#but i always assumed that like… you guys must have safety nets? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

physicalturian · 3 years ago

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[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

- - -

Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? ��One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]

#tokyo revengers #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #fanfiction #writing #writers #physicalturian AO3 #physicalturian #deranged love #archive of our own #tokyo revengers hanma #tokyo revengers x reader

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actualdegenerate · 4 years ago

Text

I only have eyes for you

Pairing: Tanaka x Male Manager Reader

Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

Summary: how can you compete with the pretty manager he clearly adores?

Warnings: Insecurities?

A/N: I finished this at 3:30 am, so don’t judge the ending, also, the average male height in japan is 1.60 cm?? so i made the reader shorter than Tanaka assuming the reader is Japanese, sorry if you’re taller than him!

Words: 2 k

There she went, pretty as always, beauty so mesmerizing it managed to turn the heads of boys and girls alike. Black hair slightly falling into her face as she leaned to pick up the water bottles, gracefully as ever. You watched as she left quietly, disappearing from your vision as you continued with the net you were already setting up. She was mainly the reason you were here right now, having approached you after school, looking for a second manager for the volleyball team. You almost had a heart attack when you realized she was actually talking, to you of all people.

You ended up agreeing with her, considering that you had yet to find a club, and, yeah, even though you thought it was gonna be weird at first, managers stereotypically being girls but got used to it very quickly. Now your biggest problem with this came in the form of an overly excited bald boy who was not only in love with Kiyoko, but also probably straight.

And it’s not like the whole “same-gender” thing is a problem, you already had a questioning phase in your life that consisted of several awkward crushes and big realizations. Of course, some people knew, but you were not openly out yet, and the only person in the team that actually knew was Ennoshita, who was also your closest friend on the team, thanks, mostly, to shared classes. You couldn’t tell if he knew about your crush, but something about the looks he sent your way when Tanaka was teasing you told you he did.

Shaking out of your thoughts, you heard the rowdy first years arriving at the gym. After getting an actual coach and somehow getting a new manager, the team got bigger, and stronger along with that.

That was a problem. Well, no, it wasn’t, you enjoyed how alive the club had gotten with more members and all of that, but it made you feel more distant from everyone. You were the only male in the club who wasn’t playing volleyball and the only manager who wasn’t female, so naturally, it felt as if you were mostly watching from afar. It was always ‘the players’, ‘the cute managers’, and you.

Looking towards the team, you noticed most of them were already warming up, and everyone but Kiyoko and the second year pair was here. Sighing softly to yourself, you could already tell how things were gonna go. Nishinoya and Tanaka barging in behind your senior praising her like always, thanking Yachi for joining too, and making her talk and smile more.

“KIYOKO-SAN!!!” was heard from somewhere outside the gym, and you knew you were right in your assumption when she entered followed by the boys. Looking away, you decided to spare yourself and go get the manager notebooks and some towels for when they finish. You didn’t get very far, running into Yachi halfway there, books already in her hands, saying that Kiyoko got the towels.

“y/n-Kun, I was wondering if you'd let Yachi and I take notes for today? I want to make sure she learned how to do so last week.” Kiyoko asked as you entered the gym.

“Yeah, no problem,” you said, cause there really wasn’t anything else to say.

You looked around during the first break, gaze lingering over the tough boy that unknowingly had your heart. You can’t remember when you fell for him, but somewhere along the line, his loud, energetic personality somehow made you want to kiss him.

It's kinda funny, to talk about it like you didn’t know why you fell for him, not as it mattered anyway, as stated before, there is no way he could ever like you back.

And this is where that left you, looking longingly at him while he looked at someone else, someone who looks better than you ever will. That’s what you told yourself anyway, because, in reality, it hurt more knowing that you had no chance with him, to begin with.

So you did what you best know how to do, push them both away and hope your feelings disappear.

You walked away to spare yourself from watching him flirting and borderline worship her, you stopped hanging out with him as much, limiting interactions and avoiding him altogether. This, however, backfired, as you noticed that as much effort went into building a wall between your friendship, he put in twice as much to bring it down. Somewhat reluctantly, you accepted the fact that you might never be able to distance yourself enough from him to actually get over him, and his stubbornness and persistence to “save” your friendship only made your feelings act up.

Or so you thought.

...

To say you were surprised when someone after a match started flirting with you, a male volleyball player, at that, was an understatement. You felt your face heating up as his frame loomed over you in an attempt to be seductive, as flattered as you felt, being so new to the situation, your brain barely gave you time to react before there was a muscular back in front of you and a boy with a shaved head “protecting” you.

---

Now, Tanaka, despite being angry and rough around the edges, cared deeply about all his friends, and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand what he had done to push you away. He wasn't the only one that realized how averse you were to be around him and everyone on the team wondered what had he done to hurt you so much. Hell, he had spent more than one sleepless night wracking his brain thinking about what he did to be able to apologize properly, hitting nothing but dead-ends.

He never before has felt so absolutely horrible after the thought of losing someone as close as you were, he didn't even think about how important you were to him until recently and now his drive to spend more time with you turned into painful brooding over how your relationship looked like it wasn't going to last.

Rubbing his eyes, trying to dismiss the tears threatening to appear, he focused on the situation at hand.

The match against Kakugawa was harder than what they initially expected, but now it was over and done and all that was left was to wait for Kiyoko and Hinata to return. Turning around to Noya for a bit of distraction he noticed out of the corner of his eye the way someone was crowding you, eyes cast down and body slightly shifting.

He did not know what came over him, but suddenly the only thought in his mind was making him go away and bringing you back to safety next to him. Body acting on his own, he didn't even realize he moved until after coming between you two, body and mind on autopilot as he dragged you back to the group by the wrist.

Only after reaching the rest of the team, did he stop to look at you, small, disheveled, and faintly trembling, holding onto his arm. Your eyes met and his heart sped up.

“You okay? Y/N?” he asked, trying to play smooth.

“Why did- why did you do that?”

“Well, I couldn’t let our cutest manager be hit on like that!” he said as if it was the obvious answer, paying attention to the way your eyes widened and your breath stuttered.

Before you could say anything, Kiyoko and Hinata had returned with Hinata's bento box, meaning the end of your conversation.

you returned to your house that night with butterflies that didn’t seem to want to leave tasting bitter in your mouth as you wondered what had happened and hoped it meant more, knowing you were just feeding yourself with lies as you looked at your wrist where he had grabbed you.

Tanaka was doing no better, grabbing his head- at the lack of hair to pull- while tossing and turning, thoughts plagued with the way his stomach stirred when you were clinging to his arm earlier and how you fit next to him like matching puzzle pieces.

He didn’t understand exactly what it meant, Saeko had talked about the word ‘bisexual’ with him but he wasn’t really paying attention, he was more focused on his past stupidity. He had known for a while that he and Kiyoko might never work out, getting over her fairly quickly during his first year. His fawning nowadays was mostly to keep appearances and, don’t get him wrong, he still thought she was beautiful and amazing, it was more a matter of him no longer having romantic feelings towards her. Now it was as if he had gotten punched in the gut with feelings that he didn’t know were there, a crush that was a bit too big and no idea if it was mutual.

Without knowing who to turn to for help, seeing as Saeko had helped him figure his own stuff up, but hadn’t spent enough time around you to help him with that, he went to the only other people he could think of. And that's how the next afternoon Ennoshita was dragged to his house by Nishinoya and him, trying to avoid you after practice so that there were no suspicions nor hurt feelings.

Both of his friends, after yelling at him because “We thought you knew about your feelings??” Made him write you the neatest note he could, asking you to meet him after school the next day at ‘your usual spot’, which was just a tree that you guys sit under most days during lunchtime.

So, the following morning, you found yourself staring at a card that looked like it was written by a kid with how shaky the letters were, but had the unmistakable handwriting of a certain trouble-maker that left you tongue-tied.

Hours dragged by, and only after what must have been an eternity, were you able to almost run over to the tree, knowing there wasn’t much time left, the club leaving you barely with ten minutes.

You missed his arrival mostly because you were distracted by the letter, but refused to look up once you noticed him, fearing you might give away how nervous you were due to his proximity.

“Hey so, I- I kinda realized that, after being friends for a while, I might like you? As in, more than friends. I don't know why I'm telling you this, I don't even know if you like boys like that? Noya and Ennoshita kind of convinced me to do this out of the blue"

As shocked as you were from his words, which weren't really registering in your brain, the somersaults your heart was doing inside your chest urged you to give some sort of reaction.

“Well, I don't know, maybe if you feel a similar way we could, go out sometime? hopefully? I totally understand if you don't though, and I certainly would like to keep being friends either way, so, um, yeah."

Your heart melted upon seeing Tanaka's flushed face, hand rubbing his neck as he gently rocked back and forth, not being able to look at you properly. Thanking whatever god may be listening, in an outburst of excitement, you threw your arms around him in a hug, almost tackling him to the ground in the process.

“I always thought you liked Kiyoko,” you said, muffled from the place your head had taken, buried in his chest. You could feel his boisterous laugh enveloping you into such a safe space, you doubted you’d ever want to leave.

“I mean, I used to like her, but I don’t think I see her as anything other than a friend after all, plus, why would I like her when I have the cutest manager with me right now.” He said, placing a soft kiss on the forehead, that truly made you wonder how you could be so blind in the beginning as to not notice the oblivious volleyball player’s clear feelings towards you, but hey, at least you weren’t the only one.

#tanaka #tanaka ryuunosuke #haikyuu tanaka #haikyuu male reader #haikyuu x manager reader #karasuno #tanaka x reader #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #reader insert #male reader

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

Note

Okay that "Love,Right?" oneshot was wonderful but now you've got me obsessed with wondering how all the boys would fight for Mari's attention and all trying to date her omg

On an off note, I hope this came out alright. I really wanted to answer your ask but I’m running on low fumes rn. Loved thinking about this too though! I would love to read a more thought out fic, but I have to imagine it would go something like this

I could totally imagine like them all being relatively close in age. Like let’s say,

Dick 23

Jason 21

Tim 20

Mari 18

Damian 17

And Mari is almost done with her last year of lycee so she is in uber done mode until the batboys show up in Paris conveniently at the same time that the Wayne boys show up to scout out a potential new business partner.

She first meets Dick at the gymnasium that Chloe’s father had built for her when she went through a gymnastics phase but soon opened it to the public after she had moved on to whatever interested her next. Marinette is there to practice swinging mid-air to move faster in battle and what better way to do that than over a safety net 40 feet in the air?

Anywho, Dick is just arriving to blow off some steam after a particularly long day of negotiating. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the Hawkmoth mission and the need for a cover, he would’ve abandoned Tim ages ago. He finished locking up his stuff and when he moves into the acrobat section that is always empty, he isn’t sure whether to be impressed or disappointed that someone is there first. She looked nervous as she finished tying her hair into a high ponytail, her eyes calculating as if she was debating if she could make the first jump.

He wants to tell her that there is an easier way to mount, but his curiosity gets the better of him. With one last look, she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. Without warning, she takes off down the short walkway launching her whole body into the air. Dick is sure she’s going to fall, but at the last minute she reaches out, her hand grasping the bar as she uses her momentum to flip upward, landing gracefully on top of the swinging trapeze.

Dick couldn’t help his cheers. Her eyes widened as she realized someone else was watching her and in what felt like slow motion, she lost her balance and fell onto the net below. Dick rushes over to make sure she’s okay, apologizing a million times a minute. They introduce each other and it’s like an instant connection. They spend the rest of the afternoon trying new techniques and helping each other improve their own techniques.

When Dick returns to the hotel that night, he can’t help the fact that her first swing was stuck on replay in his mind. The next day, he rushes over to the gym only to find her there again. This time, he’s determined to get her number, and surprisingly (to him) he succeeds. They spend the night trading funny memes and tiktoks. After a couple of weeks, Dick decides to try and ask her on a date. They were already close friends, I mean she trusted him enough not to drop her from forty feet in the air, that meant she trusted him right?

He shows up with a giant bouquet of roses only to receive a text message that she couldn’t make it that day. While it was a setback, it didn’t mean he was going to give up. He would show up with a bouquet of roses every day until she was there to receive them. And only then would he ask her on a date, because I can totally believe that he wouldn’t want to do it over text. It’s in-person or not at all.

The second Wayne she meets is Jason.

Muggings in Paris weren’t common with Ladybug and Chat Noir around, but it seemed to be Marinette’s lucky day as some guy just decided that a high school girl had enough money in her little purse to steal. As he backed her down an alleyway, a small hand knife pointed at her, Marinette was considering her options.

She could always try to run. After all, the guy was big and bulky, it would be hard for him to keep up with her and she doubted he wanted her bag enough to actually put up a fight. Just as she was eyeing an opening, a small sound echoed through the alleyway, one she was quite familiar with. The guy’s face looked mortified as he turned slowly to face his attacker.

The man said something in a hushed tone to the guy that Marinette couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was though, it was enough for her would-be assailant to book it out of the alleyway without a glance back. Assessing her newest threat, Marinette decided that this guy was more punk than thug. She was safe for now.

He asked her if she was okay and if she needed anything as he adjusted his gun back into his waistband. Marinette was fine, but she was curious as to how he smuggled a gun into France.

“Ah. My American accent give me away Princess?”

His french was flawless, but it was clear that he wasn’t from the area. He joked that his adopted father was rich enough for the national security to look past it. At least, she was pretty sure he was joking.

He asks if they can grab something to eat, just because a pretty girl like her shouldn’t go hungry. Marinette is tempted to decline, but her curiosity gets the better of her. They end up going to a small diner near her parent’s bakery where they spend the night flirting shamelessly, both tinging their compliments with enough sarcasm and insults that the people around them couldn’t tell if they were together or if they were related.

