#I probably shouldn’t tag this because it’s inviting vitriol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years

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The thing is, Ian was right. Mickey doesn't know any better, the writers on the show made sure of that, because for them the only important thing about Mickey is his devotion to Ian. But we're a bit more realistic about it and can analyze Ian's actions without being limited by someone's poor imagination.

There’s a lot to address here, so please forgive me for the lengthy response, anon! 🙂 I’ll preface all of it by saying this: my general opinion is that if Mickey has what makes him happy, we should support that regardless of how we feel about the other party (with obvious exceptions like physical abuse, etc.). If Byron was what made him happy, I would support him even if I couldn’t stand the guy. The same goes for any other character in any other franchise, at least for me. Now, onto your points:

I’m not sure which scene you mean when you mention Ian saying he doesn’t know any better, but I’m definitely with you on our ability to analyze Ian’s actions. The problem here is that analyzing will always be colored by perspective and implicit bias. If your fave is Mickey, anything that hurts him will look a whole lot worse than what he does that hurts Ian and perhaps lead to conducting a less than thorough analysis or rejecting sensible arguments about Ian’s character. Based on the number of posts I see about how Mickey is the only good thing on the show, I’d argue that that is a very real danger in many of the takes on Ian as well as everyone else. I’ve seen some pretty heavy demonizing of characters who hurt Mickey’s feelings or aren’t actively sweet to him, which is a bit unrealistic since that’s life and Mickey certainly never seems to mind or let it keep him down for long.

As far as him not knowing better, on the whole, I don’t think that gives Mickey much credit at all. Actually, it doesn’t really give him any credit, which is sort of surprising given how vehemently people defend his IQ, academically and emotionally, against what amounted to a joke. Mickey knows that Ian messes up and does things that are questionable at best and hurtful at worst. He’s not an innocent, pure character who endures heartache after heartache to throw himself at the brick wall of earning Ian’s attention. He gives as good as he gets and has hurt Ian too. They’re human and written very realistically in that regard. Their love for one another allows them to forgive transgressions and move on, not hold grudges or “not know any better” with regards to what they deserve. Love isn’t about what we deserve, and I think it’s important to remember that a relationship won’t last if it’s based on an arbitrary numerical score of who has done more harm than the other. Things happen. Poor decisions are made. They can allow that to break them or work through it. Mickey has actively chosen to work through it because at the end of the day, he loves Ian more than he is interested in finding something else. In earlier seasons, Ian similarly chose to work through it with someone who might never be in a position to come out and begin the full relationship that he so desperately wanted. That’s beautiful to me, not contemptible.

As far as the only important thing about Mickey being his devotion to Ian, we’ll also have to agree to disagree. 🙂 In the early seasons, while Ian was certainly the catalyst for it, Mickey’s story was about coming out more than his devotion to Ian. That’s why we have the scenes where he taunted Kash (focus: keeping his secret), purposely got sent back to juvie (focus: hiding from Terry if he found out), and got married (focus: self-preservation). We do absolutely see a rising devotion for Ian during this period, of course, and there’s no argument that his character was written expressly to be Ian’s love interest. The writers still made him a well-developed one with his own motives, fears, and desires outside of Ian in a way that later love interests didn’t get. (My own belief is that they didn’t intend for the later relationships to last like they did Mickey, but regardless of the validity there, Mickey was written as a character with more depth from the very beginning and existed before anything with Ian ever happened.)

The first half of s4 shows Mickey on his own merits. He’s handling his new position as a patriarch of the family, running the business while Terry is fairly hands-off and watches. He decides to help the Russian girls and ends up going into business with Kev. We learn a lot about Mickey’s character outside of Ian during that time. In fact, there are only a couple of scenes that really focus on him missing Ian until finding him becomes Mickey’s task: asking Kev if anyone has heard from him, the bathroom scene, and the later Alibi scene. Otherwise, the early s4 writers showed us a Mickey who was compassionate, ambitious, utilitarian, entrepreneurial, and collaborative—all without tying it back to Ian. Kev and V are renowned friends of the Gallaghers, but Mickey doesn’t grow closer to Kev in an attempt to learn more about what happened to Ian. He doesn’t help the girls because he thinks Ian would want him to. In fact, with the exception of those scenes I mentioned, we have no reason to believe that Ian is on Mickey’s mind at all while he’s doing these other things. He has a life outside of Ian just like the opposite is true, and s4 went to great lengths to show us that.

The second half of s4 is, once again, about keeping his secret until he decides to come out. (Read: decides to, is not forced to. More on that in a moment.) Yes, his devotion to Ian is once again the catalyst for some of his decisions, but there’s much more to it than that. Once again, we still see scenes with Mickey operating on his own for his own purposes. He doesn’t leave home entirely because he wants to be with Ian—he also wants to escape from his wife and pretend that things are the way they used to be. He doesn’t scam money from the rich guy or take more than his cut from the register at the Alibi to protect Ian—he does it for self-preservation so that Svetlana won’t get him killed. He doesn’t go to the baptism to keep up appearances and protect Ian—he does it to keep up appearances for himself and because...well, like it or not, that’s his son. The lattermost is something Ian specifically does not want him to do, and if he does, he wants to be there. Mickey goes against his wishes because it’s about protecting himself (and perhaps, by extension, their relationship), and rightfully so. Coming out at the Alibi does once again tie to Ian as a catalyst for change in Mickey’s life, but it didn’t have to happen. Mickey could have grabbed his coat, told everyone goodnight, and left with Ian. At no time did Ian tell him that he would leave if Mickey didn’t come out to everyone or admit they’re a couple, even if he did make reference to the fact that Mickey was hiding and not free. All Ian wanted was for Mickey not to treat him like a mistress or expect him to stick around if he did. Instead, it was a logical culmination of Mickey’s written development to come out. He’s stronger and more independent than he used to be. He’s capable of taking care of himself and surviving in the world without relying on Terry. He’s in a position where yes, he’s still justifiably terrified of coming out and what it’ll mean where Terry is concerned, but he’s able to do it. Ian is a catalyst for it, but being devoted to him isn’t Mickey’s only reason.

In s5, a lot of Mickey’s story does revolve around his devotion to Ian, but not any more than Ian’s revolves around devotion to him in the second half of s3. We still see Mickey doing business and running the family, but having Ian be his more central concern makes sense because Ian is sick and the writers have already told us that his health is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. In denial or not, Mickey knows this. And so we see his story center around Ian because, to an extent, it has to. Ian is mentally and physically sick. He’s adjusting not only to meds, but to a label that makes him feel ashamed and afraid. Mickey is devoted to him, and so Mickey does everything he can to take care of him. But here’s the thing: that scares Ian too. He’s seen what happens to the people who try to take care of Monica. He knows how it felt to try only to be ignored or betrayed or abandoned. The breakup isn’t about anger at being coddled or, by my interpretation and Ian’s own words, him being selfish. It’s about him seeing that Mickey’s devotion is going to keep him from living his life and ultimately (in his opinion) hurt him beyond repair, and so he sets Mickey free. It hurts him, yes, but it does work.

Because even though we don’t see it happen on-screen, s6 through s9 can’t possibly be Mickey sitting in a prison cell pining over Ian. If that was going to happen, we’d have seen it in s4. By this point, we know who Mickey is outside of Ian and can assume that he’s operating in much the same way on the inside until he figures out what he wants to do. We know he and Svetlana had a business arrangement where they took out contracts for work he could do in prison. We know that he makes a business acquaintanceship with Damon, which means he was probably involved in dealing or smuggling while there. Neither of these things can possibly revolve around devotion to Ian because they could conceivably keep him from Ian longer. His sentence is fifteen years, and if he’s counting on being out in eight to be with Ian, he needs to be on his best behavior. He’s not. He’s unapologetically not when he sees Ian again and talks about what Damon is. Ian looks less than comfortable with it, but that’s not why they ditch him—it’s because he might get Mickey caught with his behavior. Even breaking out happened once he was able to solidify an opportunity working for a cartel, so while Ian may have been another catalyst (besides the obvious desire to get out of prison), the decision wasn’t about devotion to him. The only decision that was about that was the one he made at the border to let Ian go without making him feel worse about it. He’s devoted to Ian, so he knows that dragging him along on the run into the unknown won’t be good for him. He needs stability and a support system and medication, none of which Mickey can provide if they cross that border together. So, out of his devotion, he lets Ian go. They have a heartfelt goodbye and separate for what they think is the last time.

