#am I punishing myself by refusing to allow myself to care about it? fun thought experiment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

furiousgoldfish · 3 years

Text

Personal post about trauma under the cut, extremely upsetting content, do not read if you had narcissistic parents and don't wanna get triggered, I am very sad and mad and it's hard to talk about this. TW child labor, child torture, brainwashing, death threats, narcissistic abuse.

I was a hardworking child, I was happy and excited to work, I wanted to be a part of everything that's being done. I noticed work warranted for people to get respect, food, praise, acceptance, and I wanted to work hard so I too would be a part of that. My family lived in a rural area, they kept animals, grew fields of crops, were always in some sort of construction work, so me always being eager to work was pretty much ideal for them, or you'd think that it was. You'd think that.

I was working eagerly and I realized, that unlike for adults, I don't get respect, praise, acceptance, or sometimes even food. It was for some reason denied to me only. And I was still happy to work because I chased that feeling of personal accomplishment, even if there was no rewards. And again, you'd think this is perfectly convenient and ideal to parents who wanted free labour and to give no recognition or praise in return. You'd think that.

But it wasn't enough for them. Father got this idea to take me out to work with him alone, away from home. I remember the place we went to, only as a place I need burned down to the ground before I could breathe again. It was a demolition-construction of a house, and I don't remember how many time I've been there. All I know is, after first few times, I no longer wanted to go. I begged not to go.

I am guessing my father could not bear the looks of me working happily, or even working silently. Me doing everything I was told was not fun enough for him– so he would give me false instructions. As an easy setup for punishment. I did exactly what I was told, and would get screamed at and beaten up. Then forced to keep working in tears, shaking, terrified, injured, while being further berated. And that was only the start.

Even as a child, I was diligent and responsible about doing work, and I know I was getting things done just fine, because, I was doing the sibling's share of chores too. If siblings were called to work, they would simply mess up on purpose so I would be told to repeat it after them, correctly. Sometimes siblings would have me do it and take the credit, which I didn't mind because working made me feel better about myself. It made me feel useful. My mind was already dissociated from my body to the point where I no longer felt exhaustion, pain, strain, or any physical effect work was having on me. I would get berated and shamed if I showed signs of being tired or strained. So my body disregarded it all.

And yeah, that wasn't enough either. I was still sometimes feeling okay. If I was allowed to work alone, and let my mind wonder, if nobody commented on it I knew it was okay.

So this is where they decided to take a step further and disallow me to feel okay at any point. I was humiliated while working to the point of tears. I'd be ridiculed in front of guests. I could no longer enjoy my own thoughts, but constant criticism, insults, accusations and humiliation was raining down on me at every step. And when I was done, with tremendous effort it took to endure this, I would be told 'It would have been better if you had done nothing.' So my insane effort to endure abuse to get things done, was rendered worthless in a second.

Father kept taking me away to work alone with him, and forced me to listen to his monologues, which I hated, because he was boring, wrong and self-obsessed, but I wasn't allowed to say that, or argue. My silent compliance was never enough. He had to hit me. He had to find something to berate me over. He kept inventing reasons. I would clean his entire garage and he'd move a steel closet I couldn't possibly move and berate me for not cleaning under it.

I had a log thrown into my head, causing a head injury, and I had to keep working. I fell and fractured my shoulder so badly I could barely walk; I was brought to a forest to drag logs around, too heavy for me to lift. I was sometimes orchestrated to get injured; father would start a trailer I was standing on the edge of, and forced me to fall by quickly moving forward just enough. I was still expected to work after that. He hit me with a blunt edge of an axe and berated me for standing there. I was told to 'not expect a lift to the hospital'. I was brought to work while starved, grieving, suicidal. I was lied to about where I was going and what would I be doing, and for how long. I was never allowed to stop working.

And the game of giving me wrong instructions and punishing me for doing it 'wrong' never stopped. I caught on and begged for correct instructions. I would ask to explain, how to do it, to show me, anything. 'HOW OLD are you not to know this? I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW!' And by his rage, I could tell that if I don't do it any way I knew how, I'd be punished instantly. I had no choice but to try – and of course fail, and feel horribly ashamed for 'deserving to get beat up'. Eventually my brain started shortcircuiting at the simplest tasks, I would mess up because I was in terror. I couldn't think.

At this point, I no longer wished to work for people who would inflict violence on me. And that is when I was quckly informed that if I didn't work, I would be killed. Not in those words. It was 'You have to work if you want to live!' followed by 'We can kick you out and you will starve on the street. Nobody will take you in. There is no place for you. Nobody wants someone like you. You don't deserve to eat if you don't work.' My choices were taken away. If I still refused, the result would be to beat me and force me to work injured, shaking and crying.

All this, for what? I would have been HAPPY to work. I would have been chasing my little daydreams and singing the pokemon tune, and if I was ever praised, I'd be the happiest kid on the block. I was a kid who liked to work. I wanted minimal fairness, minimal acknowledgment. To be a part of the family. Only that.

It just wouldn't do for the narcssistic father. Watching a child be broken, terrified and shaking, crying, ashamed, guilty, working past exhaustion, in injuries, was just too tempting for him to pass up. Even free labor wasn't worth to him as much as the pleasure of child torture. He needed that like it was a drug. What kind of a sick high did he experience, breaking a defenseless kid? What kind of pleasure did it entail, getting someone rid of their natural happiness to work? Was it fun, tearing me into pieces, over and over again? Does he remember it as a delicious, satisfying pleasure? Does he daydream about it? He knew it was wrong; he forced me to stop crying and hide the tears before we went home. 'Don't say anything to your mother.' I was told before being stuffed back in his car.

And now... I can't work. I can't even move sometimes. It was torn away from me. My ability to work was ripped away from my child body when I had no way to defend it or to grab it back and protect what is mine. I can't work anymore. It's terrifying. It terrifies me to not work. Because I was made aware working is the only thing keeping me alive, and capitalism confirms this, so I remain to forever fight with myself about how even if everyone says otherwise, I still deserve to live. Heartbroken, abandoned, with my basic human abilities stripped from me. It doesn't make me deserving to die.

I am so angry and sad. If I had my natural ability to work back, I'd be fine. I would be able to live safely. I wouldn't spiral into feeling like an unworthy member of society. I learned to survive very insecurely like this, but I hate every second of it. To know that instead of this insane uncertainty, anxiety, guilt for being bedridden, guilt for existing and not moving, I could have just found a job, have normal income? I can't bear it. I can't bear knowing this was wrenched away from me, because it was pleasurable to do so, because tearing me into pieces was a fun hobby for people who didn't care if what they were doing to me killed me. And I couldn't have done anything to stop it. And I'm like this now. Unable to take any more torture, unable to endure any more of being triggered, wondering if I would die from lack of resources, or would my body fail permanently in attempts to process all the exhaustion and pain I was dissociated from for my entire childhood.

How was this worth it. How it could have been worth it to anyone, destroying someone's ability to work, only because it's pleasurable. I felt the plan was to work me until I no longer could do it, then kill me. It's what they did to animals. And I was told I was more worthless than an animal. I was called lazy and a monstrous name I can't even translate, that implied I was burdening everyone with my existence.

It was even a bigger punch to my face to realize, after I escaped, that he was profiting from everything I did. That it would have taken money – way more than was ever spent on my survival, to get all that labor done. He was profitting while telling me I was worthless and don't deserve to eat or sleep in his house. He is now renting the place I was broken to help build. I was torn apart and he is still benefiting from it. And I have nothing. Not even a functional body to work with anymore.

I know I'm not the only person who was constantly left alone with narcissists as a child and had this, or worse, done to them. They don't care which pieces of children are left over by the time they're done getting their high. We're only a thing to consume, not living beings, not people, not someone whose life matters. Our pain is food to them. My father readily became a predator who snached his own kid away for torture sessions, and felt proud and fulfilled to turn his own child into a creature who cannot work anymore to survive.

Don't leave children alone with narcissists. I am trying so hard to get better, but facing reality, is this a thing a person gets better from? It's not a bodily harm of once or twice, this was happening for the most majority of my lifetime. It makes sense I cannot move. It makes sense I'm terrified to be triggered into this. It makes sense I can barely bear the reality of it. A person tortured hundreds of times wont just get up and walk away. I can't either. I have to lie here and hope that one day it will get better.

If you read thru all this, and you relate to the parts of this story, know that I am so sorry for what you were put thru. It's devastating and horrenous. If this is how you grew up, it would have been better not to have a family. We all should have been protected from this.

#trauma #personal #i never told anyone about this #don't have the courage #i can only type it online #tw child abuse #tw physical violence #abusive parents #narcissistic abuse #child labor

174 notes · View notes

whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm 01 - The Flood

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: Reader is a woman in her late 20s who had a peculiar childhood. She worked in her family dojo that was attached to a shop! You wake up in an unfamiliar place, wounded, with a somewhat familiar man. These moments will change your life forever.

A/N: I’ve been a huge Mortal Kombat fan for years and I saw the movie the other day. This reader x fic will follow the path/story/idea of the movies!! I have never done one of these before. If anyone is interested in it, I will continue on. It will either be Kung Lao x Reader or Liu Kang x Reader (or both, depending, bwahaha) but I haven’t decided yet. This is just the beginning. There will be plenty of fluff/establishment/smut if I get that far! Enjoy! Remember this is only for fun. Thanks for reading! Edit- You might notice the writing got better suddenly. I'm going through old chapters to casually edit.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Your head was spinning. When you opened your eyes, you briefly caught the outline of a small room before it spun around you. Vertigo. It took ages for your head to stop spinning even in the darkness of your mind’s eye. Something cold and wet was pressed gently to your forehead, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Small droplets of water trickled over your brow, down your nose and irritated your sinuses. Others traced down the sides of your face and nestled into the mat of your dyed black hair. It was naturally stark white but you’d kept up with the black to better blend in.

Shifting, the bed beneath you felt plush and foreign. This was not your bed. Your bed was a modest bedroll that often left your back aching. What had you been doing that you would wake up somewhere strange? Flashes of a fight rushed into your mind. That was right! You’d been closing up shop for the night when men had rushed in, donned masks, and dressed in black. They’d been armed with blades.

You sat upright, fists at the ready and prepared for a fight. Your arms were aching and constricted, bound in tight cloth. Pain radiated down to your elbows and up to your shoulders. Coughing, your mouth tasted like smoke- acrid and sickening. Worse than that, you felt your heart beating too hard and too fast. There was a deep, familiar pain inside of you, a pain you hadn’t felt since your youth. You could picture in your mind’s eye your shop in flames and the dojo attached to it catching fire.

“Move slowly.” A confident but quiet voice consoled you. He was Chinese, like you, and his voice was soft but commanding. “You have a fever.” Careful but strong hands urged you to rest back down. In a snap, you knocked his hands away. He removed them with such grace and control that you knew he was either a dancer or a fighter. You guessed the latter. The room spun again but you forced your vision to focus. “I knew you were a martial artist but I did not know the extent of your skills.”

You caught a glimpse of the stranger. His short black hair was messy and pulled back from his forehead in a top knot. He had handsome features, dark eyes, and he was nostranger. You’d seen him before but today he was not wearing the wide-brimmed hat that you associated him with.

“You’re handy with a blade. I’m impressed.” He complimented. It was likely that he thought you were still threatened by him. Smart. You were. He’d been coming to the shop attached to your dojo every few months for the last couple of years. Each time his purchase was drastically different. Sometimes it was a weapon, sometimes precious stones, or herbs. Most times he came in just to have you sharpen a blade that you never saw him with again. You had allowed him entry to the dojo to watch classes and observe goings on. Sometimes he showed up every day for weeks a time. Sometimes you didn’t see him for months.

He’d been harmless. The only words that he’d ever spoken to you had been kind and reserved.

“Where am I?” You decided that was the right question. You knew who he was and what had happened for the most part. It was the ‘where’ that puzzled you.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You threw him a glance with dark eyes and he offered a smile that clearly said you wouldn’t get any answers from him until you gave yours. He was worried that your memory had suffered. The dizziness made sense now. You must have struck your head.

“It was late. I was cleaning up the shop before close when a group of men entered. They were trouble, treating wares carelessly. I asked them to leave since I was closing up. They donned masks and things escalated.” Things had more than escalated but it seemed to you that this stranger already knew many of the details of what had occurred without you saying. The men had threatened you with drawn blades and made demands involving you and your dojo that you had refused to bow to. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t an accusation. He just understood how your story ended.

“They left me with no choice. I didn’t ask for violence.” You turned your gaze. The room had finally stopped spinning but in a word, you felt like crap. Coughing, you recalled the fire and snapped your attention back to the friendly stranger. “My shop… the dojo!”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head respectfully. “The fire spread too quickly. There was nothing to be done.”

“I have to go. I…”

“You can’t go back.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t go back. Hanging your head, you resigned to the truth. He was right. You knew it. “I suppose not. I killed those men. I’m a murderer.”

“Those men were cruel and deserved the punishment you dealt them. As far as I’m concerned your action were justified.”

Your brow furrowed. He so easily absolved you of taking the lives of others. You didn’t think the guilt would fade so easily but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“How long have you had the dragon mark?” That was what he really wanted to discuss. His eyes sparkled even in the darkness of the small room- a still completely foreign and strange place. He’d offered you no answers even after you’d given him his.

“Dragon mark?” You didn’t have one as far as you knew. You’d seen others with a dragon marking but had never asked what it meant or why it had been there. You’d once asked your sister about it but she had never noticed the mark on anyone before. Then you’d never spoken of it again. You’d seen things that others could not in your youth and were nervous about bringing things like that up.

“On your back.”

You turned with a snap but it had been foolish. There was no way for you to see it at that angle. Pain shot through you as you searched for it with your left hand. Your forearms had been wrapped tightly but blood was seeping through the gauze, staining it crimson.

“Careful. You were wounded when you offered those men mercy.”

Much to your surprise, he took your hand in his own, the size of his strong hands dwarfing your petite ones. Then he guided your hand carefully to the mark on your lower back. There it was, plain as day. Raised skin in a circle with a dragon head in the middle. It was like a scar, as though you had been branded with it some time ago. Yet, you knew that it hadn’t been there that morning when you’d bathed.

“That’s… new to me.” You didn’t know how else to phrase it and laughed beneath your breath at how silly it sounded not to know it had been there.

“Do you know about the Order of Light?” He was feeling you out, gauging what you knew.

You were hesitant to answer, nervous that what you knew would get you into trouble. When most people entered your shop, they spoke amongst themselves. You learned many secrets that way. You were usually paid little mind unless you were teaching classes or fighting. You’d heard of the Order of Light before. Your curiosity had given you much more than you’d bargained for. You’d learned of other realms, Gods, magic powers. They were the sorts of things you’d read about in fiction. You’d never thought there was much truth to them but part of you had always hoped there was.

“Why do you know so much about what happened to me?” You answered his question with one of your own. It was about time that you got answers instead of just giving them.

“I heard the commotion at your shop. I came to help.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I confess that I’m fond of your dojo. It’s a peaceful reprieve for me. You bring light to a place that has very little.” He bowed his head apologetically, handsome face stern. “It was too late for me to do much but I saw the end of your fight. It was a graceful dance. You offered them mercy and were punished for your kindness. Then the building caught fire. You won the battle but it collapsed with you still inside. I pulled you free before it was too late.”

Funny.

You hadn’t noticed any burns. You remembered fire. You could feel the smoke still in your lungs but the only wounds you remembered suffering were those on your arms and the back of your head. They had to have been terrible. The cold you’d noticed upon waking up had only worsened and now your vision was spotty and hazy around the edges.

“When the authorities came to deal with the fire, I brought you somewhere safe. I didn’t wish for you to be caught.” He lifted his gaze and placed his fist against his palm with a polite bow. “I’m Kung Lao. Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself earlier.”

You laughed.

There was no way!

You hadn’t heard that name in years. He was confused by your laughter and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name in ages. It’s not a common one either. You can’t be Kung Lao.”

“…but I am.”

“The only Kung Lao I’ve ever known died years ago.”

“That’s what was told to people when I left.” Kung Lao’s eyes were shining with amusement. The flicker of the candle resting on the small table next to the bed you rested in danced in his dark eyes. “Do we know each other?”

“If you are, in fact, the same Kung Lao who grew up here then yes, we did. I’m Y/N but I used to go by Y/N.” You hadn’t used your full name in years. It had rarely been used other than to tease you so you’d shortened it. Back then you’d been ill and the other kids had been afraid of you. “Kung Lao was my friend. A stubborn but sweet boy. We played together. He was one of the only people in town not afraid of me. Teased me which… made me angrier than it should have but he was apologetic afterward. The last time I saw him he gave me a purple flower. They don’t grow here anymore. I honestly have no idea where he got it. I could never find them again.”

Kung Lao was completely taken aback.

You supposed you could see the similarities. He could have been your Kung Lao all grown up, about twenty years later. He had similarly shaped eyes. Perhaps the familiarity of him had been why you’d trusted him to sit in on lessons. The idea that he was the same Kung Lao from your childhood made your stomach tighten up in knots. That was too much to deal with right now.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and thoughtful as if he struggled to find truth in your words.

You bowed your head politely in greeting but it ached so terribly that you held it in your hands. Every movement felt like ice flowing through your veins. When you opened your eyes again your vision went from spotty to completely black. You’d gone blind! Panic raced through your thoughts and you blinked your eyes closed tight. Praying, you opened them again and were grateful that you could see even if your vision was still spotty. The room seemed hazier than before.

“Careful. Lay back and rest.” Kung Lao placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you but you pushed it away again.

“No, no. I should get something to eat. And some water. That will help.” You were sure that your vision was fading from blood loss or exhaustion. Either way food would help. You carefully draped your legs over the side of the bed. Your clothing was singed and bloodied. Gravity disagreed with your arms and your aching head, so you wound up hunching over. Kung Lao helped you sit upright again.

“Your fever is too high. What you need is a doctor.”

“You asked me about the Order of Light.” You ignored his concern in favor of more answers.

“Yes.”

“Then you know about the other realms, too? Is it true?”

Kung Lao was again taken by surprise and stuttered on his words comically.

“I must sound crazy. A man in a coolie hat, well the fanciest one that I’ve ever seen before, came in a few times over the years. I always thought he seemed a little funny. He referred to China as Earthrealm and mentioned the Order of Light in passing. I was curious as to what any of that meant and well, the internet is a fount of information, even for things like that. Most of what I read was on forums and conspiracy sites so I put next to no stake in it. Is any of it true?”

“I’m not the one who should be telling you this.”

“Kung Lao.” You scolded which incited a confident grin from him.

“Have you heard of Mortal Kombat then as well?”

You considered those words. You’d never heard them before so you shook your head no. At least you hadn’t heard them the way that he’d phrased them, as though it were something associated with the Order of Light.

“The mark on your back means that you’ve been chosen to fight.” Kung Lao began on what you were sure would be a lengthy explanation of what would come next but you had tuned him out. Your vision was blurring again. It faded around the edges and the world spun. You felt like you were floating.

“Kung Lao?” You interrupted, grasping blindly for him but your hands had gone numb. There was urgency in your voice.

“It’s okay. I’ll take you to Raiden’s Temple and there you’ll be guided through…”

“Not that. I can’t… I can’t see!” Panic was thick in your voice. Your breath was suddenly short in your chest and you collapsed against him, falling into unconsciousness.

Next Chapter >>

237 notes · View notes

noforkingclue · 3 years

Note

hi, since your request are open, can I ask for a Dark!Stalker!Zemo obsessed with the reader just to find out she's pregnant with another man child(the man doesn't need to be present, I just like the drama)? perhaps it's the last straw for him and he decides to take her to live with him? or some smut?

I hope that's not too much! but if you don't feel comfortable writing it, it's alright!

Of course this isn't too much! I hope you like the fic

Title: A Happy Future

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, mentions of forced adoption, slight breeding kink

MCU tag list: @geocookie21, @greeneyedblondie44

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary

You were too pure for this world.

A bright shining light in the darkness of the world. Someone who deserved to be protected, loved, cherished and shielded away from the cruelty of the world. Oh how Zemo longed to be able to hold you in his arms and hide you away. You needed him even if you didn’t know it yet. While you lived in your current flat you were so vulnerable, easy pickings for those with less than pure thoughts.

He just wanted to protect you.

You would understand. You would be so grateful towards him for saving you. Of course you’d be frightened at first, he’d be surprised if you wouldn’t be, but he’d be there for you. Comfort you, provide for you and show you how much better life would be if you would stay by his side willingly. But these things take time and for the moment he was content with watching you through the hidden cameras he had installed in your flat.

Well, he had been content with just that.

Everything changed when you brought that young man home, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your lips pressed against his in a passionate kiss that should only belong to Zemo. He watched in increasing displeasure as that other man removed your clothes and led you towards your bedroom. Of course Zemo had known about him, your dates had been carefully monitored and removed when necessary, but he hadn’t realised that this had become serious. As you fell onto the bed he quickly switched off the camera. He had no desire to see you making love to someone other than him. While he allowed you to have your fun, at least for the meantime, this was something he was not going to allow.

This never should’ve happened. Zemo should’ve stopped this as soon at that man entered your flat. He looked down at the pregnancy test in his hand and ran a hand over his face. He had allowed someone else to touch you, to defile you, and now he was paying the price.

Then he remembered your joyous face. The way you jumped around the room when you found out that you were pregnant. Surely you couldn’t have feelings for this other person? The hints you had been dropping him had been so obvious. The way you didn’t fully shut your curtains when you got changed. How you angled yourself exactly towards the camera when you pleasured yourself. You had done nothing but tease him and now you had gone and betrayed him.

But you were happy. You seemed to want this child whether or not the man who gave it to you was in the picture. If Zemo had his way then that would definitely be the case. He was about to throw the pregnancy test away when he heard the jingle of keys in the lock. A wicked sile spread across his face as he moved into the shadows. He wasn’t planning on taking you now but this was unexpected.

He watched you as you threw your bag of the sofa and shrugged off your coat. Just as you passed him Zemo grabbed you and pulled you against him. He slapped his hand over your mouth and waved the test in front of your face.

“Well then,” he said quietly, “you have been a naughty girl. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

You lay on your bed staring up at the ceiling. You were wearing nothing but a long silk dressing grown, the smooth material gliding over your skin. Zemo’s head rested against your stomach and you ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair while he traced patterns over your skin. You didn’t know how long you had been trapped in your gilded cage. There was no point in keeping track of time when you realised that there was no escape.

