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thenerdykneazle · 4 months

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Sallow Soul - Fighting

Summary: MC and Sebastian continue to clash. Things devolve as they both try to push each other's buttons. After some much-needed advice, Sebastian tries a more straightforward approach to winning MC back, but it doesn't go as planned.

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Warnings: 18+, sexually explicit content, aged-up characters, angst, toxic relationship, lots of pining, overconsumption of alcohol

Word count: 11,388

Read on AO3. Part 1. Part 2. Part 4. Part 5. MC's perspective (Kindred Spirits).

Part 3: Fighting

Sebastian dragged himself out of bed at 6 that morning. He had been awake since 5, and it was evident that no more sleep would befall him. When he opened his door, he was shocked to find MC standing in the hallway yet again. He had hoped to at least get to brew some tea before he had to face her.

“Long night, I take it,” MC quipped.

Tensing his jaw, he bit back venomous words about it being none of her business. Though, he really had no interest in her knowing the details of his mediocre tryst – or his pathetic breakdown after. She’d been too involved in the whole thing as it was, even if that was Sebastian’s fault, not hers.

“Well, do you think you could go two weeks without bringing more bints back here if you’re going to be so shite at using silencing charms?” she asked. “Surely, they have flats, too. Go to theirs.”

“Do you think you could go two seconds without being a cunt?” he sneered back. He’d already lost almost an entire night’s sleep because of her. He had no patience for the harpy that morning.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she demanded.

He thought that was rich.

“My problem? I was nothing but nice to you when you got here! You’re the one that’s been acting like a bitch the whole time!” Sebastian retorted. He had tried to make things work, and she’d all but spat in his face. Honestly, he’d have preferred it if she’d spat on him rather than admit the depths of her disdain for him. At least then he could’ve pretended that she hated him for what he had done to her, not who he was.

“You’re such a bastard!” MC seethed as she started down the hallway.

Sebastian was inclined to agree as regret for his poor temper began to seep in, but she grabbed her cloak and disapparated out before Sebastian could apologise.

He spent the morning trying to figure out whether and how to ask for her forgiveness. He even kept ruminating on it during their physical training that morning. He had wanted to try to talk to her at lunch, but he ended up sat too far away. Besides, she was quickly absorbed in a letter she received.

Sebastian pushed his food around his plate, taking occasional bites as he moped privately. Though, his head snapped up when he heard Sofia ask, “Who’s that?”

She was looking over MC’s shoulder at some photos she held. He was almost across the whole table from her, and he had no chance to strain for an angle that might give him a glimpse of the pictures.

“A friend from back home,” MC replied, and Sebastian began going through a list of potential candidates.

“He’s cute,” Sofia said with a smirk.

Sebastian glowered and struck several names off his mental list. There was, of course, also a chance that Sebastian had never met the bloke. He could be a new friend. Sebastian hated the idea, both because it involved some other man getting close to her and he wouldn’t have been able to vet him. It was awful all around.

“I’m quite protective, so you can look, but that’s it,” MC joked.

Sofia chuckled, and Mikko began peering over MC’s shoulder, as well. Sebastian wondered if it was possible that he hadn’t noticed that Mikko was interested in men. He’d had a handful of conversations with him. And Sofia had mentioned him once or twice since she’d arrived back in Helsinki, as they worked in the same unit in Jyväskylä. Sebastian couldn’t recall if either had mentioned any men or women in his life.

Sofia yelped and clasped a hand over her heart. “Merlin! Warn a woman before just springing a snake on her,” she said.

MC and Mikko laughed at her.

Sebastian stared at them. Did she have pictures of what he thought she had? Morbid curiosity overpowering his self-preservation instincts, he narrowed his gaze at the backs of the photos in MC’s hands as if he might be able to see through them to the images they held.

“Sorry,” MC said to Sofia, ignoring Sebastian’s blatant eavesdropping.

Just as Sebastian got the idea to head to the loo and catch a glimpse of the photos as he walked by, MC tucked them away and stood up. She left the cafeteria, presumably heading off to write the mystery person – well, man – back. A flash of anger spiked at the thought that she might be sending photos to him in kind.

“Honestly, you act like you’ve never seen such a thing before,” Mikko teased Sofia.

“I was just caught off guard,” she said defensively.

He shook his head as he laughed at her again, and she smacked his arm.

“Stop it!” she said, and he attempted to comply as he stifled his laughter.

“I convinced her to try a sauna,” Mikko said, changing the subject and making Sebastian’s ears prick up.

“Not the one here, I hope,” Sofia replied with disgust.

“No, Löyly,” Mikko said.

Sofia’s eyebrows raised. “How posh.”

“Of course! I’m trying to convert her. She’s got to have a good experience. You know how Brits are. Sepe’s lived here for years, and he still doesn’t use the saunas. Do you, Sepe?”

Sebastian looked up to find Mikko and Sofia both looking at him. “I could be persuaded,” he replied.

“The sauna herself should be enough to draw in any sane man,” Mikko replied.

“Right,” Sebastian said stiffly. He really didn’t get Mikko’s obsession.

His eyes flicked back to Sofia, and he didn’t like the look she was giving him. He quickly made an excuse to leave the table – and protect his private thoughts.

That afternoon, MC disappeared immediately after training. Sebastian didn’t try to catch her, as he knew where she was heading. He cleaned the gym faster than he thought any muggle chores could go. He grabbed his things from the locker room and was at the entrance to Löyly in under 5 minutes.

Sebastian checked in, showered, and changed into swimming trunks. Sebastian stepped into the hot sauna and was reminded instantly why he hated them. The air felt thick and hard to breathe, and a bead of sweat was already making its way down the centre of his back. Who pays to be made sweaty and uncomfortable? He spotted MC with ease, as it wasn’t very crowded.

She had her eyes closed and her head resting back on the wall behind her. He wondered if she had fallen asleep, which didn’t seem very safe in such an environment. He felt his old protective instincts waking up at the potential threat to her. He felt other instincts kicking in, too, at the sight of her in a soaked bikini.

He sat right next to her, but she barely stirred.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked quietly. His voice came out huskier than he’d intended.

She was slow to open her eyes but quick to narrow them at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed.

Sebastian smirked. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” he mused. “I finished up my cleaning early, so I came to check on you.”

“Are you stalking me?” MC asked seriously.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’m supposed to be your guide while you’re here. It’s my job to keep an eye on you,” he said. His smirk broadened as his gaze dropped momentarily. “Not that I mind it.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she groused, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just fine. You can go.”

Sebastian had been hoping for a more illuminating response like ‘I have a boyfriend’ or ‘you better watch your mouth or X will kill you.’ He fretted over whether ‘X’ might mean ‘Leander Prewett.’ Gods, Sebastian would do the job for him if that pratwas his replacement.

“Go?” Sebastian asked, leaning back against the wall. He brushed his shoulder against hers. He turned his head toward her, leaning over conspiratorially so that his face was mere centimetres from hers. “I just got here.”

MC scooted away from him. “You’re really set on ruining this for me, aren’t you?” she asked dismally.

Sebastian arched a brow at her. “Ruin? Most people enjoy my presence, you know.”

MC scoffed. “Most people haven’t fucked you and been left cold in the morning.”

He tried to bite back his smirk, but it only widened further. “You underestimate me.”

She grimaced at him. “Yes, you do seem to get around.”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze at her. “Are you slut shaming me?”

It was rich coming from the woman getting international dick pics by owl.

MC rolled her eyes. “Just normal shaming. You disgust me in a multitude of ways, I assure you.”

Sebastian puffed himself up indignantly. “I seem to remember a time you thought I was far from disgusting.”

He let his gaze drag down her form again. It was a bit of a miscalculation, as those aforementioned instincts didn’t know he was just trying to make a point. All they knew was that a beautiful witch he was mad about was wet and nearly naked right next to him. Gods, he shouldn’t have thought about her being “wet.” Sebastian had to adjust himself as his trunks were getting rather tight.

“Funny how things change when you find out who someone really is,” MC said sarcastically.

“And who am I really, then?” he asked curiously as his gaze finally returned to her eyes.

MC scowled at him. “Someone willing to bring home two random women just to keep me up and piss me off, apparently.”

Point MC, he thought. Outwardly, though, he sneered at her.

“You flatter yourself. Not all of us want to be tied down all the time. I like to have fun. I’m sure your boy toy back home wouldn’t know the first thing about it if he’s resorted to sending you dick pics in the post.”

MC looked befuddled. “What are you talking about?” she asked irritably.

“Your little special delivery at lunch.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You mean the letter from Ominis?”

Sebastian felt that he was about to be sick. It made sense, of course. They’d always been good friends. They’d both been through heartbreaks – ones that they supported each other through, no doubt. Of course,it was–

“Ominis?” he repeated in a roar.

It making sense didn’t mean he had to like it.

Several of the other people in the sauna glared at him. He gave them an apologetic smile before continuing much more quietly but no less irate, “You’ve got to be fucking joking. You’re with him now?”

“No!” MC said too loudly, earning them more angry glances. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“Then why’s he sending you pictures with his ‘snake’ in it if–” Horror filled Sebastian as the realisation hit him. “Oh, gods, it was a literal snake, wasn’t it?”

He hid his face behind his hand as he wished for the hot, humid air to melt him into a puddle so he could slip away through the slats in the bench.

MC looked livid. “Obviously, you twat!”

Sebastian felt a pang of grief at the distance between him and his once-best-friend. Was he really not even close enough to merit showing a photo to him? She’d shown them to people who’d never even met him! “Why wouldn’t you have told me Ominis wrote you?”

MC set her jaw. “Because it’s none of your concern. You cut contact. Now will you shut up and let me enjoy my sauna?”

Sebastian was still reeling about being so out of touch with Ominis. “How’s he doing?”

MC refused to even look at him. “Ask him yourself.”

Sebastian almost scoffed at the idea. As if trying to reconnect with her had gone so well that he should branch out. “You know I can’t. He’d never respond.”

Shooting a glare over her shoulder, MC spat, “And whose fault it that?”

Sebastian pursed his lips. He didn’t know how he had ever dated someone so endlessly stubborn. “I just want to know how my friend has been.”

“Well, he’s not your friend, anymore! You don’t get to know!”

She was yelling now, but Sebastian was too frustrated to realise how much of a scene they were making.

“He’s my brother-in-law! I have a right to know!”

MC stood up in a huff. If they hadn’t been fighting, Sebastian might’ve gotten distracted by how close it put her breasts to his face. It might’ve distracted him anyway. “Gods, you just love to make yourself seem like the victim!” she said before storming out of the sauna.

Sebastian followed her after a brief paralysis from confusion. He moved quickly to catch up to her.

“I’m not done here!” he said.

“I am!” she retorted, shoving through a door.

Sebastian started to come after her, but she pushed him back. He was all the more perplexed until she pointed to the symbol on the door. “Women’s locker room.”

She tucked inside, leaving him fumbling for something to say that might bring her back. He found nothing.

When Sebastian returned home, he realised he never did actually apologise for being an inconsiderate arse the previous night. Though, the fact that he had actually put much consideration into having loud sex while she was trying to sleep was not something she needed to know. He regretted it. Even if she did still hate him. He held onto the hope that he could still fix that.

He made an apology dinner while he waited for MC to return from the sauna. He cooked some of her old favourites along with some of his new ones. But, even after it sat on the table for an hour, she still wasn’t back. After another hour, he cancelled the stasis charms he’d put on the dishes and packed it all up.

That was when he started to panic. He grabbed his cloak and searched all over town for her. He tried every wizarding pub in the city – as well as a few muggle ones. He tried several parks, in case she’d needed a walk to clear her head. He was in a right state when he finally returned to his flat.

At first, a jolt of fresh panic ran through Sebastian when he saw the unfamiliar cloak strewn on his sofa. Then he saw MC’s on the floor. And the tops. And her bra. It was abundantly clear what had happened. Sebastian felt that protective instinct flaring up again – or maybe it was just jealousy. But he knew he had no right to be upset. Fair was fair, even if he hated it.

He trudged forward to his room, his feet dragging across the floor. He felt like there was a boulder in his stomach weighing him down. As he approached his door, however, his adrenaline spiked again. There were moans coming from behind his door.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!” came MC’s muffled, keening voice.

That bitch!

Sebastian slammed the door open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” he yelled, body and mind both flooded with rage.

The sight before him made him want to claw his eyes out. MC was sprawled naked on his bed. Normally, he’d be thrilled about that, but there was some wanker wrapped around her. He’d had his tongue shoved down her throat and his hand between her thighs before the door had banged off the wall and made him whip around.

“Shit,” MC said, looking up at Sebastian with wide eyes like she was surprised to see him. That only enraged him further. Had she really not expected him to catch her in his room?

“When I said ‘make yourself at home,’ that did not mean you could fuck some random prick in my bed!” he spat. He felt ready to explode, fury and magic bubbling up within him.

“No? I guess you should’ve been more specific, then,” she replied, calm as you like. Sebastian could’ve throttled her. Then, she covered herself with one of his pillows, and he imagined smothering her with it, instead.

Sebastian’s gaze slid up to her neck, where a purple welt had formed. He’d throttle the bastard next to her, too, he decided.

As if sensing his thoughts, the very devil hopped out of Sebastian’s bed and pulled on his trunks. “I’m gonna go,” he said.

“Probably for the best, love,” MC said sweetly. “I had a lovely time.”

The bellend smiled at her before grabbing his trousers and booking it out of the flat. A loud crack signalled that he had departed only a moment later. Sebastian was no less committed to his plan of double murder. At the very least, he could use muggle methods to track the bloke down. After all, he knew where to find a sample of his DNA.

Sebastian nearly vomited at the thought.

“You’re psychotic, you know that?” Sebastian said to MC, vibrating with rage. “On what planet did you think this would be okay?”

“It was an honest mistake,” MC replied, still maddeningly casual. “I said the door on the left. I meant my left. He picked his left. It’s funny, really, if you think about it.”

Sebastian wondered what sort of pillock would think “left” could refer to a door straight at the end of the hall? Sure, it was left relative to MC’s door along the right wall, but still.

“And so you thought, ‘Well, I’m already here. Might as well stay and shag’?” he said scathingly.

An evil smirk spread on her lips. “I know you didn’t see him erect, but, if you had…whew – your mind would’ve gone blank, too.”

Sebastian’s fists were moments away from collapsing in on themselves with how tight they were. Of course, that was if he didn’t pass out from hyperventilating first. MC truly had no regard for him whatsoever. She just wanted to make him miserable.

“Sorry, can we talk ground rules when I’m not naked and covered in cum?” MC continued.

“Get out!” Sebastian roared. He was either about to avada her or burst into tears, and he didn’t want her around whichever way it went.

Fortunately, MC was happy to oblige, scurrying past him with the pillow clutched to her body. She scooped her trousers off the floor without stopping. She turned back around just outside his door and glanced down at her stolen bedding. “Did you want this back, or…?”

“Keep the sodding pillow!” he growled before slamming the door in her face.

Sebastian was trembling with fury as he just stood there. He managed to cast a silencing charm before he started slinging hexes around the room, starting with his tarnished bedding and continuing until everything was destroyed. With no remaining person or intact object at which to direct his pain, Sebastian sank to the floor amongst the rubble. He hugged his knees to himself and sobbed into them. More than the pain at seeing her with someone else, more than his anger at her for degrading him by doing it in his bed, he felt most crushed by her relentless ire for him. He just wanted her to stop hating him.

He moved slowly when he finally got up to repair his room. He put things back one by one. Except his sheets. Those he finished incinerating. He scourgified the mattress for good measure before conjuring new bedclothes. Slowly, the rest of the debris was cleared. The last thing out of place was a black scrap of fabric on the floor. At first, Sebastian had though it might’ve been a singed bit of his old sheets. However, he placed it almost as soon as he picked it up. They were black lace knickers, clearly torn off hastily.

Sebastian felt a fresh surge of rage sweep over him. He almost cast a fire-making charm to get rid of them, but he paused. He crumpled them in his tight fist as disgust and longing warred within him. He tossed the knickers in the drawer of his bedside table before slamming it shut, trying to piece together what exactly had happened to him in his life to make him such a masochist. There were too many contenders to be sure of the true culprit.

Sebastian awoke on Thursday morning dark and early. He was out the door for his run before 5 and back before 6. It did little to clear his head, though, and his thoughts wandered as he showered. Somehow, he was uninspired for his usual morning wank. So, instead, he ruminated on the enigma that was MC. She seemed to hate Sebastian, but she’d kept him from getting kicked out of the training programme. She insulted him constantly and fucked some bloke is his bed to…spite him? It didn’t make sense.

He assumed it was revenge for his escapades the prior night. But it hadn’t gone on that long before the room was silenced. It didn’t make sense for her to be so upset over that. Unless she was jealous – like he had been after finding her mid-tryst. The more Sebastian thought about it, the more that made sense.

Stepping out of the shower, Sebastian grabbed his wand and cleared the steam from the bathroom. He patted himself dry, then started on his hair. Sebastian tilted his head as he watched himself in the mirror. He recalled how MC had stared at his arms just two mornings ago. His teeth sank into his lip as he considered an idea – a stray thought, really. But a tempting one.

Sebastian strutted into the kitchen, cock and balls flapping in the breeze as he strode about stark naked. He had nothing but the towel he was using to finish drying his hair. MC was shocked to say the least, and although she shielded her eyes, he had seen them dilate when they landed on him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, sounding aghast.

Sebastian smirked at her. “I thought about it and decided you were right,” he said as he walked into the kitchen. “We should both be comfortable here. Et voila.”

He gestured to his nudity, and then he stole her beans on toast.

She tried to grab it back. “That’s not yours!” she said indignantly. The nerve of her.

Sebastian held the food out of her reach. “And my bed isn’t yours.”

He took an aggressive bite out of the toast for emphasis. It was quite tasty.

“I admit that crossed a line, but I really didn’t plan on shagging Erik there,” she said imploringly. “This is just inhumane.”

Sebastian continued glowering at her. He didn’t like the idea that she just couldn’t help but fuck from guy in his bed any better than the thought that she had premeditated it to piss him off. In fact, he found it much, much worse.

MC scrambled to get her burning eggs off the hob as she finally smelt the smoke that had been wafting up for almost a minute. She sighed in defeat as she put the ash-coated pan in the sink.

Sebastian smirked again. “Distracted, were you?” he teased before taking another bite of her toast.

She sneered at him. “Blinded, more like.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as chewed his latest bite of her breakfast. He swallowed. “By my beauty?” he asked, batting his lashes at her.

MC glared at him. “By your pasty bollocks.”

He scowled. “Well, thanks for the toast, love,” he said icily. “I’ll see you at training.”

He did see her at training, though it was largely uneventful. He also made sure she saw all of him when he got back to his flat and watched some tele whilst starkers, letting his legs flare open for good measure. She’d come into the room and almost immediately did an about-face. He watched one episode of Doctor Who before proceeding to make dinner. He offered a plate to MC when she finally emerged from her room again. She gave it a scornful look before grabbing her cloak and leaving. She returned a bit later with a takeaway bag. She rolled her eyes when she spotted him, still naked and enjoying his pasta at the island.

“Ugh, I knew I should’ve eaten there,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, come now, my table manners aren’t that bad,” he replied cheekily.

She didn’t reply. She just took her food to her room.

The next morning, Sebastian stretched very thoroughly after his run. He was still stretching when MC re-emerged from her room.

“Gods, I wasn’t assaulted with the sight of an arsehole this early in the morning when I lived in a castle full of cats,” she groused, shielding her eyes.

Sebastian, who had ironically been doing downward dog, pushed himself back up to standing. He rested his hands proudly on his bare hips. “What view would you prefer, love? I’m open to requests,” he replied, slightly out of breath.

“Any where you’re clothed,” she replied tetchily.

“Oh? You wanna swap? A little CMNF?” Sebastian quipped. “Kinky. I like it.”

“You’re depraved,” MC said.

“What?” Sebastian asked, feigning innocence. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And recently, too.”

MC’s cheeks flushed at that. She fled to the kitchen, and it wasn’t long before Sebastian heard the crack of disapparition announcing her departure.

Saturday morning, Sebastian opted for a different trope and did his weekend chores in the nude. He made sure he was in her sight line the entire time she cooked her breakfast. He might’ve felt guilty about it if he didn’t catch her stealing glances when she thought he couldn’t see her. He had a lot of reflective surfaces in his flat.

MC left late in the morning to go Merlin-knows-where, and Sebastian felt a sudden chill come over him. He checked his thermostat. It was set properly, but the current temperature read 15 degrees C. Sebastian grabbed a blanket and turned up the heat. Half an hour later, it hadn’t warmed, at all. His landlord took a look – for which Sebastian put clothes on – but he couldn’t find anything wrong with the furnace. Sebastian tried a warming charm, and when that didn’t help, he finally suspected his new flatmate was to blame.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of admitting his discomfort – or putting on clothing. He tried to research spells that might reverse it in his bedroom. When he heard MC return, he emerged naked from his room to get a glass of water. She just raised a brow at him. She clearly hadn’t expected him to be so committed.

Sebastian found a few spells to try, but none of them worked. Late at night, bundled under his covers, he decided that if he couldn’t counteract her spell, he would make her equally inconvenienced by it. He cast several spells before turning in for the night. The first transfigured all of her clothing into lingerie. The others prevented her from doing anything about it, including stealing any of his clothes.

Sunday morning, Sebastian woke up to find the flat disappointingly cold. He was sure MC wasn’t up yet, though, so he still had faith in his plan. He went for his usual run before stretching in the living room. He stalled as long as he cared to before going for a nice, hot shower. It chased the chill out of him, but he felt even colder as soon as he stepped out – even after a drying spell. Thank Merlin those still worked.

Sebastian trekked out to the kitchen, trying not to shiver. He checked the thermostat on the way. He did a doubletake. It was only 5C in his flat. He schooled his features before continuing to the kitchen. Even so, his eyebrow shot up when he saw MC.

She was leaned back against the counter eating her porridge clad in a sheer lace bra and pants. Both of which were Slytherin green. Sebastian had to take a moment to admire his own handiwork. It was a class set.

MC had spotted him instantly, and Sebastian quickly gave her a wolfish grin. “Trying to seduce me?” he asked playfully. Because it’s working, he thought as he devoured the sight of her. He could see her areolas through the lace of her bra. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting them.

MC scoffed at him. “Hardly,” she replied before taking another bite of her food. “I mean, it’s not like you could do anything even if you wanted to.”

Sebastian didn’t like the accusing way she pointed her spoon at his cock.

“Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that,” he replied arrogantly.

“Yeah?”

MC didn’t look convinced as she moved to put her empty bowl on the counter. Her tongue ran out over her lips, and Sebastian’s eyes tracked its movement. A glistening sheen was left on her pink lips. He didn’t know how they weren’t blue with how frigid she’d made his flat. She looked warm. He was very tempted to walk over to her and find out just how warm she was.

“You really think you can get it up when it’s so cold?” she challenged, raising a sceptical eyebrow at him.

Sebastian’s eyes were still trained on her plump lips. He really shouldn’t have skipped masturbating multiple mornings in a row. Now he was imagining those plump lips wrapped around his cock. Her hot mouth taking him in.

He could only nod in response.

She cocked her head to the side with feigned curiosity. “You think you can get hard enough to fuck my tits?” she asked huskily.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked down to her breasts as she pushed them together. “I bet you can picture it – your cock slipping between them. This lace you’ve made barely covers anything.”

He could picture it. In exquisite detail. The image had him practically panting. Suspicion niggled in the back of Sebastian’s mind. Why was she trying to rile him up if she hated him?

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

She scoffed as she let her breasts drop. “Proving that you’re delusional. I could hop on this counter and play with myself or rub my tits in your face, and you’d still be flaccid as a flobberworm.”

Sebastian swallowed a moan at the thought of her doing either. Or both. Gods, she was trying to kill him. He could feel heat building in his abdomen. “Why don’t you test that theory?” he asked, trying to cover his hopefulness with cockiness.

MC rolled her eyes. “Not bloody likely. Besides, you were always a bit of an arse man, weren’t you?”

She turned away from him and leaned over the counter. Sebastian’s breath hitched as his gaze traced the line of her G-string until it disappeared between her arse cheeks.

