#I may be contradicting myself because I genuinely don’t remember | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stonewallsposts · 2 years ago

Text

16 personalities questions: 3-5

3. Seeing other people cry can easily make you feel like want to cry too

Uh, no. It takes a lot to get me to cry. I always say I did enough crying as a kid, I'm done with it as an adult.

Do I actually cry? Well, sure, I can... and it has happened a few times. Most of the time I do pretty well choking it back. A few times, when no one else is around, I just let it go, but even then it doesn't last long. I will feel the emotion welling up in me if I'm watching certain things that are emotional, but I don't let that come out as crying. Plus... I'm an ugly crier, and nobody should see that.

I suppose what this is really getting at is something along the lines of do I feel empathy with other people. Do I feel their pain. Again, not so much. This is an area where I've recognized a deficiency for a long time. I don't tend to feel a lot of sympathy for people. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when others have sympathy for my problems, but I don't naturally feel much for theirs. Over the years I've tried to get better, and I actually have. But even now, I'll often comment while watching tv shows where a character is paralyzed by some fear or hung up on something that has traumatized them, and I'll think: what a wuss, get over it. You can't just lock up. Snap out of it and get done what needs to be done.

To be fair, I'm kind of like this myself. If I'm going through a rough time, I tend to just think: well, I screwed up and I gotta own it. Get to work and do what you can, the rest will settle itself.

That said, there are some people that I genuinely feel for in their situations. I'm not heartless, so I'll hear people's problems and want to pray for them and offer what comfort I can. I remember one person that I knew suffered from anxiety in social situations. I went out of my way to make sure they felt ok, included. If I saw them standing off, I'd go and ask. With them, I felt a genuine responsibility to make sure that they were ok. I suppose that I'm somewhat of a contradiction then in this area too.

I've also taken in people who are in bad situations because they had no place else to go, so I think that ought to qualify as care and concern for others. I'm only saying this because I made it sound at first like I didn't really care about other people's feelings. That's not really true. I do. I'm sure this is an area where I've grown a lot over the years.

On the surface of it, it's easy to answer: no I won't cry because someone else does. But do I feel for others, sometimes deeply, other times not.

4. You often make a backup plan for your backup plan

I don't consider myself a particularly anal type of person. I feel like I'm pretty easy-going. That said, I don't like going into situations where I think I'll need a plan, without having a plan. If I have a tough situation coming up, or some situation that could be tricky, I'll usually try my best to figure ahead what kinds of contingencies I need to be aware of, and then have some plan of attack. I recognize that I can't ever figure everything out, but at least I don't want to be caught completely off-guard. I know a line from a movie, even though I've never actually seen the movie, where a character wants to commit a murder, so he goes to a criminal he knows and asks his advice. They guy says something along the lines of: When you're talking about murder, there are about 50 ways this can go wrong. If you're a genius, you can figure out 25 of 'em. And you ain't no genius!

I've used that line many times over the years. The whole point is no matter how smart we try to be, we can't think of everything. That, however doesn't stop me from doing my best to try and think of all the contingencies and at least be aware of possibilities. I may not be able to stop, or counter, certain things, but if I do find myself in those situations, I at least want to think- ok, I knew this might happen.

I don't plan for everything, though. I do try to have a basic plan on vacations. But if things don't go according to plan, I don't get flustered. For example, on the last vacation, the plan was to fly to Norfolk, VA, stay with a family member there, see Jamestown, then head off to Charlottesburg. But the flight got redirected to Washington. Never got to see Norfolk. I was disappointed, but there was nothing to do since I had no intention of trying to drive back into the path of Hurricane Ian in order to see Norfolk.

With difficult meetings, such as the things that are happening with my sister and niece, I try to think ahead and consider ways they might react so I can be ready. That way I won't get caught completely by surprise.

That said, I don't map out my days. I also consider it an ideal weekend when I don't have any particular plan.

5. You usually stay calm even under a lot of pressure

I don't know if this is exactly applicable, but I have inadvertently spooked our office manager, Julia, a bunch of times. I wasn't trying to, but she was focused on her work, I came in, and at the point she noticed me, she jumped. She has tried to return the favor several times by jumping out at me. It just doesn't work. It's not that I'm unfazed, but my reaction tends to be to freeze. So to people on the outside, it looks like I'm not reacting, whereas on the inside, I've frozen rather than jumped. Then in the second it takes me to get my bearings, I go back to normal. I relate this just to say that in some situations it can look like one thing, but be different on the inside.

Of course I'd rather have that reaction than flap my arms and scream like a little girl.

But to the larger question. I hope I stay calm. I don't tend to look like what people identify as "stressed", but I will for sure feel it. Particularly in my stomach. The previous question about planning helps me to feel better about difficult situations when I'm in the middle of them because I will have likely already thought through a lot of the ways a scenario could go. I certainly won't always feel calm. I suppose like everyone else, I'm anxious under pressure too, but I hope that I can at least keep my head.

When confronted with difficult situations, I think I usually do a pretty good job of staying calm. I've had people falsely accuse me of a few things over the years. I will tend to just sit and listen. I'll maybe ask questions as to why they think that way, or if they've made it clear why they think that way, I'll just sit and take it.

Years ago, I was (oddly enough) accused of stealing a neighbor's cat. The lady, who I had seen but never talked to, knocked on my door and asked me to give back her cat. I told her I hadn't taken her cat, but she persisted. All I could say was I'm sorry, but I really didn’t take your cat.

More recently I was guilty of something, and after having confessed it, and even turned over all the evidence, I was called in to have it all read back to my face, while the person in authority reimagined what I meant by it and then attributed those motives to me. I just sat and took the berating. It felt more like something he just wanted to get off his chest out of anger at the situation. To be honest, I had actually done something wrong here, and I wasn't denying that. While it didn't feel good listening to someone tell me what my own motives were, even though they were wrong, about the worst I could accuse him of was bad judgment. And at that moment, I wasn't really in a place to accuse anyone else of bad judgment, so I just sat there and took it. I was trembling on the inside, but had decided I wasn't going to react in any way other than to acknowledge what was said.

I'm trying to think of some instances where I was under pressure and had to react.

Maybe the worst was a few years back, I was in a position of authority at a church. Our senior pastor was running late and after the worship finished, I was the one who had to get up and stall. I was supposed to make it look like it was all part of the plan, but because it was thrown on me at the last second, and I'm not the quickest at thinking things through, it was pretty much a disaster. I think I had to get up and just tell everyone what was up, and then try to find things to kill the time... it didn't go well.

I'm clearly not the quickest thinker under pressure, but the reality is that I'm just not the quickest thinker, period. Pressure would exacerbate the problem, but it's not solely a pressure thing. I wish I was someone who could think faster. But I'm not. In fact, one the reasons I write is to process through issues. Every once in a while I run across these guys that just seem to have all the answers. I wish I was like that. Of course some of them are just really good at sounding like they know what they're talking about, when they really don't. But others are just much quicker at analyzing a situation and responding correctly.

So I don't think I get so much flustered under pressure, but I'm not the quickest thinker either.

0 notes

wh0lemilk0vich · 2 years ago

Note

this is sort of totally random but i just wanna say that i love your blog so so much!! just agreeing on the little things such as a dislike of limited mobility (like, personally that makes me really genuinely upset) or dislike of comparison to animals, and the celebration of all bodies yknow. makes me happy :)

like this is such a nice space genuinely. you don’t post about excessive shit that leads to health issues eg. immobility and u don’t dehumanise. don’t get me started on force feeding that makes me so sad. so many people in this community do do that and it makes me sad bcus i just wanna appreciate a belly sometimes yknow?! without said belly being an issue!! without people being cruel and rude!!

hope this didn’t come across weird ?? i just am so glad i found your blog bcus genuinely it’s really great and makes me feel better about my interests. i think i thought that wg/belly kinks always had to lead to some sort of limited mobility or dehumanising crap which like i mentioned makes me really upset, so finding someone who feels similarly and doesn’t post about it is just awesome and enforces the idea that it’s ok to not feel the same as others in a niche space. as well as being a skinny/midsize person myself i thought that i was a bad dude bcus of such. like i just wanna pat some thick thighs and tummy god damn, i wouldn’t even consider myself a chaser or feeder or whatever

no hate to dudes that like limited mobility or force feeding or that stuff, just totally not for me. no shame !!!!!!

sorry i realise that that was an absolute ramble!! i don’t know how to describe it but i hope you know that you and your blog rock !!!! 🪱‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Awe wormie 🪱, you're really so sweet!

And I know what you mean, so I'm glad that this dumb gremlin blog is helping you find/solidify your boundaries within the community.

It is incredibly hard, but really satisfying when you find the folks who just seem to get it! Remember that it's all nuanced and you're allowed to feel contradictory too. You're allowed to contain multitudes.

For example, I have a lot of weird and maybe extreme kinks related to this too, and you'll notice I tend not to be to soft or sentimental in the asks I answer. I like power play and bdsm and teasing and humiliation in this kink but I like it in a very different way than the majority, you know? A contradiction, so I have to hold true to my boundaries. I think being compared to animals can be done in a sexy way that doesn't feel dehumanizing, but it has to be done the right way or with a sense of consent on both sides. (Like i actually think cow-boys are so cute ugh). I also like extreme wg/force feeding fantasies which haven't come up all that much in like anons and stuff, but I do love reading like a dream or fantasy sequence with really big growth, or a bdsm scene with force feeding every so often.

Basically this is me saying that maybe there will be things that I like that I post about that may be squicks for you, but I'll try to do my best to tag or give content warnings because I think you can have it all and it still be a safe welcoming place.

But mostly, I think this blog finds like minded people and keeps itself well regulated, if that all makes sense

I just really appreciate you all as well, you're all my gremlins (affectionate) 🥰

#misha speaks #kink negotiation #🪱 anon

8 notes · View notes

heliads · 4 years ago

Text

A Ruse By Any Other Name

Pietro Maximoff has just discovered the occupant of the HYDRA cell next to his- another Sokovian survivor of the experiments. Y/N L/N can tell any lie, convince someone to do anything she wishes. All Pietro can think about, however, is the life they could have together.

masterlist

There is no way out of this cell. Pietro knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. He’s been given this accursed gift, he should at least be able to do something to leave. He slams against the walls with enough of an impact to shake the ceiling; nothing happens. He’s tried this enough times for bruises to cover him like freckles, but even those disappear faster than they should. No matter what he tries, the walls remain.

It feels unfair, somehow, like if he’s been giving this raging pulse and this overwhelming need to run he should have a place to do it. You gave this to me, he wants to shout, now take it back or at least make it feel like I don’t want to tear myself apart. Pietro knows that if he says anything like this they’ll drag him back to the labs and it’ll be even worse than before. So he keeps his mouth shut, and lets his frequent attempts to escape do the talking for him.

There’s a resulting thump on the other side of the wall, and he falls quiet for a second. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that he isn’t alone. All Pietro knows is the rough mess of a schedule that has become his life as a test subject of HYDRA- some days in the labs, most of the time spent in this cell unless he’s deemed useful enough to be allowed out into the field. Even then, on those scarce days of reprieve, they’re careful to keep him out of sight so the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t pick up on his presence and try to stop him. Otherwise, they’ll send over a team to kill everyone in the vicinity and call it justice.

No, Pietro isn’t alone. On one side of his cell is another containment block, one that holds his twin sister Wanda. She doesn’t share his same speed, his same need to move and move until his feet are raw and bleeding. He’s seen the way she can manipulate the objects around her, twisting minds like they’re toys in a display. It should scare him, he supposes, yet he just feels numb about it. She is Wanda, she would never hurt him. Not unless they made her, and no one has ever been able to make Wanda do something she doesn’t want to do. Not now.

He’s making it sound like they didn’t want this, like they weren’t volunteers. Pietro and Wanda were the ones to show up at HYDRA’s door, asking for a chance to turn their ghosts into weapons and their dirty palms into those of saints. People have failed them over and over again, it felt like time to tip the scales back the other way. HYDRA hadn’t said a word, just welcomed them in and locked the door behind them. Sometimes, Pietro wonders if he would have changed his mind had he known the full extent of what they’d undergo. Would they stay away? Or would they have come anyway, knowing there was nothing left for them but broken houses and the bodies of their parents right next to that bomb?

Pietro and Wanda aren’t the only HYDRA volunteers to survive, however. There is one more: a girl, one about their age. Pietro has never seen her in person, only heard the rumors in pieces and snatches from security guards whose usually stoic silence is broken by nervous chatter. Her name is Y/N L/N, although the guards all call her the Ruse. She has powers not unlike Wanda, in that she can manipulate people’s minds, but the similarities end there. Y/N’s powers have an entirely different edge, something that can convince the toughest of guards that they have something to fear.

The Ruse got her name because of her powers. She can convince you of anything, get you to believe any lie no matter how false. They say she whispers things into your head, can make you believe that your family is out to kill you and that your lover has poisoned your mind. With just a second’s concentration, she can rewrite your entire head and convince you to do anything she wants. That could involve giving her information, selling out an organization, killing a thousand people before you knew it. Pietro sometimes wonders if her victims know what’s going on while she’s controlling them, if they’re silently screaming even as their trigger finger tightens. Then a shiver runs over him, and he forces himself to stop thinking about it at all.

HYDRA allows the Ruse into the field more often than Pietro or Wanda, using her as a spy and a mercenary and whatever else they can think of. She has considerably more freedom, if you could call it that, because HYDRA’s taken another precaution with her. They’ve experimented with the old Winter Soldier programs, placing basic mind control over her. HYDRA can make sure she only tells the lies they want to spread, and that she has no way to control any of them. And so it is that the spider is caught by the web, that the one with the power to spin any lie is trapped by one greater than herself.

There’s a loud sound in the hallways, pairs of boots thudding down the hall. Through the barred window on the cell door, Pietro can see them dragging someone through the corridor. A guard steps forward to unlock Y/N’s cell, then they throw her unceremoniously through the door. The lock shuts with a click, and all guards leave the block, presumably to check with an official to make sure she hasn’t caught them within any lies.

There’s quiet for a long time, and then Pietro hears something else. It’s barely there at all, and he wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for the inhuman abilities given to him by HYDRA. To be honest, it almost sounds like somebody is crying. Pietro slows down for once in his life, crossing the cell hesitantly until he stands before the wall neighbouring Y/N’s cell.

Over the past few hours, Pietro has found a hole in the wall, a chink in the cinderblock and concrete where you can see through to the other side. It’s about the size of his fist, disguised by a low-hanging scrap of material. Pietro pushes it aside, allowing him to see Y/N for the first time. When his eyes first fall on her, he draws in a breath sharply.

She’s beautiful. Pietro doesn’t know what he had thought she would look like- cruel, maybe calculating, a glint in her eye that never seemed to fade? How do you portray the Ruse? But the girl slumped against the cell wall before him doesn’t seem like a villain, somebody who scares everyone in HYDRA’s payroll. No, she just looks afraid.

She must have heard him, because her head falls away from her hands and she looks up at him. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, cracked from the tears. “Are you Pietro?” Pietro nods. “Sorry to spy on you. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” Pietro isn’t sure what he was expecting she’d say, but he doesn’t anticipate what she does next. She laughs bitterly, leaning her head back against the wall.

“I’m not. Not at all.” She lets her gaze drift from the ceiling back to him. “I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know anything at all. I’ve told so many lies and had so many more pumped into my head that I don’t know what way is up. Nothing makes sense, because everything I can remember contradicts itself. I don’t even know who I am. I’m the Ruse, I guess, but I don’t even know what that means.”

Pietro listens to her, feeling his spirits sink in sympathy. “You’re Y/N L/N. You’re a spy, and you’ll be able to work through this because you’ve been working through this for as long as you’ve been here.” Y/N sighs. “I’ve been breaking apart as long as I’ve been here, and I don’t think I can figure things out again. There are so many stories in my head, Pietro, and I don’t think any of them are true. If I say something and I believe it, is it true or am I using my powers? Nothing makes sense.”

It’s hard to look at this utterly broken girl in front of him and think that this is the all-powerful Ruse that has the directors of HYDRA quaking in their polished boots. Pietro doesn’t know what to say, and he tells her as much. Y/N chuckles. “Well, I don’t think anyone could know. I can get in your head, but you can’t get in mine.” She squints at him now. “Why did you check on me in the first place? Aren’t you scared that I’m going to control your mind like everyone else?”

Pietro shrugs. “I don’t know what you could do to me that hasn’t already happened. I can’t leave the base, I already have powers, there’s nobody I could hurt except myself and I heal pretty quickly. It’s kind of my thing.” Y/N smiles at that, a genuine smile. Pietro doesn’t think he’s seen it all day, and he wishes he could tell another joke so he could see it again. Y/N might not know what’s true and what’s not, but Pietro knows that she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen when she smiles at him like that.

Y/N clears her throat. “Tell you what, Pietro, if we ever get out of here I’ll think about what you said. Figure things out and whatnot. Keep moving forward.” Pietro smiles ruefully. “That sounds pretty good. I might even walk instead of run.” Y/N snorts. “That’s a little extreme, Maximoff. Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.” The sound of approaching guards makes Pietro hurriedly duck back into his cell, but he still thinks to himself that he’d give up all of his powers and then some if it means that he could have a future with Y/N away from HYDRA. They may have just met, but it feels like he could spend a lifetime with her.

When Pietro and Wanda meet Ultron, the first thing he thinks is that it’s a way out. If they go with him, they can escape HYDRA, turn their backs on the labs and the tests and the sinking knowledge that by signing up they may have made the worst mistake of their lives. His second thought is that when he and Wanda don’t return, he’s damning Y/N to stay at that facility until the end of her days. It cuts at him like a knife, a guilt that he can’t quite shake.

Ultron promises many things. Power, legacy, a chance to rebuild. All of it calls to Pietro in the same way that HYDRA’s programs called to him all that time ago. He’s terrified of making another mistake, and finds him wishing that he could turn to Y/N and ask her what she thought. Y/N has seen a thousand decisions being made, and had a hand in most of them. She tends to have some pretty good advice on what to do, and Pietro could use her voice right now.

In the end, he makes the choice himself. They decide to throw their lot in with Ultron, turning their backs on HYDRA and opening a door to the future ahead. When this doesn’t work out, they switch to the Avengers like handing off a baton. There’s a fight coming, a fight that Pietro knows has a pretty good chance of turning south. If he dies, there’s something he wants to do first.

When he tells Wanda his plan, she thinks it’s a terrible idea. “You want to go back to the HYDRA facilities? If they caught us, they would kill us.” Pietro shrugs. “That’s why we won’t get caught.” Wanda had rolled her eyes, telling him that she would haunt him forever if his stupid idea got them killed, but in the end she had agreed to go along with it. That’s how Pietro and Wanda ended up breaking into the HYDRA base, or specifically the cell block along the southern perimeter.

The bonus of having lived there is that Pietro knows which guards have the keys and which don’t, when to time a break-in so that the guards are still on rotation and won’t find them, and the exact cell where Y/N is locked away. When he opens the door, she stares at him for a second, then runs over and flings her arms around him. “I thought you were gone for good.” Then she steps back, doubt creeping over her. “Is it really you, or is this just something they’ve made up to mess with me?”