Does Mickey’s devotion lead him to turning himself in? Absolutely. But not before spending another long stint living his own life. The writers make sure we know that he had a life without Ian playing a role in it, once again conducting business and operating successfully on his own merits. They’re limited in what they can show because Noel wasn’t available, which made logistics important, but they didn’t leave him high and dry or insinuate that he was waiting around in Mexico for an excuse to return to Ian. He was once again a successful businessman in the illicit economy. When he returns in s10, his storyline does then appear to revolve around devotion to Ian more—but it doesn’t. Mickey has people he hangs out with in prison separate from Ian and with no ties to him. With the Byron situation, it wasn’t about proving devotion for Ian when he thought Ian questioned it—it was about hurting Ian because of what happened at the courthouse, even after he found out what Ian was really afraid of. If the writers were only interested in showing his devotion to Ian, he would have ditched Byron the second Ian told him that he was scared of his disorder and ruining them. He doesn’t. He sticks it out because Mickey is so much more than his relationship with Ian: he’s independent, vengeful, hot-headed, impulsive, and stubborn. These are traits that have been set up by the writers throughout the series both with and without ties to their relationship, and he very adamantly adheres to his revenge-plot-turned-catalyst-for-Ian-pulling-his-head-out-of-his-ass because he isn’t all about devotion to Ian.

I completely respect your opinion on the matter and appreciate the opportunity to discuss it at length! Ultimately, it boils down to this for me: the writers get a lot off flack for some of the narrative decisions and, of course, they won’t always be to our liking. Opinions and preferences assure us of that. I don’t think it’s about us being more realistic or more capable of analyzing a character, though. Everything above was written. It wasn’t spelled out and handed to us, no, but the writers put it there so that we could then analyze it. There’s no analyzing a blank slate or someone whose only narrative is devotion to Ian. The writers have given us a wealth of things to consider when it comes to all the characters, Mickey included, and we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation if they didn’t. Mickey is intelligent, thoughtful, insightful, and more than capable of standing on his own two feet as both a fictional person and a character. If he chose Ian, then it’s because he has weighed all these things and found them to be nothing in the grand scheme of their love for one another. Again, though, we can agree to disagree. Thank you for this ask—I find myself writing more about Ian, so I had a lot of fun thinking back over the series to answer it! 😃🧡

#shameless #meta #Mickey milkovich #Ian gallagher #gallavich #I probably shouldn’t tag this because it’s inviting vitriol #but it’ll get shared anyway #so please be kind folks #this is just my opinion #and ultimately defends Mickey

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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Please (Don’t) Leave

Psst @lamberts! You asked for canon angst with Geralt feeling he’s an unlovable monster for your @thewitchersecretsanta. Hopefully this ticks those boxes :D

Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: There were so many reasons Geralt could reel off for not allowing a bard to travel with him. They're all lies. There is only one true reason and it's one he knows he can't change. Bards shouldn't travel with monsters.

Please (Don’t) Leave

There were very good reasons Geralt didn’t want a bard following him around. He couldn’t afford to feed another mouth, didn’t have the energy to protect another person when, inadvertently they got too close - worrying about Roach was enough of a distraction already. That wasn’t even considering that Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect a bard from the vitriol that followed a Witcher around. Deep down, Geralt knew there was one more reason, the real reason. Because he knew that he could go hungry to feed a bard in leaner times. And a bard could earn his keep so it wasn’t like Geralt was the sole provider for a limpet. Humans were pretty good at self-preservation and, if Geralt told said bard to stay with Roach, they were less likely to get injured. As for the open hatred, that was part of the real reason but not the whole thing. If a bard didn’t like it, they wouldn’t stick around, moving on to better and nicer muses. As if Geralt could actually be a muse - that was a ridiculous thought in itself.

The real problem was much more personal. Blaviken was still a raw nerve, not far enough in the past for Geralt to be able to move on. He couldn’t let himself forget either, because if he did, nobody would remember Renfri and her suffering. Sure, people would remember Geralt and the massacre but they didn’t care beyond the gory parts of the story. A Witcher had gone feral, butchered humans. That made for a good tale, one that scared children and adults alike. Nobody cared about the truth, the reality that was behind what had happened. In a way, it didn’t matter because Geralt had still killed all those people. He didn’t have much choice but he was still a murderer, a monster. To have a bard come along and decide that the Butcher of Blaviken was a worthy companion was beyond the realms of reality. Nobody should want to willingly follow a Witcher around, let alone one with a reputation like Geralt. Yet there was this young fool, smiling and scurrying after him. He hadn’t even introduced himself.

What Geralt couldn’t face was the idea of the naive, well meaning optimism fading into bitter disdain. Without a doubt it would because nobody liked, let alone respected, Witchers. This bard would quickly see the error of his ways. Despite Geralt’s seeming peace with what had happened at Blaviken, the truth wasn’t quite what he projected. He could recall Marilka’s disgust, the villagers and their cruel words, could feel each stone and rotten vegetable that had thudded into his body. Rightly so too. The only thing that set him aside from a hunting dog was the fact that he got paid in coin rather than food and shelter. In fact, a dog was probably more valued than a Witcher because it was easier to keep and definitely more welcome in a home. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he was invited into a home and allowed to stay. An abandoned hut was no home, there was no secondhand comfort to bask in.

The problem was, Geralt knew all of this yet he still craved the bard’s affection. Not his heart, nobody in their right mind would give a Witcher their heart. But, maybe, the bard’s kindness would soothe some old hurts. Or at least until he realised just what a monster Geralt truly was and ripped it all away. That was what Geralt wasn’t prepared to deal with, to be offered a glimpse into what could have been, a glimmer of normalcy, only to have it snatched away. Especially because Geralt knew himself well enough to know that the slightest hint of someone being nice and he was like a stray dog with scraps. Marilka was one such example, she had shown interest and a lack of fear in Blaviken. Her rejection alone had hurt more than the rest of the village put together.

So now, Geralt was left with a choice, run the bard off or accept that his heart was going to get trampled once again. Mind made up, he punched the bard and tried to leave him in the dirt. It didn’t work. Which one left the other option and Geralt tried everything in his power to hide what he truly was. He didn’t say much for fear of showing off sharper than natural teeth. He didn’t fight as hard for his pay when an alderman or minor nobility only handed over half his promised coin, in case it scared the bard and he ran off. Because, despite himself, Geralt had grown to care about the man. After a few weeks together, he’d even learned his name when he announced himself to a tavern of bawdy drinkers: Jaskier.

There was one constant battle between them though: Geralt wouldn’t let him tag along for contracts. No matter how much Jaskier wheedled and promised he wouldn’t be but a silent backup, Geralt resisted. He couldn’t risk Jaskier seeing him killing creatures, covered in their entrails while his eyes and skin turned ghastly from potions. Everyone had their limits and Jaskier frowned in disgust when Geralt gutted a rabbit for their dinner. There was no way he could deal with Geralt in all his Witcher-y, well, it wasn’t glory that was for sure.

All of Geralt’s careful plans were for naught though. He’d managed to slay a cockatriace and was snarling in rage and victory, breathing hard. The next step was to harvest the bodyparts when there was a crack of a branch behind him. Twirling, sword raised and ready to fight, Geralt froze as his eyes locked with Jaskier’s. They stared at each other, Geralt heaving for breath and knowing he could do nothing to hide his true nature while Jaskier went wide eyed.

“Oh.” With that, Jaskier turned and he was gone.

Just like he’d always known it would happen, Geralt’s world shrank back to the cold grey of loneliness. He knew Jaskier would leave but had hoped to bask in his colourful warmth for a little longer yet. It hurt to have him gone, fleeing at the sight of Geralt’s true form. Sword slowly lowering, Geralt hung his head. The cockatrice could wait, the dead didn’t go anywhere. He was allowed a moment to mourn the loss of his not so silent shadow.

Another snap of branches and the sound of feet rushing closer filled his senses. Geralt was almost tempted to not turn and allow whoever it was to do whatever they wished with a seemingly unawares Witcher.

“Here.”

A familiar voice and slowly Geralt turned. Blackened eyes met brilliant blue ones. His own satchel was being held out towards him in one hand and a rag in another. Not understanding, Geralt stared.

“I figured you might want to clean up a litte. There’s a bit of-” Jaskier gestured with the rag towards Geralt’s cheek. “-oh never mind, here.”

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Jaskier wiped the cockatrice remains from Geralt’s cheek, fingers lightly tracing the darker veins around his eyes. Once done, Jaskier smiled.

“I’ll get a bath ordered when we’re back at the inn.”

Words weren’t Geralt’s preferred mode of expression. Rage and anger were better conveyed with swords and fists. It left him with the unfortunate issue of not knowing what to say. However, his body knew what to do. Reaching for Jaskier, he pulled him into a tight hug. Hope wasn’t something that really factored into a Witcher’s life but Geralt found he finally and some. And that hope? It went by the name of Jaskier.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #angst #the witcher secret santa

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japiform · 3 years

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Logs: Explain what the fuck he’s talking about

[[mind the tags]]

Helmsman: Have you ever been in a building after it's closed for the night? The darkness? The dead air? The faint feeling of unease, like you're somewhere you shouldn't be? The darkness?

