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starryhutcherson · 8 months ago

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clapton davis fic where hes just like, super flirty and its really cute and the reader is oblivious to this but eventually clapton is like "damn it why cant you get the hint" so he opens up to the reader?&;&:& tysmm

━━ UNSUBTLE SUBTILITY

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x reader warnings: swearing, brief depictions of blood word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The presence of Spring in Grizzly Lake brought a lot of things; including sporadic bursts of heaven-yellow sunlight, greenery spiraled across branches of previously barren tree skeletons, and, most importantly for students of Grizzly Lake High School, the promise of the Spring Fling Formal that was set to occur in the midst of May.

For Clapton, this prom meant one thing; achieving his goal that’s been looming over him since freshman year — ask you out. Theoretically it’s a simple process, but if it was truly as easy as it sounds it would have occurred the very moment his eyes landed on your figure that first day in beginner spanish.

You were the embodiment of perfection, punctuated through your gleaming smile that enraptured anyone in a ten mile radius, and the way the sun seemed to spread across the expanse of your cheeks, soaking you in the rays of heaven itself. Clapton was about ready to propose that day, and he didn’t even know your name.

Now, roughly two years later, he was still amidst the same dilemma, the one in which he actually had to do the asking-out part. He was sure by now you would have picked up on his inherently obvious attempts to entice you, but you remained oblivious, so he decided he’d have to fully commit if he wanted to capture your attention. The art of unsubtle subtility, if you will.

And so, forty three minutes into the depths of an agonizingly dull pre-calculus lesson, he confidently taps your shoulder with a fractionally tense hand, and indulges the tug on his heartstrings when you turn around, framed by the delicate glow of mid-morning spring that he adores so much.

“Something wrong, Clapton?” Your voice cleaves through the classroom ambience of idle chatter and textbook pages being flipped. He flashes a boyish smile in hopes to flutter your heart in the same way you flutter his.

“Do you get any of these questions?”

“Yeah, they’re not too bad,” you reply, offering an ephemeral that renders his throat tight.

He glanced down momentarily at his worksheet, adorned in scrawls and scribbles, yet lacking a single legible answer. His vision trains up back to you though, as it always does. He thought you’d easily detect the unspoken question for your help, but you remained stationary in your seat, as if waiting for him to say it. He couldn’t tell if you were genuinely that heedless, or if you were toying with him. Cat and mouse.

“Seriously? When did they even teach us all this?”

You shrug mindlessly, and a lock of hair shifts from its position on your shoulder. He’d give anything to rope his fingers through it. “A while back. Why, you need some help?”

Yes. He’d like your help, your compassion, your hand in marriage…

“Wanna walk me through it?” He tosses you a hopeful expression, and you answer back with a simple nod, sliding your chair along the cheap linoleum floor with a scrape, until the pair of you are sharing his desk, impossibly close.

Your velvet voice is stringing sentences right down the expanse of his spine, though your attempts to help him understand logarithmic differentiation were ultimately futile— how was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he could feel your words blooming on his skin? See every freckle and divot etched into your face? He could taste his own heartbeat as it melded against his throat.

“So, this helps to avoid complications like the product rule and the quotient rule when— Clapton?”

He cocks his head up, trying to ignore the swell in his stomach when he hears the way his name sounds braided between your sentences, it suits your voice so well.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Are you even listening?”

Shit, no he absolutely wasn’t. How could he? Your proximity allowed him to see you. Like, properly see you.

“Yeah. Totally. Logaramic thingyation,” he murmurs with overt certainty, and a puppylike grin.

You snicker. “Couldn’t even get the name right?”

He’s internally collapsing, though he manages to force some words out of his struggling brain.

“Hard to think when you’re here.” He doesn’t dare sever the eye contact between you, hoping to hone the tension as long as possible, until he shatters you. His lopsided grin shrinks in a moment of brevity; you’re so close and he can smell you and your very essence. He’s sure that his ulterior motive is conveyed, through the way his eyes explore the breadth of your figure, never leaving, never faltering— yet to his pure irritation, all he gets is a blank expression and a confused chuckle.

“Why is that?” You ask, and he wants to grab you by your shoulders and shake you. Are you really that dense? Your face is about as expressive as a rock, and you seem not even partially affected by the flirty wink he sent your way moments prior.

“You’re kidding, right? Come on.” He fires back, raising a brow with a daring smirk. He wants you to inquire. You don’t. He realizes that trying to get you to take a fucking hint was about as impossible as teaching him calculus.

You force out an awkward laugh that makes his skin crawl with defeat, but he doesn’t back down. “Come on what?”

He refrains from the urge to say “me”, and instead huffs a sharp exhale through his nose. He’s moments away from spouting some lame compliment when the shrill cry of the bell interrupts his train of thought, and a tide of students eject eagerly from their seats and spill out into the corridor for lunch.

Your friend approaches the desk with a quirked brow, reaching for your arm and mumbling something into your ear that’s intelligible to Clapton, tugging on you to try and steer you away from the classroom. And from him. You nod in response to her comment, before momentarily glancing back over to Clapton.

“I gotta go, Clapton. See you soon though, see you in History!” You send him a parting wave with a gentle flick of your wrist, before turning off and disappearing down the long stretch of corridor beside the classroom. His eyes follow you for as long as possible before your figure is consumed by the wandering horde of students, and he lets a grumbly sigh escape his parted lips before he packs up his belongings. This was going to be harder than he anticipated.

*:･.・゜゜・

Clapton’s second attempt at alluring you resulted in more or less the same outcome. He’d entered the cafeteria, instantly bathed in the overwhelming odor of lysol and lard. His prior plan was to grab a doctor pepper, maybe a sandwich, and head over to his typical table to talk a painfully uninterested Sander’s ear off about you, but he scrapped it upon spotting you waiting in the cafeteria line, immediately changing course and veering over in hopes of a successful conversation.

He cuts in front of an unsuspecting freshman, ignores the irritated “What’s your deal man?”, and ‘accidentally’ brushes up to you until your bodies knock, and you spin around in confusion.

Your face mildly relaxes in recognition, and he takes this as progress.

“Hey. Getting lunch?”

“What else would I be doing?” You ask. Swing and a miss.

He clears his throat a fraction, not allowing this to throw him off his game.

“I dunno, maybe you just really like standing in lines,” he teases, and you laugh back.

“Especially if the line is for overpriced cafeteria food,” you add with a grin.

The pair of you share a laugh, and Clapton marvels at the fact that you can look so irresistible even in the harsh fluorescence of the cafeteria’s artificial lighting. The pair of you fall into a partially awkward silence, and he follows your line of vision, watching as you observe some students hanging a hand painted banner advertising prom for the entirety of the cafeteria to see. ‘Spring Fling Formal, get your tickets now!’ glistens in white gold lettering. He prays he can take the banner up on that offer.

“Are you doing anything for it?” A bit of a jump from the casual conversation, but he was itching to entice you and couldn’t risk missing his chance.

“Hm? For what?” His lips twitch into a gradually familiar downwards smile. “Prom,” he says, gesturing at the banner, obnoxiously pink in hue and decorated with scatterings of hastily painted daisies.

“Oh. Maybe— I’m not sure, it’s kinda ages away.” Yup. An impossibly distant period of two weeks. Clapton’s jaw ticks uncomfortably at the prospect of the narrowing window of time. He can’t afford to screw this up.

“Right. Sure. Are you… interested in anyone in particular though?” He probes, hoping that you notice the searing spark of desperation that lingers in the loop of his irises.

“Eh. Not really. Are you?”

His ego suffers a blow at your total ignorance to his pining. He’s on the brink of combustion; unable to endure the cosmic irony of having you so close yet so far. He pictures you for the umpteenth time, glittering in a dress that matched your eyes and his tie. A slow dance to a Sting song, his eager hands situated either side of your waist. You’d stare up at him with a dazzled guise, illuminated by the scintillation of indigo disco lights, and his tongue would delve into yours as he soaked up the saccharine flavor of the fruit punch lingering on your lips.

“Yeah.” He states bluntly, staring at you as if you hung each and every star. “Yeah, I’m interested in someone.”

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah? Who?”

He clears his throat. “Someone special. Someone super special.”

“You should ask them!” “Easier said than done,” he chuckles humorlessly.

Your lips part as you go to investigate further, but are interrupted by the scowl of the lunch lady barking at you for your order. He notes it, mac and cheese plus a diet sprite— you’re handed it moments later, and your vision is torn from him and towards your small circle of friends seated across the cafeteria, who are waving you down. You’re gonna leave again?

“I better go sit down, but, uh, you should definitely ask that person to prom. Be upfront and everything. Y’know, you only live once, and all that, right?”

He swears he’s going to implode at the unbridled irony of this entire situation. Be upfront. He’s been upfront!

“You know it,” he quips weakly as you slink away.

He’s been showering you in signals for months, and you’d always abandon them, his attempts for your acknowledgement left festering as sour memories in his head, things that made him roll over with shame in bed at night, and all for what?

He brainlessly orders his doctor pepper with a monotone grumble, feeling the frigid prick of the can’s condensation gather in his palm as he wonders what the hell it’s gonna take for you to take a damn hint.

*:･.・゜゜・

After yet another failed interaction, Clapton had spent the span of the rest of the week stripping his words to the marrow. Every conversation he indulged in with you involved his inner thoughts spouted in their rawest form— cocky compliments, lingering touches, looks of intense pining and yet somehow you continued to miss them. Every. Last. One.

He was nearing his wits end, teetering on the cliff of insanity and seconds away from taking the plunge. Maybe he was the one who needed to take a hint. Maybe you were trying to tell him that you weren’t interested and he wasn’t giving it up. It was a sickening notion, one that thrashes wildly in his stomach. He didn’t know much, but he did know that he’d never be satisfied until he knew your stance on him for certain.

He was just gonna say it.

In hindsight, it wasn’t Clapton’s smartest move to deliver the question in the midst of a dodgeball game, but his thoughts were warped and he decided now was as good as ever. His voice was barely even audible beside you over the screech of tennis sneakers scraping the gym floor and the continuous sound of rubber balls coming into contact with student flesh.

“Hey!” He exclaims.

“Hey?” You say back, turning to him momentarily. Yet again, he wonders how you do it. Hair blown back effortlessly, skin glistening with a fragile sheen of moisture that is hardly off-putting, if doing something it aids to soften your otherworldly glow. Meanwhile, he was panting like an old dog, hair matted to his forehead in sodden chunks beneath his obnoxious sweatband.

“I needa ask you something!” It’s sink or swim. His teeth graze the inside of his cheek for a moment, his gaze varying between you and the opposing court, to prevent a dodgeball to the head.

“Yeah?” Sink or swim sink or swim sink or swim. “What’s up?” He melts at the sight of your semi-breathless smile.

“Are you still dateless? Like, to prom?”

Your forehead creases, and you return the sideways glance. “Um, yeah. Why?”

With a delayed exhale that rings heavy in the pits of his lungs, he turns his entire body to face you, which in turn makes you face him as well.

“Look, I’ve been trying to say this for months. Well, not months. Maybe weeks. Whatever– point is, it’s been a while. Like seriously, a long fucking time. And I swear I’ve been so obvious, but clearly not obvious enough because you’re still, like, totally unaware or whatever. But, like, basically, I was wondering— I’ve been wondering if—” “Clapton!” You exclaim hurriedly, splintering his stammered sentence in an instant. He barely has time to cast his visage front on, before a dodgeball with an extremely strayed trajectory soars gracefully through the current of the air and hits Clapton square in the face. Guess he wasn’t paying enough attention after all.

An expletive leaves his lips, muffled by the wail of your gym teacher’s whistle. His head is temporarily a warped whirlwind resembling TV static, though the feeling fades fairly quickly.

You turn to him in a mild panic, noting the faint trickle of glossy crimson that has started to spill from his nose. “Holy shit! You’re bleeding! Lemme take you to the nurse.”

He can’t help but twist his lips up to form a slight smirk as you place a worried hand on his bicep. The touch scars on his nerves, your fingers like an angel’s caress.

In all honesty, he feels fine, but you offered to take him to the nurse— was he going to give up that delightful invitation? No. He was not.

The pair of you are excused from the gym, trekking down the hallway in an atmosphere of silence so thick it’s practically tangible. Upon arrival at the nurse, Clapton’s seated in a shitty plastic chair, holding a paper towel held to his nose and tipping his head slightly backward. He couldn’t believe that his one chance of actually spitting his desperate question out was interrupted by a stray dodgeball. A goddamn stray dodgeball.

You linger in the doorframe, taut as a coiled spring. The nurse, underpaid and painfully unsympathetic, leaves the pair of you once she deems Clapton to be ‘good enough’, in her exact words.

You approach him, taking the scarlet-spotted tissue and holding it to his face for him, a gesture which turns his insides in on themselves.

“Hey Clapton? What were you saying before?”

Shit.

“What?” He croaks gutturally, trying and failing to play dumb. He knew damn well what he was saying. Prom with him.

“You were asking me something. Before you got, y’know, obliterated by a flying dodgeball.”

He snickers feebly, even if for a moment. “Oh, yeah.”

You open your eyes wider as if to say, “Well?”

The climate in the room seems to sink heavier, cradling the scent of antiseptic and drying blood. Clapton’s words fizzle out on his tongue no matter which way he arranges them in his head, but he knows he just has to get it out—- rip off the band-aid, break the ice, all of that.

His eyes, big and wide and drinking in your face so dangerously close to his, melt into an unmistakable question. He counts himself down in his head. Now or never.

“Prom. I was asking if you wanna go to prom.” He takes a staggered breath. “With me, I mean.”

Oh.

The genuine beam you erupt in subsequent to his words is enough to ease his nerves. It’s enough to make him soar, actually.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” That wasn’t a no. That wasn’t a no. His heart hurts with hope.

“I tried to. You’re just… you kinda suck at taking hints.” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, picturing every moment leading up to this one that you spent with him. Upon further reflection—- yeah. Yeah, you clearly did. People don’t look at friends the way he looked at you.

“Shit, I kinda definitely do,” you murmur.

He doesn’t let the quiet last long.

“So…?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. Clapton, I’d love to go to prom with you.”

The smile he wears is irresistibly contagious. Finally. Finally. Two long years of craving you; two years of memorizing every quirk and curve and contour. He knows it’s sort of ridiculous to get so elated about some forgettable high school dance, but the image he can see so vividly in his head; the lights and the dress and the swarm of butterflies that comes with your killer smile… it’s worth every awkward exchange, every word that’s fallen on deaf ears.

“Seriously?” He asks, reaching for your hand and wallowing in the way you so brainlessly accept the touch.

“Seriously.”

“Good. You won’t regret it.”

And something inside you tells you that he’s absolutely right.

reminder, my requests are always open

masterlist

✩‧₊˚

#clapton davis #clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #josh hutcherson #detention 2011 #clapton davis x reader fluff #clapton davis fluff #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson imagine

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n7punk · 1 year ago

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Okay sooo I’m fully aware the answer to this might just be ‘my brain just works that way’ lol buttt: you post as you write, but surely this must have kicked you in the arse at some point. Like have you ever written anything and then later on realised it’s put you in a sticky situation plot wise but can’t change it bc it’s already posted? Or do you like extensively plan before you start to avoid that? And do you keep notes as you write to make sure you remember key details? My brain cannot comprehend how you can write a story without knowing for sure how it’s gonna end without having the flexibility of changing a few things that happen earlier in the story lol your brain is so impressive.

Lol thank you. So the answer for this actually depends on the project. Usually I know like 3/4th of the story's overall structure and what an end goal would look like it by the time I finish the first chapter. I say the first chapter because a lot of changes or ideas can come from actually stepping into a story/world for the first time. That said, sometimes I just have a few scenes (The Scene™️s) and I fill in between them as I go. It's very common for the end to be a little hazy because I need to write the scenes that will effect it first to truly understand what it needs to be.

As far as writing myself into a corner goes: yeah, GUTT lol. Still don't know what to do about that one. But usually it's only in small ways. In CotC I figured out a scene that would have made the 13th fic work better, but said scene needed to be in the 11th fic and I had already posted up through the 12th, so I just had to let that better idea go. I also added the entire visit home/Winter Fest storyline to AMLAIT after I was like 3-4 chapters in (my initial plan for that fic ended up being 20% of what its total was, with a bunch of ideas coming in the middle), so I realized that hey, Catra's birthday should have been Right at the start of the fic, and then had to condense the timeline in one or two places to make it so her birthday had Just Passed, and then I edited in a single line referencing it into the beginning to make the timeline seem more cohesive to future rereads.

I honestly prefer writing this way because it makes you get more creative (and I hate redrafting lmao), but I do typically have some kind of outline (even if it's just in my head) going into the story. If you look at the fic notes for Superzero, I put the entirety of the written outline for that fic in the Original Outline section at the bottom and it... wasn't much lol.

By contrast, Roses & Thorns I outlined extensively because I was really excited about the idea and basically infodumped it all on my friend in Discord lmao. I will say, though, from the four chapters posted so far that outline included: like three sentences describing Catra's arrival, Adora hyperfocusing on her, and Catra being catty (every single scene up until the confrontation was written off-the-cuff when I sat down to do the fic). Then I had the confrontation with Catra and the discussion in the garden heavily outlined, and then... oh yeah nothing until like chapter six lmao. All that I filled in once I started working on the fic, and in fact I wrote a couple chapters and then went back and filled in scenes to give more depth to the story and world. If I had been posting from the start I would have been really screwed when it came to adding those scenes to chapter 2 (I added stuff to 2, 4, and 5 because I had just reached five when I went back), but I kind of knew I needed that extra time with it so I held off on posting.