Exchanging numbers, the two continued to meet up for weekly dinners at that same diner as they bond over hating people and insulting/admiring each other. When Jason finally realizes his flirting may have shifted from mocking to an actual crush, he's conflicted. It’s just a couple months, at most a year in Paris, but would that really be a reason not to try? He starts bringing her small gifts to the dinners, starting out small like her favorite dessert or small rocks that reminded him of her, but he soon gets more elaborate like bringing her his favorite books to borrow and throwing in a new set of threads for her sewing machine.

He hopes that when she looks at the small gifts that she’ll start associating him with the things that make her happy and just maybe, she’ll fall for him too.

I think you guys already know where Tim is going but I have to do this

Marinette frequents a small coffee shop near the hotel that the Wayne Boys are staying in. She would just drink the coffee that her parents serve in the bakery, but they refused to let her load up her drinks with enough caffeine to get through her day.

She always shows up at 7:00a, after all, she’s gotten better at this punctuality thing over the years. The owners already expect her at this point and already have her drink ready before she even steps foot through the door.

One morning, one of the owners ask her to deliver a coffee to the young man that fell asleep at one of their tables.

“He’s the first person I’ve met whose order rivals yours Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette is impressed as she inhales the strong black coffee wafting from the mug. He definitely amped it up with two expresso shots and maybe a pump of hazelnut? If he could taste it over the bitterness of the expresso, she would be impressed.

As she sat the cup down on the table, she slid into the booth in front of him, patiently waiting for him to stir. Watching his soft exhales, Marinette felt at peace. She had never seen someone sleep so softly without moving a muscle. As quietly as she could, she brought out her sketchbook. She got about halfway through his frame when his soft breathing stopped.

Her eyes snapped up to find his blue ones studying her cautiously. Of course, she mutters out apologizes at a million miles a minute, trying to explain that she needed practice for her living art class and that she was just dropping off his coffee and she was so sorry for drawing him without his permission. As she finally trails off, Marinette is more confused than ever. She thought he was awake, his eyes studying her, but now she wasn’t so confident. She was pretty sure he was still half asleep, assuming she was some sort of hallucination.

He reached out, draining his cup of coffee without coming up for a single breath.

“I didn’t think I was this sleep-deprived. Please beautiful sleep-induced entity, draw me if you must.”

Marinette bites her lip trying not to laugh as he tiredly pulls out a laptop, typing away at seemingly nothing.

The next day, Marinette finds him in his same spot, already two empty mugs occupying the table. As she orders, she’s sure to grab an extra one for him before joining him once more. This time, Tim is the one to apologize as he realizes finally that she is a real girl and not a hallucination.

Marinette laughs it off and the briefly chat about their lives. As Marinette gets up to leave for her morning classes, she promises to meet him for coffee the next morning. Surely enough, as she walks through the door, he’s already at their booth. He waves her over, motioning to the coffee mug holding her go-to order. They come to an agreement, he allows her to draw him for practice, she offers him the occasional advice. There is sometimes small talk, but it’s mostly just full of comfort that they found in each other’s presence.

After weeks, Tim finally decides that he wants to get to know this beautiful coffee angel. He starts by asking her to meet at a bakery that he had been dying to try. As he arrives at the bakery, Marinette sheepishly admits that it was her parent’s bakery. Tim feigns ignorance, but that smirk he gives her makes her reconsider the innocent sleep-deprived man she had met weeks earlier. From now on, he has breakfast with the Dupain-Cheng family every morning. After all, your in-laws have to like you first before you can try anything else, right?

Finally, we have Damian.

They meet in the living art class. He had already taken something similar at Gotham Academy, but he was curious to see the French side of something he cherished so dearly.

At first, he hates her. She reminds him of a mixture between Dick and Tim and in all honesty, he only volunteered to pretend to be a foreign exchange student to spend the majority of the day away from his brothers.

He slowly begins to change his mind though as he is partnered with her for a partner draw project. The teacher forces them to spend all of class drawing each other how they feel the world should see their partner. It involved a lot of sharing and as she became more confident in him, he slowly felt himself opening up to this strange girl as well.

It was going fine until one day, two of her old classmates entered the classroom, trying to pick a fight with Damian. He remembered one of them, yes the sausage haired girl, her name was Lily perhaps? She tried to ask him out and he turned her down, hard. Now here she was, crying the fakest tears he had ever seen as some ombre haired woman was chewing him out.

He was fine going on ignoring them, but then the ombre haired woman reached out for his notebook, tearing it from his grasps. She glanced over it for a second before raising it above her head and slamming it into the ground. She lifted her foot to stomp on it, but she never had a chance to finish. Before Damian had even moved a muscle, Marinette was standing above her, a murderous look in her eyes. The sausage haired woman helped the girl to her feet as they retreated quickly, both of their faces pale as they sent empty threats in Marinette’s direction.

With a sigh, Marinette picked up his notebook, dusting it off gently before handing it back to him, apologizing for her ex-classmates. He wanted to let her know that he didn’t need her to look out for him, that he could handle it, but his mind flashed to the look in her eyes. If anything, his interest was now piqued by the girl.

As the project came to an end, the moment of truth had finally come. Damian showed Marinette her portrait. He had drawn her as mother nature, warm and protective of her children and cold to anyone that threatened them. He would be lying if the small blush on her face didn’t boost his pride. When she showed Damian his portrait, he couldn’t help but let his jaw drop, even slightly.

He looked like a medieval knight, posing on the defense, a slight trickle of what looked like blood dripping out the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, please don’t think it’s weird. It’s just the more you talked, and so passionately too about how you wanted to protect everything dear to you from your family to your pets, I couldn’t help but get swept away in this idea that you were some gallant knight-”

He cut her off with a single look as his face broke into a grin. He loved it. Everyone always described him as a demon or a baby bird, but a gallant knight, it was certainly a first.

That night at the hotel, he would search google for the best ways to ask out a girl. After all, he sure as hell wasn’t asking his brothers.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat

#dickinette #jasonette #timinette #daminette #maribat

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Roman, Logan! Side note: we just found out you guys are Fate Touched. So. That explains quite a bit. Ask her radiance if you wanna know more :) - 🗡

”So I can assume you already know about Virgil's situation?" Logan asks, frowning slightly as he tries to puzzle out what all he should say in this situation. Goddess or not, he's not sure if it's safe to tell her the extent of what he's seen…

Eilistraee nods, "I know about his Sorcery. —Do not worry, Logan. I wouldn't tell the Sisters or their cults unless I had to. If I was planning on handing him over to be executed by the Gods, I would not have helped you save him."

Logan finds himself believing her. But, before he can let the existential dread of what they’re discussing — Which amounts, most probably, to interplanar treason — settle in, he has to comment,

"I don't remember telling you my name."

Eilistraee smiles at that, like she knows something he doesn't. Which, Logan will reluctantly admit, is possible in this specific circumstance.

"Virgil has told me about each of you. —And, of course, you and I are already acquainted." She smiles at Roman, who nods.

"I hope you aren't insulted that I haven't visited in… over a century?"

"We were both busy~" She teases, as if a century is anything to a Goddess.

"I'm not sure what is going on." Logan admits, getting them back on track once he's come to terms with the fact that he is, in fact, doing this.

"By all means, almost everything I've seen him do over these past few days should be impossible. He's wielded Mythal magic, changed the flow of time, and experienced more frequent Wild Surges than any wild magic Sorcerer I have ever heard of. I thought, initially, that he had been born with the power... But, if those spell-scars are any indication, he was not. Still, I've never seen spellscars of that shape or size."

"And they're angrier than before!" Roman cuts in, "I had seen his arm under those bandages a few nights ago, and they didn't look nearly that bad. But we didn't encounter any wild magic between then and now, so I don't know how they could have gotten worse…?"

"Virgil's current power is not something he was born with, that much is true." Eilistraee nods, "He was born with magic latent within him, but he purposefully pushed it down and ignored it. What he can do now stemmed from a disastrous encounter with Nethermancy, in which he was mutated by the Far Realm."

Roman and Logan gasp, and Patton is hopelessly confused. He looks between the three spellcasters in the room, hoping one of them remembers that he is but a regular, mundane person.

"...Ne...cro...mancy?"

"No, Nether. Dark Magic." Roman stage-whispers, looking frightened.

Well, that clarifies nothing at all, Patton frowns, then turns to Logan,

"Lo, you didn't mention that one the other day. I thought you said there were only eight?"

“That is because Nethermancy no longer exists." Logan frowns. Eilistraee sighs and shakes her head,

"As most things you will find tend to be… That is not entirely true. You know your magic comes from the Weave, yes?"

All three of them nod at that, and Patton knows the beginning of a lecture when he hears one. He tries his best to keep listening as Eilistraee continues,

"You can visualize the Weave as a spiderweb. Many threads tangle together to form it, more densely interconnected in some areas and more sparse in others. When you cast a spell, you are plucking on the web. Lesser tricks only jostle one string, while great feats of magic pull on the points where many threads are connected.”

"So, the less strings we pull, the lower the spell's level?" Roman muses. She nods.

“Mystra is the spider who sits at the center, building and repairing the web, feeling the vibrations of all those who touch it and biting away those who pull too hard. After all, if you pull too harshly, the web will unravel… But the web is not the source of magic in the Universe. It is just where you mortals can syphon it from. Magic is something that has always existed, long before the gods, and will continue long after us.”

Logan nods, "The early humanoids who tried to hone magic before the Weave was woven were all destroyed, and turned into the first liches."

"So Mystra, with some help from my Father, created the Weave as a blanket." Eilistraee smiles, "A safety net, that holds raw power back and converts it into something manageable -- something mortals can access."

Logan smirks, “Which is why Elves were the first humanoids to master magic. They had an insider.”

"So like a sieve? For flour?" Patton asks, and the goddess grins at the visual. Logan nods, almost impulsively taking over the lesson,

"Sure. Now, imagine pulling a wire on that sieve out of place. There is a hole for more coarse clumps to fall through, yes?” Patton nods, and Logan smiles at him, “That is what we are doing when we cast spells. When you pull on a thread, a bit of this raw power seeps through, but the gap only releases as much as that thread once covered. The less you ask for, the less you will receive. And if you don’t cast a spell correctly, the thread isn’t pulled at all, and no magic happens.”

...Now Logan frowns, beginning to catch on to Eilistraee’s point.

"But, Nethermancy was not like that.” Logan muses aloud, “It stemmed from the Shadow Weave; the warped copy of the Weave Mystra's sister Shar invented, by mixing magic with corruption from the Far Realm."

"The Shadow Weave is the space in-between the windows in the spiderweb. The darkness between the threads. Hence, it's name." Eilistraee explains, "When you reach into it, there is nothing to decide how much you take out. And, since you have not disturbed the strings, Mystra cannot even sense that you’re there. It is lethal to reach your hand into raw magic like this, in the same way it was lethal to cast before the Weave was constructed."

"Which is why it was never active." Logan adds, cautiously, waiting for her to correct him. "Supposedly, the Blue Flame burned it out during the Spellplague, before it's creator ever used it. Or, so everyone was led to believe…?"

Eilistraee nods, "The Shadow Weave was never destroyed. Shar lost control of it, but it still exists alongside the original. A spiderweb without a spider... And, by now, you are aware that my brother's kin do not follow the same rules when it comes to the lethality of raw magic."

"So, he was exposed to this Shadow Weave somehow, and now he keeps tapping into it on accident?" Roman frowns.

"Yes. Without either Sister Goddess's influence to limit him, Virgil has tethered himself to the spaces between. Now he pulls at it without trying, weakening the weave around him and accessing magic Mystra outlawed decades ago."

Eilistraee turns to Logan, suddenly very serious,

"You've done well to teach him control, but it is still something he will have to learn. He is the only thing moderating his contact with raw magic. He has no safety net to protect him if he takes too much, and no way to stop himself from doing it. This is not your usual pupil whose spell will fizzle out if they fail, his will combust. He must learn to hone his ability."

"I can teach him." Logan nods resolutely, already determined to see this through to the end. Eilistraee frowns.

"There are already many in your world who know about his mutation. Many wish to use him as a weapon on a scale you cannot imagine, and many more wish to destroy him altogether. People who will show no mercy when they come for him, and anyone who would protect him.”

Eilistraee turns to address all three of them, making an imposing figure where she towers in the middle of the room,

“You will face more peril at his side than you have ever read about in your history books, and his powers will bring untold destruction if you fail. Are you so sure you wish to involve yourself in this?"

"You'll find I already have." Logan stares her down, hoping he is more stubborn than she is, "I am not going to give up on him now. I knew it was going to be difficult when I first asked him to join me."

(So, that might be a little white lie. He didn’t know it would be so difficult that a literal Goddess would warn him to pack up and go home, but… Well, no one is going to tear him away from a project he’s already started, nor a friend who needs his help. And, after all, Logan doesn’t know anyone more qualified than himself to teach Virgil how to use magic.)

Eilistraee seems to mull over his words for a moment. Roman and Patton are keeping quiet, either letting Logan speak for them as the group’s leader or too exhausted/shocked to say anything.

...And, after an excruciating several minutes, the Goddess smiles.

"Very well then. I entrust his safety to you, Professor Logan." Eilistraee — the Goddess. What is today?! — smiles, as if as amused by the situation as Logan is winded by it.

"Don't fail him."

"We won't!" Patton cheers, elbowing Logan's thigh to shake him out of his surprised stupor. Eilistraee grins.

"We?"

"Yep! We're a bit of a package deal~" Roman nods, smiling at the other two. "And, I mean... if Logan goes on some sort of super perilous adventure and doesn't invite his resident literal Celestial, I don't even know what I would have to do! The sheer disrespect? I would throw a fit."