It hurts Pietro to think that HYDRA would use him against her, so he gestures towards his head. “Check and find out. I promise, it’s me. I’m getting you out of here.” She grins at him, a wild grin full of hope and excitement that she’ll finally have the life they both dreamed of on the nights they couldn’t sleep for the nightmares. Pietro picks her up in his arms, running as fast as he can to pass by the guards before they can even draw another breath.

They come to a stop outside the facility, Wanda joining them shortly thereafter. Y/N flashes her a smile. “Thanks for the rescue.” Wanda waves the gratitude away. “Don’t thank me, it was all Pietro’s idea. He practically begged me to come help you out.” Pietro’s about to chide Wanda for saying this, but when Y/N turns to him with a beaming look he feels like he could break into a hundred more HYDRA facilities just to prove it to her that he could.

They both end up joining the Avengers for the fight. Y/N refuses to leave if they need to defend the city against Ultron, especially if Pietro will be there. “You just saved me from HYDRA. I can’t leave you here to fight alone.” Pietro shrugged, saying that as long as she remained safe he would be alright with it, but secretly he couldn’t be happier that she was staying. They’re out now, out for good. He doesn’t want to leave her side for a second.

The fight against Ultron is difficult to say the least. Ultron summons up hundreds of drones out of nowhere, which swarm the streets like insects. Pietro, Y/N, and the rest of the Avengers take them down as soon as they appear, but it feels like they’re fighting on borrowed time. How long until there are too many, and a wave of metal robots chokes out the sky from above him?

At last, the fight looks like it will be over. They’ve managed to get the last of the refugees onto the ships, and Y/N is seconds away from boarding one herself. Pietro’s about to join her, and then he looks over his shoulder and sees them. Clint, who’d made sure Pietro could join the Avengers in the first place, and the child he’s carrying to safety. Pietro also sees the ship swooping over them, the bullets about to hit them.

Time seems to slow down. Pietro knows what he has to do to save them, the only choice he has. It’s the only way to pay Clint back for saving him, for saving Wanda. They’ll be able to make it after this. He has time to wish that Y/N will forgive him for this, and then he’s gone, twisting through the street just in time to block the bullets. Clint’s head is ducked as he prepares for the metal to tear through his flesh, but he looks up with a startled look as no impact occurs. Pietro manages a cocky grin. “Didn’t see that coming?”

Then the pain hits, and he collapses to the ground. There are too many bullets for him to heal, too many to save him. Pietro can hear a scream, and he realizes it’s Y/N. He wants to tell her that he’s sorry, but he can’t find the words. She’s kneeling next to him now, and he can see the tears glistening in her eyes. Even like this, pain lacing her every feature, she’s still just as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her.

Pietro can feel his heart rate slowing, stopping. Y/N gets this look in her eyes of panic, of fear. She cradles his head in her hands, forcing him to look at her. When she speaks, her voice seems charged with some kind of power. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard before. “You are going to be alright. Your wounds are going to heal, and you are going to survive.” Her gaze is captivating, impossible to ignore. For some reason, Pietro listens, and for some reason, his wounds start to close up.

He can feel the flesh reknitting, but it makes no sense. He died, or he should have. Why is he healing now, why is he standing up and taking in another lungful of air? He goes to take a step, then stumbles. Y/N catches him, and he draws her close. He can feel her sobbing in his arms, but they’re aren’t sobs of sorry anymore- they’re of relief. Pietro forces himself to speak. “How did you do that? I thought I was dead.”

Y/N speaks through her tears. “You were dead. I just needed you to stay alive, so I used my powers, I guess.” She looks up at him, and Pietro realizes that she’s nervous, as if afraid that he’ll be disgusted by this display of powers and move away from her. Instead, he draws her closer. “You’re amazing, Y/N. Honestly. You saved my life.” She lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Just don’t ask me to do it again.”

Pietro grins, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t intend on dying anytime soon. We have a future to plan, remember?” Y/N smiles up at him. “How could I forget?”

marvel taglist: @mycosmicparadise

151 notes · View notes

laschatzi · 3 years ago

Text

It’s Forever

After What His Captain Needs, here’s another little bit of Killian/Smee friendship, sparked and inspired by @thesschesthair. And of course be sure to check out her own Killian/Smee tale Who Is She?

summary: Mr. Smee has more or less settled into his new life in Storybrooke and hasn't seen a lot of his Captain in some time, when one evening he approaches him and seems to have something on his mind.

rating: G

word count: ~1,6k

also on: ao3 and ff.net

-------------------

“Here you go, William!” Granny puts a plate in front of him, loaded with an enormous burger and fried mozzarella sticks. Leaning a little forward, she tells him in a conspiratorial voice, “And I made that extra cheese super extra.” She has a soft spot for him since Marco has taken him under his wings, because she has a soft spot for Marco.

Smee’s eyes light up, and he beams. “Thank you! You’re too good to me!”

Granny waves him off grumpily, “I know, I know,” and leaves him to his dinner.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to have more than two healthy bites and one mozzarella stick, before he’s interrupted by a shadow falling on the table and a well-known voice.

“Evening, Mr. Smee.”

He puts his burger down and raises his gaze, and like always, he has to look that second longer to make sure it’s him, because even after a few weeks – and he hasn’t seen that much of him lately – he just hasn’t gotten used to the Captain’s new, modern wardrobe yet. With uncharacteristic caution, he motions his hook to the bench opposite him.

“May I?”

If he’s being honest, Smee isn’t too happy about the interruption, but decades over decades of being the First Mate to his Captain are ingrained in his brain – far would it be from him to deny him any request; so he nods immediately.

“Of course, sir.”

The Captain slides into the booth and motions between them with his ringed hand – Smee notices that, in spite of his wardrobe change, he kept the rings and the necklace and is also wearing an earring, and he’s somehow relieved about that.

“It’s been too long,” the Captain says jovially and sounds weirdly guilty at the same time.

“Well, a lot has been going on,” Smee offers, “with that Snow Queen and the Dark One’s latest schemes.”

The Captain clenches his jaw. “Luckily, his wife fixed that. He won't bother anyone ever again.” He shakes his head once, as if he's trying to clear his mind. “Anyway, I wanted to speak to you sooner.”

“About what, Cap'n?”

But instead of an answer, he wants to know, “Did you get your memories back? Of what happened in the past year?”

Ah, that's what's on his mind. “Aye,” he responds in a neutral tone.

“Then you remember we found the Jolly Roger again?” the Captain asks in a – for him – unusually tentative way.

“You took her back from Blackbeard,” Smee nods and rubs his beard. “One day, we harbored in a port, and when the crew and I returned to the docks, the ship was gone.” After the tiniest break, he adds, “And so were you.” The Captain averts his eyes, but he barely notices, because suddenly, he remembers another detail. “It happened the same day that bird had landed aboard!”

“That bird,” the Captain replies, “carried a message from Baelfire.”

“Baelfire, sir?” Smee frowns. “The Dark One’s son?”

“The very same.” He tilts his head. “The message said a new curse was coming and endangering everyone, and that I needed to find the Savior.”

“Hm.” Smee nods and briefly gazes longingly at his remaining mozzarella sticks but then looks back at the Captain when he clears his throat, obviously feeling a little uncomfortable.

“Look, I didn’t like leaving everyone behind,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to put the crew’s lives at risk.” He tilts his head. “And, well… I thought I had a better shot if I went alone.”

Smee nods again, almost solemnly. “You’re a hell of a captain.”

“I did manage to outrun the curse,” the Captain agrees almost humbly and falls silent, as if he’s contemplating how to continue, which has the surprise of his First Mate increase. He has never seen his Captain at a loss for words, and he surely never has given off the vibe that he’s trying to apologize or even just explain himself. This encounter is getting stranger by the minute, even if the Captain’s uncharacteristic behavior isn’t unpleasant at all.

“So,” Smee prompts, “the Jolly Roger is in the Land Without Magic, the town where the Savior lived during the last year?”

The Captain raises his eyebrows. “Now now, Mr. Smee, you know the ship cannot travel between realms without a magic bean or some other sort of portal.” There’s a glimpse of his old gruffness, but it’s still overlaid by that unusual hint of self-consciousness.

“Of course, sir.”

“Alas,” he continues and tilts his head, “I didn’t have my resourceful First Mate with me to procure one, so I had to…” He pauses for a moment, licks his lips and then looks him straight in the eyes. “I had to trade the ship for a magic bean.”

So that’s what’s weighing on him. Suddenly, the Captain’s odd behavior during the past year in the Enchanted Forest – he seemed restless and driven, almost haunted, all the time, didn’t seem interested in women anymore – makes sense. She’s not just a ship. I haven’t been myself since we’ve returned. It’s because I don’t have her.

His mouth curves into a smile. “Can’t say that I’m surprised.” The Captain raises his eyebrows in question, and Smee explains, “All the time in the Enchanted Forest, you weren’t missing your ship, sir. You were missing your love.”

“And since when are you a mind reader, Mr. Smee?” he snarls, but with a remarkable lack of sharpness.

Smee shrugs. “Any First Mate worth his salt should be able to understand what's going on in his Captain's mind,” he replies calmly.

“You’ve always been worth yours, Mr. Smee,” the Captain admits and briefly rubs a spot behind his ear. “But I’m afraid I don’t know when – or even if – I’ll ever get the ship back.”

Smee snorts softly. “Would that even make a difference, sir?” The Captain doesn’t look like he wants to protest, and he adds, “We both know you won’t be going anywhere.”

Without even trying to contradict Smee’s statement, the Captain runs his hand over his mouth. “All those decades we spent chasing the Dark One, my revenge…” He shakes his head and falls silent.

Smee is amazed by the guilt in his eyes and feels the mighty urge to let him know that’s absolutely not necessary. “They were not wasted,” he reassures, “they were part of the journey.” The Captain doubtfully sways his head from side to side, and Smee says firmly, “After three hundred years, a man is allowed to settle down.” And find happiness, he adds in his mind, but doesn’t dare to say it.

The blue eyes he's often seen angry, severe, sarcastic study him searchingly. “Are you trying to?” the Captain inquires, honest concern in his voice.

“Sort of, I guess,” he replies with a shrug. “The local carpenter needed help, and I–”

“You were always adroit with wood,” the Captain acknowledges with a nod, and Smee smiles at the accolade.

“He also offered me a room above the carpentry,” he goes on, the Captain’s genuine interest warming his heart; but then, he’s always been taking care of his crew, so it really shouldn’t surprise him. “It’s a start.”

“It surely is.” He leans forward, and Smee registers that the floral patterns of his shirt seem to bear some resemblance to one of his favorite vests he remembers from the past – a bright red one that the ladies seemed to like in particular. “Mr. Smee, I never planned any of this,” he tells him and waves his hand around vaguely.

“A new adventure, then,” he suggests, and the Captain huffs a little laugh, making him think again that he somehow likes this new side of the man he’s known for three centuries now.

“An awfully big one,” the Captain agrees with a serious nod, “might be the biggest one yet.”

A little touch of self-doubt clings to his words, as if he isn’t really sure yet that he’s fit for this new life, trading three hundred years of rogueish restlessness for a patch of dirt and a prickly woman who comes with her very own burdens, if what he heard around the town is true, one of them being the Savior and a hero. But then again, he very obviously loves her, and the last weeks have proven that Captain Hook, the most cutthroat pirate Captain to ever sail the Seven Seas, is on the best way to become a hero himself, and Smee feels an absurd touch of pride about that.

He grins. “We’ll surely master it, Cap’n.” The Captain smiles briefly, as if he’s somehow relieved, and Smee adds, “I’ll just occasionally miss… hanging with the crew.” He doesn’t say what he really means.

The Captain raises his eyebrows. “But Mr. Smee,” he softly reprimands, “settling down and starting over doesn’t mean you have to cut off all the ties to your former life and burn your boats.”

“It does not?”

“Why, of course not!” he affirms and elaborates, “You can give up a pirate’s life anytime you want. But friendship?” He leans forward and tilts his head in his inimitable way. “It’s forever.”

He doesn’t say what he really means either, Smee suspects. But he knows, and that’s enough for him.

#cs ff #cs #captain swan #killian jones ff #idc Emma's there all the time #in both men's thoughts #it's forever

66 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Epilogue

08/21/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,172

Warnings: fluff, talks of sterilization/infertility

A/N: I did promise a surprise. There were some interactions that I wanted to touch on that I couldn’t fit into the last chapter and this just felt right to write. I hope y’all enjoy. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What have you decided?” You wonder, adjusting Joseph in your arms as they begin to tire.

“We’re going to adopt.” Nat’s smile is genuine and yet, you find there’s a sadness in her eyes that breaks your heart.

She looks at Joseph and stares at him for a moment before reaching across the small space between your chairs to caress his little cheek.

“May I be honest with you?” You hesitate but know that you need to say this in order for that sadness to leave her eyes.

Of course, her sadness is her own and you might only help relieve it. You cannot chase it away for good.

“Of course.” She takes her hand back to place over yours.

“I am so glad that you have decided not to see the witch.” You sigh. “After having lost all of you for over a year, the thought of losing more time knowing that I would have had it…”

“I know.” Nat interrupts softly, tearing her eyes down to her hand in yours. “James is the same. He told me to choose what would make me happy and for a moment I considered very much going to see her, but the forced look of detachment on James’s face was heartbreaking. I don’t want him to feel as if his opinion does not matter to me.

“If we cannot both be of one mind in this choice then it is a choice that I cannot make. We were both decided on adoption before I remembered the witch’s offer so, adoption is the only choice my heart can bear to make.” Nat’s feelings are genuine, and you can see the decision has lifted weight from her shoulders.

“You have known that you could not have children for years. Is this really what you wanted. Having them naturally?” You probe, already knowing her answer. “You know that Bucky does not and has not cared if you could give him natural born children.”

“Why do you know me so well?” She huffs a small laugh. “I wanted to give him the life he deserved.”

“The life he deserves is the one he chooses, love. And he chooses to be with you, just as you are. For him you are not lacking in anything.” You point out, remembering the look of utter worship he gives her every time they’re together.

“I know.” Nat nods, smiling wide albeit a little resigned. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly accepted that and that’s why I became so fixated on giving him a child born of us both.”

You scoot closer to the edge of your seat, adjusting the sleeping Joseph in your arms. Now that you’re closer, you can wrap one arm around her back a little, bringing your face down and closer to her own.

“We all love you, Nat. Just as you are. Any child you raise would be lucky to have you as a mother. I know I’ve said it before, but I cannot impress upon you the sincerity of what I say. Trust me. You are perfect to us. If not the world, then to Bucky and myself. And isn’t that enough?”

Her eyes begin to water, and you have the sudden urge to hug her. Before you can, the door to your sitting room opens. Quickly you wipe away the two tears that roll onto Nat’s cheeks as Peter freezes, his eyes wide with surprise. He’s still got his arms extended, feet still in mid-step.

“Oh,” He gasps. “I’m…I didn’t know you were in here your Majesty. I’m so sorry.”

“Peter!” You exclaim, happy to see him.

His face changes, a wide smile replacing the look of shock on his face.

“Hi.” He replies simply, moving towards you as you rise to your feet and with Joseph carefully balanced in your arms, you wrap Peter up in the other.

“It’s so good to see you. When Steve told me you’d left for Father’s castle I was saddened to be denied our reunion.” You chuckle, trying to keep Joseph as still as possible despite knowing that he will not wake even should you need to grab a sword and fight some random attacker.

“I’m sorry, I had to deliver Steve’s invitations for the feast he has planned for when the estate is completed. Only a few weeks now.” Peter says proudly as you pull back to get a look at his face. He seems to be getting taller still. Just over a year and you’re shocked by his growth.

He’s much bigger in muscle mass too.

“Invitations, sure.” Natasha teases, fixing him with a knowing look.

Peter seems to deflate by her implications which raises many questions in your own head.

To allay your confusion, he leads you back to your seat and helps you to sit.

“Morgana and I have actually parted ways.” He says simply, his voice serious but not melancholy.

“Oh.” Nat exclaims, exchanging with you a quick look of concern. “I hope that it was nothing that cannot be mended?”

Peter takes a step back and reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“She is much happier with our engagement at an end. If I am honest, we have been growing apart the last several months. She has been busy undertaking King Stark’s training and I have been busy in the villages with minor disturbances from remnants of Hydra and their various factions.

“Our friendship is just as strong as it ever was, but I don’t believe romance will be a part of our future.” Peter sighs upset despite his words of assurance.

“Last I remember your romance was only just blooming.” You lament, hating to have lost out on the beauty of their love growing.

Now it’s gone?

“Yes.” Peter smiles. “I had high hopes for us but I’m certain this is the right choice for us both.”

“Is this a choice you both made?” Natasha wonders, worried for the young guard.

“We spoke about it at length and we’re sure that it’s for the best.” Peter nods. “Do not worry. We are both perfectly fine.”

Containing your frown is out of the question but he does look as if their choice is one of certainty and you can’t exactly contradict them if they have found what is right for both of them. Even if it’s a shame that you won’t have Peter as a brother-in-law.

With no choice but to move on, you let Natasha take Joseph from your arms as she moves him into the crib nearby.

You have one in here and one in your bedroom.

“So?” You begin, sitting back with a small grimace at the pain in your back. “What brings you to my sitting room? I know you did not come to see me since you didn’t know I was in here.”

As Natasha tucks Joseph in, she waits with observant eyes as if she’s still trying to decide if Peter has told you both the truth about him and Morgana.

“I was sent in to fetch your sewing basket. His Majesty said that he wanted to show it to me so that I’d know what to buy.” Peter explains, his brow furrowed as he observes the grimace on your face and the strange way you’re sitting.

The flowing gown you wear—slate blue around the shoulders down to the constricting bodice where it shifts and mixes with the peony pink fabric beneath the sheer top layer that then flows down to end in that same soft pink—puddles around you, soft to the touch.

It’s finer than anything you’ve worn in a while and the corset you’re wearing now forces your back straight once more.

You’d forgotten how uncomfortable the clothing you'd worn as Queen of Broklin could be. It was a hybrid of both pleasure and pain as the soft fabrics felt cool and heaven in touch but the stiff undergarments to help you fit into such fine dresses were forcing your body to readjust again.

The attempt to slouch and lean back against your chair in search of comfort does not go unnoticed by your once personal guard. Now rehired as you have returned.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He worries, taking a step closer. His fists open and close as if he’s warring with wanting to reach out and help.

Everyone has been so attentive, so careful with you these past few days after your reappearance. It isn’t even so much that the clothing is too uncomfortable. The corset is tight indeed, but you were so malnourished when Steve found you again that your body had rejected all the rich foods that he’d sent for.

It wasn’t until Natasha thought to bring you simple unseasoned fish, vegetables, and plain water instead of wine that you managed to eat and retain the nutrition. Slowly they added saltier meats and seasoned vegetables and after five days of no missed meals, you were feeling stronger and more like yourself.

The only thing that weighs heavily on your mind still is your son. So much smaller than your daughter was at his age, or so Steve says.

