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onebizarrekai · 4 years ago

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v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

#god I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop rambling about v3 #v3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #random stuff #but making this… it sounded so fun #danganronpa

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

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93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

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

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

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

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

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

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

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

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

#indruck #meet ugy #indrid cold/ duck newton #orc au #victorian au #trans duck newton

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

Text

Icy Fairytale

Boyinaband (Dave Brown) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Falling in love is walking on thin ice in and of itself, but what happens when it's literal? Yeah that's right - two ambitious individuals fall head over heels for one another on the delicate icy ground of a Brighton ice skating rink.

Requested by @onceuponadie Hi! Thank you so much for your request! I'm so sorry for the long wait but I still hope you find the time to enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

No matter how hard I try, I can't tie the laces of my skates properly. I can't tell what's wrong with me today but I know something's seriously not right. To be perfectly honest though, I might have an idea or two as to why this is happening to me but I'd rather keep my mouth shut on the subject to avoid the intense blush and the flock of butterflies that will inevitably attack my stomach. And I can't have that many distractions while I'm on the ice.

Oh who am I kidding, my main distraction is always there, either in front of me or by my side. Sometimes even holding onto me for support.

Dave Brown is the name of it.

The name I was completely indifferent to when it was first brought to my attention.

It was a cold rainy day in Brighton, the town I was still on-the-fence about at the time. My trainer had been wanting to collaborate with a trainer from the UK for a while and had finally scheduled and arranged for the two of us to be able to fly out there and meet with him. I thought my trainer was ambitious, but this this new guy was a whole new level of ambitious. I could tell right away he'd be hard to please and I had no issue with that - I am and I always have been a goal-getter; I myself am hard to please and I've often been called an 'obsessed artist' by my trainer so I was beyond excited for this new extraordinary and challenging journey.

I just didn't know that the challenging part wouldn't be the skating.

After a particularly long practice session, once I was finally left alone by my trainers, I stuck around at the skating rink to wind down and feel the freedom of skating how I want and how I know I'm supposed to. Free like a bird gliding through the sky, not bound by any choreography or anyone's rules and opinions. That's when I'm most myself.

And that's when I met him.

The rink was closed and suppose to be reserved for only me and my coaches for the day but him and his friends - now my friend too - Joel probably didn't think much of the notice on the door considering they had waltzed in with zero idea the vicinity was booked.

I was too entranced in my own world to notice their presence by the seats. I only took notice of the fact I wasn't alone when Joel called out to me.

"Are we interrupting? Is this a private session or something? We can leave, sorry for bothering you."

While the other boy was talking, Dave remained silent, blending into the background and not drawing any of my attention to him. And yes, maybe I was supposed to turn them back, tell them to leave and whatnot, but I did the exact opposite.

"Private session's over, you can stick around, it's not a problem." I said, slowly gliding over to the entrance of the rink where the boys were now standing after they finished climbing down the stairs to approach the ice rink.

I stopped in my tracks rather abruptly as to not crash into them, stabilizing myself before offering them my hand for a handshake. "I'm Y/N. Professional figure skater."

I couldn't help but let out a little giggle when their jaws went loose, hanging open in surprise. They were quick to regain their composure, Joel being the one to accept my hand first, followed by Dave, both of them introducing themselves as they did so.

"Cool streak." I casually pointed at the red streak in Dave's hair, "I've always wanted to dye my hair but I'm not allowed to by my trainer."

He scoffed at my remark, "Your trainer? He's got the audacity to boss you around? Does he not realize how lucky he is to have a skater like you to his name?"

I was understandably taken aback by this compliment. I'm used to being given compliments after my performances in competitions, but I've never considered my unchoreographed skating as anything more than mediocre. It was surprising to receive such a positive remark, heartwarming nonetheless though.

"That's so kind of you to say, Dave, thanks." I'm still a long way from knowing how to properly respond to compliments - mostly cause I don't believe them - but I'd like to think I handled that one well. No, I know I handled it well considering Dave, Joel and I have been friends ever since.

As to why they were at the skating rink that day - they wanted to fulfill a New Year's resolution they had made at the start of the year: learning how to ice skate because apparently they were hopeless at it. And yes, they were - they got on the ice with me that day and were dropping like flies. I considered it a miracle if they were even able to get off their asses on their own. I had to pull them up a couple of times - a gesture they paid me back for with lunch afterwards. Following that day, only Dave remained determined to make his resolution count and he kept coming to the ice rink to practice (read: fall and get back up) and learn with my help of course. It's safe to say I've never laughed so much in such a short period of time and never have I ever established a friendship so quickly with anyone ever. I guess being someone's ice skating buddy is a whole different level of a friendship where the rules of a regular friendship don't apply.

I soon came to realize why that was...

Because I suddenly found myself wanting more than a friendship with Dave. It's ridiculous as hell, as all goddamn hell, but I couldn't and still can't help myself. It's these little subtle signs that shine through my behavior, all completely unintentional. The lingering hold meant to keep him stable on his skates. The firm eye contact when I'm trying to get him to focus on his balance. The little touches and hugs all gestures meant to congratulate him on his little wins like falling and managing to get to his feet on his own; managing to make three solid strides without sprawling out on the ice, etc. I must be the worst ice skating instructor ever - as Dave gained more balance and needed my assistance less, I found myself missing the times I literally had to hold him up, his arms wrapped around me and mine around him. I miss the times he held my hand to avoid falling and still fell, sometimes dragging me down with him.

And I'm only gonna miss those times even more after tomorrow because after tomorrow, I'll no longer be in the UK and I'll no longer be there to see Dave's successes and fails. I'll no longer have him be my distraction, the only distraction I've ever approved of and wanted around. I'll no longer have a chance to feed into the temptation of telling Dave what I feel for him. It's a temptation and a fear and excites me just as much as it terrifies me, paralyzes me just thinking of the outcome, especially when I know I won't get my feelings reciprocated. I won't get anything better than a soft rejection from him yet I still want to come clean.

Why, you might be asking - well, it's rather simple, actually. I think he deserves to know how special he's made these last few months. How much he's made me fall in love with this city and the UK as a whole. How much I enjoyed our adventures both on and off the ice. How much fun I had going sightseeing with him as my tour guide.

How much I enjoyed his company and how hard I fell for him in the process.

Today's the last day of 'class' for the both of us but I just so happen to be the only one who's aware of it. Yeah, I've been one hell of a coward and never brought up my inevitable departure despite having been informed over a week ago. Exactly, I had a week to come clean about more things than one, but I chose silence.

And boy did that bad decision come to hit me against the back of the head like a boomerang. A mocking and particularly painful one at that.

Get it together, Y/N. One of these news you'll have to tell him, he has to know you're leaving. And the other...

"Sorry I'm late!" The familiar voice coming in a breathy yell from somewhere in the darkness surrounding the seats awakens me and frees me from my mind's battle with itself. "The rain only makes traffic worse."

Now or never. Don't drag it out and keep adding salt to the wound!

"I'm leaving!" I say, loud enough to be heard clearly despite our distance. Also loud enough to cover up the tremble in my voice. It took a lot of power just to say that one sentence, I wonder how I'm gonna power through having to explain it to him.

"Jeez, did I upset you that badly?" Dave surprises the hell out of me when he steps on the ice, already in his skates which I didn't even notice him put on. I'm not surprised by that to be honest, I'm too caught up in my own thoughts and how I'm displaying them in my demeanor to notice my surroundings.

"N-no, I..." so much for covering up that tremble in my voice, "I have to leave the UK...tomorrow...I'm going back home for a competition and to, you know, get ready for the Olympics...I don't know when or if I'll be back but I was hoping..."

"What? When'd you hear about this? Why so suddenly? Is it that big of an emergency that they inform you literally five minutes in advance?" There are enough emotions in his voice to prevent me from looking at his face, especially his eyes. I'm afraid of what kind of hurt or whatever other emotion I might see there.

I bite the inside of my cheek, "My trainer told me last week...", I admit, gritting my teeth and cringing as my stomach ties itself is several knots that are causing me great discomfort.

There's a pause which I'm assuming is meant for him to collect all his thoughts and properly process them. I'm afraid of what he'll say when he does.

"So I'm the one finding out five minutes before your departure?" He finally asks, the tone of voice he uses making my heart sink a little.

Damn it, Dave I already feel guilty enough, this is unnecessary!

No, no, he has a point and has every right to be upset. Friends don't keep friends in the dark about things like this. About any things really.

Then why do you keep him in the dark about literally EVERYTHING?

This is what I was afraid of - getting the temptation of coming clean. I have nothing to lose after all, I'm leaving tomorrow anyway. I'll lose him one way or another.

"Listen, Dave...", I didn't think this through but I'll improvise it, that's a better option than shutting my mouth and not saying another word, "I was gonna tell you, I really wanted to, but I couldn't...I couldn't bring myself to do it. I still don't want to believe that I'm leaving. I love it here and just the thought of leaving it all behind...it hurts, you know. And 'the more people know the realer it is' is a real thing so I didn't want...." I stop, my voice cutting off completely as I find myself weak on balance. Maybe standing in the middle of an ice rink isn't the best setting for this conversation. "I'm being ridiculous and I'm stalling like a coward." I say that more to myself than to him but I don't let him speak. Instead, I continue my rambling after a brief sigh.

Dave, God bless his soul, stays silent and just looks at me with this curious gaze which is letting me know he's holding back for my sanity's sake, allowing me to take a breather and collect my thoughts before I express them to avoid misunderstanding me.

I inhale, finally ready to start talking, "Alright, here we go...Look, I don't want to end this...friendship between us on a bad note but I don't want it to end with there still being secrets between us so I'm gonna finally say what I've been wanting and not wanting to tell you for a while now. It's on you whether it'll be a bad ending to a good story or not, but I just need to get it off my chest, ok?"

He nods, not at all as hesitantly as I thought he would which is relieving to see, so I continue.

"This is gonna sound pathetic and downright laughable but here it goes - I like you, Dave. The kind of like where I see you as more than a friend and sometimes even wish you would see me the same way as well despite being sure you don't. And please, if you plan on pulling a pity act give me a heads up so I can just walk aw-"

My ramble is put to an end when Dave puts his hand up, pointer finger in the air and almost touching my lips as a gesture to shush me. I am typically one of the hardest people to shut up EVER, but now the words die down on their own as if they are even happy to be put to rest at his request.

"Y/N you are the most talented, most graceful, the kindest and most beautiful and smartest person I have ever met and yet you still also happen to be the densest and most ignorant when it comes to the people around you. You're a people pleaser, I've figured out as much, but goddamn it, you rarely know what a person actually wants. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, this could just be the case with me and an inability to show emotion which I haven't known about all this time, but still - if your dense ass hasn't noticed it yet I'll say it out loud for you and if you still find a way to misinterpret it, I'll spell it out for you in huge neon letters, got it?" He makes something barely alike a pause before sighing, "Y/N L/N, the most densest person in this whole word, you've had me star-struck since day one and I've only been falling deeper and harder in love with you ever since. And you don't have even the slightest clue of what happened to me and my heart a couple minutes ago when you said you were leaving. Believe what you wanna, but words have never crushed me harder ever before and trust me, that says a lot. So, before you go and think you have my emotions figured out, remember that I actually know how to skate."

That's A LOT to take in. It's got layers upon layers of questions followed by answers followed by even more questions that I'm not sure I'm prepared to ask or answer.

So he's liked me since the day we met? Love at first sight? Nah, that shit only exists in movies.

He was hurt by that? I hurt him by not telling him then I hurt him by telling him and I'll hurt him the hardest when I leave tomorrow. How am I supposed to not feel responsible for putting so much pain on him without even realizing it?

And wait - he knows how to skate???

"You can skate? Like, you can can skate? Like, you're not a hopeless case like you've made me believe?" I ask, one of my eyebrows shooting up suspiciously.

Dave goes from looking puzzled to cracking up with laughter within a second after hearing my question, "Oh Y/N, you're so adorable. That's what's got you puzzled the most out of all I just said?"

I narrow my eyes at him, folding my arms over my chest defensively, "Well the rest seems pretty cut-and-dry, if you ask me." I say sarcastically, earning another laugh from him.

It's only now that I notice how confidently he's standing on the ice - as though he's standing on solid, non-slippery ground which is far from the image I have of Dave while on ice. The uncertainty, the lack of stability, it's all disappeared from his still demeanor which now makes a lot more sense.

He smirks at me, "Does it now, densey?"

I frown at the nickname, "Don't call me th-"

He doesn't let me finish, instead presses his lips against mine, the contact making me lose balance on my skates. Luckily, he probably calculated this risk in advance cause his arms wrap around me instantly, preventing me from slipping more than an inch.

"Who needs to be held up now?" He asks, pressing his forehead against mine when we pull away from the kiss.

I keep my eyes closed despite the urge to roll them in playful annoyance, "Oh, shut it."

And he does so by pressing his lips against mine once again.

What will happen once I leave, I have not the slightest clue. Hell, I don't even know what'll happen when we pull away permanently and get off the ice we're standing on. But I do know what's happening right now - I'm kissing Dave Brown and nothing's ever felt this right before.

@waterlilypat @iwillboilyourteeth @insanedeathwish @onceuponadie @loraleiix @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @goldenstarofthunderclan @cosmicstorm19 @lam-ila @sra-verissimo @marthebeeduosimp

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argumentl · 4 years ago

Text

The Freedom of Expression Ep 24 - The more its restored, the less like the original it becomes.

K: This is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome....*points to Joe with his bare leg showing*..Errr, are you hot?

J: No, I mean, its hot isn't it?

K: Yeh, it is.

J: How do you feel about Summer? Im really bad with Summer!

K: Well, I don't like the heat, but I don't really go outside all that much.

J: Really? By the way, what are your favourite seasons, Kaoru?

K: Autumn and Spring.

J: Well, yeh right? Which do you hate the most? Winter or Summer?

K: Im really sensitive to hot and cold.

J: Oh really?!

K: But, hmm, which one? Maybe Summer is better.

J: Summer is better? Ehh? But in the winter you can always put on extra clothes if you are cold..but in Summer...we have our limits, right? Summer is...

K: Can't you just put the aircon on?

J: I do...but..

K: If you go outside, right?

J: Outside is also hot, and if you leave the aircon on constantly inside, you'll catch a cold. Its hard, I really don't like summer at all!

T: Haha

J: You're also limited in what you can eat, right? You have no appetite, you get bored of eating soumen noodles every day.

K: Yeh, that does get boring.

J: In winter you can have big hot pots, and all sorts!

K: I eat hot pots in the summer too.

J: Really?!

T: Ehh?

J: Incredible! Ah, but on the other hand, yes, that kinda works.

T: Wouldn't you feel cooler? After eating it?

K: I feel hot.

J: You feel hot? haha.

K: Hahaha

J: Its is hot!

K: I get really hot! Haha

T: Do you eat it with the aircon blasting?

K: Well, even with the aircon blasting, I still sweat a lot.

J: Its hot, right? But doing that feels good? Conversely?

K: What have you been eating?

J: Salad, basically.

K: Did you say you were on a diet?

J: Yeh, my belly is getting round.

K: Weren't you going to the gym?

J: I am going to the gym!

K: Haha.

J: I started with squats, and when I lifted up, it was so hard*1.

K: Hahaha

J: My muscles hurt a lot today. I can't walk up the stairs.

T: Hahaha

K: At 50, you're like...

J: Getting my teeth out...

K: Getting your teeth out..

T: Doing squats...

J: Yeh, well im divorced, and im aiming to remarry, so this is my last spurt. If I havn't reached my goal by age 55...

K: You've entered a plan to reform yourself?

J: Yes, I have.

T: Joe, you're young!

J: If I havn't managed it by 55, I'll give up...*gestures to camera* So, please, everyone.

K: Why are you smiling?

T: Hahaha

J: I've kinda been wanting to do that.

K: Hahaha

J: Lets cut that bit.

K: No, we'll show it

J: Hahaha

K: We won't cut it, haha. Ok, Joe san. Today's news please.

J: Yes, this is today's news. We talked about this news a little bit once on the radio show, didn't we?

K: Yeh, we did.

J: Right? Well this is news about how "The more it was restored, the less like the original it became". So in Spain, its been disovered that an amatuer tried to re-touch a famous work of art, and failed twice. The altered work is a oil painting copy of the 17th century piece by the Spanish Baroque artist Bartolomé Esteban Murillo. The title of the work is, 'The Immaculate Conception of Los Venerables'. The owner of this piece, an art collecter based in Valencia, who paid 1200 euros for it, had requested an employee of a furniture repair company to clean the painting. But during the cleaning, the Virgin Mary's face changed. After not one, but two restoration attempts, the painting was completely ruined, and the owner was apparently very angry. So, if you search for it, you will be able to find the images online. We can't show you them here due to the issue of image rights (*On screen text: Search for Spain painting restoration*). But...yehh..

T: Its incredible, isn't it?

J: This is shocking!

K: They weren't looking at how the picture is supposed to be, were they?

T: *Looking at his paper* Is the top picture the first restoration attempt?

K: Yeh, the one on the left is the original state, and on the right is the first restoration.

J: The top right, yeh.

*Lots of giggling*

J: This has zero sense of Maria! It looks like some vandalism.

K: Its looks like those pictures they stick up outside the police box *2

J: This first attempt is bad enough...

K: Its terrible, really bad!

J: But it generally still fits with the original Maria's line of gaze, right?

K: Yeh, but like, you can see the whites of her eyes. The top half is totally black.

J: If this is restoration work, it means they took money for it?

T: ??? *3

J: Really!

K: How did they actually do it though? Normally you have to use a matching colour to the original, and just do it like this, right?*imitates dabbing paint finely*

J: I think so.

K: But it seems like this person has just gone like "Gahhh' *imitates waving a paintbrush around roughly*

J: They re-painted it, right?

K: They are just slapping paint on, you can't see much detail.

J: Re-writing it! Its terrible!

K: They were somehow trying to remember what it used to look like.

J: At least they could have taken a photo..

K: Without that, this third try is never gonna work.

J: Everyone, please search for these images online. The third image is shocking!

T: The second pic is still looking upwards and kinda has a bit of the orininal feel to it, but the third pic is just staring straight forward!

K: Its the same person who did them both, right?

Kami: Um..I just..

J: Ah, Kami is here.

Kami: Um, I had a look at it, but where did her clothes go?

J: Huh? (*looks at paper*) Ohh, her clothes?

Kami: Yeh.

J: In the original, the area from Maria's chest and up is visible, but by the third picture, the clothes cover up to her head. This is awful!

T: Its scary, isn't it?

J: This is...well, where is the real problem? Even this kind of person has the authority to do restorations, even people at this level.

K: I dont know if they had the authority, they were just asked.

Kami: Yeh, the owner asked a furniture business to do it.

J: Yeh, someone from the furniture business came to restore it.

Kami: If you ask a furniture store to do it, this kind of result can't be helped.

K: For sure. ????*4

Kami: Maria got really ugly.