“You used to love taking me from behind. And you always got off on marking my arse…”

It was like she had been reading his mind, as he had just been picturing sinking his teeth into those round cheeks. Fuck, did she want him to take her? Was that what was going on?

“…smacking it, biting it…” she continued.

She looked over her shoulder at him with a smirk playing on her lips. His eyes flicked up to hers, which were heavy-lidded and calling him closer. He took a stumbling step forward.

“Coming all over it,” she said as if the thought of it went straight to her clit. She clasped her bottom lip between her teeth.

Sebastian groaned as his gaze fell back to her arse. He could picture it coated in ropes of his seed, dripping down her smooth skin. Gods, he ached to make it a reality.

“Oh, shite,” she said suddenly. Her voice was no longer sultry – it was fearful. She quickly turned back around.

Sebastian looked up to see her staring at his hard prick like it might bite her. Sebastian’s brow furrowed in confusion. She had clearly been trying to turn him on, and now that she had it…frightened her?

“You’re fucking pathetic,” she growled, but Sebastian could still hear the fear edging into her voice. She quickly brushed past him, running to her room and slamming the door shut behind her.

Sebastian was left dumbfounded. And still very aroused. He decided to take care of that latter problem first, so he’d have a clearer head for figuring out what the fuck had just happened.

He retreated to his room before silencing it. He pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and grabbed the scrap of lace inside. He raised them to his nose and breathed in her scent. It made his eyes roll back as a flood of memories hit him. Merlin, she’d always smelled so good.

He lay in bed, propped up on a pillow. After casting a wandless lubrication charm, he set to work. His hand glided up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit tighter as he stroked over the head. He took another deep inhale. He imaged they were the dark green knickers he’d seen her in only a moment ago, soaked in her scent from getting off on teasing him – on seeing how hard he’d gotten for her.

He kept her actual horrified expression far from his mind, focusing on the good bits: her arse on display for him, her nipples through the sheer lace, her teeth sunk into her lip as she looked back at him, shoving her tits together and telling him to imagine fucking them. I’m imagining it now, love.

He imagined the doe-eyed expression she’d look up at him with while his cock slipped between her breasts – having his way with them until he couldn’t take it anymore and he needed to bury himself inside her. He pictured himself being the one to tear off her clothes, instead of that knob from the other night, and flip her face-down on the bed. Or maybe he’d leave the knickers on her, just tugging them to the side when the time came. Until then, he’d bite marks into her skin and soothe them with his tongue. He’d slip his hand under the lace, teasing her clit with her arse in the air until she begged him to fuck her.

He wrapped the knickers around the base of his cock, while he kept fisting the rest of it. As his hand sped up, he imagined pounding into her from behind with her G-string still on. He imagined her whimpering for him and calling out his name. He’d do the thing properly, making her climax until she couldn’t think straight.

As his skin warmed with his efforts, the smell of her in the air grew stronger.

Sebastian fantasised about MC coming on his cock, and it was almost enough. It was a mixture of memory and imagination. He combined the sounds he knew she made when climaxing with the image of her lingerie-clad as he fucked her into his mattress. He could make it a reality if she’d stop being so sodding stubborn. He knew part of her wanted it – wanted him. He could see it in the way she looked at him.

He imagined her storming in now to yell at him about something else, catching him with her knickers around his dick as he jerked off. She’d be irate, and he’d shut her up by stuffing her mouth full of his cock. If she was good, he’d reward her by fucking her instead of spilling down her throat. He imagined taking her against his door. She’d cry out in pleasure as he made her body sing.

“Oh, fuck! Yes! I…I’m–”

Sebastian came with a loud groan to the image of MC coming undone. Her trembling legs barely able to hold her up. Her nails biting into his shoulders. His name on her lips.

He semen shot out in hot spurts, painting his stomach. But it quickly grew cold with the frigid temperature of the room. He was spent, and he felt a twinge of sorrow at the fact that it meant he was done. He wouldn’t’ve been if he had actually been with MC. He’d make her come, and then he’d come inside her, and then he’d make her come several more times after that. He loved overstimulating her, winding her up until she couldn’t take it anymore. She always came harder that way – if he took his time getting there. He loved having her so fucked-out that she was boneless and sleepy. Satisfied like only he could do. He’d hold her, and she’d fall right asleep.

Sebastian got up and cleaned himself off with a wave of his wand before extricating MC’s tattered knickers from his softening cock. He dressed and sat on the side of his bed for a while. Post-nut clarity was not as helpful as he had hoped. He had no idea how to interpret MC’s behaviour that day – let alone how to fix his strained relationship with her. He did feel quite certain that he should restore her clothes to their prior states, though.

Sebastian removed all the spells he had cast. He left to take a walk to clear his head. When he returned several hours later – he had stopped in a café for a leisurely lunch – he still had no additional insights. Though, he did feel that the flat had become noticeably warmer. A check of the thermostat confirmed his suspicion that MC had lifted whatever spell she had cast.

When he made dinner that evening, he caught sight of MC heading out. He didn’t bother engaging with her. He had no idea what to say, and he wasn’t sure he’d want to talk even if he did. He felt confused and…rejected, in a way. He wished he knew why she had been trying to work him up. Was she genuinely interested and just freaked out at the last second? Had she merely wanted to prove she could wind him up? Did she just want to see him suffer? He wished he could bring her into an interrogation room and not come out until he had answers.

Another idea struck Sebastian, and he put it into action the following morning. He skipped his run and made breakfast, instead. When he heard MC stirring in her room, he put on a kettle, as well. He prepped a thermos with a tea bag and a splash of clear liquid from a vial. Veritaserum. He’d used it in plenty of interrogations. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t allowed to use it outside of work. However, he was desperate. He felt like he was going insane with the emotional whiplash MC was putting him through. He needed answers.

MC emerged from her room just as Sebastian finished fixing her tea. She came to the kitchen, probably drawn by the smell of food. He offered her a plate and a thermos.

“It’s a peace offering,” he explained when she eyed them sceptically. She always did have good instincts. Nothing quite so damning as Sofia’s abilities, but she still had a keen sense when things were off.

“Thanks,” she said rather grumpily before taking them. If she still suspected anything, she didn’t show it as she took a bite of her eggs and a swig from the thermos.

“Can I ask you something?” Sebastian said, trying to sound unassuming.

“You can, but I have absolutely no interest in answering, so it’d be a waste of breath,” MC said acridly.

Sebastian scowled. He knew she was being blunt, not intentionally hurtful. That made it sting worse, because she meant it. “I don’t know why you keep insisting on being such a bitch,” he complained.

It was unfair. He knew exactly why she’d said what she did, but his feelings were rather raw after the plethora of unkind words she’d managed to pack into conversation over the last week. She’d have to forgive him if he was a bit defensive. Not that he actually expected her to.

“And I don’t know why you can’t just accept that I want nothing to do with you,” she bit back.

He clamped his jaw shut before he said something really senseless. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Surely, no answer was worth this torment.

“Thanks for breakfast,” MC said in a clipped tone. She snatched up her bacon and stormed over to her cloak.

She struggled a bit to put it on. She held her bacon precariously between her ring and pinkie fingers of the hand holding the thermos, which already had her wand between the index and middle ones. She looked like an elderly version of the muggle superhero Wolverine (Niko had shown him some films), with her rusty claws at odd angles from severe rheumatism. She held the collar of her cloak with her teeth and slipped her free arm into it.

Continuing the valiant effort of donning her the thing, she swapped her wand first, having belatedly realised she could stow it in her pocket. She did a bit of wild gesticulating as she tried to get the fabric to stop folding over on itself so she could access said pocket. All she succeeded in was causing the sleeve she had managed to get on to slip off her shoulder and pool at her elbow. She then gave up on the concept of pockets entirely and held her wand between her teeth, instead. Swapping the thermos and bacon to the hand of her sleeved arm, she twisted her free arm at an uncomfortable-looking angle behind herself to fish out the opening to the second sleeve. She tilted awkwardly toward her relatively bare arm, utilising gravity quite cunningly to shift the excess fabric closer to the searching hand.

There was no cry of victory when it found its target, despite what Sebastian might’ve expected. MC merely straightened her cloak, let out a disgruntled exhale, grasped her wand, and disapparated immediately. The whole ordeal would’ve been quite hilarious if Sebastian hadn’t just been thoroughly chastened. Still, once she had gone, he let out a sharp exhale that resembled something of a laugh.

It was only as they all gathered around Jari in the training room that Sebastian processed the fact that he’d sent MC to work with a thermos full of truth serum. The realisation hit him like a bombarda to the chest as he watched her take a sip of the spiked brew.

That wasn’t likely to end well.

“All right, everyone, we’re taking the training wheels off today,” Jari announced, and a quick glance around the room told Sebastian that no one else had felt like they’d been operating with “training wheels,” either. “Today we’re testing – and, hopefully, improving – your endurance. So, be prepared to be run into the ground, or leave now.”

Sebastian had never seen Jari so stern – other than when he had claimed to have smacked MC on the arse last week, of course. No one dared so much as groan as Jari dove into details. MC, however, seemed to mumble something to Sofia, who had to stifle a laugh. It was the last any of them made any noise that could be construed as joyful that morning, because Jari made good on his promise of running them into the ground.

It was more than running, though. Jari conjured all sorts of obstacle courses and rough terrain, none of which were static. All of the landscapes seemed intent on altering themselves in whatever way would make crossing through them most difficult for each individual person. They ran, leapt, dived, tumbled, climbed, and, in most of their cases, stumbled until their muscles felt like they’d never have the strength to contract again. It was only the strength of Sebastian’s pride that allowed him to walk to the locker room afterward instead of crawling there.

The training had been so gruelling that he entirely forgot he had meant to try to snatch MC’s thermos from her without her noticing.

Conversation at the lunch table was sparse. Most people looked like they’d rather take a nap in their food than eat it as they sagged over their trays. Sebastian, for one, thought his potatoes looked like they’d make a decent enough pillow.

“I’m definitely going to need the sauna after today,” Mikko said, and the noise made Sebastian’s lolling head snap up.

“Ugh, I’ll never step inside one of those bloody things again,” MC whinged.

“I thought you said you liked it!” Mikko replied, somehow having the energy to sound aghast.

“Well, the sauna itself was nice at first,” MC explained. “It’s just that the company was shite.”

MC gave Sebastian a pointed glare, and he looked down at his tray in shame. That conversation hadn’t been one of his finer moments.

“I’ll take you myself this time,” Mikko offered. “You’ll love it if you get the authentic Finnish experience.”

That was when it started to go tits up.

“You know, when you first mentioned Finnish relaxation methods last week, I thought you were going to offer yourself,” MC admitted.

Sebastian blinked slowly. Was she saying what he thought she was? Or was he so knackered that his mind was inventing reasons to be jealous?

Mikko clearly took the statement the same way Sebastian had. “I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I wasn’t trying to suggest anything,” the lad said earnestly.

MC shrugged easily. “Oh, I wasn’t offended. I would’ve accepted if you had been offering,” she stated.

Sebastian’s life nearly ended right there at that table as he inhaled his bite of sausage rather than swallowing it. His eyes watered as he coughed it back out. Despite his near-death experience, he was much more concerned with what was happening at the other end of the table.

Mikko looked mortified. Sofia looked to be in shock.

MC’s eyes widened in horror as she seemed to only process her words after they’d already exited her mouth.

“You just look like you’d give a lady a good time, you know?” she blurted out before quickly slapping her hand over her mouth.

That was the moment Sebastian remembered the veritaserum.

Fuck.

He wondered if he could vanish the thermos right then without it being too incriminating. Little did he know that he was already too late.

“You’re, um, very flattering,” Mikko said uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“I’m so sorry!” MC said, uncovering her mouth briefly. “I don’t know where that–”

A dark look crossed her features as her eyes slid to Sebastian. He felt closer to death than he had with the sausage obstructing his lungs.

“You adolescent twat!” she hissed at Sebastian as she rocketed to her feet.

He could only cower, giving her an apologetic look that he knew was too little, too late.

She chucked the whole thermos into a nearby bin and marched out of the cafeteria without so much as a backward glance. Once she was gone, though, everyone else looked directly at him. He wanted to slip under the table.

“Can we just leave it at I’m an adolescent twat?” he asked.

Fortunately, everyone was too tired to press him for details. For now.

Sebastian spent the rest of training that day pretending he didn’t exist and doing his best to avoid anything that would alert others to the contrary. Nevertheless, MC acknowledged that he was there on her way out.

“We’re gonna have a chat tonight,” she’d demanded without so much as slowing her steps.

He was in no position to refuse.

“What did you do?” Niko, who was sat across from him, inquired in a hushed voice.

Sebastian let his head fall forward and smack into the table. “I just wanted some answers, but I went about it the wrong way and cocked it all up,” he said.

Niko tilted his head as he observed his despondent friend. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Sepe, you didn’t!” he hissed.

Sebastian raised his head slightly, looking up at him guiltily.

“That’s il–” Niko started to say.

“I know!” Sebastian hissed back, cutting him off. He crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sebastian,” Niko said, obviously still taken aback. “What the hell did you need to know that badly?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sebastian replied tersely. “I didn’t find out, anyway.”

Niko looked sceptical. “Well, it mattered enough for you to break–”

“Niko!” Sebastian said in a warning tone.

The younger aurori finally got the good sense to drop the subject.

When Sebastian arrived at home after completing his usual cleaning duties, MC was waiting in the living room with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she demanded.

Sebastian flinched away from her. “I didn’t mean for you to take the tea to training,” he said. He knew it didn’t fix it, but still he needed her to know.

“So, you just meant to dose me privately?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. “Yes, that’s so much better!”

“I just wanted some answers,” he replied weakly.

He knew it was a mistake. He had just felt so desperate, and it seemed like the only option at the time.

“And you drugged me to get them!” she screeched.

“Would you have given any otherwise?” he asked defensively.

“No!” she replied. “And I have every right not to! I don’t owe you any explanations!”

Sebastian snapped his mouth shut. She was right. He shouldn’t have tried to force her to talk to him. He wasn’t entitled to know her thoughts if she wasn’t willing to share them. He should’ve known better, especially after experiencing working with Sofia for a year.

“Gods, you’re so bloody entitled, you know that?” MC continued, as if she’d stolen the word right from his mind.

Sebastian didn’t have the energy to keep arguing. The whole day – the whole week, really – had been too much. “I just want to understand, or…or to get closure,” he said, so quiet he was almost inaudible.

“So did I – three years ago. I moved on, Sebastian! I just want to survive this week so I can go back home and forget it ever happened!”

Moved on. To Sebastian, that sounded about as possible as bringing Anne back. There hadn’t been a day since her funeral that he didn’t wonder what would’ve happened if he’d stayed with MC. The thought of never seeing her again almost broke him.

“Well, I don’t!” he replied, his voice cracking. He had stepped closer to her, wanting to take her in his arms so she couldn’t slip away. But he had stopped himself.

“I don’t care!” she yelled, exasperated.

The words were devastating. She didn’t want to reconcile. She just wanted to be rid of him again. Sebastian didn’t know how to live with that. “I don’t know how to fix this if you won’t talk to me,” he said, defeated.

“You can’t!” she insisted as if it were and obvious fact.

“I can’t accept that,” he stated. He could feel tears starting to sting his eyes, which had become an all-too-frequent state for him lately.

MC groaned in frustration before evidently deciding the conversation was no longer worth having as she headed for her room.

“We’re not done here!” he said as he followed her.

“I am!” she replied before her door slammed shut in his face.

Sebastian tried to open it, but it was locked. “MC, let me in,” he said, feeling desperation begin to clench hold of his chest.

There was no response.

“MC, please,” he begged, jiggling the handle again.

Still nothing.

He knocked on the door. “MC!” he called louder in case she’d thrown in earbuds or shut herself in her bathroom.

He waited several minutes, but there wasn’t a sound from her room. He sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if it could stem the flow of frustrated tears slipping down his cheeks. He dragged himself to his room before he started sobbing.

Things did not improve for him the following morning when all of his hair fell out in the shower. Sebastian’s first thought was that it was some sort of stress response. However, he spotted streaks of hairless skin down his upper arms and torso in the mirror and put together that his shampoo had been tampered with. He didn’t take it well, saying some unfortunate words to MC before she left. He’d been infuriated by the levity she had about the situation. It felt like apathy. Like he was a temporary nuisance, not an intertwined part of her past.

That was to say nothing of the fact that MC used to be borderline obsessed with his locks. She had always had a hand buried in them when they snogged or had sex. She’d play with his hair at the nape of his neck while they studied or card her fingers through it while he rested his head in her lap. He could always get her going after a duel by letting his hair fall in his eyes a bit and looking at her through his lashes. Sweaty, bleeding, dusty from the floor of the Undercroft – it didn’t matter. She’d jump on him like a broomstick at the start of a quidditch match.

It was a clear “fuck you” to get rid of it. As well as an “I’m never fucking you again, to be clear.”

Sebastian was still fuming when he arrived at the training room. He’d tried every spell he could find to fix things before he came in, but there was nothing for it. He needed a professional’s help, so he settled for covering up his bald head.

“Nice beanie,” Niko said brightly.

“Shut up,” Sebastian grumbled to the confusion of the young lad.

Sebastian could hear MC snicker, “He’s on his monthly.”

He glared at her. MC just smiled and waggled her fingers in a taunting wave. Jari took their focus as he rounded them up for training. The whole morning, Sebastian struggled to keep his cap in place. He felt more naked without his hair than he had parading around his flat starkers.

Once the physical training was over, he took a lightning-quick shower and headed for his hairdresser’s. “Antonio!” he called desperately as soon as he stepped into the shop.

The man rushed out from the back. “Sebastian?” he said, bewildered. “I didn’t think we had an appointment today.”

“We don’t, I’m sorry. But…it’s an emergency,” Sebastian replied, sliding his knit cap off.

The man’s hand flew to cover his mouth. “Sit,” he demanded.

Sebastian quickly complied, and Antonio set to work. He slathered his freckled head with several salves. After a series of spells, brown hairs extended from Sebastian’s roots like new grass from seed. It grew out to chin length, and then Antonio began to trim it to its former perfection. During the process, Sebastian poured out his heart about the last week of his life.

“This is that girl you’ve been hung up on since forever?” Antonio asked. Of anyone in Finland, he probably knew the most about Sebastian’s personal life.

“The very same,” he confirmed.

“What are the odds?” the hairdresser mused.

“Indeed,” Sebastian agreed.

“Can I give you some friendly advice?” Antonio asked cautiously, pausing his cutting.

Sebastian met his eye in the mirror. “Please do.”

The man rested one hand on his hip as he levelled Sebastian with a firm gaze. “If you want a prayer of getting another shot with this girl, stop playing games,” he said, pointing his sharp scissors accusingly at Sebastian’s reflection. “Just be honest with her and ask her out.”

Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. “But she still hates me.”

Antonio gave him a pitying look. “But at least she’d know how you feel about her. You broke her heart. You can’t expect her to throw herself at you without even knowing that you’re committed this time.”

Sebastian felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t like the idea at all. However, the man was a good few years older and happily married, so it was probably worth considering. “I’ll think about it.”

By the time the group was entering the conference room, Sebastian was already in his seat. His stomach was empty, but his head was no longer bare. He noted the double-take MC did at him. He couldn’t tell if she gaped at him merely out of surprise, or if he might’ve caught a hint of longing in her expression.

Once everyone was sat, Jari started their lesson. Sebastian listened to Jari go in-depth on the intricacies of undercover operations, but he didn’t process any of the visual aids. He was focused on his peripheral vision, where he thought he’d seen MC’s gaze linger on him. Soon enough, she glanced his way. Then, she stared openly at him. After relishing having her attention, Sebastian turned his toward her.

When he caught her eye, MC flushed pink, knowing she was caught. It was adorable, and he couldn’t help but feel smug about it. MC looked determinedly toward Jari’s slides. Sebastian took a few more moments to appreciate how much her blush suited her before doing the same. He saw her glancing over several more times, but he didn’t turn to look again. Maybe Antonio was onto something.

When Jari finally released them, Sebastian rushed to follow MC out of the conference room. “Gods, I’m starving. I had to miss lunch to go to my hairdresser’s,” he said genially.

“I didn’t realise you were so vain,” MC replied harshly.

Sebastian smirked at her attempt to deflect. “You seemed to think it was worth it.”

MC rolled her eyes, refusing to confirm the fact but not refuting it, either. She avoided even looking at him, probably knowing her face would give her away either by blushing or her eyes flicking up to drink in the sight of his freshly styled mane.

Sebastian, realising she was going to make this difficult, jogged ahead of her. He spun around to face her and began walking backwards. Just ask her out. “Let’s go out to dinner,” he said.

MC’s eyebrows shot up. At least she didn’t look disgusted by the idea. “Together?”

“Obviously,” Sebastian replied with an easy grin. He still felt hopeful. She’d been gawking at him all meeting just because she’d been caught off guard that he had his hair back. That had to mean something.

At least, Sebastian had felt hopeful until MC scoffed at him. “Don’t you have cleaning to do?” she asked patronisingly.

He shrugged the comment off. “I can do it after,” he said simply, fighting to keep his smile. “So, how about it?”

She frowned at him. “No.”

Sebastian was taken aback. He’d genuinely expected that to work. “What d’you mean ‘no’?”

“It means that I don’t want to go to dinner with you,” MC explained as if he were hopelessly thick.

He cocked his head to the side. “Why not? You obviously still fancy me.”

MC bristled. “Hardly.”

She was being ridiculous. “You were staring at me all meeting, love.”

His suave ease at the assertion was somewhat undercut as he backed right into a wall.

MC quickly darted around him. “I was not.”

She pushed open the door to the outside, and he followed her out as she made for the alley.

Sebastian was certain she was just lying now. “Oh, you absolutely were,” he argued, still grinning. “Why can’t you just admit that you’re still interested?”

“Because I’m not,” she bit out, marching ahead.

That didn’t add up. The lingerie. The teasing. The staring. She had to still have feelings for him. Sebastian decided to push back.

“No? And parading around half-naked this weekend was for what exactly?”

She didn’t even look back. “You were the one who turned all my clothes into lingerie! And you were walking around fully naked.”

Sebastian smirked as he remembered how she’d leered at him. “I just find it comfortable. It’s how I dress in my flat when I don’t have a houseguest. But you’re trying to tell me there’s no part of you that’s even the least bit curious about getting dinner?”

He arched a brow as he questioned her.

MC whipped around. “None,” she asserted firmly, her fiery eyes boring into his. “There is no force on this planet that could make me want to rehash our relationship.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh at her insistence in the face of the truth. “Want to try that again after you’ve sipped some tea?”

MC’s face twisted with rage. Sebastian could admit that it probably hadn’t been the best idea to bring up the spiked brew.

“Gladly!” she spat. “I’d sooner cut off all four limbs than come crawling back to you – the absolute worst mistake of my life!”

Sebastian gaped at her as he absorbed the venomous words. Whatever attraction she felt toward him, her hatred clearly vastly outweighed it. He considered leaving her to be his worst mistake, but hers was ever being with him in the first place. The tainted dark wizard who did nothing but cause her pain. He felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He began to tremble – maybe from the cold, though he suspected it was more to do with his body trying to hold itself together as his world fell apart.

MC disapparated, and Sebastian was alone.

It felt like someone else did the cleaning while Sebastian just floated up near the rafters. He didn’t even feel the bite of the wind as he left the headquarters. But he was acutely aware of the persistent ache in his chest, and he wanted to dull that immediately. He forewent his usual pub in favour of a nightclub. The pounding music drowned out his thoughts, and the alcohol took care of everything else.

The bartender set down a shot, and Sebastian downed it. A laugh burst out from him. It sounded foreign – unnatural.

“Hey! That was my gigglewater!” a witch beside him chided in Finnish.

“Sorry. I’ll buy you another,” Sebastian said, slurring slightly as he shouted over the music.

The woman eyed him for a moment. “Dance with me, instead,” she shouted back.

Without waiting for an answer, she took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. She pressed in close to him, letting her hands and body make liberal contact with him. He was still rather numb from it all. But if nothing else, it was nice to be with a witch who didn’t hate him with every fibre of her being.