Your husband cried into your chest for that first torturous night. Blissful yet painful. You were all so happy to be back together, finally you were all complete. The piece of yourself that you’d felt was missing had returned in you both, and still it was not enough.

It was excruciating to see your baby girl so grown. Walking, however clumsily, and talking. Her eyes when she sees you are full of confusion. There is no recognition there. Your heart breaks for the bond that you’ve lost.

For Steve, it was the sight of you and Joseph so feeble. So hungry for care and safety. The jumpiness that you’d developed once more having to watch your every step with Phin and the other village men who’d seen an easy target in an orphaned single mother.

He was devastated to know that you’d suffered the birth of your son alone. He hates to know that you fed on rats in your most desperate hours to keep your little one fed. It tears you apart to see him so agonized over it only to see that even through your efforts your son needed a doctor’s care.

Your body is not strong and because of this, everyone has been vigilant with the slightest change in your mood. Steve and Nat especially. Peter has been informed, clearly.

You meet his eyes and offer a smile.

“No. Not exactly. It’s been over a year. I must adjust again, that’s all.” You explain, refusing to give in to their worries about your health.

You feel much stronger already after less than a week. Your son is also more comfortable and seems to fuss a little more now that he has the energy to do so.

Natasha steps towards you, running her hand along the center of your spine.

“Perhaps I laced you too tightly? Once Peter leaves, I can adjust it and give you some relief.” She offers.

“I’m alright.” You smile, resisting the need to grimace again.

Turning back to Peter, you try to distract them.

“Why have you been tasked with the purchase of a sewing box?” This does the trick and both of them forget your discomfort.

“Oh, well his Majesty wishes to tell you himself. I will tell him you’re here and return as soon as I have what I need.” Peter takes a step back, the eagerness to complete his task pulling him away.

“Very well. Hurry back.” You smile at him fondly, a fond lilt to your words. “I have missed you.”

Peter nods, the corners of his lips turned up as he turns and shuts the doors behind him.

“If you aren’t feeling well, Steve will want to know.” Nat frowns, her hand still resting on your back.

“I’m perfectly alright.” You chuckle, reaching back to take her hand and remove it from your spine. “I would like to take a walk.”

You rise and despite yourself, groan as your body stretches. After so much time sleeping in a lumpy bed of hay, a soft plush mattress feels too firm and soft at the same time.

“Y/N…” Nat chastises.

“My body is sore. I’m not used to these soft beds anymore. They feel good when I first lay in them but after a few hours of sleeping my body becomes stiff. It will pass in time, Nat. I promise. I’m alright. Truly.” You walk away from her as you speak, refusing to be stopped and move towards your baby boy to tuck the blanket in around him.

His little crib is the same one that Maggie had slept in when she’d been an infant and your heart fills with warmth that Steve was right and that you would indeed have use for it once again.

Joseph shifts, his little fists flexing open and shutting once again as he coos then sleeps on.

“Will you stay with him?” You whisper, though you don’t need to. Joseph has slept through the worst storms.

“As you wish.” Nat sighs, moving to sit in the chair she’d placed beside him in case you’d wanted to sit down with him.

“If he gets hungry-” You fret.

“I’ll bring him to you.” She promises. “Go, enjoy your walk.”

You leave her in good spirits, feeling free in the safety of the estate walls after so much time spent looking over your shoulder.

Naturally, you allow your heart to lead you and you find yourself at the door to Maggie’s nursery. You can hear Samuel with her, his laugh mixed with her occasional little scream of excitement.

Slowly you open the door, pressing your hand against the wood to keep it as quiet as possible.

You spot them sitting on the floor amongst a pile of pillows that have been strewn across a large thick blanket. The windows on the far side of the room have been thrown open to allow a gentle breeze to cool the room.

Sam holds a luxurious doll made of soft fabric against his leg, his body relaxed as he leans against the wall beside a small shelf full of other toys made of wood and clay. There are other dolls too.

In front of him sits your toddler, her hands wrapped around a large green leg.

With a gasp you push the door open and stop to find Hulk sitting on the other side of the room taking up almost all of it. His arms are casually resting against his knees as your little girl giggles and reaches around to pinch Hulk’s massive calf.

He growls and she laughs again. Then Hulk laughs, and claps his hands twice shaking the entire room.

“Ha-ha!” He says with amusement in his eyes. “Princess laugh funny.”

You look to Sam, uncertainty gripping your chest and he rises then hurries to meet you by the door.

“Your Majesty.” He bows his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be alarmed, they do this often. He won’t hurt her.”

“Queen Flower!” Hulk shouts, raising his hand to wave then points down at your daughter. “Look! Little Princess laugh funny.”

He lifts his massive leg, taking her with it as she sits on his foot and hugs him tighter. As he drops it, she giggles once.

“Do thing, Princess! Make Hulk angry again.” He orders her and like an obedient puppy, she reaches around and pinches his leg again.

Hulk growls. She laughs. He laughs and claps.

The sight, while frightening at first, fills you with joy.

Your little girl has been happy! You’re so grateful to all of them.

“She likes Bruce too, but she and Hulk have this connection that’s hard to argue with. We can’t keep them apart for long.” Sam explains.

“I’m glad.” You nod.

“He takes care of her. When she cries, he gets upset and won’t stop slamming his fists until she stops. That’s how this began.” Sam gestures at them as they continue to play.

“She was crying?” You fret, watching your little girl for the telltale signs that she had been shedding tears.

“She misses Steve. She cries at least once every time he has to meet with anyone for an extended period of time with affairs of the Kingdom. They’ve been attached at the hip since you disappeared.

“I think he clung to her so tightly because he sensed you in her. He was happy to be with her but he knew that something was missing. We all did, only most of us assumed it was Margaret.

“Steve even insisted once that it wasn’t her and that there was someone else that should be at his side. But he went to sleep and we ignored him. We assumed he was merely distraught. When he woke the next morning, he seemed to have forgotten his theory and we thought we were wise to move on.” Sam smiles, shrugging his shoulders as he fixes you with his sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

You and Steve haven’t talked much about your time apart that does not involve the children. Hearing that he'd felt as lost as you had during your separation eases the small bit in your heart that still wonders if Steve is truly in love with you.

“It’s of no importance.” You assure him. “We are together again now. That’s all that matters.”

“Maggie, look who’s here.” Sam calls to her, waiting for her to exclaim in delight at the sight of you.

While you know better.

As you expect she turns to look at you, her little eyes searching your face for recognition and it comes slowly. It isn’t the recognition of a mother yet but she still releases Hulk's leg and with unsteady feet rises and wanders over towards you.

“Hello my sweet flower.” Your heart expands at least fifty sizes—no, a hundred!—as you squat down to be closer to her.

She stumbles as she reaches you but falls into your arms with a giggle that you echo as you wrap your arms around her and lift her to your lap.

She's still so small. A baby. Your baby.

“I was just about to go take a walk in the garden. I want to see all the pretty flowers that your papa planted. Would you like to come with me, little flower?” You wait as she watches your mouth when you’ve finished speaking.

Her own moves silently as she reaches up to fidget with her ear as she thinks about it.

You’ve spent as much time as you can with her these past five days and because you’re in her places of home—her Papa's bed, his presence every moment that he can spare, at his dining table right beside him, in the bath while he sits with her in his lap and the two of you talk.

You’ve bathed her with you and tucked her in. Kissed her cheeks and chastised her when her tantrums grew insolent.

You have made yourself a thorn in her side but a place to seek comfort too.

So, when she turns back to you and places her little hands on your cheeks before wrapping them around your neck, you are ecstatic.

Sam helps you to your feet as Hulk rises and grumbles.

“Queen Flower steal funny baby. Hulk hate Queen Flower!” He says passionately before giving a great hurumph and springing through the large open window.

You watch him go with your mouth slightly open. Maggie turns to wave as Hulk disappears and Sam shakes his head.

“Ba-ba-ba!” Maggie calls out after him, her little hand limp as she swings her arm up and down.

“He doesn’t really hate you. He tells all of us that when we take her.” Sam relays and you’re surprised to feel a wave of relief that Hulk is also just throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve left Nat with Joseph while he sleeps. Will you tell her to bring him down when he wakes? I’d love to have them together. She’s still unsure of him I think.” You’ve noticed your little girl is jealous when Steve holds your son and you want them to love each other despite their time apart.

“Of course. Enjoy your walk, your Majesty. I’ll send a guard down for you as well. Steve would not like you two out in the gardens by yourselves.”

“Thank you, Sam. Are you ready my princess?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been nearly four hours of warm morning sun spent with your daughter in the fragrant peony garden that Steve had built in the estate gardens.

Waves of pink sway in the sultry summer breeze and Maggie’s little legs falter as she inches towards you, her small fist rubbing sleepily at her eye.

She’d spent the morning running after you, giggling loudly before screaming with excitement. She’d fallen many times, then risen and continued the chase. You’d let her catch you and fall to the ground to embrace her before she squirmed from your arms to indicate your turn to chase.

Her adorable antics were topped when she managed to crawl underneath your skirts, painting the bottom her dress—which once again, matches your own just as they had before you’d lost time—green as she rolled around on the soft pea-green blades of grass.

When she tired you two sat in the shade of a large oak giving you a much-needed respite from the blazing sun. She was up after only ten minutes, however. Energetic baby that she is.

All the while, at the edges of the tall blue hydrangea and wine butterfly bush, just out of sight is your guard. Five men circling the outside of the long garden. Out of sight so that they do not disturb you and Maggie though often you catch them peeking over the hedge to catch glimpses of the little miss.

She’s just as popular as she was before you lost her.

Halfway through your walk, Natasha joins you with Joseph. A blanket spread out beneath the oak where she’d sat with him while you played with Maggie.

Stopping, you admire her as she walks towards you. She’s the spitting image of her father and when you’d once thought her lips resembled your own, you can now see that she’s turning into Steve more and more every day.

“Muh-muh-muh…” She mumbles, and your heart skips a beat. “Muh-muh…”

As she reaches you, she lifts her arms towards you, her little rosebud lips fixed into a cranky pout.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” You gush, ducking down to pick her up before you cradle her against your chest. She’s heavy compared to Joseph but you don’t care. You will suffer through aching arms to hold her close.

She immediately lays her head on your shoulder and wraps her arms around her neck again, her eyes closing as you caress the back of her head tenderly.

“Were you attempting to call me ‘Mama’?” You whisper, but she’s already asleep.

With her dozing, you move back towards the oak where Joseph lays on his back playing with his feet.

“Are you hungry?” Natasha wonders, already pushing up onto her knees and grabbing her skirts in preparation.

“A little.” You confess, but I can wait until Maggie wakes before we head back inside.”

“Would you like Steve to kill me for not feeding you?” Nat walks to meet you and then reaches to caress Maggie’s head as she stops beside you. “I’ll see what I can find for us. Will you be alright with them both?”

She seems to really be worried about whether you can handle your children alone and perhaps if you were at your strongest you’d be offended, but you take her words for what they are—love for you.

“Of course I can.” You assure her. “Maggie’s asleep.”

She tilts her head quickly, looking skeptical before she turns and leaves for the house.

As you approach your little boy who has taken to a constant cooing, you wonder how you’ll manage to put Maggie down beside him when you hear a call from the garden gate.

“Y/N!” He calls, deep but vibrant.

His voice is like a siren’s song and you stop and turn without hesitation.

Steve. Your heart is suddenly pounding and you’re eager to see his beautiful face.

As you turn to look, he’s already close, turning his sprint into a jog. His lips are stretched into a happy smile. His eyes are bright, blue as storm clouds, but happy to see you. No, ecstatic. No, he’s full of life at the sight of you, looking as if he’s just quenched a terrible thirst.

“I’ve been all over the estate looking for you.” He gives one long inhale and a quick exhale of breath as if he’s only just catching it.

Had he literally run around looking for you?

“I’m here.” You return his smile. “With our little ones.”

Steve’s cheeks blush a vibrant pink before he takes a half-step towards you and leans in, wrapping his right arm around your waist as he rushes to meet your lips with chaste but hungry kiss.

There’s a need behind his lips that doesn’t equate to desire, and you wonder what it is that he’s searching for.

For you, the press of his mouth against your own sends rapid flutters from your toes to the top of your head making all of your thoughts fuzzy.

As he pulls away, he places both hands on either side of your face. His thumbs are a gentle caress against your skin. His eyes devour your confuddled expression, a look of amusement turning his lips up once more.

“I missed that expression.” He tells you and embarrassment makes you huff a small laugh.

“You’re impossible.”

Steve chuckles.

With your greeting out of the way, his eyes find the baby in your arms then the one on the blanket.

Joseph has also spotted him and has taken to kicking in excitement, his little eyes wide and his mouth a small o as he spews out more goos and coos.

“Did my princess fall asleep?” Steve reaches for her, expertly taking her from you she doesn’t even stir.

“We’ve been out here all morning.” You tell him and with your arms free, you quickly move to Joseph’s side, grabbing him and sitting him upon your lap so that he might look at his papa with more ease.

It only makes him kick faster and you chuckle as he squirms.

“I think your prince would also like your embrace.” You adjust him again, a sigh of relief escaping you after your laugh.

It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. As he sits himself down on the blanket with you, he places Maggie beside him, stroking her chest to make certain she remains asleep.

“You’re tired.” He frowns but takes Joseph when you lean over and offer him.

He places him between his legs facing him, but when he whines and leans towards him with his little arms reaching, Steve picks him back up and gives him his all his attention while he waits for you to respond.

“We have been enjoying the length of the garden.” You explain, scooting closer to Maggie and moving the hair away from her little face. “Which reminds me, why was it that you made a peony garden even when you did not remember me?”

Steve turns to you, allowing Joseph to push against his lap with his little legs, then looks up towards the branches while he thinks.

As his mind wanders, you admire the sight of him. He looks regal in his short-sleeved cream-colored tunic, the neckline high with tan embroidery along the edge of the seam at the front. It leaves his muscular arms exposed, sinew shifting beneath the smooth golden peach of his skin as your son kicks and Steve keeps him rooted to his spot.

His hair is short once more, trimmed for the heat of the season but his beard is as thick as ever.

Brown trousers and dark brown boots complete his casually regal look and he has never looked so good.

“I don’t think I could properly explain it. The garden back home was full of them around Margaret’s—that is, your pavilion. I knew it as Margaret’s with my memory of you gone.” He fixes his words though you feel only the faintest of shifts in your gut of the old jealousy and resentment you’d felt at the mention of Margaret. “I had no memory of changing her flower for them, but I knew that the reason for it was vital. Then as time went on, I craved the scent of them. Maggie and I would spend hours in your garden. I think even she felt your absence. She was more peaceful whenever we were there where the flowers reminds us both of your pleasing scent.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself.

“What?” Steve turns to you, adjusting Joseph in his arms as the little one tires out and yawns. With his little head resting against Steve’s chest, he begins to drift to sleep. “Why are you always laughing at the things I say?”

You take a few more moments to let the laugh flow, then shake your head.

“I’m not. I’m just…I only began to use scented oils and soaps when I accepted father’s task to marry you. If you want a true example of what I smell like, think back to the moment you met me on the road just days ago.” You explain.

Steve thinks back, the small crease between his eyes deep as he tries to remember.

“You smelled like hay. A little bit like sweat and earth, but also like Joseph. But there was also the scent of peonies in your hair, despite what you say. Perhaps it has become engrained into your very being after soaking in so many baths with it.” Steve smiles, his eyes glazed over as if he’s thinking about it.

The shift of his lips is a little coy, and the pink tint returns with vibrancy to his cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?” You narrow your eyes at him, certain you know exactly what it is he’s thinking.

“I’m not blushing.” He shakes his head, a look of denial plastered across his chiseled features.

“You are. How can you think of me in the bath with our children sleeping right beside us?” You demand, your face fixed into mock shock.

Steve blinks, at a loss at your accusation because it’s probably true.

“What? I am not-I don’t-I haven’t-You don’t-” He sputters, flustered by your flirting.

You chuckle and refocus on your daughter, admiring the way she breathes as she sleeps while thinking with amusement about the amount of times you’ve bathed with your little ones since returning and Steve having joined you often.

“Your Majesties!” From the garden gate Peter rushes, one arm wrapped around a wicker basket, the other carrying a rectangular box sealed with twine.

That must be the sewing kit.

“That took you all morning.” You observe as he approaches then stops at the edge of your blanket and gives you both a quick bow.

“Yes, I wanted to be sure I purchased the correct one.” Peter explains, but Steve’s eyes are on the basket.

“What is that?” He gestures at it, then fixes his gaze on the young knight.

“Oh, Natasha sent me with a lunch. Cold meats and a few mince pies. There’s a jug of wine and a gourd of water in there for her majesty.” He holds it out and Steve takes it, placing it near you.

“Eat.” He says simply. “While you can do so comfortably with the children sleeping.”

He’s probably right. You begin to pull the food from the basket and portion it out onto two small wooden plates Natasha had placed in the basket.

“Where shall I put the kit, your Majesty? The den?” Peter wonders, holding the box with both arms now that they’re free.

“Yes, that seems-” He begins but then stops as the heavy sound of a guard’s armor approaches.

All of you turn to look in his direction.

Behind him follows a girl who looks to be about Peter’s age. Her beauty is undeniable though she walks awkwardly in the simple gray gown she wears. It isn’t anything fancy but probably the nicest dress she owns.

Still nicer than anything you ever owned before you married Steve.

Her hair is long, falling to her waist in a stunning number of braids. Her brown skin shines golden under the summer sun, her eyes a sharp inky black yet wider than normal with the nervous energy you can see flowing through her. Although her facial features are small, they’re also sharp, brows wide and angular.

“She’s finally here.” Steve exclaims, making to rise before he realizes that he’s still cradling Joseph to his chest and sits back down.

“Your Majesty, this girl says she is here for a job?” The guard offers, and gestures to the lovely young lady at his side.

“Yes, thank you. You may go.” Steve dismisses him and waits for him to depart before he addresses the girl. “Hello again, Miss Jones. You’re right on time.”

Miss Jones takes hold of her skirts and quickly ducks into a curtsy as if just remembering she should be doing so.

“I hope I am not intruding.” She says nervously.

“Not at all.” Steve nods. “This is my wife and Queen. You will report directly to her from this day forth.”

“What?!” You gasp, so surprised your smile vanishes. “Report to me?”

“I have hired Miss Jones to assist you with the children. She will be your second lady in waiting to assist you when and if you should need someone and Natasha is not around or has other things to do.” Steve says pointedly. “You shall do whatever her majesty requires but she’s awfully selfless and terrible with implementing her authority so you might have to read into her needs a bit more than I made it sound like when we met before.”

As all of you look back to Miss Jones, you find that she’s still in her curtsy, her legs probably shaking as she teeters from side to side.

“Y-you don’t have to keep bowing.” Peter tells her and she snaps out of it, nearly toppling over as she stands up straight.

“Right,” Miss Jones says, now standing awkwardly before she decides to give you all a tight anxious smile. “I will do everything I can to serve you with honor, your Majesties.”

Steve looks pleased and after a few more moments of considering the girl, you relax.

“Thank you.” You nod. “I will do my best to be as little a burden as I can be.”