“I understand why you wanted to keep the child,” Zemo said at last, “But you realise why I am refusing to allow you to raise it.”

“We could raise him as yours.”

Zemo sighed and shook his head. He looked up at you and stroked your cheek. You flinched at the gentle touch and Zemo immediately removed his hand.

“We’ve been over this,” he said, “Your punishment for allowing yourself to have another man inside of you.”

“Please don’t give my child away.”

“Liebling,” Zemo moved up so he was straddling you, “I will make sure that it is placed in good care and then,” his hand glided to between your legs, “I will give you another child. My heirs. The children I knew that you were going to carry as soon as I saw you.”

He removed his hand and cupped your face with both hands. He pressed a loving kiss against your cheek as he rolled off of you. He swiftly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him. By now you had gotten used to what he wanted. You rested your head against his chest as he pressed a kiss against your temple.

“Our children will be beautiful,” he said, “They’ll want for nothing and you, my love, will be my greatest treasure. You’ll be the perfect wife and mother. Tell what you desire and I will give it to you.”

“I want to keep my child.”

Zemo sighed and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him as he forced you to look at him. He looked away briefly as tears fell down your face and he gently brushed them away.

“It pains me to see you cry,” he said, “I have no desire to see you upset but I cannot allow this. Anything else I will gladly provide.”

“My freedom.”

“We can go anywhere in the world.”

“By myself.”

“After allowing to get yourself pregnant by another man I am afraid I cannot let you loose so easily. I don’t want another man to touch what is mine.”

You slumped and rested your head against Zemo’s chest. He smiled at your submission and ran a hand through your hair. He started humming a soft tune that you recognised as a Sokovian lullaby. The soft tune relaxed you and you found yourself slowly closing your eyes. As you drifted off to sleep in Zemo’s arms he rested his chin on top of your head and thought of the future the two of you will have. He wasn’t lying when he said he hated seeing you upset and as long as you did everything he asked the two of you will be very happy together.

He’d make sure of it.

#fanfiction #mcu #fatws #reader insert #request #dark!zemo #dark!zemo x reader #zemo #zemo x reader #dark

114 notes · View notes

kjack89 · 3 years

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 13/14)

When this Author picked up the mantle left behind by the previous Lady Whistledown, it was with the intention of bringing a little levity to the otherwise long and sometimes dull proceedings that encompass the season, and to provide some color commentary that pokes fun at those otherwise generally unwilling to make light of themselves.

To that end, this Author has remarked upon and highlighted the general scandals that accompany this season as every season, the kind that serve to provide some drama to otherwise dull lives, but risk very little in terms of lasting damage.

This Author has never intended for this to cause actual harm, and as such, owes an apology to the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire. This Author does not dabble in morals, or legality; the sole concern of this column has been amusement, and the ruin of two gentlemen otherwise described by most who have met them as good men is something this Author cannot and will not be a part of any longer. While this Author cannot overstate that there was no prior knowledge of the truth behind the Marquess’s marriage, nonetheless the extra attention shone on it by and through this paper has brought harm, and for that, this Author is truly sorry.

While no promises can be made in regards to accidentally reporting similar in the future, this Author will certainly make every attempt to better vet sources before publishing rumor and innuendo. And the promise this Author does make is that the only additional mention of the Marquess of Enjolras or Mr. Grantaire in this paper will be for happy tidings, with best hopes for whatever they may face in the future. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 JUNE 1831

The summons did not arrive with the usual fanfare, so much so that Enjolras almost missed them entirely.

No gilded envelope hand stamped with the King’s own seal, no scarlet-clad guard from the palace delivering it. Just a small, plain parchment envelope instructing Enjolras to attend to His Majesty the King the following day.

In truth, he very nearly almost missed it entirely, since Porter, who normally would have brought him such things, was confined to bed for the immediate future as he recovered – and the surgeon had been quite strict in his instructions. But Grantaire, far less used to having the number of servants Enjolras did, had seen it sitting on the table in the foyer and brought it into the dining room with him when he came in for breakfast.

“This is good news,” he told Grantaire after scanning through the note, though Grantaire didn’t look convinced.

“To be summoned in front of those with the power to strip you of your titles and lands and throw you in the Tower for the rest of your days, unless they decide to chop off your head instead?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Better a meeting with the King and Queen than the constable,” he pointed out. “Besides, there’s a limit to what they can do, and if they’re intervening now, it will serve to prevent the worst from happening.” He stood to leave the breakfast table before pausing and bending to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “In any case, the usual death in this situation would be by hanging, not beheading.”

“Because that’s so comforting a thought,” Grantaire said sourly.

“It should be.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The thought of you being hanged instead of beheaded?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “No, that the King wants to meet with me. I’m not fool enough to think my death by anything other than old age would bring you any comfort.”

Grantaire pretended to consider it. “Going out in a blaze of glory as you attempt to bring the whole damned system to its knees might.”

“Only if you are by my side as proof that I have won you over in the end.”

Grantaire’s expression softened for a moment. “I would die by your side in an instant, but I don’t think that’s proof of anything.” He kissed Enjolras before returning to the subject at hand. “In any case, why should the King wanting to meet with you bring me any comfort whatsoever?”

“Because it means the Crown wants this handled quickly and quietly,” Enjolras said. “Meaning very likely no public trial, and almost certainly no public execution.”

“That would be more comforting without the qualifiers ‘very likely’ and ‘almost certainly’.”

Enjolras sighed. “There is very little in life that is absolutely certain besides death and taxes.”

Grantaire smirked. “And as I have heard you rail about numerous times, the certainty of taxes is not always applied evenly.”

“Do you know, that may be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Enjolras said, grinning at him.

“Oh, hush,” Grantaire said, but he was laughing, and seemed, for the moment at least, to forget his concerns about Enjolras’s impending appointment with the Crown.

They resurfaced in full force the following day as Enjolras adjusted his cravat while waiting for the carriage to pull around. “How do I look?” he asked, and Grantaire cast a baleful eye at him.

“Dressed well enough for a meeting with the King and Queen, and not at all like you’re headed to imprisonment or worse.”

Enjolras managed not to roll his eyes, mostly because he did not think it would help the situation. “Luckily for both us, I highly doubt the latter options will come to pass.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile, just reaching out to take Enjolras’s hand. “Just come back to me,” he whispered.

“I have every intention of doing so,” Enjolras told him, his voice low.

Grantaire sighed. “You know I’m going to be a nervous wreck until you do,” he said. “Just like I am every time you’re in danger, even if normally you’re the idiot who’s put yourself there.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Arguably I’ve put myself in this danger as well.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “We’ve had this argument before,” he said evenly.

“Yes, and I still refuse to cast any blame on you.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “An argument we’ll have to continue another time, it seems.”

Now Enjolras managed a real smile. “Yes, and all the more reason for me to return. You know I hate to leave a fight unfinished.”

“No, you hate to leave a fight unwon,” Grantaire said pointedly, but for the first time all morning, he looked a little less miserable, and Enjolras took that as a small win in and of itself.

“Are they not one and the same?” he asked innocently, leaning in to kiss Grantaire, who stopped him, his face falling again.

“Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras frowned.

“What?”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment before blurting, “I have never once wished you to be less than who you are, and I do not wish it now. The man I love does not back down from a challenge, and his tongue is sharper than any sword.” He paused as if choosing his next words carefully. “But I beg of you, tread lightly. I will not love you less for holding back if it means you survive to fight another day.”

Enjolras did kiss him then, a slow, heated kiss that said hopefully everything he couldn’t bring himself. “I cannot promise my mouth will not get me in trouble. But I do promise I will not deliberately seek it out.” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras gave him a pointed look. “It’s as good a promise as you will get from me.”

“I know.”

“And yet you don’t seem satisfied.”

Grantaire sighed. “I will be satisfied when you are home with me again.”

“And with luck, that will be before you know it,” Enjolras told him bracingly, so convincingly that he almost believed it himself, enough to get him out the door and into the carriage before finally allowing himself to feel the nerves he’d been trying to swallow all morning.

What he had told Grantaire was the truth: this meeting almost certainly meant no real punishment was in store for him.

But he had very little idea of what was in store for him. And that worried him most of all.

----------

Enjolras slowly closed the door behind him, unsurprised when Grantaire immediately appeared from the drawing room, a glass of whiskey in hand, which, judging by the glassiness of his eyes, wasn’t the first he’d had. “Are you ruined?” he asked.

“Define ruined,” Enjolras said, a little grimly.

Grantaire scowled. “Perhaps now is not the time to be glib.”

Enjolras just shook his head as he crossed to him, dropping a kiss on his lips and grabbing the glass of whiskey from his hand, downing it in one gulp. “I wasn’t,” he rasped, handing the glass back to Grantaire and making his way into the drawing room. “The fact is that there is a limit to the punishment I can receive, barring criminal conviction and without an Act of Parliament.” He collapsed onto the couch, reaching up automatically to loosen his cravat. “The Crown has taken what actions it can, which is to say, I am no longer the Viscount of Digne.”

He delivered the words solemnly, but Grantaire just blinked in response. “I did not realize that you were.”

“It is a customary title bestowed upon the current Marquess of Enjolras, with some associated lands,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “Both will be given to more deserving peers, I’m sure.” He hesitated before adding, “Also, none of our issue will be eligible to inherit my title or any lands, save for that which I own outright.”

Grantaire stared blankly at him. “Any of our issue?” he repeated. “As in children?”

Enjolras made a face. “Well, technically my issue. I don’t think the Crown cares so much about yours.” He cleared his throat. “But if I were to remarry and sire children, none of those children would inherit.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “And what are the chances of that?”

“Absolutely none,” Enjolras said, barking a dry laugh. “The King has also told me that my services to his Court will no longer be necessary, meaning my various ceremonial duties will doled out to others and my power at Court, so to speak, is diminished. Beyond that, I retain my title of Marquess and associated lands and riches, which means I will lead a very comfortable life.” He reached out for Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together before raising his hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “With you at my side, and without having to hide. So to answer your question, no, I don’t consider that ruin. I consider that a gift.”

Grantaire looked relieved, but he still hesitated. “Even though I will be almost certainly landless and penniless?” he asked, and when Enjolras just frowned at him, he sighed and elaborated, “I doubt highly my father will continue to grant me my allowance and use of the houses when he receives Le Cabuc’s letter.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand. “The Enjolras purse has sustained this family for generations. There’s more than enough left to take care of the man I love.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Yet you don’t seem completely satisfied. What else did the King say?”

“Well—”

Before Enjolras could elaborate further, someone cleared her throat from the doorway, and they both turned to look at Enjolras’s mother, who looked unusually somber. “Am I interrupting?”

On instinct alone, Enjolras started to pull his hand away from Grantaire’s, but Grantaire held tight, squaring his shoulders as he met Enjolras’s mother’s expression coolly. “As a matter of fact, you are. Your son and I are having a private conversation.”

He turned back to Enjolras, who tried not to laugh at the look on his mother’s face. But to his surprise, his mother did not immediately snap some dismissive rebuttal, instead inclining her head slightly. “And you have my apologies for intruding, especially at this trying time. But I need to speak to my son, alone, especially in light of his recent visit to the palace.”

Enjolras wasn’t surprised that she had somehow heard about his summons. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me,” Grantaire said firmly. “Your son and I are sharing our lives, and that includes dealing with whatever family affairs you’ve brought with you.” He again turned to look at her. “And need I remind you, your part in our deception has not yet been revealed, but I will be more than happy to tell anyone and everyone who will listen what drove your son to the desperation of a fake marriage in the first place. I doubt highly your friends among the nobility will be impressed by what they learn.”

Enjolras’s mother’s lips pursed, but again, Enjolras was completely thrown by her response. “Thank you,” she said simply, and Grantaire’s cold expression slipped as he glanced over at Enjolras, who just shrugged. “I can see that you are protective of my son, and while I may not appreciate your tone, I do appreciate knowing that my son has found someone who loves him as...vigorously as you clearly do.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, but Enjolras cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he told Grantaire, squeezing his hand once more. “I trust her enough to have a conversation with her, and I can fight my own battles as needed.”

“Are you certain?” Grantaire asked in an undertone, eyeing Enjolras’s mother warily. “I believe you can fight your own battles, but it’s her I don’t trust…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately. “I have managed this long,” he assured him.

“Fine.” Grantaire stood, but before leaving, he bent and kissed Enjolras, a long, slow kiss that Enjolras was fairly certain was for his mother’s benefit more than his own.

Not that he minded, since getting to kiss Grantaire and enrage his mother in the same blow was as close to perfection as Enjolras was likely to see in his lifetime.

Then Grantaire straightened again and winked at Enjolras before finally leaving, sidling past his mother with little more than a second glance. For her part, his mother looked mostly impassive at the display she had just witnessed, and she finally fully entered the room, perching imperiously on the armchair. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for tea,” she said with a sniff.

Enjolras barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “You might have heard that my butler was attacked,” he said sourly. “I’m sorry if him being laid up recovering from being shot is inconvenient to you.”

“I did hear about Porter, yes, but that’s not to what I was referring,” she said. “Have the servants started fleeing en masse?”

“None have yet offered their resignations, if that’s what you mean,” Enjolras said.

“Of course it’s what I mean,” she snapped. “This is a tainted household now – I doubt most will want to stay. Especially as they’ve no way to ingratiate themselves with whomever the next Marquess will be.” Her lips pursed again. “Do you even know which distant relative is your heir, now that you will almost certainly never sire children of your own?”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “A third cousin, isn’t it? Lives somewhere out in the west, if memory serves.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“You once told me all about him when I threatened to abdicate after Father died,” Enjolras said mildly. “You seemed to think it would convince me to think otherwise.”

“Clearly it did.”

Enjolras laughed dryly. “I hate to tell you, Mother, but that actually played a very small part in my decision.”

She scowled. “Perhaps you should have abdicated back then. It may have made for an easier transition for all involved.”

“Perhaps so,” Enjolras said honestly, as it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind. “But we are well past that point now.”

“In more ways than one.” She paused, giving him a searching look. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to convince you to reconsider.”

Enjolras shook his head. “None.”

His mother nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then that’s the end of it.”

Enjolras hesitated, before saying, as casually as he could manage, “You seem…decidedly less surprised by this whole situation than I would expect.”

“What precisely is there to be surprised about?” she asked.

There were any number of things that Enjolras had expected her to be either shocked or scandalized by, let alone surprised, but the look on her face stopped him. “You mean…you knew?”

“That you were…otherwise inclined?” she provided delicately. “Of course I knew. A mother always knows.” Her expression twisted. “Though I rather hoped you would grow out of it, or at least do the sensible thing and marry a woman while seeking your amusement elsewhere.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I’m not certain I see that as the sensible thing.”

She considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But more sensible than being stripped of your lands and titles.”

“Not all my lands, or all my titles,” Enjolras told her. “The Viscount of Digne is the only major one.”

She made a face. “No real loss there, the bishop in that area rules it with an iron fist and will probably be glad to see the backside of our family.”

Enjolras trusted her to know more about it than he did or frankly cared to. “And there’s a few minor lands that will be redistributed but for the most part, Grantaire and I have made it out unscathed.”

Again his mother made a face. “I don’t know that I would go that far—”

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Enjolras muttered.

“—But all things considered, it could have been much worse.”

On that, at least, she was correct. “And I’m certain you’ll be glad to know that your own holdings will not be affected, nor your allowance,” he told her. “And Grantaire is letting you keep the dowry.”

That seemed to surprise her. “That is...generous of him,” she allowed, before frowning at her son. “But you speak as if all you think I care about is money.”

Enjolras just arched an eyebrow. “You have given me little evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Caring about the well-being of my only son isn’t evidence enough?”

He managed not to roll his eyes, but just barely. “Faux sincerity isn’t your strong suit, Mother,” he informed her. “If you wish to convince me, you’ll have to try a different tack.”

To his surprise, she laughed lightly. “Maybe I will, when all the dust has settled,” she said, standing and brushing invisible dust from her skirt before telling him, “I will be leaving the city for the near future, and possibly even the country for a bit. I need my friends and allies at court to think that I was not party to this.”

“You weren’t,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowed. “And you are certainly at liberty to tell anyone you need to as such.”

“I have, and I will,” she said. “But I will also not outwardly condemn you the way they would wish, and that to some is enough to make them think otherwise.”

For the first time in what Enjolras was certain was his entire life, he was speechless. He had frankly expected her to do exactly that in order to maintain her social standing. “You could,” he blurted, ignoring the raised eyebrow she gave him. “Condemn us, I mean. I would not hold it against you if you did.”

“You and I both know that you absolutely would,” she said dryly. “But more than that, you are my son. For all your faults and all our disagreements, public and otherwise, that has never changed. And it will not change now.”

Enjolras was again taken aback by what she said. “Thank you,” he managed, before adding, a little wryly, “I think.”

A small smile crossed her face. “You’re welcome, I think. And now I should leave you to the start of your new life.”

She turned to head to the door, clearly deeming her role in this complete for the time being, but Enjolras stopped her, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you think of Grantaire?” he asked. “Now that you know what he is to me.”

She looked back at him, surprised. “You have never sought my approval before.”

“And I’m not seeking it now,” Enjolras said. “Just curious what you think.”

She nodded slowly. “He is not who I would have chosen for you,” she said after a long moment. “But then again, this life is not what I would have chosen for you.”

It was no more than what Enjolras had expected, but before he could say anything, she continued, “I know what you think of me, that you think me cold, and vain, and cruel. And there is certainly more than a little truth to that.” He looked up at her sharply, surprised by this most of all. “I know I shall always play the role of villain in your story. But despite what you may think, I have only ever wanted you to be happy.” She hesitated. “And it makes me terribly sad to know you have chosen a path where the world very well may never let you be happy.”

Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “The difference between you and I, Mother, is that I have never needed the approval of the world to be happy.” He gave her a sharp smile. “Hang what anyone else thinks. So long as I have Grantaire, we will make our own happiness.”

She returned his smile. “I do not doubt that you will. As I said before, you two make quite the pair, and whatever else you may think, I am glad that you two found each other.”

With that, she left, and Enjolras sat where he was for a long moment, digesting everything that had transpired. This had been a day of surprises, from his meeting with the King and Queen to now his conversation with his mother, and he shook his head slowly before standing to go find Grantaire.

He found him in the library, sitting sideways in an oversized armchair, his legs draped over the arm of the chair as he skimmed through a book with seemingly little interest. He brightened when he saw Enjolras come in, tipping his head up automatically for a kiss. “Is she gone?” he asked as Enjolras settled onto the sofa across from him.

“For now, yes.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “But not forever?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not even this scandal was enough to be rid of her forever. But I am...strangely not as bothered by that thought as I once would have been.”

Grantaire blinked. “Did she hit you on the head while she was in there with you?”

“Something like that, anyway,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But enough about my mother. Where were we?”

He eyed Grantaire appreciatively, mentally trying to determine the mechanics of what they could do with him in that position, and Grantaire scowled. “Certainly not doing that,” he informed him, sitting upright. “You were finishing telling me about your audience with the King and Queen.”

“Oh. Right.” Enjolras shrugged and looked away. “Well, the Archbishop is apparently pushing for us to be excommunicated.”

Grantaire snorted. “Does that mean I no longer have to go to church?” he asked idly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, among other things. But there’s an issue.”

“What’s that?”

“We could be imprisoned if we’re excommunicated, for a start.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow. “Just as we could be imprisoned for sodomy?”

Enjolras made a face. “The Crown has no intention of pursuing those charges,” he said. “But getting excommunicated could lend credence to future attempts at levying those charges, at likely the least opportune time.”

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “Well. We’ve faced worse prospects.”

Enjolras frowned. “You seem remarkably blasé about the prospect of excommunication, considering how concerned you’ve been about the possibility of imprisonment or worse for the other charges.”

“Mostly because you don’t seem particularly worried about it, and I imagine if this were an actual threat, you’d be somewhat less calm,” Grantaire said evenly. “Besides, I had several glasses of whiskey while you were out so it will take quite a bit for me to get riled at this point.”

“You didn’t seem to have any difficulty getting riled at my mother,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire smiled grimly. “That was a more immediate danger.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Well, you’re not wrong about this not being an actual threat, I suppose. The Monarchy has little desire to create a public spectacle via excommunication and as the Head of the Church, I imagine that’s the end of the matter.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Does that mean you’re actually going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Excommunication isn’t enough?” Enjolras asked, mostly rhetorically, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed. “Fine… I need to get word to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. We have much to discuss ahead of our next meeting.”

“Are you purposefully avoiding the question, or…?”

“I promise I am not,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “But they need to know, because this concerns all of us.” He paused, trying to figure out how to word what he needed to tell both Grantaire and his closest lieutenants. “I was...as surprised as any that the King did not wish to pursue any additional punitive matters. As a whole, the punishment dealt to me is mild, to say the least. And what troubles me is the reason he gave for why.”

Grantaire frowned. “He gave you a reason?”

Enjolras barked a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, he gave me many. Most were mere platitudes, that out of respect for the service of my father, he would take no additional measures, etcetera, but he also alluded to his hope that our...situation would not inconvenience my political work.” He cleared his throat before adding sardonically, “That he hoped our allies would not abandon us with my public declaration of depravity.”

“And you suspect he actually hopes the opposite,” Grantaire said slowly.

Enjolras nodded. “I’m not going to pretend that my political sympathies are or have ever been well-received at court, and I think most were content to look the other way and pretend that the protests and political actions were the fun side project of an otherwise bored noble. Something I would grow out of in time. But now…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire’s expression turned grim. “Now they might not be so content to look the other way.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed. “And if I or any of our number were to get arrested—”

“Arrested again, you mean,” Grantaire said with the hint of a smile that Enjolras did not return.

“—My position is no longer enough to stave off any significant consequences.”

Grantaire went very still. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning I may not be ruined. We may not be ruined. But Les Amis may be.”

----------

In lieu of coming over to Enjolras’s to discuss the situation, Combeferre suggested via return message that they call a special meeting of Les Amis. “That seems unusual,” Grantaire murmured, his brow furrowed as he read over the brief message. “Why would they not just come here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Perhaps they don’t want to be seen entering a den of sin,” he said, more blithely than he remotely felt.

