#/ or the marriage fails and people say / they knew it was a mistake’

[landwriter]

i love the construction of starting a tragic-ending story with the ending & then going back to the very beginning, bc i feel like it correctly emphasizes the still-it-matters of “the love was there. it didn’t change anything. it didn’t save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

there’s no third act rug pull, no heart-in-your-throat hope against hope, no last minute twist. it doesn’t work out. we know that. but that was only the end. and here is all the rest of it

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

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[scarletwinterxx]

hearts don't break around here - jeon wonwoo imagine

hiiiii ~ this is a long one.... and kinda one of my favorite from all my works this year😅🤭😊 hope you have fun reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it🥺 i said before the exes to lovers trope isn't my fave but i loved it here hahah

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

genre: fluff, kinda angst (?), exes to lovers, they get steamy but that's the most i can write HAHA consume responsibly.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

If you count how many times people have told you it was a mistake to sign those papers, you would probably need more than 10 fingers. That’s more than the reasons why the two of you divorced in the first place. 

After only 3 years of marriage, you and your ex-husband finally pulled the plug on your relationship and filed for divorce. Was it the ending you expected when you accepted his ring? No. But life happens and sometimes it just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It was a quick separation, both parties arrived at an agreement. You get the apartment, even though he was the one who bought it for the two of you, he knew you loved that place and even though he can’t share it with you anymore at least he knows you’ll be safe there. He gets exactly what he had before he married you. 

You believe a part of you, the tiniest part, was still hoping the two of you would make it work. But that wasn’t enough for you to stay. You were unhappy and so was he. It felt empty coming to a place you thought you could call home only to be welcomed with coldness. 

It’s been a year since then. At first it was weird for you, not having him around when you’ve been with him for almost a decade. Well you’ve known him for decade. The two of you dated for 5 years before he popped the question, 3 years of marriage, a decade of friendship. 

That’s a title you can never take away from Wonwoo. He was your friend, a close confidante. One of your reasons why you fell in love with him, he knew how to make you feel like you’re heard. The same way you knew just how to listen to him even without the words. 

When things were too much, you made it bearable for him. You silenced the chaos in his mind, you were his solace. 

To this day he still thinks of you as one of his closest friends, it might seem weird to some that he’s still friends with his ex-wife but that’s who you’ve always been to him. The two of you didn’t work out as a couple but you’re great friends. 

Sometimes he thinks that friendship blurs the lines of your failed marriage. The two of you are aware it’s not normal that you still have a key to each other’s place or how Wonwoo would always ask you out to grab dinner with him or how you would drop off some of his stuff at work when he forgets it. It’s like the two of you are still together minus the commitment and legalities, or at least that’s how your friends describe it. 

You’re never afraid to speak your mind when you’re with him. 

Now you’re on your way to his apartment, you could’ve called him but you think it’s not a conversation you can start over the phone. It’s easier to talk to him when he’s right in front of you, at least you’ll get to see his reaction real time instead of hearing silence over the phone. 

Instead of barging in or using your key that he gave you, you ring the doorbell instead. From the other side of the door, Wonwoo wonders who the unexpected visitor is. Usually the concierge would call if it’s a stranger, so it could only mean either one of his friends or you. And sure enough when he checks the screen there you are waiting outside his door, rocking back and forth on your heels. Something you do when you’re nervous or have something to say to him. 

He strides towards the door, unlocking it to let you in. The moment his eyes met yours he knew he was right, you had something to say to him and he’s not sure whether it’s good or bad news. 

“You’re home, why are you home? I was kinda hoping you weren’t here” you mumbled

“Then why come here?”

“I was taking my chances, gonna let fate decide what to do. Since you’re here I guess I just have to say it” now you’re just rambling. Another habit you have when you’re nervous. He follows behind you as you walk inside his apartment. You don’t come here that often but you’ve been here a couple of times before. 

Wonwoo takes a seat on the sofa while his eyes stay on you, watching you prance around his living room while clearly having an internal debate. 

You take deep breath before facing him, readying yourself to say what you came here for

“Now, before you say anything I need you to hear me out. I know this will sound crazy, I might sound crazy but believe me I’ve thought this through. I already lost so many nights thinking about this okay but I need you to know I am sure about this. I need you to remember that” you tell him

“Okay” he simply answers

“I want a baby, and I was thinking if you would agree to be the father”

Wonwoo’s not sure if he heard the right words or if he’s dreaming right now. The day the two of you sat down and agreed about the divorce is easier to comprehend than this.

This… this was definitely not what he was expecting to hear. 

“Hear me out, okay. I know what I’m talking about, don’t look at me like I’ve gone insane. I want to have a kid, believe me I’ve looked at many options. Adoption, surrogacy, donors. There’s nothing wrong with those but it just doesn’t feel right for me. My doctor told me to do what feels right and something I’m sure of and this is it”

He still hasn't said anything which is worrying you, maybe it was too much to ask him. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“You want to have my baby?” 

This makes you look away from his stare for second, feeling that nervousness erupt in your chest

“To make it simple, yes” you answer him, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say anything” Wonwoo tells you, leaning back on his seat while taking it all in. 

The two of you have talked about having kids before. That was a possibility the two of you never said no to. You’re lucky enough to be in a place in your lives to comfortably start a family and be able to provide for your children but your marriage never reached that stage. He didn’t expect to experience this stage of your lives together, especially now that you’re no longer married. 

You take the seat on the other side of the room, shoulders slumping downwards. “You probably didn’t expect that, sorry for ambushing you like that. I’m not pressuring you, you can say no”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?” you ask back

“If I say no, then what will you do? You seem like you’re set on this plan and you’re never the one to only have a plan A. Some people settle with only having a plan B but not you, you’re not stopping until you run out of letters to use” and he only speaks the truth. 

What he doesn’t know is that fact doesn’t apply to him. He’s not wrong, but not right either. You always have a backup plan, you don’t like going into things unprepared.But not when it comes to him.

It wasn’t in your plan to fall in love with him but you did. 

It wasn’t in your plan to marry him but you did.

It wasn’t in your plan that you had to end it with him either. 

When you’re with Wonwoo you never need a second choice, he is always first. Everything else is an afterthought. 

“I dunno, back to the drawing board I guess”

He chuckles at your answer, ever the witty one. “Are you sure you’re not just having baby fever right now?”

“No, why would I even come here and ask you if I wasn’t serious?”

“Ovulating then?”

“Asshole” you grab a throw pillow to throw at him which he quickly dodges, letting out a laugh

“I’m being serious here, Wonwoo” “So am I, a baby is a serious topic. It’s a life we’re talking about”

“I know, I’m aware”

“Let’s say I say agree, how will that work?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking me how babies are made?”

“I know how babies are made, I can make you one like you’re asking right now. I’m talking about what happens after the baby is born, what happens then?”

You blink back at him, to be honest you didn’t think that far. You were half sure he was going to say no. 

“If you’re asking about child support, you don’t-” “I’m not going to abandon my child like that”

“Hypothetical child, they’re not even here” you interrupt him

“I’m not going to abandon my hypothetical child, I’ll be there if you want me to be. He or she can have my name if you want, or not totally up to you. If you’re asking me to do this then I want you to know I’ll be all in. I’m not going to knock you up and leave you”

“Geez, that sounds…”

“Now, does that answer your question?” he ask you, leaning forward resting his arms on his knees

You nod like a child that’s been told off, looking at the carpet instead of him. You can hear him chuckle from the other side of the room before he stands up, “A few minutes ago you were asking me for a child, now you’re all shy”

“To be fair I thought you were going to say no and say I’m crazy” you shrug your shoulder

“Oh you’re not wrong, you are crazy” he walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink for you and him, he can hear your footsteps behind him

“Hey!”

He smiles upon hearing your protest, even with his back turned to you he can still picture your annoyed pout. 

Wonwoo takes two bottles of water from the fridge, opening one before passing it over to you and opening the second one for him. 

“So, how do we do this? Do we go to your doctor?”

“For what?”

“The part where we make our hypothetical child into a real child”

“I’m already seeing my doctor, she said everything’s okay. I’m healthy, all’s good” you say 

“Okay, that’s good but I’m talking about the actual baby making part” 

“I don’t get it”

The two of you look at each other, waiting for the other one to speak. You’re the one who break the short silence “Are you sure you know how babies are made? Do I have to give you the sex talk?” 

This makes him laugh, like a big loud laugh making you more confused before Wonwoo speaks again “Oh sorry, I get it now. I just thought we were going to the hospital to do it”

“Why? I’m good, like I said. Aren’t you?” genuinely confused by his statement

“I’m clean if that’s what you’re asking” he tells you

“I wasn’t but good to know” you answer, you can feel him still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer “What?” you ask him

“Should I be the one giving you the sex talk or you already know how babies are made?” he smirks at you.

It takes everything in you to not throw the drink at his head, clearly he’s teasing you. He’s very knowledgeable at how and which buttons to push when it comes to you. You try to pretend you’re not blushing at his words so you just take another gulp of water from your bottle before screwing the cap back on.

“Haven’t thought that part out but we can do it, we’re two consenting adults” you clear your throat as you explain while your ex-husband’s smile grow bigger by the second as he watch you try to put it into words.

“So just so we’re clear, you’re saying yes?” you ask him

He nods “Yes”

This is the part you didn’t think through at all. Now that he agreed you’re not sure how to take the next step. 

He notices you’re getting lost in thought, taking this moment to look at you. He doesn’t see you as often as before but it’s good to see you doing okay. You look healthy and happy, that’s all that matters to him anyways. 

“Hey, you okay?” he walks over to the other side of the kitchen island to stand beside you. 

Knocking his shoulder with yours, making you look up at him. You’ve been in this exact place before, many times. In many different eras of your life. Wonwoo has always been right beside you, even now as you take the next big step he’s still here with you and for that you’re thankful. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I feel like I just pressured into doing it” you mumbled

“I’m an adult who can think for himself, believe me you didn’t pressure me into anything” he assures you “Are you backing out now?” he asks

“No” 

“Then what? Talk to me” his voice now more gentle

“I was just thinking how this is getting very real, that maybe a few months from now I… we’ll have a child. I’ve always wanted that” you say with a small smile

“Sorry” that’s all he could say to you but you just shake your head at him

“We’re not doing that, we agreed to never apologize for that. It was a decision we both made, and we’re okay now. We’re better now”

He looks at you, reading your eyes as you read his. “What?” you ask, almost whispering the word out

He just smiles again at you before leaning down, you let your eyes close as you feel his lips on your forehead. An act of affection he loves doing to you. 

After that you don’t say much, he walks you out to your car. He knows it’s been a long night for you, you must’ve been overthinking for a while before asking him so he lets you rest. He doesn’t say it outloud but he’s already planning to take care of the rest. 

“I have a question” he says when the two of you are outside, standing beside your car

“Mhm?”

“Since we’re doing this, you have to tell me you’re okay with…” “It’s okay, Wonwoo. If it’s permission you’re asking, here you go” you giggle

He reaches behind you to open the driver’s side for you, “Was I being too awkward?”

“Kinda, and it’s not like we’ve never done it before” you joke, he just rolls his eyes at you

“Goodnight, drive safe. Text me when you get home”

You thought after getting all of that out of your chest you would finally fall asleep with no trouble, but oh boy you’re wrong. It just kept you up all night, making you overthink things that haven't even happened yet. 

Not to mention Wonwoo is also taking over your thoughts. It’s silly, you’re a grown adult thinking about your ex-husband like you’re a schoolgirl having her first crush. You would be lying to yourself if you say he doesn’t affect you anymore, even if you try your hardest Wonwoo will always always have a way to your heart. How could he not when he drew the map out himself. 

The next few days went by like normal, the two of you busy with your own lives that the whole topic of baby making became overshadowed by other stuff. 

It’s not rare for Wonwoo to go over at your place, it used to be his’ too. When you said you’re the one moving out after the divorce he was very adamant that you stay, it hurt to see him packing his stuff but it’s part of the process. There are days though that he comes to visit, either to cook and eat dinner with you or grab stuff he has yet to pick up or some lame excuse he made up so he can spend some free time with you. 

He would never admit that, not after separating with you. He doesn’t want you to overthink things like he is, it’s enough he gets to miss you even though you don’t feel the same. 

Oftentimes when he does feel that way, he finds himself knocking on your door and you always open the door for him. 

Like tonight, it’s a Friday night. Instead of going out with his colleagues for dinner, he came here to cook and have dinner with you. He prefers your cooking anyways and you always make cookies just the way he likes it. Not too sweet, enough to satisfy his cravings when he has them. 

“Try this, it’s a new recipe I found online” you call for him, holding a piece of bread you baked. Instead of taking it from your hand, he takes a bite straight from your grasp. Gripping your wrist gently to hold it steady as he chews the freshly baked pastry

“Mhm, that’s good. Not too sweet, I like it”

“Right? I didn’t use as much sugar as the recipe said since I know you hate it when it’s too sweet. Good thing it came out okay” you smile to yourself, slicing a few more pieces to share between the two of you. He watches you fondly, listening to the words that flow freely like you didn’t even think twice about thinking about him. 

The two of you eat dinner and desert before settling on the living room couch to watch a movie. He’s sitting on one end while you’re sitting on the other, your feet resting across the space between the two of you. At first there was no contact between the two of you, then his hand rest on your ankles but it never moved. 

You were too focused on the movie to notice Wonwoo looking at his phone when suddenly you hear him let out a chuckle making you look over at him

“What?” you ask

“The guys went out tonight, as expected Dino’s drunk. Look at this, he won’t go in the taxi again” you scoot closer, folding your legs to sit next to him to look at his screen. When you see the picture you also laugh at the scene

“Looks fun, why didn't you go with them? Could’ve told me you were busy tonight”

“Not really in the mood to drink tonight, Mingyu asked me to go golfing with him tomorrow so I’ll see them tomorrow anyways” he shrugs, turning his phone off before throwing it back on the coffee table. Throwing his arm behind the couch, he looks over at you

“Aren’t you tired yet? You had a busy week”

“How did you know?”

“You didn’t message me as much” he answers

“It’s weird enough we’re still hanging out, now you’re saying I don’t text you enough. Why did we spend that much on the divorce then?” you joke, he laughs too. The two of you share those jokes back and forth, sometimes some of your friends hear it and say you two are indeed weird. 

