’ve even been appalled by my plan and tried to stop me. I wasn’t looking for just any other me; it had to be one that wholeheartedly supported what I was doing…and I found that in you. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have ended up with you, because I have no doubt that this combination of us is the best possible partnership. So what if we have petty disagreements? That’s utterly meaningless in comparison to all that we do share. Our minds, our souls still resonate on a far deeper level than anyone else is capable, or even worthy of understanding. No matter where the Zero Mortals Plan takes us, you will always be by my side. I need only you, I want only you…”

I’m cut off as he leans forward and softly brushes his lips against mine. He smiles warmly at me. “I know. I should’ve never doubted you. It’s just…these feelings we have are so overwhelming, it’s hard for me to stay rational when it comes to you. But I know that I…that we…” Our eyes are fiercely locked in an unwavering gaze, both feeling completely engulfed by a swirl of unbearably strong emotions, and we say the words together.

“…Love ourselves…more than anything.” Practically speaking, expressing our love shouldn’t hold that much meaning, but in reality it’s profoundly heartwarming to do so. We’re compelled bring our lips together and share a delicate kiss. It stays very chaste at first, gradually progressing to us opening our mouths slightly, then a bit more to let our tongues touch lightly. We start with them barely brushing together, slowly work up to sliding them against each other, and eventually allow them to enter each other’s mouths. Even then we keep our pace unhurried, breathing into each other deeply, caressing each other with the soft touch of our lips and tongues. It becomes so overpoweringly intense that we ultimately need to break it off to get a hold of our senses again. We stare at each other intently, basking in the heated passion threatening to overflow once more. His eyes are shimmering from the pure enormity of our love for each other, and I’m sure mine must be too.

There may be no words that even come close to describing what this is. But what we share, what we feel, what we are is simply…

“Beautiful…”

THE END

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Hhnnnngggghh♥, oh my god, I love these two so much~! I don't even care if the fluff got too mushy, I just want them to be happyyyy...why they gotta die ;_; Anyway, I hope it was enjoyable, and I look forward to seeing what the fandom continues to produce for this ridiculously addictive couple (moar fics plz :3)

#fanfic #dragon ball super #zamasu #goku black

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theroseandcrown · 3 years

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The Rose & Crown: Chapter Fourteen (Part One)

Rating: M Chapters: 14/24

Summary: The Doctor explains the concept of a bootstrap paradox and sends the TARDIS to a very familiar place.

Read this story on another platform: Archive of Our Own Fan Fiction WattPad

“Has it always been this cold in here?” Clara asked as the Doctor led her through the threshold of the TARDIS.

He raised his brow at the question, concentrating all of his energy on delicately guiding her towards the seat as if she would shatter at any moment. “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to fix that,” he lied. He helped to situate her on the cushioned chair then headed through the door into her flat once again. “Make yourself at home, I’ll only be a minute!” he called from outside.

She took this momentary time to herself to scan the familiar room for anything that might have been out of sorts since the last time she was on board. So many memories, this place, she thought as she reminisced every encounter both within the ship and wherever it had taken her. It had become a part of her heart, the missing piece to the puzzle that was her existence. She couldn’t imagine what her life would’ve been like had the Doctor not shown up on the doorstep of the Maitland household that day. She wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for him. Her consciousness would have forever been lost inside the digital world for all of eternity without him there to pull her out of it. The woman she used to be was consumed by the never-ending desire to travel the world, filling the pages of her scrapbook with her extraordinary journey into self-discovery and exploration. He offered her the universe.

Upon her observations, she noticed the work table, normally reserved for engineering all of his oddly structured gadgets and inventions, had been repurposed as a drawing board for several dozen different sketches and mathematical calculations. Her curiosity got the better of her and she stood to gain a better look at his project. Sifting through the pages, she encountered numerous models of planets and solar systems charted throughout the galaxy. Each location had been given a precise numerical equation and symbol beside it. “What have you been doing in here?” she called to him.

After a few moments, he re-entered through the door holding a travel bag full of maternity clothes and the warmest throw blanket he could find. “I wasn’t sure what you would need,” he gestured to the articles in his hands. “I hope these will be sufficient.” He placed the bag on the floor and began unfolding the blanket.

“What is all this?” she asked, holding the drawings up to the light.

