#you know what he deserved what dumb & dumber did to his books

[zazikels]

Are you still apart of the ASOIAF fandom by any chance? Did you hear about George Rail Road Martin setting up a patreon lol? Literally anything but finishing those books lmao.

Anon, I longed for this to be a joke but I looked it up and nope it's real he announced it on his blog and okay, I'm sorry, the fact that the heat death of the universe will occur before we get twow aside, this is beyond fucking greedy for a man who is definitely making millions every year what the fuck. He doesn't NEED a patreon.

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Broken Pieces

Lee Jihoon x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Words: 5,3k

Warnings: protective bff & bias wrecker Choi Seungcheol; adult language; dumb and dumber, featuring awkward interactions.

[Soulmate AU] Your friend broke your soulmate's heart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of both his and your own heart.

(A spin-off / sequel to my soulmate!Kwon Soonyoung fic: "Right? Right.")

Your soulmate mark was a cat – just as your grandmother had predicted. Perhaps she knew what was good for you, perhaps she just knew you – either way she had been correct.

It was a doodle of a small fluffy cat who always seemed to be either busy or sleeping. Just like the marks of your friends, the cat went about its day on your wrist like an alive tattoo. Sometimes it slept, sometimes it read a book, sometimes it played piano – you wondered if your soulmate did the same.

The mark appeared on your sixteenth birthday and while you hoped you’d find your soulmate soon, it would be years until you saw him for the first time.

Your second year at university. That is when you met Lee Jihoon – handsome, soft-spoken, full of smiles and hope. He had chosen the same minor subject as you. 

At first you thought he was just another guy you’d have a crush on – just a hopeless short-term fantasy until you’d find the perfect person. But you were proven wrong four weeks into knowing him.

“Woah, careful there,” he spoke as he gently pushed you back upright after you had stumbled in the café. Queues are dangerous, you knew that already, but suddenly they were also a blessing. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, a jolt of electricity ran through you. He seemed to pay it no mind, only offering you a friendly smile before turning back to his girlfriend. 

When you looked at your mark, the cat was clawing as if to break out of your skin and run to him. When you glanced at his wrist, a similar doodle – a spotted cat – was just as excited to meet your mark.

That was when you knew – Lee Jihoon was your soulmate. 

But the smile he offered to her told you that you stood no chance. Even if the fates had meant for you to meet and fall in love, your heart seemed to be meant to break. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night – whether from heartbreak or from the joy of finally finding him, you weren’t sure.

Months passed of just watching him. You didn’t dare to make conversation, didn’t dare to even look at him for long. Your heart ached for him. 

It was unfair to break his heart for stupid revenge. It was unfair to do his heart any harm at all. He deserved better.

Jihoon’s heart that held so much love once, and now you wondered if he would ever be able to feel love again at all – you didn’t think you would. Even just watching his heart break from the sidelines had been too painful. 

“Have you considered talking to him for a change?” Seungcheol suggested when he caught you staring at Jihoon at lunch. You failed to feel any amusement at his words even as he laughed at you.

Instead, you offered him a mild glare. “You think he’d want to talk to anybody after what he went through?”

“I mean,” Seungcheol thought for a moment before grimacing, “yeah, you have a point there.”

“I always have a point, Cheol,” you told him proudly and continued eating your food. “Besides, he probably wouldn’t talk to one of her friends anyway.”

Her. Han Eunmi. The girl who claimed to be his soulmate and broke his heart into a thousand pieces before you could tell him the truth and save him.

She had been your first friend at university. Her bright eyes and sweet smile were always the first to greet you in lectures. She always saved you a seat, even to this day. But something in her changed when she met her soulmate – you could barely recognise her anymore. Your best friend was your best friend no more.

“You should just grow some balls and tell him,” Seungcheol told you once again. He was all too familiar with the distant vengeful glint in your eyes. 

You wanted to kick him. “Says the one that still keeps covering his mark because of his commitment issues?” 

Glancing down at the near-comical amount of chain bracelets and the raccoon doodle sniffing around under them on his wrist, he pouted at your words. “I just don’t love the thought of soulmates.”

“No,” you laughed, “you just don’t like the thought of possibly getting your heart broken.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” 

Back when you first met him, you had felt so hopeful, so excited for your future. Watching him from afar was one thing, standing side-to-side with him in the café line was different. You could practically feel the fluffy cat on your wrist tugging you closer to him, scratching and jumping every time you moved your arm. 

But then she had uttered those words and your world collapsed inwards: “This is my boyfriend.” Even now you feel a little nauseous thinking about the moment: the self-satisfied smile on her face, the love-sick smile on his, his arm around her waist. You couldn’t even replay the memory in your head without wanting to cry.