T: Ahh, I see! Originally, they were supposed to be just cleaning it right? Like, removing the dust.

J: Yeh, that might have been it. Like the painting was deteriorating, and in order to stop it getting worse, or something like that. They must have thought it was ok to go ahead and re-paint it.

K: The person who did it was quite eldery weren't they?

J: Ahh, I see.

T: This is crazy

J: But after seeing their first try, they should have given up trying to fix it for a second time. Somehow, that would've been better.

K: The owner shouldn't ask the same person to fix it, right?

J: Right!

K: But, well, it won't go back to its original state will it?

J: No, it won't.

K: Even if a new person could get to back to this (*points at the first restoration attempt*)

J: ??? Its like hell if you keep going, and hell if you stop. In the end, its like ??? *5, it would be no good...Well, its an impressive thing.

K: Yeh, but imagine if you wanted to keep viewing the painting, as for the first restoration, if you look at it from far away, it kiiinda still resembles the original a bit. But the second one is no good at all.

J: Yeh, its no good. In the first one you can kinda still see that they were trying to paint the virgin mary, but in the second restoration, it looks like an old woman..not even a proper portrait.

T: Her nose is well defined though, haha.

J: Well, yeh...Isn't the Virgin Mary a friend of Kami's?

Kami: Well, the one in the original is my friend. The third one is totally different.

J: Its no good?

K: That kind of old woman, really.

J: Do you consider this to be a profanity? Is this ok?

Kami: Well, its ok, isn't it?

J: Hahaha.

Kami: That kind of thing.

J: Ah, its ok.

Kami: The original is really well painted isn't it?

T: Mm, yeh.

Kami: Yeh, I think its a really good picture.

K: Its a copy though right? There is someone who painted this as a copy?

T: Yeh, there is a proper original.

K: It would be pretty expensive to hire that person to fix it, right?

J: I think they were trying to save money. 140000yen was too much for them. I wonder how much it usually costs to have a painting decently restored? How much did they save?

K: It probably takes quite a long time to do.

T: I think it takes a really long time.

J: Yeah. Well, when they saw how it ended up, it says the owner was angry, well, yeh, he would be angry wouldn't he?

K: Yeh, he would. Cause its his precious painting that he just wanted cleaning.

J: Yes, thats it.

K: I can only laugh at this, haha. Its a total disaster, really.

T: It really is.

J: Well, the lesson to learn from this is that a ricecake maker makes ricecakes. If you want anything repairing properly, hire a professional..otherwise this type of thing will happen.

T: Thats it.

J: Don't be stingy!

T: Its problematic if they pretend to be a pro, then take your money. But in this case they were just a furniture store.

J: Asking a furniture store to do it was the mistake. Why did they ask a furniture store?

T: But they still said, 'Yes, we can do it', right?

J: Hmm, yeah.

K: They had the look of someone who could do it. The owner was fooled.

J: Its like 'The Guild', they may have had the look of a craftsperson. You have to be careful with appearance too.

K: Well, I think we'll finish here. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

J: Go Hanshin Tigers!

*1, 2 Couldn't make out the last words, but i think its something like this.

*3, 4, 5 Couldn't make out.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #薫 #kaoru

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #12- Gay Rights: the Movie

Finally finished with our franchise obligations! Let’s get back to the main story.

Those are some ominous ellipses. Almost like something bad is going to happen!

Let’s take a look at Cover A for this issue.

When this was released to the general public, alongside the synopsis that stated the Lost Lighters were going to run into a group of Decepticons, a lot of people thought we’d be seeing them meet the Scavengers. This isn’t the case, and that’s not Fulcrum. It’s some other K-Con, one that has purple in his color scheme.

Our story opens up with a narrative framing device:

Welcome to “Before & After”, one of the more ambitious issues of MTMTE in terms of storytelling. Roberts really likes bouncing between scenes and POVs, and he’s really indulging that here.

Rodimus and crew have loaded up on one of the Lost Light’s scouting ships to check in on a planet called Temptoria. Whirl’s leading all the guys in the front in a war cry that wouldn’t be out of place in Hollywood’s version of the Vietnam war, while Brawn demonstrates how to not properly handle a gun. Rodimus tries to explain what exactly they’ll be doing, but no one’s listening, feeding off of the chaotic energy. The back seat isn’t quite as rowdy.

Oh, Ambulon’s here? That’s got to be awkward. And Perceptor’s looking mighty cross about having to pick up a gun again. Isn’t he supposed to be retired from being a science sniper?

Rodimus finally gets everyone to settle down long enough to explain the situation, though not without a little jargon mixup.

Basically, Ultra Magnus went down to Temptoria while the “Shadowplay” story was being told, and found out that the organic populace had been enslaved by a group of Decepticons, and, more importantly, the sovereign agreement that the planet had with Cybertron’s been violated. Also, these guys might have been the one’s who kidnapped the Circle of Light. You remember those guys, right? The guys who were supposed to be in the 2012 Annual, but they weren’t, and Drift got really mad about it.

Rodimus wraps up the briefing with a “’Til all are one!” And we cut over to see what Swerve and Tailgate are up to. Tailgate seems to be a little nervous, not the type to enjoy waiting, but Swerve seems to be doing just fine. Why is that, exactly?

Even if Rung’s still a steamed side dish of a vegetable, he’s still here, in a way. And good on Swerve for not assuming Tailgate can visualize in the same way he can. Aphantasia is more common than one might think.

Escapism is an interesting way of dealing with your problems, but I don’t know enough about wartime psychiatry to know if this is something that would actually be considered a viable solution or not.

Oh, now that I’ve said it, I’ve got the research itch.

Later, later.

Anyway, Tailgate gives it a spin, and his happy place is surprisingly domestic for such a seasoned professional.

Pipes, it’s a clear glass, it’s not hiding anything from you.

Speaking of Pipes, he’s seated next to Hound, as they discuss what happened to Red Alert. Or, rather, the cover story that’s been fed to the rest of the crew by Rodimus, which is that the engine room pretty much attacked him. This is how ghost stories get started.

Trailcutter’s gotten some guns installed in his legs, because he’s a hypocrite.

Over with Chromedome and Rewind, there’s trouble in paradise, as they’re having a lovers’ spat. Chromedome’s giving Rewind the silent treatment, and Rewind’s having none of it. What exactly are they fighting about? We don’t get to know about that yet, but it’s digging up other issues, like Chromedome going back on his promise to stop injecting. The only thing keeping this from becoming a total meltdown is Whirl can-canning through the door to kidnap Rewind, so he can film Whirl getting in the zone before the fight. Whirl’s having a great time. This is probably the first time they’ve gotten to fight something since the Lost Light took off, and he’s all about it.

Rewind’s dragged away, and Chromedome just lets it happen, because he’s feeling cross. It’s good to take a moment to cool off, but I’m not quite sure this was the best time or way for it to happen.

Meanwhile, on the Temptorian surface, Blip the Decepticon, who is likely the dirtiest son of a gun we’ve run into so far, is asked to take a look at the monitor by a guy who sounds exactly like Megatron. It doesn’t particularly matter which Megatron, because comics are not an audio-based medium, so you can pick whichever one you like best. What’s on the monitor does not please Blip in the slightest.

I feel like maybe having guys who don’t turn into flying machines jump out of the bottom of the shuttlecraft isn’t the greatest tactical thinking, but I’m sure everything will be okay. Brawn’s got a gun, maybe he’ll figure out how to rocket-jump before he hits terminal velocity.

Then the narrative jumps to after the fight, as the ship flies away from the scene, and Chromedome isn’t happy. It’s for a different reason than earlier, though.

Man, Pipes just can’t win, can he?

Ambulon remembers that he is, in fact, a medical professional, and starts working on Rewind, while Chromedome tries to ask Swerve just what the hell happened. Swerve’s having his own issues, however.

I’d nearly forgotten they had skeletons.

On the production side of this issue, we’ve got two artists: there’s our usual guy, Alex Milne on the “Before” sections, and Brandon Cahill on the “After”. Cahill’s other Transformers work includes The Transformers (2009) and the sister series to MTMTE, Robots in Disguise. Outside of the franchise, he’s worked on several Marvel pieces, including writing Sable & Fortune and Legion of Monsters. Unlike a lot of the alternate artists we’ve seen for the series, Cahill won’t be a one-and-done; we’ll see his art again in Dark Cybertron, Season 2 of MTMTE, and even Lost Light.

Getting back to the story, we’ve jumped back to the point in the battle where everyone’s hit the ground and are just wailing on each other. Tailgate and Swerve watch the chaos unfold, as Ultra Magnus more or less takes on a platoon of Decepticons.

Drift’s having a great time, as he Naruto runs through the enemy, slashing as he goes with a big ol’ smile on his face. He stabs a guy in the back of the head who was trying to grapple with Rodimus, thus interrupting the little dialogue they had going on. Rodimus is vaguely upset that his moment was cut short.

In the “After”, the shuttle’s landed back on the Lost Light, and Chromedome rushes out with Rewind in his arms to find First Aid with a motorized stretcher. He was hoping for Ratchet- he wants only the best for his shnookums. As they run Rewind down to the medibay, Chromedome starts listing off his allergies- which include ultraviolet light, something we know reveals mnemosurgery scars. This is a holdover from a dropped plot point I’ll cover at a later time; as it stands in the canon narrative, Rewind’s just got an allergy to the friggin’ sun.

Back at the shuttle, Tailgate starts dragging Cyclonus down the gangplank. Oh, hell. You know it’s a bad situation when the guy who literally couldn’t die for six million years is out of commission.

Spoke and Lockstock are a bit of a gag- they always manage to get their asses kicked, but everyone on the ship really likes them. They will never be seen on-panel, and have no character designs.

Over in the medibay, history is being made.

Esteemed members of the jury, I present to you: canon gay robots. The first in a long line of them. This is the starting point of the queer community being handed the Transformers franchise on a silver platter.

Up to this point, Roberts hadn’t gotten any further than implied attraction and affection between robots, in either his fanworks or professional credits. Pretty heavy-handed implication in some cases-

-but implication nonetheless. Here is the first, honest-to-god direct confirmation of two male-coded robots in love.

In love and space-married and recognized by the authority in power, in a comic written in 2012, as a part of a major franchise owned by a massive American company, three years before same-sex marriage would be legalized on a federal level.

As part of the story, it’s great. Within the context of the time during which it was published, it’s a whole other level. This wasn’t just good writing, it was important.

Let me part the kimono a little here, with some personal backstory- I grew up in Buttfuck Nowhere, NC, and went to a high school that was so homogeneous, they were threatening to bus students in after I graduated. I didn’t know what a gay person even was until I was 12. “Lesbian” was used as an insult, and it was one I was subjected to because I had cut my hair short in middle school and wore cargo shorts on occasion. It was something I really pushed against, because that’s how a lot of people react to being forcibly given a label.

Not the best environment for a little queer kid, clearly.

It wasn’t until well after I’d gone to college that I really started understanding who I was. Hell, I’m still figuring some things out, but at least I’m getting somewhere.

I remember reading this for the first time in 2015- yes, I got into the comics sort of late- and then having to reread it. I needed a moment just to process what had happened. As a person who had only recently come to terms with their sexuality at the time, it was kind of mind-blowing to have that sort of representation, especially since I was also watching Transformers Prime at around the same time. Talk about the duality of man, am I right?

These days, there’s a lot more representation in many different forms of media. Things are getting better. Which, y’know, yay! I’m glad. I just can’t help but wonder if things would have been a little different if this sort of representation had been available earlier on.

Anyway, so yes, Chromedome’s got a difficult choice to make for Rewind- either let his body try to sort itself out, or let First Aid break out the clamps and try to jumpstart him. Rewind’s got a relatively rare spark type, but luckily Chromedome’s the same type. Looks like everything’s coming up roses for our boys!

Tailgate and Cyclonus aren’t getting nearly as good a break.

My god, he’s filled with grape soda!

Back in the “Before”, things are getting a little silly.

Chromedome, what POSSIBLE tactical advantage could you be gaining from riding the giant, fire-breathing robot dinosaur? This is why they threw you in Kimia, isn’t it? Because you’re a dumbass.

While this bullshit is happening, Rewind and Tailgate are stacked on top of each other to look through a window, because I guess that’s just how things turn out when the resident couple on the ship is upset with one another. Rewind’s found something, but it isn’t the Circle of Light. Rather, it seems the Decepticons are dabbling in Pink Alchemy- a rather inefficient process that allows organic creatures to be turned into energon for consumption.

The good guy thing to do would be to save all the organics, but there’s a bit of a problem- the door is wired to a massive bomb. Good thing Tailgate was in Bomb Disposal, and is just generally an impressive and well-established dude. He gets to work.

Getting back to a point I made during Chaos Theory, Whirl can’t make a fist. Punching himself in the face is probably more akin to slashing it.

Tailgate’s got a weird approach to bombs, taking the time to teach Rewind how to do it, by way of student-led learning. They decide to poke a hole in the bottom of the bomb to drain all the explosive fluid out, which Tailgate does with little robot tears streaming down his face. Fear is a great motivator.

Oof, not a “Domey” in sight. That’s how you know things are rough.

Outside of this little scene, Whirl and Cyclonus are handling Decepticons. Whirl’s got a hold on that guy who’s voiced by Frank Welker, and we get a nice shot of his sad cat face before Whirl turns his head into a memory.

Swerve- who is also here- asks Whirl to loan him a gun.

GODDAMMIT SWERVE.

Not a single one of you bastards know proper gun safety! Between all the severe depression and reckless weapon-handling, I genuinely have no idea how the hell are any of you are still alive.

In the “After”, Chromedome’s just finished jumpstarting Rewind, and it’ll take a bit to see if it worked, so he’s left alone with his thoughts.

Just kidding, Tailgate’s come over to check in. Seems like Cyclonus is gonna pull through, something Chromedome’s not terribly thrilled about. Chromedome’s still miffed about the whole Kimia thing.

We finally learn why Chromedome and Rewind were fighting; it was because Rewind, as a walking historical database, has been deemed too important to die, and can opt out of any fight he choose to, but he doesn’t, thereby putting himself in harm’s way unnecessarily. Maybe he just worries about you when you go out there on the battlefield alone, Chromedome, you ever think of that? Maybe he doesn’t want to wonder when his husband will return home from the war.

Tailgate asks about all the little vials that are scattered around Rewind’s hospital bed, and we get a little Cybertronian tradition thrown at us.

The vials are filled with innermost energon, the stuff that surrounds the spark casing and never changes, no matter how much you modify or upgrade your body. Leaving a little of the stuff for someone in an offering signifies that you care very much for that person. Chromedome can’t give Rewind any, because he was “born dry”, but I think being space-married to the guy more than makes up for it.

Tailgate asks how the two of them met, and unlike in issue #6, Chromedome is feeling vulnerable enough to indulge the question this time.

But first we need to establish that Chromedome is insanely insecure.

So, Rewind is fucking old. He’s older than the Cybertronian civil war, he’s older than the calendar system, and he’s old enough to have been affected by Functionist society’s categorization system. Due to being a memory stick- something that there were millions of back in the day- Ratioism dictated that Rewind as an individual was worth very little, and made him and his like into slaves. Because he was a slave, he needed a master, and that master was none other than Dominus Ambus, also known as Cybertron’s Mech of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years.

Even on Cybertron, there’s a weird stigma about breastfeeding.

Rewind and Dominus quickly became friends, because that’s just the sort of guy Rewind is, and it made Dominus realize that maybe these slaves Cybertron had been working to death were sentient creatures worthy of respect too. He even developed a test to prove that all the slave classes were on the same level of functionality as everyone else.

On their quest to find a cure for the horrible disease Cybercrosis, Rewind and Dominus fucked off into space, on a wild goose chase to try and find Luna 1, the Cybertronian moon that just disappeared one day. Weird, that. They didn’t find it, and by the time they’d come back home, the war was well underway. They immediately became Autobots, and that was it for a while.

Then we move on to how Chromedome and Rewind met, and boy is it a doozy.

Chromedome had decided he wanted to kill himself, so he moseyed on over to the nearest relinquishment clinic- they did assisted suicides instead of body-swaps at this point- to do the deed. He was sitting in the waiting room, when he heard someone screaming. He wandered into the back to find Rewind weeping over a coffin, and he thought to himself “Maybe I don’t need to die after all” as he offered his future conjunx a shoulder to cry on.

What a fucking dark start to a relationship.

Rewind wasn’t upset about anyone who was dead though, but rather missing- Dominus had disappeared into thin air months ago, and Rewind was getting desperate to find him, looking in more and more awful places in the hope of recovering what he’d lost.

As it turns out, he’s still doing that. The reason the two of them are on the Lost Light is because Rewind needs to find Dominus- alive or dead, it doesn’t seem to particularly matter at this point. That’s why he buys snuff films in dark alleys.

See, Tailgate gets it.

Guys, bad news.

Chromedome’s spark is too weak to jumpstart Rewind. Unless they find another compatible donor, Rewind’s gonna be in big trouble. There’s nothing to do but wait.

Later, in their room, Chromedome is sitting on the floor and very much not following doctor’s orders to get some sleep. Someone on the opposite side of the door he’s leaning up against starts talking to him. Chromedome doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it, until he does.

Given who the basement dweller is, this probably won’t turn out so hot.

Chromedome gets a call from the medibay, and fortunately the universe has decided to play nice this go around, because someone came forward as a match.

But it’s not like Whirl cares about anyone, right? Not in the slightest, nuh-uh, not him!

While Chromedome gives Whirl what is probably an uncomfortably long hug, and they both most likely ignore the fact that Chromedome would be actively suicidal without Rewind, Tailgate’s off in the corner, having taken his hand off and begun pouring cartoon toxic waste into a vial. It’s actually his innermost energon. Boy’s making an offering, but it isn’t to Rewind.

It’s to this ungrateful fuck.

Cyclonus stalks away from Tailgate’s kindness, until he’s stopped by witnessing the power of love.

Everyone likes Rewind, and these displays of affection seems to have reminded Cyclonus that he’s horrifically lonely. Feeling some remorse over his actions- not that he’ll ever admit it out loud- he goes back to help Tailgate pick up the pieces of the vial he broke.

Wrapping up our story, we go back to the “Before”, right before the bomb is set to go off. Whirl and Cyclonus have more or less taken care of the Decepticons, Whirl suggests they set aside their differences and agree to stop trying to murder each other, in a surprising show of reason and, perhaps, self-preservation. Cyclonus doesn’t seem to agree with the idea.

I genuinely think that’s the most he’s said all series up to this point.

Rewind calls the two idiots over for help, because Tailgate’s about to pull a self-sacrifice to get this bomb emptied, and he just isn’t listening to reason. Cyclonus assists.

Once Tailgate’s been fastball-specialed out of the room, Whirl decides to get back to being a bastard, and locks Cyclonus and Rewind in with the bomb with 10 seconds left on the clock. Ah, so the donation was out of guilt, I see. Still a form of caring, in its own way.