As far as notes: also really varies! This is my notes for R&T

the main Roses & Thorns document is a copy-pasted version of the outline I wrote for my friend with a few additional notes added in where later ideas came. The Fic Notes doc contains... the fic notes I'll post later, which I write as I go (the sub-documents there are just blank stubs for fic references or extras since this is from a template), and then this fic has a "special" notes file to keep track of all the girls on the show. It's normal for a fic to have some kind of special notes file like that, like in CotC I had one comparing different endings I could do since I had a lot of ideas. For 'the long way down' I had a special note including how I had described Eternia in previous fics so it wouldn't contradict (even though it didn't matter since none of those fics were canon). Often there will also be a separate file for some kind of detailed outline in a specific scene up ahead, but in this one it's all just in the main one. And then the cut scenes document eeeeeeeevverrryyy fic ends up with. If I decide I want to rewrite a scene, I'll save the original version there so I can go back to it if I decide it's better than my rewrite - or sometimes scenes I think might be better off going completely but aren't sure go there temporarily. I always delete those stubs at the end of a fic (or during, like after I post the chapter said scene was from or am certain the new version is better).

In general, another thing that keeps me from "needing" more notes is the fact I reread a Lot. Like right now I'm working on chapter 9, and when I sit down in the morning it's not uncommon for my to skim from the chapter before, or all the way back to the first thing I haven't posted yet (in this case, chapter five). And when I do edit something to post it (say, chapter four two days ago), I usually then read/skim through what's between there and where I need to continue writing (in that case, chapter 8) before setting off again. It helps with the flow.

Now, I'm unusually ahead on this fic because I was a decent ways into it before I started posting (I took a week off), but one thing that helps with writing into a corner is that my usual rule is still to always be a chapter ahead of what I'm posting. So if I just finished drafting chapter 3, then I'm editing and posting chapter 2. This helps me make sure the flow together, and also just lets me give my writing breathing room. Instead of immediately editing and posting three, I can take a step back from it by working on chapter two instead, go draft chapter four, and then return to chapter three for editing only after that's done so I have fresh eyes on it. I don't have a beta and this is the only way I'm able to catch as many typos as I do with my dyslexia.

That was long a kinda rambly, but hopefully that answers your question! Every fic is a little different, but this is my general idea when it comes to each project.

#writing process #ask #anon

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margridarnauds · 1 year ago

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1, 9, and 23 for the fic writer asks ❤

Thank you!

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

This year's been slow for fics, since I've had a very busy time at my job, but I feel like I've been continuing to try to push the envelope -- working with new fandoms, new characters, and new styles. With Þe Grene, I think that I continued on with a trend that I started in A Soft October Night of embracing two things: Surrealism and my own discomfort with sex.

In fandom, it feels like there's a constant pressure to write sex scenes, and I do think that sex scenes can be important to developing character relationships, as one aspect of the human condition (even if it isn't the be-all, end-all.) I enjoy a well written sex scene! And I can give you an in-depth analysis of how various characters get it on. (And it isn't entirely clinical on my part, either.) But, for me, on a personal level, even though I'm not sex repulsed or even fully asexual (I feel like I lean into demisexuality or gray asexuality if anything), I've never gotten over that feeling of being self-conscious when it comes to WRITING them. And there are two strategies -- one is to keep writing sex scenes, which I've done for...years, at this point, the other is to lean into the discomfort, which I have a lot more fun with. And the Green Knight is such a trippy film to begin with that it really lends itself to surreal, uncomfortable fic, and I've had a lot of feelings about adaptation and homoeroticism in the film that it felt like a natural conclusion. So I leaned heavily into the discomfort, as well as the themes of identity and duality that are already there in the film itself.

And, honestly? We're at 103 hits, 23 kudos. Not bad, imo. No comments but, honestly, I'm not certain that it's the kind of fic that invites comments -- I think it's the kind of fic that you read and then sit with. If someone WANTS to comment, wonderful, grand, etc., but I also understand why people haven't, and that they haven't means, imo, that I nailed what I wanted to do. I wanted it to be an odd combination of sexy, disquieting, and oddly tender, and I think I succeeded. So I believe that overall, I succeeded, and I'm proud of the result.

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

Just about every fic that I wrote this year was near and dear to my heart, specifically because every one required a level of sacrifice to create them when I was faced with various professional demands. But the one that probably meant the most on a personal level was Metempsychosis. Because, despite being a one-shot, it took me over five years to write it. I wrote it for a fandom event that never really took off. Most of the people who were in the fandom when I wrote it are gone. I haven't heard from them in years. The fandom itself looks wildly different from how it used to look, and I know next to no one in it. And it's for a fandom that I've never written for before and will probably never write for again, a character study of a female character who doesn't get all that much attention, with no focus on romance. There was no way it would ever NOT be a passion project, and I was fine with that.

I wrote out most of it by hand, in a single flurry of activity, in the middle of Heathrow Airport in the morning, while I was going home from a conference, after taking a 5 hour bus ride and getting into said airport at 3 AM. I was tired, I was jet-lagged, and it was the perfect time and place to just...finally let it all out. All my feelings about Nannerl and her place as a historical figure, the way that her story is written off as a tragedy, and all my feelings about creating art when the people who you used to create it for are gone, with me trying to come to terms with those questions at the same time as she was. It was very much a labor of love and very much a personal story to me.

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

"Romeo, I've been waiting up for you for hours, what is it?"

Romeo held her close, resting his head on her shoulder while entwining his long legs with hers. "Nothing," he murmured. "I'm just glad we have the chance to love one another."

She flipped over to face him, her face searching his, her fingers gently hovering over his cheek, and he didn't know what she'd find there, given that she seemed to be able to read him in a way that no one else seemed to. Then, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging onto him like her life depended on it and, perhaps, it did. Perhaps she felt the same shadows at the edges of her vision that he did, perhaps, when they both shared the night with one another, they shared the darkness as well as the starlight. All he knew was that he was completely, happily grateful to this girl, and he'd gladly spend the rest of his life proving that.

(From Qu'as-tu fait de fou dans ta vie?)

So, this isn't a case of just an entire paragraph that was hard to write, but an entire sub-plot. As an author, I tend to have a very one track mind. I'm not proud of it, but it's true -- I go in with a specific plotline, I come up with ways to get from Point A to Point B to Point C, I bring in other characters on an as-needed basis, and that's it. I don't like juggling side-plots. But, for this fic, I quickly realized that I would need to bring in more of Romeo and Mercutio, especially strengthening Romeo's plotline. Because if I under-developed Mercutio, it would make him look like an unsympathetic jackass (which, tbh, is where I tend to lean in canon) and if I underdeveloped Benvolio and Escalus, it would look like they were selfish, immature idiots who were sneaking around without caring that it would hurt Mercutio. And if I underdeveloped Romeo, it would look like platonic bonds are just stepping stones to romance, with you ditching them the second you fall in love with someone. None of which I wanted to do. So, I buffed up Mercutio's scenes and, instead of giving Romeo one or two scenes, I let him become (remain) a major part of the narrative, including this scene where he essentially goes to call out Escalus for dumping Benvolio. And it works both to show Romeo's close bond with Benvolio, Romeo's own character development, and also the way that both Romeo and Juliet are paralleling Escalus and Benvolio. (And also giving Juliet some screentime, because I always feel bad when my girl isn't given a chance to shine.)

Overall, I think I did a good job, I felt like the chapter really fit into the flow of it, and this paragraph in particular did a great job of capping off that particular part.

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years ago

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Heyo! I was wondering if you could do a scenario during the uprising arc where the reader starts to realize she has feelings for Levi but at first he rejects her? Then during the night before Shiganshina he realizes about her feelings and ends up returning them knowing he doesn't want her to get hurt or die? Some angst fluff please and thank you!

Okay anon you have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this. It's super long and I love how it came to me so naturally. I hope you enjoy

Warnings: a little angst!?

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Promise

It all started at the sight of his wet fingertips grazing the broken rim of a teacup. A flutter, a feisty spark in your heart that seemed to drown it in full might had made its presence known to you in a very particular, unwanted moment. The flicker of a tiny flame danced before your eyes, sat at the frame of the window near the sink where you proceeded to rinse through washed dishes.

Levi's pale, chapped skin pulled on his knuckles leaving an unnatural yellowish white tone behind, indicating his involvement with excessive amounts of cleaning products. And for the first time, the sight really pulled a string in your poor heart in a way that was enough to convince you to break the dense silence in the room.

But maybe, you thought, Levi wouldn't want to talk to you.

With an unforgiving steel gaze he stared at your face, blinking in soft, yet erratical paces as you stopped plumping the water from running. In response your tongue was forced to slip inside your mouth and push any unspoken word back to its source, in the depths of your brain. All of a sudden you felt so afraid to talk, so petrified by the general idea of a three syllabus word that wouldn't ever spare the misery off of anyone.

Rejection

Captain seemed to be on the rejective side nevertheless so nothing regarding your newly discovered feelings would matter to him anyway, so in a way you blamed yourself for getting overwhelmed with this whole situation. A dark cloud of doubt shadowed your mind with the intention of interrogating your heart's intentions; perhaps you were mistaken. How on earth could you have been in love with the short man, you didn't know. There were far too many differences between the two of you, be it in appearance, mannerism or even -and more importantly- experiences. Supposing you had lived through similar occurances in battles outside the walls was enough for anyone to consider the two of you to be very alike, it was at least dishonorable to compare your childhood or teenage years to his.

"Nice hands" Of course you had managed to utter the most embarrassing choice of words to him, your mind could never cooperate with you when it came to such serious situations, something you hated so very much. The obnoxious dryness of your eyes was slowly migrating in the caves under your tongue, you could feel your mouth drying more and more by each passing second, yet you did nothing to prevent it.

Judging by Levi's puzzled expression which included his head slightly tilting forward as if to hear you better you knew he was as awestruck as you were at your own words. "I don't really understand where you're coming from but thank you, I guess." He spoke, the usual monotone tint staining his voice. You whipped your head back to a fixed position -on your hands this time- to stare down at the sink. The awkward glances you would throw at him went seemingly unnoticed and as time passed by you felt your tention overwhelming you, this time, completely.

Levi wasn't dense to any body language thrown at him and you were painfully aware. His cold eyes never spared you not even a half cornered look as he rubbed the little sponge on the soap bar next to him. His fingers danced on the ceramic plate, cleansing it in fast and very effective movements, leaving you staring in awe. Whether he was ignoring you on purpose or not you didn't know and you didn't want to seek an answer as to why but at this rate he would probably be the one to inquire why you were burning holes in his hands with your gaze. Again.

"I'm so sorry I'm fixated on your hands" Your mouth run, ignoring your mind's orders to stay shut "It's just-" Dammit think quick for once "You have nice nail beds."

There it was. The evidence that your words had actual brains and that they formed the most improper sentences on their own, just to torture you and push you deeper into piles of goowey, mushy shit. If Levi was anyone else he would have been laughing his ass of at the stupidness of your speech, you knew you would be laughing too if this wasn't as serious. Just as you were sure you heard a chuckle Levi placed the sponge on the bar of soap carefully and extended his arm, fully displaying his hand.

He seemed to study it like it was the first time he had ever even noticed it. The slick, long fingers, the oval shaped nails, his torn open knuckles. Perhaps you were kidding him for the lack of hair on the base of fingers he used to hold his blades with, those were burnt with years of being worn out by the steel triggers of the blades. He speculated this was common among most soldiers, so it didn't seem like a reason to be kidded for and in addition you never were the person to just spit senseless insults as jokes to your comrades.

"Is there even a point to talk about my hands? They're normal hands to me."

You bit your lip as your eyes widened in shock. Realisation hit you that this was probably more that absurd to Levi as it was to you, seeing you had started to talk about his hands out of nowhere. Your mind, in a state of panic, was in the midst of attempting to process every idiotic sentence you had the audacity to blurb out, but it never seemed to find an answer. Boiling with embarrassed, you wiped the water of your hands to your pants, an act that caught Levi's eye, and went to grab the first wooden chair that was in your path. You needed to sit down, to process whatever this was.

Yet, the only explanation you could find was that there was a raging wildfire in the pits of your stomach everytime your thoughts wandered on Levi. Yes, it was possible that what had started as an admiration, a tiny spec of a crush for the slender featured man had been growing on you since forever, but you had always burried it deep, in any hellhole that should accommodate such emotions as this was war and not the plot of sappy romance novel.

The air was cut down short in the room when Levi sat at a chair beside you, watching you over in such demanding manner that only he could master. He proceeded to light the only candle that stood at the middle of the table, possibly in hopes of flaring a conversation or causing a sane sequence of sentences to finally fall from your tongue. It was still unbeknownst to him what had caused you to trip over words as if you were a learning toddler and he yearned to find out, as a sole friend, not as the stern corporal he presented himself to be.

"(y/n)" His voice was tender as he spoke either much mindful to the teens who were sleeping in the next room or unwilling to let a private conversation between the two of you be heard. "If you think I can help with whatever is going on quit acting like a brat and tell me what's on your mind."

Momentarily, you wondered whether he'd stick to his words in case you spilled your heart's infatuating agony but you felt unable to think of a possible dominating scenario in the chaos of your mind. As self destructive as it sounded, you'd prefer to be the one to break your own heart rather than having to stand back and be a martyr to him tearing it off your chest and tearing it. Knowing Levi, this wasn't anything physically impossible, but you doubt that he could ever be as harsh with you.

"I'm just stressed. I have a lot on my mind."

"Erwin's trial and the future of the scouts, huh? Or is it that Hange works your ass off with those experiments?" You scoffed in denial to all of his inquiries, knowing full well that you could have used them as excuses. Levi's sharp hand began a short trip with sole purpose to land at the top of your head, through your loose locks, in an affectionate manner, a little something you had picked up he would do when he really cared for someone. Everyone knew he wasn't particularly touchy, except for some emotional moments with his closest people; a hand on a shoulder and a pat in the head were mostly what you had witnessed him indulging. His hand ruffling with your hair wasn't profound and new at all, he had done so many times after the two of you would strongly disagree over formations and orders, showing you how much he appreciated your strong wits and your clever ideas. What was new was that the lone touch burned your sculp like hot iron and made your insides twitch.

"I'll make us some tea" the screeching creak of the chair being pushed back shook of your train of thoughts enough to form a reaction to his hand that still rested on your head. Almost as if he didn't want to take it off "We can discuss your problem in a-"

"Sit down" you demanded, voice stern, masked with seriousness that caught him off guard. "Take your hand off my hair, it hurts." You pleaded with your eyes to stay as dry as they were before but you were certainly unsure of whether they'd listen. "Can't you see?"

What was there not to see really. Levi probably knew of your fondness of him way before you managed to realise, as in second thought every move you had ever made in his presence betrayed you. He would have never tried to provoke a confession just to laugh at you, that you were sure of, but he had never made a move in reciprocation either, that alone made you sure of your confessions future's end and caused your gut to spit even more fire to the rest of your insides.

Levi was not perplexed, not even for a single moment, at your words that seeked to stab like daggers, he wouldn't allow himself to be toyed by his own emotions just this once. This is an erratical reaction to his touch, a rejection of his affections towards you and he feared he knew the reason. For someone as bright and emotional as you he never would have thought that you could have hid such tormentous emotions so well inside you, only to end up at this moment of snapping.

As much as he'd like not to be hurt in the slightest by your demeanor he couldn't help but feel a tiny string of his heart being pulled. Suddenly it was evident to him why you couldn't take part in normal conversations around him or why you acted so tense in his presence, why you were so rejective of his touches and he wondered if he should have done anything besides unknownably torture you for so long. Whether his heart wanted to hear a confirmation out of your mouth to it's pained pleading for reciprocation, his mind ignored. The time would never be right and as egoistical as it seemed he couldn't bear to lose someone else that close to him, let alone a significant other. From his experience feelings of love and adoration should never be spoken out loud in this cruel world, amongst soldiers, especially. It wouldn't lead to any good.

When you proceeded to speak the pit in his stomach was already welling in frustration and denial. "Levi we've known each other for years and whatever's forcing me to much on my words should stop."

None can do, this couldn't happen here, now, while being on the run by military police as collective criminal. Levi wouldn't allow you to speak those earth shuttering words, even if wanted for them to chaste kiss his ears and echo through his head. "Not like you haven't figured anyways. I'm so pathetic. To fall for my Capt-"

"Don't you dare utter any other word of that sentence. I won't forgive you if you do." His hand reached out to grab yours by the wrist, tightly, as if he didn't know you couldn't stand the intensity of the grip. The silence that towed over the room was freezing, irrational even; it made you want to puke your intestines right onto Levi's shoes. Your heartbeat was so fast, so unrhythmic that you felt like the vital blood red organ would burst out of your chest in a massive mess.

Τhere was an excessive amount of agony emitting from your eyes, slicing through Levi's chest, searching despairately for a sign he had a heart, just to remind you that it didn't belong to you. Your mind traveled through every possible scenario to find a reason as to why you had to endure this, did his affections belong to someone you didn't know of? Hange? Erwin? Nifa seemed to be close to him lately as well. Was he heartbroken before and swore to never love again? You hated that there was not a tiny little space in his heart for you.

Just as this tense moment began, it came to an end when Sasha burst into the room, shotgun on her shoulder and chestnut eyes as sleepy as they could be. Fatigue was overpowering her whole form and it was as evident as ever before your eyes. With a quick, exhausted salute she announced her self, unsure of if you and the captain could see her face under the shadows of the night.

"It's guard change sir!" She spoke.

"I'm coming sweetheart." You got up from the chair you were sat at, breaking your wrist away from Levi's grip in a harsh manner. You didn't spare him a second look as you took another deep breath and locked it in your chest in hopes of seeming a little more mighty. "Go take some rest. You deserve it."

With increasingly fast steps you storm outside the little cottage trying your best not to look back. You wouldn't bear to check if there was still light coming from the kitchen that should indicate Levi's persistent presence. Your knees trembled at the imagery but you wouldn't let your eyes rest behind you not even for a second. He would probably be drinking his tea, unbothered, thinking of anything but you and you would be lying if you were to day that it didn't hurt you. It hurt so much that it sent you on your ass, on the stone tile pattern under your feet. Your heart forced suffocating waves of pain through your whole body only to push out of your eyes in the form of hot, salty tears. As your sobs grew louder and your heartache became unbearable to the point you though you could feel your heart break in two, you pushed the ends of your palms into your eyes sockets to squeeze the pain and itchiness of the tears away. You promised to yourself this was the first and last time you would cry for him.