You glanced towards Jihoon.

“He already got his heart broken,” you mumbled to Seungcheol dejectedly. “I don’t want to add to his problems.”

“I feel like finding his real soulmate would be the opposite of a problem for that poor guy,” Seungcheol said – no, stated. He was certain of his words. 

You wished they were true. With a sigh, you whispered, “Just leave it, Cheol. There’s no point anymore. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t even believe in soulmates anymore.”

It was obvious by the look in his eyes that Seungcheol wanted to argue. But he knew you well enough to not push it anymore.

“For this project, I need you guys to pair up,” professor Byun started, sounding about as tired as you felt in this 8 am class. Maybe he, too, craved an early coffee that he’d failed to acquire in his hurry to get to class on time. The thought made him a little more tolerable in your eyes.

“Do you guys want to pair up on your own or should I just do it myself?” he asked the class, but his eyes were practically begging you to choose the first option. Unluckily for your introvert self, the class immediately called out to pair up among themselves. He breathed out in relief just as you sighed in defeat. 

“Alright, I’ll give you guys…” He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Ten minutes to pick a partner and a movie from this list. Remember to write your names next to the movie title in the shared document on so that others know it’s taken. I’ll go and get some coffee in the meantime.”

As you looked around the lecture room, you found yourself making a wish for the floor to swallow you whole. 

No one in your limited friend group had picked this film studies class – most of them citing the 8 am time slot as the reason –, so who were you supposed to partner up with? A stranger who more than likely wouldn’t do any of the work or – even better and your personal favourite – would drop out of the course in the coming week and leave you without as much as a note. 

“Hey,” you then heard his voice and you didn’t know whether you felt nauseous from fear or excitement. You turned your head to find Jihoon standing right there, hand on the chair next to you, a tired look on his face – the same look he’d been wearing since Eunmi crushed his heart in her hands with a giggle. He took a deep hesitant breath. “Do you want to– You don’t have to but I don’t know anyone else in this class… So, maybe, you and I–”

Though a little breathless that he was even talking to you, you straightened in your seat and nodded. “Sure, we can partner up.”

A polite smile appeared on his lips before he pulled out a chair and sat next to you. He glanced at the film list projected onto the room’s screen. “So… Do you have a particular film you want to pick for this?”

You shook your head. “I was hoping you did.”

He grimaced and chuckled. “Well, at least we’re on the same page about that.”

As if we’re soulmates or something. You almost uttered those words. You were glad you caught them before they slipped out.

“Let’s–”

“Should we–”

“Oh.” He laughed. “You go first.”

“No, you.”

“No, you–” He sighed before suggesting, “First free film on the list?”

You nodded immediately. That had been your thought as well, after all. 

“So, what film is it?” he wondered, leaning over to read your laptop screen. Your rational brain wanted to shove him away; your emotional brain wanted to pull him even closer. It was hard to get anything done in that condition. 

You pulled yourself together, ignoring the sweet scent of his cologne and the almost-there tickle of his hair against yours, and scrolled through the shared document. “Let’s see… The Pianist, 2002.”

Jihoon’s brows rose in surprise. “I do love pianos.”

“I doubt it has a lot to do with pianos,” you mumbled, but didn’t need any further confirmation to put your names down next to the title. Both of your names. Next to each other. Your heart stuttered at the sight.

“It has to have at least a little bit to do with pianos,” he insisted with furrowed brows. You laughed, earning a disbelieving wide-eyed look from him. “No? You’re doubting it?”

“Maybe.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment before relaxing in his chair again. “So, when do you want to work on this project? I’m free to meet on Mondays.”

It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, lips parting in surprise. “You… want to meet? In person?”

He blinked. “Yes? Like normal people? Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, no, it’s just that–” You took a deep breath under his watchful eyes. “I figured that after what happened with Eunmi, you’d–”

“Dig myself a cave to die in? Stop socialising completely?” He sighed and looked away. “Look: as long as you don’t bring her around to our meetings, we’ll be fine. I just– I don’t even want to be in the same building as her.” His gaze was sharp when he looked at you again. “And I’m only tolerating you because of this class.”

Were words supposed to hurt like that?

“So, Monday, in the library?” he spoke again as if he hadn’t just thrown a metaphorical dagger into your heart. 

You nodded. “I’ll see you Monday.”

He didn’t speak another word to you in that entire class.

Seungcheol was quick to notice your mood being more dejected than usual at lunch. Affectionate by nature, his fingers reached across the picnic table to find yours and give them a little squeeze.

The gesture only made you want to cry more: why couldn’t he be your soulmate instead?

“Did something happen in class?” he asked, eyeing you cautiously. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.” A complete lie and even he knew it.