“Ah, I see you’ve discovered my battle plans,” he answered, gracefully placing the blanket over her shoulders.

“Have you been scheming to start a war I don’t know about?”

“We’re already at war, and I intend to stay one step ahead of it.” He moved to the table and spread the pages out in front of him. “According to the charts lining the walls of Quynn’s battle-room, these are the exact locations of her bases of operation.”

“Wait, hang on. Did you seriously memorize all of this from just one glance?”

“Of course I did. What else did you expect me to do while she tangentially rambled on about herself, make tea?”

“What are you planning to do?”

“In order to gain an advantage over her forces, I’ll need to disrupt the inner workings of her infrastructures. Even if it means I have to take them out one by one. The weaker her hold on the planets she controls, the easier it will be to bring her down.”

“And this is what you needed my help with? To go into battle with you? Have you seen me lately?” she gestured to her appearance.

“No, no. Your job is much more important. And far less dangerous,” he assured her.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked. He reached into his pocket pulling out a pair of small audio devices and held them in front of him. “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” she began, hesitantly taking one from his open hand. “You want me to stay here on the TARDIS while you charge straight onto the battlefield, alone?”

“Precisely, I need you to be my eyes and ears. We have no idea what could be out there, what dangers we may face. This is the best alternative we have for keeping you safe.”

“And what about you? What if you end up getting yourself killed out there?”

“The TARDIS safety features will be activated in the event of my death. She will take you back home and dematerialize, hiding herself away so that she doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Clara sighed and brought her fingers to her temples in mild frustration. It certainly wasn’t the first time she considered his reckless plans to be positively suicidal, and it wouldn’t be the last either. “And what about the TARDIS, isn’t she still being tracked? Won’t they know we are coming?”

“Ah, I’ve thought about that.” Heading to the console, he pressed a few buttons on its interface then grabbed a handle-like apparatus and pulled it towards him. The time machine suddenly began to shift its power as the emergency lighting activated and flashed all around them.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m switching off the safeguards, turning off the navigation computer.”

“Right, okay. And why are we doing that exactly?”

“If I had to guess, I would say Quynn has been tracking our movements via a tracer attached to the nav-com. It must be broadcasting our time vortex signature directly to her and she’s been using it to follow us through the wake we leave behind. I’m simply interrupting the broadcast. The TARDIS is equipped with certain safety measures to ensure that flight is still possible in the event the navigation computer became damaged. Remember, we’ve done this before. We plugged you into the TARDIS telepathic interface.”

“You mean the squishy thing?”

“Clara. This is the most advanced ship in the entire universe, equipped with more scientific technology than any other race in the galaxy will ever possess. She’s a living breathing machine able to psychically translate millions of languages directly into your mind. The sheer complexity of her very existence and capabilities would take me an entire lifetime just to explain to you.” He removed a panel from the console revealing the gel-like material that formed its telepathic interface. “And yes, the squishy thing.”

“Doctor,” she started as she watched him head to the table and proceed to look over his plans. “Exactly how do you intend to take out her forces? We’ve seen their defences, their weapons. We know how powerful they are. Let’s just talk this out a bit. Do you honestly think you’ll defeat them all by running straight into battle armed with only a screwdriver?”

“Every army has its weakness, the key is simply finding it before they discover yours.”

She sighed concededly and began to accept that his mind had already been made. “Are you sure about this? What if Quynn is there waiting for us? What if this plan of yours doesn’t work? What then, Doctor?”

He sighed and turned around to face his companion. The emotions he protected inside himself had begun to bleed out. The more he tried to bandage them, the larger the wound had become. The greatest truth he had always been haunted by was the fear of failure both in himself and anyone who had ever counted on him. The fear of failing his title when challenged by the never-ending threats that seemed to find him at every turn. And yet, there wasn’t a single thing that could compare to the fear of losing the one person he loved most of all. The fear of not being able to protect her from the dangers of the universe, nor even himself. As she looked upon him with considerable apprehension in her gaze, he couldn’t help but feel defenceless against each passing moment as if it would be her last. Attempting to raise her spirits with calming conversation seemed even more irrelevant the closer they came to fighting back against the unknown dangers they now faced.