After a few songs, Sebastian let his hands wander over her body. Then, he was snogging her in the middle of the nightclub. That turned into feeling her up at the back of the establishment until she purred in his ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

She had said lots of things before then, too, but Sebastian couldn’t really remember any of it. Including her name, though that was hardly of consequence. He wasn’t even sure if he’d told her his.

Sebastian gripped her hand and apparated them to his flat. It had been a very ill-advised move given how intoxicated he was, but they’d landed safely in his bedroom by some miracle. The woman stripped Sebastian like she was being paid for it – he was fairly certain she wasn’t, though he really couldn’t be sure. He untied the halter neck on her dress, freeing her tits for his groping pleasure. He didn’t get long with them, though, before she dropped to her knees.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart!” Sebastian said as she bobbed on his prick. He always tried to show his appreciation for any woman willing to go down on him.

He tried to lose himself in the pleasure, his hands gripping into the edge of the mattress as he leaned against his bed. Then, his door banged open.

“Sebastian Bartholomew Sallow, what on earth is going on here?” MC bellowed, snapping his attention to her.

Well, the woman certainly knew his name now.

Speaking of, she had popped off his cock as she gaped at MC, then up at him. Sebastian realised why the witch looked so shell-shocked when he saw MC’s swollen belly. Surely, she hadn’t let that bellend get her up the duff? No, that didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t be showing yet.

Sebastian’s mental calculations were cut short as the witch got to her feet and started screaming in Finnish.

“You vile son of a bitch! You have a wife? And she’s pregnant? I hope you burn at the stake, you bastard!”

She slapped him across the face before storming out. He was just glad she hadn’t gone for his bits, frankly.

“You deserve so much better,” she said to MC on her way out.

She left the flat with a pop.

Sebastian sighed as he looked back to MC. “I was quite enjoying that…” he whinged. His eyes flicked from her “wedding band” to her stomach. Pregnancy suited her, he thought, and a rather base urge to fill her up for real swelled up in him. If she wanted to play house, then he’d play.

Sebastian smirked at her. “It only seems right you should finish the job, Mrs. Sallow.”

MC scoffed and looked at him derisively. “Fair’s fair. You ruined my last orgasm,” she argued. Unfortunately, she transfigured away the ring and pregnancy belly. “Besides, I did her a favour keeping her away from you.”

Sebastian ignored her dig at him and focused on the bit about her orgasms. “You haven’t come since before you fucked that prick in my bed?”

He slinked toward her, crossing the room as he held her gaze. MC glared back at him, but he didn’t let it deter him. He knew he could light her nerves on fire if she’d just let him.

“Actually, he made me come first. He was just going for round two,” she said snidely.

Sebastian scowled. Making her come was his job – one he’d been very, very good at. “What a bloody gentleman,” he spat out. “But you’re not denying that you haven’t come since.”

MC just rolled her eyes.

Sebastian’s smirk returned. Her silence was confirmation enough. “I could help you with that.”

Aside from the aching erection he was sporting, he felt quite desperate to please his witch again – both because she looked so gorgeous when she came and because he wanted to take care of her. He could remind her how good he’d made her feel. He could show her that he wasn’t a mistake.

MC stepped back as Sebastian closed in on her. She only looked all the more furious with him. “Are you really coming onto me while your dick’s still wet from some slag’s mouth?”

“You sound jealous,” he said huskily. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he believed it.

Sebastian bit his lip as he closed the remaining gap with MC. He looked down into her wide eyes as he ran the backs of his fingers down her the soft skin of her upper arm. It broke out in goose pimples.

“You sound insane,” MC shot back before storming out.

She rushed out of his room before his ethanol-infused muscles could react to grab her. Her door slammed shut. Once again, he was alone.

He took a futile shower – it would never be able to clean him of his real filth – before flopping into bed. The booze helped him fall asleep quickly, but it was hardly restful.

The next morning, the situation remained the same as he awoke with a pounding headache to an empty flat. As he sobered up that morning, it dawned on him that he hadn’t exactly put Antonio’s advice into practice the previous night. Sure, he’d asked MC out, but he hadn’t been honest with her about his feelings. Perhaps that bit was the most important. At the very least, it might give him closure. Maybe he didn’t need to know where he stood with MC to get it – he hadn’t liked what he had gathered so far, anyway. Maybe he just needed her to know how he felt about her.

Next chapter.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #toxic relationship

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borderlinereminders · 2 years

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my fp ghosted me a year and a half ago and i still think about her and ruminate about what happened every day. there was no closure. therapy hasn't helped, though most of the ones i've seen aren't familiar with the concept of an fp. i don't know how to move on. i feel like i'll only be able to if i get closure from her. what can i do? i tried really hard to encourage open communication and for her to tell me if i was ever too much and she would always tell me she was happy and felt like (1/?)

she could tell me anything. she said she didn't have to walk on eggshells and promised she'd never leave. she insisted our relationship was healthy and didn't want anything to change even knowing she was my fp. i've spent all this time trying to understand why this happened and picking apart my memories and missing her and i'm so sick of it and desperate to move on.

Hi anon,

First of all, this sounds incredibly difficult. I'm very sorry you're having to go through this. I really can't comment much on the friendship itself with such limited information, but what I can say is that it sounds really hard. Why she didn't communicate, we will likely never know. She may have felt afraid of hurting you and it got to be too much, or she may have been going through her own stuff and couldn't figure out how to navigate your friendship anymore or any number of things.

As much as this isn't what you want to hear, you're going to have to find a different way to get closure. I know that sounds impossible, but it's not. I promise. It will likely be really hard but you can get closure and move on.

If you haven't already, I think one of the first steps is to really feel your emotions. Quit trying to bury them if you are, and really feel them. It's okay to grieve the loss.

Next, it's time to accept it. She's gone. And it's hard but it's time to let go. Wondering "what if" and wishing for a different outcome can be okay to think about in passing, but it's important to not get stuck on that.

Make a decision to move forward. I know it might sound impossible. But you need to tell yourself "I'm moving forward." I'm guessing from the sounds of it that you don't want to stay stuck in this place.

Some ideas to help with the “letting go” part

Write a letter to her, and tear it up after.

Do some sort of “letting go” ritual, whatever that means to you.

Plan something fun that is exciting and you can look forward to

Remove any physical reminders (if there any) from your space. You could also go a bit beyond this and recreate your space to be “new” if it was a place you talked to her a lot or just want to do it for a feeling of a fresh start. There are a lot of ways you can change things up in your space with little money, and I’m happy to share tips about changing a room/place to seem “new” if it holds bad feelings/memories.

Delete any screenshots/messages (if you think there’s a chance you could need them for whatever reason, save them somewhere less accessible to you. It was so hard for me to do, but deleting the screenshots I’d saved from an ex FP felt like a weight was being lifted.)

If you continue to go to her profiles, or however you spoke to her to check up on her, work on stopping that behaviour.

Express your emotions through an art of some sort, whether it’s journaling or drawing/painting, etc.

Work on forming new friendships.

I know it’s not a quick fix, but I hope something here is helpful. Remind yourself that you can get through this. You had a life without her before, and you can have one again now.

#april answers #ask a borderline

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sokovianfortune · 1 year

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What is each member’s love language? What would they describe as their perfect date? What was the most surprising thing they learned about one another once they started dating?

under the cut bc this is long and i am self-conscious

what is each member’s love language?

physical touch is wanda’s, which can come as a surprise to most people. when it comes to strangers and even acquaintances, she’s a little more hesitant to reach out – a byproduct of having viewed her hands as the source of her magic for so long. but when it come to her loved ones, that hestiance melts away quickly because all she wants is to have them close and vision is far from an exception to the rule. she likes the security of being held. it’s very hard to think about all the time you spent alone and miserable without your husband when his arms are around you and you can hear his inner workings going brr under your ear.

now, more than ever, i think vision’s is words of affirmation. when so much of what’s going on in his head is uncertain, when he’s pretty much constantly wavering at the brink of an identity crisis and trying to piece together who he is and his place in the world, there’s a comfort to being told by someone he loves that he’s valued and appreciated regardless of the answers to those questions. that external validation is very important to someone who’s internal world is so conflicted and uncertain.

what would they describe as their perfect date?

the answer here is probably going to be slightly skewed just considering that actually going on dates has always been. a little difficult for both of them. even before all the civil war nonsense and thanos and westview AND the events of multiverse of madness, they were public figures under ever-increasing scrutiny. wanda didn’t even have us citizenship. date nights have always been a precious commodity for them and even in my own little post-MoM fix-it world, i imagine it takes them both quite a bit of time to want to leave the orchard and take those first few steps back into society – and, when they do, it’s only possible if vision has his human disguise in place and wanda uses a cloaking spell on her face and fingertips.

any date is the perfect date when you’ve never really been able to go on them regularly, is what i’m saying. particularly when you’re going on them with the person who you’d been convinced you’d never see again.

that said, they feel like museum people to me – vision for the obvious Ruminating On The Nature Of Humanity And Existence reasons and wanda because she finds it endlessly endearing to watch him ruminating and is always eager to listen to what he has to say about whatever exhibit they’re lingering near. she’s perfectly willing to let vision guide them to whatever it is he’s most interested in – even just being able to walk around somewhere hand-in-hand with her husband is more than perfect enough for her, really.

wanda being such a homebody usually means that her dates of choice usually take place close to there. picturesque little cottagecore picnics in the orchard are her favorite, but short walks in the nearby woods when it’s too cold to linger outside for the length of a meal are also good. even just an evening curled up on their living room couch together is more than she ever could have hoped to ask for.

what was the most surprising thing they learned about one another once they started dating?

for wanda, i think it was very much vision’s subtle sense of wit and humor. i’m thinking about that one post about data startrek (my lord and savior) going around that talks about him naming his cat and how i think that like. dry irony is probably something that vision also slowly picked up over his time with the avengers. and because she’s closest to him, wanda is one who started to pick up on it first. it always warms her now, whenever she sees shades of it returning as vision rediscovers himself.

even before they became an item, i think vision discovered even earlier than the rest of the team exactly how soft wanda was beneath the outer, angry goth girl exterior she projected when first joined the avengers. apart from clint, he was the first one wanda trusted enough to let him see past that shell to the lonely young woman who wanted nothing more than a loving family and the security of domesticity – and because he’s vision, i think there was definitely a fascination there right alongside his growing affection. an appreciation for the multitudes that one person can hold inside of them.

#answers #wandavision #wanda maximoff #scarlet vision #vision marvel #wanda x vision #i answered most of these in the context of my own little post-MoM fix-it world but i think they can apply broadly #they are in love. did you know that.#thank you ria!!

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nabataprophet · 1 year

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"..."

A pair of glassy eyes stare into another. No words are exchanged, not while they are still being ruminated.

In her hands is something special--wrapped in tan cloth and kept free from the sun's harsh rays. She had been told, by the one who gave it to her, that its first sparkle is always the greatest. And so it would be wise to save it for its great unveiling.

"I have something," stated as a fact, not proclaimed as some revelation the other would be surprised to hear, "I want you to have it."

With preamble flat as a field, Idunn reveals her gift. Without flair--without style--its small tarp is pulled off a crystalline surface. And it refracts light in hues of golden-blue and azure-yellow. Each ray stretches onto the ground and over the other's skin, spreading their grasp to any surface they can cling to. Evidently, it is a piece of fine craftsmanship.

But for all its beauty, it serves no real purpose.

"Humans are always doing strange things... Making strange things. I saw one making dragonstones, but he says they're fake." And indeed, this one is too. It contains not a drop of power, divine, fire, or otherwise. Idunn can sense as much. Likely just a rare crystal, polished and shined until bearing resemblance to the unforgettable marks of history that their kind must carry. "It's pointless, yet I want to do pointless things," she explains.

"I want to participate in the festival."

Doing her part, Idunn takes Sophia's hand--much warmer than hers--and imparts it not with the simple gift, but with the knowledge that she is cared of. For every small second they two spent in Arcadia, along with Fae, the growing heart is grateful.

"Happy Day of Devotion," said flat, but meant with excitement, "And thank you... For all you've done."

It's so much like something Fae would do that Sophia startles a bit. There's no telling how many times the young dragon has handed her a particularly pretty pebble on one of her exceedingly rare excursions outside of her room, calling it a gift. Part of it is the pure, selfless desire of a child to share interesting things with one's friend, but another, she suspects, is the desire to make up for something she lacks. It is the one thing that sets her apart, makes her different from them.

She accepts the fake stone, regardless, holding it as preciously as she would a real one. Even if it is no more than a beautiful, but ordinary stone, it is the intention behind the action that means so much more. To have received a gift at all from the demon dragon would have been unthinkable only a short while ago.

Just like every odd pebble, she will cherish this gem as if it were a real dragonstone.

"Thank you... I'm really happy... to have this. I will treasure it."

In truth, she does not feel like she has done much of anything to deserve thanks. She does not have Fae's cheerful personality, nor Lord Roy's decisiveness. To be frank, she's quite the awkward person. She's not the greatest with strangers and she doesn't communicate all that well. She has been isolated for so long that it's difficult to relate to humans, but she also lacks fundamental knowledge of dragons. How exactly has she been helpful enough to warrant such gratitude?

But Idunn's cold hands around her own tamp down the protests that threaten to rise in Sophia's heart. She accepts the gratitude like she accepts the gift, a bit awkwardly, but nevertheless touched.

"It is strange... isn't it? Humans live for such a short time... and yet they do... pointless things. They give each other flowers... just for them to wilt. But they're... still happy. There are... so many wonderful things... in this world... that only humans can show us."

Sophia takes a shuddering breath, clearly a little winded from speaking so much all at once.

"Happy...Day of Devotion, Idunn. I hope... this festival helps you understand... what an amazing world this is... even if it's just a little. I hope... one day... the sadness in your heart becomes bearable."

#📚 support: idunn #inferniso #//me on call like oh i wonder what this is in my inBAAAAAAUGH #// (weeping) dragoms........

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renegadewangs · 3 years

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Enigmatic Gnomance

Last night was movie night in my Discord server and we watched Sherlock Gnomes. Needless to say, things escalated very fast and I wrote a 2000+ words one-shot regarding the ending. Everyone liked it for some reason??? So here it is! (I’m not an expert on the gnome cinematic universe, please forgive me if I got a little detail wrong.)

Characters: Sherlock Gnomes, Watson Fandom: Sherlock Gnomes Pairings: (Lord help me,) Gnomes/Watson Warnings/rating: None. Summary: With the movie’s events behind them, Sherlock Gnomes ruminates on difficult matters.

Enigmatic Gnomance

The sun had set on the backyard when at last, Gnomes and Watson returned to their little home. Mrs. Udderson was nowhere to be seen, for which Watson found himself quite grateful. After all that'd occurred tonight, he wasn't in the mood for her invasive mooing. Gnomes hobbled over to the nearby armchair and settled himself down there. The deep crack in his leg instantly caught Watson's eye. He wasn't really a doctor- such a title was no more than an accessory in the world of gnomes. Even so, he found himself yearning to fix the injury somehow. He was responsible in a way, he felt. He'd been weak and he'd gotten cocky, which had made him a blind and unwilling pawn in Moriarty's little scheme.

But there was nothing to be done about it now; porcelain would never heal. Even with glue, Gnomes ran the risk of losing his leg forever if he were ever reckless.

Watson hesitated for a moment, then approached the armchair. His gaze wasn't being met. Gnomes had folded his hands together and was now peering towards his own feet. "Gnomes, ah... Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" he asked awkwardly.

Even with their reunion atop the bridge and their agreement to continue being partners, Gnomes still hadn't quite acknowledged the betrayal. It was maddening. Why wasn't he scolded? For Gnomes to come to terms with his rude dismissal of others had been the entire point, that much was true. However, to not see the gargoyles' true nature and be used by their master... That had been worthy of a good scoff, surely. Or at the very least an indignant sniff. Gnomes could have died, all due to Watson's own naivety. Sure enough, Gnomes didn't reply. The silence was worse than anything else he could have said.

"Gnomes..." Watson trailed off for a moment. Then he decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping his feelings bottled up. That was what'd caused this whole mess in the first place. "It's only us, now. Please, just talk to me."

"... I was ruminating, Watson," said Gnomes, still staring at his feet.

"Oh?"

"Yes, indeed. Ruminating. Quite deeply, I might say. My mind palace lost an entire dimension, attempting to process these hectic thoughts of mine. However, I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank. Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you might refresh my memory?"

The sober, forward nature of Gnomes's words caught Watson off guard. He hadn't known his friend to be so earnest, nor so willing to ask for help, for a very long time. Perhaps the day's events had made a difference after all. But then... Had it been Watson to make Gnomes see sense, or had it been Moriarty's doing? It was best not to think too hard on that, so he attempted to force the notion out of his mind.

"Of course, old friend." Watson placed a hand on the back of the armchair, smiling meekly. "If you need my help, you need only ask for it. Though perhaps... A bit more politely than you used to."

Gnomes uttered a chuckle, bitter as lime(stone). "Hah, quite right," he admitted. "I was wondering... Whether I actually took the time to say how sorry I am."

Watson felt his eyes widen and his body stiffen. Had he heard that correctly? Surely not. "Sorry" was a word not uttered aloud by Gnomes in a long time, short of demanding it from others.

"... What?"

"Quite a bit happened tonight. Moriarty is nothing if not a distraction. I'm certain I said quite a few things- to him and to you. However, it's all a bit of a blur, you see. Did I? Apologize?"

Watson shook his head fiercely. This was all wrong. This was what he'd wanted, and yet... No, he didn't deserve it, did he? "Gnomes- You aren't the one who needs to apologize. I put innocent gnomes in danger- I put you in danger. Moriarty could've won, all because I-I... I thought you'd..."

A hand on Watson's wrist caused any other words to vanish. He looked down to meet Gnomes's eyes. Even more out of place than the gnome's apology was the expression on his face, which Watson couldn't recall ever having seen once in all their years of partnership. What was it? Some sort of turmoil, certainly.

"My dear man, you were right to confront me with my attitude. To treat others in such dreadful a manner is already mortifying to me, in hindsight, but you... You deserved so much more and I fear I took your companionship for granted for the longest time. I'd forgotten just how brilliant you are, and so, you played the game quite well."

"Gnomes... Truly, you don't need to-"

"I am sorry, Watson. More sorry than even my own brilliant mind could ever begin to formulate."

Watson sighed and placed his own hand atop Gnomes's own. "I know. And I'm sorry as well."

For a long moment, nothing was said. Gnomes's eyes merely flitted towards Watson's hand and lingered there. Then, at last, he found his voice again. It had cracked almost as badly as his leg. "... I don't deserve a partner like you. Should you follow Irene's example and find your luck elsewhere, I would not blame you."

"Don't be a fool," Watson replied straight off the bat. "I did not go through so much trouble to teach you a lesson, only to toss away the benefits before I could reap them."

"You were perfectly content to abandon our partnership earlier."

"Well... It wasn't quite a partnership earlier, now was it?"

Gnomes appeared dumbstruck, though only for a moment. Then his lips carved themselves into a grin. "... Fair enough."

Watson took another shuffling step closer to the armchair, leaning forward and eyes narrowing into a bit of a squint. "Are you alright? Your leg... It looks quite damaged."

"It's only a few surface cracks," Gnomes replied, sticking his nose up in the air. "Nothing to worry about. The great Sherlock Gnomes is nothing if not resilient. It is a shame, though. That was my favorite leg."

Watson chuckled dryly. "I don't believe there's anything in this world you love more than yourself."

But Gnomes didn't reply. He merely stared ahead blankly at the wall. Had he gotten lost in his own thoughts again? Watson hadn't thought he'd said anything worth contemplating, nor blocking out.

"... Are you certain you're alright, Gnomes?" he asked.

"I... Yes." Gnomes blinked fiercely and rapped the fingers of his other hand against the armrest of the chair. "It's curious. You are quite clever, Watson, but then... Perhaps, unable to decipher the very same enigma which plagues me."

"An enigma, Gnomes?" Watson repeated. What was there still left to solve, at this point? It must've been significant, if Gnomes himself still struggled to put a finger on it. How tragic, then, that he would assume Watson would be unable to decipher it also. Were the learned lessons being foregone already? He hoped not.

"The time I spent with Irene... Well, surely you recall. It was a jolly good romp for a while, but I always knew she would come second place to the mysteries and the chases. And she came to know this as well. So in the end, a jolly good romp was all it was. I did not think I could ever love someone the way she expected me to."

Indeed, Watson did recall those 'jolly good romps'. He remembered the pain on Irene's face, which grew more severe with every instance where she'd been snubbed. He also remembered her resolution on the day she decided she would get over him. It was so very easy to rope her into his plans because the two of them related to one another. They both knew just how painful it was to be dismissed by Gnomes. They both agreed that the lesson had needed to come sooner and there was nothing left to salvage, but then... Watson hadn't given up quite as much hope as Irene, it turned out. It was a good thing that he hadn't.

"Indeed. But what's that got to do with another puzzle?" he asked.

"When I saw you fall and I heard that dreadful smashing sound... Well, I didn't want to think about it, really. I pushed it from my mind before it could ever take root there, because if I'd allowed that... Well, I'm sure I would've been quite useless for the remainder of the investigation."

"Oh, Gnomes, I didn't mean for you to-"

"It was a clever ploy, of course. I fell for it. Didn't even stop to consider you might catch yourself. That warrants another apology, I believe."

"No, really, it's fine. Perhaps I'd gone too far with that."

Gnomes's hand curled around Watson's wrist more fiercely. He turned his head upwards once again, brow furrowed, features pleading. "Watson," he began softly. "If I'd lost you... If you were truly gone, what would I do with myself? That's what I was ruminating on, you see. It pains me simply to envision the hypothetical, which is to say nothing of what would happen if it were a reality. I've never felt anything of the sort for Irene. So will you tell me, please?"

The situation was surreal. To hear words like that coming from his old friend... Well, the plan truly had been far more effective than Watson had expected it to be, though the result was overwhelming. Perhaps even unnerving. To earn Gnomes's respect and partnership was one thing, but to hear that his presence would've been missed so very dearly... That was more than he'd ever bargained for, or even dared to wish for. He didn't know how to feel now. He didn't understand what was being asked of him.

"... Tell you what, Gnomes?"

"Isn't there someone I love more than myself, or the thrill of the hunt?"

Watson's mind went blank. He felt quite cold, all of a sudden. But then... Also hot at the same time, as if he were standing out in the blazing sun of a warm summer's day. Gnomes's eyes were still on his own, waiting, perhaps deducing. Watson didn't dare look away. He was cornered now- trapped in Gnomes's intense stare.

Before tonight, his response would have been clear. He would have laughed bitterly at the question, then turned away from it. But then... Before tonight, it never would have been asked. Gnomes had never taken such things into consideration until he'd been forced to. To have Gnomes reflect on how much he'd always relied on Watson, that had been the goal. An unexpected side-effect, then, was that Watson now had to reflect on how much he'd relied on Gnomes. He'd wanted be looked at, to be acknowledged, to be praised- to be close to Gnomes, the way he used to when they first began to solve cases.

"I think that... The only one who could ever answer that question is you, Gnomes," he ultimately said.

"I... I need a hint, I believe," Gnomes replied in a bit of a stammer. "Just a clue, a morsel. The tiniest bit of guidance when it comes to deciphering these feelings."

"I'm not much help there, I'm afraid. I may be just as lost as you are."

"Oh... Are you really?" Gnomes paused for a moment, lips pursing and nose crinkling as he mulled it over. "If we're both lost in the same manner, does that not imply we both experience these same feelings?"

"Ah..."

And still, Watson had no true answer to give. Just as Gnomes's brilliant mind failed to form an apology strong enough to do the sentiment justice, so too did Watson's own fail to translate his feelings into words.

-Feelings? Were there feelings after all?

After about ten seconds, Gnomes tore his attention away from Watson's eyes and returned to gazing at his own feet. "Perhaps... It would be presumptuous to expect an answer to this riddle this very night. We are both taken by exhaustion, I'm sure. Delirious with it, perhaps. So..."

Still, no cohesive sentences came to Watson. Even so, he did have a reply, he thought. It wasn't a very clever one, but it was a reply all the same. He leaned forward to press a kiss against Gnomes's cheek. The gesture clearly shocked his friend, for he made a rather funny noise and attempted to jump up out of the chair. His bad leg, however, had other plans. Gnomes slumped backwards before he could ever fully stand upright and Watson caught him by the shoulders with both hands on instinct, cushioning the fall.