“Jest all you wish, but you cannot pretend the thought hasn’t entered your mind,” Grantaire said. “Not that I believe any of our friends will turn on us entirely, but they are all trying to make marriages of their own, and to be tainted by association…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras just shook his head. “That is their prerogative, and I will not hold it against any man to abide by his conscience.”

“Or by the prospect of increasing his purse?” Grantaire asked sourly.

Enjolras shrugged again. “If that is truly their reasoning, I doubt highly we would be associates for much longer in any case.”

Still, it was with an unusual amount of trepidation that they approached the Musain, and Enjolras hesitated before instructing his driver to drop them off at the back of the building by the worker’s entrance. “I do not doubt they would still receive us at the front entrance,” he told Grantaire. “I am, after all, still a marquess and a certain amount of respect must be paid. But I would rather not put them in that position all the same.”

Grantaire managed a wan smile. “You need not explain yourself to me,” he said. “I understand as well as any that the situation is complicated.”

Enjolras glanced at him. “Speaking of,” he said carefully, “have you heard yet from your father?”

“No.” Grantaire’s tone was clipped as he avoided meeting Enjolras’s eyes, looking out the carriage window instead. “I have not heard from him one way or another, so I have no indication if he has yet received Le Cabuc’s letter.”

“Could Le Cabuc have been bluffing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it,” he said. “He always did prefer my father to me.” He hesitated before adding, “I thought I might make a preemptive trip back to the house and gather some belongings. Just some personal effects, and things from my mother and sister that I would rather not lose to my father’s whims.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That is probably not a terrible idea.” He hesitated before asking, “Do you wish for me to accompany you?”

“I suspect that would cause more problems than it’s worth,” Grantaire said. “If I go by myself, I can hopefully slip in and out mostly unnoticed.”

Enjolras had expected that answer, but he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting, just a little. “Of course.”

Something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face, but Grantaire’s expression softened as he added, “Which doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love for you to return with me, or that I won’t miss you dreadfully while I’m gone.”

“But this is the reality of the life we’ve chosen,” Enjolras said heavily. “Going in the servants’ entrance to avoid being seen. Travelling incognito to not cause a scene. Less visitors or invitations to visit because people won’t wish to be associated with us.”

Grantaire eyed him warily. “I feel as though you are trying to make a point.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Just that I do not care about any of those things. But I would understand if you did, and if the reality of our life together does not align with what you may otherwise have expected.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed. “How many times must you and I have this conversation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I wish that you had chosen a better life for yourself than one stuck with me, who was always titleless and is about to be in short order landless and penniless to boot, just as you wish I had chosen a better life for myself,” Grantaire said, a little impatiently. “But you and I both know that the best choice, the only choice, is each other and whatever accompanies that.”

Enjolras laughed as well, feeling a little relieved that they were on the same page in terms of what mattered. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Grantaire said smugly before reaching for Enjolras’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Une vie et un amour, remember?”

“Fidelitas usque ad mortem,” Enjolras said, his voice low, and Grantaire smiled.

“And I still aim to be.”

Together, they stepped down from the carriage and made their way into the Musain through the backdoor. The workers they passed barely gave them second glances, though Enjolras assumed that was likely because they recognized them as frequent patrons, and knew better than to stop or question them.

But despite arriving almost a half hour before the meeting Combeferre had called was set to begin, when they reached the backroom, they could hear the buzz of voices through the closed door. Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Has the meeting already begun?”

“It certainly appears that way,” Enjolras said, feeling inexplicably nervous as he stared at the closed door, straining to hear what was being said beyond it.

“Did Combeferre not say that it would start at 9?”

Enjolras nodded. “He did, but…” He trailed off, not willing to vocalize his doubts. Instead, he squared his shoulders and opened the door, walking in with Grantaire at his side. Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood at the front of the room, the rest of their number assembled, all looking unusually somber, and all conversation stalled as soon as they looked back at Enjolras. “Forgive the interruption,” Enjolras said coolly, closing the door behind him. “I did not realize the hour of our meeting had changed.”

“It didn’t,” Combeferre said, his expression impassive. “But there was certain business we felt we should attend to before your arrival.”

“What sort of business?” Grantaire asked with a frown.

Combeferre did not seem deterred by his tone. “The business of determining if your continued membership amongst our association is beneficial or a detriment, mostly.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking in his chest. “Well, don’t let us impede your discussion.”

“We have nothing left to discuss,” Courfeyrac interjected. “All that remains is to vote.”

Grantaire reached out and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together firmly. Combeferre cleared his throat. “All those in favor of expelling Enjolras and Grantaire from our number due to their sexual deviance and the threat that it poses to Les Amis and our efforts?”

Not a single hand rose in the air, and Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand.

“And all those opposed?”

As one, all of their friends raised their hands before standing and applauding. Joly and Bossuet were positively beaming, Courfeyrac wolf-whistled, and Combeferre stepped forward to embrace Enjolras. “There was never any doubt which way the vote would go,” he told Enjolras, “but I knew you would not be satisfied if there was no vote at all.”

“Besides, if we start exiling people for buggery, there are more than a few of us who would be in trouble,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully as he embraced Enjolras as well.

“Hear, hear,” Bahorel chortled.

Joly took Bossuet’s hand and squeezed it. “Grantaire helped us avoid a scandal of our own, and we owe him our loyalty,” he said. “Besides which, I swore to go through fire for you, and I would not forsake that oath lightly.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Enjolras said quietly, his chest tight with emotion.

Grantaire squeezed his hand once more before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “It appears I am not the only one who understands the meaning of loyalty until death.” Enjolras wordlessly squeezed his hand in return and Grantaire smiled at him before asking Courfeyrac, “But one of our number is missing, is he not? Where is your erstwhile roommate this evening?”

“Oh, he has found the girl he was looking for,” Courfeyrac said airily. “It turns out your little announcement was good for more than one thing – she was the one who swooned in his arms!”

Much laughter greeted that announcement and Enjolras shook his head. “Leave it to Marius…” he started before trailing off, glancing around the room at the smiling faces of each of his friends, all those whom he loved most in this world. “Thank you all,” he said softly. “I know this will not be easy, but I appreciate your continued faith and love.”

“Our goal has always been to fight against oppressive powers in whatever form,” Combeferre told him. “And condemning men based on consensual acts in their bed chamber would be playing into that oppression.”

“Just promise us one thing,” Bossuet interjected.

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “What’s what?”

“No funny business,” Bossuet said, mock-sternly. “No suddenly agreeing with everything the other says just because it’s your lover saying it.”

Again everyone laughed and Enjolras shook his head good-naturedly. “I don’t think we’re in much danger of that.”

“After all,” Grantaire added slyly, “what I love far more than him agreeing with me is that delightful shade of red he gets when he so vehemently disagrees with me. Who am I to give that up now?”

“In truth,” Enjolras said when the laughter again died down, “we aim to keep things as much the same as we can.”

“And we’ll be relying on you lot to keep it that way,” Grantaire said.

“There’s one other promise we would ask,” Feuilly said, glancing around. “Or at least, that I would ask.”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly, at Feuilly’s far more serious tone. “If it is in our power to grant it, we will.”

“No more lies.” There were a few murmurs of agreement that Feuilly waited to die down before continuing, “There is not a man among us who does not understand the reason for your deception, but we in this room are brothers, and we deserve the truth no matter what consequence it may bring.”

Grantaire took Enjolras’s hand once more and squeezed it before affirming, “No more lies. We owe not just you the truth from here on out, but each other as well. And it’s the very least that we can give in return for your generosity and personal sacrifices.”

“In that case, let us open the wine and get the celebration started,” Jehan called, standing up on his chair to be seen. “To Enjolras and Grantaire!”

“To Enjolras and Grantaire!” everyone repeated, whatever glasses they had in hand, and Enjolras rolled his eyes with obvious affection before leaning in and kissing Grantaire as everyone cheered.

Grantaire was grinning as he pulled away, and that sight alone was enough to make everything they had endured and everything that they had left to endure absolutely worth it in Enjolras’s opinion. But before he could say anything to that effect to Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet grabbed Grantaire by both arms, tugging him away. “You owe us more than mere truth,” Joly said, with an almost evil grin. “You owe us details.”

“Exactly,” Bossuet said, wearing a matching smile. “And we want to hear all about your first time bedding Enjolras.”

“We promised the truth, not all the gory details,” Grantaire protested, making a pleading face at Enjolras, who just laughed.

Before he could rescue him, Combeferre pulled him aside. “I wanted a moment, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

Enjolras clapped him on the shoulder. “For you, my friend, never. Especially as I believe I owe you especially an apology for our deceit.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I understand it more now,” he said. “And honestly, I’m surprised I did not put the pieces together earlier.”

“Grantaire said he was always a little obvious, even if I never noticed either,” Enjolras said good-naturedly.

But Combeferre just shook his head. “Grantaire may have been, but it’s you I should have noticed.”

“Me?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Looking back on it, all the clues were there, least of all how you allowed Grantaire to stay, not just for meetings, but well into the night when you were ostensibly working, a privilege bestowed on no one else. And I cannot help but think that if I had noticed sooner, we would have had more time to plan, to minimize the fallout.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “My friend, you could have told me until you were blue in the face that I was completely and obviously in love with Grantaire, and I would never have believed you,” he said. “It was something I needed to figure out with him.” He made a face. “Though you are right that I should have told you sooner, before we made our announcement, so that plans could have been made in advance, and for that, I do owe you an apology.”

“One that I readily accept,” Combeferre told him. “And the only recompense I ask from you is the answer to this: are you happy?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, without even needing to consider it. “More so than I thought was possible, or at least probable.”

Combeferre gave him a wide, genuine smile. “Then the rest we will deal with when or if the time comes.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt tight with emotion, with the weight of how much his friends cared for him and Grantaire. “I truly do not know how to thank you, how to thank everyone, for what you have given Grantaire and myself.”

“There is no need to thank us,” Combeferre said. “Especially since you have given us something equally precious.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are free,” Combeferre said simply. “And that gives the rest of us hope.”

----------

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief mingled with happiness as he sat down in the waiting carriage. Grantaire clambered in after him, and sat down on the bench next to him instead of sitting across from him. “That went well.”

“That went far better than well,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “Surely you did not expect Combeferre or Courfeyrac to abandon you, or honestly any of our friends.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “In truth, I did not know what to expect.” He nudged Grantaire gently. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Whatever for?”

“For making my life complete,” Enjolras said honestly. “And so completely happy.”

Grantaire smiled at him, his eyes shining even in the dim light of the carriage, but he promptly ruined the moment by asking, “How much wine did you drink?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I had half a glass at best,” he protested. “Not nearly enough to undermine my sincerity. Nor my conviction that somehow, against all odds and, frankly, against our own efforts to the contrary, everything for us is turning out better than I ever could have imagined, let alone hoped.”

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “We have been extraordinarily lucky,” he murmured.

“We have been,” Enjolras agreed, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “We have our friends, and we have each other. Whatever else comes our way, so long as we still have that, we will be fine.”

“More than fine,” Grantaire corrected, raising Enjolras’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Our future will be happy. Of that, I am as certain as anything.”

“Being in love really has changed you if you suddenly start espousing convictions,” Enjolras teased.

But Grantaire just smiled at him. “It’s changed us both.”

“For the better?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire kissed him, a gentle, sweet kiss that was a promise of more to come. “For the best.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #les amis #bridgerton au #canon era #regency au #chaptered #part 13 #fake marriage

27 notes · View notes

pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Happy Anniversary

Title: Happy Anniversary

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: It’s their anniversary, he would be expecting something special

Rating: 18+

Warnings: It’s porn. Also, poor descriptions of pole dancing, property damage, insinuation of overstimulation and dirty talk.

Edited to add a cut. My bad.

He's expecting me to do something for him. He's been hinting at it for weeks now. He was nice enough to set up the pole for me in the spare room so I had a place to practice during quarantine. Our anniversary is coming up. It would be the perfect time. There's just one problem.

I have yet to master anything resembling a sexy move on that pole. He would be expecting his own personal stripper that he gets to sleep with. That's a pretty normal fantasy to have. Surely I could come up with a routine that would at least give the illusion of knowing what I'm doing, right?

Maybe he should just lower his expectations. That seems like the easier route to go. Certainly easier than me admitting I hadn't been able to actually make much progress with the whole 'fitness stripping' thing I had tried. He always preaches about self discipline and just going and doing your fitness routine. Unfortunately, my routine had the habit of turning into me just watching pole dancers on YouTube and barely putting any effort into it myself. Turns out it takes a lot more upper body strength than I had first thought.

"Just a little something. Show me how much progress you've made."

"I haven't made too much 'progress' to be honest." I mumbled, chewing on my lower lip.

"Well, show me what you can do." Of course. Always so encouraging and supportive. Couldn't he be a jerk, scoff at me, roll his eyes and drop the subject just this once?

"It's really not much." I admitted, reluctantly grabbing the pole. I kicked my leg out and fell back, catching the pole with the back of my knee and spinning almost gracefully to the ground.

"See? You're doing great."

"Don't get too excited, that's the most interesting thing I can do."

"Don't say things like that. You're doing great."

Always so damn encouraging. He's going to give me the confidence I don't have the upper body strength to back up. Just a fun little pirouette then. No air time involved. Just hold the pole up high, spin under my arm and lean back against it. Flirty little wink for some flair.

"You know more than you're letting on." He hummed. Even from my place halfway across the room, I could see his pupils taking over his eyes. Ok, now I'm definitely getting over confident. I jumped up, catching the pole between my legs and going for a spin. In my head, I went around the pole flawlessly and landed delicately back on my feet. In reality my grip slipped and I ended up on my butt with chafed thighs halfway through my spin.

"Are you alright?" Henry asked around a suppressed laugh, crouching down to check on me, fighting back a smile.

"Turns out, that's a lot harder than it looks."

"You did really good?"

"I wasn't supposed to end up on my ass."

"I didn't think so. Care to try again?"

"No, I'm mad now." I pouted, crossing my arms like an overgrown toddler. I'm sure the booty shorts and sports bra complemented the look nicely.

"One more shot. I'm sure you can do it."

"It's harder than it looks!"

"You were so close."

"If you think it's so easy, you try it."

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What do you tell me about making excuses?" Oh yeah, that shut his argument right down.

"Tell me what to do then." I really wish I had my phone with me to record this. My giant of a boyfriend trying to spin around a pole.

"Fine then, Mr. Its-not-that-hard. Grab up high with one hand, Higher, almost at a full extension. Grab on with your other hand at chest level. Then jump, catch it between your knees and keep your momentum going counterclockwise. That's the way that pole rotates."

"Sounds easy enough." Henry mumbled, tilting his head and eying up the pole. He practiced the motion he wanted his legs to do few times before giving it a go. I'm honestly unsure if he did it. Once his weight hit the pole and it began to spin, the tension proved to be unsuitable for a man of his size and he ended up on his back with a nice new hole in the wall from the top of the pole.

"Are you ok?" I asked timidly, staring at the carnage that had been created. The ceiling would need repaired. So would the wall. Also, my boyfriend's ego.

"That's going to be a lot of work to fix." Henry groaned, pushing the pole off.

"May I interest you in a sexy nurse fantasy instead?"

"By all means."

"Does it hurt here?" I asked innocently, rubbing his ankles.

"Nope." Henry hummed, laying back and letting his eyes drift closed.

"What about here?" I continued, my hands running up his calves to his knees.

"Little sore." Henry admitted as I pushed his knees further apart, crawling up between them. I squeezed gently, careful to avoid the ticklish spot I knew was at the tops of his kneecaps.

"How about up here?" I questioned, my hands sliding up his thighs, fingertips brushing under his shorts.

"Definitely more tense." We should have tried the whole 'nurse' thing in the first place. I am much better at groping than I am at pole dancing. I slid my hands out of his shorts and grabbed them by the waistband, Henry was more than happy to lift his hips to let me pull them down.

"Oh, I think I see some swelling." I teased, ghosting my fingers up his rapidly stiffening cock.

"Maybe you should kiss it better." Henry suggested, raising that damn eyebrow at me. That wasn't fair. He knew that eyebrow had the power to make me do just about anything.

"Maybe a massage will help the swelling." I countered, actively restraining myself from licking my lips.

"By all means." Henry chuckled, his eyes sliding closed, content to just feel for the time being.

I gripped loosely at the base, slowly sliding up to the tip, my thumb brushing through the glistening drop that had collected there. Another slow stroke back down, grinning to myself at his groan. I knew it wasn't enough, it was too slow, too gentle. Henry liked it when I was more rough with him, though he was always sure to be gentle with me, terrified that his brute strength would be more than I could handle. Like my pussy wasn't meant to take a pounding. Not today. I already had him on his back.

With one clumsy hand I managed to wiggle free of my shorts and underwear while continuing my slow torture of his cock I threw my leg over his and shifted my weight to straddle his thick thighs in one quick motion.

"Having fun?" Henry chuckled, his hands gently taking my hips.

"Yes, I am." I giggled, releasing his cock and shifting up, dragging him through my swollen petals, moaning softly at the feel of him. Fuck going slow. I needed him now. I gripped him by the base, lining him up and sinking down in one quick, fluid motion, Henry bucking below me, his eyes opening wide.

"Fuck sake, woman." He gasped, gripping my hips firmly to keep me in place.

"Want it now." I whined, clenching around him to try and gain more sensation than just him stretching me wide open. No matter how many times he took me, he always stole my breath with his sheer size alone, forcing me to mould to him and take every inch he had to offer.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Henry scolded, his voice strained by my squeezing.

"No I won't." I pouted, pushing his hands away. I knew he could have easily held on if he wanted to, but he bent to my wishes and allowed me to take control just this once. I was taking no mercy this time. I set a punishing pace, bouncing on him like my life depended on it, spurred on further by his litany of curses. He felt so good, stretching me out, filling me so completely, the head of his cock slamming against my cervix every time I fell down on him.

"Fuck, slow down." Henry groaned, grabbing my hips again. "You're so damn tight, give me a second."

"No." I whined, squirming unhappily in his grasp. "I was getting close!"

"Fuck, so was I." Henry growled, flipping us over all to easily, rising up onto his knees, his forearms going beneath my knees to hold me up where he wanted me. "You think it's easy fucking this tight little pussy? Fuck, every time I just want to pound into you as fast and as hard as I can. Feel so fucking good around me. Need to take care of you first. I'm not cumming alone. Now touch yourself. Let me watch you get yourself off, and maybe then I'll finish fucking you."

That was all the encouragement I needed for my hand to shoot down, pressing against my needy bundle of nerves, rubbing in tight, quick circles. My other hand drifted to my breast, pinching and pulling on my nipple just like I knew he would. I looked up, moaning loudly when I saw him watching me intently, licking his lips slowly.

I squeezed around him, hoping to spur him into motion, but he held firm. He didn't move an inch, refusing to give me the friction I wanted. That didn't stop me from reaching my high, my back arching and his name falling from my lips. He started slamming into me the second I came undone, pushing me further into my bliss.

"That's my girl." He praised, his hips snapping into me, the sounds of our panting and slapping skin filling the room. "Fuck, so tight. Always so tight." He slid his arms from beneath my legs, letting them wrap around his waist so he could lean in, pressing his lips to mine in a hungry kiss, his hips never stopping their punishing pace.

This man was going to kill me. There was no other explanation for what was happening. He was literally planning on fucking me to death. It felt like a fire was building in my belly from how quickly I was hurtling towards the edge again.

"Come on. One more. Don't make me finish alone." Henry encouraged, his hand sliding between us now for his thumb to rub hard, slow circles on my already over sensitized clit. That was all it took for me to finish again, my nails digging into his shoulders as I tried to pull him deeper into me, Henry all too happy to oblige as he found his own release.

"Happy anniversary." Henry whispered in my ear once our breathing had slowed almost back to normal.

"Happy anniversary."

Tag List:

@Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill rpf #unnamed ofc

95 notes · View notes

betafibiiiiiivviiixiiixxixxxiv · 3 years

Text

so i saw a take about eula that made me mad so here’s my (biased) rant about her

i’m pro-end user license agreement, i think she’s cute, not just appearance-wise but personality-wise too

(didn’t pull her tho bc the kinda obvious powercreeping made me salty, might pull her when her rerun comes around just to have her and not level her)

but basically the gist of this rant is gonna be i think people unfairly mischaracterize her and i’m gonna talk about why i think she’s a good bean based on the two things about her that i’ve seen people mention they dislike the most: the way she talks and her relationship to/feelings about her family

disclaimer: a lot of this is my opinion and my interpretation of her character, probably has a lot of typos

this will probably be really like

incomprehensible i’m tired sorry but i’ll try to make sense

okay so

a lot of people from what i’ve seen dislike eula bc of the way she talks, but at least try to understand why she might talk the way she does

putting aside the reason why she talked the way she did to the people of mondstadt during her story quest (i’ll get to that later), let’s talk about her whole focus on vengeance first

imo her whole thing about vengeance is a shield of sorts for her

many of the people of mondstadt would only ever see her as a descendant of the lawrence clan, someone who means to do mondstadt harm

so might as well give them what they expect, even if it’s not what you really mean

her story in her character profile even says this

“Her grievances and vengeance are but a habit, a signal, a shield.

“What remarks she should just laugh off, what concepts she should bear in mind given her unique circumstances and position...“

one has to remember that eula is a descendant of the lawrence clan, a clan that is hated in mondstadt bc of how corrupted they became during the era of the aristocracy

it’s likely that when she was a child she was ostracized even though the sins of her family, her ancestors, aren’t her own

even if she wanted to make friends with the other children of mondstadt, they were probably too distrustful of her

in her story in her character profile, there’s no mention of jean or diluc in regards to her past, but amber is mentioned to have been her friend even before eula joined the knights of favnious

it’s likely amber was one of her few friends growing up, if not her only friend

and amber is a pretty easy-going and welcoming person; she probably didn’t care about the way eula spoke all that much and bc they’re friends she understands the feelings eula hides behind her seemingly contentious words

anyways about her and the people of mondstadt

the people of mondstadt only see the family she’s a part of; they don’t see her

from her profile story:

“Eula has been viewed with contempt by the citizens of Mondstadt since birth. The Lawrence name stands for a legacy of depravity and despotism that stains Mondstadt's past and scars the minds of its citizens even to this day.

“So, whenever Eula appears, old wounds resurface. People despise the aristocracy, and this does no favors for her reputation.”

