#but once again. the actual execution of those ideas was just miserable and left me with such a sour taste in my mouth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second. It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful.

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase.

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it.

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor.

- What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare.

- Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history.

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door.

- Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID?

- Just sign in front of your name.

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring.

- You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast.

- Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

- I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now.

- Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

- The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

- Oh, okay.

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous.

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd.

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider.

- Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N.

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach.

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

- Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

- I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

- Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers.

- I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it.

- Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

- I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

- They’re down the hall. - she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

- Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again.

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it.

- Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well.

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

- Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

- Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day.

- Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup.

- Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins.

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves.

- I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

- Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas.

- A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

- The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing.

- I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type.

- Lyric soprano, m’am.

- A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

- Julliard, m’am.

- Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

- Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

- Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting.

- That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

- Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained.

- It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

- It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

- Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status.

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

Just Two Sad Roommates

Corpse Husband x Reader(Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: The power of medieval tavern music gets put to the test when Corpse’s roommate is having a rough day. SPOILER ALERT: it’s more powerful than anyone could assume.

Requested by Anon. You know who you are 😊😋 Wish I could tag you, I loved this idea so much and had such a fun time writing it. Hope you enjoy it just as much 🥰

The last twenty four hours haven’t been so great.

Last night I had a huge fight with my boyfriend over his flirty messages with several girls. It was not just witty banter, it was way more and way more hurtful to me. He obviously denied it and defended himself, at least in the beginning of the argument. Then he took on the accusatory stance, pointing fingers at me for living with another guy. That had me absolutely fuming. Not only was his statement fabricated and literally made up on the spot, but he also used some seriously horrible insults for him. I was having non of it. Corpse is a really great roommate, sweet guy and overall amazing person. I haven’t once argued with him since we’ve started living together. We’re actually quite good friends. So hearing my asshole boyfriend call him all those names was more than enough to chase him out of the apartment. Thankfully, Corpse wasn’t home to hear all that. He rarely leaves the apartment but by some miracle this was the time he was absent.

Then this morning my mom called me to have a chat. It started off decently enough but it only remained that way for so long. It didn’t take her long to start criticizing each and every element of my existence. From my job, my boyfriend, my living arrangement, the career I’ve decided to pursue, the fact I moved to a different state, my paycheck that’s lower than her friend’s daughter’s...…..You get the point.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating what the two years I’ve been in a relationship with Marcus mean to me. I guess it is just like a phone call from my mother - starts off nice but slowly deteriorates. All things follow this pattern in my life, apparently. And just like the phone calls, I’ve considered ending things between me and him many times but never actually decided on it. Until now. The last part of this decision is executing it, which doesn’t look very promising. My thumbs are frozen, hovering over the keyboard.

I take a second to take a look at my life from a third person point of view, like an out of body experience. I am wrapped in a blanket, huddled on the couch like a burrito with a face. A really sad burrito with a face. I have a job where I work as much as three highly ranked workers and get paid a little over a secretary’s paycheck. I’m in a constant state of exhaustion and disinterest. I often forget I’m human and just assume I can live like a cactus - no food, no water. I have a boyfriend that’s cheating on me and most likely has been for quite some time now. And we’ve been dating for two fucking years. Man, that must be the longest cheat streak in history. Who knows with how many girls as well. And I still have trouble deciding weather to break up with him or not. Actually no, scratch that, I have already decided, but it feel so unnatural and so out of character that my body refuses to complete the task of delivering the final blow to the structure of this relationship which was already weak to begin with.

And it only got weaker when I started catching feelings for another guy. I know, I know, I’m a bad person for that, but I was never planning to act on those feelings. They have always just...lingered, loomed over me. They got stronger and stronger every time Marcus and I would fight, as though they were laughing at my mock of a relationship.

Speaking of laughter, I hear my roommate laughing in his recording room. I gave him the spare room for his recording equipment for a cheap add to his rent fee and it’s probably the second best decision I’ve ever made - first being picking him to be my roommate. He was among the first to reply to my online add and appeared the least sketchy over the phone. More hypnotizing if I’m honest. He could’ve told me he was a hitman and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, handing the keys to his room and the apartment without a second thought. All he had to do was keep talking. Again, SUE ME.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic!“ I drop my phone when all the strings inside me snap, releasing the sobs and tears I’ve been holding back for so long.

I bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head in between them, desperately trying to shield myself from the plane crash that is my life at the moment. Crying makes me feel even sadder and more miserable but I have nothing left to do to get all the crap that’s piled up inside me out.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep, the tears have dried and the sobs have died somewhere in my chest, when I hear what sounds like music straight from Robin Hood’s time.

Holy shit, I’ve lost it

I lift my head from in-between my knees, looking around the living room for the source of the jolly, lighthearted tune which despite all the heaviness of my self-loathing makes me feel like the main character in an medieval adventure. Wait...Holy crap, it’s that medieval adventure, Robin Hood-ass music I hear from Corpse’s room!

I whip around to face the entrance from to the hallway where I see an arm sticking out, holding a phone which is where the music is coming from.

“Corpse?“ I call out to him in a questioning manner, shifting to a sitting position with my blanket kicked off of me and bunched up next to me.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry or sad...or both. Didn’t want to get attacked upon entering the room.“ I see the right side of his face peek out as well.

I break out into laughter, covering my mouth with one hand, “You’re such a dork.”

He takes this as a sign to come in, pausing the music as he does so. “What’s wrong?”

My laugh stops but a smile remains on my face as I look at him. He just has that effect on me. “A lot. What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, plopping down on the couch, “The usual, streaming Among Us. You should play with me and my friends some time.”

I scoff, “I can pull of a lie no problem. Maybe I really should.” I don’t actually consider it, it’s just funny to think about.

I have never watched any of Corpse’s content. Not his scary story videos, not his streams, not his animated compilations. Just his songs. And let me tell you...they are hella good. One song and I was hooked.

“Hey, I have a question.“ I tilt my head to look at him, “What’s with you and your love for medieval adventure music?“

“Medieval tavern music, and it’s not really love.“ He shakes his head with this dopey grin that is just. so. adorable. “More like a coping mechanism. Tell me, did you feel less sad I played it for you?“

I stop and think for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Point made.“ He declares, leaving me to nod in amusement. “Now, tell me what that ‘a lot’ is.“

So, I do. I tell him everything, from how my boyfriend is cheating on me to how my mother thinks I’m a complete failure. He listens carefully, paying close attention to everything I’m saying. I catch myself laughing a few times while I retell the recent upsetting events.

Must be that music.

“So, you broke up?“ He asks once I end my monologue with a sigh

I shake my head disappointedly, “Not yet. I still haven’t pulled the plug. I don’t know what to say.”

He holds out his hand to me, “May I be of assistance?”

I look at his hand then at him and contemplate for only a second before deciding ‘what the hell’ and handing over my phone after unlocking it. The screen displays my boyfriend’s chat so Corpse just types away what he has in mind. Before pressing ‘send’, he hands the phone back to me. “Proofread it.”

‘Dear Marcus, this is one of your girlfriends speaking. Yes, one of them. You think I’m not onto what you’re doing, you little shit? Well, to your dismay, I am. And so, I discontinue this relation between us. That word might have been too long for your IQ so let me rephrase: We are over. Finished. Hope your other girlfriends wake up too, unless they are already in the know, of course. Love, but really hate, Y/N‘

I was never aware this level of sass even existed.

I add a smiling emoji and send the message, sighing in relief. “I can check that off my to-do list now.”

We both lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A moment of comfortable silence takes over, leaving us both wandering in our own heads.

“Hey, um, I wanted to do this when I first moved in, but then I met your boyfriend and I took the hint. Now that you’re single, would you want to...“ he sounds a bit uncertain but continues regardless, “It’s ridiculous cause I don’t really like the idea of going out, but maybe we could order take-out...“

“Are you circling around asking me on an at-home date?“ I am surprised by how unbothered I manage to sound while I’m squealing on the inside. It’s fascinating how quickly a person can flip someone’s day around. Turns out it wasn’t the music at all. It was him that had the positive effect on mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch his face turn red and have to contain my laughter. The grin can’t be tamed though, especially not when he says, “Yes.”

Internally squealing, I launch myself from the couch, standing up straight in front of him. “Thai. My usual order is on the sticky note on the fridge. But first,” I offer him my hand, “I need to find out if a person can even dance to that ridiculous music.” At his amusement, my grin widens, “May I have this dance?”

He laughs that adorable laugh of his I’ve only heard through the layer of a wooden door. It’s even cuter when there’s nothing between me and its source. The source is cute too, not gonna lie.

With a shake of his head which is most likely disbelief, he takes the hand I’ve offered him, saying: “And you call me a dork.”

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze

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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

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mystic-deep · 3 years

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“Whipped Cream” - Part 2 | Nanami Kento fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Taking cooking classes seemed like a nice way to relax and sharpen your skills, too bad the teacher hates you.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: explicit content not suitable for minors, nothing graphic but please be advised, light swearing

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: Here's part 2! Things are starting to move in the right direction. Nothing too explicit though, part 3 will be the first real reason. Hope you enjoy and as always, please forgive any errors and mistakes.

♡ ♡ ♡ previous parts: Part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 3.4k

The second the doors of the elevator opened you dashed out, your eyes glancing nervously at your hand watch. Your weekly meeting had lasted longer than expected and now you were running late for your cooking class. You couldn’t wait to add another reason for that jerk to pick on you.

As you hurried through the lobby, the receptionist that you met on Monday noticed you and offered a sympathetic smile.

“Good afternoon! Nanami-sensei forgot some documents so he went back to fetch them from his car, you should hurry up before he returns.”

“Thank you!” You grinned at her and quickened your pace towards your classroom. It was good to know that not every staff member here was a devil in disguise.

You practically barged inside the room and for a second everyone looked at you with hopeful eyes, only to shift into disappointment when they realized it wasn’t Nanami. Or was it perhaps the fact that they all hoped you’d quit and they wouldn’t be forced to deal with you anymore.

Ignore them, this time around you wouldn’t lose your temper and become another subject for them to gossip about when the class was over.

With that thought in mind, and hopeless positivity, you scanned the room and realized that your previous working space had been occupied already. The only free space was at the very front row, near Nanami’s desk. Strange, you were sure that was probably the most sought out station, seeing how close you’d be to the chef.

You pushed your worries to the side and took out your apron from the bag before putting it on. Only a few seconds later the door opened again and Nanami stepped inside.

“Good afternoon and sorry for being late.” He offered a small apologetic smile and deep inside you thought that he was actually really pleasant to look at when he wasn’t criticizing your existence.

The smile vanished quickly when his eyes landed on you and you kicked yourself for finding him attractive just a few second earlier.

“Miss Y/n, as you probably noticed, I’ve moved your seat in front of my desk. After the events from last time, I need to supervise you attentively.”

You fought back the urge to argue, knowing full well that this is what he was looking for. Obviously today was a test of patience, to see how much he could push your buttons until you’d explode.

“Oh I don’t mind, Nanami-san.”

“I would like you to address me as Nanami-sensei or chef Nanami during classes.”

“Of course, Nanami-san.”

He shot you and angry look but you beamed at him innocently. You had told your friend that it would me a miracle if he didn’t kill by the end of the week but now your execution seemed right around the corner.

“Let’s start today’s lesson.” Everyone took out their phones and placed them on their working station.

“Today we’ll be making Paris Brest, it’s a very popular French desert. I’ve sent you the list of ingredients and instructions on the group chat, make sure you read them carefully and if there’s something you don’t understand you have 20 minutes to ask your questions. After that we’ll get started.”

Everyone gave a short nod in reply, well everyone except you. Your hand rose up causing Nanami to arch his brow in annoyance. “Yes, what is it.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not part of the group chat so I don’t have the list of ingredients or instructions.”

“That is, unfortunately for you, not my fault. Yamamoto-san is the admin, it was her idea to stop the waste of paper that we usually printed on in favour of sending everything via chat. You’ll have to talk to her.”

He made a short hand gesture towards one of the older women and you realized with distress that it was the old hag that questioned you during the previous lesson. She didn’t even bother to look up from her phone, like you didn’t even exist.

Fine, no point in begging to be added to some group you didn’t even want to be part of. You were sure you could find some recipes on youtube or something.

As the 20 minutes passed and Nanami began to take questions, your hand went up again but this time he ignored you. You frowned and went back to study the recipe you found. You were going to make this work, you were going to nail this desert and bask in the glory of your achievement.

About an hour and a half later all deserts had been finished and they were now presented to the chef for inspection. Nanami had moved from station to station giving advices to everyone and correcting mistakes here and there. He of course never spared you a glance and you had to admit it was starting to hurt. You didn’t know you craved so much for his approval or was it maybe the fact that it pissed you off to be pushed aside in such a way. At the end of the day you were paying for this course, it seemed unfair to be treated in such a manner.

“Right, let’s see what we have here.” He studied your Paris Brest, probably looking for any mistakes that he could judge. “A bit underdone, the bottom is somewhat soggy.” You bit your tongue and looked at him as he cut a small piece from the desert but didn’t taste it like he did with the rest. “I’ve asked for crème praline but instead you filled it with crème patissiere. Are you perhaps unable to follow instructions?”

“I didn’t have the list of ingredients and I didn’t have your instructions so I had to search for the recipe myself.”

“And I told you to ask Yamamoto-san to add you-”

“No, you said to talk to her as though this wasn’t your responsibility at all! Meanwhile you didn’t bother once to stop by my station and correct me even though you saw I was making custard crème.” Your cheeks turned red from frustration and you clutched your hands in small fists.

“If you don’t plan on teaching me anything then at least have the decency to say so! If I wanted to learn recipes from youtube I would have stayed in the comfort of my home without having to pay a dime for this joke of a class.” So much for keeping a cool head and not letting him get to you.

