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karmasloverrr · 5 months ago

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fresh out the slammer - rafe cameron

in which y/n realizes the only man she wants isn’t the one standing across from her at the alter

warnings- swearing, angst, kissing, mention of abuse

w/c: idk but a lot

guys this is my first fic so be kind please but like..also leave feedback lmao

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Soaking in a bubble filled tub, wallowing in your sorrows and mind even hazier from your third glass of red wine, the fight you just had with your fiancé- soon to be husband- left you with an insurmountable amount of racing thoughts.

Getting home late was a recurring pattern for Tommy, drunk and tattered with his tie undone as well as an occasional obnoxiously red lipstick stain underneath his jaw, mocking you when he turns his head away from your “incessant nagging and bitching”.

You asking where he had been turned into hands pulling hair from stress, voice cracks of screeching anger, broken shards of glass from being flown into walls and streams of tears when he put his hands around your neck, again.

“Cover that up for tomorrow.” Catching your breath you glared at him with nothing but hate and irritation.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want the town knowing I’m marrying an abuser or anything.”

Tommy whips around with a finger in your face. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/N. You’d be nothing without me, your last name changing is a blessing to you, appreciate it. Knowing you’ll be associated with my family and reputation isn’t something to take lightly, got it?”

You stood there just taking it. Staring dazedly at the wall in your kitchen, anything to avoid looking at the man you once respected and maybe even loved.

Your father would be so ashamed of you, he never raised you to take shit from anyone, especially a man who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time. He tragically died when you were 15, leaving you with a narcissistic, alcoholic mother. The reason you were even in this situation with Tommy.

Tommy belonged to one of the most prominent and wealthy families in the OBX. The Randolphs have always had a good relationship with your family, with your dad being a loyal accountant associated with their law firm. After your dad passed they treated you and your mother like some charity cases, always baking food and lending money, to which your mother gladly took.

Your mother suggested the idea of marriage to Tommys parents after she caught you blushing too hard and smiling a little to often about “that Cameron boy”. Rafe Cameron had a reputation around Kildare and it wasn’t a good one. Drug addicted, college dropout, psychopath and constantly picking fights were all tied to his name but to you, he was the only reason the sun came up each morning.

Like you, he lost a parent at a young age, his mother. Trauma bonding and sharing hatred with the Randolph family became a stepping stone for you both. You met through Topper at a party in high school and never really looked back, you became inseparable.

Years spent indulging in each other’s company was platonic until a few years ago when he started looking at you a little more intensely, leaving longing glances and stolen stares across crowded rooms. You both knew your feelings but never spoke it into existence, seeing as you were then just freshly engaged.

Now here you stand, with no love in your heart for the man you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with starting tomorrow, glaring at him stomping up the spiral stairs of your far too perfect and ridiculously gigantic sized “home”.

The drip of the tub faucet echoes throughout the bathroom, your foot thoughtlessly turning the water dial on and off every few seconds. Absently staring off into space, your face is blank but your mind is racing. You are at a true gut wrenching loss at what to do.

The only thing pulling you out of your daze is a text notification buzzing the ceramic tile counter. You snap your head to the phone, looking almost offended that someone could even concur to bother you right now.

Reluctantly, you step out of the bath grabbing a nearby towel to wrap around yourself. You pick up the phone to view the notification, Rafe.

Meet at beach in 10? I know it’s late.

Your lips tip up in a smile, it’s almost as if he knew your mind was off someplace else, the beach brings you both back to your rightful state of inner peace.

You type a few answers out, sounding too excited or desperate, you just delete them and start again. You can see it in your head, he’s probably biting his thumb nail in anticipation seeing the text bubble come and go, it makes you smile and bite your lip.

Yes, want me to pick you up?

He responds before you can even re-read what you said.

I’m already here…

You laugh out loud, covering you mouth knowing Tommy is already asleep in your shared bedroom right outside.

You type out a quick “of course you are, be there soon” before fully starting to dry yourself off. Rafe loves your message, signaling that he saw it.

Quietly entering your bedroom you pick out the easiest things to put on, settling on a crew neck, loose shorts and your birkenstocks.

Somehow you managed to leave your house unscathed but this isn’t the first time you’ve snuck out to meet Rafe and it won’t be the last.

The hidden path that you and Rafe found years ago comes into view, it leads right out to a hidden cove, making it feel like a secret that only you and him know, shutting out the rest of the island.

You take off your sandals and feel the sand enveloping your feet, you can smell his cigarettes and see him scratching the top of his buzzed head.

“Hi sweetheart.” He didn’t need to turn around to know you were there, he could just feel the air getting light around him, or at least he saw it that way.

You walk over and sit down matching his position with knees up to your chest, bumping elbows in the process. “Hi Rafe, what’s going on?” you ask in a hushed tone as if there’s multiple people around.

He looks at you now, taking in your natural hair flowing down to your back and a far out look in your eyes. His chest squeezes at how beautiful you look without even trying. “Shouldn’t I be asking you, Ms. Y/L/N, or should I say soon to be Mrs. Randolph?”

You chuckle with your tongue touching the inside of your cheek, “I don’t want to talk about it or him. Especially here, this is my safe space, our space so just let’s not, please”. You look at him with pleading eyes, he nods with understanding eyes as he blows smoke from the side of his mouth.

You sit in a comfortable silence for 10 minutes, enjoying each other’s company and listening to the sounds of the waves crashing up the sand, with every pull of the current washing away your stress.

Rafe breaks it by flicking his cigarette, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, “You don’t have to, you know that right? It’s obvious you don’t fucking want to so just don-“ You shake your head and let out an unstable sigh.

“It’s tomorrow, Rafe. I can’t just call it all off, it’s too late, I have relatives from all over the country flying in, his family spent so much money I can’t just-“

“Fuck his family and fuck your relatives, respectfully. Do you think your grandparents o-or your aunts and uncles would support this knowing what’s going on in your head and heart? Cause I certainly don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. It doesn’t matter and our families, my mother would be disappointed and his dad would probably have me sent to a fucking asylum saying I went crazy or something” Your cheeks get increasingly hot with anger, so frustrated with your situation.

“Who fucking cares, Y/N/N? This isn’t something small like missing a dinner party or calling in sick to work, this is your future a-and the rest of your life if you don’t make a decision, seriously sweetheart it’s ridiculous.”

The nickname makes your stomach drop in ways Tommy never could. Rafe’s passion and way of words always leaves you feeling giddy.

You bite down on your lip, hard, to stop the fleeting tears building in your eyes and looking away from him to avoid them falling even quicker. He takes his calloused palm and places it on your cheek to turn your face towards his. “You aren’t happy, you know you’re not, I know you’re not and it’s killing me” He punctuates his words, shaking your face a little bit as if to really drill his feelings into your brain.

You look up at him with wet and tired eyes, knowing no matter how much he’s right, there’s just no way to fix this. You bring your hand up to meet his own on your cheek, intertwining your fingers.

“I appreciate your passion Rafe, I really do and I wish I could go back and say no but it’s just- there’s no use. It’s done and I fucked up and that’s on me.” You stare into his eyes, competing with the ocean in front of you.

His eyebrows furrow as if he’s in pain, he licks his lips and scoffs, hand and eyes leaving your face, making you feel cold.

It’s silent again, the air growing thick with tension until he breaks it, again.

“Let’s run away, yeah let’s do it.” He shakes his head in approval like he’s just solved the mystery, “I can buy us ferry tickets and we’ll never come back here again.”

It’s your turn to scoff and shake your head, “Now that’s ridiculous, seriously, Rafe? This isn’t some fairytale, we can’t just fly away to Neverland.”

“Why not, Y/N? You’ve always talked about wanting to live in Massachusetts. I’ll buy us a house on Martha’s Vineyard, we can have our own beach and 2 dogs an-“

You stand up in a fit of rage, sand flying everywhere from the abrupt reaction. “Wake up, Rafe! I’m getting married tomorrow. It’s happening and there’s nothing you or I can do to fix that.” You cross your arms before rolling your eyes and stomping away.

Rafe is quick to match your pace and grabs your forearm, flipping you around so your chests are touching and faces inches apart. “You’re the only one that can fix this. It seems like I want this wedding called off more than you do.” You’re both panting, from proximity and the situation but you’re convinced it’s just because of the heated back and forth.

“Rafe please, you need to let this go, for me please.”

“I can’t just let this go Y/N/N. You’re marrying a piece of shit who doesn’t make you happy and I know you don’t love him, tell me you don’t” His desperate eyes leaving aches in your heart.

He places both of his hands lightly on your neck but due to Tommy and his previous anger, you wince in pain from the bruises. Rafe notices, of course he does and you see it register in his eyes, pupils dilated turning from passion to pure exasperation.

He swallows heavily, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Y/N. I’m gonna ask you something and you better tell me the fucking truth. Did he do that? Who did this to you?”

You grab onto his forearms and bore your eyes into his. “Please” you beg, knowing exactly how this is gonna go. He shakes his head, breathing in and out of his nose, bending down slightly to inspect the marks, moving your neck around slowly to examine.

“Baby. I can see where he placed his hands and pressed, so hard that you bruised?” His voice begins to crack, so devastated that anyone could ever imagine putting their hands on your beautiful face.

Tears have started shedding down your face, reaching yours and his conjoined hands. “Rafe. I-“ He lets go of your neck and starts trudging through the sand back towards the path. Your eyes widen and you run after him.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him, wring his neck out so he knows how it feels.” You shake your head and catch up to him, stepping infront of his chest and placing your hands there.

“I’m begging you, Rafe. I’m okay, see I’m perfectly fine. Please don’t do this.” You’re patting his chest now, doing anything to relax him.

He looks down at you, eyes going from rage to sadness when your face comes into view. He lets out a whine and pulls your head into his chest. “You’re somethin’ else. Your soon-to-be husband puts his hands on you and you’re still gonna go through with it? So stubborn, always have been”

You laugh through your tears at how messed up it is. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean into his touch, rubbing your hand through his buzzed hair at the base of his neck.

“Rafe?” you remove your head from his chest and look up at him which causes him to look down at you as well, he hums in response, eager to hear what you have to say.

“I understand if you say no but, um you being there tomorrow would really help ease my nerves.” You wince, knowing how absurd the question is but it’s true, you need him there to be able to function.

“I cave on a lot of things for you but seeing the girl I’m in love with get married to someone who doesn’t deserve even a glance from you, is where I draw the line”

You widen your eyes and gawk at his confession, neither of you have ever mentioned the feelings that linger between the both of you, a love confession for the ages is the last thing you expected.

“Rafe, W-“ you shake your head, at a loss for words and mind blank.

He kisses his teeth and smiles out of vain. “I just can’t bring myself to witness everything I’ve ever wanted happen to another man”.

A heartbroken sigh leaves your lips, “Rafe, please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He shrugs smugly, weight lifted off his shoulders at the overdue confession.

“Sorry, sweetheart but it’s true. I just can’t bear it”

You take a deep breath, wiping the stray tears that have fallen off your face. But then something happens, it takes over you, the urge. Fuck it, you place your hands on his cheeks and dive into his lips, standing on your tip toes for leverage.

You both don’t move for a second, not sure what to do, just the feeling of each other’s lips together being overwhelming enough.

Rafe mentally curses himself for not acting faster but as soon as he comes back down to Earth, one hand flys to your face and the other to your back. You use his arm behind you for support as you lean into it causing him to lean down as the kiss intensifies.

Minutes spent like this, expressing every emotion your both feeling into the kiss, breaking away only to catch each other’s breath before diving right back in.

It lasts a few minutes longer before you pull away, leaning your forehead on his, nose’s bumping. Swallowing, you begin “Rafe, I lov-“. He shakes his head and gives you a fleeting peck, “Please don’t.”

“But Rafe I-“ He nods.

“I know, sweetheart. I know, but if you say it I’m really taking you to Massachusetts and you won’t have a choice.”

He’s trying to be funny but you don’t laugh, devastated that he’s in so much agony and you caused all of it.

“What are we gonna do?” you plead.

“You made up your mind and I can’t change that, but if you ever do, just know I’m waiting and I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He steps away then, removing his hands and tucking a strand of hair that fell behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.” You begin to sob now, guilty and just so angry that this is what has happened.

“I know, me too but please don’t cry, Y/N it breaks my heart.” You hug him again, tightly wrapping your arms around his torso.

“It’s getting late and you have a big day tomorrow. Let’s get you home, baby.”

“You’re just tormenting me now.” He laughs, his bright smile on display. “Maybe”, you slap his chest, “You’re an asshole”, which causes you both to laugh now.

He holds you steady by the waist while you put your shoes back on, when you’re done you place your arm around his waist, copying him.

Placing a kiss on your head he leads the way back through the path in the direction of his truck. Silent and reflecting you both have a certain sadness surrounding each other, not knowing how your relationship will change and if you’ll ever see him again but yet there’s a hint of relief and comfort knowing all the built up tension, smitten and blushed cheeks over the years have finally been brought to light.

Looking at your reflection, you don’t recognize yourself. A melancholy, pathetic version of you stares back. With a full face of makeup to cover up hand marks and eye bags from lack of sleep last night, an up-do topped with a vail and a fake smile, you have never seen yourself so miserable, so unrecognizable.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N. We tried but you just wouldn’t hear it.” Kie paced the bridal room back and forth, just as frustrated as you, knowing her best friend is about to marry the islands biggest piece of shit.

“Kiara, she doesn’t need to hear this right now, ok?” Sarah is behind you, placing bobby pins in places that are needed.

“I’m aware I’ve fucked up, royally. I heard it from Rafe last night and I don’t need to-“. Both girls gasp, “Rafe?”.

You shut your mouth, cursing yourself for exposing the information, sighing you begin to reluctantly tell the girls what had happened.

Sarah and Kie look at you with remorse as you recall the interaction. Sarah takes your hand and Kie begins to tear up. “This is so bad you guys, I don’t know what to do.”

Kie looks around as she says, “Well nothing, now seeing as you have to be on the altar in 10 minutes.” Sarah shoots her a glare as you begin to sob. The girls come over for a group hug, sushing you and rubbing your back.

A knock at the door interrupts your sobs, causing you all to look up at the door as you nod, signaling that Sarah can let them in.

She announces for the person to enter, it’s JJ and he’s holding flowers. “Hi, uh, Tommy asked me to give these to you”. You take one look at the flowers and begin to sob again, “I don’t even like roses and h-he knows that”. With your head in your hands you just want to bury yourself in the hole you dug.

JJ is standing there white as a ghost, looking to Kiara for some support to which she brushes him off. “What did I do?” He confesses.

You look up slowly, sighing and fanning your face. “It’s not your fault JJ. I just hate my soon to be husband, he doesn’t understand me, never has.”

“Wait, what. You’re literally about to marry him in..” JJ stops to look at his watch, “7 minutes”.

You look around to the girls, feeling a panic attack coming on. “Fuck.”

Kie updates JJ on the “Y/N and Tommy lore” as Sarah rubs your back and makes you count and breathe. In the back you can hear JJ gasping and audibly reacting to Kie catching him all up.

When she’s done, JJ comes over to you and gives you a hug from behind. “As much as I don’t like Rafe, sorry Sarah, I really, really don’t like Tommy.” You look at JJ through the mirror and solemnly nod your head to agree.

“He just told me that when Tommy was handing him the flowers, he tipped him a $20 and thought he was a bartender.”

JJ scoffs, “I told him I was sitting in the row literally right behind your families and he just laughed, so yeah I fucking hate him too.” You realize that not only has Tommy tormented your life but all of your friends who you love so much.

“I’m so sorry guys, I’m so sorry you have to be here and I’m so sorry that I didn’t stand up for myself way back when our families arranged this but I just have to deal with it, just have to deal.”

They all nodded and the girls fixed your makeup, getting you ready to meet your wicked mother at the double doors, which led to the guest filled lawn of people who are unknowingly supporting your nightmare.

JJ gave you one last hug and words of encouragement before going to take his seat on the golf green. Sarah and Kie all gave you tight hugs and kisses on the cheek before leading you out of the room. Your mother waited at the end of the country club, beaming with pride and showering you with compliments as your manicured nails dug into your palms.

“Honey, your eye bags look terrible, I’m gonna go ask the makeup lady if she can add some more concealer or something-“ You huffed and slapped her hand away.

“I’m fine, Mom. Please, I just want to get out there.”

She changes her shocked expression of you swatting her hand away to instant radiation of happiness. “Oh, you’re so excited to just be married already, aren’t you?”.

You try your best to make your fake smile believable as she places both hands on your cheeks and nods in approval.

You take the biggest breath as the violins begin to play the bridal entrance, the guests all stand turning their attention towards you and the doors open. This is it, your mother grips your arm and begins to walk you down the flower petal covered isle.

All eyes on you, can they tell how close to breaking down you are? Some people are wiping their eyes with tissues, some stare at you like you’re the prophecy and all you can do is look around, where’s Rafe?

Hands shaking as you see Tommy at the alter, so smug falsely wiping his nose and eyes to put on a show for the Figure Eight mothers, who mourn for their daughters that never got the chance to have his last name.

Before stepping up to meet him, you make quick pleading eye contact with Sarah, she knows exactly what you’re thinking and she shakes her head solemnly and mouths a quiet “no”. He’s not here and you knew he wouldn’t be, in the back of your sick mind you had hope that he’d maybe show up just to be your support but he’s nowhere to be seen, not even lurking a few feet behind the whole ceremony.

Your mother turns to face you, before giving you off to Tommy she places a quick kiss on your cheek then slides her mouth up to your ear, “Don’t embarrass me” she snaps in a sharp whisper.

You pull back with wide eyes but she doesn’t give you time to react before she’s giving you a small shove to meet Tommy’s outstretched hand to guide you up.

In your mind, you hoped you’d be here one day, surrounded by your loved ones on a beautiful North Carolina day to celebrate the marriage of you and your husband. Except the man in front of you would be about 4 inches taller, brown eyes traded for blue and a dimple engraved in his cheek as his bright smile makes your head spin.

Rafe. Rafe. Rafe. Even before you ever realized it, swirled into all of your poems he’s always been the man in your dreams, all your manifestations come to life, everything and all you’ve ever wanted.

Tommy begins declaring that he will love and cherish you through sickness and in health. Looking at you so cynically, you can see everything in his eyes. He’s got you trapped now and there’s nothing you can do.

Now, it’s your turn. With a deep breath and slight pause you begin. “I, Y/N, promise Tommy” Rafe “to love him” Rafe “through sickness and in health” Rafe. It all comes out in a whimper but only you seem to notice.

Tommy turns to the officiant, eager to hear him give the speech that seals this whole thing. “Do you, Tommy Randolph, take Y/N Y/L/N, to be your wife?”

“I do.”

Your heart is racing, feeling as though your whole world is about to come crashing down on you. Rafe, you can see him in your head, handsome face and charming smile, you think back to your encounter last night, promises of fleeing the island and a white picket, blue shuddered house far away from here is all you can focus on, it’s all waiting for you and so is he.

“He’s waiting for me.” the sentence leaves your mouth before you can even help it. Tommy looks up from the ring he’s about to place on your finger. “What?”.

You slightly step back from his body, moving your arm away from the gold 20 carat diamond about to bind you to 40+ years of hell. The officiant doesn’t seem to notice as he asks you the same question he just repeated to the man standing across from you, now looking flustered.

“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Tommy Randolph to be your husband?”

You look back and forth between Tommy and the officiant, beginning to shake your head. “I- I don’t.”

The ceremony comes to a hushed stop, the wind blowing from the coast can be the only thing heard. “I don’t, and I can’t and I won’t.” The guests look around in awe, not sure of what to do or say.

Your mother and Tommy’s father stand up quickly, both seething with anger, overlapping each other with protests of this “erroneous behavior”. You look at Tommy and begin to smile at his expression, face red with embarrassment and loathe.

“I just can’t.” You begin to look around at all the guests before turning to your right, looking at the faces of your 9 bridesmaids, 2 whom aren’t even trying to hide their shit eating grins. Kiara nods frantically, giving you the ok and Sarah begins to giggle.

With all the approval you need, you take your gown in your hands and begin to flee down the steps. Tommy grips your arm before you can get far and whips you around to face him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Y/N. Do you have any idea what this is gonna cause?” He seethes in your face, teeth clenched together and progressively pressing harder into your skin.

You use all your force and rip yourself away from his grip while walking backwards down the steps. “I’m getting the fuck out of here and far away from you.” Guests are gasping as your mother and Tommy are screaming at you to “get back here” all while Sarah and Kie are giving each other a subtle fist pump.

All you can hear as your running is the sound of your heartbeat and what sounds like JJ, John B and Pope whistling and clapping in approval. “Go get your man, Y/N!”

It all turns into forgotten noise when you finally exit the Island Club and soon all your thoughts are consumed by him. Summers taking cover, splintered back in winters and silent, bitter dinners are all over now. You’re at the starting line, fresh out of the slammer and you did your time.

Breaking out into a sprint, your bridal heels are digging into your feet and your train is tattered, none of it matters when you start the familiar path to Tannyhill. The promise of Rafe at home is the one thing keeping you from collapsing in the Carolina heat with all your extra layers on.

You weren’t much of a runner but 10 minutes doesn’t seem too far when it leads to forever. You can’t help but break into a fit of laughter at the pure chaos of it all, some people passing by in cars honking at you but you just throw your hand up in a fleeting wave.

Rafe is on the second story deck when he sees you stop at the entrance gates, put the passcode in and push through when they open. He squints his eyes in disbelief, knowing this has to be some figment of his imagination, not until he hears you yell his name.

He rushes through his bedroom, down the hallway, stairs and to the front door. Swinging it open not bothering to shut it, he runs out to greet you. You’re both laughing hysterically in disbelief at the sights in front of you.

When you finally reach his grasp, you jump up and he catches you, gripping his hands against your back and thigh. “What did you do?” He exclaims, both out of breath from the adrenaline and running.

You pull back from the embrace and confess it all. “I love you, not him, never him. I- I just couldn’t fathom doing it, not when all I kept thinking about was you standing there at the alter and our house on the Vineyard and dogs and just everything, with you. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life.”

Rafe eyes become misty and he just nods. “It’s me and you, Y/N. It always has been, I just- wow- you’ve got some nerve running away from your own wedding.” He places a harsh kiss on your forehead and settles you down on the ground but never letting go of your back.

“Are you complaining?” He shakes his head viscerally.“Fuck, no.”

He grabs your face and puts his lips against yours, smiling through the intense kiss you both can’t help but giggle into each other. Pulling away, you both just stare into each other’s eyes, nothing but immense adoration and love.

“How did everyone take it?” He asked still beaming.

You start laughing, throwing your head back “Oh my god, you should’ve seen their faces.” You begin to recount the reactions of Tommy, your mother and his father which makes Rafe smugly hum in approval.

“As much as I wish I could’ve seen that, this is..” You look at him in anticipation.

“This is everything I was hoping would happen.” You laugh at his wishful thinking of this whole wedding becoming a disaster.

“I just couldn’t do it, Rafe. This is my place, right here with you and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Rafe nods and places another kiss to your head.

“You’re here now, with me, and that’s all that matters. I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” You smile and lean in to give him another kiss.

Rafe hums and pulls away. “Now, as much as I enjoy seeing you in a wedding dress, let’s get you into something more comfortable, my bed, maybe?” You laugh and take his hand, guiding him up the front steps of Tannyhill.

“How about you pour us two glasses of celebratory wine and I’ll pull up my “dream home” Pinterest board, just so we can start to brainstorm or something” you shrug coyly, fearing your enthusiasm and excitement got the best of you.

Rafe brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth and places a kiss on your knuckles. “You and your beautiful mind. That sounds perfect to me, sweetheart.”

You enter the doors together, shutting the rest of the world out, just you and him. No way either of you are gonna screw up knowing what’s at stake. Years of labor, locks and ceilings all mean nothing when you look at him, the man of your dreams now escorting you into his room with nothing but you on his mind, even back then, even now and forever.