“In truth, Eula is nothing like the fearsome predator many imagine her to be. On the contrary, constantly being met with prejudice at every turn means she is often the victim.

“At one time, shops would refuse to sell her their goods, restaurants would put no care and attention into her orders, and the citizens on her patrol route would refuse to cooperate with her. So, Eula's work is fraught with difficulties.“

and in her voicelines:

“The life of a Lawrence doesn't include much worth talking about... Basically, whatever you say, whatever you do, people will always despise you and treat you like a potential threat to society. It's nowhere near as bad as it used to be, though. Before I'd joined the Knights, good grief... I couldn't even buy groceries. Even Good Hunter and Mondstadt General Goods wouldn't take my money.”

“People tell me that if I just spoke more softly, or was more polite, or acted more deferentially, others may find it easier to forgive me, but the only reason they think that way is because they've never been branded a pariah before. There is no easy path to redemption when you're a social pariah. I'm more inclined to stop tiptoeing around everyone all the time and just get out there and make them respect me the old-fashioned way! As in, we square off and if they win, I humbly accept my punishment, but if they lose, they must acquiesce to my demands... Such as... Well, I mean, if I want to buy a loaf of bread, take my darn money, for crying out loud!“

the people of mondstadt wronged her and were mean to her simply bc of the blood that runs through her veins, and i think it’s bc of that she says that she’ll have her vengeance

imo her act of vengeance against the people of mondstadt is being a faultless knight, a knight who completes their duties flawlessly and is without reproach

from her story in her profile:

“...she is a law-abiding citizen and has never harmed another Mondstadter in her life. She may come across as having a somewhat frosty demeanor, but she is entirely scrupulous in her speech and conduct.”

“When Jean sends a new recruit to track down Eula in the wilds and deliver a new set of verbal orders, they always receive the same response: ‘If you have to resort to tasking the descendant of your former oppressors with doing your work, then perhaps you are not as strong as I thought’

“But despite the antagonism in her words, she will complete her newly assigned tasks to perfection. The new recruit is invariably forced to admit that with her abilities, it is no wonder she was able to achieve a captaincy within just a few years of joining the Knights.“

and honestly i just think she’s a tsundere

my evidence, your honor?

her “About Us: Feud” voiceline:

“Our feud is for the long term, so rather than get payback on a piecemeal basis, I think I'll make things easier for myself and wait for a day when I can settle the score once and for all. It could be in ten years, could even be twenty... But don't worry, I won't forget. In the meantime, I'll need you to take good care of yourself and have a happy, healthy life, okay?”

anyways about the way she spoke in her story quest

one first has to learn that this was what she was taught that way since she was young

reading up on the lawrence family based on her profile story, the renmants of the lawrence family are pretty much a cult i think

“The Lawrence Clan may have been overthrown a long time ago, but they have never given up hope of one day rising again and reclaiming their place as the ruling class. So that they are always prepared for this monumental moment, their offspring are subjected to an educational regime so unbelievably harsh that it is considered borderline abusive.

“’Noble obligations’ must be performed to absolute perfection in every possible sense, and these obligations cover etiquette, ritual, and study as well as cooking and other domestic chores.”

and also

she clearly doesn’t talk that way all the time?

personally the reason i think the mondstadters we talked to were like ‘ugh, this again?’ is bc all of the lawrence clan does it, and eula is part of the lawrence clan so it’s like, expected of her to talk that way

but the main reason she talked that way was to give an example to the traveler

she didn’t talk that way to us when we first met her, and she didn’t talk that way to amber and sarah

and some people think she still supports her family? like man

i don’t know if we went through the same story quest or not

but eula quite clearly ruined a plan of her uncle’s that was to harm mondstadt? and during that quest she quite clearly shows her disdain for her family and her family’s ideals?

“I’ve never experienced the age of ‘glory’ you always speak of, and I’ve never understood our family’s incessant pursuit of it. [...] The Lawrence Clan should never and will never become what you’ve dreamed it to be!”

not to mention her voicelines where she makes fun of her family often:

“Knights and aristocrats share the same cultural heritage, but the knights had enough sense to do away with all the superfluous detail.“

“Aristocratic etiquette is all just for show... Just smile and nod along! I was forced to learn all of the rules by heart, but even I don't take them that seriously.”

“I heard that bard sing a few songs about the Lawrence Clan... They were lighthearted and funny stories that mocked the clan in a way I've never heard anyone else do. Even I couldn't help but burst out laughing... And for this, he must pay!”

“Technically, aged Dandelion Wine should be poured into a silver goblet and allowed to breathe for 12 minutes, then you're supposed to add ice cubes, ideally so 60% of the ice is submerged beneath the wine. I refuse to do all that though, it's not worth the hassle.”

and not to mention this voiceline where she outright states that if her family crossed the line she’d end her family herself:

“If my family members refuse to change their corrupt ways, or worse, continue to cause active harm in Mondstadt... I should be the one to end them, along with the Lawrence name itself. For once, it'd be a family obligation I'd actually enjoy. And once the deed was done, I'd be free to pick any name I wanted. Or even let you pick one for me!“

also about her saying she wants to avenge her kin in her voicelines, (this is me kinda reaching, ngl) imo it could just be her sarcasm, or she could be trying to change mondstadt’s view of the lawrence clan so that others in the family like her who aren’t as attatched to the aristocratic customs and share her beliefs can walk freely in mondstadt’s streets without fear of reprisal, which can be evidenced by this voiceline:

“The name Lawrence only became a social stigma after the clan fell from grace. It was once an honor to be called a Lawrence, but unfortunately, most people have forgotten about that part of history. The Grand Master says that I am performing rather well as a knight, and that if it's not enough to restore the honor of the Lawrence name, it's certainly a strong rebuttal against the one-sided opinions so many people throw around. I'm quite satisfied with that appraisal.“

furthermore based on her voiceline about barbara, i’m pretty sure she wants to be liked? to be acknowledged in a good way?

“Everyone loves her. What's her secret? Maybe I could learn a thing or two from her... Hmm, or maybe not. I can't imagine a ‘Shining Idol’ would want anything to do with a descendant of a depraved dynasty.“

like, she doesn’t want to be thought of as just a descendant of the lawrence clan

she wants to be known for who she is, not her family

i think this is why she avoids lisa too, since lisa would have read all about her family and she doesn’t want lisa’s judgement

lastly, what she learned from amber’s grandfather, found in her profile story:

“From him, she learned an open-mindedness and down-to-earth persistence that she had heretofore not possessed. Before grievance and vengeance, before clan and outsider, one must find "oneself" first.

“One's way of living, self-preservation, objects of perseverance...

“Then call it "grievance" and name it "vengeance" — that will not change its essential strength and goodness.

“It would be Eula's very own gentle path of revenge...“

she didn’t turn against the people of mondstadt and join her family in their crusade for glory even though the people of mondstadt treated her horribly

she instead strove to be someone worthy of being respected, someone who is more than just a part of a disgraced and despised family

anyways i think that’s all i wanted to say

basically tldr: end user license agreement is a sweet and gentle person and i like her very much

#genshin impact #beta’s genshin ranting #eula

20 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 12)

A/n: I would like to apologize for not marking warnings on each part like I should have been. I get too excited to post and skip over them on accident. I’ll do my best to add them from here on! Also, I was adding the warnings as I wrote but then they didn’t save so I tried to remember them as best I could. If I forgot anything, I sincerely apologize.

Warnings: Recounting past trauma (physical abuse, homophobia), explicit talk of death, badly handling others’ trauma, light smut (foreplay: slapping, choking, degradation, daddy kink, handcuff restraining, brat/dom dynamic, punishing, teasing, masterbation)

Word Count: 5200+

MASTERLIST

The air was so thick with tension that a knife could have cut through it. No matter how much Harley was fighting his instincts to lounge and be himself - the self Jeremiah was used to, at the very least - he felt like he had to be the self he used to be. The one Bruce was expecting. Jeremiah knew Harley was trying too hard, and Jeremiah was far too easy to read - which meant that Bruce knew too. So Harley sat there trying to behave and Bruce sat there brimming with suspicion and pain and hesitation and Jeremiah sat between the two boys, wishing this had never happened and he could just escape the two brothers who seemed seconds from either running or fighting.

Echo, as if sent from God, walked into the room with a pitcher of water. They were at Jeremiah's instead of Wayne manor as Harley had absolutely no intention of being back there or anywhere near Alfred. The butler was far too good at accepting change, which meant that the man might pick up on the fact that Harley was no longer Y/n and the whole thing would fall apart. Honestly, it seemed like so much work. Harley wasn't sure why this plan was so important but Jerome was feeding off of it so Harley did it anyway because he'd said he would. If this is where Jerome lead, Harley would follow.

"So," Echo cut into the silence as she walked around pouring drinks. "How is everyone this evening?"

Harley smiled at her, amused. She was poorly hiding a sort of awkward expression that was dashed with a little humor. She was mocking them in her head; Harley could almost hear what she was thinking. A bunch of dumb boys sitting around a table unable to swallow their pride. Idiots. "Oh you know," Harley mumbled casually, shrugging. "Indulging." He motioned to his food but his words were obviously directed at the ambiance.

"Having a good time?" Echo asked.

"Not at all," Harley immediately answered with the same casual, chipper tone. Jeremiah choked on his drink as he laughed at the exchange. The humor delivered saltiness in Harley's voice and the passive aggressive mocking in Echo's had always been an exchange that could make Jeremiah chuckle at least a little. Echo and Harley were very good at banter and it lightened the mood significantly every time they went at it. After all, it was just in good fun. Bruce seemed to relax as a smile curled everyone else's lips. "So... Harley." His lips seemed to want to reject the name.

Harley's smile dropped. Hearing Bruce call him that made him uncomfortable. Not just because he was nervous about Bruce not calling him Y/n as he had all up until this point but because he had cut Bruce out of this new life very purposefully and now... he was in it anyway. "Yes?"

Echo sighed and left the room as she sensed Harley jerk back, even with her attempt to loosen everyone up. Jeremiah focused on his food. Bruce looked at Harley but Harley did not look back, instead choosing to stare at the door Echo had gone through. "Why Harley?"

That was an easy question. "When I was in Arkham, a few of the guards used to beat the shit out of me every single day to try and convince me to be straight." Harley looked Bruce in the eye when he said this, completely calm. He had long since gotten over it. "They even put me in isolation to keep me away from people who might protect me or care about me."

"Jerome." Bruce didn't form it like a question.

Harley answered anyway. "Yes. But see this is a smaller world than everyone thought and my therapist, Harleen Quinzel, became my friend instead. She's like me, but for girls." Bruce nodded, accepting that. "They couldn't kill me without having to mark me as a loss. That and they'd have lost their punching bag. To teach me a lesson, they killed her. And then made sure the TV that was never supposed to be on the news would be on the news, on just the channel and at just the time that would allow me to see her bloody, bruised, cold, dead body strewn out for the public to see. And no one gave a single shit because no crimes in Gotham get solved unless someone important is involved. And even then- well, you know first hand."

Bruce's expression grew very dark. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," Harley purred, still eating as if he was talking about the weather.

Jeremiah has stopped eating. "People are really like that?" His voice was small and his eyes moved to Bruce, his hands tightening around his silverware as if picturing Bruce's face cold and dead and staring at him through a TV. Bruce felt his eyes and looked back to Jeremiah, but the red head averted his gaze to Harley instead. "I mean, people really act like that just because of... how someone loves?"

Harley nodded, swallowing the food in his mouth. It tasted like sand but he kept eating it. It made him feel powerful to while the others in the room had forgotten their food altogether. Although... Perhaps he hadn't chewed it as well as he thought because it felt as if it had gotten stuck somewhere along the way. A thick lump had lodged for a second and a sick feeling had settled in the bottom of his stomach. He hadn't thought about that image in so long... the daily bearings and the isolation and the one ray of light he'd gotten being extinguished and displayed because he had dared to be himself and therefore allowed her to do the same. Because they were different than how most people were.

"Do you know who did it?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah." That didn't seem to be the answer Bruce was expecting. "This isn't great table conversation," Harley eased, changing the subject. "But that is why I go by Harley. Do you like it?"

Bruce shrugged. "Do you still go by Wayne?"

Internally, Harley sighed. "Harley Quinn."

At that Bruce nodded. "You're not coming back are you?"

Harley laughed dryly. "You're not very good at casual, light conversation are you Brucey?"

"Don't call me that," Bruce snapped, body going stiff.

Rolling his eyes, Harley sat back in his seat. "Why not?" It came out harsher than Harley had meant it.

Meeting hostility with hostility, Bruce got angry as well. "Because that's what Jerome called me, and after how many times he tried to kill me it's not a name I like."

"Get over it," Harley sneered. "It's just a name and we're in Gotham. Trauma is kind of a part of life here. Adapt or get trampled."

Bruce jerked back. "Get over it? Since when are you...?" He trailed off, as if hesitating, before his face set and he finished his sentence with a much harder tone. "Like Jerome."

Harley felt his knuckles turn white. "Stop saying that like it's a bad thing." "It is!" Bruce hissed.

Harley shot to his feet, dropping his silverware on the table. Jeremiah flinched but Harley didn't notice. Bruce did. "Look, Jerome is fucked up and dark and broken. He doesn't have a grip on reality or know how to human because he wasn't fucking treated like one. He killed people. He was crazy and insane and unhinged and dangerous. Yeah! You know what else he was? He was understanding and accepting. He got why people lived their lives differently than he did and didn't really judge anyone, ever. He thought they were boring and chose to live differently, sure, but he lived to make people laugh and have fun. Maybe his sense of fun was fucked up, but he genuinely just wanted people to laugh along with him for once. He didn't hide who he really was. He wasn't ashamed. He didn't shun me and shove me in a corner and try to change me. He accepted who I was. He CELEBRATED me. I'd rather be with him than at this stupid fucking dinner or anywhere near you because I'm not some poor gay boy who needs saving. I'm strong and I matter and I FINALLY love myself, and you won't ever take that away from me because you see self respect and see Jerome because no one taught you that you are more important than everyone else. I refuse to sit here and let you try and turn me into some pathetic whiny brooding mess who's never happy because my priorities are fucked up. I won't be you. That isn't my goal anymore."

The room was dead quiet. For a long time, no one said anything. The brothers just stared each other down until Bruce shook his head. "Perhaps this was a bad idea."

Jeremiah pinched the bridge of his nose. "You guys are idiots." The other two in the room looked at the red head with shock. "My brother is dead, and honest to god it's a relief that he is. He's out of my life and I'm safe from him. I never had the chance to have a real relationship with him. I used to read the newspaper about your family and think that you guys were some kind of dream. Two brothers that loved each other despite everything and parents that were like... actually good people on any level." He sighed. "Obviously I was wrong. You're too busy trying to make him how he used to be." This he directed at Bruce. "And you're too busy hurting and bottling up your emotions and pushing everyone away to let anyone care about you or see the real you." This was for Harley. Jeremiah didn't stop when both other boys went to speak though. "Just shut up and make this work because you guys are the only true family you each have left. Harley, you grew up and I have to say you wear your changes very well. You're happier and sturdier and if someone isn't happy about that then they're insane. Right, Bruce?"

The Wayne boy hesitated before giving in. "Yeah. I am happy for you. I should have started with that. I just... I'm scared for you."

"Why?" Harley demanded, exasperated.

"Because I don't want you to become Jerome. I don't want you to end up like that. I don't want you to be some criminal, when you used to be the best person I knew. You said your life goal used to be being like me? No. I wanted so much to be like you. You couldn't speak about a huge part of you, but you accepted it with the knowledge no one else ever would. I refused to even look at the fact that I'm attracted to guys until you and Jerome got together and then..." his eyes shot to Jeremiah and then back. "Things happened and- and you were always so bright and happy and free. Like a bird in flight or- something." He shook his head. "You were inspiring, Y/n. Seeing you like this... it looks like you've been broken. And I just want to bring back that light you had before. When you seemed so much happier."

"I'm not broken." Harley looked at the boy who was supposed to be his brother. The boy who used to be his best friend before one lie after another had pulled them further and further apart until they were on completely opposite sides. Secrets had torn their relationship up into so many little bits it could never be repaired. They were just too different now. "I'm not lost or struggling. I'm just not... sitting there and pretending all the bad things aren't happening. The friends I have now actually like and respect me as a person, not just because I'm Y/n Wayne. I'm myself, proudly, and I wear my experiences as a reminder of what I can endure. Things hurt less. What you see isn't some poor boy waiting to be saved. It's darkness. And maybe that scares you, because you're used to hiding your darkness. But darkness, Bruce, isn't a bad thing. Darkness is what makes us who we are. Like everything it can be used as a weapon, but Darkness itself isn't dangerous. What you do with it is."

Bruce considered that for a long time. "That... is a good point."

Jeremiah released a breath. "So... truce?" The boys looked at each other before shrugging. Harley sat back down. Jeremiah seemed pleased. "Okay, now lets talk about something a little more pleasant."

"So you mean literally anything other than what any of us have been up to recently?" Harley sassed. Jeremiah shot him a look. "Okay fine whatever." He searched for some light conversation. "So you guys are like boyfriends now or what?"

That seemed to make Bruce and Jeremiah both blush and the air in the room cleared significantly. Harley pulled off being cheery and invested as he teased and prodded and asked questions and engaged. Things almost seemed like they used to be when Bruce and Y/n would sit with their parents and Bruce mentioned a girl and Y/n would go off about how he was going to be the best man or the world would surely end... but Harley wasn't Y/n and Jeremiah wasn't their parents. This wasn't Wayne Manor and as good of a server as Echo was, she wasn't a butler. She wasn't Alfred.

Under the light tone, Harley formed a plan. A plan he carried out as he and Bruce began to hang out more and more as time passed that night and stretched for a while. Jerome became nocturnal in favor of being awake when Harley finally returned at home. The boys would spend some time together and then sleep and then Harley would wake up and go out and spend time with Bruce and Jeremiah again. Slowly the time with the other boys began to cut into Harley's time with Jerome and both he and Harley were getting restless. They'd begun arguing about it.

"Stay in tonight," Jerome whined.

"Bruce wants me to come back to Wayne manor tonight." Harley sighed, an odd expression on his face. "I've finally earned his trust and am getting along with him - as much as it pains me. I think Jeremiah is talking to him when I'm not around, convincing him to behave and respect my boundaries. He calls me Harley and has stopped expecting me to be the person I used to be. I don't know, I think he'll be enough to convince Alfred though I might have to try a tad harder." He rubbed his forehead. "Soon I'm sure I'll be chummy with them again and that'll definitely lead to interacting with all of Bruce's friends - which will be a whole other adventure of its own."

Jerome huffed. "If you're going back to Wayne manor, won't Bruce want you to move back in?"

The thought had occurred to Harley if he was being honest. Where did he draw the line in being buddy buddy with his brother again? Where did he stop things? How far did Jerome want him to go? "Probably," Harley voiced, shrugging. There was a long pause. Jerome was more guarded than he usually was and it set Harley on edge. When the red head did speak, it was in a dangerously quiet tone. "Would you go?"

"W- would you want me to?" Harley was distracted by the way Jerome's Adam's Apple moved when he swallowed.

Jerome hummed. "So this is still about what I want?"

That made Harley defensive. "You think I'm dealing with my arrogant brother because I want to?" It had a biting edge to it.

"And what about my brother?" Jerome pushed.

Now Harley was confused. "Jerome I did all of this for you. To convince them you were dead so you'd be free to have some free time and then make your grand entrance whenever you wanted to. I did this because you asked me to." Jerome rolled his eyes. "You've been gone a lot. You come home... lighter. You enjoy your time with them."

"I'm sorry, you WANT me to come home miserable?" Harley sneered, his hands coiling into fists.

Jerome's eyes darkened. Harley realized what was happening. Before he could react, Jerome's hand shot out, fingers curling around Harley's throat. Jerome pressed his boyfriend against the closest wall, his face close and words sharp like knives. "You're getting angry again. Talking to me like that, as if I'm one of our dumb brothers or that blonde idiot Jeremiah carries around. You might have been gone for a while now, but SURELY not long enough to have forgotten to respect me."

Harley gasped, eyes fluttering closed. Jerome's grip wasn't dangerous but it could go that way if Harley wasn't careful. Jerome only ever got like this when he was frustrated. Usually when he was bored and wanted to do something other than sit around. To be fair, he was cooped up which was something he HATED to be. He hated feeling trapped. And on top of that Harley had been spending less and less time around the place. It was a miracle the redhead had behaved so long. Harley had spent more nights with Jeremiah, talking to Bruce so late into the night and fake catching up and playing nice that it was just easier for them both stay at Jeremiah's. Alfred had even gotten used to a simple text from Bruce letting the older man know where he was and that he was safe. If Bruce wasn't home by 10pm Alfred had come to expect that he wouldn't be back at all. It had become a sort of habit.

Perhaps Harley had been a tad neglectful.

He sighed, letting his guard down and releasing all the tension he'd gained from being around Bruce. Jerome didn't deserve this. "I'm sorry, you're right." Jerome didn't let up. "Oh so you shoot me puppy dog eyes and say sorry and that's supposed to be it?" Harley could feel his insides warming as Jerome grew closer, the air in the room slowly becoming infected with sexual tension. The sudden mood change was hard for Y/n to switch gears to, even though he was immediately eager. "You've forgotten who you belong to."

"I-"

Jerome's hand tightened on Harley's throat, cutting off any attempt to speak. "What was that?" Harley coughed a little as the initial shock took him off guard. His eyes fluttered but he could still breathe which is what mattered. "Come on, Harley. Come on, Y/n." Harley jerked at the name. "Is that what you want me to call you? Is that who you want to be?"

Harley wasn't dealing with that shit. His body jerked, arms wrapping around Jerome. He pulled hard, twisting to turn Jerome around so he'd have to let Harley go, or risk hurting his arm. As predicted, Jerome let go. Harley twisted their bodies with extreme force, pushing Jerome's face into the wall aggressively. "What the fuck did you call me?" He growled. The words were raw from his throat being a little sore. It made Jerome smile. "Answer me. Now." Harley let his free hand thread into Jerome's hair. He pulled, the red head squirming underneath him as it began to hurt. "I said, now."

"I called you Y/n," Jerome answered softly. His tone was half reluctance and half defiance. He didn't want to answer Harley like he'd been told to, but saying the name again did give him power.

