#I blocked him after telling him I don’t have need for unwanted opinions from a man I don’t even know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thekidultlife · 3 years

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Plot: After an unexpected encounter with Yoon Jeonghan during a baby shower, more memories unfold from your mind, and his.

Genre: slice of life, angst

Pairing: Jeonghan + fem!reader + Mingyu

Warnings: a bit of explicit language

A/N: Many thanks to my incredibly amazing beta reader, @secndlife, for helping me make this beautiful! Also, I would like to express my gratitude to @xuseokgyu for taking the time to make lovely banners and even a teaser for this series! You are both a joy to work with and I am so blessed to have you both help me. 🧡 Lastly, to our followers and readers who are continually supporting this blog despite its inactivity, thank you! More details about my future works will be addressed after this fic.

Taglist: @haotheheckk, @jeonjungkaka, @soonhoonsol, @fluffyhyeju, @minkwans

“If you love me like you tell me, please be careful with my heart. you can take it, just don’t break it — or my world will fall apart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. It was chipped and uneven in some places, and your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. Behind you, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets, blending with the honey-golden glow of the lights coming from the shops and apartment buildings that rose around you.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in the city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well.

You were walking back to the dorms with your friends and a couple of seniors. You were in the back of the group, where it was quieter. Clutching your arm was Jung Mirae, one of your roommates, who was struggling to walk straight after too many beers.

In the process of half-dragging Mirae, an alarm from your phone rang. You hasted to get it switched off.

Bright laughter pierced the stillness as the ones just a few steps ahead of you, Park Hyewon and Lee Joonyoung, your best friends besides Mirae, kept on cracking jokes that would make the whole group roar with laughter. You giggled at their ridiculousness occasionally while trying to keep Mirae on her feet.

Hangout nights are incomplete without these two, you thought to yourself, as you studied long-legged, pink-haired Hyewon and the tall, broad-shouldered Joonyoung. You watched as they made mean comments at each other and then made up for the teasing by giving each other kisses.

“Gross!” someone called out from behind you, and you could not help but smile.

Joonyoung turned around and playfully gave the finger to the person who had shouted out. "Go get yourself a girlfriend, Sunwoo! It's clear to me that you’re in need of love.”

The group snickered at Joonyoung's words.

As you listened to everyone talk about how good the night was and how hellish the next week would be with final exams coming up, you felt cold fingers touch your cheek.

You turned to Mirae, who was looking up at you with quizzical—albeit drunken—eyes.

“Hey, Y/N." Mirae’s voice was loud and clear in the narrow alley. You brushed her hand away gently. "Why are you crying?”

“What do you mean?” You put a hand over her mouth and tried to tell her to stop spouting off nonsense, but it was then that you felt it—the wet trickle of tears on your face. Surprised, you wiped them away with your hand.

It was true.

You were crying.

The walking paused. Footsteps ceased over the cobbled pavement as everyone halted to look over at you. Your cheeks reddened at the unwanted attention.

“Y/N, is something wrong? Here, let me have Mirae.” One of your classmates reached out to take Mirae.

“Thank you.” I think I drank too much, you despaired, as you kept wiping at your face and waving people away. You made attempts to control your emotions, but nothing could stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you kept saying over and over with a hoarse voice that almost didn’t sound like you. “Keep walking, please! Don’t mind me. I think I just drank too much.” You gave a shaky laugh and rubbed your eyes. “I get like this sometimes. Sorry.”

“You did not drink too much tonight, though,” someone commented dubiously. The others agreed and continued to look at you with confused expressions. "You never do."

“Jin-ah is right. And you don’t ‘get like this sometimes,’ babe.” Just a few feet away from you and leaning against Joonyoung, Hyewon crossed her arms. Her face, full of concern over your sudden outburst of emotions, made her look as though she hadn’t spent the night drinking as much as the guys did. “What's wrong?”

“I really don’t know, to be honest.” You pushed a strand of hair away from your face and made a poor attempt to smile at Hyewon. "I think it’s just the beer. Really."

Hyewon looked like she didn’t want to stop questioning you.

Please don’t ask me anything more, you begged with your eyes.

Joonyoung nudged Hyewon casually.

"Okay." Hyewon shrugged as she reluctantly conceded to your lame answers. She walked up to you, linked her arm with yours, and turned to grin at the others placatingly. “Let’s go home for real, gang! I think my girlfriend here just needs to sleep.”

Everyone nodded, put on happy faces, and eagerly put the awkward scene behind them. They once again started with the jokes and laughter and even managed to loop you into their silly conversations. However, their eyes avoided you most of the time, and their jokes were careful. You sensed that nobody wanted to have any part in pulling any triggers you might have. Tonight was no time to be sad. With finals coming up, no one needed any sort of emotional baggage. You felt bad for making them cautious, but you were also grateful for their thoughtfulness about your feelings.

The happy atmosphere became short-lived, though, as five minutes later, a sound cut through the alley and through the facades that everyone was putting up for your sake. It made all of them stop in their tracks once more. Even Hyewon stiffened beside you.

The sound perfectly explained everything that was going on with you, and there was no hiding it now.

Your alarm was playing again.

“Oh, fuck.” Hyewon let out a huge breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked as though she was trying to block out the sound. “Y/N, for goodness’ sake, don’t be an idiot. Don’t listen to it. Turn it off—”

But of course, like an idiot, you listened.

“Hey there. If you find yourself listening to this, then it means we have made it to Year 3. Please meet me at the same place where we are tonight: the art pier, one hour before the day ends. I'll be the stupid-looking guy standing by the yacht statue while holding too many roses. I love you. Happy Anniversary!"

This alarm shouldn’t be ringing—because you didn’t make it to Year 3.

“Please turn it off.”

Joonyoung, who was right behind you, reached for your bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out your phone. Glaring at the screen, he shut it off and dropped the phone in the bag again.

The alleyway was silent for a while.

Hyewon sighed. And then she leaned against you and said softly, “Let’s go home.”

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were still walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. Hands would steady you from behind when your thin-strapped sandals would slip and get stuck between the loose cobblestones. No one drunk should walk on this alley with its imperfect pavements, but you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. As you passed, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets before melting into the ever-constant amber colors of the street lights.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in this city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well. But you weren’t supposed to spend this night here. Not in this place, despite its beauty, no.

You were supposed to be somewhere else.

You were supposed to be with someone else.

“I know that everybody here is trying to be nice, but let me say it for all of you here, so you don’t have to wonder how it sounds.” Joonyoung kicked a crumpled beer can out of his way as he walked. “Fuck Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Oh, please, Lee Joonyoung.” Hyewon sounded tired. “Thank you for making Y/N more miserable.”

“What do you mean? Bubs, I’m not the douchebag who—ah, whatever.” Joonyoung shrugged and flung middle fingers up the sky. “Wherever you are, Yoon Jeonghan, fuck you!”

“He’s completely drunk,” Hyewon said apologetically, looking around her; some of the campus seniors with you were friends of Jeonghan’s. “Sorry.” And then, looking at Joonyoung exasperatedly, she hissed, “Joonyoung. Cut it out.”

“Let him be,” you said in a drained voice, “let him be.”

You were supposed to be with Yoon Jeonghan tonight, but you weren’t. He was long gone, and all you have left of him was something that you had somehow forgotten to remove, something you wished so desperately to forget.

All you have left of him was his voice—frozen in time through that alarm.

The rest was memories and history.

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu sips from a coffee mug and nods in understanding as you finish speaking. He leans back on one of the steps of the townhouse, where you both sit. Cars drive down your neighborhood street, their headlights coloring the concrete road with hazy white and yellow lights. You watch their signals blink as they find spaces to park. Leaves continue to fall, and some end up in your hair. You feel Mingyu brush them away. You smile and do the same for him.

It is way past midnight, and here you both sit, snuggling to keep warm against the cold night air and talking about a love long gone.

“So,” Mingyu traces the rim of his coffee cup as he puts the pieces together, “you and Jeonghan-hyung dated during uni days?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm. We dated for two years. And then we broke up during my junior year, which was when that alley story happened.” You look at your boyfriend in mock suspicion. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you sure you want to listen to this story? Because we don’t need to talk about this if you aren’t comfortable—”

“—No, no, baby, I’m okay!” Mingyu chuckles a little bit as he turns to you. “I’m perfectly fine. I really want to know. If you’re not comfortable talking about it, though, we could just put it behind us.” He smiles at you. “I’m okay either way.”

He had stepped onto a minefield of your past without warning. He’s not supposed to be okay either way. You keep staring at him, not believing what he said.

“But, babe…” You sigh as you look at him. “Instead of talking about how Jeonghan and I ended up dating years ago, why don’t we talk about other things first?” You keep searching his face for any sign of uneasiness, any sign of hurt or confusion. “Like, how you felt when you found out. Or, how to avoid getting ambushed by stuff like this in the future.” You lean against him. “I don’t want something like this to happen again, no matter how great we both are at handling surprises. I think this is a good time to talk about things we haven’t talked about yet. Exes, our most embarrassing moments—” you giggle as Mingyu laughs at your last words. “Hey, I’m serious here!”

Your mind recalls the events of the night. You remember twirling in front of your full-length mirror to admire your new dress. You remember how perfect Mingyu had looked when he stepped out of his car and walked up to you. You remember the car ride, the conversation that you had about meeting his family and kissing underneath the porchlight of Aera’s house. You remember the baby shower: meeting Mingyu’s parents, Kim Aera, and Mingyu’s other friends. You remember how happy and secure you felt with Mingyu beside you as he introduced you to his family and some high-profile friends. You remember the crib and the games.

You remember Choi Seungcheol’s surprised expression and shaking Yoon Jeonghan’s hand for the first time in years. You remember Kwon Soonyoung’s drunken announcement.

“So, the former flames have finally met!”

“Well, I guess I got surprised when I found out that you guys used to date,” Mingyu clarifies, “but if we will talk about whether I had strong, negative feelings about the whole thing...” his voice trails off as he looks at you.

“...Uh-huh?” you prod.

Mingyu shakes his head. “I didn’t have any.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry about me. To be honest, what surprised me the most was the fact that I handled the situation pretty well. Back when we were still at Aera’s house, I really did my best to be careful with how I took in the whole thing. I took care not to show how surprised I was with my expressions, my words...”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod along with him as his voice trails off. “Yes. I agree. You handled it pretty well. But I am still so sorry for dropping that bomb on you that way.” You look up at him with an apologetic expression. “We haven’t really talked about past relationships that much yet, so...”

“Y/N, please don’t overthink.” His face hovers inches away from yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “See?” He makes all sorts of cute expressions, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m okay.”

You become willing to believe him, but then you catch him looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Although,” Mingyu adds, “I did feel a bit self-conscious.” He sighs dramatically, and he pouts—adorably. “I mean, he’s the Yoon Jeonghan. You dated the Yoon Jeonghan that most girls nowadays are swooning over. Who am I compared to that?”

As he continues to make such cute faces while saying the most outrageous things, you stare at him, open-mouthed. “What the hell.” You had seen through his joke, of course, but you could not help but look at him incredulously. “Is my boyfriend actually saying this to me right now while looking so drop-dead gorgeous beside me? Is he really comparing himself right now to someone else?”

Mingyu ignores your words and continues. “Yoon Jeonghan, actor extraordinaire, ranking twentieth at this year’s Asia’s Sexiest 100. Hmm. Yes.” He considers his words and nods. “I did feel intimidated. He’s good-looking and is amazing at acting and—”

“—Whoa, whoa, whoa.” You put your mug down beside you, and you giggle as you take Mingyu’s face in your hands. “You are one gorgeous person, too, and I am so, so in love with you. Stop comparing yourself to him.” You nuzzle his face, smiling. “I know you’re just joking about this, but please. Stop.”

He continues to look at you with a playful pout, but his eyes turn darker voice drops a notch lower. “Make me.”

You feel him grin against your lips as you make him stop speaking.

At the back of your head, you remember Kim Aera’s words when she talked about her husband.

“Not all women are as fortunate as I am, you know? Some of us meet such crappy guys that it’s a miracle I ended up finding someone worth the wedding vows.”

You aren’t one to believe in fortunes, so you try to think about all the things you must have done right to deserve a man such as Kim Mingyu. More importantly, you wonder if you would be able to keep him by your side.

Too much thinking, too much thinking, you chastise yourself as you kiss Mingyu harder, wanting to erase everything from your mind.

“I love you,” you say after a while.

“I love you, too. But where were we with your story?” Mingyu lets go of you and takes his mug once more. Leaves still fall from the trees. The streetlights glow brighter as midnight darkens. A green sedan stops directly across you both, and you watch as a man staggers out of the driver’s side.

“Well, if you really want to hear all about it, it would take us all night.” You look up at him with an enticing, hopeful smile. “Do you want to stay the night here? Hyewon and Joonyoung would be thrilled to have you. We can do storytime together with them.” You shake your head. “I still haven’t said a word to them about meeting Jeonghan again because we only went upstairs to get coffee. Hyewon will get a kick out of this.”

Mingyu laughs softly. “I can imagine.” He kisses your forehead before taking your hand. “Let’s head back inside.”

No more cars drive down your neighborhood street. No more hazy yellow and white headlights color the dark concrete road. Mingyu takes your hand and pulls you up from the steps. You feel him brush away some leaves from your hair once more. You look up at him appreciatively, and you do the same for him. Across the street, a glaring woman opens the front door for the drunken man from the green sedan.

You retreat indoors for the night. You think about how to tell Mingyu everything. And when Hyewon opens the door to greet you both, you wonder if she and Joonyoung would help you get the facts right about how you and Jeonghan started and how you and Jeonghan eventually ended.

With all these thoughts in your head, you faintly hear your phone ring in your purse. Getting a sense of déjà vu from the story that you had told Mingyu earlier, you feel chills run up and down your spine as you pull your phone out.

“Who’s your midnight caller, girlfriend?” Hyewon goodnaturedly teases as she takes your empty mug from your hand. Her face looks flushed, and you remember that she and Joonyoung had been drinking when you left them earlier. “Joonyoung! Mingyu’s here!”

“I have a confession to make,” you say as you look at the caller ID. “Mingyu and I ran into Jeonghan and Seungcheol at his cousin’s baby shower.”

Hyewon’s face pales at your words. “You what?”

“We did,” Mingyu says softly, scratching his head while smiling at Hyewon. “He’s a good hyung of mine and Aera’s in the industry. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I didn’t know that he and Y/N used to date.”

“Huh,” Hyewon breathes out. “All these years, the only way we could see him was on TV. We never ran across him, ever. And now we find out that he’s good friends with your boyfriend’s family.” Hyewon raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Imagine that.”

“You met Jeonghan?” Joonyoung bounds into the foyer, which suddenly becomes crowded with the four of you there. “Was he with anyone else?”

“Just him and Seungcheol-hyung,” Mingyu answers.

“Let’s not talk about this here. Come on in, you two. We still have some pizza, chicken, and beer.” Hyewon manages to push the two guys into the living room. She turns to you, clearly wanting to talk to you in private, but you put up a hand.

“Hold on.” Your phone is vibrating in your hand, and you hastily answer the call. “Hello?”

🍁🎧🧡

He leans on the railings of the rooftop bar, a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. As he gazes at the city below, he knows that he has had too much to drink. The lights have started to pulse too much. The numbness inside him has finally reached his fingertips. He considers stopping to drink this last glass, but his call finally goes through.

At the sound of the voice on the other line, he decides that he needs this one last shot of bourbon.

“I know that it’s too late to call you now,” he whispers almost inaudibly, “but if I don’t say this tonight, I probably never will.”

He lets go of the empty glass in his hand, and he watches as it shatters on the ground.

“I miss you,” he says, oblivious of the curses and complaints from the people around him. “And I know that you’re in a happy place now, but I—” A painful pause ensues as he stands there, lost for words. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he tries to ignore the ache in his throat and the burning in his eyes. “—I just wanted you to know that. Everything about this call feels wrong because I know that I am not supposed to and that I have no right to call you anymore, but I will never stop wondering how these words sound like if I don’t say it right now.” A tortured grin spreads across his lips. “I miss you.”

The phone falls out of his hands, and he blindly falls to the ground to pick it up. Sharp fragments from the broken glass cut through his skin and the material of his pants, but he doesn’t feel the pain. He is too numb right now. He couldn’t even feel his legs. As he futilely tries to smoothen the cracked screen on his phone, he hears a loud voice coming from a megaphone.

“And cut!” The director’s voice rings loud and clear throughout the rooftop bar. He walks over to Jeonghan, who is still trying to bring his phone back to life. “Okay, did I suddenly step into some shitty romance movie after the break? What was all that?” The director impatiently turns around and gestures to the crew behind him. “I need a medical kit here; and another phone, please. Geez. What has gotten into you tonight?”

“Sorry,” Jeonghan says apologetically. “I just got too immersed with my role.” He shakily stands up. “And I can’t feel my legs.”

The director shakes his head. “Look, Jeonghan, I know that you love ad-libs. I love your ad-libs, too. You know that. But your last lines threw me off.” He squints his eyes suspiciously at Jeonghan. “Where did you go tonight? You were fine the whole day, and then you suddenly get picked up by your friend. The minute you come back to work, you’re a different person.” He shakes his head again and walks away. “Read the script and pull yourself together. We’ll be taking a short break. And apologize to your co-star for spouting out all that mushy stuff!”

“What was that about?” Seungcheol has appeared from out of nowhere, arms crossed. “Why were you telling Jihoon that you missed him?”

Jeonghan laughs. He gestures weakly with his hand as he answers, “It’s the bourbon.”

“Who on earth actually drinks half a dozen shots while filming?” Seungcheol pauses as he studies Jeonghan’s face. “And why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” Jeonghan wipes away something wet from his face. “Stop bitching, Cheol, and just help me sit down somewhere.”

“Oh, Yoon Jeonghan.” Seungcheol sighs as guides Jeonghan to the nearest steel chair. “You said you would be able to come back to work after the baby shower! God, I was an idiot for believing you.”

“This is not about the baby shower,” Jeonghan protests weakly as he leans back against the chair. “Leave me alone and let me rest. Please.” He closes his eyes.

“So," Seungcheol fishes around for words, "what was that about?"

Jeonghan doesn’t answer.

Seungcheol sighs again. “Was she the one you were ‘talking to’ in that phone call?”

Silence.

“Jeonghan—”

“—She looked happy.” Jeonghan’s voice is calm, but tears still escape his closed eyes. He leans to the side as though he wanted to sleep. “They looked happy. And when I saw them kiss by the front porch when we got to Aera’s, I felt funny." He grins. "I felt funny because a part of me got hurt—” He pounds his chest. “—Right here.” His grin widens. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just like this because I haven't seen her for a long time."

The rooftop bar is buzzing with activity: the director is making changes with the camera angles, someone is adjusting the brightness of the floodlights, and the extras are practicing the not-so-easy art of blending in with the scene. Jeonghan hears someone sweep the broken glass from the tiled floor.

“Mingyu is a good guy,” Seungcheol offers sympathetically. “At least we can both be sure that she will be alright.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jeonghan continues pounding his chest with his bandaged hand. “I know.”

“You are my first romance, and I’m willing to take a chance that till life is through, I’d still be loving you.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that he is walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is still chipped and uneven in some places, and he remembers how your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, he knows that you loved it. But while you had loved this place for its bright lights and broken cobblestones, he had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

He vividly remembers the first plate of spaghetti that you shared at Georgie’s, a quaint restaurant that would have been considered Italian but for the sweet spaghetti sauce that it serves. He has not forgotten the taste because he still goes there on Thursdays. And he has never forgotten the way you had laughed while eating spaghetti as he confessed that he wanted to date you.

“You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds coming out of your mouth,” you had said while pushing away your plate. Your eyes had been gleaming with humor then, but your voice had been guarded and careful. “To put it simply, sunbae, I am not going to date you.” You had shrugged, and locks of your hair had tumbled across that denim jacket that he had loved seeing on you. “You know why.”

He had known then.

You had never fallen in love before. That knowledge should have made him cautious, but he admits to himself now that it had made him all the more desperate to snag that spot in your heart marked, “First Love.”

It was at Georgie’s that you had first rejected him, but it was there that you also said yes to him a few months later. Twirling pasta in your plate, you had murmured, “Okay. Let’s date. But Yoon Jeonghan—” Your voice had shaken. And then you had looked at him.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

He had answered that with your first kiss.

At signless thrift stores that are scattered a few stalls away from each other, Jeonghan remembers patiently waiting for you as you picked clothes for him and art supplies for yourself. He remembers how you would stand to the side to let Hyewon and Mirae haggle with the storekeeper. He remembers your apologetic expression when you felt like Hyewon or Mirae had taken the bargaining too far. He smiles as he remembers how embarrassed you would be during those times.

And then he smiles wider as he remembers Hyewon’s sharp fingernails that had dug on his shoulder when she pulled him aside during the first time he tagged along for the shopping. He chuckles as he remembers how menacing she had looked.

“If dating my goody-two-shoes Y/N is payback because I broke your best friend’s heart a few years ago,” Hyewon warns darkly, “then you’d better know that I’ll be coming for you. And I have no qualms whatsoever about tearing you to shreds. You got that?” She had dug her nails deeper at that point.

“I don’t care what history you had with my best friend,” he had answered calmly. “I am dating Y/N because I love her. That’s all there is. You’re reading way too much into this, Park Hyewon.”

“Am I?” Hyewon had scoffed, clearly unconvinced. “Yoon Jeonghan, why are you dating Y/N? The real reason, please."

"I love her," he repeated. "That's all."

"No. That's not it. I refuse to believe that’s your reason. And we both know here that you can’t fool me with that crap.” She had let go of him then, but not before throwing out a few more words that sounded like a prophecy. Throwing up her hands in the air and rolling her eyes, she had said, “I’m calling it: you’ll only break Y/N's heart.”

Funny how Hyewon turned out to be right.

“This alley is the most beautiful place to go to in the city, isn’t it?”

At that moment, Jeonghan stops in his tracks. He stops reminiscing.

He whirls around, his eyes wide and almost sober, searching for the owner of that voice. His heartbeats quicken. He clenches his jaw as another knife of pain stabs through him at those words.

You used to say the same thing to him. You used to say those words while holding his hand or whenever he would kiss you unannounced while you walked this street. You used to say those words while looking up at him. He would never get lost anywhere in the world, but he used to get lost in your eyes when you did so.

He squints his eyes, certain that it had been you who had spoken. But as his vision focuses on the owner of the voice, he feels his heart sink inside him.

Of course, it wasn’t you. Jeonghan laughs at himself and his stupidity.

It wasn’t you. It was some stupid co-ed echoing the words that any college student would say about this street. It wasn’t you because you were long gone from him now, and he had nothing left of you but all these memories that still plague him in this fucking alleyway.

It wasn’t you because Jeonghan had done what Hyewon had said that he would do.

A hand grabs his arm. “Let’s go, Yoon Jeonghan. You shouldn’t be here.”

Jeonghan recognizes Seungcheol’s voice. He grins at his friend’s frustrated face as he trips on a stupid loose cobblestone. “Hello, there. Why do you keep appearing out of nowhere? And did you also think of Hyewon while following me along this legendary street? You only loved this street because of Hyewon, but you still feel it, right?” Jeonghan helps himself up and absently studies his dirtied pants. “The nostalgia this place evokes?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol snaps, “just shut up. You know, I expected you to act more maturely than this, Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan laughs. “Can’t a guy walk in peace?”

Seungcheol stops walking. He lets go of Jeonghan’s arm, and he faces Jeonghan with a furious expression. “You have no right to get hung up over Y/N,” he says with a poisonous tone. “You have no right at all.”

Seungcheol’s words slice through Jeonghan like a blade he didn’t see coming. He wasn't able to brace for it. He didn’t expect those words to come, especially from Seungcheol.

“You broke her heart.” Seungcheol’s tone is more fit for a eulogy than for a conversation with his best friend. “You made a choice years ago. What did you expect the ending to be? You can’t cry now.” His face softens. “Be a man. Accept that she’s moved on. Did you see her face earlier at the baby shower? She didn’t even look at you with any hurt or anger.” He presses a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “She looks happy. Was she surprised to have seen you? Yes. But she has clearly moved on, and so should you.”

There is silence for a while until Seungcheol hands him a face mask.

"Spare yourself the hell you'd experience from gossip rags and wear the fucking mask. You look terrible and stupid, coming here without any disguise at all. These aren’t uni days anymore, dumbass."

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that Jeonghan and Seungcheol are walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is chipped and uneven in some places, and both men could still remember how easily one could trip and fall on the slippery cobblestones. But despite the imperfections of this street, they both know someone who had loved it for what it was.

Yes, you had loved this alleyway for its bright lights and broken cobblestones. Seungcheol had loved it because of your friend Hyewon, but Jeonghan had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

But now he realizes that this alleyway is a literal Memory Lane, bringing him back to the past and clouding his judgment of the present.

As he walks past Georgie’s, He remembers your words again.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

Friday has barely ended, and Saturday is just about to begin, but when Georgie’s fades behind him, he laughs. He laughs like the idiot that he is, and tears pour out of his eyes as he does so.

“I will be true to you—just a promise from you will do: from the very start, please be careful with my heart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The truth has finally hit him.

Everything that he had with you—all of it—is now just memories and history.

And his conviction that he should stop riding this rollercoaster of emotions about you becomes even more pronounced when his phone vibrates, and he picks up a call.

“Where are you?” a woman’s voice asks, worried. “I’ve been up all night waiting at your apartment.”

Seungcheol mouths, Who is it?

Jeonghan flashes the phone at Seungcheol.

It was Jung Mirae.