“You’re calling me weird when you’re the one who asked me to have a baby with you”

“And you said yes! Which makes you just as weird as me” you argue back

He just stares at you, it’s like time slowed down all around him and all he can focus on is you. It’s been so long since he’s been this close to you, and the thought that he can be closer to you is sending chills down his spine. 

“Earth to Wonwoo” you wave a hand in front of his face, he takes that hand and holds it in his. Intertwining your fingers with his. He misses seeing the ring on yours and his fingers, he can’t tell you now but he still has them hidden in a drawer back at his place. It will only ever be yours anyways. 

“You know for an ex, we really don’t really know the concept of personal space” you mumble, voice suddenly getting more quiet as you look back right into his eyes

“It’s overrated, and like you said I have permission to invade this personal space. You can tell me to stop if you want” he breathes out.

You don’t know when or how but now he’s much closer to you. Your noses touching each other, you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“Why? You haven’t even done anything” you answer back, he smirks at you leaning even closer until his lips is one breath away from yours

“I’m about to do everything, you sure about that”

“Shut up and give me a baby”

And that he did. He kissed you, after a long long long time you finally felt his lips again. 

You feel it against your own, you feel it all over your skin, you feel him everywhere. Wherever his skin touched yours is like fire burning you but in the most pleasurable way. 

You’re not sure what it feels like to ascend to heaven but tonight Wonwoo gave you a glimpse of it. It’s not the first time for the two of you but tonight feels different, maybe because it’s been so long or maybe because there’s a reason behind this but everything feels so much more. 

Everytime he dove right in you, it’s like he’s making it his sole purpose to make you remember this. That you’ll never forget how he feels against you, in you. 

The rest of the night was a blur to you, too lost in a blissful haze. You remember being on the couch then the next you’re on your bed. Then you remember taking a not so quick shower before ending back on your bed where you fell asleep finally. 

And it’s the best sleep you had in months. When you wake up you can feel your muscles screaming in pain, feeling sore all over. 

Mentally sending a curse to Wonwoo, who you notice is nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh you’re awake, here I ordered breakfast for us” speaking of the devil, he walks into the bedroom already dressed in jeans and a plain shirt he found in the closet. 

You sit upright, wincing when you move your legs under the duvet which Wonwoo notices. Biting his lips to suppress a smile

“Wipe that smirk off before I strangle you”

“Thought you’re into that”

“Shut up” You say, hugging the sheets against your chest as you look at the food he laid in front of you. Taking a sip of the coffee first, iced vanilla latte. He still knows your favorites. 

“Forgot to ask before we got carried away, are you off of any birth control?” 

“Mhm, have been since the beginning of this year. Wasn’t really with anyone so I asked my doctor if it was okay. I wanted to rest my body from all of that”

“You haven’t been with anyone?” he asks, not meaning to pry on your personal life but he already asked before he can think twice about it

You look at him, shaking your head slowly “No, I was very busy with work and it’s not really in my mind at the moment. Have you? Not that you that bothers me or anything” you mumble

He watches you pick on the piece of strawberry on the plate, he takes the fork from you before eating the fruit knowing you don’t like it then he slices the french toast for you before passing the fork to you. 

“Don’t want to piss you off this early in the morning”

“So you have” you stare at him, the annoyed expression on your face evident. This makes Wonwoo smile and let out a laugh “You’re right, we’re bad at the whole personal space thing” he teases you

“Whatever, you can go if you have somewhere you need to be” you grumbled

How can he walk out now when you’re acting all cute. When will be the next time he’ll get to see you like this, the morning sun glowing against your bare skin. His marks still evident on your skin, unbeknownst to you. Hair all messy from last night, and your lips oh god those lips. He can get lost in them again if you let him. 

“I’m going out with Mingyu, you can call your cousin to ask” he says, taking his phone from the bedside table and passing it to you but you brush him off earning another laugh from the man

“I’m gonna go shower, want to join me?” he asks so casually

The coffee you were drinking goes down the wrong pipe making you cough, Wonwoo scoots over to gently tap you on the back “You good?”

“It’s too early for this” you scowl at him when you see the teasing smile he had on. Smiley Wonwoo has always been your favorite and you’re always weak when you see him this happy. You’re not really annoyed at him, just a bit annoyed at how he knows how much power he still has over you

“We’ll be quick. I need to go or else Gyu will talk my ear off for being late”

“Heard that before” you chuckle “You know what, nevermind. I’ll just tell him I was busy, I can be late for today. You like long showers right?”

Suddenly the sheets are pulled away from your body and his arms are under you, carrying you towards the bathroom “Wonwoo, wait I didn’t mean it like that. Wonwoo” you screech as he takes you inside. 

More mornings and nights like that happen often, the two of you forgetting the piece of paper you both signed a year ago signaling the end of your marriage. Most times he finds himself waking up on your bed and you safely tucked by his side. 

There’s this lingering fear in his mind that if he gets used to this again then what will he do when it’s gone. What if one day he has to wake up again, alone. The thought alone makes him restless, he pulls you closer to him and you make yourself comfortable on his chest. Seeking his warmth like it’s a need. And that there is enough to shush his worries. 

The initial goal got lost in your head until your phone notified you that it’s supposed to be that time of the month again. You double check the date and indeed the reminder was right but no sign of your red friend. 

It’s probably too soon to tell but you hurry home and lock yourself in the bathroom where a few hours later Wonwoo found you. 

“Where are you? Are you- hey, there you are. You had me worried” Wonwoo kneels in front of you, brushing the hair away from your face to look at you “Talk to me”

You don’t say anything, you just look at the counter making Wonwoo follow your gaze. There he sees a few boxes of pregnancy tests opened. 

“Did you check it?” he asks but you shake your head

“Do you want me to?” you nod your head. 

He gives your knee a squeeze before standing up, with careful steps he walks over the counter to see the results. There’s a few on the counter all lined up with, he flips them over. 

You watch him instead of peeking at what the tests say, the expression on his face was enough for you to decipher what they say

“Oh, baby” he breathes out, smiling at you before engulfing you in a hug and there you break down. The tears flowing down your face. 

“Shhh it’s okay, we wanted this right? It’s a good thing” he whispers against your hair

Wiping the tears away, you step out of his embrace then walk out of the bathroom

Wonwoo follows behind you, “Hey, talk to me”

“Is this really what you want? What if you’re just saying that because of me, what if you feel trapped once the baby is here? What if this isn’t even what you wanted? We already separated right, what the hell are we even doing”

He rushes in front of you, holding your face in his hands, “Hey hey don’t say that. You’re not trapping me, and I wanted this too. I’ve wanted this for a long time but we just… it didn’t work out for us the first time. I’m sorry we had to go through that but I’m not leaving you again. Whatever you want me to be, wherever you want me to be that’s where you’ll find me” he assures you, wiping the tears as they cascade down your cheeks

“What if the love you’re feeling for me is only because of this? I want us to be together again in the right time, for the right reasons and not just because we will have a child together”

He smiles at you, never stopping from wiping the tears aways and he never will. From now on he vows to never let a tear slip down from your eyes ever again, there wouldn’t be a single thing he wouldn’t know how to fix if it meant he’ll never see you cry again. 

For you he’d try and fix this. 

He pulls the sleeve of his sweater inside out, showing the end of the sleeve to you. There you see the familiar simple stitch in the shape of a heart. The purple thread bright against the black fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Remember when you sew this on all my clothes? You know I still have all of them. Remember what you told me? You stitched them there so I’ll never forget how I have your heart on my sleeve. We didn’t say it alot but I know how much you loved me. And me well…I love you, I have always loved you and I never stopped. I don’t think I can, not ever. If you think right now isn’t the right time for us then I’ll wait. We can walk together side by side until we get there, I’m not leaving you. Never again. And when this child comes, it’ll be the three of us. Like I told you, if we’re doing this I’m all in”

You’re not looking at him, still looking at the tiny purple heart on his sleeve.

“You think.. I should do that to the baby’s clothes too?” you ask, finally looking at him with teary eyes and pouty lips. Wonwoo smiles at you, giving you the gentlest kiss on the forehead over and over again

“Ofcourse, you can. We’ll do whatever you want”

“So we’re really doing this?” you breath out, finally it’s starting to sink in

“We’re doing this” he nods his head

And that marks the start of your story once again. Your new beginning with him. And there’s no better happy ending than that. 

[lennadanvers]

Sooooo... Birthday with ex-husband!Eddie!! I had this idea laying around, and since I still have to finish my thesis and I'm in the middle of moving, it was the perfect time to spend three hours writing this. I didn't have it in me to come up with a title, sorry.

I feel like this man feels like he lives in a movie. Also, he's just uncapable of leaving his love alone. I really missed him.

Ex-husband!Eddie loves being a rockstar. It has so many perks. Like thousands of people absolutely loving you. Fans who would devote their time and effort to him if he asked them to.

To be fair, he doesn’t usually take advantage of that. But sometimes he can’t stop himself. Especially when it’s about you.

Eddie was always great at gifts. It’s easy when he spends so much time thinking of you. He knows everything there is to know- and then a little more, because he knows even the things you don’t realize about yourself. And he’s a showman.

So it shouldn’t be as much of a surprise when, on your birthday, you turn the radio on to a cover of your favorite song by Corroded Coffin. Which is weird because your usual radio station doesn’t play music. That is actually the reason why you chose it- no ex-husband singing metal at 7 a.m. when you’re driving the kids to school.

Except it is a surprise.

One that goes on the whole day. First, when you change the station- once, twice, five times- and realize the goddamned song is playing in every fucking station. Okay. It’s okay, because you’ll pretend you didn’t notice. And you’ll turn the traitor radio off as soon as it ends. You won’t take any chances to find out what's playing next.

It happens again when you come out of the grocery store to a gigantic bouquet of your favorite flowers on top of the hood of your car. And when you look into your grocery bags and find your favorite ice cream with a little note that says “Happy Birthday!” on it, written in an awfully messy handriting you'd recognize anywhere; it's on your marriage certificate, after all. You didn’t buy ice cream. They don’t even sell this brand in the state: it’s Hawkin’s very own local ice cream shop recipe. Hadn’t the place shut down a few years back, anyway?

You seriously dread getting home after that. Who knows what Eddie might be up to? Because of course it’s him. As if it could be Jay, the guy you had dinner with a few times in the last month- who had failed to remember you were a vegetarian after sharing four meals. You hate that it’s him. You hate that he has the means to orchestrate this. The money, the time, the desire to do it.

Luckily- as if he knew your patience would be running short- your home is exactly as you left it. Maybe a little bit cleaner, but that’s probably just your paranoia.

Until you sit on the couch to reply to all the birthday texts and your finger slips and opens TikTok.

Rookie mistake.

You find yourself lost in a sea of stupid, viral, brand-new edits. It’s not new to have Corroded Coffin’s fans wish you a happy birthday, but this… This is a whole new level. And it’s a little terrifying, because there are videos of you blushing and smelling the flowers. You kick the stupid bouquet off the coffee table where you left it. And close the ice cream container with the spoon still inside. Bastard. There are videos of Eddie singing the stupid song on a radio station, live- God, you love that song. Why did he have to do that?

And why wasn’t that enough? One would think the very public display was a thing in itself. There is no need for even more paraphernalia, right? Wrong- at least Eddie thinks so. Because he’s there- surrounded by fans who also happen to be the same age as you, and parents to the kids your children go to school with- when you go to pick them up. Eddie shouldn’t be there. It’s your turn.

But he smiles when he sees you, running to hug you as if he had just encountered a long-lost friend. You’re not friends, but he definitely lost you. And he’ll take any chance to put his head in your neck to pretend you still want him there.

Oh, and there’s also another reason this time.

Yep, the flash mob he managed to choreograph for you that need a distraction to get into formation. The school is suddenly drowned in some kind of metal ballad and the group of fanatics turn out to be a very coordinated ballet. Eddie himself is dancing. Is that a microphone taped to his cheek? The bastard is live-singing while he dances.

Eddie grabs your hand and makes you spin like a million times. You clearly don’t know the choreography, but he’s just so good at making you hit the marks that it ends up looking seamless.

It’s easy for Eddie to forget. Dancing with you always feels like being by Lover’s Lake- like he’s never left, like he isn’t a day over eighteen. Like you’re still there to laugh at his missteps. Like home is still a person in his life. It’s so easy to forget about the times he wasn’t there to dance with you in the kitchen. The times where his missteps where just things you had to push through, things you had to fix, things that made you cry of exhaustion.

Especially when you smile at him without even realizing. That’s a special smile right there. The first and only Wonder of Hawkins: your happiness. He thanks a God he doesn’t believe in that he can still write a half decent song for your birthday. Eddie faintly wonders if he could do this for you once a week, and quickly decides it’s just not possible. He needs to see you smile once a day, at the very least.

It's not the first time he’s had that thought. Actually, Eddie screwed things up just one time less than he’s thought about your laugh. Guess he always has tomorrow to even the scores.

The music ends and he dips you.

It physically hurts, seeing the way you let yourself go in Eddie's arms. How stupidly you trust him. Even after everything. You seem to think the same, because you straighten up and fix your shirt in an attempt to step away from him.

It doesn’t work. It never does.

That night, Eddie cooks for everyone- everyone being you and the kids. It’s your favorite, and you're even wearing a cozy pijama instead of being all dolled up in a fancy restaurant. You have plans to do that on the weekend with your friends, anyway. Not like he knows that. Not like he needs to. You enjoy the homemade meal; the kids chat the whole time and Eddie pretends to eat. Then he brings out another impossible treat- Wayne’s two ingredient chocolate mousse, the one that requires off brand chocolate, only sold in Meldval’s General Store. He lit a candle, and all of them sing Happy Birthday in perfect tune.

After that, Eddie takes the kids to bed. It’s a weekday, after all. Not everyone has the eclectic schedule of a rockstar.

When Eddie comes back, you’re piling the dishes in the sink. It’s almost laughable, how he always ends up giving you more work, even if he’s just trying to make things about you. He pleads for you to let him clean. Just this once, you let him.

Instead of leaving to get ready for bed, you stay. Sitting atop of the counter. Again, Eddie has the weird feeling that he went back in time while dreaming. He remembers a night like this. It probably ended with you sleeping on his chest. He also remembers all the late nights he came home to you sleeping alone. Eddie cleans faster. This time, you don’t seem to care.