You're the only one there, looking for something. Maybe the way out. Maybe for answers.

Maybe the store hasn't been open for years. The darkness. The overgrown plants, crawling over the ground and walls. The smell of brine. The water in your boots. Are you being watched or is that your imagination? Surely you've already been at this hallway. Did one of the tentacles move? Are you alone?

And finally, you find it. The husk of what was once a man. One who laughed and fought and loved. It's eyes behind the goggles are dark. It's twitching in the hold of the ship. The ship twitches in extension of the man. The darkness.

Are you alone?

Grand: You are not alone, but the atmosphere makes you tense, makes your keen eyes dilate wide to get as much out of the lights you brought as possible. Your boots splash in the salt water, and you wonder where the fuck the rest of the empress's entourage is. Surely she had some sea fucks with her to keep this massive place running.

It isn't important, except that it makes you tell your clowns to keep their guards up as you descend into the bowels of this abandoned place. It's going to take a bit, the empress's ship is so fucking massive. But that's alright. You're patient.

Ish.

Every moment he is off is another moment he could be dead. But at least you know generally where to go. You've been on Her ship before. Though, motherfuck, it was not like this.

When you get to him, you are relieved, motherfuckin gratified to see his form twitching. You hope it's not just some errant tentacle fuckery of the ship, you've never seen one so... overgrown before.

Well. Nothing for it. Give him a little slap on the cheek. "You alive in there motherfucker?"

Helmsman: Static electricity zaps the Grand Highblood's hand, the spot where he touched the Helmsman clammy and hot and viscous, somehow. But the Helmsman's eyes snap open, barely emanating any light at all before they slip closed again, unseeing.

On closer inspection, he's breathing shallowly from dry lips, mustard blood dripping shallowly from every orifice. It looks uh. Bad.

Grand: Ouch. Spicy. Still, the zap, the eyes coming open, the breathing reassure you that this isn't a totally fruitless endeavor.

Still. Oof. That's a big old yikes, you don't know if your mediculler can fix that shit. Ugh, what a mess he is, stubborn bastard. "Aight, where the fuck is my nerd?" You look at the clowns behind you. One of them better have brought the helm tech with them.

Devoteer: The small crowd produces a troll that can be succinctly described as cereal box shaped, and he dips his jagged horns in a sign of reverence towards GHB before fumbling for his toolbag. "If I may, Your Grand Whimsican, this Technicrusher will do everything in my power to preserve the life of this... of the helmstroll, if that pleases you." Behind a faltering, whiny speech is a troll who's had to disconnect many a half-dead helmsman from their block in his time. But the Devoteer has never in his life seen a helmsblock this... overgrown...

Grand: Oh, yep. That's a nerd, you'd know em anywhere. "I want his pump goin and his pan in there fuckin somewhere. Tell us what the fuck to do and we'll get it done. If I've come all this way for him to burn out, imma be real fuckin pissed, you pickin up what i'm puttin down?"

Devoteer: "I am indeed, picking it up, Your Unholiness." You sidle around him and inspect the helmsblock, before plucking a waterproof pen from your bag and marking off some of the smaller tendrils in dark purple. "These are the connections to his cardiovascular system, his life support, and the main nutrition and waste tubes. All the rest need to be cut away- about an inch at least from his body." Looking at the state of his nutrition tubes makes you faintly ill, but you keep the green out of your gills.

"Al- also I'm going to need a small supply of nutritionslurry, high in vitamins, a jar of mind honey, and some cauterizing knives. Is that amenable, High Priest?"

Grand: You click your tongue. "Easy enough, brother mine. I definitely got the last bit, at the very fuckin least." They drop into your hand quick as miracles, and you hand the gruesome weapon/medical tool over. You look over the crowd. "Aight, who brought the nerd?" A motherfucker raises his hand with a wave, clearly not paying that much attention now that his duty's done. "Give him his fuckin goods, what do you need, an invitation??? Mind honey. Nutrition slurry." You snap a few times, and the goody bag gets passed forward like you're in fuckin schoolfeeding. Whatever, if it works.

"That gonna do you aight, or are we gonna need someone ta go shoppin?"

Devoteer: "This is perfect, Beloved Dreamer. I'm going to need some space." You put your goggles on, and get the fuck to work. It's incredibly loud and messy, the knife slicing through tendrils like a hot blade through butter. Which is basically what it is. Pieces of helmsblock go flying as you shear it away, leaving something that looks a little less like a H.R.Giger painting and more like a person.

Wiping your hands clean with a microfiber cloth, you take the vials and hook the Helmsman up to a rudimentary IV drip, methodical as always. "Now um. A-as soon as the honey enters it's system it's going to become a bit of a lightshow in here, but it'll keep it's psionics cycling until it stabilizes. Be careful removing it, it's limbs are. Rather delicate."

Grand: Oh yes, the smell of burning flesh. Acrid, meaty enough to make you hungry, smoky enough to make you sneeze. You aren't sure how the rest of your mirthful are taking it, because you're definitely not paying attention, but you're vaguely interested enough in the work to observe the whole time, make sure he isn't taking unnecessary risks with your prize.

"Damn, we love a light show," you look over at your clown friends (turns out they weren't all doing the best), and get a few nods. "Quick question though, brother. How likely are his limbs to be any use, and what's the risks in not givin a shit?"

Devoteer: You give them one look and shake your head. "Even if, er, they weren't looking due for sepsis, it would take a real medical miracle for them to be of any use again, sir." They're uh. More hole than flesh, to put it lightly.

Grand: "Sick. May as well take em off and not deal with the hassle then, gimme that knife brother," you hold out your hand so you can get your tools back. You don't know if this fucker knows how to carve through bone instead of helm tentacle, but you sure the fuck do.

... Might wanna wait for that light show though.

Devoteer: You hand him the knife and step back into the crowd just as the Helmsman stirs, sparks beginning to crackle around the goggles as his eyes open just a sliver. And then the screaming starts, teeth bared as red and blue light fills the large room in a one-troll supernova.

It's only for a few seconds though, before it starts winding down as the psionics cycle erratically. His specially made goggles- the one thing between him and GHB being a pile of troll shaped ash- crack under the display of pure uncontrolled psionics.

The air is sharp with the smell of ozone.

Grand: Oh, that's neat, isn't it? Look at him go, he's like a one man firecracker. You grin big and wide at the sight, let him run himself out, and hope he isn't going to be choking on blood from screaming.

Alright, let's get this shit done quick. You step up into his shit and start cutting away tentacle and limb alike, until he is a lump of torso, head, hair, and probably just... so much rot. Just, an unfortunate amount of rot. You'll take the effort to make sure you cut as much of the sepsis as possible without getting to his innards, but.... Eh. That's about all you can be bothered with. You'll just make sure the medicullers go real hard on the germ killin shit, so he don't rot much more.

Dumbass motherfucker.

Helmsman: The screaming has become coughing, before he settles down with a whimper, curling into himself now that he isn't forced upright by the helmsblock. For how tall of a troll he once was, he looks small. Maybe he'd always been a small troll, under all the sass and vitriol and power.

It's hard to say.

Grand: ... Ain't that almost sweet... You hold him close, fully aware he could vaporize you if you're not careful with them damn glasses, but still finding it a bit...

Somethin. You can't say. Sad, maybe. Pathetic.

Any fuckin way. No need to linger. "Aight, motherfuckers. Job well done, head the fuck out, don't trip on tentacles or i'll make ya the butt of the next sweep a jokes. Keep ya eyes peeled, but i doubt there'll be much else excitin." There's a few laughs, a few groans of disappointment, but they do as you say, because you are fuckin king.

... And the king's gonna need a shower after this, because this battery is decidedly rank.

One step at a time, though. No need goin quick and jostlin all his lively bits until he ain't got no life left in him. One step at a motherfuckin time.

Helmsman: Despite the chill of GHB's skin, Helmsman takes comfort in it, craving any amount of warmth against his feverish form. As he tucks himself as close and comfortable as possible, the ship around the parade of clowns becomes even darker, emergency lights flickering off as the biggest asset to the empire goes silent.

Behind his eyes, the Helmsman fitfully dreams of being swallowed by a goat the size of a sun.

Grand: At least, finally, he can be completely asleep.