Nanami was a tall man, you noticed the second he first set foot in the classroom and back in the parking lot when you dropped your key. Yet you didn’t realize just how tall he was, at least compared you, until he was looming over you. His blue eyes had turned icy and his lips had tightened in a small, sharp line, a sign that he was barely keeping his anger in check.

“You will stay after class.” Despite not raising his voice even an octave, he said it in such a strong manner, like a divine command. When your mouth opened he sent you the most chilling glare. “You.will.stay.” With that he returned to his desk and you were left to boil in your frustration.

Class ended in what seemed to be mere seconds and everyone hurried out after saying their good byes, probably not wanting to delay you imminent death.

“Now, let’s talk in my office.” He gestured towards a door just a few feet away from his desk and you followed him as he opened it and stepped inside.

His office was quite impressive and you wondered just how much this school was making for him to afford such luxury. The room had large windows with a nice view of the office buildings in the distance, a solid wooden desk with a black leather chair as well as a couch with a modern looking coffee table. On the walls you could see several certificates and degrees that were framed, probably from all the cooking classes he had taken.

“Please take a seat.” He sat in the leather chair and you sat in from of him, legs crossed and eyes narrowed. Whatever the hell he wanted to discuss it had better be quick, you just wanted to go home and take a hot bath and forget about this miserable day.

“It seems that you are not adjusting well to this course so I will speak to management in order to return your money. No point to continue this if you don’t want to be here.”

“Oh no, you will not make this look like it’s my fault.” You sat up so quickly you thought you sat down on a spring. “You have treated me horrible since the very beginning and now you’re angry that I don’t sit quietly and take your abuse.”

“If you think that not praising you for the disastrous bake you did on Monday, a bake that I might add you half assed the whole time and then proceeded to blame everything except yourself, was too harsh for your sensitive self then it just further proves how unsuited you are for my class.” He sat up as well, his expression mirroring your own. “The class is a joke, the students are a joke, I am a joke. It’s all a big joke to you, the successful business woman who has no time to waste on such a silly course.”

You felt waves of anger washing over you but deep down inside what you felt more was sadness. Sure he was part right about what he said, you did look down on your classmates and you did insult him back then in the parking lot. Still, it wasn’t that you thought so highly of yourself, it was the opposite actually. Your self-doubt sky rocketed when he pointed all the flaws of your cookies and you couldn’t stand the way those women had chuckled gleefully in the background. Of course, you’d rather eat your fist than to admit to all of that.

“I don’t think this class is a joke and I have nothing against my classmates, it’s just that some of them don’t want me here. As for yourself, you’ve treating me differently than the rest of the class so the problem here is you not me.” You crossed your arms and looked at him in a defiant way. “Rather than returning my money, I want to be moved to a different course where someone else will properly teach me.”

He couldn’t have looked more shocked or upset if you had punched him in the face. This must had been for him the ultimate insult, for you to suggest that his teaching was bad and that someone else could do a better job. Truthfully, you weren’t questioning his skill as a teacher, just that you two obviously couldn’t get along. You weren’t sure that the point came across though.

“You insolent little-” He stopped himself and took a deep breath, clearly fighting the urge to strangle you. “You are absolutely impossible to deal with.”

“No, it’s you who just doesn’t know how to deal with me and I have had enough. There is nothing you can teach me.” With that you grabbed your bag in which you had previously stuffed your apron and hurried towards the door. As your hand reached for the knob, you felt his presence behind you and his left hand slammed against the door while his right quickly turned the key to lock it.

You turned to glare at him but as your eyes met his, your words got stuck in your throat. He looked at you with such intensity that it made your body temperature rise.

“I could teach you a lot of things if only you’d learn to keep that little mouth of yours shut.” The way he said things made you think he wasn’t necessarily referring to cooking.

His right hand suddenly reached for the back of your head and he pushed you forward, taking your lips in a hungry kiss. At first you didn’t move, you were too shocked to fully process what was happening. As his tongue slowly began to push against your lips you parted them and gave him full access to your mouth. Your hands reached for his broad shoulders and you instinctively stood on your toes in order to kiss him back.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds but it felt like a life time when you finally parted. The anger from his eyes had been replaced with what seemed like hunger and he licked his lips making your knees to tremble.

“You could actually pass as cute when you’re not trying to push all my buttons.”

His words were like a wakeup call and your eyes widened at what had just transpired inside his office. He kissed you, but more importantly, you kissed him back! Not only that but you did it with such desire that no amount of denial would get you out of this one.

“Why-Why did you-”

“Because I wanted to.” Just like that, because he wanted to. He trapped you in his office and kissed you just because he wanted to.

He grabbed your wrist, quite gently to your surprise, and began to pull you away from the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you silly on the desk, what else.” Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets and you froze in place.

“I’m joking, obviously.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Your fist aimed for his shoulder but he dodged the punch without a problem. He then sat down on the couch and pulled your body so that you would seat next to him.

“Now then, let’s discuss a few rules if this is to continue.” What exactly was he talking about? What did he think was going to continue?

“Whatever happens in this room stays in this room. Once we’re out the door we’re back to teacher-student relationship and nothing more. You’ll give me your phone number so I can send you further recipes and set up meetings but we’ll never discuss anything that goes on here via messages or calls.”

“And what’s going to happen here?” You asked feelings a mixture or excitement and curiosity wash over you.

“That depends a lot on you.” He gave a little shrug as his hand landed on your thigh and began to smoothly move upward. “Depends on how obedient you are, show me that you want to learn.” You almost found it impossible to breath as his hand began to massage your flesh through the fabric of your pants. Why, why in the world didn’t you wear a skirt today?

“First, I think it’s fair to ask if I should be worried about you seeing someone. I don’t want to ruin a relationship or marriage.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” After your promotion from last year it had been nearly impossible with your work schedule to form any kind of meaningful relationship and truth be told it was starting to show. God knows how much time had passed since you shared such a deep kiss and you wanted more of that. Even though there was a part of you that worried about what you were getting yourself into, you absolutely needed to feel that light headed again. Also, you knew that what he had offered was just a taste, just a fraction of what he could do to you.

“What about you? Is this something that you do often?” His hand on your thigh tightened and you let out a little whimper.

“I know you have the tendency to always believe the worse of me, but no, I’ve never done this with anyone. All the more reasons to set up clear rules. Obviously I’m also not in a relationship.”

You didn’t question him- he indeed didn’t seem the type to just sleep around with his students. If anything those women from your class would give and arm and a leg just to be here, in his office, sitting on the couch with his hand on their thigh. Yet for some reason, he chose you. The annoying, opinionated one that always rubbed him the wrong. Or maybe, you were actually rubbing the right way.

“I came to the conclusion that the only way for you to behave during my class is if we can take care of some of that pent up frustration you have.” You cheeks coloured red and you hated to admit it but he was right.

“What about you?” Your fingers began to travel provocatively to the growing bulge in his pants but he grabbed you by the wrist before you had the chance to reach your destination. You whined a little but he just chuckled and kissed the inside of your palm.

“Obviously, I’m not immune or I wouldn’t be here, offering to give you extra lessons.” He let go of your hand, his expression turning seriously.

“Before we continue, I need you to agree that you will behave accordingly.” You nodded in agreement, a bit too quick for your liking.

“I want to make it clear that we’ll not be dating. The second your course ends, so will this arrangement. We won’t meet anywhere else except here and once that door is locked you will be obedient. I won’t do anything that you’re uncomfortable with, but I want you to be opened to try new things, do you think you can do that?”

You nodded again finding it almost impossible so seat still. You were both nervous and excited for this little arrangement and you couldn’t wait to get started.

“Good, one last thing that we need to set straight.” He grabbed your waist and manoeuvred your body until you were sitting in his lap, his hand gripping your chin so he could look straight in your eyes.

“Inside this room you’ll address me as sensei or sir, none of that Nanami-san bullshit you pulled earlier. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes...sir.”

“Good girl.” He offered you a low chuckle and a light smack on your ass. You were absolutely desperate for more of his touch and seeing the need in your eyes, he pulled you in for another deep kiss.

As his tongue explored your mouth, your hips moved against his and his hands gripped your waist in order to stop the friction. He pulled away and looked at you in a threatening way.

“Don’t be greedy, your lessons haven’t started yet.” You wanted to protest but you were also afraid that he would end this before it even had the chance to start.

His slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt and let his mouth fall on the swelling of your breast. He licked the flesh and nibbled, making your head fall back in pleasure.

“N-Nanami-sensei.” You mewled his name and he smiled against your breast. After a few more seconds he pulled away, admiring his work. The first mark he had left on your body and the promise of many more.

“Up you go.” He gave you another light smack on your bottom and with trembling legs you moved away from his lap.

“The next meeting will be and Saturday, to make up for the time you wasted today.” You frowned slightly, wondering how you’ll be able to resists until the weekend.

“Don’t make that face, I promise to give you and extra reward if you do well during Friday’s lesson.”

Your expression turned into an excited one and he laughed whole heartedly. “You’re so easy to read.”

With that, your little discussion had come to an end. He unlocked the door of his office and you stepped outside, practically waltzing through the classroom, down the hallway and through the lobby. The nice receptionist asked you something but you couldn’t register anything that she was saying so you just smiled like an idiot and waved her goodbye.

As the elevator door closed, a part of you began to worry about what you were getting yourself into. You weren’t a reckless person and you knew what scandal this could cause if you were caught. Still, it was even more dangerous for Nanami who could risk getting fired, so you had to trust that he knew what he was doing. All worries aside, on Saturday you were going to wear a damn skirt.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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Why do you dislike that scene of Sam and Dean hunting those soldiers? Because you believe they wouldn't be able to take specially trained army soldiers or? I'm sure we're supposed to think that they hunt monsters every day of their lives, humans are easy compare to.

oh, fam. what a hornet’s nest to walk into.

Okay.

So, first: First Blood & Lotus are complete failures of episodes. In writing, execution, believability, filmic decisions. Truly shocking that they got off the storyboard without someone fully laughing out loud and going “great joke!” and then, I don’t know, putting the draft ideas into the urinal in the office bathroom and letting everyone have a go at dissolving them into an ammoniac puddle.

But then they decided to do them. So, unlucky us. So, Lotus is just... risible. Whatever. I don’t have the energy or willpower to think about it. First Blood is so much worse. Aside from how completely fucking stupid the beginning is -- really, this boring-ass montage of who-cares is supposed to be this much of a mental strain to two guys who were in literal hell? -- ugh, I can’t even work up the energy to get as mad at it as it deserves. Blah. So -- stupid, stupid, unbearably stupid premise. Then they escape. Okay, fine. The Billie plot is-- again, unbearably stupid. But then they get out into the woods.

There’s a moment, a bare moment, where it’s the Sam and Dean I recognize. Standing out by that van, being competent in a way that feels grounded. Calling Cas, looking at a map, working together and triangulating their position and figuring stuff out. Grounded. That’s the key word. Sam and Dean were always, always, competent and together and I believed that they could be people because they made decisions and choices that pretty much made sense.

And then.

It’s hard even to put into words what’s so awful, so risible, so deeply embarrassing about the whole... Rambo sequence. First flaw is that they conceived of a Rambo sequence and entirely forgot what the actual movie First Blood is about. It’s not cool. It’s horrible. It’s brutal. Rambo’s hurt and freaked and this isn’t okay, not remotely, not at all. A First Blood reboot done by someone who kind of heard of it once on 4chan and thought “lol that sounds awesome” and never thought about it for more than the time it took me to type this sentence.

Then there’s the awful, awful, awful speech, which was the point of the gifset. Apparently lots of fans thought it was cool. I don’t know what show those fans have been watching. Dean’s liable to drop fake-cool sounding quotes and, you know, it’s not like it was wholly out of character. As my bud is keen to remind me, the double-reference of Cool Hand Luke and Rorschach is very dumb, and it is! It really is! But even the literal writing of it isn’t the main thing that’s wrong with it, even if the speech itself over the stupid walkie-talkie is cringe-worthy bad.

It’s the vibe. That’s what it comes down to. The vibe. An indefinable thing that nevertheless can be VERY wrong when it’s wrong. It was an accumulation of wrong notes, as we marched along through s12, going from okay to bad to what the fuck is going on. The British Men of Letters started neat but became overpowered comic book villains. The Asa Fox funeral where there’s a quirky little universe of hunters, like this is X-Men or something. Lucifer hopping into the President, when a writer with taste would understand that that’s a bridge too far for stakes, and pushes the story into a stupid corner where you have to pretend consequences don’t exist to move past it. And then, and then, and then, you get your two heroes, and you give one of them a gimmicky comic book speech that sounds like he rehearsed it to sound cool in the bathroom for weeks beforehand, and you set them on a fucking cat-and-mouse hunt with the Secret Service, and... what the fuck, was Dabb stoned? Was he eating cheetos off a puddle he’d left between his moobs and playing Spiderman on PS4 and went ‘lol this would sound cool, let’s do that?’ Honestly, I hope so. A thoughtless stupid little digression because ‘hur hur cool’ is better than him actually thinking this through and going, yes, that’s the place I want this story to go. That’s art.

Miserable. And, again, not OOC, not exactly. But there are things you can choose for your characters that feel thoughtful, difficult, adult, and remain in character. Then you can choose things for your characters that feel... like a child’s idea of what maturity is like. A coward’s idea of a brave man. A quivering nerd’s idea of a strong man. The Dean that I see in that scene is just... not the Dean I want, at all. It smacks of the thing that tanked the whole Dabb era. Doing something because for a second it looked kind of cool, until you thought about it at all. Doing something because it was a neat soundbite. Taste out the window; we’re gonna get Dean saying the lamest, most overused, most internet-nerd fake-cool line: you’re trapped out here with us, and I guess because Sam racks his gun and looks faux-grim in the background we’re supposed to take it seriously. I just wanted to turn off the TV.