He tries to fill the silence telling you how Gareth sends his love, and all the stupid birthday gifts ideas he had to ban Dustin from bringing to fruition. You listen in silence. It’s like watching a black and white T.V. show. It looks like real life, even sounds like it. But there’s a clear difference.

Eddie finishes the dishes and goes on to clean the entire kitchen. At some point, even he lost track of what he was talking about. You keep quiet. He runs out of things to clean. It doesn’t feel as if he got rid of any part of the mess he made. You don’t look at him.

It’s almost twelve, if the kitchen clock hasn’t run out of batteries again. Maybe he should replace them soon. If you haven’t yet. You probably have. Never needed him to keep things working.

Eddie knows it’s late. As in, you should be sleeping already. So he goes to grab his jacket.

But you say “Thank you”.

Many things he doesn’t know. He never knew how to stop being a disaster. Never knew to be home on time, to get his life together, to be better. He also doesn’t know how to say no. Or how to stop himself.

One thing he knows is you.

As usual, it ends up great for him. His arms on your waist and back, his body between your sheets. He’s wearing an old t-shirt of his that evolved into your pajama. You smell like warmth. Your hair is soft against his clavicles, your weight stops his mind from wandering around like it usually does. It’s the right thing to do. After all those nights you fell asleep alone. The least he can do is lend you his chest to sleep tonight. Happy Birthday.

As usual, it ends up terribly for you. Your hands tug on his shirt, and this time he’s actually there. Eddie’s breathing cradles you to a calm night of sleep. You’re finally comfortable in that awfully big bed. Things aren't black and white anymore. It’s the worst thing he could have done. After all those nights you slept alone. The least he could do is leave you to try and fix yourself once and for all. Instead, he tried being nice again. And here you are, the next morning, having to clean up the mess he left.

[purrlockswatson]

Phantom of the Opera (1990), you did Erik proud

Alternate title: Christine, we have beef!

(Meme inspired by this post.)

I have not a bad word for this Erik (and not just because I can feel a certain friend of mine holding a chandelier over my head). The 1990 adaptation made some big changes to the story, but it perfectly captured the childlike soul of Leroux's Erik that is often lost in translation but vital to him. (When I was explaining POTO to someone outside the situation, i. e. my mum, two things I kept using as comparisons were a child and Gollum - not because he's a chaos gremlin, I was trying to describe how he has a skewered perspective of the world that isn't evil but doesn't follow the accepted moral system. But that's for another time.)

I found myself trying very hard not to resent Christine - a first time for me. I will defend her choosing the Compte de Chagny over Erik, she doesn't owe Erik love, no matter what he did for her. The problem is that she took on a responsibility she couldn't possibly carry.

Never, ever assume to fully understand someone. Especially someone like Erik, who thinks and exists on a different pane as most people. Christine was wrong, terribly wrong, to assume she 'knew his heart.'

When faced with a person so sensitive, so particular, when you are the one person trusted by someone who trusts no one, don't make huge gambles like that. She shouldn't have assumed she knew what Erik needs better than he himself does - if he told you he is happy with where they were, then stay there with him! Instead, she pulled the 'I can fix him' and shattered him completely. I don't hate her for being unable to catch Erik when he falls, I hate her for blindly promising to catch him and failing him.

(I do realise how much of the above describes myself and my worries about how people treat me, so fair warning, I may be a bit biased.)

An opinion: in most versions of the story, Erik emotionally manipulates Christine, but here, Christine is the one who is emotionally manipulative. ('Manipulative' may sound malicious, but manipulators aren't always aware of what they're doing.)

In the second part of the series, she said at least three times 'If you love me...' Now, that is one of my least favourite sentences to see and hear in the best of times, but this is somehow even worse because Erik DOES do everything because he loves her. In other versions, there is the question of possessiveness against love when it comes to their relationship; in that context, I would accept her saying this, to remind him that he should love and not obsess over her. But here, Erik is not possessive.

As for Monsieur Carrière, I have beef with him, too. It's an even bigger, tougher slice of beef. He is irresponsible: not once, but twice, he got in relationships and then left his partners when they have children. The first time could be a mistake; the second time, especially when kept Erik's mother in the dark about his marriage, is inexcusable. Yes, he stayed with her till the end, but then left their son in a basement. Yes, he reached out to Erik in the end, but too little, too late. If Erik is emotional and irrational, it's because Carrière never gave him the guidance he should have.

Christine and Carrière love Erik, I don't doubt it. But it's still painful to see Erik fall down through everyone and everything that should have caught him: his talent, his parents, Christine.

If you'll excuse me, I need to cry in the catacombs and draw something miserable.

I talk about several other adaptations here!

[happy74827]

Beyond Repair

[William Afton x Wife!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite everything he’s done, so far the only consequence he’s received is marriage counseling {GIF Creds: @bittwitchy// Tagging @moonbanana-library because I feel like you’ll enjoy this}

WC: 2595

Category: Slight Fluff, Slight Angst [TW — Afton, cursing, small mentions of 18+ content]

Don’t we love random sparks of inspiration at four in the morning? I sure do 💀

『••✎••』

You were always a clueless little thing.

You saw the world with rose-tinted glasses, and you believed in everyone. You saw the best in people, and you wanted to see the world like that.

And it wasn't a bad way to look at things; it kept you innocent and full of light. William, however, wasn't as good as you were. He had seen the world for what it was, and he knew how the world worked.

He'd lost his innocence, and he had seen bad things… done bad things. Sure, he was good with kids, but he had a secret side that he knew would completely crumble the way you saw the world, how you saw him.

So, despite everything, he made sure you'd never know. He kept the darker side of himself out of your view. And he did everything he could to be the husband you thought he was.

Soon, that husband's facade became a father's facade, and you had a beautiful daughter who had his eyes and your smile.

But he knew the truth.

He'd never been a good man. Not even close.

The moment his eyes landed on you, the day he'd met you, the years he got to spend with you, and the day he had asked you to be his wife. Every step in between, he knew that he didn't deserve any of it. He knew that he should have let you go.

But he was selfish.

He needed you. He loved you. Your innocence was refreshing. And your optimism was addicting.

William knew that he didn't deserve anything, except for maybe an early death. Yet, despite knowing all that, he was greedy. He was an ambitious man, and he took every opportunity that presented itself to him.

Even if that meant hurting the ones around him.

Because you see, the only thing in this world he wanted more than your love was the recognition he'd never gotten. And the respect.

So when he'd built his pizzeria and made his animatronics, he saw just how successful it became, and he saw just how many people knew him and just how much respect he was finally getting.

That's when he realized.

That's when the real William began to show himself. And that was his big mistake. That mentality led him to this grandma's couch, impatiently awaiting for hell to begin.

Marriage counseling.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, trying to hold back a laugh. This was so pathetic. For years, he's crossed lines and done things that would put him on death row, and he'd never had a single issue. Yet, one small argument with you, and suddenly he's a man with a failing marriage?

What kind of joke was this?

Turns out the clueless little thing that you were had taken his little stunt a lot more seriously than he had anticipated.

"This is ridiculous," William groaned, slumping back into his seat as he stared up at the ceiling. "This is going to be a waste of time. All we need is a vacation, and it'll all work out just fine.”

You just stared at him with a look of disbelief and a small bit of disgust. Quite adorable, if he was honest.

"Really, William?" You said, rolling your eyes. "It's going to take a little more than a vacation to fix our relationship."

William turned to look at you, and he felt his heart twinge when he saw just how upset you were. His lips parted, and he felt a surge of regret wash over him.

He really hated seeing you like this.

You were the only person who ever seemed to make him feel remorse, and right now was no exception.

He opened his mouth, trying to find the words to tell you that he was sorry, but he stopped himself before he could say anything.

Because he wasn't sorry.

Not really.

“Ah, the Aftons, I presume?" A voice said, and William looked away from you, looking to the front of the room.

A man, most likely in his late 40's, was standing by the doorway. His dark hair had streaks of grey in it, and he had a few wrinkles. He was wearing a brown turtleneck and a pair of black pants.

His face was unreadable, and William couldn't tell what he was thinking. But he could tell that this was the same therapist he'd spoken with on the phone.

"I'm Doctor Miller. It's nice to finally meet you both." The therapist smiled and held his hand out.

William sighed, pushing himself off of the couch, and stood up. He shook his hand and forced a smile. "Likewise."

The Doctor nodded and glanced at you. He smiled and walked over to you, extending his hand.

You shook his hand and flashed a warm smile. The smile didn't meet your eyes, though. His smile was fake, and so was yours.

Maybe you were more similar than William had first assumed.

The doctor let go of your hand and stepped back. "Let's get started then."

William sat down, slouching his posture and staring up at the ceiling. He thought about wrapping his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and holding you tight, but he thought better of it.

You'd probably reject his affection anyway. For being a clingy wife, you were surprisingly good at pushing him away.

Doctor Miller grabbed a notepad and a pen, walked to the chair beside the couch, and sat down.

He smiled the first genuine one out of the three of you, and opened the notepad.

"Alright, Mrs. Afton, I'd like you to start off. Tell me what happened." He said, his gaze fixed on you. Of course, he was already taking your side.

William glanced at you and raised an eyebrow. This should be good.

You hesitated before speaking. "He’s… well, different lately. He's distant. And cold. I hardly see him anymore, and when I do, he doesn't talk to me. He spends all of his time either in the basement or his office."

Doctor Miller wrote something down and nodded his head. "Is there any particular reason you believe this is happening?"

“No, but he has been acting more aggressive lately. I tried to talk to him about it, and he just snapped. It was like he wasn't even listening. Like his mind was somewhere else."

William stared at you. You sounded so sincere. So hurt. If he had a heart, he's sure it would be aching.

Doctor Miller hummed, nodding his head, and turned to William.

"What was the argument about, Mr. Afton?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

William looked at the doctor, and two options popped into his mind. Option one is to tell the doctor his true feelings. You were being ridiculous and childish. He didn't need your bullshit. He had more important things to worry about. Or, option two, lie.

He was always good at lying.

William sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at you and started to speak.

"She's right; I've been a little cold recently. I've just been stressed out. My business has been a lot lately, and I've been dealing with a few other personal issues. Stress isn't a good look on me, I'm afraid."

He lied, flashing a small sad smile at the doctor.

Doctor Miller looked at him for a moment before writing something down.

"Well, it sounds to me like there are a few issues in your relationship." He said, putting his notepad on the table and resting his arms on his lap. “One of them is a communication issue, which is not uncommon in relationships like this. I believe I can help you, but I want to ask you both a question first."

"What's the question?" You asked, and the Doctor turned to you, a soft look in his eyes.

"Are you still in love with him?"

You and William both tensed up, and the room was silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but turn to look at you, genuinely curious to hear what you were going to say.

You hesitated, your eyes locked on the ground. William felt his stomach churning and his jaw clenched.

He was actually nervous.

For the first time in a long time, William was actually nervous.

You turned to look at him, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Yes. I still love him."

Doctor Miller nodded and turned to William. "What about you? Are you still in love with your wife?"

Truth be told, you were the only person who ever came close to making William feel love. Vanessa was a close second, but he wasn't sure if it was the same kind of love. At least, not in the way he felt about you.

If this was love, then he was still in love.

"Always.” He spoke without a moment of hesitation. He gave you a warm smile, pulling that facade back up again. “…That's why I'm here."

The doctor smiled, and William swore he saw the tiniest hint of pity in his eyes. "That's good. That means there's still hope for your relationship.”

With all the money this one therapy session was costing him, he damn well hoped so.

"So, here's my idea," the doctor said, sitting up in his seat and clearing his throat. "I'd like to start off with a few activities, some couples challenges, if you will. This will help me understand where the problem areas are, and hopefully, after a few sessions, we'll be able to fix them. If not, we'll find a solution together. Sound good?"

Activities? Challenges? What was this, summer camp?

William resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded. "Sounds great."

You nodded, smiling, and William swore he saw a bit of excitement in your eyes. He wondered how much this meant to you. Had you really thought you were losing him?

"Perfect," the doctor said and grabbed his notepad. He flipped the page and started writing something down.

With the amount of writing this guy was doing, you'd think this was a novel. It took a lot out of him to not get up and snap the damn pen in half.

"Now, this might seem a little strange, but I want to try an activity right now. Something small and easy, so we can gauge your relationship and see how you interact with each other."

"What kind of activity?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Something simple, don't worry. Just a conversation."

Conversation. That sounded boring.

William was about to complain when the doctor cut him off.

"When was the last time you two were… intimate?"

William's eyebrows furrowed, and he stared at the Doctor, whose gaze was fixed on him.

Was he asking what he thought he was asking?

William felt his face heat up and his jaw clenched.

He had to be kidding.

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with anything?" He asked, forcing his voice to sound calm.

The doctor turned his head to you, and you just looked down at the ground.

William was going to lose it.

"Being… connected with your spouse in that way is an important aspect of a healthy relationship. Without that sincerity, that vulnerability, you'll start to grow apart."

"We're perfectly connected," William said through gritted teeth. “What do you think you're implying here?"

He knew you like the back of his hand. He could read you like a book, and he was confident to know what you were thinking, doing, or feeling at all times.

He knew that look.

Your eyes were downcast, your hands were fidgeting, and your bottom lip was slightly jutted out.

You were embarrassed, and he knew he had to act. Play the good husband role, and save you the humiliation.

He reached his arm over and wrapped it around your shoulder, pulling you gently upwards. Your body tensed at his touch, but you relaxed when you looked up and saw his warm smile.

"See? We're completely connected." William said, his arm squeezing your shoulder. “I believe this is where our time is up. If you'll excuse us, we have some… activities apparently to get to."

William stood up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him. You were quiet, and he could feel your stare on the side of his head.

He couldn't tell if you were upset or grateful.

William cleared his throat and gave the doctor a cold smile. One that he purposely made so that the Doctor would know how displeased he was.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor Miller. We'll be sure to contact you soon."

The doctor nodded, a blank expression on his face. He didn’t say a word as William took you by the arm and guided you out the door.

No way in hell was he doing this again.

"William-" You started, and he cut you off.

"No more therapy, sweetheart," William said, his hand tightening around your arm.

"I-"

"No more," he said, his voice low and stern. Still, he kept that warm smile on his face. It made you fall back into silence.