“I wish I could tell you there is nothing to worry about, that I could guarantee our success. For all I know, this could very well be the single most devastating risk I’ve ever had to take. As hard as it has been for me to admit, you were right. Whatever your fate may be cannot be avoided nor can it be predicted. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit here and allow it to happen without a fight.” He approached her slowly, suddenly breaking free of the petrified state that kept him bolted him to the floor. His words became more intense as he drew closer to her. “I will not allow the mistakes I’ve made define who I am or what I am capable of. There are people out there suffering and it is all because of me. The universe is being torn apart. History as we know it is being rewritten. It all comes down to one small moment, one fixed point in time occurring over and over again. Every action that has been taken, every word that has been said, even this very conversation. It has all happened before. A continuous loop. An infinite amount of scenarios all leading to the same outcome.”

She suddenly felt so small in front of him as he towered over her, trapping her between himself and the console. “I don’t understand,” she started, almost too afraid to speak. “What do you mean this has happened before?” She could sense the tension rising between them at their closeness to each other. She felt both cornered and protected all at the same time, a strange combination of uncertainty.

A grin formed on the Doctor’s face at the question. It had been far too long since he was last able to explain the laws of time and the universe to anyone. He removed himself from her personal space and quickly headed to the upper platform. The thoughts in his mind were bursting their way out in all directions. “Every causal loop is caused by an unchanging self-originating constant, some thing that must exist simply because it has to. Time travel can be a very tricky, very dangerous thing if you don’t know what you’re doing.” She watched as he hurried along the railing and stopped at the familiar stone bust of a man which sat on a small table near one of the bookshelves. “Take, for instance, Ludwig van Beethoven here,” he employed her, delicately placing his arm around the shoulder of the bust as if they were long-time friends.

“The composer?” she asked with mild confusion.

“No, the astronaut. Of course the composer! Now, let us also imagine there is a man who has a time machine.”

“I’ll give it a go.”

“Up and down history he goes getting into scrapes. Another thing he has is a passion for the works of Beethoven. And one day he thinks to himself, ‘What’s the point of having a time machine if you don’t get to meet your heroes?’ So off he goes to eighteenth-century Germany before the very thought of a musical masterpiece was even a figment inside the composer’s mind. But when he gets there, he discovers Ludwig has fallen upon dark times and refuses to ever compose another piece again. This didn’t happen, by the way. I’ve met Beethoven. Nice chap, very intense, loved an arm-wrestle. No, this is called the Bootstrap Paradox. Google it. The time traveller panics, he can’t bear the thought of a world without the music of Beethoven. Luckily, he’d brought all of his sheet music for Ludwig to sign. So he copies out all the concertos and the symphonies then promises to give the composer back his inspiration if he passes off the music as his own. Ludwig accepts and history continues with barely a feather ruffled. Until one day those copies reach the time traveller’s future self which prompts him to travel back in time to meet his hero. A never-ending loop. But my question is this, who originally put those notes and phrases together? Who really composed Beethoven’s Fifth?”

“You’re doing that thing with your face again,” she informed him through her puzzled expression.

“What ‘thing’?”

“That look you give when you’re trying to explain something that makes my head go fuzzy.”

“It’s called a smile, Clara. It’s what people do. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Right, wouldn’t want anyone to see passed your clever disguise. Anyway, what exactly does Beethoven have anything to do with us?”

“Nothing, and everything!” he exclaimed, heading down the stairs towards her. “All this time I’ve been blaming myself for picking up the phone, for believing myself to be solely responsible for what has happened. But I’ve realized my focus has been concentrated in the wrong place. In the end, it doesn’t matter who wrote the music. Only that it exists.” He felt himself being pulled towards her as he approached. The force that bound them together was unmistakable. The connection shared between them could never be simplified to emotion alone. They were two parts of the same mixture. No matter what they had experienced in the past, there was an unbreakable trust keeping them bound together. A trust he could see in her eyes even then as he stood as close to her as physics would allow it. “Whatever has happened to us may never have a true beginning nor an end. The only certain thing is the existence of the constant that binds us together. A constant which now rests between us, quite literally.” He smiled and peered down the length of his companion to where her body met his own.

“So you’re saying all of this is her fault? That she has trapped us in this loop, or whatever it is, forever?” she asked, placing a hand on her middle.