"You are both cordially invited to the 'super perilous adventure.'” Logan rolls his eyes, “Not that either of you ever need an invitation to insert yourselves into my travels..."

Logan tries his best not to smile, ignoring their laughter at either side of him.

"You will need more than just the three of you, I'm afraid." Eilistraee smiles,

"I have full confidence in you, but the fact remains that Virgil will also need a mentor who is, themselves, a Sorcerer. There are some skills that can only be taught from experience."

"Where are we supposed to find another Sorcerer?! It's rare enough that we found the one!" Roman whines, making Eilistraee grins.

"You are willing to aid a man you just met last week in a plot against the natural order, but you don’t think you can find one measly sorcerer?”

“Those are two totally different tasks! —Protecting people is my very specific skillset!! Finding them is not my job!” Roman blushes and pouts, and Eilistraee downright laughs. She shakes her head,

“Oh, I was just teasing, d'anthe~ Don't worry: I think he will find you, soon enough."

Eilistrae lays a hand on Roman’s cheek, “And speaking of you... I sense something is troubling you?”

Roman frowns for a moment. He sends an uneasy look at Logan and Patton...then sighs.

(If they’re all getting involved in Virgil’s surprise cosmic destiny, he supposes he might as well let them in on his…)

“It’s my Mother.” Roman sighs,

“I know she’s been ailing for a long while now, but… Something’s happened to her while I was gone, I can feel it. Something’s wrong. But my powers don’t seem to have changed at all, so...I can’t really tell.”

Eilistraee frowns, and Roman hops in again before she can speak, “I-I would contact her, but she still can’t speak to me! I don’t know how I’m supposed to help! I assume Mama has more information once we get to town, but it’s been killing me to wait in the dark. I know there are rules about how much you can meddle, but… Throw me a bone here?”

That gives the Goddess pause. She seems to debate something for a moment… Then nods.

“I can lend my aid to you for tonight, so long as you remain on land under my blessing. But, Sune is still in a very weakened state... Expect one of your Dreams tonight, little Prince.”

Roman smiles softly, trying to mask his spark of disappointment.

“...Thank you. Anything is better than no contact! But… I was never very good at deciphering those things.”

“If you need help deciphering your visions, you can always ask one of my Dark Ladies, or one of your Heartwarders. But, your Mother is a goddess of emotion; It is unlikely any of them will be able to help you more than yourself…”

Eilistraee gives him a sympathetic smile, “...Or, maybe, your usual companion in that place?”

“I doubt that.” Roman smiles back, more amused than he is dejected.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a dream with my brother. I’m starting to think he’s purposefully ignoring them… And, to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past him.”

“That may be so, but you two must reunite soon.” Eilistraee warns him with an unexpected sincerity, “Your Mother needs you both, now more than ever. You are aware that your Fate is joined with these three, but he has a part to play in all of this, too. He always has.”

“My conversations with the whispers always seem to stem back to him, that much is for sure!” Roman grumbles, to himself more than anything. Eilistraee pats his shoulder.

“The guards will lead you back to House De’anonen. The road ahead of you is long and perilous, and I don’t expect to be the last to tell you so… Now, get some rest!”

Roman nods, much too tired to argue on that point. Some young women in silver robes come to lead them out of the temple, and Roman and Patton meander after them out of the room. Logan follows behind them slowly... But, he pauses at the door.

He turns back to Eilistraee, and asks lowly,

“Nethermancy from the Far Realm…” he hums, still not quite sure what he’s trying to remember when he asks,

“That he encountered here? Outside of the Underdark?”

...Eilistrae doesn’t answer right away.

A sour look crosses her face for a moment. She sighs,

“Your curiosity is your greatest strength, Logan. It always has been.” She smiles, turning her back to him to exit the room through the farther door, “But you, of all people, should know that poking at what writhes in the grass is a dangerous game.”

She walks out of the room, her voice echoing behind her as she disappears down a long, shadowy hallway,

“Be sure you are prepared for what’s hiding there.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Ask 97 ( @sjrose1217 , @snowydragon10 , @amazonprimebox )

Game Start

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Rules

Most Recent Recap, in case you feel like you missed something!

Available for questions: Logan, Roman, and Patton! (Virgil is asleep)

Eilistraee makes her exit as the party gets ready to sleep for the night, with few hours of night remaining and little energy to keep their eyes open any longer.

Now they have some hints for what is to come, but will they be able to put the pieces together? Or will the dangers she warned them about get the better of them...?

#(translation) d'anthe -- an affectionate term for a child or suboordinate #please tell me if i need to tag anything else!#lets roll #ttrpgau art #ttrpgau Eilistraee #ask rpg sanders sides #asks open #sanders sides rpg au #game lore #Her Luminous Imperial Majesty Empress Shri'Neerune Q'Xorlarrin of Drathireiv'dre #long post #long answer

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 9

A/N Okay I’m excited for this one because we’re meeting my favourite character and if you’ve read my lil notes while I was writing a few weeks back you’ll know right now who it is hehe

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Zach Herron was the kind of young man who made an impression on you. Honestly, he had that popstar look that any nineteen-year-old boy should have to really make it in the industry; the fluffy brown hair, big brown eyes, and cheeks that would make any young girl or old woman alike want to pinch them. He had promise, he had the look, he had charisma, sure. The only catch was that he had no fucking talent. He could sing well, this was fair to say I suppose, but he just sounded like any other choir boy. He didn’t have that special gift that Jonah and I always tried to reach for when it came to our clients.

So we denied his demo.

His agent pushed him on us in a few emails and even a phone call and she sounded nearly desperate to get this young guy a record deal but Jonah and I knew what image we wanted for our brand and just another pretty boy who had a mediocre voice was not who we wanted to sign.

We were persistent in our decision.

We only met the kid in person once. He showed up uninvited to our studio and demanded to speak to us. We stayed firm but fair with our choice to decline his demo.

To be brutally honest with you, dear reader, he lost his fucking mind.

Zach wasn’t one to take no for an answer – I assumed his mother coddled him a bit too much as a child and he wasn’t used to not getting his way – and when he realized we weren’t changing our minds, he lost it. I’m talking screaming and swearing and completely destroying my office until we had to call up security to restrain him and escort him out of the building while he cursed us to hell and back the whole way into the elevator.

“You’re going to regret this! You’re going to regret this until the day you die!”

The kid was literally fucking psycho.

It made perfect sense to add him to this list of potential suspects.

We had his work address from when he first sent in his information (along with a ton of other things we needed to know as potential record owners to a new artist) so Jonah and I drove right into the heart of Los Angeles to confront him. Was it the smartest idea? Probably not. But I mean we weren’t going to walk in there and directly ask ‘did you murder my wife’ but at least we could figure out some sort of verdict.

The bars on the window of the shop were not unlike a lot of places downtown, theft rates high in some neighbourhoods so smaller businesses opted for safety over aesthetics. Jonah and I stepped inside the small store together to find not a lot of customers filling the aisles. Probably suspected for a Tuesday after lunch hour. The smell of fresh cheese and meat waved through the air and I forced myself not to cover my nose. Could you blame me when I had been staring at a dead body all morning? Fresh meat wasn’t my first choice of a preferable scent at that moment.

Standing's Butchery was an unfortunate destination in that sense but if we were trying to prove my innocence then it was an important step.

“Should we buy lunch while we’re here?” Jonah asked me.

“No.” I answered easily. “I want a damn salad after this morning.”

Zach was behind the counter at the far end of the restaurant, his hair tucked in a hair net and his gloved hands busy behind the glass display case. He didn’t notice at us when we walked in until we were nearly directly in front of him.

His brown eyes raised to us, flicking between Jonah and me a few times, before coolly dropping his gaze back to the large chunk of steak he was filleting.

“Come here to beg for me back?” he asked egotistically.

“Not a chance.” I answered easily.

“Your lame-ass record company is going to swim with the fishes without me.” Zach said flatly. The knife hit the chopping board loudly before he pulled it back and slivered it down another strip of steak. “What can I do for you jackasses then?”

“Where were you around 7 last night?”

Zach’s eyes raised to mine, knife pausing mid slice before he focussed back to his work, “None of your business.”

“My house was broken into and I’m trying to figure out who I need to report to the police.” I said. It was only a half lie.

“I wouldn’t waste my fucking time breaking into your house full of useless fucking trash. What would I want out of it anyway?”

He didn’t look up as he sliced another thin fillet of steak with precision and a steady hand. He tossed the piece to the side and it hit the counter with a wet smack, a few splatters of blood streaking across the laminated granite. I focused my eyes on his face even if he refused to look at us.

“Doesn’t matter. What were you doing last night?” I tried again.

“I had a meeting at another record company.”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeah, it fucking is. Which one were you at, you fucking-”

Zach set the knife down hard against the countertop, cutting me off mid-sentence and his angry eyes bore into mine. He didn’t even glance at Jonah. Obviously his personal issue with one of us was decided.

“You already ruined my fucking dreams with your tasteless bullshit company thinking you can tell me ‘no’. Now you’re coming back here to interrogate me? I’m sick of you.” he waved the knife between us.

“Learn how to take criticism before you get yourself arrested for assault or destruction of property.” I retorted strongly. “Your attitude isn’t helping your case here.”

“There is no case.” Zach picked up the knife again and shook his head as he went back to slicing through the beef, “You’re pathetically obsessed with me, Seavey. You want to keep my name in your mouth so bad, so what, you want my dick in there next? At least that would shut you up. Fuck off.”

I scoffed loudly and tried to form a rebuttal, but he was continuing, his voice low to keep the sharp conversation between the three of us but thick with anger enough to make my blood pressure rise.

“I’m sick of seeing the two of you all over this fucking city; on every stupid fucking billboard and news channel. You don’t know what it’s like to suffer. You’re selfish pricks and you’ll get what’s coming to you sooner or later.”

“Tell your mommy to get you a mental test, you fucking psycho.” I spat. “If we don’t get a restraining order today it will be too fucking soon.”

“You came to find me, remember? Nice to see I have a little fanboy and his sidekick following me around like stalkers.”

“Fanboy my fucking ass, Herron.” I slammed my palm down against the glass display case. “Were you or were you not at my house last night?”

Zach looked back up at me but didn’t answer. The smirk on his face made me sick. He looked back down to his work.

“Just answer the question.” Jonah chimed in coolly.

“I was not.” Zach answered slowly as if he enjoyed seeing me angry.

“Fine.” I took a step back from the case, all too aware of his manager eyeing us and our confrontation from a few feet down the counter. I started back towards the door to the butcher without a look back, Jonah following quickly behind me. What use was my interrogation if all he gave me was snark and a denied accusation. Our darling fate would take care of him one way or another…whether he was responsible for Avalon’s death or not. I must say, though, if it was him, that was a disgustingly sick method of revenge for just a denied demo.

Zach called after us as I pushed open the door and stepped out to the sunbathed sidewalk, “And Seavey, tell your wife I say hello. If she wants a real man who knows how to work with meat, she knows where to find me.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @tempus-ut-luceant @br4nd1s @xkelsev @hiya-its-amber @sexyseavey15 @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

#🔪#daniel seavey #jonah marais #why dont we #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

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reavenedges-lies · 4 years ago

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Full Article Below The Cut

Which players should the Penguins protect? Three Post-Gazette staffers play GM

MATT VENSEL

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

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JUL 15, 2021 5:18 AM

Ron Hextall has been mum about which Penguins he plans to protect in next Wednesday’s expansion draft. We have educated guesses but won’t officially find out until the weekend, after teams must formally submit their protected lists to the new Seattle Kraken and the rest of the league.

In the meantime, we decided we would steal Hextall’s comfy GM chair for a moment, kick back our feet, swivel around a little bit and share which players we would protect if Mario Lemieux was crazy enough to let us run the team.

Who’s we? Post-Gazette beat reporters Matt Vensel and Mike DeFabo and columnist Ron Cook, game-day regulars over at PPG Paints Arena.

We also projected which guy the Kraken would grab in each scenario.

All three over us opted to protect seven forwards, three defensemen and a goalie instead of eight overall skaters and a goalie. And while we all agreed on most of the players we would keep, there were a few differences. So we explained the rationale behind our personal protected lists.

Finally, these protected lists are somewhat based on the personal preferences of each of us. But there is some actual intel buried in here. So enjoy, let us know which of us is the smartest and feel free to share your lists, too.

Matt Vensel, Penguins beat reporter:

FORWARDS: Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Jake Guentzel, Bryan Rust, Brandon Tanev, Teddy Blueger and Kasperi Kapanen

The first four guys are no-brainers. Tanev and Blueger are quick calls for me, too. Tanev is a guy who can provide a spark on a random Tuesday in January and help you win playoff games in May. He is also integral to the team’s off-ice chemistry. Blueger has become an effective shutdown center and added 22 points in 43 games last season. The final forward spot comes down to Kapanen and Jeff Carter. Carter is the more useful player to Pittsburgh for 2021-22, especially with Malkin out indefinitely. But I’ll gamble that Seattle passes on the 36-year-old and I will instead keep Kapanen, an imperfect middle-six winger but a tradable asset.

DEFENSEMEN: Kris Letang, Brian Dumoulin and Cody Ceci

Letang and Dumoulin are the easy ones. And young blue-liners John Marino and Pierre-Olivier Joseph are exempt, so need to worry about protecting them. No one else is a priority. Mike Matheson had a nice first season here and fellow lefty Marcus Pettersson is well-rounded with perhaps a little more room to grow. Unfortunately, both have pricey, long-term deals that eat up too much cap room relative to their level of performance. Ceci is an unrestricted free agent but he is someone whom the Penguins should and will consider resigning. I’ll keep his rights, which could maybe be traded for a future asset if we can’t afford him.