“See?” Steve shakes his head and Miss Jones smiles a little more genuinely. “For now, I think you should rest. You must be tired after your journey. Tomorrow you may commence your duties but for now, Peter? Will you show Miss Jones to her quarters?”

Miss Jones curtsies again as Peter bows. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Thank you, your majesties.”

For a moment they both stand there awkwardly, waiting for the other to walk. Peter gestures towards the estate and Miss Jones seems to turn but is uncertain if she should. As he begins to walk, she gathers her skirts a bit so that she might walk beside him with steady feet.

You watch them steal several glances at each other. Miss Jones especially watches Peter with an uncertain but curious gaze.

“Oh, this is for you.” Peter tells her and holds out her sewing kit.

“Thank you.” Miss Jones says, taking the box.

“I can carry it for you.” Peter offers.

“Oh…” Miss Jones hands him the box again and they walk on.

As they reach the garden gate, their voices are faint, but you can just make out what they’re saying as they disappear through the hedge.

“Your gown is lovely.” Peter tells her, nervous for a moment as he offers the compliment.

“Would you like to borrow it?” Miss Jones asks, her face serious as she awaits his answer.

“What?” Peter stops walking, fixing her with a dumbfounded look.

“A jest.” She tells him, stopping too.

“Oh.” Peter smiles and nearly laughs but continues to walk. “Right.”

Miss Jones smiles. “Yes. It wouldn’t fit you. Your shoulders are too wide.”

“What are you smiling about?” Steve wonders, pulling your attention away from Peter and Miss Jones while he lays Joseph down beside Maggie.

You offer him a plate of food, shrugging as your smile grows wider.

“Life has a strange way of giving us just what we need when we need it.” You realize, looking at all three of the loves of your life.

“Just as life brought you to me, do you mean?” Steve nods. “Yes. Just what I needed.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader fic #steve rogers x you fic #avengers x reader #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #pseudo princess #daddy!steve rogers x reader

639 notes · View notes

emilyhufflepufftlk · 4 years ago

Text

A Cruel Game | Sihtric x OC

In celebration of @for-bebbanburg’s well deserved 100 followers.

Prompt: ‘being ordered to kill someone you’ve fallen in love with. How did you get into this situation and what will you do next?’

Tove, one of Kjartan's best warriors, is sent to kill Sihtric after he defects to Uhtred. However, her feelings for him get in the way.

Word Count: 2926

‘There are only seven heads! Go out there and tell me who is missing!’ Kjartan screamed at the closest guard. The poor man looked terrified; the last man that had been sent beyond Dunholm’s walls had been beheaded by a horseman sent from corpse hall to take all their souls. He looked like he was going to refuse but one look at his lord clearly made him remember that Kjartan was willing to inflict just as much pain on his men as any demon horseman. The great doors creaked open and the poor man scampered along the line of spiked heads, his eyes constantly darting to the tree line in case the horseman should return.

‘Sihtric, lord,’ the man shouted back. ‘It is Sihtric that is missing!’

Three days had passed since the heads had appeared outside the walls of Dunholm. Three days Kjartan had spent in a seething rage. Whether his rage was due to him losing some of his best men, his plans to finally get revenge on Uhtred Ragnarson having failed, or the unknown whereabouts of his bastard son, no one was sure. Tove thought it was probably a combination of all three.

Tove had known Kjartan her whole life. Her father had been one of his most trusted, loyal warriors who had been by his side since the days he had served Ragnar the Fearless. After her father’s death in battle when she was only nine, Kjartan had taken her in out of respect for her father. Kjartan was a terrible, evil man and deserved his title as Kjartan the Cruel, but it seemed to Tove that he had genuinely liked and cared for her father. Tove, on the other hand, Kjartan neither liked nor cared for, but he had given her food and a roof over her head, he had let her train and learn to fight, and he had prevented any of his men from using her against her will. Tove owed Kjartan a lot, without him she would have been destitute with no family to turn to; she may not like him, she despised him even, but in many ways she was indebted to him.

‘The bastard has betrayed me!’ Kjartan roared, banging his first on the table. ‘He is probably telling Uhtred about our defences as we speak! I should have had him killed ages ago, like I did his mother.’

Tove flinched. When she had first arrived, she had been terrified. Kjartan, thinking little of her, had told her to sleep with the slaves and that is what she had done. Sihtric’s mother, Elflaed, had cared for her the best she could, her kindness immeasurable. Her gory death had hit her hard, although not as hard as Sihtric, of course. They were a similar age, and although Tove wasn’t a slave she wasn’t treated much better; Sihtric had it worse, the cruelty Kjartan showed his bastard son knowing no bounds, but they helped each other through it. She had held him in her arms the whole night as he had cried his heart out after his mother’s death, and from that night on they had only had each other.

‘We do not know he is with Uhtred,’ Sven pointed out, the only man brave enough to dare to contradict his father, ‘why would he want him? He is nothing – a nobody! He would be worthless to him.’

Tove made sure to keep her face blank, she did not wish for punishment, but inside she was laughing. Sven loved to say that Sihtric was worthless, but he was a better fighter than Sven would ever be. Over the years she had known him, Sihtric had grown into a man and a great warrior. She was sure Elflaed would’ve been proud.

‘He is with Uhtred!’ Kjartan shouted again, giving his son a look that made it clear there was no room for argument. ‘The bastard has betrayed me! He must die!’

‘But how?’ Sven asked, never having been the smartest. ‘Uhtred won’t be taken for a fool twice.’

‘No, he won’t. That is why we will send someone he does not suspect,’ Kjartan snarled, turning to face Tove with a grin that made her blood run cold. ‘Who would suspect a woman?’

Tove was no longer the scared little girl who had first arrived at Dunholm. She had learnt that men would only respect her if she learnt how to fight, so that is what she had done, and now, nine years later, she was a shieldmaiden and one of Kjartan’s best warriors. This mission was not so difficult; sneak unnoticed into Eoferwic, locate Sihtric, kill him, and return to Kjartan with his head. But this was no simple mission. As she rode out of the gates of Dunholm, Tove’s heart was almost jumping out of her throat and she felt completely sick. For the first time in years, she was afraid. Afraid of what she must do. Sihtric wasn’t just a friend; over the years, as they had grown older, they had become far more to each other than that. In truth she loved him, although she had never told him that. However, her feelings meant nothing. She had given her oath to Kjartan, sworn her sword and there was no going back from that. She had her orders and she must complete them.

The only hope she had left was that Kjartan was wrong, that Sihtric had escaped and fled well away from Northumbria, but that hope soon disappeared. It hadn’t been difficult to slip into the city, especially under the cover of darkness, just like Tove knew it would be – people never looked twice at women, probably assuming her to be a whore. She had located Uhtred’s men quick enough and there was Sihtric, looking as handsome as ever. No, he was more handsome, as for the first time in his life he had hope in his eyes and a smile, a real smile, on his face. She couldn’t blame him for defecting; Kjartan had never given him a reason to be loyal to him and, by the looks of his men, Uhtred seemed to be a decant lord. But this changed nothing, Tove reminded herself.

When Sihtric stood and walked away from the other men, probably going to take a piss, Tove took her chance. Sticking to the shadows, careful not to be seen, she followed him into a side alley. She must have made a sound as Sihtric stopped dead still, even drunk his senses were better than anyone’s. Not even thinking about it, Tove grabbed him and pressed him against the wall, her knife against his throat. His eyes widened, ‘Tove?’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Kjartan wants you dead and he sent me to do his dirty work,’ she said in a flat voice, trying to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

‘You’re going to kill me?’ he asked, no fear in his eyes.

‘I do not want to, but I will,’ Tove forced herself to say through gritted teeth. She did not want to do this, but what other choice did she have? ‘Please, Sihtric, I don’t want to do this. Leave Uhtred and flee south, I can tell Kjartan that you must have escaped and ran. If I come back empty handed and he gets word that you’re here, he will kill me! You know this! You have to run! Please!’ She was begging now, her voice cracking from the emotion rising inside her.

‘I can’t,’ Sihtric whispered. ‘I have sworn to Lord Uhtred and he is a good lord, a great lord. I will not abandon him. I will not break my oath.’ Tove shook her head, her blade still against Sihtric’s skin, hating Sihtric for his loyalty, but at the same time knowing that was one of the things she loved him for. ‘Tove, you don’t have to do this. You can abandon Kjartan and join Uhtred. Join me! We can be together – isn’t that what you want?’

Tears were building in her eyes. That was exactly what she wanted but it was something she could not have. ‘I can’t, Sihtric! I have sworn to Kjartan, just like you have sworn to Uhtred! I will not be an oath breaker! I won’t!’

‘But Kjartan treats you no better than a slave! When you swore your sword, he swore to protect you in return. He is not a good lord; the Gods cannot blame you for leaving a man like that!’

‘He has protected me, Sihtric! Yes, he is a cruel, vile man. Yes, he has not treated me kindly. But if it wasn’t for him, I would be lying dead in an alleyway or selling myself in a brothel by now! Before he took me in, I had nothing! I am indebted, Sihtric!’ Tove sobbed, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks as she realised there was no way out of this situation.

‘So kill me!’ he spat.

‘I will,’ Tove spat back, trying to muster her conviction.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ came a deep, Danish voice from behind her. Before she could turn to see who had sneaked up behind her, a pain blazed through her skull and she felt herself falling to the ground, before it all went black.

When Tove woke up it was light outside, although it was unclear how long she had been out for. Her head was extremely painful where she had been hit with what she suspected was a blunt object. She was in what looked like an unused part of a stable, her hands and feet tied together with rope. Looking up, she saw Sihtric sitting not far from her, meeting her eye when he noticed she was awake. He passed her a jug of water before getting up and leaving her, not saying a single word.

A few moments later he returned with two men. She was informed that the first man was Lord Uhtred, and the other man, who was huge with arms like tree trunks, was another Dane named Clapa. It had been Clapa that had knocked her out; no wonder her head hurt so much. ‘I understand that you’re called Tove?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘The only reason you are still alive is because of Sihtric. He seems to believe that you might consider joining us. Help us against Kjartan.’

‘I’m sorry, lord.’ Tove said slowly, not looking Sihtric in the eye. ‘I’m afraid I cannot give you my sword nor my oath as they both belong to another. It is not for any love or loyalty to Kjartan that I refuse you, lord, but I cannot break an oath. I will not. And if that means I am to die, then so be it.’

Uhtred simply nodded in response. He and Clapa left soon after, leaving Tove alone with Sihtric. He came and sat on the floor beside her and took her bound hands in his. ‘He will not kill you; he respects you for not breaking your oath.’

‘Then what will happen to me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sihtric answered with a deep sigh. They sat together for what seemed like hours, simply holding each other close like they always did back in Dunholm whenever life turned against them. The spinners seemed to have played a cruel game with them, making them fall in love only to tear them apart. ‘You have always been there for me, always. When I dreamed of escaping Dunholm, it was always with you by my side.’

She looked into Sihtric’s beautiful, mismatched eyes. ‘Me too. I never imagined a future without you in it. I knew that the future was unlikely to be kind to us, but I always felt it didn’t matter how hard it got so long as we were together.’ Tears once again fell over the brim of Tove’s eyes. Sihtric reached up and gently wiped them away with his thumb. His hands moved to cup her face and slowly brought her towards him. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, the contact bringing all the emotions Tove had tried to bury and ignore for the last few days back to the surface. This would likely be the last time she ever got to kiss him, and she didn’t want it to end, but he forced himself way. He looked guiltily at her, like he hadn’t meant to kiss her. ‘I don’t know what will happen to you, Tove. I’m sorry.’ With that he left, leaving her alone with her tears.

A week passed and there was still no decision on what Tove’s fate would be. It seemed Uhtred had more pressing matters to be concerned with. She saw little of Sihtric and when she did, he barely spoke a word to her.

It was early in the morning when she heard a clamour outside. She could hear Uhtred’s voice calling a woman’s name: ‘Gisela’ – he sounded desperate. Something was happening. Something was wrong. She heard someone running towards her corner of the stables and a few moments later saw Sihtric panting above her.

‘You have to go, now!’ he ordered her, in a rushed whisper. He undid the ropes binding her hands and feet and pulled her with him out of the stables. They ran through small backstreets of the city, which she assumed was to prevent them from being seen, his hand still firmly holding hers.

‘Sihtric, what’s going on?’

‘Lord Uhtred has been betrayed,’ he replied, emotion clear in his voice. ‘Guthred has sold him into slavery. Lord Uhtred was protecting you, now he is gone, you have been marked for execution.’

‘Won’t you get into trouble?’ she asked him urgently. She didn’t want him to be executed in her place.

‘Everyone’s too busy in the square to be worried about us. Come on!’

They reached a small side gate, a horse held by Clapa waiting for them. ‘Sihtric…’ she began. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things she wanted to thank him for, but somehow all her words became caught in her throat. She threw herself at his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder to hide her tears. ‘I love you.’

He lifted her chin so that she was once again staring into those beautiful eyes. ‘I love you too.’ She grabbed the back of his head and brought him down into a passionate kiss, trying to convey everything she wanted to say but couldn’t into the action. ‘Now go,’ he urged her as they broke apart.

Tove pulled herself onto the horse and gave Sihtric one last desperate look before kicking hard and riding off into the Northumbrian countryside.

ONE YEAR LATER:

‘Every man to the walls! We are under attack!’ Tove grabbed her sword and shield along with all the other warriors of Dunholm.

Little had changed over the last year, apart from the large scar that now framed her face – a gift from Kjartan after her failure to kill Sihtric. Only the news that Uhtred had been enslaved and living a fate worse than death had saved Tove’s life, Kjartan too busy celebrating the news to bother with her too much. She had tried to keep Sihtric from her mind, but she had failed, finding herself thinking of him most days. She had thought she would never see him again, but she had been wrong.

As she ran into the courtyard towards the walls like she had been ordered to, a cry went up that there had been a breach – the enemy were within the walls. She turned, sword and shield in hand as she readied herself to slaughter the invading warriors but stopped still in her tracks. There was Sihtric, fighting alongside Uhtred.

A huge Dane came at Sihtric from behind. Sihtric was busy fighting off two other men and would be helpless to the new threat. Her feet began moving on their own accord, her body moving faster than her brain could comprehend. Before she knew what was happening, she was drawing her sword from the Danes neck and standing before a shocked Sihtric. More of Kjartan’s men came running towards them; Tove immediately moved so she stood back to back with Sihtric, ready to cut down her former comrades.

There was no time to talk. No time to explain how over the last year she had realised that she had made a mistake, that Kjartan was unworthy of her loyalty, that she should have sworn to Uhtred and been with Sihtric. All she could do was fight. It seemed she had made her choice; she had chosen to break her oath and kill those she was supposed to fight beside; but she realised to save Sihtric, she would do anything.

After the battle, Tove found Sihtric sitting alone just outside the main gates. The fortress bringing back too many memories for him to remain inside. Tove understood that. They sat in silence for a while, Sihtric’s hand in hers, their fingers laced together. ‘What happens now?’ she finally asked.

‘I go back to Wessex with Lord Uhtred. What will you do?’

‘I would like to come with you. Serve Lord Uhtred – if he’ll have me,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘I just want to be with you.’ Sihtric beamed at her and placed his arm around her, bringing his head forward so their foreheads touched. They were together, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

#rosies100 #sihtric #sihtric x OC #the last kingdom #tlk fanfiction

103 notes · View notes

kalinara · 4 years ago

Text

So, recently I found myself thinking about Teen Wolf, specifically the MTV show from the early 2010s. And I’m reminded about how fascinated I was by the Argent family in the first three seasons of the show.

I loved the Argent family for the same reason I loved the Lightwood family in Shadowhunters. In a lot of ways, I think they’re very similar. Both families represent people who are raised from birth in a system in which they believe they are righteous warriors, protecting innocent people from horrible monsters, while being blind to their own prejudices and committing some truly heinous acts in the service of their “cause”.

There are differences of course. The Argents are not part of a greater society, and do not have institutionalized power over the Hales or presumably other werewolf families (though they’re certainly good at exploiting human organizations and legal systems). The Argents are also very clearly villains, while the Lightwoods are sometimes adversarial but contrasted with more extremist villains like Valentine.

But both families represent a theme that I find fascinating: the way that growing up in an isolated culture of violence, hate and extremism can warp an individual and the ways that they might overcome it or not.

Honestly, Teen Wolf as a show was always more complex and layered than I think it’s given credit for. It didn’t always deliver on what it was trying to say, but there were a lot of interesting ideas.

So anyway, the Argents fascinated me from day one, because there were some very interesting layers. We had Kate, and later Gerard, who were the complete monsters. We had Chris and Victoria as more noble demons. And then we had Allison, who was the complete innocent in all of this.

And actually, it’s the fact that Allison WAS innocent that got my attention. Because that says something really interesting about Chris and Victoria. We know, at least in retrospect, that the Argent family are fanatics who raise their hunters very young. The little that the show told us about Chris and Kate’s upbringing is pretty horrifying. Gerard was raising weapons, not children. We can probably assume Victoria’s upbringing was similar.

(At least going by her death: she’d clearly bought into the Argent mindset by that point, even though she’d met at least one non-malevolent werewolf at that point.)

Allison was clearly taught skills useful for the hunt: marksmanship, gymnastics, et cetera. But they never told her about werewolves. They never told her about what they did. And until Kate’s death, they’d had no contact with Gerard. In their very flawed way, I think they were genuinely trying to protect their daughter and give her something better than they knew.

A lot of this didn’t become clear until Gerard’s arrival. Before Gerard’s arrival, it was easy to see the Argent family as a group of fallen Knight Templars. They’re extremists, but ones with a cause that might, once upon a time, been worthwhile (at least when we look at monsters like Peter Hale) and still possessing a remnant of a code of honor. Kate was portrayed as the outlier, based on Chris’s disgust at her deeds, and the willingness of Victoria and Chris to leave Scott alone at the end of the first season.

But then, in season 2, we meet Gerard. And it becomes clear that Chris and Victoria, with their antiquated code of honor, are the actual outliers, at least in the modern Argent family.

This doesn’t mean that Chris and Victoria are good people at this point. They’re not. They still hunt. They were still complicit in Gerard’s actions. But there are clear lines drawn here.

I remember being really surprised when Chris pulled the gun on Scott at the beginning of season 2. It seemed like a direct contradiction to his and Victoria’s resigned acceptance at the end of season 1. But then it makes more sense when we see Gerard’s arrival at Kate’s funeral. Chris and Victoria were probably never going to be happy with their daughter dating a werewolf, but if they truly hated the boy, they’d have just told Gerard what he was. Instead, they spend most of that hilariously awkward family dinner lying through their teeth.

I think Victoria often gets the shaft when folks discuss the Argent family. She seems to get labeled as the same kind of monster as Kate and Gerard, while Chris is recognized as a more complex character. I don’t think that’s fair. For the most part, Chris and Victoria are a united team, working on the same page. They both had the same potential to turn on Gerard and become a reluctant ally to Scott and the team. It’s just that Victoria went one way, succumbing to fear and desperation, choosing to sacrifice Scott to save Allison, and it doomed her.