He snickered and rested his hand atop her own. “Not even born yet and already a trouble maker,” he teased, maintaining the grin on his face.

“She must take after you then,” she replied with a smirk.

“If we ever make it out of this alive, I’d expect we’re going to have our hands full.” He made his way towards the console’s telepathic interface.

Clara felt her smile begin to fade at his words regardless of how harmless his intentions were. There was more truth to that statement than she even realized. A great cloud of doubt arose over his hubris in their success of this potentially suicidal mission. What if he was right? What if none of what they were trying to accomplish would even matter in the end? There was no way of knowing if this plan of his had already been tried and failed a hundred times before. No way to know if they would be altering their daughter’s future or simply allowing it to happen. What if there was no way out?

The Doctor rubbed his hands together in preparation for their departure to the first location on his list, then hovered them over the interface as he looked to her for support. “Are you ready?” he asked nervously. The reluctance in her nod was as transparent as the room they stood in. He couldn’t help reminiscing over the liveliness she once displayed towards him whenever they found themselves embarking on a new adventure. It was as if the fire inside of her had been left to die out. He took a deep breath and slowly lowered his hands towards the gel-like interface.

“Doctor, wait,” she spoke, freezing him in place as she placed her hand upon his forearm. “We’ll do it together.”

He braved a smile her way, then closed his eyes and dipped his fingertips into the cool substance below. He concentrated all of his thoughts towards their destination, allowing his mind to focus on a singular image. His senses began to paint a picture of the tangible dampness of the controls, the feel of its material on his bare skin, the grip of her fingers around his arm, the rhythm of her heart beating through the palm of her hand. He tried to ignore the distractions surrounding him and his concern for his companion’s wilted form. To land safely at the correct location, his mind must first be completely relieved of any attachments he held inside of his aching hearts. The gel forming around his fingers connected to every fibre of his skin as if they were the same being. He thought about where they needed to go, what they needed to accomplish, and above all, the importance of being successful in their mission. As he focused on the image of the planet in his mind, sending it through the interface like coordinates on a map, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the strong vision of his fetal daughter calling to him through her mother’s touch. His mind was redirected towards the love he shared for her and his determination to save her so that one day he would be able to hold her in his arms.

His eyes flew open at the sound of the time rotor starting up. The mechanisms inside the centre chamber began to ascended and descended back into itself. A look of concern passed over his face at his lack of concentration during the interlinking process. There was no way of knowing if the destination had been correctly received by the interface. The only certain thing was that the TARDIS began to materialize into action as her signature time-travelling clattered chorus sounded all around them. He hastily shifted his focus toward his friend. The look of surprise confined in his expression at their departure was matched only by her uneasiness of what they were about to encounter once they had landed. “I’m suddenly having my doubts about this,” he admitted.

“Well, the TARDIS seems to think she knows where she’s going,” she countered, trying to remain positive.

“One can only hope.”

#12th doctor #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #twelfth doctor #the doctor #dr who #dr who fan fiction #dr who fanfiction #twelve/clara #clara oswald #whouffaldi

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anthonybialy · 4 years

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Elder Fredo

Andrew Cuomo has been ordering the state shut slightly more actively than usual. He's self-assured about screwing up, which won't preserve health. But there's good news if a great show cures ailments. Cover your mouth, although not because he ordered it.

Arrogance in incompetence is the family brand. Father Mario started the precedent of self-righteously ruining the state. And Andrew's sicko brother got a television show out of the same last name and style. Forcing healthy New Yorkers to wear masks to the few places they're allowed to travel as his sick brother roams at will with his big yapper exposed is so Cuomoesque that they seem like Tom Wolfe characters.

The virus exposed how people will fall for anything if they’re desperate for reassurance. The baffling claim Cuomo's done a fine job leading a leper colony of a state is a telling symptom.

For some, the placebo is salubrious. Getting a good feeling isn't going to protect from infection. But Cuomo confidently reciting information he decided is true that day sure is reassuring. There's no need to check if it’s true: who would elect someone clueless?

Putzing the reaction while convincing enough voters who believe a vaguely reassuring demeanor is all it takes to get through. The Cuomo tradition isn't as fun to inflict on others as Festivus. Getting reelected constantly despite bungling has convinced him he's good at this.