#ooc eyes only #death #rot #sepsis #amputation #tentacles #surgery #ask to tag

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moonlit-han · 4 years

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hate to love you ↠ seo changbin

genre: hate-to-love, fluff, gender-neutral reader word count: 2.7k warnings: swearing request: yes (for Mel—enjoy, dear!! @lordseochangbin)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

It was a chilly Thursday night and you couldn’t wait to get inside. Traffic had been bad and you were trying to remain calm before your performance. Yanking your hat further down around your ears, you hurried along the pavement. And, of course, the door stuck as you entered the small, dimly lit cafe, looking around to find your friend and the cafe’s owner, Mina. She’d opened the place as a haven for anyone who needed a safe space to chill or take care of themselves; in the evenings, the space served as a gathering place and small performance venue. The cafe was busy, probably because of the cold, and the crowd of regulars seated at round tables scattered around the room looked up as they saw you, some calling out greetings. Some even casually joked with you as you came in—you really weren’t in the mood, though, as much as you loved your regulars. As you moved along from the last table towards the bar, you saw Mina standing there talking to someone you didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said as you approached. “This is Seo Changbin—he’s performing tonight, too. You don’t mind, do you?”

With a perfunctory “Hi, Changbin,” you turned on Mina. “Mina . . . what? You said I’d have the place tonight as usual. What the hell happened?”

“Changbin’s a friend of mine and since he was in town, I thought I’d invite him. He’s a well-known rapper in his own right. He’s really quite good, Y/N. Play nice, please.”

“Fine,” you growled. “Changbin, do your set and then watch how it’s really done around here. You might just learn a thing or two.”

With that, you set your shoulders and sauntered away, wanting to intimidate this Changbin guy. This was your space and you didn’t particularly feel like sharing. It had taken you quite awhile to be accepted as the area’s premiere rapper, and you didn’t need some random guy coming in and ruining it all for you. You darted into the curtained area reserved for performers and tried to calm down before heading back out into the audience.

As you walked away, Changbin said, “Well, that was a surprising amount of sass and vitriol. Is that normal?”

“Y/N has every right to be that way,” Mina said. “Works harder than anybody I know—even more than you, Bin. I didn’t think Y/N would react that explosively, though. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mina. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be interesting to see this set. I’m gonna get ready since, evidently, I’m going first. You gave the tracks to the DJ, yeah?”

Mina nodded, just smiling. She couldn’t wait for you to see Changbin perform, as she had a sneaking suspicion that you’d actually be impressed.

Instead of being the utterly uninterested rapper you’d already pegged him as, Changbin was excited to see you perform. He knew he was good and would be surprised if you showed him anything new. Nevertheless, he was definitely looking forward to having the excuse to stare at you during your set. He’d immediately noticed the intensity in your gaze—how you took everything as a challenge to do better and to prove yourself. He already admired you for that. He’d also noticed your figure and how the leather pants you wore hugged all the right places. And, the purple of your shirt played with the glimmers of red in your chestnut hair. Well, he thought, this was going to be an interesting evening.

Mina walked onto the slightly raised platform that served as the cafe’s stage to excited applause from the audience. It was your usual night and they were all there because they loved your music.

“Good evening, all!” Mina said brightly. “I have a little surprise for you tonight. My dear friend, Seo Changbin, is in town for a bit and graciously agreed to perform for us tonight. I think you’ll like him!” The cafe’s regulars immediately took to asking about you—you would still be performing, wouldn’t you? They weren’t getting cheated out of seeing their beloved Y/N perform, right?

“Settle down, guys, you’re still going to hear Y/N as usual. But first, here’s Changbin. Enjoy, my lovelies!”

You watched Changbin walk onto the stage and couldn’t help but notice how confidently he held himself. He was rather short in stature but walked like he was much taller. A steady back-beat started and Changbin coughed lightly into the microphone. Then, with a drawn-out “Yooooooh,” he began rapping.

He was good. Really good. His flow was even and he easily varied his tone, emotions, dynamics, intensity, and even body language to portray exactly what he wanted in each piece. He could do everything from hard, dark, almost angry rap to slow, lyrical and beautiful pieces in which he alternated singing and rapping. What was most amazing was how clearly he could get the words out even as he was spitting fire faster than you’d ever heard. Against your expectations, you were quite impressed.

At one point, he stared directly at you and winked. The nerve!! you seethed. And, he knew how to command the attention of each and every person in a room. It was more than a little hot. No, you weren’t going to think like that. This man was on your territory and you weren’t about to start noticing how his glossy black hair was styled away from his face in such a way as to highlight his eyes and cheekbones. You were determined to hate this Seo Changbin for being so perfect, damn it!!

He ended his set and the audience went wild. You could tell they were also impressed and that anyone would have a hard time following him. You cursed your foolhardiness as Changbin bowed and then beckoned for you to join him up on stage. You put on your best smile as he said, “Well, guys, enough of me. Here’s the one you’ve really been waiting for: Y/N!!”

Your wonderful audience cheered just as loud for you, if not louder, and you felt some sense of vindication. You were still their favorite—you had to be.

You performed your set, trying to add flourishes where you could, and knew that you’d done as well as you’d ever had. You refused to look at Changbin the entire time. You weren’t going to give him the opportunity to think you were looking to him for validation. You were just as good as him.

When you were done, you headed to the counter were you knew Mina would be waiting with a steaming mug of tea for you. As you settled into your usual spot, Changbin came up to you.

“Y/N, that was incredible!!” Changbin clapped you on the back, sitting down on the stool next to you. “You’re so good, holy shit. I especially liked that one piece about spring and renewal. I try to keep that theme going through my music, too.”

You wanted to snap at him with some witty remark, but he just seemed so earnest and honest in his compliments. You were surprised, having expected him to be aloof.

“Uh . . . Thanks. You did all right, too, I guess,” you said. You really didn’t want to admit that he’d been amazing.

“Just all right?” Changbin grinned. Even his smile was annoyingly perfect. You really needed to get ahold of yourself. You didn’t like him. He was in your cafe and was better than you. Not a friend or anything else.

“Yeah. Just all right,” you said. “And why are even being nice to me? Shouldn’t you be preening or something?”

“I don’t preen.” Changbin’s voice was low.

“What?”

“I said, I don’t preen,” Changbin repeated. “What made you think I was stuck-up? I’ve done nothing to give you that impression. In fact, you’ve been the one acting off since we met. Why?”

You flared at that. You hated that he was right, and hated the fact that you wanted to hate him but couldn’t quite manage it. You were trying to so damn hard but somehow he kept disarming you with smiles or lyrics or just the way his shirt fit. What the hell. How?! How could one man look so perfect and be so nice and so talented. It wasn’t fair.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you answered without thinking. “Because you’re too perfect. You’re super talented and you’re hot. No one’s allowed to be both. I mean, come on.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt mortified. The way Changbin was smiling at you made you blush. Mina’s soft laughter as she slipped into the back room didn’t help either.

“You think I’m hot, huh?” Changbin said, smirking and leaning forward.

“Ugh, forget I said it,” you retorted. “Sure, you’re a pretty face but there are plenty of those around.”

“Hmmm, but none of them are me. Wouldn’t you rather have a hot rapper who can actually keep up with you than somebody with a pretty face but a flat personality?”

You couldn’t think of anything to say, so opted for sipping your tea.

“Baby, you know you can’t do better than me,” Changbin murmured, leaning even closer to you. “How about we get to know each other a little, then. We could go dancing—Mina said there’s a place down the street that’s pretty chill. You like dancing, don’t you?”

After a pause, you spoke. “Fine, Changbin. You’re right. You’re right on all accounts.” Turning to Mina, who’d just reappeared, you said, “Did you tell him I liked dancing?”

“Maybe,” was all Mina said.

You rolled your eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, the way Changbin had said “Baby” was what finally made you agree to go. You secretly wanted to him say it again. God, you were getting sappy.

“Shall we, then, Y/N?” Changbin asked as Mina handed him your coats. How had she known?

Stunned and trying to hide any emotions that might be betrayed on your face by burying it in your scarf, you nodded.

“Perfect!” Changbin exclaimed as he ushered you through the door.

As the two of you walked down the street, Changbin stole glances at you out of the corner of his eye. Too absorbed with your little “disliking Changbin act,” you didn’t notice.

Rounding a corner, you nearly jumped. “Changbin, why are you holding my arm?” you asked, glancing down.

“I didn’t want you to slip on the ice,” Changbin replied.

“I don’t see any ice . . ..”

“Hey, there could be some. You never know.”

“ . . . right,” you said, smiling softly to yourself.

You finally reached the club, and opened the door. While you’d known the club was there, you’d never spent an evening there, considering violently gyrating to music that was mostly bass beneath you. Plus, you’d never had someone with whom to dance. However, you seemed to have misjudged the place. As you and Changbin stepped over the threshold, tendrils of warmth rolled over you, pulling you inside. There was no thumping bass, no fog machine, no scantily-clad people. Couples whirled around the dance floor as individuals tried their best to fit in and avoid running into the couples. The music from a live band was loud enough to keep the mood excited but not loud enough to drown out conversations. It was surprisingly lyrical, almost like folk music.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” you asked, taking off your coat and scarf, and stashing them in a cubby by the door.