With no way to escape, all Cyclonus can do is attempt to shield Rewind with his body as the bomb goes off.

That’s the end of the issue but it’s the middle of the story, and despite what Cyclonus says, dynamics are changing. Slowly, but surely, things are shifting. He’s headed for a lot of character development, and he’ll be kicking and screaming the whole way.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 12 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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shadyb00ts · 4 years ago

Text

A Chromatica Review

So I never really use Tumblr, but when I do go on here, it’s pretty much to review something long-form. As you can tell from my profile picture here, and from my glowing review of ARTPOP from 7 years ago, I am and have always been a Gaga stan. Just read the melodramatic first paragraph of my ARTPOP review and you’ll get the gist of how much I idolize this woman. Well, idolized. Past tense.

That’s not to say I suddenly hate Gaga–I’m still going to follow her career and listen to whatever she puts out. There have just been several factors this past year that have changed my perspective on how I view her, this album being one of those factors. But I’ll get to those later. First I just need to lay out all my issues with this album.

Yes, this is going to be that type of review, so if you’re a fellow Gaga stan that isn’t able to criticize her work, this probably isn’t for you. Otherwise please read to the end if you can, because this is honestly about more than just the album.

Issue #1: The Mismatch Between Music & Aesthetic

When the cover of the album came out, I was so gagged. Like, just look at it! It’s striking, and Gaga has rarely ever disappointed me when it came to visuals. Actually, I can’t even think of any visual choices she made in previous eras that disappointed me. Even in the Joanne era, the pink cowboy hat became iconic and all of her aesthetic choices fit with the overall vibe of that album cycle.

So naturally, when she revealed to us the new visual direction she was taking for Chromatica, I assumed it would give us some insight into how the music would sound. The aesthetic of this era always gave me grungy cyberpunk and heavy machinery tease. When I look at the album cover for example, I can hear a song produced by SOPHIE in my head, the clink-clank queen herself. (There were rumors that Gaga was going to or did work with SOPHIE but that was never confirmed, unfortunately for us.)

For those unfamiliar with SOPHIE, here’s Ponyboy, which was most recently used in the ad campaign for Beyoncé’s Ivy Park clothing line.

youtube

That was the kind of production I was more or less expecting when taking the visuals into account; dark, metallic, basically similar to ARTPOP’s production (to be honest ARTPOP sonically fits better with the Chromatica aesthetic; think about it).

But what did we get? Light, garden variety dance pop, a stark contrast to what the album cover and the promo images teased us with.

In the album, we get these orchestral interludes that are beautiful but don't really mesh that well with the actual tracks. The songs don't have any orchestral elements by themselves, so the interludes felt a bit misplaced to me. I wish they'd incorporated more of that into the individual songs, so that there could be an orchestral through-line to give more cohesion, like what Ariana did in her album positions by using strings. However I will say, the transition from Chromatica II into 911 remains unmatched.

I get that the album is supposed to sound happy, that it was her returning to her “dance pop roots” and singing about serious topics like mental health over happy-sounding beats, because it’s supposed to reflect her current mental state. I get all that. But if that was the case, I think she should’ve gone with a different visual direction to match. Personally I wish she went a different direction musically instead, but even if it was just the other way around and she changed the aesthetic of this era, my opinion of the album would probably improve slightly, cause at least there would be cohesion between the visuals and the sonics.

I look at that album cover, and promo images like the one below, and then I listen to songs like Fun Tonight or Plastic Doll for example, and there’s a noticeable dissonance there.

You might be thinking “why are you so hard on her for this?” and I guess it’s because I’ve always held Gaga to a high standard when it comes to how she links those two elements. Think of every era she’s had in the past, and you remember how the visuals always just worked with their respective albums.

And that’s before I’ve even talked about the videos. Oh lord, the videos.

Issue #2: The Videos Are Lackluster (Except For 911)

It started with Stupid Love, the lead single. I had mixed feelings about that song in the beginning, but because I was so thirsty for new music from Gaga at the time, I played that song like hell when it leaked and it was on rotation for a good while. But when Gaga premiered the Stupid Love video, I’m not going to lie; I really didn’t like it.

The whole “shot entirely on iPhone” schtick really did the video a disservice. I’m sorry but it had to be said. If I imagined the video with a higher budget and more of a plotline as opposed to just being a dance video, I think it could’ve worked a lot better and been a decent introduction to not only Chromatica the album, but this fictional world/planet that she’s created. Which by the way, she didn’t really deliver in that regard either.

The concept of Chromatica being a fictional world could have been expanded on further; she could’ve showcased all of the different factions (I know they were called “tribes” at first but that’s appropriative so I’ll call them factions) and perhaps had an overarching storyline about how these factions are at war, and it’s Gaga’s job as one of the “Kindness Punks”, as she calls it, to bring everyone together for a rave.

This is why I will always say it: Chromatica needed to be a visual album. Just imagine the storyline I mentioned just now being turned into a full-length feature, and now imagine the album’s orchestral intro playing as they’re essentially opening the gates to Chromatica and Gaga discovers this world for the first time, and then it goes into the first song Alice where she’s meeting all the factions and getting acclimated to her surroundings.

Honestly I could go on and on cause I have thought about this for SO LONG now and I’ll never shut up about it. It’s just such a missed opportunity cause the concept was just begging for a visual album. Anyway sorry for my tangent: back to the Stupid Love video.

The whole “shot on iPhone” gimmick really was unfortunate. Like she really ruined the quality of a music video because she wanted that Apple check??? Come on, Gaga, there could’ve been some other way to secure that check.

And then there was the Rain On Me video, which definitely have visuals that are a massive improvement from Stupid Love because it was professionally shot and cinematic. But even that was another purely dance video with not much in the way of storyline. Not that storyline is always required for music videos, but I think specifically when it comes to Chromatica, not having storylines in the M/Vs does a disservice to the overall concept.

I guess my issue with these two music videos, but mostly Stupid Love, is that Gaga isn't fully utilizing her COIN. Like she's successful enough to the point where she has budgets for these videos and can go all out, but doesn't. She has the capacity for extremely high production value, but up until 911, the last video she did that had that level of extraness was G.U.Y. I miss the days when her music videos were an event. I still remember where I was and what I was doing the exact moment the Telephone video came out. That's impact.

Taylor Swift I think is somebody who really knows how to blow her budget on a video. Look What You Made Me Do may have been a terrible song, but I always thought the video was sickening.

Anyway, I have no notes on 911. She's a masterpiece. If there was a music video category at the Oscars, I'd be campaigning for it right now.

Issue #3: Any Other Girly Can Do This

The thing I always loved the most about Gaga's music was that nobody was doing it like her. Everything she put out always felt like it was distinctly hers and hers alone, it's unmistakable. Even in Joanne, despite that album being a major departure from what she normally did.

I know Joanne is a very polarizing album, even for Little Monsters, but personally I've always loved it. Joanne was an album that I always knew she would make and I thought was essential to her career and body of work. Despite her straying away from pop for a more earthy, grass roots sound, it still sounded very much like her music. Even from the first track, Diamond Heart, her DNA is all over that.

It's difficult to explain what exactly I mean when I say there's a certain signature "Gaga-ness" or that she has a very specific DNA injected into her songs. If you've been a fan of hers for a long time or followed her career, you probably understand what I'm referring to. It's the way she laughs maniacally in the beginning of ARTPOP on Aura, how she says "I don't speak German but I can if you like, OW!" and proceeds to recite broken German on Scheiße, how she invented the phrase "disco stick", literally the ENTIRETY of The Fame Monster.

These examples probably give you the gist of what I'm trying to convey. Gaga is fucking weird. She has always been fucking weird and I love that so much about her. And her brand of weirdness was so specific that if any of the other pop girls tried to do what she did, it would have been cringey as hell. To me, the most disappointing thing of all with this album was that this weirdness that was so uniquely hers was missing.

It's there in brief moments, in tracks like Sour Candy, 911 and Babylon, but most of the album doesn't really sound like her music. It sounds like songs that she wrote for other people, like her old unreleased stuff. OG Little Monsters probably remember songs like Second Time Around and No Way. These were leaked unreleased songs that Gaga had written for other artists, and even though they were absolute bops, they didn't sound like her. They weren't supposed to.

A similar feeling I had was when her song The Cure came out a few years ago. I genuinely thought that was something she wrote for someone else, cause even though it was a solid pop song, it absolutely had zero Gaga-ness and any current pop girl could sing it. This pretty much encapsulates how I feel about the majority of Chromatica.

I was gonna say it sounded like songs that were written for Ally, her Star is Born character, but I think even those pop songs from the soundtrack sounded more Gaga than Chromatica does. 💀 I can easily imagine Hair Body Face being on The Fame.

Final Thoughts

It's funny that the last review I had posted on here before this was my review of Kingdom Hearts III. The Kingdom Hearts game series is something that's very near and dear to my heart, and I waited a wholeass decade for the third game to come out. And then it did, and I was so disappointed.

So you know what happened after that? What helped me deal with my disappointment of that game was my anticipation for Chromatica, or at the time it was still called LG6. I had no idea I would feel the same exact way about this album the way I do about KH3. Now when I think of both of these things, I'm mostly frustrated by all of the potential and the missed opportunities, but I also look at them with a certain fondness. I had fun playing KH3, and I also had fun listening to Chromatica, despite both of them disappointing me overall.

In the beginning of this review I said that there were certain factors that have stopped me from idealizing Gaga too much. Firstly it's because I'm much older now, and secondly it's due to the sheer state of the world this past year. The pandemic really precipitated the fall of celebrity culture, and all of that made me really examine how putting someone on such a high pedestal can be damaging in the long run.

Gaga is a human being and I haven't agreed with everything she's done, particularly how she handled the whole R. Kelly situation back in 2013. And also the simple fact that she's a white woman, we know how a lot of the time they can't help but show their asses and are bound to disappoint us in some way. I'm forever grateful for her artistry and how she saved my life when I was a suicidal little eighth grader, but I'm also going to hold her accountable for any of her mistakes, and I'd be ready to stop supporting her entirely if anything she does ever goes too far.

Now I stan artists for fun. It's not healthy to idolize them to the point of revering them. I mean, I like to make jokes like that about Beyoncé, like "no way on Beyoncé's green earth", etc. But even she is just a person that we shouldn't deify for real.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Chromatica being a lackluster album and era ended up being a good thing, because it helped me grow out of idolizing celebrities too intensely. Chromatica was pretty much the best disappointment I've ever listened to.

If you've read all the way to the end, thank you! Writing this was very therapeutic but also stressful; this is a second draft cause Tumblr fucked up my first post. 😭

Anyway, SAWAYAMA & Ungodly Hour are albums of the year. Argue with the wall.

#album review #gaga #lady gaga #chromatica #pop music #review #music

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tvehyungs-gf · 5 years ago

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Can you do 2,87,99 as one? with jungkook! Thank you in advance if you can!

The Last Scene - Jungkook drabble

“You lied to me.” + “You know I didn’t mean that.” + “Hey, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You lied to me.” Jungkook frowned with his eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t believe that you would really do that, Y/N.” He sighs, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “How the hell are we suppose to have a healthy relationship when we can’t even build trust?”

“Jungkook…” You reached forward towards him but his hands halted you to stay put. “You know I didn’t mean that.” You bit your lip as you watch his facial expression morph from seriousness to a face full of laughter.

“Cut!” The director yells through his microphone with a sigh. “We will retake that scene after a 5 minute break to freshen up. And Jungkook,” The director looks at Jungkook from where he sat behind a monitor. “Let’s make this next shoot the last one for this scene, please.”

“Sorry director.” Jungkook apologizes but quickly he lets out another laugh.

You rolled your eyes at the boy who laughed. Makeup artists and hair stylists quickly comes rushing towards the both of you to freshen up your hair and makeup. “C’mon, Jungkook. We did this scene like 5 times already. Why can’t you stay serious?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a bit too serious. I can’t help but laugh because we are usually never like that.” He calms down after a minute but he still adorns a wide smile of his handsome face. “I’ll be fine when we start shooting again, I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’re not even done with this serious scene yet either.”

“What was that?” Jimin struts towards you both with his brow raised. “I thought you guys were going to finish shooting by the time I got done with my hair and makeup.”

You rolled your eyes, “We would’ve but Jungkook keeps laughing.”

Jimin shakes his head with a laugh. “Ah, we’re going to end up filming for another few days if he keeps that up.”

“Seriously.” You agreed and nudged Jungkook’s shoulder.

The younger boy shrugged with a grin still on face. By the time the makeup artist and hair stylist were done freshening the both of you up, it was time to start shooting the scene hopefully for the last time.

Walking back to the set, a large open kitchen, you stood in front of the counter where your character was preparing dinner. Starting the scene from Jungkook, you were grateful that he managed to stay serious for your next lines to continue.

“You know I didn’t mean that.” You told him seriously. “I’m sorry Jungkook, I really am.” Sighing, you picked up the knife off of the cutting board and began cutting the carrots. “I was scared and I didn’t know what to do.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you lied.” Jungkook’s word were so bitter that it didn’t sit well with you at all.

Following the script, you stopped cutting the carrots with the knife still in your hand. “I…” You sighed as tears brimmed your eyes easily. Thank god you were a professional at fake crying!

With a blurry vision, you began to start cutting the carrots again but this you were cutting them fast.

“Hey, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.” Jungkook placed his hands on top of yours and slid the knife away from you before entangling your hands together with his. “Look, Y/N, it just hurts my feelings when you lied to me. I feel like you don’t trust me enough to just say the truth. Don’t you have trust me in me?”

You nodded your heads as the tears continued to fall. “I do. I’m just afraid, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be afraid anymore, okay? I’m here for you.” Pulling you into a tight hug, the director finally yells cut. And finally, you were able to finish your last scene of the day.

Send me a number(s) from this list, along with a member, and I’ll write you a drabble. [bts or exo]➝ ask box ➝ masterlist

#bts drabbles #jungkook drabbles #kpop drabbles #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #tvehyungs-gf

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pllandcompany · 5 years ago

Text

I Choose You

Summary: Hospital AU! A look into how Roman and Logan’s relationship developed.

Pairings: Pre-romantic into Romantic Logince, background QPP Moxiety

Warnings: discussion of medical procedures, blood mention, violence/shooting mention, mention of drug use/addiction, anxiety, crying, a (and one almost) kiss

Tagged: @shxtxpp @apologieslogan @crofters-jam @asylia5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable@flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein @insufferablegayastronaut

Notes: Guess who’s back at it again after months of writer’s block?? I’ve wanted to write this story for a while. It does reference a few other fics I’ve written in this AU so here, here, and here are the links for those stories if you want more context as the events of this story are not in order of how they happened based on the established timeline. Also, heads up that I’ve only linked the first part of Out Loud (last link) and Don’t You Remember (second link) but If you want full details (or if you just love my writing so much, insert eye roll here), go to my masterlist and read all of the parts. Still, it should be fairly clear even without reading the previous stories. Okay! Enough talking! Enjoy!

Why wasn’t he awake?

That deadly, nerve-wracking, gut-twisting question had been bouncing around Dr. Roman Courtland’s mind for five days now. The deadline of the withdrawal of care date loomed over his head like a terrorizing and expansive storm ready to break open at any moment. Fourteen days was just simply not enough time. Did the man have no hope?

Note to self: Remind Logan to change that stupidly short time period when he wakes up.

In all actuality, Logan being in a coma was not the expected outcome. It was a nearly perfect surgery. The bleeding was minimal and deftly controlled by his swift hand when it occurred. There was no sign of post-operative stroke or brain death. He should be awake. Yet there Logan lay as still and pale as driven snow, the steady beep of the machines being the only sign of life in the room. It shouldn’t be the case, but it was and Roman was damned determined to find out why. This wasn’t just any patient. No, this was a colleague and a gifted one at that; Logan was quite possibly the most brilliant cardio-thoracic surgeons this hospital had ever seen. Not only was this a professional point of pride, Logan was also the man who saved his brother’s life while simultaneously putting up with his relentless torment the entire time Remy was hospitalized. Roman knew he had been unfair to the surgeon, cruel even and he has certainly spent an exorbitant amount of energy trying to make up for that fact since, including personally taking on his case when Logan turned up with a brain tumor. Shortly before his diagnosis, the two finally found themselves on better terms and Roman was…looking forward to getting to know the doctor more, figure out what truly makes him tick. Now he was potentially the surgeon responsible for destroying that precious of a mind, for squandering the opportunity to…learn more about Logan? Roman refused to accept that reality. Logan Taylor was going to wake up if he had any say in it. He had to; Roman wasn’t ready to lose him-

“Roman? What are you still doing here?”

Patton. Damn it. “Looking over Logan’s post-op scans.” Roman felt the deep sigh more than he heard it.

“For the hundredth time, I bet. Roman, take a break, please. You have to step away at least for a moment. Have you even eaten anything?”

“Have I figured this out yet? Then the answer is no and I’m not leaving until that changes.” A small pang of guilt tightened Roman’s chest briefly. Yelling at Patton was like kicking a puppy, a completely undeserved action. As usual, Patton didn’t even seem fazed which only served to make the neurosurgeon feel worse. Instead, he simply sat across from the distraught doctor, empathy shining in his eyes.

“Roman, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Then what the hell else am I supposed to do?!” Roman flailed his arms in sheer frustration, the force of action flinging the scans everywhere. He roughly ran a shaky hand through his hair and breathed deeply, trying to control himself while Patton quietly picked up the discarded films.

“I wish I could tell you what to do, Roman. I don’t know how to fix Logan. But I do know you’re not going to find the answer like this. Please take a break. Get some sleep. Come at this again in the morning.”

Roman buried his head into his hands. “What if something happens when I walk away? What if he gets worse and I’m not here to stop it? What if I can’t figure this out and I…and we lose him?” Patton gently took Roman’s hands out of his hair and smoothed the wavy locks down, a solemn yet knowing smile playing on his lips.

“I know you’re scared. I am too. But we don’t get to know what’s going to happen sometimes. All we can do is our best. Which you can’t do if you’re exhausted. So, come with me. We’re going to have dinner and then you’re going to an on-call room to lie down. You don’t have to sleep. You can ramble all the medicine at me that you want, every detail. Maybe then we can come up with something together. How does that sound?” Roman nodded silently, allowing Patton to lead him out of his office.

An hour and a sandwich later, Roman was out like a light and Patton was quietly sneaking out of the on-call room.

Mission successful.

****

“Good morning, nerd!”

God, Roman was insufferable. Logan let out a soul-exiting sigh. “Dr. Courtland, must you insist on calling me that?”

“Oh, don’t get your briefs in a twist, Dr. Taylor; you know I tease only out of love.” Logan hoped the tenseness in his shoulders wasn’t noticeable.

There he was using that word around him again.

“You cannot possibly love me. We’ve only known each other a few months. Besides, I seem to recall you having a certain disdain for me when I first arrived here. It would be impossible for that to have resolved itself in totality so soon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roman stop and turn back to him. Suddenly, Logan was grateful they were the only two in the lounge.