Pompously making it worse is nothing new for Cuomo. Take his habit of criminalizing gun owners. The state's silly restrictions save lives if attackers count. Limit magazine size because that's what causes evil. Stapling asterisks to the Second Amendment is noble work if criminals obey laws.

Treating the law-abiding as felons was recently paired with comical bail removal to maximize efficiency. Offer best wishes to those seeking to defend against actual bad guys, for whom he turned sob stories into policy. We're supposed to be upset that many arrested are poor while forgetting our system offers a procedure to determine guilt. Oh, and a fair percentage of those arrested actually did it. A crime spike is not the most fun evidence, but it is telling.

Only certain lives deserve preening. Cuomo's carried Moloch's endorsement ever since he extended the ability to get abortions until the kid misbehaves in kindergarten. It's hard to take shaky claims about saving lives seriously as the unborn are treated as a virus.

Nobody will change once Macy's reopens. The governor still thinks government is not merely helpful but essential to daily life. It'll be hard to give back the closest a failed executive can get to godlike power.

Deciding which companies are deserving of being deemed essential is the most fun anyone's having these days. He just happens to be the one who gets to choose which outpost's employees have to eat sawdust to survive. Ordering pain is linked to funneling cash through a state legislature. The fact it's an unearned ego trip for those who get to spend is simply a bonus.

Massive unearned power is the favorite tool of the professionally corrupt. Cuomo follows New York's precedent of doling out favors from Albany, the most repellant state capital possible. His constant parade of schemes to improve life never seem to work out, but I've got a good feeling about the next one. Promises work on rubes impressed by factories that somehow don't seem to stay open.

Use a plastic bag stash as luggage while fleeing. It's tough to endure lectures about arbitrary interdictions saving lives while wondering how many people died from being forced to reuse bags because the governor pretended he was saving our globe. Someone who thinks a convenient way to carry the result of commerce must be banned surely understands economics as well as he does ecology. And his grasp on epidemiology must be fantastic.

Tell those who dare dissent to get lost to project confidence. The oh so tolerant governor's horrid comments telling those with the audacity to dissent from abortion-embracing statism to leave defined him. Pretending he's not the extremist is the most risible part. Daring the productive to move over state lines is especially wise when you already rely on bleeding taxpayers like vampire victims.

And he hasn't learned: telling starving New Yorkers to get what he deems an essential job shows he hasn't learned to be a decent human. Let them eat cake, minus the cake.

Cuomo has making New Yorkers safe for as long as he's been in office by spacing them out. Driving them away was a clever method of anticipating a pandemic. Let states without an income tax struggle to keep people apart.

As for his current biggest lie, Cuomo dreams of screwing up life on a grander scale despite his shady claims he's uninterested in getting drafted to run for president. A person so consistently wrong jumping in is just what a queasy nation needs.

Letting incompetence go national has a bad precedent: as the primary subprime mortgage-pimper, Cuomo did more as Bill Clinton's HUD secretary to bring down the economy than any other individual. See: one person can make a difference. Worldwide recession is no way to prove you care about this globe or those on it.

But the last World War II veterans would've died of the virus if you were allowed to sit at Wendy's. Claiming to save us from even worse devastation is Cuomo at his most prototypically statist. He already chased away population as a matter of foresight. Sure, getting called on his bluff to move to states that don't tax into oblivion got called. But he wants to keep the erstwhile Empire State pure.

Pretending it's working doesn't fool the mean illness. New York's death total rivals some countries, and the per capita and percentage rates are downright Third World. It's not the first time this dumb state's dragged down the grading curve.

Screwing up life nationally is a horrifying prospect that would eternally ruin the prestige of promotions. Cuomo would be a horrid option to face Donald Trump even if Joe Biden is too busy microwaving the TV Guide to run a campaign. Treat his home state's habit of losing electoral votes as a sign. He thinks life is unfair because he's guilty about being the most undeserving.

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greatgoregalore · 5 years

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oh noh john!

Listen! The stories I throw on this blog aren’t happy stories. A lot of these are meant to make your blood boil in frustration. Especially the Blaze ones. You’ll probably bounce between ‘hug the poor boy plz’ and ‘can I punch him’ a lot. Well if you’re anything like me that is.

