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izzyfandoms · 3 years ago

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A Sleep So Sweet - Chapter One

(This is not the first chapter. There is a prologue, linked in the A Sleep So Sweet masterpost)

When Emile discovered he was the soulmate of the prince of a magical species known as Beings, he did not know how to react. Beings were terrifying, powerful creatures, who often did not care for humanity, and, in their first meeting, his soulmate, the sleep prince, seemed to be no different.

Will Emile fall in love with his soulmate, or are they simply not meant to be?

SHIPS: Remile, Date (Janus x Nate)

WARNINGS: N/A

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1 @yourneighborhooddisaster @alexxander-the-gay @full-of-roman-angst-trash @selfcarejanus

A SLEEP SO SWEET TAGLIST: @spellingwillbethedeathofme

Masterpost

A Sleep So Sweet Masterpost

Emile stared at the soulmark on his wrist, not daring to take his eyes off of it just in case it somehow disappeared. When it had appeared in the middle of the night – waking him up from his sleep – he had been shocked, of course, but he had also been tired, half-convinced it was only a dream.

But now he was completely awake, and the tiny crescent moon and stars were still there, like a small silver tattoo, but just a little bit shinier.

It didn’t even feel real, like he was still just dreaming. He ran his thumb over his wrist, like he was trying to smudge paint, but the soulmark didn’t even budge.

It finally hit him. This was real.

Oh, wow, he had a soulmate.

He had a soulmate!

Emile raised his hand to his mouth, finally letting out a delighted giggle.

“Oh my gosh,” he said to himself. “I have a soulmate!”

Wow. He needed to tell his dads.

He finally took his eyes off of his soulmark, looking around for his phone. He picked it up, turning it on and immediately opening the group chat he had with his two fathers: Nate and Janus Picani. They weren’t soulmates – soulmates were a rare thing, after all – but they were still deeply in love, and Emile had always hoped he’d get a love like that someday.

Now that he knew he had a soulmate, maybe that love wouldn’t be so far away.

Emile couldn’t help but let out another delighted laugh, almost bouncing up and down on the spot.

He began to type out a message to his dads.

Emile

Guess what!!!!

He then waited, his eyes flicking between his phone and his soulmark, checking that it hadn’t somehow disappeared in the last few seconds, which it had not, before he got a response from one of his dads: Nate.

Dad

What?

Emile

I got a soulmark!!!!

Nate immediately started typing again.

Dad

Woah really?

Emile

Yes!!!

Dad

Hold on lemme grab your other dad

Emile waited, practically vibrating with excitement. He lowered his phone, taking another look at the soulmark on his wrist. It was shiny, almost reflecting the light, and he could not help but smile just taking a look at it.

It almost didn’t feel real, like he was having a very pleasant dream, but when he reached over and pinched a bit of skin below the soulmark, he definitely felt it. It was real.

He smiled.

Father

Congratulations!

Dad

Can we see the soulmark?

Emile opened the camera on his phone, taking a quick picture of his soulmark and sending it to his parents immediately.

He then waited for their responses, seeing that both of them had started typing. Then, they both stopped typing at about the same time, and Emile blinked at his phone.

Why had they stopped typing?

He waited, but they did not start typing again.

He blinked, confused, and began to type out another message.

Emile

Hello?

Then Janus started typing again.

Father

Have you seen the news?

Emile

What news?

Dad

The news about the being prince

Emile stared at his phone, wondering what on earth this had to do with his soulmark.

Beings were powerful creatures – abstract things come to life, like fear or memory – and the Being royalty were especially so. Humanity was lucky that Beings were rare and tended to avoid them, as they were dangerous and often did not care much for them.

They were rarely in the news – often ignored by humanity, as if ignoring them meant that their danger was lesser.

Emile

What news?

He waited, staring at his phone, before he received a link from Janus. He clicked on it, and saw that it was a news article, titled: Being prince has a soulmate?

Emile stared at the headline for a few seconds.

How was that relevant to his own soulmark?

A pit began to form inside of Emile’s stomach, but he pushed down the immediate uncomfortable feelings.

No. This was just a coincidence. So many people had soulmates, though they rarely had Beings for soulmates.

This was just a coincidence.

He scrolled through the article, skimming over the information.

The Being prince – a magical being: sleep come to life – had found a soulmark on his body. This meant that he had a human soulmate, and he wanted to find them. He had made the announcement public, in the hopes that he would find his soulmate as quickly as possible.

Emile scrolled all the way to the bottom, and his heart stopped when he saw the image at the end of the article.

It was a single image of an eye – pitch black and surrounded by silver skin, with black hair peeking out from the top of the picture – and right in the centre of it was the now-familiar crescent moon and three stars.

Emile gasped, and his phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor.

He almost wanted to swear, but he bit his tongue before he could.

This couldn’t be real. Now he was certain that he must have been dreaming. This... this was impossible.

His soulmate wasn’t a Being. They couldn’t be.

Immediately, there was a pang of guilt inside of Emile.

Beings might have been powerful, terrifying creatures, but who was Emile to judge them? Sure, some of them hurt people, but most of them never did, as far as Emile knew. Who was he to decide that all of them must be cruel and evil and dangerous?

If the universe had decided that a Being was his soulmate, then that Being, at the very least, had to be a good person.

Well, perhaps person was the wrong word, but they had to be good. The universe wouldn’t have paired him up with someone bad. They were meant to be!

Okay. Emile’s soulmate was a Being – a prince of Beings – and that was... not bad. Maybe it was even good! Maybe his soulmate was wonderful – the soulmate of his dreams! Maybe they would be perfect together.

No, not maybe, definitely. His soulmate was his soulmate. They had to be perfect.

Emile nodded to himself. Okay. This wasn’t bad. This was good! He didn’t need to continue his quest for true love: it was being given to him, right in the palm of his hand.

He took a deep breath, and then bent down and picked his phone back up.

He checked his group chat with his dads.

Dad

Thats your soulmark right?

Father

Are you alright?

Emile wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Was he alright?

He was excited about having a soulmate. He was terrified that his soulmate would be terrifying and cruel. He was guilty that that was the assumption he’d made about his soulmate. He was just conflicted.

He thought about it for a moment, but before he could respond, his phone lit up with an incoming call from Janus. He blinked, before he answered the call and lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Did you read the article?” came Janus’s voice from through the phone.

Emile paused. “Yes.”

There was another pause, before he heard his other dad’s voice through the phone.

“Is that your soulmark?”

“I think so.”

“Okay,” Nate said, his voice calm despite what was going on. “How do you feel about that?”

“I... don’t know.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Nate said.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Janus said seriously. “You don’t even have to meet him if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Emile said. “But...”

“But?” Nate prompted.

“I don’t know. I mean- I mean he’s my soulmate, right? I know Beings are... scary. But... he’s my soulmate.”

“He’s a Being,” Janus said.

Nate sighed. “Jan.”

Emile frowned. “I mean, I know, but... he’s my soulmate. He can’t... he won’t be bad.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, how much do we really know about Beings? I know the stories, but they can’t all be bad! My soulmate... he could be good.”

“He is your soulmate,” Nate said. “And you’re the kindest person I know. I doubt you’d be saddled with a shitty soulmate.”

“Still, if he is bad, we need to keep him as far away from you as possible,” Janus said.

"I appreciate it, but I’m an adult now, dads,” Emile said. “I can take care of myself.”

Janus hummed like he wasn’t sure whether or not he believed him. Nate let out a laugh, and Emile heard a sound that sounded like he was clapping Janus on the shoulder.

“He’s right, babe. He’s an adult. We can’t protect him anymore,” he said. Emile could practically hear the amused smile on his face. “Just make sure to introduce your soulmate to us once you meet him. I just can’t promise that Jan won’t go all overprotective father on him.”

He laughed, and Emile laughed, too.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said.

In his mind, he imagined what it would be like to introduce his soulmate to his fathers. Hopefully it would go well. Hopefully his soulmate would get along well with his parents.

Would his soulmate be polite and serious? Or would he be funny and entertaining? Would they get along well? Emile certainly hoped so.

But maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. First, he actually had to meet his soulmate.

Emile paused. How was he even going to do that?

“Gosh, how am I even going to meet him?” Emile said aloud.

Nate hummed in thought.

“I don’t know. Get yourself in the news?”

Emile’s nose wrinkled. “I would rather not.”

“Uh...” Nate said. “I have no idea then. But I know you’ll figure it out!”

Emile smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

“I need to get to work,” Janus said. “Let us know how finding your soulmate goes.”

“I will.”

“Love you!” Nate said.

“I also love you,” Janus said

Emile smiled again. “I love you both, too. Bye!”

“Bye!”

“Goodbye.”

Then, they hung up, and Emile was alone again.

His gaze was immediately drawn back to his soulmark. His eyes traced the curving shape of the crescent moon, and the three small stars that were underneath it.

The sleep prince was somewhere out there with that exact same soulmark just on his eye instead of his wrist. Emile wondered what he was thinking about in that exact moment. Was he thinking about Emile, like how Emile was thinking about him?

Emile could not help but smile at the thought.

Gosh, he couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate.

But first, he had to find out how to.

***

Emile had been on his computer for ages, searching for a way to find his soulmate, but the internet was mostly unhelpful.

There was a ton of research done on Beings, but it was difficult to tell what was reliable and what was useless. Beings were such a wide variety of creatures – some appeared out of thin air, some were once other things – research about one was unlike research about another. And most of the research was about what they were and how they worked, not about how to find them.

Emile sighed, reaching up and massaging the bridge of his nose. This was impossible: it was starting to seem like the only way to find his soulmate was to go through the same methods his soulmate had used to get the information public. And he really, really didn’t want it to come to that.

He was lucky that it was his day off today, so he had plenty of time to research.

Emile clicked on a new article, one labelled ‘Whispering Beings’, that he wasn’t too hopeful would actually be helpful. But he was still going to look, just in case.

His eyes skimmed the first few lines. Whispering Beings were a type of Being that could hear every whisper ever spoken. In fact, they existed in whispers; sometimes they didn’t even have a physical form, they switched between a human-like body to a whisper taken form at a whim. They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages. Their physical forms looked cloud-like, not entirely physical and they were often benevolent towards humans.

Wait.

Emile suddenly straightened up, his eyes going back a few lines.

They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages.

There. That was it.

That was how he was going to find his soulmate!

Emile let out a laugh. Finally, he was going to be able to find his soulmate!

Okay. Okay. Now, he just needed to figure out how to summon a Whispering Being.

His eyes returned to the article.

Whispering Beings could be summoned through whispers. Apparently, you could whisper something into the night sky, and – very occasionally – they would hear you. They would appear in front of you, and they would take your message and bring it to whoever you requested.

But they were rare. Your message needed to be interesting to them, or they would simply ignore you.

Well, Emile thought that his message was interesting enough. He was the soulmate of one of the princes of beings, surely that would catch the attention of anyone.

Okay. He could do that.

All he had to do was wait for it to become night, and then he would whisper into the sky. He would get his message to his soulmate; he was sure of that.

***

Emile had been waiting impatiently all day for night to come, and when it finally did, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He couldn’t sit still, tapping his foot against the floor and his hand against his leg.

Was now the right time to do it? The sun had set, the sky was black, but what if he needed to wait until midnight? The article had been unclear, and every other source he had found had been, too.

What if it needed to be at a specific time? Midnight or 1am or 2am, something like that? Emile had no idea. He didn’t want to do it wrong.

After a moment of thought, he stood up. Okay, he might as well try now. If it didn’t work, he could always try again later. He could try as many times as it took for it to work. He would try all night if he had to.

He walked over to his window, opening it and feeling the cool night air wash over him.

The sky was black, speckled with stars, and the moon was full. Maybe that meant something. Maybe the full moon was something special and would mean that the Whispering Beings were more likely to hear him. Emile had no idea. He was really out of his depth here.

He was a simple therapist! He watched cartoons and documentaries for fun. He knew nothing about magic, and yet the universe had dropped a magical soulmate into his hands.

This was his life now.

Emile took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He could do this.

Then, he opened his eyes. Okay, he could do this.

All he had to do was figure out what exactly to say. His brow creased in thought. What did he even say in this situation? What was the right thing to say to summon a Whispering Being? The article hadn’t exactly given instructions on how to summon one.

Well, apparently Whispering Beings heard every whisper, so maybe all he had to do was say who he was and they’d listen.

Okay. He’d give that a try.

He took another deep breath, before he began to whisper.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered into the wind. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

He then waited. He waited and waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Okay. That was okay. He could just try again.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered again. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

“I heard you the first time,” came a voice from behind him. It sounded like a whisper, but was somehow also loud and clear.

Emile jumped, spinning around so quickly that his glasses fell from his face.

Standing there, in the middle of his living room, was a blurry figure, that Emile couldn’t quite make out the details of him without his glasses. All he could tell was that it was white and vaguely human-shaped.

He bent down quickly, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his face. He stood up, and saw that the human-shaped figure was almost as blurry as they had been before he had put his glasses back on. They looked like someone had taken a cloud and pressed a man-shaped cookie cutter into them, but the clouds had seeped through the edges a little bit. They didn’t even have eyes or a mouth, despite the fact that words had come from somewhere.

“H- hello,” Emile blurted out, just a little bit terrified of the obviously-inhuman Being.

“Hello,” said the Whispering Being.

“What... what’s your name?”

The Whispering Being just stared at him for a few seconds.

“Beings don’t have names.”

“Oh. Right.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“So, you're the prince’s soulmate?” The Whispering Being said.

Emile straightened up. “I... think so. The soulmarks match, so... yes.”

The Whispering Being tilted their head.

“Would you like me to bring a message to him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.” The Whispering Being nodded. “I shall. What would you like me to say?”

Emile... hadn’t really thought about that. In his excitement to send a message to his soulmate – and his daydreams about what would happen when they first met – he hadn’t thought about exactly what he wanted to say.

“Um...” Emile said, fidgeting with his hands. “Tell him... tell him about me and tell me that I want to meet him.”

The Whispering Being watched him for a few moments, before they nodded.

“Alright. I shall do that. Is there anything else you need?”

Emile thought about it for a moment, before he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said.

The Whispering Being nodded again. Then, they began to lose their form, becoming more cloud-like and less human-shaped, until the fog that was their body began to fade. They became translucent and then transparent and soon they were gone, and Emile was alone.

He stared at the spot they had been for a few seconds, before he let out a deep breath.

Okay. This Being was going to bring the message to his soulmate. Then, his soulmate would come and they would meet.

Emile could not help but smile just a little bit at the thought. Oh, gosh, he was going to meet his soulmate soon! He didn’t know exactly when, but if his soulmate had been so quick to put the soulmark in the news, then surely he wanted to meet Emile as much as Emile wanted to meet him.

They were going to meet each other for the first time soon.

Emile let out a little laugh, and practically bounced up and down on the spot, doing an excited little wiggle. He clapped his hands together.

Oh, Emile was so, so excited.

He wondered what exactly would happen next. Would the prince send the Whispering Being back to Emile, with information about a meeting place? Yes, that made the most sense.

But when exactly would the Whispering Being return? Emile had no idea. Maybe they would return again tonight; maybe they were busy and wouldn’t return for another few days. There was no way to know.

Perhaps he should have asked.

Emile shook his head. Well, there was no point in thinking about that now.

A cool wind came through the open window, and a shiver ran down Emile’s spine. He turned around, reaching out and shutting the window.

Then, when he turned back around, he yelped and leapt backwards when he saw that there was a new figure standing in the centre of his living room.

He was tall and thin – quite a bit taller than Emile, though that wasn’t difficult – with silver skin, black hair and solid black eyes. In the centre of his left eye was the now-familiar symbol: a silver crescent moon with three stars underneath it.

Emile gasped.

“You’re-”

The Being smiled, crossing his arms.

“I am,” he said. “Hello.”

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pochiperpe90 · 4 years ago

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Here comes “The Old Guard”. Marinelli goes to Hollywood, alongside Charlize Theron.

“Alone, fragile and immortal.”

A story of love, friendship and compassion with an ancient warrior and a young African American, who has just discovered she is immortal, as protagonists. Because the world needs women and courage knows no gender differences. 20 years after “Love & Basketball” and after “The Secret Life of Bees” and “Beyond the Lights - Find Your Voice”, Gina Prince-Bythewood comes to the action movie with very clear ideas on how to reinvent the rules. We talked to her over the phone while she was in Los Angeles during the lockdown.

A superhero movie that doesn't look like a superhero movie. Is that why you decided to make it?

Absolutely yes, when I read the script I realized that despite the fantastic genre there was a very realistic background. These characters are real and it's easy for the audience to relate to them despite being immortal. They fight for goals and reasons that people understand. The more realistic the film, the more viewers can reflect themselves in the protagonists.

In fact, the most fascinating aspect of the characters is their vulnerability: they are immortal, but up to a certain point, which is a paradox. They too have to deal with the sense of the end.

There is a possibility that they may die, that their immortality is interrupted, that they still suffer from their wounds, and this brings them closer to us. The public still feels sorry for them when they see them in danger.

Immortals suffer, and not just physically.

Many think that being able to live forever would be extraordinary, but no one asks what this really means. Immortality has consequences: it can be a gift, but it can also be a curse.

And we don’t know why immortality fell to them.

The thing I loved about the graphic novel and the script is the fact that there is no explanation. Not only do we not know it, but neither do the protagonists. But it is a trilogy and therefore there is still a lot to tell.

Could you offer your contribution to the script?

It was a great script, with great roles based on the graphic novel so I stayed very true to the text. With the author, Greg Rucka, we wanted to reflect on the fear of taking someone's life, the one that sometimes overwhelms soldiers in war, whose psychology is often neglected. Hollywood films have never been very concerned with this aspect, as if killing had no consequences. The protagonists are forced to kill, but if someone has been doing it for centuries, for others it’s the first time.

What struck you about Luca Marinelli?

I could talk about him for days, I love him, he's the actor that all directors dream of having on set. He loved the character and gave him life in a very credible way. Between him and Marwan Kenzari is born a great complicity, necessary between two people who have been together for centuries. Luca's eyes are full of soul, his Nicky is the heart of the group, he’s the most sensitive character of all of them.

Charlize Theron, who is also one of the producers, has an increasingly and more torn body.

Charlize has already played roles like this one, she is very credible in the genre of action and has been helpful to who had never faced it before. From her, who really worked hard, others learned to do the same. She is very credible in the role of a woman who lived for thousands of years.

Matthias Schoenaerts, on the other hand, has an insidious role.

He embodies the tragedy of immortality, loneliness, betrayal. He is the actor who most resembles his character in the graphic novel. He wanted to make the film at all costs because he had never measured himself with the action genre and felt he had things to express.

The film underlines how today it’s no longer possible to hide, images can capture you at any time.

In a scene near the end, when the immortals look at photos and articles about them, they truly become aware for the first time of everything they have done to protect humanity. They understand the power of images from which they continually try to escape in order to hide their identity.

And then we talk about science and profit.

In the film, people from different places join forces to protect the world, a need even more relevant today. Yet it is increasingly evident that profit matters more than human lives.

Do you think the film industry is becoming more inclusive with women?

Things are finally changing and I am grateful that, despite having no other action films on my resume, I have been entrusted with The Old Guard. I am grateful for the trust they have placed in me. It should be taken for granted by now that women are capable of coping with any film genre and I think how much pressure from the industry Patty Jenkins, who directed Wonder Woman to success and opening the door for many of us, went through. But the door must be wide open because there are still few who have such opportunities.

In your opinion, have opportunities grown with the arrival of platforms like Netflix?

Netflix wasn't afraid to trust a series of directors. Which studio would have produced Roma or Irishman? He has the courage to make films that Hollywood deems too risky.

The Golden boy

“Luca Marinelli, as we have never seen him before: in his Hollywood debut, he becomes an immortal and fights with Charlize Theron to save the world.”

Just before the lockdown he was one of the jury members of the 70th Berlinale in the city where he has lived for years - and he swears he had so much fun watching three films a day. The audience awaits him in theatre in the role of Diabolik, in the film directed by Manetti Bros., but on July 10th he arrives on Netflix with The Old Guard, the action movie that sees him alongside Charlize Theron. And where he plays the Italian Nicolo, Nicky for the group of immortals he belongs to. Directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood and based on the graphic novel by Greg Rucka and Leandro Fernández, the film offers Luca Marinelli an insidious superpower, an endless love and a new opportunity to demonstrate his talent as a true champion. We reached him on the phone and he, less shy than usual, told us how he became a secular "superhero".

How did you get to the project?

I auditioned in London, where I later returned and met the director. Lastly, there was a final meeting between me and Marwan Kenzari. We made a scene together and then they announced to me, "We'd love for you to be Nicky."

What struck you about this character?

The story fascinated me because it tells of immortals as if they were the damned. Nicky and Joe live this condition as a gift because they are linked by a wonderful love story and they are not alone. They met in an absurd and paradoxical situation, during the Crusades, ready to kill themselves. They did it a hundred times and then they looked at each other and fell in love. But others suffer from it, like Andy and Booker. In a beautiful scene, Booker, played by Matthias Schoenaerts, explains what happens to them: they see the people they love die and blame them because they cannot prevent it. And they are tired of watching the world repeat itself following the same dynamics. They fight to save people, but everything seems to go on the same way. Only in the end will they discover what they have done and what they are doing.

How did it go with Charlize Theron?