Harley leaned back, pulling Jerome away from the wall just by his hair. He dragged him over to the bed. "Kneel. Now." Jerome was giggling as Y/n hurt him, getting off on the pain. "NOW, Valeska!" Jerome smirked, taking his precious time with following the order. When he was down, Y/n maneuvered his face into the bed. "Stay there. If you move, I will know and you will be punished. I will be back in a moment." He left Jerome there, ducking out of the bedroom to the trunk in the bathroom, shoved in the closet. He opened it, pushing around some things they'd collected in their time together. This was the stuff they used when things got more kinky. Handcuffs Jerome had gotten from cops even before he and Y/n were together. Rope from a construction sight. Some things were specifically from sex stores - stolen of course.

Ignoring most of it, Harley grabbed the handcuffs and went back into the room. He returned to see Jerome had indeed moved. In fact he was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. He was smirking at Harley, a dare in his eyes. The red head seemed to be expecting Harley to lose his shit, but Harley didn't. Instead, he got very still, thinking. That seemed to actually make Jerome nervous.

Slipping the handcuffs into his back pocket, Harley slowly approached Jerome. His eyes cut into Jerome's soul, his jaw so tightly shut that Jerome shivered. "What, you think you're going to look at me and-?"

Jerome didn't get to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, unexpectedly, Harley backhanded Jerome, causing the sitting boy's head to snap to the side. The red head was shocked, but found his stomach twisting with the familiar sensation of arousal. This wasn't like when he was a kid. Harley was calm and controlled - even his hit was direct. There was a safety in the way that Harley controlled himself. Jerome didn't fear him. It left room to enjoy what was happening. Harley gripped Jerome's jaw, bringing the red head's brown eyes around to meet his. "What did I say when I left the room, Jerome?" Harley not using a pet name in a sexual situation made Jerome shift nervously. Was Harley actually mad? "You told me not to move."

Harley released a breath, smirking as he got turned on just by getting Jerome to answer his question without being pushed. When Jerome was being bratty, he refused Harley any amount of control. So when he let up even the smallest amount, it never failed to excite Harley. "And what did you do?" Unwilling to let Harley win twice in a row, Jerome shrugged. Harley slapped him again. The red head blinked, breathing sharply outward as he felt the stinging on his face. "I moved."

A hum came from Harley as he stood, crossing his arms. "You know I had to punish you for using the wrong name, but it was going to be pretty light. Now..." Jerome shivered under that look - like Harley was trying to figure just how to kill him. "I'm going to take your clothes off Jerome. If you fight me, you'll get immediate punishment do you understand?" Jerome nodded. Harley rose an eyebrow.

"Yes, Daddy."

That seemed to please Harley. He stopped glaring at least. First Harley removed Jerome's shirt. Then he gently nudged Jerome, and the redhead followed the flow and laid back on the bed. Harley then removed his pants, and his socks one at a time. Slowly. Jerome felt himself get antsy. "Do you want something, baby?" Harley asked evenly.

"I'm fine," Jerome responded.

Unfortunately for him, his erection gave him away. "You don't want me to do... anything?" Harley asked again, pausing to look at Jerome very carefully.

The redhead looked back for a long time, a battle happening between the two men. Jerome lost. "Jesus Christ Harley, touch me."

That got Harley to smile. "Ask nicely J, or I'm going to have to punish you." Jerome went to glare but Harley reached up, threading his fingers through Jerome's hair and pulling roughly. "Listen here bitch, I'm not here to mess around. You're going to listen to me or you're going to regret it, understand?" They had come a long way since having sex in a cell and trying to keep quiet. Back then, Harley had fumbled and blushed a lot and been overwhelmed very easily. Back then, Jerome would stretch out, getting comfortable as he bossed Harley around - a true power bottom. Or, he would top, and then he'd get very soft and quiet and affectionate... Well, compared to how he usually was when he was impossible to please and degrading to an extent that had driven Harley insane.

Now adays, things were different. There was a huge power play between the two men constantly, and endlessly pushing buttons. What would often happen was that Harley would be a bit of a brat but otherwise let Jerome blow off steam, unless it was a day that Jerome desperately wanted Harley to "take hold and ruin" him. A direct quote from the ginger. On those days, Jerome did what he did best: he kept talking. He said all the things he knew would piss off Harley the most, like calling him by his old name. He would make Harley snap and then Harley would retaliate exactly how he wanted.

Not today.

"Fuck, you're such a baby," Jerome grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I'm bored with you playing daddy, I already know all your moves and we both know that you're just going to give me what I want anyways. You're a soft top, Sweetheart." He was smirking, proudly flaunting the power he usually had over Harley.

Today though, Jerome had pushed him too much. After all the shit he'd gone through with Jeremiah and Bruce, hearing Jerome call him Y/n had pushed him in a way that had sent him over the edge. And if he was being honest, he had his own frustrations. He wanted to run free as much as Jerome did and break things and scream as loudly as he wanted and sock his stupid brother in his face any time he dare even mention Jerome's name in Harley's presence. He was tired of behaving. He was tired of feeling like some toy. He was tired of being used. He was really, REALLY fucking tired of being ignored, too.

Harley's smile was dangerous. Jerome looked at him, unsure of what was going through the other boy's head. "You know, you have a little too much attitude for someone who's currently desperate for me to touch him. You want something from me? You need to learn some respect." Harley reached over, grabbing Jerome's wrist and forcing it toward the top of the bed. It happened so fast that only when Harley had used one cuff to get Jerome's right hand, and then had threaded the second cuff through the bars at the head of the bed, did Jerome react.

"HEY!"

At the outburst, Harley didn't hesitate to slap Jerome again. The redhead gasped, body shivering. He would absolutely never admit it, but this kind of aggression had always turned him on, when he was comfortable with the person. He'd wanted someone to be like this with him for ages, but not many people were willing to go far enough to please Jerome Valeska. By the way Harley was looking at him right now, this time might be different.

"I didn't give you permission to speak. Granted, I didn't tell you to shut up either so I'll be forgiving, but if you shout at me one more time you will regret it." He gripped Jerome's other wrist, cuffing that as well. Now Jerome's hands were over his head, trapped by the cuffs and the bar. "If you want to say something, I want you to address me first. I will allow you to continue then. Or I will not." Jerome hesitated, then nodded, intrigued by this side of Harley even he had not the pleasure of exploring before.

What came next surprised Jerome. Harley didn't take him right there, rough and hot. He didn't move slowly around and tease until Jerome wa a desperate mess of begs and whimpers. Harley didn't touch him at all. In fact, he moved off of the bed completely. He left the room even, returning a moment with a chair. Only then did he undo his own clothes, only lowering his pants enough to allow himself access his erection. He didn't even pull his pants off all the way! Jerome felt completely exposed, tied up and naked for viewing pleasure, when Harley was so far away and completely dressed.

To Jerome's intense frustration, Harley sat down on the chair and began stroking himself, eyes on Jerome. Harley's eyes were wide and lust blown, his tongue flicking out every once in a while to wet his lips. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut and his head tilted back just a little as a small moan came from him.

Jerome shifted. He was getting uncomfortable with how long he'd been hard without being touched, and watching Harley be like this was not helping. Jerome really liked to be involved in sexual acts. He had gotten rather pouty anytime Harley was caught masterbating, and there had been an unspoken rule that Harley didn't really restrain Jerome for stuff like this. If Harley wanted to be touched, Jerome would touch him. They both preferred it that way. This was ridiculous, and frankly rude. Jerome wasn't going to give Harley the upper hand. This was a low blow and he wasn't going to let Harley get away with it.

As Harley continued though, getting more into it and completely ignoring Jerome, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his mouth shut. Trying to play it off like he didn't care as much as he did, Jerome finally spoke up. It had seemed an eternity for him, but it had actually only been a few seconds and Harley had to swallow his smile to not give himself away. "Okay Harley, very funny. Let me touch you. I'm sorry I called you the other name. You know I can do this better than you can. Let me out." When Harley continued to ignore Jerome, the cuffed ginger raised his voice. "LET ME OUT!"

"Why?" Harley growled, eyes finally on Jerome again. "Because you told me to? Because you asked me to?" He stood, pulling his pants up again. "I'm not your little bitch Jerome, you're mine. You want to kill someone? Fine. You want to steal or break something? Fine! But you don't call me by that name. You don't mess with me, because I'm all you got. If you want me to leave, you ask like a big kid."

Jerome's lips twitched, slowly rising into a smile. "Are you actually mad at me?"

Harley grinned. "No, not really." They both cracked up, losing it for a few extended seconds. Then Harley cut off and Jerome faded into quiet, soft chuckles as Harley began to speak. "I respect you, J. My little joker." He moved towards the bed, caressing Jerome's cheek. The ginger leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. He fed off of the contact, as if it was a drug or he was starving and the gesture fed him. Harley smiled softly. "You gotta respect me too. You don't have to piss me off to get me to break you, joker. All you have to do is ask me nicely, like a good boy. Do all the bad things you want. But not to me."

A sigh escaped Jerome, and then he finally gave in. "If I behave will you let me out? I want you to touch me. Please."

That pleased Harley. "That's what I wanted to hear." He leaned back a little, eyes scanning Jerome's exposed body. "I will let you out. And then it's time to play for real." His eyes glinted with a darkness that made Jerome jerk in expectation. Needless to say, Harley didn't disappoint.

Story Tags: @wanna-plan-world-domination

169 notes · View notes

angel-tries-to-write · 3 years

Text

New life from the darkness: Youth is like fireworks

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoë, Eren Jäger x Mikasa Ackerman Word count: 1448 Genre: fluff, humor

They worked in silence for a while, before Eren spoke again, as he realized he forgot to share the news, which probably everyone but their superiors knew.

“Speaking of children and Historia: did you know her and Ymir are going to have a baby?” he asked. Hanji stopped their work and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Historia? With Ymir?” they asked, trying to understand what he said.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, technically she's not pregnant with Ymir, that's impossible, but they're going to raise this baby together, so I guess we can say it's their baby” he explained and the commander seemed to understand. But quickly another question arose.

“How do you know that?”

“Annie received a letter from Reiner and he spoke to Hisu recently” Eren answered, it was not much of a secret anyway.

“Oh, Reiner? How are him and Bertholdt doing?” Hanji asked, remembering that the two of them were very problematic, yet rather good guys.

“Pretty good. They're almost done and told us that as soon as we're done here, we have to visit them, because they have some plans. Armin and Sasha are convinced they are going to get married.”

“Get married? That would be terrible for me and Levi. Another kids are getting married and we aren't even dating properly” Hanji chuckled and shook their head with disbelief. “When did you all grow up like that?”

“Don't worry, Hanji-san, at least you and captain have each other. Jean has no one” he chuckled.

“You shouldn't make fun of him. He's your friend.”

“More like frenemy. We trust each other with our lives, but only because we always had to, not because we wanted to. He's still jealous of Mikasa, as if it was my fault she loves me. Honestly, I wish he had a significant other, maybe we could actually get along. Everyone says we have a lot in common.”

“You do. More than you think.”

“I'm slowly acknowledging it. Don't tell him that, but I actually know he's a good man and I wish him all the best, because he deserves to be happy. And deep down I knew that if I wasn't meant to make it out alive, he would take a good care of Mikasa. And while I want her to love only me, I guess I could accept if she decided to be with him, because her happiness is the most important thing to me. But don't tell him that!”

“Oh, they don't have to” Jean spoke suddenly, as he appeared suddenly with Mikasa. Eren's face blushed furiously as he realized how much he exposed himself. “Captain Levi told us to check on you and to bring you this” he pointed out the boxes he was carrying, Mikasa also held some. They all contained stuff Hanji needed. “We didn't mean to overhear your conversation, but it's good to know you think that of me. I guess you should know that it's mutual” he admitted, not looking anyone in the eye. “But that doesn't mean we're going to be best friends now!” he stated, putting the boxes down. Suddenly Eren dropped what he was doing, approached Jean, grabbed his arm and pulled him in a hug.

“I hate you” he said, though his tone and body language were saying otherwise.

“I hate you too” Jean replied, hugging Eren. When they pulled away, they heard a sob.

“Mikasa, are you crying?” Eren asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just never thought I'd actually witness something as amazing as this” she laughed, happy tears were running down her cheeks. She put her boxes down and ran to the men, pulling them both in a hug. “I'm so happy you finally matured enough.”

“Alright, as much as I wish for you to get along, we have something to do, so less hugging, more working. Levi isn't the most patient recently, I guess that heat is killing him. Let's not make him angrier” Hanji suggested and Jean immediately let go. Mikasa wanted to part either, but Eren stopped her and wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Don't cry because of me” he said quietly. “Ever. No matter what the reason is.”

“Your mom would be proud to see what man have you become” she smiled.

“I know” he replied, looking at Hanji. “Now go, don't make the captain wait” he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

“I'm not afraid of him. Shorty needs to chill.”

“But I am and I'd rather not be punished, especially for last night. Yes, they know, they saw through my lie” he sighed.

“I know. Levi already gave me a talk.”

“How was it?”

“Not bad, actually. He really tried to not seem angry. Hanji would probably say that he was really nice and emotional, but I'm not as good at reading him as they are.”

“Hey, lovebirds, get your butts back to work!” Jean yelled at them.

“I swear, this guy...”

“Let him be” Mikasa smiled and kissed her boyfriend softly. “See you later?”

“Of course” Eren nodded and let her go. He watched her leave, love and adoration were very clear in his expression.

“Don't ever try to tell me you don't love her” Hanji teased him.

“I do, alright? I love her so much that it hurts to let her go, even though I know she's a couple of meters away and I'll see her soon, it hurts to watch her leave me. And to think we could have ended up like Hanna and Franz, it's scary” he admitted with a sigh.

“Who?”

“They were a couple when we were in training, always together, inseparable, despite denying they had any relationship. And they met a miserable end. I haven't seen it personally, but Armin told me once, when he had a nightmare about them. During battle of Trost, Franz was torn in half and killed, but Hanna was so shocked that she performed CPR on him until Armin told her it's pointless” he sighed again. “It's both romantic and painful, to love someone this much that you refuse to accept their death. I think that's how I feel about Mikasa and it scares me.”

“I understand that. I was really close to losing Levi and I was so scared then. I joked that he was so stubborn he refused to die, but later he made me realize that it was me, in fact. That I refused to let him die. I've lost so many friends, that I couldn't imagine losing him too. I still can't. And that is scary, how deep your bond must be that you'd like to bend the laws of nature for that person.”

“So you admit you love captain, commander?” Eren asked and Hanji sent him a death glare.

“Keep going and Mikasa or not, I'll murder you.”

“That's actually quite interesting how many similarities are between us. We're both impulsive, stubborn, with self esteem issues and in love with overprotective Ackerman” he noticed. Hanji still looked like they wanted to kill him, but they couldn't deny there was a truth in his words. “All according to Armin, of course.”

“Ah, that explains how you know that. Well, this kid is very perceptive and smart. Sometimes too perceptive, for his own sake” they chuckled.

“What do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow, not sure what they had in mind.

“That if you think you have a secret, Armin probably knows it already.” There was certainly more to the story, but Hanji didn't want to go into details.

“Unless said secret being Annie's feelings for him, right?”

“Yeah, I think he's a real pro in avoiding the topic by now. And he had the audacity to tell me I'm being obvious about my feelings.”

“I know, right? I can't even count how many times he told me I should confess to Mikasa, especially when I wasn't ready to admit it to myself, let alone to someone else. If only I knew about him and Annie, I wouldn't let him nag me that much” Eren said, definitely unhappy about the whole situation.

“We should make him pay” Hanji smirked and their eye twinkled with mischief.

“We absolutely should.”

“And I think I have an idea how...” they quickly filled him in. The plan was simple, yet effective and it had one goal: to make Armin confess to Annie.

“Hanji-san, you're a genius” Eren was definitely impressed by his superior's intelligence. He always thought his best friend was the smart one, but he totally forgot that their commander was behind most plans and only their combined abilities allowed everyone to save the world.

“I know. Now let's get back to work.”

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #my fic #hanji zoë #eren jäger #mikasa ackerman #jean kirschtein #levihan #eremika

10 notes · View notes

alpaca-writes · 3 years

Text

Mystics, Chapter 36

84,000 words later....

I can’t thank everyone enough who sent in asks, commented, liked, and reblogged Mystics as it was being created. It meant the world to me and gave me so much inspiration to continue! Special thanks to Myst, of course. Continue to send in asks for the OCs as much as you want. A part 2 is in the works.

Enjoy Mystics’ final chapter. I hope its been as much fun to read as it was for me to write! <3

Xx -Alpaca

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror & @livingforthewhump

CW: captivity, blood mention, drug mention, cheesy dancing at the end.

------------------------------

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THREE LITTLE BIRDS

Remember: Matter. How tiny your share of it. Time. How brief and fleeting your allotment of it. Fate. How small a role you play in it.

- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations.

Shining white, pristine walls lined the hall. It didn’t take long for Hekate to catch up. Paimon didn’t know why he expected anything less. Now his arms were held behind his back by a cosmic force, unknown even to him, and the inorganic urge to continue walking by her side pushed him forward. He spoke little, and listened even less to what the old hag was saying.

“I cannot promise you will be happy here, but at least you will not be alone in your imprisonment,” Hekate said.

They turned around a corner through the maze of halls and landed upon a wide set of sliding doors. The whole realm was practically space-age. Hekate was clever to disguise the entryway to her realm as his own Labyrinth.

He should never have jumped through. That was a rookie mistake. The moment Apollo was released, he should have known something was amiss. Lyrem certainly didn’t have the talents to perform such a feat.

“This is best for you, Pan,” Hekate continued. “I know that with a little more helpful guidance, you can return to your true nature, and your true glory.”

“Paimon.”

Hekate paused. “No, no, no, my dear. You are Pan. You always have been Pan. You will always be Pan.”

The sliding doors opened. Inside this room there was yet another hallway, but instead of previous areas, this one was lined with clear walls. Perfect for seeing through into the cells that would hold a chosen prisoner.

Many of them were empty. Hekate continued toward the end, until Paimon reached the last of the cells. There was a simple bed and some books on a nightstand that had been left untouched. The room was covered in a white rubber. The bed, made of wood.

“I am not going in there,” Paimon said, his brows furrowed.

Hekate agreed with a nod of her head.

“You are correct. You are going into this one.”

The cell door across from the one that had taken Paimon’s attention opened with a whirring noise. Unable to stop himself, Paimon stepped through the threshold. The door whirred shut behind him and he was released, finally, from whatever command Hekate had over him.

“This is an abuse of power!”

“An abuse of power is what you had for many, many years on Earth my darling dear. And quite frankly, I have had enough of your games,” Hekate observed calmly. “You will have much in common with your cellmate. Let me put it simply, Pan. The sooner you behave, the sooner you will be released.”

Pan- no! Paimon looked around his new home as new objects formed around him out of nothingness. A simple bed, nightstand, all as white as snow on Christmas day and one thing in the corner that stood out among everything else because of its red mahogany sheen- a Pan flute.

“If you wish to have anything more, then you will need to earn it,” Hekate stated.

Darkly, Paimon turned around, meeting his great aunt’s eyes.

“I will destroy you for this. I will ruin you. I will make sure no one ever knows of you. I will turn you into a forgotten relic! Just as you deserve to be!”

Hekate raised a brow to show how meaningless Paimon’s threats truly were to her.

“I would think it something to be admired, if you could do any one of those things, darling dear. Certainly, if even your own father could not do those things, then it would be worth true congratulation.”

Paimon charged the clear wall and then stole a glance to the cell across from him, where someone had returned from using a restroom. The mysterious person sat on the edge of his bed. Someone vaguely familiar, with light eyes and a trimmed white beard, looking drastically different than he remembered. Paimon blinked.

“Dad?”

---------------------------------

“Have you ever heard the tale of Sisyphus?”

“It may shock you to learn I haven’t ever quite finished the Iliad, but yes, I have.” Lyrem replied to Hades’ question. “So, you’ll have repeat a meaningless, trivial task for all eternity in my afterlife as a punishment for imprisoning you as per Pan’s command. How very original. Did you think of that all on your own, or did you need your brother’s help?”

“My brother Zeus has not been heard from for a millennia. While he had given me some inspiration, I thought it better to put my own ironic flair into your suffering.”

Persephone interrupted with a short squeak.

“No, uncle, please don’t be so ruthless. He’s lost so much already!”

Artemis had switched back into her cat-like form, comforting her brother Apollo in his lap and purring. She had let out a protest of her own in Lyrem’s favour as well.

Apollo translated. “Arty agrees. We should be kind to him. Truly uncle, I have to imagine that Pan had quite the psychological hold on this man. Perhaps it would be wise to show him a tad bit of mercy?”

Hades looked to the naïve children and back to the human-mortal-man with growing disinterest. Then a light crossed his face, as though an idea dawned on him. He allowed himself to smile, ever so gently.

“Well, I can see that you have created quite the positive rapport with my nieces and nephew already. I don’t know why I am so surprised.”

Lyrem shot a quick wink to Persephone as a thank you.

“Which is why, I shall grant you eternal life.” Hades continued.

Lyrem looked back to him, and stammered.

“What- what did… Did you just say what I think you said?"

Hades nodded. Everyone looked joyful. Excited even. Lyrem could last forever- very nearly be one of them. Yes, everyone thought this to be a grand idea, except for obviously, Lyrem.

“When you die, I will refuse to take your soul. Every time without fail. You will forever grow old, then older… then older. And you will never die.”

“No.”

“Welcome to a lifetime of arthritis and aching legs and never-ending cataract surgery,” Hades said. “Oh, yes, that is right, Thomas. I know how old you are, and how much older you will get before your cells no longer hold you together. Consider this a gift.”

“No, please, God Hades. I need to find Ros-”

“Goodbye ‘Lyrem’. Have yourself a wonderful life.”

He was gone. All the mortals had left the Underworld, finally. Now, Hades could return to restoring his realm to its proper state.

Persephone perked up, realizing she was free to create and grow everything back to the way it was in the Underworld.

“My pond!” She cried, running out the dining room doors towards the Depths of Despair. “I swear, if Pan killed my koi, I am going to be furious!”

-----------------------------

“Why the hell are there empty bins in the hall?! Where are all my photos?! What on earth happened to my stereo?!”