Chris went the other, and he became an ally. I hesitate to call his arc a redemption arc, at least at this point, because I'm not sure I think Chris is capable of true remorse for his past decisions. He’s not really wired like that. He can recognize that the Argent code was flawed, and certainly that Gerard and Kate crossed the line, but I’m not sure he could ever really acknowledge how cruelly he treated Scott or the other victims of the hunt.

To be fair, I’ve only seen bits and pieces of the series after season 3, so it’s possible that I’m wrong about that.

So I don’t think Chris has a redemption arc, per se. But he does actively choose to become better. Mostly because of Allison. Because as terrible a father as he can be sometimes (and the Argents were TERRIBLE parents), he does love her and he wants to become the person his daughter wants him to be. And we see that best of all in that moment when Allison rewrites the code. CHRIS may not be truly redeemable, per se, but the family can.

At least until Allison’s death.

I stopped watching the show regularly after they killed Allison. It’s not that I disliked the other characters. They were great. Kira and Scott are adorable. Derek was slowly starting to turn into a character that didn’t annoy the shit out of me. I love what I’ve seen of Malia and Lydia’s development.

But my investment was in the Argent storyline, and that really died with Allison. Chris was still around, and I was glad to see that because he’s still my favorite, and he continued to be a willing and ready ally to Scott, which makes me happy. But he’s basically lost his narrative significance. There’s no Argent clan to be redeemed anymore, just one broken soldier with a tangential involvement in Scott’s adventures, who gets an unexpected happy ending with Scott’s mother. (which is an amazing IDEA, but as others have mentioned, there're a lot of missed opportunities with that set up.)

It’s a good, fun show, that I will sit down and finish in full one day. But I’ll always regret the loss of my favorite element. Oh well. There’s always fanfic. Assuming I can wade through the 16 billion Stiles and Sterek fics to find it. :-D

#teen wolf #chris argent #allison argent #gerard argent #i would kill for some good argent fic recs #that aren't 'petopher'#no offense to the fans but that one does not work for me

75 notes · View notes

idiots-in-black · 4 years ago

Text

Hot Take: Dazai and Chuuya are friends in canon (1)

I love all the Enemies to Lovers content when it comes to soukoku, I really do. But I will admit, I’m one of the few people in this fandom who actually believes that Dazai and Chuuya do not hate each other.

Now, before I start to explain myself - I don’t want to argue they are romantically involved in canon or that there is a chance they could be (though I wish I could). Also, I’m only talking about events in the canon timeline, so no talking about Wan, Mayoi or anything out of the loads of promotional content. That sadly means I don’t have too much to work with but we’ll see how this goes.

1. Chuuya can see through Dazai

I vaguely remember this being stated in an interview. But that’s not the basis I want to argue on.

Dazai is ... crafty. And manipulative. Was and is in canon. And on first glance, Chuuya seems to be fooled by that, too. Stuff like the comment on his shoes, for example. But this is small, innocent stuff, why would Chuuya even bother to think about it in more detail.

But we do see him more perceptive when it comes to the deeper stuff. The first thing Chuuya says to Dazai after his introduction (and a bit of bickering) in the dungeon is “This smells fishy. You may be able to fool the inexperienced Akutagawa but not me. I am your old friend, after all.” (Yes, that last sentence is also canon). The situation in Dead Apple is similar - he knew, Dazai was up to something and he was absolutely sure, Dazai wasn’t dead but had precautions in motion. Even though it is pretty clear they did not talk to each other about this beforehand.

Chuuya is not able to figure out all the details to Dazai’s plans. Of course he isn’t, he may not be as stupid as people like to pretend but Dazai’s brain is on another level. But that’s not the point - he may not be as smart as Dazai but he knows Dazai and knows when he is up to something.

I imagine, for someone this intelligent but also so guarded like Dazai, it must be terrifying to realize there is a person who gets you. And this is a topic for another day but I do believe, this can also be a relief. It can lift a burden.

2. BuT THey HAtE EaCH oTHeR

Do I believe they annoy each other to no end? Absolutely. Does this mean they actually truly hate each other? Absolutely not.

I’ve seen people arguing that Dazai and Chuuya feel genuine hate for each other and nothing else. This really baffles me because while this may be something they say, their actions contradict this statement pretty much with everything they do.

Chuuya had tons of opportunities to kill Dazai. He wouldn’t even have to do it himself, he could just ... not save him when his life is in danger. We have seen two instances in canon so far where Chuuya could have just left Dazai to die (Dragon’s Head Rush and the Dead Apple incident) but he didn’t. On the contrary, he literally risked his own life in Dead Apple to save Dazai even when Ango told him he was probably dead. You do not do that for someone you genuinely hate.

And I know, Chuuya says in the dungeon “if you were that incompetent, I would’ve killed you a long time ago”. But I don’t think he said this because he actively tried but because he would not have accepted Dazai as his partner if he was.

Same with Dazai. He literally has Chuuya’s life in his hands whenever he uses corruption. It would be child’s play to just leave him but he doesn’t, instead he comes for him time and time again.

3. Chuuya isn’t Odasaku

I feel like people tend to compare Chuuya and Odasaku too much. It’s easy to make that mistake since Odasaku is to this day the one person who is actually in text confirmed to be very dear to Dazai. But the thing is - you can have multiple types of friendships and this doesn’t mean one is better or deeper than the other. They’re just different.

And I think, this is the case here. We know, Oda was a good friend and very important to Dazai, this is fact. Chuuya is very different from Oda and his relationship with Dazai is also very different than Oda’s relationship with him. However, that does not automatically mean, that Chuuya and Dazai can’t be friends.

Plus, do not forget - Dazai actively sought Chuuya out when he got captured, he did admit as much. Sure, his main objective was finding information about Atsushi’s bounty but it is also canon he foresaw Chuuya coming there and anticipated it.

4. Together they can be the children they were never allowed to be

They met at the age of 15, both of them at a point in their lifes where they had to mature way earlier than they should have. We’re not privy to a lot of details to Dazai’s life prior to meeting Mori. But it can’t have been fun when you look at him and how at 15 he is already obviously twisted in an unhealthy way. We know a little more about Chuuya but while he may not be as broken as Dazai was at 15, he was pretty much alone with the heavy burden of carrying Arahabaki inside himself and protecting the sheep kids.

At that time in Fifteen and I’d bet even for a long time after that, they’re the only people in each others lifes close in age and of similar status. They’re completely equal to each other, even when they get promoted to executives (btw, it seems to me and there are still too many people out there who don’t know that Chuuya was promoted at the same time as Dazai (or maybe even a little earlier?) and Dazai only got the title of youngest executive in Port Mafia history because he is younger than Chuuya by two months).

And you can see them just being children together. When they’re playing in the arcade and nearly every interaction they have as adults just screams childish antics to me. Which leads directly into:

5. The Fucking Bickering

They are just so incredibly ridiculous. I just cannot believe, people acutally think they hate each other. They talk to each other like old friends. Well, with a little more violent touch but I don’t think this is surprising considering the environment they grew up in. When they meet in the dungeon, the first thing they do is bicker for 20 pages before Chuuya proposes a duel (who even does that).

Then they fight for literally 3 pages, before Chuuya starts taunting Dazai again with words instead of beating him up like he said he would.

Now we got through the general stuff, but I will get into more detailed scene analysis in the second part of this post (yes, there will be a part 2). Because even looking directly at their scenes, they don’t read like scenes about enemies. So stay pumped!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd dazai osamu #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #meta #canon material #headcanon #?? can you call it that??#anyways this took me waaaaay too long #but i wanted to get this out there #i hope i'll have the next part ready soon but no promises #work and my thesis are killing me rn

353 notes · View notes

sophieakatz · 3 years ago

Text

Thursday Thoughts: Marvel What If’s Women Problem

Welcome back to the feminist rant!

I really didn’t intend to spend three weeks in a row writing about the Marvel animated series What If…? But I wanted to see this through.

Last week we talked about this show’s abundant use of the “fridged woman” trope. However, a show doesn’t need to kill its female characters in order to fail them.

Remember that time I made up a feminist movie test? I call it the “Want Test.” You can read the full explanation here, but here’s the summary:

This test requires that a film (or, in this case, an episode of a TV show) has at least one named female character. After watching the show, ask, “Does what the named female character want matter to the plot?” Then, score the movie based on the answer to this question.

If the answer is “Yes, what the named female character wants matters to the plot,” then give the movie a checkmark!”

If the answer is “Yes, AND this is true of multiple named female characters,” then the movie gets a check-plus. If these characters help each other get what they want, the movie gets a check-double-plus!

If the answer is “Yes, BUT her wants are an obstacle to a male character’s goal,” then the movie gets a check-minus. The woman may matter to the plot, but her importance is centered on her relationship to a male character and how much he matters to the plot. Often movies with a check-minus involve a male protagonist actively trying to stop a female character from getting what she wants; while she has an impact on the world around her, the movie isn’t rooting for the woman.

If the answer is “No, what she wants doesn’t matter,” then the movie fails the test. Give it a minus.

Okay, now let’s talk about Marvel What If. Once again, there are spoilers for the first seven episodes of this show below the cut, and some discussion of the plot points in the movies these episodes are based on.

When I compare the first seven episodes of What If to the Want Test, they each barely scrape their way to a check-minus (though after my rant last week, I’m tempted to edit my test so that a show that fridges a female character automatically fails). In summary, it does not matter what most of the named female characters want. Each episode has a single woman whose wants do affect the plot, but what she wants is always some kind of obstacle to a male character’s goal. Even when the women of What If survive the episode, the male characters’ feelings are the primary engine of the show.

As I neared the end of Episode Six, “What If… Killmonger Rescued Tony Stark?” I said to myself, “Well, at least Pepper and Shuri aren’t dead.” But then, in the last minute of the episode, Shuri and Pepper meet and state their intent to take down Killmonger. And I said to myself, “Okay, so why didn’t we get THAT episode?”

Sure, it’s cool to see two smart girls teaming up, but they don’t get to do anything! This episode repeatedly puts Pepper and Shuri down. Every time they express suspicion of Killmonger, someone contradicts them. What they want does not matter. They are obstacles to the men, and they are easily pushed aside, and so all they can do is stand in the background and watch while the boys run around and play war games.

If your named female characters only matter in the last scene of the show, then they don’t really matter. This episode wasn’t about the women at all. It was about the men killing each other and making each other sad.

I really don’t want to say much about the seventh episode, “What If… Thor Were an Only Child?”

What I will say is, “Why, why, WHY is Dr. Jane Foster more concerned about hurting the hot guy’s feelings than she is about how the hot guy is about to cause the end of the world?”

And I will also say, “Why does Captain Marvel need to be nice to Thor at the end of the episode after he spent the entire episode being a jackass to her?”

And I will end this section of the blog post by saying, “Frigga deserves so much better than any man in her family has ever given her.”

The second episode of this show, “What If… T’Challa Became a Star-Lord?” might be my favorite episode. Mainly because it’s the only one I genuinely liked while I was watching it. It was fun, and I was happy to hear Chadwick Boseman’s voice one more time. Overall, it’s a lovely tribute to both the actor and his character.

But, for me, liking this episode required ignoring a big problem: Nebula and Thanos’s relationship.

We don’t know exactly when in this timeline T’Challa met Thanos and convinced him to give up on the “murder half the universe” plan. But we do know that even before Thanos collected the Infinity Stones, he was roaming the universe slaughtering millions. We know he committed genocide against Gamora’s people the day he “adopted” her, and it’s safe to assume he did the same to Nebula’s. We know that he raised Gamora and Nebula to fight each other, and every time Nebula lost a fight, he replaced a part of her body with cybernetics, constantly torturing her.

What If never tells us that that Thanos did not abuse his daughters. It never tells us that he did not slaughter millions, including his daughters’ birth families. But it does tell us that Thanos is Nebula’s father. And he wouldn’t be her father if he hadn’t been roaming the universe killing people.

In this episode, we see an adult Nebula who seems to think her dad is annoying, but any feelings she might have about how genuinely terrible he is – feelings she was freely willing to admit in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies – go completely unmentioned.

Thanos and Nebula’s relationship is played for laughs, like they just need to get over their past and hug it out. That bothers me a lot. It’s like the show is saying that Nebula’s pain doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thanos is sad she doesn’t want to hang out with him.

I should also point out that in Avengers: Infinity War, Gamora gets fridged. Her feelings are unimportant to the plot; her stated desire to die before she can be used as a part of Thanos’s plot is mocked and discarded. When she is murdered, the moment of her death is all about how it would hurt Thanos to kill her. Gamora’s death also serves as motivation for Peter Quill to sabotage the other heroes’ efforts to stop Thanos.

Gamora is nowhere to be seen in this episode of What If. The women that Thanos abused really don’t matter here at all.

I’ve been putting off talking about this show’s pilot episode, “What If… Captain Carter Were the First Avenger?” This episode was… You know, it was fun, in a very similar way to how the Star Lord T’Challa episode was fun. I can’t lie and say I didn’t like seeing super buff Peggy Carter beat the crap out of Nazis. That was a lot of fun.

But the thing I couldn’t stop thinking while watching was, “This isn’t Peggy’s story. It’s Steve’s!”

Peggy Carter may have gotten the super serum in this reality, but Steve Rogers is still the main driving force of the plot. Peggy goes to Germany to save Steve’s best friend. She works with Steve’s allies, the Howling Commandoes, instead of finding her own. Steve’s issues and emotions are central to everything Peggy does; she may say in dialogue that she wants to end the war, but what we see is that Steve is her motivation. In fact, he’s everyone’s motivation – in the scene where Peggy, Bucky, Howard, and the Howling Commandoes decide to go take down Red Skull, they all go around the table and say that they’re doing it “for Steve.” Not because ending the war is the right thing to do, not because they care about the millions of people murdered and tortured by the Nazis – but because they care about Steve.

When I first heard about this show, I thought that Steve was going to die, and that would be why Captain Carter would exist. The interesting/ironic thing here is that the episode pokes at the idea of fridging Steve, but it doesn’t quite have the guts to go through with it. Everyone thinks that Steve died on the train, but then they find him in Red Skull’s castle, and he’s totally fine! Killing off Captain America would have been an interesting, powerful new direction to take the story. But this episode doesn’t seem interested in taking new directions. It seems more interested in showing how things would stay the same even if Steve didn’t get the serum, even if Peggy switched careers from secret agent to superhero, even if Bucky never became the Winter Soldier, even if Red Skull decided to open a portal to tentacle hell. Things just stay the same.

And I don’t get the point of presenting us with a show where there are “endless possibilities” if things are just going to stay the same. If Peggy Carter will still be a side character in Steve Roger’s story. If Hank Pym’s grief still matters more than Janet and Hope Van Dyne’s lives. If Thanos will still never be held accountable for abusing Gamora and Nebula. If Doctor Strange is still an arrogant jackass. If the only realities we see are ones where men get to act and feel, and women get to be plot devices.

The truth is that the Watcher just isn’t interested in showing us realities where women live and thrive in their own right. For all its emphasis on how different decisions can cause dramatic changes to reality, the creators of What If have no real investment in making different decisions in how they portray female characters. It’s just more of the same.

I’m done thinking about this show. Let’s talk about something else next week, okay?

Be good to yourself, be kind to each other, and you’ll hear from me again soon!

17 notes · View notes

pebblysand · 3 years ago

Note

Obsessed with your writing as always, so if you feel like it could you answer please: 11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it? / 16) How did you come up with the idea for Giulia? (there's got to be a She Lives AU/Case Fic pls I'M BEGGING YOU) <3

aw, thank you soooo much <3! man, also those are two excellent questions. i apologise in advance for the long answers.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

so: the short answer to this is no. at least, not that i recall. it may have happened when i was writing fanfiction at a younger age, but i honestly don’t remember if it did. i have, however, sometimes amended things in a story after posting it, but it’s always been because of a flaw that i saw or something that i wanted to change, rather than something someone else wanted to me to change.

i actually regularly do that. if you’ve been reading castles from the start and have recently gone back, you’ll notice small changes here and there. but that’s just me suffering from edititis (which i have dubbed as the constant will to edit and keep editing shit until i die. if i ever published a book, i think i’d still feel the need to go into bookshops and scribble changes into them). in castles, though, i’ve never (and don’t intend to) change anything major. it’s a couple of lines, maybe a scene, small stuff. however, in my previous long fic, children (not potter), i went back a couple of years later and rewrote the whole thing. but that was because i wanted to do that, not because someone else asked me to.

this, of course, aside from the obvious ‘oh, you wrote “lay” instead of “lie”’ or ‘oh, you put two p-s in “apologise.”’ i sadly don’t have a beta for most of my work and whenever someone points out a typo i get embarrassingly annoyed at myself cause god, i spend hours and hours proofreading these and there’s always typos that get through the cracks. it drives me nuts. but of course, if i get a comment pointing one out, i’ll obviously go back and change that.

this being said, i don’t necessarily rule out changing something on the basis of a comment in the future, it would just have to be something i agree with. this is a rather complicated topic for me actually because i do have a knee jerk reaction to criticism which i think is maybe different from most authors. i’ve seen in the past a lot of people on reddit or elsewhere complaining about authors getting very defensive/angry at criticism. i have the opposite flaw: i genuinely think everyone who criticises my work is right. so, my knee jerk reaction is to people-please, go back, and change the thing that made this person unhappy. i’m fighting constantly against that knee jerk reaction, trying to trust myself and my narrative choices haha. in a way, i do think my knee jerk reactions is quite a good thing because it clearly means i listen to people and don’t think i’m better than them, but i’ve recently come to terms with the fact that it also has a downside. i very quickly question myself, think everything i write is shit, and lose the will to write. i have alluded to this before but there is a reason why there was a four-month gap between chapter 8 and 9 of castles.

the way i’m learning to deal with this is two folds: first, i try to remind myself that everyone is contradicting themselves and there is no way i can make everyone happy. in castles, i have people in the comments who don’t want harry and ginny to end up together. i have people who think ginny should be ‘punished’ for dumping harry in chapter 3, and people who don’t. i have people who love the foreshadowing i do and my use of time in a non-linear way, then recently got a comment saying that person hated it. so i try to remind myself that i’m the captain of this ship and in the end, i need to make decisions lol.

second, i also frequently go back and check in with myself. when i got a lot of criticism about harry’s characterisation a couple of chapters ago, i went back and re-read the whole thing to make sure i still stood by what i had written. and, i think, while i didn’t at that point, if i had come out of it thinking i needed to change x, y, or z, i probably would have. i think that’s one of the gifts you have in fanfiction: interactions with your readers and the ability to go back and change things you don’t like. so it’s not like i’d completely rule out changing something after posting, it’s more that i’ve checked in and felt there was no need. it doesn’t mean it won’t/can’t happen in the future.

comments and criticism do influence future chapters though. like, i’ll read something and think: yeah, that’s a fair point, or here, that’s a good idea, and take that on. for example, i think that had i not gotten certain comments, i would have written harry’s reaction to ginny’s letters as a lot less ambivalent in chapter 9 that i ended up doing. i might have reached the same conclusion in the end and it didn’t influence the overall plot, but criticism and comments do have an influence on future developments, yes. not all of them, but some of them.