“Logan…you still think so ill of me?” The cardiologist barely held back the gasp that bubbled in his throat at the hurt look on the neurosurgeon’s face.

“No…not of you?”

“Then of yourself?” Roman sat next to Logan, setting his thigh ablaze when they brushed against each other. Logan hesitated for a moment as his mind struggled to find the best way to answer.

“That’s not it either. I simply meant that we are very different people with not much in common. I’m not certain as to how we will coalesce outside of being coworkers.” If we will.

“Well, that isn’t always a negative thing. I like that we’re different. Means there’s much we can learn from each other.”

“Of course. Our specialties differ greatly; there’s bound to be new information learned between us.” Roman chuckled warmly.

“While I find your habit of taking things literally quite refreshing, in this case it led you astray. You’re so much more than the job, Lo. You are strong and wise, brilliant and beautifully complicated in ways I’d like to know more about. If you’d let me that is.” The neurosurgeon’s face held so much hope, it metaphorically made Logan’s heart just…stop. How ironic that he, the cardio-thoracic surgeon would be the one to need pulmonary resuscitation from just one look from the towheaded neurosurgeon. It just wasn’t reasonable how one person could be so disarming, so confounding, so attractive…

Logan had to get out of there.

“Ah! Yes, well, then I concede to your point, Dr. Courtland. Fare-farewell.” The older doctor jumped up like a jack in the box and practically sprinted out of the room, the edge of his white coat narrowly missing Roman’s face.

It didn’t bother him too much once he realized that Logan hadn’t said no.

****

“Okay, Logan. Let’s try this again. Pick up the pencil and write your name.” Logan stared at the yellow No. 2 as if it would jump up and slap him at any moment. “Can we go back to the ball?”

Roman almost chuckled. “You’ve already done that portion. Your grip strength is greatly improved. Now we need to build your prehensile strength back. Go ahead, pick up the pencil. Just try.”

After a few tense moments, Logan finally held the writing instrument. His heart pounded with anticipation as he gingerly placed the tip to the paper in front of him. He pressed down ever so slightly and began to write his name.

He didn’t make it through the ‘g’ before the force of his tremor snapped the graphite.

In a fit of pure rage, Logan swiftly grabbed the pencil in his left hand and threw it across the room. It sailed past Roman’s ear so close he felt the wind move his hair. Before he could react, Logan was standing and tossing his chair across the room. A loud clattering sound stunned Roman into stock still reticence, not daring to test the cardiologist in this state.

“Damn it! Damn it all to hell!”

“Logan, just try to stay calm- “

“No, you said this would work! Yet it’s been a month and I still can’t use my hand! An entire month and I still can’t operate because you make promises you can’t keep!” Silence. “I’m sorry. That was…an unbecoming display.” He moved to restore the room to its original order but Roman intercepted him. He placed two warm hands on Logan’s shoulders, drawing a gasp from the sudden contact.

“You don’t have to apologize, Logan. I understand. I’m surprised you’ve held it together this long.”

Logan refused to make eye contact with Roman. “I still should not have behaved in that manner. Especially after everything you’ve done for me, I shouldn’t be lashing out at you, I am alive because of you, I should just be grateful for that- “

“Dr. Taylor, will you please look at me?” When Logan didn’t move, Roman took his hand under the surgeon’s chin and gently lifted his head. His heart nearly broke at the shattered look on Logan’s face. “See? I’m not mad. What you’re feeling is normal because what you’re going through is hard. It’s okay to get frustrated.” Roman pushed back a lock of the cardiologist’s dark hair and Logan’s eyes closed, leaning into the touch. His head dropped alarmingly close to Roman’s forehead and the neurosurgeon shifted to hold his face with both hands. Logan’s lips parted and his gaze suddenly changed to something…insistent, almost desperate. The question he was asking was obvious and oh, how Roman wanted to acquiesce. Maybe he could, maybe it would be okay…no, it wouldn’t be right; Logan was his very vulnerable patient right now and his coworker. Complicated wouldn’t even begin to describe the nature of their involvement. Roman took a step back and cleared his throat, turning to grab the chair and returned it to the table.

“Look, your hand works. You just have to remind your brilliant brain that it does. And it takes time to build new neural pathways so…try again. Write your name, as much as you can.” Logan swallowed tensely, seating himself once again in the chair. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer, willing the pressure in his chest to release. He looked when he felt velvet skin against the back of his hand: Roman was holding it. Smiling gently at the supportive touch, he picked up the second pencil Roman had conjured from his white coat.

This time, he made it through the ‘g.’

****

“Tell me a secret.”

“…what?”

“We’re getting to know each other. Setting aside our differences, becoming…friends. Friends tell each other things so…tell me a secret.”

“We are sitting on a bench on our lunch break in the middle of our workday. What about this setting makes you suddenly want to have an intimate conversation?”

“Deflecting…”

“Oh, for heavens’ sake, fine!”

“…Paging Dr. Taylor? Are you actually going to say something?”

“I…I want children. Or at least a child. I want to be a father.”

“Well, that’s a mighty forward proposition.”

“Dr. Courtland…”

“Oh, hush now, you know I’m kidding! But why is that such a secret?”

“Because no one expects it of me. People see me as cold and emotionless; no one would think me fit to be a father, much less have a desire to raise children. I’m not like Patton; I don’t seem like ‘the type,’ if you will.”

“I don’t agree with that at all. I think you’d make an excellent father. You’re very practical and you’re extremely dedicated to your patients. There’s no way that wouldn’t translate over into being a parent.”

“Oh…well, uh, thank you. I, uh, believe it is your turn.”

“…I have a twin.”

“In addition to your four other brothers?”

“No, he’s one of the five of us. His name is…was Remus.”

“Was?”

“Truth be told, I don’t know if I should be saying is or was about him. I don’t even know if he’s alive or not.”

“Roman…”

“He was a surgeon in the military. Reconstructive surgery was technically his specialty but over there he functioned mostly as a trauma surgeon. He loved it; he was never phased by gruesome injuries or the horrors of combat. He just did his job saving as many lives as he could so they could go on to keep ours back home safe. One day, their compound was raided and…he was never heard from again. A lot of soldiers died that day but…they never found his body.”

“Oh, Roman…you have my deepest condolences. The amount of grief you’ve had to endure…it’s quite unfair.”

“Don’t worry, Specs. I’m all right. I know it may sound…completely ridiculous but he could still be alive. It’s one of the few things I still hope for…that one day I’ll see my brother again.”

“I understand even more why you’re so protective of the brothers you have here now.”

“Congratulations, Doctor. You just figured out why we tell each other secrets.”

****

The first thing Roman felt when he woke up was pain. Pain in his chest, pain in his throat, God, it felt like he was choking on something-

“Roman? Roman, calm down, don’t fight the intubation, okay? We’ll get it out, just hold on.” That sounded like Virgil, why was Virgil taking him off a vent?

Oh. Right. He got shot.

He got shot and almost died.

He got shot and needed surgery. He had just had surgery to take a bullet out of his chest. Chest…cardiovascular…where was Logan?

Roman knew he wouldn’t be able to get much out at first, but he had to try. He took a breath that rattled in his throat and attempted to speak. “Lo…Lo-”

“Shh, shh, don’t try to talk, Ro. I know who you want; I’ll go get him.” Virgil turned to leave, not even making it one step before he was stopped short by a vice-like grip on his wrist. He turned back to see Roman staring at him with wide eyes, almost pleading with him to understand. Virgil nodded; the message clearly received.

“I know you’re grateful. I’m not hurt. I’m just…really glad to see you make it, man.” Virgil left before anyone could acknowledge the tears threatening to stain his face and Roman found that being alone was scarier than it should be. After all, he had no idea where the shooter was; Logan could have hidden him away to fix him, he could still be here somewhere, lurking, waiting to take another shot that would surely end his life this time-

“Roman? Calm down, your heart rate is way too high. Just breathe, you’re safe.” The neurosurgeon’s eyes met with two dark pools of worry and he locked onto them, Logan urging him to match his breathing. “That’s right; breathe with me. You’re safe. We’re safe right now.” Once Roman’s chest evened out, Logan reached over and grabbed a paper cup full of lukewarm water and handed it to the eager patient.

“Don’t drink too fast, Roman. Slow sips. There you go.” A moment of silence passed. “I’m sorry it’s not cold, I couldn’t seem to locate any ice.”

“The…the shooter-”

“Dead.” Logan’s tone was abrupt and cold. “The shooter is dead; you don’t have to worry about him any longer.”

Roman nodded slowly to not aggravate his already sore body any further. “You saved me.”

Logan nodded absently, staring a hole into the linoleum floor. “I know.”

“Then you know…you know I cannot thank you enough- “

“How dare you?” Logan whispered softly.

“Wh- what?”

“How dare you! How dare you just…waltz into my life and torture me and make me hate you then apologize and befriend me and make me respect you?”

Roman’s eyes widened in shock. “I-I’m sorry- “

“No! No, you do not get to apologize because…because you don’t even leave it there; I can’t just respect you, you then start to make me like you and want you around and want to be near you and then, oh God, you even go as far as to make me fall for you! And just when I figure that out, just when I’m finally able to admit the depth of my feelings for you to myself, just when I finally muster up the courage to even consider telling you about how I…feel, then you decide to go and almost die on me?! And on top of it, you make me be the one to have to save you! How DARE YOU?!”

The entire room stuttered to a halt, save for Logan’s ragged breathing. He was outright crying at this point and quite honestly, Roman wasn’t far behind him. “Logan…I’m so sorry- “

“Shut up! Just shut up! Please just…just tell me you want me too. Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me that I don’t ever have to live without you because today I learned that losing you feels far too similarly to dying myself so if that is not the case…tell me now so I can figure out how to survive.” A long, tense, quiet moment passed before either of them spoke again.

“Logan,” Roman coughed abruptly, wincing as the motion sent shockwaves of pain through his ribs. He cleared his abused throat and tried again. “Logan, look at me.” The dark-haired surgeon looked up into the soulful eyes of the injured man laying in the hospital bed below him.

“Roman, please,” he pleaded, his voice impossibly soft.

“You can survive without me…but I promise you, as long as I am alive, you will not ever have to.” Logan’s head shot up and before he could control himself, he launched into the bed with Roman, just barely remembering to avoid his ribs and all the wires attached to him. He mumbled a hushed prayer of thank you, thank you, thank you as he curled himself into the space between Roman’s body and the railing of the bed. Roman took a moment to settle before he rested his head against the taller man’s shoulder, exhaustion beginning to blur out the edges of his vision. Logan kissed the crown of his head and wrapped his arms around his newfound love in the gentlest protective hold he could muster, allowing the neurosurgeon to succumb to sleep.

“Rest, Roman. I have you. You are safe. You’re safe with me.”

****

Dr. Picani was a typically patient man but this? This argument he was deeply tired of.

“What I fail to understand is how I continually prove myself to be trustworthy over and over again and you continually shut me out!”

“It is not about you, Roman.”

“Then what is it about? Why wouldn’t you tell me about something like this?”

“I’m telling you now!”

“Yeah, two weeks after the fact and I technically had to hear about it from Virgil!”

“Have you considered that. just maybe, I felt some shame? I had achieved six months of solid sobriety and I nearly threw all of that away in mere minutes!”

“You were obviously triggered by something.”

“I was weak! I failed to keep myself together yet again! And if it weren’t for Virgil dragging me to a meeting and convincing me to tell you, I’d probably still be failing.” Struggling doesn’t make you weak, Logan. The therapist scribbled the thought in his notebook, making a reminder to bring that point up later. He was about to interject when he realized that for the first time in a few minutes, there was silence. Dr. Picani’s head snapped up at the sudden quiet to see Roman’s eyes rapidly filling with tears. Well, this is unexpected.

“Roman? What’s wrong? Say what you’re thinking.”

“I…am I the trigger? Have I pushed you too far?” Good job, Roman, the therapist praised silently, way to take ownership!

Logan’s stomach churned guiltily at the tentative question. “No. You have gotten so much better about that. You did nothing wrong, you are perfect, it’s me, I am…broken.” Logan cursed himself internally for how his voice cracked at the end of his sentence, but he had to keep going. “I want to be good enough for you, but I constantly fail you and I don’t want you to see it. But I fear that one day you will and the fact that I love you won’t be enough to make you stay.” And good job being honest about your fears, Logan. These two have come so far.

While Roman knew just how necessary it was for Logan to admit how he felt, God, how it broke Roman’s heart. He reached out slowly and touched Logan’s hand, chest tightening even more when he felt the muscles jump under his palm. He breathed a sigh of relief when the brunette managed to make eye contact with him, the shared gaze giving him the courage to continue.

“Logan, you’re forgetting one very important thing. I love you too. I don’t want you to be perfect. I want you to be you. Yes, you are strong and brilliant, and I love when you are confident and at your best. But I don’t just love you then. I also love you when you’re hurt, when you’re scared, when you’re less than perfect. Lord knows that I am all those things and you don’t shy away from any of that with me. We’re all a little bit broken but we need each other to keep ourselves together. So, yes, I want you to be strong and healthy but if you can’t be? If it gets hard for you to be that? I still want you.”

“All of me?” Logan whispered.

“The whole damn thing.” Roman paused suddenly, a moment of deliberation passing through his eyes. Logan watched as he seemed to come to some sort of internal decision. He felt the grip on his hand tighten into a gentle squeeze…and then gasped as he watched Roman slide off the couch they shared and drop to one knee.

“Oh my God,” Logan choked out. A loud clatter sounded in front of them as Emile dropped his notebook, both hands flying up to either side of his face,

“Oh my God!” Roman chuckled damply at the poorly contained squeal.

“Save it for the end, Picani.” He pulled out a small black box from his pocket, relishing in the way Logan’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. “I’ve been carrying around this thing for weeks wondering when the right time to ask you was, but truth be told, I could have done it anytime. I didn’t have to wait for some perfect moment because every moment is perfect with you. An appropriate time period in our relationship didn’t need to pass because every minute that goes by is another minute that I am undoubtedly grateful to have spent with you. I didn’t need a counselor to tell me if I’m making the right decision. I just need to look at you and see that all my futures, all my forevers and tomorrows live in your eyes. You are the answer to every question I’ve ever had, even the ones I didn’t know I was asking. So today, I am not proposing marriage. I am affirming my sure commitment to you for the rest of my life. The ring is yours today, tomorrow, and for years to come. There’s no time limit, no expiration date. All you have to do is take it when you’re ready.”

Logan sat in stunned silence as his mind turned over every word of Roman’s confession. Slowly taking the sapphire studded ring from the now open box, he turned it over in his fingers and watched as the light danced with the gems, searching the depths of his heart for any hesitation. He handed the ring back to Roman and slowly turned his hand over, palm facing down.

“Put it on me. I’m ready.”

The squeal that Dr. Picani let out threatened to break glass.

****

“Patton, I must insist that you let go of me before you completely cut off my oxygen supply!"

Patton somehow managed to squeeze Logan even tighter for the briefest of seconds before releasing him.

“Sorry, Doc, I’m just so darned excited for you both! Virgil, isn’t it just amazing? They’re getting married!” Virgil chuckled at the giddy look on Patton’s face.

“I swear, you are a living heart eyes emoji. And yeah, it’s pretty damn cool considering you guys hated each other when you met.”

“My God, you would bring that up,” Roman rolled his eyes as Logan and Patton collectively groaned. Patton delivered a playful smack to Virgil’s arm.

“Virgil! Leave them alone, they’re in love now.” Virgil raised an eyebrow down at his partner’s glossy eyes, almost feverish with excitement and something close to…envy? He elected not to comment as turned to embrace the newly engaged pair one more time.

“Whatever, I know the truth. But seriously, congratulations. I’m sorry I’ve gotta run, I’m assisting on a general surgery case and I’ve gotta change out of chief attire. I’ll see you both later this week, celebratory sushi? Friday night?”

“You bet, Tickle-Me-Emo!” Virgil glared at the nickname as he disappeared into the bathroom of the attendings’ lounge. Patton went in for the hundredth hug and jumped as his pager suddenly went off.

“Uh oh, gotta run, looks like a crash C-section. Congrats to you both again! Bye!” he shouted boisterously as he ran down the hallway.

“I’m afraid I must depart as well, my love. It does not inspire respect in my residents if I’m late for rounds.” Roman beamed at the cardiac surgeon, seemingly unaware of anything he just said. “What?” Logan asked hotly.

“You called me your love. You claimed me.” Embarrassment curled up Logan’s neck as he shook his head fondly and leaned in to kiss his now fiancée.

“You are so endearingly sentimental. I will see you at home, my love.” He smirked as he walked out of the door at the way Roman’s knees seemed to buckle just the smallest amount. The neurosurgeon stood in the middle of the room chuckling to himself when he heard a low, smooth voice speak up behind him.

“You’re engaged?” Roman turned around, his face falling in sympathy at the person behind him.

“Oh, Declan…yes. Yes, I am.” The fellow surgeon turned his face to the side to hide his tears, displaying the long scar that ran down the left side of his face. Without warning, he was suddenly being embraced by Roman who seemed to be unable to stop his own tears as they soaked the corner of his scrubs.

“You know, if Remus were here and we weren’t already married by now, we could have planned a double wedding,” Declan murmured.

“He would have loved that. He loved you so much.” Declan pulled away, his glance suddenly dropping to the floor.

“I wish I could tell you what happened to him.” Roman placed a hand on the orthopedic surgeon’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. I know you weren’t there. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.” Declan smiled weakly, nodding a silent goodbye before leaving the room. He paused at the doorway facing the empty hallway.

“Congratulations. Really, you deserve to be happy.” Roman let out a small sob as Declan left, swiftly brushing the tears away before heading to his own rounds.

Neither of them remembered that Virgil was in the bathroom, listening to their entire conversation…and absolutely seething with fury.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides au #tw:/anxiety #tw:/violence #logince #romantic logince #moxiety #queerplatonic moxiety #deceit sanders #sanders sides surgeon au #my writing #pllandco

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maraudererasmut · 5 years ago

Text

Black and White Part V

Ring ring.

Remus frantically scrambled out of bed, blindly searching for his phone on his nightstand as the jingle from some obscure show from his childhood blasted its tinny melody.

Ring ring.

"Yes, hello?" Remus answered, slightly breathless and mostly groggy. There was a pause on the other end.

"Hello. Mr Lupin?"

"Yes, yes that's me," Remus said nervously. He didn't often get phone calls, especially ones that were in any way positive.

"Hello. This is Sirius Black from Black and White, I'm just following up from our conversation yesterday."

"Oh!" Remus felt his fear make way for a completely different kind of anxiety. "Um, hi. Hello… Mr. Black..." Remus wasn't entirely sure how the man preferred to be addressed, so he went with the more formal option.

"Yes. Hello." The man on the other end seemed uncomfortable for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing. "So, as I had mentioned yesterday, some of your work did speak to me. I feel like there could be a place for you in my gallery, however, there are a few things that must be arranged before we can sign any agreements. I always do a studio visit of any potential artists, so that's probably the first thing we should discuss."