And then he just kept doing that for three more years. Thank god he didn’t get to ruin the finale, too.

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auggieparkhurst · 3 years

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Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else, but he could still find it within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought. Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go. Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,” -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over. “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks. It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself. Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man. He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore, but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience]

#| Labyrinth |#The Alchemists #| Omens Etched in Crimson |#Augustine Parkhurst #Hyleass Duskbough

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aotopmha · 4 years

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AoT 137 spoilers:

Letting Eren live would precisely play into the narrative that AoT is fascist propaganda. But I guess a portion of the story's fans these days are very much into that stuff in the first place.

I also love how all actually emotionally complex ideas (imagine Eren actually let his friends fight because he cares about his friends in this very complicated contradictory way, but that possibly can't be it) are reduced to power of friendship because your Nazi wet dream doesn't happen.

I'd rather a story be as clear as possible about not supporting genocide than being more "original" and "complex" because it lets the genocide happen.

Darker and different ≠ better written.

Also, I'm pretty sure this is still setting up for some sort of twist.

There is still 2 chapters left, the action here is obviously not done. I think these past 3 chapters have been pretty usual hopeful set-up chapters for how AoT executes its tragedy. I feel like it is really obvious if you examine how the story has been told so far. It's setting ducks in a row in a pretty similar manner to all of the big tragedies in this story so far.

And I think this upcoming tragedy will still lead to a bunch of deaths before Eren is finally killed.

So, good news is, you can still get your Nazi wet dream and the evil cringvengers can still be defeated by your glorious leader.

(I saw someone unironically say this sentence, by the way, holy shit.)

So the darker version can still happen, but I think the story will still paint Eren as wrong. If it doesn't, I'm going to make a final post talking about it and be done with it.

So no matter how contrived these people say any other ending besides Eren winning is or how contrived it might end up being in my eyes (and right now I think Eren losing is perfectly thematically consistent), I'm still going to side with the alliance winning because it's the principle of the thing.

I really don't think any of these complaints are about the quality of the story anymore. I think even more self-aware people just find the Jaegerists' extremism sincerely appealing because it appeals to their cynicism and makes the whole thing simple. I think a lot of people, particularly young men, on the internet are miserable and can't see hope, either, like Zeke.

So they frown on what their definition of power of friendship is, which is finding hope or seeing any kind of positive outcome in a story, no matter how foreshadowed or grounded it is. There is no good in humanity, after all. Impossible.

I was like this for a very long time, too. But as I've now said many times, I think humanity is just as much awful as it is kind.

Some are also children or young adults who want to seem more adult because they are watching a story with a lot of cruelty and blood and gore. So a darker ending is a more mature ending to them.

But what this is actually saying is why Nazis are so horrible. It's an ideology that destroys you, your people and everyone else around you emotionally and physically and Zeke was a victim of it, too.

I think someone starting to see the good in his life is a good thing to portray in your story, just as much as someone falling into pieces is. In this chapter Eren's and Zeke's arcs are opposites: Zeke has the positive arc while Eren has had the negative arc.

Maybe these thoughts are also influenced by how this same internet culture lead to a fascist coup attempt in a country that is known for its respect for freedom.

I'm done with giving any leeway to it unless I really make sure the person behind it is talking in good faith. I've been following a couple of people leaning into this Reddit funnyman stuff and I'm done with that or anyone making light of the fascist elements of the story, like the entire character of Floch or any of the Jaegerists or the system of Marley or even just Eren.

Even if "it's just memeing" it makes light of these ideas and softens them up. It tells me you find at least some of it appealing or not as bad as it seems, no matter how self-aware you are about it, especially if you're actually pretty deeply drenched in it.

You're being a good person because you have to and not because you actually want to be one and these kind of people are very much a red flag for shitty relationships.

I hope some of these guys find happiness some day, but associating with them could end up a mess.

And oh boy, is a section of the AoT fanbase this.

These thoughts are all based on a few images and a messy summary, but I like it so far.

I thought Zeke would have a role based on where he left off and I like this.

Oh and those worried about revival stuff, if there is a heaven, it will probably be gone once the parasite is killed.

The only way one could exist is through paths and if that's gone, there would be no more afterlife, either and all the Shifters and Wall Titans would just probably die.

So this will probably be the final time everyone sees them again.

I think I'm most confident with the take that there is a twist next chapter.

I can be wrong, but it really feels like it to me based on how the story has been told so far.

I'm looking forward to reading the complete chapter.

#Attack on Titan #Shingeki no Kyojin #AoT chapter 137 #SnK chapter 137 #Chapter 137 #AoT #SnK

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queen-of-the-avengers · 4 years

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Better Late Than Never

Characters: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end, reunion

Request by anon: Hi there!! Just curious, would you ever make a one shot to the avengers reunion for your story pick a side?

Summary: After years apart from your dad, you come face to face with him. Will he hate you for leaving? Will he resent you even more? Or will he accept you back into his life?

sam’s wings for @star-spangled-bingo

tears of joy for @foundfamilybingo

Part One

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

You’re good at your job, but you’re not that good. You take after your father--working on things building big projects, and always innovating new ideas. You’re not as good as he is, but you try to do your best. Sam managed to break his wings, so you tried fixing it on your own. He gave you enough time to come up with a plan and execute it, but as soon as that time was up, he needed to move on to someone slightly better than you.

After all, you have the Captain America serum in your body, so you’re more useful out in the field than behind a welding mask. Sam needed an expert to fix his wings, and you were slightly offended that it wasn’t going to be you. All he said is that he found someone to do the job, but he never said who. Even Steve, Wanda, and Natasha were very quiet about it, but you kind of brushed it off.

“Give me another chance, okay? I think I can fix it,” you beg Sam as you follow him around the Quinjet.

“Major, you’ve done enough,” he laughs.

“My name is Y/N,” you pout.

“You’re just below Cap. You’re Major.”

“Fine, but you need to give me another chance. I have a better understanding of it now!”

“No.”

You don’t take no for an answer and head over to his wings that are on the table in the middle of the jet. You whip off the blanket that is covering them only to have him drag it back on.

“Sam!”

“I said no. I found a guy.”

“Steve!”

“Y/N, I love you, but you’re a crappy welder and an even more crappy engineer.”

“Language,” you gasp teasingly, and he rolls his eyes slightly.

“We’re approaching our destination,” Natasha calls from the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?” you ask and bounce to the window.

“Y/N, wait--”

Steve’s warning is cut off when you reach the window. The clouds clear to reveal the new Avengers facility that your dad had built in upstate New York. Your blood runs cold and you freeze in your spot at the thought of running into him. It’s been three years since you two last saw each other--after he made no moe to contact you. The last thing you heard from him was him accusing you of picking Steve’s side because you were “fucking” him.

He’s never made any effort to call you after you left with Steve.

“Y/N, we were going to tell you, but he’s the only one who can fix this,” Steve whispers.

You hear him, but your brain doesn’t register the words that are coming out of his mouth. All you can think about was the fight that happened at the airport in Germany. When you got in line with Steve and his team, your dad gave you the coldest look you’ve ever seen. He was so angry at you for not picking his side that he didn’t care why you did it or what you believed in. All he saw was betrayal, and all you saw was hatred and disappointment.

When the fight started, he tried his best not to fight you because even though he was mad, he didn’t know if he could hurt you. Then, the unthinkable happened. Steve and Bucky were racing to the jet to get to the place where the other winter soldiers were when you stood between them and your dad. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he couldn’t let them get away.

He ended up hurting you in more ways than just physical. Physically, you only had a bruised stomach and some cuts on your face. However, emotionally, there was a gaping hole left in your chest. Your dad saw the damage he did to you and he just left without another word or a glance in your direction. He just took off, and that was the last time you ever saw him.

The months rolled by, and you thought he was going to call you, but he never did. Those months turned to years, and you lost all hope of seeing your dad. It crossed your mind that you should be the one to go after him, but he hurt you a lot more than you hurt him. You couldn’t put yourself through that embarrassment and torture of seeing how you made him disappointed by coming back.

So, you never did.

Fighting with Steve made you happy--at least, that’s what you tell yourself. In reality, it provided you with a distraction long enough to keep thoughts of your dad out of your mind. Then, when the distraction subsided, Steve had already found another case to be on. It’s been a few years, and you’ve been everything related to misery. You miss him so much, but he clearly doesn’t miss you. So, seeing his new Avengers facility brought all those unwanted feelings back to the surface--the ones you tried so hard burying.

“You know, you could have told me,” you sigh and look away from the window.

“I didn’t know how.”

Steve thought about calling Tony plenty of times just to kick his ass into being with you, but he always thought twice about it. You were at a point in your life where you were almost at the peak of getting over it, so he couldn’t possibly let you bring all those feelings back into the light. You were just so sad and you cried almost every night for a long time because all you needed was your dad. He couldn’t give you the comfort you needed, and because there was a small possibility that Tony would reject you once again, he just couldn’t make that call. It breaks his heart to see you so sad.

When Sam’s wings broke, and no one in his group could fix them, he knew that it was time to go see Tony once again. There was no way you would be staying on your own, and he couldn’t think of a good enough reason to keep you away, so you joined them without a hint of where you were going. Ever since the big fight happened, they’ve all been looking at you like you’re going to explode at any given moment. They’ve been hovering to catch you despite you telling them that you’re okay.

But you’re not okay.

How can you just worry everyone like that when there is no fixing it? There is nothing they can do, so why bother them with it in the first place? Everything you’ve ever mashed down inside you started to inflate the minute the Quinjet landed. As soon as the doors opened, you became frozen where you stood. Natasha and Sam left the bird first with his wings in hand, leaving you, Steve, and Wanda left inside.

“I can take away your fear if you want me to,” Wanda whispers.

“No, it’s okay,” you whisper back. “Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.”

All you see is pity on her face, but she leaves your side nonetheless.

“Are you sure you can do this? You don’t have to go in there,” Steve supports.

“I do. He left, not me. I shouldn’t be scared to walk in there, he should be scared that I’m here. Does he know I’m coming?”

“No, I didn’t tell him. I was afraid he would say no to fixing Sam’s wings. Listen, he sounded pretty miserable on the phone. I think he’ll be happy to see you.”

“He was so mad at me,” you remember your last conversation that actually mattered, “like he couldn’t fathom the thought that I would pick your side over his. I just did what I thought was right—I still think that. He always taught me to stand up for what I believe in, and I did just that. I’m just scared he’ll hate me all over again. I don’t think I’ll survive that again.”

“Then stay in here. We’ll be in and out. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” you sigh sadly.

You look down at the ground just as two tears left your eyes. Steve looks at you, and he just cups your chin with two fingers and lifts your head so you’re staring at him. He wipes the tears away with his thumbs as gently as he can.

“Don’t be. You’re not ready. That’s okay. I have to go inside now, but I promise we will be back before you know it.”

He leans down and kisses you tenderly, keeping it short. The feel of his lips on yours help keep you grounded, and you hold onto that comfort even when he pulls away from you. You keep your eyes closed for a few more minutes as if it would shield you from the fear. If you can’t see your dad’s place, then you’re not really there. However, just as soon as you open them, you miss the comfort from Steve immediately.

Why should you be the one who fears this place? It should be your dad that fears you coming here. He was the one who broke things off with you, so why do you feel like it’s your fault? You’re his daughter, and he is supposed to treat you as such. You’re not one of his friends that pissed him off--he doesn’t get to cut you out of his life like you mean nothing. You’re his fucking daughter; he is supposed to love you no matter what. It’s what a parent does for their children. Yeah, they are supposed to make you mad and get on your nerves, but you don’t get to cut them out of your life like that.

Why should you just stand here while everyone else gets to be inside? Maybe seeing your dad’s new place is giving you the courage you never had. It’s giving you a sense of what’s right and wrong in this situation. Fuck this, you’re not going to wait out here like some scared little girl afraid she is going to get grounded by her dad. You’re an adult, so he can’t punish you anymore--not like this.

You leave the Quinjet and head inside the place, impressed how it turned out. Your dad is an arrogant ass sometimes, but he sure doesn’t know how to build a beautiful building. Jarvis is no longer with your dad, so he had a new system put in place: Friday. The only thing different about her is that she has an Irish accent while Jarvis had a British one. Since your face is known on every server that your dad has, Friday doesn’t announce your presence. Jarvis did that with strangers, and you think that it’s the same thing with Friday.

This place is huge on the inside as much as it is on the outside, but you don’t have any trouble going where you need to go. The main room is close to the entrance of the place, so just as soon as you enter, you hear everyone’s voice come from the room. Despite being angry and pissed at your dad for treating you this way, there is something inside of you--no matter how small--that tells you he is going to hate you when he sees you.

You freeze right before you can turn the corner. The doors are open, so you can hear everything clearly, but you’re completely out of sight. Will he stare at you with disgust and disappointment? Will he yell? Throw you out? Tell you that he never wants to see you again?

“Thanks for doing this, Tony,” Steve says as Sam hands over his wings to the billionaire.

“First time you called in, what, years, and this is what you asked me?” Tony says and glances at Steve.

He noticed immediately that you weren't in the room.

“Is it safe to come home yet?”

“No.”

“Then, yes, it’s what I asked you to do.”

“Where is she?” your dad asks as he inspects the wings.

“Do you care?”

“Do I care? Of course I fucking care, Rogers. How can you ask that?” your dad hisses.

“You haven’t called in, what, years?” Steve throws that comment back in your dad’s face.

“Is she at least here?”

“I’m not going to answer that. What needs to be done is fixing these wings so we can be on our way.”

Tony looks at everyone’s faces and knows immediately what they are saying. You are here, probably on the Quinjet that just flew in, and there is a reason why you’re not coming in. He really fucked up big time. All Tony has ever done for the past few years is regret yelling at you in the first place. All he wants now is his daughter, and you can’t even come inside.