He called out your name in a warning tone – like a father getting ready to reprimand his rebellious child. “What happened and what can we do to fix it?”

“I don’t think there’s any way to fix anything,” you mumbled and lifted your fork to your lips to take a bite of your lunch. There was no joy in the taste of your favourite meal on this day.

Seungcheol frowned. “Is this about Jihoon again? What happened this time?” 

“He wanted to pair up for a project,” you told him and his expression morphed into a bright smile – one that screamed “See! I told you he’d see the light!” – but his face promptly dropped into a scowl when you added on, “and then he told me that he only tolerated me because of our film studies class.”

“He said that?” he spoke lowly. 

“His exact words.” It wasn’t even like he actually intentionally broke your heart. It must have been the stupid soulmate bond acting up and making you more emotional about this than necessary. “I don’t know why I’m so sad about this.”

“He’s cruel. That’s why.” 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though. He’s cruel and he’s dumb and he doesn’t deserve you.” He nodded his head in confirmation when you looked up at him again. 

You scoffed out a laugh. “Why do you think he’s dumb anyway? He does well in our classes.”

“He may be academically gifted but he had his soulmate under his goddamn nose this whole time and he didn’t even realise,” he practically whined. “If that’s not dumb, I’m the king of Korea.”

You contemplated for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just give up this fantasy of mine and find someone who actually likes me.”

“You– I–” His frown deepened almost comically. “That is not what I meant at all.”

“You just said–”

“Stop listening to what I say!”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank god you’re not my soulmate.”

“Okay, I’m not that bad.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you stick around.”

Your gaze drifted to where Jihoon was seated under a maple tree with his friends. “Maybe I just have bad taste.”

[I’ll be waiting at 3 in the library. Room A232. – Jihoon]

Seungcheol mumbled something under his breath as he accompanied you to the library. Before you could ask him about it, he turned to you. “Can’t you just tell him you’re his soulmate? What’s the worst that could happen?”

You stared at him. He quickly realised the error of his words.

“I just mean that maybe he’d like to know. Maybe he’d act a little warmer towards you if he did.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting him to treat me like,” you said. “He knows me as Eunmi’s friend. As someone complicit in the worst lie of his life. He’s treating me very nice all things considered.”

“Well, he still should know,” he decided. “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, big guy. I’ll see you in the journalism section in a few hours?”

He sighed. “As always. Wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

And just like that, he picked a direction and headed that way – to his lonely little napping spot between shelves of journalism guidebooks. It was a good thing he got along so well with the librarians.

Though you weren’t a stranger to this library, you still felt a little out of place this time. Maybe it was the nerves of meeting Jihoon again. You hadn’t seen him even once outside of the one film studies class you both took. 

Or perhaps you were just anxious about the fact that you had failed to watch the film due to reasons out of your control. Lee Jihoon was notorious for having a short fuse with his peers. You weren’t sure you could handle falling even further down his list.

The plaque on the door read A232. You double-checked it. Triple. Four times. Five–

Jihoon startled you by opening the door. “Are you going to come in or do you expect a formal invitation?”

“I… was just checking,” you mumbled and brushed past him into the little study room. You placed your things down opposite of the seat he had occupied. This was it – the end of your life. You hadn’t even said goodbye to Seungcheol. You sighed, closed your eyes in anticipation of the scolding that would follow, and confessed, “I didn’t watch the film. I’m sorry.”

You were ready for an onslaught of sharp words, the scolding of a lifetime, maybe even some screaming and him telling you that you were just as bad as Eunmi.

But it never came. 

He sat down and hummed. “Yeah, I didn’t have time to watch it either.”

Dumbfounded, you opened your eyes to stare at him. He felt your gaze on him and looked up from his screen with an awkward tight-lipped smile. “What?”

“I thought you’d yell at me,” you spoke faster than your filter could catch. 

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “I thought you were going to yell at me.”

“What now?” you thought out loud. You hadn’t prepared for this scenario, not even close.

Jihoon made faces – scrunching up his face and frowning between silly smiles and pursed lips – as he considered the options. “We could… watch it now?”

“Like, now?”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t have any plans for the next couple of hours. Do you?” You shook your head, too speechless to actually respond. “Then let’s watch it. I have a speaker somewhere in my bag– Hold on. I’ll get it.”

Your brain was severely lagging behind. You hadn’t even realised the implications of his words. Your jaw dropped. “You mean–? You want to watch it together? Here?”

“I mean,” he paused and looked at you, “I wouldn’t mind picking a different place. We could go to the courtyard. Or a café. Well, probably not a café but–”

“There’s a lounge room on the third floor,” you blurted out. “There are sofas and a vending machine.”

Jihoon brightened up at your words. “That sounds perfect. Let’s go?”