"Whaa- Whaaaat... son....!" Gnomes tilted his head backwards to peer up at him. "What...?"

"That was the small clue you were searching for, which ought to help you decipher these feelings of yours," Watson explained with another wry smile.

Gnomes appeared stunned. However, he soon relaxed in Watson's hold and eased himself back into the chair properly. "Indeed, that was quite helpful," he said. "Whatever would I do without your assistance, dear fellow? You truly are indispensable."

"It's good of you to say such things out loud, Gnomes. I expect to hear much more praise in the future."

"Of course!"

Indeed, they were both exhausted and had more than enough time to continue 'ruminating' on their feelings. For now, Watson was quite content to leave it that. Immense progress had already been made, and aside from that... Mrs. Udderson was still lurking high above them.

#sherlock gnomes #this started as a shitpost #but then I just kept GOING #people were howling in chat #what is my life

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script-nef · 4 years

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No need for jealousy, sweetie | Kageyama Tobio

Category: fluff

2k words; Is it a famous idol? Is it a high-skilled setter? Nope. It's his own son.

Everyone knows Kageyama Tobio, the genius setter of Japan’s national team and a member of The Monster Generation, is a love-struck fool. It’s not that hard to find out, seeing how his normally rigid and scowling face immediately turns soft and full of tender affection as soon as his wife is mentioned. His reaction is the same when his son, who celebrated his first birthday just a few months ago, becomes the topic of conversations as well.

The news of his son’s birth was posted all over Japan’s news as it consisted of a video uploaded onto his SNS account where you were beaming like a sun with your newborn baby in your arms while Tobio was silently crying his eyes out. He then moved to embrace you, words of thanks and love spilling out in between hiccups and cries. You joked that he cried more than you during the labour and everyone in the room was either laughing or comforting him.

You once attended one of his matches with Hikari in your arms, cheering for your husband and his team. As soon as the match was finished and congratulations were given, he zipped to your side and took the baby off of you. Hikari, recognising his father, gurgled joyfully and snuggled deeper into his embrace. As you started talking to Tobio, they both looked at you with an identical expression, like it was copy-pasted, that fans nearby took hundreds of photos. It’s one of the highlights in compilations of “Kageyama in husband mode” videos. (Other popular uploads include interviews where he doesn’t shut up when asked about your health or questions about your relationships. A lot of his fans started liking him thanks to YouTube’s wacky algorithms.)

Tobio is the embodiment of a devoted husband and father. Despite his odd memorisation skill which seemed limited to all things volleyball related, he never once missed an anniversary, birthday or doctor’s appointment. He even excused himself from practices for you. You can still hear how Hinata screamed “You’re skipping volleyball practice? You?” when he delivered the news. Interviews and commentaries after matches were cut short, much to his company and team officials’ dismay, because he couldn’t waste a second returning back to your side. He always repeated “[Name] is waiting. Goodbye.” with a bow and took off. He also wakes up practically instinctively to the baby’s cries even after he’s wiped out due to his rigorous training. The amount of superhuman stamina he has made you jealous since you’re half-dead after exercising a bit while he’s fit as a horse. He says any exhaustion he has evaporates as soon as he sees his son’s cute little face. A weird and floppy smile appeared on his face whenever he took the minuscule hands in his.

Hikari is practically a carbon copy of his father. Same piercing black eyes which look odd but strangely suitable on a one-year-old, smooth black hair growing in tufts and a round face with baby fat filling out his plump cheeks. Tobio sometimes pokes his chubby cheeks while he’s sleeping, hands trembling like he’s about to touch a priceless artifact. If you took a photo now and compared it to one of Tobio’s childhood ones, even he would be confused. They’re just that much alike.

When his teammates and friends visited to celebrate Hikari’s first birthday, their reactions were… quite interesting. Apparently they didn’t expect the child, a genetic offspring from Tobio and you, to have the similarity percentage lopsided to 99 and 1. Hinata argued 99.5 and 0.5 which caused another fight to explode between him and your husband.

It was very childish, the arguments thrown around being the equivalent of “Look at him! Are you sure you didn’t just split into half like that thing with the cell?” “Mitosis, idiot.” “Why are you still so mean, Tsukishima?! But yeah, mitosis!” “What the hell do you think you’re saying, dumbass? He’s so much like [Name]!” “Only you can see that, Mr Wife Idiot!” and so on. It was cut short when Hikari started crying due to the influx in noise and Tobio’s Dad Mode kicked in.

In your eyes, it’s absolutely adorable. Two copies of your favourite face in the world to wake up to and fill your life with. While pregnancy was a pain, right now is paradise. Especially since Hikari is a quiet and calm kid just like his father. By now, you should be concerned if they’re clones rather than father and son.

But recently, Tobio’s kind of miffed at Hikari for some reason. That doesn’t mean he’s neglecting his child, he would rather die than do that. He’s as attentive as ever, if not even more so than usual. Using his overpowered athletic skills to respond to Hikari’s whines or cries much faster than you, he drops everything and runs out at the smallest indication of discomfort. It’s also not because having a baby is a handful, they’re meant to be like that.

No, he’s just incredibly jealous of a one-year-old because “he’s taking up all your time and affection when you promised to love me most in the world”.

When he first said that, your initial reaction was to double-take because you thought you heard him wrong. The thought of “Well. My hearing is failing now” echoed in your head. But no, this dork was being possessive and filled to the brim with envy over his son. His own. Son. As unbelievable as it sounds, it’s kind of in character for Tobio. Tobio who has various epithets like:

King of the Court

Volleyball Idiot

Number 1 Wife Fan

Mr “I have two brain cells and one’s for volleyball and one’s for my wife. A third one is sprouting for my son.”

And plenty of other variations.

So far, the attempt to make him understand the needlessness of his concerns and jealousy haven’t gone well. Generally, it starts with your defence of “Tobio, I love you and Hikari equally.” “You said you would love me the most in the world!” “Fine then, I love you the most in the world.” “I know you’re lying!” “Sweetie, please.” Rinse and repeat.

He turns dejected after every single “fight” and curls up into a ball, refusing to talk to you unless you hug and kiss him. He thinks he’s sneaky and manipulative. He really isn’t, you have him playing in the palm of your hands.

But it’s going to become a real problem if he’s going to be jealous with the tiny tenant who’s going to be around for at least another 2 decades. And the worst thing is that you can’t regularly find advice since his closest friends aren’t… much of a help.

Hinata looked at you like you were crazy in one of your rare meetups. Tsukishima acted like he was actually getting sick from your concerns, that salty bastard. Yachi, kind and helpful and sweet Yachi, was the only one who made valuable contributions with Yamaguchi. It’s such a shame they’re so busy that they can barely have a social life nowadays.

“Hmm… I mean, he stills loves Hikari, right?”

“Yes. Endlessly.”

“Well then… how about treating him exactly the same as you did before Hikari came, if not more affectionately? That’ll show him that his son, his one-year-old son who doesn’t even understand the concept of jealousy, is not a quote-unquote threat.”

“Just threaten to leave him alone for like, a month if he keeps on being possessive. That’ll wake him up.”

“Tsukki!”

“Oh hello, Satan, didn’t think you'd be contributing. How’s roasting the souls of the innocent going?”

“It’s going fine. Would they really be innocent if they’re in Hell?”

“It’s a joke, Sea Salt. Also, that would crush him!”

“That’s the whole point.”

“I think you’re using this just to annoy him.”

“You’re thinking correctly.”

“Back to the topic at hand! [Name]-chan, just reassure and spend a lot of time with him.”

“That’s literally what I’m doing right now! Ughhh what should I dooooo…”

“You know it’s really annoying when lovestruck couples come and complain about their relationship like it’s a problem when in reality you’re happy, right? Just saying.”

“Tsukki, she has a real problem here!”

“Eh, does she though?”

And of course, that line of conversation took off before you could object and continued for the rest of the visit. So all in all, the two-hour lunch date with your friends resulted in a public commotion which nearly got you kicked out of the café. You were about to return home with no solid solutions when Hinata grabbed and stopped you.

“Hinata?”

“[Name]-chan, I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I think he’s just like this because he spent his entire life looking at either volleyball or you, and now that a third party has entered, he’s just not used to it. Time fixes everything or something like that, right?”

“It’s already been a year though…”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure he’s getting better. I remember when we visited you on Hikari’s okuizome, he was literally looking at you for the entire time. The entire time. When it was his son’s 100th day anniversary.”

Yes, Tobio spent the whole 5 hour party/ceremony with his eyes glued onto you, until everyone berated him for his lack of attention. Hinata literally flung a rubber band at his head and he didn’t even flinch. It was the main topic of conversation in your friend circle for the next month or so.

“But when we came again for his first birthday, Kageyama was all over Hikari! I think the transition of his love for you to Hikari is a bit slow, if that makes sense. He probably thinks the love you have for him is getting smaller compared to his love for you. Our Kageyama’s a bit of an idiot like that, right?” You don’t really know whether to nod or shake your head. “The fact that you’re hesitating kind of says everything, [Name]-chan. It’ll get better when his love for Hikari matches yours, okay? Hang in there!”

With a swift but warm hug, Hinata ran off to do his training.

The entire walk back home was filled with ruminations. Hinata was probably right. Kageyama’s attitude was slowly, but surely changing now that you’re thinking back. The ratio of his time with you and Hikari was 9:1 when he was just born, but recently it was more like 8:2. It should be concerning that this is the progress after a year of living together, but it’s better than nothing. You probably have nothing to worry about.

“Tobio, I’m home!” Silence welcomed you back. “Love? You home?” It was one of his rare days off and he said he would be taking care of Hikari so you could enjoy some free time while he can sleep in for the day. Also because his team instructor forbade him from meeting with Hinata since it always ends with a 3 hour volleyball match.

“In here.” A tiny reply emerged from the nursery. He always came running as soon as the front door creaked open like an overgrown puppy since you started living together, so this was surprising. Quietly tiptoeing in, you were met with your baby sleeping soundly in your husband’s arms, sucking on his thumb and sleep-babbling intermittently. Tobio’s face was one of love and pure happiness as he watched Hikari snoozing away like he didn’t have a care in the world—the same face he made when he stared at you. When he raised his head up to look at you, his eyes were filled with joy and warmth, crinkling in the edges.

“He’s so small.” He whispered, careful not to wake Hikari up. You joined him by his side, gently nudging your child’s chubby cheeks and revelling at its softness. “I have this… this feeling in my chest whenever I look at him… the same one whenever I see you.” Tobio’s hand came up to cup your face and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

“I love you both so much.”

Yeah, you have nothing to worry about.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama imagine #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu!! one shot #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kageyama #kageyama tobio #fluff #female reader

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 4 years

Text

Alright alright alright

You’ve all been asking for it, so here it is!

This will be (edit: HELLA) long and obviously spoiler-y, so everything is under a cut.

Are you ready?

Before we get to it, I want to mention that for the sake of keeping things organized, I will NOT be talking about my AU (@ask-whitepearl-and-steven) in this post. I want to just analyze the show as a viewer and a fan first. I’ll make a seperate post for AU-thoughts a bit later.

Without further ado:

EP 1: LITTLE HOMESCHOOL

This is a great way to open up the episode and show the changes through the lens of someone who has been a bit out of it for a while (we are all Cherry Quartz, fresh from the hiatus, aren’t we?) but I’m sorry, this post still takes the cake:

Okay, okay, back to the program.

“That used to be a loaded question...“

Right off the bat, Steven is SO much more confident about saying that he’s... HIMSELF! What a good feeling. I’m very proud of our boy.

I love the name “Gemglyph” for the gem language! I’ll need to know who wrote these, though. And who the heck drew the diamonds? Hopefully it was BP.

And I’m not the first one to point this out, but MORE ANIME REFERENCES!

Which can be seen as either a reference to the Chill Low-Fi Hiphop Beats to Study To OR Whisper of the Heart.

And absolutely no one cares but something that caught my eye is the fact that they have an EARTH FLAG at Little Homeschool! How cool is that!

Earth 4ever!!!

Off-note - I love how INVESTED they are in this conversation Pearl is having with Holo-Pearl.

Peak entertainment.

I love Professor Amethyst and I love the random human who snuck in to apparently take lessons on Not Giving A Single Shit About Anything, Ever.

And here we FINALLY are in the FUTURE

Where we FINALLY get Jasper as a functioning character

And

She’s

SO DRAMATIC, I LOVE HER.

This is literally SO funny like she... she was just... laying on top of her house... under a blanket..... FOr WHAT? To stand up dramatically and throw it off when Steven inevitably paid a visit?

Is that just what she dOES?

“It’s FINE I don’t need any HELP, I’m FUNCTIONING, I’m just having a SELF CARE DAY OK”

Also I’m sorry but

Jasper: “It took forever to yank those puny green earthlings out of the ground.”

Steven: “You mean grass...?“

THIS. RIGHT HERE. is peak Jasper.

It’s also curious how INVESTED Steven is in this:

“I’m TRYING to give you [a purpose]!“

Why are you... trying to do that, though? Isn’t the whole idea for gems to surpass their ‘purpose’ and just kinda... do whatever? Isn’t Jasper just kinda... doing whatever?

I mean, sure, it’s not useful to anyone, but she seems relatively happy. Aside from. You know. The whole laying on rocks under blankets until she’s disturbed thing and-- okay, you’re right, maybe an intervention would be healthy.

I’m not gonna talk at length about the rest of the episode - although I think it’s really good, I don’t know what I can say about it that hasn’t already been said. Jasper is definitely poking Steven’s buttons and rephrasing a LOT of what WHITE has said to Pink: “You surround yourself with inferior gems because it makes you feel better.”

And Steven REACTS to this. The taunt WORKS.

And yes, he gains some extra powers for it, but something tells me this AIN’T the only thing he will get. It feels like a two-edged sword. Like it’ll be his own downfall somehow....... maybe at the end of the series.

Ashes to ashes.... hole to hole.

And oh wow I thought they were gonna bond but LMAO

“Consider your fight back there your first and ONLY lesson.“

Basically:

I love you Jasper.

EP 2: GUIDANCE

I LOVE YOU AMETHYST.

sHE’S doing SO much and she’s SO good at it!! Look at her!! Organizing stuff!!!!

RUBIES IN SUNGLASSES. IN SQUARE SUNGLASSES.

I need 20.

And I also need 20 of Larimar because holy shit that’s hilarious.

Larimar: “I want to hear the human screams forever.”

Steven: “Okay that’s kinda troubling.”

I love the reference to Monsters Inc here and I love the callback at the end of the episode when Larimar switches to Human Laughter to get her fill of that particular erm... need.

And honestly the ensuing chaos is equally predictable and entertaining.

I’m SO glad to know that Rubies are just... Like That and that actually Navy is not a deviation from the norm but rather a different flavor of the chaotic energy all Rubies naturally seem to possess.

Amethyst is also super relatable:

“Ah yes, the fool comes crawling back. Come to beg for forgiveness, have you?”

In fact, the episode’s WHOLe HUMOUR is just very much My Brand

“Sometimes you save all the people but the rollercoaster still crashes into the ocean...... and that’s okay.”

Including the Running Gag that is Onion. Who... does not appear to have aged. At all. And that’s okay.

EP 3: ROSE BUDS

Okay where do I even begin with this one. Um.

I have to openly admit that I spent the majority of this episode wheezing with laughter. Let’s start with the Zoomans:

Who are CLEARLY STILL SUPER SALTY AT GREG ABOUT REJECTING THEM??? Which is hilarious.

And also this paradise is fascinating in and of itself.

But the next scene is basically where I started losing my shit.

Okay, okay, alright so. Uh. I have... a few questions.

Like Why. WHY. Does she look. SO MUCH like Rose?

Clearly Rose Quartz differ in coloring and etc. But She literally looks. Like THE Rose. VERY explicitly.

So here’s several options here:

1) Pink made Rose Quartz way before any of the Rebellion happened and Pearl just basically pigeonholed her into THIS specific Rose Quartz appearance because she (???) had a crush? Or somehow saw this specific Rose, thought ‘hot, i can make my sympathetic Diamond wear this exact costume and that would be EXCELLENT fanservice for ME’

2) Pink didn’t have any Rose Quartz until the Rebellion, and thereafter quickly decided ‘I need these gems as an alibi, so we’re just gonna make them” and she and Pearl basically inclubated Rose Quartz like a pokemon trainer hatching for a Shiny until they got one that looked Exactly Like That.

3) There was no Thinking involved because this is Pink we’re talking about, and it was all just a huge coincidence for the sake of this Very Hilariously Uncomfortable Episode.

While we ruminate on that, let’s look at some Relatable Reactions.

And here we have the holy trinity of “I have just seen the clone of my deceased parent/parental figure/lover.”

Featuring: Bonus ‘I’m Almost Over It’ Pearl

Also, I need y’all to make this into a meme:

For example:

Anyway, alright, alright.

That relatable feel when your (hot) dead lesbian lover’s clone asks you if you’re okay after another one of the (less hot?) clones offers you a whole ass stick of butter to eat.

And then you and your friends all hide in the bathroom to talk about your feelings:

Okay, the rest of the episode gives me FEELINGS and I love how hard Steven is trying, so I’ll just close it off with:

I LOVE THEM. Unironically, they are EVERYTHING I had hoped Rose Quartz would be. They’re SO MUCH like Rose herself - did she model her personality after them? Or are they just like her because she WAS like that, and they’re made from her essence? WHO KNOWS?! They’re adorable!

And the conflict between them and Steven is honestly so gooD! I don’t know if it’s completely relatable but I’m glad they ended up talking it out.

I wonder if we’ll ever see Her again... you know who I’m talkin’ about.

Her....

I’m madly in love with Rose, ok, I don’t need a callout post. Just leave me be.

EP 4: VOLLEYBALL

Alright, alright, alright.

OKAy,.... It’s fine. It’s FINE. I’m fINE.

Confirmed: 8000 years. That’s. UH. A LOT? That puts our timelines quite a ways back. We kind of estimated as much, but still, it’s so jarring to think about. And PP is VERY casual about it.

She’s also VERY casual about the injury.

“This is all Pink Diamond!”

It doesn’t seem like it bothers her to talk about it at all. She’s not even trying to keep it a secret. So I’m almost wondering - was there a connection to her being taken by White and the injury at all or not?

She came to Steven to get healed - she clearly wants it gone. At the time she was injured, did Pink not even attempt to heal the injury?

Follow up question: If she DID care, why didn’t she try to heal it?

Follow up to the follow up: Was it because she didn’t know she could? Or did she simply not have the time to (White removed her before she could)?

When Steven goes pink, she gasps - but makes no further comment. It’s presumably because she’s seen this happen before. She doesn’t try to move away, weirdly enough - she asks him if everything is alright. Perhaps the context is too different for it to be triggering for her. Perhaps there’s more layers to it? HMMM.

What follows is, perhaps, the SALTIEST we’ve seen Pearl since Greg rolled around.

“Did you come to compete?”

This is doubly curious to me because Crewniverse has previously explicitly stated that Pearl was NOT in love with Pink Diamond. She was in love with Rose. So if this is true, why would Pearl care about her place as Pink’s Pearl? She is supposed to be past all that, isn’t she?

And yet as time goes on, the salinity grows exponentially. Alright, you two, I know you’re Pearls but tone it down with the sass.

(Also, I’m sorry but I will NEVER call her Volleyball. That’s all. Bye.)

Also it’s worth noting that... PP is clearly VERY much in love with Pink.

This is, perhaps, where the lack of a grudge plays into it. She’s completely enamoured.

Moreover, she’s VERY casual about how she talks here. This isn’t exactly how one talks of their Diamond. This is how people talk about their romantic partners. She calls Pink silly, calls her ‘funny’. That’s not exactly a term of respect - it’s way more intimate than that.

Also, did anyone else notice how, although CG Pearl’s gem is usually shaded in teal, it’s in Pink in this episode? VEEEERY subtle, Crew.

Also, we can’t quite see Pink Pearl’s expression fully here because her working eye isn’t visible, which makes it hard to get a read on things like

“I’m older than you.“ Is she just saying it casually? Or is she fully aware that she’s poking fun at CG Pearl?

HI SHELL. ISN’T IT FUNNY HOW YOUR VOICE AND YOUR NAME ARE A SUBTLE NOD TO PORTAL, WHICH IS FORESHADOWING HOW BADLY THIS IS GONNA END.

Meanwhile, Pearl continues to be in character.

“No need to be overly... attached.”

And this has nothing to do with anything but

she cute

Aaaand now it’s creepy again.

The rest of this is super important so let’s get to it:

“Oh, no. Pink did this.”

“What did you say?”

“It’s a funny story, really. Once, Pink got tired of asking Yellow and Blue for her own colony, so she went straight to White. Of course, White told her she wasn’t fit to run one... and well! That set her off.”

“Set her off? What are you talking about?”

“You remember how she was! With her destructive powers, throwing tantrums left and right! She had a scream that could crack the walls. She didn’t mean to hurt me! (giggle) I just happened to be standing too close to her that time and--”

And then Steven interrupts.

We get more CG Pearl arguing for how wrong this image of Pink is to her. What CG Pearl knew was a totally different (or, well, same, but VERY changed) Pink.

But what we have to prove our point is Steven himself. He rolls into the EXACT same state as Pink presumably did - and begins to over-use his powers.

(This isn’t the first time we have seen him use this attack.)

The reactions from the Pearls are telling - this is clearly not Pink Pearl’s first rodeo with this type of Mood.

And it’s important to note that Steven clearly didn’t direct any attack AT them. He simply yelled - and the whole dang place literally started to crack. There’s weight to the argument that possibly, Pink really DIDN’T mean to hurt her Pearl - that she was just collateral damage.

Which doesn’t make it any better, obviously. Even if Pink had no direct intention of hurting her Pearl (and there are theories that Pink purposefully hit or threw Pink Pearl or somehow physically acted directly to damage her, which I was skeptical of) the result of it is still the same.

If you raise your voice and yell, even if you’re just yelling because YOU are hurt/have feelings, you might still hurt the people around you. If you throw a tantrum, even if your direct goal was just to let off some steam without aiming to harm anyone, whoever gets in your way is still the victim.

And this is all very much On Brand for Pink’s timeline as we know it. We already knew this about her - we KNEW she tended to throw tantrums (like in the flashback on Jungle Moon) and that she was childish. The fact that she accidentally hurt her Pearl in the process because she had no self-control at that period in her life comes as no surprise.

(Although it’s important to mention that perhaps hurting her own Pearl WAS the breaking point during which she finally realized how her emotional outbursts could have negative consequences on those around her.)

And this is a very beautiful message - even if Pink Pearl still doesn’t want to blame Pink for what was done to her (”But... she didn’t mean to!”) Pearl brings the point of it back around to her (”But you were still hurt!”) The point isn’t the person who did the hurting - the focus is on the victim and how they were affected.

And the rest, I daresay, is history.

I like the fact that they managed to still bring it back around to the main message:

It isn’t about just “Pink was bad”. It’s about how she did bad things. And there were multiple sides to her - multiple stages. And the Pearls who knew her knew different sides of her - the side that didn’t know how to be a good person, who was selfish and childish and unrestrained... and the side that was, arguable, too restrained. Who hated her own past, her own character and her own mistakes so much that she would rather bury them and keep secrets from everyone.

And neither of those things were good, and neither were healthy, but they are a GREAT contrast to a GREAT character arc that is, arguably, still being unearthed. And we have so much more context for it all now.

I, for one, can’t wait to see and discover more of Pink through Pink Pearl - no matter how ugly that side of her might be. I think it gives great perspective to her later growth.

And if you ship the Pearls.. .well, I get why.

Personally I’m not interested in it that way. Call me unromantic - I don’t think their relationship NEEDS to be shippy in order to be satisfyingly deep. I love the idea of them having a deep bond over this - a shared past, a shared experience, and gaining confidence through one another.

Cheers and thanks for listening!