“I’m right here,” you say and reveal yourself.

Hearing your dad ask those questions pushed the doubt to the back of your mind and brought back the courage. Every single person turned to look at you, but you’re only looking at your dad. He seems frozen where he stands, unable to do anything but just look at you. You’re really here no thanks to him. He grips Sam’s wings tightly in his hands, wincing when one of the parts dig into his palm. Feeling that pain brings him back to reality.

He sets the wings on the table right in front of him before marching over to you. You honestly think he is going to yell at you or do something mean, but instead, he just brings you into a tight hug. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, and you find yourself sinking into his body.

“I missed you so fucing much,” your dad says emotionally.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry into his neck.

He pulls away and makes sure you’re staring into his eyes when he speaks.

“No, you don’t get to be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or made you feel like what you did was wrong. I’m the one who fucked up. You’re my daughter, and I shouldn’t have ever let you go.”

He brings you back into a hug, and you squeeze him tightly to remind yourself that this is really happening. You look at Steve from over your dad’s shoulder, and he smiles proudly because this is the moment he has been waiting for. This is the moment that should have happened years ago. Well, better late than never is what everyone always says.

You and your dad have grown separately, but it’s time you grow together. You’ve lost precious years without him, and you’re not going to waste another over something stupid like last time.

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uselesstimetraveler · 4 years

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It's been over a week now since the AOS finale and I still haven't had the heart to rewatch it, so I'm just gonna share with you my opinions from that night (I wrote most of this the next day, just haven't posted yet lol)

It was next level excellent, overall, but I have A LOT to say, this is gonna be long

YES TO EVERYTHING DANIEL RELATED!!! The thing I loved the most was that they made him so useful, he wasn't just helping Daisy or doing whatever people told him to do, he actually had a great idea and executed it with Mack’s total support. He went to action and it gave me LIFE!

Another thing that gave me life was the philindaisy moment at the bar. I’m a sucker for them. When Daisy got there and hugged Coulson I was AAAAAAA and then she went to hug May and you see her stop, like, “oops, should I?” AND THEN MAY HUGS HER HERSELF!! Now, you can argue that May is an empath and felt Daisy’s emotions at that moment, but lemme tell y’all THAT WAS NOT JUST DAISY’S FEELINGS, THAT WAS MELINDA MAY'S GENUINE HAPPINESS FROM SEEING THAT HER DAUGHTER MADE IT BACK SAFELY!!! Try to convince otherwise and fail miserably. My family is just perfect like that.

The Fitzsimmons reunion scene I WAS SOBBING from the moment she realised the key was her ring!!! AND THEN FITZ JUST xkskdxkkm COMES BACK LIKE THAT kxsmkdsms I CAN’T djkskdsjsms I WILL NEVER EVER GET OVER THAT!!! That whole thing was genius, honestly. They were truly able to take a hard situation in which an important actor wouldn’t be able to be there for most of the season and used it amazingly to their advantage. And then Fitz HELPED HER REMEMBER BY TELLING THOSE STORIES = MORE TEARS. That whole scene was beautiful. AND WHEN SHE REMEMBERS ALYA OH MY GOD by that point I was screaming. Btw, I love how they chose their daughter’s name, it’s beautiful and has an even more beautiful meaning for them <3

Since I’m already talking about Fitzsimmons I’m just gonna go ahead and say that their ending was so well deserved. They suffered a lot, literally every season some shit would happen to them. I’m so glad they got their happy ending and are right now living their best life as a family <3 fitzsimmons family = everything to me. (are there any Fringe stans in here????? Did y’all notice that parallel at the end? If not, let me explain: aos: jemma sitting on the grass seeing fitz and alya playing together and smiling. Fringe: olivia sitting on the grass seeing peter and etta playing together and smiling. BOTH ON THE LAST EPISODE!! And both episodes were number 13. This is too much for my heart.)

About Deke: I really love that he was the one to “sacrifice” himself for the team. I’m not really a fan of Deke, but I was glad that he did what he always wanted, in a way; Contribute significantly to the team and be acknowledged as part of said team. It felt to me that by doing that he was doing what he often tried, but no one ever really took him seriously enough to allow him to do. I think he was selfless and then ended up finding his true place, after all. Nicely done, if you ask me.

On that note, and shifting back to Daniel once more: when he said he was gonna be the one to stay behind I was like “NO YOU’RE NOT! Don’t even think about it. You, buddy, are going with Daisy.” What was he thinking? (I know what, and I know it was brave and selfless of him, but just let me have my moment, okay?)

Now the answer to ending the war was empathy?????????? GENIUS!!! Mojed, you went beyond terrific there. I love everything evolving May in that part of the finale, how she dropped from the ceiling calling herself The Calvary (talk about character development!!!) to philinda fighting together and exchanging looks, to her saving the freaking world with her empath abilities!!!! I have some serious goosies just remembering.

Something else that was just genius to me was that they were the ones at the temple, THEY CARRIED MAY OUT OF THERE, I did NOT see that coming. WHAT?!

OH! And what about what Piper asked for??? She asked for Davis!! That’s adorable! That had me crying too, I love their friendship.

Now Kora. I was a little bothered about how fast things happened for her and Daisy on the sister bonding thing. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like that her and Daisy ended up working on the same team for SHIELD and that they were in a good place in their relationship, but what I’m saying is that Kora hated Daisy’s guts on one scene and Daisy had literally said a couple episodes ago that she did have a sister, but it was Jemma, and then Daisy died, and I liked that Kora saved her, is just that I got a vibe off of them in that scene that seemed like they had the best kind of sister bond for ages. Was that just me? Maybe, but hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That’s not really a problem, I'm just saying.

Btw, when Daisy died for, like, two seconds, I was out of my mind!!!! I couldn’t even scream, I just froze in place. Thank God or whomever that she was brought back to life. I wouldn't be able to continue without my baby.

Now back to philinda and probably the only "complaint" I have: Let us agree, despite wanting them to be together in the end, there was very little chance of that really happening, right? Because he’s a robot now. But I did have a lot of hope, those episodes >>gave me<< a lot of hope. Y’know, in episode 12 they had that moment talking in the hallway, the explosion happened, he protected Melinda... I was like, “that’s my couple right there, you guys”. Then at the fighting scene they exchanged some looks at the end that really left me “it’s coming, people. Their happy ending.” It didn’t come. I took another blow to the face. A blow that was expected, yes, but a blow nonetheless.

I wasn’t all that excited about Coulson’s ending at first, you know, him just traveling the world, but I understand what they did and why. He’s still getting used to his new self and rediscovering his life, so it makes sense that he would need time to do that. That last scene with Lola was simply EVERYTHING TO ME tho!!!!

But May’s ending… the thing is, I had a lot of expectations for how she would end up. Throughout the seasons something that was very clear to me was her desire to be a mother and I know that she built that relationship with the youngest agents on the team, but I kinda expected, aside from philinda endgame, more of that. But my biggest problem here isn’t even that, is that I really, REALLY don’t see Melinda May giving lectures????? Melinda May? The woman who now calls herself The Calvary, teaching theory or history or whatever???? I’m not saying she can’t, I’m just saying I never thought of that as a possibility for her, it sounds more like a Coulson thing to me. But then again, that’s all they showed us from her life. They gave us very little details about how she (and everyone else, honestly) is living and I think in a way I like that because it lets us imagine whatever we want. So she could very easily just be there at the academy for one lecture, she could be training (physically?) new agents instead? IDK. Also, Flint was there, they could have built a relationship. Mentor\mentee like hers with Daisy at first or even mother\son? I’d like that. I like the “found family” thing.

I have two ideas of fanfiction out of the finale. The first one is a Dousy that I had already thought of and completely fits with one thing that Daisy said, and the other is basically a Philinda fix it because, well, I want to. I'm very lazy when it comes to my writing, but I really wanna do these two, let's see how that turns out.

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melancholydreadfuldream · 4 years

Text

intoxicate me now, with your lovin' now

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader

Summary: You hated the Doctor since you were kid. But how did it ended up with you married to John, the Doctor's human version? When the truth is revealed, how will you and the Doctor cope?

Warning: ooc, angst, plot holes, dark!doctor, mention of child-abuse, mention of sex, obsessive behavior, mention of miscarriage, torture, death, etc. You have been warned.

More warning: English is not my first language so beware of the headache you will receive upon reading this.

You stood by the window. It was raining heavily and thundering. Your hand absentmindedly play with the locket of your necklace as you stared outside. Your memories of that dreadful day returned.

Six years old you was screaming as you were ripped from your mother's embrace. Your mother cried and begged for mercy but none was given. You started crying too as you saw someone slapped your mother harshly as a bunch of rough men hit and kicked on your father. You bit the wrist of the person who held you from your parents which enraged the person as he turned his anger on you as well. He grabbed you from your hair and slapped you good.

You didn't stop screaming as your parents were dragged away from you into a room and then after all the scream and yelling, six shots were heard from within the room and with that the screams stopped. You never saw your parents again. You were told they were executed by the people for their crime against the nation.

They mentioned how grateful they are for the Doctor's interference, for liberating the people from the likes of your evil parents. You remembered meeting the man called the Doctor. He was a funny man with big ears. He played with you for a bit when he noticed how lonely you were before when he came to your family mansion as esteemed guest. He was nice to you.

But now you found out he was the reason you lost your parents. You felt betrayed. As days passed and things got worst for you, your hatred of the alien being called the Doctor nurtured even more, especially when you heard in passing how the people celebrate his name. You learnt the Doctor was already gone though in his blue box. He left after he made sure the downfall of your parents who he deemed not worthy to be placed in high authority for the people and left them in the mercy of very angry mobs, uncaring of the fate of you.

You were suffering under the mercy of those people who have no pity for the daughter of the tyrant who had made their life miserable. You were beaten and made to work hard as a slave. You often cried and some of them would laughed at your tears, mocking your weakness. You wondered if they hate you so much, why didn't they just kill you along with your parents?

John watched you from the doorway. He coughed up a bit to catch your attention.

You shook the painful memories out of mind as you turned and gave him a small smile.

He wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you close to him. "Are you alright?"

"Just remembering some bad memories?"

He look concerned. "About him again?"

You nodded mutely.

He kissed your forehead. "Someday the Doctor will pay for what he did to you, (yn), I promise." He said. "I hated seeing you in solemn mood like this."

You forced a smile. "Sorry. I can't help it. Thunderstorm always made me think of that night."

"Don't apologize for that." He said.

Your hand went to the locket on your necklace. You opened it and there was a damaged picture of your parents. "I was six years old when I last saw them...my parents. I don't even remember what they look like anymore. This locket is the only thing I have left of them." You said.

"I'm so sorry." John said as he rubbed your back gently.

7777

John is your boyfriend. It was a recent thing. You worked together for two years now as the soldier for the church of Silence. You first met him when you were assigned to be his caretaker. You were told he was wounded in action and lost his memories. The church told him to take it easy and get some rest.

You weren't pleased to be a babysitter of some strange man but he eventually grew on you, especially since you found out you would have to work under his leadership. You never even heard of John before and yet the church acted as if he was some decorated warrior. You had no idea how he passed the test to be a soldier in the first place. John, at first, looked awkward with his leadership and everyone seemed to look down on him.

John, despite being a soldier, didn't seem to like to use weapon all that much but he made up for it by being intelligence enough to warrant a position as a leader of some battalion. He led some very successful missions which earned him his team's respect including yours. Still, he was reprimanded by Colonel Manton to try to get used to use weapon as sometime the enemies can't be reasoned or tricked.

The first time he actually used a gun turned out to save your life. You were taken hostage. He plead them to let you go but there were no reasoning with them. You told him to leave you behind but he refused. That was the first time you saw something cold and calculating in him as usually he was full of mercy. You blinked as he shot dead your host and bit of his blood got onto your face.

John dropped his gun like a hot potato as the dark look on his face slowly vanished. He quickly checked you for injuries. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

You could only stared at him in disbelief as he looked so different just now. You wondered if that was the real John.

Madam Kovarian and Colonel Manton look pleased with themselves as you and John gave your mission report to them face to face.

7777

John proposed to you when you both were taken hostage during a mission gone wrong. It was special mission, sanctioned by Madam Kovarian herself, something about a secret chamber in some alien ship with some complicated puzzle. John, predictably, excited to solve it at first until they were ambushed by some enemy faction.

The enemy also wanted whatever behind the chamber and started trapping John's men one by one under some deathly trap. If he chooses wrong, the person currently trapped will die a painful death. Unfortunately, John was unable to solve it in times.

Believing he need a better incentive, they trapped you into position. You had no idea how they know who you are to John but they did. John became frantic when your life is on the line. You tried to be brave but you were honestly scared especially when the saw within the trap started going near your forehead. Your face is full of tears and sweats. You didn't want to die here. You haven't even gotten a revenge on the Doctor yet. You refused to die here.

"Calm down, John, It is okay, you can do it, I trust you." You said softly to him.

John flinched as grabbed his own hair as he wrecked his brain to solve it.

It was a close call but he did solve it. You were so relieved when the trap freed you from its deadly clutch. You fell on John's arms in relief as you hold on each other. It was then he blurted out the proposal.

You laughed hysterically at him but you must be out of your mind when you actually accepted.

"How touching..." The enemy leader mocked the both of you before raising his gun to shoot the both of you.

It was then Colonel Manton and his army stormed the chamber so you and John were 'saved' once again.

7777

It was creepy but Madam Kovarian actually congratulate you and John on your marriage. Her eyes twinkled suspiciously. "I hope the both of you have a happy marriage always and forever." she said.

You told John she made you felt uncomfortable and he admitted the same. You felt like there is some running joke and you and John were out of loop.