Arch groaned, sitting up from the floor of the living room. Their mother was already back to her old self, standing and shouting and asking questions that no one would care to answer for her.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Arthur answered. He stood to his feet and limped slowly down the hall. “I’m pouring myself a bath.”

Charlotte rushed past her brother and her child, throwing herself through the house in a frenzy. Arch stood with their back against the wall, arms crossed. It wasn’t anything defiant. They just wanted to be held.

“Where are all my clothes?!”

DING DONG

“Arch, I swear to God, you will tell me what happened while I was away, and where all my f-” ding dong “stuff is!”

Arch removed their bloody apron from their body, moved a short few steps to the kitchen sink and rinsed their hands that were still stained red.

DING DING DING DING DING DONG!

Arch rubbed their temple with their hands and out of instinct, walked to the front door.

It was Benji. Through the screen door, Arch saw him standing on the sidewalk in front of their house. He had just pressed play on his Bluetooth speaker sitting in the grass. It started playing a bizarre melody.

“Hey! You answered! I was hoping you would! You have no idea how many texts I’ve sent!”

Arch stepped out onto the top of the stairs, still puzzled to know what was happening. The summer heat still lingered in the air.

“Look, I don’t know what I did to deserve the cold-shoulder, but I thought you deserved a visit at least on your birthday, okay? So, sue me.”

“My birthday?” Arch said. “It’s… It’s August? Thirteenth?”

‘Me, my, oh, what a life So lean on my people, gon' be stepping in time’

“Yeah, dude! Did you seriously forget?!” Benji exclaimed, bobbing his head from side to side.

‘So, thank you!

For coming to my birthday party!

I am one minute old today

And everything is going great-’

Arch sputtered a reflexive, well-needed laugh. Benji had started dancing like an absolute fool on their front lawn. He pulled out a birthday candle from the recesses of his pocket and held it forward.

“Look, I’ve been wanting you to show me that magic trick again, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Arch placed their hands in their pockets, trying to work past their tears of both exhaustion and entertainment. They shook their head. They really didn’t want to know if they could still perform that trick.

“I… forgot how.”

Benji stared back up, crestfallen. He checked his phone and lowered the volume on his music player.

“Fine, okay. Whatever. You don’t want me around. That’s cool. I get it. I’m a big shot. Not really your type to hang with-”

“What?”

Benji swallowed back his pain, and shrugged.

“It’s cool Arch. School’s over and we gotta go our separate ways. I understand.”

He started backing away. Arch leapt forward, and caught him by the elbow before he turned away completely.

“I want you to stay!” Arch admitted. “It’s totally cool if you want to hang out. Please stay... I… Honestly, I have been so lonely...”

How did the air get so thick?

“And I have missed you… so much.”

Benji’s sad, soulful eyes skeptically narrowed, and then widened with a realization.

“Dude… Have you been struggling? This whole time…? All summer? You gotta come to me with your shit! Don’t bottle it up, bud.” Benji wrapped them in a tight hug and rocked them to and fro. “Oh, I had no idea... You’re my main enby, Arch… I’ll be your Rick Astley forever… The Bernie to your Elton… Okay? Always. No doubt. No doubt.”

Arch took a moment to sob grossly into his shoulder. They pulled away before it got too squishy for their liking. If allowed, they knew Benji would let them cry on him until the end of time.

Arch took a deep breath of relief.

“Sorry, I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Yeah, hey. No kidding.” Benji said. “Look, here’s the plan, Shazia said that if I could reach you today that she’d meet us at the park with some of that fancy hash we like so that we can smoke up cakes.”

Arch scrunched their face.

“Cupcakes. Shazia would meet us in the park with cupcakes. Hey, Charlotte,” Benji cleared his throat, seeing the dark haired woman, who seemed to be hanging by a very fine thread from behind the screen door. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Benji. Arch, just go.”

“Wait. Really?” Arch turned around, wondering how she could be serious.

“You’re eighteen now, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Arch nodded.

“Then get out.”

There wasn’t anything warm about the way Charlotte said those words. Instead of lingering too long on the nuance, Arch only nodded, watching the door to the house shut its inhabitants in.

Benji bent over to pick up his speaker. He didn’t miss a beat cutting the music.

“What was that all about?” He asked. Like Arch, he looked up at the closed door.

Arch wiped the wetness away from their face with a couple fingers.

“I… I think I was just kicked out.”

Arch cleared their throat. They turned back to Benji as the summer sun beat down on them both.

Oh Benji. He was the most welcome sight in this world. The only good thing left that Arch had yet to ruin. Shazia would soon await them both in the park. Their life with Paimon, Lyrem, and hell, was now in the past. A future containing Arthur and Charlotte filled with shame and regret awaited them.

That didn’t matter yet. All that mattered was what was right in front of them.

And Arch really, really, really wanted to get high.

“Anyways, you said something about smoking up?”

5 notes · View notes

ladymaigrey · 3 years

Text

Enneagram and DD/Defenders – Part 2 – Matt the Reformer

Find all the posts in https://ladymaigrey.tumblr.com/tagged/enneagram (or go to my blog and look for “enneagram” tag)

gif courtesy of @dead-fandom-support-group (see her other enneagram gifs here)

TL:DR – The Reformers are perfectionistic and idealistic, with strong drives to “do good” and little patience for any perceived failure. Quick to anger and guilt-prone. Certain, stalwart and arrogant on the outside, they question themselves on the inside: are they actually “good”? are they sure they are right?

When under stress, they can become narrow-minded, self-centred and dramatic (movement towards Type 4 - Individualist).

For balance, they need to learn how to relax and let-go a bit - let the world spin on its own for a little while (acquire some characteristics from Type 7 - Enthusiast).

Matt: in addition to fitting Type 1 description (and often going towards Type 4), also has some characteristics from Type 2 – Helper, particularly the tendency to put the needs of other’s before one’s own, to the point of martyrdom.

The Reformer - in general

The Reformer has a strong value system about what is right and wrong and is quick to judge themselves and others in accordance to these norms. They are perfectionistic, but practical. They struggle to tolerate ambiguity or subjectivity, preferring objective facts and categories. They like to plan, organise, control, impose order over chaos.

The Reformers are their own harshest critics. They can be quick to anger if they see themselves or others falling short of their ideals. Yet anger often causes guilt, if they believe that a truly “good” person should not get angry. Therefore, anger is often suppressed out of conscious awareness. Still, it tends to come out in expressions of righteous indignation, sarcasm and guilt.

They are quick to argue, moralise or instruct – because they Know How Things Are Supposed To Be. Yet, internally, they are often worried that they are wrong, that they are not Good. Although they may question themselves on the inside, outwardly they will struggle to shift from their position because admitting they are wrong is too threatening to their idealised self-image.

The Reformers are over-responsible. At extreme, they can get burned out with carrying their unrealistic “shoulds” and “musts”. They struggle to relax and have fun.

According to Wagner (1980, p. 60) “They identify with St. George slaying the dragon, crusading to make the world a better place to live in.”

Research participants identified (or identifying) as Type 1, also tended to have high Conscientiousness (Big-5) scores and high Sensing (S), Thinking (T) and Judging (J) scores in MMPI test.

Matt the Reformer

Judging on the basic outline and, particularly, that St George quote, Type 1 fits Matt well.

His definition of “doing good” is to defend the little guy against injustices and stand up to the unjust strong and teach them a lesson. He is perfectionistic, highly conscientious and disciplined when it comes to his goals - a legacy of his Dad’s insistence on academic diligence, Stick’s drilling, and his internal drive to protect and see justice done.

He is very certain of his direction on the outside, defending his position with a bull-headed obstinacy to rival the Punisher, but he questions himself on the inside. He is often plagued by worries that he is not, in fact, “good” or “just” at all – worries that he most likely internalised from his childhood, from those who admonished “Be careful of the Murdock boys, they have the Devil in them.” Therefore, he feels like he must forever prove his goodness to himself. He is over-responsible to a ridiculous degree, taking it as a personal goal to prevent all injustice he “can” (i.e. that he is within an earshot of, and his earshot is looooong). Whenever he “fails” - guilt and rage follow. Rage (and violence), in turn, feed into his guilt and self-doubts about being “good”. Sometimes it seems that he is more guilt-ridden than an old farmhouse is ridden with termites.

For all of Type 1s’ practicality and need to control, when it comes to pursuit of goals and facing threats, they tend to make decisions instinctually, based on the product of their perceptions and gut-response. Matt Murdock is an allegorical embodiment of this concept. He responds to what his senses tell him – responds immediately and, often, drastically, without pausing for thought or communication with significant others. For type 1s (and other “gut” types 8 and 9), this often stems from the belief that “life is a battle, and their weaknesses must be tested” (Zuercher, 1992, as quoted in Hook et al., 2020), and THIS IS THE MOST MATT-DESCRIPTIVE STATEMENT I’ve ever read in a peer-reviewed psych article!

In addition to Type 1 characteristics, Matt shares some Type 2 characteristics (in Enneagram parlance, that would make him a Type 1 with a Type 2 wing). Specifically, Matt seems to take pride in denying his own physical and safety needs in order to meet the needs of others, as per his self-imposed responsibilities. This type of martyrdom is more characteristic of Type 2s (Helpers). At the same time, the occasional over-the-top drama that goes with that martyrdom is characteristic of Type 4 (Individualists).

Although, to be fair, it is always difficult to judge psychological state purely from behaviour. So, it is debatable whether his tendency to put his needs last is driven more by his Type 1 perfectionism (i.e. his internal need to do “good” overpowers his other basic needs), or his Type 2 martyrdom beliefs (i.e. the belief that his suffering is immaterial, and even required, in the face of the suffering of others, and that he only matters when he helps others). As @ceterisparibus116 and I discussed sometimes ago, it seems that martyrdom tendencies tend to raise their head when he has faced some kind of “failure” or setback - when he is feeling low regarding his life and identity. At such times, it is perhaps a heightened need for self-sacrifice – to prove his goodness and worthiness through meeting the needs of others to the detriment of his own - that may contribute to some of his more painful (and draMattic) physical excesses.

Then again, human psychology is a mudbath and it is never clear which rising bubble is driven by which underlying motivation.

(As an aside, I do think that the DD-fandom (myself included) has embraced the Type 2 martyr!Matt more than the canon actually suggests. He is often written in fics as forgetting or forgoing his basic needs (including food, sleep and medical care) in order to constantly give of himself to others. I wonder if, on some level, it reflects the real-life tendency to react to Type 2s – the “humble” Helpers – in a more positive or warmer way than the “arrogant” Type 1 do-gooders.)

Anyway.

When faced with crisis and failures, Matt does tend to move towards Type 4 (Individualist), as suggested by the Enneagram theory. He becomes dramatic in his sense of uniqueness and messiahnism; also – self-isolating, liable to be impulsive and making self-destructive decisions. His thinking narrows down myopically to the sole pursuit and defence of his goals. Although his goals as Daredevil revolve around “saving” others, being Daredevil is a large part (if not the whole) of what defines his life’s meaning to him. Therefore, his narrow focus at these times of high stress, and his prioritisation of Daredevil’s goals above the feelings and goals of significant others, is suggestive of a strong core of defensiveness/self-protectiveness. The righteousness of his aims is, in part, a psychological mask; it is a demand for others to excuse his poor relational behaviour on the basis of the specialness of the burden he chooses to bear.

That is not to imply that, when Matt stands up for his identity and his goals to his friends, it should only be regarded as a sign of self-centredness or depression! Telling those, who persistently refuse to accept someone’s truth, that ‘this is who I am’ – as he does to Foggy in Seasons 1 and 2 – can be a sign of positive self-regard and self-esteem. Similarly, when Matt gravitates towards the Type 4 Elektra and attempts to embrace some of her ideals of putting personal wants before duty, it is driven by a healthy impulse to balance the obsessive nature of his goals. Or, at the very least, to share the burden.

Matt is also capable of behaviors that, according to the Enneagram, balance some of the unhealthy extremes of his Type 1 characteristics. Although he is serious and driven most of the time, he is also capable of relaxing and having fun (which is a type 7 characteristic – the balance archetype for Type 1s). Although Matt is perfectionistic, it isn’t driven just by guilt and fear - he also wants to reach his targets (e.g. excelling in law school) for the sense of achievement it gives him (which is a Type 3 trait). He practices some mental and emotional self-care, leaning into the benefits of meditation which, at least in theory, should allow him to switch off from his over-thinking and judging, and simply be touch with his internal sensations without reactivity.

Finally, I think the fact that Matt doesn’t totally disavow his anger but, instead, finds a productive release for it while punching crime in the face, is overall a healthy(-ish) impulse. His anger has a specific role in his goals. Therefore, he has, at least partially, solved the dilemma that plagues Type 1s, i.e. that their anger means they can’t truly be “good”. Only partially though, as he certainly still has plenty of self-doubts and internal guilt trips (see the “why did God put the Devil in me” conversation with Father Lantom in Season 1).

Wagner (1980) advises that, in order to achieve psychological balance and free themselves from the overwhelming perfection of their world-altering goals, Type 1s need to learn that,

“The universe is not perfect, yet, but it is unfolding as it should. Be patient, God isn’t finished with me, yet.” (p. 113)

To me, this advice seems similar to the idea of the Tapestry that Father Lantom spoke of to Matt (see conversation between Matt and Sister Maggie in S3e13). Enneagram, being theistic in its origin, makes many allusions to the perfection of the Process by which the world works and of the Divine Thought guiding it. This axiom states that all moments and all creatures within this process are perfect in themselves and in their place. Perceptions of imperfection come from the Ego, which is of the mind, not of the Divine original essence. Serenity – the lost virtue of Type 1s – comes from trusting the perfection of the process and the Divine Love guiding it.

By the end of Season 3, Matt appears to have made some steps towards accepting this premise. At least - intellectually. Maybe.

References

Wagner, J.P. (1980). A descriptive, reliability, and validity study of the Enneagram personality typology (Doctoral Dissertation). Retrieved from https://ecommons.luc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3108&context=luc_diss

Zuercher, S. (1992). Enneagram spirituality: From compulsion to contemplation. Ave Maria Press.

#enneagram #psychology #reformer #matt murdock #daredevil #defenders

28 notes · View notes

vanillawinston · 4 years

Text

Mad World| Chapter ONE

Joker x OC(Jane Parker)

Summary: Jane was in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly her life was falling apart. The past and future of a dangerous obsession which changed his life and destroyed hers completely.

Warning for this chapter: angst, mention of torture, depressive mood

Next Part HERE

Lost. I was lost and I'll always stay lost. There was no place for people like me. They thought the right place should be here, in this cell, but it wasn't. I would always stay lost, homeless, hopeless.

Lonely I couldn't do anything but look at the grey wall of concrete in front of me, just like I did it every day for the last two years. After all this time I've started to believe the wall might has changed, that the color got darker, it didn't look that moldy anymore, but to be honest, nothing has changed. I was the only one who has changed.

I was broken. They have broken me. This life has broken me. Piece by piece it has taken everything from me until nothing had been left, it put me through this painful and horrible hell and now I was here, been treated like a threat, like I was crazy, mad, something I'm not. But how much can a life in complete isolation for two years change someone? I've never seen anything else than the guards or some professors who thought it would be funny, to explore my head. I've forgotten how fresh air smells, how the lovely song of the birds outside sounds, how green a forest can look alike and how delicious good food can taste. I've forgotten so many things and it seemed hopeless to ever escape this endless torture of nothing.

"Hey, little one." I looked up when I heard the squeal of the little window made out of steel open where the guards shoved me some food every day through, or whatever they dared to call food. Now I saw to the amused face of my personal guard, Officer cocksucker, that is what I've named him. His real name was Dan, but he was such a piece of shit that he had no right to be called anything nice or normal. He had the most fun in torturing me and always being an assaulting, woman hating bastard through the time. When I'll ever come out of here, he will be the first person I will kill by cold blood!

Coldly I looked to the man, who was in his mid-thirties, had short blonde hair and cold blue eyes. The eyes of the devil in my opinion.

"I've brought you some food," he said, and I snorted, looked back to my beloved wall. I've refused to eat anything for four days now. They won't allow me to die, but this didn't mean I would stop trying. I couldn't handle being in here for another two years or more. I knew that I would never be free, that they would never let me be free. If I was innocent or not, didn't matter to them, I was too valuable for them, knew too much, they couldn't and wouldn't just let me go. They were the real criminals of this city. They were cruel, they were merciless.

"You are really trying to ignore me, little one? I can see how hungry you are and some day you have to eat, darling." I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of spending attention to him in any way, so I kept ignoring him.

"As you wish, but I've just tried to protect you from any harm. Bring her out of here!" Scared I looked to the door when he opened it, saw how six brawny guys entered the cell and I jumped to my feet, was ready to defend myself, to fight, but I was weak, so damn weak. I just managed it to hit one of them in his face when I got a slap in my own so hard that everything started to spin around me. Tears formed in my eyes when they cuffed me and Officer cocksucker threw me over his shoulder like I was some toy, like I was nothing but some thing he could transport around like he pleased to.

"I hate you!" I hissed, moved around as much as I could, wanted to make it as hard as possible for him to carry me, knowing it would be painful to fall to the ground like this, but I didn't care. "I know you love me," he laughed amused and I fidget with my legs, screamed and shouted, just wanted to be far away from him. Of all people on earth he was the one who had the least right to touch me in any way. I just couldn't stand him touching me, preferred falling to the ground and breaking every single bone in my body over being touched by him ever again.

"Let me go!" I screamed, saw how some other prisoners looked out of their open windows in the doors to us and I was searching for one face among them, the face of Floyd. He was the only friend I had here, though we only had seen each other in here not more than three times. I met him some months ago when a guard was torturing him and me at the same time. He was kind, tried to protect me from this monster. In his eyes it was shocking how someone like me could be in a place like this. He saw me as this fragile little girl, a child.

Yeah one needed to have a lot of bad luck to end up here or maybe it was good luck, considering the beginning of my story. I had no idea if this was my personal luck, but if so, I had to be a horrible person in my earlier life, that is for sure.

"Shut up or your punishment will be a lot of worse!" the douchebag screamed, but I don't care. It didn't matter how weak I was, I would never show it to him. If he knew that I gave up, then I would truly be lost, he would be my downfall.

"JANE!" I looked up and smiled, saw to Floyd while passing by his cell. It was a good and calming feeling to see someone you actually cared about, who was important to you. It made me realize, that I wasn't alone, that he was here, even if I had to survive this on my own.

"FLOYD!" I screamed sobbing, was scared of what will happen, was scared of getting hurt again, suffered enough and just wanted to have some peace. This time I had no luck with a Floyd by my side who would try to keep me safe. I was alone in the torture room. It was me against the rest of the world and I wasn't strong enough for it anymore.

"Let go of the child you fucking assholes!" I heard him screaming, but his voice faded away when we kept moving. Will this nightmare ever find an ending? I knew most of the guys in here were horrible villains, murderer, but after all I've been through, I was sure that nobody deserved this. Even the Arkham had been a better place, and I knew about what I was talking about.

"Now he will have to suffer too and that is only on you, darling," the bastard said amused and I stopped fighting. It wouldn't change anything. This was a fight without any hope of winning. I lost it two years ago already, and now I will probably lose my sanity too if it wasn't already too late for it.

The acquaintance with the chair I was tied to was one I've made a long time ago. When I first got here all this time ago, I was tortured on it almost daily, just out of fun. Batman personally wanted that they would treat me good and nice, but of course nobody cared enough. I wasn't important enough for anyone, and even the all so perfect Batman forgot about me. In the end I was still a criminal and criminals deserve to be punished. When he had brought me here, I've seen that he didn't saw me as a threat, but he knew it wasn't safe enough to let me free, and this is how I ended up here. In the past I tried my best to behave, to be good, so they will eventually let me go or transfer me over to an ordinary prison, but after some weeks I've realized, they would never let me go, the would always find another reason for hurting me.

"You know I don't like doing this," the bastard said while kneeling in front of me, "But you don't give me another choice." It was hard staying calm, while he stroked my face softly, tried not to shiver or to throw up. He was disgusting. When he stood up and walked over to one of the shelves where all the funny toys for torture were paced on, I felt how my heart started beating faster and how cold sweat spread on my forehead. I tried not to die internally out of fear, but I knew that whatever would happen now, it will hurt. I will scream, I will cry, and I will beg him to stop, but he won't. It was always like this, and I tried to tell myself, that the pain wasn't that bad anymore after all this time, but it was a lie. It still hurt, but it was more bearable, considering I knew what will happen, how bad it will be.

"I start to believe she likes being treated like this," the cocksucker laughed dirty while he put some wires on my body. Electricity. Oh yeah, this will be painful. I ignored the other guards and how they laughed over Dan's dirty jokes, tried to distract myself by thinking about a free future where I will find all of them and kill them one after one. This never had been my way of thinking, but this place has changed me truly.

"Ready to enjoy your pain?" Another guard asked me, standing by the switch and was excited to flip it and to see me suffer.

"When I get out of here, I won't just kill you, but your whole family, and I will force you to watch," I said with a dry throat and for a second he seemed nervous, but it didn't last long, he knew I won't ever get out.

"Not so rude, darling," Dan said, was ready to give the signal, but before he could do that, the doors opened and shocked I saw to the guards, leading no one else than Amanda Waller into the room.

"You fucking bitch," I mumbled quietly, could not believe, she was here, looked at her completely confused. I hadn't seen her for two years, since I've been locked up here and now, she was back. Back then she had promised me, I would only be locked up for a couple of days. Liar.

"Free her!" Amanda ordered and I saw how unhappy Dan was, while he freed me from this chair.

"Oh the hero of our nation is here," I giggled, tried to stand up, but my bloodstream was really fucked up and I almost fell to the ground when it wasn't for another guard who held me, although he didn't really looked like a guard, something was different about him.

"Thank you," I mumbled, teared away from him, and looked hatefully to the woman in front of me.

"I see, you haven't forgotten who I am."

"You are the cunt who had promised me that I will be free after some days, but instead I am here for two fucking years and have been treated like I'm crazy!" I hissed and saw how the man who had helped me looked confused to her. "Who is this girl? What is so special about her?"

"This is Jane Parker. She might seem harmless and innocent, but you will see how useful and dangerous she can be." Saying this she eyed me, then looked to Dan, "What have you done to her? Why is this child more dead than alive?" "She won't eat," Dan answered simply.

