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andawaywego · 3 years

Note

If you’re still taking prompts, can I make a suggestion? Could you maybe write one about Jamie being busy starting up the leafling (or something) and Dani feels a little neglected so she buys something sexy to get Jamie’s attention.

so i actually had a few prompts for Dani buying lingerie. i guess we were all thinking it, huh? this kinda got away from me, but i hope you like it! smutty smut ahoy.

Valentine’s Day, Jamie is learning, is one of the most brutal holidays there is; at least, it is when you own a flower shop. Two years in and it’s a hard lesson. Tiring, even. Exhausting. The orders start pouring in starting about a week out and then it’s practically nonstop until the whole thing is over.

Last year, it felt like they got through it by the skin of their teeth. By the end of it, she and Dani had gotten so good at communicating a lot of information quickly—order sizes, specifics, pickup times—that they’ve almost become mind readers. At least when it comes to each other.

This became especially useful once they hit wedding season that same year and Jamie only realizes how much she’s come to rely on this anomaly once she’s without it.

On Valentine’s Day this year, Dani is sick and at their apartment resting and Jamie is forced to finish everything up on her own. It could be worse, she thinks, because the timing is at least a little less suffocating than it may have been if she’d had to send Dani home early the day before. The only business she’s really had all day were customers coming by to pick up their orders or last-minute love day stragglers coming in to buy whatever she had left.

It could be worse. Really it could.

By the time she closes things up, the whole shop sort of looks like someone took a large vacuum to it, sucking up just about all the plant life from the displays and walls. It looks sort of like a ghost town. Jamie briefly imagines a tumbleweed rolling by. Locks the door behind herself. Turns her feet towards home.

She worries as she walks, the complex where they live only a few blocks from the shop itself. Wonders if maybe she should stop somewhere and get some soup for Dani or something, and then remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day and decides to avoid going to a restaurant.

She can always come back out and brave the headache later. Right now, she’s mostly focused on getting home to check on her girlfriend.

The apartment is quiet when she steps inside. It isn’t as if she was expecting any different, but it still catches her off guard. Only the lamp by the sofa is clicked on, meaning that the rest of the space is shadowed in darkness. The radiators by the window hum and it’s a little too hot—buildings like this, she’s learned, don’t know the meaning of “happy medium.” They spend the summers fanning themselves like southern church ladies and the winter much the same. Fall is reserved for wearing too many layers as they wait for the building manager to decide to turn on the radiators.

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. Keeps her boots on for now even though Dani hates that in case she ends up having to go back out. Heads toward the hallway, toward the bedroom, where she assumes Dani must be resting. Walks slowly to keep the floorboard-squeaking to a minimum.

It isn’t until she passes by the bathroom that she hears it: the music drifting gently from the bedroom. A soft drum beat and a voice singing. She doesn’t immediately recognize the song, too busy wondering why Dani is listening to music while she rests. Gives up on tip-toeing and just hurries the rest of the way.

And then, well—

Hot and stuffy in the apartment from the radiators, sweating a bit in her shirt right at the small of her back, and a shiver still trembles through Jamie’s body when she steps into the bedroom, when she sees what’s waiting for her.

“Hey,” says Dani, perched at the bottom of the bed and smiling in that way Jamie knows she only does when she is very, very nervous.

“I thought you were sick,” says Jamie.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted some time to set all of this up.”

All of this being the record she’s got playing from the stereo in the corner of the room, the candles she has lit on top of the television and on the table next to her side of the bed, and, most importantly, what she’s wearing.

Her makeup, her hair, decked out like every single fantasy Jamie’s ever had and never before let herself consider. Worst of all: she’s wearing lingerie. Purple lingerie. Purple lingerie that hardly leaves anything to the imagination. Jamie swallows so hard it hurts a little.

And she’s seen Dani naked before. Of course, she has. Plenty of times. She’s seen her in nice underwear that matched the bra she had on a handful of times, too. But this is different. Lovely on her or not, those things were still functional as undergarments. And this? This isn’t.

This is see-through lace and long, smooth legs. It’s ruffles and a short-sleeved silk robe that’s hanging off her shoulders just enough to make Jamie’s mouth water.

This isn’t functional. This was designed to cause the exact reaction that it has; this was designed to be taken off.

Dani rolls her shoulders back and flutters her eyelashes in a way that should be silly, but only succeeds in making Jamie’s blood race more thoroughly through her veins. “You’re staring,” she says, playing innocence so well that Jamie almost feels guilty about her inability to tear her eyes away.

Except Dani bought this at some point just for the sole purpose of sitting on their bed looking like that. She did that knowing full well that Jamie wouldn’t be able to keep from eyeing the curves and sways of her, the pale skin and soft lines of her jaw and neck. Wouldn’t be able to want anything more than to press Dani back into their mattress and cover every inch of her, lace and all, with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, and—

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

“Something the matter?” asks Dani, so utterly dedicated to this flirtatious act of naivete.

“No, I’m good. Perfect.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yep.” Jamie turns to glance at the record player as “All Out of Love” comes on. “Cheery song.”

Dani’s act falters. She blushes. “I didn’t know this was on here. It’s...new.”

Jamie frowns and walks over to the record player, reaching for the unfamiliar album sleeve. “Oh? What is it?”

She feels almost guilty for knocking Dani off her game, but she’s so desperately starved for context, for anything concrete to grasp onto so that she doesn’t just pounce, that she just waits for an answer. As it turns out, she doesn’t need one; the cover speaks for itself.

“Wait,” she says, looking it over. “Is this…?”

“You’re not allowed to laugh,” says Dani, pointing at her sternly.

Jamie smiles. “Not laughing. I just can’t believe you actually bought this.”

“The commercials were very convincing!”

“Did you actually call the place?” is her next question because she can’t imagine her girlfriend calling some commercial-boasted number to buy a four-record album named Secret Love just for this occasion. Jamie usually has to call and make her doctor’s appointments for her.

Dani blinks. “No,” she says. “I sent them a check.”

Jamie grins. Can’t help it. Loves Dani so very much at this moment. “Just one payment of $19.95?” she teases and it works: Dani smiles, too, looking less nervous by the second.

“It’s a good deal, you know,” she says.

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“You had a tone.”

“I did not have a tone.”

“Sure you did.”

Jamie isn’t actually sure how she’s managing to control herself anymore. That silk robe slipping off Dani’s shoulder looks so enticing; she wants to press her mouth to the skin it’s left uncovered. Wants other things, too—so many she can hardly decide where to start.

She sets the album back down and takes a few, slow steps towards her girlfriend. Still too far, but closer. “You went to all this trouble,” she says, “for me?”

Dani’s expression softens and she gets to her feet, moving closer. “Yeah, Jay. I did. We’ve just been...so busy lately, which is great! Don’t get me wrong! But...you’ve had so much on your plate and it’s stressful and I didn’t want us to...not get a Valentine’s Day. You know?”

Jamie isn’t sure what there is to say to that except for: “I love you.”

Another step forward and then Dani is grabbing her hands. “I love you, too,” she says, hypnotizing in this outfit, in this lighting, all the time. Her gaze sticks to the pale skin visible through the lace at Dani’s waist, so distracted that she hardly notices when she’s being turned around and pushed back toward the bed, gently guided by Dani’s hands on her shoulders to sit down on the mattress.

The mattress isn’t very tall, which means that, when Dani sinks to her knees, she’s only really a head shorter than Jamie. Her palms run up Jamie’s trouser-covered thighs, fingers curling around them a bit to guide them open a bit so that she can slide her body between them, get closer. Her body is fever-hot and Jamie has the sudden thought that she may not make it out of this surprise alive.

Dani has a knack for making her feel like she’s two seconds from a heart attack every time they’re intimate already. Now she’s wearing lingerie and looking at Jamie like that and Jamie doesn’t know where to put her hands, or where to settle her eyes.

The swell of Dani’s breasts is enticing, so she looks it over for a bit, and then there’s her freckled collarbones, the sleek and taut muscles of her neck. Her pink lips. Jamie feels hot, sweating in her clothes from the heat of the radiators.

Dani looks up at her, blue and brown eyes bright and eager beneath the flutter of her eyelashes. Normally, Jamie would be filling the air with mindless, nervous chatter, trying to calm herself down before the main event, but it feels different this time. The silence, save for the gentle croon of another sappy love song coming from the record player, seems sacred. She doesn’t want to break it for anything.

She curls her fingers in the ends of Dani’s hair, brushing it behind her shoulders, and then Dani is leaning up and she’s leaning down and they’re kissing. Dani’s hands fist the fabric of Jamie’s shirt right at her hips and Jamie cups her face and cranes her neck, and it’s too fucking hot. They should open a window. But Dani’s kisses are hungry and eager and there’s this knot of pain in Jamie’s chest because of it, so she doesn’t dare break away.

Instead, she lifts one of her hands and curves her fingers around Dani’s breast, pushing her palm against it to make the rough lace fabric brush against her nipple. Feels it poke up against her skin a bit and Dani’s answering moan vibrates her lips, flicking her tongue out to tickle the roof of Jamie’s mouth. Jamie scoots forward on the bed to be closer and lifts her other hand to do the same with Dani’s neglected breast.

“Jamie,” Dani pants as she rips her mouth away, eyes clenched shut, “this is supposed to be about you.”

Jamie smiles. “Trust me,” she says,“it is.”

Dani’s eyes open. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

A long look of consideration. Jamie momentarily stops her movements at Dani’s chest. And then Dani unbuttons her trousers and starts tugging at them, saying, “Get these off. That’s what I mean.”

Jamie takes them off. Her shirt, too. Drops each of them to the floor carelessly, too eager for the next part to worry about where they land. In all the rush, Dani begins to slip the silk robe from her shoulders, but Jamie stops her with a shake of her head.

Says, “Leave it on,” with the sort of breathlessness that makes Dani smile.

She leaves it on.

Jamie brushes her thumb against Dani’s nipple and then trails her fingers up the bony press of her sternum. Cups her jaw and cranes her neck down to kiss her, hot press of lips together and Dani gasping into her mouth.

Wanting to be closer in a way this particular position won’t allow, she breaks away from the kiss and guides Dani up by the shoulders until she is sliding her knees onto the mattress on either side of Jamie’s thighs, straddling her. She rolls her hips down and now Jamie can feel the fabric covering Dani’s body against her own skin. Fears she’ll go mad from desire before she can do anything about it.

It’s cooler in just her underwear, certainly, but that doesn’t mean the friction of their bodies together isn’t creating a fine layer of sweat between them. Their legs slide together and Jamie is so wet, so ready, that it’s beginning to hurt a little.

She kisses Dani’s neck and slides her lips up to the corner of her jaw, to her earlobe. She nibbles a little, then scrapes her teeth down to her neck again. Nips at her pulse point then smoothes it over with her tongue. Dani curses against her hair, breath a hot spread across Jamie’s scalp as she rolls her hips down.

A moment later, her hand is working its way inside Jamie’s panties, fingertips brushing against her clit very lightly and it’s Jamie’s turn to curse.

“Fuck.”

Dani smiles, kisses her forehead. “Doing okay?” she asks, that impersonation of complete chastity back in her voice, in her lips, the way her head tilts flirtatiously as Jamie meets her eyes.

“Doing great,” Jamie manages through gritted teeth. She is fighting back the urge to simply reach between them and push Dani’s hand against her harder. She drops her head and presses her lips against one of Dani’s nipples through the lace, mouthing at it hotly and making Dani sag against her, a little boneless, with a moan.

Payback, she thinks, is definitely a bitch.

She can be one, too.

She grips Dani’s hips in that tight, fierce way that Dani likes—thinks it must be at least a little painful, but maybe that’s why Dani likes it—and rolls up into her hand in a way that pushes the back of it between Dani’s own legs.

“Jay,” breathes Dani, and her expression is purposefully seductive, playful even as she is genuinely reacting to Jamie’s movements. She flutters her eyelashes with the best of them and she is the only woman Jamie’s ever been with that can make her go mad just by smiling at her. “Lie back.”

Jamie doesn’t understand the order at first, can’t wrap her head around it because Dani’s fingers are circling her clit now. It isn’t until that hand pulls away and Dani gets back, slowly, to her feet to give her room that she gets it. It feels like every part of her is positively vibrating as she uses her hands to slide back and back. Lowers herself to the mattress all the way and tilts her chin down so she can watch her girlfriend climb up her body in this ridiculously erotic and mind-numbing way.

“God, how are you not naked yet?” she asks, pressing her lips to Jamie’s breastbone, dipping down to tongue at the edge of her bra.

“How are you not fucking me yet?” Jamie returns, just to see Dani’s reaction—the way her cheeks go even pinker, the way she blinks in surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

She swallows thickly. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Not when you look like that it’s not.”

Dani tugs the left cup of Jamie’s bra down and ducks her head to hide the way her expression changes, lips curling around Jamie’s nipple. Jamie can feel her smiling. “Like what?”

“You’re a tease, you know that? You’re such a bloody tease.”

Her mouth moves down to Jamie’s ribcage. “Would you like to lodge a formal complaint?” she asks.

Jamie curls her fingers into her girlfriend’s hair and cranes her neck to get a better look at her in that damned lingerie. “If you don’t touch me soon then yeah, I would.”

She feels the blunt edge of Dani’s teeth below her belly button, scraping down to the waistband of her panties. “Your request has been noted,” says Dani, her voice even and sort of mockingly robotic. “Please allow three to four business for—”

Jamie’s laugh cuts her off, fingers combing through her hair until Dani finally lifts her eyes to look at her again. “Dani, I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

“But you have to do something, or I’m going to—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dani catches the edge of Jamie’s panties between her teeth and begins to pull them down like that, laughing around the material as Jamie wiggles and shifts her hips, giggling like a maniac, to try and help. Eventually, hands are required to finish the job. Jamie isn’t actually sure what Dani was thinking.

Goofy, ridiculous Dani. She’s the only woman Jamie’s ever loved, the only woman she’s been able to laugh in bed with, and she went out and bought sexy lingerie, called a number from a commercial to get the proper mood music, sat here on their bed on Valentine’s Day to surprise her.

Jamie doesn’t understand her life, doesn’t understand how she could possibly ever deserve this.

Once her panties are all the way gone and Jamie is naked, save for her bra, Dani’s eyes linger between her legs, a loose smile fixed on those pretty lips. “There you are,” she says.

“There I am,” Jamie exhales, shakily. “Now—”

She should be expecting it, but she isn’t, and so Jamie makes the most embarrassing sound ever when Dani’s tongue first makes contact. An electric shock between her legs, a match being struck, and she arches a little too much off the bed, one of her arms going back so she can comb her fingers through her own hair. Slams her eyes shut to keep from coming almost immediately—this won’t be her only chance, she’s sure of it, but she wants this first one to last—and then has to look, so she opens them back up.

And Dani is always a sight between her legs like this, but she’s on her knees and bent down in a way that makes her breasts hang deliciously, bumping a bit as she licks and curls her lips around Jamie’s clit. Jamie brings her other hand down and brushes her hair out of the way, over her shoulder, so she can see her mouth work.

“Fucking fuck, Dani,” she says, so eloquent with a beautiful woman bobbing between her legs.

Dani hums in response and Jamie can’t help it, groans a little too loudly. That fucking silk robe and the contrast of purple lace to pale skin, blonde hair fisted in her hand, and then Dani brings one of her hands up and slips a finger inside and Jamie feels, very suddenly, like she is splitting apart at every seam that’s ever kept her together.

The sound of Dani fucking her like this is almost obscene. It’s slick and loud, the suction of her mouth audible as she alternates movements against Jamie’s clit. She’s smiling despite how busy her mouth is and then she slips a second finger in, then a third.

It’s so hot, sweat pearling on her chest and forehead. Her hair feels damp at the base of her skull, she feels sort of like she has a fever but everywhere, and fuck—

She nearly bites through her bottom lip as she comes, trying to keep quiet. Her pulse drums like waves on the shore as it whitewashes through her ears, her veins.

Dani pulls back, licking her lips clean sloppily and her eyes are so dark that Jamie feels like she's burning again in moments.

“Come here,” she croaks, propping herself up on her elbows. Hopes that Dani knows what she means.

She must, though, because she doesn’t come up on the side of the bed. Instead, she just straddles Jamie’s waist, giving Jamie a full and uninterrupted view of what she’s wearing again.

“God,” is the next thing she says. Then, “You know how to pick ’em, huh?” as she tugs a bit on the end of the robe.

Dani smiles, somehow shy despite everything else. “You like it then?” she asks, like she has no idea, like she didn’t just fuck Jamie stupid while wearing the sexiest thing to ever exist. “Successful Valentine’s Day?”

Jamie rolls her eyes affectionately. “And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to—”

Dani pushes at her shoulder, giggling. “Hey,” she says. “Give me a break. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the shop I got this from.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really! Like, three shop girls came over to help me because I was so lost.” She looks so sincerely flustered by this that Jamie can’t help but be endeared by it. “They kept asking me what my ‘boyfriend’—” and she uses air quotes there, “—likes to see me in. What his favorite color is.”

Jamie laughs. “What did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did they say to that?”

“They asked me what my husband likes then.”

Jamie nearly chokes on her tongue from laughing so hard. Almost knocks Dani to the floor, too.

And, yeah, it’s a pretty successful Valentine’s Day.

#damie #damie fic #damie prompt #dani x jamie #thobm #thobm fic #the haunting of bly manor #dani/jamie fanfic #dani/jamie #3k #smut #like #smutty smut

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un-beel-ievable · 4 years

Text

The Demon Brothers react to MC receiving unsolicited and objectifying comments.

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)!