“Of course,” Changbin grinned. “We’ve gone dancing, not clubbing. Mina said that sort of thing is for the Friday night crowd, anyway.”

“Ah,” you said.

You looked around, taking in the sweet strings of lights, sashes of fabric, and soft lighting. It wasn’t what you’d expected, but you were glad for the airy feeling of the room. You didn’t think you’d have been able to stand a hot and stuffy club packed with people—not after the trying week you’d had.

“So . . . dancing?” Changbin had returned from—where had he even gone?—and came up to you, head tilted inquisitively to the side like a crow.

“Yes, that’s what you wanted us to do . . .” you said, a bit uncertainly. You were still hell-bent on making this guy work for your attention and favor.

Just then, the music stopped and a woman called to the room. “Time for a folk dance, everyone! Grab a partner and form two lines down the room.”

You looked at Changbin, bewildered and shaking your head, but he just held his hands out to you as he backed onto the dance floor. You’d been folk dancing only once before, but it’d been fun enough. Resigned, you took Changbin’s hands and let him drag you into the lines, standing across from each other. Once everyone who wanted to dance had partnered up and formed the lines, the music began again with a steady tune. The same woman who had made the announcement called the directions for the dance so that everyone could follow.

Forward and back the two lines went, then round your partner you circled. Then, forward and back again. All up and down the lines, squares of dancers made stars with their hands in the middle and around in a circle each square went, too. More directions were called and everyone moved forward and back, spun and strutted, and whooped every time a couple sashayed down the long line.

Whenever he faced you, Changbin held your eyes with his gaze. He’d smile and sometimes wink, making you more than a little flustered. As much as you tried to act like you disliked him, there was something alluring about Changbin and you couldn’t ignore it. You slowly let an inch of your protective walls fall and smiled back at him. Once you did, Changbin’s own smile could have outshone the sun.

And that was it: you were sunk like a ship at sea for Seo Changbin and there was nothing you could do about it. Fuck.

The dance ended and everyone clapped for each other and the band. As was customary, the band then played a waltz. Before you knew it, Changbin clasped your hand and brought it up to his lips. From the place where his lips touched your skin, a pleasant tingling sensation passed up your arm. You blushed. With that, Changbin drew you into his arms to dance, one arm at your back and the other outstretched to the side, palm up.

For a moment, you were too stunned to move against or with his movements. Then, taking a breath, you placed one hand in his and one on his shoulder.

Changbin led as you danced, surprisingly light on his feet and clearly familiar with a waltz. You let yourself relax into his hold a little and went where his steps took the two of you. You talked of little things, searching for the bits of each other held just below the surface—the things that once known, allow one to understand someone more than expected.

“You know, I’m glad I decided to visit Mina. I haven’t seen her in a long time. And, of course, I’m glad I met you,” Changbin said as he leaned back a little so he could face you properly. His eyes were bright and there was color high on his cheekbones.

“I know you’re just putting up with me, but thank you for indulging me in a dance,” Changbin continued. “You’re a beautiful person, Y/N, and I admire your intensity and determination. I’d like to get to know your softer side, if you’ll let me?”

You nodded, too shy and unsure of the whole situation to trust yourself to speak.

Bringing his lips close to your ear, Changbin asked, “Baby, are you having a good time?” The feeling of his breath so close to your skin sent shivers down your back. He smelled of citrus and cedar, a heady combination that almost made you drool. Well, that, and the fact that since you’d moved your hand to his back you could feel just how muscled Changbin was. By this time, you were dancing almost chest-to-chest and cheek-to-cheek. The closeness of your bodies as you swayed and gently twirled around your little corner of the floor made you nervous and excited. You were sure he’d feel just how hard your heart was pounding.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I’m having a good time. Can you believe it?” you grinned.

Changbin smiled in response and pulled you even closer, placing a kiss to your temple.

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seanfalco · 4 years

Text

Mistakes Were Made

Fandom: The Witcher Punk!AU Pairing: Punk!Valdo Marx x OC [ Aevryn Swift ] Word Count: 2770 Rating: E a/n: Another installment of the Punk!AU, requested by dear Kat. I am aware how incredibly self-indulgent and tbqh niche this fic is, so I’m not really expecting much, but I’m fully sailing this disaster ship now and there’s no stopping it. Taglist: okay I’m gunna only tag @ficsandcatsandficsandcats bc i have a (1) fear.

[ Part II ]

——

“Aevryn? Aevryn, is that you?”

Shit.

Shoulders tensing unwittingly Aevryn fought the urge to make a hasty exit, but it was too late now. He’d already seen her. And she’d know that voice anywhere. That stupid lilting pretentious self-assured drawl that still managed to make her stomach flip.

Forcing a smile Aevryn turned from the bar.

“Valdo,” she greeted tersely, cursing herself for letting her gaze wander just a fraction too long; noticing things she didn’t, shouldn’t care about. He wore his dark curls longer than he used to, though it looked good on him and at least his facial hair was the same, roguish and trimmed to perfection.

Black lined emerald eyes lit up and a grin spread across his lips as he sat at the bar stool next to hers, taking her strained smile as an invitation. This close she caught the earthy scent of patchouli and cloves, the smell so him that a tide of unwelcome nostalgia washed over her, threatening to carry her away.

“It’s been a while,” Valdo observed, his unwavering gaze taking her in. “You look good.”

Snorting softly as she shook her head Aevryn bit back the scorching reply that nearly sprang to her tongue. “It has been a while. Not nearly long enough, it seems,” she said instead.

A rueful chuckle left Valdo’s lips as he motioned for the bartender, catching the man’s attention. “Your drink of choice still the same?” he asked, glancing over and Aevryn nodded.

“Some things never change,” she answered with a pointed look.

Not rising to her goad he instead flashed a charming smile at the bartender. “A gin and tonic please, and a rum and coke for the lady.”

As the bartender left to mix their drinks Aevryn couldn’t help but notice the way Valdo’s eyes followed the man appraisingly and she scowled at the sharp pang of jealousy that knotted her stomach. As soon as their drinks were in front of them Aevryn downed nearly half her glass as Valdo watched over the rim of his own; perfectly sculpted brows rising with interest though he didn’t remark on her behaviour.

“So, what have you been up to lately, Aev?”

Setting her half empty glass back on the bar with a heavy rattle of ice, Aevryn laughed bitterly.

“As if you don’t know.”

Spreading his hands, Valdo adopted an innocent expression. “Bold of you to assume I pay attention to the intricacies of your social life, darling.”

Head tilting heavily, Aevryn couldn’t stop the exasperated eye roll that followed. “Oh please Valdo, spare me your bullshit. I know you’re only here because Vicious Mockery is performing tomorrow and you’re trying to rain on their parade.”

The swiftness with which he averted his eyes and brought his drink to his lips was all the confirmation she needed and Aevryn smiled smugly, the amusement not touching her sea green eyes.

“Called it,” she quipped, taking another drink. “Like I said, some things never change.”

Silence fell over the pair and as Aevryn finished her drink Valdo ordered another round. Glancing at him suspiciously she took it. Knowing she probably should have just walked away, something about the way Valdo kept staring into his drink and chewing his lip made it seem like he had something else he wanted to say, but maybe wasn’t inebriated enough to voice it yet. And though her better senses, which strangely enough sounded like Jaskier, were screaming at her to just go back to her room, part of her wanted to hear what he had to say.

On his third cocktail Valdo finally turned to her, his face unusually somber. “I listened to the songs you released. They’re good. Really good.”

Aevryn shrugged uncomfortably at his praise --mostly uncomfortable with how much his words made her chest ache with pride and how much she’d wanted to hear those words from him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking into her drink.

“I never thought you’d share your music with the world,” he observed and Aevryn cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Well… I had a bit of a push and a lot of support.”

“Who--?” Valdo asked, cutting his question short with a scowl as he realized who she meant, bringing his glass to his lips. “Are you sleeping with him?” he asked, more of a demand than a question and Aevryn frowned at his tone.

“That’s really none of your fucking business anymore,” she snapped, anger heating her face. Sighing forcefully she decided, despite that, it wouldn’t hurt to set the record straight. The last thing she wanted was for rumors to start spreading that she and Jaskier were a thing. “For the record, I’ve never slept with Jask, and I don’t intend to.”

Valdo opened his mouth, but Aevryn talked over him, wanting to stop any more questions before they were even voiced. “He’s seeing someone and I’m happy for them. She’s a lovely girl,” she insisted.

“I heard she’s just a fan,” Valdo managed to grumble derisively before Aevryn shot him a disgusted look.