Well, it was wonderful! As I read the script I said to myself: am I really going to make a film with Charlize Theron? And hug as well! I was very excited and intimidated already while reading. She is an extraordinary actress. In the scene where we are at the table and everyone tells Nile something about us, Andy tells her what we are and it was nice to see her running and venturing into the midst of emotions and thoughts. Sometimes I got distracted and didn't say my line. But Charlyze is also a crazy athlete. You have to be really athletes, otherwise you don't survive at the end of the day. And Charlize is an athlete of the body and the heart.

What about her athletic training?

We got together a month before shooting to start working with the stunts. I had to get some athleticism back: when I arrived and they looked at me I think they were a little worried. We had to become familiar with martial arts and then we switched from the sword to other weapons and to hand-to-hand combat. We prepared scene by scene, including the choreographies, different for each fight, and each of us had his own rubber reproduction of the sword. It was an unforgettable training.

The immortals come from different places in the world. How much of Italy is there in Nicky?

Apart from the pronunciation? They still laugh at some of the things I said. Marwan and Matthias, but also Charlize, speak Italian at different levels and every now and then I enjoyed shooting a few sentences to which they could answer me.

Did you offer your character something that wasn't in the script?

Well, being in such a group, shy as I am ... I tried. I have always focused on the bond between Nicky, Joe and the other members of the group, because I am interested in discovering what is inside a character, his feelings, how he looks at the world, what excites him. Nicky has lived for centuries, but still greets the people he meets in the desert with a smile, inside him there is the flame of an infinite good. Each character has a different sensitivity and their own armor. Nicky is perhaps the least armored one.

The challenge was also to make people believe in a love story that has lasted for centuries.

Marwan recites a beautiful monologue in which he talks about their love story. I hope that each of us, in their short life, can say the same thing about the person they love.

You’ve already had superpowers in “They Call Me Jeeg”. What is your relationship with this genre?

I like it very much and I think that both films, very different from each other, have a very interesting soul. In Jeeg Robot, Enzo Ceccotti uses his superpowers to help others, taking on a social responsibility. In The Old Guard the protagonists put themselves at the service of others, even if no one has asked them to. “This is what we do,” they repeat over and over to each other. What they do is save people, participate in what they think is right.

How do you think they would react to protests on American streets and around the world?

I don't feel like playing games, mixing reality and fiction on a terribly real subject like this. I think that in reality, outside of any cinematic fiction, it’s fundamental to fight for equality, within society, but also within ourselves. To go back to our film, if in a microscopic way we manage to carry a message in that direction, I would be very happy.

What director was Gina Prince-Bythewood?

She is always ready to listen, and I am someone who asks a lot of questions even at inappropriate times. She always had great patience and was very attentive to the emotional side of the film, to the interiority and beauty of the characters.

CIAK Magazine - Luglio 2020

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

#Luca Marinelli #marwan kenzari #Charlize Theron #gina prince bythewood #Matthias Schoenaerts #the old guard #TOG #TOG Cast #Film #netflix #magazine #movie #interview #english #english translation #mine #joenicky #joe x nicky #Immortal husbands

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yeolmae-s · 3 years ago

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a chanbaek analysis from a veteran exo-l

before anything else there are a few disclaimers i'd like to make:

i am writing this analysis right now because as a non exo stan i'm not into chanbaek that much anymore. of course i like them to some degree since i'm writing this and all but it's nothing in comparison to the way i felt about them two years ago. so i feel like it's easier to keep a less clouded (?) state of mind being where i'm at right now, mentally, in regards to them. i feel like i can look at things more objectively, which is why i decided to write this and share it with you all.

for all the smart asses out there, this is a ship analysis. yes, i’m reading too much into everything. that’s what an analysis is.

all translation credits goes to @/fyeah-chanyeol

i'm a chanyeol stan. this analysis will, most likely, have more information about him in comparison to baekhyun. this is simply because i consumed more content about him since he's my bias (such as magazine interviews, fancams).

i don't stan exo anymore, but it's not because of anything they did. i liked them for a long time and made a lot of different friends because of this fandom, therefore i experienced a lot of hurt, scandals, fights and didn't deal very well with many things, so i decided to leave. this didn't happen because of exo themselves and neither did it happen because of the fandom itself. it happened because of the relationships i had.

that being said, i haven't been following them closely for the past year and a half, but i still keep up with stuff a bit, although not chanbaek related stuff since i gotta dive in kinda deeper for that lmao. so this analysis is mostly in depth for 2012-2018. if anything that you perceive as significant happened after 2018 i'm more than willing to hear your opinions about it.

so, let's get started!!

MAMA ERA

I have always felt like Chanyeol and Baekhyun's relationship was strange. I started shipping them when they debuted and more specifically because of the 130128 ISAC. When I was younger I didn't see a lot to discuss in their ISAC interactions besides it being cute and shippy, but I've started to look at it differently now.

I think everyone knows how ISAC is known for being basically a stage for fanservice. The whole "dating ground for idols" issue aside, judging from the amount of attention they direct towards the fans who manage to attend the event, idols are clearly instructed to perform fanservice. EXO's first ISAC had to be full of it, obviously, and they did give fans a lot to be happy about, content we still get giddy about to this day, and I'm sure they were instructed to act like this to please us. I don't believe that fanservice equals "false interactions": if two individuals are talking, touching each other, they are interacting, even if it is a carefully planned setting made specifically for pleasing fans. They still get reactions out of one another through these interactions, it is still relevant to the way these people's relationship will develop; even though these acts are done with the intent of pleasing a crowd.

Don't get me wrong, though. I don't think the 2013 ISAC fanservice changed anything in Chanbaek's relationship. In fact, I just want to use it as a way to illustrate something I will explain later on.

To be remembered in an industry you must have an image. You won't be getting anywhere without a carefully constructed visual image. Marilyn Monroe is always used as an example of this: she's someone you can easily make a costume of and people will instantly recognize it as her. She's basically a concept by now: blonde hair, red lips and white hair. These aspects take our mind back to her instantly. Of course, most celebrities don't achieve this type of icon status, but it is still important to cling to a specific concept/image of what you want your celebrity self to be perceived as. Without this, you'll be forgotten as soon as your career ends.

When Chanyeol debuted, he clung to the first trait they gave him: being a happy person, a.k.a "happy virus". If you were not an EXO fan back in 2013 then it's likely you're not even aware of this nickname that was given to him, but it's basically just what it sounds like (lol). He was bright, energetic, had a "teeth rich" smile (another nickname that was given to him back then), was able to give 10/10 laughter reactions to MCs and to his members jokes, was always enthusiastic to interact and smile towards fans. He even introduced himself as "happy virus Chanyeol" in interviews (and later on that changed to "EXO's voice Chanyeol" or "EXO's rapper Chanyeol").

I feel like Chanyeol was very much aware of this "must have" that I mentioned, this need to have an image pasted into yourself and have that image be what people will remember you as. We're all complex and multifaceted individuals, but the general public needs something simple to grab on to, something easy to remember. That happy guy from EXO? I know who he is! I'm sure this is the path Chanyeol chose, back when he debuted: to pick a trait given to you by the public and make it a huge part of your image.

However, that image of him didn't last very long. It certainly became tiring to worry so much about how he was being perceived, to carefully construct something so his career would last, specially when his group had so many scandals and went through a sudden burst of popularity that changed their lives completely. By 2017, Chanyeol already had a change of mind in relation to his career, these changes being mostly due to how he felt about music and what he wanted to do with it.

He recognized himself as having always being impatient, which might be the reason why he clung to a specific image so fast right after debuting:

From Fall Magazine in 2017

"At the moment I just want to enjoy myself with the music as it comes, without feeling as though I have to do something. It isn’t a greed from impatience, I could call it more of a greed to do better."

"When I first debuted I thought I was very optimistic, but as time has passed I think a more reserved side of me is showing."

"I think I've grown in many ways. Maybe it’s because it’s as though I perform everyday, but the stage has become comfortable for me. Shall we say I’ve become more calm and composed? [...] I think I’ve become more mature."

He matured. He's still bright and energetic but he's also more reserved. He managed to keep up the fanservice that his fans adore in a way that is more fitting to his actual personality. It still is an image, but an image that's not as exhausting as his previous one, with its strict demands to act in a certain way all the time. I remember specific interview with MCs demanding him to smile (although jokingly, of course) saying things like "Aren't you EXO's happy virus?", so I'm sure he felt pressured.

This is interesting to think about when put side by side with his relationship with Baekhyun. Back when they debuted, Chanyeol and Baekhyun were close friends that clearly felt comfortable with each other, and it isn't surprising to think that Baekhyun would be Chanyeol's first pick when he thought about doing fanservice with someone. Of course, I can't exactly pinpoint their first fanservice moment since I'm not a walking EXO encyclopedia anymore, but I can say with certainty that both of them felt like it worked as soon as they first tried it with the fans, and that's the reason why they kept doing it. Conveniently, they were both good friends, so all was good.

Until well, it wasn't.

At some point, Chanyeol's interactions with Baekhyun seemed too eager for Baekhyun himself. There are various moments where this is visible, such as this one:

Why are you grabbing my wrist out of nowhere young man........

Or...

That one pic where Jongdae, who was in front of them, looked so damn uncomfortable I can't even bring myself to google it

Of course, they had some over the top fanservice that did work out pretty well, such as this one, both of them imitating Jonghyun's and Taemin's Internet War stage, which seems a little scripted now that I look at it properly, with Baekhyun seemingly expecting Chanyeol to do whatever it is that he did on that day. (Can you imagine this: both of them backstage, watching Jonghyun's and Taemin's performance in silence, and one of them just blurts out "We should do that too!". What the fuck was going on)

By the way, if you have never seen the original Internet War performance, you can watch it here.

This is what they were imitating.

Tumblr won’t let me upload the gifs for this moment for some reason, so here and here.

You can't tell me Baekhyun wasn't expecting it already, lol.

Now, know what this moment reminds me of? ISAC. On their Internet War imitation moment, Baekhyun seemed fine, playful, even, agreeing. During ISAC, however, doing basically the same thing again (this time on a lighter way even; since they weren't, you know. Imitating a strong performance such as Internet War.), he appears reluctant. It's a bit painful to watch.

What changed? The ISAC event happened a few months after the SMTOWN concert where they did the Internet War thing, so what made things become so different?

If this has enough likes I’ll make a second part!

#i got tired halfway through writing and i decided i needed some motivation to finish this so i'm posting it the way it is lmao #chanbaek #baekyeol #park chanyeol #byun baekhyun #exo #kpop

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story{23}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, Slight NSFW

Words: 4.3k

Note: Italic text signifies a past memory/conversation.

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. FICTION! Think twice before you come @ me.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: Q1 | Q2 | Q3 | Q4 | Q5 | Q6 | Q7 | Q8 | Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18 | Q19 | Q20 | Q21 | Q22

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine Week Thirteen-

-Chris-

“Knock, knock, room service.”

Groaning, he lifted his head, squinting at the sun that was shining through the window.

“What the fuck?”

“Knock, knock, room service,” came the voice again.

His head was pounding, and the light was not helping. Rolling onto his back, he used his hand to shield the sun before he rubbed his face hoping to clear the haziness in his eyes and head. When he felt steady enough to stand, he walked across the room to the door. Once there, he realized he was naked. Grabbing a discarded towel off a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his waist then cracked the door enough to see who it was. No one was there, just a room service cart. Poking his head out, he looked from side to side, still not seeing anyone.

“Did I order room service?”

Not wanting someone to happen to come out of their room and see him, he quickly rolled the cart inside his room, leaving it just before the bed. As he dropped onto the bed, he took the notecard wedged between the coffee mugs.

I let you sleep in yesterday and work through whatever it was that you were going through, but today is business as usual. We have meetings.

-M

Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. As soon as he did, it was your face he saw. Memories of your last night together flooded him like always. They always came when he had more than ten minutes to himself. So nights were sleepless, showers were torture, and getting any work done was next to impossible. He’d left because there was nothing else to do. He’d been getting plenty of emails about possible work in London and meetings to take, but he’d pushed them back time and time again. One reason was the pandemic that was still ravaging the world, but the other reason was you. He wanted to be near you, learn more about you, begin building with you. That didn’t look to be what you wanted, though.

He groaned again and rubbed his face hoping to stop the onslaught. It didn’t work. Your voice echoed in his head, and he swore he could feel your hands on him. God, he wanted you here. He wanted to still be in his cabin with you still resting your head on his chest. He wanted to be breathing in your scent, coconut oil, flowers, brown sugar, and pineapples. Your scent was seared to his memory.

“Fuck!”

His shout echoed in the hotel room. He sat up and stared at the cart with the breakfast spread. He’d done everything he could.

“She just doesn’t want me.”

With that, he stood and began getting himself ready for his meetings. He had three in total, and that itself told him it would be a long day.

Sure enough, by two in the afternoon, he was still busy and hadn’t had the time even to get lunch. The first meeting went on for three hours, and now he’d taken an unplanned zoom one regarding his project with Mark and Joe. Things were always moving behind the scenes, and though the last few weeks were a nice vacation of sorts, it was time for him to get his head back into the game, no matter how difficult it was posing to be.

As two meetings turned to three, then four, he found himself running on empty, and the longer that went by without you reaching out to him in any way, the angrier and more bitter he became. Never in his life had he been in this situation. He’d pursued plenty of women, but they all were receptive. They all showed interest of some sort. They all wanted him. he may not have wanted them on the level they wanted him, but there was a minimal basic understanding. With you, he felt he was always the one chasing you. It was disconcerting.

When he got in for the night, he was exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. The ringing of his phone said it was not to be.

“Yes, Meg.”

“Did you look over that proposal I sent earlier?”

Sighing, he sat and hung his head back. “What proposal?”

“Hear me out before you shoot it down. What do you know about Letecia Jemison?”

“Who?”

“The model turned actress,” Meg clarified.

He sighed again, then put the phone on speaker and typed in the name into his Google search. In seconds images of who Meg was talking about populated.

“She’s pretty, right.”

“Meg, what’re ya doing?”

“Nothing, just listen. Her team has been in contact with me, and I know her publicist. We've come up with a way to help both of you. With quarantine, everyone has reverted to a home-based lifestyle. This means maybe some names aren’t on tongues, and that means the roles are slowing.”

Already he didn’t like the way this was going.

“Meg--,” he began.

“It’s just a few photo ops. The press will get a few pictures, people will start talking, and the rest it easy. Plus, I think you two would hit it off; maybe this will jumpstart a relationship.”

“Oh god. Meg. I am not in the market for a relationship.”

“Chris, you’re a good looking guy. Quarantine has been going on for weeks. Not to be invasive, but when was the last time you were in the company of someone who wasn’t family?”

He scoffed and sat back while scrolling through the pictures.

“Meg. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s harmless. One or two dates, you get to blow off steam and maybe get something more,” Meg finished.

The picture on his screen was of this Leticia woman in a figure-hugging dress that accentuated her figure. She wasn’t bad to look at; he had to admit.

“And what does she have to say about all this?”

“According to Mike, he said she sounds open to it. If the idea of a photo op sounds deceiving, think of it as a date or spending time with a friend. You can never have too many contacts in this business.”

Meg always knew how to spin things. Her goal was to keep him relevant for as long as it was in his interest, or he decided to remain in the business.

“We have to talk first, Meg. Set up a facetime or zoom, or something,” he suggested.

��“All right. I’ll text you. Get some rest.”

After ending the conversation, he stared out the window and immediately thought of you. Even a conversation for a meet up felt wrong to him. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared.

“Unbelievable.”

Standing, he walked to the bathroom, determined to find some peace for the night.

~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

Staring at the cabin, it looked the same, but it felt different. Whereas it felt warm and inviting before, now it felt cold and so far away. It had been three days, and you couldn’t believe he’d just up and left without so much as a goodbye or see you later.

“Of course he left. Why would he stay?”

“Because he’s in love with you.”

Spinning, you saw Ms. Lisa standing there. You sighed and looked back at the cabin. The last three days, her, Shanna, nor Carly brought up the elephant in the room. They didn’t treat you any differently, but you saw the questions in their eyes. You thought they would just let it be one of those things people brushed to the side and ignored, but seeing her here you knew it would not be that. When she stood beside you, you glanced at her.

“Let’s take a walk to the beach,” Lisa suggested.

You walked in silence through the wooded area from the cabin, around the guesthouse, and down the steps to the sand. Once there, you both kicked off your shoes and walked down the beach until you sat. You dug your toes into the hot on the surface but cold underneath sand and sighed out.

“How are you doing?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. What was supposed to be a quick chuckle turned into an elaborate laugh that went on for a full minute. She probably thought you were insane. You felt insane. When you stopped, you sighed then swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you as fine as Chris is?” Your eyes met, but you were the first to look away back to the waves. “I can see just how fine he is.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t plan it, and I’m sorry you found out the way you did, and I’m sorry if I broke your trust,” you rushed out. Lisa grabbed your hand and held it in her warmer ones.

“Y/N, no, no, no. You didn’t break my trust at all, and you certainly have nothing to apologize to me for. You are a grown woman, a beautiful grown woman at that. Honestly, I saw this coming years ago.”

You snapped your head to her, giving her a quizzical look. “What? How?”

Lisa smiled and rubbed the back of your hand. “I know Chris and all my children like the back of my hand. I raised them and have paid close attention throughout the years. While it’s more difficult to understand him now than it used to be, I do. He’s always been drawn to you. From day one, and against your better judgment, you’ve also been drawn to him.”

You sighed again, looking away from her kind face and back out to the ocean.

“You never understood it until these last few weeks. You saw his apprehensiveness and labeled it as hate. This quarantine has allowed you to see past that, see him on a level you probably weren’t ready for. You also weren’t prepared to like that side of him.”

She was spot on, but you were not going to admit that, not out loud at least.

“I’m here for you, Y/N. If you want to talk or not talk, I’m here. I’m not going to judge you or chastise you. It is not my place, and truly Y/N, I love you like you were part of my family.”

A tear slid down your cheek, making you roll your eyes. “Oh great,” you groaned.

Lisa put her arm around your shoulder and slide closer, but she didn’t speak again. She was letting you decide what you needed rather than her coaxing you in one direction or the other. You didn’t know how long stretched with only the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but she didn’t seem to care. As the sun was beginning to set, you opened up to her, letting her know about your past and its effect on you. You steered clear of recent events with Chris or even the fact that of the two of you becoming intimate. Once you began, it felt like you were letting something go that you’d been holding on to for such a long time—shame. That feeling of unburdening shifted to you, spilling your guts telling her things you probably shouldn’t have.

You told her how much you’d hated her son for the first year, then told her how much he confused you and had you doubting yourself by the first have of the second year. Then you admitted that that hate and confusion turned to you being annoyed that you thought about him and even liked seeing him when you did. Your diarrhea of the mouth went further when you admitted that you’d probably thought about sleeping with him long before it actually happened. Still, Lisa didn’t speak. She let you say all you had to, and it turned out you had a lot to say.

You expressed your remorse over lying and sneaking around the last few weeks but admitted you weren’t sorry about it. That was when you felt able to confess that you loved all the conversations you and Chris had, you loved learning new things, loved seeing the vulnerable and soft side of him that he never showed. You even felt comfortable enough to voice your fears.

“I’m afraid if I let him in like I let Thro in that he’ll destroy me worse than he ever could. I was stupid with Theo. The signs were there, but I bypassed them. I didn’t listen to my gut, and by doing that, it cost me more than I ever dreamed. I am not the same person I was then. Everywhere I go, no matter who I am with, I have this barrier between them and me, and Chris is the only one who has ever been able to get behind that barrier. There are so many things that take me away and make it impossible for me to allow him to remain behind this barrier.”

You sniffled and wiped your cheeks while trying to get a hold of yourself.

“Do you want him behind the barrier?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. The question is, can I afford for him to be behind it, especially with everything I have going on and this new bullshit. It’s a lot.”

Lisa nodded. “That’s where you’re wrong. It matters. We have one life to live, Y/N. Tomorrow or the next is not guaranteed. This one existence is what we have. Our only purpose is to live a happy life, one that is fulfilling, rewarding, truthful, and full of love. To do that, we all have to find our truth, and we have to live in it. We have to unravel who we are, come face to face with our weaknesses, fears, strengths, and live unapologetically in all that glory. You have to do that. If you can’t, would you really want to look back on your death bed with nothing but regrets and no time to make it right?”

You hated how right she was. She wasn’t saying anything your mother hadn’t told you time and time again. She’d tried to drill this into your head after Connecticut, but you weren’t listening—you couldn’t. You still couldn’t. Everything in your life was now pointing in one direction, and you still couldn’t bask in it. Your past still gripped you and hovered over your head.

“Remember,” Lisa began drawing your attention to her. she wiped your cheek with the back of her hand the way only a mother could do. “Nothing and no one can keep two people apart who are meant to be. No matter how much time has passed, and no matter what plans are formed against them or promises are made. I guarantee when it’s the one, Y/N, you’ll have no hesitations. You might fight it, but it won’t change anything. No amount of fighting off what’s meant to be will make an ounce of difference.”

You snorted because you remembered her saying the same thing a few weeks ago on this very beach. She’d known all along. She must have known you knew because her smile was warm.

“It’s a sixth or seventh sense. You’ll see when you become a mother whenever that may be, sooner or later, or sooner.”

You busted out laughing so loud that your laughter carried in the wind and out to sea.

“All I’m saying is he can’t do any better than you,” Lisa added, making you laugh harder, a laugh she joined in on.

~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

After another sleepless night, he was in a shit mood and feeling like he was going through some form of withdrawals. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing your face every day or rolling over and bumping into your body that not doing it felt strange, incomplete sort of. When he recognized those feelings, he began to feel angry. He didn’t know what he was angry at, the fact that you’d rejected him or the fact that you hadn’t even given him a chance. He knew you felt something. You had to. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw something there. You spoke very little about your feelings, but he remembered the words you had said that last night when he’d asked you what you were thinking.