——————————————

“Now, pretty baby, I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to”

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hrizantemy · 2 months ago

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Morrigan’s desire to become a Valkyrie seems misplaced, especially when considering how she’s treated Nesta. Throughout their interactions, Morrigan has done nothing but show disdain and condescension toward Nesta, making it clear she doesn’t like or respect her. The Valkyries are not just a group to join for status or power—it’s about the bond that Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn have forged through their shared struggles, hard work, and trauma. They’re the ones who dedicated themselves to reviving the Valkyries’ legacy, and their achievements should be respected.

For Morrigan to step in after all that effort feels like an intrusion, as if she wants to take away something that rightfully belongs to Nesta and her chosen family. It reflects a broader issue with the Inner Circle, who often seem to dismiss Nesta’s accomplishments and try to diminish her in some way once she finds something of her own. This constant undermining of Nesta’s hard-earned progress is infuriating, and Morrigan’s desire to join the Valkyries feels like another attempt to strip Nesta of what she’s worked so hard to rebuild.

I wouldn’t have an issue with Morrigan joining the Valkyries if it felt authentic and wasn’t just used as a plot device. If she and Nesta actually had a positive relationship—where they could support each other, grow together, and overcome their past tensions—it could be something worthwhile. But that’s far from the case.

Morrigan has never shown any genuine kindness toward Nesta. In fact, she went as far as to say that Nesta belonged in a place filled with known abusers and victims of abuse. That kind of statement shows a deep misunderstanding of who Nesta is and what she’s been through. How can someone who has expressed such a damaging sentiment be part of something as sacred as the Valkyries, especially when Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn have dedicated themselves to restoring that legacy? For Morrigan to join without having acknowledged or atoned for her words and actions would feel wrong and would devalue everything Nesta has fought for.

The Valkyries represent strong women who uplift and support each other through their shared struggles and triumphs. They forge bonds through trust, mutual respect, and the willingness to help one another grow. Morrigan has done none of that where women in general are concerned.

Morrigan is supposedly regarded as a queen in Hewn City, yet there’s no evidence of her using her position to better the lives of the women there. If she truly wanted to embody the ideals of the Valkyries—helping other women rise up—she would have already made efforts in her own realm. The Valkyries stand for unity and strength through compassion, qualities that Morrigan has yet to demonstrate to anyone besides who she deems acceptable.

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti amren #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti morrigan #anti night court

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whenmemorydies · 2 months ago

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You love taking care of people: Fine Dining in the Time of Late Stage Capitalism

CW: this post discusses toxic and abusive workplaces and makes brief mention of institutional child abuse and intergenerational trauma. I might also talk about global systems collapse, for shits and giggles. Also this is another long one. You know the drill. Lets have a cuppa. Also this is my last minute submission to Sydcarmy Week 2024 and the theme of “you love taking care of people”. Enjoy!

I have a confession to make to The Bear fandom:

The food is my least favourite part of this show.

Its not that its not interesting. It definitely is. I'm a home cook and for the most part, I enjoy cooking (when I can do it at my leisure and not like most mothers, while balancing the mental load). I just find all the other aspects of the show much more fascinating.

In fact, I think this show about a bunch of cooks in commercial kitchens is so popular not so much because of its take up of cooking but its unflinching and loving interrogation of grief and trauma, including the kinds that get passed down through families.

The truth is, I've also never been overly excited about the world of "fine dining." I grew up in a large, Tamil family and so our meals were big, shared and not necessarily conducive to the minimalist plating preferred in exclusive, "gourmet" spaces:

Photograph is mine, delicious Jaffna Tamil spread is the handiwork of my great aunt (Kunchi Ammamma or “little maternal grandmother”), arguably the best cook in our sprawling, extended family.

As tumultous as family life could get, I often experienced meals (that, lets be real, were almost always prepared by the women in my family) with my loved ones as a happy experience. I mean we also had our share of blow ups at the kitchen table but what was always consistent was the love and care that went into the food that we were given to eat. It was woven into the rich and complex flavours that made up the curries, varais, and sambals we had on our plates (and that even now, make me salivate just thinking about). It was spread throughout the warm, coconut-y rotis and steaming rice and puttu we ate with our hands and used to mop up all that spicy, flavourful goodness.

And if there's one question I heard more than any other from older family members growing up, it was "ni sappittiya?" ("have you eaten?"). More than "how are you?" and definitely more than "I love you." As with many Global South cultures, for Tamil folks, food is used for nourishment but also as a primary means of conveying deep care. Obviously Tamil people don't have the monopoly on using food to show their affection (or even the monopoly on using food to replace actually saying the words "I love you" lmao). Food has been found to increase interpersonal closeness and can also contribute to emotional regulation. Feeding a child is one of the first means of bonding between parents and children. Food also plays a big role in the course of romantic love: as a basis for first dates and future time spent with a partner, and of course also as an aphrodisiac.

As Cesar Chavez, Mexican-American civil rights activist, labor organiser and co-founder of the National Farm Workers Association (which later became the United Farm Workers union) said,

The people who give you their food, give you their heart.

You love taking care of people

Conveying care and love through food is a theme that comes up repeatedly in The Bear. Recall 1x02 Hands and the phone conversation with Nat and Carmy:

Natalie: Chefs always say a big part of the job is taking care of people, right?

Carmen: Yeah, yeah. No I guess.

Also recall an almost identical bit of dialogue between Carmy and Sydney, under the world's most famous table that had absolutely nothing wrong with it in 2x09 Omelette:

Carmen: You love taking care of people.

Sydney: Yeah I guess.

Here's some further mirroring between Sydney and Carmy about giving people joy through food. Recall again the phone call between Carmy and Nat in 1x02 Hands:

Natalie: When did the breathing problem start?

Carmen: I think maybe sometime in New York. I was throwing up every day before work.

[...] Chef was a piece of shit.

Natalie: Then why'd you stay there?

Carmen: People loved the food. It felt good.

Also recall the conversation between Sydney and Marcus in 1x08 Braciole:

Sydney: I want to cook for people and make them happy, and give them the best bacon on Earth.

Be gentle with each other, so that you can fight stronger together: seasons 1-2 of The Bear

As rough and tumble as The Beef was, the clear throughline in season 1 (when The Beef was in operation) was the importance of the relationships and care between the show's characters. This was also the case in season 2 where the majority of the season was spent in the context of renovations and training prior to the opening of The Bear (in that season's last episode).

In season 1, we had Carmy leading the crew at The Beef by being patient, clearly explaining technique and positively reinforcing his staff's work.

Above left: Carmy walking the BOH crew through making Donna Berzatto's Lemon Chicken Piccata in 1x05 Sheridan. Above right: Carmy encouraging the crew to keep up their current pace in 1x06 Ceres.

We saw him working with Sydney, supportively encouraging the team to go further, to push themselves. We even saw Carmy at ease enough to talk about Mikey and his mother while at work. We had a Carmy showing us how integrated he can be.

Above: Carmy and Tina in 1x05 Sheridan

Heck, we even had a Carmy who wanted to get a compost installed at The Beef for processing food so that it didn't go to waste. Recall this golden bit of dialogue between him and Sweeps in 1x01 System:

Carmen: Eh yo Gary, you set up a compost for me today, Chef?

Sweeps: After I do my thing in the place.

Carmen: That's very clear. Thank you.

We had a Carmy who had time. Recall the below scene in 1x02 Hands before Sydney gives Carmy her draft business plan for The Beef (that she drafted on her own initiative and time to support his family's struggling business. If this man doesn't hurry up and fight for her in s4 istg...):

Sydney: Hey you got time?

Carmen: Always. What's up?

Similarly, we had Carmen in the first episode of season 2 making time to talk to a clearly distraught Richie:

Richie: Yo you ever think about purpose?

Carmen: I love you, but I do not have time for this, alright? *starts to walk up the stairs out of the basement*

Richie: *Nods, looks dejected, sniffs*

Carmen: I have time for this. *comes back down the stairs and sits with Richie*

Most pointedly in season 1 we had the conversation between Sydney and Carmy in 1x03 Brigade which lays the blueprint for their joint vision for the restaurant and which should have acted as a touchstone for both of them in season 3:

Sydney: You know, I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But in order for that to be true, we need to run things different.

When I said I didn't think that the brigade was a good idea, you didn't listen. And its not that you told me that I had to. [...] But you just didn't really listen and if this is going to work the way that I think we both want it to work [...] I think we should probably try to listen to each other.

Carmen: Yeah. You're right.

Sydney: The reason I'm here and not working somewhere else, or for someone else, is 'cause I think I can stand out here. I can make a difference here. We could share ideas. I could implement things that make this place better. And I don't wanna be wasting my time, working on another line or tweezing herbs on a dish that I don't care about, or running brunch, God forbid.

Carmen: *nods vigorously*

In season 2 while The Beef undergoes its facelift into The Bear, some of the show's most beautiful moments were when characters displayed their faith and trust in one another. Recall 2x01 Beef where Sydney asks Tina to be her sous chef, or 2x02 Pasta where Sydney and Carmy send Tina and Ebra to culinary school (and Tina's unwavering belief in and support for a nervous Ebra once they get there), and 2x03 Sundae and 2x04 Honeydew where we see Carmy and Sydney send Marcus to Copenhagen to stage with Chef Luca and build up his skills as a pâtissier.

So what happened at The Bear?

Season 3 of the show has been the most divisive of the series, with its preceding two seasons being almost unanimously adored by fans and critics alike. There's been a lot of debate on here and elsewhere as to why this is the case. What appears to be a dominant line of reasoning in this regard is the shift in Carmy and his approach to running The Bear as a fine dining institution.

At The Bear, we have Carmy as an Executive Chef who's berating, hostile, and blaming everyone else for his emotional state ("You guys are fucking killing me"). We have a Carmy who has taken "every second counts" to a point so minute that he has given up smoking because of the time away from the kitchen that it will cost him. We have a Carmy who has no patience for his team, almost all of whom have no experience working in fine dining before the opening night of The Bear. We see how out of sync Carmy and Sydney are ("Been off"). We have a Carmy who is reverting to patterns of behaviour that have been modelled for him by two of his abusers: his mother, Donna Berzatto and his previous boss, Chef David Fields, Executive Chef at Empire.

Perhaps second only to Donna and her stand in Claire, Chef David Fields' toxic legacy haunts season 3 of The Bear.

This is nowhere more clear than in the sheer wasting of food and money in season 3 epitomised by Carmy's insistence on changing the The Bear's menu every day (to quote Tina: "Every day, Joffrey Ballet?!") and his repeated throwing out of dishes he deemed "not perfect."

The waste did not go unnoticed by other characters on the show. Recall Natalie telling Carmy off in 3x03 Doors:

Natalie: The menu cost is out of control.

Carmen: Nat, figure it out.

Natalie: Oh. Oh. Figure it out? Wow.

Carmen: Figure it out.

Natalie: Why don't you fucking figure it out?

Carmen: I'm trying to use less shit.

Natalie: Okay, well, whatever you're doing, the R&D [research & development] of that, its fucking us.

Carmen: Well, we're using the best shit.

Natalie: Duh. Duh. Well, duh.

Carmen: Duh? Don't duh. No duh. [lmao this dialogue]

Natalie: Don't buy fucking crazy shit and then use it once, Carm. It's so wasteful. Duh! Duh, duh. Fucking duh, bro.

In episode 3x05 Children, Uncle Jimmy commissions The Computer to come in and run analytics on The Bear in an effort to get its costs under control (LOL at his assessment below, scrawled on the back of the dodgiest looking pie chart I've ever seen):

Computer: This sample is based on the month and a half we've been operating and does not take into account any funds spent previously on build, friends and family budget, other assorted fuckery.

Carmen: I mean, there hasn't been that much fuckery.

Cicero: Oh neph. You specialise in the fucking fuckery, bro.

Uncle Jimmy had plenty to say about Carmy's use of the former's funds (which Jimmy has duly invested in The Bear to support his nephew) including Carmy's decision to spend $11,268.00 on Orwellian butter (aka Dystopian Butter from the Fucking Rare Transylvanian Five-Titted Goat, lmao).

Even Carmy was under no delusions about how wasteful he was being this season. Recall his discussion with Sydney in 3x05 Children:

Sydney: You know what we should be doing?

Carmen: Produce vendor. You don't have to say it.

Sydney: Okay, I didn't say it then. I didn't say anything. Do you want me to say something?

Carmen: That I'm jamming us up 'cause we have a new menu every day and the economics aren't great?

Sydney: Well, I'm an accomplice, so...

Note: the language in this small bit of dialogue struck me as being off. Why does Sydney needs Carmy's permission to say anything? Its like she knows that he knows the constantly changing menu and exorbitant expenses are an issue but doesn't want to say anything until Carmy brings it up first. @yannaryartside has a great break down drawing the analogy between Sydney's "accomplice" confession here with Molly Ringwald's (sorry I dunno what her character's name was) confession about facilitating her partner's substance abuse, during an Al-Anon meeting in 1x03 Brigade.

We have Carmy repeating harmful patterns of behaviour at work that he has picked up from his personal life (for example, from his mother) but also from his professional experience.

The world of fine dining that both Carmy and Sydney came to The Beef from was marked, by their own admission, with "complete and utter psychopaths" who screamed, pushed and yelled at their staff (recall Sydney's disclosure to Carmy at the end of 1x05 Sheridan) or "fucking assholes" (in the case of Chef David Fields), who made their staff "very, probably mentally ill." Sadly, this aspect of The Bear is not fiction. @moodyeucalyptus pointed out in this post that both Carmy and David Fields appear to have elements of their characters based off of real life fine dining wunderkind Chef Charlie Trotter: a Chicago-based chef known to be brilliant but who mistreated his staff so badly that he had two class actions brought against him (one by FOH staff, and another by BOH staff led by James Beard Award winner Beverly Kim).

There are other stories about the grinding nature of the fine dining industry which we'll get into below. We'll also look at a few stories of chefs who are leading a renaissance away from the "toxic, hierarchical shit show" that has historically plagued fine dining and who Joanna Calo and Chris Storer may have front of mind as they take us through Carmy and Sydney's journey together in season 4 (because as tempting as Shapiro's offer is, we know Sydney isn’t leaving Carmy). But first, we need to go further back in time to look at how the fine dining industry itself has created the conditions for a chef like season 3 Carmy to exist in the first place. Lets look at the system, baby (to quote Tina in 1x01).

The Bear's culinary ancestry: Chef David Fields and the Fine Dining Industry

I should say that I did not want to go too far into history with this post. After Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos, I was committed to trying to write shorter meta (/snort). But I'd be remiss if I didn't talk about the origins of fine dining, and before that, the rise of Europe as the base of "haute cuisine" (which itself is directly tied to its history of colonialism and...Empire *badumbum* @freedelusionshere has made the point that The Bear writers have given Chef David's restaurant the name Empire purposefully and they're not wrong). All of this informs the current state of fine dining today.

Though France is often credited as the place where restaurants began (in the 1700s), its been established that folks were eating in communal restaurant settings all over the world, including in China about 700-600 years earlier. The origins of western fine dining (the tradition that Carmy and Sydney have trained within) however, are synonymous with French cuisine and the efforts of Georges Escoffier (who Carmy name drops in 1x03 Brigade).

The French Brigade

Escoffier was responsible for developing the French Brigade system of organising kitchen staff which is still used today in many restaurants worldwide, including at The Bear. The French Brigade was based on Escoffier's own military experience in the Franco Prussian War and was set up to identify roles in the kitchen and increase efficiency and consistency so that restaurants could scale their work to serve larger numbers of customers.

The thing with anything based on structures found in the military is that its going to replicate hierarchy (a chain of command is central to the running of military operations). In fact, much of 1x03 Brigade is spent with Sydney resisting what she identifies as the imposition of a "toxic hierarchical shitshow".

Mariya Moore-Russell, the first Black woman in the world to get a Michelin star (who also happens to be from Chicago) talks at length here about the benefits of the French Brigade for systematising commercial kitchens but also how easily it can get corrupted if the wrong people are in the kitchen. She says in those circumstances, the Brigade can quickly perpetuate, racism, sexism, perfectionism and "all of the isms." My fav quote from the video? When Russell talks about the French standardisation of cooking adopted by most kitchens in fine dining industry (at 23:39):

They were like okay, how do we take what Grandma does, what Mama does and make it you know efficient and consistent but also just extremely stressful for everybody involved? (lmao)

Note: Moore-Russell has a series of videos on YouTube about her experiences in fine dining which are very illuminating. She's also such an engaging storyteller. For example, watch "My path through the restaurant industry".

Service à la française to service à la russe

In addition to the French Brigade, another development in the history of western fine dining was the shift in styles of food service from service à la française to service à la russe. Service à la française ('service in the French style') involved serving all the dishes for a meal at once, allowing patrons to serve themselves. Think something akin to buffet style. See below for table layout using service in the French style from 1775:

Source: Wikipedia.

To me, service in the French style looks kind of similar to how my Tamil family lays out our meals (as can be seen in the first picture of this meta, minus the pheasant, moonshine and roasted woodcocks...lol). This style of service also looks a whole lot like "family style" dining which can be described as: "when food is brought to the table on large platters or serving dishes rather than being individually plated. Guests then serve themselves from the dishes which are passed around the table." In fact, service in the French style or family style dining is how many cultures serve and eat their food, both in the home and in restaurant settings (whether they use these terms to describe that layout is another matter).

I also seem to recall a couple of soulmates Jeffreys deciding to open a family-style restaurant in 1x08 Braciole (which @bootlegramdomneess has also pointed out in her post here).

In the 19th century, service in the French style became replaced in European restaurants by service à la russe ('service in the Russian style'). This style of service is what Western fine dining and haute cuisine restaurants utilise to this day. It involves bringing courses to the dining table in sequence, one after the other. Courses are portioned and plated before being brought to the diner by service staff.

In the case of Western fine dining, Escoffier shaped haute cuisine ('high cooking') through the use of his French Brigade system and the implementation of service in the Russian style. Haute cuisine has undergone shifts and changes since the 19th century including with the nouvelle cuisine movement in the 1960s which was marked by a focus on fresh produce, paired-back menus and a focus on invention. Haute cuisine of today has been described as a fusion: employing elements of nouvelle cuisine and more elaborate techniques and processes from Escoffier's system.

To my mind, service à la russe involves a lot more people (definitely more wait staff) to have it deployed effectively. When you have more people, you have more room for error (like all those dropped dishes in season 3). Family style service or service à la française allows people to serve themselves. It encourages sharing. Personally, I prefer the latter. Also can we talk about how small the portion sizes are in haute cuisine? lmao. I get it, its art. You need a gigantic plate for a small piece of hamachi because thats the canvas. Some (read: me, lmao) might also say its big ol' waste to wash a plate that size for food that takes up maybe a 1/5 of its surface area. Can we also talk about the concept of "chargers" (which the Computer rightfully rips into Carm and Sydney for in 3x05 Children) - why do you need a table setting that no one's gonna use? I'm sure there's other aspects to haute cuisine that make no fucking sense but honestly this meta is gigantic enough as it is so I'll stop there lol.

Anyway, notably it is service à la russe and food that would be described as haute cuisine that we see at The Bear. Family style is nowhere to be seen in season 3.

Colonialism, Empire and the rise of Western food cultures

A fact that is often left out of discussions about why the French and other European countries developed such globally renowned food cultures as well as their staggering wealth and status as "first world countries" (particularly in the period between the 1600s to the 19th century) was that at around the same time, these nation states were expanding their own empires by colonising other parts of the world with the express purpose of acquiring ingredients (and other resources) that they did not have access to in Europe. A brief and non-exhaustive list of examples below:

Europe's demand for flavour was so great in the 1600s that the Dutch traded Manhattan to the British in order to secure the Indonesian island of Banda Run which, at the time, was the world's only source of nutmeg. When they first arrived in the Banda Islands, the Dutch killed and enslaved much of the Bandanese population, taking control of the island's local nutmeg plantations. This violence would come to be known locally as The Banda Massacres.

It was the hunt for a direct trade route with India for black pepper that Christopher Columbus used to pitch his voyage to the King and Queen of Spain and which ultimately led him to the Americas. Columbus' arrival precipitated the colonisation of the Americas, which resulted in enslavement, disease and outright genocide, decimating First Nations populations throughout North and South America.

The colonisation of the Americas would also lead to the exporting of various foods that have come to be staples in European cooking. For example, the tomato - the key ingredient in many Italian (and Italian American) dishes - orginated in South and Central America and was brought to Europe via Spanish colonists.

The British set up their infamously brutal East India Company (EIC) to control the Indian subcontinent and the trade of various resources including precious metals, opium, textiles (silks and cotton), spices (such as cinnamon, black pepper, nutmeg, cloves, mace) and other food items (like salt, sugar, coffee and tea). The EIC would later be supplanted by the British Raj in Britain's stranglehold on India and after almost 200 years of imperialism and economic fraud, it has been estimated that the British drained India of nearly $45 trillion. I can't even begin to fathom an amount of money that large but the British could, and that theft powered much of the empire during its height.

The influence of Indian ingredients and cuisine spread throughout the British empire, including back to Britain itself. In fact, through colonisation and empire, Indian influences appear in various global cuisines (including other European cuisines as well as in the Caribbean).

Indeed the British's impact on food globally included its colonisation of Australia and New Zealand. These two colonial outposts essentially became gigantic cattle and sheep runs for the British who facilitated the wholesale theft of land - and in the case of Australia, did so without even bothering to enter into treaties with First Nations people - in order to run livestock that was then exported to feed Britain.

In order to satisfy its sweet tooth, France operated huge sugar plantations on the backs of the labour of enslaved Africans, particularly in Haiti (known at the time as Saint-Domingue). In the late 1700s, Haiti was responsible for exporting 40% of all the sugar consumed in Europe. The human cost of this was high and brutally violent. Eventually in 1803, after many armed revolts, enslaved African-descent people kicked the French out of the country after over a hundred years of heinous exploitation (thereby creating the first Black republic in the world). The French were so economically dependent on the colony for its production of coffee and sugar that when Haiti got its independence, France decided to punish the new republic for the loss of future income on Haitian exports, demanding 150 million francs in gold as compensation. The French sent warships to enforce this cruel debt. All in all, Haiti spent approximately $21 billion paying off France for the freedom that its people had already lost their lives and shed their own blood for. The debt (which involved the fledgling republic taking out exorbitant loans and fundraising amongst its citizens) was not paid off until 1947: 122 years after it was initially enforced. The French even charged Haiti interest.

Were it not for its vicious history of slavery and its century-long extortion of its former colony, I'm pretty sure France wouldn't have had the quantities of a certain key ingredient necessary to develop its worldwide reputation for pastries and desserts. I mean, you try making a crème brûlée, an eclair, a tarte tatin, a sweet galette, a mille-feuille, a madeleine, a crepe...without sugar.

This history deeply informs fine dining today. For centuries, Europe underdeveloped much of the world (borrowing Walter Rodney's turn of phrase) through colonialism and imperialist extraction. It then used those spoils and excess wealth to, among other things, develop its own food cultures and then self-proclaim itself as the cutting edge of the culinary world. To be clear, you can only faff about in a kitchen and create fancy sugar palaces and 10-course meals if you have the means and resources to do so. Haute cuisine is a product of wealth and resources, accumulated over time. Europe's colonial history also dictates which cuisines are recognised via awards like the Michelin star system. Hell, it dictates why you have the French (Michelin is a French tire company) dictating what constitutes "good" food in the first place. If you want to read more about this topic, this essay on Medium provides a good overview of the sad, racist state of affairs over at the Michelin Guide.

Where Europeans colonised and settled, this same lens was applied. This is why you have the undervaluing of Indigenous cuisine and ingredients in Australia, a situation which has only recently begun to shift. The colonisation of Australia actively involved the lying about Aboriginal foodways in Britain's attempt to falsely claim that Aboriginal peoples were nomadic hunter gatherers who did not use their land. Its why the history of how enslaved Africans brought their food cultures with them through the Door of No Return and transformed American cuisine, is not more widely known. Its why so few chefs of colour have been recognised for Michelin stars globally.