#steven universe future #steven universe: future #steven universe future spoilers #su:f spoilers #suf spoilers #su spoilers #steven universe spoilers #spoiler warning #pink pearl #volleyball

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [27/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Wowieeee, it's been a long time since I've written a chapter this long. It feels like the old days. But also, I wrote this without my glasses, so... there will be errors.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“Do you think we’ll be hanged?” Fandral asked from his cell. It wasn’t intended as a question to the room. From his tone, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but in need of anything besides the quiet of the prison area. “I think I’d hate a hanging. There hasn’t been one in centuries. You think it will be public?”

In the parallel cell, Sif paced about. Checking the golden barriers of her cage and then pounding her fists against the barrier couple of times. Each hit barely made a sound, let alone a dent. Adjacent to your own cell, Heimdall struggled to stay upright. He looked won out. In need of a long, long sleep. Normally, seeing him in distress would make you worry, but nothing felt normal with the amulet on.

“I’m not sure I’d prefer banishment either,” Fandral kept speaking.

“At least you’ get to keep your pretty head,” Volstagg chimed in, annoyed. His face was getting redder. It seemed his friend's ruminations were becoming tiresome to listen to. “Which is better than what I’ll do to you if you don’t shut up for a minute!”

“Yggdrasil’s branches!” Sif huffed. “I can’t hear myself think with you all yapping like starved pups!”

Her tone was different from everyone else’s. Sharper. That made them afraid. Talking was a way to keep distracted. With Sif’s outburst, everyone was forced to face that silence they were too afraid to let settle. Well, everyone except Heimdall and Hogun. You, on the other hand, weren’t feeling much of anything. Strange…

“Leave them be, Sif,” Hogun said softly. His face was calm, legs crossed at the ankle as he reclined comfortably on his cot, eyes closed. “Everything will work itself out.”

“You sound so certain,” she seemed surprised. “Why?”

“Because,” Hogun stretched, sitting up on crossed legs. “One way or another, everything always reaches a conclusion.”

Fandral let out a shaky laugh, “You’re a real comfort.”

Hogun shrugged, “Could be worse. You could have had Thor for a cellmate. You know how he hates small spaces. Especially if he’s confined in said small places.”

Sif tried to fight her smile, a reminiscent look on her face. All the warriors had it. Even Heimdall. It must have been a shared memory. Before your time.

“That big oaf,” Sif finally let her teeth show through the smile.

As the others began to trade anecdotes from the past, mainly about Thor’s claustrophobia and a previous stint in prison, Heimdall scooted closer to you, his back pressed up against the barrier o his cell, head turned at an angle to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he squinted at the amulet and then focused on your face. He was searching for something, you weren’t quite sure he found. A moment later, he sighed. “Can you even hear me?”

Yes, you said. But he didn’t respond. He didn’t hear.

He wasn’t discouraged by his inability to communicate two ways with you. He soldiered through and found another question to ask, “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t feel like anything, you said. Again, he didn’t hear.

He was frowning now, asking question after question as if the right one would get you to open your mouth. A task so simple, yet so difficult to do.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours—when guards came to round everyone out of their cells. Everyone except you. There was a commotion. Some unpleasant words exchanged. Someone tried to rile up the Captain from before. She ignored them, acting above reproach. An impenetrable shield, shining with true Asgardian worth. The guards never lowered your cell’s barrier, and after another minute—or hour—you finally registered that you were alone in the prison ward. It didn’t bother you though. Nothing did. Not even the spot of blood that marked the spot where two guards were knocked unconscious by Loki’s hands. Two more stood slack, in a headlock between Thor’s large arms. Frigga was with them too, casting sleep spells on the last few on guard duty.

The barrier to your cell faded in the blink of an eye. Faster than lightning, Loki rushed to your side, cradling your body against his own. He felt strong, like an anchor in the impossible storm. Smiling seemed the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure if you managed to.

He was trembling, his body hot from exertion. He kept his voice a whisper, his words only for you. “When I saw that the cells were empty, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But you’re here. I wasn’t too late. I found you again. I have you in my arms again and I promise not to let go. Never to let go.”

Those words should have meant the world. You should have been elated. Relieved. But there was still nothing.

When you didn’t reply or lean into his touch, Loki pulled back to study you. He tugged at the clasp, but the amulet refused to separate. It took a while for Frigga to understand what was happening, to notice the amulet for what it was.

As Loki turned to use his magic against the amulet’s hold, Frigga raised a hand in warning, “No, Loki, wait—”

Loki’s magic was invasive to the amulets, and you felt the ancient device retaliate, slapping his magic away. He was knocked back on his ass before Frigga could finish her sentence.

She knelled next to you, tearing a piece of fabric from her skirts and chanting below a whisper. The fabric began to shimmer, imbued with magical essence.

“The amulet siphon’s magic, drains the wearer and attacks anyone who tries to take it off,” she explained. “You have to trick it into focusing its curse on something else, and then…” She wrapped the fabric around her hand and used it to unclasp the amulet. As it fell, the fabric was turned to nothing in a flash of cold fire. The amulet dropped onto the floor. Loki and Frigga were cautious not to touch it.

You shuddered to life. Everything bright and real. The floor was cold. Your body was every bit as tired as you remembered. And the pull of Loki’s magic returned. Beautiful. Right.

He rushed to hold you again, and this time you reciprocated. Wrapping your arms around his midriff and clinging onto him as if he were the source of all life.

“I love you,” you said abruptly.

The air left his lungs. His chest grew still. Unmoving. You loved how that sounded. His heart racing. Your words. Everything about that imperfect moment suddenly became perfect.

You laughed, euphoric. “I really do. I love you.”

You looked up to him, saw his shock and adoration and a mix of every look he’d ever given you worn under one instant. His lips quivered. He tried to speak. To breath. But he was stunned in silence.

“I regretted not telling you before,” you kissed him. Your body finding solace in the proximity. Your heart beating strong and steady, in a way it never had before. In a way that promised forever. To love forever. To live forever. To be near him forever. You had forgotten what it felt like to be exhilarated. To actually cherish each heartbeat. And, as if a flood had passed over your body, you felt renewed. Loved. You poured all of yourself into the kiss, into him. And he drank gleefully. Greedily.

“Ahem!” Thor cleared his throat, obviously flustered from witnessing you and Loki’s moment. “I’m… Uh—I’ll just… be… over there… keeping watch for patrols.” He stalked over to the staircase and pretended to keep watch. Cheeks turning tomato red.

The kiss finally broke and you both needed more than a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again.

Loki grinned from ear to ear, “To think, I’ve waited countless of your lifetimes to feel this way about anyone, and you only needed the one. I knew I was missing something since I was a little boy. You restored that part of me. Gave me the chance to see that I could be something whole. You’ve healed a broken prince, and I wish I could give you more but… I suppose… this will have to do…” He trailed off, staring intently at your face. “I’ll love you fiercely for every lifetime I spent without you. Half-mortal or not, I’ll love you a thousand year’s worth every moment of every day. For as long as we have.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“No. It’s just what you deserve.”

“Then you deserve the same. It goes both ways, so that makes two thousand year’s worth.”

He arched his brow, some of that self-assuredness he used to carry with him returned. “That’s technically not true.”

A mounted torch holder fell off the wall with a loud clang! Everyone turned to see Thor kicking the polished bronze ornament into a darkened corner. He held up his hands in a silent apology. Loki rolled his eyes.

“My brother with his insightful contribution,” Loki said, tongue-in-cheek. Loud enough for Thor to hear this time, he asked: “Would you like to make a little more noise? I don’t think every guard in the lower levels heard you.”

“I just might,” Thor grumbled, placing his hand close to another torch holder. Daring his brother to say another word.

“I don’t mean to cut this short,” Frigga interjected, helping you up off the floor. “But if we mean to do this, we must get to the others before Odin has had time to pass judgement. After that his will is paramount. Not even the Rite of Conscription will save your companions.”

You wobbled on your feet and Loki instinctively slinked an arm around your waist. You leaned into him.

“What is the Rite of Conscription?” you turned to Loki.

He frowned, “It’s… It’s the best of my bad ideas. Conscription can only be evoked by senior members of the Asgardian royal family. Once enacted, it places a subject in a position of servitude. They become agents of the court and crown. And it also means, they cannot be tried as traitors. Once conscripted, they have full protection under the King, or, in this case, Queen.”

“Sounds simple enough,” you said. Loki’s expression didn’t reassure though. “But… it’s not, is it?”

“No. Conscription for you, given how little we know about your true lifespan, it could end up being a life sentence.”

“But I have no home to return to. No family besides Heimdall…” you felt a wave of dizziness and had to clutch onto Loki’s jacket to keep steady. His fingers found yours. He twined them together, holding them close to his chest. You looked up at him. “Up until recently, I was ready to accept Asgard as my new home. For good.”

“But it wouldn’t just be you, my dear,” Frigga pointed out. “We’d have to conscript them all to Asgard’s service. Forever. They’d never have the chance to become anything different in the future. Neither would you.”

A life of servitude in exchange for freedom from Odin’s unpredictable wrath. Or was it his illogical fear? If you had to make the choice alone, you wouldn’t hesitate, even if it landed you in a precarious position in the future. But you couldn’t dare play arbiter of fate over everyone else’s lives. That would be selfish. And you’d be no better than Odin.

“I don’t think I can agree to this,” you said solemnly. “If it was only me that had to make the decision, then… maybe. But, I was only just beginning to get to know everyone. I don’t want to be a source of tension. And Heimdall’s the only family I have left. From what he’s told me, of the Great War, of his people, conscription would be a cruel thing to do without even talking to him about it. This whole mess started because of scheming and secrecy. We can’t continue that pattern.”

Frigga’s eyes flitted to your hand interlocked with Loki’s, a new thought percolating to the surface. “Family,” she murmured.

“What?” you asked.

“Handfasting!” she said hastily, her voice the loudest you’d ever heard it.

Loki’s eyes went large, “You can’t mean…”

Frigga nodded, taking one of your hands in each of her own.

“We don’t have a priestess,” Loki spoke too quick, anxious.

“I don’t—” you tried to get a word in, but Frigga talked over you.

“It’s the best alternative. At the very least, it will grant us a year of peace. A year we can use to persuade Odin to forgive whatever transgressions he found so grave that he’d risk imprisoning the protector of the Bi-frost. I know him. If he truly wanted this, he’d have acted without hesitancy. This—” she gestured towards the prison “—this is all to buy time. He’s undecided. So we must decide for him.”

Loki brushed off her explanation, unwilling to listen, “He’s the king. His will is law. If he truly didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have done it.”

Frigga shook her head, a wizened edge hanging on her words, “Only tyrants rule in that manner. And he is not his father.”

“What does Bor have to do with any of this?” Loki said, eyeing his mother suspiciously. She dismissed his prying with a flick of her wrist. She did it with the same flourish that Loki did.

You looked to Thor then back to Frigga, lost. “Is anyone going to tell me what handfasting is, or—”

“It’s a marriage,” Thor blurted out.

Now it was your turn to go silent.

“Subtle, brother. Thank you for that,” Loki chided. He placed his attentions back on you in an effort to explain things more smoothly, avoiding your gaze. “Handfasting isn’t exactly as binding as marriage. Handfasting is like… a trial period. It was used in arranged marriages to see if the betrothed were… agreeable. It was also a way to end disputes politically. Give the respective sides time to assess and recuperate.”

“I see,” was all you could muster, your voice small.

“In fact, Odin and I were handfasted,” Frigga said. “And if you have any doubts, remember, as Loki said, it isn’t binding. But as a betrothed, your family gains diplomatic immunity. And since Heimdall is Vanir, both of you fall under allies, not subjects.”¨

Finally, you found your voice. “What of Sif and the others?”

“They’d be protected too,” she assured you. “The handfasting period is a period of peace. If anyone acts out violently, then they disrespect the old ways. And Odin is too traditional. The old ways are his ways. His father’s ways. He will respect the year of peace. I’ll make sure of it.”

You took a sure, deep breath. Steeling yourself. You had dreamed of a future with Loki. Years spent discovering each other, learning of intimacies beyond touch. Sharing desires and thoughts. Spending days in the library, discovering more about your peoples, more about your magic. It may not have included a mysterious boy from Verdenspeil. Or a handfasting ceremony as a last-ditch effort to one-up Odin, but then again, your life on Asgard had been far from ideal. Loki waited for your answer, his eyes holding a darker edge to them; desire. Frigga and Thor waited with bated breath, both their postures too ramrod straight, towering over you. Expecting an answer.

“Then, my answer is yes.” You smiled, both anxious and excited. There was a shared sigh of relief in the room.

Frigga turned to her son, happy for him. He pressed his forehead to yours and mimicked your actions.

“Yes,” he said with a laugh caught in his throat.

Frigga whispered a spell, and suddenly, a spool of ribbon inked itself between your hand and Loki’s. Twisting into an infinity loop at the wrist. You thought of the snake from the cave, then immediately, you remembered the dream with the snake in the cave. Something in you stirred. Through your conjoined hands, you felt Loki’ magic reciprocate that feeling. A yearning. He looked at you with a devilish smirk, making heat spread in your belly. You almost turned away, face too hot.

Frigga’s chant ended. The lyrical music notes of it lost to your unfamiliar ears. Loki and Thor seemed to recognise some of it. You made it a point to remember to ask one of them about it. Especially since the last line made Loki blush.

“I need something to seal the incantation. Something with magic imbued,” Frigga said, searching the surroundings for anything that could work.

Thor opened his fist and after a few seconds of awkward silence, his hammer came crashing through the walls perpendicular to where he was facing. Rumble rolled to your feet, and Frigga looked at him with the most motherly expression you’d ever seen.

“Will this do?” Thor shrugged and held the hammer above you and Loki’s linked arms.

“Just,” Frigga said as she finished off the incantation. A torrent of light, holding all the colours of the rainbow encircled the spot of union.

Everything was as clear as a summer’s morning. Colour giving life to the room. Magic tingling everywhere.

Frigga cleared her throat, “Marked by magic, and witnessed by a prince of Asgard, do you, Loki, and your betrothed, vow to keep the peace and set aside any grudges and conflicts for one year? Do you vow to share, in confidence, the truth of your thoughts and the full extent of your feelings for one another, whatever they may be, however they might grow?”

“I vow,” he said, openly.

A roucus above the floor alerted you to a group of guards immobilising on your position. Distracted, your head tilted up, as if you could will yourself to see through the stone. Your heart quickened and Frigga nudged you. Thor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his hammer an inch.

“Dear, you have to vow,” she brought you back to the present.

“Yes. I vow,” you nodded, trying to stay calm.

Frigga concentrated her magic, her palms coming close. “Then, with these words, I bind you to one another. Bind you in peace. And hope a union will spring from your time together.”

Frigga’s eyebrows drew close together, her hands straining to maintain the magic. A bead of sweat meandered across her temple. And with a grunt, Mjölnir went flying into the wall, a burst of energy exploding out war. Frigga released her grip, panting. “It is done. You are handfasted.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Thor pointed to the new hole in the wall.

Frigga shook her head, “No. There was…” she regarded you carefully, making sure not to let her face betray whatever she was thinking. “Resistance. It—It’s probably nothing. We’re all tired. We’ve all been through ordeals. It could simply be fatigue.”

You glanced at your tattoo. It had cracks along the artificial ribbon, as if unfinished. The colour of bright emeralds flawed by golden veins. Hints of cerulean in the right lighting. The triquetra, Mjölnir’s symbol, had formed an endless pattern on the ribbon. Easily missed, and of delicate line work. The prick and bristle of the tattoo's magic was bewildering. Sparking with a deeper connection than you could articulate. It wasn’t just the symbol of a bond, but an actual link to both you and Loki.

Loki rushed to his mother’s side, placing a hastened kiss on your forehead beforehand. Thor’s palm called out to Mjölnir and it returned with the sound of thunder rumbling outside. The hoard of guards descending upon you sounded closer. Their voices louder.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” Loki frowned at Thor.

“Subtlety is lost on me,” Thor said.

“Yes, well… you wouldn’t be my brother if it wasn’t.”

Thor and Loki shared a moment. Their bickering giving way to something deeper. Something neither of them would voice aloud anytime soon. It was trust. A different kind of love. Greater than blood.

“We should get out of here,” Thor began spinning his hammer and suddenly a gut-punching realisation hit you.

You yanked on Thor’s bulky arm, “Wait! Where’s Baldrick?”

All three of them looked at you, confused.

“Who?” they asked simultaneously.

~Odin

The child that had come through the portal with Heimdall and Y/N was strange. Odin had brought him to his study and asked him questions.

The boy—Baldrick as he came to introduce himself—possessed knowledge beyond his years. An aura to him, almost ancient, yet also too young, too powerful. Odin had given him a puzzle to solve, one that required intimate knowledge of magic and science. Baldrick had fiddled with the pentagon-shaped object with a blasé expression. He had solved it faster than Odin had when his father had presented him with the same challenge.

“Astounding,” Odin remarked as the boy set the puzzle down. Baldrick busied himself by staring at the books in Odin’s study. He had made it a point not to speak beyond saying his name.

The boy seemed so familiar. A likeness in his small face.

Odin knew he was biding time by trying to figure out how Baldrick’s mind worked, but he was thankful for the distraction. When Loki had pounded at his door, demanding an audience, Baldrick had studied Odin as if he was the old man and Odin was the boy. It was a peculiar feeling.

When Aisling had been the one to knock on his door, hiding her true thoughts behind pleasantries, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. A judgement needed to be passed. After all, the Allfather does not lash out on a whim. He’s concise. Calculative. And pragmatic. And he had pushed things too far when he’d sent the Destroyer.

Regret. That’s what had been eating him since Loki fell unconscious. And what had he done once his son awoke? Cowered away. All in the name of protecting his family’s legacy and keeping the truth of his father’s reign buried. It was his curse. His duty. But, at least it hurt less than what he did to Hela. That was a transgression he could never make right, failing as a father.

He left the boy in his study. Odin feared he may have been more perceptive to emotion. And emotion was the last thing he cared to face.

Heimdall was held down by the straining arm of a member of the royal guard. His knees kissing stone. Beside him, Sif and her companions held the same posture; necks refusing to stay weighed down, heads facing Odin with arms tied behind their backs, armour stripped for simple clothing.

“What am I to do with you?” Odin finally spoke. His fingers ghosted over the intricate designs carved into his stave, feeling the schism between each drawn line and folded knot; feeling the obvious divide in his family and peoples. With a sigh, he continued, “Disobedience, theft, evasion and escape. Worst of all, you all knowingly defied the will of your king. One son wasted away in a tower, the other in taverns. And Frigga… My health is barely as it was. What would you have me do? Make an example of you? Show you lenience? Leave you to the mercy of the Destroyer?”

“Do as you wish. I have made my peace with my decisions, and I’d do it all again to ensure my daughter was safe,” Heimdall said.

His voice wasn’t intended to sound defiant, but lately, to Odin’s suspicious ears, everything sounded suspect.

“Safe?” Odin didn’t mean to condescend, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “And can you say the same for everyone in this room? Sif? Volstagg? Hogun? Even you, Fandral? Could you all say that you’d go to the gallows for an outsider? A mortal?”

“Half. Mortal.” Heimdall corrected. A withheld threat somewhere beneath his red-hot glare.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Fandral’s voice fumbled, “that seems an overreaction.”

“Is it not part of our teachings to show benevolence to those that see us as more?” Sif challenged, hurling the guard that held her down over her shoulder. “A mere mortal? You’re the Allfather, the one Midgardians pray to, the one whose story they carve onto mountains. Even if she wasn’t Heimdall’s daughter, it is our duty to protect her, to protect all of them.”

The guard tried to retaliate, but Odin held up his hand, stopping their advances.

“Your notions are young,” Odin said with a sad smile. “I miss seeing the world as simply as you all do, but that is not our reality. And that is why you do not bear the weight of a ruler. I hope none of you do.”

Heimdall watched him closely as he stood to walk closer. Some of that trust they’d built over years of infighting and war was still there, despite them both trying to act otherwise. Bonds of war and patricide were hard to shake.

“Are you still willing to risk everything to keep this fragile peace? This lie?” Heimdall asked. When Odin did not give an answer, Heimdall lamented to himself, “So, this is how it is then.”

“I must pass judgement now. Chaos cannot stand,” Odin quieted the room with a strike of his stave. The room grew very still. Then, Thor’s hammer burst through the door, causing a commotion.

Odin’s breath was stolen away when he saw Frigga stride in a few paces behind their son. And his heart stopped entirely when he saw the tell-tale ribbon tattoo shared between Loki and Y/N.

To his surprise, he was relieved.

“No judgement shall be passed today!” Frigga announced. “No judgement shall be passed until the year is over.” She walked over to pull attention to Loki and Y/N’s matching tattoos. “They are handfasted, and the rules of the old ways are clear. Y/N and her Father, being both of the Vanir, both of my homeworld, cannot be harmed. Nor can they be tried by the king of another realm. Especially since it is your son who is handfasted.”

Odin smiled, and everyone in the room was shocked by his response, “The old ways are sacred, and so, I accept your conditions.” His smile grew wider, “My Queen.”

Frigga walked over to his side easily.

He struck his stave once more and gestured for the guards to stand down. Y/N rushed to Heimdall’s side helping him up, while Sif and Thor and the Warriors Three had their own little reunion.

Yes, he thought to himself. This is a far better outcome.

“Mark today as the start of a passive year. A year of peace,” he decreed.

“Where’s Baldrick?” Y/N demanded, a protective scowl on her face.

Curious, he thought. That they’d form such a bond in such small time. The boy obviously had a way of influencing those around him. Albeit, passively.

Odin was about to answer when the boy shimmered into the room as if summoned, a favourite of Loki’s tricks. Loki stared at the boy, noticing the same thing.

“I am here,” Baldrick said. Y/N took large strides to his side and offered her hand to him. Baldrick walked to the other side, accepting the arm that wasn’t marked by the tattoo instead.

“Well, that was rather unpleasant,” Volstagg stretched, his stomach growling deeply. “How about some good, old fashioned merriment and song tonight?”

“Aye! I have a bone to pick with you all for abandoning me in a tavern to go off on your own adventure,” Thor pouted.

Sif ribbed his arm casually, “You were brooding. You’re utterly useless when you brood.”

“I am not!” he refuted.

“You are too,” Fandral and Loki said simultaneously.

Hogun patted Thor’s back, a teasing smirk on his lips, “Wait until you hear of the snake made of stone.”

Frigga walked over to Loki’s side, whispering something in his ear. He adjusted his collar as if he couldn’t breathe. His gaze fell on Y/N as he strode purposefully to her side. But before he could reach her, Heimdall blocked his path, imposing and large as he looked down at him with a set jaw.

“You and I have much to discuss,” Heimdall glanced at the handfasting tattoo with disapproval. “But,” he sighed, letting his body shrink lower, “it can wait till the morning, I suppose. Your father and I have much to sort through.” He turned to Odin and they both nodded in agreement.

Loki heaved a sigh when Heimdall turned his back. Y/N and Loki shared a secret laugh--the kind Odin had shared with Frigga in youth--before he got on his knee and extended his hand to the small boy.

“I’m Loki,” he said. “I take it, you’re Baldrick?”

Heimdall came to stand close to Odin, arms folded. “Where do we go from here?”

Odin sat back on his throne, his bones aching. “We let them savour their youth.”

“And what happens once the year is done?”

Odin eyes the dispersing crowd, unsure of how to answer that question.

To be continued...

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vercopaanir · 4 years

Text

He Would Never

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 6

Masterlist for this series

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian is on a hunt for a bounty, and while you recuperate, you struggle with your protective feelings over him and the child.

Ratings/Warnings: None. If I do miss something, please let me know!

Notes: This chapter ended up being so long that I split it in two! It was really fighting me, so I’m very self-conscious about this one. The next chapter is going to be a bit of a punch in the gut (in a good way?), if I’ve gauged things right. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading, tagging, commenting, and reblogging!!!

AO3

When you explain how you came by the pain in your side, the physician helps you out of your dress to examine you. You suck in a breath when her cold fingers tap along your back and up to your ribs, feeling the tender skin where bruises have started forming. She deduces quickly, trauma to the area of your back having caused significant nerve pain. All you remember is watching the Mandalorian with his son, so gentle and attentive that you forgot yourself. You’d been content in the warmth of their laughter, softened by the affection, and then harsh red lights and blaring alarms and-

“Spend time being thrown against walls?” the doctor asks, her light and teasing voice bringing you back to the present. You turn your head towards her as she moves your shoulders to the left and right to check your flexibility.