____

After that night you barely speak with Levi. Aside from following his orders with the eventual 'yessir' as a reply, you have managed to successfully establish a thick barrier between him end you. Your nights of accompanying him in his late hour tea sessions, or teaching him how to knit and embroider were no more. The times you would share your food with him after you'd hear his stomach growl from the small portion he would get were also no more. You had made sure to claim your small acts of affection back to yourself, how could you move on from him if you were trying to be nice.

You would profoundly ignore his gazes, his calls for you at his office at late hours of the night by random cadets. You wouldn't answer to him if it wasn't for something military related and you intended it to keep it that way until the announcements of the feast that would take place before the attempt of retaking wall Maria.

As you passed by a narrow street heading to anywhere away from the crowd of cadets with your drink in your hand, you bumped lousy into the onyx haired male. It was the first time in days or even weeks that you had spared him a glance but your eyes averted his upon impact. You couldn't stand this. It was suffocating you. The clicking of your ankle boots colliding with the ground might have been heard as you turned on your heels to flee the scene but Levi's stern clearing of the throat overshadowed it.

He wasn't having it anymore.

"Oi, wait! Stop on your tracks, this is an order!" He spoke, eliciting a groan out of you as you turned to face him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Captain, I seek to relax before a very hard mission, spare me with your punishments, I beg of you."

His blood boiled with your every word "Cut the damn crap (y/n) and talk to me like normal." It probably sounded more harsh than he intended but he couldn't find himself in a position to turn back time and rephrase those words. The drained look in your eyes tolled him as well. The fact that you were both so tired by this game of cat and mouse was profound and everywhere in the air around you and Levi didn't know if he could take it anymore.

At first he thought that it was for the best. If you both forgot about your feelings or found ways to distract yourselves by this distance then it would be so much easier for him to push through the upcoming events of Shiganshina, but he was surprised to know he was mistaken. Masking his feelings must have seemed easy when it came to grieve and loss; he'd spent hours in his room, with you, letting everything out and occupying himself with trying to improve his handwriting while doing paperwork, but infatuation, love, was different. Instead of fading by each passing day like anger and grief it only ever became stronger, fonder and more agressive, chewing on his insides in despair. He really did hate that he had allowed himself to feel that way but it was way too late by now. There was nothing he could do and the fact that you ignored him after almost squeezing out that much, much wanted confession was only making him feel more hollow and in pain.

But Levi knew how to control himself, he trusted his ability on that.

"What is there to talk about? Let me live my last day in peace." You barked, your eyes starting to dance towards his direction, landing on his chin, then at the curve of his unfairly full bottom lip, on his button upwards nose.

"Look." He paused, unsure of how to put his words into non hurtful sentences. "If you could just tell me why or share a few words with me. We could damn die tomorrow and I'd regret not ever talking you out of this unfair treatment you're giving me."

You wondered if you should open up your heart to him completely, without accepting any interruption from him just to cleanse your coincidence off of this weight. Upon deciding that there was truly nothing holding you back except for a silly fear of another rejection that could die with you tomorrow you opened your mouth to speak any words that came to your mind.

"Levi, I'm in pain. You rejected me. Plain and simple. I've spent so many nights wondering why I am unworthy of your affections but I can't wrap my head around you anymore."

"Is that the way you feel about me? That you're the one who's unworthy of me?"

"You always think so lowly of yourself. Makes me wonder how you trust your own abilities in battlefield. But yes. So I just want to know who is it for you? Who do you feel you're unworthy of?"

He paused for a moment, to regain any shattered piece of his heart you had thrown back to him with your statement. You didn't hate him, be always knew that, but hearing those words fall out of your mouth engulfed the matter into reality unlike before. He was ready to face it. Even if he was unsure of tomorrow he knew that if he was to stay alive while you were dead he would have torn his own brain out as to avoid overthinking this particular moment.

"You want the truth honestly, brat? I happen to think I'm the one unworthy of you. You've taught me how to write and read, you came into my office to check up on an underground scum like me to see if I was asleep. Dammit you even gave me portions of your food to help me withstand the long nights of sleeping in my chair. What have I done for you? Boss you around? Or is it my looks you're after?"

Your eyes widened at his last statement, momentarily preventing the tears that had gathered in the corners from falling. This wasn't a time to misunderstand his words and act foolish, this was the closest out of a confession you would get from the man and you were awestruck, amazed. If he wanted to know a reason you would give him one.

"I'll admit, you might have the face of an angel Levi and maybe that would initial draw anyone to you, including me but I didn't fall in love with you for that." You could tell he was taken aback by the raw nature of your words only by the small whimper that escaped his throat.

"Over the course of this relationship between us you have been there for me when I couldn't be there for myself, you've helped me improve, your hands are stained with blood and so are mine, but you've knitted with me, you've stitched my wounds, you've let me sleep in your bed when I found a giant cockroach in mine, you're so much more than what you paint yourself to be."

He stared at you with ogling, soft eyes. Had he looked at you like that before you were oblivious but there was something in those steel eyes that magnetised your own gaze, something you couldn't let go off. It was calming the knot in your chest with reassurance, bearing promises of the future but he didn't dare speak on them to ruin the moment. His head closed the distance between the two of you in sharp shiftings and now your lips were brushing his in the most suggestive manner possible. It had all happened so fast that you didn't have a chance to react.

"You realised" he whispered, voice soft as the melancholy of the theme of his words captured your breath "that if you happen to die tomorrow, I, myself will hunt you down, resecure you and then proceed to beat the living shit out of you every single day of your shitty life, right?"

He was so beautiful panting with desire under the moonlight and you would never forget. Out of all times this could have taken place it happened now, hours before a deadly expedition. The feeling of regret flooded your form, his as well for not acting upon your feelings sooner and Levi fought an internal battle as to whether he should kiss you or not. He desired to keep that kiss as a reward that you stayed alive for him but on the other hand he feared that this could well be his last chance to taste you for the first time.

"That's a weird way to say I love you" as his lips brushed closer to yours his heart felt like it would explode, he had pained to claim your lips, just once, just to know the taste of a beloved and he was sure he would be more pained to lose you.

As he pleaded that you came to him tomorrow he pressed his lips on yours, sealing the promise he demanded you to make to him. Your heart melted under the soft lights of a thousand stars.

____

As his arms wrapped around you, tears run down his eyes. That was it. You had fought to keep your promise nail and tooth. You had never managed let him down and to see that you were among the tiny amount of survivors lifted his soul to heaven. The touch of your skin, the salty taste of your neck, it all was real, you were indeed alive and safe in his arms. He wouldn't have to go insane over that fact that he would never get to look into your eyes again.

"I will always keep my promises to you." You hitched with tears running down cheeks, the shock in your core still trembling as ever.

"I know" He panted

"Besides, have you seen yourself in action, I wouldn't want you to hunt me down, oh Lord."

I am. In tears. Also I'm sorry (?) for such in depth descriptions of Levi's hands?

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman imagine #captain levi #x reader #listen here i am crying #i am not okay #THIS WAS SO CATHARTIC TO WRITE WTF

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alexhoghdaily · 4 years ago

Text

Alex’s Instagram Live interview with Tommy DiDario for #LetsStayTogether

Once again this got extremely long. Because as usual I cannot grasp the simple concept of ‘Highlights’. I basically wanted to write every single sentence down. Forgive me.

(note: this interview contains spoilers for the Vikings finale!)

The comments are turned off. This sets a relaxing mood for the interview.

Alex starts by asking if he’s getting through alright, Tommy is in New York and Alex is in Denmark. Which can make the time difference and connection difficult. He was confused about the actual time of the interview. His email said the show would be at 9pm, but the instagram countdown was set for 7pm. He’s not a technical person so he got a little nervous and was very happy to be live.

Tommy mentioned he started the show #LetsStayTogether during covid to give people a place where they can turn to for some joy, hope and inspiration. A place to just have fun. He said Alex brings all that and more so it was a pleasure to have him on the show.

He spoke about his character and the show Vikings, and asked him What made him want to play the part of Ivar on the Show. Alex answered the question with him being a ‘nobody’ when he came into the show, and he was very thankful to get the opportunity. He didn’t think about wether or not he liked the character, for him it was more like “I’m going to be an actor on Vikings? Are you kidding me? That’s a solid yes.” He didn’t even know what character he was going to play. It started with a regular self-tape of him doing weird accents and weird lines and then multiple auditions for all of the brothers. He said it was an intense audition. He remembered coming into the room and immediately noticing that the people present there were very important.

Tommy mentioned the darkness he brought to the show, the rise and fall of Ivar and how people were rooting for him in the end, and then asked Alex what he loved about playing such a great character like this. Alex answered with the ups and down’s, those are always fun for an actor to get into. Ivar is complicated and that’s always fun to take on as an actor. you always have to defend him [Ivar] even despite him making that very tough. “When he started burning people for a living I was like Michael Hirst are you kidding me. How am I supposed to make people still kind of love him?” It was challenging and fun.

Tommy asked Alex if he was protective of him [Ivar] because he felt like he had to figure out a way to make people like him. Alex answered with: Absolutely. He needs to be, because he always has to understand him and never judge him. And if he would struggle with that, the audience would absolutely 100% too. He has to be the last line of defense. He explained his thoughts and reasoning behind Ivar’s decisions. If he can reason with his thoughts and feelings behind it, it can completely change how he says his lines. It’s all in the little details and that’s what makes the job fun.

He didn’t get his script long ahead of time, only a week, so when he was still rehearsing his lines for one episode he already got his lines for the next and that was really though.

Tommy asked him why he [Alex] thinks is the reason fansresponded so well to his character even with his darknes. Alex answered this wit that he thinks it’s because he’s an antihero. You like rooting for someone who isn’t always perfect because we as human beings are also not always perfect. (He compared it to him liking batman over superman because batman is more flawed than superman.) He also said that he loves that he’s [Ivar] complicated. Every time you create a character that has a lot of depth to them, you challenge the audience and force the audience to always question him and ask themselves what they think about him and his actions. Why is he doing what he’s doing? That keeps people invested and engaged with the story/character. That’s his job.

Favorite scenes: Alex’s favorite scenes are 5x03 where Ivar is yelling, covered in blood in York. (He repeated his iconic Icelandic line as usual.) Another favorite scene was the one where Ivar said goodbye to Baldur in the woods. It is a scene that is really close to his heart. This is because Ivar was honest and vulnerable. Usually he’s doing crazy stuff and yelling and killing people. Alex likes the quiet moments more where he’s just in his own head and having a heart time. He loved the scene because it was so real.

Tommy asked Alex how he views Ivar’s relationship with love. (Absent father, overprotective and smothering mother, a tragic marriage, how does Ivar view love after this.) Alex said that he understands why Ivar does not understand love. After his absent father, smothering mother, tough love from his brothers, he was so blinded by Freydis’ love and his love for her that she could fully manipulate him. It was a complete disaster. When they started season 6 Alex thought that Ivar had completely given up on love. He had discussed this issue with Michael Hirst and the directors. Alex found him to be a sociopath and not an actual psychopath. Because he understands emotions, and he has a lot of them. He does have love and he does have empathy. He thought it was great to focus more on that in season 6. Showing more of Ivar’s human side was very important to him. He has many emotions and he was never just a crazy guy, Alex never thought he was crazy, nor that he was a god, he believed that Ivar knew better than to actually view himself a god. He thinks Ivar is an actor, and he is more broken on the inside than on the outside. The whole “I’m a god” act was all fake, and it was Ivar’s defense mechanism.

For his journey in season 6, Alex asked Michael Hirst to take it down a notch for Ivar. in season 5, especially 5B, he was challenging to like and Alex was struggling to defend him. He wanted to turn that around. He said that after losing his wife, his throne, and being on the run really makes him think. He says Ivar was smart enough to learn from his mistakes. He loved to come to a new place and start from the beginning. He did say that even with the new beginning Ivar was still plotting and manipulating and smart. He is still Ivar the Boneless. Alex was always amazed by his smarts when he read the scripts. He loves season 6 because Ivar was more human and humble.

They discuss Ivar’s death in the final episode. Alex said that he was on top of that. It was completely his idea. He wanted him to go out with a bang and not survive. He told Michael Hirst he wanted a death scene for Ivar. He also discussed with Michael that he loved the idea of Ivar being scared in the end. That he showed himself to be extemely human in his very last moments. Which Alex himself thinks all of us would be. Ivar is the guy who has been yelling that he’s a god, and he loved to contrast of him showing who he really was in the end, and just being afraid. He wanted him to be human in the end, the little boy that he really is. He needed him to show it in his last moment. He thought it was a beautiful brotherly and honest moment. Quote: “I like honesty.” He said that it was also one of his favorite scenes.

Tommy asked what it was like for him, and Alex said that he was bawling his eyes out. He cried the entire day. It was the end of 3,5 years of Vikings, the end of a very intense period of his life and it had been extremely challenging. He was happy to go but he also knew he was going to miss everyone. They were like family. It was the very last scene he shot, and it was magical to finish filming the show with his death scene. After it he was like I guess it is really over. He got a microphone and a signed shield with little messages. He was crying and everyone was gathering around him in a circle, which made him very nervous. It was a regular day with many extras and crew members and performing for them is no problem but when it get’s personal it’s more difficult. It felt like a very private moment. It wasn’t until he got home 14 days later that he fully understood what happened.

Tommy said that he understood that after such an intense role it would take a bit to come back from that and realize what he’s done. Alex agreed 100%. He said it can really feel like an empty dark hole, because you’re so used to working with so many people around him and he’s in a groove and all of a sudden it stops.

He mentioned that he was in his studio, and that he has a band. “That’s what’s happening in the background here.” It’s a fun hobby, nothing official. It’s just them doing decent cover songs. When Tommy asked if we would be able to hear any of them Alex answered with: “Absolutely not”. He joked about it being a secret passion and that it’s not supposed to be talked about. Tommy said no one would be opposed to them releasing a single.

After tommy asked about on set relationships Alex said they were all really close like a family. Filming was tough, not the best circumstances, 15 hour workdays, no breaks, eating the same cold food in between takes and the only way to get through it is because you’re with family. He said he worked with incredibly beautiful and talented people and that helped getting through it. He says he keeps in touch with a lot of people, not just cast members. He said that this is the beautiful thing about this job, you get families all around the world. He mentioned that there were a lot of food battles between the actors.

They moved on to the most popular fan questions.

Who would Alex play if he wasn’t Ivar? In return Alex asked if he could pick anyone and it wouldn’t matter. He jokingly said Lagertha, then said he would actually like it. Then he said Floki because he loves both Floki and Gustaf. (insert little floki laugh.) He also said Ragnar and King Ecbert.

What was the experience like filming Ivar’s genetic disorder? Alex said it was such a challenge. Especially physically because had to crawl around. He thought it was very important to him because he studied OI for his role and he said it’s an awful disease. It was important to him to make it as authentic as possible and show the struggles people who have that disease go through every day. Tommy said that people really appreciated the honesty that Alex brought to that portion of the character and he saw a lot of comments from people in the disabled community saying that they appreciated seeing someone go through that on a mainstream show because they can relate to it. It’s very powerful. Alex had also received some messages from people suffering from OI and it was very inspirational and humbling. It made the experience even better because he likes that he can give people the extra confidence to go out there and do things.

The third question was if Alex would ever be interested in doing a prequel about Ivar’s life. Alex said that he would want to. He jokingly said: “Why not? if the money is good enough.” Of course he would because he loves his character. He also said that even though he would love to, he also has to admit that his character has been a big part of his life and he would like to do portray other characters. (They joked about a lot of people wanting to see Alex in a romantic comedy and Alex mentioned it’s not his favorite thing to do).

Is there a behind the scenes secret that people would be surprised to know about? Alex said that on Vikings they were allowed to write their own lines once in a while and that’s not very common.

Alex’s screen froze and he suddenly left the livestream, but he finally was able to come back after a few minutes. (Insert embarrassed face and him apologizing for being a technical disaster).

He continued about writing their own lines. They really had a say in their own lines and character’s storylines and that was amazing. It helped getting a better sense of understanding characters.

Tommy asked him if he had a favorite line or scene that he’s written. Alex told about the scene where Hvitserk and Ivar meet each other again in season 6 after being separated for a long time. Marco and himself wrote the tiny scene together where they sit together next to the river where Ivar says to Hvitserk: “You look like shit” and Hvitserk replies with “I feel like it.” Followed by “What are you wearing?” Alex loves that little moment because after everything it brings them straight back to their original relationship.

The last fan question was actually not a question, it was a happy early birthday! Tommy asked Alex how he would celebrate and what he would like for his birthday. Alex answered the question with Less COVID and peace in the world. It’s really the time to stick together. He can talk about it and use his platform but that’s all he himself can do. He said he’s happy and priveleged, everything is good. Copenhagen is opening up. Because cafe’s are opening up again he can go out to have lunch and a beer. But there are so much places around the world where circumstances are horrible and it would make him happy if everyone could get a little closer together. Tommy agreed that it was an important message to put out there.

They joked about his band again, Alex not committing to putting anything out. Alex said it’s absolutely noted. He also jokingly said he would tell his bandmates that they should put out some originals.

They spoke about Alex’s photography. Alex said it’s a side thing and a hobby, a way for him (when on set) to relax and focus his mind on something else. He also thinks it’s so much fun to capture moments. He likes to capture moments in front and behind the camera, that’s what photography for him is about. Capturing moments and telling stories. It’s a pleasure to bring his camera on set because he can capture so many different things. He likes to keep doing it. He also said he’s working on a photography book but he wants to wait with releasing it until he has enough good material from a lot of different projects to include.

Finally Tommy asked him what he would like to say to everyone who tuned in and who stood by him for all these years. Alex answered with: “Thank you very much for all the support throughout the years, he literally couldn’t have done it without you [the fans] because that’s why they keep doing another season and another episode. Because you tune in every single week and do that for several years. It’s all for the fans. Sure they do it for themselves but in the end it’s all for you and they are proudly trying to make it as good as possible because of you, and because you are watching. Thank you for doing that.”