Remus felt as if he was suddenly punched in the gut, all the air sucked out from his lungs.

"A… studio visit?"

"Yes. I like to see the spaces where my artists work, see what they have as on-going projects. It helps me predict how well they'll fit in with my gallery's aesthetic and if they'll be able to keep up with demand, should their art find success in my gallery."

"I…" Remus looked around his tiny flat, at the three easels propped up amidst piles of books and dirty laundry. There were cups filled with water and paint brushes scattered about the room, tubes of paint strewn across the floor. Remus' tiny bed was shoved into a corner, next to the pathetic excuse for a "kitchen". Remus' living space was appalling, he knew that, but it hadn't presented itself as a problem until that very moment. "I don't… I'd rather not, actually. My… um… my studio is a bit messy at the moment…" It wasn't exactly a lie.

Remus heard Sirius sigh on the other end of the line, and when he spoke up, his voice was dripping with exasperation.

"Lupin, this is something I do with all of my artists."

"I know, but—"

"You're not looking for preferential treatment just because James introduced us, are you?"

Sirius' tone was sharp and combative and Remus felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. This was clearly a man who was not used to hearing no, and he didn't seem to take it well. Remus pursed his lips, slightly displeased that Sirius' first reaction was an attack.

"I don't know why you'd jump to that conclusion," Remus responded, before realizing that he should probably remain on the gallery owner's good side. "What I mean is… I… I don't have a studio."

"...You don't have a studio?" Sirius sounded skeptical and Remus could picture the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

"I don't have a studio. I paint out of my flat." It was the truth, after all. With Sirius' insistence, Remus figured there was no point in lying.

There was a pause on the other end, and Remus held his breath, knowing that he might have just cost himself the chance at showing his work in Black and White.

"Very well. I suppose you'll have to clean your apartment then." Sirius' voice had a smug edge to it and Remus chewed his lip in frustration.

"Mr. Black, I— "

"Mr. Lupin, would you like to show in my gallery or not?"

Remus took a deep, steadying breath, gripping his phone tightly in his hand. He had to unclench his teeth and temper his voice before responding.

"Yes, Sir. I would like to show my work in your gallery, I just—"

"Good. It's settled then. How does Friday sound? Noon?"

Remus pulled his phone from his ear and mouthed a silent scream at it, a string of obscenities at the tip of his tongue.

"My apologies," Remus responded politely, bringing the phone back to his ear. "I have a shift at work on Friday. I won't be home until eight."

Another pause.

"A shift… at work? Painting isn't your full-time job?"

Remus couldn't keep the scoff from escaping his lips.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lupin, but I don't want hobbyists in my gallery. I want professional artists, who dedicate their time to their craft and—"

"Now listen here, Mr. Black," Remus spat, forgetting himself for a moment and losing his temper completely. "Not all of us have had the pleasure of Mummy and Daddy paying for our elite, private school education and funding our life's work! Some of us have to take jobs on the side in order to put god damn food on the table and a roof over our heads! Just because I work another job does not mean I am any less dedicated to my art! I am an artist, dammit! If you like my work, great! Otherwise, fine. But don't try to pretend that me having to work in a cafe has any impact whatsoever on my ability to create!"

By the end of his rant, Remus was panting, his chest heaving. He hated himself for losing his temper, he knew that it had cost him everything, but he couldn't let Sirius Black get away with talking to him like that. The man had lived such a privileged life and he held such an ignorant view of the society, for the first time since meeting him, Remus realized that Sirius' maturity was a facade; beneath the surface seemed to be a petulant child who didn't understand how the real world worked.

After an uncomfortable silence, Sirius eventually responded.

"Very well. I will see you on Friday at 8:00. Please message me your address to this number. Good day, Mr. Lupin."

There was a click as Sirius hung up and Remus stared at his mobile sitting limply in his hand, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

#black and white #my writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfic #sirius black #remus Lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #gallery owner sirius #artist remus

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rena-rain · 5 years ago

Text

Why You?

A reveal fic

ao3 link

Marinette was acting weird. Last week she’d been the same klutzy, friendly girl as always. But for the past two days she’s acted so reserved - at least around Adrien - that he’d almost describe her as icy. He watched her interact with Alya and Nino and all their classmates without change. So what did he do to make her pull away from him?

On day three, walking into class, Adrien gulped nervously. “Hi Marinette.”

She didn’t look up from the tablet on her desk. “Good morning, Adrien.” He sighed and sat down. There was nothing rude that she was doing per se. But Marinette had randomly reverted to a state of formal politeness and it was rattling his nerves.

On Tuesday he’d asked if she wanted to come to one of his photoshoots next weekend. She’d become a semi-regular guest of his, so much so the artists and photographers were on a first-name basis with her. She’d ask questions during prep, taking notes, and sketch during the actual shoots. This time she said she needed to help her parents with the bakery and babysit all weekend. But instead of blushing and looking disappointed like she normally did when she couldn’t make it, Marinette avoided his eyes, told him “see you tomorrow,” and walked away with her back ramrod straight.

Yesterday, during lunch, she bantered easily with their other friends but only talked to Adrien when he asked her a direct question. Later that day he dropped by the bakery purportedly to buy some danishes he and Kagami could share after fencing practice. Really he was hoping to see her, joke around and get her to laugh, maybe ask what was wrong. Marinette was working the cash register and showed him a facade of careful, friendly professionalism that he was so not used to from her. It was like her attitude toward him faded from bright pink to pale blue.

And it’s the third day of her acting like this. Three days, officially making it a pattern.

Adrien didn’t need this. Ladybug was already pissed at him so now he was on the verge of losing half of his closest friends.

It felt like cheating, but he really wanted to see her smile at him again. So that night Chat Noir landed on her balcony.

“Hi Marinette.” She jumped at his voice and shot up from her lounge chair. “How fares my Princess in her tower?”

Marinette frowned at him. “What are you doing here, Chat Noir? It’s late.”

“Not terribly late. I saw you up and wanted to say hi.”

“Hi, Chat Noir.” She turned to the city skyline and leaned against her railing. Avoiding his face.

“Are you okay, Marinette?”

She had the audacity to look surprised. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re quiet. And you’re not looking at me.”

“I’m just tired.”

“But today - ” Chat Noir bit his tongue at the last second. He was too close to admitting who he was. Ladybug would throw a fit if he revealed his identity twice in one week. He sighed deeply, and placed a clawed hand on her shoulder. “All right. I’ll leave if you want, but if you need someone to talk to...feel free to chew on my ear.”

He felt her shake. Alarmed, he bent over to see her face and watched a tear roll off her nose and fall to the ground. “Oh my god, are you crying? Marinette, what happened?”

“You, you stupid cat!” She threw his hand off her and clenched her hair in her fists. He realized she wasn’t wearing her usual pigtails.

Chat’s heart leapt into his throat. “Please, Marinette, what did I do? I promise I’ll make it right!”

Marinette laughed a harsh, rueful sound to the sky. “Unless you can roll back time or, or erase my memory...you can’t do anything, kitty.” His breath hitched. “You’re not safe! Adrien was supposed to be safe!”

He was struck dumb. He felt like his entire body got shot with a thousand volts. But Marinette was on a roll and gave him no chance to recover.

“I can’t worry about you and be in love with you at the same time, it’s too much!”

“WHAT?”

Marinette’s eyes went huge. She covered her mouth with her hands, staring at him, then seemed to resign herself to something. Her next words came so softly he figured he only heard them because of magical cat ears. “I’m in love with you, Adrien.”

“How - how did you find out? Is this why you’ve been pulling away from me?”

She nodded.

“But why ? Is it - are you mad that I’m Chat Noir? Are you angry I didn’t tell you?”

“Yes, I’m mad! At fate, the universe, God, Master Fu, whoever decided to make me fall in love with a martyr! You know what you did, kitty, you ran your miraculous out in front of me and showed your face, that’s what you did!”

“Master Fu?” The pieces finally clicked together in his brain. “ Ladybug? ”

Marinette leaned her face into his chest and clenched her fists against the black leather. “You know why I kept you at a distance? Because I’ve watched you die, Chat . I’ve had to watch you disappear, get cursed and brutally injured, sacrifice yourself for me. How can I let myself love my partner when I know he’ll just jump in the line of fire?”

“Plagg, claws in.” Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette’s shoulders and let her cry into his shirt.

“Then I find out the boy I’m already in love with is that same stupid boy ?!” she sobbed. “Do you know what that’s like? I can’t lose you!”

Adrien placed his chin on her head and stayed silent until she’d cried herself out. He just held her while he glared at Plagg to keep his mouth shut.

“I do,” he finally said.

“What?”

“I know what it’s like. Mari, I’ve watched Ladybug jump into a T. Rex’s mouth. How am I supposed to handle knowing that was you?” Adrien pulled away and took her face into his hands, gently wiping the tear tracks from her pink cheeks. “You scare the hell out of me, bug. But that’s why there are two of us. Together, we always come back.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. He was afraid she’d push him away, but instead she just gripped him in place. “This is hard,” she murmured.

“Yeah. But I’ll never stop having your back, because I know you’ve got mine.”

“...I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Ko-fi

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keeroo92 · 5 years ago

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch12

The Precipice

Warnings for rape/non-con, violence/murder and some steamy spice. Enjoy!

Word count - 3,923

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

________

The exhibit featured reproductions of some of his favorites. The Blinding of Samson, Saturn Devouring His Son, Judith Beheading Holofernes, and several others. He kept his head tilted low, avoiding the cameras entirely where he could as he made his way deeper into the museum. While the other pieces were sublime, he was here for one reason only.

The murderous artist hid his tattooed hands in his pockets as he entered the room of his target, a small alcove off the main hall of artwork. Not many of the visitors bothered to view this piece, since no well-known names were attached to its creation, and it didn’t merit a large viewing area. Security for it was abysmal, to boot.

Still, he waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. This was private, not for anyone else to witness. Even his friends remained silent as he approached the wall where the canvas hung, barely two inches to spare on either side.

It always stole his breath to see it. A field of flowers on a mountainside, crimson petals a blanket under the feet of those gathered there. The figures all faced slightly away, so just a profile was visible. The composition hinted at the unreachable, that this group was somehow separate from the viewer. That they existed somewhere most people would never reach.

He recognized two or three faces, but only one mattered to his twisted heart.

Nero.

His friend stood on the edge of the field, a forlorn look on his face as his crystal-blue eyes gazed at the sky. Seeing his face again, even just his own meager attempts to capture it, brought the familiar tightness to his chest and throat. He remembered every stroke of the paintbrush as he crafted his friend’s likeness.

All for this pale imitation of his kindness...

A rhythmic click broke his thoughts; footsteps. Who could say whose feet they belonged to? He needed to conceal himself, now. Whoever dared to interrupt him would pay the price.

The artist dipped into the shadows, choosing the corner he deemed most likely to be ignored by anyone viewing the artwork. The blade in his pocket greeted his fingertips like a lover, the same blade he used to craft his latest work. It sent a thrilling pulse of adrenaline through him to imagine what he might create here, in the same halls that held such classic works. Perhaps they’d inspire him?

A slim figure entered the room as he raised the blade. Female, with a pleasing shape. Lovely hair, and-

Wait…

Is that…?

It couldn’t be you, what were the odds? In such a vast city, for you to wander across his path was something he never expected. He’d imagined a multitude of ways to draw you out, but for you to simply appear?

Yet there was no mistaking that face, those pursed lips and furrowed brow.

“In Memoriam…” you murmured. “Why does each face… that’s odd.”

V smirked and slid to the next shadow. What an interesting day this was becoming. Perhaps he could accelerate his plans, take the next step today since fate brought you to him? One must never waste opportunity. He licked his lips and stepped closer, lurking behind you like a bodyguard.

“Hello, Y/N…” he purred.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, lips parting in shock. He’d missed that, how expressive your face was. No matter how hard you tried to mask your feelings, he saw them all. If anything, it became easier each time he saw you.

“V? What the hell are you doing here?”

---Reader---

You’d almost forgotten how the murderous artist’s eyes gleamed, the way his lips curled when he was amused. How damned tall he was. The intricacy of his tattoos and the poise with which he carried himself.

What the fuck?! Is he trying to get caught?

“Now what kind of greeting is that? Come now, doctor. Show some courtesy.”

The madman stepped closer, tilting his head to stare down into your eyes. You’d never stood this close to him before, so close you smelled a hint of musk from his skin. It sent a rush of dizziness through you. You worked with killers on a regular basis, why did this one in particular cause such powerful reactions?

He took another step, now only inches away. Your heart pounded in your chest, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure. The whole situation made you want to run away, but equally powerful was the urge to stay and finally solve the puzzle of his mind.

Too close, he’s too close! I have to keep it professional.

You shuffled back, trying to establish a boundary between yourself and the obsidian-haired artist. As if he’d pay attention to such things. Maybe you should just run, leave all this behind and never look back.

No. You needed to figure him out, you couldn’t bear the thought of walking away now.

“Am I frightening you, dear Y/N?”

He closed the gap. You stepped away again, only to find your spine pressed against the extravagantly paneled wall. No escape: he had you cornered. The only question was what he planned to do next.

A tattooed finger rose to stroke your cheekbone, leaving sparks of electricity behind. You licked your lips nervously, battling the urge to lean into his fingertips. It felt alarmingly good to be touched. Even by the hands of a killer.

Am I losing my mind?

“No,” you finally replied, but your voice shook. Damn traitorous vocal cords.

He smirked and dropped his hand to rest on your shoulder, running his palm down the length of your arm to seize your hand. Logic screamed at you to run, break free and get security, but what had logic gotten you? Suspended and alone, friendless and isolated. Maybe logic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yep, I’m losing my mind.

“The truth is obvious in your eyes, my dear. Perhaps one day you’ll even be able to admit it to yourself,” he replied.

The heat of his body withdrew and your hand ached as he dropped it. Disappointment colored his piercing eyes and an apology crept up your throat, begging to be spoken. But why? What did you have to apologize for? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here?” you asked. A poorly disguised attempt to change the subject, but you honestly wanted an answer.

He sighed and gazed at the strange painting, his face twisting into an expression you never expected to see. Guilt.

“I came to remember.”

You followed his eyes to find a white-haired figure in the painting. The very same one that reminded you of his unique style, something about the brush strokes…

No way...

“Did you paint this?”

A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Part of it, yes.”

And it’s called “In Memoriam”. Did he lose someone?

Of course. Grief was a powerful emotion, enough to break people or change them beyond recognition. You knew it well. The textbooks didn’t do it justice; the desperation and agony, the loneliness and fear that something would remind you of the loss and shatter you into a million pieces all over again, like taking a sledgehammer to a pane of glass. How every breath you took was one more the other person never would, and how much that hurt to know. Anything that eased the pain was a welcome refuge.

The artist murmured a few words, so quietly you didn’t hear anything more than the rumble of his voice. In the next instant, you found yourself pinned once again, back against the wall and wrists held in an iron grip on either side. You twisted and writhed but he was too strong; you were helpless and vulnerable with no way out.

Well, almost.

“L- let go of me or I’ll scream!”

A single sentence, and the status quo flipped. No longer was he your patient, no longer were you the one with the power. In the facility, yes, but here?

He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t stop him. Shit…

A wicked grin split his face, taunting you with his enjoyment of your distress. He hummed and shifted to press his hips against your thigh, letting you feel the twitching length growing firmer by the second.

“Why do you resist? What has your endless obedience brought you? Nothing but pain.”

You hissed as his hands twisted around your wrists. The automatic protestations died on your lips; how could you argue with the truth?

“Please, just let me go…” you murmured instead.

The artist chuckled. “I think not. I’d much rather show you the alternative to your suffering, perhaps teach you to see through the lies of society.”

A quiet whisper echoed from the main hall, footsteps treading past the room you found yourself trapped in. For a moment you considered calling for help, but no sound escaped your lips.

This can’t be happening…

“Let go, doctor. Surrender and be set free from all that holds you back,” he continued, rolling against you with a quiet groan.

Coils of warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, the first hints of need waking deep within. Your lips parted and heat gathered in your cheeks as he leaned closer, eyes glinting. Hot breath fanned your ear as his mouth neared your skin and a soft whimper slipped from your lips. Completely inappropriate, but how were you supposed to control hormonal responses? It simply couldn’t be done.

“Tell me, my dear. Why do you fear me?”

You thrashed your arms again in a useless gesture of rebellion. Whatever you were feeling, you knew it wasn’t fear. There was an edge of risk to it, a hint of vulnerability and danger, yet you were not afraid.

You were excited.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said.

“Hmm… even after all I’ve done?” he purred.

More voices nearby reminded you of your precarious location. At any moment, another museum goer might wander in and discover the two of you. Or worse, security. You tried to break free again, but your efforts were in vain.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, and then the murderer’s lips were on yours.

For a moment, you froze. How long had it been since you’d been kissed? Quite a while, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant was the texture of his mouth and the heat of his body, the sharp sound of your surprised inhale and the rough stubble scraping against your chin.

Fuck! Oh, fuck!

Separating your biological desires from your logical ones was suddenly out of your capabilities. The flicker of heat in your core grew to a scorching inferno as he ran his tongue over your lip, demanding entrance you were powerless to deny. The sheer wrongness of your dancing mouths had your heart galloping and blood rushing in your ears.

And damn, did he taste good.

The inner voice that guided your steps for years, the one that kept you in control and maintained the mask of normalcy, the force that insisted you could never show your true self…

That which once held such power over you, now seemed so frail and weak.

Playing by the rules and coloring inside the lines, what did it really get you? A job that bored you, false friends and the respect of fools. Nothing worthwhile or truly meaningful, a life devoid of joy and purpose.

Damnit, this wasn’t part of the plan! You were supposed to be whole by now, fixed and undamaged. It was the reason you studied for so many years, worked so hard and spent countless hours searching for new treatment methods.

You were broken, but you could fix it.

Right?

You fixed murderers; your own life should have been easy. Yet it was the hardest case of all, and you were so tired of pretending. Enough of the lies, enough of the secrecy and hidden agenda. Enough blending in and trying to be like everyone else.

Enough hiding, enough smiling at every face as if you gave a damn about them. Enough empty words and masked words. Enough doing what you were told, and enough ignoring what you wanted.

Enough.

---V---

That brief taste of your skin seemed so long ago. The palest reflection of everything hidden just below the surface. The full-bodied flavor of your mouth was infinitely more dazzling.

As he’d requested, his friends were silent. This part was his alone, and they would not spoil it by breaking his concentration. No doubt they’d share their thoughts later on, but for now…

For now, he had you all to himself. The softness of your wrists in his grasp and the scent of your skin had him reeling, each caress of your tongue adding gasoline to the fire of his need. You were teetering on the edge of letting go, he could feel it. All you needed was the right push.