“You. Always only you.”

��Maybe he was grasping at straws, but that meant more than what it sounded like. He felt it.

“I told you that you’d like her,” Megan’s voice infiltrated his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

“Where are you? For the last few days, you’ve been here but not here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. “I’m here.”

“Okay. Have some fun tonight. It’s not really work,” Meg advised.

He sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. After a Zoom call with Letecia that lasted about thirty minutes, he was able to get a better feel for her. She was beautiful and funny. After thirty minutes, he wasn’t rushing off the call, so he bit the bullet and suggested dinner that night, all with the ideology there was no harm in a meal in mind.

“It’s just a quick dinner, Meg. No one is putting rings on fingers.”

“Don’t rule it out,” Meg sing songed.

It still felt disingenuous, and maybe that was why he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he’d made a commitment, and he was a man of his word if anything.

“The car will be downstairs in about ten minutes, so knock em’ dead,” Meg said, winking at him as she walked out of his room.

Once alone, he was finally able to take a breath. Hitching his hands on his hips, he hung his head low and sighed again. “Get your head in the game, ya’ clown.”

He heard the ringing of his phone, and he felt it was someone from his team or even Meg trying to pump him up. When he looked at the screen, it was a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

He wasn’t in the mood for some robocall. Just as he was going to hang up, he heard sniffles.

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d recognize your voice anywhere. The war within him began. Part of him wanted to console you and push aside any hurt he felt to make you feel better, but the other half was what kept him quiet. He didn’t want to make this any easier. He supposed it was a little of that resentment seeping through. The silence stretched from minute to minute until neither of you had spoken for a full five. Every minute the war within him waged.

“What do you want?”

“I—I--,” you stuttered before sighing and sniffling some more. No words actually came out.

Another minute of silence passed, and it was his anger and annoyance that piqued, not his sympathy.

“Y/N, what!?”

“I fucked up,” you shouted, then immediately got silent again.

“I fucked up bad, and I’m—I’m sorry.”

He took a slow breath in and tried to get control over the part of him that wanted to yell. As a child, Mary-Go-Rounds were his least favorite carnival ride, and nothing had changed.

“Did you hear me, Chris?”

“I heard you. I’m just—what do you want from me, Y/N?”

He walked to the seat by the window and dropped his head in his hand.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I let you bring me as close as you want, then you tell me to back off and give you space. I am kind and respectful to you, and you push me away and tell me about my whorish ways. I treat you with nothing but care and love, and you tell me to shut up pretty much. I don’t—what do you want from me?”

“I have a lot going on right now. I, there’s so much you don’t know and understand about me and my life, and I--.”

“—So tell me. I don’t know where along this path you thought that all I care about is sex, but that’s wrong. It’s never been about sex with me—us. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Silence. The only thing he heard was the return of your sniffles. A few moments later, you cleared your throat.

“I care--about you.”

The hiss of his breath slipped out, but it was an accurate depiction of his frustrations.

“Care about me? Wo--Okay. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

“Chris,” you whispered.

“See, I don’t even need you to say the words back. A few days ago, I was wrapped up on that, but tonight it’s not—I felt that maybe I’d been rushing you, and I didn’t even mean to say them, but more and more, I just feel like a fucking idiot when it comes to you. I’ve been this—open book to you, and you’ve shown me next to nothing. So I guess I need to know once and for all, plain as day. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

This time your silence was louder than anything he’d heard. After ten seconds, he should have hung up, but he sat there for a minute, then two, all the while, his heart just broke.

“They do mean something,” you whispered.

He felt like a contestant on some gut-wrenching game show, and he was on the edge of his seat and filled with so much anxiety.

“Do you want me, Y/N?”

You sighed loudly, then whispered his name.

“All you have to do is choose me like I’m choosing you,” he finished.

There was rustling and muffled voices that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could make out was your last name, and the words “case” and “update.”

“I gotta go. I can’t do this right now; I really can’t.” You were crying.

Then the call ended. He sat there for several long minutes going through so many different emotions, pain, sadness, confusion, hope, then anger. That was the emotion he left his room with, anger. Long gone were the words of his mother’s text from earlier, “Don’t make permanent decisions with temporary hurt feelings.”

At dinner, Letecia was great. She was funny, charismatic, sweet, and flirtatious. They talked about each of their experiences in the business, which led to talk about what different directors and producers were like, which led to joking about them. The conversation easily flowed from one thing to the next with little to no awkwardness. Still, his mind was distracted. He kept replaying the conversation he’d had with you barely an hour ago. When his brain couldn’t make sense of it, he moved on to comparing you to Letecia.

He compared your voices. Hers was more high pitched, yours softer. He compared your smiles, yours more genuine and bright, hers looked freer. He compared your eyes. He liked yours better. He compared your scents. They were both pleasant, yours won out, but he was not against hers. By the time dinner was finished, he knew Letecia didn’t stack up to you. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but there was something in him that had him progressing with the night. He could see her attraction to him, and he had to admit that he liked being wanted.

When they left the restaurant, they climbed into the waiting car together and laughed the entire way back to his hotel, a suggestion of hers he hadn’t objected to. Once they pulled up to the hotel and began walking to the entrance, Letecia leaned to his ear and whispered something flirty that told him where the night was headed. As soon as they’d gotten comfortable in his room, he got her a drink, and they talked a little more before she’d made a move to climb on top of him. Letecia pulled him into a flirtatious kiss, one he didn’t pull away from. She took his hand and placed it on her ass, taking the lead. It was like this was a first for him. His actions were slow and delayed. Nothing felt natural, and he hated it only felt that way with you.

As if to prove something to himself, he held Letecia’s head steady and kissed her with intent to forget your face. Her moans filled the room, and soon she was sliding odd his lap to sit on the floor between his legs. He watched as she unbuckled his pants and helped him lower his pants. Once the garment was at his ankles, Letecia wasted no time lowering her mouth onto his shaft. A groan escaped him as he watched her bob on his length, all the while slurping against his skin. It took him several minutes to get into the groove of what she was doing because his focus shifted perilously between her and you. No matter what, you resided in his head.

The feeling of doing something wrong constantly nagged him, distracting him from feeling much of anything though Letecia tried her best to draw a reaction. He dropped his head back, hoping that maybe not looking at her would help matters. It didn’t. His memories fluctuated between you doing the same things to a different reaction and the reality before him. He tried to forcibly get his head right, reminding himself that he’d done this plenty of times, and it shouldn’t have been hard. Even that didn’t help.

When Letecia stood before him to remove her burgundy dress, he skimmed her body, taking in every detail. It was underwhelming when he thought back to you, and the sight of her, while beautiful, didn’t excite him. She came closer and kissed him teasingly before walking behind him. When he looked back, he saw her crawl onto his bed then lie down to spread her legs, showing him what he could have. It was decision time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

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@ramp-it-up @october505 @k347 @liquorlaughslove @thotti3evans @reignandrain @shar74nett @littlebabexdebby @laricebabe @est1887 @songtoyou @msblkfire84 @bforbbgirl @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet @6lackfiction @chezdricks @krrose3 @parkker-barrnes @lilac-tea-time @elisaboricua

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#quarantine: a love story fic #q23 #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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bills-blog-now · 3 years ago

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Hey y’all! Sorry for being absent, I’ve been absolutely distracted by Deltarune chapter 2 (specifically Spamton). But, I did have a dream last night that reminded me I have this blog, so I hope y’all don’t mind me sharing this dream of mine. (Image is plot relevant)

So... an important thing to note is that I have this delusion that never goes away no matter how hard I try, to the point that I’ve just accepted it and don’t try to get rid of it anymore. And that is that in my past life, I was a demon. And when I watched Gravity Falls, it evolved to that demon being Bill Cipher.

That’s right, I’m kin with Bill Cipher against my will.

So anyways, to the dream I had.

It started with me being in Oregon, in a gift shop that was Gravity Falls themed. I had gone there with my dad. There were images ingrained in the wood all over the place of characters from the show, including on the ceiling. I was entranced trying to see it all, and in the background my delusion was there. Just, constantly reminding me of what it thinks. There were no images of Bill Cipher in the shack.

Meanwhile, my dad was chatting it up with the shopkeeper. About what, I don’t know, but my dad apparently deadnamed me, as when I felt that I had looked at everything the shopkeeper walked up to me and asked if I was enjoying everything while dropping my deadname. It felt gross, yet significant, how he said my legal name. I told him yes, but that my name was Kevin. When he spoke to me again, he didn’t call me by any name. Felt weird, like there was a blank empty space he didn’t want to fill. He told me that the shop was closing soon and I’d better get out. Despite me not wanting to leave, I didn’t make any arguments and I left.

My dad got out of the building first and I was following him. The shopkeeper then called out to me in a friendly way, asking me to come back to speak with him for a moment.

I was curious, but happy enough to do so. When I got close enough his started harshly whispering at me, practically hissing, “I know what you are”

My heart jolted. My delusion came to the forefront of my mind, surely he wasn’t talking about that? I open my mouth, but he keeps talking about how I’m not allowed back in his shack. Calls me a miserable being who’s a failure and will never become good like I try so hard to be.

My stomach drops. It’s my main goal in life to be the best person I can be in my life. To be a good person.

In a desperate attempt to refute my delusion one last time, I try to ask him what he’s talking about, but all that comes out is, “I don’t- I don’t...” I’m in too much shock to properly ask.

He sneers at me and calls me Bill. He says I’ve tried so many times before and that I’ll never be the good person I try to be. Then he slams the door in my face, leaving me in my confused yet enlightened thoughts.

My father completely exits the story, and all I’m left with is thoughts of how to best show I’m a good person. I already knew that I was being judged for something I don’t even completely remember, and that the shopkeeper had no clue of who I was in my current attempt at life. I knew I was a good person.

I.. think I wandered around the woods while lost in thought. It gets fuzzy around this part, but I do know that eventually I come across this cliff with a couple of sheets of glass there. It was standing up against a rock, facing the cliff edge. There was a man there too. He, for whatever reason, knew that I was Bill Cipher too. He explained that the mirrors were ones of alternate realities. I could pass through and prove my good heart in the alternate reality.

So... after trying to figure it out, I managed to travel to the alternate reality. And there was colors there! I realized the world I had been in was colorless the entire time and I never knew. I was still in the woods with the alternate reality behind me. So I made my way to the town. Things felt much the same as the previous reality, just much more colorful.

I run across the shack and the shopkeeper, who has the same face (though this time in color), beckons me towards him with a nod of his head. I go over cautiously, not wanting to be yelled at or chased out. He tells me that he knows who I am, and that his alternate self told him about me. He’s already told the townsfolk about me, though they don’t know what I look like. Just that I’m in a human form. I’ve come to this place many times before to test myself, however I’ve failed each previous time. I’m given a sheet of paper of all the folks in the town, and it tells me about how I’ve got to befriend these people, including the shopkeeper. I look up to see the shopkeeper sneering at me. He tells me that eventually the folks will realize who I am, and that I’ll lose just like everything other time. He enters his shop and slams the door.

There’s a special sporting event going on, so there’s a bunch of strangers in town. I won’t be singled out. I need to befriend the strangers too. I decide the best way to get close to these people is the join the sporting event.

I’m gonna skip this next part, cause it’s boring. Blah blah blah, sporting tournament, I do a good job and people like me for it, but there’s 2 hearts by each persons face on the list, and I’ve only filled up one of the hearts. Only my teammates (who figured out I was Bill) have two hearts filled out by their name.

And then disaster strikes. The shopkeeper, (who has 0 hearts filled still) gets pissed off by my decent progress and spreads word of who I really am. This starts a riot (all hearts back down to 0 except for my teammates) and I’m chased from the town into the woods. They continue to chase and I feel that the only safe place for me to be is in the alternate reality. So I run for the mirrors and head through.

On the other side, the black and white stands out while the shopkeeper is laughing at me for giving up. It all felt hopeless, so I go to see the life of the town in my reality. There is no sporting event here. Just normal people living normal lives. I look at myself and see I’m still in color. Nobody seems to notice. I mingle. Then people form the alternate reality manage to figure out how to get through the mirror and hunt me down just to chase me again. I realize that there’s no way I’m going to put these harmless townsfolk in danger while I’m apparently still in the test, so I head back to the mirror and go through.

After I go through, something changes. Specifically my form. For whatever reason, traveling through the mirror multiple times reveals your true form... kinda. It takes multiple attempts, and the more you do it the closer to your true form it’ll be. For me, I came through looking like the above image. Cat Bill Cipher. I seek out my friends in the test world and they are startled to see me, but they laugh and quickly accept me. The sporting event is cancelled, but the strangers are still in town. I’m hidden while I try to figure out what to do. I figure it’s best to just come out and say who I am. It goes... startlingly better than expected. The riot stops and, though nobody trusts me, nobody is actively trying to hurt me either. People go back home with their pitchforks and torches, saving them for later riots.

After a few days of attempting to befriend people, still only my teammates are my friends. I get angry, and in my anger a spell is triggered. My friend tells me what kind of spell it is, one that results in the death of whoever it’s directed at. It starts to build in my chest, my eye turning a hideous purple and I feel like I’m dying the longer I don’t let it out. I manage to turn the painful spell at a fern and it dies instead.

Turns out the longer that I’m in my true form (or just close to it) the more I learn of the spells I once knew. This excites me, as who doesn’t want to be a powerful wizard? I work on any and every spell that comes to me, and I start helping people around the town using my newfound magic. This is the right thing to do, as people start to like me. They see that despite having power, I’m using it for good instead of evil. The more I use magic, the more my true form is revealed. The more I show off, the more people see who I truly am. Soon enough, the hearts by their names on the list are filled. All except the shopkeeper.

I help out around the shop, I put up with his bullshit, but he doesn’t like my magic tricks, so I stop using them around him. But the hearts only fill to the first heart. He’s still mean to me, so I feel on some level he’s lying to himself. Lying to me. My power continue to grow and he just stays the same. After so long, perhaps a couple of weeks, he finally offers to play board games with me. He’s bored, I’m bored, board games.

I always win. No matter the game he just can’t catch a break. He grows more and more angry, until he pulls out a chess game. I really don’t know how to best play chess, and he knew that, so he’s trying to one-up me. Unfortunately for him, I develop the power to see a bit into the future during the match, so I figure out his moves ahead of time and can see the path to victory... however, I don’t use this new power to win. I use it to lose. And boy, he lights up like a firework, laughing his ass off at my “failure”. We play another game, I lose again. And again. I tell him I’m just no good at chess. He smirks at me. We call it a night.

I look over my list, and all the hearts are filled! I show it off to my friends and they’re happy for me! I passed the test! I’m happy!

...However, though my true form has come to be, and I have powers that I can use to help, I can’t help but be curious about my past self. I still don’t know everything and my spells are lacking. I feel a pull. A tug. And I allow myself to follow the feeling. I’m transported to what feels like an unholy place. It’s a place of my memories and spells. In order to unlock everything I need specific ingredients, which can be found around town and in the woods. I head back to the town and travel about collecting things. It doesn’t take long, and I travel back to the unholy place. I place the random things and plants on each of the alters and allow myself to recall that of my past. Of all the spells I once knew. Of Bill Cipher.

The place explodes with my power, literal black magic vapor seeping out of the alters and into myself. With it, I remember myself, and I laugh. I cackle. I soak it all in.

I know who I am. My name... is Kevin. I know who I am now. Who I’ll be for the rest of my life, and my life is not Bill Cipher.

And then when the mist is all soaked up my form changes to that of a beautiful woman. It’s at this point that my lucid dreaming mind was like, wait, what? Why the hell am I a gorgeous woman. Did some man write this weird story? And the scene changes to that of my human self talking with the shopkeeper, who is listening to my complaints of the dream. He pats my head and tells me to calm down about this. I’m still infuriated.

And I wake up in the middle of the night.

#dream #i refuse to revise this writing #ive been writing for near 4 hours now #im done with this

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years ago

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I love you (not) - Chapter 15

It's already September and I can't believe this fic isn't finished yet, I swear May was like. Last week.

Anyway, this chapter is full of soft touches because yes, hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3

---

Chapter 15: In which the real pining begins

“Hey Chat, it’s LB, I might be a little late for tonight’s patrol, I’ve been running all day and I still have a couple of things I need to take care of… Could you maybe get some pastries? I’m starving, you’ll forever be my absolute hero (and of course I’ll pay you back, I just can’t swing by a bakery right now). See you in a bit!”

Chat Noir paused as he finished listening to Ladybug’s message, slowly wrapping his head around the fact that she probably wouldn’t be the only one arriving late, despite his best efforts at being early. He looked at her profile picture pensively. His partner had absolutely no idea, but even she was trying to get him to do the right thing, namely: sending him to Marinette.

Well, to a bakery, but he knew very well that he wouldn’t find it in him to bring anything less than the best pastries in Paris to his Lady, especially if it meant getting a grip and owning up to his actions.

Because yes, he was ashamed of admitting it even to himself, but he’d been a coward ever since the fight against Hostzilla. He’d avoided Marinette for almost two weeks (as Chat Noir, obviously, although the past few days had seen his guilt increase so much that he’d struggled to even hold her gaze at school), partly because of last minute additions to his schedule, but mostly because he’d gotten cold feet anytime he’d come remotely close to her building.

It was time this stopped and that he bit the bullet. It wasn’t like Marinette could easily make the first step; even staying up to scrutinise the skyline would have been fruitless: he’d made some convoluted detours on his way home from patrol to avoid a rerun of the fateful night that had brought them into their fake - no, not fake, complicated relationship.

He’d had enough time to mull it all over, and it was clearly time to do something about the situation.

This tiptoeing around the issue ended tonight.

---

The bells jingled quietly as he pushed the bakery door. The warm backlighting and the sweet smell of rising dough welcomed him and made him relax a little, as did the sight of Marinette tiredly stretching behind the counter. He smiled softly. There really was something about this place that made him feel at ease, safe, even.

Marinette straightened up at the sight of Chat Noir awkwardly shuffling near the entrance of the shop, leaning forwards to take a look at one of the displays, and bit back a smug smile at the thought that her plan to lure him in had worked perfectly. His stomach grumbled and she stifled a giggle. The sound was enough to draw his attention; their gazes met, and both felt their cheeks pinken.

“Hey, Chat,” Marinette said almost breathlessly after what seemed like a thousand years of just staring into each other's eyes. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Even though her tone had been void of any accusation, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, making her melt slightly. “I’ve been pretty busy lately.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he still felt bad about leaving her hanging for so long.

“It’s alright, being a superhero is a full time job, after all." She cleared her throat. "How can I help you today?” She winced imperceptibly at her cowardice. They were the only ones in the bakery, it was stupid to ignore the elephant in the room. Still, she grabbed a paper bag and a pair of tongs, and looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, erm, I need pastries. I’m on snack duty for patrol.” He chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, I can't let our beloved heroes starve, can I? I wouldn’t want the responsibility of another Feast on my hands.” She winked.

"Don't remind me.” Chat shuddered at the memory of the sentimonster’s gooey tongue.

“Is there anything I can get you in particular?” She stifled a giggle at the same image.

“Well, you know me, I can’t leave those chouquettes on your hands, it would be a waste.” He eyed the relevant basket hungrily.

“Are you sure you want all of them? This is... 500g, the equivalent of six portions.”

“And?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Right, nevermind.” She shook her head, an amused smile spreading to her lips. “Anything else?”

“Hmm, could I have a collection of macarons for Ladybug? Anything but passion fruit, she always gives those to me so I’m not sure she likes them, and since I already have the chouquettes... I think I'm covered.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she picked the sweet delicacies for herself. Leave it to Chat to believe that her leaving his favourite macarons aside was because she didn’t like them.

“Will that be all?” She cocked her head to the side when she was done packing the box.

“To ring up, yes.” He paused. “But I was actually wondering if you purr-haps had time for a quick chat?”

“With you? Always,” Marinette flashed him a relieved smile as she handed him the pastries and signalled for him to follow her towards the back. She saw he was about to protest, so she added: “If you’re thinking about paying for this, I’m pretty sure my parents would cut me off if they found out I’d sold anything to you or Ladybug, so I'm not risking it. And don’t worry, it’s been a slow night so I don’t have to stay at the counter - we’ll hear if anyone comes in. You said that this was going to be quick, right?”

“I did.” Chat scratched the back of his head nervously as they sat down on the bottom steps of the building’s staircase.

There was a pause as the both of them tried to organise their thoughts and put them into words that would lead to a definite, yet delicate rejection. Marinette smoothed the fabric of her apron as she did, while Chat fiddled with the pastry bag.

“So, the other night, huh?” He awkwardly cleared his throat, wincing at his sudden lack of eloquence. He decided to go for the half-lie route rather than delve straight into their kiss. If he was already this tongue-tied while keeping his thoughts about it at bay, who knew what mentioning it would do. “I couldn’t find you at the hotel after the fight… Were you hit by the akuma?”

Marinette’s head shot up and she squinted at him, calculating her next move. Chat’s hypothesis provided good foundations to build on. Maybe he’d even get to the conclusion she wanted him to reach on his own.

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t be mad.” He smiled softly.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I overheard Hostzilla say she was looking for me just after you left, and I thought I could placate her a little so I went out in the open. She didn’t even see me, I got knocked out by a fancy table almost just as I came out of the hotel.” She rolled her eyes, hoping her lie was believable enough.

“Meowch.” Chat winced, before gently cupping her chin and tilting it to either side, trying to assess any remaining damage.

“I’m fine though, don’t worry! Ladybug’s cure got me right back on my feet.” She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then reluctantly pushed Chat’s hand away.