Despite everything though, you and John have a happy and peaceful honeymoon. Madam Kovarian gave you and John some house in a military base. She said it was John's reward for solving the puzzle on the chamber. You were told in passing that the chamber contain a valuable alien weapon that the church could harness for a better weapon for the army.

John looked torn when told of it. He still dislike weapon after all this time.

7777

John were called by Colonel Manton. Apparently the scientists of the church were unable to figure out the weapon. You were wondering why they kept calling John for it as if they believed him some alien expert.

John were also confused by his sudden of alien knowledge in the presence of Madam Kovarian and Colonel Manton. He felt uneasy every time as if he was losing himself.

John came home to you tired and weary. "I think we should left the army..." He whispered to you as he hugged you close.

You were confused with his words.

"They...forced me to figure out the weapon. At first, I couldn't figure it out and when I did, I realized that weapon is too dangerous to be used so I pretend not to know...but they...they threaten to transfer you to another unit, to that unit..."

Your eyes widened. The unit he mentioned was the headless monk. You unconsciously touched your neck. You didn't want to lose your head, you are still attached to it after all. You couldn't believe that they had threaten John with your life. But, despite the revelation that apparently they thought of you expandable (of course it was a given you were merely a foot soldier within the church after all unlike John), you still don't want to leave the church as you believe they are the only one in position to destroy the Doctor. You heard they had a weapon against the Doctor but you never saw it.

"I hated that they think you are expandable. You are not."

You smiled at him fondly. "Only to you..." you whispered gratefully. You pulled him down to you and kissed him.

He smiled toward the kiss. "Always...my sweet wife." he whispered back to you.

7777

You thought it was weird when Madam Kovarian suddenly gave you too much attention. She showed a great interest in your marriage to John. She played it as if your union with John is sacred. It was then she brought up about your parents.

"I know what the Doctor did to you when you were a mere child."

You frowned. You were aware the church know your background. It was the reason of your recruitment in the first place. The church is the reason why you weren't still a street rat. They took you in, gave you education and training. You were grateful for the church.

Madam Kovarian informed you the church has started a move against the Doctor.

Your eyes widened in excitement as you wish to know more.

She smiled chillingly at you. "I think you have what it takes to join the special division I created against the Doctor. But John must not know of it. I can tell he is very protective of you and joining this division is a very dangerous task."

You nodded in agreement. "I won't tell him anything."

"Good girl."

7777

The special division mentioned by Kovarian has files on the Doctor. It was there you learned more about that enemy of yours. He is a Time Lord. He can regenerated and has so far eleventh faces. But apparently, the files only have pictures of the Doctor up to his tenth incarnation.

Your body trembled in fury as you recognized the ninth incarnation as the man who visited your parents that night. Your hands were shaking as you stared at the cold eyes of the Ninth Doctor picture. You found out the Doctor had made many enemies and had caused a lot of chaos wherever he go. He has companion to serve and aid him in his chaos-making. You glared at the list of the many names of his known companion. Some of them are still alive but some are either dead or lost in another dimension or some void. You found out about the blue box called Tardis, his time-travel ship.

You got home to John distracted. He was concerned for you but you refused to tell him anything, instead you pulled him close and made love to him in order to stop him from asking questions.

Afterwards, John gazed lovingly at you, caressing your hair gently as he whispered his love to you. You smiled as you cupped one of his cheeks.

7777

John went on a mission and has gone missing. You were frantic and demanded a rescue operation to save him. Colonel Manton told you that he was kidnapped by someone outside the mission.

It was then you found out something fishy. Madam Kovarian and Colonel Manton look concerned over John's fate. They were worried the companion had got to him.

Your eyes widened. "What could the Doctor and his companion want from John?"

They seemingly had forgotten that you were still in their presence. They mentioned Jack Harkness and you remembered the name was on the list of the Doctor's companion.

Madam Kovarian and the colonel exchanged a grave look before turning to you.

"There is something you should know. It's time."

You felt like throwing up.

They told you that John is the Doctor.

"But John is human with one heart. The Doctor had two hearts!" You yelled.

"We had a device that rewrite his entire biology, turning him into a human and trapping his time lord consciousness somewhere else." The colonel replied. "We thought we could throw the companion off his scent by putting him in plain sight. Obviously, they figured it out though it does take him three years..."

Your entire core was shaken. You had given your body and heart to your very enemy unknowingly. "How could you let me married him? You know I hate the Doctor!!"

"...which put you in the best position to hurt him back. This is good, (yn)." Madam Kovarian said.

Now you realized the running joke that you were out of the loop of.

"Did you plot everything to make John and I ended up together?"

From the sickening smile on her face, you realized that both you and John has been manipulated.

You felt sick as tears filled your eyes. You desperately tried to hold back your tears. "I love him."

"And now you know the truth. Stop loving him." Madam Kovarian said carelessly as if there is an off switch for emotion within people. "Or will you forgive the Doctor's transgression to you?"

You didn't reply instead you left.

7777

You were at the home you shared at John. You saw the pictures you took with him and you throw it all away on the floor in your confused rage. You made a mess of everything that reminded you of John which is pretty much everything. You took off your wedding ring and throw it to the fireplace, watching the ring burn within the fire as you cried your heart out.

You didn't know how long you were laying on the floor as you were numb now.

It was then you received a phone call...from John.

"(yn)..."

"John..." You whispered weakly. "Where were you?"

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, (yn)."

"Where are you, John?"

He told you to meet him in some place and to come alone. He said he need to come clean with you about something he recently discovered.

You swallowed painfully as you realized the companion must have told him his real identity. You agreed to meet him. You changed your clothes and picked up your gun and hid it on your person.

7777

When he saw you, John look relieved as he made his way to hug you. You reluctantly hugged him back. He was not alone. There were three other people with him, Jack, Amy and Rory. They were the Doctor's companion. You recognized them from the pictures of companion on the Doctor File.

"John..." You whispered to him.

Jack confirmed that you did come alone so they believe you are not a threat.

John was ambushed by Jack and when he came to, Jack, Amy and Rory were there. They told him something horrible that he is actually someone called the Doctor. His eyes widened in horror when they tell him that. He didn't want to believe them because he didn't remember being the Doctor. He is just a human.

But they have picture of himself as the Doctor and they also showed him a distress video of the Doctor telling the companion and presumably himself as he realized he was about to be brainwashed by Kovarian. The overwhelming evidence is too much for him. His heart goes to you, his beloved wife, who has a grudge against the Doctor. His heart hurts at the thought maybe you knew that he is the Doctor and has played him along but when he remembered how much you hated the Doctor, he doubted that you would be willingly sleep with the man who is responsible for your parents' demise much less married him.

Jack had argued maybe you did it just so you could hurt him back. John couldn't accept it and he wanted to see you again against their wishes.

Amy had told him that he...the Doctor has a wife, River Song. But he had no idea who even she is. The only person he love is you. He can't imagine marrying someone else.

John insisted of meeting you and refused to go anywhere with them unless you are with him too.

John gazed at you with profound sorrow. "Oh, (yn), something terrible has happened. I..."

"I know. They just told me." You whispered brokenly.

John's eyes widened in panic and fear at your reaction.

"You shouldn't have contacted me..." You said as tears filled your eyes.

John took a few step back from you when you raised a gun at him. He looked heartbroken.

Jack quickly pulled his gun toward you.

John made a move to shield you from Jack much to your surprise. "Don't you dare..." He glared at Jack.

Jack look annoyed.

Amy was held back by Rory from approaching John. "Doctor!" she yelled at John.

Both you and John flinched at the name. You and him kept staring at each other eyes.

You slowly put down your gun with a broken expression. You can't hurt him, not when he is still John. "Go. They are about to come for you." You said.

Jack's eyes widened as he made to grab John and pull him away from you.

John reluctantly left you but his eyes never left you as he was dragged away from you.

You broke eyes contact as you bend your knees to the ground, defeated.

7777

Madam Kovarian is displeased with you. "I'm so disappointed with you, (yn) (ln)."

You were forced on your knees on the floor, your hands were bound. There were tears on your cheeks. "He is John." You whispered hoarsely.

"John is not real."

"I know. But he is not yet the Doctor. I wanted to hurt him when he has become the Doctor." You said.

Madam Kovarian look intrigued. She smiled evilly.

7777

Madam Kovarian transferred you to the Demon Run base where you will be trained further.

The base got attacked by River Song who is trying to get to the orb containing the Doctor's time lord consciousness.

You got in her way and she shot you but not fatally. She said John asked her not to hurt you.

"So, you have decided to side with Madam Kovarian. Too bad. John really cares for you. He is still in love with you." River said softly. "I am so jealous seeing the man with my husband's face talk about another woman so lovingly."

You cursed yourself when you faltered at the mention of John and the woman, the Doctor's true wife, smiled predatory at you.

"Regardless his feeling for you, if you make a move against the Doctor, I will kill you." River threatened you with a chilling smile. She grabbed the orbs and left, shooting dead everyone else that gets in her way out.

You watched her leave in hollow. You clutched your injured arm. You smiled bitterly. John will be gone soon and in his place, the Doctor... You could finally get your revenge. You didn't know how to go about it but you are prepared to die to achieve your goal.

7777

The Doctor is torn. He still has lingering feeling for a certain (yn) (ln). He remembered everything he experienced as John and how much he loves you.

The Doctor is angry at the church for using his human version for their own sake. He remembered every missions. He remembered that they made him kill. He remembered how pleased Madam Kovarian and the colonel were for making the human Doctor do everything the real Doctor is against with. The killing, the weapons...

He stood in front of the console. His eyes filled with rage as he wished to unleash the oncoming storm on the church.

The only thing stopping him is you. His hearts goes for you. He felt guilty remembering what you told John of your parents and of how the Doctor had left the child you to rot.

He also remembered killing men for your sake, to ensure your safety. He remembered how the colonel use you to threaten John. He is worried for your safety within the church. He feared the church would deemed you useless and kill you. His hearts ached at the thought of losing you.

The Doctor has no idea how to fix you. Can you even forgive him? All he wanted right now is to keep you by his side, to keep you safe and to cherish you. He had married you and he could feel the vow he uttered as John weighed heavily on his hearts and mind.

He watched River who was there on the Tardis with him currently, his wife, his true wife. She had saved him yet again. She brought his time lord consciousness back, freeing the Doctor from the clutch of the Silence. He owed her everything. And yet, here he is, hearts torn by another woman. How is that fair for her? He still loves River so so much but he also loves you too.

7777

"(yn)."

"Don't you dare utter my name." You glared at the Doctor as you pointed your gun at him.

You finally meet the Doctor in person. He has been secretly stalking you as you throw yourself into dangerous mission after mission for the church while waiting for your chance for revenge which Madam Kovarian had assured you that you will have it. You didn't expect that the Doctor would come to you himself much less to save you from danger.

Instead of being grateful, you pulled a gun on him. But much to your frustration, the Doctor is able to disable you and your gun. He pinned you against the wall as he begged you to listen to him. You were so furious and refused to listen as you struggled against him.

"I hate you! I wish you just go and die already! I will never forgive you!" You screamed at him. You hated yourself for losing your cool, for being weak against the Doctor.

The Doctor recoiled from you. His expression looked hurt. He released you immediately and left after making sure you are no longer in danger.

7777

Madam Kovarian thought the Doctors' obsession with you is an advantage. She wanted to set a trap for him through you.

You agreed to it carelessly. "He will come if I am in danger." You confirmed. The Doctor did somehow knew when you are in danger. You have no idea how. "Do it. If there is a slightest chance of killing him, take my life with him if you have to!"

7777

You have no idea that you were pregnant with John's child. You lost the unborn baby after nearly died within the trap set for the Doctor. You woke up on the Tardis med-bay.

John, no, the Doctor looked upset with you, believing that you risked your life and his unborn child's life in negligent. But when he saw your pale face upon finding out you have miscarriage, he realized you really had no idea. But he had to wonder if you know, would you even keep the baby?

You felt a grief of losing the baby but part of you is relieved, baby complicated matters, especially one that half-conceived by your enemy.

For someone that has just suffered medical emergencies, you felt fine. The Doctor must have give you some wonderful drug.

You demanded him to let you go, refusing to be under his care or owe a debt to him.

"Are you going to run back to the church? To Madam Kovarian?" He spatted angrily at you. "They don't care about you. You are expandable to them."

"So what? It isn't your problem!"

"It is my problem! You are mine!" The Doctor roared.

You were shocked. You glared at him in disgust. "I am not yours!"

"Perhaps I should make you mine." The Doctor said darkly. "...since it seemed you don't care about your life."

You froze under his gaze. Fear filled your heart at the thought being kept prisoner by the Doctor. "Don't you dare."

"You wanted to kill me? Then do better. Live better. If you continues being incautious toward your own life, I will be forced to ensure that you will not be a threat to yourself."

"Why do you care whether I live or not?!"

"You know why..." The Doctor whispered brokenly.

You were speechless. Madam Kovarian is right. You seemed to have a pull with the Doctor. Can you even use this to your advantage? Can you ruin him?

"Do not think you can play mind games with me, (yn). Don't ever, ever think you are capable of that." He said suddenly with a dark look. "I care about you. I still loves you but if you try anything against me, you will lose and trust me, I always win."

You recoiled from him with a flinch. "I hate you."

"So you have said."

"I will never stop hating you for what you did."

"I know."

"Stop trying to help me then."

"I can't." He said desperately. "You were seared in my hearts. I can't just let you go. I go where you go even though I know it was a trap."

You hitched a breath at his confession. He knew it was a trap and he still come for you? How stupid can he be?

You didn't realize he had gotten so close to you. He cupped your face and kissed you. You relented into the kiss before you snapped out of your stupor. You pushed him away and slapped him. You sobbed as you turned to left the med-bay. You have no idea where you are within his Tardis but anywhere is better than being in the same room as him.