#interviews #instagram #live #alex høgh andersen

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malyen0retsev · 3 years ago

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hi sarah!! I finished the grisha trilogy about a week ago and it’s been such a struggle to search up s&b without risking having to see people drag mal through filth so thank you for existing 😭 I liked the series (mostly I just ended up really loving mal and alina both separately and together) though I can’t help but feel like LB really missed with some of the writing/plot points (the darkling’s motivations were especially confusing to me). She’d sometimes add in things that served no purpose whereas when the story could’ve benefitted from a few more sentences just to get a clearer sense of what alina was feeling, there was none. It makes me think that mal probably would’ve been a more well-liked character if the writing was just better (or if the books had dual perspectives instead maybe) What do you think?

Firstly - welcome to the pain of loving Mal TRUST ME IT IS BETTER THAN IT WAS YEARS AGO but you just gotta 'pretend you do not see it' to stay sane tbfh... and secondly, I agree with you tbh anon! What we have to bear in mind is that TGT was Leigh's first book, and then second and third book. They were the books that were her debut series, and thus there definitely were mistakes in them at times, and little statements that you thought were going somewhere that didn't. She was still growing as an author (though I still maintain that as a debut S&B is fantastic, and for me there still is no Grishaverse book that floors me in the same way R&R does).

When it comes to Mal being more liked in the fandom, I don't think it was Leigh's writing (because I think he did come across well, I understood what he was doing when he wasn't being 'perfect' - is called being human and having a human reaction to things - because Mal fundamentally isn't written to be perfect and that's the point). But I do think TGT being written in third person, with some Mal chapters, would have benefitted the story A Lot. And I mean, that's why in the show we actually see his story - because it's far more powerful to show it in its entirety instead of just having bits dropped here and there in dialogue. We see it in his letter, but too many people can't be bothered to read it. Mal is a character you need to actually use reading comprehension to understand, and by only seeing through Alina's eyes, people often can't be bothered to weigh up bias etc etc.

But I mean Leigh herself has said she'll never write in first person again, she likes writing in third because of the depth you can go into and the number of characters you can fully flesh out the emotions of - and she's never said she regrets writing TGT in first person, but I think it's clear that she wishes she had written it in third. Hence in the show we see Mal's story. It's telling the story Leigh wishes she had told, and thus show!Mal absolutely is book!Mal (THE NUMBER OF DIRECT BOOK QUOTES HE HAS) but we just see his storyline. That's the difference. And suddenly, he's become much more liked in the fandom. So this is a convoluted way of saying that yes, Mal absolutely would have benefitted SO MUCH from TGT being written in third person. I still adore seeing him through Alina's eyes though, and how her love for him basically bleeds through every single page of the trilogy.

#I WAFFLED HERE OK BUT ANYWAY #i adore the way the trilogy is told and i wouldn't change a thing bc i want those books to STILL EXIST IN THE WAY THEY DO #but the things i'd do to get alternate versions written in third person my god #asks #anon #mal oretsev

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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A Place to Belong Chapter 40: A Malcolm

Chapter 39

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The meal that Jenny and Mary MacNab had prepared in celebration of Jamie’s return had been as grand as possible given the limitations of harvest and money. It was indeed delicious and enjoyable, and the table itself was full of life. The children chattered on and on to their long lost uncle, and Claire could tell Jamie was careful to not address a single one of them by name except wee Jamie. There were several points throughout the meal where he became overwhelmed, but all it took was a squeeze of his hand from Claire and a reassuring smile, and she was able to pull him back to Earth.

He gradually became more comfortable, listening jovially to the children’s babbling. Claire noticed that he particularly could not keep his eyes off of baby Ian, sitting in Jenny’s lap, content to gnaw on the bannock in his hands for the entire meal with the occasional spoonful of mashed potatoes shoved into his mouth. Claire made a note to have Jamie hold the baby and play with him; it would do him good to leave an impression on a child that hadn’t yet known life without him. It would perhaps fill at least a small part of the cavern in his heart that missing Brianna’s infancy had left in its wake.

At some point, Mary MacNab had come by to scoop Ian out of Jenny’s lap to take him to bed, and it wasn’t long after that that Jenny was sending the rest of them upstairs themselves. She looked pointedly at Jamie, a strange look that Claire could not place, but one look at Jamie and she gathered that Jenny was coming through loud and clear to her brother.

You’re not going anywhere.

The children did a mass exodus out of the dining room, a cacophony of yells and giggles, and Claire couldn’t help but smile to hear Maggie’s voice above the throng:

“Dinna be so rowdy. Mother said it’s time fer bed.”

Wee Mother Hen.

Claire swept her eyes around the room and then landed on Fergus, who was staring intently at Jamie. She looked to Jamie, who was staring intently back at him. It took Claire a moment to piece it together, but it wasn’t long before it hit her: Jamie was fully expecting Fergus to disappear with the children. He couldn’t yet fathom that the lad had grown up. Perhaps he didn’t want to speak of prison in front of him, and he hadn’t been prepared to have to do so.

“So,” Jenny, never one to beat around the bush, was the first to break the silence. “Care to share how it is ye’ve been alive all this time after we spent eight years hearing of Red Jamie’s death?”

Claire felt Jamie stiffen beside her, and she instinctively reached out to take his hand, squeezing comfortingly.

Claire could see from across the table that Ian put his hand on Jenny’s thigh and whispered a low warning: “Janet. Easy now.”

She huffed indignantly and turned away from him, but she did not shake his hand off of her. It would appear that Jenny’s initial joy of having him back had already been replaced by angry betrayal. Frankly, Claire didn’t blame her. She might have felt the same if she wasn’t so God damned relieved. Perhaps that would come later.

“Well?” Jenny said, looking pointedly at Jamie.

“I ken I’ve got a lot to explain,” Jamie began.

“Aye, ye do.”

“Janet.”

“It’s alright, Ian.” Jamie looked up at them finally, his eyes pained, but understanding. “Ye have every right to be angry. All of ye.” His head turned and he faced Claire, looking her right in the eyes. Claire swallowed thickly and blinked back tears.

“Suppose I should start from the beginning,” he said, shifting again so he was facing Ian and Jenny and able to turn his head to look at Fergus if he so chose. “I was injured in battle, too much to run. Rupert brought me to a hut where other injured men were hiding. But it was hopeless, ye ken. We were all just…waiting to be found. Waiting to be shot.”

Claire gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Well, found we were, o’ course. One by one they took our names and brought us out to be shot. There was nothing I could do but pray that ye’d all be safe when I was gone.” A single tear trickled down Claire’s cheek.

“When it came time fer me to give my name, nothing short of a miracle occurred. Claire, d’ye remember the lad who attacked me near Corrieyairack, before Prestonpans, and we brought him in to be questioned, but he wouldna budge until ye started pretending to be our prisoner?”

Claire’s brow furrowed, but the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitched up at the memory. “Yes…I do.”

“He told me he owed me a debt of honor fer sparing his life. D’ye recall?”

“I…I suppose…”

“I remember as well, Milord,” Fergus chimed in.

Jamie nodded towards Fergus before continuing. “He spoke of a brother, a Lord Melton. Well, this was the verra same Lord Melton who came upon us in that hut. When I gave my name, he insisted on carrying out his brother’s debt of honor.”

“He spared your life,” Claire whispered reverently.

“Aye, he did. But the death of Red Jamie was far too tempting of a feat to brag to His Majesty.” Jamie smirked darkly. “And Lord Melton didna want his reputation sullied. So they spread the word that I’d been killed in battle, and they brought an Alexander Malcom to Ardsmuir Prison.”

“A Dhiah,” Ian breathed in disbelief. “All this time, the one that spared yer life was a bloody Redcoat?”

“Aye. A man of great honor.” He nodded solemnly. “His brother as well. He became Ardsmuir’s new governor about six years into my sentence. Hardly recognized him, but it was the very same lad. He’s the reason I’m here wi’ ye now.”

“He got you free?” Claire’s eyes were wide.

“Aye. He did. He appealed to the crown fer the freedom of Alexander Malcom, and he won it.”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire breathed.

“Why the Devil would he do such a thing?” Jenny fired. “There must be some catch. Does he ken who ye are?”

“Aye, he does ken the truth.” Jamie nodded. “But there’s no catch.”

“A bloody Redcoat who knows ye’re the most famous Jacobite traitor sets ye free and there’s no catch?” Jenny spat. “Ye must be mad, brother!”

“He’s a good man, Jenny, I ken it.”

“How? How d’ye ken it?”

“I just…I do! Alright?” Claire noticed he was trembling, red in the face. “Murtagh was ill, and he — ”

“Murtagh?” Claire gasped. “He’s alive…?”

“Oh, aye, didna mention that, I suppose.” He grinned sheepishly.

“Where is he?” Claire stammered. “Is he alright?”

“Sent off to the colonies wi’ the other prisoners when they closed the prison,” Jamie said. “That’s how I was able to be set free. No prison anymore, and John petitioned my freedom rather than indentured servitude wi’ the others.”

“Oh, ye’re on a first name basis wi’ him then?” Jenny said incredulously, her eyes wide.

“Janet,” Ian admonished again.

“No, I dinna like this one bit!” Jenny waved him off. “What in God’s name was so special about ye that ye were the exception out of every other prisoner? Why did he spare you? How do we ken we won’t be raided in the night and all of us killed now that ye’ve led them right to us?”

“That’s no’ why, Janet — ”

“Then why, Jamie? Help me understand!”

“He is — !” Jamie raised his voice frighteningly, but then he bit his tongue, letting his body relax for a moment. Claire squeezed his hand, waiting patiently, though she, too, was more than eager to find out this man’s motives.

“He’s…fond…of me,” Jamie said quietly, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring into the grain of the table.

Claire immediately felt panic sear through her chest, her breath catching in her throat.

Someone has hurt him again. The bastard used his power to take advantage of him.

“Jamie…” Claire choked.

“No, Claire,” he said firmly, turning his head in her direction, but still not looking at her. His voice dropped to a whisper as he said: “He didna.”

Claire let out a trembling sigh of relief.

Jenny and Ian looked hopelessly confused. Neither of them knew the depth of what Randall had done to Jamie. No one did, save Claire, Murtagh, and the few men that had helped in his rescue. Claire looked over at Fergus, and he looked like he was in pain. He knew all too well what Jamie was referring to, what Claire was afraid of.

Claire reached under the table to squeeze Fergus’s hand, now holding tightly onto both of her dear lads.

“He’s an honorable man,” Jamie said again, loudly enough now for everyone to hear. “We spoke a great deal and he…he kent I had a wife waiting fer me. Ye were all I could speak of Claire, every breath I took was fer you. And he could tell; he could see how deeply I loved ye. When he granted me my freedom, he shook my hand and he said to me: ‘Cherish that wife of yours, Fraser.’”

Another tear trickled down Claire’s cheek. Jamie looked deeply into her eyes, his pupils dilated, and she could hear him without him having to say it:

Cherish her I will.

“Alright.” Jenny exhaled and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s all fine and good, then. So where was any word from ye that ye lived?”

“I couldna put ye in danger like that,” Jamie said. “Don’t ye understand? If I had asked them to deliver letters to Lallybroch, they’d know straight away I wasna who I said I was. They’d ken that Claire was the very same wife to Red Jamie. ’Twas my face on the broadsheets, aye, no’ hers, but to send letters to where she lived would be as sure as putting her face on one.” Jamie shuddered. “I ken what they’re capable of, and so do you, Janet.” He stared at Jenny darkly, and she blanched, slumping over in her chair slightly, likely remembering what Randall had almost done to her all those years ago.

“I dinna wish to think of what they would do to Red Jamie’s wife if they found her here wi’ his family.” His voice was tight with emotion as he squeezed Claire’s hand. “And now that I know that my child dwelt here as well…I…I canna bear to think what they’d do to her.” He shuddered. “As much pain as it caused ye to hear no word, I dinna regret any of it. I’d do it again if it meant keeping ye safe. All of ye.”

“You were right to think that way, Jamie,” Claire said softly, reassuring him. “They already suspected. They came by many times asking where I was when I had time to hide, and trying to question me when I didn’t. Letters from you would have been my death sentence. You’re right.”

“It’s true,” Ian chimed in. “Trying to hide that she was English when they came by was quite the feat. All they needed was the slightest bit of confirmation, and I ken they’d be dragging her away. Her and perhaps wee Brianna as well.” Ian smiled gravely at Jamie. “Ye did the right thing, lad.”

Ian turned to look expectantly at Jenny, who had significantly deflated “Aye,” she said finally, not looking him in the eye. “Suppose ye did.”

“All that matters is that ye’re back, Jamie, and that none of us are in danger because of it,” Ian said, raising his glass to him. “Slaínte.”

“Slaínte,” everyone echoed.

A loud shriek suddenly echoed through the house, causing everyone to jump.

Claire smiled. “That wasn’t mine,” she said teasingly, knowing by now what her daughter sounded like.

“Oh, aye, sounds like Janet.” Jenny sighed. “Michael is probably tormenting her again. Excuse me.” She rose from the table and quickly strode out of the room.

Jamie also couldn’t help but smile. “Ye’ve had a great many blessings,” he said to Ian.

“Aye, we have.” He smiled. “But a great deal of hardship as well.”

His face fell a bit. “Aye, I’m sure.”

“She’s just hurt, Jamie,” Ian said gently. “She’ll come back around to ye soon enough. It was hard fer her, losing ye so suddenly like that, all of a sudden having to raise wee Jamie to fill in yer shoes as Laird someday. She took on the responsibility of keeping this land safe, keeping yer wife and child safe.” He looked pointedly at Claire. “She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders to honor yer memory. She’s just hurt that it’s all been a lie.”

Jamie nodded, his jaw hard, his eyes misting over. “Aye. I…dinna blame her.”

“She will come around, Jamie,” Claire said . “She always does. Which reminds me…”

“Ah,” Ian said, grinning a bit. “Suppose he doesna ken that we ken?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “I dinna ken that they ken what?”

Claire almost laughed at the absurdity of the conversation. “I told Jenny about my being from the future. Shortly after Brianna’s birth.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Aye, then Jenny told me,” Ian said.

“And I demanded to be let in on the secret about a year later,” Fergus chimed in.

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “Right. That makes sense. What about the bairns?”

“No, they’re too young to understand,” Claire said. “I suppose we’ll have to tell Brianna eventually, but when she’s older.”

“Aye…I suppose…” Jamie looked to Claire. “How did she take it? Jenny?”

Claire smirked. “Not too well, at first. Her first thought was witchcraft, of course, especially because of Brianna’s seizures and this century’s association of epilepsy to the Devil.” Jamie smirked as well, picturing all-too-clearly his sister on a tirade against his wife. “But eventually she let up and we came to an understanding.”

“I didna understand it at all; still don’t, truth be told,” Ian said. “But I believed Claire’s heart to be true, so it had to be the truth. Simple as that.”

“Aye, I told myself the same thing.” Jamie looked deeply into her eyes again, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently.

“I think I perhaps took it better than anyone,” Fergus said with a crooked grin. “I learned to not ask questions when it came to Maman. I’m still not convinced that she isn’t La Dame Blanche.” He raised his eyebrows at her playfully.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Right.” She grinned back at him. “Anyway,” Claire continued, looking at Jamie again. “I only bring it up because she did come back around. Even when…after Caitlin.” Claire’s eyes flicked to Ian, not wanting to reveal anything he didn’t wish to speak of.

“Caitlin…?” Jamie looked back and forth between them.

“Aye. Our wee lass. Born and dead on the same day.”

Jamie looked like he’d been punched in the gut, and I squeezed his hand tighter.

“Christ, Ian. I’m…I’m sorry…”

“Dinna fash, Jamie,” Ian said, though his voice was twinged with sadness. “We’ve healed the best we could.”

“Aye…but ye…ye never truly heal from…from that.”

Claire looked at him, another tear trickling down her face.

I know, love. I thought of her, too.

She allowed a brief silence to pass between them and sent up a silent prayer for her lost Goddaughter and her cousin.

“Well…Jenny was angry with me then, too,” Claire finally continued gently. “Even more than when I first told her. She blamed me for losing Caitlin because I…because I had the power to be in a safer time and I didn’t use it to save her. She was…very cold. For over a month.”

Jamie wet his lips and nodded in understanding.

“But…she came back around. We talked things through, both apologized…and we’re all the more closer and stronger together because of it.” Claire released his hand so she could touch his shoulder. “It will be the same for you. Just give her time to process.”

Jamie nodded solemnly.

“Ian!”

The woman in question suddenly loudly called out, likely from upstairs.

“Get up here and give yer son a thrashing!”

A little shriek shortly followed, and Claire had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Suppose I should take care of whatever that is.” He stood up and made his way around the table. He clamped a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s good to have ye back, a bhalaich.”

Jamie craned his neck and turned slightly, firmly grasping Ian’s hand atop his shoulder. “Thank ye…it’s…it’s good to see you too, Ian.”

Ian smiled warmly before releasing him and making his way out of the dining room.

And then there were three.

“Fergus?” Claire said softly after a brief silence. “How are you feeling over there?”

Fergus leaned back with a sigh, his eyes widening. “How you would expect, I suppose. I thought I might faint like a woman when I saw you in the parlor, Milord.”

“Aye, thought I might as well, seein’ my mirror image in Brianna, and seein’ you so grown,” Jamie said. Fergus chuckled, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jamie’s eyes flicked over to Claire, asking for guidance, permission.

“Just say what you’re feeling,” she whispered, quietly enough so that only he heard. “I can — ”

“No. Stay,” he said softly, but firmly.

Claire nodded gingerly before turning back to Fergus.

“I uh…I missed ye, lad,” Jamie began. “I thought of ye every day.”

“And I of you,” Fergus said.

“Ye see, I didna ken about Brianna, so I couldna picture her at all. But you, Fergus, I’d sit in that damned cell and I’d picture you and Claire, together. I pictured ye both taking comfort in one another, bringing each other joy. Since I didna ken about the bairn, I told myself that leaving her a son was the best thing I ever did. Ye gave me that comfort, Fergus. And I’m grateful fer it.”