"And then you want to torture her?" the man asked in shock, saw to all the other guards here like they were crazy. Finally, someone who understood me.

"Methods of chastise," Dan said, and I laughed. "Yeah, they are very effective."

"You said she was a child. Why on earth is a child locked up here?" he asked upset, "And how can a child be useful for this mission?" "Mission?" I asked interested, but of course they ignored me.

"She isn't a child anymore. She is 19 but was 17 when we locked her up, and she is useful, because she was the favorite toy of the Joker," she explained and I flinched, felt like something inside of me ripped a little bit when she mentioned his name.

"The Joker... but Harley..."

"Harley Quinn is nothing compared to her, even though you should probably not mention it in front of Quinn, she thinks just like the Joker that Jane here is dead," Waller explained and I tried my best not to lose my mind with all those emotions inside of me. All this time I've managed it not to think about him, just for this bitch to show up and ruin it.

"Ok, but what exactly can this girl do?" the man asked still confused.

"She is good in close combat, the best person in throwing knives you will ever see, and her way of thinking is kind of useful." Her way of thinking. Wow, what a compliment.

"I have no idea, what all of this is about, but I won't do shit. I prefer staying here and dying," I said and saw how the woman smiled. "You will do as I say, and we can talk about your release once again," she said and to my dislike she kind of baited me with her words. I looked to Dan who went pale form her words and I smiled happily.

"I'm in."

"Stop, stop, stop," the man said. "What is it, Flagg?" Flagg? Interesting name.

"None of the others will be released, why her? She was the Joker's girl, isn't she extremely dangerous? I've seen Harley. You can't let her go."

"She was with him, and is dangerous, but still she was never found guilty." "And still I am here," I said amused and found the confusing look of this Flagg adorable. He didn't understand half of the things here, but he didn't have to. I didn't understand them either.

"She'd been locked up to weaken the Joker, and it worked, they've gotten him and brought him to the Arkham, but he escaped, thanks to his talent in manipulating Harley Quinn," Waller said and seemed like she had more than enough from this topic, "She only remained here, because we had no idea of how useful she might become one day, just like now. So, we have Deal." She looked strict to me and I nodded. Nothing would be easy, not at all, but there was finally this small chance of getting out of here and hope can be a bitch, but I don't care, I wanted to get out of here and this was my best shot.

Aloha :) Hope you liked the first real chapter. Sorry for any grammar or editing mistakes. Tell me if you like to be tagged. GIF IS NOT MINE

#joker #jared leto #jared leto joker #suicide squad #dc #joker x reader #joker fanfiction #dc fandome #the joker

50 notes · View notes

masked-buffoon · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7: An oxidising world of a dream (Part 5)

Warnings: angst

Author notes: yes, I do consider that this part is heartbreaking enough to put angst as a warning... Do tell me if you think otherwise! (or another smart way to ask for feedback...)

I waited behind the door of the familiar infirmary, my arms crossed and my look focused onto the carpet beneath my feet. I had been ordered to stay there until Dazai came out, while he had sent men and Akutagawa to the art museum of Yokohama for a mission. If at first I had wondered if he was punishing me for my previous failure during the casino mission, I had soon realised that this raid to the museum was pointless, and clearly a trap Mimic had set for us. However, the squadron had been getting impatient, lately, and their desire to fight overcame any trace of reason their consciousness held. The most stupid of all had to be the "dog". He exposed himself to danger without further questioning, only to prove our superior he was worth his praises. He could not understand that the executive did not expect such things from him... And he would never listen to my advice.

"Odasaku is awake." The door opened behind me.

"It is good." I cracked a discreet smile "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Come in, and try to convince him." Dazai sighed "He wants to go and save Akutagawa..."

"Akutagawa...?" I narrowed my eyes, following him inside the infirmary "Well, he is an asset for the Mafia, after all... And you will not pretend you are ready to toss his power aside, will you?"

"So you agree, Ogawa?" Oda asked me upon seeing me.

"I am glad to see you are better, Oda." I smiled "And I do agree that helping Akutagawa out would be better. However... I could go myself. You have just woken up and many things occurred. You need to rest."

"Resting..." He hummed "I don't need it. I feel as though I owe someone, so I can't stay there doing nothing."

"Owing..." Dazai sighed "The one you owe doesn't even remember what he'd lent you..."

"But I do." He shrugged "Besides, it is absolutely out of question that you go, Ogawa."

"I have not been ordered not to go." I defended.

"Dazai, order her."

"Why would he...?" I frowned "I can —"

"A consequent amount of shops and warehouses of the Port Mafia has been bombed while Odasaku was asleep." My superior cut me "And you took care of every single case without my assistance. You too, need to rest."

"You'd rather send your sick friend off than your lieutenant...?" I argued, holding onto Oda's sleeve so he would not leave "I am your subordinate, I appreciate that you care about my safety but... It is my duty. Oda needs to rest, he was poisoned heavily and no matter how strong he is, he is still weakened from the —"

The executive grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer to him, until my forehead rested onto his shoulder. The effects of No Longer Human were immediate; the thoughts of my surroundings faded away, and my eyelids felt heavy with the need to sleep.

"You can't..." I protested, trying to pull away but finding myself too weak to do so "You can't..."

"You haven't slept, the other night... I order you to rest now..." He said, rather softly.

"But your friend... He... Will..."

"Odasaku will be alright." He reassured me "I trust him, I know he will not put himself in danger."

I heard footsteps getting away and deduced the man had left. He had resolved himself to let Oda go... Fatigue took over and my knees buckled under my weight, brusquely. His arms wrapped around my waist to support me and my hands gripped onto Dazai's coat as I fought not to fall asleep just yet, but I could not deny my body needed to doze off, for at least a few hours. I hated being so useless...

"I... Am of no use to you..." I murmured, my voice muffled by his coat.

"Being exhausted makes you say idiotic things." He retorted, suddenly picking me up to lay me down on the bed "Why are you still trying not to fall asleep...?"

"I heard you... Praising Akutagawa..." I refused to let go of him "Even if he is dumb... He has power... Everyone... Around you is so strong... And I..."

"Stop saying things you know I have never thought about, Ogawa... Comparing you with Akutagawa is impossible, comparing you with Odasaku is unbelievable as well." Dazai stated.

"... Am I an incompetent...?"

"The one who said that must be blind."

"Akutagawa has a good sight..." I closed my eyes, but opened them before surrendering to sleep "I am... Incompetent... Unsuited to be by your side... I don't want to sleep and be useless..."

His hand landed onto my forehead, pushing my bangs away from my eyes and making contact with my skin.

"Being useless is the last thing I think about you..." He assured me "I'd appreciate it if you had some sleep before going back to work."

"I'll leave you alone..."

"I'll bring you to the office as soon as you close your eyes, then. I swear, so now, do not torment your mind with such thoughts anymore and only think about resting well, to assist me afterwards." He cracked a smile, clumsily running his hand across my head.

"Alright, then... If it is not a bother..." My eyelids fell and my body went numb.

"... How could that ever be a bother...?"

Dazai had gone out with Oda. The two had some business to take care about, and my superior had insisted for me not to go. After the incident at the art museum, Akutagawa had come back safely, as well as Oda, and the matter was settled within hours. I leaned my head onto the bay of the executive's office. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon for a moment now, leaving only the darkness and a few stars to light it up. I noticed it was a night without a moon, and did not like it. When the world was too immersed in shadows, nothing good would ever occur. I feared this night was ominous.

"Come back safe, Dazai..." I whispered, looking away from the lights of the town.

Humankind had always hated complete darkness. Electricity had allowed us to tame the night and its fictional monsters so we could prolong our day as much as possible. But whether it was under the sun or a neon light, we could never run away from our own shadows, and I liked to think the evilness laying still within us was the origin of our tales about the night. The true monsters often — not to say always — had a human face.

Slowly, I walked across the office to take my coat before exiting it, without forgetting to close the door behind me. It felt so lonely, being away from his side... Everything seemed completely worthless if Dazai was nowhere around me, as if the reason I could live had been taken away from me. In a way, I was aware of the dangerous truth; I depended on my superior as much as I was addicted to morphine, perhaps even more, and I could not imagine once that we could be apart. He had given me a reason to be in this world which had casted me away mercilessly, and striving to stay alive was a feeling I had just started to embrace. I could go as far as stating it was a glimpse of happiness I was experiencing... I wanted to cling onto it with my whole being, sometimes forgetting that nothing was more ephemeral than human joy. There was nothing which would not be lost... And I did not remember.

"Ogawa-kun...!"

I turned around upon hearing a voice calling my name. The second in command, Yamada-san... After how badly he had tried to take advantage of me, we had rarely interacted with each other. In front of Dazai, he acted friendly, but I knew he wanted to be ridden of me after I had humiliated him, the day I had killed my parents.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, poised.

"Actually..." He sighed "I have a pile of paperwork awaiting me, but... Today is my wife's and my anniversary so I did not want to go back late..."

"You are married...!" I exclaimed, astonished.

"I never wear my ring when in the headquarters... Not to trouble her, right? But I am. We even have the most adorable son." He smiled "I met her after that incident... I still can't apologise enough for that day."

"It is too late, now. But I can overlook it, for once."

For the first time, I felt sympathy toward this man I would usually be annoyed about.

"I'll take care of it for you." I smiled back "Please have fun."

"I'll make sure to." He nodded excitedly "Thanks a bunch, Ogawa-kun!"

A bunch...? Well... I watched his back walking away a moment before going into his office. The pile of paperwork was, indeed, a pile, threatening to wither and crash onto the ground at any moment, and I sighed heavily, bringing the documents to Dazai's office where I felt more comfortable. I had been supposed to wait for his return; he would kill me when he would discover I was working overtime... Oh, well... It had been a moment I had not had a warm cup of coffee, anyway.

It was well-past midnight when the door of the office opened. The headquarters were most likely empty, except for the Boss and a few guards doing their night shift. On this floor, this room was the only one where the light was still on. I smiled at my superior, who visibly did not expect seeing me there, and took a sip of my fifth cup of coffee.

"Welcome back, Dazai." I stood up to take his coat off of his shoulders.

"Ogawa...? No wonder you were not at your place..."

He had stopped by, thinking I was waiting for him...? I almost regretted stubbornly staying there to help the second in command out...

"Forgive me for not telling you beforehand..." I apologised "There was still work to do..."

"This is not your job." He stated, taking a look at the papers.

"He..." I paused, thinking I could not reveal the truth about the marriage "... Had important things to take care of."

"Important enough for you to comply?" Dazai raised his two eyebrows "He surely lied to you to leave and have a drink with his friends."

"... Is that so...? My, I'm so stupid..." I did not want to argue and attempted to avoid the subject "Thinking I could have easily read his thoughts..."

"Whatever you are hiding, I'm not going to ask about it if you don't want to talk about it..." He sighed, resigned, and let himself fall onto a couch "To think you'd help him after what he has done to you... That disgusting jerk..."

I was dumb to think he would not find out I was lying...

"You seem especially exhausted, tonight." I noted, taking a seat in front of him "What happened...?"

"Nothing." He dodged the matter "Do you still have a lot to do?"

"There isn't much left..." I told him "I'll hurry so you can cancel my ability and have some sleep yourself."

"Please, do so..." He grumbled lowly.

I sat back at his desk and started reading the different reports. Dazai was not usually so grumpy and tired. Definitely, something was wrong about him, but I knew better than asking him directly. If only I could read his thoughts... I would have been able to tell what bothered him.

Minutes after, his breathing was regular, and I looked up at him, only to see he was gone in deep slumber. Soundlessly, I took his coat from the hanger and draped it over his body to protect him from the cold. Summer had installed itself in Japan, but the nights were still chilly, especially in an office freshened up by air conditioning. Many people had a peaceful face when sleeping, but he... He did not look appeased at all. On the contrary, it appeared sleeping brought his own monsters to the surface of his consciousness and tormented him... I decided not to do anything, judging he, no matter what, did need a good night of rest too. And if nightmares disturbed him, I would act accordingly to the situation. He had often made sure I was sleeping correctly before leaving — I could have felt it — so it was my turn to protect his rest.

I stared at him, leaning my chin onto the back of my hand. He had not budged at all and my paperwork had long been over. I did not believe Dazai could sleep so well; he was more the type to suffer from insomnia. I often wondered, when waking up, what he had been up to during the night. After granting me sleep, did he go back to his impersonal apartment? Or did he wander around Yokohama to have a few drinks? Did he bring women back to his place? The thought coated my cheeks in red and I quickly banned it from my mind. Whatever he did, I was certain he did not get much sleep. I shut off the lights, only to turn on the small lamp on the desk. The sieved light was more relaxing than the main one, and it bathed the room in a comfortable atmosphere. While my superior was soundly asleep, I took a random book from the shelf and started reading it. How to prevent accidental casualties. So this book did exist and he had truly read it. He had not lied, the other day... I felt bad for doubting him, but one had to admit discerning between his acts and his true words was a challenge. When was he serious and when was he playing around? Oda easily understood the shifts in the mood, but I... No, I could not think about his friend anymore. I always ended up frustrated when looking up to this amazing person. I had embarrassingly ranted about my uselessness again, earlier, I could not afford to ridicule myself anymore. I did not want him to look at me like a pitiful thing...

Suddenly, the coat fell from Dazai and landed onto the floor with a muffled noise. I put the book aside to readjust it over his body, but, as I did so, he forcefully grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. His one eye was wide opened onto me.

"D-Dazai, you are going to cancel my ability..." I broke the silence, trying to free myself from his grip.

"... Isn't that what I am supposed to do...?" He asked, rather tiredly.

"You fell asleep, I was not going to take advantage of your ability while you were defenceless..." I said "Well, that's what I thought, but you are actually always vigilant about your surroundings..."

"Obviously..." He let me go to rub his face "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two to three hours, roughly. You should close your eyes again; you were resting so well..."

"What about you? Are you done?"

"I am, don't worry..."

"Then, let's —"

I gently pushed him back to the couch and put his coat back onto him with a slight smile.

"I had some sleep in the afternoon... It's your turn, Dazai..." I declared.

"But your ability... Won't it be a bother?"

"I'll be fine, just think about yourself... Please rest. There are people counting on you to lead them tomorrow..." I told him.

His expression was unreadable, but he adjusted his position so he would be laying on the couch instead of sleeping in a sitting position. His fingers held onto his coat and brought it around his upper body, as though he felt cold, and his eyes closed.

"Goodnight..." I whispered.

"I saw Ango, tonight. We went to the bar." He interrupted my moves.

"Dazai, you should —"

"He was an undercover agent for the government, you know...? And a spy in Mimic for the Port Mafia too..." He chuckled, a bit bitterly "He betrayed us... He betrayed me..."

"I'm sorry..." I had no clue what to say "The three of you were so close as friends..."

"... Come there a bit..." He demanded.

I decided to sit down on the edge of the couch.

"I lost him..." He finally muttered, his voice muffled by the heavy black cloth "I lost Ango... I lost our friendship... I said I was prepared to lose everything I once owned... But I'm not... His loss left a hole somewhere in me... I don't know how to fill it... Am I not pathetic, showing you such a sight...?"

"Not at all..." I hesitatingly patted his shoulder "If anything, I am glad that you could tell me such a thing..."

"You are there... Odasaku is still there too, but for some reasons, I feel so lonely..." He confessed.

What could I do or say to soothe his pain? I did not know... I did not want to pretend I understood the gap he experienced, nor could I come up with classic lines; Dazai did not need them. Dazai did not want me to say "don't worry."

"... I'll always be there..." I reminded him.

But I was not enough.

#bsd #bsd oc #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #dazai osamu

7 notes · View notes

lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Seeking7 or Seeking!

Commission: I don't offer writing commissions at the moment, mostly because I'm not sure how to conduct or present myself in the market. If anyone would like to request a certain fic or short story from me, however, I'd be glad to work out details with them. :)

Social Media: A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7 FFnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/

Tell us a little bit about you!

Hiya! I'm Seeking7, or Seeking. I was born in Alabama and raised in California to a pair of the most hardworking Egyptian immigrants you've ever met, and the mixture of Arabic and American influence over the course of my life has had a profound influence on the way I look at the world. My favorite subjects are biology and english, and I aspire to become either an EMT or military medic after I graduate. In regards to hobbies (aside from playing copious amounts of Zelda), I love studying American and Ancient Israelite history, and I hope to one day learn ancient Hebrew and Greek so I can read the original biblical manuscripts for myself!

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

While my own brain can usually come up with a certain scene or idea that would inspire me to put paper to pen, it's the people I have around me that encourage me to keep writing. The people on FFN and AO3 who comment and leave kudos on my work mean the world to me (shout out to JoSeBach on FFN and MyWritingisMeh on Ao3 for leaving comments/reviews on each chapter of my fic "Mephibosheth"). The LU fans who come to my livewrites on the discord are so ridiculously encouraging and always let me know that my writing can actually be interesting to some people -- a fact that never ceases to astound me. But most credit goes to my younger sister. Even when I don't show her a work because it might be a little bit extreme or intense for her age, she always lets me know that she's sure it's good regardless. Her unconditional, unreasonable support inspires me to be that kind of person to other fic writers!

What got you into writing?

Three books in particular encouraged me to take writing seriously. "Crime and Punishment" was the first in this process, showcasing just how intense, beautiful, and profound a book with actually very little plot can be. The entire book takes place more or less in the head of a man wracked to pieces by guilt, and Dostoevsky's decision to focus on internal instead of external conflict changed the way I looked at literature. "East of Eden" was next. It wasn't just the book's allegorical nature or the Cain and Abel motif that astounded me - Steinbeck's vivid descriptions of everything from the human mind to sunrise in Salinas has had a profound impact on my own writing. I still reference the first few pages when I write! (actually, if you look at my fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie," the opening paragraph is heavily inspired by the first page of East of Eden!) Finally, the biblical Book of Job changed the way I look at dialogue and interactions between flawed characters. The whole book is almost written like an ancient screenplay and deals with heavy questions like the meaning of pain and the meaning of meaninglessness without offering direct answers - which inspired me to try and include those questions in my own writing and handle them in a similar, vague, interperative way.

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

After outlining a fic, I usually start out by writing them like a screenplay with all dialogue tags and action notes written off to the side. When sarcastic banter, silly, lighthearted interactions, or intense conversations with a deeper meaning behind them start to come together, I can't help but smile. That usually gives the the extra inspirational boost I need to go back and flesh everything out so it becomes a story! (if you struggle with writing dialogue, message me on the discord and I'll be glad to tell you everything I know and send you the multitude of resources I have on the subject)

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

Vetting works for grammatical mistakes turns writing fics into homework! I can't stand posting something and later reading just to find out that I forgot to capitalize a character's name, or that a comma is missing, or that Ao3 or FFN messed up the page breaks and I have to go back in and fix it. I'm not a perfectionist most of the time, but when I come to writing, I absolutely am.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

Intense philosophical debates and serious heart-to-heart conversations are by far my favorite kind of scenes to write, and that's because they're my favorite kind of scenes to observe and read! I always leave them feeling like I've gained something intellectually and emotionally, and it's my constant hope and dream to be able to impart the same kind of introspective thoughtfulness on the reader.

What's the hardest for you to write?

Allowing or even plotting for a character to go off the deep end is always such a hard thing to write. Not for them to die, necessarily, but for them to completely lose their morals, priorities, and relationships in search for something selfish or temporary. Writing them making the same mistakes over and over not because they're stupid but because they don't care about the consequences is always hard -- it's like killing off a character and replacing them with the darkest, nastiest version of themselves. Basically, writing the opposite of character development is the opposite of fun. :(

What's your favorite genre to write?

Whatever the hybrid child of angst and fluff is called, that's my baby. I find that a combination of the two can make for a really interesting experience and give me more space to explore different faucets of each character's personality. It's also the perfect breeding ground for some intense, sincere conversations.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

I don't write for a lot of fandoms, just Linked Universe, Undertale, and occasionally LoZ stuff not tied directly to our nine precious boys.

What's the work you are most proud of?

I've only gotten into LU very recently, so at the time of writing this I don't have anything from the fandom that's ready to showcase. I do have some cool Undertale stuff though, at least in my opinion! If you're interested in that, there are two fics I've poured (and am currently pouring) my heart and soul into that I'm extremely proud of. The first one is 'The Reason,' which is just a quick oneshot focused on Grillby being an amazing, hardworking dad, (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354130) and the second is Mephibosheth,' my multi-chapter pre-canon fic about the lives of Asriel and Chara. '(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804797)

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

Going again off the works I referenced earlier, a particular scene in the ninth chapter of 'Mephibosheth' had me patting myself on the back. I can't tell you what it is, though, because it's a massive spoiler. ;)

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

At the beginning of my junior year of high school I submitted two works into a competition I was confident I would win. No, not just win, I was sure I would get first place nationally. The competition never had many submissions and I knew that the works I submitted were pretty darn good. As you can probably guess, I didn't win anything. No medal or mention, nothing. I was in shock for a good few days and considering giving up writing completely. Then I realized how stupid I was being for assuming I was entitled to an award, for writing something only for recognition, and for thinking that I should give up on something I love so much just because it didn't supply me with the endorphin rush I thought it would. I made it a goal to improve as much as humanly possible afterwards, and I'm happy to say that I think I'm making progress towards that!

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Every gremlin-like thing the boys do in my WIP LU fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie" (by the time this is up, it'll probably be on Ao3) is based off something I've seen my brother and sister do. They're the embodiment of utter chaos and the manifestation of the primal urge to destroy, so they're great inspiration for Link shenanigans. Also, almost all of the banter in 'Mephibosheth' has taken inspiration from one of three places; conversations I've had with my grandparents, conversations I've had with my siblings, or interviews I've watched online. Inspiration for thought-provoking dialogue has to come somewhere that's not my own brain - there aren't enough brain cells to bear the brunt of that creative burden!

Where do you post your finished works?

I post on FFN and Ao3, both under the alias Seeking7. What's that, you say? You want a link to my profile? Well, who am I to refuse?? (AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7) (FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/)

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

15 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

The Best Things ~ J.V. (Part 7)

A/n: We're... so close... I'm so excited.

Word Count: 5000+

Playlist

Masterlist

Life really only got worse from there, really for everybody. Most of all for Y/n, believe it or not considering what people like Bruce Wayne were dealing with these days.

Unfortunately it was truth.