Empire and The Bear

Season 3 of The Bear pays clear homage to the impact of European empire on the world of fine dining in a few ways. The most obvious is the fact that Chef David's restaurant is literally called "Empire" lol. Another example and one of the most visually striking to me occurs in 3x01 Tomorrow. First, recall Chef David Fields' outright theft of Carmy's dish (I think we've established that you can't get more empire than the theft of food, yes?). Can we talk about how not only did Fields steal Carmy's dish but also, turned it into the most beige meal we've seen on The Bear to date, bar that single sprig of dill fighting for its life?

Carmy's penultimate plate (the final version being The Best Meal That Sydney Ever Had™):

Chef David Fields' dick measuring exercise version:

Carm was not a fan:

Can we talk about how the original plate featured the colours of the Italian flag (green, white and red) - emblematic of Carmy's cultural heritage and what is certainly one of the single biggest influences in his culinary journey (the dish also features fish, just like the main course in La Vigilia, the Feast of the Seven Fishes) - but after Fields was done with it, that shit was practically three shades of mayonnaise?

Can we talk about how Carmy's version of the dish almost certainly had a varied and dynamic flavour profile while Fields' looks just how I imagine it tasted like: whatever flavour meh is. The dish literally has no acid from what I can see (ingredients: paupiette of hamachi, fennel soubise, potato chip and dill). And I *know* a balanced dish has salt, fat, acid and heat (cos Chef Samin Nusrat told me).

Can we also talk about how Fields hates the most commonly traded of spices? The one that Columbus was looking for when he landed at what is now the Bahamas. The one that was an integral part of the East India Company's business plan rort to fuck India and South East Asia more generally?

Carmen: He hates black pepper for some reason I'll never understand. (from 3x10 Forever)

White folks in Europe were so hungry for spices to liven up their food that they invaded large swathes of the rest of the world to get the stuff. And yet, here we have Chef Fields, disliking Europe's gateway spice: the one that the Romans (Carmy's ancestors) had been trading with the East for centuries prior to Europe’s imperial frenzy, and which now makes up 20% of the world's spice trade.

Is the man so dedicated to meh that he couldn’t even bring himself to embrace pepper? Used to be one of the best chefs in the world, is right Chef Luca.

On top of dubious taste (I'm not a food critic but no one can tell me that hamachi and fennel soubise dish tasted anything other than fucked lmao. idc idc), Chef Fields is also one of the clear antagonists in The Bear. Along with Donna Berzatto, he is one of Carmy's two primary abusers. His impact on Carmy was never as clear on the show as it was in season 3. Lets take a closer look at that impact below:

Culinary ancestry and intergenerational trauma

Both Donna and David are ancestors of a kind to Carmy. Donna is clearly a biological ancestor in that she's Carmy's birth mother. I've argued here that David Fields is a culinary ancestor to Carmy. For ease of reference, I'll include my explanation of what I mean when I say "culinary ancestry", from that earlier meta, here:

Most folks understand ancestry to refer to our family or genetic lineage. When I was in university, I learned about intellectual ancestors or genealogy: where one can trace your intellectual lineage - the thinkers and creators that have shaped your understanding of the world and/or your chosen profession. I think its useful to take this concept and apply it to The Bear to help understand what the show is saying about legacy. I wouldn't limit the concept to "intellectual" ancestry though. It might be more helpful to talk about culinary ancestors in this context because the process of creating food - crafting dishes - isn't solely an intellectual exercise. It engages our intellect yes, but also each of our senses, our memories (recall that chocolate banana from 2x10 The Bear), and the need to nurture and be nurtured. Culinary Ancestors Carmy's culinary ancestors are varied given his work history. We know he's cooked under some of the best chefs in the culinary world of The Bear, including: Daniel Boulud (of Daniel), René Redzepi (of NOMA), Thomas Keller (of The French Laundry), David Field (a sociopathic Joel McHale, of Eleven Madison Park Empire), and Andrea Terry (a sublime Olivia Colman, of Ever). I'd also include here Mikey, Donna and Natalie Berzatto. I'd include cousins Richie Jeremovich and Michelle Berzatto as well. These are the home and line cooks Carm grew up with, watched in his mother's kitchen and at The Beef. He took his lessons - the good and the bad, learnt voluntarily and involuntarily - from all of these people, incorporated them into his working self and transmuted them into his food.

NOTE: In "Ancestors and The Bear" and in other meta I've written, I've incorrectly noted that Chef David Fields was the EC at Eleven Madison Park (instead of Empire). This was due to the fact that up until 3x10 Forever, we are not told the name of the restaurant that Fields and Carmy worked at together. In the draft script for the pilot, the restaurant is identified as EMP (Eleven Madison Park) by Sugar (see p 23 of that script), however this appears to have changed to "Empire" during the course of the show's development.

Through the lens of culinary ancestry, there is a clear connection between Carmy's wasteful R&D and menu choices in season 3 with the "lessons" he received under the tutelage of Chef David at Empire. For example, and as discussed above, the refusal to serve any dish that isn't viewed as "perfect" led to extreme amounts of waste at both The Bear and at Empire.

Additionally, Chef David focused on "subtraction" (recall his writing "SUBTRACT" on green tape and sticking it to the expo of Empire in 3x01 Tomorrow) and never repeating ingredients in the dishes that came out of Empire. Instinctually, these two strategies appear to me to be techniques to create needless scarcity. They're attempts at repression in and of themselves. Carmy adopts these philosophies and tries to implement them at The Bear as well. They manifest in his unilaterally overhauling the original menu at The Bear (without Syd's input) as well as his insistence that the menu change every day.

Minimalistic subtraction of elements was also a characteristic of Escoffier's approach to cooking which would be taken even further with the nouvelle cuisine movement in France. That movement focused on minimalistic dishes with fewer seasonings and sauces. Chef David Fields is clearly rooted in the French school of fine dining in this approach.

Subtraction also shows up in the show in a more dire way: in the cutting off of relationships and the whittling away of self.

I recently come across a promo still for The Bear. It features Carmy as the CDC of Empire, plating a dish. I've seen the image before but I never noticed the writing on the wall next to Carmy before. It reads:

"Its only after we've lost everything we're free to do anything"

This quote also appears in the 1999 David Fincher film, Fight Club (which itself is based on the book by the same name by Chuck Palahniuk):

Left: Carmen Berzatto, CDC at Empire in The Bear; right: Tyler Durden, general nihilistic fuckwit in Fight Club, also preaching the gospel of David [Fields].

This ethos, written on the wall and haunting the kitchen at Empire is emblematic of how Chef David operates. It reads like a fucked Psalm, giving a poetic shimmer to Field's abuse. Chef David tears down his staff, verbally degrading them to the point that he has the gall to whisper "you should be dead" to them. (OK. Can we...for a minute...imagine being a manager and that being your management style? Telling your best performing staff that they should be dead? Excuse me, mon cheri? A literal devil).

Chef David literally strips his staff of their dignity and their connections to the outside world. He makes them lose their sense of self and claims its all to make them better chefs. He tells Carmen in 3x10 Forever:

Chef David: So you got rid of all the bullshit, and you concentrated, and you got focused, and you got great. You got excellent.

The parallels between Carmy's experience at Empire - and even in the Berzatto household - and the critique of performative violent masculinity that Fight Club was trying to get across are worth pointing out. In Fight Club, white men beat each other up to try and assert control over a perceived loss of power. At Empire, Chef Fields consistently berates and degrades Carmy, clearly threatened by his CDC's talent. Similarly we have Richie complaining about having to take orders from "toddler" Carmy, saying "I was a baby too once, Syd. Nobody gave a fuck" in 1x02 (which could have been the origin story of any one of the men who joined Brad Pitt/Edward Norton to carry out "Project Mayhem" lmao. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the dudes on Reddit fawning over Richie circa seasons 1-2 also watch Fight Club as if it was some sort of aspirational manifesto and not the satire that Fincher intended it to be).

Chef Fields is meant to be representative of a toxicity found in the restaurant industry globally. There have been numerous reports of the physical and psychological violence meted out against kitchen staff by those higher up in the brigade.

Additionally the structure of the French Brigade system is such that those at the bottom - stages - are often expected to work for free. While unpaid internships are common in various lines of work, those industries start to run into trouble when large amounts of their products and services depend on unpaid labour. In fact, darling of The Bear, René Redzepi of Noma faced criticism of his restaurant's unpaid internship program. The internship program was rife with stories of ridiculous working conditions. Redzepi finally began paying interns in 2022 but then announced that Noma would shut down regular service at the end of 2024 due to being unable to afford its staff (at one point, unpaid stages made up almost half of Noma's staff).

The fact that entry into the world of fine dining means people need to work for free as a stage automatically eliminates this as an option for folks who cannot afford to volunteer in order to gain work experience. This would disproportionately impact on certain communities, particularly communities of colour whose members may not have access to sufficient wealth that would allow them to work for free. This is clearly illustrated in The Bear where we see that Carmy has the safety nets and access in place that allow him to stage at various fine dining institutions and gain much sought after experience (e.g. his family's ownership of The Beef and his ability to work there, his cousin Michelle's restaurants in NYC and his access to those spaces). Sydney, Tina, Marcus and even Richie have very different entries into the world of restaurants and fine dining.

The issue of sexual abuse and harassment in the restaurant industry is also very subtly broached in The Bear (though it is more heavily implied in the draft script for 1x01), particularly in 1x07 The Review with Richie accusing Sydney of giving a food critic head in order to get a positive review for her risotto (season 1 Richie was genuinely the worst). But the issue is huge, with more sexual harassment claims filed in the US in the restaurant industry than any other field of work.

Even scrubbing floors by hand and cleaning with a toothbrush, while ensuring sparkling kitchens, have also historically been used as a means of punishment, particularly in institutional settings. During Australia's Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, there were numerous reports of children in care homes being forced to scrub floors with toothbrushes as a means of physical punishment and control. (CW: the above link discusses accounts of institutional child sexual abuse).

Given the above, its clear to see that the industry - the system - facilitates a whole lot of shit that its workers are subjected to. So when Chef Adam Shapiro catches Sydney as she leaves the train station in 2x04 Violet and asks her how she's doing, her response is telling:

Sydney: It's been a long month [at The Bear].

Chef Adam: Ah. That bad?

Sydney: No, just-- Restaurants.

Chef Adam: Yeah. Right? Why do we do this to ourselves?

Sydney: 'Cause we're crazy.

Chef Adam: Yeah. What was this month's crazy?

Sydney: Um. The kind that's inherited.

Chef Adam: *Nods emphatically* Understood.

This Financial Times article on the dark side of restaurant culture in Copenhagen, sums things up perfectly:

“We always had this joke, an explanation for why things are so horrible: shit falls down,” [Chef Levi] Luna told [the author Imogen West-Knights], with a cold laugh. In the kitchen, the head chef gets mad at the sous-chef, who gets mad at the person below him, a chef-de-partie, who then takes it out on a stagiaire. Then one day, the sous-chef is the head chef, and he has learnt how a head chef behaves: badly. It should give a sense of the strength of feeling I encountered about how damaging this system is that several people independently described it as being like children who are abused going on to commit abuse as adults. This is the dark flipside of the restaurant-as-family metaphor.

Challenging the status quo @ The Bear

By the end of season 3, Carmy appears to recognise that subtraction in his life is not going to bring him happiness. In fact, in 1x08 Braciole, he identified subtraction - specifically, the cutting out of people from his life - as the reason his life got quiet as he grew more isolated. In 3x10 Forever, when he finally confronts Chef David, Carmy laments the psychic and physical impact of Fields' abuse as well as the isolation it engendered. Fields, psychopath that he is, remained unfazed:

Carmen: You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and-and nightmares. You--You know that, right? Do you-- Do you understand that?

Chef David: Yeah, I gave you confidence, and leadership, and ability. It fucking worked.

Carmen: My life stopped.

Chef David: That's the point, right?

Additionally, its worth pointing out that despite all the focus on precision, minimalism and (quite frankly) rage being put into the impeccably plated dishes of The Bear, it's the messy, juicy, multi-ingredient filled Italian beef sandwiches that remain the site's best seller. Indeed, in 3x05 Children, Nat tells Carmy that the sandwich window is the only thing at The Bear making any money. So much for subtraction.

We also see Carmy resisting a total acquiescence to Chef David's approach to running a kitchen early on in season 3. His non-negotiables read in the hindsight of the entirety of the series like his attempt at integrating the lessons he’s learned from various kitchens. It’s why the list says “no repeat ingredients” AND “vibrant collaboration”. We know that vibrant collaboration had to come from someone else’s kitchen cos Fields certainly wasn’t collaborating with anyone. That asshole was out there dictating like a fascist.

Additionally, while Carmy has realised the dangers of the fine dining industry by the end of season 3 (and not for the first time - recall in 2x01 The Beef when he called the Michelin star system "a trap"), and while Sydney grapples with her role as an "accomplice" to Carmy's season 3 bullshit, their protégés Tina and Marcus continue to keep the flame of genuine care, collaboration and inspiration alive. This is most clearly seen during the conversation Tina and Marcus have in 3x09 Apologies where they discuss Marcus' mother and his memories of her as well as brainstorm ideas for Tina's cauliflower, brussel sprouts and horseradish dish (please for the love of gad, give us more Tina, Marcus and Ebra next season).

Challenging the status quo in the real world

There are also actual chefs in the real world who appear to be doing something different with their work: embracing their own food cultures that have historically been locked out of the world of fine dining and also trying to run their kitchens in more egalitarian ways.

Above clockwise from top left: Chefs Tim Flores and Genie Kwon of Kasama, Chef Adejoké Bakare of Chishuru, Chef Asma Khan of Darjeeling Express and Chef Mariya Moore-Russell formerly of Kumiko and Kikkō.

The first, most obvious example of this for The Bear fans is Kasama, (shout out to @currymanganese and @thoughtfulchaos773 for introducing me to the above linked, short doco) the Filipino American restaurant founded and run by Chefs Tim Flores and Genie Kwon (who also happen to be married) in Chicago. Kasama is also where Carmy and Syd were meant to have their palate cleansing "reset" in 2x03 Sundae and where Sydney may have also been hit on by fellow Coach K fan, Kasama bae (shout out to @sydcarmyfan for verbalising what I squee-ed about on first watch of this episode lmao).

Both Flores and Kwon come from fine dining backgrounds but appear to challenge some of that industry's basic tenets, including the messianic role of the EC as top of Escoffier's brigade food chain. Flores openly states that his cooking is an ode to his Filipino mother who regularly taste tests his food. In the Nick Cavalier doco linked above, Flores states "if [his mother Lolly Flores] eats [the food] and there's no reference to her dish at all, I'm not doing the right thing." Flores and Kwon also operate Kasama using a hybrid model (that I think would send regimental Escoffier into a tailspin) where they offer fast and casual service featuring Kwon's baked goods during the day and offer a Filipino tasting menu led by Flores for dinner service only. Kasama was awarded a Michelin star in 2023, the first Filipino restaurant in the world to achieve that title. It also took home a James Beard Award that same year.

Note: if you haven't already, have a read of this interview of Tim Flores and Genie Kwon conducted by the Michelin Guide. ISTG Storer and Calo have read this and lifted whole paragraphs for The Bear's script. An excerpt that stood out to me, in particular:

The two first met at Bib Gourmand restaurant GT Fish & Oyster, also in Chicago. "He was leaving as I was starting. So we didn't overlap for very long. But I actually went to eat at the restaurant that he was working at afterwards, and I had one of the best experiences of my life at a tasting menu. And after that we started talking and hanging out, and eventually started dating," recalls Kwon about how she and Flores first met.

Sounds a lot like a couple of Jeffs we know, yes?

Also check out Chef Adejoké Bakare, who in 2024, became only the second Black woman to get a Michelin star in the world (the first being Chicagoan Mariya Moore-Russell who announced in 2020 that she was taking a break from her career for her mental and physical wellbeing and who also...is married to a chef lol). Bakare's restaurant, Chishuru in London, specialises in West African cuisine rooted in Bakare's Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa cultures. Bakare, like Genie Kwon, has a background in biological sciences. She also began her career as a home cook, then ran a fish and chip cart while studying at university in Nigeria. Once she moved to the UK, she ran a supper club and later won the opportunity to run a short term pop up restaurant. During the ceremony where she got her Michelin star, Bakare noted "[i]t did feel rather odd at last night's ceremony that 90% of the room was white middle-aged men. But the passion I see among young women in the industry is such that I'm confident things will change."

Take also Chef Asma Khan, who got her start in the industry as a home cook and then began running supper clubs out of her house in the UK. She then opened up the Darjeeling Express with a group of South Asian women she had met when they were all fairly recent arrivals in the UK, none of whom had formal culinary training. To this day, her kitchen remains fully staffed and run by women.

In this TEDx Talk about her work, Khan says:

"I wanted to cook but I actually wanted to feed people. This gave me the greatest pleasure. I felt at my most powerful when I was able to serve someone something I had cooked. In some ways it was my way of showing affection and love, and being able to give them something that took them home."

Sounds familiar yes? Like a couple of Jeffreys in season 1 of a certain show?

About the systemic sexism in the industry, Khan says:

"But at that time, in England, anywhere in the West, everywhere you looked it was male chefs you saw that was on television [...] in the media. It was always about men who were cooking kitchens. The greatest irony of it all is that [...] in every South Asian home you go to, you will invariably find a woman [cooking] but in every South Asian restaurant you go to, not just in India but in Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, almost everywhere in the world, you will usually find a man cooking in the kitchen. And it was a desire for me that I wanted to cook but there was no road or route in front of me."

Khan elaborates further on the skewed and gendered manner in which elite fine dining operates, in this article:

“There is no public hanging [in her restaurant]. Male chefs have made cooking into a combat sport. I think it’s a reaction to the idea that cooking is feminine: I’m not the dinner lady! I’m not your grandmother! Sorry, but if you’re constantly screaming at staff it means you’ve trained them badly.”

Khan is describing the hyper-competitive nature of fine dining (and her suspicion that in a highly gendered industry that is populated by majority men, that there is a need to perform a hypermasculinity in order to put distance between themselves and the historically feminine-gendered roots of the act of cooking) and how Khan wanted no part of it, for herself, her staff or her patrons. In this Guardian article, Khan points her attention directly at the toxic work cultures of many fine dining institutions:

Khan sees herself as a vital heckler on the sidelines of the industry, rather than part of its elite club of star chefs. She is especially scathing of a macho restaurant culture that has allowed workplace bullying and abuse to become normalised – and of those who enable it.

“My deep concern during the pandemic is seeing very prominent people with considerable wealth remove the entire workforce without a safety net.” A surge of restaurant and pub workers were reported to be sleeping rough in central London in April, a fact Khan can’t shake. “It is so shameful, my heart bleeds for the industry, it is immoral. I don’t want restaurants to be ranked by Michelin stars for the fluff and edible herbs they put on a plate. I want to know how they treat their people, they should be ranked on that. Where there is bullying and racism, where there is sexual harassment, where staff don’t feel safe, people should boycott those restaurants. I don’t want to see them prosper.”

Honestly, after reading some of the horror stories about work place practices in the restaurant industry, I'm with Khan. I'm also with Flores, Kwon, Bakare and Moore-Russell. I reckon Storer and Calo are also with these folks too and that we're going to see a shift in season 4 of The Bear that reflects the larger industrial change in the world of fine dining that chefs like these are heralding.

The death of fine dining

Above: Carmy's phone in 3x05 Children

Like @freedelusionshere says here, I don't think its a suprise that season 3 ended with Ever's funeral. The fine dining of Empire and even Ever is dead. How can it not be given the way its been largely running to date, as discussed above? How can it not be when we are living in a time of severe food insecurity precipitated by runaway consumerism and the twin existential threats of global climate and extinction crises. How can anyone in good conscience justify charging exorbitant amounts of money on a plate that is not going to fill patron's bellies while there are communities worldwide who do not have enough food to feed their children? When some communities, even in so-called "first world" countries like America and Australia cannot access clean drinking water?

Truly, the argument for fine dining posited by Will Guidara in 3x10 Forever made me (and I'm sure many others) actually cringe.

There's nobility in this. [...] We can give them the grace, if only for a few hours, to forget about their most difficult moments. Like, we can make the world a nicer place. All of us in this room. We have this opportunity, perhaps even a responsibility, to create our own little magical worlds in a world that is increasingly in need of a little more magic.

There *is* nobility in nurturing people, in feeding them. But in a time of the multiple and rolling, global existential crises, where particular communities are being targeted not just for marginalisation but whole scale eradication, this is not a time for more "magic"; particularly when those "little magical worlds" are reserved for the select few who can afford them. We don't need more holes to bury our heads in. We need real spaces of care that are accessible, kind (read: not nice, but kind. there is a big difference) and nurturing. And those spaces need to be those things not just for the patrons who visit them but also for the staff who work there.

There is also literally no time for escapism, at least not of the kind that late stage capitalism promotes and as described by Guidara in 3x10. We are living at a time where food systems are said to make up one third of all greenhouse gas emissions, pushing the climate crisis further to the point of no return. What's the point of making magic worlds to escape an actual world on the brink? And while your magic-making contributes to the brink getting closer? Its like putting lipstick on a pig.

Indeed some have posited that it was the British Empire's remaking of the world to feed Britain (which we've looked at briefly above) that has been the single biggest contributor to the current environmental crises facing our planet. The Bear acknowledges the issue as well. Recall 2x04 Violet when Tina visits Jerry at the farmers' market and his explanation for why he has so little produce to sell:

Jerry: There's fewer and fewer moths to grow vegetables now, and 'cause of that, there's fewer and fewer farms. Used to be you could come down here, buy everything you needed for a full menu. All in one spot. Whatever grows together, goes together.

The reason there are fewer months to grow vegetables is because of climate change which has impacted on everything to season length, groundwater and rainfall levels (as the two main sources for global farming irrigation) and increased periods of drought and heatwave.

So whats next for The Bear?

Season 3 put us through the ringer with Carmy replicating toxic practices in his restaurant that are rife in the industry at large. Yes, Carmy also has mental health issues and is a survivor of multiple sources of trauma. We know this. I've talked about this at length here and here. But he's also a guy who's running his own business with folks who are dependent on their place of work for their livelihoods. As such, he, Nat and Uncle Jimmy (as co-owners of The Bear) have responsibilities to their staff.

As EC at The Bear who is directly responsible for managing BOH, Carmy has a choice to make about whether he "blows his trauma through" (shout out to Dr Resmaa Menakem and his book My Grandmother's Hands) the bodies of those closest to him, including the crew at The Bear. Just as parents have to work on themselves so that they don't replicate harmful patterns of behaviour in raising their children, so too do we all in our daily relationships, including where many of us adults spend most of our waking lives: at work.

Like Richie observed, Carmy is not integrated in season 3 but neither is the industry in which he's working. A menu that constantly changes, wasteful food practices, a food production and agricultural industry that contributes to a third of global greenhouse gas emissions leading to increased global warming. These things are absolutely not integrated. In many ways, Carmy's mental state in season 3 - anxious, agitated, exhausted, is a reflection of the times. Given all of the above, Carmy's "I'm so fucking sick of this" in 3x09 Apologies hits me harder in the chest. Yes Carmy, you should be. Now go do something about it.

Having looked at the career trajectories of a few talented, conscientious chefs in the course of writing this meta, I think its pretty clear that the old way of running restaurants a la Chef David Fields is over. As we sit at the precipice of climate disaster, watching multiple genocides unfolding at once, during a time of massive food insecurity, who the hell has time to be suffering in the way Chef David made his employees feel in the course of making food that is meant to nourish people? What fucking cognitive dissonance is required to continue on THAT kind of a path?

Come season 4, I reckon we are going to see a massive shift in the trajectory of The Bear. This will be precipitated by multiple things (like the review Carmy got at the end of 3x10 and whatever the fuck Uncle Jimmy is up to with that box and those golf clubs lol) but most significantly, by a realisation on Carmy's part that his version of Michelin mode IS NOT IT.

I reckon Carmy and Sydney are going to continue to work together but they'll go back to the original plan they made with one another in 1x08 Braciole. They're going to go back to family style. They're going to treat their staff better (after Carmy apologises lol). They're going to shift from wasteful, haute cuisine to sustainable food practices that support producers and the planet more broadly. They're going to leave Chef David Fields' scare tactic of subtraction behind and lean into using more pepper.