Fergus’s face was impossible to read. He’d always been a very sensitive child, but as he'd grown, he’d gotten a handle on it, as was expected for young men. Claire hadn’t seen him truly cry since he’d thought she was dying in childbirth, and even then he was trying to be brave. He looked very much like he wanted to cry now, but Claire knew he’d never allow the floodgates to open, especially not in front of the man that she knew Fergus had come to see as a God.

“I uh, I knew full well that time had passed,” Jamie went on, fueled by Fergus’s lack of response. “But even still, I couldna reconcile that ye werena the same wee lad I sent off with the deed on that day. It breaks my heart that I couldna raise ye into a man myself as I wanted to.”

Fergus nodded slightly. “Maman raised me into the man you would want me to be, Milord. She was mother and father to me. For you.”

Claire thought she would burst into tears at any moment.

“Aye,” Jamie’s voice sounded tight. “I’m sure she did. Ye’re…ye’re a fine young man, mon fils. I’d be proud to still call ye my son. If ye’d have me.”

Fergus abruptly stood up, and for a moment, Claire was seized by the panic that he would dash out of the room. Instead, he stood there silently, and Claire could see several emotions warring with each other on his face. Jamie stood then, too, releasing her hand. She could see his arms trembling.

Without another word, Fergus closed the small space between them and threw his arms around Jamie, and Jamie exhaled heavily, crushing the lad to him. Claire covered her mouth to stifle a sob, silent tears trickling over the back of her hand.

“You have always been my Papa, Milord,” Fergus whispered into his shoulder.

Claire could not stop herself; she stood up and approached them, gingerly touching Fergus’s shoulder. They both welcomed her into their embrace, and Claire was so overwhelmed with love she thought she might faint. She was reminded of a moment that she’d never forgotten, a moment that she’d cherished as deeply as the moment she held Brianna for the first time:

The last time she’d held both of her boys together, right before Jamie had sent them away, when Fergus’s wee head still fit under her chin, when she and Jamie had cried into his hair, together.

A real family, for the first and last time.

But she knew now that it had not been the last time.

“Oh…my boys,” Claire murmured, craning her neck to kiss Fergus’s cheek, and then Jamie’s. “My darling boys…”

“We are together again, Maman,” Fergus kissed the top of her head. “All is well now.”

And despite her uncertainty, her inability to let go of those eight years just yet, Claire could not help but agree.

All is well now.

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ficsnroses · 4 years ago

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Friends With Benefits Chapter 11 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter XI ~ Three Daggers.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Word Count : 3.8k

Warnings : lots of angst, nsfw mentions.

Series Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

Notes : Buckle in friends, it’s a bumpy ride from here on out. Chapter 12, [out in the next week or two] will be the end of this fic and I’m already crying thinking of it. It’s been loads of fun! As always, please please do leave feedback, anonymous or not :) your words are what make it all worth it.

Chapter 10 Recap : As Keanu stands outside Y/N’s door, after seeing Matt walk out of her apartment, they both stand in silence, unsure of how to feel. Through thick tension, a series of flashbacks reveal how Keanu and Y/N’s relationship began, and what events lead things to become as messy as they are now. Finally, they decide to talk about the unspoken feelings and things that have been going on between them.

“Did you sleep with him?” He stills, expression strained and down casted stare piercing knives at the floor below. His arms rest heavy by his sides, dread of the coming words churn in his stomach; the fire burns in his belly.

“Excuse me?” You return, arms crossing, stance collective.

“Please.” His lip quivers so slight, gravelled, assertion coated tone less than willing to beat around the bush. “Just answer me, Y/N.”

Your eyes still, connected to his that finally, momentarily find yours. You stay silent for a moment long, and the words that come haunt him. Haunt him before they’ve even settled, had time to absorb in the depths of his train wrecked realization. “Yes. I did.”

The first dagger.

You’ve spent enough nights with his manhood curled inside your legs, to know. Far too many evenings with his fingers dipped inside you; lapping, delighting the honey that seeped just for him.

You know him. And despite you desperately trying to forget,

He knows you. He knows you all too well.

The heaviness to the room suffocates you, claws away at each anticipation scorched crevice of your mind. A resigned silence has fallen across the atmosphere, the mere tick of the clock in the distant kitchen corridors filling the gaping holes. Time moves slow. For the first time, you both stand. You’re both here. You’re here, where nothing but words will heal. Nothing but words will suffice. And when you need them most, when you finally need them, they hinder. They’ve gone. They feel far too heavy, and his shoulders seem far too frail.

For the first time you see, Keanu seems, far too,

frail.

You feel heavy, weighed down. Open your mouth. Let the truth exist somewhere other than inside your body. Let the words that were made just for him,

find him.

A candle burns to the right, set on the wooden oaky coffee table. His favourite scent, something he’d left behind. Attention remains focused on the flickering flame as you continue to observe him from your spot, wondering, desperately scraping to know what thoughts seared his mind. What reveries he wondered, if he’d just reply. If he’d just talk.

His eyes scan the floor; you know there’s a brew fizzing inside his mind. Much to your disappointment, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; strands, long and lengthy seem matted, messier than usual. He hadn’t been keeping firm care of himself as usual,

You fear you’re the reason. That you did this to him, when all you wanted was to ease the burn. To do the better for the both of you.

You’d nearly gotten comfortable in the silence that loomed, almost forgotten that a storm was coming. It was bound to. So sudden, to the gravel of his tone, your chest tightens in guard. Defence.

“I thought you only sleep with me.” He starts, voice heavy, rid of that certain uniqueness it normally held for you. That gentle softness that usually shone. Perhaps it was still there, hidden in the grim shadows.

Perhaps your morphed mind refused to acknowledge it. Refused to remember, to confess that he’d always been far too good. Too good to deserve what you’d done. The way you both let it be. “Why does it matter?” You ask lowly, barely returning. The words have seemed to die in your throat before fully falling out; as if they never truly wanted to be heard by him. As if they saw right through you.

“Because. I thought that was our thing.” He reasons, tone firm, defensive in return. Crinkled lines of stress embroider his outer eyes, and you feel your insides plunge at the sight.

Your eyes narrow before a slight defence rings your voice, jaw tightening to his confidence. “Since when do we have a thing?”

The lines to his forehead firm, and his spine unravels in a firmer stance. To his jaw’s signal, his heavy head turns so slightly, taking in the words of your return. He’s stunned, upset, disappointed, irate, a cocktail of all negative emotions that had been crawling to the surface as of late. The emotions he’d swallowed down, allowed to burn inside just to have you near.

Solely to have you stay, even if it meant it wasn’t in the way he wanted you.

But now, there was none to lose. You’d been in the arms of another man. Let another man touch you the way he thought only his fingers could, allowed another man to taste the sap that seeped from your lips, the honey of your body the way only he should have been allowed.

Was he being selfish? He wonders, he ponders. But it burns. The burn triumphs, yet again. “We do, Y/N. Are you doing to deny everything?” he asks, thick hearted. “Everything we did?”

“What do you mean.” You release, the pricks of the sentence taking form of a statement more than a question. “We are- were in it for the benefits. Just sex, Keanu. Those were your words.” Your head lowers for a moment, collecting the words you needed him to hear. The defence you needed to fend. “You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t do. You do not control me.” Your teeth almost grit, lip bitten with affirmation. “You don’t get to decide who I can be with.”

The feeling persists as you try to blink it away slowly, little by little, desperately striving to keep your vomit of words from yelping out. It’s become much, far too much. The blades are cutting, sinking into your flesh.

“I get that.” Keanu waves off, understanding, sympathetic almost. His persona stays, yet seems to melt away in the same breath. Softer, milder tones hue his voice, and his words fall warmer. Warmer than the cold he’d been spitting thus far.

Yet, it’s funny how now, they feel colder.

Despite the sound, they’re piercing into each of your built up, sorrowed seams. They’re real. They’re true. “Y/N, you came to me. You wanted this. I understand that I too let it get this way, I too agreed.” Milder, softer, heavier. “But what you don’t have the right to do, is walk out on me when it’s convenient for you. You don’t get to decide when you want me and when you don’t.”

He bleeds, he too, bleeds. From this close, he looks tired, prominent bags shadow cast under his eyes, stabbing your veins with guilt. “Maybe it was my fault for letting you come back and chip away at me. For wanting you still every single time you came and went.” His words prove sharp, the sharp scalpels you’d never thought you’d hear pour from him. Despite great efforts, your eyes fall weaker and weaker to each word, each vowel, each syllable of his tenor. “Do you think it was easy for me, Y/N? When you disappeared for a week without a word? I was a mess, Y/N. I was ruined thinking I did something to hurt you. You made me feel that.”

The second dagger.

“We had something. Don’t you dare take that away from me and don’t you dare stand there and tell me we didn’t. It was never just sex, Y/N.” He feels your heavy stare, the way your eyes flicker with something so unfamiliar. As if the flip of a button, the tension between your aggravated bodies shifts, thickens, feels as if something that was never meant to flourish between you and him.

“We were…we were more. You were more.” He exhales, slow and sad. “You were never just midnight relief for me,” Cringing, he waves off a heavy palm to the sour words, his face scrunched to the thought of you thinking you were ever just physical need for him. Ever just sex. “You were-- you are a friend. Perhaps my dearest friend.” His words sear. They do hurt. Shackled with dread. You are, chained. Held. Composed of nothing but pure, utter, hurt.

He stands there, and even through the ice of his speech, it’s still him. Still that sliver of hope you’d always held, that dearest comfort in tumbling darkness. Even today, in the scorching gray, he still felt like home. And that was the worst part; home. Being torn, fraying away from you.

You wish he was still human, still something normal. You don’t remember when you started looking at him,

and seeing poetry. A beautiful verse, a well rehearsed lyric, a symphony you remember lipping your tongue.

His words are breaking you, killing you softly. Something surfaces, something you so desperately didn’t want to, but it does. Guard.

;The poisons in our mouths burn holes in our tongues; our cheeks.

The same guard that had perhaps been breaking you thus far. The same guard that made you leave. The same defence that refused to acknowledge out loud that he was more. That he was the one who kept you up at night, the one that crossed your mind each waking of the morning, each dusk of the night. You’d swore the joints in your neck creak when you slant up to the gray ceiling, and the ache at your right temple pounds harder, your veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing groan barely surfaces before your fingers mould along your temples, the words falling off your lips to an appalling mutter. “No, no, no, no.”

And that’s why you lie. You part your lips,

and lie.

“Keanu!” you almost cry, bones aching, chest hefty and heart pouring. You’re drained, exhausted, the conversation has turned darker than anticipated. The sharp edges only cut further. “We’re no good for each other. We aren’t and we never were.” A slight frown contorts your features.

These words, this stream of misery; you know they’re hurting him too. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him.

But they must be spoken. They must be shared. This thread that holds you bound, this cord that draws you back must be shred. Must be broken. It’s what he needs. What you both need.

By now, the river had flowed too far; the water rose far too deep.

By now, if he’d be a part of you still, you fear you won’t be able to settle. You want one hundred percent of him, in the way lovers do. True lovers; the equities that come farther than physical connection. You want all of him, but you fear he won’t be able to give that part of him. Won’t be able to give you more. Just how much more you needed. And so you suffer, you writhe, and you ache some more as the words fall. You fight back sorrow as the façade falls.

A river flows from your mouth, falls, pelts, cascades. The substitute of tears, your eyes won’t bare hold. “You were my first friend, my only friend when I came here.” You sympathize. “Of course you were more, Keanu. You weren’t just a quick fuck for me when I needed one, so don’t you dare accuse me of it.” A faint frown lingers to the planes of your face, and your eyes grow something worse than sad. Something full of pure, utter, melancholy. “We made a huge mistake and you know it, Ke.” Confessing, you watch the way his muscles tense under his signature black jacket.

He’s suffering. You’re killing him.

“We both have issues, and we both have problems.” The ugly truth ultimately falls. But perhaps, you shouldn’t have shed light on it. Shouldn’t have dug up, salted old wounds. “Did we really think sex would fix that?” The truth hurts. It’s sinking daggers into your flesh by each word. You’d never been one to show weakness, yet to him, you let all the vulnerability fall. All the weaknesses that allowed you to get this way. “We made a mistake. And it’s best we just move on.”

There, in his eyes today, right now, you swore you saw something you’d never seen before.

He’s always been admirable, reserved, but confident. Something about him always seemed collected, as if he’d got the entire world figured out and had came to terms with whatever it had to offer. He held poise, self-reliance.

But today- the emptiness inside your chest throbs and your fingers nimble under his intense stare. He doesn’t speak for prolonged moment, only stays,

numb.

Something in him died today. Something felt like withered flowers and caved ruins.

It’s unsettling to see such a sight before your eyes, to see a mountain before you disintegrate, yet refuse to acknowledge it. Eerie, soul crushing discomfort. You saw it in him,

but felt it in you.

Somehow, these things of his, always come back to you. To haunt you.

Keanu blinks slowly, coming back to the present as his head returns. His thoughts flow, rugged, anything but the usual smooth his collected demeanor was used to. It doesn’t matter to her, everything we did. These thoughts, these words, these feelings; they bubbled. She thinks we’re a mistake. Boiled, churned, gasped to be let out. These words needed liberation. Needed to be free.

Does she not remember? He wonders, he ponders. How could she forget?

Tick.

Tock.

Tick--

Even the ticking of the clock in the distant kitchen seems to drown out, seems to fade away unfinished. A heaviness still suffocates the room; feelings still remain trapped inside the depths of your confined hearts. The silence stretches on, the seconds, prolonged moments of quiet rack and add up, and so does your unease.

His expression carefully falters, devoid of anything that shows how utterly hopeless he continues to fall with each jab you take at him. Something so unreadable. Unreadably broken.

He drains too. His silence hurts.

More than the words you’re spewing; the words that cut, slowly slaughter your souls in a gritting slay. Your own eyes crumble, grip tightening in a balled fist similar to the grip that contorts your aching heart.

You feel disgust rip through yourself like a lightening bolt, the pain comes in shooting bolts piercing

Sharp.

Shrill.

It’s slipping through his fingers. It’s all slipping far too quickly.

“Y/N,” Keanu mumbles, urgent yet soft. Heavy voice weighted, plead drowned tone piercing, like lightening. “You-”

He tries again to talk, yet it proves too much. The way he speaks kills you, it’s murdering you cut by cut. It’s impossible to stomach the look on his face.

Dagger by dagger. You’re not strong enough. This mountain you carry on your tongue, in your bones, deep in each crevice of your physical self; it holds too much history, too much vulnerability. This love that laces in each of your veins for him; if it escapes, and the words kiss his skin, into his ears; you fear it won’t be enough. That it wont turn out the way you’ve dreamt all along.

And that’ll be the end. That’ll butcher you for good.

That will be the death of you.

“No, Keanu.” You voice, head shaken gently to a downcast defeat below. You see him tense, back leaned against the gray hallway wall.

Defeat.

You’ve both defeated each other today. Both sunk the needles exactly where it hurts the most.

;Taking throws at the most vulnerable parts of each other. We’re like fingers on thorns of honey;

we know exactly where it hurts.

Ambling up beside his larger frame, you position adjacent; so close to him, where you’d feel lightening in your heart each time you reminisce on being. When you think back to the times when he was this close. When he won’t be anymore.

The hard wall feels cold against your skin, both your eyes intent on the surroundings, anywhere but on each other. Slow, quiet, you sigh a beaten exhale, eyes momentarily shutting to ease the heaviness for just one moment. He slumps, unable to hold the weight of his own two feet much longer. “No.” You mumble, you mutter. You force your tongue to move. Sick to the stomach. It churns inside, the brew of pain, hurt, defeat, agony. The fall in your eyes intensifies, covered by a gloss of realization.

This was it.

This would be it.

Dense, heavy, you glide. Your back slides down the hallway wall as your knees give out, falling to an upright seat on the floor below. Legs crossing with your hands positioned neat in your lap, weary shoulders slump; and your eyes find Keanu’s standing tall above you. Patting the spot beside you with one heavy thump, you sigh.

He swallows thick, before gliding down as well.

falling, falling, falling.

There, in the quiet walls, you sit together. Insides burning, hearts twisting. Falling.

The silence endures, your tired hearts rest. Overpowered, overwhelmed, you sit together.

;I’m erasing you from my skin.

“Keanu,” you begin, empathizing; limbs limp with exhaustion. “I can’t be with you anymore. I just can’t. It’s draining, it’s exhausting.”

The third

dagger.

And this one, would hurt in him constantly. Would burn in him endlessly.

Your every word is cruel. Brutally candid; straightforward. Each and every syllable, each vowel, each ring tears something inside him expertly, like deliberately unhurried knives; merciless daggers sinking in deep.

Keanu’s mind wanders still, the words he so desperately wanted to say to you still bubbling. The conversation hadn’t played out how he planned. This was not what he had planned. This is not what the hopes he came with wrote. The burn is so rugged, so intense, and the words fight to come out. They fight to be heard by you. Fight to save your sinking ship.

But they don’t. they ultimately don’t. They still in his throat. They dissolve in his throat.

He couldn’t put himself out there for you to break down again. Couldn’t hand himself over to you again, only to be destroyed, yet again.

His features falter, realization seeps into his bones. In these moments, everything, each second seems so fragile, so precious.

-She’s slipping away far too quickly-

She’s slipped away;

She’s gone.

Keanu’s head falls back, hitting the wall behind you both with an audible thud. He nods gently with a hefty respire, eyes closing for a brief moment. Slain.

Slow and wounded, he removes himself from your side, standing on his own two somnolent legs. The air around has only darkened, except now, there’s no piercing. No lightening, no bolting.

Just flat, dry, unforgiving air.

He stands tall above you, yet your body stays positioned below on the ground. You can’t seem to move, can’t seem to rise. Can’t seem to rise up from the small. From the low.

From the feeling of low.