16) How did you come up with the idea for Giulia? (there's got to be a She Lives AU/Case Fic pls I'M BEGGING YOU) <3

aw, jules. that’s also a very interesting question. so, for her i feel like there’s two things.

first, there’s her function in castles as harry’s work partner. i won’t lie, that was sort of born out of a reaction i’ve had to many other post war fics that always rang a bit wrong to me. in a lot of post-war literature, when harry joins the aurors, he’s just partnered up with ron. and i always felt that was weird because… they’re both newbies!! they need a more experienced partner, someone to teach them shit! and, so once i’d decided that, i sort of started digging into who that partner could be and what he or she could bring to the story.

i very quickly decided she’d be a woman. first because the only other auror character was robards and i wanted to balance it out, and also because she comes in at a point where harry is actually more comfortable with the women in his life, than the men. there’s a very weird post-war dynamic with the weasleys with a lot of the unspoken ramifications of losing fred, of everything that he hid from them regarding the war, as well as his relationship with ginny. his relationship with kingsley is … complicated, and at that point, he doesn’t really trust robards. he feels much closer to hermione (who is also on the outside of the weasley dynamic) and i just think that in a weird way, the relationships he has with women in that part of castles are a lot more honest than what he has with ron, for instance. so, i also wanted giulia to be part of that.

on that same note, the one thing that i knew when i started thinking about her is that she’d be honest, no-nonsense because at that point in the story, it was what harry needed. he’s navigating blind in the middle of a storm for most of the first half of castles and i think he needed someone he could trust and who would be honest with him. everyone around him is trying to protect him but harry’s always preferred having the information just laid out in front of him - i wanted giulia to provide that. it was also particularly interesting because, as he says himself at one point, she is the only person in his life who hasn’t known him for years, and who hasn’t been through it all with him. and, then he’s paired up with this person and told: you have to trust them with your life. and, of course, that doesn’t work like that. and so i wanted to giulia to be honest and no-nonsense because that inspires trust.

and then… there’s what every writer in the world will say, which i appreciate is very frustrating if you’re trying to come up with a character formula: she just shot off the page. i have no explanation for it. the main character who i had planned and for whom i had an extensive backstory was mia, not giulia. then, i started writing her with those two things in mind and she went from being a work partner who was going to appear in a couple of scenes to, well, giulia. that’s the part i can’t really explain. i remember writing that first scene where she meets harry in the patrol car and jokes about him trying to change his appearance and i was like ‘ohhhhhh who is this?’ giulia basically stole the show and wrote herself. i had very little hand in it. which, when you think of her character, is incredibly fitting. i had to dial back mia’s story (although, i’m now developing it for the next couple of chapters so it just got moved rather than deleted) because giulia just took so much space. it’s one the joys of writing where a character you thought would be minor just takes on a life of its own. and, the whole thing about her being gay (and sort of a player), and her slytherin past, and her relationship with harry all just became strangely self-evident. i wish i could say: ‘oh, i had the idea for giulia by doing x, y, z’ but it really wasn’t intentional. i had a baseline but she created herself.

obviously, then, she did end up filling a very important role of having harry understand that the guilt he felt over the things he’d done during the war shouldn’t plague him forever (‘you’ve done shit things, do better,’) but that was a role i gave her after she shot off the page, not before.

regarding her death, that’s sweet. i’m still sad we lost her. i was writing her for chapter 9 and just felt sad. this being said, it’s kind of hard for me to think of an au in which she doesn’t die because she always was going to die. from the very first time i wrote her, i remember i wrote the chapter from the moment harry meets her to the end of chapter 4 in one sitting. and there’s this line she says which is: ‘we’ll all die and fall into oblivion but you won’t’ (when she’s trying to get him to talk) and i remember writing that sort of instinctively, stopping and thinking: oh shit. she dies, doesn’t she? and, once i’d thought it, i couldn’t unthink it. it was set. and, i remember getting a tonne of comments from people who loved giulia at that point and biting my tongue because i knew, i always knew she was going to die. that too was self evident because in the end, harry has got to learn to stand on his own, she can’t always be there to tell him what to do. and, obviously, that becomes clearer after she dies, in chapter 9 where he’s just found out about ginny and he’s trying to figure out how to feel but all he remembers are bits of conversations that don’t really help.

and, like, she’s far from perfect. she’s impulsive and can sometimes be a bit too honest. and, while a lot of the things she tells harry about sexual assaults are correct, the way she teaches him also sort of backfires because it’s so prescriptive he feels terrified of doing the wrong thing and ends up, for most of chapter 9, doing nothing. and, generally, i tend to think she was the right person to teach harry at the right time, but her style of teaching would have completely backfired on most people. like, ron wouldn’t have taken to her. at all.

but man, i really miss writing her.

anyway, thanks again for your questions and sorry for the essays, haha. they were really good questions! if anyone wants to ask more, the full list is here and my ask box is open.

#asks #whathefawkes #oh and i forgot to add #i always physically pictured her as having a sort of southern european/mediterranean skin tone #but i hesitated for a long time whether i wanted to make her greek or italian #she was called hera for a bit #but i ended up giving her an italian background because i have more italian than greek friends #so while she is british born i felt more comfortable writing her heritage as italian and some of her turns of phrase #like she often ends her sentences with yes? or no?#and that’s something my friends do #cause italian often uses si and no as confirmation in speech #like i’m english you’d say is it? or isn’t it?#and then giulia as a name felt so #well emporor-like i guess #it fit her better

10 notes · View notes

thattimdrakeguy · 3 years ago

Text

Weirdly enough Red Robin is the series I’d be most scared to review, because for obvious reasons I imagine more than any other character it’s the Tim fan base (I won’t say fandom, because I feel like that gives a different connotation nowadays. and it’s a bunch of chill, un-interactive but very passionate, chaps) that follow me.

And I’d just get sooo many people giving me nit-picks, and telling me stuff I already know.

Cause I can say anything against Teen Titans 2003, New 52, Rebirth, and Wonder Comics stuff cause that’s the generally agreed upon stuff that you can complain against for Tim. Cause like, to not play dumb to it, this whole Bat-Family fandom acts like there’s freaking laws to abide by if you don’t want a bunch of batty (not a pun, not even saying not a pun in sarcasm lol) fans and stans down your neck. Normally involving certain characterizations or comics that, honestly, aren’t even usually the more accurate ones, but the contradicting ones that don’t make a lick of sense, and that’s not even talking about the straight up fanon ones.

Not to say I wouldn’t get why it’s the Red Robin series that’d get people to give me crap out of all the Tim stuff, because I do. It’s a lot of peoples entry to Tim, and it’s pretty heavy implications of suicidal ideation, and more so obvious mental breakdown journey across continents means a lot to people. I can get why, and if it wasn’t those characters in it, I’d think it was great too.

Also I know for a fact people would act like I’m just bias for 90s Tim, and point out Timmy’s in a teddy bear hoodie in my header. Cause it’s the most weakest defense someone could possibly make cause they’re lacking an actual point. Like they know everything a fucking ‘bout me, when they don’t, I’m just allowed to think my own stuff, and I’m allowed my dang comfort art, so blah blah blah. I’ve proved myself enough. I don’t need some random dismissive guys random approval or not, but man can it be annoying when someone thinks they’re smart about it.

Like basically put, it would be very exhausting to go through the many different series and years of comic book content to explain why I think the way I do, when all the other person has to say is “I like this series a lot, and it means a lot to me, it’s story about depression, and plus it’s Tim being at the button of his sanity so-- And I think this person is stuck on 90s Tim” cause like I freaking get it, and acting like cause I prefer a different Tim comic means my opinion isn’t valid, is the most childish thing ya can really do. Like I love 90s Tim the most for a reason, and I started reading Tim as Red Robin first, ya ninny.

But to just be honest, it is an incredibly flawed series that has overall, in the long game, soiled the character of Tim Drake, and directly influenced the New 52 and beyond depiction of him. Not to give Lobdell an excuse, I just find it really odd that people getting praising it as the peak of Tim content when it’s even caused some really freaking toxic fandom beliefs.

When some of the most important scenes in the series are so botched that it has genuinely made people despise other characters when I don’t even think they were portrayed well for that to make sense. The messy inconsistent writing as it went between two different writers causing some absolutely terrible characterization for Tim that isn’t even always consistent within the series itself because FabNic is just awful, and how forgettable most stuff after the first story is.

That first story I can understand the love for it. But people treating the whole series as a whole like it’s a great journey of long-term story development just feels like a real bad describer for it. Because to me by the end of it’s run it caused Tim to be put in the terrible spot that he’s only now escaping from little under a decade later. As well as only really starting cause people in the company didn’t like Tim and the characters around them as much as you’d hope.

In total, I honestly feel like if it wasn’t released during a time were the common tastes were very edgy and emo-esque, as well as around the time the online fandom spaces were only really then being formed in a way that was practical for casual interaction and discussion, and being the only series titled “Red Robin” therefore people seem to think it’s Tim’s variation of “Nightwing”, when it’s honestly not, it wouldn’t be a series that highly regarded.

I’m not saying the whole thing is a pile of shit, cause it’s also frankly not. There’s some powerful stuff in there, and some moments that really do hit super hard in ways that don’t feel superficial. Cause another thing people don’t seem to understand that when I say his characterization isn’t good in it, does not equal me saying “He is not the same exact character he was 15 years before the series came out”, it legitimately just means I feel they took the character to places that felt more forced than genuine, or just had him stuff that goes against what he’d do for the sake of just being edgy as if it’s deep, even during his circumstances and it created people having a false understanding of who Tim is at his heart, that made it incredibly difficult for Tim to get a good story for basically a freaking decade.

It’s a series I want to review because I have genuine things to say about it, but when ever I do say anything about it I feel like I see several sub-posts that are almost undeniably about me (hasn’t happened for a while cause I don’t really bother talking about stuff I don’t like anymore, cause life's hard enough, and I’ve seen the worst end of a lot of people from it) trying to downplay me, because they got defensive about it, rather than actually trying to process what I meant by things instead of just assuming it cause it’s touchy for them.

Like I’ve openly shit on Damian’s most popular series’, and accepted fandom malarkey, because I legitimately think they’re overhyped as could be, not that great, and only have the popularity they do through bandwagoning and going along with things. And I did that while knowing how defensive the Damian fandom is, and how quick they are to just leak out nasty assumptions or outright suicide bait you (yes I remember someone tried to defend me by suicide baiting someone else, but fuck them too, I never defended them or asked them to. idgaf which fandom does it. i’m clearly not on anyone's team. this isn’t a fucking sports game).

I’ve even straight up shit on pretty much every single Jason story except Under the Red Hood, while defending some Robin Jason stories, and I haven’t even got crap on me for that, which is honestly strange. Surprisingly just got told “Ya know what. Fair point. I can accept that. I don’t agree, but I can accept it.”. Which given what I have been shown of the Jason fandom I expected much worse, but they’ve honestly been really chill with me. Me and the Jason fandom has been actually some of the most pleasant interactions I’ve had outside my own bubble.

The majority of Steph’s existence as a character I’ve criticized and gotten crap on it, but honestly I found the response of countless anons going “YEAH MAN I AGREE WITH YOU” and going way harder on her than I ever did to be pretty dang annoying, and even more annoying cause people kept thinking I said stuff I freaking didn’t out of it. So every now and again people will just straight up lie about me to my face. Like you try to talk to someone that’s been preparing to talk to you by fighting an imaginary version of yourself. It’s pretty difficult if I had to be honest. Talking ‘bout bias’s like I didn’t write TimSteph fan fictions before I realized they weren’t that great and didn’t work, while realizing that I honestly didn’t think Tim was into girls in-general.

But, to get back on topic, with the Tim fandom it’s less like, open faced attempts to make you feel like a garbage human being, and more just straight up rudely dismissive as quite often the ones I’ve seen do it try to portray themselves as some calm knowledgeable unbias source of Tim knowledge.

And there’s a different sensation of annoyance at that.

Like what is the point of trying to pretend to be some source of knowledge and for a few comradery, while also being a dismissive person that first has to make others seem lesser.

And there’s some that I’ve seen do it that I don’t even think are dicks honestly, and have no problem with it, cause it’s just so innocently “I just really like the series and still think it’s good”. That I’d be confused why people would think I have a vendetta against everyone else. I’ve never been like, straight up offended more than once over the specific topic of Red Robin. But it is a thing that makes me like “I’ll get so many people giving me crap over having a different opinion for this won’t I”. And get some people trying to validate just being a bit of a fucker to me for no good reason.

So like, may or may not write a Red Robin review, but I might not cause despite quite a few people in the Tim fandom being quite chill about it, there’s quite a lot of people that are low-key toxic about it, and a lot of bad fandom things came out of it as well.

23 notes · View notes

ducavalentinos · 3 years ago

Note

How would you rate Sabatini's biography on Cesare? I love it, but I wondered if you had any other (English) recommendations? Also take a shot everyone Sabatini interrupts his narrative to talk about how hot Cesare was sfhttjjggj

I think as far as Cesare bios goes, I’d rate his biography 7/10. I have conflicted feelings with Sabatini’s work, because I love his writing style, his sense of humour is great, it matched mine right away, and he has such a genius way of pointing out the hypocrisy and double standards applied to the Borgia family. He cleverly shows how much of the Borgia myths and general accusations thrown their way are connected to politics (shocker!) and to their Spaniard, and less nobly origins. Not to mention how he exposes the historical bias against Cesare, and general dishonesty with him, from primary sources to modern historians such as Gregorovius, that paragraph Sabatini wrote about him was truly a moment in the Borgia historical literature for me, I'm glad he said it. I just wish he hadn't fallen so hard for the Machiavellian Prince archetype about Cesare. The more I re-read his work, the more it becomes clear to me he took Machiavelli’s writings about Cesare at face value, fell in love with the image presented by him, and then proceeded (whether consciously or unconsciously) to apply this interpretation, one that has its limitations and flaws on their own, to all the facets of Cesare’s character, and all the other aspects of his life lol, which resulted in this too strict, robot-like persona. There is no nuance, no deepth to Cesare’s Sabatini, he exists only as the stoic, unscrupulous, unfeeling Machiavellian Prince. It’s a mistake I see being made time and again by most of Cesare’s biographers, many who follow Sabatini too blindly, or just Borgia biographers in general tbh, but Sabatini’s bio acutely illustrates this particular issue better than the other bios I’ve read I think, (with the exception perhaps of Beuf’s “work”, who somehow managed to outdone Sabatini in this Machiavellian presentation of Cesare, taking it to new extremes with super dramatic and misleading writing, for the most part). And you know, I always get the impression Sabatini had his own conflicted feelings in regards to The Prince, and its clear-headed, pragmatic politics. He seemed to admired it and feel repulsed by it at the time. And those mixed feelings sometimes ended up leaking into his view and writing about Cesare and some historical events, and what he believed had happened (e.g., the take of Urbino), and I find that very interesting. In any case, the point is: Sabatini’s Cesare is unrealistic, and it constantly enters into conflict with what Sabatini also presents as evidence for his history. I mean, he insists throughout the book in reaffirming Cesare was a utter egoist, cold man. Only moved by his ambition and thirst for power. He was incapable of kindness, or of being considerate with others, of feeling compassion, without ulterior motives involved. All of his actions were always calculated to only serve his own interests. Everyone around him were pawns to be used and discarded when they were no longer of any use to him. We are to believe he was a cynic, a block of ice, essentially. We are also to believe he never had genuine emotional bonds with anyone, much less with women. Women were interchangeble to him. Sabatini was convinced he was a man incapable of having a sentimental side, of loving or of having any connection with them beyond the physical aspect. But then, in between chapters, sometimes pages, he also tell us how Cesare seems to have deeply grieved the death of his cousin, Giovanni Borgia, whom he refers as Mio Fatre in his letters. He gives an honest, if quick, account about the marriage and relationship between Cesare and Charlotte d’Albret, in which Cesare’s obvious feelings for her can be seen, as well as his kindness and respect towards her. Sabatini admits the evidence shows they may well have loved each other, and that when leaving Charlotte in charge of all his affairs in France, as the governor and administrator of his lands and lorships there, as well as his heiress in case of his death, Cesare shows “his esteem of her and the confidence he reposed in her mental qualities.” And of Cesare’s policies and behavior as its ruler in the Romagna, it reaches a point where his mere self-interest doesn’t quite alone explain his relationship with this romagnese subjects and many of his decisions. It undermines Sabatini’s claim that it was for show and for his political gain. Last but not least, what is one supposed to make of the hypothesis he posits to the what I like to call, the Dorotea affair? This event is the peak of his contradiction and his mental gymnastics, because to be sure, his hypothesis is not far-fetched. I will concede I thought it was the first I read his bio. But over the years, between carefully separating fiction from history and reading other sources, then going back to his bio, I recognized his hypothesis is one of the plausible ones, certainly more plausible than the official sensationalistic narrative of Cesare simply abducting the innocent maiden Dorotea out on a whim, to satisfy his lust, (the fact Borgia scholars are still repeating this narrative with a straight face is beyond my comprehension), I can see Cesare doing what he proposes, it def. aligns better with my understanding of him, and all the historical material I’ve read about him and his times, however, this hypothesis is completely irreconcilable with Sabatini’s Cesare. So, he says one thing, then he says another that’s incompatible with the first thing he said, and then proceeds to show evidence that either puts into doubt or confirms the opposite of his characterization of Cesare. And that’s only considering the historical info he dedided to include in his bio. If he had included some of the info Alvisi presents in his Duca di Romagna, a work he must have checked out, if not read it all, given one of the languages he spoke was Italian, and Alvisi’s bio is the best and most authoritative historical work made to date about Cesare and his life, I believe he would have struggled a lot more than he did. It just seems like he enters into a trap of his own making. Turning an already difficult task more difficult than it needs to be, honestly. Ironically, his stance is as messy and contradictory as the aforementioned Gregorovius in his Lucrezia Borgia, where you also have two Cesare(s): the one he sees and wants to present versus the one that emerges from the his own writing at times and historical material he himself exposes it. Overall, his work frustrates on some fronts, and I think it could have been better. It has its faults, some the typical faults/vices fond in Borgia biographies, others very much his own, but nevertheless I have a fondness for his bio which I do not share with others bios on Cesare, or the Borgia family. It is the only bio in the English language I find myself reading again and again, and the one I would put it first as better, or more decent, in this language about Cesare. I admire his honesty, and his bravery in challenging a little bit of Cesare’s dark legend, and the baseless accusations attached to his name. I appreciate what he tried to do, the very least of what I expect from a serious historian when dealing with figures as infamous in popular imagination as Cesare and Rodrigo Borgia. There is no denying his work was one of the main works which advanced Cesare’s historical literature, and the approach to his figure. Moving slightly from the literary, colorful, villain-like character of the Italian Renaissance, towards starting to be more seriously studied as a historical figure properly. And oh my god, yes, interrupting the narrative to talk about how hot Cesare was. It’s funny you mentioned that, because I don’t remember him doing that so much (time for a re-read!), but that's one of the characteristics of the Borgian/Cesarean historical literature heh. I’m yet to read a bio where authors do not feel the need to take a moment to talk about how hot he was, some even a poetic way lol, it’s so amusing, and always the one thing I know I will agree with them, if nothing else. Also, I think Borgia bios have huge potential for drinking games! Like: take a shot of tequila every time Cesare gets badmouthed for no reason, or baselessly asserted guilty of questionable murders, fratricide, rape, and abduction. Or when Juan and Cesare envied and hated each other narrative is repeated. Or when Guicciardini, Sanuto, Cappello and Giustinian are uncritically used as credible sources for Rodrigo and Cesare. Every time Lucrezia gets painted as the Good Borgia, the pretty, passive doll who was the helpless victim of the terrible Borgia men. Or when authors get uncomfortably shippy with the Cesare/Lucrezia relationship resulting in exaggerated claims such as: Lucrezia was Cesare’s only exception, or they were unusually close as siblings, etc. And of course, whenever Cesare’s hotness and allure has to be talked about dsjdsjsj, the list is long, and I think it will get you drunk very quickly. I know I couldn’t keep up back when I was reading Sacerdote’s bio, and I was drinking wine so. As for recs in the English language, I would say Woodward’s bio has its value in terms of sources and historical documents. I also think his analysis about politics, about Cesare’s goverment in the Romagna, and also concerning the conclave of 1503 are generally good. His last five, four chapters are the best ones imo, so if you are interested in these points I mentioned, it might be worth checking out. I would just open a caveat saying that as far as a biography about the person of Cesare Borgia is concerned, it is weak and to be read with a grain of salt. I was mostly unimpressive by his work on that front, and I thought about quitting time and again. He likes presenting himself as the impartial historian, (a big red flag that only makes me twice as cautious when reading any historical work) writing in a mostly sober tone, but of course like all scholars, all people, he has his bias, and they do come to surface from time to time. He displays an peculiar antipathy and ill will towards Cesare at times, which leads to harsh, confusing, unsubstantiated claims about his character and some of the events about his life. In contrast, you can see he is more benevolent and fair towards Rodrigo Borgia, and a constant thought I had while reading his bio was that he obviously chose the wrong Borgia to write a bio on. Had he chose Rodrigo as his Borgia subject, I believe we would have had a pretty good bio about him and his papacy.