_____

Lucifer ☕:

• It happens so quickly —mere seconds after you've finished speaking, in fact. There's a blinding flash of light, and the minute that it takes for your eyes to adjust to the effervescent glow causes you to miss the exact moment when two pairs of raven hued wings begin to unfurl from Lucifer's shoulder blades and lower back. By the time your vision returns, dark coloured horns have sprouted from the archdemon's locks. It appears that your recountment of the incident has pushed the brother who was usually the best at maintaining his composure past the point of controlling his temper.

• How dare they. How dare they direct such crude and obscene comments at anyone, and how dare they do so without the receiving party's consent. And of all the people to commit such an offence towards, how dare they demonstrate such behaviour towards the Morning Star's chosen one.

• Anyone who had the gall to show you such disrespect had best be ready to pay the price. Diavolo have mercy on their souls, because Lucifer certainly wasn't going to show them any.

Mammon 💳:

• Sympathetic. He's been in your shoes, after all. Modeling for Majolish means that he's received his fair share of unsolicited objectification from fans, especially when he rejects their advances. His usual tactic is to ignore such remarks —time was money, after all, and while those good-for-nothing may have had the time to waste on making unwanted comments, Mammon certainly didn't. Still, as much as the second born tried to act as he took such remarks in his stride, there were still times where these 'harmless' words bothered him greatly. So when you recount the events of the day to him in a quiet voice, the boisterous facade that he usually puts up fades and gives way to reveal the softer side of his personality. The one that he reserves only for you.

• "Just this once, 'kay? Not just any human gets to hug the GREAT Mammon...so don't be gettin' any ideas!"

• Becomes incredibly protective of you, even more so than usual. Any Denizen who is foolish enough to take a pass at you is going to have to deal with the consequences of their actions.

Leviathan 🎮:

• It's a rare occurrence for him to be on the receiving end of such comments himself, but he does watch an outrageous amount of voice actor panels. And in every single one there's always that one asshole who's making objectifying comments about the actors and throwing unsolicited remarks their way. It outraged him. Those voice actors put their heart and soul into creating quality content for their audiences, and this was how they were getting repaid? What made things worse was that some of these idiots not only thought that such actions were acceptable, but that they should be taken as compliments. How dimwitted did you have to have to be to make such an assumption? Even Mammon wasn't that dense.

• When he learns that his favourite voice actors weren't the only ones that were on the receiving end of such comments, he gets even angrier.

• If those assholes thought that they were going to get away with it scot free, they were mistaken. Even though everyone thought of him as just an useless otaku, Levi was still the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy and the Avatar of Envy —one of the most powerful demons in all of the Devildom. No one, no one was messing with his player two.

Satan 📚:

• Has the most subdued initial reaction of all the brothers. He's quiet, too quiet; if you mistook his silence for being unfeeling towards your situation, no one would blame you. But the truth is your recountment of the events that had occurred had lit a spark of fury in him, one that quickly grew into an enraged inferno that blazed through his veins and consumed every fiber of his being —he's only being as quiet as he is because he's trying to restrain himself. He doesn't want to scare you.

• The imbeciles that had dared to make such degrading and unwanted comments towards you certainly were no where close to being in Satan's good books now. The Avatar of Wrath is sorely tempted to track down the disgusting creatures responsible for your discomfort and make them pay for their actions right there and then, but when he registers the expression you're wearing he decides that justice can wait just a little longer to be delivered. You needed him right now.

• Pulls you into a warm embrace and runs his palm soothingly down the length of your spine. If you're feeling up to entertaining his inquiries, he has two questions that need answering: who were they and where could he find them?

• The people foolish enough to make such remarks to you disappear without a trace the next day, never to be seen in any of the three realms again.

Asmodeus 💋:

• Asmo is no stranger to both making and receiving comments that are a little more sensual than the norm. Despite his instinctive need to flirt with everyone and everything that moves, however, he's the Avatar of Lust, not the Avatar of Disrespect. He knows where and when to draw a line with his remarks. If Asmo does go too far with his flirting, he takes it upon himself to back off immediately, take responsibility for his actions and/or words, and apologise. Taking the boundaries of others into consideration is incredibly important to him, and he doesn't tolerate anyone with the inability to treat others with basic decency and respect.

• Makes Lucifer give the two of you a day off; he wants to give you a day that's dedicated to you and solely you. The day's itinerary is left up to you. Asmo is willing to go along with whatever it is you feel like doing, be it staying home and watching DevilTube together or a night out on the town. What the both of you ultimately spend the day doing isn't important, Asmo's endgame is to demonstrate to you how you deserve to be treated.

Beelzebub 🍔:

• Stares at you with eyes round with disbelief. This pure cinnamon roll just cannot wrap his head around the idea of someone treating you in such a manner. You weren't an object to be toyed with, you were a person. A sentient being —no, an ethereal creature— with thoughts and feelings. Surely everyone knew that a human as special and irreplaceable as you had to be treated with the utmost respect; why would anyone say such things to you? To make matters worse, they didn't even apologise to you after learning that such words made you uncomfortable. What in Hell's Fire did they mean by asking you to "learn to take it as a compliment"? That wasn't a compliment in any of the three realms, that was harassment.

• The hailstorm of emotions that swirl in your eyes causes his heart to ache. Unsure of how else to comfort you, he offers you something that never fails to make him feel better —food. He brings you an abundance of your favourite snacks and desserts. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. It's not much, but giving you food is the only thing that he can think of doing for you at the moment. He takes one of your hands in his as you tuck into the snacks that he's brought you and promises that no one will ever show you such disrespect ever again. Anyone who dared to would have to get through him first.

Belphegor 🛏:

• Perhaps you should have waited until Belphie had woken up from his afternoon nap before attempting to inform him of the events that had occurred, instead of trying to tell him before he dozed off. The Avatar of Sloth is incredibly drowsy and pretty out of it as he nods along to the sound of your voice, in a half hearted way that makes you wonder if he's even listening to you or if he's merely allowing your words to wash over him. When you've finished speaking, he pats your head gently and turns to his bed, more than ready for a trip to Dreamland. The second his head hits his pillow however, the words that you'd been trying to cram into his sleep addled mind suddenly hit him like a train. Well, he's certainly awake now.

• A wave of guilt washed over him. You had needed him then, and he wasn't there to shield you from those imbeciles. And you needed him now, but he was falling asleep before your eyes as you spoke.

• As an apology, he takes you into his arms and holds you against his chest in a warm embrace. He buries his face in your hair and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, reminding you that you were so much more than what those assholes made you out to be. That you weren't an object to be toyed with, you were a person...a human. His human.

#obey me #obey me game #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #obey me shall we date headcanons #obey me reader insert #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #@un-beel-ievable #headcanons #reader insert

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stellocchia · 3 years

Text

Anyone remembers my Platonic Soulmates AU?

Well, I decided I wanted to write something in it for Wilbur as well because he's just perfect for angst... (also it's technically the second part of This One, but you don't need to read it for this one)

The Anchor

Wilbur had always been what his father liked to call “an artistic soul”. He learned how to play guitar and sing at a young age and he’d been very averse to violence ever since. His father was not one to voice his concern, but Wilbur knew that he had disappointed him when he called out his cruel practices in leading the Antarctic Empire. It was fine though because Wilbur didn’t need him.

He set out to adventure, a guitar on his back and a name proudly displayed on his wrist for everyone to see. He deserved to meet his soulmate and of that, he was certain like of nothing else.

Things don’t always go according to plan however and soon enough he found himself broke and raising the son of a fish he stared at longer than it was strictly appropriate. That was not ideal per se, but he knew he could manage somehow. He was the son of the Angel of Death, after all, giving up wasn’t in his blood.

The next couple of years had been hard, what with the low funds and Fundy growing faster than expected, which meant he needed new clothing more often and more food than other babies. Fundy also absolutely hated Wilbur’s cooking and he never held back from letting him know with shrill cries and incessant pouting. Wilbur wished someone would have told him how exhausting being a parent would be, no wonder Phil avoided it like the plague…

Something good did happen however when one day at a market he met a very young teen named Tommy. The boy successfully stole from him, but, upon seeing him break down when he realized he couldn’t afford a meal for him and his child, he came back with a mortified expression and an apology. Wilbur understood though. They were both leading a miserable life so, instead of calling the guards asthe teen expected, he invited him over for a meal.

It took Tommy one try of Wilbur’s culinary expertise before declaring him a lost cause and inviting himself over for supper as well so that he could make something decent. Wilbur didn’t comment on his inability to taste the food when asked how much better their dinner was, but Fundy was full of praise for the first time in his existence, the little shit…

It took a couple more encounters before Wilbur noticed the name on Tommy’s wrist and they were already brothers by then. It seemed perfect like it was meant to be. And, according to the Universe, it was.

Years passed and they got invited to a moderately new Server apparently owned by Dream, renowned all over the System for his hunting challenges.

The news was the best thing that happened to Wilbur in a while. The desire to prove himself had been buzzing under his skin since forever, almost turning into an unbearable scorching fire in recent times. And that was his opportunity to upheld his father’s legacy, he would not let it go to waste.

Tommy was the first to join, though Wilbur was very reluctant to let him go alone. He was still so young and reckless and so painfully kind. Wilbur’s heart ached knowing him alone where couldn’t be easily reached, but he had to deal with the legal procedures regarding the Server transferal, so he’d have to suck it up this time.

Still, his brother and son were there waiting for him when he joined. Tommy had made friends with another teen and, somehow, had a war with the Server’s Admin. Nothing less than what Wilbur expected.

It was fine though, they were finally getting their life in order.

The first thing Wilbur tried was to get a monopoly on potions, which lead to the impromptu formation of a police force, which then lead to the formation of a country and war.

Before he knew it he was one life down, holding his little brother while his second life bled out of him, choking on his tears while the jubilant screams of his enemies resounded behind him.

It had taken no time for him to lose so much, and Tommy coming back from a meeting with the Admin saying how he’d won them independence was not enough to bring back his sense of safety and control. He was lost. It dawned on him then that he had no idea of what he was doing, only moving forward because he had to. It gave him such a sense of dread that he’d often end up crying alone in his office, the comfort of his soulmate feeling too far with a door between them, yet not far enough to hide his shame.

In a desperate attempt of reigning his life back in he proposed an election. It should have been an easy way to consolidate his power and possibly to give him some peace of mind. He’d planned it perfectly, so of course, nothing could go wrong. Turns out he was mistaken.

His second death was from an arrow piercing his heart while he screamed for Tommy, who was already on his last life, to run for his life. In retrospect, he should have expected things to go wrong as that’s what usually happens.

From then his life just turned into a never-ending spiral. There was no one he could trust, no one who hadn’t betrayed him, aside from his soulmate. And, even then, where he once found comfort in it, Tommy’s presence now felt blinding. Like staring directly at the sun after days spent in a cave. Oh, Tommy was as tainted as him, he knew that much, but the boy was so stubborn in his pathetic desire for peace. He refused to understand how that wasn’t an option anymore. L’Manburg, the country they founded and fought for, was now nothing but a corrupted husk of its former self. It was far beyond saving, destruction being the only remaining option. But Tommy refused to understand and, after a while, Wilbur stopped trying to make him. He’d come around to it eventually…

And then came the grand day, his final act! The stage was set and everything was perfect down to the most minuscule of details. Even Philza showed up for the heartbreaking reunion of the century, where he could pretend he’d been a father to Wilbur while stabbing him through the heart. It was perfect and wonderful and he could finally have peace.

Only death was not what he imagined. It wasn’t nothingness and it wasn’t peaceful. Instead, he was trapped at a station, trains passing but never stopping, and lost souls of those who came before him roaming the platform, unresponsive shadows of their former selves.

And it was such a cruel trick, wasn’t it? Showing him what he was to become while letting him keep the mind of who he was. Of course, he did his best not to succumb to the numbness and fade in that state of non-existence, but he was about to give up when Schlatt fell into an eternal slumber. But then something happened, something wonderful, the veil of death retracted for just a moment and he saw his little brother finally succeeding in defeating Dream once and for all. They talked like they hadn’t in a long time and with the reunion came the constant dull pain of a broken bond interrupted too soon.

It was grounding in a way. There weren’t many sensations in Limbo and of course the one breaking him away from his crushing loneliness would be Tommy once more. His one constant. His one anchor to retain himself.

An even better event was when Tommy himself joined him in Limbo. Wilbur couldn’t be more ecstatic! He mostly ignored his brother’s newfound constant fidgeting and shakey breaths he would take from time to time. They weren’t important, what was important was that Wilbur wasn’t alone and his bond stopped hurting. They were together now and nothing could change that! Well… he thought so, until one day a hand appeared grabbing Tommy’s neck and dragging him away, towards the tracks. Wilbur screamed and tried to take a hold of Tommy’s hand, but it was too late and the boy disappeared with the passing of another train.

After that Wilbur almost faded. He almost gave in. Why holding so desperately onto his mind when he was condemned to an eternity of loneliness? His soulmate too far out of reach once more… this time perhaps forever.

But eventually, a train stopped at his station, with Dream as the conductor. Dream, his hero! Taking him away from that nightmare and gifting him life once more!

He’d been grateful at the time. Truly grateful. Even after receiving Ghostbur’s obviously incomplete memories and having seen some of what the Admin had done to Tommy he still was grateful. And then he noticed something on Tommy’s wrist, a scratched-out name that appeared to have once been carved into the skin, and suddenly the desire to rip Dream apart with his bare hands reappeared stronger than ever.

He’d have to wait of course. Gain allies first, strengthen his bond once more, and play his cards right. He’d have to get the Admin to let his guard down with him and then… well then he would find out what happened when you tried taking Wilbur’s lifeline away from him...

#dream smp au #platonic soulmates au #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #crime boys #my writing/fanfic thingy?#tw suicide #tw unhealthy relationship #wilbur is a bit possessive #but that mostly stems from loneliness in this case

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vidavalor · 3 years

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Bucky flirting with Sam as part of the changing times theme in Ep 5...

This is on the long side. Contains brief mention of the show basically canonizing Bucky as a sexual assault survivor. It’s meta on Bucky and Sam’s identity themes and how the show is shifting into a theme of changing times with the latest episodes-- mostly about how Bucky’s journey is paralleling Sam’s, even while being a different kind of journey.

One of the more interesting subtle themes of Ep 5 is that while we have had a lot of emphasis in the earlier episodes on how much horror still exists in America-- and a very right, necessary emphasis-- as the show begins to pivot towards the part of Sam’s journey that involves him deciding to become Captain America, they are pivoting a bit to illustrate that as much as many things have, unfortunately, not changed the way they should have over time, a lot really has. (Also, the Sam-as-Captain-America thing isn’t meant to be a spoiler as I don’t really totally know if that’s the ending, it just seems um... really the only place this story is going...) They have been using Isaiah to illustrate this point for Sam quite a bit in Ep 5, especially. The core conflict comes from Isaiah believing that a self-respecting Black man wouldn’t want to fight for America after the horrors that have been done to Black people in its history, which is not something that Sam ultimately feels is true. He definitely feels the pain of Black history in America but he still believes *in* America and views it as his country and is accepting that everyone in it really has a role to play in making it live up to the ideals it espouses but has still yet to achieve. In deciding to appreciate Isaiah choosing to open up to him and share his story but respectfully disagree with him on what to do next-- and to have his ability to make this choice reinforced by Sarah supporting him by saying she knows he will choose to fight in the fights he believes in and she has his back-- Sam is choosing to become a symbol of something, even if he’s just a man, and he’s affirming to himself that it is okay for him to believe in this thing he believes in. It’s okay for him to believe in America and love America and what it stands for, even in all its extremely imperfect glory, because he can be the change he wants to see in the world. He knows there are many people who will support him in that and that it only happens if we make it happen and that America, in all its imperfection, has made a lot of positive change happen throughout its short history.

You know who else is enjoying similar truths in the same episode? Bucky.

Bucky arrives in Delacroix all “Hello, 21st Century! I’ve always wanted to flirt with a man in public! I will be over here, lifting heavy stuff and getting in the personal space of your next Captain America, Good People of Delacroix, Louisiana!” What’s so endearing about this is not even just that this is clearly the first time that Bucky has felt like he has some control over his own mind, after proving he can manage The Winter Soldier in him a bit in the last few episodes, but that he’s working towards this kind of peace in a time where he really no longer has to hide any part of himself. Long before The Winter Soldier, Bucky was so the guy with a girl on each arm and a guy in the dark of the back alley. He has never, in his entire century-plus of living, been able to really be who he is without fear. It’s not as if there is not any fear left for LGBTQIA people in the world because, sadly, of course there is but loving Sam would have gotten Bucky arrested twice over in the 1940s. Interracial marriage was illegal until the Loving Act of 1967-- and that was still just for heterosexual couples. Obviously, same-sex marriage wasn’t legalized in the U.S. until 2015. If Bucky had been caught with a man in his youth, let alone a Black man, they both would have been arrested. Even if they were let go (and Bucky would have been more likely to suffer less, on account of being white), their reputations and ability to work and serve in the military could have been impacted.

The show toys with this with Bucky’s interest in exploring it, even through the haze of a lot of severe trauma, back in Episode 1. While he’s mainly eating at the sushi bar because he’s befriended Yori on account of his amends project, he is living in a very modern existence by regularly conversing with these two. Consider that the show chose to make both of them Japanese, basically to illustrate that Bucky, in a sense, was always progressive for his time period. Bucky *could* have been the kind of WW2 soldier who forever saw people of the countries the Allies fought against as an enemy-- your grandfathers and great-grandfathers who never stopped hating the Japanese. But he’s not. He actually comes off as someone whose inability to fit the mode of the heterosexual white American guy in his own time period lent him a lot of empathy towards others and I might be wrong about this because I can’t quite recall at the moment but wasn’t he drafted, as opposed to enlisted? It’s doubtful he even really wanted to fight, although he’s always up for a fight against a bully and clearly hated the Nazis (but wanting to fight fascism makes you far from intolerant.) My point is that Bucky, back in Ep 1, is already experimenting with how living in the 21st century could be a positive thing for him in a life he might want to make for himself, if he can get through his trauma enough to do so.