“I love you and you know I do—there’ll be no one else for me. I promise I’ll be always true, for the world and all to see. Love has heard some lies softly spoken, and I have had my heart badly broken; I’ve been burned and I’ve been hurt before.”

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu stops staring at the ceiling and turns to look at you. You are sleeping beside him, tucked under his arm, and he is happy. He had spent the night with you, going through your memories and learning from them. He had spent the whole night immersed in the past that you had inside you.

Yes, indeed, he had learned a lot about you tonight. And as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers something that you did not hear. He whispers words that he just wants to prove to you with actions.

“I’ll be careful with your heart,” Mingyu whispers as he kisses your hair, your neck, your bare shoulder, “because I know how it feels to get hurt, too.” If you had been awake at that point, you would have seen the pensive, faraway look in his eyes as he walks down his own cobblestoned path—his own Memory Lane. If you had been awake, you would have worried about his expression like he knows you would. So he quickly smiles at your peaceful, sleeping face.

“I have a story, too,” he adds softly, “but I’ll save it for later.” He hugs you close to him. “For now, I’ll just be content with taking care of you.” He kisses your lips, and you stir. “Of us.”

When your eyes open, he shyly ducks under the covers, his twinkling eyes peeking at you. And as you protest that it was late and that he should sleep, he laughs softly, and he nods. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you.”

“What?” you ask, uncomprehending. “Say again, baby?”

“Nothing.” He hugs you close again. “Just that I love you.”

You fall back into sleep at his words, and he keeps watching you until his eyes close on their own.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

“So I know just how you feel: trust that my love is real for you. I’ll be gentle with your heart—I’ll caress it like the morning dew. I’ll be right beside you forever, I won’t let our world fall apart. From the very start, I’ll be careful with your heart.”

Author’s Note: Thank you very much for reading! I know that I have been very slow and inconsistent with my updates, but as long as there are unfinished WIPs on this list, please expect me to keep posting, no matter how sporadic. Tell me what you think about this part on the askbox, comments/reblogs! Thank you! - Leanne.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #svtcreations #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan #jeonghan angst #svt scenarios #svt angst

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chusui00 · 3 years

Text

Not Meant To Be

Word Count: 3,750

Summary: Anthony became the center of your attention, and it seemed as though his feelings were mutual for you. But in light of recent events, he’d only be able to comfort you in more ways than one. With the help of a loyal friend, you have no doubts that Simon will regret leaving you.

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Part 3/6

a/n: Sorry for the incredibly long wait! I knew that editing takes time, but I didn’t think that I would have writer’s block for, well, however long I’ve had it. So much has happened, and I lost motivation after motivation. Although, it’s not entirely fair for those of you who want to read Bridgerton fanfic. Without further delays, here’s part 3!!

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

One might think that when he stood outside my home with roses, Viscount Bridgerton had finally set himself on the route to having a family of his own. The Viscount was welcomed by Charles and invited inside, which caused Mama to almost fall over her feet. “Lord Bridgerton! Heavens! What a pleasant surprise this beautiful afternoon to see you!”

It took a lot of willpower not to roll my eyes at mama's change of mood from just minutes earlier. Lady Bridgerton wrote to me her apologies, that were not even pertinent at all, and mama blamed me of humiliating the Bridgertons yesterday. Papa didn't make his typical remarks, but I knew what he had been pondering regarding my misdeeds.

Other than that, Lord Bridgerton told them his hellos, and when he saw me in the family room, his smiling face grew greater. “Miss Denbow, good afternoon. As it always is, you never cease to look so exquisite.” If I wasn't mistaken, I assumed he was intending to flirt with me, and undoubtedly fooled mama with whatever act he was putting on.

“Lord Bridgerton, how kind of you to give my daughter compliments after seeing what she did yesterday at the picnic. In this town, you and your family are truly the most genuine.” Mama was eager to speak in my place, and when she tried to bring up the incident for the second or third time, I swallowed thickly.

Anthony’s mouth twitched at the corners, and he stepped over to me in order to gift his bouquet of roses. “Lady Denbow, I do not blame Miss Denbow for anything. She was suffering and knew no other way to communicate.” Before he slipped back, his fingers lightly stroked both of my hands, then he sat in an empty chair.

Cheeky bastard. He was making light of my missteps, which Mama considered especially inexcusable. And for his compassion, I could not have been more forever thankful. “Oh, Lord Bridgerton, thank you. To hear you say that alleviates my anxiety. And thank you for these roses.” I ran over the smooth petals with my thumb, then bent closer to take in the fragrance of them.

But once again, with more berating remarks on my ‘unladylike’ and ‘outrageous’ nature, Mama ruined the temporary pleasant environment. “I can't understand why, my lord, you want to court her. She may be my only child, but I'm sure she would be a far better choice for another lord of her equals.” My own mother had a toxic tongue which might ostracize her if she didn't take caution of others.

In order to defend against the offensive expressions she was thinking about me, as if I weren't really there, I opened my mouth, but Anthony decided to stand up from his seat and settled next to me. “I'm going to say this as politely as I can, Lady Denbow. What Miss Denbow did at the picnic was not wrong, and she's a wonderfully capable young lady. You are her mother, and I must admit that what you have said makes me very mortified.”

With discomposure, Mama's face grew red and, at last, she remained at a loss for words. “Lord Bridgerton, my apologies. Forgive your mama, y/n. My intention was not to negatively impact you such a way. I'm worried you can't even defend yourself.” Excuse after excuse were all I heard coming from her, but I needed to leave this conversation in the past.

“Mama, I'm forgiving you. But please don't think of me like that. When you do not see that I am well aware of what I'm doing and what I believe is important, I am in despair. I'm no longer a little girl.” Mama nodded, but in sensitivity, she refused to speak as she left Anthony and I in the room alone. "Well, either that may well have gotten out of hand, or the way I hoped it would.”

A chuckle escapes from the Viscount, and I recline against the back of the sofa with a tired sigh. I loved my mama and papa, but sometimes they treated me like I would never age from my childhood years. Despite having no brothers or sisters, I had friends who supported me and shared the same interests as I grew older.

Having Lord Bridgerton here was an enigma that I couldn’t fathom, but I appreciated how he stood up for me when mama complained without cease. Now that she was gone, I took the opportunity to ask him as to why he came to my home. “Anthony, can you tell me the reason for your visit? We both know that you don’t have intentions to court me contrary to what outsiders might believe.” I crossed my arms and waited for a reply, which was his hand resting on the top of my thigh. Perplexed, I looked over at him to see his eyes full of sympathy.

“Y/n, what Hastings said could have been less severe than they actually were, and Daphne chastised him for doing so.” Anthony began, his grip squeezing in reassurance, and he gently pulled it away once I’ve had enough time to comprehend what he told me. It warmed my heart to hear that Daphne was upset in my stead, although I’m sure anyone in their right mind would have done the same for me.

My thoughts wandered to how both the eldest child and the Duke of Hastings were famous rakes with great influence. One had brothers who would take his title and estate if he were to pass, whereas the other had no known relatives and only Lady Danbury to defend his name after his death. I found it funny that I’ve fallen in love with the latter, and he was treating me like I didn’t have a place in his place.

I must’ve been worrying Anthony with my lack of response because he waved a hand in front of my face to bring me back into reality. I shook my head of the unrelated topic and smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry. I became lost before I realized that I’d drifted off.” “Oh, it’s quite alright. Trust me, I do the exact same thing when I’m alone.”

“I’ll be impartial with you, Anthony. I hadn’t given it consideration that your sister would do such a thing, and for me, no less. Perhaps I’ve had the wrong impression of her from the beginning. Everything is going terribly, and I haven’t been able to think properly.” I wore my heart on my sleeve for him to see, and I didn’t care about exposing my weaknesses to him. But Anthony seemed be torn between hugging me and giving a simple pat on my shoulder lest an unwanted third party were to walk in.

If anyone noticed the unusual display of affection, then news would spread that rather than waiting to fulfill the courtship rituals, I was advancing on a lord. He wouldn't be much of a gentleman, in Anthony's opinion, if he were to neglect a woman in distress. “When you weep, I don't like it. It so pains me when I'm labelled useless, but when you're laughing, you look the most spectacular, y/n. Simon's blind and ludicrous, but I know you really love him, don't you?”

“You're right, my lord. Again. I need to let go of my struggles and to live my life to its fullest. The Duke encouraged what I would like to go do, become, and pursue, but under false premises, he is intimately involved to your younger sister.” I forced my body to stand, and in confusion, but without doubt, Anthony quickly followed. In my own house, it felt too stifling, so I concluded that a stroll outside would hopefully help take my mind off what occupied it at the moment.

“Is there anything other than whining and moaning that I could do instead? Wait, Queen Charlotte is holding a ball for her nephew, is she not? I do believe his name is Prince Friedrich.” Anthony gave a short nod, and I could tell that he was already dreading a night of being surrounded by desperate mamas along with their unabashed daughters. Who would blame the Viscount for trying to discourage total strangers from making unwelcome advantages?

I was unexpectedly given the best idea by his affirmation, and I couldn't wait to put it into motion. I wanted to prove my worth to Simon, which would make Anthony and the Prince the ideal partners to irk him. “What say you to opening Simon's eyes in the notion that I attract His Highness tonight? I will have to be in the most magnificent ballgown, and I know that you can help me with this.”

“In the heat of the moment, it won't take a lot of effort to raise feelings of inadequacy in Hastings. He will be fixated on Daphne and attempting to keep conversations with literally everyone who comes across him, but I don't find it unlikely that he will be observing you with the Prince. I know I wouldn't have the means to take my eyes off you, my dear.” That was just what I expected to hear from him, and furthermore. I felt that I had done well enough to seek a Viscount who had awareness of everyone else around him.

Then that settled it. I was going to win the Prince's favor, and Simon would spectate from the sidelines with no likelihood of attempting to snatch me away. It felt invigorating even to think about how it would play out tonight, but it would be seamless with Anthony's help. “For your time and soothing words, I am beyond delighted, Anthony. Until the ball, there is more than enough time, so I want to use it to aim for perfection. Tonight, I hope to see you, my lord.”

“Miss Denbow, I am forever happy to console a lady when she is enduring pain. And indeed, tonight, to my great reluctance, you will see me. For now, I will leave you and I look forward to enjoying your progress.” Anthony bowed as he started to walk out of the family room, and with a curtsey and a goodbye, I accompanied him to our front door.

Since then, hours have passed, and I finally found a dress from Lady Delacroix that was incredible. She wasn't even from France, and her accent didn't fool me. Not important. My makeup was done by Marianne, my hair was styled by Lucinda, and mama lent me her diamond necklace to wear. It matched the diamond earrings I got from papa on my eighteenth birthday, and tonight, nothing could go wrong. I was positive of that.

The time had come, and I was one of the few to arrive at the castle fashionably late. The eyes of all were on me, making my chest swell with pride. I got a glimpse of Simon and Daphne who were standing by the refreshments, and they couldn't stop watching as I elegantly walked down the stairwell.

To my amusement, Prince Friedrich was the first one to approach me, and he held my hand and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of it. “Good evening, my lady. You are by far the most beautiful and hypnotizing center of attraction in this ballroom. May I inquire for your name?”

I concealed the lower half of my face with a fan and smiled with my eyes, captivated by his mannerisms. “I have the luxury of being graced by your presence, your highness. My name is y/n Denbow.” After I've presented myself, Prince Friedrich's face lit up, and he guided me off the the last two steps. “To my ears, your name is like music, and it's perfect for a maiden like you, Miss Denbow.”

His flattery would make any young lady practically beg the Prince for a dance at the ball. Well, if he could ever tear himself away from me, that was. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You make me feel like I've got my head in the clouds. If you keep complimenting her, you will certainly find yourself a maiden to court this evening.” From my comment, I swore he blushed a bright red.

“Ah, hello, Prince Friedrich! Miss Denbow! I see that you have made friends with each other. Y/n, I'm so happy you've arrived safe and sound back in London.” Lady Danbury tapped her cane on the ground twice to emphasize her excitement, and I couldn't have been more relieved to see a familiar face among those whose names I couldn't match.

“I have so much to tell you, Lady Danbury. But not here, especially when I came so late.” I apologized to the Prince and wrapped my arm around Lady Danbury as we walked into a more private area. She furrowed her eyebrows together, but she didn't inquire until we got to the place where we could be alone. “Well, speak to me, y/n. What are you so worried about? And why did you come by yourself?”

I bit my lower lip and exhaled deeply, which all the more displeased Lady Danbury. If I tried to explain my desperate condition to her, she was going to have countless questions, and I knew she would never let Simon live in the humiliation he brought upon himself. “I'm sure you've recently read Lady Whistledown's column, and my relationship with Simon, Lady Danbury, is complicated.”

“Unbeknownst to me, when I was in France, he and Miss Bridgerton declared their engagement. He did not give me a letter or even a note when I returned to London that he had gone ahead with a marriage proposal to a young woman he had never met before. I invited him and the Bridgertons to have a picnic just yesterday. I have never been able to remain quiet forever; you know this, Lady Danbury. He lashed out at me, claiming that if he had known that I would be so self-centered and petty, he would never have gotten to know me.”

She went on a tangent as I predicted about how she raised and trained "the shameless rake" to do better than what he did. During the length of her grievances, I remained silent, then patted her arm softly when she started to run out of words to illustrate the Duke. “Compared to his late father, he's not terrible, but he might just be so after he treated you, y/n, and I apologize on his behalf.”

In disagreement, I shook my head, not acknowledging her apologies because she had nothing to do with that. In the sense of flirting with Prince Friedrich, all I wanted from her was to be an addition to humiliate Simon. “If we succeed, then he'll see the good thing that he lost because he agreed to marry another needy girl.”

This caused Lady Danbury to chuckle at my remark, and I had an inkling that her mood improved just a little bit. “I’ll take part in your schemes, girl. Now, let us return to the ball before we’re asked of our whereabouts.” She winked playfully, then gently pushed me back the way we came from.

Men and women danced to their heart’s content, their veins pumping with champagne and even the possibility that they will be courting after tonight. I see Anthony and Simon quietly bickering where no one could eavesdrop on the conversation, but their secrets weren’t going to be hidden from me. “Lord Bridgerton, I thought you promised me a dance?”

I chimed into the midst of their argument, and Simon’s mouth hung open in shock. He quickly closed it, though, and I bowed to him as acknowledgment for his presence. Anthony gathered the remnants of his dignity before offering a hand for me to take. “My apologies, Miss Denbow. I promise you that never slipped my mind from the moment that I asked.”

After the brief yet nerve wracking encounter with the Duke of Hastings, I’m led to have a dance with the Viscount and my new partner of schemes. I felt everyone’s eyes glued to us, which makes me uncomfortable because of the unwanted attention, but it dissolves when Anthony nudges me to look up at him. That’s when I knew how much I admired the man, and perhaps, there wasn’t any obstacle that we wouldn’t be able to overcome.

I may have lost my first love to Daphne, but I also had the power to pull the necessary strings to get what I wanted. Anthony tightened his grip on my waist then closed the gap between us, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Simon glare at our swaying figures amongst the others. The spectacle made me laugh softly against the Viscount’s shoulder, and his chest rumbled with a quiet laugh of his own.

“I believe that taught him a harsh lesson, don’t you think, Miss Denbow?” Anthony whispered into my ear, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. After clearing my throat, I nodded in agreement. The man wasn’t exactly reputable in every way, but he damn well had my respect. “Yes, it most certainly did, Lord Bridgerton.” I replied, head tilted downwards to avoid eye contact with him.

Once our dance came to an end, I was approached by Prince Friedrich a second time this evening. Young and older women alike flocked around his highness, and I took a small step closer to Anthony in fear that I would be ridiculed by them. Wait, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t be afraid of the people that make their bosoms unnaturally larger than they actually are nor should I be backing away!

“Miss Denbow, may I have this next dance? It’d make me extremely delighted.” Prince Friedrich asked, unknowingly breaking the tension growing between myself and the disappointed women behind him. All I gave him was a smile along with an enthusiastic nod, and Anthony released his arms from around my waist. “I’d love to, your highness. And I could say the same about myself.”

The prince took my hand just when the next song began to play, and we danced as if we were one. If I were being completely honest, he needed a little more practice with his feet, but I was enjoying myself nonetheless. We shared a few words and I kept glancing over our shoulders to see if Simon was keeping an eye on us. In fact, he had been watching the entire time, and Anthony gave me a signal that our plan had succeeded.

I bowed deeply to the prince when our dance came to its regrettable end, and bid him farewell for the rest of the night. Simon appeared out of nowhere then pulled me to an empty area despite my cries of protest. “What do you think you’re doing?! Just because you’re jealous does not give you the right to drag me as you so please, Hastings!”

“Will you keep it down, Y/N?! We both know that I’m not the only jealous one here.” He huffs angrily, and for the first time in a long time, he’s rendered me utterly speechless. No, I won’t play by his rules. Not when there was so much more for me to accomplish. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply fulfilling my role as a maiden who hopes to have a courtship.”

Simon rolled his eyes in disbelief, turning away from me so that I’m only staring at his broad shoulders. I’m beginning to lose my calm composure, and the more I stay alone with him, the less I’ll want to leave. He can’t learn of the nights when I suffered alone in France, and he certainly couldn’t force me to risk my reputation for his sake.

“You’ve changed, Simon.” My voice broke at the end of my sentence, but I continued to speak. “I’m not doing anything for you, so don’t get your hopes up.” He scoffed, not convinced by my words, and turned back to face me. His arms find their way around my body like they used to in the past. The next thing I knew, we’re kissing passionately against the cold marble walls.

He had me mewling his name over and over again, begging for a release that was on his fingertips. Simon muffled my sighs of pleasure with his mouth, and we fixed the bridge that was crumbling between the two of us. When we were satisfied, he muttered apology after apology as he kissed my skin. But we both knew that we run away with the position that he was in.

“I’ll figure it out, so wait for me. Please, Y/N.” “Don’t make me promise you, Simon. I want you to prove to me that I’m the only woman you love.” I kissed his neck and cheek, my heartbeat slowing to its normal pace before I fixed my dress. We’ve both been gone for too long, and I didn’t doubt that I would be questioned of my whereabouts.

Simon understood the weight of my words as well as what we would both face when we left separately. He kissed me one last time, and made his return to the ballroom until I did the same. Thankfully, neither Anthony or Mama asked where I had been, and I could breathe easy again. But now I was even more conflicted than before. I made Simon jealous, which ignited sex and doubt that we would be together after all this time.

Although... if I were to adjust my original plans in order for us to have a wedding and deal with the consequences afterwards, then it shouldn’t be very difficult, would it? Well, we would just need to face the challenges when the time comes, and I was determined to have Simon all to myself again.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #simon basset #reader x simon basset #anthony bridgerton

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slashersins · 4 years

Text

how you met thomas . . .

part three

( part one ) ( part two ) ( part four ) ( part five ) ( part six )

you apologized for the lack of air conditioning in your truck at least seven times now , looking a bit flustered that you couldn’t keep the truck any cooler than the air that came in from the open windows . and each time you repeated the apology thomas just shook his head . but now , after seven times , he was looking at you with a humored look , thinking the slight pout on your face was cute after he’d just told you he was fine . you shot him a quick glance . he raised a brow , almost as if to ask if you were going to apologize again . it made you huff , not at all angry but just the slightest bit of embarrassment.

“ you’re real sassy , aren’t you? ” you teased out , laughing a bit at how thomas’ eyebrows shot up before he grunted and crossed his arms . you only smiled wider at his attitude . “ does your momma know you sass so much ? ” it was thomas’ turn to huff and shake his head , ears red with embarrassment . he was lucky it was so hot that you could confuse it for something else . he didn’t know why he was letting his guard down . he was nervous as hell and calm all at the same time . and he was sassing you . joking with you . even without saying a word and you seemed to be able to read him pretty well .

he glanced back , catching your eyes as you looked to him . you opened your mouth , another apology for the heat on it’s way but stopped when you saw the twitch of a smirk form on tommy’s lips . you huffed , and then laughed , smiling over at tommy as you tried to keep your eyes on the road . “ so sassy . ”

your smile and warmth was contagious . so much so that thomas had a hard time keeping the smallest of smiles off his face . he had a hard time trying to be grumpy . which was strange as he seemed to be grumpy with everything all the time . but you made him nervous , made him relaxed , made him feel warm . like a person . you made him feel . . . normal . and it was so foreign to him .

the sight of an old two story house came into view just over the horizon and thomas tapped on the dash for your attention . “ oh . is that it ? ” a grunt from thomas was your answer . he sat there tense , waiting for you to make a rude comment about how warn down it was . but none came . you didn’t comment on the appearance of the house at all . to you , it was a normal country farm style house . nothing fancy , but nothing bad .

“ is it okay if i just pull up to the front , or is there someplace i should park ? ” he grunted and held up a single finger . the first choice then . “ pulling up front , then . ” thomas grunted again , but his eyes were focused on the house .

he’d need to get out before you . need to make sure hoyt or monty start mouthing off and making threats . momma’s orders had been clear , and thomas would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the smallest bit of protective of you . he didn’t want to jump to conclusions that you were anything more than just a nice person . but it made him warm inside to think of how you treated him . and that was more than enough fuel to make him ready to force hoyt down if he dared to try anything .

the shift in the atmosphere was palpable . thomas was tense , a hard look in his eyes and his jaw seemed to be flexed hard . even his hands seemed to ball into fists . he was worried about something . and you slowed down as you got to the drive . “ tommy ? you okay ? ” the concern in your voice catching thomas’ attention , “ something wrong ? does your hand hurt or something ? ”

he shook his head no , not wanting you to worry too much about his change in mood . he could tell from your look that you wanted to press him for more . but you didn’t , and he was thankful . he wasn’t sure how he was gonna explain that he was just thinking of ways to deal with his family once you got out the truck . not that he could convey any of this to you anyway .

thomas looked back out to the house , giving a slight annoyed sigh when he saw the police car parked out front . worry filled him as you put the truck in park , and he gave you a slight glance , not bothering to wait until the truck was turned off to exit . it’s quick steps to round to your side of the truck . blocking you from view of the windows and door as the sound of hoyt stomping out to the porch filled his ears .

“ the hell you think you’re doin’ ? this is private fucking property - tommy ? that you , you big son of a bitch ? the fuck you doing in a truck ? ” thomas huffed at hoyt’s words , glaring at the side of the truck as you got out . from what was being yelled you got a good feeling as to why thomas was a bit tense the closer you’d come to his home .

“ well , ya big bastard ? you got someone with ya ? ” thomas wasn’t ready to let hoyt see you . he knew how hoyt was . knew the kinds of things he’d say when he got a glance at you . but you didn’t know . and you weren’t liking the way that this man was talking to tommy . so you poked your head around thomas’ bulky body and gave a wave .

“ hi . sorry to intrude . miss luda had me drive tommy back home and - ”

“ ain’t no one ask you . i’m talkin’ to the big bastard , now mind your damn business . ” hoyt didn’t care for politeness already in a pissy mood . but that mood was cut short when thomas walked up and glared down at his brother .

it’s almost like thunder , the rumble that resonates in thomas’ chest as he growls down at the older man . “ the fuck you doin’ boy . ain’t no reason for you to get all up and pissy . you know the way we do things . now get that piece of - ”

another growl , and thomas leaned down snarling . momma had told him to make sure hoyt and monty were put in place around you . and like hell was he going to let hoyt assume that you’d be on the dinner table .

not wanting to cause a dispute , you managed to wiggle yourself between the two men , pressing your back into tommy’s chest to keep him at bay as you gave the older man a nervous smile . “ sorry ! sorry , um , miss luda invited me over for dinner after i helped tommy with his hand . he got it cut on some glass . i don’t mean to be an inconvenience . ”

“ i can go back to stay with miss luda until she closes up shop ? that way you can hear it from her ? i don’t mind driving back and - ”

tommy may have been pushed back and away from hoyt , but that didn’t mean he wasn’t glaring down on the man from behind you . silently threatening him to keep talking bad about you .

“ this shit true , tommy ? ” hoyt sneered at you , eyes going from your face to thomas’ . the curt not he gave , and the raised hand showing his bandaged hand was enough to shut hoyt up . “ fine . they can stay left alone . for now . and don’t go snooping around , ya hear . still private property . i don’t trust that momma’s in her right mind . tommy , you better fucking watch this one . one foot outta line and you know where they’ll end up . ”

you gave a nervous laugh , not sure what the man was talking about , but understanding the want for privacy . after all , you came from a smallish town like this . you could understand some reservations that people might have .

tommy on the other hand was still giving hoyt a firm look . knowing the older man had admitted defeat , even if temporary . not wanting to spend more time than necessary around his relative , tommy moved from behind you and pushed past hoyt , holding the door and gesturing inside the house .

“ it’s nice to meet you , sir . uh , i’ll just go follow tommy . . . nice to meet you , again . ” you gave a nervous laugh , still feeling a bit unwanted as you squeezed passed tommy and into the house . you glanced up at thomas and gave a soft smile , “ well , i guess i know what you were so worried about . but i think it went well . kinda . ”

thomas grunted , rolling his eyes to the sky and sighing . in a fluid moment giving his full opinion on the whole situation and his annoyance at dealing with hoyt . the drama of the look he made had you smiling bright and laughing softly . “okay so it didn’t go well . but it went better than it could have . he might of sent me back to miss luda . or he might of tried to shoot me . so i’ll take it as a win . ”

thomas rolled his eyes again at your poor joke . at least momma would be home soon to talk some sense into hoyt . but for now , tommy was content with playing guard dog and spending time with you .

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher #slashers #slashers x reader #how you met thomas

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slashersins-abandoned · 3 years

Text

how you met thomas

part three .

part one . part two . part four . part five . part six .