Above: Sydney's notebook as she workshops a recipe at home in 1x08 Braciole.

Tagging: @moodyeucalyptus @currymanganese @hwere @freedelusionshere @thoughtfulchaos773 @ambeauty @brokenwinebox @devisrina @espumado @fresaton @kdbleu @vacationship @birdiebats @bootlegramdomneess @mitocamdria @tvfantic87 @angelica4equity @anxietycroissant @turbulenthandholding @yannaryartside @afrofairysblog @ciaomarie

cos you may be interested but as always, I'd love to chat to whoever wants to about this stuff!

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matchavellichor · 1 year ago

Text

All My Riches for Her Smiles

Ominis Gaunt x f!pureblood!MC - NSFW/Angst - 4.7k words - ao3

Tags: Ancient Pureblood Bonding Rituals, Post-Graduation, Arranged Married, Loss of Virginity, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Post-Coital L-Bombs, "Un"requited Love

Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage for the benefit of their pureblood families, Ominis struggles to make his closest friend-turned-wife feel less like a prisoner.

For as long as she could remember, there had always been a special sort of familiarity between her and Ominis. A comfortableness that only came from some morbid form of trauma-bonding, a shared understanding of just how horrible their respective pureblood families were.

Plights and sorrows shared under the blanket of moonlight with their feet dangling off the edge of the Astronomy tower. Laughs drenched in the smoke of shared Muggle cigars after they’d snuck off to some secluded terrace together during another ridiculous high-society event. A passive form of rebellion. They’d confide in each other about every expectation placed upon their shoulders, the weight suffocating at times.

He knew her inside out, just as she knew him. Knew her dreams and aspirations. Listened to her rave on and on about how after graduation she’d gladly leave it all behind, run off to pursue being an Auror, regardless of if she was disinherited and left without a sickle to her name. He’d just laugh and make her promise she’d take him with her.

Even if they were just tall tales, words without real action behind them, he’d never admired anyone more than he admired her. Just how much braver she was than him, a vivid fire inside of her that hardly ever even flickered. He never had the courage to do half of the things she did. Never had nearly as much fight inside of him that she had, always falling quiet and obedient at the hands of his family.

Despite all of their years of friendship, it felt as if a complete stranger led her through the morose, darkened halls of the Gaunt Manor. A vaguely recognizable figure with lean, broad shoulders and neat, blonde hair.

Ever since the bonding ceremony, the both of them had hardly spoken a word. Exchanged less than meaningful glances, faces schooled into careful stoicism throughout the entire ordeal. There was an almost unbearable ache in his chest at just how hollow she sounded reciting her vows, that everlasting fire inside of her seemingly snuffed out. He felt he could be sick with remorse.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as soon as he closed the door to their now-shared chambers. He stood frozen near the door as he thought of a way to make any of this even remotely right. He could offer her empty platitudes, express his apologies, but he knew none of it would do any good. Nothing could change what had already been done, what the both of them had been subjected to.

Whatever he was feeling, he knew her enough to know she was feeling indescribably worse.

Trapped. Suffocated. Her hopes and dreams following graduation cruelly stolen from her, replaced instead by a future her parents had carved out for her. A wife, a mother. Quiet, submissive, and obedient. A mere possession for some powerful pureblood scion.

It was a role he could never envision her in. His headstrong and steadfast best friend, who’d drag him on every single one of her thrill-seeking adventures. Who��d fight acromantulas and poachers all day and still make it in time for dinner at the Great Hall.

He wanted to reach out, comfort her the way he had done for years when things with her family had gotten especially difficult, but considering the circumstances, he felt he had no right to even touch her.

Instead, he wrung his hands together and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

The first genuine words he’d spoken to her throughout the entire procession of the wedding ceremony, that had stretched for several, long days. She glanced up from where she had been staring at the carpet.

“Why are you apologizing?”

His mouth set into a rigid line. “Because I never wanted this to happen to you.”

“Well, it’s happened.” She said bitterly. “Not much use in wanting anything, is there?”

A pit of guilt carved itself into his chest. He repeated himself, regardless of the lack of good that it would do. “I’m so sorry.”

She made her way over to the ornate vanity situated on the adjacent wall and began undoing the intricate chignon her hair had been styled in for the wedding, pulling out pins and pearl-crusted hairpieces. Her voice was quiet, tired.

“This isn’t your doing, Ominis.”

His guilt burrowed itself even deeper into his chest, sinking into his heart like the dull blade of a knife.

She stared down at her perfectly manicured nails on the mahogany surface, such a stark contrast to the haphazard, chipped manner they were normally kept in, a byproduct of her unladylike hobbies —as her mother referred to it.

“If it weren’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I never would’ve escaped this fate.”

His mind stumbled over a million possibilities of how to rectify this, of how to make his new bride not feel like such a prisoner, not feel even more trapped than she’s felt her entire life. He felt just as trapped in his inability to correct this, bound and gagged by his own powerlessness. He took a fortifying breath.

“I’ll make this work. I’ll find a way to send you to Auror training and– and we can—”

“We both know that’s not happening.” She interrupted. “My job is to be nothing more than arm candy at high-society events and produce your next heirs.”

His heart ached at just how easily she seemed to have given up. Her fate sealed. He was willing to do anything to make her happy, but deep down he knew the only way to do so would be the dissolution of their marriage, something that was out of his hands. He couldn’t give her the freedom she craved.

Some selfish part of him hoped that one day she’d learn to accept his devotion. That she could learn to love him the same way he loved her. He knew it was a sick thing to wish for out of something born of coercion, but he was desperate for it.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make this as easy as possible for you. I swear it. Anything — whatever you desire, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

The corners of her lips twitched, pulled into a rueful smile, her fingers twisting the Gaunt heirloom ring around her finger. “Not everything can be fixed with money. Some things are simply out of your control, Ominis.”

Deep down he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman to be acquiesced with riches and luxuries, even if he was more than willing to give her every last sickle. What he didn’t tell her was that he was prepared to give himself to her just as wholly, devote mind, body, and soul to making her happy. It wouldn’t change anything.

He felt just as hopeless as she did.

Forced to witness the woman he loved become a prisoner in his own home, knowing he was the very lock and key that restrained her. He couldn’t bear the thought of one day being the object of her resentment. Of her slowly growing to despise him.

She broke him out of his dismal worrying by rising from her seat and walking over to where he was still planted near the door, turning her back to him. “Will you help me with my dress?”

“Oh,” He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His fingers reached out to feel for the laces of her corset, running tentatively down the length of her spine. He pulled softly at the ties and they unraveled easily in his hands, one-by-one, trailing down her back.

He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and took a sharp inhale when she finally stepped away after the last of the laces had been undone. He heard the ruffling of fabric as she divested herself of her gown and suddenly he was acutely aware of the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

They both knew what they were expected to do now. What they had to do to finalize the bonding ritual, a consummation of their eternal union. Neither spoke a word.

She moved silently to the lush, king-sized bed poised in the center of the room, decked in creamy jacquard linens and comforters. He followed just as quietly and sat beside her, hands clasped nervously in his lap.

Of all the times he’d fantasized about a moment like this with her, this one was a horribly twisted act of fate. A morbid joke being played on him by some higher power with an awfully sick sense of humor. He felt nauseous at the thought of what he’d have to do to her, what she’d probably resent him for.

He flinched when he felt her reach over to squeeze his hand in his lap, her fingers warm over his. Her tone was sympathetic, reassuring. “It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the anxiety coursing through him, the unsteadiness in his voice. “I won’t kiss you.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Or touch you anywhere, or–”

She breathed a huff of amusement. “I think you might have to touch me, Ominis.”

“Right, I– I just meant—”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. He heard the sound of the comforter underneath her ruffling as she shifted to face him more comfortably.

“Should I lie back?”

He nodded. “Please.”

She laid her head back against a mound of pillows, soft and faintly-smelling of vanilla. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the circumstances were different.

That the bedding underneath her was just a bit scratchy and a vivid emerald green. That they weren’t in the Manor, but tucked away behind the curtains of her old four-poster at Hogwarts, like the world outside didn’t exist.

That this wasn’t something forced on them, but something soft and kind and tender, born of confessions of true love and not forced matrimony.

That when she opened her eyes, Ominis wouldn’t look faintly horrified and sickly pale, but instead she’d be able to see the soft creases in his eyes that only appeared when he smiled.

She couldn’t bear to look at him as he began on the buttons of his outer robes, divesting layer by layer with a practiced slowness. When he was stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, he grabbed his outerrobes to rummage through the pockets in search of his wand.

She finally picked her head up to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, er— lubrication charm.” He reddened as he said the words.

“Put your wand away, Ominis.” She sighed and took hold of his hand, urging him to drop the garment and make his way over to her.

Her entire life had been stolen from her by her family, she refused to have them steal this from her too. Her first time wouldn’t be something cold and rigid and unfeeling, with lubrication charms and calming draughts to ease her through it. She wanted to at least have this. To at least share something pleasant, something genuine, even if his only love for her was platonic.

He let her guide him to kneel beside her on the bed, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, an oddly grounding gesture. She parted her legs slightly and he felt the skin of her bare thighs brush against his.

“Here, just—” He gasped when she brought his hand down to make contact with her clothed center, strikingly warm under his fingertips. “You can touch me, Ominis.”

He froze, his fingers unmoving. She half-expected him to pull back. His voice was quiet, nervous. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s alright.”

He swallowed hard and gently, tentatively, ran his fingers over the heat of her with feather-light touches. He had always been so careful with her, and she should have expected he’d be just as tender now.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, just like that,” She sighed in content. “A bit more, maybe.”

He noticed her voice had developed a slightly breathier quality, her breathing having grown heavy. The sound coursed through him, lighting every last one of his nerves on fire, and leaving him with the desire to coax even more soft noises out of her.

He applied a bit more pressure, his strokes becoming more focused, swirling tenderly against the little nub he could feel through the gusset of her knickers.

The softest moan escaped her parted lips and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer to her, one of his hands coming to part her thighs wider for him, the other continuing to rub tight, focused little circles.

Her breathing hitched at the change of pace and her hand came up to brace herself on his forearm that was parting her legs, her nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into his wrist as her head fell back against the pillow. He had quickly grown achingly hard in his trousers.

Before long, he could feel wetness seeping through to his fingers, dampening her knickers and clinging the fabric to her cunt. He cursed under his breath at the sensation and resisted the urge to climb down her body to tongue at the slickness, the same way he’d fantasized about doing for the longest time.

Even though the original aim of touching her had already been accomplished, he found he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He continued to hold her thighs parted for him, to rub at her in a desperate quest to hear her come apart at his fingers, to pull more pretty noises past her lips.

He could feel her tense underneath him, her hips instinctively coming up to grind against his hand, desperate for more friction. Shamelessly, he brought his own hand to palm at the almost painful ache that had grown in his trousers, rubbing himself through the fabric while he continued to swirl his fingers around her dripping cunt.

She let out a strangled gasp and then she was pushing at his hand between her thighs, a frantic pleading. “S-stop, stop, stop, please—”

His hand shot back like he’d been burnt as soon as he heard the word. His eyes widened, guilt washing over him immediately, that maybe she hadn’t wanted it, that maybe he had hurt her. “I’m — I’m so sorry.”

She took a moment to catch her breath, panting as she tried to compose herself, having been brought so close to the edge with just his fingertips. “It’s…It’s alright.” When she sat up to look at him, his face was pale, blanched with remorse. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

She reached over to give his hand another reassuring squeeze, her voice quiet and faintly tinged with embarrassment. “I…enjoyed it.”

“Oh.” There were soft splotches of pink painting his pale skin, peeking out from the white linen of his undershirt, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a bright red.

She couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Right.” She watched the lines of his throat bob as he swallowed down his anxiety, wiping his hands nervously on the front of his trousers.

It was a bit too dim in the faint glow of candlelight that was bathing the room, but she glanced down to his lower body and tried to make out if maybe he’d like her to return the favor.

“Do you need…help?”

His cock throbbed in his briefs, a sticky bead of precum bleeding a damp spot through the front. He shook his head sheepishly.

Slowly, he made his way closer to her, settling himself in between her legs. He placed his hands on either side of her on the pillow, hovering over her for a moment as he tried to compose himself as best as he could.

Finally, he tentatively brought his hands down, skimming faintly over the chemise covering her torso, and down below it to rest at her hips. His fingers paused at the hem of her knickers, an index hooked on each side.

“May I?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He pulled the fabric down her legs, and she felt her cheeks warm as she realized just how wet he had gotten her, a glistening string of slick painting the inside of her thighs.

She brought her hands to the waistband of his briefs. “Would you like me to—”

“No.” He pulled her hands away immediately, mortified at how she would react if she realized just how much he wanted her. “It’s…it’s alright, I can do it myself.”

She nodded and tried to not let her curiosity get the best of her, keeping her eyes trained on his face as she heard the sound of fabric rustling as he unsheathed himself.

She gasped when she suddenly felt him pressed against her, slipping under where her nightgown had slightly ridden up, warm and throbbing against her stomach.

He closed his eyes at the feeling of her soft skin, his lips parting in a faint, shaky exhale. He noted with shame that all it would probably take was a few, pathetic ruts against her stomach and he’d be painting her skin in milky white.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “Yes, I just…need a moment.” A sticky bead of his precum dripped out to wet her skin, coursing even more mortification through him.

He took a deep breath before he reached a hand down between them to position himself at her entrance. His mouth dropped open when he felt just how wet she was, coating him so easily.

“Fuck,” He gritted under his breath, rubbing himself slowly through her folds.

She couldn’t help but tug up her chemise the rest of the way over her waist, filled with the strong desire to expose more of herself to him. Her nipples pebbled as they came in contact with the cool air of the room and she let out a breathy pant at the sensation.

His voice was strained when he finally managed to speak. “If I hurt you, tell me, please. I’ll — I’ll stop.

She nodded, and even if she felt safe with him, she couldn’t help but tense as she felt him slowly press against her entrance. She gasped at the sensation.

“I’m sorry,” He brought a hand down to stroke soothingly at her skin, his fingers splayed broad and warm over her waist, a gesture strangely grounding and comforting. “Try to relax, I know it’s difficult.”

He was so soft-spoken, so tender with her, that she felt herself ease immediately. He pushed in a bit more, letting out a quiet groan that he tried desperately to stifle.

He paused, brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He continued to sink into her, his thumb rubbing gentle, soothing circles on the soft skin of her stomach, calming her with reassuring whispers. She felt so full already, yet she knew she’d barely taken even a quarter of him, a delicious sting around where he was stretching her out so achingly slow.

He looked almost pained when she looked up at him, his features pinched and strained, his hand fisting the pillow beside her head, the other digging into her hip.

Tentatively, she brought a hand up to soothe him herself, smoothing her thumb over the tense lines of his brows, his lips. “It’s alright, you’re not hurting me.” She whispered. “You can give me more. Give me all of you.”

He shuddered, at the feeling of her hand caressing him, at her soft, encouraging words. He lost himself in the sensation, bringing his palm up to keep her hand pressed to his cheek, before he brought his hips down to connect with hers, sheathing himself completely inside of her.

They both let out sharp, strangled gasps in unison.

His head dropped down to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the feeling of her squeezing so tight around him. She brought a hand to run her nails down the nape of his neck, equally as overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full.

His voice was destroyed when he spoke. “Okay?”

She nodded fervently.

Slowly, he eased his hips back, and just as slowly, eased them back against hers. She could feel his warm breath, panting heavy where he had his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. He nosed at her throat softly as he settled into an excruciatingly languid pace, terrified of hurting her.

“More,” She breathed out against his ear. “Please, Ominis.”

His hand on her waist tightened at the sound of her pleading. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” She begged. “Please, I just want to feel more of you.”

He let out a groan, his composure crumbling, and then he was bracing himself over her, hitching one of her legs up until her knee was pressed to her chest, and thrusting himself fully inside her again.

He let out a guttural, depraved moan at how the new angle felt, his cock pushing right up against her walls.

“Oh my gods,” She cried out, feeling him so much deeper inside her like this, her head falling back against the pillows.

He pressed his forehead against hers as he continued to rut into her just as she asked, her smaller body jolting as his thrusts became more forceful, more unrestrained, ones he couldn’t stop himself from giving her. He could feel every little whimper he tore from her, every soft pant ghosting his lips.

He resisted the aching urge to kiss her. It would be so easy, to just tilt her chin up slightly for him, to lick into her parted lips and taste her the way he’s always wanted to taste her. To have her moan into his mouth while he continued to thrust into that sensitive little spot on her walls that made her see stars.

Thankfully, she didn’t make him resist any urges.

He nearly broke down when her hands came up to thread her fingers through his hair, bringing his lips down to crash into hers. The groan he let out against her mouth was utterly starved, a sound stemming from years and years and years of longing.

Her tongue tangled with his in a frantic quest to taste him just as eagerly, leaving them both spit-sticky and kiss-bruised, a messy desperation, too hungry for any sense of decorum. He wanted to completely drown himself in her, until his lungs were filled with only the air that she allowed him, until he was filled with nothing but her.

Having her moan into his mouth, feeling her lips start to falter against his when he rutted into that sensitive little spot deep inside her that made it overwhelming for her to kiss him back properly, was enough to push him straight to the edge.

His thrusts grew sloppy, on the verge of spilling inside her. He hurriedly brought his hand down to rub focused swirls on the spot he already knew she liked, desperate to feel her cumming around his cock while he filled her.

She let out a strangled moan, her walls fluttering around him, and he could tell she was just as close as he was. Right on the precipice of it, dangling over the edge. He’d never wanted something more, and feeling her writhe underneath him, he wasn’t above begging her for it.

“Please, please—” He brought his other hand up under her dress to rub at her nipple, kneading the little nub between his fingers while he mouthed hungrily at the soft skin under her jaw. “Let me have this. Please let me have this.”

She obliged happily, in that moment willing to give him just about anything he asked of her.

He tore her orgasm out of her with a few final ruts of his cock inside of her, hitting up into that spot that made her whimper. She came apart around him with his name spilling from her mouth, over and over again, as if it was all she’s ever known.

“Fuck, fuck—” He groaned at the sensation of her tightening, pulling him over the edge along with her, milking him until he was painting her insides with his cum.

He had never experienced greater euphoria, feeling her tremble against him from the aftershocks while he continued to pump inside of her until he was spent.

“Thank you.” He kissed her sweat-damp cheeks as if in worship, trailed his lips to press against her hairline in gratitude, breathless. “Fuck, you did so well. Thank you.”

Her response was a lazy hum of acknowledgement, her eyes half-lidded, limbs syrupy and loose from the way her climax destroyed her.

He kissed her then, sensual and slow, as if he wanted to prove his devotion to her with his lips. Head buzzing with endorphins, still buried deep inside of her, he whispered against her lips what had been playing through his head on a loop the entire time he’d fucked her.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

She froze, her eyes opening, as if all of the air had just been knocked out of her lungs. He noticed the way her body immediately tensed underneath him. His stomach sank.

“I’m so sorry. That was — I shouldn’t have said—”

“Do you mean it?”

There was a heavy pause, as if he was considering carefully how to respond. Weighing his options. Ultimately, he decided there was no use in denying how he felt for her now. He noted wryly that he had little reason to worry about ruining their friendship with his confession when they were now married.

“I’ve meant it for years.”

Suddenly, she laughed. A delighted exhale, incredulous. His brows furrowed.

Then, she said it. Words he’d wanted to hear from her for years, words he’d fallen asleep to countless times fantasizing about coming from her mouth. She said it so easily, as if it were a simple thing to admit. “I love you, too.”

An anxious, dreaded feeling settled in his stomach. He grimaced. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t—”

“Ominis,” She interrupted him. “I mean it.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Swear it.”

“I swear it.” Her hands cupped his face. “I love you.”

He huffed his own soft, incredulous laugh. Then, he broke into a smile.

Stupid and giddy, the kind that made her stomach do somersaults, and left her with a warm, syrupy feeling all over. The kind where little creases showed up at the corners of his eyes.

“Say it again.”

She repeated it happily, as if it were natural. “I love you.”

He took her face in his hands and peppered kisses all over her face, overwhelmed with every little thing he was feeling for her in the moment, filled to the brim with nothing but relief and glee and satisfaction, his heart feeling like it might burst out of his chest with how full it was. He paused at her lips.

“Again.”

She laughed, amused, before she grinned and humored him anyways. “I love you.”

He kissed her again. Sweet and soft, enough to make her head spin, and she felt in that moment like she had been suddenly dragged under the warmth of a sunbeam.

A soft, amber glow that shone itself on the dreary, dark future that she had envisioned for herself. That melted away her anxieties and replaced them with images of gentle caresses and smile lines and blonde hair threaded through her fingers.

When he finally broke away, there was concern etched over his expression. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

“Then trust me and let me make this right.” He brushed his thumb across the line of her cheekbone, traced her features with feather-light touches. “I’ll turn this into something good, I swear it to you. Whatever it takes, just let me make you happy. Please.”

She smiled then, hopeful. A flicker in her eyes. That little spark reignited inside of her, the everlasting fire. “We’ll make this into something good together, won’t we?”

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, pulled her into him until she was tucked safely into his chest, enveloping her in layers and layers of adoration that he prayed she could feel in his embrace. He closed his eyes.

“Just like we always have.”

#ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #angst #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #hogwarts legacy imagine

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request.

Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction). No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops. Please block me instead of labelling this, if you find yourself tempted.

Family, Duty, Honor; that is the motto of House Tully, a direct opposition of House Targaryen’s Fire and Blood. If she wasn’t so duty bound to Prince Aemond then she’d find the strength to walk away. If he was a better man he’d let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

She is eight years old when she is sent from Riverrun to King’s Landing. She is to be a ward of House Targaryen, an idea that excites and frightens her in equal measure; she has never been away from her family before and the thought of living in a strange city with people she has never met fills her with uncertainty, yet she is eager for the adventures it will bring.

Her fears are assuaged the moment she arrives in the capital. The sprawling expanse of the city beckons her to explore its winding cobbled streets, the Red Keep is a maze of undiscovered secrets. Naturally curious, she gravitates towards Queen Alicent’s second son, Aemond. He is a quiet, sullen boy, not much older than her, and spends most of his time alone, reading. It is more than apparent to her that he does not get along with his older brother and nephews, and his sister is too lost in her own world to be of any comfort to him.

Aemond clings to her offer of friendship, and the two quickly become inseparable. She basks in the attention he lavishes upon her; sharing his books, learning High Valyrian under his tutelage, dutifully spectating for each of his training sessions in the yard, and accompanying him on his daily visits to the dragonpit - he has yet to claim a dragon, which serves to deepen his fascination of the creatures and drives him to near obsession with desire to have his own.

Aemond becomes the center of her world, a position which he appears to thrive on. The first time he threatens to take that away from her is on a day that they visit the dragonpit.

Aegon has lured him there on the pretense that the dragon keepers have discovered an unclaimed mount for him. However, he is humiliated when a pig is led out from the shadows, and he flees, distraught, back to his mother.

He lashes out at her that day, for the first time, when she attempts to comfort him.

“You will have a dragon one day,” She tries to tell him. “Ignore their silly jokes, it doesn’t matter.”

He looks at her with fury in his eyes and she shrinks fearfully away from him. His tone is vile, hateful. “It doesn’t matter to you, because you don’t understand how important dragons are to Targaryens. You are a nobody!”

She weeps bitterly when he storms away from her, it feels like she has lost her only friend in the world. She believes she has trivialised Aemond’s suffering and is ashamed of herself.

When he approaches her the next day, with lemon cakes, a book and a soft “I didn’t mean it”, she is so overjoyed to have Aemond’s attention once more that it doesn’t even occur to her that he hasn’t uttered the word “sorry”, she has him back and that is all that matters. And for a few days afterwards, he treats her with such reverence that she feels foolish for having been upset in the first place.

Aemond is ten when he loses his eye, and he puts on a brave face, though she is certain it is for the benefit of not further upsetting his mother and appearing weak in front of his nephews.