“I knew it wasn’t like you not to show up at some point during the fight.” He smiled triumphantly to himself at the thought that his vigilance during the battle hadn’t been completely uncalled for. He frowned and cleared his throat before continuing. “But it’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not entirely sure why you were targeted this time, but I’m just afraid that if we…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of what to say next. They’d never actually elucidated their relationship status; if they went forward, would they be continuing to date, or just starting? Would Marinette be offended if he used the latter?

“If we… continue on our set course?” Marinette offered.

“Yes, exactly, thank you.” He flashed her a quick smile. “I’m afraid that if we continue on our set course, there might be more opportunities for you to get caught up in fights, especially if word about our relationship gets out. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way, Marinette, I couldn’t bear you getting hurt because of me.”

Marinette was struck by the apparent anguish in her partner’s eyes as he looked at her. She instinctively reached for his hand.

“And I don’t want you to have to worry about me. I… I got my hands on footage of that battle, and I saw how distracted you were. You already have so much on your mind… I wouldn’t want to be a burden and put your safety in peril.”

“You could never be a burden, princess.” He absentmindedly ran his thumb across the back of her hand, but smiled sadly. “But I suppose you’ve reached the same conclusion I did.”

“Taking this relationship further would be a mistake.” She nodded gently.

“I’m sorry, Marinette.”

“Whatever for?” She took a deep breath and smiled bravely. “It’s not your fault. Just… Bad timing, I guess. If a hero-civilian relationship was ever supposed to work.”

“You're probably right.”

Marinette sighed and looked at her watch. “Anyway, you should probably go, Ladybug will wonder what happened to you.”

They both stood up, and walked slowly towards the bakery door. Marinette opened the door for him, but he paused and turned around before he’d crossed the threshold.

“For the record, I really enjoyed being your boyfriend while it lasted.” He felt his heart rate pick up as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“It was really nice.” She smiled gently. Then, feeling a burst of braveness, she took a couple of steps forwards to stand face to face with him.

She stood on her tiptoes before she could process exactly what she was doing and lose her nerve, tenderly kissed his cheek, and took a step back with a soft, if slightly sad, smile. Chat gasped slightly, his hand flying to his cheek. The point of impact of his… friend ’s lips felt like the epicentre of a wave of warmth, just like it had the last time she’d pulled something of the sort.

“Maybe we can make it work one day.” She looked down and blushed, rocking on the ball of her feet.

“Maybe one day,” he echoed.

He gave her one last, longing look before taking off into the night, afraid he might throw all caution to the wind if he stayed any longer.

#marichatmay2021 #marichat may #marichat #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #mlb #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 20: safety #elle writes #love you (not)

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con-fection · 4 years ago

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ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | 6/13

word count: 3.4k

It's strangely easy to get used to James Moriarty. Adapting to his needs is a necessity, and yet, you find that you barely have to change at all.

You slip into his routine fairly quickly. Despite your initial panic, and the feeling that the whole place was a prison, you're able to push that behind you. It's easy to become the person he demands of you, solely because that person is yourself.

There's no way for you to discern what this whole plan is leading up to, but for now, you've managed to gather a few pieces of the puzzle. They don't quite form a whole, unbroken image yet, but you can understand what they're going to comprise.

There is something that Moriarty has that he's very, very proud of. He's going to unveil it to the world, and you've been assured that every single major criminal is going to scramble to get their hands on it. This thing, whatever it may be, has a great deal of power, apparently.

Initially, you'd been inclined to believe that it was some sort of weapon of mass destruction. Moriarty had told you that it had the potential to be one, and you believed him. He was a great many things, and not many of them good, but you didn't think he was a liar. Not to you, anyway.

However, the more he talked about it, the more you began to suspect that this prized weapon over the masses was actually a farce. It was absolutely the kind of thing he would delight in, tricking everybody into competing for his attention. He never explicitly said it, but you did have an inkling that his 'weapon' was more of a party trick that would lead to destruction but not actually cause any on its own.

The second aspect that you were sure of was that something was going to happen to some kids. The thought of it alone churned your stomach, and his words about innocence remained emblazoned on the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you close your eyes. Thankfully, you had persuaded Moriarty not to kill them, but rather just to hurt them. Which would probably be very traumatising, and it did make you wince just thinking about it, but at least the kids would be sent to therapy rather than the morgue.

And somehow, despite all of this - the kidnapping, the being forced into his plans - there was a part of you that remained thankful to him.

Moriarty was a monster, there was no denying that. He liked to hurt others for his entertainment, and he ran a criminal enterprise, consulting with the worst offenders on the planet.

But, he had saved you. By now, Sherlock Holmes would have found you in your hotel room and you would be awaiting trial.

This wasn't freedom, but it was more than you'd ever had.

"Cinderella," You hear Moriarty's lilting irish voice call out, down the hallway from your bedroom. It's still early, you think, and unless you'd overslept, then he was coming to fetch you rather early.

You'd already been awake, though you were lounging around rather than actually doing anything, already dressed in some of the fine clothes from the wardrobe, just waiting for breakfast or a summons from the consulting criminal, which were usually delivered by one of his henchmen.

The door swings open - it doesn't even make a click, and you're left to speculate whether it had even been locked at all.

Moriarty saunters in, grinning. It's a habit of his, to dress impeccably - for today, he's donned a navy blue suit, probably Westwood, which you've discovered he's rather fond of. "Today, we're having an exercise in trust."

You look at him confusedly, not quite understanding. "Like... team bonding?"

"Oh, precisely. Since we're a team, and all."

"We're only a team because -"

Moriarty cuts you off jovially. "Because I kidnapped you and you joined me against your will. Yada yada yada. Yes, let's move passed that. 'S hardly relevant. C'mon, Cinderella. We have places to be."

"We're leaving the house?" You immediately perk up, jumping up and stalking towards him, simultaneously excited and predatory. You're willing to pounce on and devour any opportunity for freedom.

"Yes, yes we are. To get to know each other better."

---

Standing before your house, reduced to rubble, was not your idea of 'team bonding'. Even then, calling yourselves a team was probably an exaggeration. He had all of the power, and you just had to tag along for the ride.

You hadn't really ever anticipated seeing it again in person.

The entire place was blackened and crumbling. It's an overly nice day, the kind where the sky is blue and it's warm, but there's a gentle cool breeze that keeps you grounded. The entire street looks lovely, thriving in the warm weather, but this house, your home, was now a blight on the street, a dark contrast to how happy the rest of the world seemed. Verona's car had been removed, probably even destroyed by now, and there had been some minor clean up done in the garden, with lots of the loose, fallen tiles from the roof having been gathered up.

There's obnoxiously yellow crime scene tape everywhere, cordoning off the house and some of the surrounding areas.

It was just the shell of what it had once been.

It was different, seeing it in person. On the TV, it hadn't even seemed real - it was just another thing for you to celebrate. The last time you were here, it was burning. This ashen, blackened, warped skeleton of your childhood home is a potent reminder of how far you've come, of what you've sacrificed for a freedom you're struggling to obtain.

Moriarty nudges you. There's some of his men on the street, standing tall and stoic - ever silent and ever watching, their presence is likely to prevent you from attempting an escape. He's since put on some sunglasses and keeps pivoting his head slightly to look between you and the charred remains of your childhood home.

"Well...?" He asks, questioningly.

"I really, really don't see how this is meant to build trust." You say, rather numbly. It had felt a lot better when the place was still ablaze. Now that the Archer family were dead and their presence removed from the house, it almost feels like a shame that it had to burn at all.

Almost. But not quite.

It's still a monument to your power, to your ability to maim and destroy. You don't feel half as distant when you remember their suffering, the way that the girls had bled out like pigs when you slit their throats and nearly hacked their heads off.

"Mmh, maybe not yet. I just wanted to see what you had done." Moriarty admits with a shrug. "Look at all you've accomplished, and think how much we could do together."

"I don't want to burn the whole world." You tell him, for the first time looking away from the ashes of the house and up at him. "I want to rule it."

Moriarty grins wildly. "That's the spirit, Cinderella. I can give you the world, you know. All the freedom you want. You just have to stand at my side."

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

"Well yes, it is."

The birds are still singing, chirping happily to one another and diving in the air, flapping their wings. It's rather comforting to know that it hasn't changed - that the parts you like have remained intact, even as you'd rained hellfire down upon this place. There wasn't such birdsong in London, and you had missed it.

"Why me?" You have to ask - you've asked so many times and you can never be satisfied with the answer.

"Sherlock was interested in you. At first, you were in my way. And now?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "Now you're the way forward, Cinderella."

It feels like you've come to some sort of pivotal moment. Here, under the sun and staring at the house you had burnt down, Moriarty doesn't feel so much like a captor. Rather, you're beginning to feel that comradery, that stirring of companionship. The two of you weren't exactly alike, no. But you didn't have to be.

"I'm not sorry I did it." You say, staring at the rubble that you had reduced your childhood home to.

"No, I know." He shrugs. "It'd be awfully boring if you were. Remorse is a bit ordinary, don't you think?"

You don't bother answering his questions. Rather, you close your eyes, and let yourself listen to the soft chirps, hoots and calls from the songbirds darting through the trees. When you're not looking at how damaged the house is, it's easy for you to imagine the hazy days of your youth - watching the birds with your mother, running around the garden whilst your father chased you.

"I'd missed the music, though." You admit. "London doesn't have such pretty songbirds. I always enjoyed waking up to them."

Silently, Jim absorbs the information. He's content to look between you, basking gloriously in the sun, bathed in light, and the destruction you had inflicted on those who sought to subdue you. Both were beautiful sights.

You didn't want to be a mirror image of James Moriarty, and you never would. That wasn't what he wanted, either.

Despite the armed guards behind you, you do, for the first time, feel free.

This isn't a scrap of impure, tainted freedom like back at the hotel. This is the real thing - this is feeling weightless, untethered.

There had been a great many variations of Cinderella written. You had admired them all. Perhaps in this version, Cinderella wasn't the only twisted one. Maybe she burns the house down, but she finds kinship in the prince anyway. Perhaps Prince Charming throws his ball to find victims, rather than wives.

That would be a happily ever after that you could enjoy. There could be no need for lies when you were capable of understanding each other completely. Depravity was a universal craving, and one you knew well, whether it was driven by desperation or not.

---

Today is a very important day, or so you have been told.

This is the day when these fragments of plots come to fruition. Moriarty's men mill about the mansion faster than usual, talking to each other in hushed, rapid voices when they would normally be silent. It very much sets you on edge.

When you enter Moriarty's study that morning, he's sat at his desk and he's not dressed the way he normally is. There's no striking blue Westwood suit or something similar. He's dressed casually - he's even wearing a hat.

You can't quite mask your confusion.

"Launch day, Cinderella." He clicks his tongue at you chidingly, like he's disappointed, or as if you even had the opportunity to forget.

"Yeah, I know." You bite out, annoyed that he would presume it could slip your mind. "Just... what are you wearing?"

You much prefer his pretentious luxury suits to this - a boring, beige blazer and a black cap. It just doesn't look like him. It doesn't look like Moriarty. It looks like a random civilian man that would probably ask you for directions around London. It peturbs you that he doesn't look quite like himself.

Then, you're subsequently even more distressed by your own distress.

You've rather established that you've come to view Moriarty as more of a partner or mentor figure than as a captor. Here is the most free you've ever felt, and you owe your freedom to him. Naively, you hadn't planned post-murder, and by now, you would have been caught.

Moriarty has become almost familiar, and you don't like seeing that familiarity vanish.

"I'm a tourist!" He proclaims, gesturing to his outfit. "Aw, don't you like it?"

"Well, no." You say, rather flatly. "It doesn't look like you."

Moriarty creeps up from behind his desk, stalking over to tower over you and look down at you, his dark eyes staring at you intensely. "It's not forever, Cinderella. Just for one night."

"And you're presenting the thing to the world like this?" You ask dubiously, once more running your eyes over him and trying not to wince. It just doesn't sit right seeing him dressed as something he's not - seeing him downplay himself and disguise as a regular person.

"I'll be wearing a crown when they catch me, don't you worry."

Involuntarily, your eyes widen and you're suddenly grasping at his shirt and looking up into his eyes beseechingly, desperate for answers. "You're going to get caught?" You sound aghast, disbelieving and you feel like you've been wronged - like this is a betrayal.

Moriarty scoffs, but he doesn't pry you from his body. Rather, he simply lets you cling to him. "Not for long. Today, I'm going to get caught stealing the crown jewels."

Your jaw drops open and you fist your hands into his shirt even tighter, pulling so hard you're practically chest-to-chest with each other - with Moriarty staring down at you and you gazing up at him. "The crown jewels."

"Then Pentonville Prison, and the Bank of England, too." He says, grinning.

Really, Moriarty's power and influence shouldn't shock you. He's got loads of people here on strings, following his orders and doing his bidding. They scurry about the mansion in a frenzy, completely obedient to him.

"And you're... going to get caught?"

Moriarty brings one of his hands up to stroke just the top of your head, playing with your hair comfortingly. "Not for long. I'll be out of there before you know it. In the meantime, you'll have jobs to do. Is that okay, Cinderella? You'll play along, won't you?" He croons softly.

"I will." You don't feel half as reluctant as you should.

"Good." Moriarty says, proudly. "That's what matters. You're more than welcome to visit me in jail, though I doubt I'll be there for very long."

There's a knock at the door, and that's when you realise just how close you and he are. Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, he's stroking your hair - and he's so devastatingly close, and there's a pang in your stomach but it's not pain, it's pure feeling.

The loud knocking persists, and reluctantly, you step away, dropping your hands from his body and missing the feel of his hand tangled in your hair.

"Come in, then." Moriarty calls out, looking darkly at the nameless employee of his that enters the study.

"Sir, it's time to go."

Moriarty casts you one last look, his dark eyes roaming over your body, seemingly trying to memorise you - like this moment is something he doesn't want to forget.

You've slotted into his life so well - you're a somewhat unwilling and ungrateful accomplice, but he still very much appreciates you despite that. He finds that, knowing he will be absent for potentially days at a time, he wants to emblazon the very image of you onto the back of his eyelids, so that you're always waiting for him in the darkness.

"Well, Cinderella. Until we meet again." He says, softly.

In the next instant, he's walking out, swiftly followed by his men, and you're left alone in his study, with more questions than answers.

---

There were a great, great many rooms in this mansion. Your time was often divided between your bedroom and Moriarty's study. But today, you were lounging around on some expensive white couch, watching TV intently.

You would constantly be changing news channels, waiting for the story to break. You had seen bits and pieces of dreary, repetitive soap operas, listened to fragments of sports shows, and even made your way through half a nature documentary before anything happened.

You would bite at your lip nervously, fiddle with your hands and pull on your hair. You were nervous, frighteningly so. Naturally, there were a few expected concerns flitting around your mind, like what happens to you if Moriarty actually does go to prison, or what would happen if something goes wrong, or what if he turns you in.

But, there are a few that you hadn't anticipated. There's a twisting, nauseating feeling in your stomach. It's like there's some terrible beast writhing around in your gut, eviscerating any organs it comes into contact with and leaving you a whimpering, anxious mess.

You are worried for him.

And you're not just worried about what may happen to you - you're actually concerned for him. As much as Moriarty may be a murderer and a criminal, you're those things too, and he's the only person that you have to depend on.

There is nobody else in your life. Nobody but him.

Your parents are long since dead and buried, and the three members of your step-family slain by your own hands. You had come to London alone, friendless and without a plan. He had been the one to secure your freedom, to give you this.

And then, the news channels all practically explode.

" - there has been a break in at the Bank of England. Reportedly, the vault has opened, though how much, or if anything has been stolen remains unknown to us at this time."

Hastily, you turn the channel over, constantly darting between news sources, hoping for any new information. All of their voices are blaring, and blurring together, but they're not saying what you want them to.

"We can officially report that prisoners at the Pentonville Prison have been - "

And most importantly,

"Following a series of break-ins that include places such as the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison, it has been reported that the Tower of London has been breached, and the Crown Jewels were removed. A suspect has been taken into custody."

"...all broken into by the same man! James Moriarty."

There it is. The news lady finishes her spiel, and the screen flashes up a video. You can't tell whether it's live or not, but it's Moriarty, and he's being arrested, thrown into the back of a police vehicle with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Oh my god," You breathe, and you have to remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. Moriarty always intended for this to happen.

It does, however, feel awfully perturbing to see him like that. It's like he's tumbled from his pedestal, and been stripped of everything that made him unique. It's pitiful, seeing him cuffed and arrested like he's some common criminal. There is absolutely nothing common about Moriarty, and you doubt there ever has been.

So, this was his weapon. The ability to enter the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison, the Tower of London and who knows where else. If these places were vulnerable to his influence, then surely anywhere was. And that was probably the point. He was showing off - it didn't matter to him whether he was arrested or not.

There was probably a contingency plan for that, too.

This was all meant to happen - this was all part of his design, and you just had to trust in it.

Trust. Wasn't that a funny thing. You frown as you mull it over - trusting in him was probably a dangerous move, but he was the only person you have to trust in, and he had saved you from a fate much worse than this. You would have to believe in him - that everything would work out just fine.

Never in recent years had you been in a position where you had to depend on another person. You had always been the one flitting about, clearing up the mess, taking the abuse and festering in your own anger.

You should be the one in handcuffs - you would have been by now. But you're not, you're here, and Moriarty is the one imprisoned. Perhaps it is time to fight tooth and nail for the freedom of somebody other than yourself.

He would get out. One way or another, Jim Moriarty would make sure that he got free. After all, the game hadn't ended yet, and there were still plans to be fulfilled.

His absence was tangible in the house. There wasn't really anybody else around for you to interact with - his men certainly didn't care to, and you were rather awkward when it came to the realm of social interaction.

All that was left to do was wait, and trust.

#Jim Moriarty #jim moriarty x reader #bbc sherlock

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years ago

Text

This has been sitting in my files for about a month now. I’d love to continue it, it’s a No Powers AU GerryMartin precursor to JGM, but I’ve pretty much stalled on it with no clue where to take it from here, and it’s fun enough to share on its own.

CW: Alcohol consumption, implied self-esteem and body image issues, they do the sex but I don’t describe it.

As decisions went, it probably wasn’t one of Gerry’s best, but in the end he couldn’t argue with the results.

It started because Jon dragged him out for drinks—well, no. It started when Annabelle dragged Jon out for drinks, and instead of arguing with her Jon had begged Gerry to come along as moral support. Gerry could have told him to piss off if he wanted to, but he never had before and wasn’t about to start now.

As it turned out, drinks with Annabelle had been one trailing end of a daisy chain of invited acquaintances that took up almost three booths at the pub. No one was quite sure who had started off by inviting who, but after a couple of drinks no one really cared

The important part was that someone among their number had invited Martin, and that was how Gerry wound up squashed next to him in the corner of booth number two. It was around then that the night had started to turn around for Gerry; the only thing that could’ve been better would’ve been Jon on his other side instead of a questionably sticky wall. Unfortunately, Jon had gotten dragged off to be Oliver’s social buffer, which was an interesting choice on Oliver’s part, but Gerry wasn’t about to judge.

Which left the two of them.

“Martin,” said Gerry, thankful they were close enough not to need to shout. “Been a while.”

Martin, who thus far seemed determined to spend the evening hiding behind his glass, flashed him a quick smile. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t a criticism,” Gerry assured him. “Just, you know. Good to see you again.”

“Tim invited me,” Martin said, as if Tim hadn’t been inviting him to things for almost two months. But that was neither here nor there.

He was here now; even though Jon had gotten kidnapped, Gerry’s evening was set.

Two hours in, Gerry felt pleasantly warm—both from the drinks in him and from Martin, who was very pleasant to lean up against and not given to making a fuss when he did. Jon had only managed to come around a few times to chat before getting dragged off again, Tim was off babysitting Drunk Sasha, and the booth was virtually empty besides them. Comfortably buzzed, Gerry was more than content to sit with his head pillowed on Martin’s shoulder, and let his friend gently bully him into taking the occasional sip of water.

“Is that really comfortable?” Martin asked.

With his cheek mashed against Martin’s arm, Gerry could only manage a noise that sounded vaguely like “Somft.”

“I’ll… take that as a compliment?”

“Good,” Gerry replied. “You’re lovely.”

“Just laying on the charm, aren’t you.”

“Yeah, well.” Gerry headbutted him gently. “Missed you.” Beyond their little circle of warmth, the booth was empty—which was a good thing, because Sasha had been sitting with them earlier, and Sasha had a penchant for taking sneaky photographs.

Martin sighed. “Sorry.”

Gerry headbutted him again. “I told you,” he said. “You’re good. Don’t have to be sorry. You’re here now. Even saw you laugh a bit, I liked that.” Pleased, he observed the blush as it traveled up the side of Martin’s neck, overtaking the spray of freckles. “Can’t believe I almost didn’t come. I would’ve missed that.”

Martin laughed again, soft and breathy. “You get cuddly when you drink, you know that?”

“Makes me more charming,” Gerry said with a grin. “What’s your excuse?”

He was still admiring the blush, and the freckles, and the luminous look in Martin’s eyes, when Martin’s hand went to the side of his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone.

“Can I—” Martin began, and got no further.

Gerry wasn’t sure who moved first, but there were other things more worth thinking about. Like Martin’s hands, one tangled in Gerry’s hair, the other braced against the wall at his back. Like Martin’s body, soft and fat and warm as he pressed him into the booth and kissed the daylights out of him. Like Martin’s lips, slightly rough and chapped as they parted to let Gerry in.