Staring up, your eyes lock with his as he begins sincerely, head shaking. The phantom, the ghost of him leans above you, looming over with guilt ridden, shattered realization.

He begins, apologizing. “I promise, all I wanted was to help. Not to make it worse.” Thick cut sadness, gloom glazes each word. He’d come with so much hope; he’d come to you confident he’d get it right. That this time, he’d hold you for good.

With nothing, he’d be leaving. Nothing but haunting memories of the sweetest love, that never worked. The ghost of a love he’d lost, without ever really having it.

“I care about you so much.” He tells, one last time. “I’m sorry if I said anything out of line. You’re an amazing woman, Y/N. I still admire you and all the success you’ve earned since you came here.”

Gray. It’s all falling gray. The murals of a once bright and crimson passion; a once rosy friendship, a yellow hope. All grayed.

“I still wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.” He finishes, a gentle nod and half attempted smile your way. A haunting smile, that would forever remain carved inside your brain. The smile of the heart you slaughtered.

And for a moment; you think, maybe you loved him, in another lifetime. And maybe you promised you’d find him on the other side.

On the other side – and maybe that’s why you can’t seem to escape him, to let him go.

But today, he is going. He’s leaving for good.

Today, it felt as if the flowers beheaded themselves; the sun burnt to the ground. He’d take them away with him, with each drowning step he took.

He won’t come back; the whispers of your crying thoughts linger.

He has to; the weeps of your heart undertone.

And you wonder, that perhaps you don’t deserve good things. Because this, watching him leave with your heart crucified to his chest, felt as if punishment. Punishment for sins you don’t even remember committing.

He shakes his head one last time, before his back turns. Turns to you, leaves you behind as he begins to move away, toward the bulky front door. He’d bid his goodbyes, wished his farewells.

He is the one that got away. And maybe, the one who comes after him; if one ever will; will remind you of how it was always supposed to be. The mistakes that were never meant to be made.

~They will taste like the poetry; you wish you could’ve composed.

For from today, blue skies would fade gray, the birds would cease to sing. The flowers would never live again, and the burn would maybe subside to nothing, but, gray. You will stay empty, stay longing for what he gave you.

The corridors of each room will be empty; and nothing makes the room feel emptier than longing for someone to be in it. And long you would. Knowing the man you love would be gone for good.

And even after all this pain, all this hurt,

His body is still the only one you want to be undressed under.

His weight is the only one you want resting beside you at your most vulnerable, at your worst.

The daggers have been thrown. The wounds have been carved.

“Stop saying things like that to me.” Sudden, your voice cracks from below. You’d been unsure of how the word had even escaped, plummeted out, fearing no barrier. As if your pulsing heart’s last attempt to ease the agony, to stop him. They’d fallen out, leaving your mind little to fend your guard with.

He halts in his tracks, merely turning in his steps to lock you a surrendered gaze. Why? his pleading orbs beg, wondering what more could be left to said. Head shaking, with his lips pursing tight and taut to a thin line, he stands with his arms side by side, eyes coursing into your soul.

Wondering. What you would say.

“Stop saying things like that to me. Things that make me feel like you’re the only good I’ll ever have.” You barely manage, swallowing thick, dense, pure anguish. Gaze faltering, you eye the floor below, unable to lock stare with him just yet. You whisper, audible yet to his ears with an ultimate connect to his earthy orbs; your own filling with seared, stinging wet sheen.

And the words that would fall from your lips from there on out-

Could never be taken back.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglists will be posted in reblogs from now on. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from either this series, or the permanent!

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfiction #Keanu Reeves #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves imagine

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embrassemoi · 3 years ago

Note

(1/6) Okay, first of all no apologies needed. I'm really glad you're feeling better now 💖. Moving on to the chapter. It really seems like angsty love triangle is beginning to form. I was waiting for it and yet now it's here I'm so terrified. You really did write the line "I love you felt more like a fairytale than a doomsday sentence when he imagined her saying it." (And wow, what a beautiful line it is.) and then made Remus gave mc a mixtape. IN THE SAME CHAPTER! Are you trying to kill me???

Yes. Spot on. my goal is to kill each of my readers

also I'm going to be a little more vague than usual because if I confirm or deny - explain further, I feel like I'll slip up and accidentally spoil something. also, I haven't actually confirmed that the rest of SBTMAS will follow closely to canon - only that my original plan was going to write all the way up to the second wizarding war (and what if I changed my plans?). so who knows!

(2/6) And even Sirius noticed how happy remus looks lately. Considering how awful their relationship is at this point, I can't even imagine how complicated things will get. I was so looking forward to read sirius' pov on the events and it was somehow even more heartbreaking than I thought it would be. I just can't help but feel so sorry for him. Him comparing hogwarts to a barbed wire cage made me so sad, because a few years later, he'll be trapped in Azkaban. But I'm kind of glad he realized

(3/6) how cruel he was. When he first apologized to remus after the Prank, he was quite dismissive of the whole think and even said something like "i didn't mean anything". Now he realizes what he did was awful not only to his friends but also to Snape. And he realizes how he isn't very different from his family than he thought. I feel like these were all essential things he would have to realize to grow as a character and you portrayed that very well. I still feel like there's a long way to go

(4/6) for him to be forgiven by his friends. My prediction is everyone will forgive him eventually and accept him as a part of the group again (he's the godfather of james' son after all) but remus won't ever fully forgive him. Remus is desperate to be liked and yet he doesn't feel like he deserve to be liked and have friends. I feel like this can lead him to sweep everything under a rug and put up with things that he's not fully comfortable with. Yes, I can see them being friends but I don't

- yeah. I thought it was important to add in that small POV from remus - that he's really insecure and would do a lot for people to like him. it's the whole 'ahhh! I'm a disgusting werewolf' thing he has going on. Idk, with remus I feel like he would just end up feeling really fucking bad and be like 'okay bud, let' try this again' even if he really doesn't / isn't ready to forgive sirius.

- also, it's a nice contrast from sirius.

- also also, i know how Remus will eventually ’forgive’ Sirius and I think it’s both very in character for him but might make a lot of my readers mad lol. It is what it is.

(5/6) think remus will ever fully trust sirius. And this will eventually lead remus to be suspicious of sirius during the war (not the mention whole mc thing will probably put a strain on their relationship as well). And also peter being the one who sometimes helps sirius is a very interesting choice. I know at this point he doesn't have any malicious intent but still, Sirius thinks Peter might tell james about things he said to him. I feel like this speaks volumes about his character and

in canon, I always HC that Remus and sirius always tried to repair their friendship - especially after Azkaban but it just was never the same. I mean, they're two completely different people at that point.

- I don't like writing Peter as someone who trails after James constantly, but I do think Peter's best BEST friend out of the marauders would be James. and in their school years, I think he would tell him everything - or almost everything. it does speak about his character tho

(6/6) gives us small clues about how he'll betray everyone in the future. But still, I'm happy that Sirius is reciving at least smallest bit of kindness. I know his friends have every reason to not forgive him but with his panic attacks and intrusive thoughts (chairty case part almost made me cry) he really does need some help and Hogwarts is not known for the care they put into mental health of its students. Great chapter as always!!!! -🌸

idk I think Peter would've been the kindest bc 1) he's not attached to the hip to him compared to the duo that is James and Sirius. 2) he wasn't 'betrayed' like remus 3) I think (At the time) he would be one of the most understanding marauders. I did write Peter to be very likeable to other students at Hogwarts and he does have quite a lot of friends / knows a lot of people outside of the marauders. so I think that's another reason too.

- also if we're looking at this at a more in-depth dive - if Peter felt inferior compared to the other marauders, then I see his gesture going either two ways

1) "hey, I don't want you feeling low because I know how it feels like"

2) "this is my way of showing that this time, I have just a bit more edge over you."

- idk if that makes sense

And Hogwarts does NOT give a single fuck about their students lmfao. harry was almost killed like eight times, was highkey sucidial after sirius and Cedric's death, was being isolated half the time and nobody gave a fuck. like ughhh.

thanks for sending!

#🌸 anon #sbtmas ask #📨 inbox

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

Text

Cantatio: Chapter Four

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying (POV Lan Zhan)

Summary: Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang cause trouble in Lan Qiren’s class. Lan Zhan isn’t amused.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T (technically this is a series but this chapter can stand alone too) - read on AO3

< Ch. 3 | Ch. 5 > | chapter list

Lan Wangji had expected the first day of classes to be long.

But not this long.

The expression ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ had never held much truth for the young cultivator, who believed that a better phrasing would be ‘time proceeds at a pace directly proportional to one’s concentration.’

Being trained in Daoist meditation techniques since his first sign of infantile self-awareness had granted Lan Wangji the ability to bend his perception of time with his focus. When he rose long before dawn and sat in Lotus Position to meditate, the silent depths of stillness enabled him to traverse hours in what felt like the blink of an eye, yet the insights he obtained remained undistorted by the time skip.

Unless he was disrupted by the loud crash of Wei Wuxian falling out of bed on the other side of the room.

But that was beside the point.

The more Lan Wangji focused, the faster the world moved. His studies were one of the pursuits that he paid the most careful attention to. He listened to professors with unwavering interest, picking up on the slightest inflections of their voices, and he ruminated on intriguing sentences for hours after a lesson finished. Therefore it made sense that although the school day would be long, its duration would be reasonable, for his mind would be well-occupied.

Yet Lan Qiren was still lecturing about Ancient Texts, and it was only the first class of the day!

The problem was not a lack of interest. Ancient Texts had always been a special aptitude of Lan Wangji. The problem was that he wasn’t fully focused on the lecture, and therefore it dragged on. As Lan Qiren’s stentorian voice intoned perfectly pronounced phrases of poetry, his mind kept ping-ponging between thoughts of what he would say to Wen Qing about last night, what Wei Wuxian looked like while sleeping—no, that never crossed his mind—and what could be inside the strange closet that sat smugly in his dorm room. He imagined that the closet was fully aware of the mess it had caused and was snickering at the shameful memory of Lan Wangji being thrown around a girls’ dormitory by a giant beetle.

Rule #1034: Learning comes first.

Lan Wangji needed to recenter his focus.

He picked up his brush and pressed the end of its handle into his palm. It was highly improper to mistreat a calligraphy tool like this, but Lan Wangji was getting desperate.

The pressure from the blunt wood roused him back into the moment.

Lan Qiren was pacing alongside the disciples’ desks, his mustache whiskers quivering as he spoke with a stern yet aloof tone.

“The poem I just recited was translated from an ancient predecessor to our language. Of course, translations never capture the full nuance of a passage. Therefore, now that you have heard but a cloudy reflection of this magnus opus, we will begin analyzing the poem in its original language, Trans-Himalayan,” Lan Qiren said.

The entire classroom groaned. Nie Huaisang rested his chin in his palm, looking the most bored out of everyone.

“What’s the point?” Wei Wuxian muttered. “When are we ever going to need to know Trans-Himalayan?”

“Shut up. You’ll need to know Trans-Himalayan if you want to pass the class. That should be enough,” hissed Jiang Cheng.

A few moments later, Nie Huaisang leaned over. “…Who are Tran, Sim, and Leia? They sound like the type to have a threesome.”

“…”

Every disciple in the room sucked in a collective breath of shocked amusement, their twisted smiles on the verge of bursting.

Nie Huaisang opened his silk fan and covered his own smirk in a hurry, looking at the ceiling with light eyes that concealed a calculated satisfaction beneath their innocence. A single wheeze escaped from Wei Wuxian’s mouth before he could stop it, like air escaping from a balloon.

Lan Qiren did not seem to notice. He criticized the Jin Clan disciple who was stumbling over foreign words as she recited the ancient poem for the class.

Of course, once you let go of the mouth of a balloon that’s full of air, it’s inevitable that it will fly around the room in a sputtering chaos.

“Aiya, Huaisang, that’s not how you say it,” Wei Wuxian murmured. “You’ve got the wrong people in the bed. It’s supposed to be pronounced, ‘Tran, Sim, and Lan Qiren.’”

Now at least five disciples were snickering. Nie Huaisang was silently buried in his fan, but his scrunched eyes and heaving shoulders said more than enough. Even Jiang Cheng, who was clearly counting how many hours of detention he’d get if he slammed Wei Wuxian’s face into the desk, could not prevent his lips from curling.

Ridiculous, Lan Wangji thought. He was sorry he had tuned his mind back in to the classroom.

The Jin Clan disciple was still fumbling through her recitation. All eyes were on Lan Qiren, but not for the reason the old professor would have hoped.

“Remember that really poetic line? ‘Balance to both ends of the world,’” Wei Wuxian parroted in sing-song. “Well, that’s the part where Tran and Sim each grab one side of Lan Qiren’s mustache.”

Jiang Cheng was the first to break. His high-pitched giggle—unhinged and childlike—pierced through the air like a siren. However, that surprising turn of events was quickly forgotten as the entire room erupted into feverish laughter.

The balloon had popped.

“What is the meaning of this?! Settle down! Everyone, quiet!” Lan Qiren huffed. He held his arms stiffly out to his sides with the sleeves of his robes draping in two giant hoops, as if he wanted to suck all the laughter into his sleeves to snuff it out.

Lan Wangji glared at Wei Wuxian, but the insolent clown was so overcome with giggling that he did not notice.

Apparently, Lan Qiren had followed his nephew’s line of sight to find the culprit, and soon accosted him.

“Wei Wuxian! What have you done? Confess to your actions!”

This only increased the volume of the laughter that ricocheted off the classroom ceiling into Lan Qiren’s offended ears, which seemed to spew out hot steam in protest. Lan Wangji felt a bit guilty for unintentionally ratting out Wei Wuxian to be the recipient of his uncle’s wrath.

Wei Wuxian finally reigned in his mirth and looked up at Lan Qiren with precariously composed sincerity. “I was only saying that I want to write a poem about mustache whiskers. I call it The Ballad of Catfish.”

Actually, no, Lan Wangji did not feel bad at all.

“Wei Wuxian! What is this disrespect? My classroom is no place for jokes! You should be focusing on the poem in Trans-Himalayan!”

The disciples bit their lips at the mention of the word that had started the whole fiasco, but the balloon of laughter had finally deflated.

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Yes, Shifu?”

“Do you know how to read this poem?”

“Not yet, Shifu.”

“Then why have you been chatting instead?”

“…Because I do not know how to read the poem, Shifu.”

Lan Qiren’s blood was boiling. “Wei Wuxian, since you are so illiterate, you will continue reading the poem to the class!” he barked, apparently not caring about the contradiction he just created.

“Yes, Shifu.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at his textbook.

“Where did we leave off?”

Lan Qiren sighed and shook his head with weary disapproval.

Wei Wuxian was actually able to perfectly read the last line the Jin Clan disciple had said, to Lan Qiren’s obvious displeasure. However, he was already stumped by elementary words in the next line. He must have been reciting from memory and had already reached the end of his mind’s fishing reel.

“Uh…um…” He looked up at the professor like a child asking for a piggyback ride.

“Wangji, please assist Young Master Wei.”

Lan Wangji was used to being called on to help other students. After all, it was rare that he did not know the answer.

“Swan.” Lan Wangji said the word in both languages for clarity.

Wei Wuxian nodded and continued. He was stuck again three syllables later.

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren called.

Lan Wangji looked down at the complex inky scribbles in the poetry book on his desk. He realized that he did not understand the line either.

“Lan Zhan? Some help?” Wei Wuxian said.

Lan Wangji paused, then flattened the page in front of him as he spoke.

“I do not know.”

Wei Wuxian eyes widened in disbelief. He looked at Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng scoffed and turned his head away, but his pupils soon snuck into the corners of his eyes to observe Lan Wangji with chilled interest.

“Well, huh, then…” Lan Qiren frowned. “I suppose this text is rather difficult. But that is no excuse for misbehavior! The line reads, ‘Horrified, the warrior realized that, like a swan crushing her eggs as she shielded them from a snake, it was his hand that plunged the knife into the Emperor’s heart.’ It is a pivotal turning point in the poem’s narrative and is frequently quoted by other authors. It is critical that you grasp every literary metaphor related to this line!”

The rest of Ancient Texts passed peacefully. Lan Wangji enjoyed the challenge of dissecting the poem in its original language. It was a tragic story about a warrior who, upon learning that he had been manipulated by the enemy in an assassination plot to kill the emperor he served, abandoned his beautiful homeland to hide in repentant shame for eternity.

Although the stories were different, it reminded Lan Wangji of his father.

He quickly shoved that thought away.

After class ended, the disciples entered the courtyard outside. Lan Wangji hung back. He had to tell his uncle about last night’s incident. Someone needed to be alerted if a portal really did exist in a Cloud Recesses dormitory, and who better to inform than the overseer of the Cloud Recesses himself, Clan Leader Lan Qiren?

However, his uncle already had a lot of tasks on his plate, especially now that he and the clan leaders had to track down wherever the monster spirit that possessed the beetle had come from. Furthermore, it would be embarrassing for Lan Wangji to convey the full details of his story, and he still did not have an adequate explanation for what had transpired. And he definitely was not secretly worried that if he exposed the truth of the closet door, he and Wei Wuxian would be relocated and would no longer be roommates. That was not a factor.

Yet the rules tugged at his feet and at his tongue.

Shoulder the weight of morality. Be strict with yourself. Be loyal and filial.

If he did not tell his uncle…perhaps his brother would be an acceptable confidante?

But first, Wen Qing. He stepped out into the sunny courtyard.

“Wei-xiong, that was hilarious! I’ve never had such a good time in a class!” Nie Huaisang said as he bounded over to his dark-robed friend.

“Ahaha, why give me all the credit, though? You’re a funny little devil as well.”

Nie Huaisang shook his hands wildly in front of him, as if this suggestion were too much for him to hold.

“No, no, no, I wasn’t trying to be funny! I really didn’t know how to say it!”

“Hahaha! That’s even funnier, then!”

Jiang Cheng elbowed Wei Wuxian in the ribs. “Neither of you are funny.” He grabbed his brother by the arm and started dragging him across the courtyard. “Move your ass. If I’m late to the daozhang’s class because of you, I’m going to punch your head in.”