GOALIE: Tristan Jarry

Protecting Jarry is not endorsing him as my No. 1 entering 2021-22. I just don’t want to be caught without a goalie when the record screeches on the offseason game of musical chairs. I still hope to bring in a veteran with some semblance of a playoff pedigree to push or potentially outright replace Jarry on the roster.

SEATTLE SELECTS…

Jared McCann. I crossed my fingers that Kraken GM Ron Francis would take one of these bigger cap hits off our books. But they pass on Matheson, Pettersson and winger Jason Zucker and roll the dice on McCann. The former first-rounder has speed, a wicked wrister, versatility and a reasonable $2.9 million salary. The Kraken hope that the 25-year-old finally puts it all together on his fourth NHL team.

Mike DeFabo, Penguins beat reporter:

FORWARDS: Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Jake Guentzel, Bryan Rust, Brandon Tanev, Kasperi Kapanen and Jeff Carter.

The Penguins might be willing to play a game of chicken with Seattle and assume the Kraken will not select a 36-year-old who has just one year remaining on his contract. In fact, I’d expect them to take this bet and leave Carter exposed. But if I’m playing GM? That’s too big of a gamble now that we know Evgeni Malkin underwent significant offseason knee surgery that will force him to miss the beginning of the season. Who knows when Malkin will actually return? Who knows how effective he’ll be at 35 with a wonky wheel and a disrupted offseason program? The Penguins need a reliable insurance policy. Carter is exactly that. Carter fit in seamlessly in the dressing room after he was acquired at the deadline and made his presence felt on the ice, too, scoring 13 goals in 20 games, including playoffs.

DEFENSEMEN: Kris Letang, Brian Dumoulin and Mike Matheson

There’s an argument to be made that the Penguins should leave both Pettersson and Matheson exposed and try to entice Seattle to take one of those long, expensive contracts off their hands. However, the way the Penguins’ speed-oriented system highlighted Matheson’s strengths makes him a player that I wouldn’t want to lose for nothing.

GOALIE: Tristan Jarry

Jarry’s postseason performance didn’t inspire a lot of confidence. But where will the Penguins be if Seattle selects their No. 1 netminder? I’d still try to add a goalie to challenge Jarry for starting time or possibly even supplant him. But knowing he’s on the roster gives the team more options and a safety net.

SEATTLE SELECTS…

Teddy Blueger. Give the 26-year-old center credit. He’s almost always the last player on the ice at practice, fine-tuning his game as he adds an offensive dimension to what’s already a consistent defensive game. But let’s not make him out to be more than he is. He’s still, more or less, a fourth-line center on a team filled with talented forwards. The Penguins would have a much-easier time replacing a fourth-line center than a second-line center like Carter.

Ron Cook, Post-Gazette columnist:

FORWARDS: Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Jake Guentzel, Bryan Rust, Kasperi Kapanen, Brandon Tanev and Teddy Blueger

Only the final spot was difficult for me: Blueger or Jared McCann. I’m gambling the Kraken won’t take Jeff Carter at his advanced age even though he would be a perfect leader on a young team. It would be nice if Seattle would take Jason Zucker and his inflated salary off the Penguins’ hands, but that isn’t going to happen. I went with Blueger over McCann because he is more qualified as a center.

DEFENSEMEN: Kris Letang, Brian Dumoulin and Mike Matheson

The Penguins don’t have to worry about losing much on the blue line. Matheson and Marcus Pettersson are more than expendable because of their high salaries, but the Kraken won’t be interested in either player. It’s good that John Marino is exempt from this draft. I see him coming back next season and having a good year. Getting bigger and tougher on defense should be Ron Hextall’s No. 1 offseason priority. Opponents go virtually untouched in front of the Penguins’ net.

GOALIE: Tristan Jarry.

Penguins management insists it still believes in Jarry despite his playoff flameout. I wasn’t buying any of it until someone I trust in the organization told me that the coaches and players know the truth about Jarry – that he was injured late in the season, didn’t get to practice before the playoff series against the Islanders and lost his edge. I still have my doubts and want to see the team bring in a veteran goaltender to challenge Jarry for playing time. That wouldn’t be good news for Casey DeSmith, who is a solid No. 2 netminder. Who knows? DeSmith might have given the Penguins a better chance against the Islanders if he hadn’t been injured.

SEATTLE SELECTS…

McCann. Sadly. The Penguins won the NHL’s most rugged division last season so you know they are going to lose a good player in the expansion draft. That will be McCann. I will hate to see him go despite the fact he came up small in the postseason the past two years. I see him as a solid NHL player for many years.

First Published July 15, 2021, 5:18am

#pens lb #pittsburgh penguins #Pittsburgh Post-Gazette #2021 offseason #nhl expansion draft

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grimecrow · 4 years ago

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Sometimes Those Who SHOULD Be Your Greatest Allies Won’t Be But...

I’m writing this for all those LGBTQ people still hiding who they are, especially to the younger ones. Sharing my experiences with you may honestly make you more fearful of things at first but please read till the end. So, I knew I was gay when I was ten. I didn’t know what gay was, I honestly didn’t consciously understand much if anything at all about sexuality I just knew I really liked how pretty some guys in my comics (and my class) were and never felt that way about girls. I never acted on it, I never told anyone, I was ten it’s not like dating was a really big priority or anything. My parents were split by this time and my bigoted father must have suspected something was up when I turned down buying the new Marvel swimsuit issue thing. He sat me down shortly there after told me the truth about my mother, she was a lesbian. He then proceeded to tell me about how homosexuality was unnatural, and it was so unnatural that nature had made a disease that will rot those nasty homos from the inside out just because they were homos and it was THAT wrong. We had just entered the 90′s at this point but my father was extra bigoted towards homosexuals because my mother had married him to be able to have a baby and live off his money. Leaving him for a fling, in such a way that everyone at his work and stuff knew. Well needless to say I hated myself and was afraid of myself, not that I could talk to anyone about it. Not even my mother because anytime I asked about how you knew if you were gay she’d get mad and tell me I wasn’t. Weird right? A lesbian who had known since she was young that she was homosexual being so aggressive at her kid for wanting to talk about the idea of homosexuality in general? Especially given how her family had reacted to her. Her mother abused her, and sent her to an institute that touts it’s self as such a fucking ally to the LGBTQ community yet never acknowledges that they ever did anything wrong; hiding behind the fact that they were ‘just using the science of the time’. That back when my mom was a teenager being various forms of water based tortures, sleep deprivation and applied violent electricity based deterrents. Her brother helped inflict horrible things on her with his friends in an attempt to ‘fix her’. Anyhow in the later half of the 90s, in grade 9 I was gay bashed for the first time, I hadn’t come out but people suspected and I never did anything to prove those suspicions wrong. Despite it happening on the grounds of a school and parents even encouraging their kids to join in with video evidence the cops assumed that cause it had been labelled a gay bashing I was gay and had set it up to happen for attention. ACAB, even in Canada as the department’s views on the LGBTQ community hasn’t changed no matter how much they wanna march in the parade to pretend it has all these years later. My mother was furious and though I thought I had been outed by the incident she had double downed on my straightness and this was just a horrible case of bullying. In grade 10 two of my mother’s friends convinced me that despite my fear that my mother would be supportive of her gay son. How could she not be? And it made sense when they said it out loud. So I officially came out to my mother and...she kicked me out onto the street going on about how I was fucking up her life. I was supposed to have a girl friend she could jokingly flirt with (gross) and all of that. Well I was now homeless, with no family, a part of my mother winning custody of me the last time I was swapped was that I couldn’t go back to my dad. Which honestly was for the best as he and his wife thought an acceptable reaction to a nine year old using pins instead of sticky-tack to put up a poster was to throw them down the stairs. So...given that and my father’s history of aggressive homophobia it’s not like he would have been an option even if I could have gone back to him.

I thought I was screwed, that was it my life was over. All my mother’s extended family that was alive was super homophobic and hated my mother cause by this point she had conned them all out of cash.

But those two friends of my mother who had convinced me to finally come out to her without me asking gave me a couch to sleep on. They not only gave me a couch but made sure my clothes were clean and I was fed for the next short bit. They also went pretty hard at my mother, going so far as to tell the rest of the community my mother was a part of what had happened and the community came down on my mom for throwing the poor little gay out of the house just for being the way she herself was. My mom came up with the excuse that she had kicked me out on the street in hopes of scaring me straight. After all; she knows all the terrible things an LGBTQ kid at that time would have to face so she wanted to protect me from them by...throwing me out. This didn’t make sense to anyone but my mom told me I could come home and her friends would check in with him pretty regularly for a while after that to make sure things were okay, and that I was as okay as I could be. As you probably have come to the conclusion to yourself, the excuse she gave to her friends and the community makes absolutely no sense. Years later the truth of the matter would be realized. My mother is a user, an exploiter and once I had aged enough I had two purposes left to fulfill. One being to take care of her and be her retirement plan when she grew old enough, and two the more important one give her grandchildren. Once I couldn’t give her grandchildren my overall use was over and in her anger she threw me out; as all I was at that point was just a drain on resources. She could always either scam or bet her way to another retirement plan after all. I know I got really, really lucky. Not everyone has a community that will stand up for them like that when things get to their worse or at least it will seem to be that way. I know this all sounds really scary too. I know the fears of coming out, even when there is a potential safety net or everything in the world dictates that you will have obvious allies. I know what it is like to live in a house of violent abusers who are very active in their hatred all the while you’re secretly ‘the enemy’. (Hey I was first suicidal at the age of 12 cause it seemed to be the only escape.) The reason I am even writing all of this is to tell you. Sometimes those who SHOULD be your greatest allies won’t be but...there will be allies if you keep looking, keep trying, and keep living. Stay safe.

#coming out #lgbt discourse #lgbtq #lgbtq youth #homophobia #transgender #trans rights

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rosaline-kei · 5 years ago

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Mistletoe

Disclaimer: I do not own Shinegki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan, nor its characters.

Fandom: Shinegki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan

Type: One-Shot

Synopsis: Armin, Eren, Mikasa were about to give their gifts to their captain until… they heard a certain shorty's name, accompanied with the words, "You got to KISS under the mistletoe!"

Rated: T

Pairings : very very very minor Levi Ackerman / Hanji Zoe

Read it also on / Leave a Review at:

Ao3 or FF net

Author’s Note: SIGH IM SO LATE ITS NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS HERE WHERE IM FROM ANYMORE SMH IM SO DISAPPOINTED IN MYSELF KHJJuuha anyways, happy late holidays and merry late christmas. I wrote this two years ago on ff net so its cringe. And my lazy ass isn’t in the mood to correct minor mistakes in this fanfic sigh fml. anyway enjoy and im sorry for this cringe

It was that time of the year again. Christmas. Most soldiers had the day off and went back home to visit their families and celebrate Christmas with presents and cookies. Joy and laugher, and so on. But, those who had lost their families had nowhere to go, did they? Thus, remaining on duty. A cruel truth, but it wasn't that bad spending it with their comrades, especially a certain group of three close friends.

"Eh… why do we have to this again?" Mikasa groaned.

"Because it's Captain Levi's birthday! And Christmas. And you already got him a gift, and we have the job of delivering the others' gift since they were 'too scared' of Levi… he isn't always pissed off." Eren sighed shaking his head while Mikasa only rolled her eyes, "I got him a gag disguise, Eren." Mikasa spoke, not really spoiling her gift considering she didn't bother wrapping it.

"And why did you get that for him again…?" The blonde asked, who accompanied the two since he had nothing else to do, plus he got him a chess set, seeing that he might as well get him something out of respect. "Well…" Mikasa mumbled, flashbacking to the day where Levi and her had a squabble about Eren's safety and treatment since he was a titan shifter, and it somehow ended with the words, 'you can make me wear a gag disguise and that brat would still listen, obey my orders and be afraid of me.'

"I question that, at myself too." Mikasa sighed quietly whereas Eren shook his head in response. "He obviously won't like whatever all of you got for him, he likes cleaning supplies!"

"And you got him..." Armin trailed off as he saw Eren's nod, before he responded, "Yep, cleaning supplies… anyways let's just drop the gifts and go to the cafeteria, I heard they aren't giving out stale bread today." Eren shrugged as the two agreed.

Once they reached Levi's office, they were about to knock on the door until, they heard a loud, over-enthusiastic voice emitting from his room, which was of course, Hanji. "C'mon Levi!" She pleaded. "But Levi… You got to KISS under the mistletoe! It's the rules!" Hanji exclaimed which caused the three to halt in their actions, looking at each other, confused.

"Did you hear that…?" Mikasa whispered, sounding both curious and extremely puzzled at the fact Levi, THE LEVI, who was a grumpy shorty, was about to kiss someone.

"Y-Yeah…" Armin stuttered. "We should go… what if it's Captain Hanji who's going to kiss him…? Let's not bother them…" Armin spoke, not wanting to get in trouble, especially on Christmas.

"Wait no. I have to see this." Eren spoke as he peeked through the small crack through the slightly opened door. "But Eren, Hanji sounds drunk… what if they… uh—"

"Shh, Hanji's always drunk! Now let's listen." Eren spoke as he shifted a little for the two to have space to press their ears against the closed door to listen to their rather intriguing conversation.

"Well… I mean, it is definitely is something interesting…" Mikasa admitted as she shifted, listening to them as well. Armin sighing, finally giving in to mostly curiosity, as he started to listen too.

"Hanji. The first thing I see when I arrive is you drinking alcohol in MY office? What kind of crappy joke is this?" Levi grumbled rolling his eyes. "And Kiss? You must be crazy if I'm going to kiss anything as filthy as that." Levi added as Hanji groaned.