The artist ground against your thigh, easing the ache in his cock by a minuscule fraction. The answering whimper was a thing of beauty, especially when coupled with the twitch of your hips. Images from his fantasies flooded his mind, visions of all the ways you could satisfy him. Mouth and fingers and oh, the velveteen walls of your core…

No! Restrain yourself, she isn’t there yet!

He forced himself to break the kiss and rested his forehead on yours, sharing each panted breath. What a glorious expression you wore, glassy eyed and swollen lips parted. Yes, you were worth being patient and careful. No one else would do.

“You see, doctor? You see how I can set you free?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You say you’ll set me free while you restrain me. You really are insane.”

She’s got a point, pal.

“Hush, Griffon! Not now.”

Despite the infuriating interruption, he couldn’t deny that the mouthy demon was right. His fingers opened, relaxing enough for you to at last break his hold if you desired. A risk, but a necessary one to gain your trust.

Indeed, you jerked away from his grip and glared at him, but he didn’t step back. Freedom wasn’t something he could truly give you.

You had to take it.

With a wicked grin he rolled his hips once again, bracing his arms on either side of you to support his weight. Your hair smelled so good, and just the right length for pulling…

“Fuck!” you whispered.

Then he stepped back, when your voice and body conveyed the need he’d drawn out.

“You’re free, now. What will you do with it?”

Truly, you were a wonder. Only tiny changes revealed your thoughts; less attentive eyes might not have spotted the hesitation or the hunger in your gaze. Yet the conclusion was inevitable, and as he watched resolve harden those lovely eyes he couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck it,” you growled.

This time it was you who closed the gap, pulling his head down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your hands pawed at his back, begging and pleading for more, and who would he be if he denied you now?

Tattooed fingers took hold of your ass and lifted. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist like a bear trap, forcing your core to meet his painfully hard cock. Sparks jumped from every nerve your hands caressed and flames devoured the last of his restraint as you mewled, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

The artist pinned you against the wall and brought one hand to your waist band. He didn’t hesitate and plunged his digits within, tracing the soft flesh hidden beneath. Positively divine, so soft and warm…

And wet…

He grinned and trailed kisses down your pulse, licking and suckling at the tender flesh as quiet moans spilled from your lips. A single fingernail scraped across your core, gathering the slick fluid as it traveled to the small nub of nerves nearby.

“You see? You see what a delight it is to claim your freedom?”

“Fuck, please, just-“

He shattered your voice by pressing against your clit and rubbing. The lewd moan that rewarded him might become his favorite sound and he dragged his digit across again to hear it once more.

Your small hands clawed at his back, hips rotating to rock against his hand. With his nose buried in the crux of your neck, he couldn’t see your face, but every stuttering breath you took guided his motion. A fine sheen of sweat broke out under his lips and he lapped at the salty fluid even as his hand drew more moisture from your body.

Sinful noises filled the air, a symphony of pleasure his mind would play on repeat for days to come. He traced the silken flesh like it was the most precious canvas in the world, deliberately stroking and pressing into your most sensitive spots.

“This is but a taste of what I can give you. Imagine it: total autonomy, each choice your own to make.”

“Ah-! Fuck, please!”

He hummed and sank his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously burying two fingers in your wet heat with a lewd groan. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be just his fingers enjoying the welcoming tightness.

You scrabbled at his spine and keened his name, your legs pulling his hips closer on instinct alone. Obscene gasps and moans spilled form your lips as he curled his fingers and pistoned inside you. A tiny hint of copper leaked where his teeth cut your flesh, the perfect morsel for his depraved soul.

“Ah-! Shit, I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, Y/N. Break your chains,” the artist hummed.

A final cry, the gentlest of flutters against his fingers. There it was, perfection in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch your face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He’d seen a face like that once before, the day his life changed forever. After the gunshots fell silent and blood soaked the auditorium floor. He was still trapped under Nero’s dead body, desperately trying to appear equally deceased.

A few feet away Becca lied on the floor, mascara-laden tears streaming from her eyes and terror painting her features. Drops of crimson splattered her cheeks.

One of the shooters approached the poor girl and dragged her into position, splayed out across one of the larger patches of floor. Her blond hair reddened along with her face as the killer’s hands groped at her body. Her sobbing intensified and V’s heart clenched in sympathy.

I wish there was something I could do!

But to intervene would mean his death, of that he was certain. All he could do was bear witness.

He watched in silence as the shooters took turns, each adding their own marks to her flesh. Not once did she beg for mercy, instead taking their abuse without a word. If only he were so strong…

The leader was last, identifiable by his swagger laden stride and massive weapon. He held the barrel to her neck and unzipped, gloved hands drawing out his hardened length.

“Don’t worry, Becca. I know how to treat a lady,” the attacker growled.

Indeed, he took the time to guide her forcefully to bliss. His hands teased at her flesh and gently caressed the marks left by his comrades, praise and filthy phrases accompanying his touch. Even as choked sobs still leaked past her lips, moans and whimpers slowly mixed in.

The artist’s heart broke for her. She was always kind to him, a vague sort of friendliness that was more than most bothered with. She didn’t deserve the cruelty she was receiving.

Nor did she deserve to have her body manipulated until a sharp cry broke through her tears. Only her face and part of her torso were visible, but it was enough. Her features twisted in ashamed pleasure, arms tightening as her spine arced off the bloody floor. Such a tortured expression, he’d never seen.

He closed his eyes, but there was no blocking the sound of the shot that claimed her life moments later.

---Reader---

“God damnit, V…”

Heartbeats after your peak, the artist’s face had lost all expression. He mumbled the same phrase over and over, in the grip of a powerful catatonic episode. Somehow, he didn’t drop you. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he murmured. Another small blessing – he didn’t shout.

Still. The longer he stayed like this, the more likely someone would wander across him.

And me…

With a few careful wiggles, you extricated yourself from his grasp to stand on the parquet flooring once more. The resistance he gave you was negligible; never had you seen him so helpless.

I could just… go.

He was a killer. He deserved justice, and all you had to do to make sure he got it was walk away. Leave him to his fate, abandon this strange man and let go of your fascination. After what happened, there was no chance he’d end up in your care again. You’d never have to see him for the rest of your life.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he repeated.

A sigh slipped from your pursed lips. There was still so much about him you didn’t know. To try to help him now would undoubtedly mean the end of your professional career, if it wasn’t beyond repair already. You knew where this road would lead; to death and blood.

But also to answers.

Is the cost too high? Is it worth it?

If only the court sent him somewhere else. Then, none of this would be an issue. The murderous artist would be someone else’s problem and you wouldn’t have to make such a ridiculous choice. Your life would still be on its planned trajectory.

Yet that life held little appeal, now. It was pointless to deny his madness, but equally so to deny the tornado he coaxed to life in your heart. Emotions more powerful than you’d ever experienced, not to mention what his lethal hands could do to your body. A single moment in his presence sparked more curiosity and unanswered questions than a year spent in solitude.

No. there’s no going back now.

With a muttered curse, you tugged his skull down to look at you. This was such a terrible idea. “V, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you can’t stay here.”

No response, as you’d expected. Plan B, then.

You took his hand and led him into the shadows, away from the beautifully painted canvas and bright display lights. It was fortunate he liked black, or the darkness wouldn’t hide him so well.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon, sit down.”

With a little prodding, he managed to take a seat on the floor. Time to get to work.

His glassy eyes refused to follow your finger, but his breathing sounded fine and there was no evidence of a seizure. Gentle taps resulted in appropriate twitches. Heartbeat normal. Physically, the man seemed completely fine.

Okay, all I have to do is wait and he should come out of it eventually.

Considering the last time he had one of these episodes, it lasted over an hour, you settled in beside him. Your jacket made a decent blanket and it was dark, hopefully enough to conceal you from prying eyes.

If it wasn’t, you knew you’d pay the price.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfic #Be My Nightmare #my writing #tw: mental health #tw: assault #tw: rape #dmc5 v #dmc v #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc

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r-ahh-mi · 5 years ago

Text

A Cure I Know // Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x OC (Emerson)

Summary: A sex addict & a nut case - what a perfect pairing, don’t you think?

Warnings: Swearing & vulgar language (literally this is raunchy and real), and slight mention of masturbation.

Word Count: 1.2k (I don’t have the time or energy to write big, long shit right now so sorry for this little baby chapter)

Tag: @lovelymalekk @mezzomercury @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @amcquivey @malek-lover @rogers-wristbands @deacytits @justice-for-shayla @sassystrawberryk @itsme690 @imnottiredofgettingoveryou @malek-lover (If I missed you; my bad. Shoot my an ask/message & i’ll fix it ASAP. If you want to be added to my taglist, hit a bitch up)

My week was dull..and lifeless...and soul sucking..I could go on, trust me! But I won’t bore you with the uneventful details of my 9-5 office job and my sadly, non existent sex life. The one thing that seemed to keep my going was Fridays; god damn I loved Fridays. Friday meant freedom, Friday meant I rarely had to wear pants (who could really argue with that). But Friday’s also meant seclusion..and loneliness..and binge watching a lot of TV and eating my body weight in salt & vinegar chips. No need to feel sorry for me though, please don’t send your pity my way--I assure you I am doing just fine. I wouldn’t mind getting laid though; who am I kidding, I would love to be getting plowed into a mattress right this very moment, but I had zero amount of takers at the moment. I suppose I could fix the situation myself..though i’d already done that seven..maybe ten times this week already. Again, don’t send me your pity, i’m fine! I promise.

I loved a date night with my vibrator almost as much as a date night with a lover, well, let’s be honest, the person would be a fuck toy not a lover... Anyways! This lack of a sexual partner would give me a chance to think about him again which didn’t sound too awful, not awful at all. God, the way his tight black jeans cupped his legs (and other things). Don’t even get me started on that hoodie, i’d probably blow a load right this very moment just picturing him in it again. It didn’t help that i happened to see this stranger every week day morning, at least for this week. I assumed he was on his way to work, just as I was, although i’m not sure what he would do for work that would allow such Gothic attire. Maybe he’s an artist..Oh, oh! Or maybe one of those mysterious musicians that was stuck on themselves and decided to adopt the fashion sense and persona of a tragedy ridden art college drop out. Yes, that seemed fitting enough.

I couldn’t help but begin to pleasure myself over the thoughts of him and his tan skin and contrasting dark hair--his hand gripping my headboard tightly as he violated me in every way that I could possibly desire. He would know all of my kinks like the cocky asshole I assumed his dark soul to be. Always confident and always telling my how how amazing my tits look as he pressed my knees into my stomach, making the two mounds on my chest be squished, but still move with every thrust he laid into me.

Just as I could feel myself really starting to lose it, the loudest and scariest yelling between two parties came bellowing directly bellow my first floor apartments window. Of course, being the curious one I was, I briskly pulled myself together (but not my pants, this was still a no pants party my friends) and stuck my palms on the window sill as I pushed my head out of the already open window.

I watched as one man, dressed in a finally pressed classic black and white suit threw his hands in the air, clearly yelling at another person over something that had to be absolutely god awful for his tone of voice to be that fucking loud. The other party was dressed in only jeans and a simple black hoodie...interesting. The hood rested naturally on the top of the persons, covering up any view I could have of them as he yelled just as loudly in response to the other, professionally dressed, man.

I couldn’t make out much for the life of me, the heavy traffic was to blame for that, but I could tell the conversation was tense and almost made me pick up my phone and have 911 pre-dialed, just in case. However, the two seemed to come to an agreement or something of the sorts, as the man in the suit backed away silently, his driver opening the rear passenger side door for him as he slipped into the large luxury SUV. The car sped off, leaving nothing but a large amount of dirt and dust behind, just enough to cause an illuminating type cloud over the other person clad in black. For some reason I still kept watching. Probably out of entertainment purposes; the things you see on the New York City streets were much, much more mind boggling than any reality TV show.

Just as the cloud of dust began to dissipate; I saw a familiar dark haired figure. Well, familiar to an extent; we both had still never said a word to each other or really even held eye contact for longer than three or so seconds. Never the less, I knew him. It was, in fact, the very figure that I had been pleasuring myself to not even five minutes ago. I blinked my eyes several times, even going so far as to hold one of my eyes open to make sure that I wasn’t honest to god just making this all up for the sake of my hormones. But no, he was still there; his hoodie was now laid flat against his back, allowing me to see his handsome features yet again (that’s twice today!) while he glanced around the brick alleyway, pacing himself back and forth.

“Hey stranger.” I couldn’t believe the words had flown out of my mouth, but, god damn it, they sure as hell did. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary for me. I was a free spirit who was known for being quite the social butterfly so screaming out of my window at a man I had never spoke to before wasn’t too terribly out of character for me.

He looked around, first at all of those at his eye level, and then up into the sky. I couldn’t help but wave my hand in an exaggerated fashion, but he didn’t seem to take too much of a liking to me or my actions. His look was cold with the slightest hint of confusion as he stood there for a moment just looking at me as he stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Do you remember me? We ride the train at the same time every week day morning. I can’t believe we always get on the same train car!”

Again, his expression remained the same, but this time he began walking a little closer to my elevated first floor window.

Please oh please just tell me you want to fuck me just as bad as I want to fuck you.

“Can you let me in?” he said, keeping eyes disconnected from mine, but I would to had I requested such an odd thing from someone who was one point above total stranger. But would I ever turn down a possible fuck? Not a chance.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

Playfully, I rolled my eyes, “Why should I let you in? I don’t even know you.”

“You just asked If I remembered you so clearly you think I know you.”

I bit my lip in nervous anticipation as I tried to muster up my once confident words that were now making me feel anything but confident.

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“Jokes are pointless.”

My facial expression could be matched to that of a person who just muttered the phrase, “well, alright then” as I went to close my window.

“Wait!” Immediately I halted my movement and stuck my head out the window again, per the mans request.

“Can I really come in..I just--I just want to ask you a couple questions. I know you don’t know me, but-”

“I’ll buzz you in.”

#rami malek #ramimalek #elliot alderson #mr robot #rami malek fic #rami malek fan fic #rami malek fan ficition #rami malek imagine #elliot alderson fic #mr robot fic

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scaredofthebasement-blog · 5 years ago

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When Love Walks In - Chpt 11

Chpt 11 - Auston is moved out of ICU & Talks to Dr Quinn Privately

(I’d love to hear what you’re thinking of the story so far.)

Words 4706

Warning: Cuss words, Long Chapter

After congratulating Auston on his great progress, Dr Wright excuses herself for the day.

Dr Quinn informs Auston and his parents that Nicole is looking after Auston’s transfer to a private room and he should expect to be moving shortly. She tells them that she will drop by Auston’s room before she leaves for the day to see how he is settling into his “new digs” as she calls them. She expects to drop by sometime around 6 pm.

Auston is happy to hear he is going to see Dr Quinn again today. He hopes he is settled into his room with enough time to spare to convince his parents, in an unsuspicious way, to leave him alone in his room. He wants to be able to chat again privately with Dr Quinn before she goes home for the night.

Nurse Nicole makes sure Auston’s transfer to the 7th floor goes smoothly. He has a private room with a view of University Avenue; but from Auston’s bed, all he can see are the windows of the other buildings across the street.

Ema and Brian talk to Nicole about the possibility of unapproved visitors sneaking in to see Auston. Nicole tells them that she will speak with security on their behalf and try to get a guard to standby at the Nurse’s Station. Brian thanks her and tells her that if the hospital can’t provide security for Auston, then he would like to hire someone privately, he just needs to know what the hospital wants.

Later, Hospital Security indicates that they will only be able to staff a guard over the next 48 hours for Auston, but if the family want someone after that period, then they needed to hire a security guard approved by the Chief of Staff. Brian agrees to get that arranged as soon as possible and in the meantime takes an opportunity to meet with the Hospital Security Team to inform them of the restrictions he wants in place on visits to see Auston. For the next 48 hour period, and until further notice, only staff and immediate family are to be allowed in Auston’s room.

Auston has had a constant eye on the clock, so by 530 pm; he’s getting concerned that the ‘time-is-a-tickin’, and he needs to get his parents moving before Dr Quinn arrives to check on him.

He writes on his whiteboard, “you guys gonna get dinner and sleep at my place tonight? Go see the girls?”

“Yeah, if you’re okay, we were planning on taking the girls out for dinner tonight and staying at your place. What do you think?” Brian asks.

“Yeah. Good idea. I’m good now”, Auston writes.

“Okay, but we’ll miss Dr Q. Do you think we need to be here for when she comes this evening?” Ema asks.

“No. Dr Q’s just coming tonight to see that I’m settled. I can handle it.” Auston assures his parents.

“Well, if you’re sure?” Ema confirms.

Auston nods and then writes, “Yup. Glad to be out of ICU but pretty tired.”

“Yeah, we’re happy you’re out as well, and we’re going to celebrate with the girls tonight and discuss plans to get them back to their lives in Scottsdale.”

“I wish I could join you to celebrate. Good idea to have one of you go back home along with the girls. I’ve been lucky to have you all here but no need for you two to both stay, now that I am on the road to recovery”, Auston encourages.

Brian reminds Auston, “Okay, we’ll think on that. Contact us if you need us tonight. Anytime. Okay? Phone us. Text us. Your phone is charged and on your side table. I know you don’t want to go on it right now but use it to keep in touch with me, your mom and sisters. Okay? Goodnight, son. Sleep well.”

Auston nods as Ema kisses him on the head, goodbye.

Auston writes, “say hi to Alex and Bre for me”, with a heart after it.

“Will do. But like I said, you can text them”, Brian reminds Auston with a pat on his shoulder. Brian smiles and waves as he walks out of the room with Ema.

————————————————————-

It is now 6:15 pm and Auston is getting excited about Dr Quinn’s visit. He just starts thinking about what he wants to say to her when she walks in his room.

Auston can’t help but notice how professional, chill and pretty Dr Quinn looks. It’s the end of the day, she has no visible makeup and must be tired, but she still looks radiant and so relaxed. She is smiling, and instead of holding her usual chart, she has a brown paper bag in her hand as she walks towards him to stand on his left-hand side of the bed.

Placing the bag on Auston’s sliding table, she comments, “Well look at you in your new pad, Auston! Where are your parents?” She asks, scoping the room.

Auston greets her with a big smile and small hand wave. He grabs his board and pen and writes, “Dinner out with A & B. Sleeping at Condo. I encouraged it.”

“Oh, good! I’m glad to hear it. You’re a good son, Auston.” Dr Quinn praises.

Auston smiles and writes “no biggie.”

“So do you have friends coming to visit you tonight? A room-warming?” She jokes.

“Am I allowed visitors now?” He asks.

“But honestly, I’m kinda enjoying this bubble I’ve been in lately. No desire to assoc with world when can’t breathe, talk or walk. Don’t have energy to deal with stuff right now.” He adds.

Dr Quinn takes a longer than normal look at Auston to see if he looks depressed. It is hard to tell.

“Ohhh, yes, sorry, Auston. I forgot to mention earlier today that you can have visitors now that you are out of ICU. Also, you can use your cell phone now whenever you would like since concussion symptoms are gone. So you don’t want to get in touch with friends?”