He eats lunch on the regular with a man who is, in all likelihood, descended somewhere from at least one person who fought on the enemy side to Bucky in WW2. He regularly chats with Leah, who is completely unlike anyone he would have been able to talk to in the 1940s and seems almost designed to be *exactly* that intentionally-- she is a woman with a job that wasn’t like a nurse or a teacher or Peggy Carter lol. She tends bar, a job that was virtually exclusively male in the ‘40s. She has open visible tattoos and is probably putting herself through college-- something that women were just being able to attend, usually in female-only settings. She makes her own money and lives as a single woman, likely without the express intention on getting married and having a family relatively soon. (There’s nothing wrong with any of that. It’s more just that it would have been the exception, rather than the norm, in Bucky’s youth.) Atop that, she is Asian and works in a Japanese restaurant-- the ultimate business that would have suffered during the ‘40s as America didn’t exactly do right by its Japanese-Americans during the war and if Bucky, a white soldier, had been seen with a Japanese girl, it would have been bad for him but worse for her.

So the reason why Yori has noticed that Bucky always looks at Leah when they eat lunch is probably less about the attraction Yori assumed Bucky had for her and more that Leah is this personal fascination for Bucky-- a human being who is basically the total embodiment of everything that has changed in the world since Bucky was last freely a part of it. Yori assumes Bucky wants a date but Bucky really wants what he ultimately got out of it, which is more just to talk to her a bit.

They also play Battleship, which is kind of darkly funny. The game originated after WW1 and used to be played on paper. It soared into popularity in the 1930s and has never stopped being popular ever since-- so, in essence, the game they play is the one part of this that, like Bucky, has been in existence the whole time. It has taken on different forms, though. It became a plastic board game in the ‘60s and has been modernized a few times but it’s still here. (It’s also funny that Bucky is kind of losing the game with her, symbolizing that he’s not entirely figured out this whole modern world yet, even if he’s very interested by it.)

But the big thing is that Bucky is beginning to edge away from just observing this new world and trying to decide how he wants to participate in it. He’s basically decided that he might like to and while his heart is completely with Sam, he’s also afraid of himself and his ability to potentially destroy that one really strong wish he has to be with him, so he’s pushing him away by not answering his texts. He’s likely also, atop insecurity in himself, literally terrified at the idea of hurting Sam not just physically-- through some nightmare or some untapped Winter Soldier potential or failing to protect him-- but through the fact that he’s a guy from the 1940s who has literally never openly dated a man, had Black friends during the war but that was decades ago and is not really sure how to do this.

Forced into a date with Leah, he experiments with the modern world in a way because he’s here because sure, he likes her and all but he was more just interested in her world than her personally and he just didn’t want to disappoint either her or Yori, so he showed up. She seems fairly trustworthy (and he trusts no one but Sam and Yori, so that’s a start) but what he wants really is to say aloud to someone for the first time that he likes men. To see how that goes in this modern era. (Depending on how you take Bucky and Steve, he could have put this into words to Steve at one point, likely way back when, but it’s also possible that they both just knew and didn’t talk about it. Either way, you didn’t go around telling people you didn’t trust in the ‘40s and it’s doubtful that he’s ever just said it to anyone and for sure not on a regular basis.)

He even knows that this wouldn’t be a deal breaker for a woman, necessarily, in the modern era, which is probably blowing his mind a bit because you would have been hard-pressed to find a woman who would admit to someone she didn’t implicitly trust that back in the ‘40s and it wouldn’t have been so open and accepted. What he really wants in Leah is a new friend and she seems to sense that-- she likes this weird guy with the circulation problem that is nice enough to lunch with the old man at her restaurant, he seems okay enough, if broody and sad, so why not talk to him for a bit? She totally thinks he’s just a closet case (she’s not wrong lol) and won’t really be crushed by him rushing out of the date beyond like “too bad, he was pretty hot” but for Bucky, this is the likely the first time he’s ever casually chatted with another human being about his attempt at finding a guy he likes.

It’s actually really sweet in that he’s still sort of coding it a bit, if not that much. He’s still a bit nervous about this so he’s saying tiger pictures to reference men so he can say it without saying it. Leah gets it and just kind of rolls with it and probably has zero idea how big a deal it was for the century-old guy sitting at the bar.

He might have been intentionally dramatic a bit about how it was all “a lot” but he was also telling her the truth-- he did a little exploring online. Found some men. It looked like a lot of work to stroke all these egos. Bucky’s for the modern world but he’s kind of into more old-fashioned guys. He’s got a warm-hearted soldier kink. Family man kind of guys with generous spirits. He’s considering online stuff because he’s also a guy who has been through an absurd amount of trauma-- some of which the show will just come out and say involves sexual assault, off that Selby scene-- and he’s probably considering trying to get beyond some of it by just having sex with somebody. It’s not at all an uncommon response for people who have been raped to try to get beyond it by just having sex again and you know this is yet another level of anxiety for him when it comes to the idea of having another chance at life. He’s nervous around himself at this point and doesn’t fully trust himself, so he’s not sure how he can trust other people and the one guy he *does* trust and *does* want? Bucky has that whole ‘don’t want to burden him with my own issues’ thing happening. (That’s not a bad thing when it’s a situation of expecting your partner to be your therapist, which shouldn’t happen but Bucky would and should have expectations that someone he’d have as a romantic partner can be someone he can trust to care about him and be sensitive to how his past plays into his present needs, in and out of bed.) He’d trust Sam with this but he also wants to be like... he basically feels like he met the potential love of his life while trying to kill him and just got his mind back and the timing is all wrong. It’s a lot of ‘too broken for Sam’ self-narrative.

Whether or not Bucky actually went beyond scrolling and being astounded at the unattractive insecurity of tiger pictures or whether he hooked up a time or two, it’s clear he didn’t get what he needed out of it and he gave up on it, admitting to himself that he’s really basically a tired old romantic who wants love and trust and the whole dance of things and that kind of intimacy more than the back alley casualness of online dating. This is about as far as Bucky has gotten while trying to deal with his trauma while having a truly terrible therapist: he likes sushi now and would like to have his life’s first real chance at an open, mutual, loving, romantic relationship. He just didn’t know how to get himself there.

John Walker and the shield issues actually, ironically, gave him scenarios where he could, through actions that suited him better than those his therapist had assigned. He needed to learn not to not hurt anyone but how to manage it when he did. He needed to learn how to be a soldier that protects people again, not the Winter Soldier, and that he can control that part of himself. He needed the opportunity to show Sam that he really does care, he’s just a grieving mess of a man working through being so out of time and secretly scared that he might like this time better, might have a chance at being who he is for the first time, and he doesn’t know quite what to do with that. He lets Sam in enough that they can show one another that they understand each other’s traumas. He tosses himself out of a plane for Sam in the first episode to prove he’ll follow him anywhere, that he’s strong and will survive and come back, knowing about Riley not being alive when he hit that ground. Sam responds by seeing Bucky essentially frozen in a PTSD moment of the train car on the side of that truck and grabs him out of danger. They snark and bicker but the actions speak louder than the words-- there’s caring there and want and a sense that they’re a bit gone on the other.

Sam’s trust in Bucky-- even as Bucky is still learning how to trust himself with himself-- gives Bucky a confidence boost that he was missing when he pulled away from Sam out of fear of hurting him. The whole White Panther/White Wolf scene? Sam expected Bucky to grumble or blush, he was for sure flirting with him but didn’t expect quite that amount of flirt back. Without realizing it, he had hit on the exact part of Bucky’s identity that was giving him the biggest boost, that he understood the best at that time-- the White Wolf. The White Wolf is the freed Winter Soldier, a peaceful tender of goats, a wounded warrior beloved by a community who rescued him. He represents Bucky’s recent past into his present-- being able to work for the chance to shake loose the Winter Soldier and evolve into a different version of himself. He wanted to impress Sam with that-- he saw Sam’s flirting and parried back, which he didn’t always do, because he knew it would be impressive that the Wakandans had given him a (pretty sexy actually) nickname. He’s boosted by Sam still flirting, Sam still caring, still seeing something in him he’s working on seeing himself. He has some hope, even as they fight, because his attempts at getting closer to Sam are not being rejected wholesale and Sam keeps reaching out to him, often literally. After Madripoor and after Bucky going after and finding Zemo, he feels more ready. He’s more in control of himself. He thinks he has a path to getting beyond the worst of this stuff and he might not have worked out all the details yet or figured out what it looks like but he finally feels ready to try and since Sam hasn’t rejected him, he’s going to take Yori’s advice, just with the right person and stop waiting around, stop just looking and make a move.

In a way, Sam is introduced to 1940s Bucky for the first time in Delacroix-- this is the guy he saw glimpses of but was pretty deeply buried. He’s not reverted back to the Bucky of old as how could he, after all he’s been through? But this is the flirt, the natural charmer and he’s been set free for real for the first time, without worry or fear that he can’t live a life he wants and be the person he truly is without fear of rejection of who he loves, his family and the community at large. He likes this place that is the exact opposite of everything he’s suffered-- it’s so warm, he’ll never feel frozen again, physically or emotionally. The people here don’t care about his arm or who he loves, Sam’s family has Sam’s big, warm heart and Sam? Well, Bucky’s enjoying making him a little flustered. You like that stealthy White Wolf, Sam? Well, he’s got his eyes on you. ;)

Maybe the best part of this being the parallel to Sam’s decisions about how he wants to identify when it comes to him deciding to take up the shield is that it relates to a sense of freedom that is at the core of both of Sam and Bucky’s stories and is the whole point of Captain America and how it is supposed to symbolize a fight against fascism. Bucky has been told twice in the series that he’s “free” and each were, in a sense, a bit true. Ayo tells him this when he’s free from mind control and that is a major move forward for him-- life-altering-- but he’s not free from the trauma of it. Dr. Raynor tells Bucky that he’s free now and can build whatever life he wants but we see on Bucky’s face how those statements for him, in those early episodes in New York, really are conflicting ones-- he is free from mind control but still imprisoned in his trauma and that is what is keeping him from making the life he wants. Over the course of TFATWS, alongside Sam’s journey to decide how he wants to feel about America as a Black man and what he feels he owes to the country and the country owes to him, is the story of Bucky having to build his own identity as well. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is ultimately what these guys were-- the identities they still have at the beginning of the show. They’re going to end it Sam and Bucky, Captain America and the White Wolf. Bucky’s real sense of freedom only came when he realized he could trust himself to decide how he wanted to live, when he proved that to himself and took control over it. He’s still not completely fine-- no one really is, ever-- but he has a path now. Sam and Bucky have different identity conflicts but ultimately, at the core, their struggles with them and with what their country has asked of them and with how they want to live and what they want for themselves, is very similar and the core of a lot of why they understand one another well.

It wouldn’t surprise me if we find out that Bucky stopped answering Sam’s texts when Sam suggested he come to Delacroix. Bucky knew about the boat when he got there, the same way that Sam knew about Bucky’s nightmares, so these two were talking a lot, they were friends on a verge of more but both knowing they each had too many struggles to overcome first and I think that Sam had to have been trying to reach out and accidentally went too far. It’s kind of like in the therapy session-- most of the time, Sam is amazing at dealing with people who have been through trauma but he sometimes falls off his game with Bucky. The whole “this is what you wanted, right?” in the therapy session is frustration, it’s pushing a little too hard, it’s snarking over feeling like Bucky rejected him romantically, even if Sam understands why and probably wasn’t convinced they were ready for it anyway. It’s possible that Sam thought inviting Bucky home with him would be good for him-- and the sun and the Wilsons would have been-- but, at the time, it just made Bucky panic, which is then also why Sam just rolls over the fact that Bucky hadn’t been returning his texts when they see one another again. Sam kept reaching out to check on him but accepted the non-response because he felt like he might have kind of pushed Bucky too fast. They both know they both have feelings for one another but are scared by how much the other has to get through to get to that point and feel ill-equipped to really help one another, often blunder in their attempts to (and other times, get it just right.)

So, yeah. There’s still no shortage of conflicts to be dealt with but alongside Sam finding his path to living his truth in this modern world has been Bucky’s arc from daring to whisper about tiger photos to showing up to show off his prowess with heavy stuff and tools to win over his boyfriend in front of his family and hometown. It’s not subtext. It’s literally Bucky’s identity-themed character arc, existing in parallel to Sam’s. Just because they aren’t giving it a ton of labels does not mean that it isn’t the intent of the story.

#sambucky #buckysam #bucky barnes #bucky #sam wilson #tfatws

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the-blind-geisha · 3 years

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How do you think a drunk demi acts? lol

Woof, drunk Demi, hu? I guess it could depend if he's drinking as a coping mechanism and or for fun. From what I gather, he's always drinking for fun or as a social thing with Cocytus. Just picturing him drunk, horny, angry, and or sad is interesting. XD ♥

The problem with demons—they have a high immunity to being drunk (most, anyways). Demiurge would possibly have to drink quite heavily to even show he's not himself anymore. I wager because of this, he'd either be doing a drinking contest or drinking in a fit of rage or sorrow to get to this point.

Even when he's drunk, he tries to make Nazarick believe he's sober. The give away is his inability to walk or talk straight and always leaning on walls. He no doubt leans against the walls on the Ninth Floor and uses it like he's on a wobbling ship just to get to his bedroom.

I can easily picture him accidentally colliding with a maid and having to grab her shoulders to not only steady himself but try to be kind and apologetic to what he just did. He would stutter out the word 'sorry' but then realize how slurred it sounds and stop himself from doing so.

If he's taken it too far, he'd probably collapse onto the person he collided with. That poor maid would possibly be pinned for a time.

I can totally see Albedo and or some of the other guardians (minus Cocytus maybe) taking advantage of him being drunk. They would force him to try and sing karaoke and dance. I doubt he'd decline being in the state he's in. He can still sing rather well for being a drunkard. He just has to prevent himself from losing control of his alcohol all over the stage, poor guy.

I wager Albedo would be the one to try and get him to side with her over Ainz accepting her as a bride while Shalltear will be the one pulling him in the other direction. Poor Demi is just sitting there nodding, not sure what to say as their voices are a bit too loud for him to handle at this moment.

This would be the one moment Sebas should really leave him alone. If Sebas says even one word of greeting, Demiurge would growl like a feral demon—warning the butler he's not in the mood.

If Demiurge is in a love unrequited mood, he would probably go to his bedroom and mope to himself in a drunken stupor.

I can totally see him being that guy in the modern world with a cell phone, texting the MC he loves and trying to get her to call him just so he can talk while lying in bed all upset. The MC would probably be able to tell he's drunk because his texting is far from perfect when it's usually very refined—perfect punctuation, little to no emojis, and excellent grammar. Here, it's just desperate and all over the place. 'I wants talk too you.' Thank gods for autocorrect, or I doubt you'd know what he was saying.

In the New World, prepare for random [Messages] to come through of him hoping to just hear the MC's voice to calm him down as he's rarely drunk.

This would be that time he turns kind of into an Albedo, and twists simple words and phrases of the MC about to where he thinks they love him. If he ever heard such a thing, he would teleport to their side and run to hug them saying 'I knew it deep in my heart that you loved me!' Ya know that scene where Albedo flies and pins Ainz to the ground? Yeah, something like that is what Demiurge would do at this point.

If the MC is the one to drag him back to his bedroom after everyone had fun at his expense, he wouldn't hold back being in a not right state of mind. He would grab them and pull them in close to embrace and kiss.

He's strong though, so good luck trying to get out of his embrace if you don't have maxed strength to some capacity.

If he does have a strong, sexual relationship with the MC, he wouldn't hold back and get frisky. His boldness has gone up 1000 points. He would wake up wondering what happened as last night was a blur.

If he is in hangover town, he would beg for someone to come and heal him in the New World.

If he is hungover in the modern world, he would plead for the MC to stay and take care of him for a bit. He wants somebody to be with him while his head hurts. Snuggling is a quick cure for him (or so he says).

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disgruntled-fbc-agent · 3 years

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control prompts/suggestions: jesse just after ordinary? or a few months after, trying to figure out polaris and starting to get a handle on how to survive on her (mostly) own?

When did it get so cold?

The biting wind had distracted Jesse for a moment, letting her need for shelter push past the hunger pains in her stomach to run to the nearest alleyway. The old flannel that was much too big on her wasn’t doing enough, but she still silently thanked the voice in her head that had told her to grab it from the open bag on the street. There were a few holes, and it smelt heavily of some sort of animal when she had first picked it up, though it smelt more like dirt and sweat as Jesse pulled it close to her face, and pulled herself close to the wall of the alleyway.

Four months now. That’s what Polaris had told her. Four months since she had let her world go crashing down without doing anything about it and letting so many people get hurt and then just running from all of it. Letting the consequences go to others. Go to her brother. She had tried turning around, tried to find him again, but they took him. It was hard for her to fully remember who they were, especially as her body reminded her of its pathetic lack of food, but she knew that they took Dylan, somewhere that she couldn’t find him.

No, she had to find him. She was going to find him. If Jesse was going to do one thing correctly in her whole stupid life, it was going to be finding him. Like the books she would read at school, usually when she was supposed to be “actively engaged” in her work: the older sibling goes through trials, goes through hardships, but with the help of a strange companion, always saves the day. What happened after the back cover, after the “the end” didn’t matter to Jesse at the moment. She had the strange companion, always hovering in her mind in the way that her mother would always hover over Dylan, giving everyone that would listen lectures on how he was going to be something great and that he needed to be protected at all costs. She certainly had the trials, running from city to city and hoping she didn’t die or that they didn’t find her.