"We're done. We'll figure this out on our own. No more doctors or counselors or whatever the hell he was.”

Truth be told, he was absolutely livid. All that money wasted for a bum therapist to imply that their marriage was falling apart because you weren't communicating?

What a scam. This is exactly why he preferred to do things on his own.

William led you back to the car, opening the door for you and helping you in. He walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat.

He took a moment to breathe, his head falling back against the seat and his eyes closing.

God, he hated being here.

Hated it so much.

He needed a cigarette and maybe a stiff drink.

"I'm sorry." You said, your voice quiet.

William lifted his head and turned to you. He blinked, confused, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"What for?"

"I… I thought maybe if we went to see a therapist, they could help. They could fix this. But… I think I messed it up. I'm sorry."

Your voice cracked, and he watched as tears started to form in your eyes.

His face softened, and he turned his body towards you, leaning his back against the door. Such a crybaby you were, emotionally connected and sensitive.

Just another reason why you worked so well with him. Blinded by emotion, you were easy to trick. Easy to manipulate.

You were naive, and it was adorable.

"No, no. Don't cry." William said, his hand lifting and cupping your cheek. He brushed away the tears with his thumb, and he forced a smile. "There's nothing to fix. We're fine, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. Okay?"

"Okay," you whimpered, nuzzling into his hand. It’s quite the contrast compared to the look of disgust on your face from earlier.

He didn't want to see that again.

William leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead. He could smell the shampoo and soap from your morning shower, and the smell calmed him down.

He could tell the action had calmed you down, too.

William pulled back, and his lips twitched upwards. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll fix this."

After all, he always got what he wanted. And what he wanted was his wife.

And no stupid, worthless therapist was going to guide him away from that.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

“The Greens are political masterminds compared to the Blacks.”

How many times have you heard this bullshit?

Their political incompetence is exactly what cost the Greens their victory in this war, and what gained Otto Hightower the gold medal in the “worst Hand in the history of Westeros” Olympics. And if you ask me, Criston Cole should have the silver for that one.

So, we’re talking about a faction who has been plotting to usurp the rightful heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen, for many, many years. They had so much time to prepare, and so many advantages: Alicent being queen and Otto being Hand, not to mention Rhaenyra and Daemon were away on Dragonstone for many years.

The Hightowers could have swayed things in their favor before Viserys’ death, and failed. They had to shuffle about, beg the Tyrells, send Aemond to Storm’s End with marriage promises etc. all after Viserys died. Lol. What have they done during those 10 years Rhaenyra was away on Dragonstone? They sat on their asses and did nothing. Not even prepare their puppet, Aegon Hightower.

Now, let’s list the Greens’ many, many mistakes:

1. Usurping the throne, instead of minding their own business and returning to Oldtown. Alicent doomed her entire line (children and grandchildren) with her schemes and thirst for power.

2. Not having Aemond and Daeron married by the time of the Dance. Boy, they really blew it with this one. Aemond was 20 when the Dance started and Daeron was 16. They could have been well married by the time Viserys died, and the Hightowers could have secured great alliances in time.

Rhaenyra’s sons were much younger than Alicent’s, and yet years before the Dance, she had Jacaerys and Lucerys betrothed to Baela and Rhaena, securing the Velaryons (a great power House) on her side for good. And certain people still have the nerve to say she did nothing.

Not having Aemond and Daeron married by the time of Viserys’ death, was a missed opportunity, which proves Otto and Alicent’s stupidity. They had the power, and Viserys was easily swayed, and they still screwed up big time.

3. Failing to get the support of their own liege lords, the Tyrells.

4. Failing to get the support of the Red Kraken and by extension, the Iron Islands. I mean, so few people realize that Daemon was the politically savvy one, knowing how to turn the Red Kraken against the Greens by appealing to his thirst for bloodshed. The Greens offered him the position of Master of Ships and he refused them, in exchange for a chance to stick it to the Lannisters. So basically, Daemon offered the Red Kraken nothing, compared to the Greens, and still managed to sway him to his side. That must have been so embarrassing for the Greens 😂.

5. Killing Lucerys. *claps* Well, done, Aemond One-Eye idiot. Before this, Rhaenyra was still determined to make peace with her half-brothers and half-sister, despite the usurpation, but not after they shed first blood and murdered her son. Hell no. Even Alicent and Otto were angry with Aemond for this one, because they knew how badly they screwed up.

The problem is that both Otto and Alicent lacked the intelligence to keep a bloodthirsty, idiotic maniac like Aemond in line. Not to mention that the one on their team holding their only ace-card, Vhagar, was this bloodthirsty, idiotic maniac.

6. Aegon Hightower choosing Criston Cole as his Hand. 😶 When I first read this part in the book, I was shocked. Definitely did not see that coming. Dismissing Otto as Hand (for the second time), I understand, considering that he really exudes incompetence. But what exactly went through the usurper’s puny brain when naming Cole as his Hand is beyond me. He is a military man. He is no political mastermind. Far from it. He is dumb as wood. He spent his entire career life kissing Alicent’s behind and only rising in ranking because of his hatred for Rhaenyra (because a young girl of 14 refused his advances).

There is a reason why Rhaenyra chose Corlys as her Hand, and not Daemon (like everyone expected her to).

Criston Cole led his forces in the Riverlands and got himself killed when facing the Winter Wolves. He didn’t even use his position as Hand. He just wore the pin.

Seriously, this has to be one of their dumbest moves. If I were in this usurper’s position, I would have chosen Tyland Lannister as my Hand, certainly not the overly subjective and creepy Incel who kisses my mother’s behind for a job.

7. Burning the Riverlands…for no good reason. *claps* Once again, let’s applaud Aemond’s idiocy. Basically, he decided to burn the Riverlands because their lords sided with Rhaenyra. That’s it.

Because of his stupidity, he basically secured the entire Riverlands on the side of the Blacks even after Rhaenyra’s death. The Riverlords fought for Rhaenyra’s son instead of agreeing to make peace with the Greens.

8. Choosing the Triarchy as an ally. What exactly made them think that they would gain any points by allying themselves with a great enemy of the people of Westeros? These are foreign savages that Daemon and Corlys have been fighting for years, and the Greens got in bed with them. Bringing an army of dangerous foreigners in a civil war is high treason against the Realm.

9. Burning Bitterbridge. The Reach was the Hightowers’ home, and not only did they fail to gain the support of the Paramount House there, but they also turned many of their bannermen against them. Well done. *sarcasm*

10. This one is one of my favorites: trusting the Goldcloaks. Otto Hightower knew perfectly well that the Goldcloaks were Daemon’s men, and despite making some changes and putting his son, Gwayne, as second in command, Otto still managed to get played and the Goldcloaks turned on the Greens when Daemon arrived in the capital.

The smart thing to do would have been to disband the Goldcloaks when the usurpation happened. The decision to keep them lost the Greens the capital.

11. Proposing to call a Great Council only when realizing that they were losing. So, once Rhaenyra took the capital, only then, did Alicent propose to call a Great Council. Why couldn’t she suggest that before usurping the throne? Alicent’s stupidity got her the nickname “Queen of Chains”.

12. Trusting the Dragonseeds who betrayed Rhaenyra. Seriously…how stupid could they be? Don’t they know that people who betray once have a tendency to do it again??? The Two Betrayers wasted no time and turned on the Greens soon after because they wanted the throne for themselves.

13. Trusting Larys Strong. This creep got his own family killed for the sake of power. He has no morals and is just like Littlefinger. Once he realized that the Greens were losing, Larys turned on them and most likely participated in poisoning Aegon the Usurper.

14. Refusing to name Aegon the Younger heir and sue for peace with the Black armies after Rhaenyra’s death. This basically guaranteed the Greens’ permanent defeat.

15. Trying to convince her eight year old granddaughter to kill her husband lost Alicent any freedom rights after she lost the war, and she spent the rest of her life in isolation and madness.

So, seriously, people who say that Otto and Alicent are politically intelligent need to get a clue and read the book.

[bitchesgetriches]

Failing and Flying

Jack Gilbert

1925 –2012

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It’s the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly. Like being there by that summer ocean on the other side of the island while love was fading out of her, the stars burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last. Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist. Each afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming, the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that. Listened to her while we ate lunch. How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was pretty but the food was greasy. I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph.

[sugar-omi]

How do you think everyone would react if cove and mc got pregnant at 18? Like the reason for them being engaged so young is because they are expecting

tags : Angst, headcanons, fem/afab reader, pregnancy

[part 2: cove finding out you're pregnant]

CLIFF

cliff would be.. he'd have the same feelings he had when kyra got pregnant with cove

he'd be scared, but happy because it is an exciting thing that a lot of people wish to hear one day!

but as cove's dad, he'd first be disappointed just because he never would've wished such a struggle on anyone at such a young age, especially his own son.

doesn't bother getting angry, because what would that do? it won't make you un-pregnant and it'd just make cove (and you) mad at him or upset, since of course you already know it's not an ideal situation.

when he realizes that you got engaged because of the pregnancy though, he tries to have a talk with cove.

he knows how much you two love each other, but he also knows from experience that this just doesn't work.

i think that'd end up in an argument, because even though cove and cliff have a better relationship than before, 5-10 years doesn't erase all the hurt from back then

cliff might end up saying something like "you don't want to end up like me and your mom" or even worse, "you shouldn't mess up your future."

all that would upset cove so much... because does he think that cove was a mistake? is that what he's saying? is he saying that you and cove would fail miserably? either way. they aren't thinking clearly, and cove already has a lotta feelings about how he was born, let alone conceived.

cove would probably end up saying something (a bit) hurtful like "i would never end up like you and mom." , "i would never marry MC if i didn't know it'd work. unlike some people, i'm not gonna make my kid listen to us argue and then try to play happy family." , or "trust me, my kid won't end up with a childhood like mine." / "trust me, my marriage won't end up like yours."

is it very ooc? probably. but everyone has the ability to say something hurtful, and when you experience something traumatic like your parents fighting, or knowing the circumstances of your birth, you have a lot of thoughts and feelings...

he does end up apologizing, but cliff probably ends up apologizing too since, again, they both probably said things they didn't mean

after that, things get a bit better. there's probably a lot of emotional conversations after that, just to get everything off their chests. hell we might even need family therapy, just to smooth things over before your baby gets here...

KYRA

now kyra... mmm i think this is where her awkwardness comes in. remember how she says she felt more like a cool aunt than his mom?

i think this is where kyra gets close to you, tries to offer you support and helps you through all the changes of pregnancy

she's mostly afraid for both of you. doesn't want you to try and slap a bandaid on this with marriage, kinda like how her and cliff did...

although i do think she was first angry when the news dropped. she really thought that you and cove, cove especially, would be more careful considering everything...

but the distance between her and you guys makes her sit on it for awhile, she does calm down and realize that you're just in the same position she was in, and are likely scared but doing your best...

calls both of you separately, just some a little one-on-one time and a heart-to-heart.

asks if you're really sure if you wanna get married, of course she expects you two to be sure about it, you two haven't gotten tired of each other yet and you're about to be intertwined in every way possible

reminds you that marriage is all about communication. and when you're raising a kid especially, and patience! also knows how much you love each other, and tells you to make time for yourselves and your relationship.

PAM & NOELANI

i instantly knew they'd be mad.

remember how pam worries in step 2 that cove is bad news? i think in her anger, ends up saying something like, "i knew something like this would happen." "i told you he was a bad influence."

yknow i've always wondered how cove would feel if he knew pam thought that about him, and i think in this situation, it'd hurt him a lot, and it'd open up a new can of insecurities and doubts.

starts worrying that he's holding you back, bringing you down... but we can get to that later

noelani tries to keep pam calm, does chastise her for saying that in front of you, especially if cove is there.

noelani is so disappointed, and you can see it so heavily... she'd sigh, mumble something- probably about how she "cant believe it...", covers her face with her hands..

she definitely asks, "how could you let this happen?" she really trusted you to make smart decisions, and even if this was a really big accident (like the rubber broke), she still didn't expect it n can't stop being disappointed

it takes them a few days for them to relax. this news had them totally spun and their emotions jumble up whenever its brought up or they think about it

they know being upset is gonna make it better, and if you're still living at home, they can see how sad you are, which helps them cave in. even if you don't whenever you call, they can hear how sad you are, or maybe you're texting less, whenever you visit your energy is lower than usual...

to start with, just to get out the way, they reassure you that you don't have to get married, that you shouldn't do something you guys don't want to, that you can be parents just fine without marriage

feels better when you insist you're not doing it just for the baby, i mean, not much. but you're insistent, and if you found out you're pregnant after getting engaged, they just have to trust you.

they also have to trust cove when he says he's gonna take care of you and the baby.

they knew cove is always very sincere and determined, even if he hesitates at times, but when he's set on something, he does it, so even though they're not happy about the situation, you're flying the nest now, and hitting milestones at a young age so all they can do is support you

and if noel does have a bit too much fun helping you set up the nursery, don't say a THING!!!

all the parents do make you sit down and explain your plan, who's going to work, who's watching the babe, if you're still going to school... all that. it's not that they aren't going to help you, but are you ready to take on the responsibility for your baby?