Auston writes, “No, I don’t want to face my old life till I’m my old self.”

Dr Quinn is concerned. “I see, Auston, that’s to be expected. You have a lot to get your head around; your accident, your limitations right now, your team, your fans, questions about your future, therapy, focusing on rest and healing and I’m sure just thinking of the volume of messages you have received since this all went down must be daunting. No doubt, you’re overwhelmed. Are you feeling overwhelmed, Auston?”

“Well, now I am! Thanks, Doctor Debbie Downer!”, he writes, joking back with a big smirk.

“Ha! Yeah, that was a downer. Wasn’t it? I’m so sorry, Auston. Be sure to stop me if I decide to pursue Suicide Prevention Counselling, will ya?”

“Ha! Yup!” Auston writes, still enjoying the humour of it.

Auston thinks to himself but doesn’t share, And compounding things even further is trying to deal with my feelings for you.

“I’m really sorry, Auston. Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts, thinking about my patients’ challenges. I wish I could just take them all away. I can help with the medical end of it but not the other stuff. It gets a bit sad and overwhelming just thinking about what you all are going through and all the hurdles you need to jump, not just health-wise but everyday living stuff. Life can be hard enough without adding health complications. Saying the challenges out loud gets them out of my head, but that’s not fair to you, so I’m very sorry.”

Can you please forgive me, Auston?” she asks, looking him in the eye with sincerity.

“Of course!” Auston writes “No worries. I was just having some fun with you. I never really saw it from your perspective. You opened my eyes to how extra tough your job must be, I mean, emotionally speaking.”

“Oh, Auston, please don’t misunderstand me. What I go through is nothing compared to what you or any of my patients go through. I just wanted to explain why I said what I said.”

“I understand.” Auston writes and then adds a very silly smiley face emoji drawing to lighten the mood. He turns the board to face Dr Quinn.

When she sees the crazy smiley face drawing, she bursts out laughing. “Ha! Auston that’s hilarious! Can u do others?!” She quickly covers her mouth, looking around to see if she disturbed anyone by being so loud.

Auston loves her reaction. He erases his board, and with a smirk, he looks up at Dr Quinn. Then with a straight-face, he proceeds to draw and show Dr Quinn, one hilarious smiley face emoji drawing after another hilarious smiley face drawing until Dr Quinn can hardly breathe; trying so hard to stifle her laughter and not to disturb anyone.

When she sees his last drawing which is a smiley face doctor emoji, that he labels ‘Dr Q’ and which has a headband light and a stethoscope that is listening to the head of another smiley face emoji that he labels ‘Auston’, she waves her hand in surrender, trying to catch her breath.

“Auston! Oh my goodness, Auston! That is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” She tells him; still trying to quietly, compose herself.

“How? When? How did you get so good at…? Are you an artist or something?” She manages to spit out, absolutely floored by his drawing talent and sense of humour.

Auston writes, “Long, long, boring, boring, road trips…Have I mentioned they were long and boring?”

“Ha! So amazing! You’ve got some serious skills, Mr Matthews! If this isn’t your main talent, I can’t even begin to imagine what you can do on skates. Thank you for that Auston! I seriously have not laughed that hard in a long time. Wow! That was something special.” She says as she giggles, fixing her hair and dabbing tears from her eyes with a tissue.

Auston can’t help but beam with joy at having made Dr Quinn so deliriously happy. If he were honest, he’d have to say that was the most heartwarming moment of his life.

Auston writes, “It’s the least I can do. Glad you enjoyed them. Glad all that wasted time wasn’t wasted after all. Your response was worth every boring, doodling minute.”

Dr Quinn takes a breath and starts, “Auhhhh…Okay, so back to what we were discussing. I suppose what I was trying to say before you pulled your Picasso out on me, was that I was … Oh, my goodness! That came out very wrong.”

Auston stares at Dr Quinn with a very funny, surprised and curious face that suggests she’s just shocked the hell out of him by saying something very inappropriately funny. He knows she just slipped up but thinks it’s hilarious. He wants to tease her for it and listen to her try to explain her way out of it.

“Oh Auston, you know what I was getting at right? Picasso, as in your crazy drawings were like the artist; Picasso-ish, you know?” She pleads with him.

When he doesn’t stop making his shocked face, she continues, “You know what I was trying to say, right?”

He shakes his head no, smiles and laughs inside.

“I didn’t mean to make it rude. I’m so embarrassed Auston. Stop smiling at me like that! Stop making faces! Auston! You’re enjoying watching me squirm, aren’t you? Oh, you drive me crazy!”

You have no idea how crazy you drive me, sweetheart, is what Auston wants to tell her.

Auston could not believe how much fun he was having just lying in a hospital bed. He’s unable to speak, barely able to breathe, unable to eat, unable to go to the washroom on his own, unable to do much of anything, not sure of his future, but feels like if he could have this woman in his life, every day, he would want for absolutely nothing. He would have everything.

“Anyways, Auston, you silly weirdo, I was listing all of your possible concerns because I get why you would want to stay in your bubble. I’m so sorry you’re in this situation. But, what I can do, since I probably drove you to jump off a ledge with my flair for motivational speaking, is offer you counselling.” She tells him but is interrupted by another weird face he is making at her; this one is supposed to be a crazy person.

“Stop it! Auston!” She scolds him as he smirks.

“If you want to talk to a counsellor, we have some great ones that I can arrange for you to see here in the hospital. They can come to you. I highly recommend therapy, especially in cases like yours, it can be very helpful. Like I was telling you, there is a lot for you to process. It’s good to have someone guide you.” She informs him.

Auston pretends to have fallen asleep because of her serious talk.

“Oh Come on! Auston!” She pleads. “I’m being serious. This is serious.” She gently scolds him.

Auston writes, “Thanks but no, I’m not ready for that yet. Besides, I don’t trust anybody knowing my shit; except maybe you.” Auston knows it might be revealing a bit too much to admit that last part, but he also figures she should expect her patients to trust her, so hopefully, no bells go off for her.

“Oh, thank you for trusting me with ‘your shit’, Auston!” Dr Quinn says sarcastically and feigning upset.

She continues with a giggle, “I wish I were qualified to be entrusted with ‘your shit’ Auston, but counselling is not my area of expertise as you witnessed earlier. There are far better people than me for that job.”

“I disagree”, He writes matter-of-factly. “Not needing a Psych right now, just a friend who cares”, He adds.

Dr Quinn feels their chat is getting awkward. If she’s honest, she cares and wants to be Auston’s friend, but because she is his doctor, she won’t mix those two worlds; doing so would only bring problems. So not wanting to hurt Auston or make things more awkward between them, she chooses to change the subject by delegating a job to him instead of pointing out the necessary line that she won’t cross.

“Well, one thing I can do is suggest that you ask your parents or sisters to look after sorting out your cell phone messages and Social Media. If they can help you by responding with just a message that they are overseeing your phone and social media accounts, for the time being, that might take some of the pressure off you. If they take that load, then you may feel less overwhelmed and maybe feel more like reaching out to a good friend who can lend a supportive ear. Or, since your family already have enough on their plate, I’m sure you could give that job to your agent’s people. Just a suggestion, cause like I said, and you witnessed, I am not qualified”, Dr Quinn adds with a laugh.

Auston realizes Dr Quinn has to draw a line to keep her role as his doctor separate from anything personal, but he really wishes she could be the one. If he could confide in her, then they could develop a closer relationship while he has the chance during his stay in the hospital. He accepts that he is just going to have to sneak in chats with her until he doesn’t need her as his doctor anymore.

Auston responds, “OK. Good idea. Thanks.”

Dr Quinn just remembers that she has something for Auston. “Oh yes, on a happier note, you mentioned the other day that you are from Arizona and I just so happened to be in the gift shop this evening, and this beauty caught my eye. I figured since you moved into your new digs here, you might like this to brighten your days and remind you of home. Also, you can choose to see it as an award of sorts for your most recent accomplishment of getting yourself breathing without the ventilator. I understand you’re pretty accustomed to getting trophies for your accomplishments so…” She says, teasing him.

Auston smirks and rolls his eyes for that last comment as Dr Quinn hands Auston the paper bag for him to open.

He’s curious and surprised. She’s excited to see his reaction. As he is about to put his hand inside the bag without looking, Dr Quinn gasps, “Oh no! Wait! Let me help you!” She tries to grab the bag from him and touches his hand. She is shocked by the electric-like current that passes between her and Auston as they touch momentarily.

Pulling the bag from his hands, she tries to ignore the spark.

“I’m so sorry Auston; I wasn’t thinking; there’s a cactus in the bag and if you put your hand in you’re going to get pricked.”

She rips the bag to expose the sharp green plant. “Here it is. It’s just a little something”, she says as she places it on his bed next to him, careful to avoid touching him again.

As Auston looks at the small plant with a tiny blue ribbon attached to one of its spikes, he tries to process the rush of thoughts and emotions.

He loves how she just made his stomach flip with her touch, and that he finally mastered keeping his heart rate under control with meditative-type breathing.

He rushes to sort through his thoughts: First, she thinks of me when she is away from me. Then, she wants to make me happy by getting me a gift. Then, she remembers personal things about me like where my home is and that I get awards. Then, there is electricity in our touch, which I can’t believe she didn’t feel. Then, she is concerned about hurting me. Even if she can’t admit to being my friend right now, she just showed me that we are friends; and that’s enough right now. He thinks.

Auston is tempted to call Dr Quinn out; that her actions mean more than she is willing to admit, by asking her if she gives all her patients a gift when they move rooms or accomplish something in recovery, but thinks better of it. He knows that keeping the status-quo to just doctor and patient will allow her to remain his doctor and grant him time to develop a relationship with her; that works for him.

Auston writes, “Thanks very much, Dr Q.”

“You’re very welcome, Auston. I hope you like it.” Dr Quinn responds.

“I do, very much”, he writes as he blushes and motions for her to put it on the window ledge across the room from him. He wants to be able to see it all the time.

“Well, it’s not much, but I am just excited for you and this big step forward and wanted to cheer up your new room. You’ve gone through a lot, and you still have a ways to go.” She tells him.

“You’re a very special person, Dr Q.” He writes on his board with a smile. He figures that’s safe. She’s his doctor, and she’s nice so there, he thinks. Sue me! He reasons with himself. He would give anything to say more, but he knows there’s too much at risk.

Dr Quinn quickly changes the subject. “I hope you will have some friends over soon. That would be good for you, Auston. Also, if you won’t see a counsellor, then please start talking to someone who can help you sort things out. Give it some serious thought on who you have in your network that will be good to talk to about what you’re going through. I’ll check back with you to make sure you do that, okay?” She pauses and then adds “Consider that your homework.”

“Oh, so you’re my doctor AND now my teacher?!” Auston writes cheekily.

“Well, I am actually qualified to teach, so I suppose I could be your teacher. So yes, I am your teacher, and that is your homework, Auston Matthews. I expect you to do it or I’ll take back your trophy”, Dr Quinn teases.

“Ahhh, Professor Q! You wouldn’t!” Auston writes in jest.

“Oh, yes, I would!” She teases back.

“Well, I sure wouldn’t want you to take your gift away, so I’ll be sure to do your damn assignment”, Auston adds.

“Good to hear, Auston. Cause I will. You know I will, don’t you?” She teases again.

Auston can’t help but blush at her dominance. “Yes, I know you will, Dr Q.” Auston writes, acting dejected to make her laugh.

“Okay, well I better leave you to get some sleep”, Dr Quinn announces.

Auston quickly writes, “What are you doing tonight? Hot date?” He teases playfully trying not to make her suspicious, but honestly wants to know.

“Ha! No! But you got me thinking the other day when we talked about me needing to crawl out from under my rock. Probably shouldn’t be sharing this with my patient but it’s because of you that I even contemplated this. There is a guy who has been asking me to go out with him for a long while, but I didn’t think I had the time to date with my busy schedule. However, you got me thinking that I really live a sad life of work, work, work. I should make an effort to have a life beyond work. Career-wise, things have been a little less intense lately, so I’m going to go on a date.”

Holy Shit, No! What the hell did I do?! Auston yells to himself.

He immediately tries to calm himself down to avoid setting off the heart rate monitor again.

What do I tell her? I want to tell her not to date him but can’t. What do I do? Oh, my God! He panics to himself.

He is scared that the monitor is going to go off and reveal his feelings. He needs her to get out of the room before it does. He’s trying to contain his thoughts and the emotions they are bringing on with his meditative breathing.

Hoping to do damage control, he calmly takes his marker and writes, “No, I understand why you have little social life. I am somewhat the same during hockey season. I’d be exactly the same if I weren’t on a team. So I get it. No shame in it. You are on a different level.”

“I have a team of sorts through my work, but I don’t think it’s the same kind of comradery you have on your team. You all travel together. We all work a variety of shifts. It gets kind of lonely to be honest”, Dr Quinn reveals.

Auston doesn’t want to hear that she is lonely or unhappy, but he needs for her to wait for him to get better. He sees no way of getting her to wait without confessing his feelings, but if he does, he for sure will lose her as his doctor.

“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want you to be lonely. But I also wouldn’t want you to get hurt either. Are you sure he’s a good guy?” Auston asks hoping she will reconsider out of fear that the guy might hurt her.

“He seems to be”, Dr Quinn answers.

“Who is it? A doctor?” He questions her, but it really doesn’t matter who it is because he is jealous of anyone who takes her attention away from him. But he wants to know who it is so he can find out more about him.

“Yeah. His name is Doctor Scott Peters. He’s a plastic surgeon. Works in his own practice and I send patients to him. I met him at a seminar and see him off and on when he comes to the hospital to do surgeries”, She explains.

“Good looking?” He wants to know what she classifies as attractive.

“I think so anyway”, She responds blushing; uncomfortable that he would ask this.

“Well, be careful. You deserve the best, so don’t settle. I also wouldn’t want to see you get hurt. You’re pretty important to me”, Auston writes. He figures that letting her know that she is important to him is safe since she is, after all, his doctor. But he also hopes she might take from his comments, the subtle message, that he is in the wings so she should just wait for him. He feels he really has nothing else he can say or do at this point without risking losing her as his doctor.

“Thanks for your concern, Auston. I will be careful. You have a great night’s sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” She tells him.

“Yeah. Thanks for stopping by and for the cactus. I really love u. Ha! I mean, IT.” He can’t help himself. He feels desperate and jealous. He makes a subconscious mistake writing “u” but refuses to erase it. Instead, he thinks that if he adds the other parts, he can play innocent but leaves her free to take it any way she wants.

Auston hopes she gets the message because there’s nothing else he can do right now.

Dr Quinn leaves Auston’s room confused by their exchanges but refuses to focus on it as doing so might add issues to working with him.

Auston begins to wallow in his frustration. He is sickened by the thought of Dr Quinn going out with another guy. He is frustrated at the timing. He immediately turns to his nightstand to get his cell phone. He needs to see what this guy is all about.

Just as Auston sees a photo of Dr Peters and begins reading about him, his heart rate monitor goes off. He is relieved that Dr Quinn is out of his room, but then he sees her walk back in.

Oh, Fuck Me! He says to himself.

“What happened Auston? I just left you.” She looks at Auston perplexed as she heads over to check the machine.

Auston seems upset and is holding his cell phone. Dr Quinn surmises that Auston has been trying to do the “homework” assignment she gave him and it has distressed him.

Before Auston can try and make up a response, Dr Quinn answers for him, “Oh, your cell phone?”

Auston just nods figuring she bailed him out again by jumping to conclusions. She really has no clue how I feel about her, which is both good and bad, he thinks.

“Auston, I suggest you don’t look at your cell phone this evening unless to contact your family. Once your family has a chance to deal with your messages, you will feel better about using it. They are the last thing you need to look at right now. Okay?”

Auston nods in agreement.

“Or is it something else that is bugging you?” She asks.

Auston shakes his head no and writes, “I’m tired too.”

“Okay then, let me tuck you in, and you get some sleep right now. Hand me that cell phone please.”

He quickly closes his phone as she takes it and puts it in the drawer of the side table. He enjoys the attention of her caring for him, adjusting the cords attached to him, getting him comfortable and tucking the covers around him. She finishes with a touch of her hand on his arm as she says, “Sleep tight, Auston.” With that touch, the current of electricity that no one acknowledges returns. Auston wants to grab her arm and pull her to him.

Instead, he closes his eyes and sighs to himself as he relishes the chills she gives him. He is gone, gone, gone for her. He doesn’t want to watch her walk away, and out of his room, so instead he just keeps his eyes closed and imagines she has sat down in the room with him as he falls asleep. By doing this, he is able to keep thoughts of Dr Peters out of his mind and drift off into slumber.

#auston matthews #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #fanfiction #imagine #love story #nhl #nhl imagines #toronto maple leafs #leafs imagines #leafs fanfiction #leafs

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melodiouswhite · 5 years ago

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Oh No, Emotions! Ch. 08

8. Tutoring, traumata and fears

(Warning: discussion of harrowing topics like pedophilia)

Edwina had run away from her foster home at the age of ten and fallen out of school only a short time later. Needless to say, her educational gap was huge.

She had tried to make up for it as best as she could.

Every time she'd managed to scratch together enough money to get herself at least one meal for the day, she had spent the remainder at the library, burying herself under stacks of books.

But of course that hadn't been every day and so she wasn't as up to date, as she would have liked. And at some point she had got to know a group of academics who had ended up on the streets. They had taught her a thing or two and she had listened to them more eagerly than most children would have.

But then she had landed in prison. She had been almost eighteen, so they hadn't bothered with prison schooling. They obviously had thought she was irredeemably stupid. It was so frustrating.

And there were so many things she had never learned anything about.

She hardly knew how modern technology worked. Of course not, after all she had never owned any.

After a while, she had just stopped bothering about it. What good was learning, if she would never be able to use it. Homeless people didn't get jobs. Ex-convicts weren't engaged by anyone either.

But now that she had a home, it was different.

Everyone in this house was intellectual.

Henry and Hastie were both medical doctors, Gabriel was a lawyer, Luise had several PhDs in various fields of psychology and the employees in this house were highly educated as well.

She felt like an uneducated wallflower next to them.

So one day she asked Luise, if it was possible for her to take up her education again.

“Now that I have a home, I want to go to school again”, she told her, “But I've missed so much in the last ten years, that I can't show my face there. So, if I could get some tutoring … I know I can do it! I'm smart, I can prove it!”

Luise considered for a moment. Then she smiled. “Of course, I know that you're smart. In fact, you're a genius. The prison psychologists sent me your files. I will ask Henry to tutor you, while he's on a holiday, until I can find you good tutors. My servants will give you basic lessons on their native languages. As for me, if you need a real psychologist…”

Edwina hated psychologists.

But not this one.

Henry was surprised, when Luise approached him with the request to give their new lodger tutoring in science, mathematics and other subjects.