You somehow ended up in some sort of storage room. You wished you could find your way out but you predictably got lost. You sat on the floor on the storage room, feeling unwell.

In your dizziness, you noticed an old crib inside the storage room and the sound of baby cooing from it. You frowned as you made your way to the crib. Of course, there is no baby in it. You chuckled, wondering if you have lost your mind too. You did let your enemy kissed you.

You walked out of the room and suddenly feeling like everything is spinning. Despite trying to walk slowly near the wall, you ended up losing your balance and blacked out.

You distinctly felt someone caught you before you hit the floor. It was him. He look so concerned for you.

7777

You woke up in a hospital. They had just finished with miscarriage procedure. You had no recollection how you ended up in the hospital as the last thing you remembered was running away from the Doctor after he kissed you.

You noticed something on the side table. It was a picture, a picture of your parents. You know it was from him, the Doctor, some twisted gift from him, you thought. Was it a taunt? Or was it a genuine gift for he knew that you have no clear picture of your deceased parents? You held the picture in your arms as you cried.

7777

You wanted revenge. That is still something that you wanted, right? You were torn. You can't deny that you still have feeling for him. But you also recognized his truth that you have nothing, no advantage to win against him.

You didn't come back to the church. You felt like you need a break. You need to sort out your thoughts. You wondered if you could let go of your grudge against the Doctor. But, even if you do, you refused to stay in his presence. That man is still a source of your grief after all.

After the hospital allowed you to leave, you quickly used your vortex manipulator to leave so you can be on the run...from the Doctor and the church.

Later, you found out the Doctor had faked your death so the church won't even be searching for you.

7777

You tried to live a normal life. You tried to adjust to society again. You made sure to live in isolation as not to attract any attention.

The Doctor and John still plagued your mind from time to time. You love John, not the Doctor. You love John, not him, never him. You have to stop loving John because he is not real. John is not real.

Despite being careful to cover your track while hiding, the Doctor somehow found you again.

You were furious with him for not leaving you alone, for keep making stupid puppy eyes toward you. "I hate you. Do you hear me? I don't wish to see you ever again."

"I know...but I just can't stay away from you." He said. "I don't want to... (yn), I just want to keep you safe."

"I don't need or want your protection." You said coldly.

He looked miserable as he stared at you with those damn puppy eyes.

You growled as you pulled him close and kissed him hard. He was eager for you as he can't stop touching you.

You were harsh with him and he takes it all willingly. You must have lost your mind for doing this. You hated the man in front of you and yet here you are using his body for sex and he allowed it. In fact he seemed to yearn for you. He was gentle with you in contrast of your harshness.

Once the deed is done, you felt disgusted at yourself as you recoiled from him. You dressed yourself as fast as you can before using your vortex manipulator to leave. It was a good thing you packed the essential in a bag for you need to run again.

The Doctor watched you leave without words. His eyes looked sad.

7777

Of course, you could never outrun the Doctor. You wondered if he has done something to you, if he has put a tracking chip on your body or if he did something to your vortex manipulator. How did he always able to find you no matter where you go?

After a while, your unexpected meeting with him which always started with arguments will often ended with hate sex at least on your part. Each time afterward, you will hated yourself more and despised him for making you weak. And then you will run. It will took him a while but he always find you. And the cycle is repeated.

7777

The Doctor has been acting unlike himself ever since meeting you. He was convinced that John's love for you was strong that it still latched on the Doctors' hearts and mind.

He knew you hated him. He knew he should stay away from you. But somehow he always find his way to you. He knew you were using him for meaningless sex and he knew what he did to you, making you hated yourself more. But he was addicted to you as he was sure you felt the same of him. He knew he was not good for you and vice versa. And yet he can't bring himself to stop yearning for you.

He felt bad for River on the account of his feeling for you.

River shook her head sadly. She had investigated your background so she knew your reasoning for hating the Doctor. Knowing the Doctor well, River knew her husband would blame himself, would be riddled with guilt. And what a guilt he must have feel toward you.

"Go to her then, Doctor. Do what you need to do. Ease your guilt. Love her if you must. Make her yours for however long you can have her. I will always be here for you."

River has longer lifespan than most human due to her time lord genetic unlike you who are only human. She know the Doctor would only have a few years with you, maybe less, considering how toxic their relationship is. By the end of that, she know the Doctor would come back to her. She is not insecure of the Doctor's feeling for her. She is his true wife after all.

"But, Doctor, you have to be careful with her. You can't let your guard down around her. She can't be trusted." River warned him.

Having gotten his wife's consent, the Doctor pursued any semblance of relationship with you.

7777

Madam Kovarian had found out that you are alive and that you have become a fuck-buddy of the Doctor.

You cringed at her insults.

The church has captured you and you were under their mercy.

"It seemed the Doctor still has soft spot for you. Good." Madam Kovarian smiled chillingly at you. "But he really does gets under your skin, does he not? You have become pathetic under his influence. Where is that fierce hatred for the Doctor? What would your parents think of you if they see you now?"

You couldn't reply. You were ashamed. Tears filled your eyes.

You were bound to some medical chair. Some weird headpiece were forced on you.

"Wipe her." Madam Kovarian instructed her scientists. "Made sure you only left the hatred."

Your eyes widened in confusion and fear.

"Don't worry, dearie, I'm only doing you a favour, to get rid of that pesky feeling you felt for John and thus the Doctor. After all, you will only need your hatred for him." She said in sickening sweetness. "After this, you can focused more on getting your sweet revenge against the Doctor. It would be easy to plot against him with some wriggle room since he has such fondness for you. He wouldn't dream to hurt you which make you the best weapon against him."

You didn't know what to think of her plan. You did realized she really is doing you a favour by getting rid your unwanted feeling for the Doctor. But...do you still want to hurt him?

It is no longer matter as they started the wiping process and it was painful. You screamed and screamed and screamed for what felt like hours.

When the torture finally is over, you woke up no longer feeling anything but hatred for the being called the Doctor.

7777

The Doctor had found out that you were taken by the church. He knew coming to the location of where you are supposed to be would ended up being another trap.

You smiled a chillingly sweet smile at the Doctor after you fired the shot at his stomach after he 'rescued' you.

The Doctor stared at you in disbelief. He clutched his injury with one hand, face turning pale.

Madam Kovarian and her faithful colonel stood by your side with a pleased smile on her face.

"What have you done to her?" The Doctor asked Madam Kovarian.

"I fixed her. Got rid of that pesky feeling that has been holding her back from fulfilling her desire to kill you." She said proudly.

You glanced at the Doctor with disdain at the reminder that you were married to him and had sleep with him.

While Madam Kovarian bragged about being able to trick the Doctor again, the base were suddenly under attacks. The smile slide off her face.

The Doctor chuckled. "You really don't think that I came alone, do you?"

They could hear exchanged rapid fire shots from the distant.

"A-ah, that would be my River coming to the rescue." He said with a grin. "She insisted to come with me."

Madam Kovarian stared at him flatly. "You brought your wife to rescue your mistress?"

You glared at the woman for implying that you were the mistress.

"well, what can I say? She knew you would be here, Madam Kovarian, and she so loves to ruin your day." The Doctor cheerfully said.

You frowned, noticing that he was no longer in pain from his injury. It was then you realized the Doctor is actually a hard hologram which meant he fakes the injury.

Madam Kovarian is quick to set escape with her minion upon realizing. But you remained there, staring at the Doctor hatefully.

The Doctor stared at you solemnly before the hologram blip out of existence, leaving you on your own in the middle of destruction of the base.

You started to make your way out but you couldn't figure out the way to safety. You wondered if you will die here.

Then you saw it the blue box. The Doctor standing just outside the Tardis, raising his hand to you, offering salvation.

"Come with me, (yn)!"

But you took one look at him and only uttered one word. "No." You stubbornly refused to be saved by him. You would rather save yourself. And if you can't, you would rather be dead rather than take his hands.

You took a few step back away from him much to his displeasure and somewhat heartbroken look. He opened his mouth to say something but you turned and ran from him.

7777

You were able to escape. It was a close call but you did it. You were covered with dust from head to toes. Your hair is a mess and you were very dehydrated but you survived with a few injuries.

But, waiting for you is River Song. She glanced at you grimly.

"You shot him. Even if it was just a hologram, you shot him. He is weak for you and I know you will take advantage of that. I can't let that happen." She said as she raised her gun and shot you on the chest.

River knew the Doctor is willing to risk himself for you and next time he might not be lucky especially now that you no longer have feeling for the Doctor. She won't let him risk his life, not for you.

You gasped in pain as you stared at her in disbelief.

"I did warned you that if you made a move against him, I will kill you." She said with a shrug and a cold smile.

You fell on your knees, clutching your injuries.

River turned around to leave, knowing the deed is done. You are as good as dead. The Doctor will be safe...from you.

You laid on the ground amidst the ruin of the base as slowly the pain is gone and you welcomed the darkness.

A/N: Okay, no one probably care to know this but I have the song 'toxic' cover by Rumer Willis on my mind and on a loop on my playlist while writing this.

Originally this was supposed to be a 10th doctor x reader, an alternate version of my other fic 'shattered and hollow' but I ended up writing for 11th doctor instead because River is in it and she belongs to 11th doctor so...

#11th doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #river song imagine #shiefenwrites

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

Text

Alex ze Pirate Mini Review 3: About pacing and terrible dark revelations played as jokes.

And here we are at the second part of the arc, which was titled “Abandoned”. And just as a word in advance: While “Underappreciated” was mostly defined by the shitty behavior Sam experiences by his crew and how Dobson crossed comedic lines to the point Alex and her crew come off more as abusive than “funny” in the way they treat Sam or interact with their environment, this one is defined by another major issue Dobson has in his bigger stories overall: Pacing.

See, the right pacing in a story is really one of the most important basics a creator kinda has to grasp. He or she needs to know primarily the following things in relation to pacing, when planning out a story: What are major events/storypoints/key scenes I want to work towards to, what happens inbetween these points and at which speed do I get from point A to B, C etc.

Cause the truth is, a lot of stories out there follow certain tropes or expectations, particularly when they are part of a certain genre, so people more or less have ideas when a certain “point” is hit, what the next point, if not even the endpoint is going to be down the line. And people also kinda want to reach the endpoint of a story, particularly if they expect doing so will finally give the protagonists they care for (and the audience itself) some sort of satisfying conclusion.

The one thing you can now do however, which can in the worst scenario totally kill an audiences/readers enjoyment of the story and even break your creation apart, is get the pacing wrong. For example by unnecessarily dragging out your story instead of just getting to the point, especially when people just want to reach the next major beat, resulting in increased annoyance by them. This can e.g. be seen in a lot of fanfics when writers create damn arcs within their own shit, or (to give a professionally published work of fiction as example) the manga Bleach, when instead of fighting Aizen and his two major supporters directly, the “war” against him was unnecessarily dragged out by having e.g. a pointless flashback sequence that barely shed new light on certain characters and gave EVERY damn main and sub captain of the Shinigami a shot at some random villain/minion Tite Kubo created on the spot but no one cared about really, just to make the story arc run longer.

Obviously, the opposite can also be the case, where people just rush too fast from one point to the other instead of giving the audience time to even properly comprehend or explain what happened and why it happened. Which can get additionally frustrated, when by rushing through plot points the work of fiction gets overloaded with concepts and ideas that may on first glance look interesting, but don’t have any real payoff in the big picture of things, making it come off as pretentious in some cases and pointless overall. Like the movie Southland Tales, which deserves to be burned off the surface of the planet.

The “best” case scenario when pacing a story, is to know when you need to slow things down (give characters and the readers e.g. moments to breath and emotionally comprehend a situation they are in, giving also insight into a characters emotional state or personality) and when to speed things up (e.g. when there is a big battle, to know which moments are meant to focus on, but also when to be “faster”, giving really the impression that time is of the essence, that high stakes in a short amount of time are given and to hit a key event at the right moment to get a satisfying reaction from your audience)

And now, after giving a glance on my general opinion on pacing, in order to avoid me commiting the cardinal sin of dragging things out, lets just get to Dobson’s actual artwork.

As you can see, the chapter starts off again with the island, but this time now with Sam not part of the picture and its consequences (no one cleaning up the place in the morning). This is not really a bad thing to start the chapter of, primarily because it creates a nice contrast to the beginning of the first part.

Page 3 to 5 however…

Lets just say I get what Dobson tries to show here, but I think is exaggerated to a degree that kinda hurts the narrative; the fact that without Sam, shit does not quite get done.

The problem is the execution of the idea. See, instead of putting the fact Sam is missing into the forefront, the fact stuff has not been done is. Stuff the crew should be able to handle after a very short time of adjustment easily. I will admit, Talus suspecting they were robbed but then asked if he had also looked into the cabinets, is kinda funny. I mean, it fits the character (and sometimes people in real life) to be so adjusted to seeing a certain situation as routine every day, that when it is slighty changed they may initially assume the worst but in reality just one convenient step of the routine was left out. Less forgivable I think is the fact that seeing how Sam did the clothes the day prior, I have to wonder how dirty those guys are that already everything is left in piles of dirt to the point they have only the following alternative as wardrobe.

Halloween costumes.

…. Ok, why is there Halloween, and likely a modern day variant of its celebration, in a comic set in a fictional world compared to ours, in a time period it would not exactly exist anyway? Christ on a pogo stick, consistency is all I ask for. Oh and of course NOW they realize Sam is gone. Because they finally put together that their daily luxuries they took for granted are no longer available.

Hey now, Talus. You all are guilty of being terrible friends. In fact yu are so terrible, you would make Twilight Sparkle vomit at the sight of yours. Also, why of all characters are you wearing a costume? Unlike those two bitches, you still had clean clothes on a few pages ago. Speaking of bitches, Atea in the middle panel looks readyto be edited in a cumshot video. Just saying for all those “creative” editors out there.