“ hi . sorry to intrude . miss luda had me drive tommy back home and - ”

“ i can go back to stay with miss luda until she closes up shop ? that way you can hear it from her ? i don’t mind driving back and - ”

tommy may have been pushed back and away from hoyt , but that didn’t mean he wasn’t glaring down on the man from behind you . silently threatening him to keep talking bad about you .

“ it’s nice to meet you , sir . uh , i’ll just go follow tommy … nice to meet you , again . ” you gave a nervous laugh , still feeling a bit unwanted as you squeezed passed tommy and into the house . you glanced up at thomas and gave a soft smile , “ well , i guess i know what you were so worried about . but i think it went well . kinda . ”

thomas rolled his eyes again at your poor joke . at least momma would be home soon to talk some sense into hoyt . but for now , tommy was content with playing guard dog and spending time with you .

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt imagine #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher #slashers #slasher imagine #slashers imagine #slasher x reader #slashers x reader

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shortmainc · 3 years

Text

Two Steps Behind You

Describe your classmates in one word

Easy enough. Stupid, try-hard, over-achiever, idiot, imbecile, you get the point.

Dazai has never even talked to half of his class in the year that he has attended the academy, and he already knows exactly what kind of person every one of them is.

They are spoiled rich kids, brought up with daddy’s money and nannies. Students are too busy admiring themselves to be good at anything, but everyone still tells them that they’re brilliant, inspiring, talented; what suck-ups.

These people are the future of this world; a bunch of good-for-nothing, idiotic, dependent kids.

Community building activity? Yeah, right. as these kids survey the room, pulling adjectives out of the three brain cells that they have managed to keep alive all these years, they’re thinking the same thing as the brunette who’s sitting in the back of the class.

Freak. Idiot. Worthless.

Everyone in this school, even the teachers, thrives on competition. They get ahead but stepping on those beneath them, and Dazai is at the very bottom.

The brunette leans back, crossing his arms as he pushes his bangs out of his face. He wracks his brain for any positive adjective he can use in this situation that is not too big of a lie.

Does he care about telling the truth? Absolutely not. Does he want to say something too unbelievable and get eaten by the truth sharks the lurk in every corner? Preferably not.

Dazai’s plan for this year is to keep his head down, avoid being the center of attention or being seen and get out of this shitty town as soon as possible.

Of course, nothing ever goes his way.

As he scans the room, his eyes meet wide, green ones that pull him in like an emerald vortex. The owner of these eyes is a tall, blond boy who sits at the front of the room. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks away while Dazai stares.

An adjective to describe him? Beautiful.

His hair drapes over his shoulder so delicately as the boy glances at his watch. The light shines through the windows and cups his face, adding a warm glow to his skin and illuminating light freckles that dot his cheeks. There’s something about that boy, something so warm that makes Dazai’s heart flutter just looking at him.

What is he doing?

Dazai shakes his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He just got out of a relationship, one that ended tragically at that. Besides, a boy is waiting for him in Tokyo, as soon as he figures out how to get there. After he figures out how to get out of town without breaking parole and as soon as he can figure out how to get into one of the most secure facilities in Japan, he can get back to him. Only, before all of that, he needs to learn how to live on his own. How to take care of himself, cook, remember to clean, shower. Everything that his mother, then Odasaku, then Chuuya reminded him to do. He has to do it all by himself now.

"Dazai?" The teacher calls his name, cutting through the silence and bringing unwanted attention to the brunette. "You’re being called down to the office. Please bring your things.”

"Again?" A whisper emerges from the silent class, causing an explosion of other small conversations as Dazai picks up his things.

"That’s the third time this week."

"What do you think he did?"

"I heard he just got out of prison or something."

Whispers follow Dazai as he walks out of the room, head down to avoid eye contact with his nosy classmates as he leaves.

The lights in the nurse’s office are dim, and there is a faint buzzing sound coming from the heater on the opposite wall. The plastic chair that Kunikida sits in is cold compared to his burning skin. His head sits in his trembling hands, blocking out the rest of the world as he struggles to catch his breath.

"Excuse me? I was sent here by the office," Kunikida looks up at a tall brunette who is wrapped in bandages, standing in the doorway.

“Sh-She’s not here right now,” Putting his face back into his hands, the urge to disappear from existence now rapidly increasing with the boy's presence.

“Ok,” The brunette takes a seat a few plastic chairs away from Kunikida and waits silently, observing his shaking classmate. It’s the boy from before.

The one whose beautiful golden freckles are now drowned out by the red in the boy’s face. His glasses sit on top of a notebook in the chair next to him, somehow looking as if they had been thrown down and placed with the greatest care at the same time. The boy’s long hair is now down, draping over his shoulders and hiding part of his face.

Dazai has seen a panic attack before, and he’s experienced them hundreds of times, but he’s not the kind of person to go to for support. Of course, he cares, but emotional support has never come naturally to the brunette, especially when his “line of work” requires that he be so emotionless. However, he has still learned how to deal with them, helping his friends after it’s over and making them feel safe; it’s one of the few kinds of support that Dazai’s good at.

As Kunikida lifts his head, the wave of panic he felt now washing away as he sorts through his thoughts, he’s greeted by the brunette boy offering him a plastic cup of water.

“Thanks,” He takes it with a trembling hand, drinking it quickly as he takes a few deep breaths.

The brunette boy is attractive, in Kunikida’s opinion. His jaw is sharp, and his hair perfectly shapes his face. With some of his hair tucked behind his ear and the occasional, light freckles dotting his face and lead down his chin to his bandaged neck, something that seems unusual to the blond, but it’s not his place to ask.

“Kunikida,” The blond breaks the silence between them, earning him a look of slight confusion from his classmate, “You’re pretty new, right?”

“I’ve been here for a year,” The brunette says, “But I don’t remember seeing you around before. I’m Dazai.”

“Cool.” Kunikida puts his glasses back on before pulling his hair back, brushing out any knots that may have formed with his fingers.

“Are you ok?” The question comes as a surprise to both boys, Kunikida because no one in this school actually cares how and Dazai because if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give them a second thought.

“Yeah, thanks,” Kunikida says, grabbing his notebook, “I should get back to class. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Dazai smiles lightly as the blond walks out.

thanks for reading if you did & i hope you enjoyed! i might make this a little series that i'll update here & (more frequently) my twitter - zai

#bungou stray dogs #kunikida doppo #bungou stray dogs fic #dazai osamu #kunikidazai #bsd kunikida #bsd dazai

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marvelmadam08 · 4 years

Text

Baby Blues 1/?

Summary: Chris and Alex have just brought a bubbly baby boy into the world. Now they have to face the most challenging year of their lives.

Chris Evans x Black Reader, OFC!Alex

Warnings: Childbirth, mentions of death (No actual death), anxiety, swearing, Chris as a new dad FLUFF!