The angle was a bit awkward, especially with the wall behind him, but he locked his arms around the back of Martin’s neck and pulled himself closer. When Martin broke the kiss for breath, Gerry continued it by shifting his mouth down the side of Martin’s neck.

At some point his arms shifted, and his hands found their way under Martin’s jacket, only to meet the mild frustration of a shirt in the way when he didn’t go deep enough.

Martin pulled back again, for real this time, and Gerry almost whined at the interruption until Martin muttered out, “Wait—wait.”

Gerry stilled. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just—are you sure you want to—um.”

Impatient, Gerry opened his mouth to answer yes, obviously, could they get on with it, before he remembered the wall at his back, and the table that was probably jabbing into Martin’s side, and the rest of the booth that might not stay empty for long.

“Oh,” he said faintly, pressing gently on Martin’s shoulder. “God, right, yeah. Lemme up.”

A shadow crossed Martin’s face, and he pulled back before Gerry managed to identify it as disappointment. “Yeah, sorry, just—drinks got to my head.” He shifted away, taking all that warmth and softness with him, and for once Gerry’s buzzed brain was quick on the uptake.

“Wait, no, get back here.” Gerry struggled into sitting upright, chasing after the lost contact. “That’s not—what I meant.”

“What?”

They were close again, and Gerry was very determined to keep it that way. If possible, he would like to be within easy kissing distance of Martin for the rest of the night. “I want to continue this,” he said. “Just, you know, not here.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, and the pub.

“Wait.” Martin blinked. “So you—”

“Your place or mine?” Gerry asked.

Martin’s eyes lit up, but still he hesitated. “You’re sure?” he asked. “I just mean—I know I’m not exactly…” His voice trailed off.

With infinite patience, Gerry took Martin’s face between his hands and kissed him again, deepening it until Martin whined against his mouth, until Martin sat back in the booth and Gerry could slide into his lap and press close enough to let him know exactly how sure he was.

He broke the kiss, just barely, just enough to whisper, “Your place or mine?”

They went to Martin’s.

***

Martin woke up warm, achy, and filled with a mild, comfortable satisfaction that threatened to put him right back to sleep. With a faint smile, he made to turn over and burrow deeper into the blankets, determined to make this feeling last.

Instead, someone shifted against him. Warm pressure identified itself as arms wrapped around him, and suddenly Martin was very, very awake.

He opened his eyes.

Long hair fanned out over the pillow he was sharing, its owners head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. That shade of black, too dark and uniform to be natural, could only belong to one person.

Memories from the previous night floated back in, starting with one particularly relevant bit.

“You get cuddly when you drink.”

“What’s your excuse?”

Oh.

Martin froze, caught between embarrassment and the stubbornly satisfied little thrill that shot through him as the previous night returned to him.

He really wasn’t—

He didn’t usually—

It was just, other people didn’t really—

Look, alright, so Tim had flirted that one time, but that was just a joke, obviously, because it was always just a joke when—

Gerry stirred against him, already beginning to wake up. His hair shifted to the side, slipping off his neck to reveal a dark bruise, standing out plainly on his pale skin.

Martin rolled onto his back, arm over his eyes. “Jesus.”

“Mmffuh?” Gerry’s head lifted, before Martin felt him freeze. Hesitantly, he shifted his arm back to look. Gerry was staring at him, hair spilling over his pillow-creased face, mouth half-open in surprise. The sleepy confusion morphed into dawning realization.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yyyep,” Martin replied. “How d’you feel? Hangover?”

“Err, not to bad, actually,” Gerry answered, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Must’ve been all that water you kept shoving down my throat.”

“Please don’t talk about shoving things down—”

“Right, right, yeah, sorry, poor choice of words,” Gerry said with a wince. “So. Uh. D’you want me gone, or…?”

“Wh—I’m not kicking you out!” Martin said hastily, sitting up at last. “Look, let’s just—d’you want breakfast? There’s…” He remembered his empty fridge, and cursed his previous night’s lack of forethought. “Um.”

“We can go out,” Gerry assured him. “Think I’m in the mood for something greasy, to be honest. Mind if I use your shower?”

“Yeah, no, go ahead. Might be a bit cold—landlord’s been dragging his feet about fixing the pipes.”

They took turns showering, Martin lent him some spare clothes, and the two of them escaped to the nearest pub.

Out in public, sitting across from each other over their plates, it all started to feel a bit more real and immediate. Gerry was rubbing at his neck, letting his still-damp hair hang over it to hide the bruise.

“So,” he said.

“That happened,” Martin agreed.

“Do you—” Gerry hesitated. “I mean, are we… good?”

` “Good?”

“It’s just that,” Gerry went on nervously. “I don’t think either of us were that impaired, but, y’know, drunken hookups are always a risk, so, the last thing I would’ve wanted is to—to take advantage, or—”

“Gerry,” Martin said, realizing what he was getting at halfway through. “Gerry, you—no, absolutely n—I mean, yes, we’re good. We’re completely good. I promise I’m fine, more than fine. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Gerry relaxed so suddenly and completely that he almost faceplanted into his eggs. “Oh, thank God.”

Martin patted him, feeling inordinately fond all of a sudden. “It’s like you said. Neither of us were that impaired. Or, if we were, we were equally impaired, so. Nobody was taking advantage of anybody.”

“Right, right, good. Wait.” Gerry looked up, one eyebrow cocked. “More than fine?”

Martin froze mid-pat, already feeling the blush steal over his face. “I-I mean.” He swallowed hard. “It’s just—I had fun? It was nice. I liked it.” He wanted to sink into the floor as soon as it was out. He could already see the mischievous smile overtaking Gerry’s face.

“Well, good,” Gerry said. “I liked it too.”

“Would you want to do it again then?” Martin blurted, surprising himself as much as Gerry. “I mean, not now, but—”

“Obviously not right now,” Gerry said, grinning. “And yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” He paused for another. “One question though, d’you want to actually date, or just—”

“Oh, uh, no,” Martin said, with an awkward laugh. “God no, I—” know I’m not the best company, he didn’t say. People got weird whenever he talked like that, but it was true. Ever since Mum died, he’d felt… brittle. Like he was seconds away from bursting into tears or snapping at the nearest person at any given moment.

Yesterday had been a good day, and even then accepting Tim’s invitation had felt like pulling teeth.

“I don’t think I’m in a good head space for a relationship,” he said finally. Gerry nodded along, and Martin tried not to sting at how unbothered he looked. Not even the tiniest bit disappointed. “But, this—it was fun. And… I wouldn’t mind having fun again, sometime.”

“Hopefully sober next time,” Gerry said dryly, and ducked when Martin flicked a straw wrapper at him.

#the magnus archives #gerrymartin #gerard keay #martin blackwood #tma fic #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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isabelleashmore · 3 years ago

Text

Invisible Moonlight: Padmé Amidala/Sabé for @star-wars-wlweek

Padmé winged easily through the steps, whisking Sabé along with her, and for a moment, they were waltzing in their nightgowns through the ballroom of Theed Palace, Sabé’s touch electric at the small of her back. It was only on her planet that petticoats and ballgowns, stiff and unforgiving on the bodies of Imperials, turned beautiful, their hems flaring vibrantly over the floor with their soft, silken sighs.

It was only in Sabé’s arms, dancing through her memories of Naboo, that Padmé became weightless.

(Or, Padmé and Sabé have a romantic night to themselves following the rise of the Empire.)

Rating: Teen

@star-wars-wlweek

Read here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33233989

Invisible Moonlight

“Were you surprised?”

Sabé whispered the question as if they were kids at a sleepover, scared to be caught out of bed after lights-out. They essentially were, Padmé reflected, only this time, it was being caught in bed that would get them in trouble. She tried and failed to banish that image from her mind: palace guards breaking down the door to her and Sabé’s hidden bedroom, finding them tangled up in the sheets and in each other. A humiliating arrest, after which they would be hauled to the throne room and tossed at the feet of a furious Emperor Vader. He’d throw his jealous little tantrum right then and there, which would subside only after he’d locked away his wife and executed her lover, all without ever addressing the women who frequented his room each night. The sparks of resistance that she and Sabé had so painstakingly kindled would be snuffed out; Luke and Leia—well, thank the gods that they were Anakin’s, too, because envisioning her children at risk, especially as a byproduct of her own actions, squeezed the air from Padmé’s lungs faster than if she’d been chucked off a skyscraper—

Sabé curled an arm around her waist, breaking her free from her ruminations. Padmé’s lips twitched into a fragile smile. Sabé’s every touch felt like a lullaby, like a murmured, “I’m here.” They had taken all the necessary precautions, she reminded herself: Dormé was covering for them and Anakin was spending the night with his own mistress. Not that Padmé thought of Sabé as her mistress. If anything, she liked to imagine that she was her girlfriend, and sometimes even indulged in fantasies of one day calling Sabé her wife.

Emboldened by the dream kneaded into that word—wife—Padmé giggled and touched her nose to Sabé’s. “Was I surprised by what?”

“Realizing that you were attracted to me. Were you surprised?” Sabé shimmied coyly out of Padmé’s grasp; her sultry, side-eyed gaze was enough to send tingles down Padmé’s arms. She found herself admiring Sabé’s lip gloss under the muted, golden light, the way it drew attention to the delicate purse of her lips, and thinking about how, whenever she was deep in thought, those lips would fall open just slightly, like a rosebud puckering into bloom…

It took Padmé much too long to focus on the question. She inhaled and blew out a slow stream of air, hoping Sabé hadn’t noticed. “Yes,” she hedged, “and no. I mean, there were some things about us that finally made sense. Like back when we were girls, and I got jealous when Harli Jafan started flirting with you—”

“You did?”

A blush stole into Padmé’s cheeks at Sabé’s unabashed delight. “Why else did you think I was upset about her trying to kiss you? I should have realized it earlier, but everyone around me just assumed I was only into men. Maybe I assumed it, too. Until…”—she met Sabé’s gaze from beneath her eyelashes—“until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Sabé smiled and took Padmé’s hand in hers, absentmindedly tracing the lines of her palm. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you so sure that people had those assumptions in the first place? No offense, but I can’t imagine Theed Palace being thrown into chaos over your sexuality. Yané and Saché were openly a couple, and I was out as bi before I signed on as your handmaiden.”

“It wasn’t that. I’m sure that if I made a point of coming out, everyone would have been supportive, but…” Padmé rested her head on Sabé’s shoulder, pondering how to translate her emotions into words. “My parents and sister were always asking me when I was going to bring home a boy. Maybe I started to believe that that was the ultimate goal, that liking anyone else made me somehow…less than. And then one day, Anakin happened to accompany me to my parents’ house. He was only there as my bodyguard—a Jedi one, at that!—but my whole family leapt to the assumption that he was my boyfriend. Sola and my mother were so happy—relieved, even—and…I don’t know. I told myself that none of it would matter if I could just fall for Anakin, but then I caught myself thinking, how would they have reacted if I’d brought home a girl instead?”

“I know your parents,” Sabé said. “I’m sure they would have been supportive.”

“Oh, they would have, if they had known. But I brought home you and Dormé a few times and they never assumed either one of you was my girlfriend.”

“It’s probably because you’re so feminine,” Sabé said with a hint of bitterness. “No one ever expects feminine women to be into women.”

“No one ever expects women to be into women.”

Sabé’s only response to that was to grip Padmé’s hand a little tighter.

They sat together in silence until Padmé had collected her thoughts. “I think,” she confessed, “that I was most afraid of seeing the shock on their faces. It would have felt too much like letting them down, like turning my back on a dream they’d had for me since childhood. No, more than a dream: an expectation.” She worried her lip. “I don’t know when ‘assumption’ turned into ‘expectation’, but it did, and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it—not for them, and especially not for myself. I still don’t know of anyone in House Naberrie who isn’t heterosexual, and there was enough tension between my relatives and me as it was, what with some lingering contention over my career choice and my not-entirely-pacifist politics—and then this—!” Padmé didn’t realize she was crying until the tears were flooding down her cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to muffle the sob that escaped her. “Gods, I wish I had told them—now that Anakin won’t even let me talk to them—”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Sabé stroked Padmé’s hair with her free hand, pausing only to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? We all move at our own pace. I knew pretty young, but if I’d figured it out just a little bit later, I would have had the same insecurities as you. Probably more of them, since in my case they would have been justified.”

“Stop it, Sabé. You know how I feel about you talking yourself down.”

“I know, love.” Sabé raised Padmé’s chin to drop a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. Somehow that still ignited every nerve in Padmé’s body. “For the record, my career path was also hard for my family to accept. Being chosen as your handmaiden was an honour, of course, but my parents were just so hung up on this fantasy of me following in the family tradition, playing hallikset in the back row of some orchestra for the rest of my life.”

Padmé sighed, wiping the last of her tears on the back of her hand. “I think that’s one of the main problems on Naboo. Everyone wants their child to go into the arts, but we still need people who can run the government or fill any of the other thousands of jobs that are necessary to our planet’s survival. My father did support my engagement in politics growing up, but even he still hoped that I would ultimately pursue a career in the arts. Thankfully, once I announced to my parents that I was running for Princess of Theed, they understood that politics were my calling and stopped trying to wrangle me into an artistic pursuit. But before that, they’d tried everything: poetry, original oratory, debate, the like. My mother had desperately wanted me to be a musician, like you, but I wasn’t a standout talent at any particular instrument. At least I took all those years of dance classes—”

“No way, that doesn’t count. Everyone takes dance classes.”

Padmé shoulder-checked Sabé in mock offense. “How dare you dismiss my prodigious dance skills. I’ll have you know, I was recommended to a couple of ballet conservatories thanks to my ‘natural poise and diligence’.”

“Oh, I can believe it. I was watching you dance tonight.” Sabé’s voice had taken on a genuine, if a bit seductive note. She grinned and dropped her lips to Padmé’s ear. “You want to know a secret?”

A thrill shot down Padmé’s spine. “Yes…”

“I was jealous tonight, love. Really jealous, having to watch you dance with him in front of everyone. His hands, just…digging into your waist, as if to lay claim to you or something…” Padmé was horrified to find that the passion in her girlfriend’s voice, so hot and sensual a second ago, had suddenly been zapped dry. “Gods!” Sabé cried, sharpening and spitting the word like it was dirty. “That man is insufferable, I—I hate him!”

Padmé remained silent, rubbing the silk of her nightgown between her fingers. She had thought for a moment that this was going in a different direction, but then somehow Anakin had ruined it without even being here and—no. She refused to let the thought of him spoil her mood. Instead, she took a deep breath and examined the small, windowless bedroom that she and Sabé shared. Already a warm pulse of pride was pushing out the anger in her chest. They may have lost the bulk of their past lives to Anakin, but they had still succeeded in making this one thing their own.

Padmé’s favourite shimmer-silk robe had taken up permanent residence on the back of the desk chair, and Sabé’s hallikset case lay nestled at the foot of their bed. On the walls, they had hung every holophoto they’d rescued from Anakin’s war on the past, regardless of whether said photos were personally relevant to them. Decade-old letters from Padmé’s sister and Sabé’s brothers, penned on real arbovellum paper, were piled lovingly on the vanity; next to them, a meticulous arrangement of eyeshadow palettes and perfume bottles. What really caught her eye, though, was Sabé’s music player, its bulky form squatting somewhat obtrusively in the corner. Sabé had held a strange affection for the battered old thing since Padmé had known her, despite—or perhaps because of—her brothers’ alleged attempts on its “life” over the years.

“Sabé,” she proposed lightly, “how about a dance?”

Sabé followed her gaze to the music player, and her eyes widened in surprise. “What, right here?”

“Why not? We’ve got music and two people who know how to waltz. What more could we need?”

“Hmm…fair point.” Sabé stood up from the bed, her hips swaying just slightly as she approached the music player. Padmé felt a fresh blush heat her cheeks. “I’ve still got this recording my brother gave me a few years ago, from the orchestra he was playing with at the time.”

“Perfect.” Padmé closed her eyes just before the first strains of music wove through the air. When she opened them again, Sabé stood before her like a vision: her hair haloed by a cross-section of candlelight, her hand extended to Padmé with the palm up. “May I have this dance, my lady?” she asked in a manner so formal, they could have been at an actual ball. Padmé giggled like a lovestruck teenager and took Sabé’s hand, pulling her eagerly to the centre of the room. Their nightgowns traced the movement with a cool flutter of silk. “You may,” Padmé whispered belatedly, unable to look anywhere but into Sabé’s eyes.

She could feel the night wrapping them up in moonlight they could not see, driving them closer, closer, closer until her breasts pressed up against Sabé’s, whose open lips hung just a tantalizing breath away. Lost in the glossy expanse of her girlfriend’s pupils, mesmerized by an orchestra’s melancholic cries, Padmé let the past flood the present, transforming the world around her. She was dissolving into another time, a place where thousand-pound chandeliers hovered overhead like they weighed nothing at all, where moonlight came streaming through arches and marble reflected the world at her feet. Padmé winged easily through the steps, whisking Sabé along with her, and for a moment, they were waltzing in their nightgowns through the ballroom of Theed Palace, Sabé’s touch electric at the small of her back. Padmé gasped into the cello’s sonorous vibrato, each pull of the bow a tug-of-war between desolation and desire. It was only on her planet that petticoats and ballgowns, stiff and unforgiving on the bodies of Imperials, turned beautiful, their hems flaring vibrantly over the floor with their soft, silken sighs.

It was only in Sabé’s arms, dancing through her memories of Naboo, that Padmé became weightless.

The bow paused on the string, still trembling, as if on the cusp of climax. Padmé’s eyes fluttered closed and Sabé kissed her, firmly on the mouth and then more passionately, parting Padmé’s lips beneath her own. Padmé clung tighter to the curves of Sabé’s waist, unable to suppress a shiver as the music exploded around them. Sabé’s lip gloss tasted of strawberries, of carefree summers in the open air of the Lake Country. Padmé tugged insistently on her girlfriend’s bottom lip, frenzied by the elusive sweetness of home, and felt Sabé deepen the kiss in response.

Coruscant was a cold planet, in every sense of the word. But Sabé always managed to make it just a little bit warmer. As soon as their lips had parted, Padmé lowered her head to Sabé’s ear. “One day,” she promised, “after all of this is over—the Empire, the Rebellion, everything—I’m going to take you to Varykino. We’ll put ourselves first for once and leave everything behind. No Amidala, no handmaidens…just us. Well…except for maybe one thing.” She laced her fingers through Sabé’s and gently stroked the side of her palm, hoping it would distract from her own quickening heartbeat. “I…I’ve decided that I’d like to raise Luke and Leia with you, Sabé. Assuming…that’s something you would want?”

Sabé’s rosebud lips dropped open in shock. Padmé panicked and nearly jumped in to amend her request—what she would actually say was beside the point—but then Sabé laughed—a full-bodied, dazzling laugh—and breathed, “Padmé…” Her fingers were feather-light on Padmé’s skin as she lifted her face to hers; Padmé was met with the glorious sight of Sabé’s eyes, glistening beneath a thin layer of tears. “I can’t think of anything else I’d want more than to raise children with you. I love you.”

Giddiness overtook Padmé then, a rush like free-falling back into love. The laugh that emerged from her was watery, nowhere near as melodious as Sabé’s, but she didn’t care. “I love you, too,” she replied, and because that still didn’t feel like enough, “I love you, I love you, I love—”

Sabé kissed her again, robbing her lips of the words so that only raw passion remained, and in that moment, in that small, windowless, beautiful room, Padmé’s cares slipped away beneath the invisible moonlight.

#starwarswlweek2021 #padme amidala #sabe #starwars #sabedala #dancing #lesbian romance #lgbtq+ themes #naboo royal handmaidens #post order 66 #padmé amidala lives #emperor vader au #wlw writing wlw

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honeydots · 4 years ago

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190?

“I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought”

Summary: Goro winds up having more to drink than he planned, and who else to find him on his drunk walk home than his soon-to-be-assassinated rival.

cw: underage drinking, minor blood mention

(ao3 link)

The smell of wine was always too thick for Goro’s tastes.

He dreaded to hear the hollow sound of the cork popping, and the clink of glass-on-glass as each man drank to their hearty victories.

It wasn’t uncommon that alcohol was served at these sorts of things, with Shido’s colleagues and their celebratory get-togethers. He would always be expected to attend, but not for long. Just enough time for his presence to be known, so that he could come and go without becoming the prudish center of conversation.

He knew they spoke about him while he wasn’t around, and that was unavoidable. These little events were the best way to control their conversations from afar. Leave them with more answers than questions and with casual suspicions, not deadly ones.

Come in, speak in pretty sentences, have a glass of wine, and leave.

He knew better than to reject drinking. Or rather, he knew better than to reject drinking with this crowd. Some men would come in and make a show of Goro’s being a minor, as if their own morals wouldn’t allow it. Laugh along with their drunkards, and let Goro remain blissfully sober.

Though others, and these were usually the important ones, didn’t care. Goro was to politely accept their offer, and to drink not all but most of his glass. Don’t appear eager, but don’t appear sheepish. Drink to another successful success, another voter turnout, another hit.

He’d always think too hard about these nights. Figuratively, wine was the blood of Jesus, drunk to remind Christians of the sins that he died for. Goro wondered how figurative his glass was now. Tonight, they were toasting to blood soon to be spilled; it was practically in their glasses.

Goro certainly wasn’t Christian. It was useless to think of wine as anything more than grapes.

But sometimes he’d imagine watching the men pour their glasses and take a sip, only to discover the salty allure of blood washing into their mouths. Watch them wretch and choke, spit out their consequences onto the ground. A literal taste of their medicine.