She is proven right the moment they are alone and he turns on her. She wants to support him, to show him she is unafraid of him despite the stitches that now adorn the bloodied ruin where his left eye used to be, but he will not allow that.

“Where were you?!” He shouts at her. “If you’d have been there for me, I’d still have my eye!”

She wants to argue that she could not possibly have known he was going to claim Vhagar, how could she have been there for him when everyone was supposed to be in bed? But the guilt his words inspire eclipse all rationality in her innocent, young mind. She ought to have anticipated him going after a riderless dragon, and been there to help defend him against the attack from his nephews and cousins.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” She cries.

“Sorry will not bring back what I have lost,” He spits angrily. “No matter. I have my dragon now, I do not need you.”

He is lost to her once more, and heartache colours her world where Aemond’s presence used to.

“I didn’t mean it,” He tells her sheepishly, a few days later. “When I am healed, I will take you for a ride on dragonback.”

She does not need an apology, Aemond’s attention and willingness to share something so personal with her are more than enough. For a week after that he makes her feel as though she is the very stars in the night sky, and she basks in his good graces.

On Aemond’s thirteenth name day, she is excited to give him his gift. For weeks she has toiled in secret on a patch for him to cover the scarred side of his face. It is made of delicate black leather and has an intricate green dragon stitched carefully into the fabric.

She searches for Aemond most of the day and cannot find him. When he does eventually make an appearance he is distant and distracted, not even uttering thanks when she presents him with the patch she has made for him.

“Aegon took me to a pleasure house.” He says morosely, when she asks what’s wrong.

“Oh,” She has trouble hiding the disgust on her face, as she feels sour jealousy spread its way through her. “Why?”

He scowls upon seeing her look of judgment. “Because I grew tired of looking at your ugly face!” He snaps, before storming off.

Her self worth shatters with those words, scattered away on the winds of Aemond’s temper, and yet again she is left to wait for his careless words to become kind, while she grieves his temporary absence.

I did not mean it. And so she forgives him, piecing herself back together with every praise and doting look he offers her. She cares not that he never wears her gift or thanks her for it, it does not matter that he doesn’t say he’s sorry, because when Aemond is kind to her she feels as though she has ascended to the very heavens above.

It is an addictive cycle, and as the years press on, she finds herself craving Aemond’s tempestuous nature in moments of calm, for the love he showers her with afterwards is her only means of reassuring herself that he truly cares for her.

Aemond grows bolder in his mistreatment of her, confident that she is too attached to him to be disloyal. She is one of the few things in his life that he is able to assert full control over and he wields it without a second thought.

Shortly after her sixteenth name day, Aegon attempts to force himself on her. She fights him off and seeks comfort in the only person she can trust; Aemond. Where she expects to find sympathy, however, she is met with scorn and rage-filled jealousy.

“If you did not behave like a whore then Aegon would not do such things. Do you enjoy the attention?”

She shuts herself away in her chambers, the ache in her chest unbearable as her tears soak her pillow.

While Aemond would usually leave it a day or two before seeking her out again, he comes back to her that same evening, telling her he did not mean it as he holds her in his arms. He takes her maidenhead that night, the sharp stinging between her legs, as he pushes forcefully inside of her, soothed by his whisper of “aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā”. I am yours and you are mine.

As their relationship blossoms into something more romantic, their rifts become more frequent. Aemond always seems to know precisely the combination of words it will take to cut her deepest, yet it is a state she has grown to feel safe in. The blood of the dragon pumps hotly in his veins and as frequently as he inflicts this side of himself upon her, it is always followed by a softness that allows her to believe that he loves her, even if they are words he never says aloud.

When Aemond’s nephews return to King’s Landing his moods become trickier for her to predict. It seems impossible for her not to anger him, and his words are poison to her fragile heart. Yet it always devolves into him assuring her he did not mean it as he fucks her into the mattress, healing every spiteful barb with impassioned touches.

Shortly after King Viserys dies, Aegon is crowned, and everything changes for the worse. His succession is challenged by Viserys’ eldest child, Rhaenyra, and steps must be put into place to secure Aegon’s reign. Aemond is a useful pawn in that process, and his grandsire, Otto, wastes no time in arranging a visit for him to Storm’s End in order to choose which of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters he wishes to marry.

Aemond is so matter of fact as he explains this to her, but she feels as though she reacts enough for both of them, struggling to breath as a free falling sensation in the pit of her stomach sends waves of nausea rippling through her.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

Three nights later she awakens to him standing at the foot of her bed, dripping wet, eye filled with fear. She takes him into the sheets, fingers carding through his damp hair as he ruts his misery inside of her.

“It was an accident,” He whispers to her tearfully afterwards. “I only meant to scare Lucerys.”

She soothes him to sleep, knowing she ought to feel repulsed by what Aemond has done, but is overwhelmed by the relief of him being just hers once more.

Confusion addles her thoughts the next day when she overhears Aemond tell Otto that he had meant to kill his nephew.

When she asks him about it in private he grips the tops of her arms with such force that she yelps from the pain of it, his face almost murderous with rage as he stares at her. “If you ever utter those words again, I will have your tongue cut out.”

Aemond’s temper has always been fierce, a trait of his that she is forever wary of, however, until now she has never felt afraid of him. At this very moment, Aemond frightens her. He has the capacity to cause her harm, and does not seem to care if he does.

Later he presses featherlight kisses to each of the vivid purple bruises that mark her upper arms. Though he appears remorseful, he does not offer an apology or even an utterance of “I did not mean it.”

“You must not anger me like that again,” He tells her instead.

She simply nods, dread boring a void into the pit of her stomach.

As the war escalates, resulting in the death of Aegon and Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys, and the grievous injury of Aegon, Aemond takes up the mantle of Prince Regent. While Aemond bears the burden of the additional responsibility, she bears the onslaught of his frustrations, becoming a vessel into which he pours his every grievance. The adoration he showers her with after each display of cruelty becomes infrequent to the point that she feels as though she is a hound begging for scraps. Eventually she learns to accept his ire, reasoning he would simply cast her aside and ignore her if he did not care for her.

She is delighted when Aemond insists upon bringing her along to his march upon Harrenhal. She allows herself to believe that his desire to have her at his side is because he is committed to her, that perhaps this means he intends to marry her once the war is over. A voice in the back of her mind reasons it is most likely because he enjoys the control he asserts over her, but she does her best to ignore it.

Jealousy swirls sharply in her gut when she sees the only person that Aemond has spared in his seizing of the castle - a witch named Alys Rivers, a raven haired beauty who he informs her will be of great use to him in helping him to defeat his Uncle Daemon. She swallows down her doubts, attempting to reassure herself that she has nothing to worry about, Aemond has never strayed from her before, why would he now?

She curses herself for ignoring her suspicions when she catches him between the witch’s thighs. She expects herself to grieve, to scream, to cry, to shatter to pieces at his infidelity, but instead a sense of clarity washes over her. For the first time in a decade she wishes to leave Aemond.

No longer does she crave his approval, or long to make amends, a veil has been lifted and finally she sees him for the selfish, spoiled and callous hearted man he truly is. He will never love her, not as she deserves, and she is making a fool of herself to stay by his side while he is openly disrespectful of her and her feelings.

His eye darkens with familiar ill intent when she informs him of her plan to return home.

“Do not be so foolish,” He says condescendingly. “You are behaving irrationally over a minor indiscretion.”

She shakes her head. “I believe this is the first time since I’ve known you that I’ve behaved with any sense at all. I am leaving.”

“Ñuhon iksā,” He tells her. His tone carries none of the soft, loving intent it usually does when he utters this statement, now it is dark and threatening. You are mine.

“Dōre iksan,” She replies simply. I am not.

“You cannot exist without me,” He says with a scowl.

“Watch me,” She counters.

It is not until a few days later, once she has returned home to her family, that the full weight of Aemond’s words begin to sink in. As the wings of Vhagar darken the skies above the Riverlands, she realises that he does not mean he thinks she can’t exist without him, it is that he will not allow her to.

She watches in tense horror as the fiery blaze engulfs her homeland, acrid smoke drawing ever nearer as Aemond’s dragon immolates houses, farmland and forests alike. If he were a better man he’d simply have let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

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grace-mint · 5 months ago

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A Fate Worse Than Death- Part 2

TW: Angst, mentions of torture and SA. Let me know if I miss anything.

Y'all I am so ready for this happy ending. (Spoilers: it will have a happy ending bc I can't read angst without happy endings). Also sorry it's a bit short, but I couldn't keep going without it getting way too long.

Rhysand hadn’t slept in three days. He could hardly eat or drink anything. He couldn’t get himself to care for himself, his main priority being the female lying in front of him. As much as his family tried, they couldn’t get him to eat. Only when Amren walked in and called him a ‘pathetic bastard,’ and stubbornly refused to leave until he ate, did he indulge her.

He sat in a chair in the corner of his and y/n’s shared room, far enough away from the bed, but close enough to keep an extremely close eye on her. He had smelled another male on her, dread sitting in his lower chest at the idea of what that may mean. Azriel had quickly captured her father, brothers, and the male he smelled after they found her, unconscious, and had them in his cells at the Court of Nightmares. He couldn’t get the image of Y/N out of his head. Her body was covered in blood, her arms and legs bruised and scabbed up, and her back. Cauldron her back. It was completely wrecked. Her wings were gone. It broke him to know that she lost an extension of herself. As anxious as he was for her to wake, he was grateful for the time it gave Madja to attempt to heal it. She told him it would scar, severely. The trauma her back endured from whips and knives. The trauma of her wings being cut out, in lieu of the faebane that was running through her system, was enough for her back to heal quite slowly. Madja had said it would take several weeks, if not months potentially, to fully heal. Her mind, Madja told him, was another topic entirely. Rhysand had known this, he would never expect her to bounce back from something like this. He cursed himself. Since she left for that mission he had cursed himself.

She was fine for a day or two, keeping him updated through their bond. The third day rolled around, and instead of getting his usual ‘Good morning, my love,’ greeting he was used to, he was only greeted by silence. He didn’t think too terribly much of it, assuming she was busy, but when evening had passed and still no word from her, he began to really worry. A pit of unease sat in his stomach all night. He had tossed and turned, debating whether he should leave for the camp to make sure she was okay. He had talked himself out of it, telling himself he was being overprotective, and that she could take care of herself. And she could, she was a fighter, the strongest person he’d ever met.

He told himself this again and again as he sat there in agony, watching his mate, who lay still on the bed. A knock at the door broke him from his trance. He looked up to see Azriel walking in. Az took a long look at the bed, a shadow covering his face, before he looked at his High Lord. Rhysand knew he must look like a wreck. Rightfully so. His mate had just gone through hell. No. She had gone through something worse than that, and here he was sitting, perfectly healthy, when he did nothing to protect her.

“You need to get some sleep,” Azriel said softly. He was a man of few words, only knowing when the situation warranted it or he felt comfortable enough. “She wouldn’t want you to sit here, torturing yourself over this.”

As much as he didn't want to think it, he knew Azriel was right. How could he help her recover from this… What could he even call it? Situation? Ailment? No, this was something much worse. This was the equivalent of a lost life. It was an Illyrian’s worst fear; their wings are sacred to them, and the lowest form of insult bestowed upon their race is defilement of their wings. Only a true monster could do something like this. Anger flared in his chest again, the thousandth time in these past few days, at the thought of her father. Even his father, cold as he might have been, would never even have the thought of using one’s wings against an Illyrian. He wanted to kill her father so bad. Better yet, he wanted to rip him apart, limb by limb. And here was Azriel, having the audacity to tell him to rest?

“Shut up, Az.” Rhysand snapped. “She’s just lost everything precious to her, and you are telling me to relax??”

Azriel didn’t even flinch at the tone of his voice, instead he walked over and placed a hand on Rhysand’s shoulder. “She didn’t lose everything precious to her. She still has you. Take a bath at least brother. You deserve it.”

Rhysand sat for a few hours after Az left, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. Finally, with a sigh, he got up and grabbed some spare clothes, walking into the washroom. The bath, as usual, was already filled with steaming water. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did look rough. His face was pale and gaunt, deep bags underneath my eyes, and in the eyes Rhysand looked broken. Taking off his shirt, summoning his wings, he stretched them out to their full length. Rhysand stayed there for several minutes, imagining how life would be without them. He couldn’t. His soul revolted at the idea of losing them, and he quickly let them disappear, the ache in his chest growing. He knew Y/N was going to suffer greatly, she already had. Running a hand down his face, he undressed and slipped into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful, but he didn’t allow himself to enjoy it. Rhysand cursed himself, he was wallowing in self-pity. He was the most powerful High Lord in existence, blessed with the most beautiful, most intelligent, and the most perfect mate to ever live, and yet he was still too weak.

Rhysand scolded himself once again, how could he be so pitiful when his mate is laying on their bed, still not awake. He got up from the bath, quickly toweled himself off, and got dressed. He walked back into the bedroom, hoping you might be awake, only to have that squashed by seeing you still sleeping.

He sat back down in the chair he’d been living in. He would stay by your side until you woke up.

----Y/N POV----

Hands were touching me, everywhere. They were running through my hair, down my front, my rear. I was screaming, or at least I was trying to. No sound was getting out. Panic wracked my chest, I was going to die. I was going to die right now. The hands kept exploring, and they reached my wings. Pulling on my wings. Pain sparked in my back where my wings were attached by powerful tendons and membrane. I yanked away, trying to escape. Not my wings, I screamed, the words still not escaping my throat. I shot upright, the screams finally tearing from my throat. I quickly tucked my wings around me, seeking their comfort. The dream was terrifying and all I wanted to do was to turn over to my mate and tuck myself in his powerful arms. But as I went to tuck in my wings, terror struck my whole being. I couldn’t feel my wings. I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing. Another blood curdling scream left my throat. I threw myself out of bed, attempting to run to the bathroom, but I couldn’t make it. I fell, my body off balanced without the comforting and natural weight of my wings.

“MY WINGS. MY WINGS ARE GONE.” I sat on the floor, sobs wracking my body, the pain in my back that I started to feel was agonizing. I was dying. That was the only possible answer.

“Shhhh, my love. It’s okay I’m right here.” I felt a hand on my cheek. I flinched away, throwing myself as far as possible from the touch.

“Go away! Leave me alone! Don’t take anything more from me!” Sobs broke through each of my words, the syllabus coming out choked and teary.

Y/N, darling, it’s me, it's Rhys. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay on the other side of the room, but you must calm down. A voice struck through my jumbled thoughts. Rhysand. That was my mate. Yes, I’m your mate. Rhysand. You are in Velaris, in the townhouse. We are in our bedroom.

I look up, seeing my mate in a chair across the room, like he said. His eyes were frantic and wild. He looked pale and distressed. “Rhysand?”

“Yes, my heart. I’m right here.” He slowly stood up, walking over to me. “Can I help you up?”

I nod, not finding the energy to answer. He slowly and carefully, with attention to avoid the searing pain in my back, picked me up. I don’t know how he knew where it was so painful, but I was eternally thankful as he set me back on the bed.

“Rhys, my wings are gone.” My voice cracked with my words. “Someone took my wings.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to make them pay severely. Your father will die the slowest and most painful death. I swear it to you.”

At his words, the memories came rushing back. My father, my brothers, the male who used me. My head snapped up to my mate. “You need to leave.” His face fell, “Leave? No, I don't want to leave you. You’ve been passed out for nearly 3 weeks. I can’t leave.”

“Get out. Go, I don’t want to see you,” as I said the words, my heart roared in protest. I wanted him to stay, but he couldn’t. He can’t see me like this, weak and a failure.

“Y/N, please.” He begged.

“I won’t ask again, leave.” I spat the last word out. I saw him flinch, and I wanted to leap up and beg for forgiveness, but what would he think if I told him what I let them do to me.

Rhysand, begrudgingly left, reluctance to leave evident on his face. I felt awful for kicking him out, but I needed to be alone, for his sake and mine.

I slowly stood up, wobbling, and tried to walk to the bathroom. I almost lost my balance, before deciding to just say screw it and lowered myself to the floor. I crawled to the bathroom, placing my hands on the counter, heaving myself up. The sight in the mirror shocked me to my core. My face was extremely sunken in, my body frail and bony, and my wings. The absence of my wings was devastating. It felt utterly wrong. I was wrong.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a very long time; I hated every second of it, but I couldn’t bear to take my eyes away. A knock on the doorframe forced me to wrench my eyes away. There stood Cassian. His eyes full of sorrow and anger.

“I heard you were awake and wanted to come check on you.” His voice was soft, as if talking to a frightened child. I just stared at him in silence, before turning my gaze back to the mirror. What was the point of life anymore? I was robbed of any dignity I had left. From now on my life be pitiful looks and watchful eyes from those who knew me.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I say, without turning to look at him. “Stop it. Stop treating at me like I’m an object about to break.”

“It’s okay to break, Y/N. None of us will blame you. Whatever you need or want, we will be by your side. If you want to wallow, we will be there. You want to yell and scream? We’re there to take the brunt of it. If you want to burn the world down? We will be there to light the matches.” His words went in one ear and out the other.

I looked at him once again, with no emotion in my eyes. I saw his wings poking out from behind his back and jealousy reared its ugly head in my chest. “Leave. You think you can just come in here and flaunt your wings around and act all high and mighty. You are nothing more than a bastard who crawls at his High Lord’s feet.”

There wasn’t a single part of my soul that believed the words I spit at him. In fact, I hated myself for saying them, but I wanted him to feel just a fraction of the eternal soul crushing pain I was feeling at the moment. Cassian’s expression didn’t waver at all though, instead he just tilted his head to look at me.

“Is that the best you can do? That all you got?” He was goading me on, and I knew it. But this conversation had exhausted me enough. “Goodbye Casssian, “ I said in dismissal. I didn't bother to see if he left, I simply turned my head back to look at the mirror, to look at the ugliest creature in the world. Me.

----Rhysand POV----

Cassian walked back into the kitchen, his face grim. “She called me a bastard, said I crawled at your feet.”

“She doesn’t mean it,“ Rhysand said, somewhat softly. He knew Cassian didn’t believe

her, but he wanted to remind him.

“I know. Just hurts to see her like this.” Cassian and Y/N have always had a wonderful

relationship. He was able to be the older brother she never got to have.

Rhysand poured another shot of whiskey, handing it to his brother. “She kicked me out. You should have seen her when she woke up. She was terrified. She was terrified of me.” His voice was broken. Pain seeping into his words.

“She just needs time.” He knew Cassian was right, but the ache in his chest was overwhelming at this point. Not to mention that the bond had gone numb on his mate’s side. He knew it would be bad, and he was expecting this, but he just didn’t know how to help her. “She was looking at herself in the mirror when I was up there.”

Rhysand looked over at his brother, “Can I see?” Cassian nodded his approval as Rhysand entered his mind, finding the interaction between Cassian and Y/N. The lack of emotion in her eyes and face was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. She was so gaunt and thin. She was a shell of herself. And Rhysand would stop at nothing to help her find her way home to him and his family.

#rhysand x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand angst #rhysand

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besttropeveershowdown · 9 months ago

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The Best Trope Ever Showdown: FINALS

Found Family

Propaganda:

Well all know it, we all love it

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

Forming a bond with friends or strangers so deeply they become your family!!! Choosing the people you want to support you, to be your backbone, to care for you and be cared for by you in return!

literally the experience! characters may not come from the best past but they grow together and give each other the support that they can't get otherwise. the attachments that form are usually amazing and I guess just. yeah! + platonic/doesn't need romance involved which I guess is a plus for myself???

Because its so cute! It's sweet, and kind, and forgiving, and just asdfghjk its just the best. Without FF we wouldnt have shows like The Owl House so think about that okay?

I mean, come on. A pair or group of people that know little about or nothing about each other become fiercely protective and loving towards the others. They consider each other family through shared experiences and traumas, loving and caring for each other as if they were kin.

Battle Couple

Propaganda:

Two people fighting side by side, or back to back, trusting the other to have their back, even while bickering. Amazing. And if they kiss, surrounded by enemies… perfection ❤️❤️❤️

Reformed, but Not Tamed

They're not Evil anymore. But like, they're also not Nice really. Still a jerk about it. (No TVTropes page submitted)

Propaganda:

All the coolness of a redeemed villain but without losing the spicy villain jerk charisma they had before. Often called The Vegeta. Get to have your cake and eat it too.

who doesn't love a villain kinda sorta turning good but being annoyed about it the whole time

We all love it when the bad guy joins the Plucky Team of Heroes because it is a) hilarious or b) reaaaaally interesting character dynamics, and "reformed but not tamed" is the superior way to achieve this. You get all the fun of having the bad guy join the team WITHOUT having to sand down everything that MAKES the bad guy interesting. In this house, we like a "domestication" arc more than a "redemption" arc. He's still an awful little shithead, but now he's OUR awful little shithead.

#the best trope tournament #polls #tropeaganda #found family #battle couple #reformed but not tamed

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 2 years ago

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A Suitable Alternative chapter 2 (Final)

Masterlist

Summary: you new life with vader begins, and though unexpected your not entirely unhappy about it.

Warnings: suitless vader, coercion, dub con relationship, power play, canon typical violence

A/N:Here is a second and final part to my vader fic. I dont really want to get suckd in and make a long fic, i have too many. But i will be doing little anakin and vader oneshots and drabbles in the future

Your eyes flicked to the open living area. The footfalls of Vader moving around did little to calm your nerves. Today was your debut. Or as you'd mentally dubbed it release day. Well, maybe that was a tad harsh. You reasoned with yourself. You weren't a prisoner here, well possibly? Since the whole incident with the fifth brother last week Vader had made it his life's mission to keep you in his quarters until you were quote; 'recovered from the trauma and ready to take your place'. And somehow your new wardrobe had been delayed. Which you didn't believe for a second. Everyone knew when Darth Vader wanted something it was on board within hours. You thought it was more likely that he wanted to have a few days bonding with you. And he did.

Your terror of this frighteningly beautiful man had subsided somewhat. The situation you found yourself in wasn't entirely unpleasant. You were treated impeccably well. It wasn't hard to forget just who he was inside your newly appointed home. You had taken a few days to acclimatise to seeing him without his mask. Whilst at the same time pretending nothing phased you, it was difficult. So much had changed for you, suddenly you were spending more time with him than anyone ever had since he'd appeared out of thin air alongside the empire itself! You shared a home, wardrobe, facilities even a bed.

That had terrified you the first night. He'd dressed you in one of the tunics as a makeshift night dress. You knew he could have someone go and collect your things from your room but he opted to have you draped in his own oversized clothes. You were surprised he even had casual clothing, but then again even a sith lord had the odd free days to relax in his home.

After letting you change in the bathroom he'd slowly coaxed you into bed like a scared child. It took a few tense moments but you did give in. Swallowing back your fear and climb into the bed resigning yourself to his will. He was smug, watching as you crawled below the sheets and turned glancing out of the window to the slowly moving stars as the executor glided through space, passing the odd asteroid and planet.

It was the one thing you truly adored. You didn't have windows in any of your previous rooms. You'd never really seen the stars pass you by before. You could watch the soothing sight all day.

You'd panicked when he'd laid beside you and shuffled close, pressing a hand to your shoulder and lightly drawing your attention to him. You were concerned he'd do something, that he'd expect something. But he kept his word, he didn't push you. Instead just stretched an arm out below your head letting you rest on him, occasionally running his fingers through your hair. And then looked out to the stars with you perfectly content, before striking up a conversation.

He asked about your travels, homeland, childhood, family and education anything he could think of to keep the conversation flowing. It was like he didn't want you to sleep, he wanted to savour the time he had with you. Like he had to hear you speak to prove to himself you were here. It was the first time you got the feeling he was lonely.

From then on it became a nightly ritual, talking until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore. And that wasn't the only thing that became a daily occurrence you had breakfast, lunch and dinner together every day. He would vent about mistakes others made, missions and upcoming events in the next few days and secret imperial business; which your entirely convinced he wasn't supposed to share with you, but you still tried to help. Even if he did wave it off and settle for threatening or replacing the commanders. He didn't have the same attitude towards the storm troopers though?