Jesse had to save Dylan.

It was the thought that got her to push herself off of the wall, looking around to get an understanding of her surroundings. Should she have maybe checked her surroundings for danger before she ran into the shadowy alleyway? Possibly, but the chime in her mind that she still wasn’t quite used to reminded her that she had another set of eyes. Polaris would’ve warned her about any sort of danger. Just like she warned Jesse about not even daring to think about trying to find something to eat in the dumpster Jesse had spotted. But, as Jesse had learned, she couldn’t do much to stop her from doing things, especially something like deciding to dumpster dive for food.

But, some things could stop Jesse from dumpster diving. Like the smell of freshly baked bread coming from somewhere nearby.

Jesse’s stomach growled again as she stopped, one hand on the cold metal of the rusted dumpster. It couldn’t have been her imagination, right? She looked around, almost holding her breath to see if she could find the source. Even if it was a terrible idea to try and snatch some food from a bakery, her hunger was preventing her from thinking straight. All she had to do was not get caught, right? She would make it seem like she was never even there. In and out. Surprisingly, Polaris almost seemed to agree with her idea, as Jesse’s focus was gently moved towards a slightly propped open door by the swirling chime that filled her vision.

Obviously, Jesse went towards the door.

The smell of the bakery hit her even harder as she peeked through the crack in the door, feeling the warmth of the inside brush against her face. She could hear someone somewhere deep inside, but she couldn’t see them, only the rack of bread that sat just a little out of reach for her arms. Of course. She would probably have to open the door more to even hope to get one of the loaves off of the rack. And if whoever was in there could just stay far away from the door, that could be her chance to get something. But it was only a chance, Jesse knew that.

“Tim, come up front,” a voice calling through the bakery startled Jesse, but she managed to keep her focus and balance, trying to hear the conversation, “there’s someone I would like you to meet.”

“I’m still sweeping, mom,” Tim called back, still sounding far enough away that if Jesse wanted to try, she could’ve possibly had reached in and grabbed a loaf without the boy noticing. But she didn’t. She waited.

“How long does it take you to sweep back there? Hurry on up and get over here, okay?”

“Yes mom.” There probably wasn’t a tone that Tim could’ve used to sound more bored, as the sound of a broom brushing against the floor gently danced out from the bakery. Jesse mentally kicked herself for not taking the bread when she had the chance, but she quickly realized that Polaris was yelling at her about something far more important, it seemed.

That was when she heard the growling. And it wasn’t the growling of her stomach.

Jesse was barely able to get out of the way of the dog that charged at her out of seemingly nowhere, pressing herself against the far wall of the alleyway in an attempt to stay out of its reach. Despite the scrawniness of the dog, and the way Jesse could see its ribs poke out as it took heavy breaths, it was a big dog. A big dog that wanted to tear her to shreds for some reason.

Special, Polaris chimed to her, though she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But there was no time to play the normal game of “guess the meaning” at the moment, as the dog turned to look at her again, letting out a loud growl.

Jesse was trapped.

The only place she really had to go was the dumpster, which her hand reached out for as the dog poised to leap at her, the other hand instinctively reaching out to protect herself. As if she would be able to fight off a stray dog with one hand. She managed to pull herself up onto the base of the dumpster, where there was a ledge to stand on, but she couldn’t get high enough to stop the dog from getting to her legs. Jesse shut her eyes, and while her mouth opened, she couldn’t quite tell if she was screaming or not as the pain surged through her and sent her mind into a blank.

But the growling turned into a whimper, and as the pain subsided for just a moment, Jesse opened her eyes slowly. The dog was lying further down the alleyway, as if something had pushed it back. Polaris chimed to Jesse, in a way that almost reminded her of a soothing song. Like a lullaby. Jesse could feel a weird bubble of energy around her fading, a feeling that she had had before but still didn’t quite understand. The “guess the meaning” game wasn’t working too well on that one for the moment.

“Not you again,” a voice cut through the silence as the dog had just started to get up, almost sending Jesse’s flight response into overdrive. “Fucking stra--oh shit.” Jesse had tried to start moving, to start running far away, but before she had even processed the source of the voice around her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and the chill starting to creep up her legs was quickly turned into warmth as she was pulled inside. “Mom! Get back here now!”

Jesse had a difficult time adjusting to her surroundings, but when her body began calming down from whatever had just happened to her (like four months ago, the memories were blurring in her mind despite being so recent), the smell of fresh bread hit her again. The bakery. For a moment, guilt overtook her, at the idea that she could’ve taken the bread from them without them noticing. And at the idea that the people inside were going to see her as some precious, innocent thing, as if she hadn’t gotten attacked by the dog in the first place because she was going to steal from them.

“Tim, what’s going on?” Jesse looked up just in time to see a woman walk into the area, watching her eyes go wide as she looked at Jesse. She was probably a sight to behold, with the flannel that was way too big on her, the blood running down her leg, and her hair matted and chopped so short because of some unfortunate moods and her inability to wash her hair.

“That stray again, I, I think he attacked her,” Tim responded, his voice shaking a little.

“I can see that part.” The woman pulled a towel out of her pant loop, gesturing for Jesse to sit as she wrapped it around her leg. Jesse hadn’t noticed how skinny and frail her legs had gotten until then, especially as the woman tightened the towel to act like some sort of wrap. “Stay here with her. I’m getting an ambulance.”

“Wait--” Jesse tried to get something out, tried to beg the woman not to call anyone, but her voice was failing her. And the look in the woman’s eye told her that she wouldn’t get away with just a leg bleeding out everywhere. She needed medical attention. Even Polaris agreed about that.

“We’ll focus on the complicated stuff later. Stay there. And, Tim, get the girl something to eat.” The woman hurried out back to the front before Tim or Jesse could even respond.

Neither Jesse nor Tim spoke once the woman left, the only noise coming from Tim ripping a chunk off of a loaf of bread and handing it to Jesse. But Jesse could still feel the kindness. She wasn’t alone, despite the fear deep in her stomach that tried to convince her that she had to run from people, even from people that treated her with kindness. The way that she sat next to Tim reminded her of all the times that her brother would sit down next to her, hurt or scared or just needing the support of his older sister in some way. But she was the one that needed support then, she was the one that was leaning her head against Tim’s shoulder, as the towel around her leg slowly turned red with her blood.

Just a trial, she kept telling herself, like in all of the books. She was going to get through this. She was going to find her brother and save him and tear the people that hurt her apart.

She glanced up at Tim for a second, as he started to hum some sort of song.

One day, she was going to save all of them, too.

#this is almost 2k words rip #thanks for the ask!#remedy control #control 2019 #jesse faden #control fanfiction #control fic

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rainythefox · 3 years

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Nightfall (CH.17)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (Wesker & William Bromance). Rated M for smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 17: Complicated Affairs

It happened again. Tonight of all nights. He awakened to pain splintering through his cranium, caused by distorted dreams or memories still fresh, the source of his affliction.

Wesker wasn’t a stranger to it and rose to do his usual ritual when this happened: splashing water on his face. Painkillers? Rarely. Rubbing his temples, his eyes, his forehead. He had no choice but to wait for the pressure to alleviate, despite his mind becoming something close to hypersensitive during this time.

3:12 A.M.

The STARS Captain sat at a mahogany desk in his bedroom. A small desk lamp provided a soft, dim glow. He watched Claire's beautiful form sleep soundly in his bed, blissfully unaware of his torment.

Wesker had reminded her of the guest bedroom after their last round in his sheets, in case she’d be more comfortable in there, but she had declined and stayed with him. Admittingly, he was a little surprised by that.

He hated what he was feeling for her, but at the same time...strangely welcomed it, like a drug he’d been craving and was now addicted to. From her clever wit, fiery temper and beauty to the way she tasted, smelled, felt. For a man who had great control over his more primal urges, Claire had some kind of pull over that control. She appealed to all of his senses in just the right way, the way most women couldn’t, reminding him that he wasn’t immune to the forces of nature. Not to mention, making him realize his desire for her wouldn’t wane anytime soon, and he was perfectly fine with that. There was something simply compelling about her. He wanted her all to himself.

Anezka had been something special too. A young, brilliant researcher with fire red hair and an equally blazing disposition. But Anna had jilted him, reasons unknown, seemingly disappearing from the face of the earth. His resentment towards her, as well as his pride, kept him from seeking her out.

“I know you will come to hate me. Just know that I love you, and I had to do it…”

Her final words to him from a random phone call three weeks after she had up and left Raccoon City. Nearly seven years now, but he still heard it as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

Had to do what? What was he missing? She had acted so strange those last few days she was here. Wesker shook his head, jaw clenching, hating that he still thought of her, hating what she did, and yes, hating her too. The whole thing was quite absurd in the fact that he still wasted time and energy dwelling over her.

Wesker dropped the bitter thoughts of Anna, turning away from his sleeping Claire to peer out the nearby window. Small snowflakes glittered in the beams of street lamps outside. He attempted once again to make sense of the flashing pictures that had painfully awoken him, but the inability to decipher or rationalize them only frustrated him further.

A soft whine snapped him out of it. Lying near the bed, Odin stared directly at him, ears erect. Wesker gave him a signal and the Doberman lowered his head onto his paws, licking his lips. It was a shame most MA-39s would go to waste once infused with the T-Virus. The Cerberus project genetically modified and bred the dogs for extreme intelligence, strength, and agility. The new Epsilon strain was an improvement, but still caused enough deterioration that prevented MA-39s from taking complex orders.

Strange how no one at the Spencer estate reported a missing Cerberus dog when Wesker had taken him three years ago. Then again, some of the handlers weren't all that perceptive.

Wesker clenched his fist on the desk as another wave of pain jostled through his skull. More distorted images flashed by, many unrecognizable to him as usual. Same with the faint, echoing voices. No, there was one he did recognize. And it made the pain flare, made his body cringe. More of his buried hatred clawed to the surface.

It was much like another voice Wesker once knew, although that one died at his feet in a pool of his own blood a decade prior.

When the time is right...you will be next…

Ironic how in the early years of his life, he had been oddly intrigued and drawn to Lord Ozwell E. Spencer. But as he grew, after being subjected to Marcus's indoctrination, conditioning, and torture alongside William, inside the walls of the Umbrella Executive Training Facility, after climbing the ranks within Umbrella, those feelings slowly mutated. After years of learning, adapting, and evolving. Hatred and distrust took their place, just as they often did.

After all, it made only sense now that he had control of his life, now that he could see what he hadn't before. Marcus had always been a pawn. A puppet attached to strings held by Spencer. He had subjected them to the menticide for all those years, all for a "better future for you and for Umbrella".

Obedience breeds discipline. Discipline breeds unity. Unity breeds power. Power is life.

He and William were no different than Marcus to Spencer. Puppets. The next generation to pull strings on. But Wesker had made sure long ago to cut the strings that shackled him, instead only putting on the illusion that Spencer still had control.

But there was a rabbit hole somewhere, one he wasn't supposed to find. And it had to do with these "dreams". Could the brainwashing from his years at the Training Facility have gone further back, even as far as his childhood? Sifting through his memories, it didn’t seem so. His life was normal considering the circumstances, even when placed with Marcus and William, only taking a dark turn once entering the Training Facility some years later as a teenager.

There were those strange, hazy images of some kind of boarding school with other children his age that were not in his topographical or declarative memory.

He had no way to prove it, but just the thought of it boiled his blood. Why else would the dreams cause him so much discomfort?

No. He was in complete control of his life and everyone around him. He was no longer the ruled. He was the ruler.

A soft whine stirred her from slumber, waking her just enough to alert her brain that she wasn’t home in her own bed. The sheets were different, the comforter was different. The scent wasn’t hers. Her eyes opened, and in that second everything came back to her. The party, her “mission”, Wesker’s house, what they did in the dining room...what they did in this bed. His bed. She was still in his bed, but he wasn’t with her.

Claire sat up, awake, her skin exposed to the coolness of the room when the warm blanket fell away. Her inner rectitude had hoped it had all been a dream, if only so she didn’t have to face what she had done yet again. But as Claire moved, she felt the familiar ache in her limbs, in her groin. She felt the faint bruises from a mighty hold on her flesh. She felt the stickiness between her thighs where more of Wesker’s cum had leaked out since falling asleep. There was no denying it, even if she wanted to...but she didn’t want to. As much as she should be scolding herself for her major lapse in judgment and character yet again, she wouldn’t. Not while high on the thrill of these encounters with her brother’s boss.

The younger Redfield looked around the faintly lit bedroom that had been completely dark not long ago. She spotted her captor/lover sitting at a desk on the far side of the room, staring out the window as snow danced on the other side of the panes. Claire held her breath, the only thing she could do as she stared. It was strange seeing Albert Wesker in this light. And she didn’t mean the lighting in the room.

What she saw was something intimate, a part of Wesker right here and now that very few people have seen. Felt it in her bones. But she didn’t know him well enough to know exactly what she was seeing as he stared out the window, and struggled to place it. He was tired, but that wasn’t it. She had never seen such a look in his eyes. But she desperately wanted to know. It wasn’t exactly sadness. Nor was it doubt or self-reflection or even anger. And yet, somehow it was all of them at once. The hatred she did feel for certain, and Claire recalled Nikolai telling her that Wesker was driven by hatred.

After all the things she had seen this man do, what she learned about him this past week, it shouldn't have mattered what drove him. Stopping him and exposing him should’ve been all that mattered. But Claire couldn’t help herself. What could cause a man to hate so much that it drove his very soul?

Claire quietly got out of bed, wearing only underwear and the borrowed V-neck shirt. She didn’t make a peep, even as she stepped over Odin, yet wasn’t surprised the STARS Captain somehow heard her, swiveling the desk chair to face her, his steely eyes kindling her stomach.

Well, this was a stupid idea. What the hell was she supposed to say?

“You should be resting, dear heart. It won’t be long before I must take you home.”

Despite his stormy eyes, his tone was gentler than usual. Claire relaxed, weakly shrugging. “Can’t sleep. Looks like you can’t either.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

His response didn't surprise her. His tone suggested he simply didn’t need much sleep, but Claire felt it was a guise to the fact that he couldn’t sleep much.

What did surprise her was him motioning her to come closer, despite her leaning on the desk only a couple feet away.

Hesitating, she quipped, “Guilty conscience finally catch up with you?” And then squeaked when he pulled her down onto his lap.

Claire was completely thrown off by this strange behavior!

Wesker chuckled inaudibly, noticeable only by the slight pull of his lips. “Wishful thinking, my dear. Pointless cognitive bias. Just as pointless as most penitence. The majority of people’s decisions and subsequent consequences are known beforehand, thus to regret them afterward is groundless."

In other words, no. But Claire hadn't been holding her breath or anything.

Wesker’s arm secured her lower back, either holding her steady or preventing her from getting up. Claire moved one leg over so she was straddling him instead. Her captor faintly smirked, his eyes taking advantage.

“Just imagine if dear big brother saw you now. What would he think?”

Claire frowned, imagining Chris seeing her like this...or finding out what she had done with Wesker...more than once.

“He’d blow his top, that’s for sure.”

A soft snort was his response. Claire sighed, hating herself a little more.

“He’d be disappointed.” Her voice was just a whisper, as soft as his fingertips as they skimmed her lower back.

“Inevitably. Little sister isn’t as innocent as he believes.”

She glared at him. “In himself more than anything. He’d blame himself as if he did something wrong. Because he’s had to shuffle being a parental figure and a brother. He’s had to try and be our parents instead of being himself.”

“Given my experience in how he thinks, I’m not surprised. But it’s foolish to wear someone's shoes you will never be able to fill.”

The younger Redfield broke eye contact, thinking about how much Chris had struggled over the years between being a brother and being a parent, no their parents. Wesker was right. Impossible shoes to fill, as great as he was to her, as much as she loved him

“As dense and irritating as he can be, I will say this,” Wesker said, playing with a strand of Claire’s hair. “The sacrifices he’s made for you are admirable. As is his devotion to making sure you know how to defend yourself and navigate through life. Most love has selfish intentions and is conditional, blood or not. Most brothers would’ve settled, or even abandoned their siblings, to live their own life, achieve their own ambitions. And although he cannot step into the shoes of those you have lost, he certainly stepped up and took it head on. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

Claire never would’ve thought in a million years she'd hear the STARS Captain give a compliment that wasn’t laced with sarcasm or derision. Not while he wasn’t acting anyway. And she was both grateful and disheartened hearing it.

Chris had been younger than she was now when their parents died. His world got turned upside down just as much as hers did. His dreams, his college and life plans, all gone. Because he chose to. He sacrificed all of that for her, to keep them together, to give her a better future.

And this is how you repay him? Her inner voice chimed as she straddled Chris’s boss, but that seemed so insignificant compared to the deep hole she had dug herself into regarding Albert Wesker.

Capture and blackmail had turned into attraction and seduction. Attraction and seduction turned into an affair, and that affair had just turned quite dangerous. Evident in the way he looked at her, evident in the way that he held her. All because she had gone to the wrong place at the wrong time…

Yet despite his pragmatic and callous nature, Wesker would surprise her. Like pulling her onto his lap, or complimenting Chris in such a way that subtly doubled as reassurance for her. It intrigued her. Or maybe she was wishful thinking just as he had said…

“Thanks,” Claire finally whispered, returning her gaze to his steely blues. She risked charting dangerous territory by asking him something more personal. “Do you remember your parents at all?"

As expected, he gave her a look. Skepticism more than anything. Guarded, too. She expected him to deflect her question, mock her in some way. But when he sighed, her heart nearly flipped in anticipation. He was actually going to humor her?!

“I only remember my father to an extent, but most of the memories are...corrupted.”

That was an odd word choice, but Claire remained silent, not wanting to deter him from divulging in her.