A/N: More of a prologue than anything.

~~~~~~~

“Come on, you got this! Just one more!” Chris encouraged

“I can’t!” Alex cried, she knew it was an ugly cry too. She was covered in sweat, muscles she didn’t know she had ached, and she had used every swear word in the book, including a few Romanian ones she learned from Sebastian “I’m fucking tired. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Yes you can baby girl.” He rubbed down Alex’s back “You’re almost there. You’re doing great.”

Two years of dating, two more of marriage and trying to a baby, nine long months of pregnancy and ten longer hours of labor and Alex and Chris were just a strong push away from meeting their son.

Alex clutched down on Chris’s hand, and took in a huge breath before she pushed again.

“It’s a boy!” The doctor cheered

Chris looked over to see the wailing newborn and broke out in a smile so wide his cheeks hurt.

“He’s beautiful Al.” he kissed her on top of her head “You did it.”

“Is he okay?” Alex panted

“He’s perfect.”

“Would you like to cut the cord, Papa?” the nurse asked Chris while handing him a pair of umbilical cord scissors

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris wiped his tears away with the back of his hand before carefully cutting the cord. Once the baby was whisked away to be cleaned, Chris was back to kissing and praising his wife “You were amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely, he’s beautiful, you’re beautiful.”

“I’m a sweaty mess.”

“So I’ll run around the block a few times, we’ll both be sweaty.”

“Congratulations.” the first nurse returned and lowered the fussing bundle into Alex’s arms

“Oh Chris, look at him.” Alex cooed, the baby began to settle a bit, only fussing when exposed to the cold air of the hospital room “Hi sweetie, I’m your momma. He’s just the most beautiful baby ever.”

“He looks like his mom.” Chris slid on the bed next to her

“Oh please, he looks like you. I don’t know why you’re so against naming him after you, a little Christopher Jamal Evans.”

Chris laughed “I think he looks more like a Levi.”

“We can’t name him after jeans.” Alex pouts

A simple but complicated decision, Alex and Chris went back and forth between names for the last two months. Nothing sounded right to Alex, except for Christopher Evans Jr., and Chris wanted to give the baby his own, independent, name. Or whenever they did come up with a name, the initials would spell something out like “PEE”, “DIE” or “ICE” Now that their baby was here, the choice was even harder than before.

“Benjamin?” Chris tried

“No, Cooper?” Alex scrunched her nose

“Cooper the pooper?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t work either.” Alex sighed “What is your name baby boy?”

Chris watched Alex gently whisper and rock the newborn “How about Alexander?”

“You wanna name him after me?”

“Yeah, why not?” He suggested “You did most of the work anyways.”

She paused “Alexander... Christopher Evans.” The newborn fussed loudly, Alex smiled “I think he likes it.”

“Okay then,” Chris happily agreed “Alexander Christopher Evans, it is.”

“Great name.” The nurse jotted it down “Oh how cute, his initials spell out Ace.”

Chris and Alex laughed as quietly as possible to keep from disturbing the sleeping newborn.

“It’s better than ‘PEE’.” Alex shifted him gently in her arms “You’re turn to hold him.”

Chris cradled his son close to his chest, tears threatening to fall over again. Alex laid back against her pillow and listen to Chris hum ‘Return to Pooh Corner’, a sleepy smile on her face.

“You’re a Dad now, Chris.”

“And you’re a Mom.” He smiled back at her “Get some rest, we’ll be fine.”

Alex didn’t have to be told twice, once she was comfortable enough sleep over took her, but only for about thirty minutes until she had to feed. Chris stepped out to wake up everyone in his contact list and tell them how Alex and the baby were doing.

“My Mom is gonna come by first thing in the morning.” He whispered “And your parents send their love. They’re already demanding pictures and even said they’ll sign a NDA if it makes us happy.”

The two of them had agreed not to post any baby pics until later on. The two of them weren’t comfortable with letting online trolls give their unwanted opinions on their baby. Especially not after they first came out as a couple. Most comments came from vengeful (alleged) Marvel fans that threatened to boycott Chris’ movies if he didn’t break up with Alex. Others came from Alex’s (former) fans that claimed she didn’t belong to the Black community anymore since she was dating Chris. The last thing they needed were those same hateful, comments under any pictures of their son.

“They can get all the pictures they want.” Alex softly stroked the small hairs on her son’s head

“How are you feeling?” Chris asked

Alex sighed “Happy- and a little nervous. He’s so small, and fragile. Is it wrong that I wanna stick him in a protective bubble?”

“Of course not baby girl. I feel the same way.” Chris watched in adoration while his wife rocked their son back to sleep. He couldn’t help the small, negative thoughts that popped into his head.

When Alex first told him that she was pregnant his first negative thought was “What if there’s a miscarriage?”. Even with numerous doctor appointments, research and reassurance from his both his wife and therapist, Chris wasn’t able to shake off that fear until seeing his son in the doctor’s arms. But now he was terrified of doing something wrong. “What if he stops breathing at night?” “What if he’s allergic to the baby food we give him and we don’t catch it?” “Am I gonna accidentally drop him? Forget him the backseat of the car on a hot day?” “What if he gets kidnapped?” Chris couldn’t stop the run away train of disasters in his brain.

Alex touched the crease forming on her husband’s brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think we’re ready for this? Being parents?”

“A bit late to ask that question don’t you think?” Alex hoped her joke would ease Chris’s anxiety “When my mom had me, she relied on her instinct. Then she had my brother, and relied on prior experience. When my brother and his wife had their first kid they relied on the books. And even now, they go on about how much they were blindsided by everything within the first year alone.”

She caressed Chris’s cheek with her free hand. “We got this.”

A soft smile cleared away the frown lines on Chris’s face. The amount of love he had for his wife at this moment couldn’t be put into words. Her ability to find the silver lining in every situation was just one of the reasons Chris fell in love with her in the first place. They pulled each other out of their dark places, comforting each other and erasing any sign of doubt they might’ve had about anything.

He leaned over to give her a soft kiss on the lips “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Alex turned to their, now awake, son. He stared at them with soft brown eyes, his tiny eyebrows scrunched up “And I love you.”

“We both love you, Ace.” Chris tickled his son’s exposed foot

“Ace.” Alex tried out the nickname “Oh no.”

“What?”

“’Ace is the place with the helpful hardware folks’.” she half sang the jingle and giggled

#Chris Evans #Christopher Jamal Evans #black reader #poc #marvel #chris evans x black ofc #Sebastian Stan #Steve Rogers #baby #fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #otp #Dodger Evans #Defending Jacob #andy barber #ransom drysdale #Bucky Barnes

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turtle-paced · 4 years

Text

Revisiting Chapters: Cersei X, AFFC

This post is also available on my wordpress. Masterposts for chapter recaps, including which chapters are in the queue, are on the sidebar.

After a lengthy show-induced hiatus, chapter recaps are back! Let’s see if I can remember how to do this.

The story so far…

After a book of scheming against Margaery, Cersei is finally ready to actually snap this trap closed. On her own foot too, as it turns out.

The Shot

Cersei starts the chapter presiding over what she quite rightly thinks of as a mummer’s farce. Septa Moelle, representative of the High Sparrow, has been summoned to explain the charges against Margaery and her ladies. Charges which we know perfectly well that Cersei arranged for. The dialogue certainly fits the melodrama. I can only imagine that it was all Cersei could do to deliver her lines:

“Innocence? Why, you only need to look upon their sweet young faces to see how innocent they are.”

Cersei put a hand to her breast. “Tell me who is spreading such calumnies about my good-daughter! I do not believe a word of this. My sweet son loves Lady Margaery with all his heart, she could never have been so cruel as to play him false.”

Note that Cersei doesn’t call her Queen Margaery even now. Given that Cersei thinks it’s just hilarious that Margaery suffered an unwanted, unnecessary, penetrative examination of her genitalia (i.e. what we know now as medical rape), I’m honestly not thinking that Cersei’s delivery of these lines was terribly convincing. I’m certainly not convinced that the people who left the room while the charges were read out were all leaving because they were anticipating Tyrell disgrace. That looks to me like they were clearing the blast zone.

Cersei then insists on the “independent” examination of Margaery by Grand Maester Pycelle, who then testifies that Margaery required him to make moon tea for her, more than once. This is a bit of a mystery here, which should be read with Cersei IX. I’ll save analysis of Pycelle’s words for that chapter, but suffice it to say, I think that Pycelle is being honest here, and that he has indeed provided Margaery with moon tea. As readers have already seen with Cersei’s orchestration of Tyrion’s trial, Cersei knows how to include truths in public testimony to make central lies easier to believe.

With this, Cersei closes the court. She sticks around just long enough to hear a lot of hubbub, and then shuts everything down, effectively leaving Margaery’s disgrace uncontested and the last public word on the matter. So she’s already doing great at covering her tracks, here.

For just a few seconds, Cersei thinks she’s done it. Her life’s motivations fulfilled.

Maggy the Frog should be in motley too, for all she knew about the morrow. Cersei prayed the old fraud was screaming down in hell. The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last.

And then the consequences start to kick in.

Unintended Consequences

The first of the warning signs should be the reaction of Cersei’s small council. Harys Swyft is “dazed”. As he tells Cersei,

“When word of this reaches Lord Tyrell, his fury will know no bounds. There will be blood in the streets…”

Cersei dismisses this potential threat out of hand. Specifically, she cites the fact that Mace Tyrell was unwilling to launch a frontal assault on Storm’s End during Robert’s Rebellion as evidence of his cowardice. Which is…wow! Aside from the fact that it’s a bit of a different situation given that the Faith has arrested Mace’s own daughter, something that was decidedly not the case during the Rebellion, the general attitude that sieges are for wimps is pretty telling.

Orton Merryweather seems anxious. He points out how much the smallfolk love Margaery and raises the possibility of riots from their quarter. Aurane Waters is even worse – he immediately suggests that he launch the dromonds. Cersei thinks that he intends to stop Mace Tyrell crossing in force. We see later that Waters was thinking along different lines. He too is clearing the blast zone.

Ultimately, Cersei proceeds with the next step in her cunning plan after telling her small council that she intetnds to go to the Sept of Baelor herself to speak to the High Sparrow and Margaery alike, to plead Margaery’s case (i.e. subtly/“subtly” push for Margaery to be tried by the Faith), she goes to Tommen and has him sign and seal blank arrest warrants for the men accused of having sex with Margaery and/or her cousins. By the time Tommen’s signed them and Cersei’s filled in the names, Ser Osfryd comes to Cersei with bad news – there’s a crowd gathering outside the Sept of Baelor demanding Margaery’s release.

I had not considered how the smallfolk might react to this. Margaery has been their little pet.

Oopsie, I guess. What other word do we have for Cersei inadvertently overlooking the opinions of 99% of the Westerosi population? Cersei proceeds rounding up the men anyway, then proceeding to the Sept of Baelor as planned. En route, she fills Taena and the readers in on the next step. If Margaery is tried, she must be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. Most of them are unavailable or wounded. Basically, Margaery’s options are down to Meryn Trant or Boros Blount, and Cersei has no intention of allowing even Trant to fight on Margaery’s behalf.

When Cersei actually arrives at the Sept, we’ve got some signs that perhaps aren’t as good as Cersei might think. True, there’s no proto-mob in the square, but they’ve been replaced with “a line of novice septons with quarterstaffs in their hands.” Unlike Cersei, I’m a bit dubious about organised and armed being the improvement you want to see in a hostile faction. Even Cersei realises that the High Sparrow’s considering the power balance between them slightly shifted when the High Sparrow makes her wait for him to finish praying before starting their first conversation.

Cersei does at least get permission to talk to Margaery. Read, permission to gloat over Margaery. In miniature, this starts off well enough (for Cersei).

Cersei found Margaery barefoot and shivering, clad in the roughspun shift of a novice sister. Her locks were all a tangle, and her feet were filthy.

But what the reader will soon notice is that despite Cersei’s pretensions, the rest of the world isn’t indulging her sense of superiority. One of the best indications here is this little note on the blocking:

There were no chairs, so Cersei sat beside the little queen on her pallet.

The Sparrows’ choices about furnishings do not allow Cersei to sit over Margaery. And as we’ll soon see, the Sparrows think it’s every bit as acceptable to arrest Cersei as to arrest Margaery. Margaery tells Cersei how the Sparrows have treated her – they took her clothes, they’ve forbidden her visitors, they wake her every hour to demand confession. Cersei’s reaction upon Margaery telling her she’d confessed to wanting to scratch a septa’s eyes out?

A shame you did not do it, Cersei thought. Blinding some poor old septa would certainly persuade the High Sparrow of your guilt.

Margaery’s love for her cousins is apparent as she vents to Cersei (Cersei!) about what’s happened. Her first thought is that her cousins have been arrested to bear witness against Margaery herself. Then Cersei tells her that her cousins have in fact been accused themselves. Margaery’s reaction – paling, telling Cersei that the accusations are obscene – help show even more that Cersei’s own plans are just too much to be plausible. Not everyone thinks like Cersei does. Thankfully.

Cersei delivers the news that there’s going to be a trial and watches Margaery’s genuinely fearful reaction. She wants Loras to defend her, but knowing he’s injured, she then says she wants Garlan as her champion. Here’s a point where it seems House Tyrell is similar to the Lannisters. Margaery’s reaction to being informed that Loras has six brothers (of the Kingsguard) is to respond that Loras has two brothers. Though I’m confident there’s more real and healthy love amongst the Tyrells than the Lannisters, I can’t help but notice that Margaery’s willing to discard the institutional traditions of the Kingsguard (which are there for reasons) when Tyrell interests are at stake. It also shows the lack of trust she has in the Kingsguard in the first place. How’d that come to be, again?

Cersei says no, Margaery will have to be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. But here’s where the conversation gets away from Cersei.

Margaery did not answer at once, but her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.

As soon as Margaery starts speaking again, she reveals that she’s put together Cersei’s entire plan in the space of a minute or two, from that one bit of extra information about the Kingsguard. Then she delivers a memorable verbal smackdown that shows she’s had Cersei’s number the whole time.

Seven hells. Cersei donned a look of hurt. “You wrong me, daughter. All I want -“

“- is your son, all for yourself. He will never have a wife that you don’t hate. And I am not your daughter, thank the gods. Leave me.”

“You are being foolish. I am only here to help you.”

“To help me to my grave. I asked for you to leave. Will you make me call my gaolers and have you dragged away, you vile, scheming, evil bitch?”

While Margaery might not have seen the specifics of the plan coming, she’s definitely nailed Cersei’s motivations for it. Cersei’s got no comeback for that little exchange, to the point where even her internal narration says that she has to gather up her dignity before she leaves. She advises Margaery to pray to the Crone for wisdom and the Mother for mercy, because Margaery may be in need of both.

And on what’s about to be a very ironic note, Cersei departs. Her day is about to go downhill.

The Midden and the Windmill

Literally downhill, as it happens. Cersei doesn’t immediately catch on. She’s escorted by four septas (hey, wasn’t Margaery in the custody of septas?) down past the main hall and into an underground audience chamber (hey, isn’t this suspiciously dungeon-like?).

The High Sparrow starts off by referring to Margaery (correctly) as “the queen.”

She resisted the urge to say, I am the queen.

The principle still applies. If she has to say it, or think it, Cersei might need to consider the extent of her authority.

The High Sparrow continues on, stating his belief that Margaery is guilty, guilty, guilty. He reveals some distinctly anti-choice views in the process. Cersei cries some more crocodile tears and hands over responsibility for the trial to the Faith. The composition of the court is interesting, as the High Sparrow reveals his intention to have three female judges on the panel (maiden, mother and crone). It’s a sound political move from him, given his power base amongst the smallfolk, looking for a broader cross-section of society to judge (never fear, there won’t be any women on the panel who don’t hew to the High Sparrow’s particular take on theology, we’re not going thatbroad). She confirms that Margaery will have to be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. The High Sparrow agrees.

Okay, who else thinks this was too easy? Not Cersei!

With agreement on the trial reached, Cersei says she’ll be taking Ser Osney back to her own custody now.

“No,” said the High Septon.

Another really good moment there. One line. Five words. It looks so un-dramatic, but that flat, firm little no kicks off the more precipitous part of Cersei’s decline. As Cersei says, it’s like a splash of cold water.

The High Sparrow then takes Cersei to where Osney Kettleblack is being held. He’s been tortured. The High Sparrow describes this as seeking after the truth most earnestly. Cersei protests that Osney told the High Sparrow the truth, but unfortunately for Cersei…

“I have heard many men confess, Your Grace, but seldom have I heard a man so pleased to be so guilty.”

…the High Sparrow isn’t stupid. Misogynist and torturer, sure! But not stupid. Cersei did not consider this, either. She did not consider that Osney might be a shite liar. She did not consider that the High Sparrow might find this all a bit fishy. Much less that he’d act on any suspicions. That much is clear when Cersei thinks, he is just a priest, he cannot do this.

In short, Cersei did not expect that her social inferior had a working brain and a working spine.

“Ser Osney,” said the High Sparrow, in a firm, clear voice, “did you have carnal knowledge of the queen?”

“Aye.” The chains rattled softly as Osney twisted in his shackles. “That one there. She’s the queen I fucked, the one sent me to kill the old High Septon.”

The jig is up. That much is clear from the High Sparrow’s staging of this event. He’s not shocked by this confession. He had Cersei brought down here to feel her out. Cersei tries to run, and oh would you look at that, the four older septas who escorted her down to this dungeon are ready to block her way. She manages to get past them, but there even more septas waiting, and they arrest her. Cersei’s denial of her situation is strong, as we see through this passage. First:

The Kettleblacks, I need the Kettleblacks, I will send in Osfryd with the gold cloaks and Osmund with the Kingsguard, Osney will deny it all once they cut him free, and I’ll rid myelf of this High Septon just as I did the other.

Second:

“I am the queen,” she shouted.

Third:

“You cannot do this,” the queen kept screaming at them. “I am a Lannister, unhand me, my brother will kill you, Jaime will slice you open from throat to cunt, unhand me! I am the queen!”

But by then she’s in custody and going through exactly the same treatment Margaery is. Her clothes are stripped from her, the Sparrows are controlling visitors to her, and they’re waking her up every hour to try and procure a confession. Cersei does not take the advice she gave to Margaery. She screams until her throat is raw. She tore the shift she’d been given to replace her clothes into shreds. She smashes the meagre furniture left to her (an ewer of water and her chamberpot). Hell, Cersei even dealt with her arrest by physically assaulting the septas, which Cersei was only a few hours ago thinking would definitely convince the High Sparrow that Margaery was guilty. Her entire attitude is, shall we say, counterproductive.

What can be happening? Cersei wondered, as the thin slice of sky outside her window began to darken once again. Why has no one come to pry me out of here?

[…]

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers.

The reader’s just seen Cersei get caught in her own trap. The reader’s seen Cersei’s callousness, cruelty and paranoia lead to her alienating everyone who could or would have helped her, even as she created and empowered more enemies. But Cersei – Cersei still just doesn’t get it.

This is also apparent as Qyburn is finally allowed in to see Cersei and catch her up on the political developments. Cersei’s first question is about Tommen: “is he still king?” The choice of words is telling – what Cersei probably intends to ask here is is Tommen well every bit as much as whether he’s king. The conflation of Tommen’s status as king with his wellbeing does show us a bit about what Cersei considers wellbeing.

Qyburn has sent the Blue Bard (the first of Margaery’s accusers) over to the High Sparrow, as requested, so Cersei’s ill-conceived plan is still barrelling along. Just with a few external changes. Like Cersei being tried just as Margaery is – but for things the reader knows she is actually guilty of. So how’s she getting out of this? The goldcloaks?

“Osfryd Kettleblack no longer commands the City Watch. The king has removed him from office…”

How’d that happen?

“The boy is not to blame. When his council puts a decree in front of him, he signs his name and stamps it with his seal.”

You’d think training an eight-year-old possessed of supreme executive power to treat signing official documents as fun times with sealing wax was a bad idea or something. Hang on a second, though, the council?

“My council…who? […]”

“Alas, I have been dismissed. […] The realm is being ruled by Ser Harys Swyft and Grand Maester Pycelle. They have dispatched a raven to Casterly Rock, inviting your uncle to return to court and assume the regency.”

Oh, that’s right, Kevan was justifiably pissed at Cersei for how she abused Lancel, right! What about Mace?

“Mace Tyrell has abandoned his siege of Storm’s End and is marching back to the city with his army, and Randyll Tarly is reported on his way down from Maidenpool as well.”

Guess Cersei was wrong about that too. Who else on the council?

“Merryweather has resigned his seat on the council and fled back to Longtable.”

Not ideal, but at least Taena’s alive and not in Sparrow custody. Now if she could just get those ships –

“As soon as word of Your Grace’s present troubles reached the river, Lord Waters raised sails, unshipped his oars, and took his fleet to sea.”

Gods damn it!

“Hope remains. Your Grace has the right to prove your innocence by battle. My queen, your champion stands ready.”

[…] “The gods make japes of all our hopes and plans. I have a champion no man can defeat, but I am forbidden to make use of him. I am the queen, Qyburn. My honour can only be defended by a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard.”

She has Frankengregor, but Frankengregor is not a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Just the dilemma she was hoping to catch Margaery in.

This conversation is a blunt instrument. Its purpose is to sock the reader with a concentrated reminder of every way in which Cersei has fucked this one right up. Sock the reader, because Cersei’s sure not getting it. But she finishes off with the thing she’s been failing to get since the end of ASoS. She begs Qyburn to write Jaime, telling him to drop everything and come to her side.

She had to reach him. “He will come. He must. Jaime is my only hope.”

“My queen,” said Qyburn, “have you…forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose…”

We will leave this world together, as we once came into it.

“He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake.”

The readers have the advantage on Cersei here in that they’ve seen Jaime’s PoV. They’ve had the other perspective of their break-up and can see how Cersei’s actions contributed to said break-up. They’ve been reading Jaime’s questioning of their entire relationship. They’ve seen his raw anger at Cersei. In the very next chapter we’ll see Jaime read the plea Cersei sends here and order it burned. The reader knows already, as Cersei does not, that Cersei cannot rely on her brother’s love for her.

Just like the readers know about the valonqar prophecy.

Chapter Function

Big plot chapter, this one! Both in the scheme of the book and the scheme of the series. Politically, we’re seeing the disintegration of leadership in King’s Landing. Cersei’s basically imploded the LannisTyrell alliance. Mace is bringing an army to King’s Landing to use against the Faith of the Seven. Qyburn’s got Frankengregor combat-ready. This climax topples Cersei and sets conditions for what seems likely to be the complete toppling of the Lannisters and Tyrells in TWoW, following bloody chaos in the city.

Series-wide, this is a big moment for Cersei. Her previous chapters this book have been setup for this, the main action of her downfall (part one), the climax of her AFFC arc – all as the unintended side effects of her own actions. She succeeded in having the crown’s debt to the Faith cleared, but. She succeeded in having Margaery arrested, but. After nine chapters of Cersei’s very good ideas, here in chapter ten everything culminates in a way so that nobody can reasonably say that this was not Cersei’s fault. It leaves off on Cersei’s absolute, but probably just as mistaken, belief that Jaime will not fail her.

But at the same time, it’s important to recall that as cruel and horrible as Cersei is, there is still a tragic aspect to this self-fulfilling prophecy.

[Tommen] seemed surprised when Cersei gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his brow. “What’s that for, Mother? Why are you crying?”

Because you’re safe, she wanted to tell him. Because no harm will ever come to you. “You are mistaken. A lion never cries.”

This prophecy didn’t just foretell Cersei’s own death, but the deaths of her children as well. The self-fulfilling nature of this prophecy is going to lead Cersei herself into creating the circumstances that kill her children, even if she herself only realises this too late. It’s definitely something worth remembering in the context of Tyrion’s chilling ACoK threat:

“I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You’ve ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don’t know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is paid.”

– Tyrion XII, ACoK

In-universe, you’d think this would also provide further fuel for Cersei’s paranoid fire and conviction that Tyrion is responsible for her misfortunes.

Overall, though, what we see here in Cersei X is the beginning of the end for Cersei and her (so-far) surviving children, and it’s Cersei’s own doing.

Miscellany

When Taena Merryweather compliments Cersei on her Margaery-humbling skills, Cersei tells Taena that any mother would do the same to protect her children. Then Taena immediately dodges Cersei’s request for Taena to bring her son to court. Perhaps this might tell Cersei something regarding Taena’s true beliefs as to Cersei’s ability to win out!

…nah. It’s probably nothing.

It’s always worth keeping track of how Cersei refers to other women in her internal narration. You hardly ever see her using even neutral descriptors. Margaery’s always the “little” queen, of course. Here when Cersei incidentally interacts with a lot of anonymous background septas, they’re “crones” or “shrivelled” or “feeble” or “sour.” Or some combination of similar.

When Cersei’s taken to the underground audience chamber, she actually takes note of the the carvings of the Seven on the walls, which she describes as ugly but somehow compelling. It’’s not often we see any sort of depictions of the Seven described as packing an emotional punch, but these successfully induce an “eyes of Notre Dame” moment in Cersei Lannister.

Clothing Porn

Cersei wears green silk and golden lace, with lots and lots of emerald jewelry, to hear the first charges against Margaery. It’s not the first time Cersei’s worn green in the series, because it matches her eyes, but interesting call with the Tyrell colours there.

To meet the High Sparrow, Cersei wears a brown woolen dress that covers her “throat to ankle,” with “only a few small vines embroidered on the bodice and the sleeves in golden thread.” We also hear that Margaery was stripped of a gown made of ivory lace with pearls on the bodice.

Food Porn

Fine dining Sparrow style consists of “thin grey gruel” for breakfast and later bread and fish.

Next Three Chapters

Alayne I, AFFC – The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD – Brienne VIII, AFFC

#ASoIaF #revisiting chapters #cw: rape #cw: violence #cersei lannister #the high sparrow #margaery tyrell #qyburn

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milf-lover42 · 4 years

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Bellatrix and Azula are the same character, change my mind

As most people can tell, Bellatrix Lestrange is my all time favorite character. I might get new favorites every time I watch a new show, and they all share a general similarity (let’s face it… I have a type, and if you’re reading this here on tumblr dot com… you do too, don’t lie). However, no character has ever come close to beating Bellatrix for top spot. And then I watched A:TLA for the first time a few weeks ago. I didn’t watch it as a kid, I was just young enough (2003 babeyy) that I wasn’t watching tv when it was on. Azula is obviously my favorite from this show, and is also the only character to ever come close to Bellatrix’ spot in my heart. But thinking about this and all the headcanons that people have made for the Black family dynamic… it seems like a pretty straightforward connection. Azula is essentially just a young Bellatrix.

Almost all of these Black family headcanons have been taken from fanfictions I have read over the years, and so the credit goes to their respective authors. Many overlap so I cannot pinpoint each author to each one, and it has been a while since reading some of them. Most notable of these would be Glass Silence by Zarrene Moss. There are many more fantastic stories I have drawn from but I couldn’t remember every fanfiction I’ve read to pick out each detail. For all the Azula stuff, I am drawing from Hello Future Me’s video on Youtube “The Psychology of Azula | Avatar: The Last Airbender”. If you want to spend an hour watching that I highly recommend it. Basically none of this is mine, I’m just using the headcanons and research of others to tie Bellatrix to Azula.

Let’s start with their family dynamics. Bellatrix is the oldest of the Black sisters, and has no brother. Although not stated in canon, (because apparently she’s too minor a character to deserve a backstory) it is presumed that all the duties of a male heir fell to her in a way. Marry young and marry a rich pureblood, carry on the family name and power, and secure a high social standing. Pureblood society is extremely archaic, if the treatment of muggle-borns is anything to go by, so we can safely assume that they are a very patriarchal society. Cygnus and Druella Black almost certainly wanted a son to carry on their name, especially given Walburga and Orion had both Sirius and Regulus. We can also assume that they weren’t exactly the kindest parents. At best, Druella was a silent wife subjected to abuse from her husband and ultimately was unable to keep her children safe; at worst she actively joined Cygnus in abusing their children. Each of the sisters have a unique way of dealing with this.

Andromeda handled it by running away, completely rebelling. She fell in love with Ted Tonks, a muggle-born. I doubt this in itself was an act of rebellion, I think she simply realized how stupid blood supremacy was after speaking to him. Once she fell in love it’s clear she wanted to break away from her family so that she could marry him. Clearly her parents knew, and it’s likely she told them herself. Given Ted was a muggleborn I can’t imagine her parents reacting with a simple, “No he is beneath you, we forbid it.” They probably acted harshly in an attempt to make it stick in her head that the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black would not associate with m*dbloods. Either she ran away or was kicked out, but either way she stayed with Ted and didn’t listen to her parents.

Narcissa shut off and blocked all her emotions. Obviously as an adult she actively practices the same beliefs her parents did, but as a teenager I don’t see this as being who she was. As an adult she is very cold and unemotional. The only person she truly cares about is her son, Draco. She cares about Bella still, she just doesn’t show it because she wasn’t allowed to as a child. As for her feelings toward Lucius... it is unclear. Depending on where you stand, she either could have been forced into a marriage with him, or they were in love as teenagers and got lucky enough that their parents arranged for them to marry each other. My personal opinion is they were forced. I think Lucius was supposed to be married to Andy but when she ran away, the Blacks had to hold up their end of the deal with the Malfoy’s and so Narcissa was married off to him. She embodies the whole “Ice Queen” personality. In order to cope with the trauma and her unwanted marriage, she just blocked all emotion to keep herself sane, only showing it for Draco.

And then we come to Bellatrix. Bellatrix, who had too many expectations to live up to, so many roles to fill, and no positive reinforcement from parents who just abused her if she messed up. She felt everything. She was the oldest and cared greatly for her younger sisters, and probably did her best to take any of the abuse that was going to be given to Narcissa or Andromeda. She used herself as their shield because they were the most important thing to her. Even after joining Voldemort and going insane she makes it very clear how she feels about Narcissa. Bellatrix would follow Voldemort's orders to the ends of the Earth, but the second she is asked to trust Snape, she says that Voldemort has made an error in judgement. Cissa wants to go to him and ask him to keep Draco safe, but Bellatrix advises against this. Only when her sister is in potential danger does Bellatrix doubt her master. Even at the height of her insanity her sister is the most important thing to her. We can assume as a child she felt the same for Andy. In fact in my opinion she never really stopped caring about her until Azkaban, I think she pretended to hate her when she came out about Ted Tonks, but only did so so that Andy would run away and live her life with the man she loved. She was safer away from their parents anyway. It didn’t matter if Bellatrix thought negatively about muggle-borns; she just wanted her sister to be safe. After going insane however, she truly seems to hate Ted for being a muggle-born, and she kills their half-blood daughter Nymphadora.