“What?” he asked indignantly. “It’s just, I doubt it’ll last. It never does with fans.”

He seemed to realize that was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth, wincing at the dark look that crossed Aevryn’s face.

“Well, you would probably know better than most,” she remarked coldly, tipping back her drink. Dropping the glass, hard, she turned back to him. “Since we’re catching up, who are you sleeping with?” she asked pointedly and Valdo cleared his throat.

“Does it really matter?” he asked, giving her a level look. “What do you care?”

“I--” Aevryn opened her mouth and shut it, freezing at his question.

“Do you care?” he pressed, leaning forward; bottle green eyes boring into sea green, his sharp feline-like features intent.

“I um,” she balked, inwardly panicking at the conundrum she’d put herself in. “I don’t care,” she replied firmly, holding his gaze. But it was too late. He’d seen her hesitation and he knew what it meant.

A roguish grin spread across his face as he regarded her, leaning in to speak directly in her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin.

“I can tell you who I’d like to be sleeping with.”

Fuck.

——

Simultaneously too buzzed and not buzzed enough, Aevryn stumbled into Valdo’s hotel room with him following close behind. Not even bothering to flip on a light, he turned, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss as his hands at her waist slipped under the hem of her t-shirt, pulling her forward to resume what they’d started in the elevator.

Despite her earlier vitriol, or perhaps fueled by it, Aevryn took the lead, walking Valdo backwards, her hands tangled in his hair tugging roughly and her tongue sliding eagerly between his parted lips, swallowing his resulting moan with fervor. Fighting with his cardigan as he backed up, Valdo finally shed it, letting it drop to the floor. His tank top and Aevryn’s shirt swiftly following.

Stopping suddenly as the back of his legs hit the bed Aevryn pushed him backward onto the neatly made gold duvet, climbing over him and fixing him with a challenging stare. Cocking an eyebrow as he stared back, Valdo smirked, his gaze traveling hungrily over her half naked form.

“If that’s how you want to play this Aev, then let’s play,” he purred, rolling her to her back without warning and pinning her arms to the bed as he leaned over her, so close and yet so far. Because struggle as she might, she couldn’t break his grasp, and his lips hovering just out of reach taunted her; his warm breath maddening as it danced over her skin.

“Tell me what you want, Aev,” he teased as she struggled.

“Fuck you Valdo,” she hissed instead; anticipation coursing through her, driving her crazy.

“Oh we’ll get to that soon, love,” he murmured, “but first…” Leaning closer he dragged his lips against her skin, tasting her as he made his way slowly to her collar bone, his tongue forging a blazing trail as he moved back up to her neck, pausing to draw her earlobe between his teeth before switching sides.

The hiss of pain that left Aevryn’s lips turned to a moan as she squirmed under Valdo’s rough kisses, certainly leaving a trail of dark marks against her pale skin.

“You - better not - be leaving - any - fucking marks,” she gasped angrily and Valdo pulled back, his face an innocent mask.

“If I did, will you punish me for it?” he asked, almost eagerly; his flash of teeth sending a thrill through Aevryn.

“Is that really what you want?” she asked, chest heaving as she glared up at him, her usually clear sea green eyes dark with lust.

“You know exactly how I like it, Aevryn,” he drawled, loosening his grip on her wrists, his gaze not straying.

With her hands free Aevryn soon had Valdo pinned under her once more, paying him back twice over for any marks he may have left on her; her hands refamiliarizing themselves with the planes of his lean body, drawing sweet gasps and sharp groans from him with her mouth.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she propped herself up as she hovered over him, sweeping her shoulder length hair out of her face, unable to completely banish the small smirk she wore at Valdo’s thoroughly pleased expression. He always did so love to be teased.

“Ugh, Aevryn,” he groaned, heaving a breath. “Out of everyone I’ve bedded, you’re still the best.”

Aevryn’s smirk instantly vanished. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she bit out, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Yes,” Valdo replied. “You should feel honored.”

Sitting up, Aevryn’s face was a thunderhead and Valdo half thought she was going to grab her clothes and go, but as pissed as she was she still wanted him and that pissed her off even more.

Hurling a slew of insults at him she fought to undo his belt and jeans as her desire practically throbbed between her legs.

“You fucking asshole. You absolute pompous prick. I fucking hate you, do you know that?” Aevryn seethed until they were both completely undressed and then, then Valdo had the gall to grin up at her, his palms slowly sliding up her body.

“Do you hate me?”

That was the last straw.

And in moments her mouth was on his with a bruising intensity as she grabbed his hard slim cock, guiding it to her entrance before quickly sheathing him in one fluid motion, forgetting just how long he was and gasping in surprise. Taking advantage of her momentary shock he tangled a hand in her wild hair and tugged, pulling her head back to kiss her neck roughly as he thrust up into her, biting into her soft flesh with a growl.

Regaining her control she threaded her fingers into his short curls as well, tugging back just as roughly, bringing a cry to his lips as she met his hooded black rimmed gaze; her hips rolling against his, forcing his cock even deeper, frustration giving way to desperation.

“Come on baby,” he groaned, gasping as she yanked at his hair again. “Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re being a bitch.”

Maybe it was the sound of his voice, or maybe it was the friction, but Aevryn’s climax crept up on her, pushing her over the edge before she expected it and she tensed, her muscles trembling as she bit back a moan, doubled over to press her face to the crook of Valdo’s neck, breathing in his scent as she came.

Holding her body tight to him, Valdo rolled her under him.

“Let’s see if I can make you come again, love,” he whispered before thrusting into her, relishing her overstimulated whine as he began to move faster, harder, desperate to finish quickly. By the time Aevryn came again, a keening cry ripped from her lungs as her nails raked deep paths down his back, and he was coming as well, moaning against her skin as he filled her.

Completely spent, Aeveryn didn’t protest as Valdo collapsed next to her, pulling her into his arms.

“Fuck, you felt so good,” he murmured against her sweat slicked temple, her wavy hair sticking to her forehead and his.

Focusing on her breathing Aevryn finally opened her eyes, finding her pent up anger and frustration spent and she shifted, fitting her body to his, their chests heaving against each other as they caught their breaths. Her muscles weary, Aevryn allowed Valdo to hold her, involuntarily relaxing into his touch as his fingers combed through her hair and stroked her back soothingly.

“It should have been me.”

His soft words caught her attention and she lifted her chin to look at him questioningly.

“I should have been the one to push you to continue making music. I should have been the one supporting you.”

“Valdo…” Aevryn whispered, unsure how to continue. The old ache in her chest beginning to resurface.

“I was drunk Aev, it didn’t count. I barely even remember it.” “That’s not how it fucking works Valdo!”

“Oh come on, you can’t leave me. You’ll be nothing without me.”

“Well you know what? I’m completely sober right now, so by your logic, this counts. We’re through.”

“Aev?” Valdo asked uncertainly. “You there?”

“Uhm, yeah. Just. Just thinking about stuff,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

The last thing she wanted to think about right then after just having essentially hate sex with her ex, was their breakup. Especially when lying there with him felt so right; his scent overwhelming her senses and filling her with longing for what she couldn’t have. Because logically she knew this was a mistake… right? Things could never go back to the way they’d been. Not like that. She had too much self respect to be treated like that again.

“Valdo…”

“You know, I miss you Aev,” he admitted, biting his lip, and she felt as though she’d never seen him like this before. So open. So vulnerable. So unlike him.

Holding her breath she listened.

“Losing you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. You know that, right?”

Before she could answer he shook his head sadly, hooking a finger under her chin and pressing his lips gently to hers. The kiss was unlike any of the frantic, angry, desperate kisses of earlier-- it was soft and full of longing.

“Do you think we could ever, I dunno… fuck, it’s probably a bad idea,” Valdo cut off abruptly, but Aevryn knew what he was getting at.

Shifting so she could look him in the eye she took a deep breath. “Valdo, we have a lot, a lot of history… and if. If you’re serious about… this. Fuck, I don’t know, you’d have to prove it.”

——

Aevryn woke to her phone going off and disentangled herself from Valdo’s arms.

Fuck.

Getting out of bed carefully, so as not to wake him she quickly got dressed. Pressing a hesitant kiss to his cheek she paused, watching his still face, confliction warring within her. With a sigh she shook her head ruefully, penning a short message to him on the notepad on the bedside table before leaving the room.

Catching her reflection in one of the mirrors in the hall as she rushed back to her own room she faltered, swearing under her breath at the multitude of dark hickeys covering her neck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

How the fuck was she going to hide all of those?

“Where were you?” Yennefer’s hushed voice echoed down the hall and Aevryn spun, her heart jumping to her throat.

“Yennefer!” she gasped, clutching her chest. “Fuck, you startled me.”