“He was a bio-engineer. I wasn’t close to him.”

He wasn’t going to say anything else. Determined, as was her way, Claire pried further. “And your mother?”

Wesker shrugged. “Died in childbirth, I was told.”

“Oh...I’m sorry.”

He only looked mildly amused by her condolences. “For what reason?"

Claire shook her head. "She was your mother." Wasn’t that obvious?

“Your point?”

His response shouldn’t have caught her off guard, but it did. Claire stared at him, unsure what to say, but more importantly, unable to comprehend why she had expected better from the man blackmailing her to get more power.

Of course he wouldn’t care about his deceased mother. Think, Claire, think!

Wesker must’ve read her mind to an extent, curiously cocking his head to the side with a subtle smile. “How can you miss someone you have never met? How do you legitimately care about them?”

Claire couldn’t answer that. Not really. He made a point, like so many times before. It still felt wrong though. Was it because she had known her mother and still missed her to this day?

Their emotional constitutions were worlds apart. She had known that already. So what was she seeking here?

“You can’t. No matter who they are to you. No matter how society deludes you regarding its apocryphal ethics.”

Claire looked at him skeptically. “You don’t ever wonder? Who she was, how she lived?”

Still amused by this conversation, the STARS Captain massaged her lower back. “For what purpose? She’s dead.”

She put her hands on his chest. “Stop. Just...try it?”

Wesker scowled. “I’m not -”

“For me...dear heart?”

Her soft plea wasn’t like her, but Claire needed to get something out of Wesker, anything to help make this fucked-up relationship they’ve created make any sort of sense. She knew she was reaching for straws, but she needed it for her sanity.

Though he was the type of man to curl his lip to such pleading, Wesker gave a little at hearing her teasing use of his term of endearment for her, a feat she never thought she’d achieve. Didn’t mean he was happy about it...

“Your inquisitive mind is both endearing and aggravating, my dear. I do suggest you direct it towards more sensible aspirations. But for now I’ll humor you, despite whatever you may be seeking of me. From what I was told, her name was Andrea. She was a child prodigy and accomplished geneticist. I imagine she was much like my father. Her life was her work.”

She waited, but he didn’t say anything more. That was all Claire was going to get. She would have to be satisfied with it. She was lucky she got anything, really.

His eyes, which had focused on her exposed belly from her shirt hiking up, met hers once more. The grim set of his lips finally lifted to his usual leer. “Anything else you wish me to fantasize about?”

Claire gave up. “No.”

“It won’t do you any good to try and understand me, dear heart. No need to complicate things.”

But he was the one who wouldn’t let go of her wrist as she attempted to stand, preventing her from leaving his side. She looked down at him, the pressure of his fingers seized around her pulse merely epitomizing their situation. And she recalled what he had whispered in her ear just hours ago. Mine. So, who was really complicating things here?

She sighed, resigned. “Right. I know that. As long as you let my brother and me go in the end, I don’t care.”

Wesker didn’t say anything. After a moment’s staredown between them, he let her wrist go. The pressure immediately alleviated, the blood tingling up and down her limb. Claire stepped over his lap and returned to bed, longing for home.

The silence that infused the car as Wesker drove Claire home was different from the silence after the Christmas Party going to Wesker’s house. The Redfield sister still wore Annette’s clothes, knowing the dress would draw Chris’s suspicion, and her normal clothes were still in Wesker’s room in NEST.

She kept her gaze out the passenger window, watching slumbering houses pass by on dark suburban streets. The sky had cleared finally, revealing stars that competed with sparkling snow beneath street lamps.

This early in the morning, traffic and life were scarce. A suburban respite in the throes of Raccoon City’s hustle and bustle.

The cold had iced up any vehicles parked in driveways, some still untouched from a new sheet of snow. Inside the Jaguar, the heated leather seats warmed her tired body. The soft, warm air blowing from the vents made her eyes heavy.

It wasn’t just her body that was tired. It was her mind. Her soul. Claire didn’t want to admit it, but this whole ordeal was starting to take a toll on her. Last night especially.

She loathed herself for getting into this mess. Loathed herself for making it worse by having an affair with her brother’s superior. She hated him too; how he was able to manipulate, deceive, and exploit everyone and everything around him so easily. In his ego, they were living in his world, endless pawns in his quest for more power. More control. She wanted out. She wanted it to be over.

The silence was mostly frustration. But it came from her. The corrupt STARS Captain showed no signs of exasperation, remaining composed as he steered her home. If anything was amiss with him, he kept it well under wraps.

Finally, after what felt like hours in thick silence and warm air that smelled of new car, Chris’s house came into view: dark, silent...empty. Wesker pulled the car into the driveway, downshifting after pressing the clutch and rolled the Jaguar to a stop.

The locks disengaged, but Claire hesitated after grabbing the door handle, wanting to say something, just not sure what exactly.

“You are almost done with this, dear heart. Don’t drop the ball now. Chris is counting on you.”

She glared at him, his eyes now hidden behind his usual shades, unreadable. Claire squeezed the handle hard, but she had completely turned towards him now, ready to set the record straight with his mind games.

“He is counting on me. Yet, after the fight we had, I found out from Jill that it wasn’t her that set him straight. It was you. You took him out to the trail, didn’t you? Why? Why did you help get him off my back?”

Wesker was quiet for a moment. “I spared him.”

Her heart dropped. Spared? As in he had meant to kill him out there?!

“Killing Chris in no way helps me reach my goals currently and would only complicate matters. The same applies if he finds out about our...arrangement. Both of which prevents me from getting what I want. It was the most logical solution that doubled as a favor for you. You’re welcome.”

She kept his gaze, her own hard stare reflected back at her from the shades. “And what do you want, exactly?”

She was grateful the sunglasses shielded the piercing of his eyes, because his equally piercing smirk and telltale silence chilled her to the bone.

The feelings of dread and exhilaration rushed through her blood and instantly made her sick, made her dizzy, but she didn’t let it show, instead she calmly breathed in. She would be the one with the last word this time.

“You’re the one telling me not to complicate things. Yet, you prevented Bennett from taking me away, taking me to this Roth guy you’re so obsessed with bringing down. And don’t even try making the excuse that it would complicate matters with Chris and STARS because you said before killing us wouldn’t be a big deal. Something’s changed. Killing Chris wouldn’t affect your goals, unless, of course, they involve me.” She hooked a thumb back toward herself for emphasis. Then, she glared into the dual Claire Redfields staring back at her. “Maybe you were only bullshitting when you told me last night why you saved me, but I think there’s some truth to it. Because I heard what you said. And you know exactly what I’m talking about. So who’s really complicating shit here?”

She didn’t let him answer, satisfied with the way his smirk dropped to a grim line. Claire yanked the door open and got out, the bitter cold biting her right away. She slammed the car door shut as hard as she could. It was too dark to see through the tinted windows, but she stepped away from the car with a hard glare as it reversed out of the driveway and took off down the road. She gave the retreating Jaguar the finger and with an aggravated groan, stomped to the house before she froze her butt off.

The wide, cloudy pupilless eyes subtly followed his movements within the large, cylindrical tube. One finger, protruding with a long, curving talon, twitched beside the bulging muscle of one thigh. Air bubbles filtered through the liquid that filled the container. The beast was strong enough to burst through if it could, but every second of the day it was sedated, sleeping mostly, only awake for a few hours every day, watching, waiting…

William ignored the T-002’s interested stare and lipless grin. Did the creature have enough of a consciousness to remember it was him and Albert that gave him such a cruel fate when it was once human? Probably not.

The Golgotha creator wasn’t interested in the Tyrant itself anyway. He was here going through some of the new findings for the Epsilon strain of the T-Virus. The research wasn’t meeting deadlines, and so Spencer had asked William and Albert to give guidance. Albert had done more than Will, if only as a way to allow his partner more time on the G-Virus.

Little did they know that there was an ulterior motive to his helping hand.

“Dr. Birkin?”

Startled, William jumped a little and looked up. He relaxed. It was just John Clemens. Boring, innocuous John. The one Ada had just started “dating” if he recalled. Why? He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he wasn’t exactly her type either…

John had transferred from Chicago years prior, taking over the T-Virus work once William began his G research at NEST, secreted away below Raccoon City. He was an alright guy, William guessed, but he wasn’t nearly cutthroat enough for this place; and quite frankly, he was surprised he was still around.

“Oh hey, John-my-man!” William greeted, not bothering with titles, because why would he? John was his inferior. And smacked him on the shoulder like the nobody he was. “How’s it going?”

“G-Good, I suppose,” John gave him an odd look: unsure, confused. His eyes flicked nervously from the paperwork and monitor Will had taken over, before quickly scoping the room. “Can I help you with something?”

“Aw, aren’t you sweet? But nah, I got this.”

“The team and I have made some, uh, great breakthroughs r-recently. We’d hate to take up any more of y-your time.”

In other words, John was asking him to leave in his own, polite way because he had no balls.

“That’s great. Good job!” His near mocking cheer died in the air as William continued what he was doing without missing a beat. No one else bothered the chief researcher as he rummaged through their hard work...

That is, until a tall, ominous shadow fell over him. That definitely was not John…

“Dr. Birkin, good morning.”

William whirled around, sour taste in his mouth, and hit his knee hard on the nearby chair. “Ow!”

Sergei’s sharp gaze danced like a cat’s watching a cornered mouse, grinning. “Strange seeing you without your other half.”

It was all he could do to keep from furiously rubbing at his knee. “Anne’s busy at NEST.”

He felt threatened but didn’t outwardly show it. People were watching, after all.

“I wasn’t talking about Mrs. Birkin.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before! What do you want? Kinda busy here.”

Dick.

The Colonel rarely bothered them in the open, pursuing his beef with William and Albert on the sly, determined to find some way to prove to Spencer they were threats needing to be neutralized. With all these faces around, William knew he’d be fine. For now, anyway. Arrogant as he was in the fact he was nearly untouchable, Sergei was the exception. Sergei wasn’t afraid of William or his influences. Most notably, he didn’t fear Albert.

“Lord Spencer wishes to speak to you, Dr. Birkin.”

William’s gut clenched and he instantly felt ill. No, no, no. Why now? I don’t wanna!

“Look, if it’s about Percy getting impaled after taking the wrong key, it wasn’t me this time!”

Sergei sneered. “Not that. Follow me.” When he didn’t immediately follow, the Colonel narrowed his eyes. “You dare make Lord Spencer wait any longer than he has to?”

Yes, I dare! He’s gotta croak sometime!

Then again, William didn’t want Spencer’s end to arrive by natural causes. William would much rather see the old bastard in a pool of his own blood with Albert and himself laughing as he died. Just like Marcus. Yes, just like that.

“Coming!” William exclaimed in a sing-song voice. “Of course, Lord Spencer wants to speak to his Chief of Research. Duh!”

His swank fell away once they left the lab though. It was nothing but uncomfortable silence as William walked with the tall, broad Russian. It was busy in the underground research center, but the surface was a different story. The trip back to the estate through the courtyard was devoid of life.

It looked as though the property landscapers had freshly salted and shoveled the walkways, but were nowhere in sight now. Probably inside having a nice, hot cup of coffee.

A lone Cerberus dog howled in its pen not far away, another reminder of the isolation surrounding the estate. Like one of those godforsaken castles in a cursed, forever winter forest right out of a fairy tale.

William’s mind raced, dreading the meeting. He wondered how Albert and Claire’s night went after they left Bard’s Christmas Party. The sexual tension was obvious between them last night and so a no-brainer for what had surely happened once they got to his house. But Will was curious about how the rest of the night had gone between them. Their ongoing attraction to each other certainly was making things interesting! Al’s behavior especially had piqued Will’s curiosity.

He had yet to hear back from Ada, who was tracking Bennett’s movements. He could only hope that she would touch base with them soon, preferably with the location of their elusive “friends”.

“Why are you so quiet?” Sergei questioned. “You usually cannot shut your mouth.”

“Just trying to be a good noodle for you,” Will said merrily as they entered the estate through the back door.

Despite pulling on his coat after leaving the underground labs, the short walk through the courtyards had chilled him already, and he was relieved to be inside the toasty mansion. William didn’t share Albert’s fondness for the cold, and sided mostly with Alex as far as weather was concerned.

“You disgust me. This cold is nothing compared to mother country,” Sergei scoffed. “The winter here is a “walk in park” as you Americans would say.”

“You’re absolutely right, Sergei,” Will jeered. “I didn’t walk twelve miles to school in the snow, uphill both ways like you, and it shows!”

He’d normally buff his nails after dealing such a burn to the Colonel, but not here, not so close to Spencer’s study. With a sharp glare directed at him, Sergei rapped his knuckles on the dark door that bore the Spencer family crest.

“My lord, I have Dr. William Birkin here as you requested. Are you ready to see him?”

“Send him in, Sergei.” The velvety British voice was both weak and strong, tired and mighty. But no matter the cadence, it still made the Golgotha creator sick to his stomach.

The Colonel opened the door for the researcher. The small, impeccably clean study looked the same it always did. The distinct scent of old tomes and Earl Grey tea often permeated the air here, and now was no different. There was a chair just inside the room with a small, round fold-out table in front of it. Just on the other side, Spencer sat in his large, leather chair that normally faced his desk up against the window. Except now it faced the other chair and small table.

William inwardly groaned as he went to take a seat just before Sergei snagged and frisked him.

“Hey! No need to get so handsy!” Will barked.

“It’s alright, Sergei. Leave us. I will ring you when we are finished,” Spencer stated.

The Colonel released William, but hesitated, obviously displeased with leaving the Umbrella founder alone with his own researcher. “As you wish, Lord Spencer.”

Will didn’t miss the pointed glare his way before the towering man left, having to duck to even get through the doorway. The crested door closed shut behind him, and they heard the heavy footsteps leave the hallway.

“Sit, my boy.” His tone may have sounded cordial, but deep down it was an order.

William ground his teeth, presenting a fake smile and did as he was told. They stared at each other for a moment, analyzing, thinking. The British billionaire was 74 years old, wearing a dark, silk gown that complimented shrewd blue eyes. Most of his hair had receded, but what was left was silver and nearly chin length. It was strange that this old, shriveled, weak man before him was the king of this empire. He was a shadow of his former self now, compared to the strong, resilient, elegant, young aristocrat shown in photos in the hallways of the estate.

This is what Albert despised most about Spencer. No one like this should be king of anything. William agreed. But they both knew what this seemingly frail, old man was capable of. And William knew way more than Albert did...

“Tea?” Spencer asked, motioning to the teakettle on the table in between them.

The Golgotha creator sighed. “Allow me, my lord.”

He poured them each a cup without spilling a single drop, even as the older man looked on with a complacent smile.

“Look, if you summoned me because-”

“Shh. Drink.”

William reluctantly picked up his teacup and blew on it before taking a sip. Spencer peacefully sipped on his, listening to the faint classical music that played from a gramophone to the side of his desk.

He hated this. He fidgeted, bounced his knee, burned his damn tongue on another drink. It was so...suffocating in here. It wasn’t just the tea now; he was burning up. He knew he shouldn’t be showing this wretched man before him any weakness, but he knew what was coming. Why didn’t the bastard just get it out already?

“I read your newest report on Golgotha. Quite fascinating! Incredibly impressive how far you’ve come with it in just a few years, William. The fecundity and regenerative abilities are nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”

“Thank you, sir.” What Spencer didn’t know was that the quarterly reports he submitted on his research were months behind his actual progress. And not near as...honest. “Next quarter I hope to have a breakthrough in stability, as certain virions collected still contain a defective mutagen.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, my boy.”

Was that supposed to put him at ease? Because William knew it was utter bullshit. Spencer was just making small talk, building up to why he really asked William here. It was obvious how they stared at each other, the fake pleasantries a front, one that all but ignored the weight that hung over their heads.

Spencer’s lips fell to a firm line, much like the many wrinkles that creased his face. After another long sip of his tea, the Umbrella founder sighed. “Don’t look at me that way. It’s been two months since I’ve received an update. I’ve been quite patient with you. I’ve practically given you anything you’ve requested in exchange for this one thing I’ve asked.”

The chief researcher took a deep breath. “With all due respect, Lord Spencer, I have nothing new to report, but I will as soon as I do. This is not something we can rush.”

“How is Albert?”

It’s like his words went in one ear and out the other, as always. “He’s fine. Doing what he does best.”

“His reservations towards me have only gotten worse. His mind continues to break down the indoctrination and artificial memories implanted as a child. Eventually, he will realize the truth. He is already uncontrollable as it is. This is why you must finish the Prototype Virus.”

The Prototype Virus...an experimental variant derived from the Progenitor Virus made specifically for the Wesker Children, a eugenics project Spencer had been conducting for decades. Except, instead of creating a superior breed of humans as planned, the virus had killed most of them. Only Alex had survived her dose after developing a sickness due to her breeding.

Once the star subject, she was pulled from the program afterward. Spencer reversed her brainwashing and kept her close to him, working as a chief researcher for his other experiments and a chief member of the Umbrella Intelligence Division.

That left Albert as Spencer’s most promising candidate and asset, the cream of the crop, but he dared not administer the unstable Prototype Virus into him. Too risky, too dangerous. Albert was too valuable to Spencer for him to meet the same fate as the other Wesker Children. Years later, that’s where William came in. Spencer had put it on him to stabilize and improve the Prototype Virus.

His best friend’s life was literally in his hands and he didn’t even know it…

“It will get finished. Trust me. But it’s going to take more time. We risk killing him if it isn’t right.”

“I suspect you are delaying any progress because of your attachment to him.”

“W-What?!” So what if that was the case? Angry, upset, William opened his mouth to argue.

Lord Spencer leaned forward, pointing a long, bony finger in Will’s face. “Albert is mine. I bred him! Just as I bred you. You owe your very existence to me! Albert was created to be a weapon under my control. He’s an asset, not your friend.”