Even though he was a professor and had taught at the Royal Academy for a few years, he had given up his post. Students were just so frustratingly unruly and unmotivated these days. The educational system wasn't good either, in his opinion. Besides, being a gynaecologist and radiologist was much better paid and more motivating.

But then again, it wasn't like he had anything to do over his remaining holidays.

So he agreed.

There was just one problem.

As a professor and former university teacher, he was used to having fully educated students. But Edwina had the educational level of a sixth grader, despite being already twenty.

Henry wasn't used to having to consider that.

“What if I expect too much of her?”, he asked worriedly, “What if she doesn't know something and I get impatient and pushy? I never taught primary-school pupils, not to mention school drop-outs!”

Luise chuckled. “Don't worry, chap. The girl knows more than you think. She's intelligent, curious and motivated. You will enjoy teaching her.”

Then the German briefed him in on what the young woman needed to learn, before she could go back to school properly.

Edwina was as ecstatic as she was anxious. She knew that Henry was a professor in addition to his many doctorates. She couldn't believe that he actually had agreed to help her catch up!

What a privilege!

But what if she disappointed him? What if he would think she was-

“Edwina?”

She blinked.

Henry was looking at her with concern. “Are you alright, dear?”

Edwina blushed. “O-oh yes, yes, I'm fine, I-”

She stopped short. “Wait. Did you just call me 'dear'?”

The doctor blushed harder than she did and stumbled over his words.

“I … I … did I? So-sorry, I didn't mean to – argh, how weird of me! What the hell was I thinking, already going to – oh crap, that's awkward!”

At that, Edwina could only laugh. That man was so adorable!

“It's fine”, she giggled, “It just surprised me, that's all. Shall we start?”

Awkwardly, her new teacher scratched the back of his neck. “O-of course. We'll begin with mathematics and see how far you're there.”

Not to be offensive, but Henry was pleasantly surprised, when he saw that Luise had been right.

For someone who had dropped out of school at the age of ten, Edwina was rather knowledgeable. She was quite advanced in natural sciences and mathematics and really loved the subjects. She was also a talented artist (unlike a certain telepath he knew) and had a solid grammar.

Sure, she knew next to nothing about modern communication devices, but that was okay. He too was still struggling to adapt. Those blasted smartphones got new useless additions and apps at least once a year (it was maddening!). One of the others would help her with that.

Henry also suspected that sexual education would be problematic. And indeed, her face became stone, as soon as he brought it up. But Edwina took a deep breath and told him to continue. She was obviously revolted by the topic. Nevertheless, she pushed through and forced herself to listen, which was as admirable as it was sad. He did his best to sound as neutral and professional as possible. But failed miserably in the face of all the first hand experiences she was able to supply.

She looked visibly disturbed, when he burst into tears.

“Henry, what the hell-?!”

“Don't judge me!”, he sobbed, “How else am I supposed to react to something like that?!”

She sighed: “Look, it's fine-”

“Don't give me that crap!”, he snapped angrily, “Don't tell me that it's fine! It's not fine! How can you expect me to be calm after hearing about you going through shit like that?! How can you be so calm about it?!”

She rolled her eyes. Damn, what a crybaby!

He dried his tears and rasped: “Forgive me … I'm such a terrible teacher. I should be able to handle that shit and still I burst into fucking tears over it.”

She noticed the self-loathing in his voice and statement – and hated it. He shouldn't hate himself, just for being emotional.

Something deep inside told her that she should hug him tightly and pat his back. First he stiffened in surprise. But then he relaxed and hugged her back.

“Hey, it's okay”, she muttered, “At least you care. I've heard people talk about it, who obviously didn't give a shit. It's okay to be a crybaby, as long as you care.”

She felt him heave a heavy sigh and his hug tightened, as if he was clinging to her for emotional support.

“Oh, Edwina … I'm such a mess …”

She rubbed circles on his back and mumbled: “It's okay. I'm a mess too.”

Henry sighed once more, then he let go of her. “Thank you”, he whispered and stroked her hair.

The brunette blushed a little, but shrugged it off.

“Sure. Now, let's continue. With the lesson, I mean.”

For a moment, the tall blond blinked in confusion. Then he caught on.

“Oh, yes, yes. Now where was I? Oh, right. Well, since we covered prostitution, STDs, the laws on sexuality and consent (or lack thereof), I think we should move on to something less … harrowing. So we'll begin to talk about gender and sexual and romantic orientations today and cover it in detail in the next days.”

Now that was a topic she could find interest in.

“That lesson was a catastrophe!”, Henry groaned later, during a conversational therapy session with Luise. “Absolutely horrid! I was such an idiot! And so unprofessional! Here I thought I could talk about that topic as calmly as any teacher would … but when she provided first hand examples of underage prostitution, it just … broke me. I bawled my eyes out right in front of her. I should have comforted her and instead she had to comfort me!”

He buried his face in his hands. “Reminds me of the other reason I quit my old job … I just can't be a good role model for shit!”

Luise shook her head. “Henry, don't beat yourself up over it. You cried, because this is a disturbing topic and because it made you upset, that she has gone through so much crap. This has nothing to do with you being too soft or Schwachsinn* like that. Any decent person would flip their wit over that and Edwina knows it. I think she felt better knowing, that you hate the thought of someone hurting and using her.”

“I do”, he whispered. “She deserves the best things in the world! Not this shit! No one does!”

“No”, Luise agreed. “No one deserves this at all.”

“I reminded her of it all, just because I failed to choose subjects wisely.”

“Henry-”

“I'm so fucking stupid! What the fuck made me think that talking about that subject would be a good idea?! Now I've torn her old wounds open! All I do is hurt her!”

“Henry, don't go there-”

“I made her cry the other day.”

“Henry-”

“Why am I this way? Can I ever not hurt people?”

“Henry, nein**.”

“I'm so horrible and messed up, I bet she thinks that I'm a psycho, I-”

“Henry, stop it!”

“What if she ends up like him? What if something happens to her and it's my fault-”

“HENRY, STOP IT!!!”, she yelled, making him wince.

“Entschuldige***”, she sighed and took his hand. “But Henry, please. How often do I have to tell you-”

“I know, I know”, he interrupted her impatiently, “You think that it wasn't my fault and that he wouldn't want-”

“I know that it wasn't your fault! And that he wouldn't want this! I've been trying to tell you this for twenty years!”

The doctor slammed his hand on the table. “You're digressing, dammit!”

“Am not! I'm trying to help you, Henry! But you don't listen to me! How can I help you, if you refuse to listen?!”

Hearing the distress in her voice, he froze. He hadn't meant to make her upset, she knew that.

Luise gave him and herself a few minutes to calm down, before she continued sadly: “He loved you, Henry. He adored you. He wanted you to be happy. To see how much you suffer because of him, how you blame yourself for his death, that would break his heart.”

“He died of a broken heart!”, Henry croaked. “And it was my fault!”

“Henry, please don't do that to yourself”, Luise pleaded. She opened her arms. He came around the table, sank onto his knees and cried into her lap.

After over twenty years, he still wasn't over his death. Worse, he had developed some extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms. It ranged from anxiety attacks to hearing their late friend's voice in his head. Yes, Henry still heard his voice and talked to him, as if he was still alive. And for that he hated himself, among other things.

And now there was Edwina.

The German knew that Henry recognised his late friend in the tiny brunette, when he looked at her. They all did and that was no wonder; Edwina was his spitting image, safe for her healthy constitution (he had been far more fragile), her feral, piercing eyes and the dark rims around them.

Luise didn't believe in such coincidences. And even if she did, there was no way this was one. Except for Edwina herself, they all knew. Luise and Gabriel knew, but never brought it up. Hastie knew, but suffered in silence (except for when alone with Luise). Henry knew, but couldn't handle it at all.

“It's not fair”, he blubbered, “I try so hard to see her, not him! But when she's happy, she has the exact same glow in her eyes and then she smiles just the way he used to! It hurts so much! She makes me feel so young and alive again, it's like I need her, I don't know, but every time she's upset, because of something I do, it's like I'm reminded of my old mistakes all over again and I don't want to fail her, like I failed him-”

“Shhhh”, Luise cooed and stroked his hair. “You didn't fail him. The last four years of his life were the happiest, because you and we others were there, remember?”

“He would be so disappointed”, the doctor sobbed, “I'm not the man he looked up to!”

“No, you're not”, she confirmed. “But even if he saw you now, he would never be disappointed in you. And Henry?”

He looked up with teary eyes.

“She isn't disappointed in you either.”

The taller blond just cried harder.

The telepath sighed sadly: “You know, I think that you two have to talk later. Talk it out before dinner and settle the matter, okay? We can't have the two of you engage in self-flagellation because of one small misstep.”

Gabriel had no idea, what the heck was going on.

But when he came into the lounge, he was practically tackled by a distraught Edwina, who kept panicking about hurting Henry-

Wait, what?!

Okay, he told himself, don't jump to conclusions, keep your calm.

“What happened?”, he demanded to know.

Then she told him in detail about the tutoring of the day. At first he was confused, but when she got to the Sex-Ed lesson and what had happened, he understood.

“I thought, that giving some first-hand experiences would be a good idea”, Edwina blubbered, “But it just made him cry and I ruined everything! And then he hated himself, because he cried in front of me, but it wasn't even his fault! I should never talk about myself again, every time I do it makes him cry!”

“Edwina, calm down-”

“I hate it! I hate when he's upset! I don't want him to hurt, especially not because of me!”

“Edwina!”

He hugged her and gently patted her back.

“Edwina, please stop. Don't do that to yourself. You just wanted to be a good student and prove that you understand the topic. Henry knows that. He wasn't upset because of you.”

“How do you know?”, she asked doubtfully, “You weren't there.”

“No, but I know my husband. In fact, I have known him for forty years. Knowing him, he thinks that he hurt you and is flagellating himself for even talking about the subject.”

“That's stupid”, she muttered.

Gabriel frowned. “But it did hurt you, didn't it? Why didn't you just ask him to stop? He would have stopped immediately, if you had told him that it makes you uncomfortable.”

The brunette buried her face in his chest, which made it a bit hard to make out what she was saying.

“I … I thought it would help … to face that shit head-on. Confrontation therapy or something like that.”

The lawyer shook his head. “Edwina, listen. If you want to confront your demons, that's fine. But Henry is the wrong person to do that with. He's not a psychotherapist and has himself a whole bundle of issues to deal with. We all have problems, but Luise is the one who can handle them best. She's a professional psychotherapist and she can help you. But not Henry. In fact, he's one of her patients, or clients, as she calls them.”

At his mild reproach Edwina seemed to shrink in his arms.

“I'm sorry”, she whimpered unhappily, “I didn't mean to …”

“Hey now”, Gabriel spoke softly and ran his fingers through her hair. Luise had told him that this would be fine and indeed, Edwina didn't show any signs of discomfort.

“Everybody makes mistakes. Just talk it out, when you see him. Determine some rules for the future tutoring and establish boundaries to avoid what happened today. Apologise to each other and everything will be fine. There is nothing quite like good communication to solve that kind of problem.”

She looked up to him tearfully. Somehow she looked a lot like an abandoned puppy or a kitten. A twenty-year-old kitten with a long criminal record, but that didn't matter anymore. Suddenly he was feeling a very strong urge to protect this girl. To ease her grief, help her wounds heal and wash her scars away.

“You're not in trouble”, he assured her with a kind smile. “Henry won't be angry or even think less of you, just because of this. He doesn't hate people just for telling him off. In fact, Luise and Hastie do it all the time. They're still his best friends.”

“What about you?”, she asked curiously.

“I don't argue with my husband about things I don't understand”, he stated with a shrug.

Edwina blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

Her mood seemed to brighten up considerably and she finally wound herself out of his hug.

“Feeling better now”, she muttered. “I'll go and talk to him and then we can-”

“Edwina! Gabriel!”

They looked to the door and who else would enter but Henry, followed by a serious Luise.

Gabriel went up to his husband to greet him and, as always, received a hug and a kiss.

“Welcome home, love”, Henry cooed sweetly.

“Hello, sweetheart”, the lawyer replied, “Edwina just told me what happened earlier.”

Henry's smile vanished immediately. “Has she now …”

Edwina's heart twisted a little, when the tall blond turned to her.

But ere she should issue her apology, he beat her to it: “Edwina, I owe you a thousand apologies. I should never even have brought up a topic that obviously causes you grief. I have no idea what I was thinking, but all of this could have been avoided, if I just had let it be, at least for now. Neither of us was ready for it and I should have known this beforehand.”

Awkwardly she scratched the back of her neck.

“Apology accepted. And sorry too. I should've just asked ya to stop and talk about something else. It's just that no one has ever cared before about what I wanted, that's why I didn't say anything. Let's just … not speak of this again. Uhm … would you … still keep teaching me?”, she asked shyly.

Henry blinked in obvious astonishment.

Then he smiled happily. “Of course, Edwina.”

Damn, she loved that smile.

“… so, before we step over to romantic orientations, do you have questions?”

“Yes, actually”, Edwina said, “If a person doesn't identify as a man or woman, but are attracted to men or women, what does that make them? I mean, these people wouldn't be gay or straight, right?”

“There are also the terms 'androphilia' – the attraction towards men – and 'gynophilia' – the attraction towards women. What's the matter, Edwina?”, he asked worriedly, when she cringed.

She lowered her head. “Sorry, it's just … I don't like the suffix 'philia'.”

He frowned. “Because you associate it with … that, isn't it? I see … well, perhaps I should elaborate on what that word actually means, before we continue.”

The word 'philia' came from ancient Greece and simply meant 'love'. It was meant to describe friendship, or a love for things that didn't necessarily have to be of sexual or romantic nature. It was, for example, also used for organisms that thrived in certain environments or substances that reacted well to others.

“I can see, why the word has such a negative association for you, but you need to understand that it's a very broad term. After all, the English word 'love' also applies to an endless variety of things. The same goes for the opposite number, 'phobia'. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Of course Henry knew, that she would always think of that one thing, when she heard that suffix. That was something he was all too familiar with.

He stacked his papers and put them into his bag.

“That should do it for today. We will cover romantic orientations tomorrow-”

“Henry?”

He stopped in his movements. “Yes?”

“You mentioned phobia. Do you always associate it with a certain thing?”

He hesitated. Then he admitted: “I do. With several, actually. I'm sure Gabriel already told you, but … I'm scared of quite a lot of things. Of some to the point, where it's a real phobia. The others have their fears too. That's what I think of, when I hear that word.”

Edwina looked hesitant and curious at the same time.

Henry knew what she was going to ask, before she asked it.

“I know, it's none of my business, but what kind of phobias do you have?”

For a moment he debated, whether he should tell her or not. But since she was their lodger and lived with them now, he couldn't find a reason not to. After all, they knew everything about each other. And Edwina belonged to their family now.

So he began: “I'll start with Luise. She's terribly afraid of injections and surgery. Several of us have to hold her arm, before Hastie can even vaccinate her. And he is the only one, because he's her husband and she trusts him unconditionally.”

Edwina stared at him with huge eyes. “They're married?! But I never saw them wear wedding bands!”

Henry had to grin. “They don't wear them on their fingers. If you ask either of them, you will learn that they're wearing them somewhere else.”

“Where?!”

She looked so hopeful and curious, that he could only chuckle and shake his head.

“Really, Edwina, your focus changes so quickly, once something new catches your attention!”

The brunette blinked. Then she laughed awkwardly: “Oh yeah … uh, go on.”

“Gabriel has crippling acrophobia. Fear of heights”, he explained, when she looked confused.

“Hastie is afraid of tight places, being stared at and being touched by strangers.”

“And you?”

Henry hesitated. He knew that he was exposing himself to the young woman. But there was no going back now.

“Like I said, I'm scared of a lot of things. Failure, imperfection, being alone, doing unforgivable things, loss. But most of all …”

He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“… I'm afraid of myself.”

Edwina had needed a while to let that sink in. Partly, because it was a rather shocking revelation (at least to her) but mainly, because he had immediately ended the lesson after making that confession.

She was now sitting in her room over the biology and chemistry exercises he had given her. But they were already done (it had been child's play) and now her thoughts were somewhere else.

Fear was a strange thing.

On one hand it was seen as a weakness. On the other, it was necessary in order to survive.

Of course, some fears and aversions were so stupid or easy to exploit, that they became a bane to humanity as a whole.

But what was Edwina herself scared of?

She was afraid to die. And of opening up to someone, only to be used and hurt.

Speaking of which … it hadn't escaped her how Henry had hesitated, before he had admitted to his own fears. She found that she understood it.

Admitting that you were frightened of something was hard.

For a moment, Edwina wanted to go downstairs and speak to Luise.

Then she remembered, that the older woman was a conversational therapist and most likely had a patient right now.

“Where is her office anyway?”, she muttered and put her school work away.

“It's on the ground floor”, a voice whispered, “But she isn't there right now.”

Edwina jumped and shrieked in horror.

“Calm down, calm down!”, the voice cried hurriedly. “It's only me!”

Edwina's face flushed in anger, when Aoimoku turned herself visible next to the door.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!”, she yelled, “YOU SCARED ME OUT OF MY WITS!!! What are you doing in my room anyway?”

The Japanese looked ashamed.

Good. She should be, Edwina thought angrily.

“Please don't shout at me, Miss. I just wanted to see, if the sheets or curtains have to be changed”, the Asian said awkwardly. “Did you not hear me knock?”

“No”, the brunette snarled, still clutching her chest. “Next time I don't respond to the knocking, knock louder! Don't just sneak into my room like a creep! Jesus Christ!”

“I'm sorry, I really am”, the handmaid apologised sheepishly. “Please don't tell onee-san. I don't want to get into trouble.”

Onee-san? That had to be Luise.

“Fine”, Edwina grumbled, “Just don't pull that crap again. It's not funny. Also, I found those musical scores, can you help me with them? I have trouble reading the music sheets.”

Aoimoku smiled. “No problem, onee-san has too. Show them to me and I will explain.”

Never would the brunette have imagined, that she would get a lesson in musical notation from the Japanese handmaid of a German noblewoman.

Or learn how to play Mozart on piano.

But like hell she would say no to that!

Luise was delighted, when she heard, that Edwina was enjoying Aoimoku's piano lessons.

She was a lot less delighted however, when she found out, that Aoimoku had told the younger woman of her inability to read music sheets.

Gabriel, Henry and Hastie were playing board games in the lounge together, when they heard the German's angry voice screaming for her first handmaid.

“What happened now?”, Henry wondered.

Hastie shrugged: “Dunno, but I don't want to be in Aoimoku's shoes.”

The others nodded in sympathy and took a few seconds to pity the poor woman, before going back to their game.

Luise was a difficult mistress and everyone knew this.

---

*Schwachsinn - German for: nonsense, balderdash

**nein - no

***Entschuldige - I’m sorry.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #female hyde #Gabriel John Utterson #utterson #Mr Utterson #jekyllxutterson #dr lanyon #Hastie Lanyon #oc #lanyonxoc #why do i keep writing about this shit?!#dafuq is wrong with me?!

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