#ask answered #anon ask #cesare borgia #césar borgia #house borgia in history #auth: rafael sabatini #long text #i thought many times about making this shorter #but as it is said: yolo djsdjsdjs #i have many thoughts about sabatini #and the influence of his Cesare in followers scholars' works #i also think he had an interesting mind of his own #and i think that's part of the reason why i love his writings so much #despite their flaws #so yeah

12 notes · View notes

scottfuckingreed · 4 years ago

Text

So wrong, It’s right - Montgomery De La Cruz

NOT REQUESTED

Warnings!: smutty and cute (exactly how I imagine Monty actually)

Can you admire something you’re a little afraid of? Is that possible or does that just contradict the entire point? Being the twin sister of Scott Reed means you’re in the jock group a lot. I’m around people like Bryce Walker and Montgomery De La Cruz all the time. I’m afraid of the power boys - men - like that have. And yet, I’m totally struck by them. Doodling around my notepad, I fade back into the classroom scene. Mrs Bradley goes on about how we need to be there for each other, and how to tell if our ‘friends’ are actually not okay even if they say they are. It’s pointless really, because it’s clear no one cares. It��s unfortunate. “Are you taking notes?” A whisper falls into my ear. I turn around to see an ‘innocent’ smile form on Monty’s face. “Why would I be taking notes?” I whisper back with a slight laugh. I’m not sure if some of these boys think playing dumb is cute, or they’re actually just stupid; probably both. “You just look like you’re taking notes,” he shrugs defensively and turns back to his area. I continue squiggling on my page until I feel a breath on my neck. My hairs stand instantly in an unknown way, sending shivers down my spine and a strange feeling in my stomach. “So what are you doing?” He whispers again. Rolling my eyes, I turn to him once again. “I’m decorating my page.” “You’re decorating your- what? Thats fucking stupid.” Sometimes I don’t get Monty’s responses. I know Monty is like that all the time. Rude? But why? The other’s are like it too. I just don’t know who’s genuinely a prick most of the time.

I wander over to Zach, who’s sat with Alex and he’s sat with Clay and those people. I don’t actually have a massive problem with Clay. I think he’s sweet. “Hey!” I smile when I get there. The response from Clay is a slight frown. Jess’ is a VERY small smile. Barely noticeable. “What do you want?” Clay mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “Clay-“ Jess laughs awkwardly. All I can do is smile. I get it. “Okay, I deserve that I guess.” I may have been involved in some ‘teasing’ back in the day when it comes to Clay. But that’s in the past. “I was just seeing if you were coming, Zach?” I shuffle my books that lay in my arms. “Nah I don’t think so, but you can join us if you want,” I love Zach. He’s a bit of an idiot a lot of the time, but his heart’s in the right place. Clay snaps his head very quickly at those words. “I don’t think I’m wanted here, but thanks anyway. I’ll see you guys around.” Walking away, I see Monty waiting for me. “Zachy staying with the pussies?” I roll my eyes and hit him on the arm. “Shut up, that’s not cute.” He chuckles and we walk to lunch.

We meet up with Scott, Charlie, Bryce and Marcus. “Where’s Zach?” Is the first thing Bryce, or anyone, says as we approach. “He’s with Clay and the other dipshits,” Monty laughs and sounds all cool and stuff. All I can do is roll my eyes. What do guys like Monty get from being nasty a lot of the time? “I think Y/N’s been flirting with me,” he adds, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in close. I imagine he thinks I like being this close to him. I grab his finger and drop his arm away. “Your ego is fucking massive,” I grunt with a smile. I take my water bottle out of my bag. “Almost as big as my dick,” I almost spit my water back out. Bad timing to take a drink. I get a poke on my shoulder, and that’s what does it for Scott. “Please don’t flirt with my sister in front of me!” He pushes Monty playfully on the shoulders. When I see Monty’s eyebrows raise, I know there’s something going on in his head. And his brain like never works. “Oh okay, I’ll just flirt with her when you’re not around then!” And a play fight erupts between all of them. “Alright kids!” Bryce pushes his foot against Monty, which makes both boys tumble to the ground. I swear the boys at the school are children.

Most of the guy’s had last period free - so they’d already gone home - leaving me to get home on my own. I finally leave the hell hole and bump into Monty. “Montgomery!” I smile, nudging my elbow into him. “Y/N, what do you want?” He chuckles. It sounds awkward or nervous, but that’s not Monty. Like, at all. “I was thinking... you could give me a lift home?” I smile innocently. He begins to walk, which his steps are bigger than mine, so I slightly jog to catch up. “Why would I do that?” His eyes scan me up and down. “Because you love me?” I stick my bottom lip out. The smile on his face only grows. He pretty much shakes his head until we reach his beautiful Jeep. I’m actually in love with his car. He doesnt reply. Instead he just stared at me with that grin. “Because I’m really fun to be around?” I ask again. Same response; he shakes his head. “Because I’m annoying and it’ll shut me up?” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says simply. All I can do is smile when I get into his car. “You’re so chirpy,” he laughs and starts the engine. “I know you love me,” once again, he shakes his head. “You wish.”

“Do you like what you see?” He smirks at me. I roll my eyes in a rush. “I’m not even looking at you,” I smile and turn my head out the window. I’ve actually watched every tap his fingers did against the steering wheel. I’d seen him nod along to whatever shit was on the radio. Not staring, but in the corner of my eye. Which I think is possibly worse. “I know you are, but it’s okay,” my eyes look back towards him. “I’m gonna have to tell Scotty that his little sister’s checking his best friend out,” I shake my head with a laugh. “We’re literally twins,” is all I can argue.

Monty turns in to the driveway to my house. “Thanks for that, Cruz-y,” he smiles very slightly at my words. Like, VERY slightly. “I guess it’s okay, but you definitely owe me,” I smile back at him and nod. “Of course, you can’t do anything to just ‘be nice’ can you?” I joke, chuckling as I open the door and hop out of his car. “Wait, Y/N,” he shouts out the open window. I watch as the boy gets out his car with something in his hand. “You almost left your phone,” he drops it in my hand. I tap it on his shoulder, and I automatically feel guilty for some reason. I haven’t done anything wrong, or anything I wouldn’t usually do. But I feel guilty. “Did you just, do something nice? For me?!” I drop my jaw with a gleaming smile. “I’m just a nice person,” he shrugs. “Well, I appreciate it,” I feel like I stand waiting for something that’s never gonna happen. I gazed towards the boy for what seems like ages. There was nothing to wait for. It was just awkward blank air. To break the silence, I turn and walk into my house. I’m not sure what else I was meant to do. I run up the stairs, excited to be home, and get out of my ‘nice’ clothes. Sweats and a bralette. It’s time to relax.

I set myself up. Pencils, my sketch pad, and myself laid on my stomach on my bed. Music on. Sometimes I draw from a picture, sometimes from my head, but most of the time it’s just doodles. Today it’s from my head. Just head with eyes and a face and everything. And time flies when you’re invested in something. “Wow,” is all I hear. I jump too much, shooting my head upwards and seeing Montgomery looking over at my book. “Holy shit!” My hand immediately goes over my pounding chest. That was not okay! “You could’ve knocked!” I shout, sitting myself up. “I did, you were just concentrating,” he shrugs and starts looking around my room. He picks up an ornament. I stand up, walking over to him and taking it off of him. It’s only when I get up that I remember what I’m wearing. I feel exposed. His eyes look my body up and down. And suddenly he’s in a rush. “Anyway, I just came to scare you,” and he leaves. Strange.

- A few days later -

A tight black dress. It fits like a glove around my hips, hugging my thighs nicely. This is an outfit that makes me feel like a bad bitch. “I know you’ve worn that dress just to piss me off,” Scott shakes his head as we drive to Bryce’s. Another stupid house party. Although I hate them, I find myself going to every one; enjoying myself too. “I don’t do it to piss you off Scott,” I laugh. He raises his eyebrows immediately. “I know exactly who you dress like that for,” which makes me heat up. Luckily my foundation hides the redness in my cheeks. I don’t even glance his way. I can’t. “Why is everything always about Monty?” It stresses me out that everything is about that boy. “Can’t I just dress up for myself?” I add, rather snappily. Here we are. Bryce pretty much has a car park in front of his fucking house. He might as well have ‘I’m a rich prick’ tattooed on his forehead. “You can, Y/N,” and he gets out the car. You can hear everything from inside the car, let alone walking towards the party itself. Pretty sure I felt the vibrations from the street over. “But did I mention Monty?” Our eyes lock. I swear he said his name? Shit.

Shit music, a load of half naked girls, and too many Varsity jackets? We must be at a Bryce Walker party. I don’t know half of these people here. But I do know Zach! I can’t rush over to him at the drinks table fast enough. “Hey!” I smile. “Y/N, dragged along again?” He asked, handing me a cup. The burning stench of whatever-the-fuck shoots through my nose with just one small sniff. “Jesus Christ, what’s in this?” An adorable smile spreads across his face. He’s so pure I swear. “It’s actually a shorter list if you ask what’s not in it,” he shrugs. I raise my eyebrows, wondering if the boy is smart enough to flirt with me. I leave it at silence, bringing the cup up to my lips. “Everything,” I look back his way. He leans himself down and gets close to my ear. The warmth of his breath does nothing to my body. “I put everything in it. Enjoy!” Is what he finishes with before walking away dancing.

I find myself dancing with everybody and nobody. The fun thing about a party is you don’t need to know anybody. Especially if there’s a lot of people, and you’re drunk. And since there’s everything in my cup, it’s safe to say that I’m a little gone after half of it. “Ah!” I shout and point, seeing a familiar boy across the room. “Where have you been?!” I shout ask. I think I ran over to him. Whatever I did, it happened very quickly. “Around,” he shrugs. And I giggle. What was funny, you ask? Absolutely nothing. But I’m tipsy and a little horny. “Are you drunk?” He laughs, taking my cup and sniffing it. His eyebrows raise, before he even takes a sip, let alone after. “It’s a Zachy special-” “Where’s your brother?” I hardly finish my sentence before he starts shouting his words over the loud music. “I don’t know,” my slightly drunken state is offended by his question. Maybe I’m just annoyed at myself, maybe it’s the fact that everything is about my brother, but it’s more than likely the fact that I wanna be flirted with. And he’s definitely not flirting with me. Rolling my eyes, I just turn and walk as far away as I can before stumbling and embarrassing myself completely. Completely into the arms of Montgomery De La Cruz. “Careful,” the slight giggle shocks me. It was..? Cute..? “Maybe you should sit down for a while,” I realise that I’m still in his arms, which is definitely the last place I should be, so I stand up ‘straight’. As straight and as still as I can be anyway. “It’s okay, I wanna dance!” Smiling massively towards him, I’m shocked when he actually reciprocates the happy look. He never smiles back at me. It must be pity. “You can dance sat down, I’ll come with you.”

I didn’t think I’d be spending a part of my night looking at the stars with Monty, but here we are. Well I’m sat on a sun bed, and he’s stood. The fresh air does a mix of sending the alcohol to my head, and sobering me up a little. Which makes no sense; I know. I’m just drunk. “Fuck, did I drop my drink?” Confusion hits me like a brick. So much so that I start patting my hips at the pockets I don’t have. Which also makes no fucking sense. “I took it off you- why would the cup be in your pocket?” He laughs, taking a seat on the concrete next to my lounger. “That’s cute,” as soon as the words fall out, my hand covers my mouth. “Shit, I won’t hear the end of that. Will I?” His lips press together, shaking his head slowly. “At least you’be admitted you find me cute,” I don’t even have the effort to argue. So I lay myself down.

Before I open my eyes, my head starts pounding. Unfortunately I remember quite a bit, if not all of last night. It’s effort to wake up. So I lay on my back. In a 3, 2, 1, I open my eyes to a ceiling. I might still be drunk, or my eyes aren’t working properly, but that ceiling doesn’t look like mine. “You’re awake!” A voice startles me. There stand Montgomery De La Cruz with water and a pill of some kind. “Fuck, this doesn’t look-” “I slept on the sofa,” and my heart, unfortunately, skips a beat. I lay a glance over to the chair. It’s small. “It’s comfier than it looks,” he shrugs, edging the items towards me. I don’t even know what to say. It’s... sweet? “This could literally be anything,” I squint my eyes at the drug with as much enthusiasm as I can in this state. “Don’t you trust me?” I press my lips together and screw my face up. “I do, unfortunately,” I shrug, and take the painkiller. “Good, lets get some food,” he nods his head towards the door. In my state? No. But I couldn’t turn down his offer.

“I’m curious Monty,” we walk where we can see the beach. Not on the sand, but the path very close. I’m not sure if he’s following me, or I’m following him. “Go on,” he smile, putting a chip in his mouth. Seaside chips are the best. To be honest, everything tastes better at the beach. “How did I end up in your bed?” I smile at my question. My cheeks blush slightly at the question. I must be broken. “Well you just passed out really, so I thought it was the right thing to do,” he shrugs in a very cute way? “Where’d Scott go?” As flattered as I am, Scott should’ve been there. I’m his twin sister. “He got with some slut-” I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry, he got with a blonde girl in a red skirt.” He shivers. A chuckle exits my mouth. “What’s that about?” A smile goes across his face, looking down. I’ve noticed every move he’s made since this ‘morning’. “Red’s such a slutty colour,” he says slowly. Is he weary of my reaction? “Tell me about it!” Only a moment of silence goes by. “Well, thank you,” His eyes lock with mine. “I respect that you didn’t try it on with me, because I definitely would’ve just let it happen,” without debate. Without thinking, he speaks. “I wouldn’t want it to happen like that,” my heart skips a beat. I see the instant regret in his face, but I can’t help but feel warmed by those words. Even so, he doesn’t correct himself.

I spend the rest of my day pacing my bedroom floor. Seeing as I woke up like midday, it’s not actually too long. It felt like it. An hour felt like 3. A knock goes on my door. Although I’m not doing anything, I felt suspicious. So I rush onto my bed and start reading a page of the book closest to me. ‘Twilight’. A classic. “Come in!” I shout. I expected it to be my mum, but it’s Scott. Guilt. Why? I don’t know. I didn’t do anything wrong. Even so, there’s still a feeling of guilt in my body. And it’s heavy. “You never knock,” I laugh nervously. “I wanted to apologise for leaving you at the party. That was a shitty brother move,” he shrugs. As much as I appreciate it, it feels weird. Does he know? I let a moment of silence go by before answering. “It’s fine, at least nothing happened,” looking back at my home screen, I hope that Scott leaves. Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t asked the vital question. “So... where’d you crash?” Now... I could lie. I feel like I could lie easily too. Only if it’s not a trick question. What if Monty’s already told Scott? Then it’ll look like I’m covering something up. Am I? Nah. “Monty took me to his, but I swear nothing happened,” I almost rush out. Scott’s facial expression doesn’t really change, other than look slightly relieved. “Don’t worry, I trust you,” there’s a pause. “So did you, like, share a bed?” Which makes me smile massively. Only my brother would ask such an awkward question. “He actually gave me his bed, and I think he slept on a chair.” Scott looks surprised. “That chair in his bedroom?” He asks. I nod slowly. “Hmm,” and he leaves.

I spend the rest of my day rewatching Teen Wolf. Let’s not lie, it’s one of the best shows out there! So here I am, crying at how beautiful Stiles is, and my phone starts to ring. Heart: drops. It’s only Monty. For some reason I’m nervous to talk to him. So I hesitate answering the phone. Just do it Y/N! “Hey,” I clear my throat lightly. For context, Monty never calls me. Why would he? We’ve texted on and off about stupid shit. Like ‘is Scott with you’ and ‘can I copy your work’. That’s it. “Y/N, how are you?” His voice echos softly through my ear. “I’m alright, what’s up?” My hair twiddles around my forefinger. “What are you doing right now?” Other than crying at a stupid Netflix show? Other than getting nervous about you calling me? “Nothing, I think Scott’s-” “I didn’t call you to ask where Scott is,” he chuckles *cutely*. His tone made it sound like that was a strange thing to say. Like I said, he’s never really called me before. Not to actually speak to me. “So, what’s up?” I ask again. My body doesn’t seem to know what to do. I go from sitting down, to laying on my back, to my front, to pacing the floor. All over the place. “I was- uh- wondering if you could sneak out?” He whispers mischievously. Eyebrows: raised. I gasp through the phone with a smile. Tutting at him, I lose the capability to speak for a second. I clear my throat again. “Monty-” “Just for a walk.”

Walking to meet Monty was insane. I don’t even know my intentions, let alone his. But somehow it makes sense. The sky is dark, the air blows cold. My joggers keep my legs cosy. My arms, however, were unprepared. I’m not cold though. I’m nervous. The uncertainty of this whole thing is driving me insane. The craziness is eating at me. And yet I don’t know if I wanna face Monty. But I am. He’s ahead of me. My stomach just can’t keep still. Even with him standing right in front of me. Whatever happens, will happen. “I thought you were gonna stand me up, Y/N,” his smile screams nerves, which made me more nervous. A guy like Monty should never be nervous. “I was hesitant to come,” he nods slowly. “But I’m here.”