You found it odd, but never brought it up. You didnt want to make him think he was being soft on them, your sure he'd do something drastic if he ever thought he wasnt scaring the piss out of everyone. He did infact enjoy that, it amused him to no end watching those around him quiver in his presence. But he wasnt always talking about the empire, he also made a point to speak of your work, ideas hobbies and of course your future together.

It was strange, youd formed an attachment to him. A familiarity, it was easy to forget who he was sometimes, especially when he would entertain you in trivial small talk during meals. And then youd spot the lightsaber on his belt, or his mask on one of the many stands scattered around the place. It would flush through you like ice, youd stiffen a rush of panic overwhelming you followed by him sighing quietly and then he'd draw you to him once more as if trying to condition you into being at ease around him.

The only way you could describe it was they were two different people. Lord vader was the mask, he had always been that imposing tall figure, billowing cape and harsh mechanical breaths and very heavy handed in everything he did. And then there was Vader himself; beautiful, intelligent and dare you say needy? Funny? Allbeit his humour was a little dark and dry for your tastes but you could appreciate some of his witty quips. But nothing detracted the fact he was clearly unstable, possessive and devestatingly strong.

But he seemed willing to put you at ease. He answered your questions most of the time. Sometimes he deflected, but with every refusal he did offer you something else in exchange. Youd asked about his past, who he was before vader was born. He'd gone rigid and trapped you in a stern icey stare before telling you the past was the past and he wont relive that weakness.

Yet he followed this harsh rebuke by offering explanations about his suit. It was nothing more then a means to strike fear into people. That vader was born from the ashes of his own failures and his suit was his new identity. Ending by saying that there was nothing more to the suit itself. Well thats what he said but you couldnt help there was more to it then that.

Yet you still got uncomfortable. Sometimes you'd say something that insinuated a future seperate from his and he would quickly react with a firm yet frustrated quip. Snapping at you to stop being ridiculous, and remind you he would be beside you always. That you were his and there was nothing in the galaxy that would change that. Then his anger would grow, his frustration would boil over and he'd spit venom at you. Voice his own insecurities in some teasing yet vague threats.

This was always resulted in a quick bout of damage control. Youd found out quickly that for someone so unapproachable his love language was touch. Youd grasp his hands holding them close to your chest or tuck yourself against him making yourself small whilst seeking him out. Whispering you were sorry and hadnt meant for it to sound the way it did. Pleading with him to forgive you. Going as far as to press gentle kisses to his hands and wrists, initiating any type of loving embrace or gesture you could. He always calmed when you acted on your infatuation.

He would sag, relaxing and quickly capture you, dragging you close and embrace you tightly. Though he never apologised. No, his anger was always justified. But he would defuse the tension warning you to be careful with your words, to think before you speak. He wanted you to be utterly convinced of your shared future and impending marriage. So much that it was ingrained into your subconscious. He wanted to stop these slip ups, you were his now and forever and you had to come to terms with that and create yourself a new path. A new future. One that had snuck up on you quicker then youd thought possible.

Okay. Okay... Okay, this is okay. Isn't it? Maybe. Maybe not. Fuck. Your eyes ran over the woman in the glass. Black. All you saw was black, velvet, leather and chiffon draped over you like a sea of unending darkness. The clothing was flattering, comfortable and practical, the leggings were a surprise. Something had told you lord Vader believed in more traditional gender roles and once he mentioned a new wardrobe you feared you'd be permanently donning a dress!

But no, thankfully you were placed in a long flowing tunic styled top held securely with a leather underbust styled waist coat. And behinde you fell a thin chiffon black cape. Flowy, feminine just like the rest of your outfit, it was clearly designed to mimic vaders own menacing outfit. But with a faint soft aesthetic to it, less brash and more refined. You were meant to compliment Vader, not out dress him. You moved this way and that watching the cape flutter behind you, it was attatched to the stiff paundrons protruding a inch or so from your shoulders.

"Stunning, my colour suits you." Vader called from the entrance of the bed room. You looked at him through the mirror and bit your lip, cheeks glowing, you couldnt help it when he was looking at you like that! Arms crossed smirking at you like the tempting devil he was, blue eyes flickering amber as they ran lengths up and down your frame. Fuck.

"You think so? I thought it washed me out?" You uttered trying to deflect slightly. You still found it strange having him compliment you. It happened quite often, though sometimes felt more like he was appraising you and preening 'oh look at this pretty jewel in my collection'

"All the more reason for me to bring a flush you your cheeks" you huffed averting your gaze trying to compose yourself. He was far to good at making you squirm. It wasnt fair, the way he could so easily make you flustered and embarassed. Simple blunt statments and well timed innuendos made sure to remind you that he intended to have you in every way possible.

"You are magnificent. You look powerfull, regal. Mine" the words were liquid silk, heated promising. But chilling in their meaning. He was claiming you publicly, making sure everyone who saw you shadowing him in the halls understood you were spoken for. It was like a child taking their new toy out to show it off. But there was little you could do about it. And honestly what could you complain about? You were dressed in comfy expensive clothes, ate amazing food, slept in a luxurious bed and found yourself a gorgeous partner. And above all you were safe. Untouchable. The only thing you had to worry about was vaders temper. But you were working your way around that, he needed to be needed, he craved soft, gentle. He wanted love, or atleast affection.

"Thank you my lord." You hummed sweetly turning to face him peaking up at him trying not to look as anxious as you felt. The reality of being seen out with him today.

"What did we discuss?" You faltered at that snapping your eyes to his. And he stared at you with an exhausted look. If he'd been a lesser man he'd have rolled his eyes. Your shoulders slumped and you tucking into yourself hands absentmindedly pulling on your clothes anxiously.

"Y-yes, right. Vader i apologise" your reply was cut short when he crossed the space, hands raising to your cheeks and ha cupped them almost sweetly, pulling you to face him once more. Youd niticed he hted when you avoided looking at him. He always wanted your attention. He was forever drawing your attention to himself.

"Do not look so sullen little one, it was not a chastisement. Just a reminder" he soothed you rubbing the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. You blinked up at him still at a loss, these strnge affectionate moments were still foreign to you. It was alot to grow accustomed to. He drew a heavy sigh and tipped his head to the side, his hands began smoothing out your hair.

"I understand things will take time, you must adjust. Im simply trying to help you from new habits. We cant have you living in the past. Nothing exists but our future together. At least not for you anyway" he explained for what felt like the thousandth time. You nodded to him weakly, making sure not to pull away from him. The last time your tried to on reflex he'd fixed his hands round your jaw, pressing his fingertips tighter so you couldn't pull away. It was one of the few times youd been close to weeping, frightened youd angered him.

"You do look delectable in your new wardrobe. I am going to have to keep my witts about me whist your around the other men aboard" he uttered aftter a few moments and leant in pressing a kiss to your head before stepping back and marvelled at you. And then froze, frown marred his face.

"I sense your fear, what has frightened you? You know i would never allow you to be attacked again. If anyone dares to release a harsh breath in your direction it will be their last" the question was quickly followed by a promise to protect you. It would have been chivalrous decree had you not known he was utterly serious about murdering anyone on board whoxd dare make you uncomfortable. But you had to smile, ignore the violence and accept that his darlness was apart of him and the way he expressed himself.

"I know that, i trust you. Im just... not one for change. Everything is changing" you said with a light smile bringing your own hand to his wrist rubbing the skin, whilst leaning into hos hand lightly. He drew a deep breath before craning forward kissing your hairline and then stepped back.

You twisted your hand removing it from him but he quickly found it again squeezing it in his holding you delicatly. You released a deep breath as you successfully shook off your unpleasant fear of being the cause of another death. Not that you cared about the fitfth brother. Well not much, youd never liked him but that didnt mean seeing him brutalised and killed had been your idea of a good time.

"This change is good little one." He coaxed slowly leading you away from the mirror and in to the larger open space on the room.

"Yes, yes i know my lor- vader. I will get over it, just some beginners nerves i think? After all I do have a new position now. Its quite a climb" your words faltered as you struggled to find the appropriate words for your new position.

"You have no need to be nervous, i am here. I will always be here. Now why dont you show off your new uniform properly hmm? Give me a little spin~" he guided you infront of him before releasing you and grinned insisting you spin for him with a quick gesture of his finger swirling around.

You did as he asked spining around for him letting him admire you dripping in the clothes he had provided for you. You could feel the victorious grin he wore. Smug and cocky drinking in the sight of you. His prized trophy. He reached out smothing your cape back down to sit aginst your back and then coiled around you, tucking you below one arm.

"Very good. You truly are ravishing. Are you ready for your surprise?" He asked raising a brow at you, grinning wide a bright excitement across his face, eyes sparkling with his own elation.

"Surprise? what Surprise?"you asked tilting your head at him, scrunching your nose in confusion. He hadnt mentioned anything about a surprise. Only telling you that today youd start your new duties which consisted of joining him about the ship, shadowing him like a makeshift assistant.

"Well if i told you it wouldnt be a surprise now would it~ Follow me" and with that he swooped out of the room completely and glided across the living area. Right towards a very uncomfortable looking captain. You stopped still, locking eyes with the anxious looking man. This doesnt feel right.

"Captain? What a surprise?" You asked trembling slightly, feeling a deep dread. Panic like youd never felt before burrowing into you like a parasite. But you didnt know why, you couldnt understand it. You stepped forward hesitantly trying to keep yourself in check as your mind raced over all the possible reasons the captain was here.

"Im afraid i could not wait. I feel it would be best if we were to, expedite our union, i see no reason to wait" the sith anounced still striding towards the pale man, quivering in his boots. He was sweating and looked queasy but was outright staring at vader, drinking in the sight of his lords maskless face. You could understand. It was such a momentous thing, to see the frightfull lord in all his glory. Being able to categorically rule out the rumours of knarled twisted features and horrid burns mutations and from interspecies breeding. And instead see the sith for waht he was, a stunning powerful young man.

"It is a little known fact that captains are still able to marry those onboard the ships they command. Even in the empire." Vaders words halted your thoughts, yet somehow you still moved forward, inchingntowards him and his surprise. What? Already? No, he wouldnt do that yet would he? You twisted your head slightly before reaching out grasping for vader in what you hoped looked like casual affection. But it was to anchor you. You needed to hold onto something before your knees collapsed in on themselves and you crumpled to the floor. Vaders was glancing at the captain in warning, eyes burning making it clear the man was to hold his tongue over the next few moments.

And then the dark lord turned to you, one hand meeting yours before settling it in the crook of his arm playing the part of a gentleman. He nodded gifting you another bright grin and then pulled you closer to stand infront of him. He blinked tipping his head waiting for your reaction.

"Marry? He can marry us?" You breathed out, surprized and very very uncomfortable. As much as you knew this was the end game for lord vader. You were not prepared, youd belived hexd take you to mustafa first. Or atleast have the ceremony there. Not on a war ship.

"Indeed. He can and he will." He nodded once more, ending his reply with another threatening look cast to the man who looked like he was about to pass out. But overall vader sounded almost proud of himself. It was clear he thought the surprise and shock on your face was a good thing. And maybe it was? You werent crying or pleading. You cowered back slightly gulping down the dread you felt, you couldnt risk upsetting him now. Not infront of company.

"You look unsure little one, I will not waste our time together. You are mine and theres no reason to delay our future together. This is for the best" vaders words were laced with a soft warning, his bionic hand pressing against yours pinning it to his arm in a tight cold grip.

"We are not revisiting this discussion, ive made up my mind. You know this. Do not begin to disappoint me now little one" the chiding held a sharp egde. Threat of retribution shpuld you even think to argue woth him. His plans will not be ruined. And honestly you were not even stupid enough to try.

"oh no, vader no i was not; im just surprized. When you said we'd wed soon i did not realise how soon" you panicked rounding on him slightly, your other hand coming to rest ontop of his own vice like grip. You plead with him wide eyes glossing with tears, your hand moved smoothing over his skin thumbs circling over his wrist.

He held your gaze, nostrils flaring under his slowly rising temper. Lips thin and eyes glowing dangerously. Your heart thundered in your chest. It wasnt working? You dropped your gaze, slumping and released his hand slowly.

"Please vadet,don't be put out with me. I didnt mean it the way it sounded you know what im like. Id hate for you to think that i was against this in anyway. I truly meant no offence." He hummed relaxing his hold on you and released a deeper breath. You peaked up at him from the top of your eyes taking another half step closer. He settled somewhat as you drew closer, as if he realised you were not going to turn tail and flee. You continued to calm him spurred on by his sublte change in stance.

"It's just i? I suppose its selfish of me but i had silly hopes for our union is all, picking out a dress and flowers. Its what every little girl dreams of. But i will be happy aslong as i have you. Im not refusing you,not in the slightest. Id hate for you to ever think that, because i would never do that to you my lord. Never" you explained, choosing to play the little girl card to wriggle out of the hole youd somehow began to land yourself in.

He held your gaze for a few long moments and then sighed blinking slowly and released your now throbbing hand. You smiled but didnt move, instead squeezed his arm trying to reassure him you were staying here.

"A wise decision little one. unfortunately i have no time to give you a wedding you deserve one day i will make amends. But i have managed to aquire this at least. Here" the warning was more sinister then you'd anticipated. But the half explanation soothed you somewhat. He was once again gifting you with some semblance of consideration, letting you hold onto some sort of hope that he cared for your feelings. The words hung in the air for a few seconds before a hand rose. He held out a ring, pinching it between two fingers letting you pluck it from him.

You inspected it. It felt weighty, large and menacing. Clearly this was not yours it was too large, this ring was meantmfor him. It was neither gold or bright silver but an odd dark silver colour reminiscent of pewter. It was plain, nothing engraved or embedded into it. No decoration whats so ever. You closed your fist around it and plastered a smile on your face before looking back up at Vader.

"Shall we?" You said managing to bypass the panicked lump in your throat. You slowly felt dread build inside of you. You wanted to scream. This felt so insane, so fast and frightening. You were realising this was really happeneing and there was nothing you could do or say. You were trapped, no matter how delicatly he treated you, or how sweet his words and affection were. You were no longer free, you were his now. Completely and this man would keep a tight grip on you from here on out.

Vader beckoned you, holding out a hand clasping yours quickly and directed you to stand beside him and then shifted his attention. Suddenly the captain was pinned in place with a feirce look. It was only then you noticed a slim datapad in the poor mans quivering hand.

There were no fanatical speeches about love or family. No mentions of a pitiful romance or passages read on the sanctity of marriage. Only a few words about loyalty, strength and honour. And then vows, odd vows. Promises of obedience, surrender and worship. You vowed to serve him, to remain by his side and honour him. In return he will protect and provide for you and any children you may birth. It wasnt exactly the best exchange, but you were in not position to argue, you had nothing to bargin with, vader could take what he wanted if need be. So you'd be wise to accept whilst you had the illusion of choice.

You opted to smile pleasantly, reciting your vows watching carfully as vader seemed to visibly relax once youd played your part beautifully. Giving him exactly what he wanted without a fuss. The way you had submitted so quickly made heat rush through him, you were perfect. He'd enjoyed the light gasp as he'd placed his ring onto your finger. Your eyes lit up as you saw it for the first time, he had been unsure about it. He didnt know what youd want, all he knew was he wanted it to match his. From the look you gave him he had done well the delicate black band with light scrolling engraving across it. You were pleased, shocked but please nonetheless.

The ceremony was no more then ten mineuts, it would have been faster had the captain not stumbled over his words anxiously. Fear had made the man incoherent at some points in the small paragraphs. But even if the blithering idiot hadn't messed up the final kiss couldnt have come fast enough for vader. He needed it, the finality.

You stood listening as the ceremony drew to an end, with the fatefull words 'you may kiss the bride'. Your eyes flicked to vader unsure of whether he would indeed kiss you publicly. You shook your head subtly and made to pull back from you once lord now husband. You tried not to let your disappointment show, he didnt strike you as one for outward public affection so you shouldnt be surprised.

But as you tried to pry your hand that had resigned in his since donning his ring. He grunted, squeezing your hand. Suddenly he was on you, his human hand capturing your neck, thumb below your jaw, and hand stretched around covering your neck, fingers curling around you grazing the sking below your ear.

You cast a final worried look to the male beside you before. Opening your mouth to remind vader you had a guest. But what came out was a muffled cry of surprize when vader tugged you close before pressing his mouth to yours. You froze unprepared for his affection so much so he had managed to draw you into him, coaxing you to his own chest. Tilting his head before plundering your mouth. His lips moved against yours with delicate groan. Your eyes closed and cheeks flamed, unsure of what to do. All you did know was the captain was watching you with a weird fascination. It made you self conscious, youd only ever kissed once before;that had been at one of your freinds birthday parties years ago with a fumbling boy fresh out of his acne phase.

Vader chuckled drawing back a little taking a good look at you. You were his. He had a wife again. This time things will be different. He could love you freely without fear. This time he will be able to protect you, simply because youll obey him without question.

He descended again devouring you harsher this time, teeth biting and nipping at your lip making you whine in light pain before pressing forward. Plunging his tongue int your mouth lapping at your own before prodding you, encouraging you to join him in the kiss.

You did so carefully still aprihensive. Gingerly prodding at him, lapping and nibbling testing out what he liked and disliked. Your soft kissing and light exploring touch was met with light groans of praise. You relaxed smoothing your palms over his chest, remembering the lean muscles hidden beneath the thick suit. Just as you were melting into him, moaning into his mouth enjoying the kiss. You heard the captain Shuffle on his feet. Your eyes snapped open and attempted to tear yourself away from vader in a panic. He tightened his grip on your neck growling, jerking you forward drawing your attention back to him taking control. Once again you were reminded vader enjoyed your attention, he doesn't tolerate it wandering from him.

It was a few moments later when a loud thump rung out vader finally let you pull away. You eyed him for a moment only to look away as he made a show of lapping at his bottom lip, eyes half lidded stareing at you hungrily. He made sure not to let you get too far as you pulled back searching for where the thump had come from. His hands dropped to your waist keeping you close, chest pressing against his.

You panicked momentarily glancing around where the captain had been. Then gasped seeing the captain in a crumpled heap on the floor. You forgot to breath, your world stopped. No. No way, not again.

"Oh- shit! Vader he's? Is he alright? Did he passout? We should call the medic droids;" you began squirming in his grip, not beliving what you saw. He'd just passed out, he must have. There no way vader would have killed him, vader needed him to pilot the executor right?

"Hush, all is well. He served his purpose" he hummed pulling you closer resting his chin on your head kissing your hair lightly and wrapped his arms around you. Paying no mind to the dead captain on his living room floor.

"Did you? While we were?" You flushed eyes widening as you realised vader really had used the felxing of his hand on your neck to choke the captain. You stomach churrned, anxiety tugging at your chest like a horrid vice squeezing your diaphragm painfully.

"B-But he is the captain. Dont we need him to pilot the ship?" You asked pressing a hand to your chest rubbing trying to fend off the pain. Your eyes flicked from the captains body, to vader who chuckled shaking his head at you like you would a child.

"No, a team of twenty officers pilot the ship. His job is to coordinate them....Think of it this way, the co-pilot just got a promotion."

"You seem a little too upset, did you know him personally? Was he a friend?" His words grew sharp, the arms around you began tensing, squeezing threateningly. You whined shaking your head, quickly trying to backtrack and calm him before he became enraged.

"No, no ive never met him , i just wondered... this is such a huge vessel and i thought he must have been specifically trained to pilot it. I'd hate the thought of you wasting such a valuable member of the crew over me." You clarified, uttering the first thing that came to your head. Ending with a slight manipulation, wanting him to think you were only concered about his ship and reputation. Not the man who lay dead at your feet. Because god forbid he ever think you felt any sympathy for another man.

"I dont want to weaken you in any way, not even by havingnyour men killed... you have lost a powerfull force user and a trained captain because of me" Vaders eyes bore into you, gauging your reaction before he smiled his tightly squeezing arms loosening their hold.

"So sweet, so innocent. I could just eat you up sometimes. But save your worries we have many officers onboard equipped to pilot this vessel. And many force sensitive inquisitors at our disposal. Its how i keep them on their toes, they work harder if they understand they are replaceable" he cooed at you quietly, and then preceded to reassure you, explaining away the crew and reasoning he had for such a large staff turn over. You nodded dilligently, not really taking anything in.

"Besides he saw my face. No one in the galaxy is allowed that privilege. Except you of course wife~ Come you shouldn't dwell on this. Whats done is done. Instead focus on our happiness. We are now married." He exclaimed, rocking slowly side to side with you still keeping you tangled in his arms.

"Wont you smile for me love? It should be the happiest day of your life" his hand moved pinching your chin tilting you to look up at him. You forced a smile, beaming up at him like the glowing bride you were meant to be. Apart of you mused that things werent soo bad. He was a devastatingly handsome man to be married to, and powerful. He could look after you, keep you safe and sound, fed protected. And all it would cost is? Obedience and a semblance of love. Honestly you were sure you would come to love him, something tells you you wont have a choice in the end. So atleast you might get a true happy ending.

"Theres my good girl" he praised grinning down at you before dipping down clearly going in for another kiss.

Just as your lips were a breath away there was a loud sound ringing out from the door. You yelped jumping almost headbutting Vader. He growled glaring at the door, you wondered how it didnt melt under the anger. He sighed and stepped away from you, releasing you entirely.

"Ugh they are early. I apologise love, I hoped we would have a little time to ourselves to celebrate our union" he scowled as he spoke, disappointment curling into the words.

"Would you let them in. I called for them to clean up" he asked over his shoulder whilst stepping past you heading towards the bedroom. You spun watching him with a frown looking to the door and then bck to the room Vader was heading to.

"Clean up?" You asked unsure what he ,eant. But he sent a glnce over his shoulder nd nodded to the captain. Oh. That.

"Just instruct them to dispose of that mess.I wont be a moment, just finish dressing and once they are finished we will be off"he paused at the entrance to the bed room, and leant forward pressing a hand to the wall tapping it in thought.

"Do not worry they will know what to do, and i will just be in the other room. Id also like for you to put them in their place. Think of it as a? Practice run. I do expect you to mke use of your new title little one" his eyes pinned you to the spot, halflidded and buring with a promising heat before he spoke aagain.

"I dare say I will find it entertaining. But remember nothing will happen to you, my sweet little wife. You are untouchable now. Perfectly safe. " you drew a deep breath as he disappeared into the other room. Safe? Just who the hell is at the door? You pondered for a second before heading to the large main door and pressed your hand to the locking pad. The doors opened with a sharp hiss.

"Grand inquisitor, second sister?"You greeted politely praying you hadnt sounded to uncomfortable. Your stomach twisted and it took everything in you not to stagger back from them defensively. The two black clad visitors looked furious. Fuck.

"You?! i mean Lord vader had sent for us? He has a task?" Grand inquisitor snapped, only just managing to conceal his anger when he remembered that lord vader might be within hearing distance.

"Oh that. Yes. Please come in" you stepped back letting both of the inquisitors into the living space then reached over closing the thick doors once more. They stared at you, curious and spitefull gaz3s mking you want to shrink away from them. You werent a fool, these two were nasty pieces of work, cruel and vindictive. They were snakes and how Vader trusted them with anything amazed you, you wouldnt trust them as far s you could throw them. But then again, vader was a threat to them, they feared him enough not to fuck around and find out. You on the otherhand were an easy target.

"Im pleased to see you are well, we were concerned when you disappeared without a trace" second sister hissed with thinly veiled malice. The type of threateningly polite tipne only females could manage. Bitchy, nasty. Dangerous. You winced slightly and made your way around the room making sure not to turn your back on them. You didnt trust them out of your eye line.

"I have been taking some personal time, after everything that happened." You replied calming your breathing finally rounding one of the larger sofa's in the room placing it between you and the two force weilding occupants.

"Ah personl time, and new robes? A promotion? Or Acknowledgment of your service to the empire?" The grand inquisitors words sparked a chuc,led from second sister. Their eyes flicking to one another with amusement. You bristled at the insult that sat on the edge of his words. Whore. Thats what they saw you as. Vaders cock sleeve was another term youd heard them utter. You clenched your jaw and glanced away from them choosing to ignore it. But paused whe. You noticed you were hovering by the bed room wall, vader was behonde you, he'd step in if they tried anything.