"It's not all that filthy!" Hanji pouted as she poured a glass for Levi. "Let's drink birthday boy!" Hanji exclaimed almost too loudly, giving him the, 'I know you want it' look before Levi clicked his tongue as he took the glass from her as he started chugging it down his throat.

"I knew you wanted it."

"Shut up."

"If you kiss then sure." Hanji smirked. "I know you'd definitely want to go further after…"

"…How many glasses did you drink?" Levi asked, raising a brow.

"… fifteen…" Hanji hiccuped.

"Wait, so Captain Hanji and Levi are a couple?" Eren spoke, sounding rather shock at such a couple combination.

"Well, I mean Levi and Hanji have been meeting quite often, or so I've heard…"

"I thought it was to discuss paperwork..?" Mikasa retorted, reusing to believe that Hanji's taste in men was so low, like Levi's height. "And Levi's personality is kind of…"

"Captain Levi isn't that bad Mikasa!" Eren said rolling his eyes. "But… even for Hanji's standard… I thought she was into crazy men?"

"Well… opposites attract…" Armin shrugged.

"Shh… they're talking." Mikasa hushed the two.

"Hanji. I'm not doing it." Levi snapped as he chugged down another shot, still sober as always.

"Pleaseeeeee Birthday boy!" Hanji begged again.

"Don't call me that, it's weird." Levi grumbled.

"Hmmm? Is Levi in a bad mood?" Hanji asked chuckling.

"I'm always in a bad mood for f—"

"Yeah but you look like you're in a worse mood… because your precious brats didn't get you anything even though you just went gift-giving a couple moments ago?" Hanji chuckled, knowing he went out and bought them gifts which he personally went and placed them in their own rooms, but of course, respecting their privacy by not touching anything at all. He just placed it there and left. Levi clicked his tongue. "Shut up. They worked their asses off, it's just stuff on sale." Levi retorted, though Hanji knew he was probably still sad they got him nothing, especially when Hanji found his new squad had a rather peculiar but somewhat close bond. "There, There…" Hanji sighed as she took another shot as she patted Levi's back in a comforting manner. "Well. Either way… You're still going to kiss under the mistletoe. If you aren't going to, I'll—"

"Achoo!" A certain blonde sneezed.

"Shit." Eren cursed as Mikasa quickly hurried up to her feet signalling the two to do the same as she heard footsteps nearing the door.

Almost in a blink of an eye, the door opened as the brunette and blonde quickly got onto their feet.

"And what do you three want?" Levi grumbled, still in a bad mood. "I already have my own problems, and you three eavesdropping isn't going to do shit for me and—"

"We, uh, got you gifts." Eren spoke as he held out wrapped up presents that were from him and the other squad members, Armin and Mikasa doing the same as Levi's eyes widened. "Oh." He said simply before taking them. "Say thank you!" Hanji yelled to him from the inside as Levi clicked his tongue agitatedly as he glared at Hanji for a second before turning his focus back to the three. "Thank you… I didn't expect you guys to—"

"Neither did we, we overheard your conversation about your gift-giving." Mikasa interrupted as she handed him the gag disguise she got, Levi blinking at her gift, not knowing she'd have taken his statement that seriously, and was about to make one of his sarcastic comments until he smelt detergent. "Is that detergent…?" He asked as Eren nodded almost too cheerfully. "I know you like cleaning and—"

"I do, but detergent? Really? Who gets a gag disguise and detergent for a gift?" Levi spoke as he eyed the blonde who tensed up. "I uh— got you a chess set…" Armin spoke, assuming he wanted to know what he got.

"Well, at least someone has a normal mind here." Levi sighed before looking up at the three. The three expecting a lecture but instead they were greeted by a smile, which shocked them. "Thank you, really…" Levi mumbled quietly as Hanji chuckled softly as she watched the whole thing. "You guys are dismissed now, I'm sure you have better things to do." Levi spoke, not wanting to waste their time anymore, assuming they had plans.

"Wait." Armin spoke as Eren continued. "We were wondering… are you and Captain Hanji together?" He asked as Levi tilted his head as he let out a, 'huh?'

"Well, we heard about you having to kiss her under the mistletoe—"

"What? No. That idiot threw a broom at me when I walked into the office and asked me to kiss it since I was standing under that mistletoe thing with it that she had set up." Levi sighed, explaining it to them thoroughly, not wanting them to have any misconceptions.

"Oh…" The three spoke in sync as Levi made a 'tch' sound before turning around. "Now go away, before I report to the superiors that you eavesdropped a Captain." Levi threatened as they nodded before walking off, not wanting to run a hundred laps or something in the snow. "Thank you for your gift though!" The three exclaimed their thanks in advance, and wished him a happy birthday as well before they left wondering what he got them.

"You love them and you know it." Hanji chuckled softly as Levi rolled his eyes before sitting back down as he poured another shot for the two. "Shut up and drink, before I make you kiss the broom instead." Levi grumbled, hoping the three wouldn't come up with any rumours about him kissing a broom, if they did, he was sure to make them run a hundred laps during the next Christmas.

But he was thankful, thankful for his own reasons.

But if he had to be honest, he kind of enjoyed Christmas and his birthday today.

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theawkwardanglophile · 5 years ago

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The Residence Reflection

I finally wrote a new Shamy story! It’s been too long. This one just came out of nowhere, so I had to write it. You can also read on FF here. Enjoy, my friends!

Amy stood frozen in the apartment, using all of her energy to drink in the setting before her. She needed to remember every detail: the way the light came in the window in the morning, the gentle hum of the air conditioner, and that scent. That scent that couldn't be completely defined but always reminded her she was home, more home than she'd ever been before in her life.

It was moving day, and the apartment was now empty. The gang had been a huge help, well, most of the gang. An eight-months-pregnant Penny mostly ate the donuts Sheldon and Amy had purchased for everyone while having fun trying to boss the guys around.

But now it was just Sheldon and Amy left in 4B. The rest of the group decided to give them a little time to say goodbye before meeting up at the new house, a cute little bungalow not too far from Caltech. The most wondrous thing about the house is that the moment they walked in it for the first time, they both agreed that it felt like them, as difficult as it was for Sheldon to admit. It was an equal amalgamation of who they were. As scary as the idea of moving on was, they knew they had to snatch it up immediately, especially before Amy got too far along in her pregnancy.

She smiled, thinking of their future little one. She still couldn't believe it was happening. Plus, she had gotten her wish that she and Penny would be pregnant together, and their kids could grow up together. Amy hadn't planned on it, in fact, she'd all but given up on that idea, but an unexpectedly passionate ending to the night of their Nobel ceremony had changed all that.

Thankfully, the move hadn't proven to be too straining on her. Packing up a one-bedroom apartment wasn't that difficult, and the furniture that was Penny's was given back to her. Amy and Sheldon decided they needed a fresh start, new furniture for a new house, rather than leftovers from Penny's single, twenty-something old life.

"Alright, I did a final walkthrough and everything is out," Sheldon stated as he came out of the bedroom. But his wife gave no acknowledgment she had heard him. "Amy?"

She remained frozen with her back turned to him. He came up to her and gently wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands resting on her ever-growing stomach. It was something he had started doing when she first began to show, but it had since become his favorite affectionate maneuver, one he planned to continue even after the baby was born. He loved the secure feel of her, the scent of her hair strong at his nose, his chin resting either on her head or shoulder. This time it was her shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Amy smiled, relishing in the feel of him cocooning her. It had become one of her favorite things he did. "I will be. I'm just going to miss this place so much. I want to remember every detail about it."

"Well, if your memory fails, my eidetic one can help fill in the gaps."

"Thank you. I know it's just an apartment, but this was special." Amy swiped at the tears that were beginning to fall. "I didn't want to cry again!"

She turned around and buried her face in Sheldon's chest while he continued to hold her. He'd become somewhat accustomed to emotional outbursts from Amy over the past several months. After panicking the first few times, and receiving stern words of advice from Leonard and Penny along the lines of "stop talking to us and go comfort your wife!", he'd learned the best thing to do was just to hold her and listen to her.

While sometimes she got upset over something trivial, this moment was anything but. Amy was right, this was special. It had taken everything in him to move in here. His old apartment had been the biggest safety net in his life. It contained his spot, and his carefully crafted routines with Leonard had become second nature. He walked away from all of it.

It was one of his best decisions ever.

This home he'd had for nearly four years was a stamp of his bravery, a symbol that he could branch out and go beyond his own self-imposed limitations. And he had. Since then, he'd married, won a Nobel prize alongside the love of his life, and in just a few short months their daughter would be born. Their new house was just the next step in branching out. It was painful at times, and even the happy milestones had still stretched Sheldon farther than he'd ever anticipated, but he knew he was better off this way.

Amy sniffled as she began to compose herself. "Thank you, Sheldon. I'm okay, really. I should be checking if you're ok. Are you?"

She knew how difficult change was for Sheldon, but this time around it hadn't been quite so bad. Maybe it was because he was so preoccupied taking care of Amy during her pregnancy he hadn't had much opportunity to dwell on what they were about to do.

"I am. I believe we are doing the right thing. Plus, since Raj is moving in here, we can still see it from time to time, assuming his dog doesn't pee over the entire apartment."

Amy giggled. "Raj knows better than to ever give you that information."

Sheldon grimaced.

Amy quickly changed the subject. "So, before we go, tell me your favorite memory from living here."

A groan escaped from her husband. "Amy, you know you can't ask a question like that out of nowhere. A question like that requires reflection and deliberation…."

"Ok, fine, it's no big deal. Sorry I asked, I was just curious—"

"And with so many contenders! Apart from the obvious big moments, there is still when I first saw you in your wedding dress, the night we fixed our Super Asymmetry paper, let's see….."

"Just one favorite, any favorite, any significant memory here! Just pick one," Amy said, exasperated.

"Fine. The first time we ate eggplant parmesan here."

"Huh?" It was definitely not what Amy expected him to say.

"That was the day I made the choice to stay here with you, in our apartment. I stood outside the door and referenced Buridan's donkey, you handed me an eggplant so I wouldn't starve to death, and I brought the eggplant inside so you could make dinner."

Amy's eyes crinkled as the memories flooded back. "And you told me over dinner that you were staying," she said softly. "You don't know how happy I was to hear that."

Sheldon nodded. "It was an important day. It led to everything else that's happened since."

"See? You can make decisions, great ones, in fact."

"I never said I couldn't. I just said it takes time to weigh them carefully."

Amy rolled her eyes. "It was a compliment."

"Oh, right. Thank you. Yes, great decisions with many more to come. I only wish our child could know this home."

"Me, too, but we took plenty of pictures to document it properly, and we will mention it to her whenever we can. We'll tell her all about Mommy and Daddy's first home together."

"Must we make our titles so juvenile? Mom and dad would suffice, or mother and father."

"Oh, no, I'm not budging on this one, honey. We're Mommy and Daddy. You better get used to it."

"I suppose I will," Sheldon grumbled with a hint of a smile. Honestly, his child could address him as "hey, nerd" and he'd still want to give her the world.

They headed to the door where their bags were gathered and took one more meaningful look around, hands intertwined.

"Are you ready?" Amy asked as she kissed his cheek.

Sheldon gave a quick nod, as he started to feel a slight lump in his throat.

With a gentle pull of the door, their chapter of 4B was officially closed, but as they descended via elevator one final time as residents, they both knew grand, new adventures were well on their way.

#shamy #shamy fanfic #fanfic #shamy fanfiction #fanfiction #sheldon x amy #tbbt #the big bang theory #big bang theory #sheldon cooper #amy farrah fowler #my fanfiction

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

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Let’s talk about The Twist of Good Omens (Pt. 2 of 2)

[PART 1]

So this is the second part to the meta / scene analysis of the Twist ending of Good Omens, which I explain in Part 1 as being one of my favourite tropes ever. The first part is more meta, this one is more headcanon-with-canon-evidence, and will be significantly shorter than the first part, mostly because it’s just me spewing out my brain thoughts to the æther, LOL.

[EDIT: And now because I took so long people smarter than I have better theories, so... just humour me, my self esteem is garbage lol]

Here’s a thought that’s been niggling at my brain: So upon receiving the final prophecy, Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t certain what the prophecy meant:

C: What’s that?

A: [hands over the scrap paper to Crowley] It fell out of Agnes Nutter’s book.

[scrap of paper reads: “5004. When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre”]

C: “For soon enough you will be playing with fire”? So this is the final on of Agnes’ prophecies?

A: As far as I know.

[...]

C: You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side. Like Agnes said, we are going to have to choose our faces wisely.

SOURCE: Season 1, Episode 6 Subtitles, 24:40-27:00

Okay sorry, I mis-remembered them until I finally typed out the above. It’s not DIRECTLY said they don’t know what it means, but I don’t think they immediately knew how it was to be interpreted. I feel as if they didn’t know that a body swap (or technically, a face swap or illusion spell since they retained their original traits with a different face) was possible between demon and angel. And, it’s apparent that either the Archangels and Demon Hoarde didn’t know that it was possible either, OR they knew but it was one of those... long forgotten things or they assumed Crowley and Azzie were too dumb to think of that. I’m leaning towards the first option, because I feel that there’s more canon evidence to that:

The immediate first thought of both parties when the Hellfire / Holy Water didn’t work was, “OH! They’ve been here so long they’ve become human!”, not “Oh, I bet you they switched their faces!” DESPITE the fact that in the presence of the Archangels and Beelzebub’s Hoardes, they were acting rather uncharacteristically to themselves, no one questioned it at all. GRANTED neither Crowley nor Azzie are respected among their peers, so that last point can be written off, but I thought I’m going to make it nonetheless.