In order to cope with the trauma of her childhood Bellatrix used all of those emotions as fuel for her magic. She is an incredibly powerful witch and is massively intelligent (although why she didn’t just use Legilimens on the Golden Trio will baffle me forever… it would have been so simple…). However because of this coping mechanism, she is driven insane. It’s not instant, in fact it probably took years (probably that stint in Azkaban, lads) for the insanity to fully develop and take hold. All of that exposure to Dementors would have forced her to relive the trauma of her childhood over and over, while taking away the happy memories of her sisters.

Bellatrix was given a support system to break away from her family. Now it’s not a good or healthy one, but it is one nonetheless. After being treated so poorly by her parents, and forced into a marriage with Rodolphus, she needed freedom. When Tom Riddle comes along and praises her skill and offers her a spot as his best lieutenant? Of course she’s going to take that. Finally some recognition, and a good amount of safety. Not to mention missions and tasks given to her and others to her husband that mean she doesn’t have to be around him. Bellatrix was mistreated by her father and mother, but probably always wanted her father’s recognition. Her mother probably preferred Narcissa because she could be groomed into the perfect pureblood wife. Bellatrix latched onto Voldemort to gain recognition, praise, and power. But I can imagine as a teenager, having a complete breakdown at least once, especially after being told she’d be married off to Rodolphus. Demolishing her room with magic, windows breaking, personal items being thrown either by hand or by magic, and screaming and crying at the end. Very similar to Azula’s breakdown in her final scene.

Now we come to Princess Azula. She has an older brother, Zuko, but is always given the limelight. She receives a ceremonial headpiece that she is always seen wearing, but Zuko does not. He might be the boy, but he isn’t expected to take the crown. Azula is even named after her grandfather Azulon, who was Firelord. She was always expected to be the next Firelord over Zuko. Her future was never her own. She is a firebending prodigy, always showing off her skills, whereas Zuko falls behind. She is favored by her father Ozai for sure, but she is never truly praised. She is simply a means to an end to him. She was always expected to be the best. Although it isn’t shown in the TV series, in the A:TLA comics Ursa and Ozia’s relationship is depicted as abusive. He cuts her off from her family saying that he is all she will need.

There are theories as to whether or not Azula has a Machievellian personality type, or ASPD or NPD that could have been a root cause of her diminishing sanity, and after looking into those they seem very plausible. She lacks empathy, she emotionally manipulates everyone, and she has a messed up sense of right and wrong. Altruism just doesn’t make sense to her, and emotions are not genuine, simply stories made to get your way. Ursa rewards empathy, love and trust, which is why she clearly favors Zuko. But Ozai rewards power, cunning, and loyalty. They are complete opposites so it is not possible to please both of them. If she has any of these mental disorders it would be impossible to please her mother, so she focused on making her father proud. But Ozai never really shows any level of praise towards her, so she constantly tries to better herself. If she isn’t perfect, she’s failed.

At the end of A:TLA, Ozai forces her to stay behind in the Fire Nation. He says it’s because they need a Firelord because he will be leaving. Azula is disappointed to not partake in the final battle, but it’s what her father wants, so she obeys. However, he only leaves her so that he can become the supreme leader of everyone, or “Phoenix King”. Azula doesn’t really get a promotion, just a fancy name. In the finale, she is shown as her mental state quickly deteriorates. Her perfect image is gone, her hair is not up, her makeup undone, and she is paranoid that everyone is out to get her. This is the beginning of her breakdown. When she is unable to put her hair up by herself, she cuts her bangs. Her hair is all of a sudden asymmetrical, which is unheard of. She then starts to hallucinate. By the time she fights Zuko and Katara she is extremely unstable, and the fact that she can actually still bend is incredible, because it requires control of your emotions. She instead manages to use her emotions to fuel her bending. At the end when she is defeated, she finally breaks. Her bending is out of control, and she is left screaming and crying.

Azula never had anyone take her under their wing and give her the recognition she craved. Zuko had Iroh. Bellatrix had Voldemort. If Azula had been introduced to someone like Voldemort she would have gone down the same path as Bellatrix. Likewise, if Bellatrix hadn’t been introduced to Voldemort she would have ended up broken just like Azula. Their stories aren’t identical obviously, but there are some strong parallels that place them together, so I can see them as the same person with different outcomes to their story.

Does this stupidly long character analysis have any significant purpose? Nah, not at all. But like… I’m clearly right so… yeah.

#bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #azula #princess azula #azula deserved better #A:TLA #A:TLA azula #bellatrix black lestrange #druella black #cygnus black #narcissa malfoy #andromeda tonks #guys im not crazy i swear #i just feel passionately about these characters #bellamione

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seyaryminamoto · 3 years

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Masterpost: answering a single anon in a single post

So. I wasn’t going to answer asks today but frankly, considering what I should be writing I’d rather answer asks, might actually get a laugh out of it. Most of all, because of what I intend to answer here.

To spare y’all from the pain and annoyance of having to read through any of my answers to we-know-who, I’m going to do it differently this time. All in one post. Because frankly, filling my blog with their TWENTY asks, no less (and it’s official this time, used to be sixteen but then I reblogged that post about conflict in stories and they went wild, as usual) isn’t worth anyone’s time. Hell, it’s not even worth mine, but procrastination is overpowering.

Here we go. If you’re not the anon in question and still want to read this, I hope you have fun.

This is a free world. That means multiple things some people can’t seem to accept. One such thing is that people have no obligation to even interact with each other, let alone to do what others demand of them, especially when they don’t want to. The fact is, being harassed (because, yes, there’s no other word for it) by someone has been a pretty irritating and stressful thing for me, to the point where it has impacted my ability to write...

And the harasser doesn’t give a single fuck about it and just keeps going :’)

With such introduction, I decide to engage my least favorite person in this site once again because clearly, ignoring them, blocking them, closing asks, deleting and rewriting reviews, is still not enough to get across the message that reiterating an opinion a million times doesn’t automatically make it more valid. So let’s see just what’s going on with this very much desperate person who apparently can’t stop seeking my attention:

First of all, I asked this person, point-blank, to address their asks, if they would continue sending them, to my main blog. Let’s see how that request turned out:

Oh my, astonishing! They sent it to Gladiator’s blog instead! And what a bigger shock: they’re, as usual, trying to control and direct what I write and how I write it. While sprinkling empty compliments that don’t mean a thing, such as claiming RESPECT for me and my work when every single ask they’ve sent is an outright disrespectful act against me, considering how many times I’ve requested, directly, that they stop this, and how many times they’ve ignored me. It even is extra poignant considering my request for them to send asks to my main blog instead, and yet they deliberately sent it to Gladiator’s blog. This is what RESPECT looks like, in this anon’s head. Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?

And then comes the mad onslaught that left me facedesking for days:

... I mean. Can someone please read this and tell me the person on the other side, with their vague condition, whatever it may be, has any idea what an apology even MEANS?

For someone who’s so obsessed with alleged consistency, you’re damn bad at it yourself, Anon. You can’t send four asks in a row, to the WRONG BLOG, demanding for explanations you don’t even care to read, because every single time I’ve taken your whining seriously you’ve disregarded all my responses and gone right back to the same BS as before, and THEN pretend you’re here TO APOLOGIZE.

You don’t feel any remorse. To this day, you don’t even KNOW what you did wrong. This is NOT expressing yourself: THIS IS HARASSMENT. Need me to define the word for you to understand what it means, seeing as it’s becoming abundantly clear your reading and interpretation skills are not the greatest?

Definitions of harassment:

1. (n) the act of tormenting by continued persistent attacks and criticism 2. (n) a feeling of intense annoyance caused by being tormented

I’ve said it before: PEOPLE HAVE HAD COMPLAINTS ABOUT THIS STORY, FAR MORE VALID THAN YOURS, AND I’VE NEVER REACTED THIS WAY. Care to guess why?

Because you NEVER stop. Because you keep going, constantly, never slowing down to think YOUR behavior is affecting a REAL LIFE HUMAN BEING. You’re obsessing over what happens in a fictional story that, by the way, is a fanfic, ergo, it obeys certain rules that general fiction does not. Among such rules is abiding by ORIGINAL characterization to a certain extent, and that means, hahaha, that Azula ISN’T an experienced character in any social or romantic situations because she ISN’T in canon, and there was no reason to change that, especially considering the worldbuilding I crafted, which makes it CRUCIAL for Azula to be careful with her virtue, despite she doesn’t want to be and realizes the whole notion of female virginal purity is absolute BULLSHIT.

But why am I explaining anything anyway? You won’t understand it, because you don’t want to. You claim, constantly, that you’re asking things OUT OF CURIOSITY, as if that makes ANYTHING better, when the truth is you’re just here to impose your cursed opinions on everyone else, especially me, and pretend you somehow own this fic and ship and your demands mean more than anyone else’s. Meanwhile, oh, I understand you PERFECTLY: you don’t want Sokka to ever have any experiences with any other women because you only believe in pure, untainted love of virgins who wait for each other and don’t ever make mistakes or are forced into unwanted situations. Because, again, you can’t understand that those sorts of things CAN happen. Because you don’t see there’s nuance to human beings, nuance I attempt to capture through my characters too.

I said it semi-jokingly, back in my past answers, now I say it directly: IF YOU CAN’T STOMACH THESE SITUATIONS AND CAN’T ACCEPT THEM, THIS STORY IS NOT FOR YOU.

An M-rated story doesn’t owe you any apologies for being what it is. An M-rated story, at the end of the day, is a STORY. You are a human being who should be capable of controlling not only your impulses but your reactions to things, at least to some degree, and yet you refuse to. You, in fact, continue to prove you CAN’T control yourself in the least because hey, just now, halfway through writing this post? I got THREE MORE ASKS by you. No less than three. And you finished them off, again, with a pretense that you’re going to stop pestering me...

... But hey. You said that at the end of the last ask I pasted up there. Hmm. And yet...

You came back, over and over and over again? :’)

RIGHT ON ALL ACCOUNTS! So... how do TWENTY ASKS, after claims that you’d finally stop, count as “regret”? You’re not changing at all, anon, because YOU DON’T WANT TO. You don’t, to this day, see what you did wrong. You don’t get it. And you won’t get it. So how about we just keep going with the next four?

Oh! But hey, you actually switched blogs this time. Super sweet of you to finally listen to ONE thing I said. Very nice.

I’ll just point out: I received the last NINE asks I’ve pasted here in a SINGLE DAY.

Nine. In one day.

I only ever got that many asks in a single go during review parties (admittedly, there were more than that, but still). The fact that you felt the need to send me NINE ASKS, to beg for forgiveness with a completely dishonest apology, is all the proof of harassment anyone could possibly ask for, right? If you weren’t an anon and at least had the GUTS to own up to your opinions, which you seem to consider absolutely sacred and completely correct, you’d have never gotten away with this. Ergo why you don’t have those guts, and why you keep sending anon reviews and asks too.

The fact that you’re so obsessed with this problem, to the point of believing Sokka’s best sex was with JUNE? We’ve literally finished an entire arc of Sokka and Azula banging across the Fire Nation with no restraint, with the two of them repeatedly remarking this is the best time they’ve ever had, and you’re so completely obsessed with this problem that you apparently think Sokka angrily fucking someone WHILE DECEIVING HIMSELF INTO THINKING IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE is... better? Are you FOR REAL? Are you seriously THAT BAD at reading?

Please, click here. I can’t even stand it anymore. It’s not even for my own sake but yours. You need it.

Also... you’re projecting so bad. Like, so bad. June’s teasing in that chapter is 100% intended to piss them off. The fact that she starts asking for Azula to lend her her “second boyfriend”, AKA Rui Shi, should tell you just how much stock June puts in what happened between her and Sokka: SHE DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN. She’s honestly more entertained by pissing off Azula as a consequence of it than over the sex she had with Sokka, especially considering she even lost her temper with him after he started apologizing in 28. You’re so completely beside yourself you can’t see ANYTHING clearly?

If you REALLY need it spelled out, no, Sokka wasn’t June’s best sex. June has probably done anyone and everyone she ever wanted to, and chances are she absolutely found someone, or several someones, who actually wanted HER, for HER, just as much as she may have wanted them. And that, you insecure mess of a human being, would absolutely make for a much better lay than what she got with Sokka. Why don’t I outright state this in the story, you’ll ask? Because despite what you may believe, this story ISN’T a love triangle between Azula, Sokka and June! Oh my, the horror! We’ve literally spent 198 chapters building up the story and developing Azula and Sokka’s relationship but the ONE TIME encounter with June apparently makes her that pivotal for your whole existence?

Dude, I literally don’t look at 28 AT ALL these days, because I don’t care to. Because even when I wrote it, it hurt me so bad having written it that I was crazy about getting to everything else so I could put it behind me. Whenever I reference it, I do the same way I reference ANYTHING ELSE. The only person who seems to think I’m doing it to further torture anyone IS YOU.

And yes, did I just say it hurt me too? Oh, my, what a SHOCKER! The fact is, that scene is only as intense as it is because I literally couldn’t bring myself to write it. It wasn’t until it came to mind that Sokka COULD imagine Azula in June’s place that I finally found the way to do it: it wasn’t just Sokka imagining Azula instead, it was ME. Because if it had been anything else? I wouldn’t have been able to write it at all. I basically wrote it as hatesex Sokkla because I NEEDED to in order to write it. “THEN WHY DID YOU EVEN WRITE IT?!?!?”, you’ll scream, I’m sure: BECAUSE I TREAT MY CHARACTERS AS HUMAN BEINGS WHO MAKE MISTAKES AND DO THINGS THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE. BECAUSE SOKKA WAS IN A DARK PLACE AND DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT AZULA WAS FEELING OR THINKING. BECAUSE AZULA WAS IMPULSIVE AND CONTROLLING AND COULDN’T REALIZE THAT THE MORE SHE TRIED TO FORCE SOKKA TO BEND TO HER WILL, THE MORE HE WOULD TRY TO BREAK FREE.

But all this is clearly too complex for you. Can’t even fathom understanding anything remotely close to characterization and conflict within relationships, no. You’re something else entirely.

And so, we move on to the post-apology Anon: you DO realize that forgiveness is something earned? I mean, it’s kinda funny because Sokka actually earned his own. He spent ages working for it, and even AFTER Azula told him he was forgiven, he still feels so bad about having hurt her that, to this day, he regrets it. Being FORGIVEN was not a condition for him to feel remorse. He regretted his actions because HE KNEW THEY WERE WRONG. Because he’s an actual, decent human being who, when faced with a catastrophic mistake, actually wants to amend it and wishes he had acted differently despite he can’t take anything back anymore.

But you? You can’t even begin to understand what regret means. I guess another dictionary definition would help?

Definitions of regret

1. (v) feel remorse for; feel sorry for; be contrite about

2. (v) feel sad about the loss or absence of

3. (v) express with regret

4. (v) decline formally or politely

5. (n) sadness associated with some wrong done or some disappointment

So, your attempts to beg for forgiveness fall completely flat. And I say it in plural, ATTEMPTS, because in case you think I’m daft and forgot your old reviews and asks, I didn’t: THIS ISN’T YOUR FIRST ATTEMPT TO APOLOGIZE FOR THIS BULLSHIT. I thought I should clarify that, because heh, you have claimed you won’t come back, you have claimed you’re sorry, you have said many platitudes in the past that actually had no meaning... and I could tell they didn’t, which is why I never answered them. Because there was no way someone who had exhibited such obsessive behavior would actually control themselves and get over their issues after MONTHS of persistent harassment.

And so, you didn’t disappoint, because I had zero expectations that you’d actually abide by your apologies. Empty apologies, again, because to this moment you don’t even know what you did wrong. You don’t get it. To put it in the way I did for someone else who talked to me about this mess:

You could be complaining to me about something else entirely. You could be here, demanding that I explain why I’ve been writing Sokka killing people, for instance. You could be disregarding all sense, reason, historical precedents and what-have-you as to why a warmongering, canonically genocidal nation like the Fire Nation would ever have a system like the Gladiator League and enslave other cultures to do their bidding.

And if you came back with those complaints PERSISTENTLY, FOR A YEAR, I’D BE JUST AS ANGRY AS I AM NOW.

It’s NOT about the situation you’re throwing a fit over. It’s NOT about me having it out for you. It’s about YOU not knowing limits or boundaries, going as far as you constantly, consistently have, ever seeking to twist my story into whatever warped, fucked up perception you’ve developed over it, without ever slowing down to think that your actions and your behavior are affecting someone else. I’m not just a rambling robot who can’t seem to stop talking or writing or whatever you may think I am: I’m an actual person with a FUCKLOAD of problems, who literally just had the WORST year of her life, and you just decided to continue adding to the pile, never slowing down to consider that your feelings, and your opinions, and your pain, does NOT invalidate other people’s, let alone does it make you EXEMPT of hurting others. Which, heh, if you knew how to read, you could’ve even LEARNED this from Gladiator! :’D

Because Azula, so hurt as she was, took to hurting Sokka too, in many, many ways. And Sokka, once he understood how wrongly he had judged Azula, simply let her hurt him because he thought he deserved everything she threw at him. Later on? Azula realizes all the pain she caused Sokka COULD have led him to choose the White Lotus over her. She’s in a life-or-death situation, unable to fight back, and the ONLY reason she doesn’t get screwed over and captured by the enemy is because Sokka decides she matters more to him than joining forces with sketchy people who are out for revenge. But what if she’d hurt him more than she had? What if she’d done WORSE than she did? Maybe he would’ve been so hurt too that, at this point, he would’ve chosen the White Lotus and not only abandoned her but handed her over to her nation’s enemies! :’) oh, the horror. Is it really that unthinkable? Why, it’s not to me. And why not? Because if Azula had been as unforgiving and unyielding as you are, if she had been so obsessive over whatever caused her pain and refused to move on... this story would SUCK. BADLY.

Makes you wonder what that says about your mentality, doesn’t it?

Alas, after all this digression as to why your behavior is absolutely appalling to me, let’s see what you did indeed, right after your absolutely shallow apology that was obviously not sincere, because you don’t regret having bothered me at all, you just regret that I won’t abide by your whining...

Is THIS what an apologetic, remorseful person looks like? Really, now? Honestly, if Sokka were half as bad as you are, he would’ve slept with half the Fire Nation by now while constantly coming back to Azula like “Oh woops did it again, sorry!”

Yes, I can honestly make the link pretty easily. Must be why you keep assuming he’ll ever be with someone else, because if you were in his place, you would do exactly that :’) beautiful how things just come full circle, isn’t it?

That ask came as a response to another, potentially ill-intended one, potentially sent by you too. An ask I answered with a whole list of unique things Sokka has done for Azula. Not only did you NOT understand the list’s purpose despite you may have even been the one to ask for it... but you took a line directly referencing OBVIOUS events like chapters 64, 69 and 93, moments in which Azula either put a stop to opportunities where she and Sokka might have ended up going too far, and he accepted it without complaint... or Sokka himself put a stop to them, KNOWING that Azula would be taking a huge risk if she gave herself to him completely as she does from 97 onwards. That you literally took something that was SO VERY OBVIOUS, and twisted it into chapter 28 again speaks LENGTHS of how absolutely messed up your perception and interpretation of this whole story is. You have issues. Serious issues. And I’m not saying this just to be an ass, I’m saying it because it’s clear as day that if you CAN’T stop linking absolutely everything I say or do to chapter 28, whether it’s being referenced or not (and in this case, it was NOT), the problem isn’t me, IT’S YOU.

And here we go again. You are actually trying to POLICE the Sokkla fandom at this point? An ANON? And hey, you returned to the Gladiator blog! Which means you were so pissed that I didn’t answer your previous asks and your phony apology because I KNEW you’d come back that even your teeny, tiny behavioral correction was pulled back because you were MAD. And you HAD TO MAKE YOUR OPINIONS KNOWN, AGAIN.

Do tell, are you the same ass who harassed a pretty new friend I’ve made in this fandom? An honestly solid writer who happens to feature Sokka having other, prior relationships to Azula because, haha, if you work with CANON settings, that’s basically guaranteed since Sokka already has canon relationships before even knowing Azula exists? And then, even if in those experiences Sokka ends up going “... I bet it’d be better with Azula”, you STILL take this as a slight and you consider it a reason to go around harassing writers and potentially even THREATENING to report their content because you’re mad that Sokka isn’t exclusively Azula’s in every single story you pick up?

The worst part is, I actually wrote at least 2 stories in my Saturdays’ oneshots where Azula and Sokka are each other’s first everything, absolutely so. And I got nothing from you for it, not even a teeny tiny “HEY THANK YOU YOU FINALLY WROTE WHAT I WANTED TO SEE!”. No, you only come out of your hole to ATTACK writers. To tell us what to do when you think we’re not doing it right. As if you had the SLIGHTEST right to tell ANYONE what to do.

I literally have been here for EIGHT YEARS. I’ve been creating content for this ship for that long, when nobody else was anymore. I won’t take credit for the ship’s rise in popularity, despite yes, it’s far from a major ship no matter how far we’ve come... but my story didn’t reach the heights it has out of sheer dumb luck. I worked my ass off with Gladiator in every way I could to make it a story of the scope and depth it deserved to be, and the fact that people who didn’t even ship Sokkla were interested in reading the story all the same has always been something I take pride on. A ton of multishippers read this story, and support Sokkla too: neither you nor ANYONE has any right to demand or claim or pretend that someone else has no right to be part of this fandom or to set guidelines as to what their content should be. There’s LITERAL stories out there of Sokka having a goddamn HAREM, just so you know, with Azula included amongst the women involved in it... and you’re here, throwing a fit over people featuring Sokka having one-time encounters and brief relationships with other girls before committing completely to Azula.

I’ve been here, working my ass off for Sokkla, not only in writing but literally developing my art skills to the best of my ability so I could ONE DAY create the visuals and images these two evoked for me...

And yet I don’t feel I have any right to tell ANYONE how to make their content.

If there was a set number of words in fics or artworks someone needed to make for a ship to prove themselves worthy of obtaining the skill of GATEKEEPING, I am 100% positive I have more than outdone that limit.

And yet I DON’T play gatekeeper. I NEVER have, and I NEVER will. People can create whatever they want to create, whether I enjoy it or not is up to me, and if I DON’T enjoy it, I DON’T read it. If there’s Sokkla content out there I can’t even STOMACH? I would ignore it and move on with my life. You? You make it your whole life’s crusade to attack people over anything that tickles you wrong. That’s how it works, isn’t it?

Unless you’re planning on pulling a Scooby-Doo-esque twist where you remove your mask and reveal you were a known Sokkla fan and content creator all along, which I find ABSOLUTELY unlikely, then this means you haven’t done anything, ANYTHING, for this fandom beyond sending anonymous harassment to people who are actually taking time out of their lives to create content for this ship. The main reaction I’ve seen at you from ANY of us, whether anons like yourself or actual content creators like myself, is that you have too much time on your hands and need a better hobby. And I agree, completely.

So, where people like me and my fellow Sokkla creators are actually making content that convinces people, if not to ship it, to at least CONSIDER this ship a possibility... you’re out there, in hiding, pretending you have any right to tell us what to do and going ignored on most accounts. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: if I had any respect for someone, and they either stopped responding to me or started responding by telling me to leave them alone, I’d feel like such stain of garbage I’d never even try to interact with them again. While people absolutely can be different and react differently to things... I can’t see how, exactly, you have any respect for me when knowing you’re a problem for me has never stopped you and most likely never will.

I’ll admit, this one actually made me laugh. Like... you’re seriously trying to tell me that a sex scene was way too good and that’s why I have to change it. I actually disagree on every account, because the last time I revisited 28 I thought the scene was absolutely distant from my best work? I’ve written soooo much smut recently and literally any of those scenes kicks 28 out of any “best smut” contest by MILES. But... heh. This one, apparently, was too good.

I mean... thank you? For telling me that my smut skills are apparently that great they need to be toned down? Fascinating, really.

But again, “it sadly seems to be a too late to write chapter 28″. Sadly?

SADLY?

You can stick your sadness up where the sun doesn’t shine, dude:

SOMEONE WHO THREW SUCH A FIT OVER THEIR REVIEWS BEING REWRITTEN SHOULD

NEVER

TELL SOMEONE ELSE THAT IT’S TOO BAD THEY CAN’T REWRITE ANY OF THEIR CONTENT.

EVER

You can’t pretend, again, that you were EVER sorry for ANY of what you did... while still trying to tell someone they should rewrite their content. Honest to gods, you’re an asshole. You are. And if you think I’m one too, great, I own up to it gladly. But you’re the one willingly intoxicating their brain with my content, only to consistently go MAD over it, and then unleash this kind of illogical nonsense right back at me. I know art can generate a myriad of responses, but I am NOT responsible for your immaturity and inability to handle serious subjects and topics that SHOULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. If you don’t KNOW how to deal with the fact that there’s a lot of questionable, dislikeable things in this world, then my damn story is the least of your concerns because you’re well on your way to leading a VERY miserable life, Anon. Better get ready for it, will you?

And again, the Gladiator blog. Again, pretending to be well-mannered, and also, again, using the world “sadly”, same as the ask above. Like... man, what on earth is wrong with you. Are you seriously this masochistic? Do you also drink arsenic for sport? What on EARTH brings you the belief that asking how far or how much was done between Sokka and his previous one-night-stands would help you IN ANY WAY, WHATSOEVER?

I think I’ll answer that question, for once, with actual quotes, taken right from some of your favorite chapters, no less:

"When you and Ruon Jian got married, was he…?" she asked. Mai only raised a confused eyebrow, and Azula had the distinct feeling that Mai knew what she was talking about, but would force her to blurt it out anyways. She sighed: "A virgin."

Ty Lee's hands flew to her mouth as Mai raised her eyebrows. To Azula's astonishment, she merely shrugged.

"I don't know. I never asked," she said. Azula snorted.

"Then you're smarter than me. By far," she grunted. Mai smirked.

And as things digress there into Azula explaining what happened, let’s skip that and go straight to Mai’s direct answer:

"I've never asked Ruon Jian about whether or not he had anything serious with other girls before me because I seriously don't care," said Mai. "If I knew about it, I'd probably have a bout of jealousy like yours, I suppose… but it's in his past, and he left them behind to make me his present and his future. So, whatever he might have experienced before, with however many women there were, isn't something I'm overly concerned about."

"You're awfully mature compared to me if that's the case," said Azula, slipping her fingers through her hair again. Mai smirked.

"You've been complimenting me quite a lot today, Azula, that's not like you…"

"Shut up," Azula grunted. Mai chuckled.

:’)

This is the only answer this ask warrants. The fact that you’re so immature and so obsessed as to want to know more about what happened with something you HATE is completely cringeworthy and absurd. If you want to get angry imagining Sokka having wild sex with every woman who crosses his path, go ahead and do it, but do us both a favor and torture yourself, and yourself alone, with those thoughts rather than coming back TWENTY TIMES to my inbox looking for MORE reasons to get angry. You’re honestly unbelievable.

You know, that reading comprehension site I linked up there? Courses, 20% off! Seriously, perfect fit for you. You need it, direly.

Like... how can someone read a story built on the premise of Azula literally defeating Sokka painfully in battle to the point he’s left unable to move, taking Sokka away from home, turning him into a slave, being objectively responsible for the WORST TWO YEARS OF HIS LIFE... and then come to my inbox asking if Azula will ever hurt Sokka?

Dude, you’re off the deep end. You can’t even pretend you have a grasp on reality if you SERIOUSLY THINK Azula has NEVER hurt Sokka. Like, seriously, it feels like you’re reading this truncated version of Gladiator that’s only chapters 28, 111, 112 and perhaps 123? Is that what’s going on?

I’ve had Sokka and Azula arguing over ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING, whether for humorous or for serious purposes, since the very beginning of the story. Their first serious falling out is LITERALLY caused by the direct conflict of their worldviews clashing in chapter 12. Their second falling out was indeed caused by women: by Azula’s discovery that Sokka didn’t want to fight women, which of course, doesn’t bother you in the least because you and I both know that’s NOT what your problem was.

I could literally run through the whole story listing every single argument they’ve had, every single time they’ve hurt each other if that’s what you want: their first time? It literally comes from a very serious argument where Sokka believed he had reached the pinnacle of his potential as a fighter and feared Azula would need someone else to achieve her goals instead of him.

AND YOU’RE SERIOUSLY HERE ASKING IF THEY’LL EVER ARGUE OVER ANYTHING ELSE.

You don’t read this story. This ask absolutely proved it to me. You only read chapter 28 and everything potentially connected to Sokka having anything with other women. You don’t CARE about anything else, simply. Because if anything actually had ANY impact on you? You’d say something about it. But the only thing that touches your weird heart is Sokka sleeping with anyone else or having any potentially romantic interactions with someone else, whether he rejects them or not.

You don’t care about Gladiator. You only care about your ego, and the validation of your worldview and puritanic morals.

And to that I say, fuck that noise. I write whatever the hell I want to write, and you’re not going to rope me into playing it safe just to please insecure harassers who don’t know boundaries and are completely incapable of empathizing with anyone while demanding everyone should understand their feelings.

Final note on this matter: you, also, have no idea what love is. You plain and simple don’t understand it. You’re even more confused by what love should be than Azula was at the start of this story. You don’t get it, AT ALL.

All you want is for them to get even on things? You literally asked me, when I was in my angry spree of deleting your bullshit, to make Azula and her future husband have happy consensual quality sex with who knows how many orgasms... because it was only fair!

AGAIN: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND LOVE IN THE LEAST.