The chat was just about stupid shit, funny times, and thick with ‘beating around the bush’. I should be paying attention to where we were going. The absolutely insane thing is I trust Monty. I probably always have done. Through the teasing, and the being Scott’s twin sister, I’ve always felt somewhat comfortable. He’d even given me just hoodie to wear. I’m not sure if it’s something to read into, or it’s simply a kind gesture. “Monty... why did we just walk around for like 30 minutes just to get back to my house?” I can’t hold it back anymore. I need to know why I’m here. “Why am I walking the streets with you half 10 at night?” He avoids my eye contact. I realise that he doesn’t plan on answering me right now. I stop in my place, grabbing his hand. His skin soft and warm. I wish he wasn’t so damn hard to read. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out with you?” Shaking my head, I smile at the ground before locking eyes with him again. This time his eyes stay on mine. Neither of us move. “I’m confused,” a smile spreads across his face. “I’ve been confused for a while,” my eyebrows lift in curiosity. A while? Is he confused about the same shit I am? “Explain it to me.” And he just starts walking away from me.

“Monty!” I slightly jog up to him. It’s wrong of me, but I just wanted everything out on the line. I wanted it written in black and white. “It’s hard to explain the fact that I’m pretty much in love with my best friend’s sister,” my heart drops, yet it’s full at the same time. Jaw; dropped. “I- what?” My hands cover my gradually growing smile. His face stays neutral. This whole thing is just insane. “I’m sorry, but I am obsessed with everything you stand for,” and that does it. I know there is an unwritten rule about your brother’s best friend. This makes me entirely shitty. It’s nothing I ever imagined. The silence on my end makes Monty start to walk away. “You know what!” Once again I grab Monty. “Fuck it,” this time reaching for the back of his neck and pulling him close. Our lips magnetise together. Ive never felt such passion and respect from a person. The unbelievable feeling of his fingers crawling to my waist was something I realise I’ve been missing. It’s just one long kiss, and yet it’s so much more than that. Unknowing, I have been waiting for this moment for a little too long. He pulls my body as close to his as possible. I should be considering the fact that Scott could just look out his window. A thought should’ve crossed my mind that this is one of the shittiest things either of us could do. My conscience shouldn’t be clean. Right now, this is all I can think about.

I feel like I should feel guiltier than I do. I was more nervous of Scott catching me than my parents. Scott and I have always been close. We’re twins. We will always be that. But Monty and Scott? What just happened between me and Monty was risky for that. Yet I lay on my bed staring at my ceiling; I’m smiling like a fool. The clock reads 23:39. Just sleep Y/N. I just kissed Montgomery De La Cruz. A simple, but so perfect, kiss. I can’t wrap my head around it, let alone the fact that he said he’s ‘pretty much’ in love with me. Like shit. Is he gonna regret telling me that in the morning? I hope not.

- The Next Morning -

Nerves and a centimetre of guilt pumps through my veins, waking me up at exactly 06:12. I usually wake up at 07:00, so I might as well shower. I know I shouldn’t dress up just because Monty pronounced his love for me. You know I’m going to though. A touch of mascara and tinted lip balm will be subtle enough.

“You’ve gotta stop looking like that,” Scott shakes his head at me as I jog down the stairs and into the dining room. “Scott! You look beautiful sweetheart,” my mum kisses me on the cheek and hands me a plate of pancakes. I can’t even think about eating right now. “She does it just to flirt with Monty,” a metal spoon hits my back. He scoffs. “I do not!” Usually that would be true, but today it’s not. My high waisted shorts sit perfectly on my hips, and my fitted crop top hugs my breasts. I look down at my outfit. I honestly don’t even thinks it’s that bad. “It’s not my fault Monty flirts with me,” I tease Scott. Is that even a joke though? “Fuck, you wish!” “Right!” My mum shouts. Definitely at the swearing. “Just get to school!”

There’s silence in the car. Not even the radio plays a sound. This is where the guilt starts to sink in. “We’re picking Monty up, could you move to the back when we get to his?” Scott asks, cracking the first ‘smile’ towards me today. “Oh I see how it is,” I grunt jokingly, and he actually smiles. I can’t imagine what it would be like if me and Monty carried on. If anything it shows that yesterday was a mistake and can’t happen. Too much would be risked. We don’t live far from Monty, so in seconds we were outside. It hadn’t even sunk in that I have to see him today. Fuck. Slipping out the car, we lock eyes. “Good morning, Reed,” he huskily whispers. His smile captivates me, but I just have to ignore it. Just like I’m ignoring the fact that when I slid past him to get to the back seats, our bodies scraped together: I thought, stupidly enough, sitting behind Scott would mean there would be no eye contact between Monty and I. Boy was I wrong. In the corner of his eye. In the rear view mirror. It would stop if I stopped looking at him... right now that seems impossible.

“Hey Y/N,” Jess smiles at me as I walk past her locker. Strange? But I stop and turn. “Hey, how are you?” I ask, watching her grab her books. “I’m all good. I just wanted to apologise for Clay the other day. He’s just a bit-” “I deserved it, don’t even worry about it.” She presses her top and bottom lips together tightly. “Thank you though,” I open my arms to hug her, which she surprisingly accepts, until I get a tap on the shoulder. Jess releases me. When I turn and see Monty, my heart goes from zero to a hundred real fast. Imagine a boy having such a grip on you. “Monty,” my voice comes out shaky. “Jessica,” Monty nods at her, and he grunts. “I’ll see you later,” she screws her face up at him and walks away. “She’s such a bitch,” he rolls his eyes. THIS is what I don’t like about Monty. I just wish that list was longer than the stuff I do like about him. “Anyway, can we go talk somewhere?”

Panic thoughts rush through my head as I walk out the school with Monty. What if someone starts gossiping about the fact that we’ve left the school to talk? That’s so fucking stupid. Why would people do that? I’m a little nervous. I’m actually a LOT nervous. Breathe Y/N. I take a seat on the wall behind me. “I wanted to know how you’re feeling?” He simply says. I smile down to myself. “You make this so hard, why can’t you just be an asshole to me?” I let out in a whispered chuckle. “Is that what you want?” He brushes the back of his hand against my arm. “What do you want from this?” My question just makes him raise his eyebrows, as if the answer’s obvious. Does he want a fuck-buddy? Does he want a relationship? Is he just trying to fuck with my emotions? I mean, that last one’s completed with flying colours. “You’re gonna hate me for saying this Y/N, but I honestly just want you.” If anyone else said such a thing, I’d tell them to get a grip. This is Monty. Bad boy image with devilishly good looks. The boy you love to hate, and hate to love. He’s not meant to actually swoon for a girl. Is that what’s happening? Holy shit. “I don’t know if that can happen, what about Scott?” He smiles to himself. His body places itself next to me. “This has nothing to do with Scott,” he shrugs. I wish that was true. “All Scott does is warn me to stay away from you. You’re his best friend,” hand goes to my knee. My naked knee. Please move your hand a little higher; no. “I know, but he’d get over it,” I make a ‘would he really’ face at him. It’s hard to believe that. My eyes gaze away from him for a second. I look at the sky and the trees and that school building. Monty’s eyes are the last place I should look. Except my eyes drift back to his in a second. Stomach; drops. He slowly begins to move his head towards mine. I want to stop him. I want to consider the fact that anyone could see us right now. Including Scott. In all honesty, his lips aren’t moving towards mine fast enough. “Montgomery,” my whispered words stop his in his place. My forehead fall onto his. “I’d risk it, for you.”

School is always a drag, but when you’re waiting for it to end it goes 10x slower. Once again, the rest of our people had last period free. This leaves Monty and I the only ones left. I should be avoiding the boy at all costs. But my hearts flutters when I see him waiting at the school doors for me. I can’t even find words. “Hey,” Monty gives me a contained smile, as if he was holding back. I’m already blushing. “Montgomery,” I say simply. He starts moving, so my body automatically follows his lead. I honestly can’t help it. Can you blame me? Have you met the guy?! “Do you wanna walk with me?” Walk with him? Fuck yeah. But we all know what happened on that last walk of ours. For some reason that only makes me want to walk with him even more. I can’t control myself... he must have a voodoo doll or something.

As usual, our chats flow too naturally. I guess we’ve always spoken, but I never realised how well we got on until recently. Have I been hiding these feelings? It wasn’t intentional. But I should be containing my feelings now. I should cut Monty off before we hurt Scott. I wish I could. “How do you feel?” He asks again. Fuck, I wish he’d leave it alone. “That’s a loaded question Monty.” He stops in his place. A thought bubble appears above his head. It’s only for a few seconds. Then he softly takes hold of my forearm, and leads me into an alleyway. This is it. This is where he kills me. Both of his hands go to my wrists, lifting them and pushing me against the wall. This is single handedly the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. His eyes just stare back into mine. We’re so used to just staring at each other at this point. “How do you feel?” He asks again. I feel like I want his body on top of mine if we’re honest. A smug look captivates his face. Can he hear my thoughts? I gulp loudly. I think I’m about to have a heart attack. “Y/N,” he whispers deeply. “Can you just kiss me already?!”

He’s seems almost struck by my words. As if, although he wanted to hear them, he wasn’t expecting me to actually say them. His eyes scan my body intricately, up and down. I could watch him look at me all day. “Monty... did you hear what I said?” I ask. The corners of his mouth turn up before he makes a move. Finally. His lips on mine once again. I’ve been aching for this moment for at least 16 hours since the last, and first, time. Only this time it’s not just a long, still kiss. Within seconds his tongue asks for access into my mouth. The angel on my shoulder makes me hesitate. This is wrong. But it’s so fucking right. The devil, and my entire body, screams yes. His mouth; warm. The massaging sensation of his tongue sends flutters in every place possible. His hands squeeze my wrists tighter before realising them. They move to balance on the wall. Mine go to the bottom of his tee and... I realise we’re outside. In public. Where everyone and anyone can see us. I break away from his spell for a second. It’s somewhat comforting to see him breathing just as heavy as me. My right hand goes to his chest. “Fuck...” I whisper. I lean my head on the front of his shoulder. In the most adorable way, he places a soft kiss on the top of my head. He can definitely do that more often. “Do you wanna come back to mine?” He asks. What a stupid fucking question.

Luckily we were only seconds away from Monty’s place. I felt giggly the whole 3-5 minutes. It’s like I was in a trance. I heard Monty say that he dad was at work, and honestly it’s all I needed to hear. I could think about guilt, l right now, or anything other than the fact that I’ve never needed or wanted something so much in my life. So he unlocks the door. Before we can even get in the building, I turn Monty towards me and jump. My legs wrap around his waist tightly as I latch my lips onto his. This time there was nothing stopping us. Slam goes the door behind us. The wetness between my legs only grows as Monty’s hands cup my ass cheeks. Squeezing slightly, I let a small, breathy moan enter his mouth. He grunts. “Fuck, Y/N,” he mutters between our lips. It’s almost like he stepped foot on the gas. I’m not sure how, but Monty walks us up the stairs whilst we make out, all the way up to his bedroom. Maybe I should be wondering how he’s so good at this. I couldn’t care less.

My back bounces onto the bed. Our lips stay apart for only a second before his body is above mine. Hands smooth up and down from my hips to my waist. His fingers crawl to the buttons of my shorts. He stops. “Is this okay?” He asks. This is the moment. I know, just by that statement alone, that Monty is worth it. It confirms it all for me. My hands cover my mouth in awe. “I fucking love that,” I pretty much squeal. “Monty,” I speak, holding his head between my hands. “This is more than okay, I need you.” His lips attach back onto mine, and he starts undoing my shorts. I wiggle and lift my body to make it go faster, but they just don’t come off fast enough. All I keep imagining is that this is a dream. This is too crazy to be actually happening.

Just as Monty’s lips go to my neck, I hear a buzz. Is that my alarm? No. So this must be real. It is, however, Monty’s phone ringing. Monty pulls himself off of me. I reach over, pick up his phone, and see ‘Scotty’ written across the top. 1. Cute. 2. Fuck. “Imma just ignore it,” he smirks, rubbing his body back against mine. I don’t know what comes over me, but I find the strength and confidence to flip us over. I smile massively at what I’ve just accomplished. Here I am, straddling Montgomery De La Cruz. Does it get any better? His eyes look shocked. “That’s so fucking hot,” he lifts his head to lock our lips. “Shut up,” I whisper against his lips. I slide my tongue between his lips and... a phone rings. “Fuck,” I grunt frustratedly. ‘Scott’ comes across my phone this time. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to answer it,” I speak in a panic. “It’s fine just ignore him,” he reaches to grab my phone. My hand moves slowly away, making his eyes roll. “He could put 2 and 2 together and make 4,” I say simply. Shit. Act natural. “Hey Scott,” the key is to not overthink this. I won’t think about the fact that I’m in a thong straddling him best friend. Or that Monty’s fingers are tracing pattens on my ass cheeks. “Hey, have you seen Monty?” Of course. What other question would he ask? ‘I have actually. He’s currently between my legs. I could pass you on?’ But no. “No I haven’t, what’s up?” I hear a sigh through the phone. Okay Scott, just hang up now. “Bryce is looking for him. Where are you?” I put a bit of pressure on Monty’s chest with my hand, as I sign to stop, but he does not. Instead he squeezes my buttcheeks ever so slightly. This sends a rush of pleasure through my body, and a HEAVY breath out my mouth. “It sounds dodgy your end Y/N,” he laughs. I can hear the nerves in his voice. I know he’s thinking the worst, and it’s actually a reality right now. “I’m just working out.” In my head I can see Scott shake his head at my response. You’d think, as a jock, he’d understand the grind of working out and keeping fit. But no, Scott is naturally built like an athlete. “Well, enjoy that shit I guess?” His voice is uncertain. “If you do see Monty, tell him to come to the house! Bye,” before I can respond, he hangs up. I think I did it.

I let out a deep breath of relief. “Scott said that if I see you I should tell you to go to our house,” Monty pretends to throw me off him, but instead he flips us back over. “You can go if you’d like,” I mutter, slowly sticking out my bottom lip. I’m lying. My legs tighten around his body. His eyes widen. “I think I’m gonna stay with you,” he smiles, planting his lips back onto mine. He continues to kiss down my neck, just like he was before we were interrupted. “Montgomery,” I’m not sure if I regret stopping him. Theres just one thing I need more than this foreplay right now. Eyes: locked together. Fuck. He makes me nervous. I feel like it’s my first time all over again. “Can you just, like, fuck me now?” I giggle. I hardly finished my sentence before he pulls himself off me to go into a drawer. A condom. To get comfy, I move myself to his pillows. To think, a couple of days ago I woke up in this room panicking because I thought I slept with Monty. Now I’m about to.

He rummages the condom on in seconds. I’ll worry about the fact that he’s clearly very experienced later. “Is this good?” He asks. I could make a silly joke about how ‘he hasn’t started yet’. But I know exactly what he means. And it’s so fucking cute. My hands reach for the back of his head, pulling his lips onto mine for just a peck. “This is perfect.” Eyes are locked together, he leans down and rubs his nose on mine. The palpating going through my body is concerning. And somehow, just when he starts entering, it feels real. This only probably ever crossed my mind once. I steady my breathing as he pushes himself further inside me. Not a virgin, but definitely not a slut. In my opinion anyway. He notices me trying to get comfortable and plants his lips on mine for one long kiss. Humming vibrates from his lips onto mine. I want this moment to last forever.

Breath. Monty stays still for just a second, and pulls his lips away from mine. His right hand sweeps a strand of my hair out of my face. I reach my right hand up to his face, caressing his cheek and smoothing my thumb against his bottom lip. “You are,” pause, “so beautiful,” he says boldly. It wasn’t whispered. It wasn’t a question. I could hear he meant it. Montgomery De La Cruz thinks I’m beautiful. Without warning, he starts to pull out. My mouth gapes more and more. You know that point where you’re on a rollercoaster and you’re waiting for the drop... that was the anticipation for Monty to start thrusting. I’m a mess underneath him. When he does start, I feel myself coming apart at the seams already. His lips go back to mine, my arms stretch around his neck to pull him closer. Our tongues dance around. This was a ‘finally’ moment. The steadiness of the thrusts was perfection. It wasn’t rough, but it was nowhere near slow. And gentle. Everything about this boy was gentle. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen this soft Monty. I want this Monty all to myself. And right now, he’s mine. I wanted, and I needed, him as close as I could. My legs probably couldn’t wrap around his waist any tighter.

My entire being wanted to hold on for as long as I could, but this boy has some serious tricks. I feel like I’m quite stubborn so I could hold off. Monty’s right hand smooths down my hip, down my thigh, and hooks under my knee. As he lifted my leg slight higher, I knew I couldn’t hold on. “Fuck,” I pretty much squeal into his mouth as he reaches my g-spot. My abdomen bursts with excitement. My eyes glance at him biting his bottom lip very discreetly. His lips move from my lips to the side of my neck. I close my eyes for a second to just soak this moment in. I never thought I needed to feel this close to Monty. The pace increases by 2x at least, and a long lost knot begins to form in my stomach. It’s as if my body can sense the boy’s need to release. I think we’ve both been waiting for this moment for a little longer than we think we have. “Please tell me your close,” his husky voice tingles my neck. “Oh my god!” I moan loudly as my climax... finally. Connected. We continue to ride out each other’s highs. Wow.

My head lays against Monty’s chest. I know this can’t last forever. At some point I have to go home. When my heart stops racing, I sit up. “Do you regret it?” Is the first thing Monty asks. I smile to myself slightly. I shake my head slowly. “I kinda wish I did,” I shrug and turn my body towards him and cross my legs. “What do we do now?” I ask with a nervous giggle. He just stares at me. I’ve never been looked at like that before. “Scott’s gonna have to get over it. You’re too beautiful to keep it a secret,” cheesy, but fucking cuuuute. “Shut up. You’ll start making me believe it in a minute,” I push his chest lightly. Monty takes my hand and pulls me close to him. “You’re beautiful Y/N.” It’s hard to make jokes when the most handsome person is staring you dead in the eyes. My cheeks heat too quickly. “So, I heard you kinda like your best friends sister... how’s that working out for you?” I whisper. He opens his mouth, smiling massively for a second. “I actually say that I’m in love with my best friend’s sister. You should get your facts right.” A grin bigger than my head itself forms. “Wow, sassy Monty’s got,” I tease. “I mean it, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” I open my mouth to respond, but no words seems to form. I gobsmacked. Most of the times when I say I’m speechless, I’ve still got shit to say. I don’t know what to say to that. “Fuck, Monty,” I whisper. I nudge my nose against his chin. “If it turns out it’s because I look a little like Scotty, I’m gonna be pissed,” I laugh. Once again, Monty flips us over and puts his body between my legs. He put his tongue between his lips, licking them very sexily I might add. “That’s just a bonus,” my mouth drops open before pulling Monty’s lips down onto mine once again.

#13 reasons why #13rw #montgomery de la cruz #13 reasons why montgomery #scott reed #13 reasons why scott #monty x reader #monty smut #smut #Montgomery de la Cruz x reader

217 notes · View notes