LIZ

liz is super worried for you, and cove too actually. you're her little sister/sibling, she still sees you and cove as kids in some way, and she still preens when you come to her for help...

the news just makes her head spin, but her first question is if you're okay, n if she's at home, she gives you a hug, lets you cry if you need it.

and this is also where her (protective) big sister energy comes in.. she hates seeing you sad when your moms are still heavily upset about the news

she tries to be there for you as much as possible, and especially if the first trimester is really rough on you, if cove isn't by your side then she is.

doesn't bother lecturing either of you. whats the point? all of your parents have already chewed your ears off, and it's not like you need any more stress or worry, or need to know that there's someone else disappointed in you/cove

i was going to say she'd give cove a stern talking too about being their for you, but she realizes she doesn't really need to do that.

tells him "i'm sure you'll be a good dad" maybe even, "well, i guess this was gonna happen one day anyway.." and that you're lucky to have him.

although after all those comforting n reassuring words, she does slap him on the back and remind him not to hurt or fail both of you, least he wants to feel her wrath. :) (she's a protective auntie already <33)

tries to keep the energy up by being excited for the baby, or by distracting you with some bonding time w your amazing older sister<3 makes jokes about being the cool aunt, when the times right ofc. she's really just trying to distract you, which works sometimes more than others

LEE

the phone is SILENT. which is really scary coming from lee...

she does speak eventually, asks if you're gonna keep it, what're you going to do, and depending on how you word the news, if cove is there to tell her, or if she's already heard some of the news from the rest of the family, she'll ask if cove knows

she tries not to ask too many questions, because she doesn't wanna upset you or seem insensitive

i think she's really lost on what to do. your and cove's parents have already done all the lecturing, and worrying over each detail...

so she just offers you comfort. or a distraction.

really, her reaction is based off yours, because if you're excited, then so is she! but if you're really sad and/or stressed, then she's subdued, tries to figure out how to help you even though she's not close by...

in fact, her and liz would plan a "girls trip" for you. just to distract you, help you feel better. it's nothing big, just 2 days in the city and you spend most your time going from shop to shop and different restaurants and cafes.

their energy keeps your spirits up, but if you're not up for all that, or even if you're tired of all the running around after the first day, they set up a nice "sleepover" in the hotel room and you only get one noise complaint!

both of them definitely reassure you that if you ever need a break, you can trust them, amazing and cool aunties lee and liz, with the babe (spoiler: you can, but just know you're interrupting many 'a tea parties when you come to pick up the babe)

DEREK, MIRANDA , TERRY, & BAXTER

their eyes fell out their head.

in fact, terry spat out his drink, like projectile spray... and derek is having an outta body experience probably, definitely dropped whatever he was holding.

baxter too, he's taking a sip of his coffee and when you tell him, he chokes a bit, squeezes the cup n now he has coffee on his pants... he's shocked as hell

i hope you didn't tell them in a public place btw, because terry definitely yelled out "you're pregnant?!" and now everyone in sunset bird/wherever you are who didn't know.. knows.

terry isn't sure whether to tell you congrats or not, is very very confused, says congrats but then starts rambling out loud about what if you're not excited, what if it's a bad thing... all that

and miranda too, offers a careful congrats and then says "um.. that is a good thing, right? i mean, it's okay if not!" and yeah you've broken them..

if you reassure them it is a good thing. well, as good as it can be really. then they relax

derek rambles off all his concerns, asks if you're really gonna do it (raise the baby)

and then starts rambling about how hard it was taking care of his brothers... is quick to remind you that it was fun! and he loves his brothers! and that you'll be great parents! and maybe your baby won't be as rambunctious as niko was as a toddler!

just offers you good wishes, and if you ever need help, call him! he's a expert at handling his brothers, so he might know a thing or two. unless it's genuine parenting advice then.. call his mom or dad, or yours, haha

now baxter... well assuming you told him you were engaged before he left, or even if you imagine all this happening while he's here, he doesn't have much to say

he's just a stranger after all, even if you befriend him quickly, he doesn't have much to say to you

he tries to contain his surprise, and he first asks if you're excited, then he offers his congratulations and says you two will be great parents and that the kid will be very loved by everyone.

after seeing you two around the neighborhood, and your getting to know your family and friends a bit, he doesn't worry about you guys too much.

even though he knows teen pregnancy isn't ideal, he does know your kid has a happy life ahead of them, and that you have a lot of support n love around you, and that you and cove will work hard to be good parents, so he doesn't worry for you too much

i'm tempted to say you or cove would find a unnamed flower or gift basket on your parents doorsteps, or maybe he even brings a very early wedding/baby gift since he knows he won't be around, but i'm not sure... although i think that's kinda a baxter thing to do

but now if he found out later in step 4, he'd be surprised by the news (and seeing that you have a kid already) but he'd just tell you he's happy it's all working out for you, and that your kid is very adorable and you have a lovely family

[smolandweirdwriter]

The Bad Kids In/After College:

Adaine, Kristen, and Riz attended Astral State University together. Ordinarily, a three-person party isn't the most likely to be successful, but they have a reputation and experience that many adventurers haven't, and they make it work, becoming saviors of not just Elmville, Solace, or their surrounding world but of planes of existence as well.

Fig dropped out after Junior Year. Since then, she has begun a recording label in Hell that operates something of the way Bill Seacaster's patronage does. She's effectively a patron to dozens of bard-warlock multiclassers at this point. Fig and the Sig Figs is going strong, but they're not touring as much because Gorgug's schedule has been wacky.

Why, you ask? Because Gorgug decided to take Arthur Aguefort up on his offer to teach at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, and that resulted in Arthur forcing offering Gorgug to study directly under him. He's been hopping around through time and space with Arthur learning about Artificing and Barbarianism and the history of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy and all sorts of crazy things. It's been a chaotic four years, and also, somehow, the best four years of Gorgug's life. Weirdly enough, he and Arthur develop some convoluted bond/understanding of each other. He wants to take some time away from all the Aguefort stuff (both the man himself and the school) before he starts, so he'll be teaching in the next fall. Until then, he's returning to Elmville and staying with his parents.

Fabian did not pursue any form of higher education or further adventuring type thing. Of all the bad kids, he's become the most, well, normal. He and Mazey opened a dance-fighting studio. He wants to propose to her. Is 25 too soon? He asks Adaine over Fantasy FaceTime one night.

She's in a small bunk of an inter-dimensional spaceship, heading home soon. Her hair is dyed blue and longer than it's ever been, wrapping around her shoulder and spilling all the way out of sight of the screen. She's stronger now, dressed in something of intergalactic armor. She's not the person he knew--she's who that person was always supposed to be, and it aches because in all truth, she was his first crush, and he is always thinking about her and her sister and how much he loves them and how different that love feels now than it did when he was 15. How childish he was. How easily he wanted people who did not want him. How happy he is now with Mazey. How he always wants to feel like this.

Adaine shrugs. She doesn't really understand marriage, herself. Doesn't want it. Will marriage do anything to change what you think of her?

What? No. Of course not. It'll just make it more... Permanent.

Nothing's permanent, she tells him. But you two are cute. If marrying her will make you feel more connected, go ahead.

He bites his lip. I don't suppose you can look into the future for me and see if she says yes?

Adaine doesn't answer. They both know it doesn't work that way. She doesn't really know the future any better than anyone else. Her anxiety has not gone away or faded, her problems have not miraculously vanished, but she is not alone anymore. She is not afraid. She is so immensely loved, and there are days when that still strikes her as unbelievable, but those are few and far between.

Kristen loves college. She loves the freedom, loves the discovery of information on her own time and in her own interests, loves hanging out with Riz and Adaine, loves the mystery of new, unknown places that she and Cassandra can revel in. For all that has occurred, she and Cassandra are learning together, a reborn god and her reborn prophet who is young and has made mistakes and knows herself well enough now to know trying and failing is not something to fear. It's sort of ironic, but Kristen has become so alike to the philosophy student guardians she had with YES?. And yet she is still something different. She is gloriously unpretentious, but she has grown into (and simultaneously out of the more childish aspects of) her questioning and escapist nature, and she cares. She cares so much about everything. About fairness and justice and answers answers answers. She worships not only Cassandra but Cassandra and Ankarna, gathering power from both equally, a Cleric of Two Gods, the Cleric of the Reborn Ones, cleric of Dusk and Dawn. She's thinking of pursuing grad school. Maybe she'll study philosophy. Maybe not. She and Riz talk about it late into the night. She has not gotten over Tracker, but nor have they gotten back together in full. They are friends, and that's something that will not sit quite right in the pit of Kristen's stomach, but she lives and she learns and one day it will.

Riz it turns out, has discovered quite a lot about himself in the last few years. Like, oh, he can have friends who aren't the ones he made in high school. Like, oh, all those clubs he joined Junior Year? Yeah, it turns out he really, really likes some of them. He discovers, especially strangely, that he likes gardening. He likes the idea that he planted something, made something, helped keep it alive, that they together are surviving and thriving and okay. He likes taking care of things. He keeps a small potted plant that he carries with him everywhere.

When the Bad Kids come back together, they are not new people. They are who they were always meant to be.

[ciderjacks]

I like your post about chilchucks marriage a lot!! I just wanted to give my personal opinion on how I see it.

Even tho chilchuck is mature enough to admit when he's wrong, I would say that he's not very good at telling people just how much he cares about them. Even if he does work and acts of service that prove his love, he still routinely fails to verbally or physically show love to others. So personally I wouldn't blame his wife for leaving, to her it was probably : my husband gets hurt -> he's never home to help me with 3 kids -> he never tells me he loves me and doesn't hold me -> this isn't a good fit for either of us.

I also think we as the reader have the advantage of knowing the person chilchuck has grown to be post divorce, we have very little insight into how he was before he was blindsided. And I would assume being left alone had a big impact on who he is now and that he probably changed quite a bit in that time, he grew because he had to become his new self on his own, and that new self had to be someone who would serve his needs post divorce and learn from his mistakes.

that makes sense, I think especially his difficulty expressing his care through normal ways is probably a part of it. (though I wanna correct that like based on the troll excerpt and other material we see w them, it seems like he was there to raise the kids. Marcille’ s vision of him not being around often was based on the fact that she’s only known him after he had nothing tethering him down anymore, and thought his kids were way younger than they were)

The thing is she definitely knows he loves her, and given their relationship, almost certainly is very familiar and not too bothered by The Way He Is. The way I see it, it’s more like:

life with best friend turned husband going great -> our kids move out -> he starts taking more jobs, leaving longer, and is always coming back in a horrible state -> these days I worry if he’ll make it back, and he’s cagey about what he’s even doing -> his habit of being very closed off is quickly going from endearing to frustrating -> the meeting his coworkers only made me more uneasy (could be because his coworkers were sleazy, or because she felt like they knew him better than she did) -> things have changed -> you know what? Fine. I’ll leave, that’ll snap him out of it for sure.

[rynnthefangirl]

Alicent is the one who, despite his protests, made aegon king. If anyone commited treason it's her. Aemond has only done what she had been teaching him - to make war because Rhaenyra will kill them to take the throne (she literally says this in s1).

But great to excuse her because she is a woManH and woHmen can do no crime. Her sons are what she made them, if anyone deserves the guillotine it's alicent. But that doesn't fit the bullsjit Rhaenicent they are trying to paddle.

You are right, Alicent bears a huge responsibility for raising her sons to be monsters, and she does deserve to be executed for her role in starting this war as much as anyone. I am not excusing Alicent, my blog has been an Alicent hate blog for like 3 months. I have called her out many many many times for her endless failures and awful choices. She has failed her children in the most egregious and unforgivable way.

But Aegon and Aemond are what they are, and they made the choices that they made. They were grown men, not children. They knew damn well they were committing treason and that their actions would start a war. I will not baby then bc “oh my daddy didn’t pay enough attention to me and my mommy told me my sister was a big bad monster.” People are dead because of them. Alicent being guilty does not make them innocent. Particularly not when they had the power to the end the war and chose not to. If they were concerned for their lives if Rhaenyra took the throne, there were options. The citadel, marriage pacts, renewing their oaths to Rhaenyra and seeking to form friendship and familial bonds, sending the twins to be squires and cupbearers at Dragonstone as hostages to vouch for their loyalty. Serving the traitor Green council and their own mother and grandfather up to Rhaenyra on a silver platter and laying the conquerors crown at her feet as a gesture of loyalty and fealty.

The situation is what it is. Alicent can either double down, let Daeron and Helaena get pulled further into this mess until their lives are also forfeit. Or she can do what every single Green should have done from the very start— bend the knee to the rightful queen, and let Rhaenrya enact her justice and pray for her mercy. I am not going to condemn Alicent for doing the very thing I have repeatedly said that TG should do. This is best for the realm.

I am sorry for Aegon that his own family screwed him over and betrayed him so catastrophically. I shall not feel bad when Aemond and Alicent die. But none of that was Rhaenyra’s fault, who would have gladly given Aegon mercy and a position of honor in her court had he kept faith with her. Rhaenyra and her children should not pay the price for Alicents lies and mistakes. It is now Aegon or Rhaenyra, and I will choose Nyra every time and support each and every character who does as well.

[earlgreyinpajamas]

merthur fic recs: arranged marriages

1. and you held me tightly ('til the morning) by Imagined (@burglarhobbit)

Merlin ducks forward, grabbing Arthur’s hands. His are cool and soft, and Arthur is surprised by the feel of Merlin’s palm over his own rough knuckles. “Arthur,” he says pointedly. “I know my duty, and I don’t need you to remind me. Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Annoying,” Merlin says, and leans back, appraising him more thoughtfully than his tone suggests. “So concerned with your honour.”

Or: Arthur must marry Lord Emrys for a year to create an alliance between their people. Except it isn't Emrys who comes to marry him, but the young druid Merlin, who soon turns all of Camelot upside down—and Arthur with it.

~~~

ugh oblivious and pining!arthur never fails to slap

2. At Arm’s Length by sirencalls (@naydran)

“I’m sorry, there must be a mistake.” Uther furrows his brows. “That is my son’s manservant.”

“This is Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer who will ever walk the earth. It is our deepest honor to be able to offer his hand to your son.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, looking across the hall. Merlin looks the palest and the smallest Arthur has ever seen him. He looks like a scared animal that knows it’s about to be trapped, and that’s when it clicks for Arthur that no part of this is a joke. None of it. “Merlin, what are they talking about?”

~~~

my heart ached so hard reading this fic

3. So The Story Goes by TheCourtSorcerer (@thecourtsorcerer​)

“Who am I to wed?”  

Balinor and Hunith shared a nervous glance. Balinor knew this would be the hardest part—he wasn’t the most pleased about it either, but it was the best idea he had and, well, at least he knew his son would be marrying into a good family.

Even if he held his own biases against the patriarch.

Merlin stared on, expectant—arms now crossed over his chest in perhaps the least princely manner Balinor could picture. Hunith pulled her hand from his knee, and he braced himself, head high and shoulders back.