“Well...” you puff, face pinched with pain, considering the story that got you into this.

Shaking her head, she sets to work and makes a quick job out of you, narrating every step to keep you aware of what’s going on. “I’m using a micro-sonic vibration injector to administer an analgesic. The pain you’re feeling should disappear in a minute or so.”

You don’t even feel the injection, which she administers into the fleshy curve of your waist before you can question her about it. She applies a healing sheath around your abdomen after that, and she instructs you not to remove it for a full twenty-four hours. You use your fingers to feel the edges where it lays flat, beneath your bust and down your abdomen to create a comfortable seal that still allows you to move. The sweat on your brow is quickly cooling as the discomfort recedes to a dull ache, as if you’d been struck in the side rather than stabbed by the control switch.

“I’m giving you two sterile heating cloths to sleep with. Try to lay as flat as you can so you don’t put pressure unevenly on your back. Make sure you don’t accidentally lay on anything,” she said, placing the packaged cloths in your hands after you pull your dress back up. “Or anyone,” she adds with a smile.

You blush at that, smiling in understanding, and nod.

Stepping behind you, she helps straighten the collar of your dress before saying, “You know, that hunter who brought you in was quite worried about you.”

You shut your eyes in mortification, rubbing between your eyebrows. Maker, what must he think? It’s been so long since you’ve fallen, not since you were younger and at least a foot shorter. You’re so careful now, and your pride is wounded to think of him treating you like glass, skittish and scared. Your fingers tighten around the cloths she’s given you.

“Pestered some of my staff for a while until he finally left. Wouldn’t sit down. It was making people anxious, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Your stomach tightens at her words, and it’s all you can do to meet her face with your own as you turn around. “He has a lot on his mind,” you mutter, thinking of the child sleeping so quietly back aboard the ship. You can’t stand it knowing he’s alone, and the longer you linger, the worse you feel.

The doctor hums, and you think she must be smiling when she says, “Seems to me you were the only thing on his mind.”

Her words echo in your ears as you step outside, blinking in the bright sunlight. An odd, prickly emotion builds in your chest as you ruminate, because you know the Mandalorian has the capacity for compassion. His care and love for the child alone are evidence of that, but you wonder where you fall on that scale. You are both a boon as the child’s caretaker and a liability as an extra item on his list to be concerned about. This entire fiasco won’t endear you, and you’re upset with yourself all over again. The confusing feelings sliding back and forth like an uneven scale cause your head to hurt, and the bright sunlight of Tatooine hardly does you any favors.

It takes stopping and asking a pedestrian where the hangar is located before you can make your way to it, and when you enter through the same door the Mandalorian had shouldered you through, the mechanic pops up from being seated at a small table surrounded by her pit droids.

You come to a stop, your heart dropping on the sandy ground when you see the child in her arms.

“He, uh, found some work. Said he’d be back,” the woman says, bouncing the child, but by the fussy noises he’s making, you know she’s been unsuccessful wooing him to sleep. “The Mandalorian, I mean.”

Your eyes trail to the dark shadow of the Razor Crest, unable to make anything out besides the black, blurry shape of it, before looking back at the child.

“You two shouldn’t leave your baby alone. A little one like this needs someone to take care of him,” she went on with a disapproving huff, and it was all you could do to stay standing upright from seeing a stranger cradle the child. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t sit well with you.

“May I...please have him?” you ask, holding your arms out and stepping closer. You feel like demanding she give you the baby, a panic ready to bubble in your throat that’s been lying in wait since the dogfight between the Mandalorian and the starfighter. But you can’t bring yourself to it. Your natural inclination has always been pacific, polite, and you don’t like the idea of making enemies.

“Oh...oh sure,” she says, quickly putting the child in your arms. The baby curls into you instinctively, pressing his face near your collar and fluttering his ears in happiness at your familiar scent. You drop down into one of the seats between two of the pit droids, winded and exhausted. The healing sheath keeps you from slumping in any way, but it also prevents the discomfort you felt before from returning. You hug the baby close, laying your cheek against the small wrinkled brow, and close your eyes against the prickle of tears forming under your lashes as relief washes over you.

“I’m Peli, by the way,” the woman says, stepping back to her seat and sounding suddenly unsure.

“Thank you, Peli,” you murmur, smiling when the child grabs a lock of your hair like an object of security. You open your eyes, pale and sightless as they are, and try to meet her own. You are often told you are always just a little off from holding eye contact, but you still try. “I didn’t want to leave him alone, but-”

“Nah, I get it,” Peli says quickly. If you didn’t know better, she seemed uncomfortable, shifting in her seat. “You didn’t look so great before…” She pauses, leaning forward urgently. “He didn’t do that to you, did he?”

You can’t keep the laugh from bursting from your mouth, and it takes you physically putting your hand over your lips to stop yourself, on the edge of exhausted hysteria. “N-No,” you finally say, swallowing hard. “No, he would never.”

The words hold more truth than you intended, and you’re surprised by them yourself.

“Well, good.” She sits back, satisfied with this answer if put off by your outburst. She cocks her head to the side and says, “Fed him a little while ago. You hungry? You look pale.”

“Oh, I’m alright now,” you say, brushing your fingers over the child’s forehead. “Thank you.”

The truth was, you were spent. If you could lay down, in that moment, you knew you wouldn’t wake up for hours, but the time spent away from the child had unsettled you. Knowing he was alone, and then returning to find a stranger holding him sent a bolt through you that wouldn’t easily be shaken. Even if Peli was a good person, it leaves you feeling discomfited, and you aren’t sure that sensation would go away until the Mandalorian returns. Being at the mercy of others never felt good, but it was all you’d ever known. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like to feel secure no matter where you are. You think the Mandalorian must know what that feels like.

You were also starved for interaction. As Peli went on to say you should at least try to drink some tea, snapping at one of the pit droids to fetch it, you realize that even if she just simply spoke to you, the presence of someone else felt nice, at least for a while.

“You’re very kind,” you murmur, letting the child sit properly in your lap as you pick up the clay cup with a warm, floral note in the steam. You take careful sips, the soothing sensation relaxing your shoulders.

Peli hesitates. “Started working on your ship. Fixed the fuel leak, at least, but it’s got plenty more fixing to do.” You nod, listening attentively as you continue to sip. “I’m guessing he’s good for the money, since he’s got a couple mouths to feed.”

You set the cup down and nod. “He is. Where did he go? Did he say where he found work?”

“Well, he set off on a speeder bike with some young kid. Probably your age. They were making their way out towards the Dune Sea,” she pauses here, rubbing her chin. “He told me to tell you not to wait up.”

A smile curves your lips, thinking of the last time you’d tried and failed to wait up for him. Then, a small thought that he could be gone overnight occurs to you, and you frown, rubbing your arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“What’s someone like you doing with someone like him?”

The question is not what you were expecting, and the surprise must show on your face. You rest your hands on either side of the baby, furrowing your brow. “I’m...sorry?”

“I mean-” Peli’s frowning, now, you can hear it. She slaps her hands on her knees. “Bounty hunters aren’t really known for being friendly. When you two stepped off that ship, I thought he’d kidnapped you. You seem like such a nice girl.”

Your response is immediate. “And he’s a nice man.”

“You sure about that?” Peli challenges, and your hackles go up. Your social capacity is quickly filling as your energy wanes, and you wish once again that you hadn’t gotten hurt in such a stupid way. It isn’t as if you ran for miles or got stabbed. Maker, you fell over. “Look, I didn’t mean to step on your toes,” she says when you’re silent for too long. “I’m just...surprised, is all.”

“I was a slave,” you say quietly, feeling your heart quicken to utter the words out loud. You had gone for so long without saying it that it felt like a sacrilege. “To a man on a planet closer to the rim. Before that, I was an indentured servant to an Imperial family, and-” You stop, feeling a tiny three fingered hand rest on your wrist. You look down to find the child staring up at you, his small mouth pursed in worry. You smile at him, lifting your other fingers to trace his ear. “-and the Mandalorian freed me, when he could have walked away. I don’t know why he did it, but it is the first kindness I have known in a long time.”

“That’s a fine thing to do,” Peli allows, her voice shrewd. “And you’ve never asked him why he did it?”

“I assume he needed someone to take care of this sweet thing,” you say, tracing the shape of the baby’s ear and smiling wider when he sighs against your hand. “That’s what has made the most sense to me.”

“Well, you seem to be doing right by the little one. Just don’t let that bucket head leave him alone anymore,” Peli adds, standing up and stretching her back. You smile good-naturedly and nod, standing up yourself.

“I think I’m going to rest. If he comes back, will...will you tell him that I’d like to see him?”

Peli pauses, hesitating at your turn of phrase.

You snort and wave your hand. “You know what I mean,” you say, walking off towards the Razor Crest.

“Right! Sure!” she calls, sounding anything but.

You climb aboard the ship, managing to make it up the ladder and shuffle into the cockpit with the baby in your arms. It takes you longer than normal to get him to relax, even once you’ve tried to tuck him in. Perhaps he’s still keyed up from all the excitement of the day, from meeting new people? You sigh, kneeling by the co-pilot chair that holds his cradle, and you begin stroking his ear. When his movements slow, a little smile curves your lips, and you start to hum. It isn’t any particular song-you don’t know many-but the combination of gentle touches and a soothing voice has his big, blinking eyes slowly drooping. Soon, the only sound in the cockpit is the soft snores coming from his tiny nose and mouth, and you step out into the passageway once you’re sure he won’t wake up.

The pain in your side has all but disappeared, only a faint tugging sensation when you move too quickly. You consider going back down into the hull to sleep in the bunk, but the thin padding of the cot providing no support doesn’t inspire your enthusiasm. Perhaps you could use your next bit of earnings to invest in better sleeping arrangements.

An idea strikes you, then, remembering when the Mandalorian crossed into the room across from the cockpit to dig out the cloak you’d borrowed on Quanera. Perhaps you can find something else to pad the cot with.

It takes you a few moments to find the door’s access panel, but when you open it and step inside, you’re hit with icy air. It’s completely dark, and you frown gently as you walk forward. The room itself is small, which is unsurprising for such a ship as the Razor Crest, but what does surprise you is when your legs bump into a short ledge. You nearly fall face first forward and catch yourself with your hands, landing on something...very soft.

A bed.

A real bed.

The sheets are tucked in military fashion without a wrinkle, a thick woolen blanket folded at the end. There’s one pillow, plump and firm, without any indentation. You realize you’re in the Mandalorian’s quarters and shoot up straight, biting your lip.

Considering your own bunk, you trail your fingers over the soft sheets and sigh with longing.

You shouldn’t. You should really sleep in your own bed where he told you to stay on your first day aboard-or even moreso, in the cockpit with the child. Even though the air is frigid in this room, you have the sterile heating cloths and the softness beneath your fingers is more tempting to your body than any sin you could have committed.

Mesh’la, he called you, and you don’t know what it means, but the memory makes your heart ache. It’s a decision in itself.

It takes only a small bit of fumbling with your dress to pull it over your head, and you lay it across the foot of the bed, slipping your boots off quickly after. You’re left in a thin tunic and your underclothes, the healing sheath still hugging you around your middle. By the time you climb beneath the sheets and pull the blanket around you, the cold air has chilled you through, but the heating cloths on your back and side warm you up. You sigh in relief, allowing your body to sink into the cushioned mattress, and your head falls back onto the pillow. You’ve left the door open for a bit of light, and to make it easier for the child to find you, but it doesn’t truly chase away the scent lingering under your nose.

Forest and skin and soap, you think, having smelled it so many times passing by his beskar. It’s faint, though, and you wonder when the last time it was he allowed himself this bit of comfort. The room felt uninhabited. You knew for a fact he often slept in the pilot’s chair, near the child, and as your eyes begin to fall shut, you promise yourself to make sure he sleeps in it from now on.

Mesh’la - Mando’a for “beautiful”

Taglist: @lavenderl3mons, @itzagoodthing, @letaliabane, @yodaswrinkles, @kateb013, @catsnkooks

(Please message me if you’d like to be tagged! I don’t tag unless asked, because I never want to assume and bother someone. Thanks again!!!)

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

Text

Be Still, My Heart

PART 1

Marcus Pike X Tattooed/Pierced Reader

A/n: So... this has been in my WIPs for a few months. I’m dedicating this to @pikemoreno cause its her husband, obviously and @flightlessangelwings since this was our Lovechild idea. Both of us are tatted, she wants lots more piercings and it is my lifelong goal to join the FBI and be on the Gang Unit. So this was created. Enjoy!

Taglist: @mikeisthricedeceased

It has been about month since the dreaded break up between up Marcus Pike and Teresa Lisbon. Marcus, who has not yet transferred to D.C., was still having to work in same space as her and Patrick Jane. And it killed him.

He hated seeing them together. True, he understood that maybe he moved too fast, and that she clearly wasn’t over her feelings for Jane, but it left a bitter seed inside him.

‘Why wasn’t I enough?’

He tried his best not to ruminate on the thoughts, feelings, or memories that would barrage his brain all hours through the day. He tended to run through the motions. His team could tell. His team noticed he was quieter, that he smiled less. There was nothing they could. How does a person help heal a broken heart?

It was about midday when he was informed that he was getting a transfer teammate. They were coming in from the gang unit. So, he got the desk that sat opposite his ready for them.

He was deep into reading a file, vaguely aware that the elevator dinged, when a voice cleared their throat.

He looked up and was surprised by the sight he saw. It was a woman, dressed in pencil skirt and a silk blouse, that fitted her perfectly. She had tattoos up and down her arms, and he could see some on her legs. She had multiple piercings in her ears, and one in her lower lip.

Upon first sight, he expected someone who was going to be gruff and rude but was pleasantly surprised when he heard her speak.

“Hi. Agent Pike? My name is Steel,” Her voice was soft and dainty sounding.

“Steel?” He asked, slightly confused because that was not the name he was given.

She gasped, slapping a hand lightly to her forehead, and gave him her real name.

“Sorry, I’ve been undercover too long. Steel was my nickname,” She apologized by biting her lip softly.

“That’s okay. I like it. Is it because of the piercings or what?” he asked curious, he found her charming.

“That and they said I had ‘nerves of steel.’ I don’t know. It’s silly, but it stuck,” She commented with a shrug.

He smiled and nodded before informing her, “Alright, so here’s where you’ll sit. This pile of folders are all of our open cases so far. Familiarize yourself with them. This isnt the gang unit so it’s not really action-packed, so… sorry if that’s a problem.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m ready for something a bit… calmer. Question though, why is our unit down here? I thought we had an entire floor?” She questioned sitting down.

“We usually do. The floor is being renovated and in a month and a half, half of the team will be going to D.C. so. Kind of just stuck here,” Marcus explained ignoring the pang in his chest as he thought about it.

“Oh. Okay. Would I be included in that half?” She asked quietly.

“Probably. The director will let you know by the end of the week,” He told her before returning to his file.

She nodded her head and took a moment to quietly study him. He was awfully handsome, and she could tell he was probably quite the gentlemen. She knew her body art can be quite the shocker, but his stare never once turned judgmental. In fact, he almost appeared curious about them.

She got to work and slowly met the rest of the team as the day went on. At the end of the day, they offered to buy her a drink, as a celebration. She accepted with a smile and looked over at Marcus who was still working.

“Would you like to join us?” She offered walking over to him.

He looked up at the question and noticed everyone was about to head out.

He politely shook his head, “No. Thank you though.”

She nodded her head once, and gave him a small wave goodbye, as she rejoined the others. They headed to a local pub that was 2 blocks over. They ordered their drinks and were talking amongst themselves.

At one point she noticed, one of the team members, Jack, scoffed quietly. She looked at him confused and followed his gaze over to the table where the other team that they shared space with sat. The others slowly got into a soured mood as they noticed their presence as well.

She whispered, “What’s up? Why are y’all acting weird?”

Amanda, who sat next to her, “So, you were bound to find out. But... the leader over there? Lisbon? Marcus was dating her.”

Chase who sat across from her finished, “He even proposed to her. She accepted but not even an hour later, broke it off to be with the blonde asshat you see with them.”

“So. We don’t like them,” Jack stated rolling his eyes.

Steel mouthed a silent ‘oh.’

“Worst part is, he’s also divorced. He has the worst luck with women and he’s honestly the sweetest guy I know. If I didn’t have a wife, I would take him,” Amanda said with a small sigh.

Steel listened to them, as they told her more stories about their boss. Not one of them seem to have a bad thing to say about him. That night as she went home, she was determined to make him smile again.

It began subtly. She would leave sticky notes randomly on his desk, that told silly jokes/puns or have phrases of encouragement.

His smile would be faint when he would find them. He was well aware of who was leaving them. Only one person had bright pink sticky notes, and she left them sitting on her desk.

Then she began to leave little flowers or candies on his desk. She always acted like she didn’t know what he was talking about when he brought it up. This went on for 2 weeks. When she found out that she would be heading to D.C. with them, she asked Marcus if he would be okay with helping her pack up some things. With it being a month away, most of them had the majority of their things packed up already.

He agreed to help with a smile.

That weekend, they went and got boxes and tubs galore. Her house was two-story townhouse. She fortunately, didn’t have stuff in every room, but she did have quite the library. Which is what he wound up helping her with the most.

They spent a great deal of time talking about books, especially over lunch and dinner. They were finishing up in the library later that evening when Marcus paused for a moment.

“How… how many tattoos do you have?” He asked eventually.

“Quite a few. I plan to get more as well. Piercings is probably easier to tell you,” She mentioned offhandedly.

“You have more than what I can see?” He inquired looking at her closely.

She giggled and cleared her throat before explaining “So I have 5 in each ear. My lip. Umm. This is probably too much info for my boss to know but I also had my nipples pierced anddd.. someplace else.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, his mouth dropping. “Wow.”

“Well, I had to get rid of,” She gestured to her chest. “when I began in the academy, so I technically don’t have them anymore. Uh. Tis not fun to run with them.”

He blushed lightly at that and chuckled softly, looking away.

“And… I think that’s enough on the TMI portion from my end. Um. Do you have any body modifications?” She asked awkwardly trying to get the focus off of her.

“No. I do not. Um. Always thought about getting a tattoo but was never brave enough to do it,” He mentioned as he took a seat on a tub.

“Really? Well. Maybe when we are in D.C., we can go get you a tattoo. I’d hold your hand and everything,” She suggested sitting next to him.

“I’d like that. Even the hand-holding part,” He teased lightly.

They stared at each, looking softly at one another. Her eyes glanced down at his lips briefly, wondering what they would feel like against hers.

He slowly leaned forward, his hand brushing along her jaw. She hesitantly closed the gap, pressing her lips against his. She pulled away slightly, trying to make sure he was okay with this. He pulled her back to him and kissed her more firmly. The passion was unhurried, building up gradually. When they pulled away, they were both breathless.

“Wow,” She whispered looking down, feeling her cheeks warm up.

Marcus cleared his throat and said, “I really like you… and I’m sure you’ve heard… about my previous relationship. If… if it doesn’t bother you… I’d like to be with you but… if.. if we could take it slowly?”

She looked up at him, stunned. “Honestly… I was worried you were about to say that was a mistake. I don’t mind taking this slowly. I just got out of pretty bad relationship myself to be honest. But I like you. A lot.”

He bit his lip briefly and nodded his head. “If I may, since we only really got a room done… maybe tomorrow I can take you out to lunch as a date before tackling the next room?”

“I’d like that,” She agreed softly smiling brightly at him.

She walked him to the door, and she started to tell him goodbye, but stopped.

“I know we agreed to take it slowly… but can I kiss you again?” She requested, fiddling with a lock of hair nervously.

He stepped forward, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers in response. She slowly wrapped her hands around his neck, burying them in his hair, as she kissed back.

The kiss was shorter but still just as passionate.

As he pulled away, he quietly confirmed, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded telling him goodbye as he walked out. She locked the door with a sigh. She felt super giddy and couldn’t wait to see him again tomorrow.

Marcus, as he stepped into his car, felt happy. Something he hadn’t felt in a while. He looked forward to seeing Steel again. That night, as he got ready for bed, he realized… that not once that day… did his mind ever think of Lisbon. Even now, as he settled into his bed, he wasn’t riddled with thoughts or memories of their doomed relationship. He fell asleep thinking of woman covered in tattoos and piercings.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #mentalist

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themissinggenius · 3 years

Text

Part 2/2

Another conversation was coming, but it was avoided for the time being. Clarice showered in the guest bathroom; earlier, she had tried peering around the house—still mad but a bit embarrassed by the outburst. The door had been put back into place since she showered, and the water had been cleaned off of the floor. Hannibal was nowhere to be found. I really did it this time, she thought. Her body relaxed, and her face softened. She didn’t think it was appropriate to laugh, but the thought still surfaced, prompting a sad smile. I pushed around the violent centerpiece of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. And he just cried. Shithouse mouse. The smirk dissipated as she ruminated further... She had hit him. Being a domestic abuser wasn’t just rude; it was boringly common.

She moved the thoughts about violence to the side and shifted her attention to the cause of the scuffle. I don’t know what he expected. Hannibal knows the depth of my old relationship with Jack, as much as he hated him. He told me to say goodbye to my father, so why not Jack?

Your daddy and Jackie Boy aren’t the same, she reminded herself. At this moment, she was both grateful and resentful that her internal voice of reason was that of her husband. At least it was helping her see his view. Okay, so the relationship isn’t necessarily comparable. But why would he think I wouldn’t come home? Did he really read my intentions so incorrectly?

Clarice laid awake in the guest bedroom for hours.

Hannibal Lecter relies on his intuition; it may just be his most famous attribute. On rare occasion, though, his cunning will fail him. On the day that Jack Crawford died, it most certainly did.

However, he doesn’t know that yet. Instead, he is reclined in repose at the seat of his harpsichord which he does not play. As he is off in one of the ill-visited quarters of the home, Clarice would be unable to hear the notes carrying from her position in the guest room; even so, he does not play. Hannibal gleaned a look of disgust and frustration from her earlier, and thus, he was certain his Starling would take flight by the morning for reasons known but difficult to accept. There is no reason for him to play.

Poised on the bench, he disappeared to his memory palace without struggle. The difficulty came when he walked down the halls, closing each door that had belonged to her. Hannibal contemplated as he walked: There is a certain symmetry to this—an appreciable one. Clarice’s hotheadedness had been a defining feature of hers, whereas he relied on coolness. He chastised himself for his own emotional outburst; it was unlike him to breakdown, and though he had allowed himself to become vulnerable to his wife, with her likely departure, he had to withdraw from all this fragility. He had to shut down. He had to be the ice to meet her violent fire.

Thus, he closed her doors, sealing the emotional ties within each.

Hannibal emerged at the sound of her voice. He had not heard her approaching in nor had he smelled her.

A few paces away from the harpsichord, Clarice stood. Hannibal had been contemplating whether to address her as Clarice (Perhaps too informal at this point...), Agent Starling (But even when she goes back, she won’t be an agent...), or Miss Starling (Ummmm, I don’t like this one very much...) when she interrupted.

“Hannibal,” she started.

“Ah.” He paused but spoke again before she could continue. “I see you’ve finally decided to join me. Had enough tossing and turning up there, or did you come down to use me as your personal punching bag again?”

“No, no. I just think-”

He cut her off again. “You know what I think, Ex-Special Agent Starling?” Oooh. That works, he thought. “Well, actually I wonder. I wonder if that was how Daddy took care o’ Mommy when she wouldn’t shut ‘er yap.” His imitation of her accent—which she had long abandoned—made her flinch. “If Ma didn’t have dinner on the table at five-o-clock, yes siree, she’d be in some kinda trouble. And boy, does Clarice still wanna be like her Daddy! No matter what,” he emphasized with a drawl, “she’s gonna stand by him. It sure do seem that way tuh me!” Hannibal smirked, and his face betrayed no warmth.

The room had felt colder to Clarice when she had walked in. She had expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t expected this. The woman paused and considered the implications: her musings were correct. He really did misread her, and now he was trying to drive her away. Well fuck that.

In their years of marriage, the couple had picked up on a few of each other’s traits. For one, Clarice was not going to allow a bit of intimidation break her. He came close to doing so in Baltimore, but he would not again. She steeled herself, adopting a bit of his icy demeanor.