If you think love is about getting even, you’re seriously an asshole. If you think love is about both people being 100% equal in social regards and experiences, you don’t even UNDERSTAND human relations. Do you live in a bubble, by any chance? Maybe you do! You must have zero contact with anyone other than people with your same puritanic beliefs, right? So that means you assume everyone who’s different from you is fundamentally a bad person? I take it?

Like... literally at this point I think you’d hear about someone who was abused in their childhood, molested, and your reaction would simply be “Oh wow I hope someone molests whoever they end up marrying too, so that way they may be even in the future and been molested by the exact same number of people, otherwise it’s not really love”.

This is fucking sick. I’m not holding back at this point, it’s SICK. It’s TWISTED. It’s VILE. Your mentality is absolutely repulsive to me. You don’t know what love is, and you have the most literal, obvious change to understand it better by reading this story properly, but instead you just read chapter 28 over and over and over again, isn’t that right?

And here’s the evidence of that. You really want me to answer that last question?

No, it doesn’t bug me to read that AT ALL. Because unlike you? I don’t obsessively reread 28 while disregarding everything else in the story. Unlike you, I don’t revisit the chapter every day to pick apart every line to look for reasons to get extra angry at those developments.

Most of us, when faced with things we DON’T like in fiction? We move past it. You, instead, dig yourself into a hole and continue digging, and then pretend to hold other people responsible for whatever impact this may be having on your psyche. Because yes, you’re holding me responsible for whatever trauma or insecurity this is awakening inside you when you continue to pester me as you have: if you’re an adult, you should have the tools and brains to determine what is and what isn’t acceptable behavior, as well as to curate your own experiences with media, with fandom, with EVERYTHING to do with these communities. If you choose to look for things to hate instead of things to love, THAT’S ON YOU.

And if you’re allegedly looking for things to love but can’t find ANY that suit your purposes (which... is bullshit. Clearly, your only priority is “Sokka must be a virgin who never had anything with anyone else”, and such stories DO exist, which I guarantee considering I’ve written at least THREE of them, where it’s absolutely stated that Sokka’s first and only one is Azula)...

Well, it’s funny. Because when I got here? I was looking for some very specific fics so I could explore whether or not Sokkla made any sense. And I didn’t find them.

Which resulted...

... In me writing the very stories I wanted to see.

Oh, my. Imagine taking your impulses and channeling them into something productive rather than looking for reasons to get angry 24/7! Must be such a NOVEL CONCEPT for you!

Seriously, you have no right to dictate what anyone does. Again, worth bringing up because you INSIST on the rewriting matter. Even if you’re claiming you’re done asking for it, you somehow KEEP bringing it up. And then you act like me mentioning 28′s events here or there in the story is absolutely outrageous... but you just go right on ahead and do the same thing yourself, don’t you? Funny how much of a hypocrite you really are, isn’t it?

The fact that you’re bringing up something I have NEVER written, and have NO INTENTIONS of ever writing, as some sort of stupid, ridiculous argument to be made AGAINST the post I literally reblogged TODAY... is just absurd beyond belief.

The fact that I ever even wrote Sokka cheating on Suki with Azula, which I DID, still bothers me. Because yes, it made for a good story, but the truth is, it doesn’t sit well with me. It worked in The Reason, worked in my collab story with a friend, but it doesn’t mean I feel 100% happy with that choice. Even if the cheating only amounted to a kiss in The Reason, and then a lot worse than just that in the other story, it’s still not cool! :’) I know this!

... And yet no one, NO ONE, has ever caught me writing Sokka cheating on Azula. In fact, when my collab story with my friend seemed to start moving towards that angle I BEGGED her not to do it, and then she didn’t, and my heart was deeply relieved and blissful for it. Because not only did it mean we wouldn’t have to deal with the very controversial and unsettling notion of someone in a good relationship cheating on their significant other... but because in that story, it also showed how much he had grown, and how he was truly devoted to Azula despite he hadn’t been to Suki.

But alas, I have my qualms with that concept, of course I do. And I don’t like it. Ergo, I’ll never write it.

Which begs the question as to WHY, exactly, you’re so obsessed with the notion of Sokka cheating on Azula? Like... do you get off on it? Are you wanking at the idea of Sokka and June every single night and then wake up feeling like crap and then take it out on me, by any chance? Is that what’s going on? Because I’m seriously starting to believe it is.

You clearly don’t understand anything about storytelling, which is probably why you don’t have the guts to create your own content in the first place. But the fact that I reblog a post about how conflict in a story is GOOD, and your first thought is “THEN THAT MEANS YOU APPROVE OF SOKKA CHEATING!” actually says A LOT MORE about you than it says about me. You need help. Clearly, the therapy site I was sending you to the last time wasn’t much good, was it? I guess you just ignored it in the end. Hopefully the reading comprehension one will suit you better, right?

Fuck you, seriously, for coming to someone who has been working this hard for this long, for a ship that they’re completely devoted to, to spout this kind of senseless shit. To think you seriously ever believed I’d accept your half-assed apologies when you’ve been doing this sort of bullshit for this long... you’re a piece of work. If you have the time to write that BULLSHIT into my inbox, at the very least use that time to look INWARD and ponder just what your damn problem is, resolve it on your own, AND LEAVE ME THE HELL OUT OF IT. Someone as immature and unstable as you has no business reading M-rated fiction, and I honestly rue the day you ever clicked my story. Both your life and mine would be countless times better if you simply had scrolled past it.

And on and on we went today. The THREE MORE ASKS that arrived as I was typing this insanely long response. Which resulted in you bumping the total, successfully, to 20. MIGHTY NICE OF YOU TO PROVE ME RIGHT! :’)

Now then, getting serious here... I must say your priorities are fucked. Like. Really fucked.

You’d rather Sokka tries to KILL AZULA than have a one-time sexual encounter with someone?

Like... you’re here, condoning VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN to that extent...? :’D and then you... you actually have the balls to whine because apparently him hurting her feelings is WORSE?!

Are you EVEN LISTENING TO YOURSELF???

You know, I think I have to offer you some REALLY good advice right now: go watch Naruto. Seriously, all of it. Go watch it, and enjoy your sweet loins’ release once Sasuke and Sakura start trying to kill each other, ONLY TO END UP TOGETHER AT THE END! :’) They were both 100% faithful to each other too, in the sense of Sakura getting depicted as a girl who can’t ever get over the guy she had a crush on when she was 6, no matter if he tries to kill her or her friends once he starts to go off the deep end, and Sasuke getting depicted as a guy who treats everyone like garbage, even the people he loves, because his manpain story somehow validates him being absolutely toxic to everyone he knows, so that’s absolutely up your alley! 100% the love story you’ve been looking for! You’re gonna LOVE IT.

Man, I just can’t believe you. I really can’t believe you. You’re seriously asking me to feature Sokka trying to kill Azula because that’s more acceptable to you. There was a story out there, you know? With Azula basically using Sokka to commit suicide, impaling herself on his sword and dying? You should just go look for that too, perfect fit for you (though it may be gone from the depths of this wretched site by now, which tbh I’d be grateful for, since it was the most unsettling, disturbing read).

Also? Thank you, truly, for all the remarkably shallow compliments you’ve thrown at me to “soften” your “criticism” (which, again, is whining, not legitimate criticism). Calling me a capable writer is super NICE of you, especially after all these months of persistent harassment and constant repetition that I should rewrite whatever you don’t like. I mean... that’s definitely the way someone treats a capable writer, isn’t that right?

“The problem isn’t conflict it’s what the conflict is”, the anon says. I’ve been writing a story for 8 years, 198 chapters and counting... and I’ve had a ton of different types of conflicts for Sokka and Azula to deal with. If your problem is “I don’t like this conflict”, FINE. But... hey. There have been THOUSANDS of other sources of conflict across the story, so many I don’t think I can even promise I’d ever take my time to count them all... there’s whole ARCS with conflicts regarding world politics and the war’s consequences and both Azula and Sokka completely changing their worldviews as they realize their realities are soooo much more complicated than they ever knew...!

Ergo. There ARE other conflicts. There are SO MANY of them that there’s no point in even listing it all out.

And yet you are obsessed with the one conflict you didn’t like, outright acting like THIS IS THE ONLY CONFLICT THERE EVER WAS, as proven by that preposterous and mindless “when will Azula ever hurt Sokka” ask. The one development you were pissed at, because it tickled your loins the wrong way. Oh yes, I’m a capable writer, I could’ve done things differently...!

BUT I DIDN’T!

And aren’t you thrilled that I didn’t? You would be a complete nobody in this fandom if this hadn’t happened, because otherwise what would you POSSIBLY have to complain about?! To harass someone about?! You’d be SO BORED! You’d be so unknown, nobody would even be aware of your existence...!

Though.

Wait.

You’re an anon.

You’re unreachable and nobody really knows who you are.

... So never mind, you actually still are a complete nobody in this fandom and your only attempt to even take part in it is to be a negative, irritating presence that literally makes people facepalm, laugh and ridicule you to the extent I and many others have laughed at you.

And yes, that post I reblogged was 100% worth reblogging. Why? Because it hits the nail on the head:

I DIDN’T WRITE 28 SO YOU’D BE HAPPY WITH SOKKA.

I DIDN’T WRITE THAT CHAPTER TO MAKE PEOPLE THINK “OH WOW WHAT A WHOLESOME SITUATION”.

I WROTE IT BECAUSE IT WAS MEANT TO DETONATE CONFLICT AND SPEED UP CHARACTER GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT, WHICH IT DID.

And the thing is? Maybe, in the future, I’ll write other stories, just as I wrote the Saturdays’ stories, and Sokka won’t have either meaningful or worth mentioning encounters with anyone else in them. Maybe I’ll write original fiction, and there won’t be any twists like what happened in 28!

But you will never get over this.

You will never care about any other content beyond this.

And that’s your failing, not mine.

If you would rather obsess over what makes you angry, that’s on YOU. But I’m damn sure I wrote a pretty reasonable conflict, character-wise, that was not only consistent with characterization but with the slightly darker take of the Avatarverse I’ve been working with. Not only that, but I NEVER skipped the consequences of their actions. I literally had them facing those consequences for whole arcs. Sokka assumed he’d never have a chance to be with Azula and made his peace with it, WITHOUT EVER PRETENDING HIS DEVELOPING FEELINGS FOR AZULA WERE ANYTHING THAT ENTITLED HIM TO HER LOVE IN RETURN. But oh, that’s too complex for you to understand, isn’t it? The fact that Sokka actually loves Azula for her, and not for himself, that he devotes himself to her in every imaginable way, that he fights people who dare disrespect her, that he would stop at NOTHING, even coming close to killing someone, to keep her safe despite he’s completely against killing people? That all means NOTHING to you.

And again? THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM. THAT’S YOUR FAILING. THAT YOU’RE SO OBSESSED WITH 28 AND CAN’T MOVE PAST IT IS NOT MY FAULT, IT’S YOURS.

Because I damn right moved past it. I’ve moved so far past it I literally don’t ever THINK about that damn situation until your stupid asks start arriving. Heck, maybe if you didn’t ASK so much about it, I’d stop bringing it up in recent chapters of the story :’) how do you feel about that particular kernel of unexpected information? Maybe you’re impacting the story in a whole shocking manner by inception-ing 28 into my head all the time and that’s why I can’t seem to stop throwing in lines referencing it for you to go completely BONKERS over. How about that? :’)

Say... how exactly do you think this fic is special? Literally all I know is you think I’m a capable writer who can create something perfectly catered for you, and yet ALL the feedback I’ve ever gotten from you is “REWRITE 28 AND EVERYTHING ABOUT SOKKA HAVING ANYTHING WITH OTHER GIRLS I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANY OF THIS I’M GENUINELY CURIOUS THIS IS LEGITIMATE CRITICISM SIGNING OFF BYE”. Your compliments are completely devoid of meaning because they’re literally just a handful of “you’re a good writer” and you don’t even say WHY you think I’m good. You don’t ever come here to tell me how much you enjoyed a certain scene, or how happy you are with a certain development... No.

Because when Sokka and Azula got married? What did I get?

“HOW CAN YOU LET SOKKA AND AZULA GET MARRIED NOW WHEN HE SLEPT WITH SOMEONE ELSE IN CHAPTER 28?!”

I wish I had screenshots for those, but you and I both know the truth, you irksome anon, and the truth is you did exactly that. And with every new development in Shu Jing, I got yet more reviews and ask(s), persistently whining about how UNFAIR it is that now Azula apparently is locked in marriage with this unfaithful man who has been unfaithful to her a grand total number of ZERO TIMES ever since their relationship began! How DARES he even think about marrying her?! Scourge of earth, let’s murder him in cold blood because DEATH IS BETTER THAN CHEATING!!!

If you think highly of Gladiator for ANY REASON, you’ve kept those reasons well and safely tucked away in the depths of your broken heart or shared them with anyone but me. Look at all these asks, damn you, and tell me at what point in time did you convey ANYTHING beyond “why don’t you write what I want you to write?”, huh? Because hell, I don’t see it in any of them. Literally nowhere. No backwards (: emojis are compliments or evidence of how much this story allegedly means to you. All I know is that you hate 28 and everything about it.

And you see...

I don’t give a flying fuck.

I don’t.

You can hate 28 all you want.

You can hate June.

You can hate Sokka.

It is, INDEED, a free world.

But you have no right, NONE WHATSOEVER, to commit to this level of harassment as you have, for A WHOLE YEAR, and pretend the problem is that I, Seyary, the “evil super-sensitive author who writes Sokka sleeping with other people and doesn’t even break a sweat but then crumbles to pieces when “negative” feedback arrives”, can’t handle your comments properly.

I’ve said it before, damn you: NO ONE NEEDS TO REITERATE THEIR OPINIONS A MILLION TIMES. NO ONE. NOT YOU, NOT THE PEOPLE DEMANDING FOR THE PLOT TO KICK INTO HIGH GEAR, NOT THE ONES WHO THINK THIS SHIP IS GARBAGE, NOT ANYONE.

NO ONE HAS ANY RIGHT OR REASON TO COME BACK PERSISTENTLY THORUGHOUT A YEAR TO HARASS SOMEONE NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES THEY’RE TOLD TO STOP IT.

Point being: HATE WHAT YOU WILL! But keep it the fuck off my blog. And if you CAN’T? Get used to these responses. Because you’re going to get them, constantly. I guarantee it.

I know your damn opinion already. I know it by heart and I damn wish I didn’t. You are perfectly free to go read all the other stories where I’ve had Sokka staying faithful to Azula, with Azula being his first, or with Azula being much more experienced and sleeping around while Sokka stays mostly chaste... but you don’t. You come back, every time, to my miserable inbox that must cry every time you show up in it, to make these demands and pretend you have any power over what I should be writing.

Again, no, I have no idea why this story matters to you at all. And at this point? I’d rather NOT know. Because I’m 100% sure the only thing that matters most to you is chapter 28. So you know, go ahead, wank to it again and cry yourself to sleep. It’s kind of fascinating to have written something that has such a visceral emotional impact on a complete and total stranger. Makes it clear I’ve made a lot of progress as a writer if I can fuck up someone’s life to this extent with what I’ve written.

Yeah. Sure. You really think I’ll buy it? You really think this is goodbye? Oh, no, Anon. You can’t stay away. You’ve been told to, you’ve been asked to, but you can’t.

So no, I’m not wishing you good luck back. And I’m certainly not wishing you any fun with my fic, because it’s more than clear that the only source of entertainment it provided you was chapter 28, seeing as it’s the only impactful thing I apparently ever wrote. And someone who’s that obsessed with one of the chapters I most disliked writing despite I knew the plot would benefit from it in the long run simply can’t deserve to have fun. So... good suffering over Gladiator, if anything? Go ahead and continue to wrack your brain while trying to unravel why, oh, why would ANYONE ever write what I wrote and still call themselves a Sokkla shipper?!

I dunno, maybe go on and write something similar yourself. Could be you’ll finally figure out what your problem is if you take to writing the cheating storylines you’re so very much obsessed with. Only, heh, I can guarantee I’m not touching anything you write, out of principle more than anything. I plain and simple don’t want anything to do with you... but as I don’t intend to close my inbox again, it seems I have no choice, do I?

Good fucking luck sticking to this alleged goodbye... but we both know you’ll be coming back very soon, won’t you? No worries, Anon, I’ll be waiting this time. Let’s see if you can break your 20-ask-streak record next time, shall we? :’)

It’s December 13th, at 2:32 PM, in my location. Let’s see how long it takes you to come back, shall we?

EDIT: I neglected to check constantly so it definitely arrived earlier than this, but officially received a response at least 2 hours after this post went live.

Didn’t I call it? Yep, absolutely called it.

#I need a name for this anon #though I guess stalker-harasser anon would work?#yep #stalker-harasser anon #there we go #honestly it feels so utterly backwards to still talk about this to this day #and yet #it never ends #:')#here we go have this dumpster fire of a post #I'm legit going to time this shit #and report right back to you all #once the stalker-harasser comes back #it's the only genuinely hilarious part of this whole thing after all

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imaginedhaven · 4 years

Text

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Three

Link to Masterpost

Prince Dorian arrived in Orynth four days later, three days before her birthday, and Aelin greeted him with a smile. She had donned a simple gown of Terrasen green for the occasion, and a circlet of twisted golden strands kept her loose hair from falling into her face. “Prince Dorian, it’s an honor to meet again after so long,” she said in welcome. “I thank you for taking the journey from Adarlan to celebrate with us.”

Dorian answered her smile with an easy grin of his own, sapphire eyes sparkling against dark curls. “The journey was easy enough, and the pleasure is mine,” he said. “And it is good to meet you again, after… what, almost eleven years, now?”

“A long time, indeed,” Aelin replied. “I do hope your visit will give us time to become reacquainted with one another.”

“As do I,” he smiled. “Perhaps you could reacquaint me with the castle grounds, if you have the time?”

Aelin glanced to her right, where Regent Darrow stood, and he nodded his approval. “I certainly have the time,” she replied. “Are you tired from your journey? Should we meet at a later time?”

“If I’m being honest, your company would likely be far more relaxing than unpacking my things,” the prince grinned, offering her his arm.

Aelin laughed softly and stepped up to him, gracefully slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him away from the throne room. “Were you hoping for a tour of the grounds, or the common areas of the castle?” she asked.

Dorian laughed, the sound a rich baritone that filled the hallway in which they stood. “You’ve caught me, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I’ve heard tales of the Library of Orynth, and now that we’ve slipped away from your regent and he doesn’t expect to see me until the evening I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in literature,” Aelin blurted out before she could stop herself. “Pardon me, I know as Crown Prince of Adarlan you would have to be well-read, but…”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you thought I was a warrior,” he replied, eyes wide in feigned terror. “I can wield a sword well enough, my guard made sure of that, but I’ll admit I would rather be reading.”

Aelin smiled and began leading him toward the library. “I’m afraid my lessons in magic take up most of my days now, but before that I loved sneaking off to the library myself,” she confessed. “Truly, I believe you could find a book or a scroll about any topic you imagined in our collection. I’ll admit that I miss it, so I’ll take you there myself, on one condition.”

Dorian gave her a conspiratorial grin. “And what might that condition be?”

“You must allow me to accompany you. After all, my regent likely thinks I’m showing you the rose garden, or perhaps the stables. It would seem odd if I simply abandoned you now.”

“That seems fair enough,” he allowed. “Perhaps you could direct me to some of your favorites.”

“Oh, I’m not sure your visit is long enough for that list,” she said with a laugh. “We’ll have to discuss a few of them, though, as well as some of yours.”

As they turned a corner and she opened a door, Aelin smiled at one of her favorite sights in the world.

The library encompassed an entire floor on its own, and she suspected there was even more to it than what she had explored. Each wall was filled floor to ceiling with books and scrolls, and each room was packed with as many shelves as it could reasonably hold. It was more than enough for a person to get lost in, and Aelin had herself, on many occasions. The shelves were loosely categorized by topic, with the newer books toward the entrance and the older ones in harder to reach areas. The oldest scrolls, Aelin knew, were kept shielded by a layer of glass, with only the most experienced of their historians allowed to move them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked as she glanced over at her companion.

Dorian simply stared around himself, eyes wide as he took in the vast array of texts that made up this section of the library. “I hardly know where to begin,” he breathed.

“I felt the same way myself,” Aelin admitted, “the first time I came here. It’s easy to get lost if you’re not careful. And what you’re seeing is only one chamber, the library takes up at least this entire floor.”

“Truly?”

“And that’s only the parts I’ve explored myself,” she grinned. “Is there a particular topic that holds your interest? Philosophy? History? The arts?”

And as Dorian began to tell her of his most recent finds in the Adarlan library, Aelin led him toward her favorite corner. A window on each wall gave the area light during most hours of the day, and a small desk sat tucked against the southern wall. In front of the desk was a chair, worn but still comfortable, and writing supplies were neatly laid out on the desk’s surface. It was just enough space for a few pieces of paper in addition to a single book, and she had spent countless hours in this very space as she learned about the kingdom she was to inherit.

A small corner of the desk was scorched, and Aelin ran her fingertips across the burned wood fondly. “I did this when I was eight,” she said. “I had slipped away from my parents, and I was hiding among the shelves when I found this little desk. One of the guardsmen found me, but I was so lost in the tale I was reading that I didn’t hear him approach until his hand was on my shoulder. It was the first time my magic truly manifested, and I was banned from the library for almost a year.”

“What made them change their minds?” Dorian asked as he inspected the scorch marks himself.

Aelin laughed softly. “Mostly the fact that they couldn’t keep me out,” she admitted. “I kept sneaking in whenever I could. Even now, when I could ask for whatever books I wish to be delivered to my rooms…”

Dorian nodded. “I agree. It’s not quite the same, is it? I’ve always preferred what I found myself.”

As they continued to talk, Aelin allowed her mind to wander. This meeting had already gone better than she could have possibly dreamed. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to be married to him, she mused.

If only her magic lessons were proceeding as smoothly as this arrangement was beginning to.

~*~*~

The next morning, Aelin grunted as her back hit the dirt of the training grounds for the third time. With a frustrated growl, she rolled onto her front and lifted herself onto her hands and knees, only allowing herself a single breath before springing back to her feet and whirling around to once more face her attacker.

Aedion laughed where he stood above her, one hand still extended in an offer to help her to her feet. “You realize you don’t actually have to do this, right?” he asked. “No one expects you to be a master of hand-to-hand combat, especially given your magic and your skills with a knife.”

“I don’t always have a knife, and I can’t rely on my magic,” Aelin replied, tucking a strand of stray hair back into her braid. “I have to be able to take on someone bigger and stronger than me, or at least not lose terribly.”

Aedion looked unimpressed, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against a fence post. “And this has nothing whatsoever to do with how your magic training is going,” he drawled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily. “My training is—”

He cut her off with a laugh. “Cousin, for that to work I would’ve needed to not witness your training myself. You two really started off on the wrong foot, didn’t you?”

That didn’t begin to describe it, really, but Aelin knew there was a limit to what she could tell him. “You could say that. He’s so…”

As she grasped for words, Aedion lifted a single golden eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to lack an opinion,” he remarked. “Don’t tell me you’re uncertain now.”

“Infuriating,” she finally snarled. “He’s absolutely infuriating. Condescending. Smug. Patronizing. Maddening.” With each word she spat, she threw another punch at Aedion.

Of course, he neatly blocked each attack she launched at him. “Don’t you think in this subject he might know best? I think a few centuries of honing your magic for offensive tactics as much as he has would allow someone to be a little confident in their own knowledge.”

“I’d feel better about it if he wasn’t so… him,” she growled. “It’s like nothing I do is even close to good enough, or even enough to merit any kind of reaction at all!”

Aedion laughed then. “He’s got good insight, certainly. He can’t have just guessed that the easiest way to get under your skin is to act like you’re not getting under his.”

With a shout, Aelin darted in again. This time, she finally managed to land a glancing blow that slid along his ribs. With a knife it would have been devastating, but as it was he just grinned at her. “Better,” he said. “You have to remember your targets are different when you don’t have a blade, though.”

She growled in response and admitted, “I got lucky. You were distracted.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he replied. “Distraction is a valid tactic, used correctly. It may be your best advantage in this kind of situation. Believe it or not, you’re not always going to be the biggest or strongest person in the room. You have to use other strengths.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she sighed.

Aedion shrugged. “Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. But I don’t think it’s wrong to do what it takes to make sure you can fight another day. Now. Is this really about learning hand-to-hand combat, or do you honestly think you need an excuse to talk to your own cousin about what’s on your mind?”

Aelin laughed and carefully untwisted the knot she had tied her braided hair into. “Please,” she said breezily. “You know I have no problem with interrupting anything unimportant. Besides, training with you was the only way I could get out of training with… him.”

“Oh, so we’re not even saying his name now?” Aedion grinned.

“Is there a reason we should be?” she asked. “I’ve heard that saying someone’s name while they’re absent can attract… unwanted attention. Especially from someone whose hearing is naturally heightened because he’s not human.”

Her cousin sighed, running a hand through his own golden locks. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t trust him,” Aelin replied. “The first full-blooded Fae to visit our court in years, not to mention blood-sworn to their queen, who I also don’t trust. I’m surprised you seem to be getting along with him as well as you are, if I’m being honest.”

Aedion shrugged in response. “He’s a warrior, through and through. Very practical. I can respect that. Besides, his training with the Bane has been enlightening.”

“You let him train with you, knowing that he could be made to report on every detail he happens to see at his queen’s will?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he grinned. “I see everything that he sees. Let him report that we train hard. Let him tell her our strength as a company. And if she presses further, let him admit that he helped us become stronger. I’m certain he’ll find a way around mentioning that fact for as long as possible.”

Aelin grinned back at him. “You let him in to limit how much he would feel comfortable reporting. How devious.”

“Well, we can’t all be you, but I do try sometimes,” he replied.

Aelin took a step back and stretched, arms over her head, before relaxing once more. “Well. Keep up the good work. I’m sure I’m going to want to try this again soon.”

“Is it really necessary?” Aedion asked. “You could just—”

But before she could hear his suggestions on how to deal with her training she was already walking away from the field. She knew that Rowan would find her for training in the afternoon regardless of where she hid, but she was hoping she could spend just a little more time in the library before he dragged her out. Perhaps it would be merely delaying the inevitable, but the last thing she wanted at this point was to sit around and wait for him.

~*~*~

Predictably, Aelin had only just found what appeared to be a promising book when Rowan found her. Knowing her time was up and it was pointless to fight it, Aelin quietly handed her find to a librarian and asked for it to be delivered to her rooms before following him back down the stairs and out to the training grounds.

Despite having known that it was inevitable that he would find her, Aelin found herself scowling at his broad shoulders as they walked. “I hope you enjoyed your morning,” she offered as they left the castle and began walking to the grounds. “After all, you so frequently mention what you could do if you weren’t so busy with me, it must have been delightful.”

“Some of us actually work,” he replied shortly. “Not everyone has the luxury of whiling away their days indoors among friends, regardless of whether or not you’re gracing them with your presence.”

Aelin took a deep breath in an effort to maintain her calm. Perhaps her best recourse would be to do as he did and act as though she was unbothered by anything. “I hardly think you would consider a day indoors a luxury,” she said lightly. “As a matter of fact, if I didn’t know you were assigned your own rooms when you arrived I would wonder if perhaps you spent your nights nesting in a tree.”

Rowan paused at the entrance to the training grounds, just long enough to open the gate and let both of them in. “Perhaps if you spent less time wondering about my sleeping arrangements and more time focusing on your training, you’d have already mastered your shift and possibly even your magic.”

Aelin felt her fingers curl into fists at her side, and it was an effort to relax them again. Calm, she reminded herself. She would keep her calm. She wouldn’t fall victim to his condescension, not today. Instead, she reached up to her braided hair and carefully wound it around itself until it was knotted out of her way. “I think you overestimate the amount of time I spend wondering about your sleeping arrangements,” she mused. “Believe me when I say I try to spend as little time outside of our delightful little sessions thinking about you as I can get away with.”

Rather than show any outward reaction to her comments, Rowan simply sat in the center of the training ground. “You could be rid of that burden even sooner, you know. All you have to do is shift.”

Aelin scowled as she joined him on the ground, carefully crossing her legs and tucking her feet underneath herself. “What does it matter to you, anyway?” she asked. “What’s stopping you from telling Regent Darrow that we’re through and leaving?”

“I presume you haven’t forgotten about the oath I swore to my queen,” came his reply. “I am under orders to help you gain control over your abilities, and cannot leave until my task is complete.”

“That certainly hasn’t stopped you before,” Aelin snapped as heat began coursing through her veins.

Faintly, as if through a thick blanket, she felt the air around them grow cold and still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rowan snarled, fangs exposed and pine-green eyes sharp and frigid.

Aelin laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “Your precious oath to your precious queen,” she mocked as he growled. “It hasn’t stopped you from leaving before.”

The wind picked up suddenly, blasting her onto her back in a frigid whirlwind—or was it the male himself and not his magic that had knocked her back? It had happened so quickly, she couldn’t be certain. His fingers encircled her wrists as he pinned her to the dirt, and as Aelin looked on his eyes grew cold and dark. “Do not speak in that tone about that which you do not understand,” he said sharply.

Gods, what had she said that had provoked such rage in his face but such deadness in his eyes? Despite a small voice in the back of her head shrieking about caution, she pressed on. “I fail to see what there is to understand or not understand,” she continued. “You’ve left me before. You do it every gods-damned rutting day. You’ve left me completely alone, with nothing but my own thoughts to remind myself of what a failure I am.” All of it was true, and suddenly Aelin realized just how much it had been bothering her all this time.

For all that she gave the outward appearance of being surrounded by friends, Aelin knew there were precious few people she could trust with every part of herself lest they abandon her. Her cousin, for all she knew he loved her, put the security of her kingdom above herself—as he should, and as she had asked of him. Lysandra was more likely to be understanding, but less likely to fully grasp the complexity of the messes she had put herself into through her own actions. She couldn’t even be certain she could trust her dearest friends, for they had kingdoms of their own to maintain and would quite possibly take advantage of any weakness she let them see.