The dark haired woman took in Aevryn’s appearance as she moved closer, violet eyes widening slightly. “Jesus Aev,” she muttered with a sigh.

The disappointed look Yennefer shot her had her deflating. “I know, okay,” she groaned. “But--”

Yen held up a finger, instantly shushing her. “I’m not going to lecture you, because let’s be honest, it was only a matter of time.”

“Hey!” Aevryn hissed, but deflated again quickly. “Just. Just please don’t tell Jask, okay? He’d kill him. Or me. And right now I don’t know which would be worse.”

Yennefer nodded. “Don’t worry, no one will hear of this from me.”

“Not even Geralt?”

“Not even Geralt.”

“Thank you Yen.”

The dark haired woman sighed, reaching out to wrap an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go get those fucking hickeys covered up first, huh.”

#punk!au #punk!jaskier #punk!valdo #valdo marx #punk!valdo x oc #oc: aevryn swift #punk!yennefer #smut #idek how to tag this lol #my writing

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margaret-vanzin-blog · 5 years

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(natalia dyer, female) MARGARET “MAGGIE” VANZIN, the BROKEN BIRD, is NINETEEN and a SOPHOMORE. SHE is majoring in LITERATURE. In addition to being Quentin’s FAMILY FRIEND, they are part of the Imperium Society. MAGGIE was probably selected because SHE WAS A DANCE PRODIGY AND A SOLOIST OF A PRESTIGIOUS BALLET COMPANY. They remind me of PRECISE ANGLES, TREMBLING HANDS, WELL-WORN POINTE SHOES, & THE COOL EVENING BREEZE. (tara, 21+, est, she/her)

hi! i’m tara. i’m a slut for dark academia, secret societies, et cetera, so this is my exact preferred wheelhouse. i’m really lucky i saw this rp in the tags this morning. below is an intro to my darling Maggie.

sorry for the length lmao but I wanted to make sure I had her whole history straight. feel free to skip down to the personality subtopic if you like.

trigger warnings for self harm (though in a non-direct way?).

Chapter 1: Messy childhood™

She was named for psychologist Margaret Floy Washburn, and she uses Margaret professionally but often goes by Maggie.

I think she’s 5th out of the 6 Vanzins?? (Vanzin squad, if that conflicts with what you have already, let me know)

Adpoted by Moira and Yakov Vanzin as an infant, she never knew any other life than what the psychologists provided. Due to her seemingly advanced spatial awareness as a baby, they decided that her specialty would be dance, and they bred her for ballet. She began training almost as soon as she could toddle around on two feet.

Most of her childhood was spent sequestered in the dance studio her parents had built in their house. Her teachers crafted a strict schedule that combined the Vaganova method with the Cecchetti method, honing her strength and elasticity.

Maggie has always been pliable, a puppet in the hands of her trainers and her parents and whoever else wanted to mold her. She was never asked whether she wanted to do ballet, but she never argued, either. She never considered that an option.

By age eight, she was splitting her time between training and home and dancing in the corps de ballet of the Bolshoi Ballet. Sometimes, as the ballets they performed didn’t have roles suited for someone as young as Maggie, the company’s choreographers would adjust the blocking specifically to allow her exquisite talent a chance to shine within the company of much older dancers.

As she was growing up, she saw how talented her siblings were, both intellectually and physically. And much like some of them, her main goal was to live up to her parents’ expectations - and really, to avoid being the only disappointment. But as she grew taller, and her body proportions shifted, she found it harder and harder to keep up with the level of performance that was expected of her. The jumps and spins required different physics now, physics that she hadn’t had the time to figure out.

This is true for all ballet dancers, not that she would know; she never got much of a chance to spend real time with any of the others. She was whisked in and out of rehearsal spaces and performance halls and had no opportunity to befriend anyone even remotely close to her age, other than her siblings.

(And even then, I imagine she saw very little of her siblings, despite how much she may have wanted to spend more time with them.)

Chapter 2: Shit falls apart

Because she began struggling for the first time in her life, by around age fourteen, she saw herself as a failure. She slept only a scant few hours a night, too restless and overcome with worry to be able to fall asleep. Her intense diet regimen had become even more restrictive, and she began numbly ingesting only the food that was strictly necessary for survival. Yet she still had to work three times as hard as she ever had before, and it was driving her towards a nervous breakdown.

She thought about speaking up about the pressure she was under, telling her trainers or her parents, but she was terrified that either they wouldn’t take her seriously or that they wouldn’t care. Besides, other people - including her siblings - could handle the pressure, so shouldn’t she be able to, too? Plus, it was obnoxiously cliché, the dancer suffering from a work-related mental breakdown. She resented herself even more for it.

Around the same time, the Bolshoi promoted her to become a fairly regular soloist, on track to become a principal ballerina in the next few years. The record for the world’s youngest prima ballerina is nineteen; Maggie’s trainers projected she could reach it earlier than that if she put in enough effort. As expected, pressure only mounted.

At eighteen, she was indeed offered a contract to sign on as a principal. The media celebrated: youngest ballerina ever offered principal position with a major company. Her parents were delighted, and under their watchful eyes, Maggie signed on the dotted line.

She began funneling money out of her personal savings account, the equivalent of a few hundred dollars at a time.

Five weeks later, with trembling hands and skittish eyes, she offered the equivalent of ten thousand dollars to one of the other girls who’d just gotten expelled from the corps at the last company cut, in exchange for staging a hit-and-run. Not enough to kill her; just enough to take her out of the game. The other ballerina took the money, went ahead with the plan as arranged, the incident occurring in the back alley where they were sure there’d be no cameras, just as Maggie purposely left the theatre late one night.

An injured Maggie called for the paramedics, the impact of the car and her fall having broken her right leg and wrist, among other minor injuries. Enough, and more, to take her off pointe shoes for a while.

When they found her (and for some time afterwards), she was an absolute sobbing wreck, mostly out of shock and disbelief that she actually did what she did, though everyone took it as devastation that her ballet aspirations had shattered along with her leg. Moira and Yakov were livid about the accident, but there was no way of tracing the vehicle, and the culprit went unpunished. As of now, no one knows that Maggie orchestrated it herself. The ballerina who hit her is still part of the company, though they haven’t spoken since. Maggie wishes she should send the girl a thank you card but doesn’t want to risk contacting her.

Was this slightly overdramatic? Oh, for sure. But it was the only way she could think of to get out of her situation and finally be able to rest without outright quitting or admitting defeat. To this day, she faces conflicting feelings of both guilt and relief over her decisions in that regard.

Chapter 3: Ashcroft

After having lost so much muscle in her right leg during the healing process and weeks on crutches, she was in no place to begin intense training again. The Bolshoi graciously released her from her contract until she could regain full range of movement through physical therapy.

Her parents, having added the “youngest principal ballerina” to their collection in name if not in deed, agreed to allow her to attend Ashcroft with her older siblings until her full range of motion has returned. As principal ballerinas are often in their mid 20′s-early 30′s, the Bolshoi Ballet then also agreed to let Maggie not just attend university through her recovery but attend until her university graduation, before officially re-joining the company.

There was no need for her to major in dance, since she already has a position waiting for her (a position which she’s dreading, knowing what happened when she was under pressure last time). So instead of studying dance at Ashcroft, she found herself… free to choose. She’s never been able to do that before. Arbitrarily, she chose literature, since she can read at the very least - she’s not particularly made out for academic study, like Florence or some of her other siblings might be, but she’s still happy to have a life outside of ballet, at least for a little while.

When she was invited to join the Imperium Society, she joined. It didn’t matter much to her either way, but she didn’t think she had another choice - and besides, her siblings were in it already. She would always follow in their footsteps, no matter where that took her.

Quentin’s death was a shock - especially after learning that he was stabbed and poisoned. He was a fairly close friend of some of her siblings, she knew, even if she hadn’t known him as well. But she’d still known him; plus, the murder of someone in their society didn’t do much to set her mind at ease.

Personality

Anxious. Despite her calm eyes, her anxiety is visible in her twitching fingers and her slightly warbling voice. I imagine that if her parents noticed, they never cared; if her siblings noticed her anxiety, and they ever said anything to her, she would have pretended she was fine. The only time she’s not nervous is when she’s on stage, because she knows that’s what she was made for. A stillness takes over when she dances - and while she hates ballet for how it affected her mental health, she can’t help but appreciate the sense of peace that it gives her physical body in the moment.

Obedient. Except for her one (arguably major) act of disobedience, which still remains a secret, she doesn’t have any experience saying no or arguing with others. She’s definitely more of a follower than a leader, and she’s as pliable as ever. This can be a positive or negative, depending on the circumstances.