“No, Hannibal. My father did not hit my mother. I think I would’ve told you by now, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away; rather, he just pursed his lips and smiled.

Then, he began: “As you know, I don’t try to predict you because it often proves fruitless.” He looked off before setting his gaze squarely on her. “However, considering these... outbursts of yours and the contempt plain on your face, I have bought you a ticket back to Arlington in time for dear Mr. Crawford’s funeral. For my safety, I will also be leaving, but not to Virginia. I know how much you must miss Jackie; please, give him my regards when you go. Maybe if you scream and pound on his grave hard enough, someone will hear and they’ll finally find you... Three years after you were reported as a missing person.” Lecter’s eyebrows shot up, and he shrugged. “Though I doubt you’ll be reinstated, as you haven’t kept your resume up to date. It will be no problem for you, though, Clarice.” He gave her a kind, patronizing look. “You’re a very smart girl. When you rediscover that the FBI has no use for your intelligence, try showing off your trophies from the firing range. Maybe even tell them about your skills in hand-to-hand combat... I could write you a glowing reference!”

Hannibal was perfectly still in his seat with his wife just beyond him. He waited patiently for her to break. He wanted no end to be left untied when she left. Your turn.

“I see you still try and lick tears after you’ve tired of tasting your own.” Clarice took a slow step toward him. She needed to crack his facade quickly. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I have no intention of moving back to the States. I find that I’m quite happy right here.”

Only she could have noticed the slight twitch of the doctor’s right eye upon this admission. And she did.

Starling inched closer. “Now, about this ‘contempt plain on my face’...” She mirrored his voice and flat expression; her imitation was even better than his had been. “Did ya happen to consider that it’s because you just tried to tear me apart—unsuccessfully, I might add? Let me tell you what I know, Doctor.” She hammed up the formality in her tone. “I know you’re not comfortable feeling worried about another person. I know that you felt vulnerable when I was gone, and I know you didn’t like that.”

She paused, remaining collected. She raised her voice a tad for this last bit. “Lastly, I know that you ASSUMED. And if there is one—just one!—good thing that goddamned Jack Crawford taught me over the years,” she laughed, “it’s that, when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME. Trust me, baby, you did just that. And despite what your intuition told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She did it. The true stoic’s face had broken, and Hannibal the Cannibal sat, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and then closed it. She continued.

“I’m sorry that you misread my motivations. I spent yesterday reflecting on how I had gotten to this point, and I had come home feeling glad. I was planning on going upstairs to find you, drawing a bath for the both of us, and then dancing later on in the evening. Your assumption got us a bit sidetracked, though.” Looking down at her watch, it was 2am. Holy crap. She focused back on him and noted that he was still unmoving but appeared less rigid than before. The room felt like it had finally warmed up.

Clarice took a last step towards her husband. Now above him, looking down, she said, “I am sincerely sorry for hitting you, Hannibal.”

Finally, he stirred. “Clarice, I have not once so much as laid a finger on you in anger...”

“I know. Ironic, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His wife smirked at that, and he returned the favor. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You know what else won’t happen again?” She held his chin and spoke softly. “You doubting us. I’m with you for the long haul. Where the hell did you even think I was going?”

“Ummmm. To be candid, I’m unsure of what I thought your plan was. I assumeddddd,” he looked up at her teasingly, “that you were leaving because of a change in heart.”

“My, Dr. Lecter, you didn’t have every one of my steps planned out before I could even think of them? What have I done to you?”

“I can now definitively say that you bring out the worst in me.”

Clarice laughed and sat down next to him. “Crying? And worrying?” She was feeling more relaxed, placing her hand on his leg as she started laughing harder. “Why am I not surprised that you consider that to be Hannibal Lecter at his worst?”

Her husband just smiled back at her. She saw his cheeks blush almost imperceptibly, which then prompted a further fit. It wasn’t long before they were both laughing.

“You had better... go back... into that memory palace of yours... and open up my doors ASAP,” Clarice ordered while catching her breath.

“And how did you—?”

“You were sitting on that bench for quite a while before I called out to ya. Try not to forget about me so soon, huh?”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” Never again, he added silently. “But I must ask... Would I be incorrect in assuming you still want to dance?”

Clarice smiled widely. Hannibal shifted in his seat and began to play.

#fluff+angst=whatever the fuck this is #THE FLUFF IS UNREAL OMG #it went from 100 to 0 so quick #clannibal #Clarice #clarice starling #hannibal #hannibal lecter

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doomonfilm · 3 years

Text

Results : The 93rd Academy Award Film Nominations (2021)

After weeks and weeks of speculation, rumination over nominees, streaming service deep dives, high-priced rentals and brain-bending predictions, the moment of truth has finally arrived. This year, despite the ceremonies being split between the Dolby Theater in Hollywood and Union Station in downtown Los Angeles, the presentation was wonderfully cohesive. Several stars stepped up to preface each award, present the nominees and name the winners, and in-between these moments, Questlove had my dream gig as Academy Awards DJ. For one of the first public forays in a world creeping closer to a post-COVID-19 reality, the show came off exceptionally smooth and well-presented.

Cicely Tyson, Ian Holm, Max Von Sydow, Cloris Leachman, Yaphet Koto and many more were recognized in light of their respective passings in 2020 courtesy of Angela Bassett and a moving Stevie Wonder selection, As. Tyler Perry and the Motion Picture & Television Fund each received the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award for their long-established efforts, especially those during the COIVD-19 pandemic. Announcements were made for a Steven Spielberg-directed update of West Side Story, the long-delayed In The Heights and Summer of Soul, the directorial debut of Questlove (who also provided his DJ services for the evening). The show even had a couple of hilarious moments, including Daniel Kaluuya embarrassing his mother on national TV and a quiz show turned censor’s nightmare involving Questlove, Lil’ Rel Howery, Andra Day, Kaluuya and Glenn Close. Several of the evening’s awards also allowed for stars and crew to voice their opinions, concerns and wishes about cultural ills, the lack of inclusion and how we should treat our fellow man.

While we all look forward to seeing what surprises each Academy Awards ceremony holds, what we really come for are the awards. This year, I put in the work more than ever, and even I found myself surprised by some of the evening’s outcomes. Here are my thoughts on the evening and the winners.

Best Picture

Winner : Nomadland Prediction : Minari

While I’m not surprised that Nomadland took the top award of the night, I am a bit sad that Minari ended up having to walk away almost empty-handed in light of this, especially seeing that Another Round took the Best International Feature award. Hopefully Minari can find an audience in light of this snub, but despite how bitter I sound, I am happy for the success that Nomadland has found this award’s season.

Best Director

Winner : Chloé Zhao, Nomadland Prediction : Chloé Zhao, Nomadland

Chloé Zhao has been the belle of the ball this award’s season, and her successful run culminated in a strong showing at this year’s Academy Awards ceremony. With her next venture being a step into the MCU via The Eternals, let’s see if she can bring her sensibility (and award-winning credibility) into the world of the popcorn flick.

Best Actor

Winner : Anthony Hopkins, The Father Prediction : Chadwick Boseman, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

As Joaquin Phoenix said so prophetically prior to handing out this award (and I loosely quote), “it’s a shame that only one person can win”. That being said, as great as Anthony Hopkins was in The Father, it’s amazing to me that this award did not go to Chadwick Boseman. Some might say that giving it to him posthumously would not be sincere, but cards on the table, Boseman gave a powerhouse performance that deserved continued recognition right up to the top award. The Academy Awards has a long history of “interesting” choices, and this is one of the most memorable to date.

Best Actress

Winner : Frances McDormand, Nomadland Prediction : Viola Davis, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

After Andra Day upset the balance at the Golden Globes, I had my doubts that the formidable Frances McDormand would garner any awards for Nomadland, despite her stellar track record. Viola Davis looked like the frontrunner headed into the night, as she was poised to make Oscar history, which further narrowed McDormand's chances. Once Nomadland won Best Picture, however, it seemed like the wave had shifted, and sure enough, the statue went to McDormand. This was a monster of a cateogry, and her win was certainly a well-deserved one.

Best Supporting Actor

Winner : Daniel Kaluuya, Judas and the Black Messiah Prediction : Lakeith Stanfield, Judas and the Black Messiah

In one of the most controversial categories leading into the evening, Daniel Kaluuya and Lakeith Stanfield found themselves battling one another in the Best Supporting Actor category, which raised the question of whether or not Judas and the Black Messiah even had a lead. This was further muddied by what seemed like a sure-thing victory for Chadwick Boseman in the Best Actor category (which ended up being quite the surprise category, to say the least). With Kaluuya having the momentum coming into the night via a series of previous wins for his role as Fred Hampton, his win on the night was not a surprise victory, and his presence definitely helped make the show a memorable one.

Best Supporting Actress

Winner : Yuh-Jung Youn, Minari Prediction : Yuh-Jung Youn, Minari

In what ended up being my favorite moment of the night, Yuh-Jung Youn helped save Minari from a wholly disappointing showing with her formidable victory in the Best Supporting Actress category. Her acceptance speech was what the Oscar ceremony is all about, with her sincerity and appreciation being massively sincere, including a wonderful acknowledgement of getting to meet award presenter Brad Pitt.

Original Screenplay

Winner : Promising Young Woman Prediction : Promising Young Woman

Had Promising Young Woman walked away empty-handed, it would have been a pure travesty. Its subject matter, however, not to mention its unforgiving approach, made it a tough choice for any of the top awards outside of Best Original Screenplay, but in my opinion, it is exactly those same aspects that made it the shoo-in win for this category. Hollywood has a long way to go before it can be honest about the type of people it supports, but giving a film like this one a spotlight can help make that a reality.

Adapted Screenplay

Winner : The Father Prediction : The Father

As one of the last films I ended up seeing in my pre-Academy Awards research, I was very curious to see how The Father would end up in regard to successes, and this was one of the categories that felt like a sure thing. The passion and time spent on this play turned screenplay is evident for anyone who has seen this incredibly moving film, and while its other award of the night was definitely a shockwave of a closer, this award was certainly well-deserved and possibly expected.

Animated Feature

Winner : Soul Prediction : Soul

If there were a sure thing for the evening, this was the category. Soul was the heavy favorite going into the night, and it did what it set out to do, which was win over everyone who had the pleasure of seeing it, including members of the Academy.

Production Design

Winner : Mank Prediction : News of the World

My curiosity of what kind of showing that Mank would have on the evening kept me in anticipation leading into the show, and while it didn’t garner any of the big awards, I am happy that the work put into capturing a bygone era was rewarded via its technical awards. This one came as a surprise to me, but it was certainly not a bad choice.

Costume Design

Winner : Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Prediction : Emma

This award not only stood as a show of inclusion (something that the Academy has had to be aware of in the recent past), but a harbinger of possible results in the top acting awards. Anytime that a film like Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom starts cleaning up in the tech spots, I start to look at it like a sort of consolation prize, and after the film’s leads not receiving awards for Best Actor or Best Actress, it seemed that this practice is still in effect.

Cinematography

Winner : Erik Messerschmidt, Mank Prediction : Erik Messerschmidt, Mank

As mentioned before, the aspect of Mank that really stood out to me was how David Fincher made his film feel authentically of the era it presents to us. This immersion was created with the visuals and the sound, but with Sound of Metal being such a standout film centered around auditory stimulus, Mank felt like a longshot for that, but a sure shot for Best Cinematography.

Editing

Winner : Sound of Metal Prediction : The Trial of the Chicago 7

Sound of Metal had a very impressive night, and while it won the award everyone expected it to, seeing it win the Best Editing award as well only stands as a testament to how well put together the film is (no pun intended).

Makeup and Hairstyling

Winner : Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Prediction : Pinocchio

As mentioned in my Best Costume Design thoughts, while this award was well-deserved, it felt like a possible setup for a letdown later on in the evening, It’s tough to think of an award in terms of what it may mean for a future loss, but that’s the way the award show cookie crumbles.

Sound

Winner : Sound of Metal Prediction : Sound of Metal

If Soul didn’t exist, then this award would’ve been the one that felt like the most obvious choice. Capturing the world of deafness in film is not only incredibly difficult, but daring as well, as audio is one of the key aspects to creating the immersion needed to appreciate a film, but the sound design of this film brought us into a world many of us may never experience directly, and for that, it deserves to be awarded.

Visual Effects

Winner : Tenet Prediction : Love and Monsters

Tenet couldn’t go empty-handed this awards season, and with much of the competition being on a different cinematic and studio level (outside of Disney’s Mulan), Tenet certainly had the highest profile. It is cool, however, to see a film (and director) so dedicated to practical and in-camera effects win the highest award in the game.

Score

Winner : Soul Prediction : Mank

In what continuously became the most hilarious occurrence to me from award show to award show, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross once again found themselves playing second banana to Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. While I have no issues with Soul winning this award, I think time may find that Mank’s incredibly period-authentic original score was overlooked in its brilliance.

Song

Winner : Fight for You (Judas and the Black Messiah) Prediction : Fight for You (Judas and the Black Messiah)

After a disappointing snub at the Golden Globes, it felt like H.E.R. my find herself walking away empty-handed for her standout work in the creation of Fight For You. The song is not only a strong performance and recording by its own merit, but it captures the spirit and essence of Judas and the Black Messiah in a way that the other nominees fall short of.

Documentary Feature

Winner : My Octopus Teacher Prediction : Collective

While a compelling film, I find myself baffled at the continued victories that My Octopus Teacher has racked up for the year. Despite my lack of connection to it, it is impossible to ignore how deep and vast the film’s connection to the populous at large has been, and with an Oscar under its belt (along with the numerous other statues it has collected), it stands to likely grow a bigger and more supportive fanbase.

International Feature

Winner : Another Round (Denmark) Prediction : Better Days (Hong Kong)

Not only was Minari robbed of wins in both the Best Picture and Best International Feature category, but the film that did win the Best International Feature category felt like a bit of a superficial choice. With a film about bullying, a film about the failures of the healthcare system and a film about the lack of humanity during war all in the running (and all pitch-perfect films, to boot), a film about a group of entitled alcoholics being a poor influence to kids became leader of the pack. Categories like this one are a chance to broaden American awareness of international art and culture, but this award feels like one of the bigger missteps of the evening.

Animated Short

Winner : If Anything Happens I Love You Prediction : Genius Loci

While Genius Loci was the more moving piece to me, If Anything Happens I Love You is certainly a film with a nuanced and artistic approach to an American epidemic that is public shootings (a school shooting, in this case). While my heart feels the loss of this choice, my head is happy that such a moving and heartfelt film may get the chance to touch the lives of a broader audience.

Documentary Short

Winner : Colette Prediction : Do Not Split

First and foremost, all respect to Colette for the story it tells and the spotlight it puts on both its titular figure and the way that people of multiple generations dance around facing the Holocaust head on. All that being said, Do Not Split was way too important of a film to go unawarded, especially in light of rising violence against members of the Asian-American community.

Live-Action Short

Winner : Two Distant Strangers Prediction : Two Distant Strangers

Definitely one of the categories that got the winner absolutely right. Sadly, the film becomes more and more relevant with each passing day, with several Police-based shootings having taken place since the George Floyd trail conclusion. Bravo to Joey Bada$$ and company for making such a brave and bold piece of art.

I ended up predicting of 9 the 23 films correct, which is not nearly as good in comparison to how confident I felt going into the night. There were lots of surprises throughout the evening, especially in the final stretch, and I’m sure these decisions will be debated heavily for the next few weeks. Luckily, we’ve got ourselves plenty of months to start taking in the 2021 releases, and with two-thirds of the year left to look forward to, it’ll be fun when we all reconvene to do this again in 2022.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMoNFILM #AcademyAwards #Oscars

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years

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Taylor Swift: ‘I was literally about to break’

By: Laura Snapes for The Guardian Date: August 24th 2019

Taylor Swift’s Nashville apartment is an Etsy fever dream, a 365-days-a-year Christmas shop, pure teenage girl id. You enter through a vestibule clad in blue velvet and covered in gilt frames bursting with fake flowers. The ceiling is painted like the night sky. Above a koi pond in the living area, a narrow staircase spirals six feet up towards a giant, pillow-lagged birdcage that probably has the best view in the city. Later, Swift will tell me she needs metaphors “to understand anything that happens to me”, and the birdcage defies you not to interpret it as a pointed comment on the contradictions of stardom.

Swift, wearing pale jeans and dip-dyed shirt, her sandy hair tied in a blue scrunchie, leads the way up the staircase to show me the view. The decor hasn’t changed since she bought this place in 2009, when she was 19. “All of these high rises are new since then,” she says, gesturing at the squat glass structures and cranes. Meanwhile her oven is still covered in stickers, more teenage diary than adult appliance.

Now 29, she has spent much of the past three years living quietly in London with her boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn, making the penthouse a kind of time capsule, a monument to youthful naivety given an unlimited budget – the years when she sang about Romeo and Juliet and wore ballgowns to awards shows; before she moved to New York and honed her slick, self-mythologising pop.

It is mid-August. This is Swift’s first UK interview in more than three years, and she seems nervous: neither presidential nor goofy (her usual defaults), but quick with a tongue-out “ugh” of regret or frustration as she picks at her glittery purple nails. We climb down from the birdcage to sit by the pond, and when the conversation turns to 2016, the year the wheels came off for her, Swift stiffens as if driving over a mile of speed bumps. After a series of bruising public spats (with Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj) in 2015, there was a high-profile standoff with Kanye West. The news that she was in a relationship with actor Tom Hiddleston, which leaked soon after, was widely dismissed as a diversionary tactic. Meanwhile, Swift went to court to prosecute a sexual assault claim, and faced a furious backlash when she failed to endorse a candidate in the 2016 presidential election, allowing the alt-right to adopt her as their “Aryan princess”.

Her critics assumed she cared only about the bottom line. The reality, Swift says, is that she was totally broken. “Every domino fell,” she says bitterly. “It became really terrifying for anyone to even know where I was. And I felt completely incapable of doing or saying anything publicly, at all. Even about my music. I always said I wouldn’t talk about what was happening personally, because that was a personal time.” She won’t get into specifics. “I just need some things that are mine,” she despairs. “Just some things.”

A year later, in 2017, Swift released her album Reputation, half high-camp heel turn, drawing on hip-hop and vaudeville (the brilliantly hammy Look What You Made Me Do), half stunned appreciation that her nascent relationship with Alwyn had weathered the storm (the soft, sensual pop of songs Delicate and Dress).

Her new album, Lover, her seventh, was released yesterday. It’s much lighter than Reputation: Swift likens writing it to feeling like “I could take a full deep breath again”. Much of it is about Alwyn: the Galway Girl-ish track London Boy lists their favourite city haunts and her newfound appreciation of watching rugby in the pub with his uni mates; on the ruminative Afterglow, she asks him to forgive her anxious tendency to assume the worst.

While she has always written about relationships, they were either teenage fantasy or a postmortem on a high-profile breakup, with exes such as Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles. But she and Alwyn have seldom been pictured together, and their relationship is the only other thing she won’t talk about. “I’ve learned that if I do, people think it’s up for discussion, and our relationship isn’t up for discussion,” she says, laughing after I attempt a stealthy angle. “If you and I were having a glass of wine right now, we’d be talking about it – but it’s just that it goes out into the world. That’s where the boundary is, and that’s where my life has become manageable. I really want to keep it feeling manageable.”

Instead, she has swapped personal disclosure for activism. Last August, Swift broke her political silence to endorse Democratic Tennessee candidate Phil Bredesen in the November 2018 senate race. Vote.org reported an unprecedented spike in voting registration after Swift’s Instagram post, while Donald Trump responded that he liked her music “about 25% less now”.

Meanwhile, her recent single You Need To Calm Down admonished homophobes and namechecked US LGBTQ rights organisation Glaad (which then saw increased donations). Swift filled her video with cameos from queer stars such as Ellen DeGeneres and Queen singer Adam Lambert, and capped it with a call to sign her petition in support of the Equality Act, which if passed would prohibit gender- and sexuality-based discrimination in the US. A video of Polish LGBTQ fans miming the track in defiance of their government’s homophobic agenda went viral. But Swift was accused of “queerbaiting” and bandwagon-jumping. You can see how she might find it hard to work out what, exactly, people want from her.

***

It was girlhood that made Swift a multimillionaire. When country music’s gatekeepers swore that housewives were the only women interested in the genre, she proved them wrong. Her self-titled debut marked the longest stay on the Billboard 200 by any album released in the decade. A potentially cloying image – corkscrew curls, lyrics thick on “daddy” and down-home values – were undercut by the fact she was evidently, endearingly, a bit of a freak, an unusual combination of intensity and artlessness. Also, she was really, really good at what she did, and not just for a teenager: her entirely self-written third album, 2010’s Speak Now, is unmatched in its devastatingly withering dismissals of awful men.

As a teenager, Swift was obsessed with VH1’s Behind The Music, the series devoted to the rise and fall of great musicians. She would forensically rewatch episodes, trying to pinpoint the moment a career went wrong. I ask her to imagine she’s watching the episode about herself and do the same thing: where was her misstep? “Oh my God,” she says, drawing a deep breath and letting her lips vibrate as she exhales. “I mean, that’s so depressing!” She thinks back and tries to deflect. “What I remember is that [the show] was always like, ‘Then we started fighting in the tour bus and then the drummer quit and the guitarist was like, “You’re not paying me enough.”’’’

But that’s not what she used to say. In interviews into her early 20s, Swift often observed that an artist fails when they lose their self-awareness, as if repeating the fact would work like an insurance against succumbing to the same fate. But did she make that mistake herself? She squeezes her nose and blows to clear a ringing in her ears before answering. “I definitely think that sometimes you don’t realise how you’re being perceived,” she says. “Pop music can feel like it’s The Hunger Games, and like we’re gladiators. And you can really lose focus of the fact that that’s how it feels because that’s how a lot of stan [fan] Twitter and tabloids and blogs make it seem – the overanalysing of everything makes it feel really intense.”

She describes the way she burned bridges in 2016 as a kind of obliviousness. “I didn’t realise it was like a classic overthrow of someone in power – where you didn’t realise the whispers behind your back, you didn’t realise the chain reaction of events that was going to make everything fall apart at the exact, perfect time for it to fall apart.”

Here’s that chain reaction in full. With her 2014 album 1989 (the year she was born), Swift transcended country stardom, becoming as ubiquitous as Beyoncé. For the first time she vocally embraced feminism, something she had rejected in her teens; but, after a while, it seemed to amount to not much more than a lot of pictures of her hanging out with her “squad”, a bevy of supermodels, musicians and Lena Dunham. The squad very much did not include her former friend Katy Perry, whom Swift targeted in her song Bad Blood, as part of what seemed like a painfully overblown dispute about some backing dancers. Then, when Nicki Minaj tweeted that MTV’s 2015 Video Music awards had rewarded white women at the expense of women of colour, multiple-nominee Swift took it personally, responding: “Maybe one of the men took your slot.” For someone prone to talking about the haters, she quickly became her own worst enemy.

Her old adversary Kanye West resurfaced in February 2016. In 2009, West had invaded Swift’s stage at the MTV VMAs to protest against her victory over Beyoncé in the female video of the year category. It remains the peak of interest in Swift on Google Trends, and the conflict between them has become such a cornerstone of celebrity journalism that it’s hard to remember it lay dormant for nearly seven years – until West released his song Famous. “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex,” he rapped. “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The video depicted a Swift mannequin naked in bed with men including Trump.

Swift loudly condemned both; although she had discussed the track with West, she said she had never agreed to the “bitch” lyric or the video. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released a heavily edited clip that showed Swift at least agreeing to the “sex” line on the phone with West, if not the “bitch” part. Swift pleaded the technicality, but it made no difference: when Kardashian went on Twitter to describe her as a snake, the comparison stuck and the singer found herself very publicly “cancelled” – the incident taken as “proof” of Swift’s insincerity. So she went away.

Swift says she stopped trying to explain herself, even though she “definitely” could have. As she worked on Reputation, she was also writing “a think-piece a day that I knew I would never publish: the stuff I would say, and the different facets of the situation that nobody knew”. If she could exonerate herself, why didn’t she? She leans forward. “Here’s why,” she says conspiratorially. “Because when people are in a hate frenzy and they find something to mutually hate together, it bonds them. And anything you say is in an echo chamber of mockery.”