Worse still, most of those people who had known all of her were lost to her. Her parents had passed long ago, and the one person who had taken the time to learn all of her, the person she would’ve left everything behind for if she had to—he was gone, too, taken beyond her reach. Moreover, anyone who she could tell about him would immediately realize what she had come to know in the years since his passing. Her first and only love had been her greatest weakness and her biggest failure of them all, in more ways than one, and nothing she could do now could possibly make up for it.

While she had been lost in her thoughts, Rowan had only grown more irate. “Well, perhaps if you could master something as basic as shifting you wouldn’t think of yourself as such a failure,” he retorted as his grip on her wrists tightened.

Suddenly, a deadly calm washed over Aelin as she realized she had had enough of this. “If you’re trying to provoke me into shifting, you’d be better off hitting me again,” she snapped. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, and I certainly don’t need help remembering my own failings. Or you could just leave me again, you know, like you’re so good at doing.”

A growl filled the air and then there was a sharp pain piercing the junction of her neck and her shoulder. It took her a moment to grasp what had happened, but as Rowan spat a mouthful of blood—her blood—onto the ground, she realized he had bitten her.

Through her sudden rage at such a possessive and claiming act from someone who hated her as much as Rowan did, she heard a shriek and dimly recognized it as her own voice. The ground appeared before her, silver hair splayed across the dirt—had she flipped them? She couldn’t recall—and her hands clawed at his chest as a brief moment of agony surged through her.

Then she bared her own fangs at him, and there was nothing but fire.

~*~*~

Later that evening, Aelin paced in the hallway outside of the healers’ wing, hands clutching at a small jar of salve she had taken while no one was paying attention. It had been an impulsive decision to take it, and one she didn’t regret, but following through with the next phase of her plan was significantly more daunting. Even as nerves threatened to overtake her, though, she knew she had to carry on. It was her own fault she was in this mess, anyhow.

It would be easy to blame Rowan, and to say he had brought it on himself through his own actions. It would be easy to stew in self-righteous anger threaded through with self-pity. But it would be wrong to ignore her own role in the fight they’d had, and the consequences of her own loss of control were seared into her mind’s eye.

After he had bitten her, Aelin had finally, finally shifted—and then promptly lost control of her magic. Flames had swirled around them both, singeing the ends of her own hair as well as his. Before long, though, she was left gasping for breath, collapsed against his unfairly broad chest as the flames around them extinguished. He had pulled the air away from her, she realized now, and in so doing had deprived the fire of the fuel it required. Her aunt truly had sent a well-suited trainer, as angry as it still made her that it had been deemed necessary. Not someone with similar powers, but someone who could contain her as she learned to control the fires that burned within her.

That is, assuming he wanted anything to do with her now. Which he probably didn’t.

When she had shifted her weight to pull away from him, he had done his best to hide his reaction, but her enhanced eyesight had caught the tiniest flinch. She had looked down and gasped, scrambling away from him.

There were two holes in the fabric of his shirt from where she had burned through it, and underneath those holes bright red welts had just been beginning to blister.

Before she had gathered the nerve to say anything to him at all he had already stood, stalking away with some snarled remark about her lack of control and leaving her to stare after him. She had then looked down at her trembling hands, curling them into fists as she realized that of course her own flesh was unharmed. Aside from occasional scorched hair, she had never once harmed herself with her own power. She had only harmed those around her, and this lapse in control had been no exception.

Aelin shook her head in a vain attempt to clear her mind. She’d gone out of her way to stay in her rooms for the evening meal, doing her best to read and not worry about what was passing without her. It wasn’t until Aedion had returned from the evening meal that she learned that Rowan had been absent as well.

She had then gone to check with the palace healers, but it was apparent that he hadn’t stopped by to have his burns—the burns she had given him—examined. And so she had stolen a small jar of healing salve, which led her to her current predicament.

The ideal situation would be for her to find his rooms empty and simply leave the jar somewhere he could find it. Even as she thought it, though, she realized both that it was unlikely to work and that it wouldn’t be enough. No, she needed to own up to her shortcomings and apologize properly.

Aelin growled softly and tugged at the ends of her newly-trimmed hair, which now fell just below her shoulders. It was ridiculous to be this concerned over him when he was so clearly unconcerned with her, but she couldn’t stop reliving the moment she realized just how badly she had burned him. Even though most people would say he had certainly provoked it, the memory still turned her stomach.

She took a deep breath and strode purposefully to the rooms Rowan had been assigned before she could talk herself out of it. Luckily, she ran into no one else along the way. It was confusing enough to her that she was doing this to begin with; she couldn’t imagine trying to explain it to anyone else.

Steeling her nerves, she knocked on his door and received only a wordless grunt in reply. Taking that as permission, Aelin carefully opened the door and froze at the sight that greeted her.

She had obviously interrupted Rowan in the middle of cutting his own singed hair; a pile of silver strands laid on his desk beside a knife. His shirt was off, and before she could stop herself her eyes traced along the swirling lines of his tattoo. Without clothing to cover the marks she could see that it flowed unbroken along the entire left side of his body, across his shoulder and down his arm all the way to his fingertips. He turned to face her, pine-green eyes narrowing in irritation, and she thrust the jar of salve in his direction before he could say a word. “For the burns,” she managed.

He delicately took the jar from her grasp and inspected it before setting it aside. “I deserved it,” he admitted, and Aelin knew without asking that this was as close to an apology for his own actions as she was likely to receive.

Aelin shrugged in reply, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear that was once more rounded rather than pointed like his own. “That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad about it, or that I don’t.”

Rowan frowned, studying her as though she was a particularly stubborn puzzle. “We need to work on your control,” he finally said. “I told you to shift, not to throw a magical tantrum.”

Just like that Aelin forgot she had ever felt bad for her part in it, the feeling replaced by the sparks of irritation that constantly burned through her whenever they spoke. “You didn’t tell me to do anything,” she snapped. “You bit me. What the rutting hell was that, anyway, some sort of domineering Fae male horseshit?”

He shrugged, and sympathy warred with vindictive delight as the motion pulled his burned chest taut. “It worked, didn’t it? You shifted. Now you just need to learn to do it on command instead of reacting like a sheltered princess who didn’t get her way.”

Aelin crossed her arms as she leaned against the door frame. “I fail to see what my title has to do with any of this,” she said.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time observing how you act these past few weeks,” he replied. “The only thing holding you back is your own fear.”

“I think it’s reasonable to be afraid of hurting the people around me,” she snarled.

“Which is why you need to learn,” Rowan snapped back as he finally stood. “If you can’t manage to set your fears aside and learn some godsdamned control, you’ll truly become the worthless figurehead you fear you are. I have neither the time nor the patience to coach you through whatever trifling fears you’ve experienced in your terribly short life, nor do I care. I am here to teach you to control your magic, not to assuage your sense of self-pity, and certainly not to be your friend. The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can both be rid of each other. Hate me if you must. I do not care.”

Before Aelin could reach through the sudden wave of tingling numbness that rushed through her and find the words to respond to such obvious animosity, Rowan crossed the room in four quick strides. “Now get out,” he snarled as he slammed the door in her face.

Aelin stared at the wood scant inches away from her face, jaw slack in surprise, before collecting herself enough to walk away. She didn’t make it far, though, slipping into an abandoned room nearby rather than attempt to maintain her composure all the way back to her own rooms.

She hadn’t expected Rowan to be particularly interested in listening to her, she reminded herself. She had injured him mere hours beforehand, after all. Not to mention that, as he had so rudely reminded her, he was only to stay until she had mastered her own power and then they would never see each other again.

It wasn’t even as if she particularly liked him. He was domineering and stubborn, and his temper ran as hot as her own for all that he had mastered his own control over ice and wind rather than fire. But perhaps in spite of the similarities she saw in them, or perhaps because of them, she couldn’t help but feel that it might’ve been nice to talk with him just once. To understand, and to be understood in turn rather than hated.

Aelin shook her head. It was a foolish notion, for a foolish girl. She should have known better.

Despite that knowledge, though, she couldn’t help but feel as if a small part of her had curled up and died along with that foolish hope. It shouldn’t have mattered that he thought so little of her. He barely knew her, and their time as master and student was limited in scope. It shouldn’t have mattered at all.

But it did, and she couldn’t for the life of her begin to figure out why.

#rules of engagement #rowaelin #haven writes

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gilbirda · 4 years

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Payment

After winning their silly little bet, Lucifer had arranged a vacation for him and his detective in a private island. What he doesn't know is that she had plans of her own.

<< Prequel

[Read in AO3][Read in FF.net]

"So," she heard the voice followed by a loud thump of something really heavy hitting the floor. "What do you think?"

Heavenly, was her first thought, but she was sure he wouldn't like the humour behind her words. Instead, Chloe pulled up her sunglasses and stepped into the mansion - she refused to call it a house - by the beach where Lucifer apparently wanted them to spend the rest of the week.

A beach in a private island, because of course The Devil owned a Caribbean island in the Bermuda Triangle. Despite the creepy mysteries behind planes and boats disappearing here, he had assured her that there wasn’t anything supernatural about this place; and as a bonus they had plenty of privacy here. The smile as he said it told her that he wasn’t exactly referring to nosy neighbours or unwanted visits.

She had never been in a private island. Or any island. One would think that with a famous mother she would have traveled a lot, but the fact is that she always been too busy with her studies and acting school to keep Penelope company in her travels.

Chloe smiled, swallowing down the knee-jerk reaction to Lucifer’s absurd wealth shows, and turned to see his buried under an equally absurd amount of luggage. It was his own fault, insisting that he chose everything she would wear or need as part of their bet, so she didn’t offer any help as she would have any other moment.

He didn’t seem tired, anyway.

“It’s nice,” she shrugged with a smirk, putting back her sunglasses and going inside the mansion with a flick of her hair.

Chloe was having the time of her life. She knew it was petty of her, but sometimes being predictable was boring and wasn't Lucifer complaining all the time about getting bored? That she could use some excitement in her life.

Seems like teasing the Devil was her new favorite pastime.

Serious teasing. Sexual teasing. Hinting promises and leave him hanging all day, being extra careful with her tongue movements as they ate ice-cream before, making unnecessary eye-contact every time she responded with an innuendo.

She really have been trying to read this book for a while, too, but Lucifer’s glare was too heavy to ignore even if he had been as quiet as a cat as he hovered around her.

A shadow was cast over her, but she didn’t lift her head to look at him.

“The main protagonist is about to have mind-blowing sex with the Dark Lord, so please move. You are blocking the light.”

The Devil snorted. “Why do you read that crap when you can have real-life mind-blowing sex with your own Dark Lord?”

He was trying so hard to conceal his frustration that her mask of controlled boredom almost cracked for it. It was endearing, watching him squirm and get all bothered because of her.

“Chloe…” he practically whined.

The woman smiled and closed the book, taking off the sunglasses. Maybe it was time to stop her game. She knew that they were here because of that stupid bet and that she was supposed to be living the fantasy of a deserted island with her boyfriend; but the truth is that she had been brewing a plan for this little vacation.

Lucifer thought she wouldn’t notice how he tried so hard to meet her needs, sexualy speaking that is; but the fact is that she did notice him withdrawing every time she presented a more active front. She knew he liked going down on her and tending to her every whim and plea, they had talked about it before, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have a preference or two. He had eons to try everything, true, and he must have a favorite position or kink.

So far she hadn’t approached him about it, but she was going to change that.

“Yeah?”

His expression was a mix of kicked puppy and Trixie’s face when there’s steamed broccoli for dinner.

“Please.” She wasn’t sure if she liked how he sounded saying that word; but the sensation surely won over the impulse of comforting him immediately.

Chloe smirked. “Join me for a quick shower?”

His smile lit up like a Christmas tree.

Breathing heavily, Chloe considered her boyfriend as he rearranged his bathrobe, his hair beyond salvation after the attack of her hands as he did so many wonderful things between her legs.

“Want more?” his voice made her focus on his eyes. They glinted with mischief.

“Uh-huh,” she shook her head, jumping off the bathroom counter. Didn’t bother with a towel, though. “Just thinking.”

“About?” he offered her another robe, opening it for her to pass her arms through.

“You.”

“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes at his tone, “but what about, specifically?”

She could cower and let it go, she knew; but between with the deep relaxation after a perfect shower followed by a mindblowing orgasm, she felt bold and brave. She came here with a mission.

“What do you want?”

He blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. You mean for dinner? Or…”

“Sorry. Let me rephrase it,” she cleared her throat, looked at him in the eye, leaning in a bit. “Tell me, what do you desire?” she said trying to mimic his accent.

Lucifer snorted and pinched her nose. “Awful. Just awful. Don’t do that ever again.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t,” Chloe batted his hand away. “But my question still stands. What is it that you most want?”

“You. I thought it was obvious,” he frowned like it was a stupid question.

“I mean, hm…” her bravery was vanishing. “In sex. I know you have a lot of experience and everything… Let me finish!” she said when he opened his mouth to, probably, reassure her once more that monogamy wasn’t a torture and she was more than enough and Detective, please, nothing can compare. “I have a point. What I wanted to say is, I have noticed how you do a bunch of stuff for me but don’t ask anything in return.”

“I thought that it was okay to do something without it being a deal…?” Chloe could almost see the question marks floating around his head.

“Yes! Yes, it is. But, trust me I can’t believe I’m saying this, I would do anything you ask of me. Doesn’t matter how kinky or, dunno, weird.”

“Anything…” he murmured the word, taking a step back, analysing her.

“Tell me, I’ll understand,” she looked down at her fidgeting hands, forcing them to stop. Here it goes, she though. Lucifer, the King of weird kinks and forbidden desires. What kind of thing would be the Devil’s kink? His one forbidden desire? The man who spoke of sex as an everyday thing, who had a BDSM dungeon (she knew about its existence, but never been there) fully stocked, who could draw the darkest and deepest fetishes of people without blinking.

Lucifer was still watching, considering, making her more nervous. Was it so fucked up that he didn’t want to talk about it out loud?

“Detective,” she jumped at his voice, “while I appreciate the thought, you don’t have to do anything for me. What you already give is more than enough for an eternity.”

How could he deliver such corny and cheesy phrases without sounding tacky? It was a mystery, but her money was on the accent. And his height.

Chloe took a deep breath. “I know. I’ve had my fair share of guilt tripping boyfriends pressuring me into sex to know you are not one of them.” He smiled dangerously, making it clear that he wanted the names of those ‘boyfriends’. “This is something I really want to do. And who knows, maybe I’ll like it too?” she gave him a tentative smile.

Lucifer relaxed, smiling back, closing the space between them to softly place a kiss on her lips.

“I love you,” he whispered like it was a fact.

And it was.

“Then tell me what you -”

“Stop right there if you value your kidney,” he grumbled. The devil didn’t like her butchering his catchphrase, it seems.

“I wasn’t going go say it.”

“Liar.”

She smirked devilishly, pushing him towards the bed, amazed once more when he let himself be pushed.

“What is it?”

Was it a blush in his cheeks? “Promise you won’t laugh.”

She frowned. “Laugh?” Chloe frowned.

“Yep. Promise.”

“I promise, sure, but I wouldn’t laugh at you anyways.”

He searched inside her eyes for a few seconds before sighing, closing his eyes.

“I want you to dominate me.”

Her eyebrows went to the hairline. “That was unexpected.” But she rolled with it, as she always did with her partner. “I thought Maze…?”

“Dear Mazikeen sure is the dominating type in bed,” he conceded with a slight nod, “and I let her do with me what she wanted more than a few times. But what I crave is more than pain and restraining. True submission is about -”

“Trust,” Lucifer saw the gears work inside her pretty brain. She knew him well, knew about his opinions about free will, about his issues with trust. Hell wasn’t place of trust and friendship, he had told her plenty of times. Maze was his trusted bodyguard and lover, but she was, after all, a demon. “And you trust me.”

“With my whole life.”

Chloe kissed him, hard.

“I don’t do pain, though,” she grabbed his face, looking at him in the eye. “I wouldn’t-”

“I know,” he smiled.

“Good. Then I’m game, if you excuse my inexperience.”

Lucifer moved her so he could stand up from the bed, straightened his bathrobe, and flashed her a charming trademark Lucifer smile.

“Worry not, Detective! We can start with something simple.” With long strides, he glided towards a dresser by the bed, opening a drawer and retrieving some stuff from inside. “Have you ever used one of this?”

Chloe should have expected this. She should, with how the conversation was going. But she wasn’t ready to see a pretty and shiny (and new, she noticed) strap-on with the dildo already attached. She had flashbacks of a moment a long time ago, with a young Chloe awkwardly kissing a woman, a girl who thought that “she was just experimenting” and “just a phase”. Yeah right.

“Once,” her voice didn’t falter, thankfully.

“Nice,” he smiled, showing a lot of teeth, “I want to hear about that story sometime.”

She made a face. Of course he would want to hear about her sex life, even if it wasn’t as colorful as his.

Chloe stood and approached him to retrieve the strap-on, one hand on his chest to push him back towards the bed. He let her, stealing a kiss as he walked backwards. The woman snorted.

“So,” she said, watching him from above, weighing the dildo in one hand as she contemplated what to do next. She wasn’t usually dominating in bed, but… well, it warmed her heart to hear his reasons behind wanting it. “Take off the robe.”

He nodded and did as he was told, making a show of it.

Chloe smiled softly. “Now, I want you to....,” she looked around, considering her words, “kneel.”

His knees made a dull sound when they contacted with the wooden floor, but he didn’t make an expression of pain. Chloe put her free hand on his hair, petting him softly, trying to dictate what kind of dominance she was going for. She didn’t do pain, didn’t do humiliation. He had suffered that enough in his life; and she was absolutely sure that it wasn’t what he was asking for with his request.

“You look so pretty like this, Luce,” her smile was soft, “I love how vulnerable you look around me.” Her hand went down his face, caressing his lips. He leaned into the touch, but didn’t say anything.

“I love kissing you knowing that I am the only one. That your lips are mine,” her nails scrapped his scalp softly when she grabbed a bit of hair, not enough to hurt. “Are they?”

“Yes,” his voice didn’t tremble, but he closed his eyes. Chloe smiled.

“Good. Stand up.”

Being so close to him, his height made him tower above her, but that didn’t make her cower down. It never did.

“On the bed,” she slapped his backside when he turned to do as she told him. “Good devil.”

“Always.”

“Uh-huh, didn’t give you permission to speak,” she stood before him, placing the strap and the dildo somewhere on the mattress and focusing on him.

He arched an eyebrow, but bit down whatever he was going to retort with.

“Now, for your little slip of the tongue, you are not allowed to move,” she locked eyes with him as she kneeled between his legs, her intentions clear. “No words, but you can make sounds. And no touching me.” Her growl was good, he decided. Pasable.

Without preamble, she took him into her mouth, delighted when he jumped and fisted his hands on the sheets. He enjoyed touching her, her face, her hair, her shoulders, anything, as she does her blowjobs; she was sure that part of it was to make sure she was real and was actually doing it. She liked it too, not going to lie, even if sometimes he got a bit rough.

Okay, maybe those times turned her on more that she was going to admit out loud.

She looked up as she bobbed her head up and down his length, smiling around him once she found a very flustered devil, jaw locked in place, trying very hard to control his own body from reaching for her. His eyes were shifting between normal brown and hellfire red, the only sign that she was doing exactly what she wanted.

Lucifer should have expected this, he thought. His Detective was cunning and clever, with a mischievous streak buried deep under her sensible clothes and brown shoes. What he didn’t expect was looking down to find her swallowing him further and further, her face scrunched in concentration as she overcame her gag reflex with the ease of enough practise.

Once she managed to reach all the way up, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Throwing his head back, he moaned loudly, her name on the tip of his tongue, remembering in the last minute that he wasn’t allowed to say words. His hands trembled on his sides, the urge to grab her head and pound into her throat consuming his thoughts until he couldn’t stop imagining it even with his eyes opened.

She kept her head down one moment that felt like eons before withdrawing, taking a deep breath.

“Do you like it?” her lips were swollen as she smiled her question, one hand idly stroking his cock with care. Lucifer nodded hastily, taking the break to breathe himself. “Good devil.” He shivered at her praising. “I love watching you like this, too. I love doing this to you knowing that I am the only one who can touch you like this. Am I? You can speak.”

"Yes.”

He was close, she knew. It was tempting to give her all and make him cum after the teasing, but she was strong enough to ignore the siren’s call.

“Good, good,” she nodded and let him go. Lucifer gasped, looking at her like she had just murdered his puppy. “No talking,” she reminded him when he opened his mouth.

Lucifer rolled his eyes in a very Decker way.

“On the bed,” she made a gesture with her chin, a soft smile on her lips. “Good devil,” the woman said as he did so, ignoring the smug smile when he laid down, hands behind his head, and proudly presenting his Luciferness for her.

Chloe reached for the harness, her hands finding their places in the straps and quickly fastening the contraption between her legs. She felt in control, dominant, and exactly in tune with what she wanted to do. Lucifer watched her with anticipation while she went for the lube and applied a generous quantity over the silicone, stroking the false cock to thoroughly spread the glossy substance.

She kneeled between his legs, reached for a nearby pillow and put it under him, ordering him to lift his hips with a soft slap on the leg, before spreading even more lube on her right hand and grabbing his member by the base, waiting for confirmation. He nodded briefly, letting her hand slid down, biting back a retort about not really needing prep, duh, who has she thinking he was?

“Before you start bitching about it, remember how vulnerable,” she made a point by squeezing his cock almost to an uncomfortable point. He jumped and gasped, but not really for the pain, “you are around me. Trust me.”

The thing is, he did.

Chloe put in a finger, lazily pumping him with her left hand, looking into his eyes as she added almost immediately another finger. She felt him relax into the sensation, not really aroused by it but enjoying the feeling of his Detective touching him in such delightful ways.

The woman added another finger, slowly spreading them, focusing on the rhythm and his reaction to it.

Lucifer gasped when she deemed him sufficiently prepared and withdrew her digits, pouring some more lube just in case.

“Thank you for allowing me this moment, Lucifer,” she caressed his chest as she shuffled closer to him, her fingers leaving wet tracks on his tanned skin, “I love how doing this to you makes me feel. How your body responds to me,” she said as she probed the entrance with the plastic toy.

Without any further warning, she slowly pushed the dildo in, watching out for any discomfort or pain in his expression. He had closed his eyes, one of his hands floating near her hip as if reaching to guide her. Chloe waited for a moment.

Lucifer’s breath hitched when she withdrew as slowly as she entered. No one told him it would be like this. No one could have warned him it could be like this. Sex with the love of his life was amazing and everything but, bloody hell, this woman…!

She thrusted right back in, and he actually mewled in response, his hands choosing to fist around the sheets again. Was he allowed to touch her again…? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure anymore about anything. Why was Chloe doing this? He should have asked sooner. Hell, he should have offered sooner, if this was what got her into his bed.

“You can speak,” her words were like fresh water in the dessert.

“Chloe,” he grumbled, his voice a hybrid of a growl and a moan. “More.”

She didn’t say anything else and picked up the pace a little, her hands searching for anchor in his thighs to power her thrust, searching for the balance of force and speed he craved.

“More!” He arched his back, feeling like something was quite there but not there, making him mad with the need, like scratching an itch he couldn’t reach.

Instead of going faster, Chloe gradually stopped. He opened his eyes, horrified, scared that he said the wrong thing or wanted too much, or she was finally realizing that dating a celestial maybe wasn’t exactly what she wanted-

“On your belly,” her breathing was labored but her expression focused. She slapped his stomach softly when he didn’t move. “I have an idea, one that maybe won’t require cramping my legs.”

In a daze, Lucifer did as told, missing the pressure of the dildo inside of him, missing the reassurance of seeing her face and asses if she was okay or not. His back may not be scarred anymore, and she was allowed to touch him where she wanted now, but he still felt utterly vulnerable in his position. Maybe she knew this?

Chloe run a finger over his spine, right between where his wings would be. “Wings. Out.”

“Chloe?”

She kissed his back instead of answering.

Taking a deep breath he unfurled his enormous wings, careful of not pushing her out of the bed in the process. This wasn’t the first time he showed her his cursed appendages, even during sex; but it was the first time she asked for them. She knew about the conflicted emotions around them, the pain and the loss, about the grooming and what it entailed. What it meant to be touched there.

“I’m going to touch your feathers, maybe pull them. Is that okay with you?” her voice was soft, not demanding at all, breaking character for the one question he knew he could answer truthfully.

The words came easy. “Please do.”

He felt more than saw her nod before feeling the silicone cock touching him again. He angled his ass better for her, delighted when her hands bracketed his hips like they were made to be there. Just as naturally and easy, she pushed in and started to pump in and out again, slow at first as she found the position to power through what she wanted to accomplish.

Lucifer’s arms trembled when her hands roamed up to his wings, her nimble fingers finding places that triggered shivers and sighs and nice feelings; and places that send lighting to his groin, too. He moaned after one powerful thrust, his hand sneaking down, trying to reach that extra completion…

“Uh-huh,” she slapped the hand away.

“No?” he turned his head to look at her beautiful naked body, the visuals of her cock disappearing inside of him giving him the shivers.

“Nope.” She grinned in a very him way, pushing in a bit harder to accentuate her point. She was in control. She did the action.

“O-okay…” he almost screamed, but bit down the urge.

Lucifer closed his eyes, letting himself feel the friction and the delicious sensations she provided. He screamed when she grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled, careful of not hurting him too much even if she couldn’t know that with her human strength she couldn’t really damage his wings. She pulled again, this time accompanied by another powerful thrust.

His arms trembled, unable of supporting his weight anymore, and fell down, losing the last bit of control he held over what she was doing to him, letting himself be held down by the woman.

“Detective,” he moaned into the pillow. She hummed, raking her nails deep into his wings, sending electric currents through his body. Lucifer screamed again.

“My name, Lucifer. I want to hear my name.” Her voice couldn’t be louder than a normal conversation, but it rang loud in his brain.

He didn’t know if it was her tone or how the new angle made the silicone hit just right but he was sure that he was close again. Still, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. She was enough, but there were so many things he wanted to do with her. It was always like this. He wanted so much, too much, and he wanted all with her. She said she wanted to fulfill his desires but would she really?

He turned his head to look at her delicious form, her focused expression, her lower lip between her teeth in concentration. She was sweating and breathing hard, but she looked… radiant.

“Detec-”, she slapped his ass, glaring at him when she found his eyes. “Chloe,” her name sounded like a plea. “Please don’t stop.”

She was going to ask what he meant, when she felt the resistance to her movements increase, his legs trembling slightly, and she understood now. As he came, she kept moving at a slower pace, guiding her actions by his breathing and the tone of his moans, how he looked at her with eyes switching between dark brown and hellfire red.

He was beautiful like this, she concluded. His hair messed beyond repair, utterly wrecked and helpless under her body. She pulled some feathers again, smirking when immediately he screamed her name, arching his back as much as she let him.

“Don’t stop, please,�� he kept saying, this time with eyes glowing red, “Please.”

And she didn’t stop. Chloe kept thrusting and pulling and caressing and slapping; slowing down sometimes, notching the speed a bit up when she found the strength. Her legs were burning, but she kept going. She could do this. She wanted to do this.

It wasn’t until he eventually stopped pleading and mewling and moaning that she ceased all movements. She was tired. And needed a shower. And water.

Slowly, she withdrew the silicone cock, Lucifer’s body falling limp on the bed. She worried for a moment that she had hurt him, but when she rushed to check if he was alive she found him awake but silent, watching her in a daze-like state. She snapped her fingers and he moved his eyes to hers in question, but didn’t do anything else.

Deciding that it was okay as a response, she unfastened the straps and got out of the bed, waggling towards the bathroom as fast as her tired legs could. She wetted a cloth and came back to clean a still unresponsive Lucifer, wrestling with his celestial weight and wings to turn him to clean the bodily fluids clinging to his skin. He would need to shower too, but that was for the them of the future.

For now, napping.

If he agreed or not, she couldn’t know. The only signs that he was alive were his still changing eyes watching her every movement, a blank expression in his face. She had broken him, she knew. For a few seconds, she considered getting this moment captured in a photo for future blackmail, but she dismissed the idea with a smile.

Once they both were clean enough for her standards, she threw the cloth to a nearby table and proceeded to yank the sheets from under the Devil’s body. If she was tired before, she was about to collapse now. Chloe didn’t care if it wasn’t night yet, she was going to nap.

At last she got under the covers with her boyfriend, spooning his unresponsive form, wings and all. She closed her eyes, humming with delight.

“Chloe,” she heard him whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” His voice broke with emotion. She didn’t comment on it.

“I know,” she kissed the back of his head. “Now, sleep.”

“Okay.”

#lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer fanfiction #deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x chloe #gil writes #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr

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voidcat · 3 years

Text

Intrusion

– 4: gone with a snap (wc: 1.9k)

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a/n: another filler. sorry i forgot to upload the other remaining intrusion chapters from ao3 to here,,, i’ll upload other two in the following days.