“What are you fussing about, Jiang Cheng? You were laughing louder than anyone!”

“Was not!”

Lan Wangji swooped in front of their path. “Causing disruptions in class is prohibited.”

Jiang Cheng scowled. Nie Huaisang covered his face with his fan and hid the rest of his body behind Wei Wuxian, who stood smirking with his hands on his hips.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan! You better be careful! If you say those rules so much, you’ll turn into the scroll they’re written on!”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow. “Boring.”

“Yeah, exactly! Okay, step aside, Lan Zhan, you’re going to make us late for class. Unless you want to be the reason we break another rule? Haha! Come on, let’s go,” he said as he tugged Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang away.

“Get your fat hands off me,” Jiang Cheng said with a shove.

Nie Huaisang turned his head over his shoulder and waved. “Bye, Second Young Master Lan!”

Lan Wangji eyed Nie Huaisang suspiciously as he scurried after the bickering siblings and disappeared around a temple at the far side of the courtyard. In the time Lan Wangji had spent accompanying Lan Xichen on trips to Qinghe, he had learned a few things about the small, skittish young cultivator.

Nie Huaisang was crafty. When he wanted entertainment, all he needed to do is throw a match into the firepit—nothing profound, just a provocative little comment that could provide some kindling—and then he would sit back and watch as everyone burned down the world around him. Most assumed he carried his signature fans for decoration. Lan Wangji theorized that he carried them to exercise his talent for fanning the flames of discord.

Of course, if confronted, Nie Huaisang would insist that he knew three times less about the world than anyone else.

On his own, the boy was manageable. Endearing, even.

But next to Wei Wuxian?

It was a partnership forged in Hell.

After the troublesome trio disappeared, Lan Wangji searched for Wen Qing, hoping to apologize for intruding in her room and discuss the teleportation closet with her, but she had disappeared after Ancient Texts.

He caught sight of her again right as Song Lan’s Beings & Creatures class was beginning. To his disappointment, he would have to wait until its completion to speak to her.

It was a long wait. Song Lan’s class did not pass peacefully.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 5 > | chapter list

#mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #the untamed fanfic #wangxian fanfiction #wangxian fanfic #mdzs fic #wangxian #mdzs #cql #the untamed #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan zhan #wei ying #nie huaisang #lan qiren #cantatio #emilu talks

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m-oana-archive · 5 years ago

Text

A Love Too Heavy (For Just One to Hold) pt. 3

catch up on pt. 1 | pt 2.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin

Words: 3629

Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with. The only problem is the fact Sirius’ feelings for Remus still haven’t seemed to go away. But he isn’t the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.

A/N: This is the last part, and includes too many italicized words and usages of “oh” (which are almost always italicized).

requestor: @shinysilverunicorn-blog | read on AO3 | Masterlist

Y/N’s POV

How to describe Sirius and Remus? Y/N could do so simply, stating they were her closest friends, easily the two most important people in her life. But that wouldn’t include the whole of it. The way each of them were so different that both were essential to the functions of her heart.

Sirius was like a catchy tune: people got drawn to him. Even if he got annoying and overbearing, there was something that made him impossible to distance yourself from fully. And like a catchy tune, you wouldn’t expect there to be more than one layer to him, but that was wrong entirely. He wore leather and confidence, but only because he knew what it did for him, not because it matched what was held underneath. He knew about himself—his fears, hopes, failures, self-destructive tendencies—well enough to know how to look like he had none of them. Then there was Remus. The opposite. There was nothing about him that didn’t suggest introspection, from books to sweaters to tea to somehow swerving away from the Marauder reputation by being difficult to associate with petty pranks. But, while it seemed to be easy for him to dive deep into the depths of his soul, he always stood shivering at the shore before turning away, afraid of what he’d find under cold water. But with terror came beauty, and Remus couldn’t see past the first part to understand how gorgeous he was.

They were both wonderful in different ways: if Sirius was the sun, Remus was the shade that protected you. If Remus was a cup of tea, Sirius was the sugar that made it palatable. It was hard not to love one and not the other because it seemed as if both were necessary to survive.

Or, at least, that was the problem Y/N was facing.

Y/N remembered the first time she saw both. It was hard to look away from Sirius; sometimes, Y/N swore that his purpose was to be admired. But, in a similar vein, it was hard to ignore Remus. While, out of the rest of them, James was too earnest to be captivating and Peter too unsure of himself to be found attractive, Remus was quiet in the way he knew he didn’t have to give himself up to gain attention. Remus was identical to the pages he read: once you finished one, you couldn’t help flipping to the next.

She hadn’t meant, or expected, either adorations to turn into crushes. Instantly, she had wanted to be friends with the whole lot of them. Not even the cold blood was enough to turn her away; in fact, with her Slytherin ambition, showing her ability to make friendships despite the rivalry became part of the appeal. But, unbeknownst to her, feelings had started. With Remus, they were the moments he was loud and obnoxious and so bloody smart it was hard to be anything except amazed. Similarly, Sirius was at his easiest to fall in love with when he was without facades, wearing some torn-up jumper that belonged to one of “his lads”—almost always Remus—and speaking very quietly of whatever came to his mind first. They were two sides of the same coin, one that Y/N wished she could hold between her fingers, that Y/N wished she could keep.

At first, because of her platonic intention, Sirius’ obvious interest was overwhelming, like lights being flashed on in a room right after darkness, not giving eyes time to adjust. But once her eyes had adjusted, they could barely look at anyone else, envision anyone else kissing her; holding her hand; laying on her bed with her, bodies forming shapes that fit one another perfectly.

Remus was chillingly indifferent. When Y/N stated her wishes that someone would ask her to Hogsmeade—subconsciously, this was a complaint that Remus wasn’t doing so—Remus brushed it off casually, saying that someday someone would come along who would treat her right. The heartbreak of it made her realize how deep her emotions were for him; she was willing to waste her life trying to catch an unreachable moon just so Remus wouldn’t have to endure being transformed by it every month. And, when she inevitably failed, at least he’d know he was worth a whole lifetime.

So she picked Sirius, not through a choice, but through a lack of one. Because, if Y/N truly had her way, she would choose both.

But apparently, Remus wouldn’t. Not based on what he had just said to her, moments after some stupid, hopeful part of Y/N thought they might have kissed.

The sounds of the words Remus had said were gone, but the weight pulled the room down, including everything inside of Y/N. Her soul felt like the library: all the brightness was sucked out except for two small lights that weren’t enough to make her feel alive anymore.

“Oh.” She meant to say it, but she whispered it instead. Or sighed it.

For the first time in a long time since meeting and getting to know Remus, her eyes did not want to meet his face.

Silence followed. A long one; so long that it transcended tension and peace to turn into an overwhelming shallowness, the same kind Y/N felt inside of her chest as she stood waiting. She knew instinctively that Remus’ mouth was opening and closing above her, trying sentences in his head before realizing he didn’t want to say them out loud. Y/N wished he would have planned the sentence he had said before with that kind of carefulness. Since when was Remus so spontaneous, anyway? When did he make the decision to abandon so much of what made him him, even if it was in the name of honesty?

The first sound was Remus’ swallow. Then, his hand brushing through his hair. Then, his voice, saying, “I didn’t mean that to say I don’t want you to be with him. I’ve never seen him happier.” There was such sadness in the admission, the kind of sadness that is made of happiness. The kind of sadness that is made of love.

Instantly, something within Y/N shifted. Anger disappeared. She looked up to Remus and she could see it on his face, on the purse of his lips and twisting of his eyes and lock of his jaw: Remus really was in love with Sirius. Or at least could love him. If given the chance.

“I can’t just…” Y/N started, drifting, struggling to say anything because words felt so loud. “You’re… you’re my best friend. How am I supposed to just sit around dating him in front of you in good conscience? You’ve put me in quite a position here. Either I hurt you until you get over him, or I hurt him to spare you.”

“Please, don’t do anything for me,” Remus automatically replied. “Really, that wasn’t a cry for pity—”

“Then why the hell did you tell me that?”

Remus tugged on his hair. “I don’t know! I just couldn’t bear lying to you anymore!”

“Then want to know something else true?” Y?N said, despite her stomach telling her to stop talking, saying that this was a terrible idea, one rooted out of nothing except anger and childishness. “I fucking, I fucking had feelings for you, Remus. But you were so fucking indifferent, always brushing me aside, making me feel like I was just another person to you, no one special. I stayed in. I stayed for you. Struggled silently, hurting every damn day, just because I knew you didn’t mean it. Why couldn’t you have just waited until… until…”

Her words faded into a tense silence. Remus lifted an eyebrow at her. “Until what? Until I got over him?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say it? I don’t…”

Remus was looking at her, and she was doing everything to collapse into herself, to not let her red cheeks be noticed, to make them disappear. “Oh.” He paused. A single moment encapsulating a thousand different ones. “Y/N, do you still have feelings for me?”

Y/N laid her hands out in front of her, her body ready to express a logical counter argument her mind could not provide. Her stature sunk.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because…” Remus hesitated, hands still in his hair, running through it desperately. “Okay, if we’re being very honest here, which we are, I need you to know that, um, a lot of the reason I’m not dating Sirius is because I’m conflicted between him and someone else, someone else who is also in a relationship… and it could work, but I… I’m not sure…”

“How to politely ask me to remove myself from my own relationship?” Y/N offered.

Remus’ face hardened. “No,” he said. It was stern, absolute. All at once, Y/N understood.

Just as suddenly, there was a gasp of wood from the side. Y/N turned to the door, finding Sirius there. He had a look of confusion nearing pain on his face and Remus’ jumper on.

Oh, Y/N realized. Oh.

If the rumors and legends were true, this could have been the last moment of her life: everything was coming back in flashes. There were fuzzy, alcohol-smudged scenes of parties, where, in something she misnamed as drunken dumbfuckery, Remus and Sirius were dancing with bodies close together, laughter taking up every part of their mouths. Times that she would see Sirius leaning in close to whisper something in Remus’ ear, Remus’ ears turning pink regardless of how many times it must have been done before. There were all the times that Y/N turned around in class to meet Remus’ eyes, just to find they were already on her. When she would borrow Remus’ jumper from Sirius and Remus wouldn’t protest; “It fits you,” he had said, which she had taken far too literally. The fact that Sirius wore that jumper more than Remus, yet Remus would never protest. The late nights of crying herself to sleep, afraid that she had made the wrong choice, because she wanted not one, but both of them.

She looked back to Remus first. He was already looking at her. “Wait here,” she whispered, fighting the urge to kiss him on the cheek nonchalantly before turning and walking towards Sirius.

This was it. This had to be it.

Y/N got to Sirius faster than she had meant too, but had no time to feel self-conscious about it. “I need you alone for a second,” she said. Her hands were on his arm, redirecting him out into the corridor before he had time to protest.

Once they were alone, door closed, Sirius’ body instinctively adjusted into an argument stance: there was a rolling back of his shoulders, a cocking of his chin, a tense spot in his jaw, a crossing of his arms. “You were real fucking close in there, Y/N. In dim light, after six hours together… he’s not your boyfriend! I am! I barely even see you today and when I finally find you you’re almost kissing him.”

Y/N waited, trying to cover the ache in her chest with an unbothered expression. She knew she needed to apologize, but had to wait: they didn’t have time for this argument right then. They might never have to have it again, too, if she was right. She hoped she was right.

“You have a right to be jealous of him,” she admitted. “But, let me ask you something: are you jealous of me?”

Sirius’ muscles softened, or, maybe, they buckled under the pressure of him having been uncovered. It was too soon to know, too similar to tell. He opened his mouth, then closed it. The anger in his eyes was transformed into pain.

Y/N reached to touch his face. The way he melted into her touch was enough to break her heart, again. “Sirius. I’m not asking about what this means for us right now. I just need to know, honestly, how you feel about Remus.”

“It’s complicated,” he frowned.

“It might complicate, but it’s not complicated. Even if things change because of how you feel, I will always love you so much. It would be unfair to ask you to tell me the truth and then get mad at you for doing it.”

With a deep exhale underneath Remus’ jumper and his lips, warm, against the side of Y/N’s hand, Sirius said, “I have feelings for him. So many. It’s painful.”

I know. God, I know, Y/N thought to herself. How could anyone meet Remus and not be madly, irresistibly, unforgivably in love with him? It was foolish of her to think she could not love him; it was nice to know that someone else had also been equally mindless. Perhaps this was something that made Sirius and Y/N so compatible.

“It’s okay,” Y/N decided upon saying. She brushed her thumb against his stubbled cheek. “I just need to know, does this change how you feel about me? What dating me means?”

Sirius’ eyes met hers instantly. “Merlin, no. I’m still so ridiculously into you, too, which is why I never told you about Remus—because I usually tell you about everything—because I didn’t know what it meant. I was so confused. I still am.”

“Sirius.” She stepped closer to him, feeling her eyes fill with tears, either from understanding his sadness or from realizing both of them were helping create it for so long. “I know.”

His eyes were angry again, despite the fact hers were wet.

“I know. I understand. God, Sirius, I have feelings for him too! And I hid it for so long, because I thought he didn’t feel the same, and I liked you so much, and I didn’t know I didn’t have to choose between the two of you.”

“You didn’t? You don’t?” Sirius asked with such shock, it came out as a scream.

A relief, golden as sunlight, filled Y/N so deeply that she could only shake her head in response, too overwhelmed to do anything else. The tension that was held inside of her for so long was finally undone and all she could see was how possible everything was now.

“He told me he feels like we do about him. It’s been so simple! All of this time, Sirius. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Sirius layered his hand on top of Y/N’s, tracing the curvature of her knuckles. “I want to barge in there and kiss that fucker right now,” he admitted, a laugh blossoming out of Y/N’s mouth. “But I want to ask: are you 100 percent on this? I know we just started dating, and I always felt like I was so much more eager than you, but you met me there. But this seems a lot… bigger. I don’t want you to go beyond what you can handle for me. You can still have me. No matter what you say. I promised I’d stick by you.”

Y/N pulled herself up to Sirius, kissing him, mouth absorbing the weight of the words he just said, but knowing this was something good. She pulled away sooner than she wanted to. Sirius looked both more rooted and more disheveled. “I know, Sirius. That’s why I’m okay with this. I trust you. I know you won’t push me aside. And I won’t leave you, either. I love you, and this is about all three of us, not any two of us.”

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Sirius piped up.

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Y/N agreed.

They both looked over at the closed library door. Something that was keeping Remus outside all of this. A threshold he’d have to be invited to cross, and would want to.

Sirius was the first to ask the looming question. “How do we…”

“You go,” Y/N offered, automatically getting his eyes on her for the demand of it. “This has been forever for you, hasn’t it? Since you met.”

“Yeah.” It was soft. He was flustered, a blush creeping up his neck, as if Y/N hadn’t seen him do much more embarrassing things. Loving Remus Lupin was not something to be embarrassed about.

“Then you deserve to be the one. Plus, he’s your best mate. And I’ve had to deal with him for six bloody hours.”

Sirius laughed, and everything felt better. “Okay,” he breathed. “Wish me luck?”

Y/N wanted to yell at him, knock some sense into him. He’s bloody in love with you! she wanted to shout. But it was too true to be cocky. Something struck her here: the fact that, while deeply in love with the both of them and utterly confused, Remus had to hear Sirius say this before asking Y/N out. Sadness kept finding its way in, as much as it felt wrong, as much as Y/N refused it.

“Good luck, love,” Y/N said. He released her hand, slid away from her, slipped between the doors, and was gone.

It was difficult, those minutes that felt like years, spent waiting for Sirius to explain himself to Remus. But it felt right. She had so much time with both of them separately that it was their time to come to terms for what this meant for them. There was also something so private in the intimacy of a first kiss; if they wanted to share theirs now, Y/N felt as though they should have the room to do so. And what place is better than a dark, musty library, as secret in the night as their love for one another, filled with as much logic as Remus and as much mystery as Sirius?

When the door finally opened, only one body emerged. It was Remus. He looked different, like something that was knocked over and finally set upright. He was smiling in a devilish way. Y/N knew instantly that they had kissed; it was the implantation of Sirius’ lips on his that had left his mouth hanging in the same crooked way that Sirius’ always does.

“Hi,” she offered, lamely. The result was rather surprising: Remus' smile straightened and softened. It was so true she almost had to look away from him. Again.

Remus came up to her, close enough to do so much—her mind was raking through possibilities—but failing to; she knew from six years of knowing him that this wasn’t due to anything except respect for her. She loved him more for it. Somehow.

“Sirius told me everything,” he said. “And I’d be the happiest person in the entire world if I got to have both of you.”

Y/N understood Sirius’ earlier sudden shyness: hearing Remus say that made her knees weaken and the words she had planned to say jumbled up inside of her head. The only thing she could think to respond with was, “How was the kiss?”

Remus’ smirk was back. “How’d you know?”

“You looked triumphant and cocky. It was obvious.” Remus laughed, hand finding the back of his neck to rub it. She felt the need to add, “It makes sense, considering how long you waited for that kiss.”

“Well…” he took a step in, close enough his mouth was almost touching Y/N’s, but still failing to. “There’s still one more I’m waiting for. If you’ll have me.”

“Yeah,” she said, already breathless. “Of course I will.”

Y/N’s heart was beating impossibly fast as Remus stepped close, cupped her cheek, and led his mouth onto hers. She thought she’d have the ability to compare his kiss to Sirius’. She thought wrong; it was too consuming—not in the intensity but the depth of it, the realness of it—it was impossible for her to think about anything except the fact she was kissing Remus Lupin. She was kissing Remus Lupin. It had worked. It had all worked out. She had Remus’ right hand on her cheek, the left trailing up the back of her head. She had his sweater in the clutches of her fists, a silent ask for more. She had Remus’ tongue in her mouth—she had Remus’ goddamned tongue in her mouth—turning her stomach into a night sky riddled with fireworks. It was too surreal to be real. But it was.

When they parted, they were both breathless. Y/N released her fists to allow her fingers to instead draw random shapes across Remus’ sturdy chest. She felt happy, at peace. Yet there was still something missing.