They tend to deal with a lot of heavier issues, such as discrimination, the different types of abuse, stuff like that.

This particular story includes violence, death, puking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blaze was grappling with an opponent when a shot rings in his ears. He hears John call out behind him, and Blaze turns. John’s holding his midsection, blood dripping between his fingers, and his eyes turn black as a portal opens under him. Blaze gets a solid punch to the jaw from his opponent that sends him stumbling back. He scrambles to his feet and dives after John.

He lands on the other side shoulder first and rolls. The impact jars him a bit and his arm goes numb, but he’s quick to get to his knees and locate John about 3 feet away, laying crookedly on blue-green grass.

Blaze lunges forward to him and looks him over. John’s passed out, but his chest is rising and falling shallowly. Though the breathing sounds very wrong. His leg looks like it broke in the fall. His mid-right side of the chest is still bleeding - probably punctured a lung. That explains the weird breathing sounds. It seems hard enough to breathe in general here, though Blaze can’t tell if that’s because of the atmosphere or because of panic. The smell of blood is thick enough to be suffocating on it’s own.

He isn’t a doctor, he has no way of leaving this place with John unconscious, and it’s impossible to know if this new place is even inhabited. The sun is bright overhead, but he’s not burning up and dying, which means it couldn’t be Earth. Alternate dimension? He doesn’t know what any of the plants are or what they do and whether they’d heal or poison. Plus a punctured lung is really bad news even when you’re in a hospital with proper supplies around.

Which means only one choice. The sooner Blaze did it, the higher chance John had of waking up again. He didn’t dwell on the question of ‘should’ - John had said he’d be fine with it when the topic was brought up back when they first became teammates.

Blaze starts getting feeling back in his arm with pins and needles. Blaze lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites, sucking a bit of his blood into his hollow fangs, and then lifts John’s wrist and injects it into his veins.

Then he gets to work on setting the broken leg with what he could find around. There were only a couple flimsy branches that broke easily, but lots of vines. It’s good enough.

Afterwards, he steals himself for the hardest task - getting the bullet out. He saved that for last, since he wanted to keep his hands dry for setting the leg and wait until he had full feeling in his arm for more delicate work. John had stopped breathing entirely by now, which also helped. Blaze lifts up John’s lip a little so he can keep an eye on his teeth. If this is gonna work, they’re going to start changing soon. He’d better hurry up before that happened, because changing teeth meant changing lots of things internally and the bullet could get lost. Teeth were first though.

Blaze pulls John’s shirt up to expose the bullet wound and starts the attempt to remove the bullet.

When he finishes with that task, Blaze pulls off Johns clothes except for his boxer shorts and sets them a few feet away. It’s a bit chilly, but he’s pretty sure John would thank him for that later. Then he pushes John over onto his side and positions his knees so he’s situated in the standard don’t-choke-on-your-vomit-while-you’re-unconscious position. And finally, with all the important tasks done, Blaze sits down and lets himself cry.

The sun sets and two moons rise within the hour - one with a slight purple tinge to it, and one with a slight blue tinge to it. Definitely not Earth. Blaze is sitting back and just finishing with licking his hands clean when John wakes up.

Oh boy.

Here we go.

John sits up suddenly and starts coughing non-stop. Wet, thick, hacking sounds. He moves to his hands and knees and starts puking into the blue-green grass. Again. And Again. And again. It isn’t pretty. John has it rougher than Blaze when he became a vamp. John has to clear out both his lungs and his guts, and had actually eaten food earlier today.

When John stops, he collapses to the side and passes out again. Blaze comes back over and moves John a couple feet away, making sure to be careful with the broken leg. He takes a moment to figure out what to clean John up with, and then decides to sacrifice John’s coat. He empties out the pockets first of course. There’s lots. And lot’s. Of miniaturized items. He makes sure to put them in a place where they won’t get lost. Blaze cleans John off with the coat and then repositions him on his side and takes a couple steps back.

They go through that cycle a few more times, and it gets easier and less severe each time.

John sits up again, coughs a few more times, and glances over at Blaze with a weak smile. “Thank you,” John signs to Blaze using French sign language.

“Throat hurts too much for talking?”

John nods a little bit.

“Body report? Dizzy, pain, disconnected, weird indescribable feelings?”