After that day out, everything seems to fall back into place and regain its old rhythm.

Except that Iwaizumi becomes a part of the said rhythm of your life now, conversing and interacting with him a lot easier and almost refreshing.

What he said about your view of people seeing you play plays on loop in your mind but in a way, it feels like a breaking point on your journey of friendship. It feels good to step outside your comfort zone once in a while.

It’s funny how sudden some changes can appear before someone.

The first school day since your little hang out and you’re awfully cheery. Waking up in a good mood, not cutting conversations short; not even a certain teacher’s discriminating opinions can burst your bubble.

Your friends notice the sudden change during your typical lunch meet up.

It starts with wondering where some of your friends are. Ever since the rearrangement, it feels harder and harder to stick together.

“I heard the MUN club is holding a meeting during lunch break.”

“Again? This is the 3rd time in the last two weeks. Can’t they do that after school?” Okemia’s sudden outburst catches you off guard and causes Etsuko to drop one of her cookies. Meanwhile Ayame is nodding approvingly, backing up Okemia as always.

“Yeah because every single club wants to create a gap between us and the boys.”

“Well, they could be! They might be planning for it right now and we would be none the wiser!”

“A little bit of a reach, don’t you think?” Koto says as she sits down. The rest agrees in silence.

Everyone finishing up with lunch and occasionally eyeing the distance in case anyone else shows up, time passes by like that. Leaning against the tree behind you, you start watching the blurry figures in the distance, eyeing the leaves once in a while and getting cozier.

Startled by the sudden poke by your ribs, you break out of your trance.

“And what about you? You have been awfully quiet lately…” You slowly turn to Okemia.

“Not that it’s bad!” She adds worriedly. “It’s good to see you feeling, better. But at least one of us is there to witness the reason behind it. So… Spill.”

“I- spill what?”

“It’s the one you saw this weekend, right? It has to be! What else could you have done without us that would cause such a-“ She moves her hand rather dramatically, all digits pointing at you. “-change. So, who is he?”

Here it comes.

“There is no ‘he’ if that’s what you are asking. I’m just feeling lighter for no particular reason.”

“Hey, no need to get defensive! Nothing wrong with having a crush now.” You can hear the teasing tone in Etsuko’s words.

“Uh… Wait! Have we had a hobbit day recently? We haven’t had a hobbit day recently! I think we should have one soon and do nothing but eat!” Your desperate attempts at changing the topic of discussion is acknowledge. You’re not sure you’ll be getting away for a second time.

“Last time was fun, except for the moment our literature teacher saw Ayame and I feed each other chocolate though.”

“That’s because you two aren’t as fast and experienced as us!” You pull Koto to your side a bit too harsh as you say these. She just puts her arm around you in support and Okemia rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, keep lying to yourself.”

Successfully avoiding the possible news of your crush, you all set a date for your next grand ‘feast’ and some of your friends start to talk and giggle about their crushes. You just go back to looking at the sky and zoning out.

Trying not to dwell on your friends’ implications, you find yourself walking back to your classroom.

The looks and knowing smirks they sent your way when you announced you’d be leaving your little lunch spot a bit earlier making your blood rush, causing you to walk a little faster.

Pushing unwanted thoughts about why you might feel a bit different about someone proves to be an issue, especially when that someone is the one you hope to talk with a little before class starts.

Passing people by fast, ignoring their looks and heading straight to restroom, you stand over the sink.

Taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds.

You breathe out as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

Taking another deep breath and you start to examine your face.

A pink blush spread on your cheeks and your nose, which you hope is caused by your quick pace and not a certain someone. Other than that, your eyes look fine, your mouth in a straight line and your face not giving away a single thought on your mind.

Splashing some cold water and standing for another 10 seconds, you slowly exit and make way to the classroom.

You’re almost disappointed to see Iwaizumi preoccupied with someone else. Key word; almost.

He’s sitting by his seat and a tall figure is looming over it.

From the way the figure moves his hands almost theatrically, it’s clear they’re the ones doing the talking. You can see their shiny brown hair and the gestures pull your attention to their skilled-looking fingers. They must know the enchanting presence they have right now, half the people in the classroom doing nothing but watching them. And they keep on talking about whatever it is they’re talking about purposely, not moving their head an inch from where Iwaizumi is sitting. And from where you are standing, they don’t block your view of Iwaizumi.

You can see him watching and nodding at them. Moving his mouth to make small comments, you assume to be words of agreement and encouragement, once in a while. He looks like in any other class; posture not slouching, hands rested on his desk, gaze focused on the speaker.

Yet the impression on his face. That, you cannot pinpoint.

Maybe you were wrong about Iwaizumi Hajime being an open book. Maybe you don’t know him enough to recognize this specific emotion on his face. It is clear there is something in the way he looks, the way his jaw clenches and the way he breathes. But you can’t make it out.

Startled by a sudden bump by the shoulder, you turn your head, mouth open ready to blurt a harsh word out, only to realize you’ve been blocking the entrance this whole time. Bowing your head slightly in what you hope is an apologetically way, your attention is back to them.

Eyes sliding back to the hall once in a while, you walk back to your desk and to Iwaizumi. Silently hoping he notices you or maybe not. Do you want him to notice you? Do you want to engage with someone who seems to be close to him as well? Do you-

Is that his voice? Head spinning around so fast to confirm with your eyes and yes it is the idiot you’ve been looking for all day, you rush to your desk, all your worries about Iwaizumi and his friend long forgotten.

Muttering few complaints and insults under your breath, along with a “wait up dumb ass” to no one in particular, you furiously search through your bag and make a run for the door as soon as you find what you’re looking for.

You don’t realize the puzzled look on Iwaizumi’s face or how his hand almost reached out to you.

You certainly don’t feel the cold gaze the brunette directs your way either.

You’ve been in an awfully good mood all week so far, Iwaizumi’s sure of it.

It’s almost impossible to miss when the typical demeanor of someone like you is cold and lacking in the smiles department. It’s a relief to see you like this, a little uplifting too. He wants to ask if it’s because of the mysterious text bearing news of hope you had received at the café. He knows better than to pry and settles with waiting until you decide to tell him yourself.

He can’t help but wish he is part of the reason why you’re happy.

Life goes the same for him; practices with the volleyball club, coming up with new strategies to beat Shiratorizawa, dealing with his highness’ shittiness whenever he is too handful. Additionally, you become a part of his life; slowly but surely giving more bits about your true self, talking with much more enthusiasm, making or saying something that is so you that he can’t help but agape once in a while too.

It is a nice change, welcomed, a little challenging because how you hold back and take things in time. He may not be the type to go and befriend anyone he sees but it doesn’t take a genius to know people don’t go all the trouble of slow processing and the effort when making friends nowadays. Lucky for him, Iwaizumi is not the type to back down from a challenge.

Except for the times you disappear off to god knows where and all he has left to do is to wait. The back and forth between the two of you in thrilling somehow, adding a pinch of adrenaline to all this and leave him wondering what more to discover about you, what more to unlock with you, which layers to reach. To Iwaizumi you’re a little like a matrushka sometimes, reminding him of an oh-too-familiar friend he has spent a life time knowing.

But knowing him and discovering, bonding and growing together with him is what pulls Iwaizumi to the potential your friendship holds and offers.

So here he is one lunch break, sitting by his desk, most gazes locked onto where he is because Oikawa decide to pay him a visit in his classroom instead of calling him outside like he usually does.

He is not even there for something urgent, not even a hair crisis or a sudden volleyball strategy he came up with. No, Oikawa Tooru had to come and just ramble about nothing for no reason Iwaizumi can see. Yet he finds himself listening to his friend’s blabbing, nods when agreeing, making a small comment here and there, watching his comical gestures.

This goes on longer than he can comprehend, not long enough for lunch break to come to an end but long enough for Iwaizumi to zone in and out few times.

By the time his focus his back, he can see you aggressively going through your bag and cursing it. Unaware of Oikawa’s sudden silence, right when he’s about to touch your shoulder, you’re gone with a snap of fingers.

From where he is sitting, the view of the halls is limited. It takes a while for you to be seen again, walking besides someone and giving them whatever it was you were looking for a second ago. The figure’s back turned to him, Iwaizumi cam make out their built and height a bit, hint them to be in a sports team. He doesn’t realize the silent stance Oikawa has whenever he is observing, planning, breaking something into pieces in his mind; not until Iwaizumi realizes the mixture of words and giggles taking over the classroom as they’re done fawning after Oikawa. Before he can say anything else to his friend, besides a hurried “See ya!” Oikawa is gone, followed by the bell.

#intrusion #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #Multi chapter #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi fanfic #Iwaizumi Hajime fanfiction #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #im lazy to tag so i wont tag much else #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #gender neutral reader #reader insert #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x you

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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Fic: Strangers on a Train

Cablanca Week Day Three, alternate universe

They meet on a train

It had been suggested, more than once, that Benoit needed to mind his own business. The problem was that observing people was not just a natural habit but a side effect of his job as a writer, and when he saw things going wrong he had a tendency to want to help. To interfere, his mother would say. To butt in, his last girlfriend would argue. Right now things were going very wrong for the woman standing five feet away from him. As much as she tried to look focused on her book the man next to her wasn’t leaving her alone. He was badgering her for her number, for a date, or some rather lewd suggestions that Benoit was certain the man wouldn’t want his mother to hear him saying.

Touching her breast was the last straw.

“Darlin’ I’m so glad I found you. I barely caught the train and had to get in the last car. I’ve been making my way here one car at a time.” He completely ignored the other man, except to step neatly between him and the woman. When she looked up at him, confused, he silently gestured at the man behind him. “I hope you weren’t worried.”

“Just a little.” She stayed completely still except for the taping of her foot. Her shoes were very practical. Her accent was music to his ears.

“You look like you’ve had a long day. Good thing we’ll be home in two shakes of a lamb’s tale and you can rest those feet of yours. I left some gumbo cookin’ in the crock pot before I left the apartment.” The pesky man was still standing right behind him, almost touching. Apparently he didn’t take a hint easily.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a while. I didn’t have time for a break today.” In addition to the book she’d been trying to read she carried a backpack slung over one shoulder. It was the badge clipped to her waist that told him the most, though. Her jacket covered half of it, but her first name was Marta and she was a nurse.

“It’s true what they say about nurses working harder than doctors.” The train came to a stop and Benoit not quite so accidentally bumped the man behind him, feeling no guilt when he stumbled. He watched Marta carefully and could tell by the way she watched the doors that she was getting off. Whether this was her actual stop or she was just escaping unwanted attention he didn’t know. He held out his arm for her. “Ready my dear?”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Marta kept her voice low; unfortunately the man who had been hassling her was quickly working his way up to stalking. Benoit had intended to wait in the station for the next train, but when Marta had started towards the elevator the man had followed. He’d faked tying a shoe and then jogged to catch up.

“I’m worried about that man’s intentions, Miss Marta. I promise you my own intentions only consist of seeing you safe to your front door. My mama would be ashamed of me if I did anything less.” Manners had been drilled into him from a young age, but more than that he’d been taught to look out for anyone around him that was smaller or weaker. Not that Marta looked weak, but he knew far too much about the way some men’s minds worked.

“I don’t even know your name.” They left the station. Snow crunched under their feet as they walked on the sidewalk. It made it easy to hear a set of footprints behind them.

“It’s Benoit. Benoit Blanc. I’m from Charleston, I have a good driving record, and the only time I’ve been in a jail cell was for research purposes unless you count the time I was thirteen and my cousin and I stole the sheriff’s car on a dare.” Two blocks later and they were still being tailed. Up ahead Benoit was the sign for a diner and made a snap decision. He raised his voice a few notches. “The gumbo will keep until tomorrow, my dear. I do believe I’m craving a burger.”

“What are you doing?” He’d tugged her into the diner, turning to look outside the window. While the man that had been following them paused, he seemed to know there was no point in sticking around and left.

“Getting rid of our unwanted friend. He’d probably moved on but we should stay here for a few minutes to be sure. Or we could have something to eat, my treat. I really am craving a burger.” She was hesitant. “No pressure, of course. Once we’re sure he’s gone I’d be glad to escort you home. I just figured you looked like you wouldn’t mind sitting down, I’d love some company for dinner, and it’s a safe place. What do you think?”

“I’d be glad to have dinner with you on one condition; you have to let me pay. I’m the one that owes you, after all.” For the first time he saw her smile. He might have to revise his opinions on love at first sight, because he felt like he was crashing hard. He’d do just about anything to see that smile again.

“It’s a deal.”

#cablanca #cablanca week #cablanca fic #benoit x marta #benoit blanc #marta cabrera

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wordsandshawn · 4 years

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Before Now - chapter 16

previous chapters

in this chapter: What happens when the past catches up...

warnings: swearing, verbal abuse, physical abuse, mentions of past trauma, emotional manipulation.

16.

It’s been a few days since that conversation with Shawn about professionalism and me remaining on tour. Since then, things have been relatively uneventful, thankfully. Shawn and I have finally settled into a routine of focusing on the work that has to be done. True to his word, he hasn’t gone out of his way to check on me or anything like that, and I’ve been able to work on improving my photography skills without anything else getting in the way.

If I’m honest, I’ve stayed as far away from Shawn as possible whenever possible because I don’t want to give anyone a chance to talk or make other unwanted comments about me online. Even though I told myself it wasn’t a good idea, I couldn’t help but notice all the comments and opinions over the pictures of me and Shawn in the café. Even though I’ve been trying to minimize any opportunity for comment, just being here on tour with Shawn has created a lot of talk about me and the ties I have to Shawn, but that’s something I know I’ll have to learn to deal with.

The venues are pretty much always in relatively large cities, and I can normally find at least one coffee shop within walking distance, so it has become my little tradition to spend some time in coffee shops at least once or twice a week since tour started. Coffee shops used to be my outlet at Uni, and I spent so much time in them studying or grabbing coffee with friends. So now, even though there are so many different ones, they still manage to feel comforting and a little bit like home, which I welcome since the constant travel can feel really disorienting. Even if I just slip away for a short time to grab coffee or steal a couple hours to edit, I enjoy the walk and the time to clear my head and get away from the chaos of backstage or the monotony of the tour bus.

Today is no different, I’ve ordered my drink and found a table off to the side where I can edit for a while. My drink is half empty and it’s getting closer to showtime, but I’m determined to finish putting together this video edit before I leave to head back to the venue. That way I’ll have something for Shawn and Andrew by showtime tonight if Shawn wants to post it. I’m so absorbed in my editing that I barely notice that someone is pulling the chair out across from me. My first thought is that they’ll ask to use the chair to put at another table, but the second my eyes finally look up to meet the person’s face, I freeze completely, my fingers still hovering over the mousepad on my laptop.

He sits down without waiting for an invitation, and I still don’t say anything. I’m in shock. He’s just sitting in front of me, after all the shit he put me through. After realizing that we were over and treating me like I was worth nothing. After telling me I wouldn’t be anything without him and that no one would ever love me. After showing me that I wasn’t worth loving and making me believe it for so long. After all of that and two months without any contact, granted I did block him on everything, he’s sitting across from me with that smug smile that I loved the first time I met him.

I’m still staring at him over the laptop in front of me. “What are you doing here?” It’s the only thing I can think to say to break the silence.

“I missed you.” He responds with that air of genuineness that I don’t buy anymore, but I used to lap right up. He knows how to say the right thing at the right time to get anyone to believe him, but I know better now. “You’re always talking about how you wanted me to make more of an effort, so I’m here. I drove five hours to come here, for you, for us.” He tries reaching across the table, but I move my hands to my lap, and he stops.

I stare back at him, blankly. “Gregory, there is no us anymore.” I remind him because it’s clear he doesn’t see this the same way I do. I quickly shut my laptop shoving it into my backpack. I grab the half empty cup of coffee before bolting from the table and leaving the coffee shop. He follows after me, calling my name. I’m not even sure what he expected to happen or how he found me in the coffee shop, but I also don’t really want to know.

“Skylar, wait!” He’s standing at the entrance to the coffee shop now, and I’m about a few steps away.

“What?” I question, turning around, suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of anger for all the shit he put me through and the way he showed no remorse about any of it, like he never really cared about me at all.

“Come back inside? I just want to talk. You weren’t replying to my texts or calls.”

“We broke up.” I respond, as though it’s that simple when in reality, it’s not. It’s never that simple. My cheeks redden when I realize I’m standing on the sidewalk shouting this at my ex as people walk past me, pretending to mind their own business when I know they’re listening in, waiting to see what will happen next. A part of me is waiting to see what will happen next too because this all feels so unexpected and not even real.

“I apologized. I came here to find you, to talk to you, so the least you can do is talk to me.” He responds, with that hurt look on his face that has made me fall back into him so many times, but not this time.

I shake my head at him, “I can’t, I have to work.” I respond weakly, finding the only excuse I can think of in the moment. I turn away from him without waiting for a reply. The street is crowded enough, and I force myself to look straight ahead as I walk towards the venue. When I reach the corner, I finally let myself glance back. I don’t see Gregory anywhere. He’s gone, at least out of sight, and I wonder if that encounter was just a hallucination. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe the lack of sleep lately is getting to me, because if Greg really did come out here to find me, I can’t imagine he would just let me walk away like this.

Crossing the stree, I head back toward the venue, still nervously looking around and over my shoulder the entire way, half expecting for Greg to pop out of nowhere and scare me again. Only when I’m past security backstage in the venue do I finally let my guard down. I head into the Q&A room, which is set up, but no one is in here yet because there’s still some time before the Q&A starts. I take a seat on the ground to finish the work I wasn’t able to finish in the coffee shop, but my mind is still reeling from the encounter with Greg so I’m finding it nearly impossible to focus. It takes me an entire hour to finish something I should have been able to do in fifteen minutes, which only makes me feel even more frustrated.

Even though I go through the motions for the rest of the night, I feel so anxious and unsettled. Finally, after the show is over, I’m relieved to be able to get away and go to sleep. Normally, I’d stick around backstage, getting footage and relaxing for a bit, but tonight I just want to be on the bus in my bunk, alone. I want to shower and sleep. The rest of the work and editing can wait until tomorrow. As I step out into the cold night air, I pull my sweater closer to my body, picking up my pace as I start walking toward the bus, which isn’t far from the venue exit, thankfully.

A voice cuts through the mostly silent parking lot, “Finally, it’s fucking cold out here.” If I wasn’t cold enough already, my whole body feels suddenly freezing, and I spin to search for where the voice came from. I don’t need to see him to know that it belongs to Gregory.

“How did you get back here?” I question, knowing full well that this area should be off limits to anyone who doesn’t work for the venue or belong to the tour crew, so the fact that he’s back here is a security issue in itself, not to mention the fact that now I’m alone with him. There’s no one walking past like earlier on the street, and everyone is still in the venue since the show just finished.

Greg steps out of the shadows, and I try not to show that I’m afraid, but I am. As he steps closer to me, I can’t help but step back, trying to keep at least some distance between us. He smiles a sinister smile, “What, are you scared?” He taunts, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, “I just want to talk.” He’s close enough now that I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and if there was any chance I’d ever actually agree to talk to him, I know now that this is not a good idea, at all.

“What do you want to talk about?” I question, but my voice comes out barely a whisper, and I’m surprised that he even hears me.

“You and me.” He reaches for my hand, but I move it out of his reach and take another step back. Every time I step back, I get a little closer to the bus and I hope that someone will walk out from the building and see me, see us and ask what’s going on or at least stand to witness whatever happens next.

“What about us?” I question, still just hoping to buy time and avoid getting him angry, at least until we’re not alone anymore.

“I know things weren’t perfect, but I loved you.”

I have to intentionally stop myself from rolling my eyes at him, knowing it would make him angry. “We broke up, remember?” I remind him again, trying my best to keep my tone even and keep my voice from shaking. It’s like he forgot everything that happened in the last few days before I moved back home. He always did have a tendency to conveniently forget things in a way that worked only in his favor.

“I thought we would get back together. It was just a hiccup. I can’t believe you just left.” He responds as though he has any right to be angry at me for what happened.

“You slept with someone else and threw all my stuff outside when I confronted you.” I’m suddenly pissed and hurt all over again as these painful memories that I’ve been trying for so long to get over are suddenly rushing back to me at once. As hard to believe as it is, that was not nearly the worst thing he’s done or the most hurtful during our time together. It’s just that getting thrown out that night actually gave me the opportunity to leave and recognize that I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Sometimes, being in a situation for so long makes it difficult to recognize how toxic it actually is. Leaving, well getting kicked out, made me go back to my apartment where my roommates helped me see how dark things had gotten, and how broken and unsafe I actually felt with Greg.

“I made a mistake.” He insists. “Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not perfect!” He throws his hands up in a shrugging motion, but I can’t help but flinch away from the sudden movement.

Even though I know that I shouldn’t be getting into this conversation right now, or ever really, I still respond. “That wasn’t even the first time you slept with her, that was just the first time I called you out on it.”

“I fucking told you Skylar, it was a mistake. I was the best thing that ever happened to you. You weren’t shit before you met me. And you think this Shawn kid is helping you. You think he gives a shit about you? He’s a famous singer, he doesn’t give a shit about anyone. I bet he just keeps you around for a good fuck.” He gets closer and closer as he shouts all of this at me, and I have to blink back angry tears. It takes everything in me to keep my composure.

My blood is boiling. I don’t feel cold anymore. Instead, I feel hot with rage. That fear I felt only seconds before is replaced with anger. My hands close into tightly balled fists that I keep securely at my sides, “Don’t talk about Shawn.” I respond, seething. I know that meeting Greg’s outrage with my own is not a great idea because that just escalates the situation, but I can’t help myself right now. How dare he say things like that about Shawn and about me. He has no right.

The fight or flight instinct in me that originally led me to look for a way out of this situation is suddenly ready to fight. It doesn’t matter to me anymore that he could very easily hurt me and that he wouldn’t think twice about doing so. He has already hurt me. I’m tired of being hurt and silenced and broken.

He knows his effect on me. He’s practically taunting me as he steps closer. This time I stand my ground and speak the truth. “We’re not together, so just leave.”

Greg laughs, loudly and obnoxiously. “I told you no one would want you. Stop fooling around and come back home with me. It’s where you belong.”

A sudden surge of boldness bursts through me, along with that desire to fight. I’ve choked down my words on account of Gregory for so long, for too long. “Well you clearly still want me. Maybe because no one else wants you.”

His palm comes into contact with my cheek before I even notice he’s lifted his hand. The sharp pain and stinging sensation bring more memories back into my mind, memories I have been trying to forget for months. His face is inches away from mine, “Don’t speak to me like that.” He practically growls.

My two hands come up in front of me before I can think of the consequences of retaliation. I don’t want him this close, so I shove him back, hard. “I don’t love you. I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone!” He stumbles a bit. He’s drunk, but I know from experience he could still overpower me if he really wanted to.

It takes him a second to regain his footing, but I know that when the dizziness passes and he gets his bearings back, I’m in for something that I don’t want to be in for.

“Hey what’s going on here?” I hear Shawn’s voice carry across the empty lot. This distracts Gregory momentarily, but I don’t tear my eyes from him to look at Shawn, because I don’t trust Greg, not even for a second. I’m sure Shawn can sense the tension and even though this parking lot isn’t well lit, I know Shawn can tell that Greg doesn’t belong here.

“This is between me and my girl, so fuck off dude.” Greg says, turning to Shawn.

“I just heard her tell you to leave her alone, so I don’t think it is.” Shawn steps closer, and I realize he must have been standing outside for at least a few seconds before he spoke up. I always knew he was tall, but it almost feels like he makes himself even bigger than he is as he stares Greg down. If Greg is intimidated by Shawn, he doesn’t show it.

“Gregory, just go, please.” I whisper the last part. I can tell he’s already angry, but the last thing I need is for him to cause a scene. The last thing I need is to lose my job because he can’t keep control of his anger. I’ve already lost enough on account of his anger.

“Skylar just come with me.” He reaches for my hand, but I take another step back, my cheek is still stinging from the slap. I’m not going anywhere with him.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Shawn practically growls stepping between us. Shawn’s now standing in front of me, blocking most of me from Greg’s view, and I don’t mind. He takes a small step back, gently pushing me back too, creating more space between me and Greg and less space between me and Shawn.

There is silence between the two of them in a way that feels like a challenge, or like they’re sizing each other up. I’m terrified that Greg is just going to lunge at Shawn and they’ll get into an actual fight. My fingers wrap around Shawn’s forearm without me realizing it, and when I do, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m holding Shawn back just in case or if I need something to ground me and he’s the only safe person here.

I can’t help but notice how this parallels the night we ran into Shawn in the bar and he came to my defense when Greg was drunk and acting out like he always was. I remember being frustrated at Shawn for getting involved that night, but this is diifferent. For these last five excruciating long minutes I’ve been standing out in the cold with Greg, all I wanted was for Shawn to burst through those doors.

“Skylar, go get on the bus.” Shawn mutters to me, although he never takes his eyes off Greg. His tone is low, even, and eerily calm, and somehow that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from breaking down completely in this moment even though my heart is beating wildly and adrenaline is coursing through me. I’m trying to process everything as my eyes dart between Greg and Shawn, I know that the way Shawn is feeling right now is not matching the way his voice sounds, but he clearly has a much better reign on his emotions than Gregory does.

“Just butt out, dude.” Greg responds. Shawn doesn’t move or respond to him, so Greg addresses me instead, “Skylar, don’t listen to him. I just want to talk. Just me and you. Let’s just go somewhere and talk, please baby.” Greg’s voice is softer than before, that voice he uses when he wants me to believe him. The one he’s used so many times before while convincing me that things will be better if I just forgive him, that he won’t do it again, that he really is sorry, that he loves me. I’ve heard that voice too many times to count, and I’ve fallen for it too.

Shawn doesn’t move or even react to what Greg just said to him or me, but I feel his muscles clench under my fingertips. He’s still positioned between me and Greg. “Skylar, get on the bus.” He repeats, his tone still sounding calm, but slightly more forceful this time.

I’m afraid to get on the bus because I don’t know what will happen between Greg and Shawn if I leave them here alone, but I’m about to break down, and I don’t want to be standing out here either. I hear the door to the venue opening, and this time, I turn to look at who it is because Shawn is still positioned in front of me, and I’m almost sure Shawn won’t take his eyes off of Greg.

I notice one of the crew members has stepped outside, and he looks confused by the scene he sees in front of him that’s looking a lot more like a standoff than anything else.

“Call security.” Shawn says, his voice carries across the open lot loud and clear, not faltering even a little bit. His gaze still doesn’t leave Gregory, but the guy know’s Shawn’s talking to him.

Without missing a beat or asking any questions, he speaks into his walkie talkie, “We need security in the lot, now.”

“No, man. You don’t have to call security. Seriously, this is just between me and my girl and if you would just let me talk to her…” Greg is basically pleading with Shawn at this point, and I’m still frozen behind Shawn. Greg has sweet talked himself out of a lot of situations, but it doesn’t look like this is going to be one of them and for that I’m relieved.

Now Shawn has an ally, meaning Greg is already double teamed, not to mention the security that is on their way. “You shouldn’t be here.” Shawn says to Greg.

At least two security guards rush through the doors before Greg even has a chance to respond, “Please escort him out,” Shawn says, in that same calm yet forceful voice. I watch as they approach Greg, and he fights against them. Once Shawn is content that they’ve got him, he spins around, looking at me, really looking at me for the first time since he stepped outside. He starts to say something, but I finally bolt, taking off toward the bus, like Shawn had told me to do several times earlier. I can hear Greg yelling at the guards. I know people have started flooding outside, wanting to know what the commotion was all about, probably hearing the call for security through the radios, but I can’t care less about them or what they might think right now.

The tears are flowing freely down my face by the time I make it to the bus and yank open the door. I’m met by silence and an empty tour bus as the door slams shut behind me.

As much as I feel like collapsing right there on the ground in the front lounge of the bus, I force my feet to continue moving as I blindly make my way toward my bunk. It takes all my energy to hoist myself up into my bunk. I don’t even bother taking off my shoes. I just shut the curtain until I am surrounded by darkness, and I finally let myself break down completely.

Chapter 17

#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes x OC #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes fic

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