Goro would time himself to his drink. He could even call it a game. Full meant to begin his charming conversations, to grit his teeth and bear through the night. Quarter gone often went by largely unnoticed. If he wasn’t speaking to someone while he was a quarter gone, then he’d done something wrong. He was supposed to be sociable and he’d best act like it.

Half was a tedious measurement. By half, he needed to wrap up any of his quarter chatters and then stand aloof to the side. Allow himself to be open to any quieter, private talks. He’d wait to be approached, while keeping a watchful eye on the atmosphere.

Half could also mean he needed to join into whatever room encompassing conversations that he hadn’t been a part of. Even if it was to simply nod along to whatever nonsense the guests were spouting. It was important to be involved in the key factor.

The last stage, and often the most delicate, was three quarters. At this point, he needed to wedge himself into whatever group he could. To act terribly interested and, when appropriate, deem it the time he must be getting home—he was a working student, after all. He would give his goodbyes, relinquish his glass, and walk home, chewing breath mints like tobacco.

But this was a delicate stage because, on days like today, there would be the option of a refill. Some guest with intentions would see his glass half empty, and offer to fill it again. Never enough wine (he wondered if blood was applicable here, too) for a young man like him.

Depending on the party, Goro would reject it. He could even use this method as a way home—saying he’d had enough, and should be going anyway.

But it was different tonight. The man who he’d managed to dive into conversation with was new and important. The founder of a law firm who’d recently begun business with Shido. He’d grown relevant quickly, and this was the first chance Goro had to make an impression on him.

Two glasses isn’t too much.

Goro didn’t care about this man whatsoever, in actuality. As relevant as pond scum in the grand scheme of things. But favors went miles in this business, and keeping his head on his shoulders was more than worth a glass of wine.

And so he went from three quarters, to full, to half, to empty.

An empty glass was a last resort exit, but it was the most effective against the threat of another refill. He’d stayed too long now. He excused himself, definitely, content with his seamless image he’d left with the man.

It was when he stepped outside, into cool air and away from the bustle and buzz, that his decision came back for its vengeance.

He wasn’t exactly dizzy, but he wouldn’t call himself clearheaded. Disoriented, maybe. His face felt a little flushed. He tried to take deep breaths, keep oxygen going to his brain, let himself calm down. Maybe he was just a bit too excited. He faced forward, focused, and walked. Straight lines, straight back. He would be fine—he only had a little more than usual tonight.

Though, it wasn’t long until he ducked into an alleyway to collect himself.

Shit, he thought, dropping his briefcase onto the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, trying to get himself to focus.

It didn’t work. He felt groggy.

I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought.

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t some lightweight who couldn’t hold his alcohol. He’d drunk at least this much before, and he’d been perfectly capable of getting back to his apartment. What was different about today?

A displeased clench of his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten yet. No breakfast, a skipped lunch in favor of an interview, and wine for dinner.

So, that was it. He needed to eat something. Easy fix, probably. Something a bit hearty would be best, but he was sure he’d see effects even with a small snack.

He hardly felt comfortable going anywhere in the state he was in. God forbid someone he knew saw him, to say nothing of the media. But a dark alleyway on a Tokyo night wasn’t an ideal locale, either.

He considered going into the metaverse, just to get himself out of immediate danger and let the alcohol digest a bit. Let it settle. He could easily slip into Mementos and avoid the subway station. No food would await him there, but at least he wouldn’t be at risk of being seen.

It was dark enough no one would see him enter. He settled it—he’d go inside until he felt sober enough to walk home. Ideally, it would be a short visit. In and out quick enough that he’d still be able to catch the final train. He could excuse being out late with a case, if he was cornered.

He pulled out his phone and opened up the Nav. He was moments away from tapping “Mementos” on his recently visited, when a voice startled him away from the screen.

“Akechi?”

Goro whipped around (casually being an afterthought) and stood face to face with who, on a night like this, he’d call his judge, jury, and executioner.

“Akira-kun,” said Goro, immediately flipping his switch onto a sweeter and less completely deranged setting. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? Awfully late to be out, isn’t it?”

Obviously it had to have been Kurusu who’d decided to make himself known. Of all the nights to show his face. Shido’s event had just had Goro toasting to the predicted fall of the Phantom Thieves. A celebration of a plan being put flawlessly together, centering around Kurusu’s uncanny murder. His coincidental suicide.

Goro had hoped to return without even thinking about him, lest he risk himself getting distracted. His death was just business, and that’s how he needed to think of it. Keep Kurusu behind thick walls of paperwork, or as just another shadow in a crowd.

But instead, there he stood, making the aftertaste of the wine on his tongue turn bitter and guilty.

“I’m heading home,” Kurusu began, looking uncharacteristically bothered. He had a twinge more of a frown on his face, and his eyebrows were furrowed. It was hardly reassuring. “Are you… okay?”

Goro bit his tongue. Who else to notice his state of being completely not okay than Mr.Your-Problem-Is-My-Problem himself. Maybe Goro could amuse himself later, thinking about what Kurusu would do if he told him just what was going through his mind. How would he solve that problem?

“I’m feeling just fine, though thank you for asking. I’m heading home myself, so if you don’t mind,” Goro said, giving a polite half wave and trying to ignore how completely awkward this interaction had been. But two steps forward had him steadying himself on the wall, and Kurusu at his side.

At his side. He was touching him now. Holding him up. It suddenly felt like all too much. He jerked away, filling his head with a whole new kind of dizzy. He pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to steady his mind.

It was expected that Kurusu wouldn’t let that slide. He stood back, eyes wide.

“You’re not alright.”

Yes, that was clear now, wasn’t it? He felt lucky that drinking didn’t make him snappy.

Goro’s elongated silence didn’t seem to tickle Kurusu. It wasn’t like he was doing a fantastic job at pleasing Goro at the moment, either, so he let the pause hang.

Kurusu filled the quiet. “Are you… drunk?”

Goro could feel his edge falling. He would not lean into it. He put on a dazzling smile.

“Ah, Akira-kun, ‘drunk’ is such a crude term. There’s a better one—what was it? Maybe feeling a bit buzzed—”

“Did something happen?”

Kurusu’s gaze was very firm.

Goro didn’t hold it for long. He sighed and tried to relax his stance a bit.

“An interesting correlation you’ve just made, but no. Nothing has happened,” he started, folding his arms into himself. “But, I am more intoxicated than I’d preferably like to be, I’ll admit.”

The concern on Kurusu’s face was thoroughly unwelcomed.

“How much did you drink?”

He’d been hoping that Kurusu wouldn’t play the role of saint. The scrutiny of a worrywart was not the attention he was seeking.

Goro leaned (casually being a forethought, now) onto the wall of the alleyway. “Not enough to warrant your distress, Akira-kun. I simply haven’t eaten much today.” Kurusu’s frown grew deeper, and Goro thought to use it to his advantage. “If you’re so worried, though, perhaps you could get me a little pick-me-up from a convenience store.”

Goro’s stomach twisted, making him flinch and lose his balance. He scrambled to keep himself straight on the wall, the alcohol not helping him in the least. That was all the convincing Kurusu needed, much to Goro’s displeasure.

“You need to sit down somewhere,” Kususu said, annoyingly kindly keeping his hands off of him, but prepared to act as a brace. “We aren’t far from Leblanc. Sojiro already went home.”

“Now, I—” Goro began, but found himself feeling a bit undone by Kurusu’s ever present stare.

He weighed his options. He could shake Kurusu off and enter Mementos by himself, wait foodless for his mind to clear, risk falling asleep there and being late tomorrow and possibly stumbling into trouble.

Or, he could rest at LeBlanc for a while.

Kurusu always had such miserable timing.

Goro scrunched up his nose. “...Fine. If you’re willing to offer me your hospitality, I will take it,” he said.

Kurusu’s expression lightened enough to make Goro’s stomach feel bubbly. What a wretched effect he had on him. This was no time to be getting attached. Much more of this and something really would stick.

Goro straightened his tie, picked up his briefcase, and stood tall. He needed to clear his head somehow. Kurusu was simply his means. He was in an unideal situation that needed to be resolved, and nothing more.

He would not let it be more, two glasses be damned.

***

The train ride did nothing but make him feel worse. Drunk and hungry was a terrible combination. Each bump of the car made his stomach churn.

He hadn’t attracted much attention in the shabby railcar, which was lucky, other than the watchful eye Kurusu had been keeping on him. It was humiliating to have someone so nervous over his condition, and Goro wished his choices hadn’t been so black and white.

He was almost too attentive. Goro wouldn’t think about it.

When they’d arrived at the café, Kurusu’s word held true. It was scarce, no customers or owner. That, at least, was a relief.

There was a noise from the attic, and soon after trotted down Morgana. He stopped in his tracks halfway on the stairs, round eyes turning big upon seeing Goro.

“Akechi,” he said, turning his head to Kurusu. “What’s he doing here?”

Kurusu rubbed the back of his neck. “Could you give us a little time?”

Morgana looked between them again. Either Goro missed something, or Morgana accepted that for what it was, because he turned around and headed back upstairs without another word.

Goro sat in his usual spot, but didn’t feel very typical. He felt wrong just enough to know that he’d be here for a little while. It didn’t help that he was already getting tired.

Usually, alcohol’s one solace was that it made falling asleep come quickly. Now, as he fought his eyelids from betraying him tonight, he wished it’d do anything but.

“Is curry okay?” Kususu asked, already tying an apron around his waist.

Any food would do, really. Anything to help him sober up. “I was under the impression curry was about all you knew how to cook.”

Kurusu gave way his signature hint of a hint of a smile, and put himself to work. Goro leaned back in his chair and tried to just focus on his breathing. He should’ve said no to another glass of wine. Or even just snacked a bit at the event. Though he loathed eating in front of Shido and his colleagues, it would’ve saved his evening alone.

Goro watched Kurusu stir the warming pot of curry absentmindedly. The scent was endlessly better than the wine he’d been served. Savory smells of spices and meat. The hunger and the alcohol must’ve been getting to him, because he had to catch himself before he thought it felt homelike.

This was not a home. This was not his home.

Kurusu noticed Goro watching, but Goro was growing too tired to care. He needed to eat something before he thought something damaging. A wandering mind did him no good here.

It was very quiet in the café. Silence wasn’t uncommon between them, but it was rooted in tension. Goro didn’t trust himself much to speak first. He’d always been careful with his words, but the more his thoughts grew out of hand. the more likely he was to spill sensitive information; or say something too private to let anyone else hear.

Kurusu, on the other hand, was oddly talkative tonight.

“So, do you drink often?”

He was as difficult to read as ever. Goro didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current state of disheveledness, but Kurusu maintained his reputation.

“Not really, no,” Goro readjusted a bit in his seat, and looked down at his hands. “Tonight was… This isn’t a habit of mine.”

He did have the underlying concern that the more he did this, the more it might become a habit, if Shido’s example was anything to go by. He’d hate to have inherited anything from a dastardly man like him, but rancid alcoholism would feel like an all new low.

Kurusu remained stone faced. “I see,” he replied flatly.

“Might you be disappointed? I never would’ve taken you for the ‘party animal’ type, but perhaps you aided me for the sake of a connection?” Goro asked, and then immediately regretted not taking the chance to let their conversation die down. Drunk and tired was not a good mix for his big mouth, it seemed.

“I think I’ll survive,” Kurusu said, raising his eyebrows. He set the temperature lower on the burner and got out a plate. It seemed Goro’s meal was finished heating up. And thank god for that, because the hunger was really getting to him now and he was feeling much more miserable than he’d have preferred for a Thursday night.

Kurusu served his curry still steaming, and Goro dug in as calmly and controlled as he could manage, with a quick, “I appreciate it,” before taking his first bite.

He could tell he was being closely watched as he ate. Goro decided not to comment on it quite yet. Getting a little clue-in on Kurusu’s mind always proved interesting.

He mentally berraded himself for thinking that. It was thoughts like those that inclined him to keep his mouth shut. Something about his drowsiness was making him sentimental, and this clearly wasn’t the time.

“You think I’d only help you because I wanted something?”

Again, Kurusu was single handedly keeping their conversation alive. He usually required a bit more effort to pry into, and Goro positively knew why it was different tonight, but kept himself from thinking it.

Goro gave himself a performative moment to think of a reply. “Are you referring to my question earlier? Well, really, is that so odd? Such an intent is hardly uncommon,” he replied, and took another bite. He wanted to say he was sobering up, but so far the curry was only affecting his stomach, not his mind.

“So you think that’s my ‘intent,’ then.”

“Do I have a reason to think otherwise? You’ve set up your own sorts of deals within your friendships, haven’t you?” Goro began again, growing intrigued. “Kitagawa-kun makes you those cards, as one example. It’s only natural that we, as humans, have a give and take relationship with each other. Wouldn’t you agree?” Another bite.

Kurusu looked unimpressed. Goro always knew he’d get something interesting out of him when he wore that expression.

“You think so?”

He met his eyes solidly and smiled. “I do.”

There was a short silence. Goro haughtily scraped up a large spoonful of rice.

Kurusu caught him in a mouthful. “So, what are you giving me, then?”

Swallowing gave him a moment to think. Though it was time wasted, really, because it wasn’t some grandiose question. He hoped he hadn’t said that to sound smart, like some stumping finisher. But Kususu hardly failed to disappoint—so he kept his hopes up.

The back of his mind told him getting excited was the worst thing to do while trying to detach himself, but he buried the thought.

Just for now is fine.

He cleared his throat. Where was he?

“You don’t think I’ve held up my end of the bargain? I disagree. Let’s see,” Goro crossed his legs and brought a finger up to his chin. “I believe I’ve taught you some sleuthing techniques, haven’t I? Though, that was early on. I can see how you may not be satisfied. However, I have introduced you to quite a few hot spots, yes? And I’m aware of the effects that billiards and darts had on you.” He scooped another spoonful of curry, but finished his thought before he took his bite. “And, I certainly hope I’m not mistaken that our conversations have been gratifying for the both of us.”

“That’s what you call give-and-take?” Kurusu replied. Knowing him, though, it was less of a reply and more of a challenge. Goro had forgotten all about how badly he wanted to be in bed at home, now. He may have been tired, but this was a rivalry he intended to dominate. The tricks Kurusu had up his sleeve always proved entertaining.

“‘That’ is what I call ‘what I’ve given you.’ If you’d like my takeaway, well, let’s just say you’ve given me plenty to think about over the last few months.”

Kurusu leaned onto the counter. Goro appreciated the maintained distance, since he still wasn’t exactly in a sensory mood. The alcohol hadn’t left him yet. “You know, I can think of a better name for that.”

“Oh?” Goro said, “Can you?”

Kurusu almost smirked. “Silly little thing called friendship.”

Goro sighed, shaking his head. Perhaps he hadn’t picked up on what he’d been implying. Kurusu could win some and lose some. “Akira-kun, I’m not trying to argue that friendship is off the table. I simply think any relationship can be boiled down to the action of compromise.”

“And I’m trying to argue that I think that’s a shallow way of thinking,” Kurusu shot back.

Goro felt his jaw clench. “Your reasoning?” He presented the easiest smile he could muster.

Kurusu put himself back up at full height and slid his hands into his pockets. “A relationship doesn’t end once a standard has been met.”

Goro rolled his shoulders back. The high of debate was clearing his mind. He hardly noticed.

“Ah, but don’t you think another goal could be made? Or, even two or three? And, a connection doesn’t have to start with just one, you could have dozens of deals with a single person at a time,” he argued, feeling quite confident. “Have you heard of the Social Exchange Theory? It suggests that relationships are formed by maximizing benefits and minimizing drawbacks. In other words, what one gives to you is the defining factor, while you try to deplete what is taken.”

Kurusu seemed to consider that, but his pause gave way to Goro’s unfinished defense. “Let me give you an example: you and Sakamoto-kun are quite close, aren’t you? Is that not a result of both of you, mutually and continually, giving and taking from each other?” He continued, watching Kurusu quirk an eyebrow. “Perhaps Sakamoto is a carefree presence for you, and perhaps you offer him a place of security. But, as one would expect, each of you have flaws. Sakamoto can get rambunctious, and his actions have consequences that can rebound and affect you. That is a cost of his friendship. A give and take, even in non-physical terms.”

Goro took another bite of curry in anticipation of his response. It was already growing cold. At this point, Goro really didn’t think that the curry had helped him clear his mind at all— it was just their conversation in privacy that had given him a chance to focus.

Not that the effects of his drinking were completely gone. He was still very sleepy, and he knew he tended to ramble in exhaustion. Goro had done that here before, even. He needed to figure out a way to wrap this up soon, but. Kurusu wasn’t like the men around Shido. He enjoyed their talks. He didn’t have a glass of wine in hand telling him how much longer he needed to hold up.

It was only talking, between them.

He would power through it. He imagined that once he was up and walking around and heading back to the station, that he’d regain energy again. It was only the atmosphere that was making him so tired. He couldn’t possibly fuck up so poorly as to say something incriminating at a .06 blood alcohol content.

“Me accepting that my friends have flaws doesn’t take from me,” Kususu answered, giving Goro another chance to flex his argument.

“Then, shall I speak more literally? You often cook for your friends, don’t you? That taxes something directly from you, time and effort.” Goro put his spoon down entirely and leaned into their conversation. Kurusu wasn’t the kind of person that Goro felt he needed to chide, but a bit of teasing felt inevitable.

Kurusu replied straight away. “Me cooking for my friends isn’t the foundation of our relationships.”

“But, you have made deals in similar fashions, haven’t you? Would you really argue that none of your relationships were formed from a deal you made? You, of all people?”

He watched the reaction his spiel got from Kurusu. Hardly a twitch, but something had dug under his skin. Goro knew he was enjoying this as much as he was, and it almost wrenched out a grin from him.

Kurusu put a hand out of his pocket and propped himself up, leaning towards Goro on the counter. It closed the space between them further. They still weren’t touching, but his presence was on top of him. It felt close, and Goro had to fight moving away.

“I’ve made plenty of friendships through a give-and-take. But the idea that it’s the only way to view them is one-sided. You can say that it’s an exchange in hindsight, as an outsider, but I’m not thinking about what I get from people when I’m with them. I’m thinking about them, and that’s all.” Kurusu took his weight off the counter. “It’s material otherwise. Only thinking in wins and losses.”

Goro pinched the back of his arm habitually. He spoke a bit quieter. “So you think it can’t be effectively utilized?”

Kursu looked at him firmly. “I think it’s the wrong mindset to have.”

There was a short silence that hung. They stared at each other. Goro broke the contact, closing his eyes and resting back in his chair. He giggled.

“You never cease to entertain, Akira-kun. You really are interesting,” he sighed, trying to make it sound a bit wistful. “Would you tell me what led to such a thought process?”

Kurusu’s expression fell. It was quick, and barely noticeable, but he looked pained. Like what Goro had said had squeezed something hard, but disappeared just as fast.

He replied with his typical emotionless slate.

“There was something that changed.”

Goro tilted his head, and brought up a hand to rest it on. “That something being?”

He wondered what Kurusu might say. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. Perhaps a view in a palace, or a girlfriend, or some connection that would be ultimately meaningless to Goro, but something he still wanted to get his hands on.

Suddenly, his mind felt very present. He shouldn’t have thought that. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be asking this. Now was the time he was supposed to be creating a distance between them, not trying to open him up and solidify whatever makeshift acquaintanceship they’d developed. He was going to kill him in four days. Getting to know him better was supposed to have been a distant ‘what if.’ He shouldn’t feel so curious.

But Kurusu smirked and said, “A secret,” despite Goro’s dilemma.

“Ehh,” Goro complained, feeling both relieved and indescribably annoyed. “You won’t be giving me a ticket into the back of your mind tonight? After all that buildup?”

Kurusu laughed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“Try me,” Goro said, and smiled wide. He ignored his itchy eyes telling him to go to sleep. And the pushing voices reminding him that he was setting himself up for more pain in the long run.

He knew that. He couldn’t help himself, though. He knew he’d get nothing out of this.

The realization made him gulp.

Kurusu eased up. “Maybe once you tell me why you’re ‘buzzed.’”

Goro wasn’t sure he could do much more to keep the conversation from ending. His little cycle of trying to make things as terrible as possible for his future self was going to come to an end. “I think I’ve been keeping up appearances very well.”

“You can’t fool me,” Kurusu replied, and grinned a very faint grin. He took off his apron. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”

“Mm,” hummed Goro, and just like that, Kurusu disappeared from the conversation. Goro put his elbow onto the counter and propped his head up, leaning into his cheek. Their talks often ended in nowheres, neither of them giving up their stances. He tried to keep himself from thinking how nice it was to have such a conversation partner. Maybe it was the alcohol, and his growing drowsiness, but he couldn’t help himself.

Kurusu wasn’t his friend, but he could be. Could’ve been, was more accurate. He was digging himself into a hole, thinking this way. But he’d buried himself in something deeper a long time ago.

Goro’s eyes felt heavy. He thought to rest them, just for a moment, until Kurusu returned. Then he could say his goodbyes, their debate having come to an end. And he’d go home, and he’d feel a bit like he was rotting away, and he’d sleep through it anyway.

But for now, he was comfortable in a café, with low lights and a could’ve been just barely out of reach. He was a little undone, but that was just fine for now.

He closed his eyes and barely felt himself drift off.

***

Akira dug through one of his dusty boxes upstairs, while Morgana sat staring at him from his bed. He stuck his arm in deep, feeling around and checking colors and fabrics when he could pull something up for air.

“You two sure are chatty, huh,” Morgana remarked, flicking his tail back and forth.

Akira kept his nose in the box. He was almost positive he’d put it in here. Maybe it had gotten more buried than he thought.