“Arthur Pendragon,”

 or

Balinor & Uther have a deep mistrust of each other due to a petty feud in their past friendship, and therefore the only way to bring their kingdoms together is through marriage--the only way they'll trust one another to not destroy their kingdom is if they are united.

~~~

fadhfkdsj probably the fluffiest fic in this rec list and we love them for it

[topgun-imagines]

Day 3: No Mistakes

Character: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

Warnings: parental abuse, alcoholism, abuse, mentions of cheating, mentions of death, injury, blood, wounds, & burns.

Word count: 1.5k

Iceman was a well-known name in the Naval Academy. He was top of his class and a brilliant pilot. One that everyone could say they were certain would go on to do amazing things. Iceman did everything by the book; it was just how he lived his life. Important decisions were only made after careful consideration of the pros and cons. That’s the way it had been since he was a child. Iceman was cold and calculating. He showed next to no emotion and never allowed anyone to understand how he was truly feeling, quickly earning him the reputation of ice cold, no mistakes. Many people knew Iceman, but almost no one knew Tom Kazansky.

From a young age, Iceman was taught to conceal his emotions. He knew that there would be repercussions if he didn’t, which is why even as an adult, the pilot never opened up to people. He preferred to keep things closed down, hidden away to maintain his perfect facade. No one could ever know how he truly felt. No one would know the thoughts that ran through his mind when he was alone. And no one would ever know the tricks his mind would play when he heard a door slam or someone raise their voice.

The story of why Tom Kazansky became Iceman was a tricky one. He couldn't really pinpoint when exactly he became so cold. If he had to guess, it would probably be when he finally realized what was wrong in his home. Although, he wouldn’t really call it a home. Not when the walls were void of any sort of sentiment. That rickety old house had never seen an ounce of love. Not from his mother, and surely not from his father.

Growing up, Tom thought that it was normal that his parents were the way they were. Sure, he knew his dad drank more than normal and he knew his mother was hardly ever home, but every family had their differences. Right? That’s what he would tell himself when his mother showed up in the early hours of the morning, smelling like something a young Tom Kazansky couldn’t quite place. He would repeat that thought when he heard his father stumbling around the kitchen in search of another bottle.

However, to the outside world, his family was perfect. No one ever heard the degrading comments his father would make or saw the harsh looks his mother sent him whenever something wasn't just so. That house may have been a wreck on the inside, but his mother made damn sure it looked perfect to everyone else.

The first thing that showed Tom what his parents were really like was when he failed a test in the ninth grade. He had tried to study the whole week, but it was hard when the sounds of his drunk father shouting slurs at his mother could be heard through the paper-thin walls. Their marriage had been rocky lately. Tom now knew that his mother came home nearly every night smelling like cheap booze. It had finally reached the point where his father accused her of cheating.

Honestly, Tom wasn’t all too surprised when she revealed that she was. She left later that night, leaving nothing behind but a wedding ring.

When Tom failed that test, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t what happened. His father found the test paper lying on the kitchen table. Tom had never heard the man yell so loud before, which was truly saying something. He had stumbled down the stairs, trembling with every fiber of his being. But when he saw the belt in his father's hand, he froze. An agonizing twenty minutes later, he stumbled back up the stairs. Only this time, it wasn’t out of fear but of pain. That night, Tom knew that the second he could, he was leaving.

They lived in a small town, so the word of his mother's disappearance spread fast. His father had ignored the rumours, choosing instead to tell people that they had simply needed a break, nothing more, nothing less. Tom knew that no one believed him. He could see the sympathetic looks the older women in the town would give him. None of them changed a thing. No matter how much they felt for the boy, they couldn’t bring his mother back.

His father's actions continued. In fact, they only got worse over time. Tom found himself wearing more and more sweaters to cover up the cigarette burns on his arms. The excuses for why he was always so covered began flowing easier, rolling off his tongue as if they were the truth. No one ever noticed. And Tom was perfectly fine with keeping it that way.

Eventually, he found ways to cope with his home life. He knew he couldn’t fix his broken home. So, he decided to fix something else. Tom bought his first car the day after his seventeenth birthday. It was a beater in desperate need of some TLC. Now, instead of spending his nights afraid of his father bursting into his room, he could work on that old car. That car wasn’t anything special, but it would be what took him away from that god-awful house in just over a year. But for now, that beat-up car was his saving grace.

For the next year, Tom was just trying to survive. He did his best to avoid his drunk of a father at all costs, even going as far as staying at a friend's house for the majority of that year. Not that his father ever noticed, of course. Tom’s friends never wondered why he was so keen on staying away from that house and he never told them. Why burden more people with his problems?

Everything was somewhat alright for a while. And then all hell broke loose. One night, Tom returned late from a friend's house where he was studying. It was well past midnight which meant that his father should have been passed out on the couch hours ago. Only, the living room light was still left on. The harsh orange light could be seen shining through the stained white curtains from blocks away. And for some reason that the boy couldn’t quite place, that formed an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Tom thought he had seen the worst of his father's anger. After a belt, cigarettes, and bottles smashed over his hands, he wasn’t sure there could be much more. Oh, how wrong he was. The second he walked through that door, he was met with the sight of his enraged father. Sure, Tom had felt pain before. Numerous times, in fact. But it was nothing like the feeling of his father beating him within an inch of his life.

The man had gotten drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he didn’t know when to stop. When Tom finally stumbled up the stairs, he had numerous gashes on his legs and back, pieces of shattered glass were stuck in his skin on various parts of his body and his left eye was so swollen he could hardly see out of it. Almost blindly, he had pulled out a homemade first aid kit from under his bed and began to nurse himself back to health.

When he woke up in the morning, the house was silent. So eerily silent that it was more scary than calm. Now, Tom finally had the chance to think about what had changed so drastically for his father to respond in such a way. Within seconds he found the answer. Tom had graduated a few months ago and his eighteenth birthday was in less than a week. His car was already mostly packed with everything that he would need. Unbeknownst to his father, Tom had applied to the Naval Academy a year ago. The second he was eighteen, he was leaving that town and never coming back.

And that’s exactly what he did. There wasn’t a single part of his that felt bad for abandoning the old man. With everything that he had put his own son through, Tom was confident that he could take care of himself. If not, no one would miss the rotten man anyway. As the small, barren town became smaller in his rearview mirror, Tom felt that familiar pit in his stomach dissipate. For the first time in a long time, Tom Kazansky finally felt a small sense of peace.

Now, instead of the scared little boy he once was, Tom Kazansky was a man. Forced to mature at a young age, he put all of that behind him the second he entered the academy. Here, he wasn’t just ‘Tom’. He was Iceman. Cold, calculating, with no mistakes.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Join the whumptober taglist! ☺️

Tagging: @xoxabs88xox @ohtobeleah @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989

[fely-v]

I drew this little sketch for a topic that I probably would like to discuss. I may be wrong somewhere, but these are just my thoughts on the subject of McCoy

I'd like to talk a little bit about McCoy. Throughout the entire original series, as well as the animated series, I knew not so much about him as about his problems. In many ways, the film "The Last Frontier" helped me to look at it from a new point of view.

I was very impressed by the scene of his conversation with Saybok, as well as the words that he was experiencing the most intense pain that tormented his soul for many years.

Spock was able to accept the fact that he was half Vulcan. He was no longer the unwanted child Saibok knew him to be. He finally found himself. Or something like that.

Jim undoubtedly has a lot of skeletons in his closet. Many people died in his life whom he sincerely loved. He made mistakes. But either Jim skillfully evaded the therapy with Saybok, or he really came to terms with the fact of his pain. This is what he considers a part of himself and what he does not want to part with.

McCoy is desperately running away from his past. He couldn't accept the fact that he had disconnected his father from the life support machine. Although, if he had waited a little longer, he could have saved him. He was running away from his failed marriage and all the mistakes he had made. All this remained on the Ground, and he ran away from there to where no human foot had ever set foot.

I was genuinely sorry for him at the moment when the scene with his father was shown. He looked as if he had been cornered and forced to face his fear and pain. And even after a little healing, Saybok says that this is only the first step.

[strawberrypinky]

fire and ice. [gortash x tav] - part 2 [the waiting game]

Enver was no stranger to playing the long game, so long as he knew he would win with absolute certainty and any risk could be mitigated or forfeited altogether. Elodie Liardon was one such prize, and while he had yet to win her, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would be entirely, unequivocally his.

If only because it had been decreed by powers beyond their comprehension.

A/N: Chapter two here we go baby! Sorry for this taking a while. I was in Paris for the Olympic Games and then unfortunately got really sick when I came back, lol. Anywho. We are absolutely getting deeper into headcanon territory, so let me just say that there are no specifications for Banite marriages (to my knowledge), but there is a lot of material on Bane, his church, clergy and dogma. The wonderful lore compendium made by @y-rhywbeth2 was an absolute godsend for this (alongside the Forgotten Realms Wiki), so shoutout and thank you for the incredible work you've done compiling so much information over all the DnD editions etc.!  Additionally, I found some Bane dogma online which is also referenced at certain points in this. Just giving credit where it's due. Lord knows I couldn't come up with all of this on my own if I tried, lol. I'm just playing around with the canon information and uh... potentially making Enver as psychotically Banite as I can. Thank you to everyone who is supporting this story! Your support, however big or small, means the absolute world to me ❤️ On we go with uhm... general Enver, Bane and Elodie shenanigans, I guess.  Aka this is yet another reminder that Enver is, in fact, a piece of shit in this and no - Elodie nor I can fix him. As always, this story is also available on Archive of Our Own. Word Count: 7.2k CW: Mentions of prostitution.

Shoutout to my personal cheerleaders @legacygirlingreen and @gufu-vire. Ily gals ❤️

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

Enver had rarely made the mistake of underestimating people, for in his line of work, that was as treacherous as it was deadly.

Each step was one of measured precision and calculated contingency, allowing none, least of all himself, to falter on the path to greatness. He could not, would not, fail to fulfil his destiny. At times, people were displeased with his enthusiasm - alarmed even at the lengths he would willingly tread to reach his goals. To Enver, it was simply another marker of his god-given preeminence. There was morbid satisfaction in being victorious, no matter the price, and he was hardly capable of feeling guilt. His effrontery was congruous with his rancour, and Enver revelled in landing on top. He had worked tirelessly for years upon years, ruthlessly and ambitiously disposed of those who stood in his way and reeducated and availed of those who yet served as a means to his end. His sense for people had aided him more times than he possibly cared to admit, and while Enver firmly believed none measured up to his genius and vision, he wasn't fool enough to disregard the few who did present with the potential to be equal to himself. To him, it was far more preferable to have a formidable ally than it was to have a formidable adversary, even if his Lord often helmed his hand in affairs such as this. Bane had not steered Enver wrong a single time, strengthening him as his own malevolence fuelled his Lord and, in turn, fuelled him.

His alliance with the Bhaalspawn was one such alliance, though he nearly came to appreciate the Child of Murder on his own terms, even without the tentative and strained relationship between his Lord and the Lord of Murder looming above their Chosen's own. Enver would never fall to the folly of believing the sorcerer to be his friend (not that he believed in friendship anyway), for the scion of Bhaal was not born but created for nothing but annihilation, but their Masters once had a near consanguineous relationship, and if Bane saw value in his now sworn foes spawn, Enver would not undermine him. If anything, the Bhaalspawn, for all their uninhibited murderous urges, was a masterful weapon if cards were played right, and if Enver appreciated anything, it was usefulness. He was still, but a servant to his dread Lord, and in his divine quest for ultimate tyranny, winning was everything as natural as oppression. And while Enver would ultimately need to shatter and thwart all those beneath him, he would utilise the aid of those he and his Lord deemed worthy in the meantime.

One such worthy person, it seemed, was a certain half-elven maiden who had not only intrigued him but Bane himself, too. When Elodie had first graced the gentility of Baldur's Gate upon her debut in society, Enver had made the grave mistake of underestimating her as she parleyed with Duke Portyr, ostensibly oblivious to the gazes of volubly obtuse spinsters and the prurient ogling of men and yet she had intrigued him, if only because she was bewitchingly alluring. When Enver danced with her, he expeditiously realised she wasn't quite as clueless as she had perhaps pretended to be. In truth, the young woman was not clueless at all. She had surprised him with a curious amount of inquisitiveness and acuity, and by the end, he had not only decided she would look delightful, embraced by his Lord, but that he wanted more.

By their second meeting in High Hall and the rather convenient reveal of her parentage, she had also intrigued his Lord. While Enver was far above frivolities such as love and desire, he almost felt giddy when Bane spoke to him a mere day after their brief meeting near the ducal offices.

"I am tyranny. I am hate. I am fear. And you, my Chosen, carry out my divine will on earth. For how it is in the Barrens of Doom and Despair, it shall be in your world. You shall rise above and crush my enemies beneath your boots and conquer the weak as is your place. Marry the Liardon girl. Make her submit as a husband should, for you are the head of her, and I am the Tyrant of you. Carry out my unholy will, and you will be partners in this life and the next. She will carry beacons of your tyranny, and in your matrimony, my might shall guide you and your brood."

Enver had always known that if he were to marry, it would be of a person of Bane's choosing. It was the way matrimony has been handled in his Lord's church ever since it first established itself. Marriage was holy, but love held no place in them when all they served as were means to strengthen Bane and his divine will. And while Enver had known a select few of his Brothers and Sisters in faith to marry of their own choosing, he held no such interest himself as love was a frivolity he would not indulge in, lest of all it rendered him weak and assailable - things he had promised himself to never be. And yet he was entirely pleased when Bane had decreed he should marry Elodie Liardon, for the young woman was not only beautiful, but her wit was undeniably useful.

He liked her. Enjoyed her presence, even.

It was far more than he could ask for, really, as his Lord could have chosen any bride for him, and yet he chose the one Enver might have picked himself if he were capable of love. A rare display of generosity, yet he would never dare question it and instead reverently thanked his Lord for allowing a woman such as her to be his.