Aziraphale asks if anyone is looking just before they switch back, and GRANTED this is because they’re trying to ensure that their ruse isn’t discovered but could it also be – and I realize this is a stretch here – they don’t want either side to know that a swap is possible between angels and demons? That not only gives them a safety net if either party ever decides they want to enact revenge on them, but also it is something that could be seen as dangerous knowledge for the Sides to know about... imagine if a Demon knows about this, and possibly could kidnap an angel and force a switch to destroy Heaven or tempt humanity who would see an Angel as trustworthy? Sorry my brain is just filled with possibilities here. There is a possibility that each party needs an emotional connection with one another to enact a switch (which I’ll go into more detail in a sec, because it’s part of my headcanon), but again we don’t KNOW the logistics of it.

So how did they figure it out, that it was going to work OR it was at least worthy of trying in lieu of everything else?

Here’s where I enter little headcanon territory (well, more than it already is, anyway): We know that Azzie went back to Crowley’s flat (or at least it’s implied) and Azzie spent the night at the very least. My little headcanon is this: they found out about being able to switch after a, uh, bonding session... where they found out Angels and Demons CAN in fact trade faces, so long as both parties share a strong emotional connection with each other (as kind of a fail safe to ensure that Angels and Demons aren’t kidnapping each other all willy-nilly and sneaking into each others’ realms without being invited in and causing havoc). There’s a good chance Azzie and Crowley are the first in history to ever have such an emotional connection to each other. And of course, no one would ever think THAT would be possible ever, what with them being eternal enemies and all that jazz.

So what if, when they got back to Crowley’s, in the general safety of privacy, the weight of everything that has happened FINALLY hitting upon them, realizing they almost lost each other, and they embrace, perhaps clasp hands or forehead touches (I’m more impartial to the latter, it’s my jam), and when they pull back, they’re shocked to see their own faces staring back at them. Realization hits them... is this what was meant by the prophecy? Could it really work? Discussion, experimentation, elation, possible coupling happens (kinky part of me says they tried the coupling as each other, how’s that for a first time). Showing off to each other that they can BE each other, and concerns about “what if the properties of our own bodies weren’t also transferred in the exchange? Is this a mind or a face swap?” Love confessions and worry for each other’s safety ensue, hoping that the prophecy really does mean “face” because Agnes was nothing if not precise in her wording. I think Azzie would know this better than Crowley since he spent so long reading from the original prophecies, and I think he’s the one who is certain it will work.

Which could also explain their behaviours in Heaven / Hell. Crowley-as-Azzie is confident and not worried at all, because Aziraphale told him it would work (as well as it being a reflection of how he perceives Azzie as brave and clever). Azzie-as-Crowley seems a BIT more hesitant, because he REALLY wasn’t sure of himself, but didn’t want Crowley to worry. And then Azzie gets into the tub and realizes he isn’t going to be eviscerated, and he gets cocky and sure-of-himself, and is more comfortable in Crowley’s skin.

Another thought I had, totally separate but not really, and it was spawned from this possible observation that was pointed out on this post here: Could they have found out about the ability to switch when they got on the bus? LOL imagine THAT happening and then in their excitement about solving the prophecy, tried to trigger it again when they got back to Crowley’s place, cue sexy times because DAMNIT they almost lost each other again.

The funny thing is (or ironic?), in the end, is that they really have gone native, but not in the way that the Angels and Demons think is what happens when you go native. They learned to love in the same way humans do. They both wore each other’s faces, saw how the other side really treats the angel/demon they’ve come to love, and know now that they only have each other. That they are better together. And there’s that nice little thought that their love was always to be, prophesied by Agnes Nutter herself.

Sorry I took so long to get this part out... I’ve had real-life paying projects to finish before I was able to sit down and write this out and edit it into coherence rather than the jumbled mess all my freeform meta start out as. I hope you enjoyed my ramblings! I’d love to know what you guys all think and if you guys have any additions to this specific point to the discussion!

Thanks again for humouring me LOL.

#good omens #go meta #my meta #go headcanons #go final twist #my thoughts

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anistarrose · 6 years ago

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It wasn’t that Stan thought stealing from an alien marketplace was even a remotely good idea, and he wanted that recorded for posterity on his gravestone. Even he wasn’t foolhardy enough to take a look at the hulking, four-armed creatures that ran most of the vendors and think Hey, that looks like someone who would be fun to rob! He’d already chopped off his mullet and thrown a longcoat over his jacket in order to throw the space cops he’d stolen the shuttle from off of his trail — he didn’t need any more enemies.

But his stomach had been growling ceaselessly for hours now, ever since waking up dizzy this morning. Last night had been the end of the bag of stale chips he’d kept tucked in his hoodie, which meant he hadn’t eaten anything else since…

Since two full days ago now, in his car a few hours before reaching Ford’s house. A few hours before falling into the portal.

He grimaced as his stomach let out another rumble, begging for something, anything that could keep it going. He’d felt hunger like this before, of course, but there had always been some faint semblance of a safety net then, an assurance that if he set aside his pride and went around begging to enough people, one of them would probably take pity on him eventually.

But here, he didn’t even have a common language with most of the world’s inhabitants — and as a result, they were cautiously watching his every move, suspicion easy to read even on their alien faces.

They’re big, but they must be slow, he thought. Maybe I can outrun them.

(Foolish words, maybe, from a guy who was probably only alive because people kept underestimating how fast someone as heavy as him could move, but it was looking more and more like his best hope for survival.)

He sauntered up to the nearest vendor, trying to look confident but non-confrontational. Their booth was full of brightly colored fruits that smelled about the same as pears, which Stan figured was probably his best bet for a food that wouldn’t end up poisoning him.

“‘Sup. Do you take Stanbucks?”

The shopkeeper replied in heavily accented English, eyes narrowing. “Only barter here. What are your… Stanbucks worth?”

“Uh, see for yourself!” Stan hurled a handful of paper scraps in their face, stuffed three yellow-green mystery fruits in his pockets, and ran for the nearest alleyway as fast as his legs could carry him.

The shopkeeper roared a single word that Stan couldn’t understand, but assumed to be either profanity or a call for the police, and the other aliens echoed their call. Stan looked back just in time to see a creature with the legs of a horse and the maw of a wolf barreling after him, gaining on him with every clatter of its hooves —

He rounded the first corner he came across, hoping a rapid turn in direction would throw the creature off, but it proved to be surprisingly agile, growing so close he could hear its fangs snap shut just inches behind him. He slipped on his knuckledusters, ready to give up on fleeing and turn around to fight — but before he could aim a single desperate blow, something else beat him to it.

A beam of blue energy struck the creature from above and to the side, knocking it into the alley wall where it crumbled to the ground, limbs convulsing. Atop the parallel wall stood a cloaked figure, blue electricity still crackling around the barrel of the gun they held… which was now pointed directly at Stan.

“Don’t come near me!” they barked, and the scarf covering their face shifted, revealing a face Stan would recognize anywhere — because it was his own face, except with cracked glasses resting over eyes that burned with the cold determination of someone who’d fought for their life too many times to count, and was ready to do so again at a moment’s notice.

It was a look that might have belonged on Stan’s face if he was looking at it in a mirror, but just looked wrong reflected on his brother.

“I may have saved you this time, but I won’t be able to again,” Ford continued, slowly lowering the gun but not holstering it. “If two parallel versions of the same person come into direct contact, the effects are predicted to be cataclysmic both for us and the dimension we’re —”

His voice abruptly cut off, as his gaze drifted down to Stan’s hands.

“What about twins from parallel universes?” Stan croaked.

“Stanley?!”

“Yeah, I —”

“What are you doing here? How did you —” Ford flinched as another howl sounded from a distance. “Fuck! We need to get out of here — both of us, because I don’t know if those beasts will discriminate between us two!” He leapt down from the wall, grabbing Stan’s wrist and tugging him towards the nearest offshoot of the alleyway.

“Wait! How — how long has it been for you? When did you learn to shoot that —”

“Going on five years,” Ford answered, and yanked Stan’s arm so hard that Stan let out an involuntary yelp. “Now come on!”

Stan stumbled after him, ducking through a door that Ford slammed shut behind him and into a small, stone brick house. Its interior was mostly bare, containing only a small wooden table, a rickety chair, and a sleeping bag. Square lightbulbs were attached to all four corners of the ceiling, casting a dim orange glow over the single room.

“This nation has a strong cultural tradition of not invading people’s private property, so we should be safe to wait it out in here,” Ford explained matter-of-factly. “That’s the main reason I’ve been hiding out in this dimension, to be honest…”

Stan was preoccupied by the revelation that his nerdy brother was some sort of interdimensional fugitive that he didn’t immediately notice Ford frowning as he looked Stan over, voice slowly trailing off.

“That hoodie…” he murmured. “Shit, Stan, how long has it been since — since you fell through?”

“Uh… two days?”

“You can’t be serious.” Ford rubbed his eyes. “Well, clearly you have a lot to learn…”

He sighed. “And I guess I’ll have to be the one to teach you.”

***

(I'll probably turn this into a proper series eventually, though it’s not too high on my priorities list right now. I have a vague plot outline but no details, and I need to get it filled in a lot more before I start writing the whole thing. Stay tuned, though!)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #rosalia writes fic #i just realized that this is the exact inverse #of what i did for forduary week 1 lol

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indie-struggle · 6 years ago

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The Brass Tacks: 9 Billion Thoughts and Counting...