“Sirius,” she called from over Remus’ shoulder. “Open that damn door and get over here!”

He appeared instantaneously. Without explanation, he spelled the lights off inside of the library, and produced a key from his pocket which he then used to lock the door.

Sirius came up to them, attaching himself to Remus’ side in the same way he always had, but leaning into him more than usual, as if to say this is how I always have felt, but now I can show it. Y/N scanned both of their faces, two beautiful boys, scarred and wonderful in their own ways, and hers.

“Walk me home?” she asked. They both nodded, starting off into the night. A natural formation befell the three of them: Remus standing in the center, Sirius leaning into him in a way that demanded Remus to wrap his arm around his waist, and Y/N holding Remus’ hand, his thumb stroking her palm. All around them, evening was whispering, with cricket chirps, light breezes, and clouds shifting the moonlight from above. It was soft and calm and real, real, real. Somehow. It was real.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

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booksbookandmorebooks · 4 years ago

Text

Emma in the night Book review.

Hello there my lovelies, I know its been a little while since I last posted and I have honestly missed doing this so much, so thank you to anyone still here and still supporting me, it means the absolute world.

As everyone is fully aware 2020 was an awful one but hopefully this year we can aim for a little more positivity and happiness, which is why im back today with a review of my first read of this year and bloody hell did I pick a goodun! So this is my first review for my first book of 2021, enjoy!

The writing style

One of my favourite things about this book was the different points of view you get to experience and how well they mesh together. For example, we are told very early on that the events Cass is recalling aren’t exactly what you would call accurate and that she has spent months planning and creating this false narrative in an order to manipulate the people she's describing them to (which in itself is something I always get drawn into, the mystery and the need to figure out the characters motives and intentions along side the biggest question of all WHY?! Which is a question will find yourself screaming at the pages) This is made very apparent from the use of the choppy and restrictive way that these scenes are written. Wendy also somehow manages to create a feeling of desperation and messiness whilst having the characters maintaining such a mellow and collected exterior, you know the calm before the storm! Which is such a jarring feeling but one that realty captured and immersed me. A feeling I don’t think is easy to convey through a book format. That in itself is a testament to Wendy’s talent as a writer.

When you compare Cass’ chapters and inner dialogue to detective Abby’s they are so different but when they are looked at side by side they create a very interesting contrast that as I said before works so well, while there is a calm chaos to Cass’ words there is in turn a very structured and balanced feel to Abby's, almost a little detached like you were reading sections cut directly from a police case file. Through this constant difference in characters POVS the story flowed flawlessly and at the perfect pace for a thriller book.

The climax of the book was not just shocking but also depicted so well in how the writing matched the pace of the reveal, the whole book alternates between cass and Abby with each chapter assigned to one of the characters but towards the end you see that the different POVs are whittled down to single sentences or just a few paragraphs that get shorter and shorter as the tension builds, creating this intense feeling of panic, alert and fear. A method that I swear had my heart physically racing at the end! It was like watching a classic cat and mouse scene play out in my hands/

I also have to mention that very last chapter. I'm sorry for waffling on but please bare with me. For a book based around secrets and deception the ending was that of a perfect one because of its ability to make you feel like after reading it you now share a secret with Cass and you are now part of this extremely messed up story and family, you have this understanding of her whole character and her motives which really brings everything full circle.

The character development:

The character development in this book is one of the best ive seen in awhile with each character being incredibly layered and yet undeniably flawed. Its done in such a human way that it doesn’t feel too far fetched like some thrillers ive read in recent years. Ensuring that all of the emotions tied in with said characters hit 10 times harder than that of those very basic 2 dimensional characters, even the worst people in this story have a difficult background or some type of abusive past, just a catalyst for their behaviours and characteristics and by gradually being informed of them you and being given the bigger picture you almost create an individual relationship and opinion on them ranging from hatred to pity. We get amazing development in every single one even the seemingly unimportant ones because even they are given enough backstory to still secure a connection of some kind with them, something I know we can all appreciate as readers.

The relationships.

The main relationship ill focus on is that of the sisters Cass and Emma. I know there are a lot of relationships in this book that over lap and intertwine in really interesting and sometimes awful ways but as these two characters are the basis of our main storyline it makes a little more sense to focus the attention on them

As a huge plot point throughout the story we see that due to the actions of their mother and her lack of genuine maternal instinct and well, love we see the girls in this constant battle of who can earn their mothers love trust and affections first. Which was so heart breaking to read, through their mothers constant manipulation and abuse we see them fighting the resentment and distance that they know is growing between them and sadly a lot of the time losing because of Mrs. Martins influence and involvement. Its very obvious when reading about their mother that her abuse is based around the fear she feels at the idea of any kind of alliance that the girls could potentially form with each other, god forbid they turn against her and out her as a bad mother! So she decides its easier to create a wedge between the two of them by openly favouring one over the other which unfortunately results in a lot of cruel actions from Emma direct at Cass, creating another toxic relationship and situation for the girls to live in. Although we do get the occasional glimpse at these really beautiful and raw moments of sisterhood and love they share deep down. After seeing so much pain in their story it made these moments just that little bit more special and down right beautiful which was a part that i especially adored.

The themes:

In its relatively short amount of pages this book manages to explore a huge variety of themes from love and obsession to betrayal abuse and manipulation, which lets be honest is everything you want in a good thriller book but usually when a writer takes on this many themes I always find some of them are either touched upon very quickly then dismissed and never revisited or thought of again or done so badly with such a lack of care that its obvious they were just included for the author to be able to say they've hit all the key themes a reader would expect a good thriller to hit. Yet Wendy manages to not only explore all of these and more, but manages to do it well and so subtly you don't notice until you sit back and think about them all which to me just shows a writers real talent.

The psychology:

Another huge part of this book and something I adored were the analysis parts of the book, the in-depth look into narcissism and its effects on the children it surrounds. We are constantly listening to Detective Abby explaining and exploring the characteristics of the people Cass is talking about in her chapters, exploring the connections and the risk factors associated with such a serious disorder as narcissistic personality disorder. I found this to give the story and writing some real merit, it felt like i was reading a psychology book and getting down to the real science of why characters work the way they do and giving the reader a chance to explore it themselves instead of just being told this person has this which is something I cant stand in books. Instead of investing time and effort into helping guide you to a conclusion or even showing you they just tell you this is how it is and expect that to be enough. So frustrating! None the less, this is something I haven't experienced in another book and a technique I hope to see more of!

Similar books:

When reading this I got very strong sharp objects vibes, the fractured relationship between families, focusing on mother and daughter, a highly manipulative mother, an obsession with public facades and the desperate need to keep up appearances and so much more! If you liked sharp objects you will love this, as Emma in the night has all of the important story beats and intrigue that sharp objects has but more intensity and a faster paced story something I felt was missing when I read SO’S.

Over all I adored this book, as you can probably tell and considering it is my first Wendy walker book I can safely say i have fallen in love! I can promise you now this will not be my last read from her collection. I was captivated by her story and her writing which is why i couldn’t recommend this more!

A very very easy 5/5.

so that's it, thanks for reading my review, i really hope you enjoyed it! sorry if I waffled at all its been awhile since ive written any reviews and am still getting my bearings with it again so please be patient with me. Hope you have a fab week my lovelies, Bye!

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badgersighted · 4 years ago

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PS5 Game Reveal Thoughts

Below the cut I’m gonna write a brief paragraph or sentence or whatever about each of the 25ish games that were revealed last night at the PS5 thing.

Don’t have much to say about this one; I never played GTAV, the series has never really been my thing, but I think it came out in 2013ish? I think the time has been and gone for re-releases and they should be working on the next game. Too much more and this’ll quickly become the new Skyrim/Todd Howard meme.

Okay so I never played Spiderman, but I did watch the cutscenes because I never thought I’d go out and buy it (before I later got it free with a ps4 pro). This is one of those games where, like, I’m not invested but I can both see the appeal and am happy for those who were waiting on it.

I think there’s diminishing returns on realistic racing games. Stuff was coming out on current gen that looked near enough realistic, so it gets excessively hard to tell the difference.

The first one that caught my eye. Despite the last entry being a bastardized, hollow remake that encapsulated everything the original stood against while missing two thirds of the content, R&C has a place in my heart and I hope they can actually get back to standard now they don’t have to work around a terrible movie.

My hot take here is that Ratchet has a wrench and his name is Ratchet. Girl Ratchet has a hammer, ergo her name is Chisel or something. I just wonder if this is a look at the future and Ratchet’s kid, or if it’s an alternate, gender-flipped dimension. In which case Clank would probably be the same because he’s a robot, but I fear for the possibility of Captain Qwark.

Legitimately can’t remember a gosh darned thing about this one.

I feel like the trailer proved that Stray works better as a short film than a game, but I guess we never saw any gameplay to prove that assumption. I like the art direction and you get to be a little kitty cat.

Ellen Degeneres goes to space and the mind fucky wucky happens. I got some Prometheus vibes for this, but the only thing that really left a mark was the aforementioned Ellen jokes we were making on discord.

Fuckin love me some Littlebigplanet, so this was a welcome surprise. Odd to see that they’re not implementing a create mode (as far as we know) but I can see how impossible it is to both make a fully 3d create mode (see: LittleBigPlanetKarting) and also go up against Dreams which was made by Sackboy’s original home studio.

I have a soft spot for LittleBigPlanet’s story modes, though, especially the second game’s - so this will be a welcome addition for me. I just hope they reference the previous stories and don’t act like a plot is something new to the series.

This game feels born out of the hangover of games like Fortnite and Apex Legends, leaving it feeling at least one year outdated. But if it’s your sort of thing, more power to you.

So Kena was another of the more subdued, new IPs that I think a lot of people will have forgotten but I actually quite liked the look of it, or at least some aspects. I’ll always have a soft spot for ‘young girl with bow and arrow’ games but I also liked the art direction and the little puff ball fellas, as well as the bad guy seeming like a legitimate threat in a world that tricks you into thinking it’s all cute. The contrast serves the narrative in that regard.

So following a game I’m interested in is a game I could not be less interested in. Horrendous character design, pseudo-deep narrative that are a dime a dozen for indie tumblr bait visual novels. The logo and the fact they’re [barely recognisable as] dinosaurs presumably suggests this will end in a meteor destroying everything and, frankly, I have never rooted for an inanimate rock more in my life.

This 2d platformer took itself very seriously. I never understood Oddworld nor saw the appeal because its protagonist is very... not nice to look at. But more power to those who wanted a new Oddworld game.

I found this one kind of interesting, then the First Person gameplay kicked in and that very quickly faded. It’s a shame, really; the visuals were really good.

All I got from this is that it’s called Jeff, and it’s a low concept blend of the movie Gravity and Katamari. It’s one of those deep, arty games I’m just honestly too dumb to appreciate. Or maybe it’s false depth.

This is a weird one. I find it intriguing how a game can have so much going on on-screen, and yet none of it stand out. It really does feel like this game pulled inspiration from several places, but failed to embellish or add any value on top of it.

This is another one of those arty games I’m too thick to understand. I’d say it has slight hints of Journey in it, but I never played that so I can’t be certain.

Hitman reminds me of the Community Paul Rudd quote: “I see the appeal, and I wouldn’t take it away from anyone, but I’d also never stand in line for it.”

As much as a corporate Mario Odyssey knockoff as this game may seem, I’m honestly interested as I’m gagging for any Odyssey-adjacent content in my life. It looks like it could be mindless fun, at the very least.

Like JEFF and Solar Ash before it, I don’t know what this game is and I don’t think the trailer did enough to make me want to bother finding out. I liked the big cat dude, though.

Would the world suffer if it didn’t have the same set of games reskinned and rereleased each year, with a single number in the title changed? I never understood the appeal of sportsball games. Is it for the people too unhealthy or too lazy to actually play a sport? Why do they have to make one every year when there’s nothing new? It’s not like the sport has fundamentally changed in a year’s time.

So they had me in the first half expecting a Crash game reveal, I’ll be honest.

But this is, oddly enough, the game I find most interesting of everything we saw here. I have no idea what the fuck it is, but I’m determined to believe there’s hidden meaning - that it’s a satire on Pokemon, that it’s a commentary on the phrase ‘you are what you eat’, that it’s a game that lulls you into a false sense of security and drops you in a horror game like Doki Doki Literature Club. Prove me right, Bugsnax.

I never played the original Demon’s Souls, so I can’t say much on the remake. I don’t even know if Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls are part of the same series.

Are we going to ignore that, fundamentally, this game’s unique selling point is that it has checkpoints?

Full transparency here, I had this game pegged as a Resident Evil game as soon as there was an old man in the trailer, and I’ve never played a Resident Evil game. I just associate old men in video games with horror, and Resident Evil is one of the first horror games that come to mind.

Looks like someone saw Death Stranding and thought “I can do that, too!”

Yeah, well, you can’t.

Given the hype I saw surrounding this game, I feel like I should probably play the first one. I’m just concerned it might not be my sort of thing. It’s one of those things I want to like, but I’m not sure I want to put my money where my mouth is before being sure - so we’re stuck in stalemate.

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heartslogos · 5 years ago

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the executive assistant to the batman [54]

On a very fluid sliding scale of absolutely intolerable to best any situation can be, holiday shopping lands closer to the best of any situation. Of all of his duties as executive assistant, the is the easiest.

There are always articles in the tabloids and short segments on talk shows regarding what you get the person who has everything, and whenever one of the Waynes are scheduled for a holiday season interview it’s always a question that comes up.

In actuality it’s extremely easy. Tim barely even has to think to get the Waynes’ shopping done.

Naturally, Tim also buys gifts for various people on the board and other high ranking members of WE and its affiliate organizations, writes the holiday greeting cards, and organizes other holiday events for the employees. Tim is also on the company’s holiday committee though this is by default rather than because he volunteered. All of that can be difficult. It can also be time consuming and especially tedious if he has other things to be doing.

But the Wayne’s themselves? So easy.

Tim and Mr. Wayne have had an understanding going for the past several years.

Ever since Mr. Wayne realized he wanted Tim to be locked in as his in-house entertainment, personal assistant, and did everything he could to quite ruthlessly destroy every single escape route Tim could possibly find to get away from such an eternal, endless, slog of a life, and Tim realized that there was no escaping this except by going through it and outlasting the bastard, Tim’s realized that he has to attempt to make this situation livable. And Mr. Wayne also has to put in some minimum effort into not overtly killing Tim from overwork and stress.

So every year Mr. Wayne asks Tim what he wants for Christmas.

Every year Tim asks for his release from indentured servitude and Mr. Wayne laughs, says, “you’re such a jokester, Tim,” and the conversations stops there.

Every year Tim gets one freebie. Mr. Wayne and each of his hellions that form his legion of children all give Tim one freebie. Be it an interview, some sort of charity event, stock holder’s meeting, or whatever, they go. They go, they don’t cause trouble, they get everything they’re supposed to do done and maybe throw in a little extra on top of that, the entire thing is uneventful and relatively normal and overall less than maybe one or two sentences listed as an aside on evening news. One event per person that Tim doesn’t have to worry about while he’s worrying about everything else.

And he doesn’t even have to worry about retribution or redistribution of stress because they don’t make another event or outing extra terrible. They’re just good.

It’s not quite release from the perpetual wheel of horror that his life has turned into, but it’s a brief respite where he can allocate his precious time and attention into worrying about something else or possible revenge at a later date.

And in return Tim does his job. Which doesn’t sound like much, but Tim has a job with a large breadth and depth of on and off the paper duties.

The job of an executive assistant is to make sure that everything is ready for his boss to do what he needs to do without any fuss or questions or hitches. Tim’s job is to make sure that Mr. Wayne has what he needs, when he needs it, exactly as he needs it in order to do whatever it is he needs to do and it’s also Tim’s job to make sure that he can get there, get away from there, has everything he needs to know regarding the situation, and all the research done on the fall out of the situation and the possible impacts of the situation.

His job also includes taking care of situations that might fall below Mr. Wayne’s priority and putting out the small fires here and there so Mr. Wayne can focus on the big things that he actually cares about.

This may include handling smaller meetings with clients, arranging cars for pick up and transport, organizing Mr. Wayne’s schedule, keeping a fully stocked bedroom and ensuite bathroom with spare suits and toothbrush in the penthouse suite, monitoring the daily welfare of the main corporate office, listening to various complains from department heads and consolidating them into something more streamlined and easy to answer, and occasionally lying to other people.

This year Tim’s gift is going to be a little of all of the above pushed to the maximum.

He’s going to ask Li to pass Mr. Wayne’s aviation tech request.

He’s never asked Li for any kind of favor before, he’s never asked her to bend any kind of rules or make any sort of compromise, and he’s never asked her for something she can’t deliver. Tim’s going to be relying very heavily on this in order to see if she’s willing to allow an exception this one time. He might never be able to pull this off again.

He’s going to ask on Thursday, because Li hates being asked for favors on Fridays, and every other day of the week is literal hell on legs for her. He’s asking her on Thursday, just before lunch, which is when her workload is at its lowest and she’s usually in her best mood.

Tim’s assembled his offerings.

One glass bottle of her preferred pen ink, black of course. He’s asked Arthur to send up a peach tea infusion — Li does not drink coffee and has a strict rule about drinking water at work only. But she will make exceptions for tea when it’s cold and close to her lunch break.

He’s not sure what he’s going to wear yet, but he’s fairly sure he’s going to lean towards his black suit. Keep it simple.

“Tam, do you think Li would like the black suit or the navy better?” Tim asks. “Tie or no tie? I don’t want her to think it’s an official request or make her feel pressured into it or anything.”

“You definitely don’t, that’s a one way ticket to a hell beyond salvation.” Tam shakes her head, “Don’t ask me. I’ve never had to ask Li for a favor before. You should just get your boss a gift card. Or cancel one of the boring meetings. Going to Li for a favor? That’s a lot.”

“It’s the holidays,” Tim replies, “I’m doing something nice. ’Tis the season for holidays miracles and all.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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