He spent a few days weighing his options. Enver knew her father was no votary of his (as Elodie had also aptly realised), and it was unlikely he would voluntarily agree to a marriage between himself and the girl, which left him with three options: ruin the girl for any suitor but himself (he quickly disregarded this; her social status was far too valuable), dispose of Duke Liardon (a feasible option, though not very prudent given the state of affairs) or finally, ensure the girl would not want to marry anyone but him. It was a speculative game at best, but it would buy him time to gather more information on the Liardon family and if he could make the girl believe in some sort of illusion of love in the meantime, all the better.

He spent a near tenday vigilantly preparing for the most opportune moment to arise to get her alone. Or at the very least, without her father around. Enver had met Lady Liardon once a long time ago, but he remembered she was far more agreeable than her husband, and if he was adept at anything, it was swooning wealthy women. His inferiors had been tasked with observing the family. One of the Iron Consuls (Enver did not care which) had gathered that Elodie savoured the gardenia bushes of the private grounds of her residence, which obviously meant Enver held a large bouquet of the white eyesores when he knocked on the door of the Liardon estate the day Duke Liardon was conveniently 'held up' in the Ducal Offices.

A butler had shown him inside, the lavishly grand estate remarkably tasteful, if reeking of age-old affluence. High ceilings with elaborate crown mouldings and endless shades of pastel and white - an expansive and open space stretched before him as he strode along the entry hall, adorned with a myriad of elaborate artwork and invaluable objet-d'arts. It was precisely what Enver had expected: A grandiose setting, much unlike the meagre abode he grew up in until his parents pawned him off to a devil, where he spent the better part of his life feeling as if there was a constricting and stifling noose around his neck as he drowned in the echos of chaos.

"The Lady of the House will be with you shortly," the butler announced as he took his leave and Enver was not even afforded a second of correcting him. He wasn't there for Lady Selise Liardon, but he supposed making a good impression on her wasn't a lost cause.

The aforementioned woman did join him rather promptly, strolling into the drawing room with laissez-faire as she regarded Enver with a polite smile. He regarded her intently, noticing her eyes were as calculating as Elodie's own, the colour shimmering in the sunlight. They were the only pretty thing about her, really. The woman was otherwise not a sight to behold, with a narrow chin and wide cheekbones, entirely out of balance, and ghastly pale skin, which Enver presumed was once tan given the sheer amount of wrinkles that already had been etched into her face. He knew she wasn't that old, younger than his parents, but time had not been particularly kind to her. He silently hoped his soon-to-be wife would age far more gracefully, though she seemed to have inherited her father's elven refinement instead.

Still, Enver offered a polite bow as the woman approached him.

"Sir Gortash," Selise Liardon nodded. "I wasn't expecting any visitors today. My husband will be back a bit later than usual, though you are welcome to wait for him if you'd like?"

"Thank you, Lady Liardon. But I am here to call on your daughter," Enver cleared his throat, a sickly, smarmy voice carrying his words.

"Elodie?" the woman gasped, surprise written on her face.

Unless you have another, Enver nearly rolled his eyes. "Yes. I do hope she is available? I understand if she were otherwise occupied."

"No, no," the Liardon matriarch shook her head, a broad smile on her face. "Of course she is available, just - Bertram!"

The butler from before stepped forward.

"Would you please fetch Elodie? She should be in the library."

The man nodded and left without another word, leaving Enver alone with Elodie's mother as he waited for the actual reason behind his visit. He noted with pleasant surprise that the matriarch was positively beaming, eyeing the bouquet of wretched gardenias in his hands and observing him with near childish delight.

"Forgive me for being bold, but I simply must ask," she nearly giggled. "But are you looking to court my daughter?"

Enver wasn't entirely sure if the woman was jesting or simply daft, though he hardly expected a man like Thamior Liardon to marry someone stupid - much less a human. And yet, the longer Enver stood there in his estate, the more he wondered what the man had seen in his wife. Perhaps she had other, more carnal qualities, he surmised, before deigning to answer her intrepid question. Bane offer him strength.

"I am," he confirmed with a confident smirk. "Your daughter was simply captivating the night of the Breaking, and I have been unable to forget the dance we shared."

He was aware he was laying it on disgustingly thick, yet it seemed to have the intended effect; the woman was nearly bouncing with delight.

"I had hoped she would at least dance with one gentleman," the woman swooned. "How wonderful to see my efforts were not in vain."

"Your efforts?" Enver carefully prodded. He was aware that each step around the gentility had to be far more carefully curated than any step around the proles - they often did not take kindly to snooping. Any information he pried from there were often thinly veiled beneath half-truths or mistakenly told over too many glasses of wine.

"Oh," the woman waved him off. "I needed to positively beg for Elodie to even attend the festivities, especially since I had been unable to. She hasn't been very keen to attend these things."

"I would not have been able to tell," Enver tilted his head. "She seemed to enjoy herself when I found her parlaying with Duke Portyr."

"Probably chewing his ear off about our travels," Selise shook her head. "I was happy to indulge her in her youth, but it is time she fulfils her duties here, in Baldur's Gate. Nevertheless, I am quite happy to hear she danced with at least one gentleman. I was starting to doubt my abilities to raise a proper lady when callers had all denied dancing with her."

Callers? Enver was torn between jealousy and eudemonia. It hadn't been surprising to hear she received visits from men — she was disarmingly beautiful. And yet she was also his. His girl. His. Even with the lack of a betrothal, it was a given that Elodie Liardon belonged to him, as if she had no other value and no life outside of his embrace. It had been divinely sworn and decided by powers beyond their comprehension. If that could not be considered ownership, then what could? And while Enver knew he yet had no claim on her heart — he barely knew the girl! — he didn’t relish the idea of anyone else having it either.

"She is a wonderful dancer," Enver offered, hoping to appease the woman and calm his own envy. "And an even better conversationalist."

"She's quite something, isn't she?" the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously, and Enver almost glimpsed his future's betrothed in them. "I am happy to hear it nonetheless. Most of her visitors haven't enjoyed her wits."

Of course they hadn't; Enver wanted to strangle her where she stood. No one but him could ever hope to measure up to her, much less deserve her. It was no surprise to him they were unable to appreciate her mind.

"I find her refreshing," he only cryptically said. It wasn't a lie, but it was a vast understatement.

"You must be the only one. I swear, that girl is going to chase off one suitor at a time. Too bad Ulder sent his son away; otherwise, I might have been planning a wedding by now."

Enver clenched his jaw, though Selise did not seem to take notice. He remembered the young Ravengard heir, Wilfred or William, or whatever his name was. The boy was, if Enver recalled correctly, Elodie's age and as the son of a Duke perhaps an obvious choice, but luckily for Enver, Ulder Ravengard had sent his son away just a year or two before. However, the reasons remained unknown to him. It was a good thing, really. Enver remembered the boy as an even weaker version of his father.

"I was not aware Elodie was spoken for."

"Oh, by the Morninglords' grace - she isn't. I keep wishing for it. I am not getting younger, and after suffering from Wilting, my priorities regarding her have shifted," Selise Liardon sighed almost wistfully, a faraway look in her eyes. "Truthfully, I don't know how many years I have left. The illness took a lot from me, and I hope to spend my remaining years caring for some grandchildren. May Lathander bless her with more than he did me."

Enver's mind was positively reeling. This visit was already working out splendidly for him. He hadn't been aware that Selise Liardon had suffered from wilting disease, though it would certainly explain why she looked rather hideous - the illness was rather horrid. More importantly, however, she was in a hurry to marry off her only child, which he would most assuredly use to his advantage against Thamior Liardon. It wasn't a secret that the man listened to his wife more often than he did not, and if Enver could sway Selise and Elodie into fulfilling his destiny, the two would easily help persuade the patriarch of the rest.

"I'm sure the gods will be most gracious," Enver only smiled knowingly.

The woman of the hour entered the room, exasperation written on her face. Enver mustered Elodie, dressed far more homey than when he had last seen her in the ducal offices - a pale rose dress, simple though he could venture to guess it was still of fine material - and internally sighed with disapproval and indignation. Lathander's colours; and far too rustic of a dress to be worn by a woman such as herself. Enver made a note to himself to ensure Figaro would be tasked with providing her with a new wardrobe upon their marriage. Blacks, emeralds and delicate embellishments would be far more suitable - he would not have his wife dress like a lowly slave.

She did not take note of Enver, another misstep, really - he would fix her priorities - and instead glanced at her mother with a disapproving glint.

"If you have another suitor waiting, send him away. I've no interest in playing your matchmaking games, let alone parlaying with anyone in the barouche."

Her mother only laughed, though Enver almost detected nervousness beneath the mirthful sound as her eyes flitted between Enver and Elodie, a slightly disapproving glance in her eyes.

"Now, now, Elodie. Not in front of guests," she chastised her. "Besides, I have heard you danced with this one."

The girl finally took note of Enver, and it was the first time Enver could read the surprise on her face, and he liked it. "Gortash?"

"It is good to see you, Lady Elodie," Enver announced, taking slow but measured steps before handing over the flowers with an oily smirk on his face. "Forgive me for not calling on you sooner. My businesses kept me more occupied than I had hoped for."

While Enver could glance Selise Liardon swooning at the corner of his eyes, Elodie only stared at him dumbfounded and wide-eyed, flowers held awkwardly. "I hadn't expected you at all," she finally voiced.

"Well, that makes this an even sweet surprise, doesn't it?" Selise interjected, hastening towards her daughter. "And he brought you your favourite flowers."

"Yes," Elodie dragged the word slowly, her eyes suspicious as she held Enver's gaze. The befuddlement slowly ebbed away, the characteristic sifting gaze Enver had come to know of her replacing her wide eyes. She was trying to make sense of him, he bemusedly realised. It was another reminder of her exquisiteness - a rarity among second-class citizens posing as nobility who might have been decently literate but not clever. As far as Enver was concerned, the nobility of Baldur's Gate was a shapeless mass of fortunate yet barbaric creatures that hovered on the periphery of his consciousness - there, but most assuredly beneath him. Yet, if there had ever been an exception to the rule, it was Elodie Liardon.

“Why don’t you take a stroll in the garden with Bertram? I’ll have the chef prepare some tea in the meantime,” Selise offered, and before Elodie could object (her face certainly showed displeasure), Enver took her hand and pulled her away. 

Enver took a single glance at the gardens and immediately hated them.

To any ordinary person, they might have been stunning; embroidered parterre and arabesque gardens that resembled a palatial park far more than they did a garden. The ground fell away on every side from a terrace adorned with ornamental basins, statues, bronze groups, lush flowers, and bushes, creating an almost exotic and fragrant play in front of them. They began to stroll along a broad avenue centred on the grass of a green carpet, flanked by rows of large trees as perfectly manicured lawns draped down to what Enver presumed was a small pond. The olfactory notes of peach, jasmine, citrus, and what Enver presumed to be roses assaulted his senses, and he loathed them. It was so very… titillating. There was an overwhelming sense of renewal and happiness in the air, as if Lathander himself blessed this space. Perhaps he did, Enver grimaced. No matter, his gardens were far more spartan, and he preferred them that way. 

They strolled in silence, the vexing butler no more than five steps behind them, and while Enver had expected unnecessary pomp and circumstance, it was astonishingly foreign to pretend to court a woman with little more intention than fucking her and extorting her family, and he did not appreciate how out of control he felt. Enver knew how to falsely woo a woman, yet only a few minutes into this charade, and he knew he hated it. The irritating sunshine of late spring, the nauseatingly fragrant flowers and the birds yakking nonstop - he simply loathed it, and he feared it had barely even begun. Enver could only pray to Bane that the woman was worth it.

When he glanced to his right, Elodie seemed to revel in the sun, contently absorbing the feeling of the sunny rays on her skin and breathing in the fresh air of spring. She was beautiful in the light, Enver noted. Not something that could be said about every noblewoman, most of which concealed their hideous faces beneath the dim lights of the night and face paint. And still there was a hint of something feral beneath it all, and Enver wondered if it was her nature or her calling.

“Were you really surprised I called on you?” Enver broke the silence as they strolled along.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It seems that was a mistake.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

She averted her gaze from the path in front of them, a respectable distance between them now as she looked at him. “You don’t court women, Gortash,” she eventually answered. “I would be surprised if you ever even desired marriage at all. I’d wager whichever God you worship has asked you to marry.”

Enver quickly deflected, not yet willing to engage in the conversation of worship just yet. "You don't seem to look for marriage either if your mother is to be believed."

He watched as the young woman rolled her eyes, an uncharacteristic display of defiance and indignation amidst her carefully constructed poise. "And become a broodmare to some idiotic Upper City gentleman who probably can't tell his left foot from his right? Thank you, but no."

"I'm not sure all of them are idiotic."

"Perhaps not," Elodie acknowledged. "But I have no desire to marry them just the same."

This was going to be much more complex than he had thought; Enver ground his teeth. He contemplated his options, annoyed she wouldn't simply submit in her evident unwillingness to be tamed. Finally someone he could break, someone who wouldn't submit simply because he demanded it. She was viciously feral beneath the nobility, and Enver was ever aroused by it.

"Sometimes our fates are decided by powers higher than ourselves. It would be foolish to deny the path to fulfilling one’s destiny," he commented.

She laughed - a mocking sound and nothing like the melodic tone he had heard the night of the Breaking. "I tread where I please. I don't care what fate my mother or God or being thinks is my destiny."

"So you don't want to marry at all?"

"I'm not sure," Elodie shrugged. "Perhaps someday."

The first time Enver had asked for Elodie Liardon's hand was mere weeks after their first 'official' date.

Naturally, he disregarded Elodie's irascibility and continued to 'court' her to convince both her and Selise (mostly Selise, if he were honest) of the value of a more official union. To him, it was more of a formality than anything else - utterly humdrum and entirely useless. But he complied, enduring endless promenades in that godforsaken garden, tea in the salon and eventually, ice cream dates in the Upper City. Elodie had begrudgingly partaken, her ire barely concealed beneath a pleasant smile and venomous remarks. She was unwilling to submit to the game she had become a pawn in, and with each passing hour, Enver dreamt of the day she would finally submit - a dream sweeter than the conquest of a thousand kingdoms. In another lifetime, he would have long taken her apart and fucked her senseless, but unfortunately, he had to play the long game in this one.

It was maddening at times, because while she could feign innocence all she liked, the girl was hardly unaware of her effect on men and seemed to take vindictive pleasure in pushing his buttons. She wanted him to break, to back down, just as much as he wanted her to submit. During one of their more official outings in the Upper City, she wore a dress so scandalously tight that Enver had almost entirely gleaned her body shape beneath. And while neither her chest nor her ass was particularly large, the swell of her breasts and the delicate arch of her back were alluring enough for him to nearly break. If he were a lesser, weaker man, he likely would have.