Jerome and Y/n were separated. When having different cells didn't deter the two boys from being affectionate during down time or meals, Y/n was put into isolation where the only people he saw were officers that hated him or Dr. Quinzel, who had to pretend she wanted to "cure" Y/n of his "problem of the heart" or whatever. It was terrible for both of them, but if anyone else did it it wouldn't be two friends sitting down and talking through things. Shock therapy had been thrown around as an idea a few times. It was far worse ideas that Y/n hadn't heard about that had gotten Harleen to give in, if the taunts he'd been receiving held any weight.

Finally Y/n was allowed visitors. He didn't expect any, and he still wasn't allowed around the other inmates, so he was resigned to his life of solitude and misery.

Then Alfred Pennyworth paid him another visit.

"Alfred," Y/n croaked. His voice was rough from disuse.

The older butler took in Y/n's state and seemed to be taking it hard. Y/n was pale, his skin so sickly it was practically see through. It only made the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep as well as the bruises from the occasional beatings look even worse. He had started to gather scars- those hadn't been from other people though. In a world that only gave him pain, he found some solace in having some of it be at his own hand. It made him feel just a little more under control. Alfred seemed to be able to tell which wounds were from who, and he looked ready to kill someone- whether it be Y/n or the guards, it wasn't clear yet.

"Y/n... what have they done to you?"

Y/n smiled, trying not to cry. "They punished me for my sins Alfred. For murdering, which I did a bit of in my time I won't lie about that. For having feelings for Jerome Valeska, a mad man." Y/n's smile faltered. He was too tired to smile. He couldn't hold them for long anymore. Ever since being away from Jerome, it had been hard to find anything amusing. It was even worse when he wasn't allowed to be himself at all. When he was punished nonstop for being himself. When he couldn't talk or do anything he liked to do or see anyone he wanted to be around or go anywhere other than an empty cell far away from everywhere else. His life was completely out of his control and the people in charge were using their leverage over him to twist and bend him into the shape they wanted him to be. Except it wasn't working. Y/n was still a dreamer. He still did art and thought of other places and people and times. He still smiled when he saw Harleen. He still dreamed of Jerome. He still missed home and cared for people who had probably long stopped even thinking about him. He was still gay. And he was still dangerously, murderously angry. He had far too much free time and he spent probably too much of it daydreaming of ways to put the most painful ends on each of his tormenters.

Now he was calm though. Alfred was family. He was safe. He was part of home. Someone Y/n missed dearly from a time that was lost to him. A time he wished he could get back. Dinners with his parents and his brother. Hiking trips and tea times and bedtime stories. When things were easy and had a rhythm and made perfect sense. So what if he hadn't really been himself? So what if he was a little crazy? Attracted to adventure? At least he hadn't killed anyone, compared to nowadays where he was apparently completely insane and so addicted to danger that it just might actually kill him. So what if he hadn't been allowed to talk about being gay and have a boyfriend? All he'd gotten for that was isolation and violence.

That didn't matter. He didn't want to think about anything but Alfred and good times.

"For having feelings for Jerome Valeska, a man?" Alfred offered softly. Y/n shrugged and Alfred's face grew dark. It got quiet until the butler sighed, his shoulders sagging. Alfred had always had the same magic Y/n and Bruce's dad did. He seemed frozen in time, untouchable by death. Both men had seemed unbreakable. Now Alfred seemed worn down and just as old as he actually was. He probably wasn't very old, but only now was it dawning on Y/n that he was... old. Or at least he wasn't young. He was aged. He was getting on in years. He should have been married, with kids, living a peaceful life and watching those kids go to college and move out, alone with his wife to live out the rest of his days in some cottage somewhere in the most beautiful parts of England. He should be reading books and drinking tea and worrying about how tired he felt when it was only 9pm, even though he used to stay up until 3am in his youth. Instead he had no wife but two sons that had been thrust into his hands- both of whom were losing their minds and burdened by so much trauma and darkness that he most likely stayed awake at night and run over probability after probability of how he might go about helping even just one of them, realizing that he would fail them both because no one can truly save someone from themself if the person refuses to allow it.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Y/n mumbled. His eyes watered as he looked at the man that had become a lot like a father to him, right when he needed one the most. Maybe things had been easier when Thomas was alive, but their perfect family wouldn't have survived through the teenage years in a place like Gotham. It would have been messed up eventually. Y/n knew that. "You're trying your best, and you make a lot of the right decisions. I know I'm not the easiest person to care about."

Alfred smiled. "Y/n, of the people I care about you are currently the easiest one to do so for. Maybe I'm not happy with your decisions and where it's... gotten you-" he wavered, looking round the room. Y/n actually managed a weak, broken laugh. A normal laugh. It wasn't manic or wild. It was small and short and wet and weak and broken, but it was also a very normal laugh. The sound everyday people make in situations that were somehow funny when they shouldn't be. It was a nice sound. It lifted the mood even more. "But you're still by boy, and I stand by you." He paused for a while, getting serious. "I don't know what I would do if I was in your situation, Y/n. Finding happiness with a man like Jerome. Finding misery in people you should be able to trust. I just-" He bit his lip for a second before continuing. "Be honest with me: was I ever one of the people that betrayed your trust?"

Y/n's eyes went wide. "No Alfred, oh god. I think you're the last good person left in Gotham. You make me happy and safe. You're the only one that does that anymore."

That seemed to bring some kind of peace to the old man. He looked around the room again and almost mimicked the laugh Y/n had made earlier. "This is crazy. Us finding solace in each other. How did we end up here, hm, Master Y/n?"

Y/n grinned despite himself. "I don't know." He wiped his eyes- he had begun crying. "I don't know Alfred." He sniffed. "You deserve better."

"Damn right I do," Alfred agreed. "And so do you." The men exchanged soft smiles. Alfred's expression changed after a second as he pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Are you and Jerome still...?"

Y/n's smile fell. "I haven't been allowed to see him. I don't know what he thinks happened to me. I kind of just disappeared. I left with you that day and then when I was brought back I was immediately put into isolation so-" Y/n shrugged.

Alfred sighed through his nose. "Do you... love him?" He seemed disoriented by the mere thought of someone loving Jerome Valeska. Of someone he knew - someone he helped raised, who he was close to and cared a lot about and had a lot of faith in - being in love with Jerome Valeska. "I mean, you don't seem..." He motioned with his hands, not sure how to form his feelings into words.

"Crazy?" Y/n offered. It was Alfred's turn to shrug. Y/n scoffed, amused. "I don't think I am. He's just... everything I ever wanted, you know? I can be myself around him and it never disappoints him. He likes me, as a person. I think he likes being with me. And he's funny and knows how to have a good time-" Y/n flinched. “He also knows how to not have a good time, though that's not really a thing to him. He's got a lot going on. I think he's broken a lot more than I am. I just- I don't know I-" He looked at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his feelings without sounding as insane as he was for feeling this way for someone who murdered for fun.

When Y/n looked back, Alfred seemed so uncomfortable. "But do you love him?"

Y/n looked at his hands. "I like the way he smells." His face scrunched up. "And how he holds my hand. His hair, and his smile. How he says my name and laughs at my jokes." Y/n looked back. "Am I crazy Alfred?"

Alfred seemed to think about that. "I think you're lonely and looking for someone like you, and I can understand that."

Y/n relaxed a little. "I think I'm crazy." He shook his head. Neither man smiled. "How do I get help for my condition?"

"If you're talking about getting help for liking men, I want you to take that back right now." Y/n looked at him in surprise. "There's nothing wrong with you, Master Y/n. Do you understand me?" Y/n paused but then nodded, and he felt a weight lift off of his chest. "You have a weird taste in men, but otherwise you're fine." Now they did both laugh, just a little. "You hang in there, okay? I'll try and see what I can do to get you out of here. Then we'll figure this out together, yeah?"

That sounded nice. "Yeah. I would like that." Alfred nodded.

Just then a guard came up. "It's time to go." Alfred sighed but they exchanged goodbyes and Y/n tried to keep a smile as his only hope of light left him alone in the darkness once again. Then he turned to the guard that was with him now: Peters. Y/n was beginning to learn names. Peters was a little softer since Y/n was young, but he still was one of the guards that hated Y/n for being gay, so there was only so much Y/n could say when it came to how much he did or didn't like the man. As they walked back, Peters once again disappointed Y/n. "You know I have to tell them about what you said in there." Y/n stopped moving. He hadn't thought about that. He'd been talking to Alfred. He always told Alfred everything, and he always told him such with complete honesty. Things had gotten easier because Y/n had been able to prove that the "therapy" was doing some good. He'd just admitted out loud that it hadn't made a dent in how attracted he was to men, or how he felt about Jerome. "He won't go as hard on you as in the beginning," Peters assured. He was talking about the first guard that had started tormenting Y/n. They didn't speak his name. Both of them, at the very least, hated his methods even if Peters agreed it was necessary. "You admit you need help. You'll get it. Your butler was wrong and you know that and that's what matters."

Y/n's eyes watered as he began walking again.

Was he really getting to a place again where he believed that something so basic about him really was wrong? He'd just barely, FINALLY accepted it and now he was being conditioned to bury it away again?

Fuck.

It was a nice break to get visitors. Alfred was nice to talk to, and despite the oddity of it, the two men got along well and cheered each other up nicely. Y/n was looking forward to seeing the older man's face when he was told he had a visitor. Unfortunately, Alfred was not the one waiting to greet Y/n that day.

"Bruce?" Y/n was far passed surprised to see his younger brother of all people on the other side of the glass, visiting him. Alfred hadn't said much but from the little he'd divulged about Bruce breaking out of the mind control and then killing some dude that had to do with the weird creepy tunnel Bruce had dragged him to and the dudes in it that had almost killed him. Y.n didn't see what was wrong with that - the dude was obviously bad - but it seemed to be ripping a new one with Bruce. He'd turned into a bit of a dick, putting it nicely. Left me alone in the tunnel then refused to visit me in the asylum. Firing Alfred. Partying and messing around with a bunch of people. It seemed the Wayne brothers dealt with their mental breakdowns very differently. Bruce partied and became an asshole- Y/n killed people and fell in love with psychopaths. One thing can be said: the Waynes sure know how to go out with a bang.

"Y/n," Bruce greeted weakly. He was obviously burdened by nervousness and guilt. As not to push it, Y/n sat down. Perhaps he didn't walk to talk to his tool of a brother, but it was better than isolation so he'd tolerate it. Y/n stayed quiet and allowed himself the luxury of being in the presence of another human being- one who didn't mean him harm or hate him for not being able to control who he was. Bruce spoke again first; Y/n was lost in the peacefulness of the quiet. "I'm sorry I left you in the tunnel." Y/n didn't say anything, so Bruce continued. "I was sort of commanded to kill Alfred when I was under mind control. I, uh, stabbed him. I could only carry one of you so I grabbed him and took him to the hospital. Ended up staying all night because I was terrified he was dead."

"And then you proceeded to treat him like shit all the way up until you did him a favor and fired him."

Bruce flinched. "I got emancipated too."

"Jesus, Bruce," Y/n cursed.

"I know," Bruce moaned. "I'm not handling any of the things well." He rubbed his face. "I wish you'd come home. I miss you." Bruce looked at his older brother, trying to find a remnant of the old Y/n underneath the bruises and coldness in the older boy's gaze. Both boys had come to gain something dark about them. Y/n's was more brightly colored, tickling in every dent and curve of his body and expression. Bruce's was sharper- paving paths of stones along corners and edges. Even now, Y/n was still the softer brother. Perhaps not so much had changed after all. "We've been through a lot, hm?" Y/n nodded, looking at his hands. "I-" Bruce cleared his throat, seeming to get emotional. "I don't know you are anymore. Please, tell me. I feel like you’re a stranger."

Y/n looked at him very seriously. "Probably because I am." Bruce frowned. "But we can change that." Bruce's lips immediately found a soft upward curve and Y/n took a second to appreciate it. It seemed he could bring some sort of smile or another out of even the angstiest of teens.

They spent the next bit talking. Bruce told Y/n everything, summarizing in chunks. Y/n did the same, breezing through his time with Oswald and then being in and out of Arkham and Jerome. That's where Bruce seemed to get caught up. "You really love him?" Bruce was making a face like he'd swallowed something both bitter and sour.

Y/n sighed, lowering his voice and moving his mouth closer to the receiver so only Bruce would hear him. "I don't know about love. But..." He shrugged. "I care for him. He matters to me." Bruce exhaled then nodded. "I don't have many other options," Y/n joked. Then he sobered, unnervingly quickly. "But even if I did, I don't know Bruce." He rubbed his face.

"Let's not talk about it. When we get you out of here-"

"We?" Y/n interrupted.

Bruce's expression became strained. "I called Alfred. I don't know if he'll come back but maybe... well, I know he'll definitely help me get you out. Maybe we can really be a family, you know? Make this town home again. You can talk all bout your art and have as much time as you want to make it."

Y/n felt odd. "You want to go back to how it was."

Shrugging, Bruce seemed to suddenly be distracted by everything, his eyes never finding Y/n's face, almost like the younger Wayne was avoiding his gaze on purpose. "So what if I do?" Bruce finally looked at his brother. "Don't you, Y/n? Don't you want to finally be done with this? Maybe we could go somewhere else entirely for a while. A long while. Bond again. Heal. It could be good for us."

Suddenly, Y/n was angry. "You know, I've been wishing for weeks that I could go back in time. I wanted it all to fix and right itself. But you know what? It won't. Even if the universe suddenly decided to let us be happy and a family or whatever, I wouldn't let it happen." Bruce leaned away, as if Y/n had slapped him. "I've killed people, Bruce. I'm not innocent and nieve and full of dreams or whatever the fuck anymore. It's been so long since I painted something I really liked or cared about- even before mom and dad died. Do you remember when I was first getting good and I started to draw boys? It was freeing and exhilarating and gave me an outlet of some kind- and an excuse to stare at cute boys my age. Mom found out and told me to hide it. She didn't want the wrong person to find it and use it against me." He scoffed. "Do you want to know why I'm into Jerome?" Y/n was being too loud, he knew. But he didn't care. "Because he likes me just as I am. A little crazy, a lot fucked up. He likes that things don't really bother me. He likes my twisted sense of humor. He likes that I'm willing to kill someone if they piss me off or get in my way. He acknowledges that I'm tainted and kind of stupid and I've completely lost my mind. I heard somewhere that it only takes one bad day for someone to lose it- well, Bruce, I've had a whole fucking string of them. And I'm tired of you and Alfred coming in here and pretending I’m still the me you both want me to be and that everything is fine and that we're gonna go back to normal and perfect and happy as if I'm not a murderer. As if I'm not GAY!" Y/n chucked the phone, causing Bruce to jump. "THAT'S RIGHT!" Y/n screeched as he whirled around the face the guard. "I! AM! GAY! You can beat me, torture me, isolate me, fill my head with a bunch of nonsense, but you won’t break me because I'm DONE being ashamed of who I am."

The guard looked disgusted. It was a different man this time- not Peters. "You're going to go to hell for your sins."

"For being gay?" Y/n actually laughed. "How dare you!" This was playful, light. Y/n had finally snapped. "You're sitting here saying that I'm going to go to hell because I'm gay? Sweetheart, you're missing all the far more valid reasons I'm going to hell." The end of the statement lowered to notes that left his voice gravely and threatening, all humor gone. As he’d spoken, he’d taken step after step closer to the guard until they were practically chest to chest. "Remember that I know how to kill you so no one will ever know it was me next time you even THINK of laying a single finger on me, do you understand?" The guard, calm before, now looked very nervous. "You people won't touch Jerome, and I hid behind that for too long. Touch me. I dare you." Y/n leaned close, his voice low as he whispered, "You never know... maybe you just might like it."

The guard made a noise halfway between a groan and a grunt and opened the door, pushing Y/n through and further into the Asylum, and away from him. Y/n winked at him and the guard closed the door, putting it between them like it was going to block them. Y/n laughed. There was power in fear. Power in accepting yourself despite everyone trying to tear you down; in staying together despite everyone trying to tear you apart. It was like when that idiot cut off Jerome's face. Jerome didn't pitch a fit. He adapted. That's why he was so terrifying. So powerful. Things rolled off his shoulders and left him unfazed. He just adapted, never letting pain even waver his smile.

It's time for Y/n to start taking a page out of Jerome's book. He was over being another brooding Wayne boy.

After that, things began to look up again. The guards quickly stopped beating Y/n up- all it did was make him laugh, or make him stronger as he began to fight back. Therapy stopped mattering- he spent all his talks with Harleen cracking jokes and being gay as fuck. Guards sneered at him and spit at him, but there were some good eggs in here and even more that Jerome had wrapped around his finger. All Y/n had to do was place himself at the right guard or flirt with the wrong one and suddenly he had plenty of room to move as idiotic, childish men kept their distance and jeered- as if words alone could do anything other than make Y/n laugh harder. He simply let it all stop affecting him, and so it did. Maybe it was a little crazy, to hear such terrible words or go to bed in pain, and find some kind of twisted pleasure in it. But I mean come on. These morons called themselves men of God then beat up on a teenage boy who was slowly learning how to take them down singlehandedly. They were like children on a playground: pushing girls they liked; calling people stupid names then ducking when they got in trouble; pulling ponytails and tripping kids and sticking their tongues out and pretending they were big boys as they squashed roaches only to run off squealing like babies when the bug didn't die the first time. They were pathetic. It was hilarious.

Word started to get around about Y/n's change.

Jerome hadn't known he was back. Last he'd heard, Y/n had dipped out with Alfred Pennyworth. He'd run home to Bruce Wayne and his old life with his tail between his legs, once again forcing himself to be someone he wasn't in a life he could be content in, but never happy. Jerome had been planning his escape for a while and had considered paying Y/n a visit to see if he could knock the Wayne boy into his senses... but he had other things to do and he had to keep his head down while doing them. When he got the real story, it was far more exhilarating. It also sounded much, MUCH more like his Y/n.

Jerome was going to get Y/n out too, and they were going to burn this stupid city to the ground together, side by side. And no one was going to stop them. Not sense or sanity or decency or embarrassment. Y/n had even shoved off his brother- the boy had nothing holding him back anymore. They were going to have so much fun...

Then Y/n returned to the public eye of Arkham Asylum.

After his therapy stopped working, the guards either got fired or gave up. Words passed like fire about what they were doing to Y/n, and the real reason they were doing it. Guards were supposed to be guarding. Some turned a blind eye when other inmates pulled shit, but it was absolutely not allowed to bring harm to the inmates yourself. Now free, Y/n waltzed around the Day Room cockily, like a peacock showing off his feathers.

"...Y/n?"

The boy looked over casually, expecting something else. The person was too timid and quiet to be Jerome, but he most definitely hadn't expected- "Oswald?" His showiness melted in favor of pure joy. "Oh my god!" He ran to scoop up the little man in a hug. Both of them laughed, leaning apart with matching grins. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I was looking for you when-" He swallowed, his smile struggling. "I hope you're not mad at me. I meant to come find you, but things got... complicated."

Oswald shook his head. "I know what it's like to fall in love, especially when said person makes you want to kill someone." He put a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I thought you were dead. I heard whispers about you with Jerome and then suddenly you went missing and I thought-"

Y/n's eyes went wide as Oswald grew quiet. "Are you kidding me? You're not getting rid of me that easy."

That seemed to lift Oswald's mood. The Penguin pulled Y/n aside, lowering his voice. "I'm getting out of here soon, Y/n. Please come with me. We'll figure out a way to do it- I can figure out some way to-"

"No," Y/n said immediately, stepping away. Oswald looked like he'd been slapped. "I'm your ally Oswald, always, but..." He shook his head. "Jerome is here." He swallowed. "I have another friend here too. She's like me, but only for, um, girls." Oswald nodded slowly, understanding but still a little sad. "You are important to me. Whoever's breaking you out- they'll take care of you, right?"

Oswald hesitated. "If he doesn't, I'll figure it out."

"Exactly," Y/n continued. "Jerome should be fine, but my other friend... she doesn't really have anyone else." Y/n struggled to find words. "Have you ever had someone innocent depend on you for real friendship? Someone who only you get, who you have to make sure is happy and safe? Someone you would do anything for?"

Suddenly Oswald seemed to understand perfectly. "Yes." Y/n frowned. What had he missed? Oswald was... different. "I understand, Y/n." He pat his friend's shoulder again and then stepped away. "I'll see you around."

Y/n smiled coyly. "Aw, are you going to come and visit me when you're out?"

Oswald rolled his eyes. They'd always been like this. Playful and easygoing. It was always easier to do in private, or when things were looking good. Now they had both, with Oswald getting out soon and their respective reclusiveness from everyone else in their little corner. Y/n seemed to be able to bring out a smile from Oswald, just like he always could from people. It was his pride- he could get a smile from Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth- even Oswald Cobblepott. Damn right.

They had a few days to catch up, and then Oswald got out. Y/n was happy for him. He hadn't seen much of Jerome yet, though, which had him a little worried. He would have heard if Jerome had gotten out- where was he? Surely not getting the treatment he had before- that would work even less on Jerome, and would have far more a consequence. Finally Y/n got a guard to fess up about it.

"Jerome's been holed up. He's usually in isolation, especially since he antagonized Oswald Cobblepoptt a little bit. But it seems to be more his choice of recent to be putting himself away. He seems to have a lot on his mind."

That didn't settle well with Y/n. Whatever he was up to, Y/n had the distinct notion that the little peace he'd finally managed to grasp was about to get ripped from him yet again. This time, he was willing to fight for it though. It was obvious that Jerome was avoiding Y/n on some level. Either that or he didn't care about Y/n at all. He hadn't been here when Y/n was finally let out, and he didn't seem to have done anything to try and get to Y/n while he was locked up either. Whatever he was up to, it either didn't include Y/n, or it was a move against him. It wasn't yet clear why Jerome would be mad at him... though the Wayne boy had some suspicions. If it came to that, then fine. Y/n would fight Jerome if he had to. It wasn't just about him now. He had Harleen to worry about. It would all be resolved in the end, and whatever the outcome, Y/n was determined to end up on top.

#Jerome valeska #jerome velaska #jerome x reader #jerome imagine #jerome #gotham #joker #valeska twins #valeska twins x reader #male reader #wayne reader #joker x reader #joker imagine #gotham x reader #gotham imagine #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan x reader #cameron monaghan imagine

60 notes · View notes