The Golgotha creator bit his tongue, holding the older man’s sharp glare. Spencer slowly leaned back, coughing, relaxing only after wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “You shouldn’t disillusion yourself, my boy. You’re better than that. Albert doesn’t care about you. He only uses you. It’s his nature. Don’t feel bad for doing this.”

It was far from the first time he had heard that. From Spencer, from the Colonel, from others, including his wife. Deep down, part of him believed it, acknowledged the weight it held. Maybe he was a fool for his continued loyalty to Albert. William had no qualms about cutting anybody’s throat to get what he wanted, to achieve his ambitions. Except Albert, that is.

It was one thing to stabilize and improve the Prototype Virus so it wouldn’t kill Albert, and so he could reap the full benefits of it. It was another entirely to enable Spencer complete control through it.

The one thing Albert didn’t want anyone to have over him ever again.

Spencer poured them refills on their tea, sighing deeply. “You know he would kill you if he found out about any of this.”

William didn’t say anything, staring at the steaming tea, chest hurting, sickened. That choking sensation he often felt around the Umbrella founder burned now. Spencer might as well have had his bony hands around his throat.

The withered lord rose to his feet, hunched, and shuffled the short distance to his desk. He picked up a stack of papers and brought them back over to where he and William were sitting. With a shaky hold, he presented them to the Golgotha creator.

William slowly took them, dubious, and scanned them over in fretful silence.

“I value you, William,” Spencer said after another short coughing fit. “You are irreplaceable to me and this company. You continue to far exceed any expectations in everything that you do. I know what I’m asking is hard. I know that I’ve asked a lot of you lately, but you never disappoint. So here I am making good on my promises.”

William couldn’t believe it. He scanned over the print several times, if only to make sure he was reading it correctly. Spencer wasn’t just confirming a lead spot on the executive board, he was promising a contract to give all rights and ownership of G to him!

“All I ask is that you finish the Prototype Virus and get Albert under my control.”

The words were like a cold dagger cutting straight through his breastbone. William had done countless immoral and terrible things in his life, most of which never bothered or affected him. But this did. This hurt.

He despised this man.

The chief researcher could only nod, unable to swallow the lump in his throat as he put the contract down on the table. Spencer’s cold eyes seemed to bore right through his very being, scrutinizing, gauging his reactions.

William stood, ready to leave. He had as much as he could stand, head pounding, but mostly it was the sickening ache in his chest. He didn’t care that Spencer hadn’t excused him.

“I’ll do what I can,” he announced and turned for the door. Spencer’s eyes continued to drill into his back, and just as he grabbed the doorknob, the king had something else to contain him.

“I heard from Sergei that Albert may have let a civilian live? A young woman. Is this true?”

William slowly turned around, a heaviness in the air as he thought about how to answer. Sergei didn’t know about the Wesker Children eugenics or Albert’s importance to Spencer, but he did know that Albert and William were often up to no good and was ready to prove it to Spencer by any means necessary.

“Is she...compatible?”

William quickly shook his head, returning to his seat. “No, sir. He disposed of her. You know Sergei can be a little paranoid sometimes.”

“A shame, really. We’ve never been able to locate Miss Muller since she fled.”

Fled?

William was interested now, and he could tell by the sharp curl of Spencer’s lips that’s exactly what he had been aiming for.

Anezka didn’t flee. She just left...right? For unknown reasons, jilting Albert, leaving her research behind here at the Arklay Laboratory.

Will finally took the bait. “Fled?”

Spencer’s satisfied smirk disappeared as soon as it had formed. “That’s right. I know the truth of what really happened to Anezka Muller. It is something only disclosed to my most trusted inner circle, like Alex. Do I have your trust, William? Do I have your secrecy?”

As if the Umbrella founder didn’t have enough from him. William nodded.

“So many rumors over what could’ve happened!” Spencer chuckled. “Truly a dramatic affair! The truth is that Miss Muller conceived.”

WHAT?!

Despite his brain blowing a gasket, William was proud of himself for keeping a straight face.

“I offered her a transfer and a substantial reward in exchange for Albert’s offspring. After all, I told her Albert wouldn’t want anything to do with it and she was all alone. But I underestimated her. She fled the states and went into hiding. To this day, she hasn’t been found.”

William shuffled through his memories of Anezka and her final days here. Her strange behavior now made sense, as did the tension with Albert and the seemingly sudden decision to leave. He couldn’t believe it! Al was a father, holy shit! Will, for a moment, had his own selfish curiosities about this illegitimate child fathered by his best friend. Boy or girl? The child would be five or six now. How much did it favor Albert? Had the little bugger come out wearing baby Ray-Bans?

Despite his hatred for him, there was no denying the significance of Spencer’s experiments and what he was able to accomplish with Albert.

“That was my only chance back then to continue the eugenics program with Albert’s genetics, despite Miss Muller not being a perfect match. Considering what happened with Alex, it was better than nothing. But the girl was able to escape before I got what was rightfully mine!” Lord Spencer swallowed surfacing frustration, staring intently at his chief researcher. “So, if there is indeed another female that Albert is interested in before the completion of the Prototype Virus, I need to know.”

William had already done his research with Claire Redfield. She was an exceptional match to Albert as far as genetics went. But he wasn’t sure how long the affair would last. He knew Albert though. He was a little obsessed with the redhead, and had her right where he wanted her, under his control. But he also cared about Claire in his own way, just as he had with Anna.

“I’ll be sure to tell you if there is,” William stated, keeping Spencer’s stare.

The king snorted, prompting another small coughing fit as he added sugar to a fresh cup of tea. “I’m sure you will, William. I’m sure you will.”

Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyfuckingshit!

He was freaking the fuck out.

Phone. Phone! I need to talk about this!

William hurried through the hallways of NEST, marching towards his laboratory, ignoring anyone who raced up to ask him a question. His mind spun like it had last night, drinking all those festive cocktails from Bard’s Christmas Party. He had forgotten why he had gone to the Arklay lab in the first place this morning. It no longer mattered.

Spencer’s demands were one thing, but this. Shit. This blew everything else out of the water.

“Good morning, Dr. Birkin!” his guard said outside his door. “You have-”

“Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone through this door!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

The door automatically slid open for him and when it closed behind him, he typed in the electronic password to keep it locked. Will tossed his coat and went straight for the telephone. He mashed the dial pad, the phone number embedded in his memory.

The Golgotha creator paced around the lab as the phone rang in his ear. “Come on, come on, come on! Answer!”

It went to an answering machine, but this was too urgent for that. William hung up and dialed again, chewing on his lip, continuing to make a trench as he went back and forth. Back and forth.

Ring...ring...ring! Nothing!

Once more, he hung up and dialed, cursing under his breath. “Pick up!”

The echoing ring cut off in his ear, replaced by an all too familiar, silky-smooth voice. Finally!

“Hey! It’s Will! We need to talk! Pronto!”

“Enthusiastic as always, aren’t you, darling? Well, you’re in luck. We’ll be seeing each other real soon.”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #Albert Wesker #William Birkin #Claire Redfield #claire x wesker #clesker #Chris Redfield #Jill Valentine #chris x jill #Annette Birkin #sherry birkin #fanfiction #My writing #AO3 fanfic

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curious-menace · 3 years

Note

Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.

SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .

i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah

post asswoop riddlers getting loves

Arkham riddler

He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is bad news.

I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.

when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.

He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.

he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.

he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long.

Blacklight Riddler

He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough.

even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.

he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better.

He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.

He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.

if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.

BTAS Riddler

he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.

i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care.

He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.

he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong.

if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.

He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.

Original Riddler

this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.

actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”

good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.

he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are.

he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.

i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient.

Telltale riddler

this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs

he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.

after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.

i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.

the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.

its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.

Zero year riddler

INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.

he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.

he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.

he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?

one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido?

he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies.

nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.

theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”

someone needs to stage an intervention

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

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mandiemon3 · 2 years

Text

Dreams

Chapter 1

Word Count- 1.7k

Content Warnings- none

Somehow, like any person would, Andi Berch found herself one mid-afternoon in the presence of not one, not two, but four Avengers. Y’know, of the “Earth’s mightiest heroes”, “save the world from an alien invasion” variety. Before her stood a genius smart enough to invent his own flying suit, a man with astoundinglygood self-control, a sharp shooter who never missed, and a literal demigod with amazing hair.

“I’m sorry, but I fail to see how a, no offense, normal person is supposed to help us contain the self-proclaimed ‘God of Mischief,’” said Tony Stark, sounding not the least bit apologetic about what he clearly considered a negative quality.

“Oh, none taken, Dr. Stark. Frankly, I don’t really see what I have to offer that the team literally assembled of the most incredible people in the world don’t,” I admitted. “If Maria Hill didn’t recommend me, there would be no way in hell I would have offered myself up for this position. Those around Loki usually don’t have things go in their favor, and I am, compared to you guys at least, dreadfully normal.”

“According to Maria,” interjected the man most often known by the codename Hawkeye, “you have incredible patience and are near impossible to manipulate or force information out of. Even more, you have one quality that none of us do. The desire to actually protect your prisoners not only for the sake of preservation of assets. But for their own good.”

I smiled softly. “Well, Maria is quite generous with her praise. Not to brag, but I am very difficult to corrupt or trick. Autism is quite the superpower when you use it to your advantage. Because I don’t care for normal social convention and choose only to bond with those who I see fit, it’s almost impossible for someone to manipulate me against myself or my friends. Because I align myself with SHIELD, I consider everyone involved with them members of my extended team, including the Avengers. Because I am so calculated and reserved, I find it very easy to keep myself in check and prevent saying anything out of line or that could compromise myself. It’s also very easy to pick up on body language because I do not see it as something that just happens naturally, but rather as something that one purposefully acts out to express themselves, which helps me to be very intuitive.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Well, Rainman, looks like you have quite the portfolio of extra skills. Still not really comfortable handing you one of the biggest threats to all of human kind because of an impressive resume, though.”

“Look, I’ve trained with her,” Clint said. “Physically, she’s not remarkable. Truthfully, she’s not even a particularly healthy person compared to those who don’t have the world depending on them.” I nodded, knowing my pudgy stature would give that away anyway. “Mentally, though, she’s one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met. She’s gone through SHIELD training to be a spy, including interrogation simulation and what I can only describe as the most high staked internship in the world. Through it all, she never cracked, never even came close. Maria told me that she ranked right up there with me and Nat. It was only her inability to blend in seamlessly that prevented her from becoming one of us.” “That’s when it was suggested that I work internally at SHIELD,” I explained. “I may not have what it takes to seduce a terrorist into giving me information or infiltrate a dangerous organization, but I’m damn good at taking care of my own and getting a read on the big bads.”

The Lord of Thunder shifted in his seat. “With all due respect, Loki is not as easily managed as one of your mortal ‘big bads’. He can shapeshift and use his dark magic to deceive you. I, myself, have fallen for his tricks on several occasions.”

I sighed. “Look, I know that you guys are looking for me to convince you that I’m a capable… what are we even calling this job, babysitting? Wardening? Chaperoning? Whatever you want to call it, I don’t have any strong opinions one way or the other, and I’m not going to insist that you hire me to take care of this. I do want to be a part of your team, and I do think that I have a lot to offer in terms of levelheadedness, resistance to manipulation, and data gathering, but the only reason why I felt the need to come here and make my case is because Maria Hill put her faith in me, and that means more to me than my own judgement.”

The heroes were silent for a few seconds before a voice spoke up from the other end of the table.

“I, uh, I think that we should do it.” Dr. Bruce Banner, quite possibly one of the smartest people of all time, tapped his folded up glasses nervously on the table. “She has a recommendation from Fury’s right hand person, and made a good case for herself without getting pissed off at you guys for kind of insinuating that she’s incompetent. If she can handle that, and training to be a superspy with Clint and Natasha, let alone get ranked with them, I think she can handle just about anything that we can throw at her.”

Tony sighed dramatically. “Fine. Fine, she can join the team. But,” he faced Bruce “if anything goes wrong, Banner, I’m coming for you, and I know where you live, because you live with me. So,” he turned back towards me, “when can you start? Because we have a giant green clad baby currently pacing around his room wailing and monologuing because we won’t give him the attention he wants.”

”I suppose I can come back tomorrow and start working for real. In the meantime, could someone please give me a tour? The last thing I want is to accidentally walk into someone’s private area or a top secret weapons lab when I’m looking for the bathroom.”

Thor raised his hand. “I can do that. I also have done that. We should also get you introduced to the rest of the team when we get the chance, make them more comfortable with the idea of having a neutral third party here.”

Nodding, I agreed.

The Avengers Compound was much larger than it seemed from the outside. Some of it was because the bulk equipment and technology that you would expect to take up at least some space was actually built into the walls. Also most everything was or could be automated by Tony’s invention, and friend, JARVIS, from the food delivered to the fridge to the exact temperature of the showers. All of the Avengers had their own room and private area in the Compound for when sleeping over was necessary, although Tony and Bruce were the only ones to live there full time. I was told by a cheery Thor that once they saw how well I handled his nuisance of a brother, they would probably give me my own room as well. The rooms were scattered around the building, each one close to the room of the building which best suited the inhabitant’s interests. Bruce shared a hallway with the lab, Natasha and Clint stayed near the gym and shooting range, Thor slept near the kitchen, the star spangled Steve Rogers stayed by the conference room, and Tony lived at the top of the tower to best enjoy the view.

“Where do you believe Stark would add your room?” asked the god of thunder.

I shrugged. “I would assume somewhere close to Loki’s containment chamber, since that’s kind of my purpose in staying here. But I wouldn’t mind being closer to one of your guys’ rooms so we could hang out. I hear you get quite festive after a victory, and I’d love to be around to enjoy the fun.”

Thor grinned. “I am quite fun. Back on Asgard, we would celebrate for weeks once we defeated a great enemy. Here people just move on to the next threat. I guess that’s why I am here though, to make Midgard as safe and prosperous as I hope Asgard stays.” He glanced at me. “I hope asking you to guard and protect Loki is not asking too much of you. Back home we would have squadrons of guards tasked to protect him, and he would still always find a way to escape. Usually the guards were hurt, and I don’t want to see another person get hurt looking after my brother.”

”Don’t worry, Thor. I can handle this. I think taking a different approach might actually give us better results than we’ve had in the past. Usually, my wards end up liking me by the time I switch jobs, at least enough to avoid directly harming me. For a lot of these people, that’s as much as you can ask. I’m not just here because I want to help you and the other Avengers protect the world from Loki, but I also want to help Loki heal from some of the pain the world has caused him.”

Thor frowned. “Are you, what they call a therapizer? I have never heard anyone speak of Loki in such a way other than our dear mother.”

”The word is therapist, and I’m not one, although I may consider it in the future. The lack of compassion shown to Loki may actually explain a lot of his behavior. I imagine it’s difficult living with the pressure to be perfect for the sake of protecting the image of the crown, while also being disrespected by one’s own parents and treated like they don’t belong.”

Thor stared at me, brows furrowed.

”Maria Hill gave me his case file, and he’s mentioned during past attacks that Odin isn’t his ‘real’ father and that he was lied to about his true identity,” I explained. “Anyway, at the very least, I can act as a neutral third party whenever you guys have a disagreement about what to do with Loki. I figure having a bunch of superheroes arguing is the last thing New York needs.” We stopped in the lobby of the Compound.

”Well, I guess this is it for today. I’ll be back tomorrow at nine to meet the rest of the team and get introduced to Loki.”

Thor padded me on the back with such force that my knees buckled.

“Alright, till morrow, good Lady Berch.”

I walked back to my car, shaking my head and laughing at my interesting new coworker.

#my writing #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #bruce banner #hulk #x reader #loki x reader #loki x oc #bruce banner x reader #hulk x reader #bruce banner x oc #hulk x oc #autistic bruce banner #autistic characters #mcu #marvel

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morethanonepage · 3 years

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what would you say are the dynamics and themes that interest you most? Also frankly I'm surprised you read any star wars fic still, I agree on just wanting to read some good finnpoe but that has gotten increasingly futile.

i mean the thing i potentially like so much about finnpoe is that they BOTH have very specific, in some ways very different traumas (finn being a child soldier and growing up in such a highly regulated way where he had basically no bodily autonomy VS poe being mind-raped AND seeing his inability to stop it as having betrayed his own people AND seeing so many of his friends & comrades die in quick succession AND still recovering from the loss of his mother as a child and Muran when he was commanding Rapier Squadron) but they both have a tendency to compartmentalize that and continue to function on their own while being loyal (Finn’s devotion to Rey, which gets a lot of flack in fandom but like -- that’s one of the first people he’s been able to form a connection with!! AND I think he lowkey feels that it’s his fault Rey got dragged into -- everything, so he feels a great deal of responsibility for protecting her) and passionate about a cause (Poe basically killing himself to keep the Ideals Of The Republic Alive, be it through trying to hunt down the FO before he’s even part of the Resistance, to doing everything he can to keep the Resistance afloat once he is).

like they have those similarities -- a real sense of duty and responsibility toward their friends and those they’re fighting with -- but they have fundamental differences in approach that the movies did a shitty job of extrapolating on when it could’ve been such an interesting conflict: Poe is the idealist and thinks of duty to a higher ideal first and foremost (like Leia and his mother, tbh) whereas Finn is more of a pessimist and a cynic and believes protecting your friends and loved ones from the substantial evil is hard enough without setting up to FIGHT ALL OF THE BAD IN THE UNIVERSE like Poe wants/believes he has to do. and both of these things are based so much on their upbringings! Poe grew up with those ideals and freedoms and parents who fought, successfully, to protect them, and believes he owes it to them to live up to their example and protect them as well; Finn has SEEN the evil of the FO firsthand and seen everyone around him subsumed by it, believes it to be omnipotent bc for him and his squad mates it literally was. escaping all of that was an act of powerful resistance on its own!

idk i just think a lot of the fandom’s take on this is, if you focus on finn ~running away~ in canon or not wanting to join up with the Resistance just ‘cause it’s ~the right thing to do~ you’re feeding into this idea of black men being cowards and/or selfish when it’s like no! that’s the consequence of his trauma: he’s running away from an abuser who controlled every aspect of his life, who’s set up to hunt him down and destroy planets and take over the universe in a way that’ll mean he’s NEVER safe, and he knows every single person he grew up with and had some affection for are a part of it too, which on the one hand he might be reluctant to fight them, but on the other they 100% won’t be reluctant to fight him AND they know him well enough to know his weaknesses.

all of this is A LOT and it’s heavy and dark stuff, which i GET can be hard to work into like, light fluffy fic about finn finally being happy or learning what sex is or w/e, and not everything about fanfic has to be a ~deep exploration~ of character’s inner turmoil but like -- idk. there’s ways of dealing with these elements of finn’s backstory without making the whole thing drudging tragedy porn (which is ANOTHER fanfic trend i can’t stand -- neither Finn nor Poe are characters entirely without hope and fics that treat either of their tragedies [lbr it’s mostly poe’s that get dealt with] as the focus or main characteristic of either also bum me out) and I just really wish fandom had more interest in it.