John pauses for a second, shrugs, and signs his reply sorta sluggishly. “Everything hurts in different ways for different reasons. Nauseous still. And dizzy, yeah. Feel like I pulled 2 all-nighters in a row and had a double shot of whiskey on top of it. Having trouble with getting my eyes to focus…. Where are we anyway?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Wherever your portal took us. Dooon’t think it’s earth though. There’s two moons here. And when the sun was up, it didn’t hurt me. Didn’t notice that until after it would’ve killed me though - too focused on making sure you were alright. Fckin’ ‘ell, what were you thinking, getting shot like that and then disappearing off to another world.”

John stops to process that, looks around, and then signs to Blaze. “Oh. I’ve been here before. I had a nightmare once and I woke up here. I recognize that stump over there. There were three completely glass-like transparent people that found me and we attempted conversation for a bit before I went home. It was mostly one-sided. They understood me, but I couldn’t understand them at all, which was a weird experience since normally it’s the other way around. They had really pretty voices though.”

“Transparent? Does that mean you could see their guts?”

“Nope. No guts.”

“Not even a brain?”

“Nope.”

“Weiiiiiirdddd.”

John seems to realize something. “How are we gonna get home? Vamps can’t use magic, right?”

“...Well shit.”

------

John concentrates and tries to open a portal home, but it doesn’t work. Everything feels wrong in his head, and it doesn’t click anymore. After having this constant buzzing in the back of his head for decades, the silence is deafening. He looks up to Blaze and shakes his head. The loss of his magic abilities was quite a blow, and with everything else, it was just. A lot. He’d spent his entire life studying spellwork and the languages necessary for it. Not to mention it’s entirely possible that he could never go home again. His head hurt, his jaw hurt, his throat hurt, his chest hurt, his bullet wound hurt, his stomach hurt, his leg hurt, everything hurt and ached. He brings his knees up, buries his face in his arms, and starts crying.

Blaze comes over and sits next to him and puts an arm around John’s shoulders. John leans into him and sobs even harder and starts shaking.

“Hey, it’ll be alright.... Shhh shhh, just breathe. In, out, one, two. I’m here…. It’s all gonna be okay….” Blaze says soothingly.

It takes a long time, but John slowly calms down and just sits there with Blaze for a while. And a little while longer.

Eventually he sits back and gives Blaze another small smile. “Thanks. Sorry, I -” John says, trying his voice out again. It’s rough and hurts, so he switches back to French sign language. “Sorry about that. I just-”

“Nuh-uh-uh, none of that. No sorries. Honestly though, I’m just surprised you didn’t start crying sooner. I bawled like a fuckin’ baby when I turned into a vamp, and it was nowhere near as hard as this.”

John looks embarrassed and fidgets.

“Come to think of it, pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever seen you cry.”

John looks sheepish. “Probably.”

“Like shit man. It’s about time. When you were blind after a screwy binding, coming out as trans to a bloody douche like me, all those terrifying moments out in the field, getting stabbed in the leg, hopping through the multiverse and seeing messed up stuff, even those rare occasions where you did start to seriously panic, nothin’! How many times have you sat there and consoled me while I was freakin’ out even though we just went through the same thing and you were fine? Absolute insanity.”

John shrugs. “I must be manlier than you then.”

“Psh. Yeah right. I got more muscle than you.”

“Says the underweight stick to the nerd.”

“Hey, that was a cheap shot. It’s hard to bulk up when you can’t eat much.”

“Oh yeah…. Oooooh noooooo. I’m never gonna be able to enjoy the taste of chocolate again am I.”

“Nope.”

“Icecream?”

“Nope.”

“Cheese.”

“Nope.”

“Aw man. That’s gotta be the biggest loss of all.”

“You said the people you met here were glass-like and had no internal workings?”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“Let’s hope the animals aren’t like that too.”

“Why- oh. Right. Food.”

“Hungry yet, or still nauseous?”

John is a mix of awkward, embarrassed, and self conscious. “Both?”

“It’s one thing to be fine with someone else drinking blood, and another to actually think of yourself doing that, eh?”

John looks guilty.

Blaze shrugs. “Kinda thought so. Took awhile for me to get used to too.”

#John #Blaze #violence #Gore galore writes #vampire #puking

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