It looks long, but if you're a writer you should have no problem reading this. There are a lot of writers out there. A lot of writers out there. A lot. Think about how many writers you know and aspiring writers you come across and writers who are working on a script or even a novel, and then think about the fact you're only thinking in terms of your own country... maybe even just your state. Does the world need another fucking screenwriting book? No. There are both sides of the paradigm: McKee's Story, and O'Bannon's Guide to Screenplay structure. The only book on screenwriting that doesn't exist is the one that takes you from point A: as a complete amateur, and then helps you turn your script into a produced film for little to no budget at all, and finally to point B: a festival and distribution. Why doesn't this book exist? Because either they don't know how to do this or they're selfish and want to keep it to themselves. You think John Sayles or Jim Jarmusch wants everyone knowing point A-Z on how to go about doing what they do and get away with it? Actually, they'd probably be okay with it, but they'd never write a book. All the books out there are by hacks who never had anything produced, which is why they have the time and stamina to write them. Now back to the point. There are a fuck ton of writers out there. There are a fuck ton of filmmakers out there. Now I don't know if this is getting through yet, and I don't know if it all got more popular due to consumer product advancement and the internet, or it's always been this popular and I didn't know about it until the internet. Either way, there are way too many hacks. There is too much crap. Self-titled Youtube star: You've written 3 short scripts - not enough. You haven't put in the time it takes to understand wholly and completely the fantastically dreadful and agonizing world that writing is. You don't know shit yet. You need to put in your hours, your dues. You're not going to know enough by reading 5 screenplays and watching comic book movies over and over and over again. You're not - come to terms with that. What the hell do you have to draw from? It would be like a singer thinking they're ready to cut an album after 3 lessons, a show party, and an invite to a backstage orgy a of couple times. Here are my tips from a working, produced writer and director that has tried to help as many people as possible, but still can't seem to get it all through their thick fucking heads. And if you think I'm base or coarse, try working with James Cameron and you'll realize I'm the nicest fucking guy in the state of California - so here's 10 things: #1. Put in your hours. Like anything else, filmmaking: writing, directing, producing, budgeting, electric, gripping, etc, etc - even craft services must know how to cook the food you eat, they don't just flop the first thing they make onto a plate and say, "Well that looks edible. Good luck, everybody." But what does hours mean? It means writing, writing again, again and again and again. Taking breaks here and there, sure, thinking about story, figuring things out, reading, watching, being uncertain, and having zero to fall back on. I want to stress that last part. If you have something to fall back on you'll never get anywhere - you've already set your hindsight on a safety net so you'll never put your whole life and passion into your work. Put in the hours. Put in the years. Get film history and not just American films either - I've said this until I was blue in the face: every writer or filmmaker you idolize film history is soaked in foreign and American films dating to 1920 and possibly before. You’re not going to be like them without doing that. Period. Get to work. #2. You're going to be rejected. Say that to yourself. You... are going... to be... rejected. It is a fact of life. If there is one thing that Stephen King got right in his book to himself. It's that no matter where or who you are, or what you want to do, there will always be somebody who doesn't want you to do it. It's just a fact. Get over it, fuck them. Because if all it takes is someone to say, "I don't like it." to get you to fall to pieces, you never stood a chance to begin with. This is the only rule I know that's 100% true. You have to say fuck what anyone thinks, but still know where you lie, know your skill set, and know your place in the chain of command. #3. There is no how to do it book. If these motherfuckers like [removed] and [removed], [removed], [removed], [removed], and [removed], knew what they were talking about, they wouldn't be writing books or critiquing to make ends meet, they'd be working on the exact thing they're trying to give you advice on. Look at me for example. I've had over 5 feature films made - have I any desire to write a book about it? Do I want to write a book? Fucking no - why? It takes a staggering amount of arrogance to write a "Here’s the rules." book. Perhaps I'll do a seminar if I make it to 80, though. #4. Get offline. Leave, take a break from it. Disconnect. You need something to stimulate your mind. The internet does not stimulate your mind. This is why I hardly post, because I'm outside, doing shit, and stimulating my subconscious through conscious activities. Example: surfing, building puzzles, painting (poorly), walking around town and people watching, taking a class to learn something new, reading a novel and not falling asleep, trying to meet nice people, failing, etc. I was - and I'm going brag now - hugged by a woman who I told to get the fuck off facebook. Why? Because it's a poisonous environment. When you first wanted to do the things you did as a child - that great feeling and anticipation of doing it - did you check first to see what others might think? No, you just did it. People who spend their life on the internet, that's all they got, and it's all they'll ever have. Like assholes at the gym everyday. That's their life. And much like a book, there is no secrets that will plant you in the door to where you want to be out there that’s on the internet. You need to do the work that doesn't require anyone's opinion - especially not from a poisonous swamp. Disconnect. Trust me on this. No TV, no internet. No reading this. #5. No, you don't have a great idea for a TV show. Day after day after day I'm pitched TV show ideas, and they're all fucking terrible. "Well maybe Netflix will--" No, they won't. And if they do, great, fantastic, but what does that mean in the end? Netflix has an agenda. There are reasons you can't see things on there. Even 30 year comedians can't get specials released on there because they're too "risky" or "Dangerous" for this "climate" blah-blah-blah (Nick Di Paolo comes to mind). In the end you'll just be a stenographer pandering to smiling execs under a different logo, is that what you want? To be a tool for money? A whore? God, if my parents could only see me now. If you want to do that, then fine, have at it - but get out of my sandbox - because I bet you dollars to donuts, at the end of the day, you'll feel cheap, hollow, and empty inside if you have any insides left. Just because some random show got picked up, doesn't mean it has the weight or resilience to continue. You must know this. Even pros like David Milch have had shows ripped from his grasp by idiot studio executives that went to Brown and think they know what you want to see. It's bullshit. Netflix is even more brutal in cutting throats - they'll just stop the show, period. At least studios and production companies will say no beforehand, that's the only difference. What makes me so certain? I wrote for one of the shows on there, and I’ve worked with these people (if you can call it that). #6. You must realize that not every story is aimed at a Hollywood studio's idea of a universal audience. Just like not all music is aimed for Tower Records or EMI. Ambitions do not have to be at studio level production budgets. They don't. If that's what you like - making big action packed sci-fi what have you - then by all means have at it. But never (which is something I try never to say) judge someone else's work under a shallow pretense that it's written for the Hollywood studio system. Always keep an objective mind. And if you're not experienced enough to know what a certain story is aimed at, what budget it's written for, what audience it will appeal to (as if that's important), than ask or say nothing at all. Do not assume Sally's cute story about women and their troubles with men was aimed for a studio production, because it wasn't. And you pretending it was makes you look like an inexperienced ass. Avoid that. #7. Yes, no one owes you a read. But, just because someone read your work also doesn't entitle them to be a piece of shit for the sake of being a piece of shit. You're allowed to ignore. Personal preference is not the same as criticism. It's not - never has been. Didn’t I do an article on this? You must know how to dicern between the two. I'm on both sides of this. I've read a lot of crap, but I've read a lot of decent work as well. A lot of the crap was of stuff I liked and disliked, and same with the decent reads. It did not, however, effect my criticism - I set my personal preferences aside - and judged for what didn't work as a story. And you need to do this as well. Judge it for what it is, not what you want it to be, what you would like better, or what you think would sell to an audience - the writer doesn't give a shit anyway - so don't waste your breath on that, they want useful facts about what doesn’t work and why. You need to be explaining what you found that worked, and what you found that didn't work, or was confusing to you. This sets off light bulbs in the writer's head (one hopes), and your criticism becomes constructive. Think of it from another, power-structure perspective: you have little experience in cooking, you're an intern for a famous chef. You eat one of his meals and it's not so great, not your "cup of tea". So you decide to tell him what you would have done and what you think would be better. But, you're the intern - why should the chef give a shit? In fact, you're probably just seen as a fool giving advice to someone who knows what they're doing and instead of being helpful you’re a moron following a set of rules you picked up somewhere. Why? Because you’re not a chef yet. #8. No one is going to hold your hand through this. It's a tough, masochistic art, that sometimes isn't even art. Sometimes it's a slot machine with the idea of praying for a big winner. Fuck, I wish I could tell you it's not. I wish I could tell you that all your dreams are horrifically beautiful and fantastic and lovely and everyone cares about everyone else. But they don't. It's cold out here. You die at the end. You're going to get trampled on, spit at, kicked around, beaten and pushed until the only thing left of the person you used to be is ash with bad knees, a migraine, and a sore ego. That's the way it is. Have you ever wondered why people in the entertainment industry have astoundingly fragile egos? Why they constantly suck each other off? This is why. Things have always been separated between two things: good ones and bad ones. "I thought you were a good one.", "I was worried you were one of the bad ones." There is not enough space here to go into detail on what this means, and how it has effected and affected people just trying to live and make art since 1890, but it's awful and it's a disgrace (read Sidney Lumet’s book). In short, it's the business side. Frigid. Unless you can let things go, unless you have a great bullshit detector or can let it roll off your back. My advice to you is to be as solitary as possible, and work on what you want to work on. It may not pay, but damn it at least you'll be doing what you want to do, and you'll have no regrets in the end because it’s from the heart. #9. Everyone is different. Not everyone is into the same things as you. And not everyone sees orange as the same color you do. Only kids think this way. Doesn't matter what social media says, the media in general, or politically correct congregations. We're not all the same. The "fucks" in your dialogue will be taken by one person as anger or threatening, and another person as just normal speaking. Backgrounds are different, environments are different. Hair styles are different. White houses, or broken fences. Different. We are not homogeneous. Film is also not a soapbox, or podium for political causes and social agendas. If you want to push an agenda, make a documentary. Cinema is also not (regardless of what undeserving rich directors think) about money. Its lively hood and quality doesn't exist on whether or not a certain number of people bought a ticket. You have any idea how many geniuses over time died flat broke and are only now recognized for their feats? Anyone can feed peanuts to a hungry idiot if given the chance. They’ll gobble that shit up. But peanuts never stand the test of time.

“Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing“ - William Goldman

What cinema is about is simple: broadening minds, culturing people about things they've never seen through places they've never been, and reflecting human emotions. Real human emotions, not sentimentality. Fantasy is fun, and has its place, but nothing but fantasy is disillusionment. Ultimately, if you have nothing to say in the former regard, who or what are you doing it for? The money? The pain? Why? Cinema is not just about entertainment. That's what the circus is for - not film. If you're not trying to make an objective moral point, or reflect human nature as how it's seen in a way most can't see it, then what are you doing? What part of this is you? The money? These are the things that you will be asked by a producer or executive. #10. You're struggling, you don't know if you have it, you don't know if you've lost it. You're confused, puzzled, irritated, aggravated, disappointed, hate filled, self-loathing but polite to strangers for some reason... there is no path you can see through the forest. That’s because there isn’t one. But every creative person goes through this, you are not alone. You are not alone. I know it doesn’t help with the pain, but at least there’s that. Whether or not you keep going separates you from those who quit - as cliche as that sounds - it's goddamn true. Find your pace, and just keep going. You’ll know sooner or later if it’s in your blood. If that wasn't enough to motivate you, let me tell you a brief story: When I was a boy, I had one parent, I was emotionally abused on a daily basis by her because I looked like the man who left. My father was somewhere. I was abused by my classmates. Betrayed by so called friends. Chased by the police. Oppressed by my teachers. Sought after by gang members, beaten up daily, fought back daily. I wasn't liked. No idea why, confused. And this was all while dealing with just the growing up part, and puberty to boot. But, I escaped into a world that thankfully wasn't drugs, yet every analyst I've ever seen has told me that it normally should have been. But it wasn't. A lot of bad shit has happened to me, and I've met a lot of people. This is my personal well I draw from. If you don't have one, you usually make one just by living: being a player and not a spectator. I've lived a lot - too much, too soon. But the point I'm trying to make is that somehow I'm still alive. I am alive. I never thought I'd make it to 20. You hear that a lot, but I really didn't. I had 3 close friends, and 2 of them did not. The 3rd moved away, or ran, it doesn't matter - he forgot me, so I try hard to forget him. I had no college education, I had no picket sign with any anti-something on it. I had, and still have, whatever my pocket gives me. That's it. That’s all. And I'm damn happy to have it. Now, I'm long, long past 20. I can’t even remember it. And if someone like me who has been through the things that he's been through can heal from bruises, try to sew up wounds... then you can sit your fucking ass down and finish your goddamn script. I've finished plenty of mine. So knock off the bullshit and just do it. What are you worried about, failing? So what, get back on the bike.

#screenwriting #writing #film

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chasholidays · 6 years ago

Note

I really like a Timestamp for Time Enough for Rocking When We're Old with the prompt "Graduation"

Original fic here!

Bellamy knows that Octavia didn’t pick a college in the Boston area just to delay his impending freakout about her growing up and moving away, but that was a side-effect of Boston College being her favorite place that she visited. It had felt like a good kind of compromise, her leaving the house but not leaving, and Bellamy hadn’t even minded that much. He loves his sister, but he really shouldn’t have had Octavia in the first place. When she left for college, his life fell into the place where it was probably supposed to be: he was a twenty-seven-year-old guy with a good job, a house, and a wife. If anything, he was ahead of the game.

So he was doing well. Octavia was close enough that she came home to do laundry sometimes, but it was mostly just him and Clarke, living in something like domestic bliss. There wasn’t any reason to think that would change, once Octavia finished college.

It’s about a month before said finishing of college when she says, “Hey, I got a job.”

“Yeah? Awesome, congrats. That’s amazing.”

“Right? It’s a one-year gig teaching English in Japan, but if I like it I can extend my contract for longer.”

Bellamy’s heart stops. “What?”

“Did I not tell you I was applying for that?”

“O–”

“It’s a job, and a cool one! I get a place to live and I get to see a whole new part of the world. How is that not awesome?”

“If you really thought I’d think it was awesome, you would have told me.”

“Just because you don’t think it’s good, that doesn’t mean you’re right. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t want to have this fight unless I actually got it. Which I did.”

There’s an undeniable logic to it, not that it helps. His paranoid overprotectiveness is something his sister can plan around, something she has to factor into whatever she tells him. How many things must she have thought about doing that he doesn’t know about because she didn’t trust him not to blow up?

“You did,” he agrees, releasing his breath on a long exhalation. “And you’re excited?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Tell me why, so I get it.”

And to be fair to Octavia, she’s not lacking in reasons. She’s never left Boston and has always wanted to travel, she actually kind of likes teaching, and she wanted to see what it was like to be on her own without completely giving up a safety net. She looked into dozens of programs, compared them, and applied to a bunch, but this was her favorite, and she got in.

The least he can do is be happy for her.

“Sorry,” he says, soft. “That you couldn’t tell me.”

“I learned my lesson from the college conversation. Don’t get me wrong, I loved BC, but every time I talked about liking anywhere out of town, you shut down.”

Bellamy doesn’t remember it like that, but he’s never had as good a poker face as he thinks he does. He goes blank and thinks that will solve the problem, but his sister knows what a blank face means. He wasn’t fooling her.

“I know it takes me some time to get used to–I just want you to be happy. I’ll get over myself.”

“I know,” she says, her tone an eyeroll. “You haven’t stopped me doing anything I want to do, Bell. I just don’t tell you everything all the time.”

“I guess that’s probably fine. Did you tell Clarke?”

“Some, not everything. I told her I got this first so she’d be ready for your freakout.”

“You know you don’t have to manage my emotions for me, right?”

“I don’t do it for you, I do it for me. I want to minimize having to fight with you. Don’t act like you don’t do it too.”

She’s right, of course. He picks and chooses his fights with his sisters as much as he can, avoids it as much as possible, which is most of the time, these days. He doesn’t need to run his every decision by his sister, not even most of them.

“I know I do,” he tells her. “When do you leave?”

“A week after graduation.”

“Congrats. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’m so excited,” she admits, sounding like a giddy little girl, excitement gushing out. “I can’t wait.”

He’s not going to miss out on these conversations; he doesn’t want her to have to weigh whether or not it’s worth the fight to tell him what’s going on in her life. He’s going to deal with this, be better.

So he goes to Clarke, sinks down next to her on the couch and puts his head in her lap with a sigh.

“Octavia told you?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“I feel like an asshole.”

“If it helps, she’s twenty-two, which is how old I was when I wasn’t telling my mom that I was marrying some random guy I found on craigslist. So you could be doing a lot worse.”

“Jesus,” he says, with a soft laugh. “I can’t believe we did that. O’s way too young to get married.”

“We weren’t really getting married. I didn’t think it was going to last.”

“It shouldn’t have.” He takes her left hand, turning it over to look at the rings on her finger. The first is still his grandmother’s, but he bought her another on their fifth anniversary, a plain gold band, but it matches, makes the engagement ring look like part of a set. He never gets tired of seeing them on her, the tangible proof of their marriage, modified and improved after years together.

“I guess going to Japan for a year is a less major life decision than getting married to a stranger.”

“If she doesn’t like it, she can get out of it easier, yeah.” She gives his hand a squeeze when he lets go of the ring. “Do you want me to distract you?”

He frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a come-on.”

“It’s not, no. I have news.”

He straightens up, frowning. “News? What kind of news?”

“I’m pregnant.”

It’s somehow not a total surprise and a complete shock at the same time. They’d talked about the possibility of kids a few months back, at Christmas, and decided that they could handle having some, and they could start trying, and if Clarke wasn’t pregnant by the next Christmas, they would reassess. If he’s honest, Bellamy had been assuming that would happen, without any good reason. When he was younger, he was convinced he’d gotten someone pregnant every time he had sex, no matter how much protection they used, but somehow marriage had him convinced that trying to get pregnant would never work.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Really?”

“According to the test I bought, yeah.”

“When did you buy it?”

“This morning, when you were in the shower. I went around the block to CVS.”

That stops him short. “Why then? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She buries her face against his shoulder. “Honestly? I felt kind of stupid even buying it. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I couldn’t believe I was right. I didn’t want to tell you until I took the test. I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” he says, smiling and kissing her hair. “That makes total sense. I just, uh–after the thing with Octavia, I was kind of worried you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to overreact.”