YAY! Lets get our slave back so he can do all the stuff we care about but do not want to do.

Seriously, if Dobson tries to convince us they want to get him back because they care for him as a person, he fails miserably. Both by the choice of wording in this page, where Atea and Talus react angrier about the fact that without Sam things don’t work smoothly, rather than concern about his well being, as well as any behavior expressed in the previous chapter. These people are not reacting like friends in worry, they act like spoiled brats. Especially Talus who could still get his stupid burgers if he, as the cook of the crew, would just do his job. All he has to do is additionally open a few cabinets. Also, where in the heck is Uncle Peggy? Oh just go to the next pages so we are getting this over with.

Oh great, the lolcat pirates are back. Because they were so hilarious the first time. And look, they got defeated again. And what is their contribution to the story? To give information on where Sam may have gone.

And it is here now where I have to stop and come back to the pacing issue. Cause the last ten pages here? They are a good example of what I meant with rushed pacing and how it ruins things.

Once more I need to say, I get it. I get the major points Dobson wants to get across. That a) Sam is gone that b) without him things are not all that good for the crew anymore c) they decide they want to find him d) they get information of where he is by going after the one feline that can provide a potential hint. Four major story points Dobson wants to get across. And he is free to get them across. But the way he does it, is just way too fast. Neither the characters, nor the reader really gets time to comprehend that Sam is gone and what that means aside of the surface level loss of luxury Alex and Co are now experiencing. The emotional weight of Sam’s “loss” is pushed aside for the sake of cruising through the plot defined by its surface premise, as fast as possible. And considering that the meat of this story is supposed to be how much Sam means to the others as a person as well as his personal tragedy, intend and execution, thanks to this pacing, does not compute.

Pacing and overall structure are way off and fail to engage us in addition to just killing any suspense in what is going to happen next or surprise us in an interesting fashion. In other words, I am not entertained by this story. It is not funny, it is not sad, it is not “adventurous”.

Personally, I would suggest to actually use the “premise” of those ten pages and turn them at least into two independent chapters of this story overall, to give the premise actually some meat on the bone. The first chapter being a multipager with the crew realizing Sam is gone first BEFORE realizing that without him their luxuries are gone (putting also emphasize this way on the fact they care for Sam also more as a person instead of just the things he does for them) and then once they realize he is missing, deciding to go after him. Only to realize that when they want to prepare themselves for the task (getting their gear together as well as lunch e.g.) that everything is dirty or damaged because Sam normally takes care of it. Leading to a sequence of them having to experience doing Sam’s work for once, making them already there indirectly in part realize what he all does they took for granted.

The second chapter would then be them on the sea, trying to think of where to look at and eventually stumbling upon the cat pirates. Only instead of defeating them easily this time and getting the information, expectations are subverted and the cats actually fight back first, leading to a more hilarious confrontation where Alex and her crew can actually also show how they can be funny and badass, instead of Dobson just always “talking” and trying to convince us they are cool. And look, I do not expect a multi chapter One Piece like battle against the cat captain who turns out to be a master of Scratch Jutzu or something the moment he sniffs catnip. But please, give me something in this story. Some conflict, some diversion, something for characters to actually do that shows they can be badass, funny and awesome. Something that is as cartoony as Dobson likes to claim Alex ze Pirate is, but has never shown in its entirety.

Instead we get to this page, where of all characters Talus is the one who finally seems to realize how he and others took Sam for granted.

And again, even this page is a good example of terrible pacing. Cause this realization, now shoved in within this and the next page? It would mean so much more if it happened in parts somewhere else in this story before or after, slowly to everyone stepwise. Cause then it would actually feel like a “development” of a chain of thoughts and internal realizations. Instead it is half heartedly thrown in all at once in those pages, to get the point across that NOW Sam’s “friends” finally realize, they took him always for granted.

Congratulations on realizing that you are the real scum in this story. What do you expect from me now? To give you hugs and feel pity for you like you are characters in Steven Universe, all because you had an epiphany? You do not deserve mine or any readers sympathy, just because NOW you feel bad for your terrible behavior. Cause if I did, it would just feel rewarding in a certain manner. And you do not deserve a reward. You have to make things up first or at the very least put in some sort of effort to show me, that you are not just feeling bad, but are willing to change for the better. Otherwise you are in the future still just the same toxic abusers you were two pages ago.

... man, that really felt like me already venting at Steven Universe.

Anyway, we have reached the town where Sam is from…

And it looks NOTHING at all like the artwork from Legends implied parts of the town to look like

Where are the badly drawn docks? The houses that imply this is not just a small village on the beach but an actual small town? The twon square where they sell underaged boys as slaves? Jesus Christ, what is the orphanage going to look li-

Nevermind. The orphanage is crushed. And all the people that lived in it are dead.

... WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU, DOBSON! This is genuinely a sick joke here. Look, I am all for black and dark comedy myself, but this feels cruel. I need to remind you, Alex ze Pirate in Dobson’s eyes was also meant to be a comic for all ages. Meaning something also little kids should be able to read and enjoy. Pushing aside how much of that would be bullshit by the shitton of sexist and sex jokes in other strips of the comic alone, this here is not the kind of joke I would like to see a little kid being exposed to when reading any form of story.

Look, I am not saying you can’t make fun about death. But Death is also a major part of life, which many of us are already being exposed to at an early age. And I think it is important that when we talk about death as a subject in a story for kids, we should actually address it in a “mature” manner the kid may understand. That death, as in the genuine loss of a life and not e.g. an awesome interpretation of the Grim Reaper as written by Terry Pratchett, is tragic. That it means permanently losing someone you or someone else loves. That when talking about it, we should talk about it in a serene manner. And there have been great kids stories who tackled the subject directly or indirectly. A Land Before Time for example, the loss of Littlefoots mother and how he “copes” with it while the majority of the plot still focuses on an adventure to find the Great Valley… that is great. But this thing here that Dobson does? To create a shocking revelation and then sell it as a joke based on the fact that Alex, Atea and Talus react with jawdrops to it? It is not handling the death of those children with any form of gravitas in a story that supposedly is meant to be emotional and play with your heartstrings. And yes, we know nothing about those kids, they are essentially non entities to further the plot. But in context of the story, you have to consider, those kids that are “unimportant” to the reader? For the character of Sam, those people were family. At page 14, we as readers start to realize what Sam finding this locket and going back to his hometown only to find out everyone he knew is dead must mean for him. We, people with even an ounce of empathy and understanding how tragedies should be in part written realize, that shit just hit the fan for Sam and that the story should genuinely focus on how Sam would deal with such a tragedy. But does Dobson treat this revelation with any grace or dignity? NOPE!

It is just a bunch of information dropped on us randomly by an old guy who (I guess similar to Dobson) does not even care that kids died. They are just a plotdevice. Oh and also most of those kids died of an infectious disease where most people die of dehydration after literally shitting non stop. Just to add additional gravity and dignity to the loss of prepubescent lives that should count as Sam’s siblings.

You know, I have to change my opinion on Alex. She is not the worst abuser of Sam. The worst person to ever abuse Sam is Andrew Dobson himself. Cause at least Alex did not kill his extended “family”. And to think this “children comic” was written by the same guy who made a “So you are a Cartoonist” strip where he talked about how kids media can tell more mature comics with more gravitas than live action stuff and novels meant for people that aren’t just children, young adults or mentally stucked manchildren. Dobson, after this page you have no right to call your stuff “appropriate for children” or mature anymore.

I am genuinely furious at this page right now as that I can go on. So here, have the last page of this chapter so I can wrap this up and enjoy some good forms of fiction…

Well Atea, everyone he knew from this village and potentially cared about died in an house collapsing with no one having removed the remains still and he is going on a cemetery. UNLIKE DOBSON WHEN WRITING THIS, USE YOUR BRAIN YOU INSULT TO LESBIANS!

#Andrew Dobson #adobsonartwork #syac #alex ze pirate #sam the cabin boy #fuck you tom preston #tom preston #webcomic #comics #comic review #talus #atea #loss #so you are a cartoonist

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tros-for-dinner · 4 years

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The first tros Force Skype scene is....................a mess

Like, okay, animosity between them in TROS I can understand. In TLJ they thought they could trust each other and then it turned out they disagreed on something so fundamental it couldn’t be reconciled at the time. They both failed miserably at what they wanted in TLJ - of course they’re going to be hurt and resentful.

But this? Is like they’re not even having the same conversation.

Rey is hurt and angry, okay, fine, I expected that. But Kylo?

He’s just standing there. Like a bump on a log. There is literally nothing threatening about his body language. In fact, the music and sounds just stop, for a whole beat. We have this big dramatic zoom in on Rey and the music crescendoes....! Cut to Kylo, and there’s a full beat of conspicuously dead silence. Absolutely no menace to justify the big dramatic moment prior to his appearance. When he speaks, there’s no preamble, no lead-in, just: “Palpatine wants you dead.”

Missed opportunity: using Driver’s fantastic acting ability to convey that Ben still cares deeply about her, and he’s deeply conflicted about the price of the army ol’ Palps gave him. OR, and this is just a crazy idea I had: actually have him act menacing. I’m not picky. Choose the aesthetic and commit to it! As it is, I honestly can’t tell what the character is feeling here.

Okay, fine, viewing the scene through the headcanon he’s conflicted. Rey replies with a question that makes decent sense: “Serving another master?” She’s hurt they didn’t work out, they’re bitter exes, whatever, she spits in the face of his concern and goes for the low blow. It’s a direct hit, by the way - he was raging across the galaxy, ‘destroying every threat to his power’ and now he’s working for The Man again.

“No,” he replies shortly, not rising to her taunt. “I have other plans.”

But then, without even a pause to breathe, he says, and I quote, “I offered you my hand, once. You wanted to take it. Why didn’t you?”

I’m conflicted about this line. On one hand, this line could have been gold in the hands of a competent director. On the other hand, it’s such a non-sequitur in the context of the scene my head is spinning. (Just a little pause, with them looking at each other in anguish over could-have-beens, would’ve made this line make sense.) In the gripping hand - maybe it’s been too long since I’ve seen TLJ, but he knew exactly why she didn’t take his hand: she was holding on to the past, wasn’t ready to be her own person and choose the things she wants yet, whatever. And I know that TROS is just a big retcon, but I read a lot of retcons and often enjoy them - the filmmakers didn’t execute this retcon with even the barest amount of competence. I might revisit that statement when I watch the “fight on the ocean” scene but I’m reasonably sure all she says is, “I wanted to take your hand. Ben’s hand” but doesn’t give any kind of reason why she didn’t. Literally all they had to do was have her say “I was afraid (because the unknown is scary)”, because technically that’s the truth (alternatively: ‘vulnerability is scary’ ‘the mortification of being known’ etc et). It was all setup and no payoff.

Her reply to this question is: “You could’ve killed me. Why didn’t you?”

...What?

Again, maybe it’s been too long since I’ve seen TLJ but he doesn’t try to kill her directly face-to-face in that movie (yes he has his troops fire on the Falcon BUT that isn’t him personally trying to kill her mono-e-mono). I have no idea what event she’s referring to in this line. “This is a retcon!” you remind me impatiently - and then I remember TFA exists. “Well, maybe she’s referring to when they first meet for the first time and she’s wildly firing her blaster at him and he subdues her with ease? Because she definitely isn’t talking about the Forest Lightsaber Fight where she soundly kicks his ass and would’ve killed him if the Force hadn’t intervened.”

The point is, I have no idea what event she’s referring to, I can’t tell what this rebuttal has to do with he question he asked - it feels like another non-sequitur. I’m reeling with confusion.

(Were they both rhetorical questions or were they genuinely asking? .........Neither of those options make any sense!)

Then Kylo says, “You can’t hide, Rey. Not from me.” The first half of that could be interpreted as menacing or threatening, if that’s the vibe the director wanted. The second sentence is definitely said in a plaintive or longing tone. I’m a broken record here, but without body language or facial cues this line makes no sense and falls flat, AND more importantly, I have no idea what it has to do with Rey’s nonsensical question.

As I’m gripping the arms of my chair to alleviate my overwhelming vertigo caused by the directions this conversation has taken, Rey fires back with, “I see through the cracks in your mask. You’re haunted. You can’t stop seeing what you did to your father.”

Oh my god, girl, we have been over this. And what a irritatingly unoriginal line. He’s got a kintsugi mask! She can see cracks in it!!! Get it?!?!

*tony stark rolling his eyes.gif*

Kylo doesn’t rise to this attack. “Do you still count the days since your parents left?” he asks, and he starts to move again, stepping forward slowly. “Such pain in you, such anger. I don’t want to have to kill you. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to turn you to the darkside. When I offer you my hand again, you’ll take it.”

Where the eff do I begin?

Pain, anger - fine, that makes reasonable sense to Rey’s character. “I’m going to turn you to the dark side” = boring, tired Star Wars Villain(tm) Dialogue bc the writers were hacks, fine. “I don’t want to have to kill you”?? Bitch say what??? He literally led this conversation with “Palpatine wants you dead” and I was guessing he was saying that with concern. Guess I’m back at the drawing-board in that regard. Furthermore, he still hasn’t figured out why she didn’t take his hand in the first place, why the fuck would she take his hand now, after a thinly-veiled threat??? Christ on a bike. What does this version of Kylo hope to accomplish? In order to Seduce Turn Someone To The Dark Side, you have to offer them something they want. This block of dialogue tells me Kylo has no clue what Rey wants, and that he will fail abysmally at his goal of ‘turning her to the dark side’. (On a more meta level, it shows that the writers had no idea how someone Turns To The Dark Side: the writers are assuming the Dark Side is like a fungal infection that will pass from Kylo to Rey if he gets too close to her 😑)

Missed opportunity: when he says the line, “Do you still count the days?” I could interpret that as him asking in a very roundabout way, ‘do you still miss me as much as I miss you?’ This block of dialogue could have been a moment of him trying to rebuild a bridge: “I’m going to keep reaching out to you,” he could have promised her, “until you take my hand.” Alternatively: literally all the writers had to do is have Kylo offer something to Rey that she wants. The fundamental problem with that is, Rey doesn’t want anything in this movie. Rey Palpatine is a cardboard cutout who doesn’t experience icky things like character development, consequences of bad decisions, or sexual desire. She exists to Fight The Villain and worship at the altar of the OT to the point of fetishization.