“What’d you guys talk about?”

It didn’t take long to find his prize. It was a bit stuck in the middle, and he had to yank hard to free it from the mess of clothes. But as he pulled, the tension eased, and out popped his summer blanket. He threw it over his shoulder, and he heard Morgana jump down from the bed.

Akira got up and waited for him to join him.

“I’m not sure you’d be that interested.”

Morgana huffed. “You’re always talking about weird stuff.”

The two of them walked downstairs. Akira was trying to be quiet, skipping the second and notoriously squeaky stair, while also attempting to shake out the blanket a bit on his way down.

His silent mission must’ve proved successful, because Akechi was still laying down on the counter sound asleep, in the same position he’d left him. Akira watched his shoulders rise and fall a bit. He looked peaceful.

Akira spread out the blanket between his hands. It was light, but it was better than nothing. It could get cold some nights.

“You know, I still don’t get why you’re being so nice to him,” Morgana said.

Akira didn’t reply. He walked over to the chair Akechi was sitting on, and tried to lightly but snugly wrap him up.

Morgana hopped onto the counter. “You know what he’s trying to do. You don’t owe him this much.”

The blanket hugged around Akechi’s shoulders and back well. Akira made sure it wouldn’t fall off. He tried very carefully not to touch him. Waking him would be bad, and Akira didn’t want to initiate something that would make him uncomfortable. His jolt from earlier had kept Akira off—he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Morgana persisted. “You aren’t going to get anything out of this.”

Akira stepped back, and made sure there weren’t any uncovered spots. Akechi looked warm, and he looked soft, and he looked exhausted. Incredibly, incredibly exhausted.

“I know.”

#THANKS for the ask!!!!!#also sorry you had to beta ur own request LMAOOOO #i actually struggled a lot more w this one than u think purely bc i was having trouble with coming up with a premise i liked #this was NOT the first idea i had lololol #oh but not to say i didnt have a lot of fun haha #also for everyone who checks tags first: yes its shuake #AND its about 5k #anyway thank u again and i hope u enjoy (enjoyed? heheh)#my fics #ask #i-demand-a-hug #SORRY TO EVERYONE WHO HAD TO DEAL W THIS WHILE THE READ MORE BROKE #my p5 fics

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Starhunter.”

Hope you guys have a great friday.

The camera Hadn’t been in a good position, it was far too low on the jet and the creature was too big. Multiple cameras from the four jets allowed them to see just enough to send up a murmuring through the bridge crew and the officers.

Commander VIr sat in the captain’s chair calm and collected where earlier he had been in a near state of panic.

“I think it’s related to the starborn.”

The entire room turned to look at him, where he sat rubbing his chin and staring at the limited video feed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the sucker is telepathic.”

More muttering gone up around the room, “It talked to you?”

He nodded his head.

“What did it say.”

“Deus.”

The room went still, they recognized that word. The infected starborn had talked like that once upon a time when they were being used and tortured by the mad Gibb scientist.’

“Deus….. Isn’t that latin?”

“Like Deus ex machina?”

“Remind me what that means again?”

“God of the machine, right?”

Behind him the group continued to debate about the meaning for the word while he saw in his chair tapping his fingers against the seat.

“Well why would it look at the Commander and call him a god. I can understand the big lizard looking in a mirror and calling itself that, but this has happened to him like five or six times, and.’ the man turned to look at him, “No offence sir, but you aren't any kind of god.”

“Clearly he sees something in me that you don’t.”

That raised a bit of a laugh from the rest of the room as he stood, “Someone get Conn in here.”

Just as he said that, the door at the far end of the room opened, and the starborn came floating in his ribbons undulating and churning in the sudden pressure change from out in the hallway.

The group went silent.

“Kill it.”

Commander Vir frowned.

“I said kill it.”

“Do you know what this thing is?” He asked pointing towards the video feed.

“Yes.”

“So you knew about space dragons the entire time, and you failed to mention this to us?”

Conn’s ribbons flicked as he glowered icily towerds the commander, “It was not relevant at the time. It eats starborn, specifically starborn queens , but it is not a starborn. That thing hanging around its neck would have been it’s mate, who does eat regular starborn.”

Another murmuring around the room.

“And you’re sure you have no idea what deus means?”

He shook his head, “it is a human word, not a word of the starborn, so I have no idea why the creature would use it. Probably saw it in your head is all and wanted to freak you out before eating you.”

“It didn’t try to eat us.”

The starborn shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, kill it.”

“Conn, You know I’m not authorized to go around the galaxy slaying dragons.” He turned to everyone else on dec. I’m setting a course back to where I saw it, who knows, maybe it is still there, either way we are going to be safe and keep our distance. Everyone back to your stations.”

The crew turned and did as ordered, as the commander went back to the ship controls. Conn floated behind him looking a little more than Td off, but commander Vir ignored him. Conn was safe on the ship,so the creature would not be feasting on starborn today.

Slowly, he engaged the engines and turned them in a slow arc to drift back towards the overly thick dust cloud.

Looking at it, the cloud was still billowing a bit, sort of spreading outward, but he assumed that was leftover residual movement from the stardragon earlier.

Stardragon? Voidhunter? Lord of the cosmos.

He would have to think up something cool to call it later.

He had seen it first after all and that gave him the right to name it something awesome .

He locked their drift and then stood from his seat eyeing the viewing window. There appeared to be nothing there, and no evidence of the glowing white light that had cut through the mist before.

“Any radar readout?”

There was a pause followed by a shake of the head, “Sorry, Commander, nothing, but that cloud is thick and it looks like there's some sort of debris inside as well, which is probably not helping. It might be there and it might not.

He leaned back against his seat with a sigh.

Get me a feed through to the UNSC and the GA.

He didn’t have to wait long before the two feeds were up.

One of them was of the Rundi chairwoman and a small council of other alien species, while the second was the UNSC control room. An admiral he didn’t recognize was heading the operation, but he kept it professional.

“Commander, how are opperatons going on at the black hole. We received some of your images. Truly remarkable; the scientific community is thrilled.”

“Yes commander, you are the first to dare venture this close to a singularity. I worry but it is remarkable.” The Chairwoman agreed.

He held up a hand, “I…. well yes, of course, but I am afraid our focus has been momentarily diverted for the moment.”

“What could be so interesting as to temporarily divert you from a black hole.”

He turned his head towards the admiral, “Space dragons, sir.”

There was a pause

“What is a dragon?” The chairwoman ased.

The Admiral opened and closed his mouth like a suffocating fish.

The commander rested his hands in his lap, “Approximately two hours ago, while piloting one of our jets, I noticed an inconsistency with the way the dust was being settled in this particular system. There was movement where there should have been none. I called in for backup, and we went to investigate. When we got there the dust parted momentarily enough for us to see a creature. This thing could easily have wrapped itself around a GA imperial Cruiser. It has a very long, thin body, no legs or arms. It’s head is the head of a predator, a snout, lots of teeth and some horns.

On its back there are two ridges that, when opened look like flowing white tarps. Somehow the creature can harden these tarps to create solar sales which it uses to move, sort of like a starborn.

“Is this some kind of joke, Commander.”

“No sir, I wouldn’t be so dumb as to joke about something so unbelievable. I am sending you the video feed now so you can see for yourself. The quality is not good but we have moved further into the system with the main ship to see if we can get a better look as I assume sentient life trump's phenomena we have known about for more than two thousand years.

The admiral sighed, “yes, I suppose it does.”

The GA chairwoman only nodded her head, “Do what you must commander, and be careful. Try not to make the creature angry.”

“Yes, Chairwoman.” He cut the feed and leaned back in his seat.

“No duch.” He stood from his seat, “Like I was planning on pissing off the massive ass space dragon.” His sarcasm went mostly unheard and he finally turned to look towards his second lieutenant, “Lt. Take command, and call me down if you see anything.”

The Lt Stood and commander Vir stepped aside for her to take his seat as he turned and walked for the room.

The halls were mostly empty as the ship was technically past working hours.

He rubbed his temples again dragging his hands down his face.

Today had been an eventful day, more than he had wanted it to be, and he hadn’t forgotten the reason he had been driven into space to see the creature in the first place. He was going to have to confront that at some point and decide what it meant.

He walked onto the observation deck leaning his back against one of the tables as he stared out at the vast dust cloud backlit by some unseen stars.

He had to think about what to do, though at this moment he was completely blanking on the subject. He had been running from situations like this for as long as he could remember.

The first time he had ever had any sort of feelings for someone, though granted they were the underdeveloped misunderstood feelings of a teenage boy. He had been burned. He knew it was stupid to hold onto those old issues, but that was a part of him that had just never grown up, it was still a cowering child hiding in the back corner afraid of rejection again.

He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

Just when he thought he was starting to grow as a person, as a man something came back to remind him just how much of a lost child he was.

This time was even different than the last time. That other person initiated the contact, and it was more than clear that she was interested in him, she had admitted that much, so what was wrong with him?

What was the problem?

Well, perhaps a part of him was afraid to prove everyone right. He had been teased for so long about having a weird thing for aliens, and he knew that wasn’t a view that a lot of people were likely to hold on to, but still proving right the people you didn’t like always hurt.

Maybe that was his problem? Maybe he cared too much about how other people saw him?

Another reason why he was still just a child playing at a man’s work.

Was this just him having problems, or did all of humanity feel this way. He felt like that wasn’t the case, every admiral he had ever met seemed like the kind of person who had been born old.

Footsteps behind him on the deck.

He turned his head slightly recognizing the pattern of footsteps as they walked quietly across the observation deck to stand next to him.

Distant white light filtered in through the opening bathing both of them in a soft halo glow.

Sunny’s blue carapace glittered delicately in the dark as she leaned back against the table to stare out at the darkness with him.

“You ok?” she finally asked

She shrugged, “Am I ever/”

“Most of the time, actually, yes.”

He went quiet, reaching down to rub nervously at his prosthetic leg, “Look, I…. Uh…. I’m sorry I bailed on you. That was stupid.”

She shrugged, “I expected as much.”

“Ouch…. Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

She huffed, “if I was trying to offend you I would probably say something about your face. I have a lot more ammunition to work with.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,”very funny, especially coming from someone who looks like you”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what, you two toed four finger monstrocity.”

“Cute, are we picking pet names now. I can call you fleshy, or cyclops or peg leg.”

“That’s Captain Peg leg to you. Captain Peg leg the blond beard space pirate.”

“Captain Jackass the one eyed lunatic.” She said elbowing him in the ribs. He grunted and elbowed her back, an action which quickly devolved into a slap fight, that Sunny inevitably won because she had more hands.

The play fighting died down leaving him staring out into space and eyeing the dust cloud. She watched hi with some curiosity, “What is a dragon?”

“A legendary monster in human lore. It goes back thousands of years and has origins in hundreds of human cultures. A dragon sort of takes the shape of a lizard, but with wings, and a hundred to a thousand times larger. Sometimes they have massive wings, and generally they can breathe fire.”

“Like a flamethrower.”

He smiled, “Exactly, they are usually connected to power and wisdom.”

“Did these dragons ever exist?” she wondered.

“Not as far as anyone knew.” he motioned to the window, “but I guess we were kind of right.”

A pulse of light lit up the interior of the cloud.

Sunny and Adam stepped forward staring intently at the window.

The light happened again growing brighter and brighter. Dust puffed outward from the cloud.

Sunny pressed her hands against the viewing window in awe as the cosmic creature looped from within the clouds, its long body rotating in great spirals loops and acrs as it twisted through space.

Light rolled up and down it’s blue scaled body seeping through the cracks in it’s scales. The smaller silver dragon curled and uncurled about it’s neck as it rolled through space, like a ribbon at the end of a ribbon dancer’s wand.

It’s beauty, and the silence cast them into a dull glow.

As silhouettes in the darkness.

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years ago

Text

Just Like a Woman - Part 11

A Roger Taylor x Reader Story

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @rrogerchxrm, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronewritesthedust1, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @nixfreak, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa, @borhapqueen92, @theonsasheart, @vektorivittu, @chanti-frn, @brianssixpence, @dancingcoolcat, @xviiarez, @irepookie, @lnnuend0, @rogerxmeddows, @vici-xx, @bellas2silly If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER! Just to clarify because of the way it ends, but there is still more to this story! It’s not over yet!

Warning(s): Brief description of violence that we’ve already heard

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 here we go!!!

You walked into work the next day, whistling to yourself. Roger had to stop by his house and change before he would be there to go with you all to the courthouse for the last bit of the trial. Jane smirked at you.

“Good night?” she asked.

“Excellent, Jane, thanks for asking,” you replied, snatching your messages out of her hand, but still smiling.

She shook her head and chuckled as you closed the door to your office. Just as it shut, you heard a high-pitched, child-like giggle. You whipped around, scanning your office for the source of the noise, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. You shrugged it off. It was probably just something from the main part of the office and you were too busy to think any more of it.

You gathered your things and headed for the conference room, humming now instead of whistling. Dominique smiled at you.

“You look great today, Y/N,” she said.

“Thank you, I feel great!” you replied brightly.

“Y/N,” Bill said as he and Roger entered the room. “You’re in a much better mood today.” He turned to Roger. “Well done, mate.”

Roger smiled. “Thanks, man.”

They shook hands.

You finally frowned. “Could you two not be gross?”

Dominique laughed. Bill took a seat beside her as Roger kissed your cheek in greeting. Bill decided to share the first draft of his closing. He would edit it more later after the trial depending on any new information that arose. You all approved of it, and then, you were off to court.

After the previous day, you were a bit nervous. Glen would be able to call more witnesses, and you were not prepared for any more surprises. Luckily, there didn’t appear to be any.

Glen stood up and called Nick to the stand. Dominique shrunk a little as she watched him walk up and take his oath before sitting down. Bill took her hand.

“Mr. Sully, tell us your account of the evening you and Ms. Beyrand went on your date,” Glen said.

“Well, it’s like she told you, we met at the bar, flirted, and then arranged to meet again,” Nick began. “I thought it was going well. Then she tells me she’s ready to go home, but I’ve been buying her drinks, and I think she’s telling me she’s ready to go home with me. So I offer to drive and we get in the car. I saw in her eyes that she wanted me to make a move, so I went for it. All of a sudden, she’s offended, and she hits me. I hit her back - I’m not proud of it - but she was so enraged, I feared for my own safety. There was a struggle and then I kicked her out of my car. If something happened to her after that, it’s not on me.”

“How do you account for your blood and hairs being on her dress?” Glen asked.

“It probably happened during the struggle,” Nick answered. “I’m not denying there was a confrontation.”

“Why do you think she’d identify you as her attacker if someone else put her in hospital?” Glen continued.

“I don’t really know, she was probably angry at me for how it went and saw it as an opportunity to get back at me,” Nick said.

“So you would describe Ms. Beyrand as vindictive?” Glen went on.

“Objection,” Bill called out.

“Sustained,” Judge Walsh agreed. “Counsel, keep your questions to what happened.”

“Of course, your honor,” Glen conceded. “As it happens, I have no further questions.”

He returned to his seat. Bill leaned over to you.

“You got this?” he whispered.

“I got this,” you shot back, standing up.

You strode over to the witness stand.

“Mr. Sully, how much can you bench press?” you asked.

“Objection!” Glen cried. “Relevance!”

“Counsel,” Judge Walsh said to you. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

“I am, your honor, you’ll see,” you said.

“Overruled,” he said to Glen. Then he looked at you. “Don’t take too long.”

You nodded, then turned your attention back to Nick. “So? How much?”

He looked you up and down, a cocksure smirk on his lips. “About two of you.”

“I see,” you said with a grin. “And you’re a professional kickboxer, right?”

“I am,” he told you, straightening up a little taller.

“Think you could take on your lawyer?” you asked. “He’s a pretty big guy. Fit. Strong.”

“Oh, yeah, he’d be no problem,” he replied.

“And what about my co-counsel?” you asked. “He’s about your size.”

“Also no problem,” he said confidently, glancing at Bill. “It’s easy when you’re up against someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

You heard Glen let out a quiet groan from behind you. You bit back a smirk.

“And you expect them,” you pointed to the jury. “To believe that you feared for your safety because of that little woman?” You pointed to Dominique.

Nick realized his mistake and the color drained from his face.

“I - well - hold on - it wasn’t -”

“Don’t bother answering, Mr. Sully, that last one was rhetorical,” you said. “No further questions.”

You turned on your heel to head back to your seat, but froze. In the aisle, between the rows of observers, stood a little boy. He was the spitting image of Roger, only with one distinction. He had your eyes. In your heart, you knew him. Only, you weren’t sure how you knew him. You stared at him, and he grinned back.

“Miss Y/L/N?” Judge Walsh’s voice took you out of your trance and the little boy vanished. “Miss Y/L/N, are you alright?”

You shook your head to clear it. You went to your seat and looked at him.

“Yes, your honor, I’m fine,” you replied, cheeks reddening as you felt the whole courtroom’s eyes on you. “Just...I thought I saw someone.”

His expression showed just how much he was questioning your sanity. The defense had no other witnesses to call, so you were released for a fifteen minute recess. You retired to the same chambers you had the day before.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Roger asked. “What happened in there?”

You found yourself embarrassed to say. You didn’t want to seem crazy. But you were also with people you trusted.

“None of you saw the little boy?” you asked, looking at each of them.

“What little boy?” Dominique wondered.

“The boy!” you insisted. “He stood right in the aisle. He just stood there and then he...he…” you trailed off.

“He what?” Bill pressed.

“He vanished,” you admitted.

“Are you hallucinating?” he wondered.

“I - well - maybe!” you cried. “I dunno! But I saw him!”

“Okay, we don’t really have time to unpack this,” Dominique said. “Bill, are there any changes you’d like to make to your closing?”

He started describing what he wanted add, but you didn’t hear it. Roger’s eyes were trained on you. He was concerned, but you didn’t notice him either. You couldn’t stop thinking about that boy. Then you remembered the laugh you heard in your office. Were you going insane?

You shook your head again and focused on Bill. Before you knew it, it was time to return. Glen did his closing first.

“What you’re looking at here is a classic case of he said she said,” he began. “No one is denying that a physical altercation took place between Ms. Beyrand and Mr. Sully. What is in question is how much damage Mr. Sully actually inflicted. Did Mr. Sully strike her? Yes. But in defense of himself. Are we really so old fashioned that we believe a man can’t be abused by a woman? That a man can’t fear what a woman might do to him? Let’s not hold Ms. Beyrand to a double standard which only puts men at risk. She led him on, there was a misunderstanding, and that’s what happened. If someone else attacked Ms. Beyrand after her altercation with my client, then that’s somebody else’s business. But what you all need to understand is this: Mr. Sully defended himself from a person who was attacking him. And if you imprison him for it, we are heading down a very slippery slope.”

With that, he went to his seat. Bill got to his feet and walked over to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen, say it with me,” he began.

“Please,” the jury echoed back to him.

“Counsel!” Judge Walsh scolded. “The jury is to listen, not interact.”

“Certainly,” Bill agreed. He turned back to them. “The facts of this case are simple. You heard them from the doctors, the police officers, and from the victim herself. You saw the photos. The impression of the car door against her scalp. It’s not a case of he said she said because what she said is backed by evidence. All of which points to Mr. Sully violently assaulting Ms. Beyrand because she refused to have sex with him. As a society, we like to say that women have the right to say no. But they don’t, do they? Because look at what happens when they do. Dominique Beyrand was nearly killed for it. Thousands of women every year are not as fortunate to be able to take a shot at justice. And that’s what we’re looking for here. You have the facts before you. We’ve presented them clear as crystal. Now, it’s your turn to deliver justice. Not just for Dominique Beyrand. But for your mothers, sisters, and daughters. For every woman - every person, even - who has a right to say who puts their hands on their bodies. Justice. That’s all we’re asking for.”

With that, it was over. The jury went to deliberate.

“This could be a while, right?” Dominique asked as you headed out to the lobby.

“Yeah, it could be a few hours,” you told her. “But if they’re sensible, it shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”

“Well, Roger and I wanted to thank you for all you two have done,” she replied. “By having you over for dinner.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, touched. “It’s our job, and we’re glad to help you.”

“I know, but we appreciate it,” she said.

“Plus, we have an ulterior motive,” Roger added. “We’ve got to decorate the house for Christmas, and we could use the extra hands.”

It hit you suddenly that it was December. Christmas was in just a few weeks. You had been so busy with this case and your own thoughts that you’d forgotten.

“It would mean a lot to us,” Dominique said. “And to the kids.”

You and Bill looked at each other and nodded.

“We’ll come,” you said.

Verity was thrilled to see everyone when you arrived at Roger’s house. Roger told her you were all going to decorate, and she agreed to help. So, she got the children.

Felix was excited to see you again and he quickly warmed up to Bill. Rory was entirely a mommy’s girl. Even though she could teeter around, she got fussy if she wasn’t in Dominique’s arms. You had never seen Bill look so soft as he watched Dominique with her daughter.

You all worked together to unpack the decorations and begin hanging them. They didn’t have a tree yet, but Roger assured you they would get one in another week. That way it would stay fresh. Dominique put on a Bing Crosby Christmas record and you all got to work. You were putting the stockings on the mantle when Roger approached you.

“Did you really see a little boy in the courtroom today?” he asked. “He looked real?”

“Yeah,” you said somberly. “It’s got me a bit frightened. He looked so solid. Very real.”

“But he vanished?” he questioned.

You nodded. “He did.”

“What did he look like?” he wondered.

“Quite a bit like you, actually,” you told him. “I dunno, maybe I’m cracking up after everything we’ve been going through.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

You smiled at each other and finished the stockings. He helped you string lights around the garland and then place it on the mantle as well. Dom had a collection of Father Christmases that she put along the beam to keep the garland in place. It looked beautiful.