The thought of your new unintentional husband slaughtering these two if they tried anything shouldnt have mde you giddy. But it did, there was something to be said for having that type of protection from such a sinfully wicked man. His immense strength was your new sheild.

"Yes you could say that. Something to thank the inquisitors for. Though the circumstances were... unpleasant the outcome is, preferable" you smiled tightly, casting a quick glance over your shoulder hearing some movement from behinde the partician wall. You visibly relaxed. Vader was only few feet away and could hear everything. And something told you he'd made himself heard to remind you of that fact.

"Im glad we could be of service to you. Its telling that you take your personal time here of all places. And to think you tried to deny your... association with lord vader so desperately." Grand inquisitor uttered with a laugh once again calli g you a whore without actually saying the words.

"It's laughable really we all knew it" the other woman added, laughing along with her commander. Ganging up on you like bullies on a playground. You growled feeling a rush of hopelessness and anger swell. A small voice began whispering to you, you could have mistaken it for someone else uttering spite in your ear. 'How long? How long will you let this go on for? Why are you letting them talk to you like this? Use it. Use the rage, its there for a reason' you snarled shaking with fury clentching your fists letting your anger seep through your stance.

"Knew what exactly?" You snapped at the two chuckling vindictive fools. They faltered, frowning when they saw you standing tall, back straight muscles tight and eyes blazing.

"You know very well;"

"Im afraid i dont. Would you spell it out for me? If not wait until vader is here? By all means ask him. Im sure he will indulge one of you." You sneered cutting off the womans rambling attempt at cutting you back down to size.

Both inquisitors shared a look, they looked unsettled. Confused by your rage. You were meant to be spineless, weak! Somebodymeone they could always push around and frighten. Yet? No. You looked different. Confident and assertive, angry. They eyed one another again shiftingnon there feet slightly before decideing to change tactics and steer the conversation away from what ever outburst was awaiting them if they continued to pry.

"Where is lord vader? Its seems unusual for him to be absent when he requested us, especially when he calls us into his own rooms" grand inquisitor asked trying to sound high and mighty, beliving him being here was an achievement, something he could brag about being called to the lords private chambers.

"Vader is;" you began with a smile realising that the man was trying to not only diffuse the situation but also regain control by name dropping your superior.

"Lord vader, he has a title" the other woman sneered once again testing you, trying to provoke you with a correction. Your gaze snapped to her, she flinched. You mentally pat yourself on the back. You were uncomfortable, anxious about this whole dominance thing. But you were more concered with the repercussions from Vader if you didnt heed his request. But even you took a second or so to appreciate that thrill seeing someone grow rigid and wary just from a single glance.

"Vader is occupied." You snapped at her actually feeling insulted by at the tought of being corrected by this woman who still seemed to think you were below her.

"Occupied?"

"Yes. And the only reason you are here is deal with that." You huffed waving a hand in the direction of the dismissed captain lying out of veiw, save for his feet pomeing out from behinde one of the leather sofa's. Both inquisitors frowned before side stepping, peaking around to see who had fallen ill of their lord.

"I-is that the Captain?" Second sister uttered outloud a light tremor to her voice. You could tell she was pnicked, the cptain was an extremely high ranked trusted officer. And to have been killed? Well it meant either vder was in a bad mood, or just plain furious. Both were never a good thing especially when you were due to see vader yourself. Youd much rather encounter him on a good day.

"Yes... It was unfortunate. But? Whats done is done." You finished repeating the words of vader himself. Only this time they seemed to settel more, there meaning truly sinking in. His life was over, done, gone and there was no bringing him back. No reason to mourn or fret over it. Much like life before the incidentwith the inquisitors? The life of a faceless engineer in the empire fleet. Your anonymity was a thing of the past, or it will be soon. You could feel it, the way your mind resigned itself to your new position. Youd always served vader, you just had a different role now.

"You've been called to clean up this mess"

"Of course, those are our lords orders" you bit your lip harshly. Did you dare push futher? Could you? 'Yes, assert yourself Lady vader' you gasped head tilting slightly, listening out in the direction of vader. For a moment you felt you might be going mad especially when neither inquisitor reacted to vaders voice coaxing you to retaliate. 'Im here, im always here wife' you tensed but nodded minutely locking eyes with the two people infront of you. You knew exactly wahat to do.

"No. They are mine. Though im sure vader wont mind me commanding you over such trivial things" your words escaped with little thought that time. You were beginning to understand why so mny superiors hd n attitude, it was invigorating commnding others with lttle consequence. Your tempted to order one of them to retrieve some caf for you, but the fear of them spitting in it was enough to deter you.

"We do not obey orders from a" grand inquisitor snarled eyes burning whislt taking a threatening step towrds you. It seems youd found his boiling point. You almost shrunk back at his menacing approach, but somehow held firm remaining still. Your stomch twisted in knots as you continued to stare him down. Quietly praying vader would hurry up nd pop out from his hiding place.

"From a what? Though do be aware you must choose your next words carefully, very very carefully there will be repercussions should i not enjoy them" your unsure how but you mnged an even tone, kept your words calm but sharp all the while praying vader would realise you were beckoming uncomfortable now. You were scared, fearfull of what a split second of anger could result in if the grand inquisitor did loose his cool and used the force against you.

"Or else what?" The hiss ws pure venom, he towered over you standing inches from you, the tip of his boots brushing yours. You opened your mouth to reply but couldnt, the words left you.

"You witnessed first hand what happens to those who antagonised my wife" You relxed instantly as your husband spoke whilst entering the room with an air of sinister mischief. But also a dull rage, he glanced at you quickly noting the how panicked youd seemed. And how close the grand inquisitor had gotten.

Vader straightened an rm out beckong you to him as he slowly crossed the space in measured steps. You side stepped the offending male and tucked yourself into vaders side, placing yourself under his cape smiling up at him thankfully as his arm curled round your waist.

He hummed in approval he definitely wanted to intimidate his inquisitors letting them know of the real connection between the two of you. Not that they could see his amusement below his mask that was now firmly placed on his head, shrouding his true beauty below the intimidating visage. You tried not to let him know you were uncomfortable with the way he'd orcastrated this little reveal. But your unsure if you managed to conceal it.

"Yes my lord" unlike you the two force weilders before you managed to shake the fearful shock within seconds at the revelation and snap into a tight posture. They looked to you with anxiety in their gaze, clearly wondering if their disrespectful teasing was going to cost them. You simply faced forward as yur husbands hand glided to the small of your back absentmindedly.

"I expect lady vader gave you her orders? Complete your task by the time we return." vader ordered befor turning to you dismissing the two underlings to their task.

"We have much to do this morning" he informed you acting as if you were still the only two in the room.

"W-we do?" You frowned, you hadnt realised you were busy today. Vader hadnt told you what you were doing, just that you were going to be with him for the morning. But then again you were quickly finding that vader didnt prewarn you. He planned things and then sprung them on you last minute.

"Yes, today we will visit the control center where you will install your track and trace protocol and whislt we are there we can inform the copilot of his promotion, nothing too exciting i assure you" he continued mking sure the other two could hear him. It was petty in a way, vader was flaunting you. Letting the inquisitors know you were to be conducting important business and trailing after your husband all day. And they will spend the morning as clean up crew.

"Im sure it will be exciting enough for our first excursion my love, im eager to join you, as much as i adore our home i do need to stretch my legs, a few laps of the halls will be some much needed exercise." You replied with a smile allbeit a nervous one. you hadnt tried to play anong with vader like this, so you were unsure if he'd reciprocate but it was worht a shot.

"My lady have i not provided you enough stimulation?" You could feel his smirk. As he teased you, playing the small game youd initiated just to spite the others into an awkward unsteady footing. He couldnt help the little thrill as he saw your tiny sadistic streak rear its head once more.

"I apologise for this oversight. I will be sure to indulge you more frequently in the future" with that you laughed out loud shaking your head at him before drifting closer placing a hand to his bicep squeezing lightly in thanks. He hummed to you raisingnhis other hand to pull yours down along his arm leaving it to settled in the crook of his elbow and held it there.

"As you should husband~"You told yourself you were playing a part,to piss off the other two currently on clean up duty. But there was a certain flutter of excitment, you couldnt help feel that the little vindictive victory over the inquisitors was just the first of many new privileges. And the fact vader had not only tolorated but actually played along with your spiteful little game helping you to tease them made you giddy. Were you aprihensive about your future with him? Sure. But so far the title lady Vader was working out smashingly.

"Come let us go" Vader spoke casually before stepping forward. He was pleased. There had been slight hiccups today but the way you'd obeyed him so quickly and stood up to the two inquisitors that had tormented you. You'd also trusted him to protect you if the inquisitors tried to attack. It was perfect and definitely made him realise he had chosen wisely. You really will be the perfect little wife he needed. And he doubts it will take long for you to fully submit yourself to your new role. When that day comes and you've truly proven yourself, you'll be rewarded. Given the honour of carrying his child, the heir to the galactic empire. He couldnt wait to have it all.

#oh for fic sake fics #darth vader x reader #suitless vader #darth vader x you #darth vader imagine #star wars darth vader #yandere anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine

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badsassitude · 4 months ago

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The Boyfriend: Why Shun Needs Hugs (Deep Dive Part 1/3)

My brain does not want to shut up about the dynamics on this show, and I am ready to fight everyone talking smack about Shun. Look, that boy needs to be hugged, not shamed, and that is a hill I am ready to die on.

Emotions are complicated and messy. Sometimes the things we want the most are the things we are the most scared of, and sometimes we desperately struggle between wanting to connect and wanting to protect ourselves from pain and doing neither well. It’s a bit like trying to go left but also go right and just pacing back and forth and not going anywhere. What was meant initially to be a simple reflection of exploring Shun’s behavior through the lens of attachment theory took on a life of its own, and now we have parts.

So here is part one, in which we look at Shun's behaviors through the lens of anxious attachment and I draft adoption papers 24 years too late.

Shun as presented in episodes 1-6 of The Boyfriend, has anxious attachment written all over him. **I think it is MASSIVELY IMPORTANT to understand that I am not saying Shun has an anxious attachment style.** First and foremost, what we as watchers see is only a series of filmed interactions edited together. Even if we could see 24/7 unedited footage from the moment Shun stepped into the Green Room, we would still only be seeing a small part of Shun’s life, during a time where he is outside of his normal life and environment. Secondly, we can only see what is outwardly observable, so at best our perspective is based off of guesses and interpretation for which there is no way to validate, elaborate on, or clarify.

For context, in a super brief, overly simplified cliff notes version: anxious attachment is one of the insecure attachment styles included in attachment theory. Attachment theory describes common behaviors and characteristic of 4 primary attachment styles (of which anxious attachment is an insecure attachment style).

Second note: attachment is not static, remember, emotions are complicated and people don’t fit into neat little boxes. How we attach in different relationships with different people at different points in our lives is unique to that relationship and that context.

Now back to Shun (well, my interpretation of the Netflix reality TV edited version). Some behaviors I have seen demonstrated by Shun in the show that characterize anxious attachment include:

fear of rejection

Frequent need for validation, reassurance, attention

Low self-esteem

Intense desire for intimacy and closeness, but afraid of abandonment- contributing to the push/pull of clingy to pushing away

Difficulty trusting others

Jealousy

For children who grow up feeling as if their needs are not met, with inconsistencies in caregiver responses and an environment that feels unpredictable and perhaps unsafe - they have a higher risk of developing an insecure attachment style (such as anxious attachment) because they did not experience secure attachment bonds.

Think about what Shun has shared of his story: Shun never knew his parents. Most likely they abandoned him, and he doesn’t know why. He grew up in a children’s home/orphanage. He was raised by caregivers who took care of him because it was their job. It is reasonable to infer that there was likely turnover in staff at an unknown frequency, and there was likely inconsistency in how staff treated him. It is possible that other children came and went, possibly were adopted. There was nothing stable or secure in that environment, and the even the most loving of caregivers weren’t family and could leave at any time.

Additionally, he made two comments that set my trauma spidey-senses tingling. Per the Netflix translation, Shun said “Even there… I went through a lot.” Quickly followed by, “And… well, after a lot happened, I ended up coming to Tokyo on my own.” He then added that since coming to Tokyo he has been free, which was said with a little smile and a nod that pierced me to my core. The way he presented while telling his story, so matter of fact with a level of detachment, is very consistent with how I have experienced many trauma survivors telling their stories.

Now add to all that what he has shared about his past relationships - primarily that he had experiences with “player types” that were clearly painful enough that seeing whatever pictures he saw on Dai’s phone triggered him to the point of tears. He described one relationship as horrible, he “couldn’t get out of it.”

When you think about what that man has been through, is it that strange that while he may desperately long for love and intimacy, that he’s also terrified of being vulnerable in the way you have to be to get it?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

#the boyfriend #the boyfriend netflix #hugs for Shun #it might be all in my head #i think too much sometimes #shun nakanishi #dai nakai #dai x shun #shun x dai

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illya-roma · 2 years ago

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DC X DP

https://www.tumblr.com/autumnmercy/714761304587550720/alexunlawful-what-if-each-yamask-had-a-unique?source=share

This gave me the best angst idea ever.

So what if people who died painfully and became ghosts would carry with them a palm sized emblem that showed how they died and give the same feelings of whatever caused them death for however long it took in a blink of an eye with its trauma when it's touched.

And the only reason they have that is to tell older ghosts and only the living touched by death that this is a TRAUMATISED newborn/ baby.

Practically, it's telling the surrounding ghost to play nicely and to let the baby win. Because see how they died? Oh you don't think that was painful? Will how about you come and touch it then? Go on, see how that is not painful at all.

Aka don't be a dick to the baby ghost

And older ghosts aren't allowed to tell them why they have it not because of an oath but to make sure that the baby gets better at ghost communicating, ghost emotional bonds, and stronger abilities while making it their idea to keep them getting better.

Because ghosts specifically children ( or teenagers) will not do something with enough care unless it's their idea. And will just say that it shows how you died and that it disappears after getting somewhat comfortable with the fact that you died ( when you become comfortable as a ghost/ become old enough to take care of yourself while dealing with other old ghosts but they won't say that)

Enter Danny going on a month school field trip/ family trip/ vacation by himself visiting a measum with Wonder Woman feeling a shit ton of death energy and "innocently" asking what this emblem is cause she never seen something like this before.

Danny just says that his friend is interested in occult and goth things (true, Sam) bought it (not true, but the thing attaches itself to what ever he's currently wearing so Sam took the fall for the team) because the seller said that it shows the wearer what they will die from (half truth) but for some reason it worked with only him and attached itself to him. And that they could not find the seller to ask them about it.

He says that death by a five lightning bolts doesn't sound too bad in jest.

Daina believes him and wonders what happened to the occultist that just had an item of future death telling and why it only worked with him.

She asks to inspect it.

Daina Prince a being who is touched by death/ related to death itself.

Wonder Woman, who can handle getting thrown through 12 building and stand up like it's nothing.

The amazon warrior, who repeatedly fought powerful entities that almost destroyed the entire universe and came out victorious.

...

Daina, the strong amazon warrior, experiences what it feels like to be a human, a small human child filled with so much curiosity and so much hope for the future, getting electrocuted for forty five minutes.

(And being ripped apart molecule by molecule and put together into something new but they focus more on the pain that will be given to a small teenager.)

Danny blinks, holds her steady and asks if she's okay?

She says she's fine, just didn't take her medicine. (Daina doesn't take medication, Daina doesn'tget sick, Daina doesn't get sick Diana doesnt get sick Dianadoesn'tgetsickDianad)

Danny tells a joke to make her feel better, brings her water to help her and asks if he should bring her anything while holding her hair up.

Daina vomits in the trashcan but tells him it's just the consequences of not taking her medication and thanks him.

Danny stays with her, comforting her,distracting her by talking about the beautiful constellation in the night sky, telling her that she'll be okay and help is on the way until her coworkers come with a mid kit.

Daina thanks him.

Danny wishes her health and safety with his large hopeful eyes and leaves.

Danny forgets about the interaction.

Daina did not.

___________________

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #batman #justice league dark #the justice league #Daina feels the horrors of being a small squishy human #danny is now the baby of the justice league #Diana @ Danny in her mind #you will never go through this #you will be okay #i will fight anyone who says otherwise #i will bring hell on whichever deity decided to hurt thus child #she tells the justice legue about it #batman thinks that since he is human it wont hurt him #and goes up to the kid as bruce Wayne #this kid who looks so much like his own children #and was so #so wrong about it not hurting him #danny is used to people asking about it #jason is not a ghost and thus doesn't have one #but has died like most of the heroes #and if he touches it he will straight up not let go of danny #like he was tortured to death once and he will not let danny go through whatever the hell that was #bonus if superman touches it and weeps cause that is the man of steel he will take it like a Tuesday ™ but that is a small human child #a child that looks so much like his little Jon

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mononijikayu · 7 months ago

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monster like me.

The weight of Gojo Satoru's presence became increasingly palpable as he shifted his gaze towards the setting sun. An oppressive silence enveloped them both, one laden with the shared grief too profound for words. Their unspoken understanding needed no verbal reinforcement. Two unhappy people together had no need for words, after all.

GENRE: pre - hidden inventory arc to shibuya arc (1990s to 2010s);

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: monster like me by morland and debrah scarlett

NOTE: i wanna give satoru and genmei a hug pls,,,,,,why are they being mean to you both??? (its me, im mean to them)

masterlist

u s and t h e m

[ Mikoto Shrine, September 2007; Kyoto Prefecture ]

ZENIN GENMEI THINKS ITS HARD TO THINK STRAIGHT THESE DAYS. Perhaps it was the unrelenting heat, or maybe the absence of a soothing summer breeze, but Genmei felt a restless impatience brewing within her. The days seemed to stretch endlessly, each moment dragging longer than the last, reminiscent of a past she thought she had managed to bury deep within her.

It felt like those days all over again—the days when Kaiko left her. Yet, there was a stark difference now, a disparity that puzzled and tormented her. Back then, the pain was sharp, a sudden severance of a bond she had known her entire life. It was a profound loss, the kind that reshapes one's entire existence in its wake. But this current feeling, this lingering ache—was it worse? How could the loss of someone she had known for merely three years weigh so heavily on her, seemingly more painful than the loss of someone who had been a fixture in her life from the beginning?

The question gnawed at her, a persistent echo in her mind that refused to be silenced. Each day without resolution brought with it a heavy sense of sorrow, mixed with a deep-seated confusion about the nature of her attachments.

Had her years with Kaiko been so deeply ingrained in her being that they became a part of her subconscious landscape, a piece of her identity that she could detach from, however painfully, because it was expected? Was the surprise of forming a new, profound connection later in life—only to lose it unexpectedly—somehow more jarring, its abrupt end more disorienting because it was unforeseen?

Genmei pondered these questions, feeling the weight of her thoughts like the oppressive summer heat. The lack of clarity frustrated her, the inability to rationalize her emotions or predict their impacts made each day a maze of memories and what-ifs. The absence of Kaiko had been a void she learned to navigate, filling it over time with new experiences, allowing it to scar over in a way that became manageable, if not entirely healed.

But this—this was different. This pain was raw, fresher; a wound reopened before it could fully heal. It questioned her understanding of attachment, of love and loss. It forced her to confront the possibility that perhaps the intensity of a connection isn't measured in the length of time it's endured but in the depth it reached in one's soul.

Maybe, in those three years, she had allowed herself to open up in ways she hadn't with Kaiko, to be vulnerable in a manner that was both terrifying and exhilarating, which now left her exposed in the aftermath.

Letting out a small, weary exhale, Zenin Genmei could do nothing but sit still. But she seemed to hate that more than anything.The stillness provided no answers, only the space to acknowledge the deep caverns of this beast of feelings. Perhaps understanding would come with time, or maybe it wouldn't. For now, Genmei had to accept the drowning in her emotions. And she cannot run away. She can never run away.

As Genmei wrestled with the tumultuous thoughts swirling through her mind, she began to realize that perhaps the profound sense of loss she felt was intricately linked to who Geto Suguru was—and, more importantly, what he had represented to her. If Satoru was the moon, Suguru was the sun. The moon cannot exist without the sun. And Genmei cannot live them both. Not even if she tried.

The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that her suffering stemmed from a deep yearning how deeply she felt about Suguru. She'd never reflected on it this deeply before. But it's all Genmei had.

Genmei could only think about how she longed for his smile—so full of warmth and life, so distinctly his. She ached to hear his voice again, tender and reassuring. It was as though he was life in itself. And she could only dream, that he would come back. Even after all he had done.

Genmei can only sigh as she leaned her head against the tree. Her lips locked in a tight line as she looked at the small echo of the setting sun. Her hands tried to reach far and wide, but even as her fingers caught the light, there was nothing that could prevent the sun from leaving.

"You're getting too quiet."

Genmei looks to her corner, the silver halo echoing from the peripheral of her sight. "Temples are usually quiet, Satoru."

"People at temples aren't this quiet."

"It's for prayers."

His blue eyes looked at her, as though searching for something she could not understand. "Then pray. I'll listen."

"You're too much of a brat, Satoru."

He snickers, leaning his body towards the small of her back. "You'd never cared before."

Genmei couldn't help but snicker quietly. Gojo Satoru had never once believed in gods his entire life. If anything nowadays, he was more like a god than anything. But Genmei thinks she'd deny him of her prayers being said out loud. Genmei had never been eager to celebrate grief with others. She'd never been good at it. The Zenin kept things to themselves. No one talked about anything.

The Mikoto thinks it should be discussed in the depths of one's lonesomeness. To let it all drift away with the wind itself. Mother had always told her that reflection heals all wounds. That was expected from her mother, she supposed. Her mother was born to reflect, to keep those emotions, those echoes of loss, in the silence of reflection. A priestess through and through. An attribute she supposed she earned from her.

Father used to say the opposite, Genmei could recall. Her father with her loud boisterous voice, his warm hands and his bright starlight eyes. One must wonder how he was ever a Zenin. He often said that humans are not islands, cannot exist as islands. Islands need life. Islands need the touch of humanity. Genmei did not know if she agreed with her father, but it was something she was mindful of, to at least learn. To understand.

Genmei had seen it all too many times with the people that are left behind each and every mission. She noted each and every emotion on their faces, as though she was remembering what they used to feel like. How they fit her face when she had learned it all those years before, on the bright gaze of a bright eyed young wonder. Her father, Kaiko, Namie and now Suguru. They taught her how, to blossom in wonder. And now they took it away too. What had been relearned, Geto Suguru took it away with him too.

When people are sad, she remembered how people crave the need to be together. They yearn to feel whole at the thought of loneliness abandoned. Genmei never needed that before. The warmth of another person's touch, the space to let the eyes dampen with those unspent tears. The cries that ring desolation. Genmei wondered if she ever allowed herself to be like that. To be able to cry again like that. To be human.

Emotions expressed, of what she learnt at one point ─ the dead took it with them. Suguru himself took what remained. All that warmth that had built the fullness of a human's home had died once more. Genmei supposed it's what helped her last in Zenin manor recently. Like all those times before, Zenin Genmei ran to her emptiness to survive.

Yet, as she sensed the subtle tilt of his head resting against her shoulder, Zenin Genmei thought that deep down ─ she was allowing herself to dig through that numbness. He was warm, Satoru always was. Even the moon he was, he was still more warmth than barren cold. Even in the grief that dug through him, he brought the coldness she felt back to life with his warmth.

She noticed a faint, inaudible sigh escaping her mouth while a dull ache began to take root in her legs. She was feeling the discomfort of the stiffness that comes with the way she sat under the grass. Nevertheless, she remained unmoving, steadfast in her conviction. He wanted to rely on her in this moment, the most humbly human of requests. He needed this, she supposed.