Another factor that KILLS ME is how Poe has (justifiably) developed OBVIOUS distrust for the force and force users, and would have such a fundamentally hard time dealing with the fact that Finn is one. Canon didn’t even let Finn be explicitly force sensitive, and fandom is like YAY FINN IS FORCE SENSITIVE, NOW HE CAN USE THE FORCE TO BONE (POE), and any fic that does touch on it makes Poe out to be ~unreasonable for not trusting Finn, or having his distrust be a consequence of his PTSD alone, and a sign he has to deal with his shit VS a very real issue that Poe might genuinely not be able to get over: the force CAN be creepy and is too easy to abuse, and a lot of what Poe’s seen it used for WAS bad.

the other dimension of all this is, accidentally or not, these dynamics take on all sorts of real-world implications given both actor’s identities -- the explicit parallels between Finn’s upbringing and chattel slavery (taken from his family at an early age, losing all connection with his birthplace and culture, seen as useful but dispensable by an oppressive, mostly-white empire) & its legacy for Black Americans (that lack of connection with a historical homeland and the loss of a cultural connection that came from it) VS the first generation latinx immigrant narrative that Poe and his family embody (the sacrifice for and long separation from a child in the service of giving them a better life, the burden that child takes upon themselves to make that sacrifice worth it by excelling in certain spheres, the drive to be the VERY BEST representative of their new culture, the embrace of that culture’s ideals bc they don’t want to think their parents sacrificed everything for a lie [with the creeping knowledge and experience to know many of those ideals are flawed and not always lived up to]).

and the canon ignores that bc addressing it would require world building that couldn’t center/come back to the Skywalkers in some way (and the only family dynamics it’s interested in is DADDY ISSUES, fucking Free Fall), and fandom doesn’t care about it bc it’s mostly white girls who, AT BEST, decide to focus on the potential ~sexuality conflicts (coming out, family rejection, etc) when writing real world AUS, without dealing with the intersectionality of a black and a brown man, their respective cultural context, and the resultant conflicts those would create beyond, idk, “POCs are always homophobic so finn and/or poe’s parents kicked them out or w/e”. and like I really don’t WANT these people trying to grapple with the complexity of a queer, interracial relationship where neither participant is white (i’ve seen enough just watching them grapple with either character’s sexuality tbh).

but idk, that’s what’s interesting to me: finn and poe’s backgrounds and how those set up fundamental conflict points for both of them, both in canon (Poe’s devotion to the cause of liberty and democracy for the whole galaxy VS Finn’s duty to the people he loves over anything else) and in a real world au (Black people have a fundamentally different relationship to the American Ideal than Latinx immigrants do, for very good reasons). And I want those things to be significant elements of the characterization for both, but not the ONLY elements of characterization for both: stories should, in even some small way, be about what characters WANT (even if it is just “to fuck,” as it often is when I write [ok it’s usually “to love but be able to show it without saying it, hence the fucking”]) and so few fics, these days, give me any sense of what finn and poe want besides, vaguely “each other” (”because the author feels like they have to write them bc the actors are hot/for woke points”) and that is just -- boring to me.

also god i would just love to read some dialogue that isn’t just twitter/tumblr memes and/or mcu level mean quips. like, just in general.

#given my insanely high standards i think i should be rewarded for not shredding EVERY fic i read frankly #finnpoe #youandthemountains #longpost #rebloggable if you so choose lol

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officialwagnerrant · 3 years

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Wagnerrant Review #6 - Tristan und Isolde

Work: Tristan und Isolde Bayerische Staatsoper Date of performance: 31.07.202

Team Director: Krzysztof Warlikowski Conductor: Kirill Petrenko With: Jonas Kaufmann, Anja Harteros, Okka von der Damerau, Wolfgang Koch, Mika Kares, Manuel Günther, Dean Power, Christian Rieger

Review: @beckmessering

Here’s an entirely hypothetical question: when not very familiar with an opera, is a Regietheater production with hotly anticipated role debuts the best opportunity to form an emotional understanding? Answers may vary, but take it from a someone whose opera education had a shamefully large Tristan-shaped hole: Krzysztof Warlikowski’s Tristan und Isolde at Bayerische Staatsoper is a production to to gnaw on – conceptually elusive and a puzzle with many pieces, but finally a great reward in scenery and in music.

Jonas Kaufmann lends Tristan his well-known baritonal timbre, although it’s not quite as prominent as usual. His voice is dense and rich, though not artificially darkened, and brings delicate piani as well as strength to the role. The third act with Tristan’s near-incessant monologues of increasing volume and intensity provide an audible challenge that doesn’t leave Kaufmann’s voice untouched: he sounds somewhat taxed by the time he’s finally allowed to collapse once and for all. Granted, it’s a punishing and brutal feat; the sheer amount of energy required to sing oneself to death likely isn’t equivalent to the amount a badly wounded man would still have. Kaufmann thus doesn’t quite look to be on death’s door despite a shirt soaked in progressively darker shades of red, but he nonetheless he provides a well-grounded interpretation of one titular character. He steers away from classic hero territory into something more nuanced and disconcerting if one only looks closely enough – Isolde, for that matter, hits the nail on the head when she replies “Frag deine Furcht!” to his “Und welchen Feind?”. He’s scared – or perhaps haunted by thoughts that won’t leave him alone, unable to keep his hands and his gaze still when not singing. He doesn’t outright long for death, but from the very start, he sure doesn’t seem at ease with life, either. Something isn’t quite right with Tristan – and just the right person is needed to unleash it fully.

That just-right-person is Anja Harteros as Isolde, who deserves perhaps the audience’s grandest ovation. Vocally, she is still in excellent shape until the last measures of her delicately sung Liebestod, having preserved her gleaming heights and pristine sound over all three acts. Her middle register, uniquely crystalline and incredibly poignant, could conceivably serve to distinguish her voice from thousands. Yet her singing by far isn’t too pretty to show feelings – Harteros’ voice suits a seething young woman with a rich inner life that progressively unfolds throughout the opera. “Lass’ uns Sühne trinken!“ is an actual threat, one that Tristan wholeheartedly embraces. After losing herself in love in the second act, she reemerges from it lonely and bitingly aware of it. Her grief, like her rage, is controlled yet bone-deep, and it inevitably leads her to die. Perhaps something wasn’t quite right with Isolde, too.

Wolfgang Koch sings Kurwenal with a vivacious, robust baritone that energetically prizes life – a great contrast to Tristan’s inclinations. However, Koch stays far from acting clownish, particularly in the third act, where he wears the worry about his friend on his sleeve, but ultimately remains powerless against Tristan’s impending death. While the latter ecstatically sings himself into delirium, Koch remains comparatively static, demonstrating his character’s inability to help and by extension, vastly different attitude towards life.

Okka von der Damerau’s Brangäne is a well-meaning figure trying her best to put Isolde at ease in this admittedly highly tense situation. While initially reminiscent of a caring aunt, the two women’s bond becomes far more sisterly in nature once the first act’s dialogue – or perhaps conspiracy – around Isolde’s secret potion stash unfolds. She braves the act’s finale with top notes of impressive volume and provides a surprisingly bright, silvery metallic sound for a mezzo. Considering the standout dynamic between the two women, it’s perhaps fitting that her voice blends so smoothly with Isolde’s and even elicits comparisons to a soprano’s sound.

Mika Kares as King Marke packs much disappointment into his clear, well-articulated bass, though it’s about far more than the good old besmirching of honour – this betrayal is personal to him and runs deep. Regrettably, he’s given little to do once he has discovered the wrongdoers in each other’s arms except stalk back and forth between Tristan and Isolde, so he resorts to various pronounced eye movements that verge on accidentally amusing. Brangäne’s single look of horror upon assessing the scene says more than any eye movement could.

Kirill Petrenko’s conducting is fluid, gentle, a statement in and of itself never at the cost of the singers. He crafts the prelude into an intensely lyrical treat, promising much and delivering on that by keeping the orchestra’s sound light yet rich enough to satisfy. He eschews heaviness, but never at the expense of intensity. Particularly the tense moments of the first act are played out very well, and the performance is audibly a successful collaboration between singers, conductor and orchestra: the singers are never drowned out, the orchestra makes its mark, and Petrenko himself brings both together with excellent timing to savour a spectrum of emotions.

Director Krzysztof Warlikowski transplants the setting into a wood-panelled room with high ceilings that traps all characters within its high ceiling, allowing them little escape from what troubles them. This room serves as a continuous backdrop throughout all three acts, although each act adds elements uniquely suited to the current happenings. During the prelude, two silent dancers dressed as almost frighteningly life-like dolls, one male and one female, appear. Their movements are tentative, childlike, evocative of a fragile state as they interact and cautiously touch each other. In the second act, a projection that previously illustrated the view outside a ship’s porthole serves as perhaps an emotional window into the lovers’ psyche. It shows grainy, black-and-white footage of Isolde sitting – waiting – alone on a bed, suggestive of a security camera’s spying eye. In the film, Tristan enters only during “O sink hernieder” and the two sit silently next to each other sans any eye contact, while the real-life Tristan of course has of course entered the stage some time ago. While both of these elements receive their resolution in the final act, the act two film is already subtly reflective of the singers’ actions onstage. While the first act was far more dynamic in terms of interaction, much of this movement disappeared once Tristan and Isolde fell in love, causing the lovers to remain comparatively static during their time together. This takes some time to notice and even more time to get used to, but it allows for much inference on the nature of this love. It’s of the paralysing sort, and it can’t coexist with normal life and regular interaction. There is wallowing in this love or interacting with the rest of the world – but ultimately, a choice will be have to be made. It’s a consuming love, yet clearly not of the physical or even romantic sort, judging from the frequent lack of touch and eye contact – perhaps it’s more of a kinship, a matter of two people having found a part of themselves in each other that they had lost. In any case, the concept avoids the stylisation of Tristan and Isolde’s love as something bright or pure – they may be enraptured, but their state of intoxication doesn’t induce wishful thinking in the audience. The music, more than anything else, connects the lovers with the onlookers. It’s a maddeningly subtle concept of interaction that can easily be taken as stiff or confused with lack of ideas, and the only time it doesn’t pay off is during King Marke’s confrontation in the second act, where Mika Kares isn’t given enough space to physically communicate the emotions of the normal world.

The place of Tristan’s youth in the third act finally unites the previously introduced ideas: Tristan awakes at a table surrounded by dolls seated at a dinner table and dressed like the one representing him in the prelude. As he recalls the early death of his parents, the suggestion that he grew up in a boarding-school atmosphere and carried the burden of being orphaned plants the core idea that he comes from a place of loneliness. Absent a place of emotional safety and affection, his outlook on life is shaped by the inner fragility and unsteadiness he was instead endowed with, and causes him to escape into a love – or a construct – that opposes this life. The question of whether his love is static and at odds with life by nature or rather by Tristan’s nature remains somewhat open, but both are conceivable. During Isolde’s Liebestod, the projections return, showing the lovers lying side by side on the bed again while the room floods with water. As the two inevitably drown, they gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time while the film turns colourful. What initially seems oddly romanticising of death and clichefully pleasant becomes exceptionally poignant when seen as the lovers’ attitude towards death and final fulfilment rather than the director’s views.

It’s an interpretation that becomes more wrenching the longer one thinks about it – multi-layered, elusive, and it refreshingly strays from unduly heroic characterisations that don’t fit the story well. Admittedly, the focus is somewhat aimed at Tristan, and by necessity of the set, much of the psychologization of Isolde in the first act has to occur in the same setting Tristan’s mind will eventually be dissected in. Partially bound by the story and partially by the staging, she can’t be given the same due, which, considering Harteros’ standout Isolde, is a slight shame. Nonetheless, the production doesn’t feel uneven, and when adding music and singers, it becomes a harmonising whole entity. I myself may have closed my eyes in an attempt to fall in love, and I don’t see anything more befitting this opera.

#tristan und isolde #wagner #richard wagner #opera #opera review #wagnerrant review

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

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Sing Me to Sleep

Haha I’m legit crying good luck with this one if you cry easily like me. So basically this is me evacuating stress by writing a god damn tragedy once again. Don’t worry tho I gave you a little break at the end so you don’t think I’m cruel. Anyway Siri play Quit Playing Games with my Heart by the Backstreet Boys.

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: siblings Jason x reader

Word count: 2547

Warnings: dealing with death/grief, language

Summary: You’ve taken so much with you // but left the worst with me (insp.)

You knew something was wrong when Bruce came back from patrol without Jason. His head was low, and he refused to meet your eyes. In fact, he had avoided you altogether. You were kindly but firmly escorted out of the cave by Alfred as the Bat came back, and that confirmed that the night had definitely gone awry. You waited, waited and waited, biting your nails, pulling your hair, until the sun came up and took its place well up in the sky. You were tired and sleepless, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You were nervous, not knowing what was going on. A thousand scenarios ran into your mind, yet none of them prepared you for the solemn expression that was painted over Bruce’s face when he finally came up the batcave later in the morning. He had dark circles under his eyes, contrasting over the red around his iris. You stopped breathing.

Bruce wasn’t the one to express emotion, so it was bad. Even without words, especially without words, it told you everything you needed to know. He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, and your heart sank.

“No” You muttered, trying to catch his glance. He wouldn’t let you in. “That’s impossible”

“I’m sorry kid” His voice cracked, but was quickly covered with a clearing of his throat.

“That can’t be…”

He walked away. Your legs shaked, and you had to hold on the wall not to fall. You couldn’t let yourself believe anything bad happened to Jason. He was your big brother, the one person you looked up the most to. Your vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t be gone, no, he always came through. He was strong and resilient, and you still believed it was just a terrible, terrible nightmare. But unfortunately, you were still aware and no amount of pinching your skin and biting your cheek to draw blood could change that.

You let yourself fall on the ground, right beside the piano. Your chest heaved, the tightness restricting your lungs from expanding enough to give you air. You recognized the symptoms of a panic attack, but you couldn’t stop it. Usually, Jason would be there to help you calm down. He would always be there to do breathing exercises with you, or distract you from your spiralling down. He was good at that, he understood you better than anyone here in the manor.

You had a similar story, so there was no surprise at all you bonded so quickly. Dick was almost jealous of the relationship you had with Jason. Bruce adopted you after your trip to juvie for shoplifting instant noodles and gatorade for the third time. You were only fourteen back then, and Bruce bailing you out saved your life. There were a lot of things you didn’t expect from this life, but what you truly didn’t see coming was to have someone who related to you in this new life. From day one, you got along with Jason. You were angsty and brooding and confrontational, and instead of frowning at you, he gave you tips on how to make it all even more effective. In a matter of weeks, he became your best friend. He taught you everything he knew about the Manor, about how to navigate the life of a Wayne. You used to sneak outside during galas and functions to smoke cigarettes he never told you where he got, bitching on the guests and on how ridiculous it all was. You would be miserable together at some points, but it was better than being miserable alone.

At least he understood.

You thought about the last words you exchanged before he went on patrol last night. Could you even remember what you said? It was something banal, you knew it. Probably a dumb joke, or words that didn’t matter at all. What if it was the last thing you said to him? Ever? It couldn’t be it.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

You looked up to Alfred, who was standing in front of you with a concerned frown. His eyes held an infinite amount of sadness, but he was doing his best to stay strong.

“He’ll come back, won’t he?” You asked, still hopeful. You had to be.

“Master Todd--” For a second there he threatened to come undone, but he composed himself, for your sake probably. “The Joker was involved. He… There was an explosion”

You felt a hot tear roll down your cheek. Alfred looked away.

“There was nothing Master Wayne could do” He shook his head, his voice slightly higher than usual. “I am so sorry, Miss (Y/N)”

You tried, god knows you tried to stay strong. That’s what he would have told you, to hold your head up and battle through it all. But you weren’t him and now he was gone for real. The dam made of denial you had put up to hold the emotions at bay broke in a thousand pieces, suddenly flooding you with the sharpest pain you ever felt.

Bruce would never tell you, but the cry of agony you let out at that moment made his own tears fall off in cascades again.

---

The funeral had been kept small and away from prying eyes.

The last thing Bruce wanted was for the paparazzi to show up and turn it into a tabloid. He had been very pragmatic in the last days, almost like nothing had happened. But you knew. He was just better at hiding his grief. You hadn’t talked to anybody ever since that night, not even Alfred despite knowing he didn’t deserve your silence. He was hurting too, but your pain was crippling. The only reason you even got out of bed and showered was to pay your last respects to Jason. Not even to him, to a closed casket and a headstone. Was there even enough left of him to bury a body? You had no idea. Bruce didn’t speak about it. You didn’t want to know either.