Then you and Roger helped hang wreaths. Felix wanted to help so Roger hoisted him onto his shoulders. The boy giggled with delight. The sound made you stiffen. It was so like the laugh you heard in your office that morning.

“Y/N?” Roger asked, looking curiously at you. “You alright?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just anxious about this verdict.”

“Don’t worry too much,” he said. “Whatever happens now isn’t in your control.”

You nodded again, and he handed Felix a ribbon to tie around the wreath. You jumped in and showed Felix how to tie a pretty bow, then let him try it on his own. It was sloppy, but you left it to show you were proud of him.

“Look, Mum, I made a bow!” he called to Dominique.

“And what a beautiful bow it is, darling!” she praised, beaming at him.

“Well, done, Felix!” Roger added.

You high fived him as well and he looked most pleased with himself.

Decorating was a welcome distraction from your worries. In a way, it felt like you were celebrating that you all had done this in the first place. You made it to trial, you tried an excellent case, and whatever way the jury decided, you were happy to have done your part for Dominique. She was glowing as she looked around at her friends and family. If not for the scar poking out from her hairline, you might not have thought anything happened to her at all.

At one point, Roger handed Felix some mistletoe and walked over to you.

“Oh!” he cried dramatically, earning more giggles from his son. “Looks like we ran into each other under the mistletoe. You know what that means.”

He winked as you rolled your eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, though.

“You are such an idiot,” you teased.

“Well, you owe this idiot a kiss,” he returned.

With a laugh, you obliged, leaning over to peck him on the lips.

Everyone laughed, sang, and got covered in glitter and pine needles as the house turned into a Christmas winter wonderland. You finally felt the spirit of the holiday. You were almost sad when it was completed because you were having such a wonderful time.

Luckily, the evening wasn’t over. Roger and Dom still wanted to make dinner, so you all herded into the kitchen. You took Rory and Felix crawled into Bill’s lap while the former couple got to work. Felix was animatedly talking to Bill about all the things he was asking Santa for, but Rory’s energy had depleted. She rested her head against your chest and closed her droopy eyes.

“This baby is tired,” you remarked, smiling.

“Well, she’ll eat a bit before we put her to bed,” Dominique said.

The children were fed first, with some assistance from you and Bill. Felix was truly taking advantage of all the attention he was getting. Rory was just tired and a little fussy. When they were done, Bill and Dom went to put them to bed. You and Roger started to prepare the wine.

“Y/N, I wanted to tell you just how much last night meant to me,” he said as you placed four glasses on the counter. “I really think things are just working out.”

“I do too,” you agreed with a grin. “Last night was incredible and it reassured me that we were meant to find each other again.”

He smiled and kissed you sweetly.

“I also wanted to thank you again for taking this case,” he said. “No matter what happens, we are so grateful for everything.”

“Roger, please, we are just happy you trust us enough,” you told him. “Bill and I adore you and Dom. We’re your friends. And I think after tonight….we’re all kind of family.”

“A weird family,” he joked.

“But a family all the same,” you insisted.

He kissed you again, and in it, you felt that he shared the sentiment.

Bill and Dominique returned, laughing softly together. You handed them each a glass of the freshly poured wine.

“They go down okay?” you asked.

“Perfectly,” Dominique said. “Felix always acts like he’s not sleepy, but the second his head hits the pillow, out go the lights.”

“Sounds like Roger,” you teased.

“I know, right?!” Dominique agreed.

You all chuckled. As Roger began retrieving things from the fridge for dinner, the phone rang. Verity picked it up on her way into the kitchen. You watched her expression shift to concern.

“Y/N, it’s for you,” she said. “It’s your assistant.”

You swept over to her and took the receiver.

“Jane, what is it?” you asked.

“The jury’s back,” she said. “You’ve got to get to court.”

Your stomach dropped. “Thanks, we’ll be right there.”

You hung up. All eyes were on you. Bill looked at you with understanding.

“The jury’s back,” he said, not having to guess.

You nodded.

“Dinner will have to wait,” Roger said. “Let’s go.”

You all rushed to grab your things and headed back into town.

The courtroom was empty now that it was late. Roger was the only person in the audience. You arrived after Glen and Nick were already seated. You noticed him and Roger exchange glares.

You all stood when Judge Walsh entered and took his seat. Glen and Nick remained standing while the jury filed in. Once all the formalities were taken care of, Judge Walsh looked at the jury.

“Have you reached a verdict?” he asked.

The foreman - who was actually a woman - stood up.

“We have, your honor,” she said.

“What say you?”

She unfolded the paper in her hand. You watched with bated breath. This was it. Had you done enough?

“In the matter of the people versus Sully, we the jury find the defendant, Nicholas David Sully, guilty…”

You didn’t hear the rest. You looked over at Dominique, but her face was already buried in Bill’s chest, and his arms were around her. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. You turned around to see Roger, head in his hands, absolutely frozen.

“Members of the jury, thank you for your service,” Judge Walsh said. “This court is adjourned.”

He slammed his gavel, and it felt like a wake up call. A burst of joy shot through you and you jumped out of your seat to hug Roger. He welcomed you into his arms as you embraced over the wall between you.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Dominique, tears and makeup streaming down her cheeks, but the widest grin you had ever seen on her face.

“Thank you,” she choked out.

Your own eyes welled up with tears. You didn’t have words, so you pulled her into the hug. You yanked Bill in as well, and the four of you stood there, relieved and victorious. The sentencing would be in a few weeks, but you were already over the biggest hurdle. You felt a little bit of pride in yourself. It was your first ever criminal conviction.

“How about we celebrate?” Bill suggested. “Let’s have a drink at the bar before we go back for dinner?”

“That sounds perfect,” Dominique said.

She took his hand. You took Roger’s. All of you headed out to the bar. A few of your coworkers - including Jane - were already there, so you told them the good news. There was champagne to go around. You hardly drank any. You were too busy dancing with Roger. Dinner was forgotten. The whole evening was spent at the bar, toasting, dancing, and being with the person you loved more than life itself - Roger Meddows Taylor.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #queen x you #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #just like a woman series

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4homiesfilm · 4 years ago

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5 Things - Devin

April 9, 2021

And so it begins…

Well, I’m missing you all a ton right now, wishing I wasn’t back in shitty, smelly, stinky New York but still on the lake, ripping an apple bong, and trying to shimmy. Anyway, here are 5 things inspiring me right now, that I want to share, and hopefully some of my excitement and inspiration will rub off onto you...

1. “Films aren’t just for telling stories — they should create an impact that encourages other people to make work.” -Mati Diop.

This wasn’t intentional, but in many ways this may just be the perfect quote to kick off this little weekly experiment of ours. This is what I want to do in general, with each film I make, but it’s especially relevant to the film we started making on this trip. Like I said the night we delved into the dark depths of how hard life has been the past year or more: we can help each other, and we can do so by inspiring one another. Mati is the perfect symbol of this for several reasons. When I first saw Atlantics, a little over a year ago, it made me think of Alisa and her style, particularly her Cuba doc. Both those films moved and inspired me in strangely similar ways, and so I had to tell her to watch it. I think it’s safe to say that Mati’s film also inspired Alisa, and then she urged all of us to watch it last weekend, and the excitement was then spread through all of us. This is so cool to me, and gives me so much creative energy. I could say so much about the film itself, and all the different aspects that moved me and blew me away, but just this rippling impact that it had on all of us makes me so happy. However, one of my favorite aspects is the music, so I will add this quote from Mati as well (which is from the same article, linked just below the quote):

“Fatima is by far one the best musicians and artists of my generation and embodies the music of my time. I chose her because I wanted the music of the film to bewitch the audience like a djinn [genie] would, she also has an understanding of the complex geopolitical landscape of the film. My [way of telling stories] is fed by a lot of different references — European Gothic and the romantic movement, as well as my African and Muslim heritage — so I think the film is really a strange aesthetic combination. Fatima and I have a very similar hybrid culture.”

The full interview: https://www.vogue.co.uk/arts-and-lifestyle/article/mati-diop-interview

2. Lee Chang-dong (aka... Director Dong)

Wow, he has been such a profound source of inspiration for me these past few weeks. Each film of his we watched - and for Thomas and I it was three, yes three damn films! That’s like half his filmography! - had something different and new that blew me away, whether it was particular moments or something larger, something deeper pulsating underneath the surface. This interview he did after Burning’s release is fantastic, and these are the quotes that particularly stuck out to me:

“To me it seems that films these days are becoming more and more simple, and the audience seems to desire simpler stories. Of course, films sort of shape the desires and the demands the audience makes, so I kind of wanted to go against this trend and see if a film can sort of throw endless questions at the audience. Endless questions about a larger mysterious world. This film is the result of that experiment.”

“[Hae-mi is] also the only character in the film who persistently pursues the meaning of life. The moment she disappears, I wanted the audience to sort of feel her absence and ask themselves what she represents and has been searching for — her presence in this film is very important, even when she's not there. The dancing in this scene really signifies her entire presence in the film.

When she's dancing the Great Hunger dance, searching for the meaning of life and really seeking true freedom, you see her doing that dance surrounded by both the lies and natural beauty that we live in. The scene being set during sunset, you see light and darkness co-existing, and you see the moon in the sky and you also see the grass swaying in the wind, you see the livestock, the farm and, of course, the Korean national flag, which symbolizes politics. You see all these elements that represent aspects of our lives — even the Miles Davis tune. I thought that through this scene I could portray and combine all of these elements together in the most cinematic way possible, so that the audience can really feel the potential of cinema as a medium and the unique aesthetics of cinema. So from the beginning to the end of the scene, I didn't want it to feel like it was directed or staged; I wanted it to feel as if we were able to capture this slice of life very coincidentally, and to capture Hae-mi's pursuit of freedom.

...The moment I thought of this image was when I first knew I could make this story into a film.”

Full interview: www.hollywoodreporter.com/amp/news/oscars-interview-lee-chang-dong-burning-1167869

3. Tsai Ming-liang. It makes me so excited that What Time Is It There? connected with Thomas the way it did, because this guy is one of my absolute favorite filmmakers. Watching that film was so inspiring and such a great way to end the trip, because it made me so hopeful about the future, and all its possibilities. In so many ways, Tsai makes the films I want to make. You all have to watch Rebels of the Neon God and Vive L’amour. Here is a quote by Tsai which is so similar to how I think about the films I make:

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a painter and I have always enjoyed looking at paintings. Viewing a film is admittedly a different experience from viewing a painting, but in my films I am continually trying to develop an experience for my audience similar to that of viewing a painting. I am more like a painter who is using the language of filmmaking than a storyteller who is using the medium of film.”

And here is Tsai talking about his star and muse Lee Kang-sheng, his star and muse who has been in every one of his films, which I also find so fascinating and, again, inspiring:

“It’s not about a face being pretty; it is about how you frame it. The reason that I always cast Lee is his face. His face inspires me to look at film in a different way. Thinking about it, over my twenty-year career in feature films, it was never about the story, it was about filming Lee.

[His face] evoked a particular sensation that touched me deeply, while the professional actors that I auditioned did not touch me as much. Ordinary faces, and ordinary people, tend to leave a stronger impression on me. When I chose Lee to be my actor, there was a lot of criticism. People complained that he did not have the face of a star. He wasn’t big or muscular. Yet, what deeply touched me was precisely this sense of ordinary-ness in his appearance. He was natural. Lee’s appearance in my films actually changed the whole path of my development as a filmmaker away from standard, industrial-style films and in another direction.

As we have continued to collaborate, Lee has aged and his body has changed a lot. Usually in the film industry, when an actor ages and changes, the director will get a different actor to perform. Rather than choose that path, I chose to accept these changes and to allow the audience to watch as someone gets old and sometimes gets sick. I am using the changes in the body of Lee to have a conversation with the world. He will always be my actor. Using Lee throughout my career has been a kind of constraint because I could easily have used other professional or “star” actors. Placing this constraint upon myself was an active choice: a choice that was not driven by market forces but by what I wanted to achieve in my films.”

Here’s the full article:

https://www.cineaste.com/fall2019/painterly-poetics-tsai-ming-liang-and-lee-kang-sheng

4. Our film, which I’ll be posting many stills from in the coming days/weeks, but for now, here are these three.

It felt so good to be working on something new with all of you, and just be in that process, and see what comes out of it. I think we got some really exciting stuff, which I have to now go through and explore, but just the act of filming it and working together put me on such a high. Particularly that first night, when we got the blue shots of the lake (the boat going by, the green light of the other dock turning off) and then filming Thomas eat the enchilada...I get a specific creative rush when filming something that feels so exciting and new, and it’s a rare feeling, and I felt it then, and in other fleeting moments while filming for those days and nights. This is just the beginning...

5. Planning our next trip. Whether it be a road trip or just another week or so at the lake, I just want to be together again.

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popcorn-hero · 4 years ago

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The Tales of the Todorokis

Acknowledging character development and writing character development is not and making excuses for ones crimes.

Disclaimer: I read, I interpret, I express. This is a long post filled with images. Also probably some horrible grammar

Apologizing: Apologizing is acknowledging ones faults and vowing to never commit the same mistakes. What has happened has happened. Nothing can change the past or the effect it had. What you do now, does not change or erase the past, but it helps guide a path of healing for the future. It can be the start of change and morphing into a better person. BUT, only if that person truly means it.

Apologies is not making an excuse for yourself.

Forgiveness: Forgiveness can be rightfully given, or not. It can be a tricky thing to understand at times. Forgiveness doesn’t remove the pain. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the memories. But for some people, forgiveness is a key to freedom, for inner peace. For other people, forgiveness doesn’t offer them that, and that's fine too.

We are not monoliths, we are individual people, with individual brains, with individual emotions, with experiences that affects us as individuals. Our stories might overlap - they might even be identical, but how we process it may not be.

I don’t like this narrative I’ve been seeing recently in the fandom of Horikoshi being an abuse apologist. I think Horikoshi is challenging us and its working.

The Tales of the Todoroki’s: Enji, Rei, Touya, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shoto

6 people

6 perspectives

6 stories

1 truth

Each viewpoint and each experience from everyone is very important in putting the pieces together (yes, even Enji). In fact, I think it was important to have Enjis viewpoint to the situation because it was such a contrast to what we’ve heard and seen from everyone else. In Enjis mind, he truly thought everyone was complaisant. He saw nothing wrong with attempting to live vicariously through his kids. In the same breath he expresses contempt for this children, its also laced with disappointment

He speaks of Rei as though she was consensual, but we know he essentially used her a valuable Mare and hurt her as well.

His treatment of Rei cannot be erased, justified, or forgotten. It happened. We as the audience are suppose to carry that in our minds because we are reading a story about Heroes. This challenges us to understand that heroic actions is not what a hero makes.

There are cops who (most of them tbh) that become cops simply for the power dynamic, not because they desire to protect. A lot of cops abuse their spouse.

Rei: We are only introduced to her through the lowest point of her life and we have no insight on how Enji acquired her (yeah that sound harsh, but isn’t that what happened) nor her domestic life with him. What we know of her are scenes of her pain, and I think thats relevant enough. She may have had some “good” moments out of her situation, but she was still a mouse trapped in a lions den. Good days do not erase her state. Thats why this panel, was so odd to me

Because it implies that Rei was complicit in having kids even though we as the audience understand that he basically brought her for that single purpose. Now note, this is coming from Enjs mouth, not hers so I can’t sit her be like “oh yeah she was fine with everything”

To me, this is simply Enjis projection because what was Rei honestly going to do? Say no? But who’s to say that she didn’t want Touya to be lonely? Idk, that panel was too wishy washy for me.

Moving on

She replies to Natsuo by saying that's not true

Its not in his defense like how Natsuo claimed. Rei never states that she forgives him, and we can see she is still on her journey of healing when she mentions shes still a bit scared of him. However, she acknowledges his acts as stepping stone for his own path of atonement.

If she does come to forgive him later in the story, thats her decision (Horikoshi actually lol). If she doesn’t, that her decision.

Natsuo:

The only insight from Natsuo is his resentment towards his father with what happened to Touya and the hurt of their mother. It is revealed later that Natsuo was Touya confidant in the house (I’ll get into that when I talk about Touya).

But He doesn’t forgive him....or hes not at that stage yet

When endeavor saves him from the villain, we are able to see Natsuos raw thoughts:

He’s conflicted: He wants to maintain the peace, but he can’t deny how he feels.

Natsuo felt like he had to compromise his feelings, and that shouldn’t be fair. Even thought he is the middle child, I feel like he took on the presence of the big brother and wanted to protect his siblings. But when you have a man like Enji as your father and you know how he is.....standing up to him as a child is terrifying

So when Enji says this

I’m like: DUH! Of course he would feel like that

But I’m taking this scene has Enji recognizing how he made Natsuo feel as a child which showcases. he owns up to the fact that he pushed Touya to the edge.

Yet with all that said, hes not suppose to forget. Hes not suppose to suppress how he feels. And even at his age, that child inside him still hurt and was never offered a chance to properly heal. I know what that feels like.

Natsuo must figure out what he needs to do to find peace - however that may be.

Fuyumi :

We don’t have much insight to Fuyumi and I’m sure her experience is completely different from her brothers. One, because she was a girl and Enji is misogynistic, I doubt he gave her any type of attention as a father figure especially since she only inherited her moms quirk. I don’t recall signs of physically abuse on Fuyumi and (Natsuo), but there probably was demeaning behavior at some point. Just being in that environment and seeing their sibling subjected to that, negatively impact her however

But with Fuyumi, she is trying to move on

I think Fuyumi is on her path of forgiving her father - thats her choice to make to find peace for her experience. After expressing her desire to move on as a family, she ask Shoto how he feels....

Oh my sweet prince Shoto:

Shoto has a lot of baggage and being one of the main protagonist, we get a more in depth experience on his relationship with is father. I’m not going to go into too much detail because we all know he detested his father. I’m mainly going to focus on this middle ground that I find him at.

In the panels above he mentions having grudges and how it clouds the mind. Thats a toxic feeling to carry with you, especially when you’re trying to be a hero. He recognized that, and he’s been working on fixing that. Even his mother had to forgive herself towards what she did to him.

Shoto is not here to forgive Enji, hes here to forgive himself

What I mean by that is the fact that Shoto experienced self-hate. He hated a part of who was, how he looked, where he came from. He had no control of his childhood, but he now has control of his future. At the sports festival, that was Shotos first step towards finding his healing. It wasn’t about Enji apologizing to him. It was about him.

And now look at him, he’s more social, more expressive, more powerful once he began to love himself. He got there on his own and with the support of his friends.

It doesn’t change what happened to him, and it doesn’t erase his feelings However, it gave him control over himself.

This is almost the same position Natsuo is in. He hasn’t seen anything (yet) for himself that warrants him to forgive his father. Maybe we will see it in these later chapters... maybe we wont.

Thats his decision

And last: Touya

Touya, touya, touya touya......

I honestly don’t know how to tackle his situation, but shoot me

From this memory (by Enji), Touya appears...enthusiastic. He appeared that he wanted to train with his father.

And I think this is where things went wrong in his rearing. He was GROOMED .

Enji, being who he was, probably placed the ideas in Touya head of great success, importance, power, fame, ect. These things sound good to a child, and being the only child at the time, he had all his fathers attention. But as he got older and his quirk became incompatible, things started change.

Even before his quirk no longer became compatible for him, Enji still didn't see Touya as his ideal child, but he accepted it. Touya looks to be about 6 here meaning Shoto wasnt born yet or an infant.

Going by the ages given for Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo I’m going to state that

Touya was 13 when he staged his death

Fuyumi was 11, Natsuo was 8, and Shoto was 5 and thats when we are introduced into in abuse.

So there is a 8 year window between Touya shift in his relationship with his father and the start of Shoto gaining his quirk.

That is a missing puzzle piece, and I can only speculate what happened in that time period to drive Touya to his mental breaking point and what his father did or, didn’t do for him.

Here, there is more white in his hair and he looks to be maybe 10? And this is when he starts to question his existence.

I can’t say all that Touya went through from the time Shoto was born to his faked death.

I think Touya suffered from feeling abandoned by his father father, the feelings of being a failure because of these ideals of greatness only to be sideline. That he was just a placeholder like the rest of his sibling and not worthy to work along his fathers side.

I don’t think he faced the same treatment from his father as Shoto did. I think he became blinded by approval and pushed himself to his limits to compete for Enji attention, He probably developed depression, anxiety, and a lot stressors as he became more and more incompatible with his quirk

And I think thats why there is the hate for Shoto because he feels like he took away his purpose ( which has nothing to do with Shoto but everything to do with Enjis grooming)

We know Touya is absolutely not on the scale of ever forgiving his father for what he did. For him to sit there and watch his father on TV and proclaim to be a hero when he knew what went on behind closed doors, it can drive him towards wanting to retaliate.

His story showcases damages of a broken child. Where Shouto found liberation, Touya remained bound to the ambers Enji left on his worth and lies on being a hero.

Not everything can be fixed, and once a crack forms, it will continue to spread until it shatters.

In conclusion

The Tale of The Todorokis is not to serve as excusing abuse. Its a showcase of how 1 man can affect the lives of many people in different ways. It is a tale of moving forward, finding peace, and gaining control over your own person.

Enji knows he can’t snap his figures and all will be well. Though I think some actions he could have done was to take it upon himself to address the country, come clean, and maybe retire as a hero, but he’s not a perfect character.

But I’ll take what I can get. Enji knows his place, he knows what he has done.

Happiness to his family is absence

Its there space

And there nothing more better he can do than that.

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