She compares that year to being hit by a tidal wave. “You can either stand there and let the wave crash into you, and you can try as hard as you can to fight something that’s more powerful and bigger than you,” she says. “Or you can dive under the water, hold your breath, wait for it to pass and while you’re down there, try to learn something. Why was I in that part of the ocean? There were clearly signs that said: Rip tide! Undertow! Don’t swim! There are no lifeguards!” She’s on a roll. “Why was I there? Why was I trusting people I trusted? Why was I letting people into my life the way I was letting them in? What was I doing that caused this?”

After the incident with Minaj, her critics started pointing out a narrative of “white victimhood” in Swift’s career. Speaking slowly and carefully, she says she came to understand “a lot about how my privilege allowed me to not have to learn about white privilege. I didn’t know about it as a kid, and that is privilege itself, you know? And that’s something that I’m still trying to educate myself on every day. How can I see where people are coming from, and understand the pain that comes with the history of our world?”

She also accepts some responsibility for her overexposure, and for some of the tabloid drama. If she didn’t wish a friend happy birthday on Instagram, there would be reports about severed friendships, even if they had celebrated together. “Because we didn’t post about it, it didn’t happen – and I realised I had done that,” she says. “I created an expectation that everything in my life that happened, people would see.”

But she also says she couldn’t win. “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now,” she drawls wearily. “And I think it happens to women so often that, as we get older and see how the world works, we’re able to see through what is gaslighting. So I’m able to look at 1989 and go – KITTIES!” She breaks off as an assistant walks in with Swift’s three beloved cats, stars of her Instagram feed, back from the vet before they fly to England this week. Benjamin, Olivia and Meredith haughtily circle our feet (they are scared of the koi) as Swift resumes her train of thought, back to the release of 1989 and the subsequent fallout. “Oh my God, they were mad at me for smiling a lot and quote-unquote acting fake. And then they were mad at me that I was upset and bitter and kicking back.” The rules kept changing.

***

Swift’s new album comes with printed excerpts from her diaries. On 29 August 2016, she wrote in her girlish, bubble writing: “This summer is the apocalypse.” As the incident with West and Kardashian unfolded, she was preparing for her court case against radio DJ David Mueller, who was fired in 2013 after Swift reported him for putting his hand up her dress at a meet-and–greet event. He sued her for defamation; she countersued for sexual assault.

“Having dealt with a few of them, narcissists basically subscribe to a belief system that they should be able to do and say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want to,” Swift says now, talking at full pelt. “And if we – as anyone else in the world, but specifically women – react to that, well, we’re not allowed to. We’re not allowed to have a reaction to their actions.”

In summer 2016 she was in legal depositions, practising her testimony. “You’re supposed to be really polite to everyone,” she says. But by the time she got to court in August 2017, “something snapped, I think”. She laughs. Her testimony was sharp and uncompromising. She refused to allow Mueller’s lawyers to blame her or her security guards; when asked if she could see the incident, Swift said no, because “my ass is in the back of my body”. It was a brilliant, rude defence.

“You’re supposed to behave yourself in court and say ‘rear end’,” she says with mock politesse. “The other lawyer was saying, ‘When did he touch your backside?’ And I was like, ‘ASS! Call it what it is!’” She claps between each word. But despite the acclaim for her testimony and eventual victory (she asked for one symbolic dollar), she still felt belittled. It was two months prior to the beginning of the #MeToo movement. “Even this case was literally twisted so hard that people were calling it the ‘butt-grab case’. They were saying I sued him because there’s this narrative that I want to sue everyone. That was one of the reasons why the summer was the apocalypse.”

She never wanted the assault to be made public. Have there been other instances she has dealt with privately? “Actually, no,” she says soberly. “I’m really lucky that it hadn’t happened to me before. But that was one of the reasons it was so traumatising. I just didn’t know that could happen. It was really brazen, in front of seven people.” She has since had security cameras installed at every meet-and-greet she does, deliberately pointed at her lower half. “If something happens again, we can prove it with video footage from every angle,” she says.

The allegations about Harvey Weinstein came out soon after she won her case. The film producer had asked her to write a song for the romantic comedy One Chance, which earned her second Golden Globe nomination. Weinstein also got her a supporting role in the 2014 sci-fi movie The Giver, and attended the launch party for 1989. But she says they were never alone together.

“He’d call my management and be like, ‘Does she have a song for this film?’ And I’d be like, ‘Here it is,’” she says dispassionately. “And then I’d be at the Golden Globes. I absolutely never hung out. And I would get a vibe – I would never vouch for him. I believe women who come forward, I believe victims who come forward, I believe men who come forward.” Swift inhales, flustered. She says Weinstein never propositioned her. “If you listen to the stories, he picked people who were vulnerable, in his opinion. It seemed like it was a power thing. So, to me, that doesn’t say anything – that I wasn’t in that situation.”

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was more than nine months into his presidency, and still Swift had not taken a position. But the idea that a pop star could ever have impeded his path to the White House seemed increasingly naive. In hindsight, the demand that Swift speak up looks less about politics and more about her identity (white, rich, powerful) and a moralistic need for her to redeem herself – as if nobody else had ever acted on a vindictive instinct, or blundered publicly.

But she resisted what might have been an easy return to public favour. Although Reputation contained softer love songs, it was better known for its brittle, vengeful side (see This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things). She describes that side of the album now as a “bit of a persona”, and its hip-hop-influenced production as “a complete defence mechanism”. Personally, I thought she had never been more relatable, trashing the contract of pious relatability that traps young women in the public eye.

***

It was the assault trial, and watching the rights of LGBTQ friends be eroded, that finally politicised her, Swift says. “The things that happen to you in your life are what develop your political opinions. I was living in this Obama eight-year paradise of, you go, you cast your vote, the person you vote for wins, everyone’s happy!” she says. “This whole thing, the last three, four years, it completely blindsided a lot of us, me included.”

She recently said she was “dismayed” when a friend pointed out that her position on gay rights wasn’t obvious (what if she had a gay son, he asked), hence this summer’s course correction with the single You Need To Calm Down (“You’re comin’ at my friends like a missile/Why are you mad?/When you could be GLAAD?”). Didn’t she feel equally dismayed that her politics weren’t clear? “I did,” she insists, “and I hate to admit this, but I felt that I wasn’t educated enough on it. Because I hadn’t actively tried to learn about politics in a way that I felt was necessary for me, making statements that go out to hundreds of millions of people.”

She explains her inner conflict. “I come from country music. The number one thing they absolutely drill into you as a country artist, and you can ask any other country artist this, is ‘Don’t be like the Dixie Chicks!’” In 2003, the Texan country trio denounced the Iraq war, saying they were “ashamed” to share a home state with George W Bush. There was a boycott, and an event where a bulldozer crushed their CDs. “I watched country music snuff that candle out. The most amazing group we had, just because they talked about politics. And they were getting death threats. They were made such an example that basically every country artist that came after that, every label tells you, ‘Just do not get involved, no matter what.’

“And then, you know, if there was a time for me to get involved…” Swift pauses. “The worst part of the timing of what happened in 2016 was I felt completely voiceless. I just felt like, oh God, who would want me? Honestly.” She would otherwise have endorsed Hillary Clinton? “Of course,” she says sincerely. “I just felt completely, ugh, just useless. And maybe even like a hindrance.”

I suggest that, thinking selfishly, her coming out for Clinton might have made people like her. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she stresses. “I was just trying to protect my mental health – not read the news very much, go cast my vote, tell people to vote. I just knew what I could handle and I knew what I couldn’t. I was literally about to break. For a while.” Did she seek therapy? “That stuff I just really wanna keep personal, if that’s OK,” she says.

She resists blaming anyone else for her political silence. Her emergence as a Democrat came after she left Big Machine, the label she signed to at 15. (They are now at loggerheads after label head Scott Borchetta sold the company, and the rights to Swift’s first six albums, to Kanye West’s manager, Scooter Braun.) Had Borchetta ever advised her against speaking out? She exhales. “It was just me and my life, and also doing a lot of self-reflection about how I did feel really remorseful for not saying anything. I wanted to try and help in any way that I could, the next time I got a chance. I didn’t help, I didn’t feel capable of it – and as soon as I can, I’m going to.”

Swift was once known for throwing extravagant 4 July parties at her Rhode Island mansion. The Instagram posts from these star-studded events – at which guests wore matching stars-and-stripes bikinis and onesies – probably supported a significant chunk of the celebrity news industry GDP. But in 2017, they stopped. “The horror!” wrote Cosmopolitan, citing “reasons that remain a mystery” for their disappearance. It wasn’t “squad” strife or the unavailability of matching cozzies that brought the parties to an end, but Swift’s disillusionment with her country, she says.

There is a smart song about this on the new album – the track that should have been the first single, instead of the cartoonish ME!. Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince is a forlorn, gothic ballad in the vein of Lana Del Rey that uses high-school imagery to dismantle American nationalism: “The whole school is rolling fake dice/You play stupid games/You win stupid prizes,” she sings with disdain. “Boys will be boys then/Where are the wise men?”

As an ambitious 11-year-old, she worked out that singing the national anthem at sports games was the quickest way to get in front of a large audience. When did she start feeling conflicted about what America stands for? She gives another emphatic ugh. “It was the fact that all the dirtiest tricks in the book were used and it worked,” she says. “The thing I can’t get over right now is gaslighting the American public into being like” – she adopts a sanctimonious tone – “‘If you hate the president, you hate America.’ We’re a democracy – at least, we’re supposed to be – where you’re allowed to disagree, dissent, debate.” She doesn’t use Trump’s name. “I really think that he thinks this is an autocracy.”

As we speak, Tennessee lawmakers are trying to impose a near-total ban on abortion. Swift has staunchly defended her “Tennessee values” in recent months. What’s her position? “I mean, obviously, I’m pro-choice, and I just can’t believe this is happening,” she says. She looks close to tears. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s really shocking and awful. And I just wanna do everything I can for 2020. I wanna figure out exactly how I can help, what are the most effective ways to help. ’Cause this is just…” She sighs again. “This is not it.”

***

It is easy to forget that the point of all this is that a teenage Taylor Swiftwanted to write love songs. Nemeses and negativity are now so entrenched in her public persona that it’s hard to know how she can get back to that, though she seems to want to. At the end of Daylight, the new album’s dreamy final song, there’s a spoken-word section: “I want to be defined by the things that I love,” she says as the music fades. “Not the things that I hate, not the things I’m afraid of, the things that haunt me in the middle of the night.” As well as the songs written for Alwyn, there is one for her mother, who recently experienced a cancer relapse: “You make the best of a bad deal/I just pretend it isn’t real,” Swift sings, backed by the Dixie Chicks.

How does writing about her personal life work if she’s setting clearer boundaries? “It actually made me feel more free,” she says. “I’ve always had this habit of never really going into detail about exactly what situation inspired what thing, but even more so now.” This is only half true: in the past, Swift wasn’t shy of a level of detail that invited fans to figure out specific truths about her relationships. And when I tell her that Lover feels a more emotionally guarded album, she bristles. “I know the difference between making art and living your life like a reality star,” she says. “And then even if it’s hard for other people to grasp, my definition is really clear.”

Even so, Swift begins Lover by addressing an adversary, opening with a song called I Forgot That You Existed (“it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference”), presumably aimed at Kanye West, a track that slightly defeats its premise by existing. But it sweeps aside old dramas to confront Swift’s real nemesis, herself. “I never grew up/It’s getting so old,” she laments on The Archer.

She has had to learn not to pre-empt disaster, nor to run from it. Her life has been defined by relationships, friendships and business relationships that started and ended very publicly (though she and Perry are friends again). At the same time, the rules around celebrity engagement have evolved beyond recognition in her 15 years of fame. Rather than trying to adapt to them, she’s now asking herself: “How do you learn to maintain? How do you learn not to have these phantom disasters in your head that you play out, and how do you stop yourself from sabotage – because the panic mechanism in your brain is telling you that something must go wrong.” For her, this is what growing up is. “You can’t just make cut-and-dry decisions in life. A lot of things are a negotiation and a grey area and a dance of how to figure it out.”

And so this time, Swift is sticking around. In December she will turn 30, marking the point after which more than half her life will have been lived in public. She’ll start her new decade with a stronger self-preservationist streak, and a looser grip (as well as a cameo in Cats). “You can’t micromanage life, it turns out,” she says, drily.

When Swift finally answered my question about the moment she would choose in the VH1 Behind The Music episode about herself, the one where her career turned, she said she hoped it wouldn’t focus on her “apocalypse” summer of 2016. “Maybe this is wishful thinking,” she said, “but I’d like to think it would be in a couple of years.” It’s funny to hear her hope that the worst is still to come while sitting in her fairytale living room, the cats pacing: a pragmatist at odds with her romantic monument to teenage dreams. But it sounds something like perspective.

#taylor swift #interview #by taylor #the guardian #lover era #lover album #not sure how I feel about the interviewer's approach...there's a lot of irony in it #but a fun read for us nonetheless

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the-fixation-zone · 4 years

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Here it is! Chapter 4 of The Boys Crack Open a Cold One and It’s an Underground Crime Organization! Art, as always, by @queenspinoodle, by courageous co-writer. Like, reblogs, and comments appreciated :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Three days later and Zucchini is still pissed off. How dare Sock walk away from him! Zucchini had stormed around the city for a long while after Sock had disappeared, fighting against burning the whole place to the ground. All he’d wanted was a little clarity, and Sock had flown off the handle! That’s Zucchini’s job, dammit! Now Zucchini is sitting in his tent, fuming. For the past three days, he’d been off during rehearsal, to the point that yesterday Pepper had told him to go home early.

“We’ll try again tomorrow and hopefully your head will be screwed on better,” Pepper had said with a disappointed head shake.

Zucchini hates disappointing Pepper. So now he is in his room, trying to do as asked. It’s not going well. The latest attempt finds Zucchini trying to study new runes, hoping to use them to further enhance his bending, but after an hour gives it up and tosses the book aside. His mind is still on Sock, replaying their conversation over and over.

Was he in the wrong? Did he say something out of line? He’d apologized! His uncle had always told him that the first step to forgiveness was a good apology, but maybe his hadn’t been good enough.

He sighs. Zucchini is still angry, but he thinks maybe he should look for Sock to try to talk to him again. He hates to even think it but he’s starting to miss him. He leaves his tent, determined to find Sock and work this out.

For his part, Sock is gloomily stitching up a torn decoration on his circus costume. He hasn’t bothered going inside his tent to do it, instead opting to sit outside under the cloudy sky. No one else is around to see him sew and, honestly, the weather fits his mood.

He still feels attacked by Zucchini's comments, but his anger has long faded. He’d spent the last few days being plagued by memories of the hard times, fighting to keep his overcast disposition from Katt and Baaang during rehearsals. He’s not sure how well he did. He’s found himself roaming around the circus encampment at night, ruminating. Even now, stitching up his costume, his mind is a million miles away. His hands are on autopilot, which is why before long he pricks his finger on the needle.

"Ow!" He sticks the tip of his finger in his mouth and sets his costume to the side. Firmly back in the present, Sock glares down at the needle. It’s his own fault, but it feels good to lay the blame elsewhere.

Zucchini is wandering around outside, thinking about where Sock could be, when he hears an exclamation that he’s sure belongs to Sock. Not knowing if he’s in trouble or not, Zucchini rushes over to the source of the sound.

“Sock? Sock! Are you okay?” Zucchini sees him, sitting outside his tent with his costume and a needle and thread in hand. By the time he realizes Sock isn’t being attacked it’s too late and he can’t take back his question.

Sock looks up wide-eyed, with his finger still in his mouth. He quickly pulls it out, realizing he probably looks silly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Sock grabs his stuff and moves to get up. He's sure Zucchini is still mad at him, and isn’t in the mood for another fight.

“Hey, wait! Don’t--don’t go. I, uh, was looking for you.” Zucchini looks at the ground, feeling awkward now that he’s actually in front of Sock. He kicks a stray pebble.

"...Oh. What do you need?"

“Well, I, uh, um. I wanted to. To apologize, again. I’m not sure what I said to make you so angry, but I wanted to try and make it right. If you’ll let me?” Zucchini doesn’t mean for the last part to come out like a question, but his nerves tilt his voice up anyway.

Sock sighs. "It's not your fault."

“Okay… Are we good then?” Zucchini desperately wants to know what was up, but he also doesn’t want to pry. He feels like if he asks Sock will get angry again, and he’d rather that not happen.

"Yeah, sure," Sock’s voice still lacks enthusiasm. "We're good."

Zucchini picks up on Sock’s mood but doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s never been good with...feelings, and it doesn’t seem like he’ll pick up the skill any time soon. Instead, he tries out a different skill: changing the subject. “Um...so! How’s sewing up your costume going?”

Sock flops back onto his seat and puts his head in his hands. How is sewing going? He’d stabbed himself because he can’t do anything right, that's how it's going! He definitely can’t tell Zucchini that, so he chooses to say nothing.

“Sock? You okay over there?” Zucchini suddenly realizes this may, perhaps, be a sore subject. “It looks good so far!”

"Thanks," Sock mumbles into his hands. He lifts his face enough to look at Zucchini.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know shit about sewing. This is miles better than anything I could ever do.” Zucchini grins sheepishly. “The best I’ve ever done with needles is a crappy patch job on some old trousers. My sister laughed at me over it for weeks.”

"I didn't know you had a sister." Sock brings his hands back down.

“Oh, yeah. Younger sister. We’re not what you would call...close.” Zucchini makes a face.

"Ah." Sock nods. An uncomfortable silence soon falls over them. Sock taps his foot, unable to sit still with the awkward tension.

“Your sister seems nice, though! Katt, right?” Zucchini remembers her name just barely. “What’s she like?”

"She is pretty nice, at least most of the time. She does tend to think she knows better than everyone else, though. It's pretty annoying."

“Huh. She sounds...pretty normal, actually. Lucky you.” Zucchini grins, trying his damndest to break the tension.

"I'd say she's the luckier one,” Sock says promptly. Then, realizing how that sounds, quickly adds, “not that I’m saying I'm the better sibling, that's not what I'm saying! Well… I am the better sibling, but that's not the point…"

Zucchini laughs. “Uh huh, no, please, go on.” He raises his eyebrows in expectation, grin now firmly plastered across his face.

"I'm just saying that because I'm here, she doesn't have to worry about so many things while she's still young. That's all."

“Oh. That’s, uh, good.” Zucchini has no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t think my younger sister has worried about anything, ever. She causes the worry if anything.”

Sock hums softly in response. "I hope Katt never does have to worry. I hope I can be here for her, at least until Baaang can take care of her." He stares off into the distance.

Zucchini, trying to parse through Sock’s meaning, says the first thing that pops into his head. “She can’t take care of herself?” He then realizes that maybe that’s a rude thing to say and tries to backtrack. “I mean--! Um, that’s not what I meant. I’m...not sure what I meant but I’m sure it wasn’t how that sounded.”

Sock chuckles. "I understand what you mean. Katt can take care of herself, I know that, but she should never have to."

“I...see. Fair enough, I guess. You’re really protective of her, aren’t you?”

"Of course! She's my baby sister! It’s been my job to protect and provide for her since I was 13."

Zucchini, continuing his streak of speaking without thinking, asks, “What about your parents?”

Sock looks down. "Our mother died."

“Oh. I’m...I’m sorry.” Zucchini almost doesn’t want to ask, but he’s come this far. “And...your dad?”

"...I don't know."

“You don’t know? Did he run off somewhere?”

Sock throws his hands in the air. "I don't know!"

“Got it, got it! Sorry I asked. So, you’ve been raising Katt on your own then, huh.”

"Basically."

“Wow. That must’ve been hard.”

"Yeah. It was."

Zucchini can hear the conversation taking a turn and tries to steer it somewhere better. “It...it looks like you did a good job, though, even with the tough circumstances.”

Sock smiles sadly at Zucchini. "Thanks."

Zucchini sits on the ground next to Sock, thinking about what to say next. “So, uh, you sew? I don’t think I knew that about you.”

"Oh. Yeah, I can. It’s whatever." Sock picks up his costume again, but doesn't start working on it. He’s ready for whatever Zucchini will throw at him next. If he has to get up and walk away again, he will.

“That’s really cool! I can’t do anything like that. Seems my hands are made for destruction, mostly.” Zucchini laughs a bit. “Could you...teach me? I think the circus’ seamstress is getting tired of seeing me all the time.”

Sock stares wide-eyed at Zucchini. He thinks sewing is cool AND he wants to learn? He waits a beat for the punchline but, when none comes, he scrambles to his feet, heading for his tent. "Oh, um, sure. One sec…" Sock enters his tent, emerging a few moments later with another needle and a piece of scrap fabric.

“Great, thanks.” Zucchini eyes the fabric. “So, what do I do first?”

Sock instructs Zucchini on how to thread the needle. This takes some doing, especially since it seems Zucchini’s depth perception is off. Sock tries a few methods of teaching, finally landing on something that works for Zucchini, with plenty of words of encouragement. After he gets the hang of it, Sock starts showing him how to stitch. He grabs his costume to demonstrate, sewing a neat line of stitches from one end of the other.

Zucchini isn’t very good at this. He follows along with Sock, trying to get the hang of it, but his hands fumble over the tiny needle and he sticks himself a few times. Maybe more than a few times. With quite a bit of cursing thrown in. Not to mention, by the time he finishes up his line it’s nowhere near as neat as Sock’s. “You make it look so easy!”

"Sorry?" Sock says with a laugh.

Zucchini sighs loudly. “Argh! Okay, show me how you did that again.”

Sock holds the needle carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He pushes it into the edge of his costume's neckline, pulling it through the other end. With the same precision, he takes the needle back around and pushes it in again, just next to the first stitch, doing that a few more times until a seam starts to take shape. He makes sure to keep himself calm, focusing on the needle’s path.

Zucchini tries again, attempting to mimic Sock’s demeanor. Unfortunately, calm and collected isn’t Zucchini’s style, and he stitches another crooked line through his fabric. “At least it can be recognized as a line this time…” He shakes his head. He tries again and again, his lines zigzagging across his fabric.

Sock recognizes Zucchini’s struggle and reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "It takes a while. Don't force yourself to learn faster than you're able to."

“Yeah, alright.” Zucchini snorts and puts the fabric down. “It’ll take me years at this rate, I can feel it.”

"Here, let’s try this a different way." Sock disappears into his tent, coming out with another scrap of fabric. He threads the needle and brings the fabric down to where Zucchini can easily see it. He holds out the needle for Zucchini to grab hold of, but doesn’t let go.

Zucchini, blinking in surprise, puts his hand on Sock’s holding the needle. He’s not sure what Sock’s plan is but is willing to trust him.

Sock, with Zucchini’s hand on his, pushes the needle through the fabric and grabs the other side of it, waiting for Zucchini to do so as well before pulling it through. He takes his time, going slower than he normally would to make sure Zucchini doesn’t rush. Zucchini still fumbles with the small needle at first but, eventually, they find a rhythm.

Zucchini stares at the neat line of stitches they’ve made together. “Oh, you were right. This is much easier. Thanks.”

Sock smiles brightly. "You’re very welcome!"

Zucchini realizes he’s still effectively holding Sock’s hand and pulls his own back quickly. “I, uh, I think I’ll try again now.” And he grabs his fabric and starts another line, eyes very focused on his task. He tries to go as slowly as Sock had, taking deep breaths when he feels his agitation growing. While he’s doing that, Sock finishes up the seam on his costume, and neatly folds it.

Zucchini finishes his stitches and puts the fabric down. They’re not perfect, but certainly better than what he’d made before. Proud of his work, he pulls out his pocket sundial and checks the time, shooting up once he reads it.

“Oh, shit! I’m about to be late for rehearsal, Pepper’s going to kill me! Sorry Sock, gotta run, but thank you for this!” He jogs away, taking the scrap of fabric with him and heading for the practice tent.

Sock watches him run, tilting his head as his eyes follow him. "Huh. Not bad."

#the boys crack open a cold one and it's an underground crime organization #atla au #zukka au #the zukka is coming along!#zuko #sokka #prince zuko #sokka of the southern water tribe #fix writes with friends #fanfic

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