The day would soon draw to a close. Genmei could not remember when the last time her world stopped for such a moment of quiet. Jujutsu sorcerers rarely had the time to savor things like these. When they do, it was a treasured thing. Blue hour was upon them, gleaming like the dark deep shine of Okinawa's deep blue. Memories hit her, tugging at her heart to remember the humanity that dwelled with the love that she wanted to lock away.

Years ago, such treasured moments were stolen moments. Even from where they sat, the thought of all those times beckoned her on. To unlock the key and return to those moments. Genmei purses her lips tight as she looked onward upon the dancing grass. Laughter filled her ears, as though it was a song stuck in her head. The smiles glistened panel after panel in each fragment hidden under lock and key. Before Satoru, before Suguru, before Shoko.

Those memories haunted her. All those echoes retorted to her, gnawed at her with all it had. Just one look at the sunset beam, Genmei recalled it all. The youth where she smiled the truest, the past three years where she reclaimed that smile. The young daughter of clan Zenin blew a soundless breath in the air.

The day unfolded with such breathtaking splendor, resembling a veritable Eden unveiled before their eyes. Both of them long discarded their talk. The sudden breeze serenading their languid forms, the unyielding tree bark etching its presence upon his charcoal uniform, the slight glimmer of scarlet light dancing against the slit of her hakama.

The descending sun showered them with its farewell caress, a poignant parting gesture. Not all days boasted such perfection, nor did they all weigh as heavily on the heart as this. All death, all tragedy, all lost of youth, its worth mourning. Even beautiful skies must be mourned.

The heron heralded its imminent arrival, casting the benevolent embrace of the ethereal blue hour that gradually consumed the fiery vestiges of the scarlet sky. On an ordinary day, Zenin Genmei might have lamented her perceived lack of productivity. Even then, she can't blame Satoru for it.

The gods demanded honesty and clarity from their priestest. Yet, she knew she would not be able to give that to the gods. Not when Suguru's words replayed over and over in her mind like a broken record. His smile so genuine as he spoke of the world he dreamed of. The one where the world burns and his conviction would remain steadfast in the joy it would bring him.

Genmei thinks it was better to say nothing to Satoru.

He wouldn't be able to handle all of it, she thinks.

He'd never be able to understand how Suguru smiled.

‘It repeats over and over, the song of tragedy rhymes again,’ Genmei contemplates with an air of exasperation as if a disconcerting sensation tempts her away for a brief dalliance with nicotine. The key was unlocked, she was sure.

The throes of her humanity fighting its way to come alive. She yearns for the noxious tendrils of smoke to vacate her lungs, as if they held the power to purge her thoughts, her endless sufferings. ‘With all that I could have seen and have not allowed myself to say…’

Her solitary recourse lies in the graceful inclination of her head, a poignant gesture born of inner turmoil as she contemplates the disheartening notion of history unfurling itself once more. The weight of self-reproach deepens as she revisits the keenly missed telltale signs, those subtle cues that her discerning eye had once so deftly unveiled.

Her lilac eyes, now narrowed, bear the heavy burden of accumulated recollections spanning years, all converging inexorably to that austere conclusion—the same deluge of denouement. It was bound to happen all over again. She warned them. Souls that break can never return. Yet they did not listen to her. And they repeated the same mistake. And all is left is tragedy.

Yet, despite the overwhelming emotions that surge within her, the most she can muster is a profound, resigned sigh.

With a leisurely closure of her eyes, she wished for reprieve. The young woman yearns to erase her thoughts. Though, that in itself may be tedious work. Genmei had tried to forget. Tried to fight the box that had burst from within her. But the memories come rushing back one way or another. Genmei mourns, then she cries. Then she marches forward and then loses to fate. The cycle repeats. The worst of it she supposed is to remember in the quiet.

One that had plagues her as she sits to meditate. The words so sweet from the mouth of someone she loved, visiting her like a curse that had been willed to haunt her. Tilting her head slightly downward, she permits the weight of her contemplations to rest on Satoru. As he leans into her, he seems content to remain motionless. To lose any sense to the mundane.

The warmth shared between them feels like fire, intensified by the uneven caress of the vanishing sun. Infinity appears to exist only in the obscurity behind his dark glasses. Genmei remains uncertain about his countenance to reality, yet she cannot help but imagine that their faces had dried against a torrent of mournful tears. Not that Genmei could even blamed him. She would have gone mad with all of it, too. Well, she has.

When he sought her out, he did so without uttering a single word. Veiled in impenetrable silence behind the obsidian lenses of his dark shades, he extended a hand and gently beckoned her away from her solitary stance. He stole her away from her own bitterness, so they may sit together, bitter.

Their departure from the temple was a measured procession, their hearts coursing with the blood of shared experiences, and their bond weighed heavy with the burden of mutual silence. In time, they found solace beneath the same trees where joyful memories had once danced in her mind like fragments of a shattered mosaic.

Genmei ponders whether he had nearly forgotten how to draw breath. Yet, she could scarcely hold it against him, for the shock of such a profound loss was an expectation that accompanied it.

Youthful love is the most grotesque loss, Genmei knew from the start. When one thinks of curses, love is the worst. Much more with the denial that it is lost forever. Most cases Genmei found that the cases she deals with comes from the madness of love becoming the curse that people bear.

Satoru's not the type to unleash such malice upon the world, she knew that at the very least. But it did not stop the hurt, nor will it ever stop it from breaking his heart. To be separated from the person he held dearest, the one who tethered him to humanity. In the solitude of divinity, kamis often found themselves lonely, far too easily. You never get use to it. Genmei was certain to speak from experience. She hasn't let go after all this time, either.

Nevertheless, they were aware that they could never truly attain humanity. Yet, in the union of Satoru and Suguru, there existed the closest semblance of a kami becoming fully human. Genmei's head lowered gently as she contemplated the glistening grass underfoot. She reminisced about the gentle smile that had once graced humanity within the soul of Suguru Geto, now replaced by an overwhelming sense of grief for what might have been.

‘Was I like this back then, with Kaiko? With Namie? With my father?’ she pondered silently, opening her eyes to witness a small bird taking flight. Suppressing a quiet laugh with a bite of her lip, she added, ‘I don't remember.’

‘No,’ a voice whispered back to her, almost mockingly. ‘You do remember, and now you feel it once more, clawing at you. But you realize it, don't you? How worse it is now? How you let yourself break like the weakling you are. You loved that boy too much and now it burns you whole.'

Her lips tightened against her jaw. ‘Silence.’

The voice chuckled but refrained from further conversation. She didn't anticipate it would speak further.

At that moment, the young woman found herself immersed in the world around them, the clouds waning as the sun continued its haunting descent beyond the horizon. Lost in her thoughts once more, the young woman with lilac eyes inwardly cursed the voice in her head as youth flooded in like an unstoppable tide.

Genmei's thoughts churned like a turbulent sea, brimming with memories, regrets, and unspoken sentiments, all of which remained tightly sealed, many of them never to be revealed, not even on her final day. Yet, perhaps one day, some of those words would find their way into the world.

As the light faded, she discreetly stole a glimpse of Satoru, his face still concealed behind those dark glasses. She wondered about the world he perceived and the emotions he harbored. However, there was no need to inquire; their connection transcended mere words. She sensed the tempest of emotions raging within him—a storm of pain, anger, and sorrow.

"I wish I could alleviate your pain." she murmured, her words barely more than a breath of air. She meant those words. That she was certain. Yet she knew he heard her. There was no necessity for a response; her mere presence sufficed for now. "To make it easier—"

"You can't." Satoru responded nonchalantly, maintaining his cheerful facade. Her lips pursed into a line, and she could only sigh. "Not even if you tried."

For a moment, Genmei closed her eyes once again, allowing the world's sounds and sensations to wash over her. She felt Satoru's warmth against her, a small source of comfort amid the overwhelming grief. Memories of happier times with him flashed before her—moments of shared laughter, dreams, and quiet intimacy, a bittersweet montage.

"I won't let you face this alone," Genmei whispered in her words a solemn pledge to the man beside her. She had confronted her demons and regrets in the past, and now she was determined to help him confront him. They were two souls intertwined in a shared history and a profound understanding.

He snickered, almost haughtily.

He looks at her, almost mockingly.

Genmei's used to it, after all this time.

"Promises being met? Rare these days, Genmei - senpai." He always liked to bait her into mockery with the word 'senpai'. Suguru had always scolded him for that. But Genmei knew she did not mind. She never truly did. "Don't promise something you can't fulfill."

"Do you doubt me, Satoru?"

"You've given me no reason to trust you right now." Oh. He knows. He felt him here, his residuals. Genmei bit her lower lip. Of course he did. He is the honoured one, after all.

Lilac against blue. "No, I have not."

The world beyond their cocoon of grief carried on, oblivious to their suffering. Birds continued their evening serenades, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above. It was as though nature itself sought to offer solace, reminding them that life persisted, even in the face of loss.

At that moment, beneath the darkening sky, Genmei and Satoru became acutely aware of the world's indifference to their pain. It presented a stark contrast to the intensity of their emotions as if the universe had turned a blind eye to their heartache, a nearly jarring dissonance.

Yet, as night deepened and the stars gleamed brilliantly, a sense of unity with the cosmos began to seep into their souls. It was a silent recognition that their grief, however profound, was just one thread in the vast tapestry of existence. They were but specks in the grand scheme of things, yet their pain was real and valid.

Genmei glanced at Satoru, still shrouded in darkness, his presence a constant reassurance. Despite the void that had taken root in their hearts, they were not truly alone. The world might not pause for their sorrow, but it continued to offer its beauty and wonder, and they could choose to find solace in that. Genmei turned her gaze away, focusing on the darkening sky.

"Genmei," he called to her again, unmoving. He dropped the honorifics, though he had never needed to use them. Genmei sensed the eerie strength in his tone.

Deep within Genmei, one kami recognized another—the Honored One.

The voice within Genmei snickered, almost excited.

All of it had made her head hurt more than anything else.

"What is it, Satoru?"

"Promise me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Don't ever leave me."

Four words reverberated, four words etched in their shared history. Genmei would have laughed, had this been years ago when she was younger and more brash, overflowing with confidence and unburdened by the weight of unmade choices and untraveled paths. But now, older and wiser, she understood the significance of those four words, as meaningful as the three or even one.

Satoru was not offering her a choice; it was a command, and Genmei's words constituted a promise—an island reaching out to another, a connection of lonely souls. Zenin Genmei closed her eyes, her fingertips reaching toward the warmth of his hand.

Gojo Satoru made no move to stop her. Infinity once again ceased to exist between them as their smallest fingers intertwined in a solemn pledge, like children binding themselves to a sacred vow.

"I swear it," Genmei whispered to him, as his grip tightened around her finger. "Monsters have to stick together."

He laughs at her words. "Monsters, huh?"

Her eyes softened. "Well, aren't we?"

"Hm, I guess we both are."

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very-straight-blog · 8 months ago

Note

I heard that dragons share characteristics with their owners like Sunfyre-Aegon and Syrax-Rhaenyra

Sunfyre was protective, loyal, wild, powerful, small and young compared to other dragons, killed literally 3 dragons, being badly wounded, he managed to find his way back to Aegon.

Aegon took the throne to protect his family, was loyal to them, he was aggressive, fought in war and survive with a burnt body and crippled legs, he took the throne back.

Syrax did nothing during the dance, just killing a child.

Rhaenyra did nothing but watched as her family died in war.

Aegon and Sunfyre's bond is literally the most beautiful thing to me in this story. It wasn't common for Targaryens to outlive their dragons. We also don't know if Sunfyre had riders before Aegon. Probably he was born for him and died for him, and this is amazing and so very sad. They were literally two parts of one whole.

As for Rhaenyra and Syrax, the blacks usually say that "Helaena didn't fight after losing her child either." I understand that both women have been through this, and yet, in my opinion, Helaena's trauma was much deeper. She saw her son beheaded, she had to choose which child would be killed while her little daughter was threatened with r*pe. So yes, I understand why Helaena has withdrawn into herself, but I don't understand why Rhaenyra didn't do anything during the war.

#ask #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #sunfyre #anti rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #team green #pro team green #anti team black #opinion

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lurkingshan · 9 months ago

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Notes on Unknown (and Da Ge)

Oh man, I love this show. They are absolutely nailing the dynamics for this trope. The bond between Qian and Yuan is palpable, and the way they interact with each other and with Lili feels very lived in. You can feel the shared history between this little family in every scene.

We got our Sam Lin cameo in episode 3, and I was so happy to see him. We also got a couple additional flashbacks to Qian's history with his mother, so CW again for child abuse this week (you should probably just assume there will be at least mentions of it in every episode of this show). I also liked getting to see some more of Qian's work story with the H.O.T. team, and how Yuan is able to help him.

A note on the adaptation: I have been reading Da Ge this week, the original Priest novel the drama is adapted from, and I'm about halfway through. The major thing to note is that the show has significantly condensed the story. The novel is chronological and their childhoods are more than half the story, but the show has changed the structure to focus on the time when they are adults and Yuan begins to pursue Qian, streamlining their pasts into a two episode backstory. They did this primarily by cutting and combining side characters, blending arcs together, and simplifying a lot of the relationships. I think it's quite well done, and it has affirmed for me that the creators of this show know the story they want to tell. They are making use of the rich material in the novel with some smart changes to make it all work as a 12 episode series.

Notable changes so far from the source material:

They have softened Qian's characterization quite a bit. He's much harsher and more tsundere with his siblings in the novel. There are aspects of his roughness in the show, but it feels gentler.

The whole sequence in episode one where Yuan is kidnapped, Qian fights to get him back, and they have that touching brotherly love moment is original to the show. "If I lose you, I would have nothing left" is the kind of nakedly emotional sentiment you would never hear from the Qian in the novel (though we have enough hints about how he thinks to know he does in fact feel that way). The show adapted a plot that was much more cerebral (in Priest's usual fashion) to give us this more romantic take. They're using some shorthand here to make sure we understand how deep the love between them already runs, and I think it's very effective.

Qian's abuse at the hands of his mother, and the trauma it causes for him, is much more present in the show. I haven't gotten to the adult years yet in the novel, so maybe it will ramp up then, but he doesn't think about her nearly this much throughout his childhood.

In the novel Lili's paternal grandmother is part of the family unit, Qian and San Pang have another friend in the building named Ma Zi, and there are multiple gangster types that Qian gets involved with. The show cut grandma and Ma Zi entirely and blended all these gangsters into one, which I think was the right call.

#unknown the series #da ge #priest #taiwanese bl #shan shouts into the void

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atlasthegreatest · 2 months ago

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Birds of a Feather / Cassandra Cain x Sibling! Gender Neutral reader

After failing to get their revenge, Y/n is taken into custody, restrained in the Bat Cave. Cassandra still burdened with guilt, insist on staying close to help them heal, despise their lingering resentment.

Over time, Y/n begins to confront their pain and trauma, but the path to healing is long and uncertain, with trust slowly being rebuilt between them and Cassandra.

Part.2 of Shadows of the Past

— The Road to Reconciliation —

Y/n initially refuses any help or emotional connection, remaining cold and distant. Over time, however, they reluctantly accept the presence of the Bat Family. Cassandra is patient, staying by their side without trying too hard, hoping that time will soften their anger.

Despite their hatred, Y/n cannot deny their admiration for the Bat Family’s abilities. They begin training with them—at first out of curiosity, then as a way to channel their anger and trauma. The training becomes a subtle bridge for them to connect, especially with Dick and Jason, both of whom have experienced dark paths.

Cassandra, being a woman of few words, is unapologetic about leaving them behind, but her actions speak volumes. She is always nearby, offering food, mending wounds, and protecting them during patrols.

Y/n notices, but doesn’t acknowledge it at first—until one day, they silently allow Cassandra to bandage them after a difficult mission.

Y/n harbors resentment towards Batman—in this case, Bruce—seeing him as a “replacement” for David Cain in Cassandra’s life. They frequently question Bruce’s motives, challenging his authority. Over time, Bruce tries to prove that he is nothing like their father, but trust is slow to build.

As they spend more time in Gotham, Y/n eventually adopts a new vigilante identity. They are reluctant at first, seeing it as too closely tied to the Bat Family, but it becomes a way for them to carve out their own purpose. They take on a codename that reflects both their past and their desire to forge a new path.

Jason becomes Y/n’s unexpected confidant. Both have been shaped by anger and betrayal and have found common ground in their experiences. Jason doesn’t pressure them to open up but instead shares his own story of loss and anger, which helps them feel less alone.

Dinners with the Bat Family are a constant struggle. Y/n hates the idea of “family” meals, but shows up anyway, mostly to scoff at the whole concept. And despite the sarcasm, they slowly find themselves drawn into the strange yet warm family dynamic.

Eventually, Y/n is forced to confront the deep trauma David Cain left behind. With Cassandra’s support, they attend therapy sessions, though it’s a rocky road. Some days they can’t bear to think about the past, and other days, they’re overwhelmed by memories. But Cassandra is always there when they return, no matter how bad it gets.

As time goes on, Y/n begins to show small signs of trust—like letting Cassandra cover for them on patrol or asking for advice on missions. These moments are rare, but they mark a shift in their relationship, hinting at the possibility of reconciliation.

Even after months or years, the tension remains between Cassandra and Y/n, but it’s no longer driven purely by hatred. Their bond, though fragile, begins to grow stronger, with an unspoken understanding that while their past is painful, their future doesn’t have to be.

Initially, Y/n challenges Cassandra to fight out of anger, hoping to prove they are stronger or release their frustration.

These sessions are brutal and emotionally charged. However, as time passes, the matches become less about anger and more about communication—a wordless dialogue where they begin to understand each other better through the shared language of combat.

As their relationship slowly reforms, there are rare moments when Y/n and Cassandra talk about their childhood. Though painful for both of them, it becomes a way to confront their shared trauma. Sometimes, they sit together in silence, reliving memories of their harsh upbringing under David Cain.

These moments are raw and difficult for both of them, but they help to break down the emotional barriers between them.

— Finding Their Own Purpose —

After a particularly grueling mission, Y/n begins to question their place in Gotham. They don’t want to be defined by their past or their relationship with Cassandra. With Bruce’s guidance, they explore different avenues of heroism. Eventually, they begin working independently, operating in the shadows of Gotham while remaining closely tied to the Bat Family.

This gives them a sense of agency and allows them to build their identity beyond Cassandra.

Alfred, with his quiet wisdom, slowly becomes a comforting presence for Y/n. At first, they are wary of him, but his gentle, nonjudgmental support helps them open up—if only a little.

He offers them tea after patrols, listens when they need to vent, and subtly gives advice, often without them even realizing it. Over time, they come to deeply respect him, even if it’s not true. They never admit it openly.

One night, after a particularly intense mission, Y/n finds Cassandra alone in the Batcave, quietly working on her equipment. They say nothing, but they sit next to her, offering her a first aid kit for a wound she hadn’t treated. It’s a small gesture, but in their world, it speaks volumes. Cassandra understands—it’s the closest thing to an apology they could offer, and she silently accepts.

Inspired by her trauma, Y/n begins working to protect vulnerable children in Gotham, particularly those who have been abused or abandoned. At first, they don’t talk about it, but the Bat Family realizes that they’re taking extra care about these cases. It’s their way of processing their pain, turning it into something good, though they’ll never admit that helping others helps them too.

As their relationship begins to heal, Y/n becomes fiercely protective of Cassandra, even if they don’t show it openly. They begin to show up during her missions unexpectedly, keeping a watchful eye on her from the shadows.

Although they still harbor some resentment, the thought of losing her again terrifies them, and they refuse to let her face danger alone.

— The final confrontation between siblings —

One night, after a difficult mission that brings back painful memories, Y/n snaps, confronting Cassandra once again about the past. It’s not a physical fight this time, but an emotional outburst where they expose their feelings of abandonment, fear, and anger. And this time, instead of defending herself, Cassandra listens. She acknowledges their pain without trying to justify her actions, and it’s the turning point they both need. That day marked the beginning of true healing between them.

– Their Sibling Dynamics –

Both Cassandra and Y/n were raised in an environment where words were secondary to action. As a result, they communicate more through body language than verbal exchanges. This allows them to understand each other in ways that no one else in the Bat Family can.

A look, a subtle shift in posture, or a slight hesitation can convey entire conversations. Their fights, training sessions, and even their moments of bonding are filled with an unspoken understanding.

Despite their resentment, the brother realizes that Cassandra is the only person who truly understands what they have been through. This creates a reluctant dependence on her. They may not trust anyone else, but they reluctantly accept that Cassandra understands their trauma and pain more than anyone else. There are times when they find themselves relying on her during missions or emotional breakdowns, even though it frustrates them to need her.

Just as Cassandra is protective of her brother, they are equally protective of her, though they express it differently. Whenever Cassandra is in danger, Y/n is the first to spring into action, often more aggressively and recklessly than necessary. It is not so much out of love as it is out of a fierce, almost primal need to ensure that no one else abandons or leaves them again.

They often express this through anger: “You should be stronger than this!” But beneath their toughness lies the fear of losing her.

There is an intense rivalry between them, driven by the need to prove who is stronger, and who survived their father’s worst abuse. Sometimes this rivalry is friendly, with the two fighting and pushing each other to new limits. Other times it turns into arguments or cold silences, as they both try to cope with the idea that neither of them has been spared from their traumatic childhoods.

Their shared trauma is an unspoken and ever-present element of their relationship. Both siblings experience the horrors of David Cain’s training and manipulation, and it shapes the way they see each other.

Y/n is fiercely independent, often rebelling against Cassandra’s attempts to protect or guide them. Having lived under their father’s thumb, they refuse to be controlled or “saved” by anyone, even Cassandra.

This leads to clashes where Cassandra wants to help them, but Y/n pushes back, determined to prove they can stand on their own. Despite this, there’s a part of them that secretly craves the protection and care they never had as a child, which creates a constant internal conflict.

Both siblings are fiercely protective of each other, although they express this in different ways. Cassandra is silently protective, always watching her brother from a distance during missions, to intervene if necessary. Y/n, on the other hand, is more open and aggressive in her protection. If someone threatens Cassandra, they become excessively angry, often reacting with more violence than necessary. There are times when they both try to relate to each other in ways that seem awkward and forced. Cassandra may try to share

Tell her siblings something personal or offer to help, and they respond with sarcasm or dismissal. Other times, Y/n might try to make a joke or do something nice for Cassandra, but it comes off as harsh and uncomfortable. Neither of them is used to normal family dynamics, so these attempts often feel unnatural—but over time, they begin to get the hang of it, little by little.

Now and then, Y/n will point out an old scar or injury they received while caring for their father—sometimes accusingly, sometimes as a reminder of what they’ve been through.

Both siblings suffer from nightmares due to their traumatic upbringings. On particularly bad nights, one might find the other sitting silently in the kitchen or on the roof of the Bat Cave, unable to sleep. Without exchanging many words, they sit together, their silent companionship offering a strange form of comfort.

The journey to forgiveness is long and confusing, but it happens in small steps. Maybe Y/n will start sharing stories from her childhood, or they’ll silently step in to help her during a mission. Little by little, they let go of the anger that has fueled them for so long, realizing that Cassandra has never stopped caring about them.

Trust begins to form, fragile but real, and while their relationship is never perfect, it grows stronger every day.

– Bonus–

The Bat Family, always trying to build stronger bonds, throws Y/n a birthday party. It’s awkward and uncomfortable at first–they’re not used to any kind of celebration, much less being the center of attention. But as the night goes on, Y/n slowly begins to relax, even cracking a rare smile when they receive a handmade gift from Cassandra.

Most emotional conflicts spill over into physical combat. When words fail, they fight. Sparring is a way for them to work through their anger and frustration without completely falling apart. These sessions are intense, often bordering on brutal, but they also provide a form of release.

After a particularly heated fight, there is an unspoken understanding—neither will let the other fall too far, and even after the hardest blows, they stick together. Fighting becomes their version of emotional catharsis.

Despite the tension between them, Cassandra and Y/n work well together on missions. Their shared training with David Cain makes them a formidable team, and they can read each other’s movements instinctively.

#cassandra cain x reader #sibling relationship #dc #Batman #gender neutral reader #red hood #nightwing #batgirl #alfred pennyworth

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