She kisses his shoulder. “No, I don’t do that. I’m not Octavia, don’t worry. I tell you stuff. I would have told you if the test had been negative, too, I just–I needed to know first. If I was right or not.”

“And you were.” He exhales. “And you’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant. Probably like–seven weeks along, maybe? I don’t know. I missed two periods, so something around that, but we’ll have to go to a doctor to be sure.”

“I really didn’t think it was going to work,” he admits. “Not this soon, anyway.”

“It did feel kind of theoretical, yeah. It’s weird that you can decide you’re ready to maybe have kids and just start trying and then–that’s it. Not that this is–it could be a false positive, and it’s still pretty early, and–”

Bellamy tugs her closer, gives her hair a kiss. “Breathe. Are you happy about this? You don’t have to be.”

“I am.” She laughs, a strange, disbelieving kind of laugh. “I think I was just so focused on reminding myself that it wasn’t going to happen overnight and I needed to be patient that I wasn’t thinking about it actually happening, you know?”

“I definitely know.” He lets out a breath. “Okay, so, uh–pregnancy. That’s happening. Let’s say you’re eight weeks along, that means we’ve got about thirty weeks to go, which is��seven and a half months? And the baby’s due in October or November?”

“Something like that. I’ll call the doctor on Monday and set up an appointment, and then we’ll get more information.” She groans. “Fuck, I’m going to have to stop drinking.”

“We’re going to have to clear out the computer room and make it into a nursery.”

“To be fair, no one has a computer room anymore,” she teases. “Not even us. It’s just storage.”

“Which means there’s way more to clear out than there would have been if we just had a computer in there.”

Clarke’s smile is still growing. “Remember when you tried to convince me I could live in there?”

“Your standards were just way too high. I figured anyone who was marrying some guy on craigslist to save on rent would be happy to get whatever room I had. And wouldn’t actually want to share with me.”

“Instead you got me,” she says. “And your kid’s going to be the one who gets the room.”

“Fuck,” he says, dropping his head back onto the couch. “Our kid. We’re actually having a kid.”

“Assuming everything goes well. It’s still early, so–”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Fuck.”

“We don’t have to keep it.”

“No, that’s not what I–I just can’t believe it. Unless, uh–do you want to keep it?” he asks, a little belatedly.

“Yeah, I do. I think I was just expecting more of a break between Octavia leaving and us having another kid.”

“She’s leaving in a month,” he points out. “We’ll have a while between that and the baby.”

“Spoken like the guy who isn’t going to be growing a human inside him for that whole time.”

“Good point. But we’re doing this.”

She rests her head on his shoulder. “We’re doing this.”

In theory, Bellamy shouldn’t actually need anything to distract him at the end of the semester. The end of the semester is basically hell for him, and the fact that he’s thinking of AP exams as something that’s distracting him from Octavia leaving and Clarke’s pregnancy is actually kind of worrying. AP exams are supposed to be the worst part of every spring.

And in a way, of course, it is the worst part. In no universe is his wife’s pregnancy bad, let alone his sister graduating college with a good job she’s excited about. That’s all awesome, and in some ways not nearly as stressful as the end of the semester and wondering how his kids are going to do on their tests.

But at least with the tests, he feels like he has some degree of control. The kids are the ones taking the actual exams, but he gets to prep them and answer their questions and he has a good idea of what success looks like. It’s largely out of his control, but he resent them if they fuck up.

It’s not pleasant, but it’s not an existential issue, and that makes it a novel distraction.

Unfortunately, it only lasts into mid-May, and then the tests are over and the distraction is just gone, the relief he usually feels when exams are done immediately eaten up by anxiety about the baby he can’t even tell is there yet, this kid who might not actually make it to being born.

So he calls his sister.

“You’re calling me?” she asks, frown audible in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s actually wrong. I’m freaking out and I figure you’re an adult now, so I should talk to you about it before I do something stupid.”

“Let me guess, you googled something about my new job and you think I’m going to die. Did you check Snopes? It’s probably bullshit.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s, uh–Clarke is pregnant.”

He did tell Clarke he was telling O, so it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong, but it feels a little anticlimactic, a little risky. It should be a big deal, and they should be telling her later, when it’s less likely to jinx it. They should go out to dinner and make a production of it, but there will be time to do that later. Clarke’s pregnancy isn’t going anywhere.

“Congratulations. Are you not happy? I feel like you should be happy.”

“I don’t want to let myself be happy yet. I’m thinking about everything that could go wrong. There’s so much.”

Octavia pauses. “Oh wow, yeah. This must be like a pretty major crisis for you, huh? Like–pregnancy is a minefield.”

“Pretty much.”

“So why are you telling me?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m asking you for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I want you to let me stress out about you so I won’t be worrying about the baby.”

Another long pause, and then she laughs. “Seriously, Bell?”

“I think it would help.”

“It would help you.”

“Yeah, we’re talking about me.”

“What do you even have to worry about? With me, I mean. It’s an established program with a good reputation. This is, like, really normal. Not a crisis.”

“I can find something. I’m really good at worrying.”

“But you don’t want to be worrying about Clarke.”

“I don’t need to do anything else to stress her out. We’re already going to be–there’s so much that can go wrong, I don’t need to be dwelling on it.”

“So you want my permission to find stuff to worry about with me so that you and Clarke won’t end up in some stupid stress spiral.”

“There’s only so much we can do to avoid that. But yeah, I want to get it as under control as I can, so–”

“You know how weird this is, right?”

“I do, yeah. You’re an adult now, right? That means you get involved in adult conversations, like how having a baby is scary and I’m going to be melting down for the next eight months. And that’s assuming everything goes well.”

“You know, you sounded less worried about marrying a stranger from craigslist than you do about having a baby with her.”

“Marriage is less of a commitment than a baby.”

She goes quiet again, and this is the time it occurs to him how rare that is, how encouraging. His sister is actually thinking things over, measuring her responses, taking care. She really is growing up.

“I really thought you were ruining your life for me, you know. When you and Clarke got married.”

“I know. You told me.”

“Yeah, but I never felt like you got it. I didn’t know how to explain it.”

“Sorry?”

“No, it’s just–I don’t know. You’re having a baby, and it should be the best news ever, and you’re telling me you need me to be your distraction. You need to work on appropriate emotional responses.”

“I’m happy. Jesus, O. I’m so happy I don’t know how to be this happy. I’m not going to figure it out until I’m holding the baby, and maybe not even then. I’m not supposed to be this lucky.”

“Okay,” she says, in her most authoritative, decisive tone. “Here’s what we’re doing. I’ve got another week of classes and then exams, so I need to get through those. Feel free to read every horror story you can about Americans getting stabbed abroad. Pretend I’m going to another country if it helps. And then once I’m done and on my way to Japan, I’ll send you updates on how I’m doing that you can’t verify that are full of red flags.”

“You’re going to send me fake crises?” he asks.

“Yup. Nothing that bad, always stuff I can deal with, but something you can fret about as much or as little as you need to.”

“Is it bad that that sounds really good to me right now?”

“It’s like subscribing to one of those puzzle of a day things, but specially tailored to your neuroses.”

“Thanks, O. Really.”

“If making up stories is going to help you get through this pregnancy, it’s the least I can do. Is Clarke there? Can I talk to her?”

“She’s in the other room. I can get her.”

“Yeah, I want to tell her congratulations and make sure she’s doing okay. See if she needs any weird services from me.”

“You actually turned out all right, huh?”

“I tried, anyway. Really, though,” she says, serious. “Congratulations. You guys are going to be awesome parents.”

“We worked all the kinks out on you, so–”

“So you’ve got this.”

It’s not exactly easy to believe, but it’s getting easier.

“Yeah,” he says. “Somehow.”

“Is this Octavia thing going to help you too, or am I the only one with that specific hangup?”

Clarke has her head in his lap as she reads, which is nice, and Bellamy can’t help letting his eyes stray to her stomach, even though her pregnancy being obvious at this point would actually be a huge red flag. It’s not like he actually expects to see anything, just the knowledge that a few cells will be a living, breathing human in under a year in there is almost unreal.

He remembers his mother being pregnant, of course. He was old enough when Octavia was born that he followed a lot of it, helped out when Aurora was achy or cranky or needed some obscure food from the store. But he hadn’t really cared much about Octavia until he saw her, until she was this little, wrinkly thing staring up at him in awe. That was when he had a sister.

Children, apparently, kick in earlier.

“She did ask if I wanted her to do anything for me.”

“And?”

“And keeping you distracted is a public service.”

He kisses her forehead. “I haven’t been that bad, right?”

“No, you haven’t.” She grins. “Your paranoia about worrying means you’re really holding back on stressing.”

“Good for me. You don’t need anything?”

“I told Octavia she should send me updates without any lies in them so I can give you answers if you’re worrying too much.”

“Probably a good idea. But you know you can tell me how you’re feeling too. I’m not too far gone to help with whatever you’re going through.”

“I’m trying to be fine,” she says, with a determination that makes him smile. “Nothing bad has even happened yet. If we start overthinking now, we’ll melt down before the end of the first trimester.”

“So how are you avoiding it?”

“For one thing, I don’t have summers off and I’m not worried Octavia is going to die.”

“And that helps?”

“You’ve got two big changes and no distractions. Which is why I liked the Octavia plan.”

“Because I’m going to distract myself from one crisis with another one?”

Clarke smiles. “The two crises being your sister graduating from college and the baby we’re excited to be having?”

“That would be them, yeah. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s a lot of change all at once. I was hoping the baby was going to help, but I should have known it was too much.”

“I feel shitty that I’ve just been stressing non-stop since you got pregnant.”

“I get it. You were going to be stressing non-stop about this anyway, the pregnancy is just the icing on the cake. But you’ll get over this hump in a few weeks.”

“You think?”

“As soon as I start having actual pregnancy symptoms and we have real information about how the baby is doing, you’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“And once Octavia goes to Japan and doesn’t die.”

“I know. I just–”

“It’s a lot.”

“It’s good. I should be happy.”

“You are,” she says, with reassuring confidence. “Right?”

That’s less reassuring. But the answer is still easy. “Incredibly. My life is amazing.”

“Your brain just needs to catch up. It’ll get there.”

“And you’re good,” he says. “You’re not keeping anything else quiet because I can’t handle it, right? Because I could.”

“I’m not. I’m nervous, but you know that. Mostly we’re waiting. And I’m glad you’re outsourcing your stress to Octavia.”

“Yeah, me too. I figured she’d be pissed, but she actually sounded kind of excited about making up lies to try and fool me into thinking her life sucks.”

“I think she’s going to be really good at it.”

“Me too.” He sighs. “She really is growing up, huh.”

“She is. And it’s good. We’re going to need her room in a couple years. The baby’s going to grow out of the computer room in no time.”

It seems unthinkable right now, that they’ll not only have a child, but that said child will get bigger and bigger, until they take over Octavia’s room, until they won’t want to be in the house at all. Somehow, in less that twenty-five years, Bellamy is going to be doing this all over again, worrying about what his kid is going to do after they finish college.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “They grow up so fast.”

By the time Octavia is actually graduating, Bellamy’s gotten his head screwed on straight enough to be unreservedly proud and happy for her. It should have been a pretty easy bar to clear, of course, but, as Clarke said, he had a stressful month. He had a lot to process in not a lot of time.

Not that Octavia graduating was actually a surprise, but Japan was an unexpected twist, and even without that, it was always going to be a lot. This is his baby sister, all grown up and ready to take on the world.

Both more and less literally than he was expecting; teaching abroad is a pretty lowkey occupation, relatively speaking. She could be doing something way more dangerous and combative. She could have decided join the army or become a professional bodyguard and he wouldn’t actually have been surprised. But instead, she’s going to another country, having a fucking adventure.

It’s exactly the kind of thing she felt bad he couldn’t have done because he had her, and the second he has the thought, a weight lifts off his shoulders and pieces slide together.

The relief must be visible, because Clarke asks, “Are you okay?”

“I just figured out it’s good Octavia is leaving.”

“Wow, it only took a month and a half,” she teases, but her voice and smile are warm. “What happened?”

“Even before my mom died, I was always–I felt like I was responsible for Octavia, for taking care of the family. That I couldn’t just have my own life. I didn’t raise O feeling like that. She can just go off and do whatever she wants. Plus, she’s kind of following in my footsteps. Teaching.”

Clarke leans her head on his shoulder with a smile. “She is. You did a good job, Bellamy.”

“You helped.”

“I came in when she was pretty much raised and helped get you over the finish line. I’ll take partial credit, but she was pretty much set before I came along. You’re a good–family member, I guess. That’s part of why I married you. I knew that no matter what happened or how everything turned out, you were loyal and kind, and you’d treat me well even if the whole marriage blew up in our faces. That’s what made you a good brother, what makes you a good husband, and what’s going to make you a good father.”

“How long have you been waiting to tell me that one?” he asks, putting his arm around her and kissing her hair.

“Since about a month after we met. It’s pretty obvious.”

“But not always relevant.” The music starts up, indicating the graduates are coming soon, and he lets out a breath. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it. My whole life since you told me you wanted to marry me in that coffee shop has seemed fake. And all this stuff–I was so fucking scared everything would go wrong, and everything went right instead.”

“Things have gone wrong,” Clarke points out, not incorrectly. “But yeah, the general arc of our lives is skewing good, getting better. We got lucky.”

It really is something.

“Yeah.” He kisses her hair, disentangles himself so he can join the crowd looking for the graduates. This is his sister’s day, after all; he and Clarke can be sappy any time. “We really did.”

#dutch-tv-fan

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