Naive. Probably because she’s had very little social interaction with people outside of her family, she usually can’t discern when people are telling the truth or when they’re lying. Though some of her siblings have gotten her semi-used to recognizing sarcasm, at least.

Kindhearted. The ballet world is cutthroat, but the only person she ever really felt competitive against or vitriol towards was herself - not anyone else. Despite outsiders viewing her as almost robotic in her perfection, if they ever got the chance to know her, they would be surprised by her gentle voice and pleasant, mild demeanor.

Potential Connections?

I’d like her to make some friends, though the level of friendship can vary. I can also see her being really easily taken advantage of by someone she thought might be a friend.

She’s never been to traditional school & she literally can’t do math of any kind, and knows only movement-related physics, so she’s going to need some tutors of some sort, I’m sure.

She needs someone to be a social influence on her, whether good or bad or somewhere in between. Introduce her to the meaning of “fun.”

Romantic connections? She’s never had time for any before? Another dancer kissed her backstage once but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing and nothing came of it. God, Maggie would be such a romantic disaster.

I’m also really looking forward to plotting with her siblings and figuring out their dynamics, oh man.

I’m up for pretty much anything with her, tbh!!

#in the mirror #about #class:intro #[ hey hi hello ]

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 29

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 29 - The Loneliness of Routine

Belle contemplated Paige’s words for several days, while reading her childhood’s favorite novel over again between patrons in the library. Life, for now, seemed to have settled into a routine and it was comforting, and gave her a sense of belonging. The loneliness persisted though, perhaps made more real, or more noticeable by Ruby’s, seemingly, very active love life, and after several days of feeling that way, she took a long lunch break, made her way out of Storybrooke, and to the tree. The note she left for Hunter there was a simple greeting, but she was happy to see that the book she had left for him was gone, and thus began the relationship she and Hunter built. He would leave a note, and she would reply, or the other way around.

Sometimes the notes were long and romantic, notions of what might be… if they would allow it. At other times the notes were short, a simple greeting or response to her greetings, and yet again sometimes there would be little hand made gifts left on the tree for her to find.

Spring blossomed, bloomed and passed into the beginnings of the approaching summer.

“It’s not real, you know?”

Belle blinked as Ruby spoke one morning over breakfast, as she straightened out the crumpled note, the latest that had been tacked to the tree. She looked up to see Ruby gesturing at the paper under her hand.

“All of this… thing with Hunter,” Ruby went on. “You’re pining and mooning around after something and someone that isn’t at all real.”

“Of course he’s real,” Belle answered. “You’ve seen him. You traveled with him from Boston.”

“Not my point,” Ruby snapped, “and you know that. All these notes, and declarations of what…? Love? Get real, Belle. When have you ever done anything other than leave sappy little notes to each other. If he were at all interested, truly interested, wouldn’t he have come here before now? Come to find you?” Belle opened her mouth to respond, but Ruby wasn’t finished. “And what do you know about him anyway, truly know. For all you know he could be using you, setting you up… grooming you to be what… just another port in a storm?”

“Ruby!” Belle protested, finding herself breathless with her friend’s vitriol. “It isn’t like that.”

“You don’t know that, Belle,” Ruby reached across the table and gripped her wrist so tightly that it hurt. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know he’s kind. I know he helped out when he didn’t have to,” she snapped.

“Look, Belle,” Ruby said, her tone softening. “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m not, honestly. I just… I worry about you, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Hunter isn’t going to hurt me,” she said. “And anyway, who are you to talk? You know Gus really likes you, and are you even giving him the time of day?”

“You’ve been so busy walking around with your head up your ass over Hunter, that you don’t even remember I told you he’s coming over… today.”

“Oh, so what is this exactly,” Belle didn’t mean to be so petulant, but her temper was riled and she was feeling defensive, not because she thought Ruby was wrong, but because she feared that she might be right. “You’ve moved in here or something?”

“Ouch,” Ruby said, and the both of them fell silent, aside from the sighs they each made, one after the other.

Belle hated fighting, with anyone, but most of all with Ruby. In the end she was the first to say quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Ruby said, getting up to come around and hug Belle gently from behind. “It’s only because I worry about you. You know that right?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, and I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Ruby shrugged and let go, perching on the edge of the table. “So what does the latest note say, love bird?”

Belle blushed and chuckled just a little bit, before she pushed the note toward Ruby. She watched as Ruby picked up the note and read it. It said, “Saturday… Meet me at our ‘spot.’ no return pickup.”

Ruby handed the note back with a raised eyebrow. “What are you going to do?” she asked, “Make out in the woods and end up covered in mud and leaves?”

Belle spluttered in an attempt to get the words out. “Of course not!” she said. Then she sighed, “Ruby, I moved here to start a new life… I’ve been putting everything on hold until now. It’s time that I embraced what I set out to do. I’m finally feeling at home, the library is working really well but…” she sighed, “I’m lonely.”

“You have me,” Ruby said.

“Not the same.” Belle answered, though she reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Ruby said, “But I promise you, if I swung that way, you’d be the first on my list.”

“Gee, thanks,” Belle said dryly, making Ruby laugh.

“It’s just…” Belle began, faltering slightly before she went on, “It’s just time that I embraced this new life I’ve made for myself, and if that includes exploring this thing I have going on with Hunter, however unconventional it might be, then… that’s what I need to do. What I want to do.”

“Okay, just…” Ruby sighed, “…be careful, all right? I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces.”

“You won’t,” she said. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Ruby nodded. “So…” she said hesitantly, “You… really mind if I have Gus over tonight?”

Belle shook her head. “No, not really. I’m just jealous, I guess.”

Ruby reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t be, Belle. You’re beautiful, you deserve the best, you know that.”

“Well, that’s as may be, but… anyway, I’ll stay down in the library and give you two some privacy. There’s plenty to do down there,” she said, though it wasn’t necessarily the truth, but if she had to, if she ran out of things to do, she could always take a walk, visit Granny’s for a treat or something, there was plenty she could do… She could even walk out to the tree, and leave Hunter an answer to his invitation.

“You sure,” Ruby said, and she could hear the doubt in her friend’s voice.

“Yes,” Belle said softly. “I’m sure.”

In the end, that evening, Belle opted for Granny’s, ordering an iced tea and a slice of pie, and went to sit in the booth furthest from the door, furthest from everything so that she could sit and watch everyone over the top of the book that she had brought with her and wasn’t reading, and which quickly turned into a daydream of sorts.

She had told Ruby that she felt at home in Storybrooke, and it was true, she did, but she didn’t feel like she really fit in. The only real friend she had in the town was Ruby, and she wasn’t from there. Sure Leroy had been kind to her, and stuck by her, almost like a protective older brother.

Then there was Gold, her landlord, with whom she shared, at best, an antagonistic relationship. He’d never actually done her wrong - though she had learned by listening to gossip that there were many people who couldn’t say the same - and she had good reason to believe that actually he was also sort of looking out for her, at least in a quiet sort of way that was probably more a power struggle between him and the mayor in which she was the pawn. At least that’s what she liked to tell herself, but then there was the book.

She hadn’t told Ruby exactly where it had come from, and she hadn’t not told her either. She simply let her assume that it had been from one of the other libraries and not corrected her when Ruby enthused over it, remembering that it had been Belle’s childhood favorite… and she hadn’t stopped wondering where it truly had come from, and why he hadn’t told her that it was in the box, when she had given him the title of the book.

He took the index card, read the contents of the card, and then slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, and Belle thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

What did it mean? What did any of it mean.

“I’ll give ye a penny for em, but no more.”

Maggie had suddenly appeared beside her, and Belle gave herself a little shake wondering how she could have gotten so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even notice when Maggie came in. She gave the other woman a smile, and Maggie evidently took it as an invitation to join her and slipped into her booth.

“So?” Maggie asked.

Belle shook her head. “Oh, I was just thinking,” she said.

“Aye. That much is evident, but I asked what about?” Maggie said.

“Life.” Belle sighed, “How… if I really do fit in here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maggie exclaimed rather too loudly for Belle’s taste. “Ye fit in just fine.”

Belle gave her a smile. “Thank you for that, but I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Och, ye’ve just things on your mind that’s stopping you from going out and embracing your part in the tapestry that is this town.”

“What do you mean?” Belle asked with a frown.

“Well, ye seem to have quite the influential suitor,” Maggie chuckled and added, “Though I never thought I’d ever see the day.”

Belle shook her head again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Maggie sighed, and said, “Oh, I’d have hoped you’d realize by now, but since ye havenae, it’d be bad luck for me to say any more, but… well, ye just wait. Summer’s coming.”

“Summer?”

“Aye, you’ll see.” Maggie said softly.

#rumbelle #AU (slight)#cursed storybrooke #angst #eventual smut #the bookshop on the corner

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