Alas, he was still a man, and until Elodie was his in a more official manner, he'd have to make do with finding release elsewhere, lest he squander his tedious work of appealing to her family. The Lower City was full of lowly whores waiting to serve men like him. Perhaps at one point in his life, he'd have pitied them - fucking for money was hardly a pleasurable affair - but alas, he knew cards could be played well enough to escape an endless cycle of transactional sex, and if the whores of Sharess' Caress were fucked brainless it wasn't his place to 'fix' them. They made their bed and would have to lie in it. The brothel reeked of vice and corruption, and the dregs of the Gate's society gathered there in all their rottenness. Charlatans and purloiners (many of which worked for him) rubbed shoulders with scarcely concealed and sleazy nobles, old roués and men like Enver; flourishing underworld types, notorious for things best not spoken of mingled with other speculators, whores and frauds and pimps.

A drow had tickled Enver's fancy - the woman small and slight, though far more voluptuous than his soon-to-be wife. She was pretty enough, even if she would have been hardly worth a second glance outside the tawdry meat market of a place he had entered. Her body, while graceful and smooth, hardly aroused any desire in him. He imagined another entity entirely beneath him, with skin more white and hair that shimmered silver and a voice as sweet as a lullaby, begging Bane to let Enver fill her up.

The whore, whose name Enver had forgotten as soon as he had paid for her services, almost looked offended when the name 'Elodie' spilt from his lips in place of hers, but a single look silenced her before she could begin to speak. Pathetic, he thought, before he left the chamber, knowing Elodie would have never submitted that easily.

He dreamt of what she would be like as he sat in Thamior Liardon's office, waiting for him to graciously appear after he had declined several meetings with Enver.

He imagined she'd be furious and untamed, unlike the wealthy Lords and Ladies he'd deceived in his earlier days who craved gentle touches and slow thrusts. He'd fuck her like a brute, over and over again, until nothing but "Enver" spilled from her lips as she fell apart. Maybe he'd lock her in his bedroom like a bird in a gilded cage and spend the rest of his days in her cunt. Would that anger Bane? Or would his Lord be pleased he conquered her?

"I must say, I wasn't sure when I could expect you, Gortash."

The deep timbre of Thamior Liardon's voice pulled Enver out of his delirium, and the elven man finally appeared in his office. He looked bored, almost a perfected mask of stoicism, though Enver could detect a hint of pique beneath.

"I would have come sooner," Enver divulged. "Your steward was less than accommodating, though."

"How... vexing," Thamior said, though his tone betrayed him. Enver knew he thought his presence far more vexing than an insolent steward would ever be.

Enver rose from his seat, turning to face Thamior Liardon fully, who refused to move far from the door. "You know what I have come here for."

"Of course," Thamior nodded. "You have only been publicly parading my daughter around and beguiling my wife while you've been at it."

"I have been nothing but proper," Enver chuckled, pleased that his efforts had caused the Duke to be irate. "After all, I want to make your daughter my wife. Not my whore."

Thamior was quiet then, his face stoic as he walked to his desk. He kept his back turned to Enver, gazing outside his office window. He didn't even look back when he spoke again.

"Na Kwast Wahir Athu Kyene Wekht Unarihe," he uttered in his native tongue. Perhaps Enver should have picked up the elven language - it seems the Liardon family clung to it still.

"As far as I am concerned, business is usually conducted in a common language," Enver clicked his tongue.

"Business," Thamior chuckled, turning back to Enver with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Is that what my daughter is to you? A transaction?"

"Of course not," Enver denied. She was more than that to him; above all, she was his divine duty. "But a marriage of this scale needs to be discussed. I can hardly do that in elvish."

"Did Raphael not teach you?" Thamior smirked teasingly. "Why he tends to appreciate languages. I almost expected more."

If Enver were a weaker man, he would have cleaved the elf in half for his mockery. The smirk on the Duke's face certainly suggested he felt as if he had won a match of chess the two men were playing, but Enver only laughed. Perhaps once, he would have felt hurt over his past, but now, he only felt burning hate. What once had been prey had turned into a predator who had little reservations about arranging someone's demise. If Thamior Liardon wasn't paramount to the Gate, Enver would have entertained decapitating him, yet while his moral compass swung madly without direction, Enver was above sowing political chaos so long as he didn't have a precise strategy to take the man's place for himself.

"Raphael taught me plenty. But thank you for your concern," Enver mocked in return. "Scared my wits aren't up to your standards?"

"I know better than to question your intelligence, Gortash," Thamior rolled his eyes. "You are a plethora of things, but you aren't stupid."

"Observant," Enver commented coolly. He knew the man didn't mean it as a compliment. "But I'm not here to discuss my genius. I'm here to discuss your daughter."

The man glared at him for a second, sitting down in his grand chair. "Go on then," he nodded. "Make your case."

"I want to marry her, plain and simple," Enver said sharply. "If you expect me to serenade you with romantic soliloquies, you'll wait forever."

"Such a flirt," Thamior chuckled darkly. "Typically, these meetings serve as a way to prove one's worth, not one's love."

"There are few in this city who match my wealth. I hardly think it's necessary to boast." Enver was slowly losing his patience. In the depths of his wretchedly vile soul, he knew what the answer was going to be, and he didn't appreciate it one bit. All his hard work of enduring dates right down the gutter.

"Oh yes. Money you have so honourably earned through your law-abiding business ventures," Thamior's voice was dripped with venomous sarcasm.

"Spare me the false righteousness, Duke Liardon," Enver spat. "For someone who practically lived in a devil's arse, you have little to show for it now."

"Is that so?" Thamior smirked triumphantly. "Unlike you, I have a seat on the Council of Four."

"An inherited seat," Enver corrected him coolly.

"Be that as it may," Thamior waved him off. "My answer is no. You may have my wife under your spell, but I'm not allowing you to marry my only child."

"And why not?" Enver countered like a petulant child. "Your wife is clearly deteriorating and wants grandchildren. I am the only one Elodie has even entertained for more than one meeting. The only one even asking to marry her.

"I would rather choke on Raphael's cock than let my daughter marry you," the Duke stood from his seat. "I don't care what you've made of yourself after your miraculous escape from the Hells, but you are, and always will be, the filthy son of a cobbler."

Five years on, Enver had lost count of his endless meetings with Thamior Liardon and the sheer amounts of "No's" he had thrown in his face.

It was a tiresome game, but he continued to play it, even if he knew the Duke would never willingly turn the "No" into a "Yes" . Enver was no stranger to playing the long game, so long as he knew he would win with absolute certainty and any risk could be mitigated or forfeited altogether. Elodie Liardon was one such prize, and while he had yet to win her, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would be entirely, unequivocally his. If only because it had been decreed by powers beyond their comprehension.

She belonged to him. Years of enduring dates and dances at grand soirées and festivals had at least ensured that the people of the Gate knew better than to try and lay claim to what he owned - because he did own her. As the years went on, the admirers dwindled in numbers until they ceased altogether, and nobody but him was left to dance with her and parade her around the Gate. Enver was well aware that her father was furious, but there was little he could do because while men enjoyed a challenge, people knew better than to challenge Enver Gortash.

The last man who tried had ended as a sacrifice in the Temple of Bhaal. At least Enver thought he did - his now former Bhaalspawn associate had only left a finger behind.

Enver's grip around his cup tightened visibly before lifting it and finishing it in one go. It wasn't exactly a show of decorum, much less at yet another soiree of Duke Portyr, but with how close he was getting to finally fulfilling his destiny and how intoxicated the patriars around him were, he doubted they even noticed his anger. The men and women of the Gate were scarcely astute without alcohol lingering in their veins, and their ceaseless inebriation rendered them even more foolish than Enver had ever thought possible. Between their haughtiness and perpetual idiocy, it was a miracle if they ever noticed anything beyond their visages and grand estates until their self-immolation came to haunt them with crises so grand a hero would have to come along to fix it all. Soon enough, the monstrous armies of The Absolute would threaten their livelihoods, and his Steel Watch would miraculously save them all. Soon enough, Enver would be the very first Archduke of Baldur's Gate, signifying the beginning of his destined draconian rule. Soon enough, Thamior Liardon would have no choice but to give Enver his blessing, whether by choice or psionic compulsion, and everything Enver had tirelessly worked for would finally be his.

Of course, there was a trifling matter of ridding himself of an invulnerable General and an incestuous half-breed Bhaalspawn, the latter of which was an unforeseen challenge he had not come to expect. It angered him far more than it should have; Orin was like a petulant child, desperately grappling for Bhaal's favour yet understanding little of what was asked of her. And while she was an efficient killer by all accounts, her sheer presence was underwhelming and not nearly as imposing as Bhaal's creation had been. To him, she was nothing more than a mad dog, much unlike her 'brother', who was lethally intelligent beyond his slaughtering legacy. Orin would be an easier kill - Enver should have been thankful. And yet his body was filled with near-manic rage as the rancorous void where his heart should be tightened in his chest. All because the Bhaalspawn had failed.

Just when success seemed certain, Enver was forced to restructure years of plans he had made. Plans which had only worked because of the Bhaalspawn. He was no fool to believe he could have stolen the damned crown from Mephistopheles himself, let alone subdued the brain, if it hadn't been for the Bhaalspawn. Where Bhaal's progeny seemed invincible, Orin was a treacherous and epicene replacement, hardly worthy of being Bhaal's Chosen or Enver's co-conspirator, often falling into a feral sort of rage. It would please Enver to see her suffer - to watch as she died painfully and screaming at his hand, even if such tasks were usually beneath his station. But the thought of yet another taking her place and putting him at a disadvantage for a third time reigned his range in. While he was endlessly furious over the Bhaalspawn's failure, he himself could not afford to fail. Unfortunately, he would need to make an alliance with Orin work. Temporarily, at least —

"You seem unusually pensive tonight," the sweet cadence of Elodie's voice pulled him from his inertia.

Enver turned around, staring into the inquisitive eyes of his destined wife. She had grown much in five years - her silvery hair was longer than it had been at nineteen, and her features had sharpened into an uncanny elegance that made her look more ethereal than Enver had ever anticipated. She had always been beautiful, but maturity suited her well. She looked drained, a little perspiration above her brow. Had she been there all night?

"Good evening, Elodie," he cleared his throat. "I wasn't aware you were attending this... soiree."

She tilted her head in question, a hint of disbelief gracing her features as her brow furrowed and she stepped closer. "Are you alright?" There was no warmth behind the question, but she did seem to be curious. "I'm sure my mother mentioned me attending after you came over for a stroll last tenday. It's unlike you to forget."

"Careful, Elodie," Enver chuckled darkly, "One might start to believe you want me to seek you out." He did, of course. Her submission was the sweetest victory, but Enver would never tell her that.

"Perhaps I do," she shrugged before pushing past him and reaching for a cup of wine herself. "I have no desire to marry you. But I do enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me, Gortash. It resembles my own, except you happen to be insane."

"You think I'm insane?" Enver's voice miraculously betrayed none of his ire.

"Perhaps," she grinned mischievously, her distinctive feral glint sparkling in her eyes before her expression turned sombre again as she regarded him inquisitively. "Still. You seem distracted tonight."

Enver waved her off. It was unsettling how well she had always been able to read him. "Simply some unfortunate... setbacks in one of my promising endeavours."

"Oh?" She took a sip of her wine. "Care to tell me more?"

"What is it to you?" Enver raised his brow in suspicion. He could recount the occasions when she explicitly asked him about his endeavours on one hand. Usually, she would simply argue with him - not that he minded.

She shrugged her shoulders, a teasing lilt to her voice now. "I'm bored and my father won't leave until he's spoken to every noble attending. Entertain me."

Enver's grip on his chalice tightened once more, frustration and ire filling his being as he contemplated her demands. It was not in his nature to entertain people, much less give into the demands of anyone but his Lord. If she were his wife, he would have promptly corrected her demanding attitude - perhaps shoving his cock down her throat would have shut her up sufficiently.

"There is not much to tell," he eventually pressed out. "My partner in this endeavour failed and left me to pick up the pieces with his unreliable successor."

"Ah," Elodie let out. "Failed how?"

"He was murdered by his sister," Enver uttered nonchalantly, reaching for a new cup of wine as he heard Elodie gasp, her eyes bulging out of her skull. With how intelligent and worldly she had been, it was easy enough to forget she was likely kept far from the realities of the ecosystem that was murder in the Gate.

"That is terrible," she muttered.

"Terrible for my personal affairs, yes," Enver grumbled. "I'm sure the world isn't going to miss him." He was quite confident of that fact - nobody in their right mind would miss a Bhaalspawn.

Elodie pouted, a pensive look on her face. "Aren't you missing him?"

"No," Enver said. "He's dead. There's no point in mourning him. He was utterly mad, and I didn't care for him beyond our mutual partnership."

"Perhaps you might still... toast to him?" Elodie offered carefully. Enver was sure she meant well, but it was downright absurd to him.

"Toast? To what?"

"Hm..." she mulled it over for a second before lifting her chalice with a small smile. "O gurth, cuil."

"I don't speak elvish," Enver lamented. Five years of frolicking with a half-elven woman, and the only phrase he had picked up was "Tanar'ri", which Elodie had graciously translated after one of her maids uttered the phrase under her breath.

"From death, life," Elodie mused. "It's a common Lathanderian saying. There is a renewal in death - a certain peace. If he really was insane, he's likely found more peace in death than he ever knew when he was alive."

"Peace?” Enver scoffed. “I should hope not."

“Y-you... don’t want him to find peace?”

“No," Enver shook his head, the same manic rage he had felt bubbling beneath the surface once more. "Not for a single second. I hope the fucker is suffering eternally for failing me. May he never find peace."  

He then raised his chalice in a toast, downing the wine in a single go as if hoping it would drown his fury and mania, not even seeing the sheer disbelief and incredulity on Elodie's face. He panted as he set his chalice down, the alcohol a welcome warmth as it spread throughout his body, and his grip tightened impossibly, his entire body rigid.

“I’m sure you cared very little for him, if only enough to curse him to eternal torment for the crime of dying by his sisters' barbarity," Elodie mumbled silently before placing her hand on his. Enver could feel his hand loosen, the warmth of her own skin almost scalding on his own as he swallowed a deep breath. Had he really been that cold?

"Take care, Enver." Her hand left his again, her warmth disappearing as quickly as it had come, and he felt a strange hollowness fill his chest as he ached for that same kind and comforting warmth to return to him.

Too late did he notice she had called him by his name for the first time, and before he could question her, Elodie's body had disappeared into the sea of people, and Enver was left a little more hollow than he'd been before.