The sky had opened minutes after the burial ceremony. You stood at the back of the small crowd composed of Bruce, Alfred and Dick, far enough so they couldn’t be tempted to look at you with pity, or worse, ask you to say some words. The black headstone in the manor’s backyard was taunting you, reminding you you were once again all alone.

Here rests Jason Todd

Loving son and brother

It wasn’t fair. You wanted to scream and the sky, so loud you would make the thunder seem like a whisper. It wasn’t fair. You had never felt such pain before, not when your mother bailed, not when you learned your father was found dead in his car. Your adopted brother was the closest family you had, you loved him so much and now he was gone, just like that.

You tore your eyes from the gravestone when you heard your name being spoken close to you. You hadn’t even noticed Dick approaching, let alone him stopping that close you, his black umbrella overlapping yours. His eyes were red and puffy, and he didn’t even try to hide it. You had forgotten Jason was his brother too.

“You should come back inside” His voice was wavering, hiccuping here and there. Only then you noticed everybody else was gone. “You’ll catch a cold”

You shook your head.

“I need time alone with…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. But he understood. He simply walked away, leaving you under the rain to give one last formal goodbye.

You walked to the foot of the still open hole in the ground, staring at the dark wooden coffin laying at the bottom that remained undisturbed by the cold of the morning. For a while you didn’t talk, because you didn’t want to but also because you couldn’t. There was this lump in your throat that stole from you your restrain on your emotion. You couldn’t even start to describe what you were feeling, as everything was spinning so fast in your head. You were dizzy and wanted off, but unfortunately, you had no control on anything. You had little else choice than to be a victim of your own inability to process the death of a loved one. So when you could finally speak, you were surprised, but not really, that what came out was anger.

“Fuck you Jason” It came off weaker out loud than how you felt it inside, like a tidal wave crashing on a rock before it could reach the shore. “Why did you leave me alone?”

Your tears joined the pouring rain in their symphony.

“You knew how much you meant to me, you knew!” You flexed your frozen fingers on the handle of the umbrella. “And you still left me. I hate you!”

Your words fueled your sobbing. Your hand flew to your mouth, regretting instantly what you said. Jason didn’t deserve those harsh words you didn’t mean, but your chest was heavy and it was the only thing that would come out. You felt restricted even in the large field, like you were in the coffin instead of him. Maybe you should have been. Maybe if you had accepted Bruce’s offer to join the vigilante life, maybe you would have been with him, maybe you could have even saved him. He didn’t leave you, you left him. It was your fault, not his. Why did you say you hated him? Now you hated yourself.

“I’m so sorry Jason” You couldn’t even hear the words you were saying, but you felt the urge to speak them anyway. “I’m so sorry. I don’t, I don’t hate you. I just miss you so fucking much. I don’t know what I’ll do without you around. You’ve taken everything good in this world with you, and left the worst out here with me. You’re gone, and I’m still here. You always told me to be strong, but I can’t, not without you. I’m not sure I can do this, Jason. I could have learned so much more from you, but what’s left now? I just wished I could talk to you one more time, tell you how much you changed my life for the better. Just give you one more hug, even though you pretended you hated it because that's how a brother acts. Learn one more dumb self defense move. Steal your snacks one more time, so you can be mad at me but still make sure you buy extra for me. You thought I didn’t know you were never really mad. How can I steal your snacks now, if you’re not there to catch me in the act?”

You paused to breathe, the action now a little easier. Your tears had stopped and so did the rain, leaving a thick, cold mist hanging above the dewy grass. His absence was a permanent ache on your side, his soul felt so far away even though his body was right in front of you. The lid of the coffin acted as the veil in between the living and the dead, a veil you couldn’t see through. You wondered if he was on the other side, and if he was, whether or not he was as lost and scared as you, searching for a familiar face in all this fog. The best you could hope now was for him to be at peace.

“I know you had a hard time believing anybody could love you” You sighed, calmer now. “But I did. I’ve looked up to you from the moment I met you. You were my hero. I guess… I guess I just wanted you to know that. I’m sorry I never told you out loud, I should have but now it’s too late. I just hope you knew that you were the most important person to me, and that I will miss you every remaining day of my life. Thank you Jason, for everything you gave me. I wish I had the time to repay the favour while I still had the time. I’m so sorry”

You stayed there until sundown.

---

Every morning for five years you visited Jason’s grave, every morning but this one. You woke up late for a final, barely having the time to dress up and steal a bagel from the kitchen. You told yourself you would visit it tonight, that it was no big deal. Dick barely went anymore, and Bruce liked to ignore it was even there. Still, you knew he thought about it from time to time, by how he looked through the windows on rainy days. But still, it felt wrong not to go talk to him even just a little bit. I stayed at the back of your mind for the entire duration of the final.

The smog provided a thick blanket over gotham, but the sun, ever so resilient, managed to peek through the yellow-ish cover to warm the concrete jungle that was Gotham. Your exam was your only appointment of the day, so you allowed yourself to read a book in the metro that brought you back to the outskirts of the city. Coincidently, it was one of Jason’s favourites. You had already gotten through his entire collection, but this was the one that stuck out the most to you. The wagon was only half full, so you sat next to the window to take advantage of the rare golden light that seemed to only increase the farther you got from the inner city.

Without tearing your eyes from the words in front of you, you got off at the last stop and jogged down the platform’s stairs until you reached your car. Only then you put the book aside and drove back the short way to the manor. You picked the book again when you got off, slowly walking around the house, drinking the words like water in the desert. Your feet walked on their own the way to the small Wayne graveyard, a way they already knew without needing your guidance. However, they stopped when you noticed a tall figure standing exactly where you usually would. Your eyes left the page, squinting at the stranger. It wasn’t Bruce, and it wasn’t Dick, despite the similar black hair. He had heard you coming, you recognized the subtle shift in the posture you observed your vigilante family do countless times.

“Hello?” You decided to call. “Can I help you?”

He froze. You didn’t understand why, until he turned his shoulder and stared at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You held your breath as you searched his familiar features. It wasn’t the face you remembered, and his eyes didn’t hold the same wonder they did before, but you could still recognize the character in them anytime. At first you didn’t believe it, you pinched yourself a hundred times over in a minute, bit the inside of your cheek until it bled, but he was still standing there, baffled as you were, searching your face for familiarity just as you did him.

“Jason?”

He gave you a half smile, but it was all you needed. Your eyes teared up as you chuckled in disbelief, pushing aside the questions you had for him and running into his arms.

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juyeoniemyhoney · 3 years

Text

things she’ll never know

When you love someone, the most important thing that you should not do is introduce them to their crush and help them get along. Yoongi knows this because he has learned the hard way. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook has got to be his biggest mistake ever and once things for you and Jungkook start to escalate into more than a friendship, Yoongi knows he fucked up.

-pairing: min yoongi x reader (feat. jungkook)

-genre: angst yo

-warnings: none really, this may be a little stupid

-word count: 2408 words

-A/N: what upppp. back with a little yoongi angst. i hope you guys like it! don’t be shy to request some ideas you’d like me to write! i like live to please people and coming up with plots or scenarios are like super hard for me for some reason. also don’t be afraid to tell me your thoughts on this one! it really, really helps me to improve and write better!

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It is without a doubt that everything you do has no reason. Like literally everything you are pursuing has in some way or another been forced onto you. You did not sign up for school, no. Your mother had just dressed you up in a school uniform one day when you were six and left you in a school full of strangers and other tiny people. So naturally, after being forced into things your whole life, you have developed a hate for almost everything.

But nothing you have gone through can quite prepare you for the shit that you have to endure today.

Today, instead of having an engaging discussion about life during homeroom like you usually do, your classmates are scattered around the classroom, cleaning every single nook and cranny until it is basically shining. All the while, the teacher screams at a group of friends who childishly throw rubbish and spray water at each other as a means to make this laborious task at least a little bit more fun than it actually is.

After every semester, your school deems it necessary for the students to conduct a “spring cleaning” activity. As a result, your fun homeroom sessions are replaced with an hour of cleaning; beneficial for the janitors who work at your school, but nonetheless a drab and boring activity.

“This is so boring,” you sigh, verbalising your thoughts to Yoongi, who is silently wiping a window pane beside you. Yoongi remains silent and just nods, lips set in a firm line but expression gentle. At his silent response, you cannot help but allow a smile to bloom on your lips at his extremely Yoongi-esque answer.

Yoongi, your best friend, is an attractive, raven haired boy of little words. He has been by your side for as long as you can remember; since you had moved in beside him. He had come up to you, shy, tiny and chubby, asking you to help him tie his shoelaces. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable and you basically tell him everything. And because Yoongi is such a good friend, the moment you told him that you found Jungkook, a fellow classmate, attractive, Yoongi had taken it upon himself to — unlike his introverted nature — befriend him.

Which brings us to today, almost a year after Jungkook was included into your list of friends. The three of you had grown quite close in the past year. But don’t be mistaken, it took you almost three months to warm up to him, far too shy to even look him in the eyes. But with insistent prompting from Yoongi and an insane amount of coincidental occurrences, obviously articulately orchestrated by Yoongi, you eventually came round and began to talk comfortably with Jungkook.

“Yoongi,” you call him, reaching up to his sleeve to tug on it gently. The action causes Yoongi’s heart to swell and his chest strains painfully with the inability to house the sheer amount of adoration he feels for you. Yoongi hums in response, too lost at the sight of you to process words.

“Make this more fun,” you command, frown drawing your brows together, lips turned down at the corners in a pout. Yoongi’s heart falters at the sight.

Years ago, when you and Yoongi were four years old, only a few days after he met you, he already knew that he was going to marry you. You had run up to him in the playground, attacking him with a bear hug, surprising him by muttering a soft and shy, I love you as you tucked your face into his neck. Yoongi has never been the same since.

That moment has been replaying itself in his head, a constant reminder that his immediate thought after you had embraced him was that he never wanted you to let go. He has only fallen harder for you since; for your magnetic personality and your laugh and your smile that seems to shine so brightly that it is as if the sun had decided to bury itself in your very being.

His unadulterated attraction to even just the thought of you only seemed to strengthen that fateful night, consisting of powerful torrents of rain and a sole umbrella. That night, (despite being under the legal drinking age) you were drunk out of your mind, arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulder and legs tripping over each other clumsily. The two of you had awkwardly, yet silently, stumbled into your room, Yoongi groaning with exertion and exhaustion after having to haul you all the way back to your house from the party that celebrated your school’s volleyball team’s win. As soon as your head had hit your pillow, lightning flashed as if the sky was snapping a picture of that moment, granting Yoongi sight of you. Love surged through him at the sight, your eyes barely open and glazed over in exhaustion.

“It’s raining,” you had observed from the window behind Yoongi. Yoongi, too distracted by the look of pure merriment swirling in your brown eyes that shone like the moon, could only a whisper an aloof answer. You’ve always liked rain.

He was spiralling down a tangent of doubtful supposition, trying to decide if he should just kiss you right then and there, if it would still ruin your friendship even if there was a high possibility that the whole night would excuse itself from your memory in the morning. Yoongi immediately dispelled the horrifying thought from his brain, barely registering that you had gotten up and had started to rummage about your things.

“You should take this umbrella,” you slurred, turning back around to look at Yoongi. You stumbled clumsily towards him, as if you were a baby learning to walk. Just as you were about to hand Yoongi the umbrella, a wire had caught your foot, pulling taut and tripping you. You had stumbled forward in an attempt to find your balance, but once you realised that it would not be possible, you had tried to catch yourself on Yoongi instead, but your lack of sobriety had also meant the deduction of your depth perception, causing you to completely miss his shoulders.

All too suddenly, Yoongi found himself on your bed, on his back, tasting alcohol on your lips. Yoongi’s brain had ceased regular function at that point and instead of pulling away, instead of pushing you off him, instead of something, he found himself kissing you. And for the shortest of seconds, you were kissing him back. He seemed to have fallen from reality and landed in an alternate universe; where you are his, and you are okay with being his. Your lips felt surreal and warm, so, so warm and he didn’t want to ever stop kissing you. But then Yoongi felt your tongue at the seam of his lips, and he was dragged out of his trance by the ankles and jolting away from you as if you were a live wire.

“Why...?” you had questioned, earnest eyes gazing down at him, searching for eye contact but Yoongi had refused it, eyes landing on everything except yours. And too fast for Yoongi to even process himself, he was snatching the umbrella from your hands, pushing you off him as gently as he could in his haste, and practically sprinting out of your bedroom, in search of refuge that only his own could offer.

When Yoongi thinks back to that incident, he always beats himself up for dashing out of there before ensuring that you were okay first. He had let his feelings control him and didn’t even stop to think that he should have probably sobered you up first before leaving. But it is far too late to regret and that incident now serves as one of Yoongi’s milestones, the one that had caused his feelings for you to grow exponentially, the kiss that you cannot even remember.

“How about we play tag? If I touch you with this rag, I win. If you manage to evade me for the rest of the period, you win. Winner gets a whole tub of ice cream,” Yoongi suggests, finally snapping out of his trance.

“That hardly seems far,” you complain with a slap to his bicep. It causes Yoongi to flinch and you let out a melodious chuckle at his reaction. Yoongi’s heart dances to the tune.

“Fine then, be bored,” is Yoongi’s snarky reply. He lets out a sigh in faux disappointment and turns back to the window to continue his interrupted wiping. Though, his expression immediately brightens when you protest to your teasing gone wrong. Flowers bloom in Yoongi’s chest and he feels a strong urge to hug you; to wrap you up in his arms, hidden away from the world in his warmth. Yoongi has to quite literally hold himself back to not act on the urge.

And so begins the game of tag. If Yoongi were to be entirely honest, he hates physical activity, of every and any sort. Which is why he has no idea why he had suggested to play tag in the first place. If he were to be even more honest, even if he hates running, he is sure that if he were playing seriously, the game would end in the matter of seconds. So, he chases you with restraint and pretends to take breaks in between the chasing. And if he ever came close to tagging you, he would shorten his reach so that the rag would miss you by a hair. It is just, Yoongi is high on the sound of your mirthful giggling, not wanting it to stop for even just a second. Not when the sound makes him so happy that he feels as if his whole body is levitating.

Yoongi chases you all around the classroom, the two of you blatantly ignoring your teacher’s nagging. As the period comes to an end, Yoongi quickens his speed, just refusing to lose to you after realising how much you would tease him if he did. Now at the front of the classroom, Yoongi finds himself far behind you, struggling to catch up.

Everything that happens next seems to happen in slow-motion for Yoongi.

As you glance over your shoulder to gauge where Yoongi is, you accidentally ram into someone. More specifically, you run right into Jungkook. You let out a surprised squeal when your head hits his chest and Jungkook wraps his arms around you in instinct, letting out his own sound of surprise. Yoongi’s heart, at the sight, sinks right into his gut, as if it were in quicksand. Jungkook’s expression of surprise morphs into an endearing smile and he relaxes and hugs you comfortably, arms around your shoulders and chin resting gingerly on top of your head.

Jungkook’s scent and warmth send you into a state of delirium. Your cheeks burn red in embarrassment when he starts stroking your hair, gently combing his fingers through the thick locks. Your classmates do not care, in fact you do not think they even notice the intimate moment the two fo you are having now. It is as if the world has vanished and it is just you and Jungkook, and no one else to disturb you. In Jungkook’s arms, everything feels right, like not a thing in the world is wrong, and maybe, it is here, in his arms, that you belong. As cringe-worthy as it sounds, your ears tune out all of your surroundings and only seem to be able to focus on the rhythmic beating of Jungkook’s heart. And when your arms come up around him to circle around his waist, the pace of his heart increases and you finally know that you are not the only one who is feeling things.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is absolutely livid, irises flaring red as he looks at the two of you hugging so dearly, so natural that it is as if you two have been hugging for years. One side of Yoongi, the selfish side, wants to rip you from Jungkook’s arms and claim you as his, as if he is the hound of hades, guarding the gates of the world the two of you have built together, preventing Jungkook from ever entering your world and snatching you away. But the other side of Yoongi, the one that grounds himself to reality should his love for you cause him to do utterly idiotic things, tells him to come to terms with the fact that you will never be involved with him romantically, tells him to just let you go, tells him to deal with his own idiotic actions. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook is, and will forever be his biggest regret. But at the same time, how could he not? When you had gazed up at him with mirth-filled eyes, smile shining brighter than any star to exist in the cosmos. How could he not when he could basically feel your voice worm its way into his chest, festering something so captivating that he could not help but do something, anything to hear that tone in your voice again and feel the flowers bloom in his heart, a sweet, summer warmth melting him like candle wax. How could he rob you, the one person he has loved with all his heart, mind and soul of your happiness?

The answer is that he cannot.

So, instead of socking Jungkook in the face, instead of tearing you from Jungkook’s arms and kissing you with passionate ferocity, Yoongi circles your hugging bodies so that you can see him, gently tapping you to get your attention. Your head pops out from Jungkook’s chest and you look at Yoongi over his shoulder. When your eyes lock, your arms still around Jungkook and Jungkook’s arms still around you, he whispers as softly as he can so that you cannot hear the cracking of his heart in his voice. And despite the excruciating amount of pain he is feeling in this moment, Yoongi manages to proffer you a small smile.

“You win.”

His words refer to a plethora of things; his heart, his life, this one-sided game he has been playing. And then, before you can question anything, he leaves you to deliberate what on earth those two words should signify other than that game of tag that just decided Yoongi’s and your destiny.

Because did you actually win or did you just lose everything?

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