“We’ll see,” Rey spits back, and I’m 99% sure this line is a callback to TFA. Doesn’t Kylo say this to her during the interrogation scene? Or am I imagining that? Even so, what’s the point of echoing that dialogue? “Oh noes the fungal infection Dark Side Badness reached her through the Force!!!!”????

......JFC I’m only 24 minutes into this movie.

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ssidesblog · 4 years

Text

hand in unlovable hand

creativtwins, 2,746 wc, angst, ao3

cw: child abuse (physical and emotional)

roman and remus were partners in crime until their dad ruined it

At the age of 12, Roman found himself helping his brother sneak out of the house. This wasn’t something new, Roman was always willing to give a helping hand to Remus, even if it lands them in trouble. He admits it’s fun and when they don’t get caught a sense of pride fills him. They’d been partners in crime since they were old enough to walk and Roman didn’t plan on stopping their mayhem any time soon.

“Get me a Monster.” Roman says in a hushed tone and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Logan would tell you if you keep drinking those you’ll have heart problems by the age of 25.”

“Well it’s a good thing book nerd isn’t here than huh?” Roman said and placed the screen back on the window. “Be safe.”. Remus gave him a thumbs up and turned, walking to the nearby 7/11. Roman walked over to his bed, wrapped himself in his blanket, and sat on the floor. Late night trips to 7/11 was a common occurrence; Remus went to get snacks and drinks while Roman stayed home on the off chance their parents checked in on them. Remus started to go once they’d turned 12, to their parents that was old enough for them to start getting an allowance, and Remus would spend all his money on gas station junk food. Roman started to give him some money too, usually for a Monster, sometimes a Yoohoo if he was feeling less edgy. Remus always came back with a slushie (often just a mix of all of the flavors they had), candy bars, and an unholy amount of chips. Remus kept all of it in a drawer he designated as his ‘food drawer’, which Roman found disgusting as the candy often melted and the chips got crushed but to each his own.

The door to their room opened and Roman’s head snapped over to see his dad standing in the door frame. He quickly scrambled off the floor, tripping a little over the blanket but catching himself before he could actually fall.

“What on Earth are you doing awake?” He asked, quickly followed by, “Where is your brother?” in a tone of worry and anger.

“He, uh, went out.” Roman mumbled.

“At midnight?”

“Yes.” Roman said, shrinking in on himself.

“Where the hell is he?”

“He should be back soon.”

“That does not answer my question, Roman.” His voice boomed and Roman flinched.

“Oh fuck.” Roman heard the familiar voice of his brother. He and his father turned towards the window and there stood Remus, arms full of snacks, a slushie in one hand and a Monster in the other. Roman walked over and took off the screen, helping Remus climb back in through the window. He quickly set everything down on his bed and they turned towards their dad.

“And just how long has this been going on?” He asked.

“A few months.” Remus responded, kicking the ground.

“And you were in on this?” The question was directed at Roman.

“Yeah.”

“You both are grounded.” The two boys looked up at their father.

“Why?” Roman’s voice was louder than it needed to be.

“Because you both knew you shouldn’t have been doing this and have been hiding it for months, you’re lucky I’m not taking away your allowances.”

“What’s so wrong about what he was doing?” Roman asked.

“I was just going to the 7/11.” Remus added.

“Something could have happened!”

“But nothing has happened!” Remus argued. Their father took a step closer.

“Don’t talk back to me.” He warned. In a rush of confidence Roman spoke up.

“It’s not fair!” His father responded by connecting the back of his hand with Roman’s face. Roman stumbled back and lowered his gaze to the floor, tears pricking the back of his eyes. Remus walked over to him and wrapped an arm around him.

“You won’t talk back to me, now go to bed.” Their dad turned and shut the door. Roman buried his face in Remus’s shoulder and cried, Remus rubbed his back.

After that night, Roman didn’t help Remus with his scheming. Instead, he followed the rules their dad made and tried his best to become the perfect child. Every time he stepped out of line his dad reminded him why he needed to be good. Every time it hurt and he would go to Remus to cry. Remus had done the complete opposite, the perfect example of a problem child. He talked back and continued to sneak around. Each time his dad tried to beat into him the same he had done to Roman, but Remus was determined and spiteful. Roman always went to Remus after hearing an argument and did his best to cheer him up. Roman tried to stay close, but it started to get harder. Eventually, Remus switched into the room next door and it felt like he had put a divide between them, a clear message to Roman that he didn’t need him.

“You need to stop this, Remus.” Roman heard his dad as he walked out into the living room. Remus and him stood in the middle of it, arguing. Nothing new. Roman stood in the walkway, curiosity getting to him.

“I’m not even doing anything bad.” Remus argued back. What they were talking about, Roman had no idea. He saw his dad look over at him and then put his focus back on Remus.

“Why can’t you be more like Roman?” He practically pleaded. Roman tensed.

“Sorry I can’t be perfect!” Remus said and raised his arms, only for them to rest back at his sides. “I’m not going to change just because you aren’t enough of a father to do more than hit your kids when they’ve done something wrong.” Roman flinched as his dad pushed Remus to the ground.

“You will not talk to me that way.” He yelled, towering over him.

“Look how strong you are,” Remus stood up, “Congrats you can beat up your 13 year old son, aren’t you a macho man.” Remus turned and walked towards Roman.

“Get back here, niño.” His father said but didn’t attempt to walk towards them.

“You’re not gonna do anything?” Remus asked Roman. Roman stayed silent, his gaze wandering to the floor. “Remember when you used to stand up for me? Some fucking brother you are.” Remus said and pushed Roman out of the way with his shoulder. Roman stumbled a little and leaned against the archway. His dad made his way over.

“You’re just gonna let him treat you that way?”

Roman nodded.

“Your brother may be a pain in the ass but at least he has the balls to stand up for himself; you could learn something from him, Roman.” His dad shoved past him, probably to continue his argument with Remus. Roman stumbled over to the couch and huddled in on himself and cried. He stayed like that until his mom walked through the door and joined him on the couch and hugged him. Remus and his dad could be heard arguing still.

“Why is dad so mean?”

“I don’t know, mijo.” She said, petting his hair. Roman let himself calm down a little further, though he was still sniffling when he spoke.

“I just want my brother back, Mama.” His mom sucked in a breath. He heard her sniff and couldn’t bring himself to look at her cry.

“You will soon, mi príncipe.” She kissed his head and held him close, “I promise.”

By the end of 8th grade, their parents had gotten a divorce and their mom had gotten full custody of Roman and Remus. The house was a lot quieter without their dad around, and Roman never thought he would enjoy silence so much. Remus still resented his brother and Roman couldn’t blame him, but it still hurt seeing him get a faraway look in his eye, the only look on his face being one of pure fear or pure hatred every time Roman entered a room.

“Hey, Rem?” Roman opened the door to Remus’s room and poked his head in. Remus looked at him and quickly looked away. Even from the doorway, Roman could see him shaking.

“What?” Remus spit out. His voice was shaking, with anger or fear Roman couldn’t tell.

“Mama told me to come get you, dinner is ready.”

“Ok, now get the fuck out of my room.” Remus said, voice strained. Roman numbly nodded and walked out of his room, closing the door behind him. That was about the only way Remus interacted with him since their dad had left. Roman just wanted to talk to him again, joke around and laugh. Be brothers again instead of whatever they were now.

“Why does Remus hate me?” Roman asked his mom after another quiet dinner. She turned off the sink and faced her son.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“It feels like he does.” Roman said, voice quivering. His mom walked over and pulled him into a hug.

“I think you just remind him of your dad.”

“Am I that bad?”

“No, not in that way, mijo,” She pulled away and cupped his face, “Your dad often used you as an example of how Remus should’ve been. That isn’t your fault, but Remus made a connection between you and your father in his head. Just give him time.” She turned around and continued to do the dishes, leaving Roman to stand in the middle of the kitchen, wondering when the hell he would have his brother back.

Their mom made the executive decision to put Remus in therapy, which he had tried to get out of but he eventually complied. Dr. Picani would work with Remus to stop him from connecting Roman to his father and therefore his trauma. They worked all throughout freshman year and by the end, Remus had started interacting with Roman again, but he still had his days where even looking at Roman made him angry. Roman was just happy he could even look at him again.

At the start of sophomore year, Remus had a particularly bad day and snapped at Roman during lunch. He walked into 6th period drama with tears streaming down his face.

“Roman, do you need to sit out for today?” Mr. Sanders asked before class started. Roman looked at him and shook his head.

“Can I just skip warm up?” Roman asked, trying his best to not sob. Mr. Sanders nodded and had him sit in the back of the room; their class was set in a room off to the side of the theatre. Roman sat down in the back of the classroom while everybody else took a seat in the chairs that lined the front. Mr. Sanders started class and after a small warm up let everyone go off in pairs to practice for their scenes. Roman watched as his partner for the scene, Janus, walked over to him.

“You look miserable.” He said as he slid down the wall to join Roman in sitting on the floor.

“Can I at least be hot and miserable?” Roman mumbled.

“You can never not be hot,” Janus said.

“I appreciate the compliment but I still feel like hot garbage.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Janus asked.

“It’s stupid.”

“If you’ve been crying over it, I’m sure it’s not stupid.” Janus spoke gently.

“How do you know I’ve been crying?”

“Your eyes are red and puffy, and I can see the tear stains on your face.” Roman scrubbed his hands over his eyes.

“It’s just my brother,” Roman started, “We have a, uh, complicated history. And he went off on me today, it hasn’t happened in a while so it just, hurt, I guess.” Roman explained. Janus nodded along.

“Did you deserve it?” Janus asked, adding on, “From an objective standpoint.” Roman chuckled a little.

“You sound like my friend, Logan.” Roman said, “And I really don’t know, kind of?”

“Explain.”

“Some stuff happened a couple years ago, and I didn’t help him when he needed it most. It’s been years but I know it still affects him. I think he has a right to be angry.” Janus hummed.

“This stuff that happened to him, were you the cause of it?” Roman shook his head. “Then he shouldn’t take his anger out on you.”

“But-”

“Even if you didn’t do anything to help,” Janus interrupted, “I’m sure you had your reasons for it.”

“I guess. I just,” Roman paused, trying to find his words, “I just miss him.”

“I’m assuming he’s a lot different than before.”

“He’s more defensive, kinda on guard but not always. He gets like that around me at times and it just sucks. He’s my brother and I just want to be able to talk to him without tension building in his shoulders.” Roman said. Janus thought for a moment, then spoke, his tone soft.

“When I first met my step brother, we didn’t get along at all. He was reserved and built up these walls to protect himself from the unknown, in this case, I was the unknown, the monster under the bed. I had my own walls, and I didn’t make it easy to get along. There was always a tension when both of us were in a room together.

“For the sake of my mom, I started to interact with him. Without getting into detail, I’ll just say his father wasn’t a nice person. I had to learn what I could and couldn’t say, what movements would cause him to back away and which ones were ok. It took time, but eventually we started to get along. He slowly lowered his walls and I lowered mine. Now, I can’t imagine him not being in my life. Having him as a younger brother is one of the best things to happen to me.” Janus smiled and turned his gaze to Roman, “Show him you care and make an effort to understand his needs. I don’t know what happened exactly, but if it’s anything like what happened to V, I understand how hard it is to trust someone, even if it’s your brother. And if it’s a similar situation then I do not blame you for not doing anything, that’s a tough situation to be in.”

Roman stared at Janus in awe. He looked away from him and thought about what he’d said. Roman had made an effort to be there for him, maybe he was going about it wrong.

“I try my best to be better, but he never tries to see where I’m coming from. We’re different in a lot of ways and he has a hard time understanding that. He’s so himself in such a loud way, I just play it on the safer side, and he doesn’t understand why. My dad was also not kind, and for him to be kinder, I strayed away from being myself, my brother did not. He can’t understand why I let myself do that but I don’t want to bring up a sore subject. I just don’t know what to do.” Roman put his face in his hands, “Sorry this is such a heavy topic.”

“It’s ok, having this kind of conversation is necessary sometimes,” Janus said, “Are you older or younger than him?”

“We’re twins.” Janus widened his eyes at that.

“I can’t imagine he understands how you can be so different from him, then.”

“I just am.” Roman said, exacerbated.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I believe people get along better if they are fundamentally different. I just think your brother is confused. And angry. The best advice I can give is just be patient with him. Keep putting in the effort, don’t give up on him.” Janus said. Roman nodded.

“Thanks, Janus.”

“Of course, we still have half the period, do you want to pretend we’re doing the scene while actually just fucking around?” Roman laughed.

“Sounds like a plan, Jan.” Janus rolled his eyes at the nickname.

Roman knew he could never have the old Remus back, no matter how hard he tried. But he didn’t care, because all he wanted was to have his brother, who dragged him into his messes and Roman would go along without a second thought. Eventually, he would have that, but until then he was ok with the days where Remus could look at him, no trace of anger, and just smile.

#roman sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #creativtwins #roman sanders angst #remus sanders angst #creativtwins angst #hs au #shitty dad gang #just like the inherent trauma of having a father #is this good ? no clue #this is definetly not my favorite thing ive written #i just needed to explain their past #so theres this #ill post my other fic later #bc theres also creativtwin angst in that #and i wanted context before yall read that

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