“Sure,” you breathed out, unable to believe this was happening at all. 

It took barely 5 minutes for the two of you to get to the lounge room. Jihoon was quick to occupy a three-person sofa in the corner of the room, right between the vending machine and the ceiling high window. With a victorious smile, he patted the spot next to him. 

You must have been too slow for his liking because tilted his head to the side, eyes still on you. “Did you want this spot instead? I’m okay with either. Just say the word.”

You said nothing and took the spot he had previously offered. The less you spoke, the less likely you were to piss him off – it was only logical. 

As you sat there and waited for him to set up his laptop and speaker, you glanced at your wrist. The fluffy cat on your skin was endlessly, tirelessly running towards him, looking back at you as if to convince you to reach for Jihoon. 

You looked to his wrist instead, wondering, perhaps hoping that you’d find a similar doodle trying to get to you. Even if it just glanced, just to confirm. But his soulmate mark was hidden, covered with a black wrist support.

He glanced back at you before lifting said wrist. “Are you looking at this?”

Cursing yourself for getting caught staring, you nodded and tried to act like your ears and cheeks weren’t burning. 

He shrugged. “My wrist hurts sometimes. Nothing to worry about.”

Deflecting. You knew him well enough to know that even if he was telling the truth, it was only half of one. He was lying to save his pride.

“My roommate has the same one,”  you said, deciding to go along with his narrative. “She says it doesn’t help a lot though.”

“It’s the cheapest one I could find,” he replied with a shrug before turning back to his laptop, searching for the film. “Do you live at the dorms?”

“Yep.” But he knew this already. He used to visit Eunmi there, right across the hall from you. You cleared your throat and willed the thought to go away. “That’s why I didn’t manage to watch the film. I was going to watch it over the weekend, but the dormitory wi-fi was the slowest it has ever been.”

He scoffed on your behalf. “That sounds awful. What did you do in the meantime then?”

“My roommate had to bring out the board games. So, Monopoly.”

He laughed and sat back on the sofa, leaning closer to you to hear more. “That almost sounds even worse. Any friendships ruined that night?”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” you laughed along, almost forgetting you were nervous to be around him in the first place, “we played Monopoly for two days straight. The same game. It just didn’t end. My roommate and her boyfriend are no longer on speaking terms.”

“Monopoly truly does ruin relationships.” He laughed harder, almost leaning against you entirely in the fit of giggles. “Did you win? Who won?”

“I came in third place.”

“Out of three?”

You nodded shamefully as he laughed even harder, this time fully resting his head on your shoulder. He quickly leaned away though, much to your disappointment, but his giggles never ceased. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Despite the shared laughter at your study sessions and sitting together in class, Jihoon never acknowledged you outside of the lecture room. He barely even glanced your way when you passed him in the hallways; he definitely never returned any waves or even nods. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Seungcheol was left to gather the pieces of your confidence. Though he was vehement that there was no soulmate for him and he’d be happy being single his entire life, he refused to let you suffer the same fate. 

It was already getting painful to watch you mimic his habit: hiding the fluffy cat under a variety of bracelets and wristbands, covering it with long sleeves whenever the weather allowed. Your hope had turned into anxiety in front of his very eyes and he’d be damned if he let you continue down this path.

“If you don’t tell him, I will.” – he was going to stand by these words. Even when you practically begged him not to.

“He won’t like it,” you’d told him. 

“He’d be upset with the both of us,” you’d scolded him when he presented the idea again two weeks later.

“Why would he even believe you?” you’d scoffed.

He decided he’d make Jihoon believe him. So, after sending you off to class, he located your soulmate in the same lounge room you’d introduced to him. He was even resting on the same sofa.

Seungcheol stood in front of him and cleared his throat. 

Jihoon straightened up immediately at that, pulling his laptop screen down. “Can I help you with something?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About…?” Jihoon scoffed when Seungcheol offered him no further context. “Listen, if this is about something (Y/n) said or did–”

“She never told you, did she?” he asked. “You still don’t know.”

His counterpart blinked. “Know what? What is this? Do you have no one else to play mind games with?”

“Jihoon,” he sighed, “she’s your soulmate.”

His words were met with a frown. “What nonsense are you speaking now? No, first you barge in here, and now you’re making up stories– Does she know you’re here?”

“She knows I made a promise. For her.” Seungcheol closed his eyes and spoke as calmly as he could, “She’s your soulmate. She’s the little spotted cat on your wrist. You’ve been breaking her heart this entire time and I’m sick of it.”

Jihoon’s frown deepened. His hand clenched into a fist in his lap as he spoke, “If she’s– Why didn’t she say anything?”

“That you’ll have to ask her yourself. I just came here to balance the scales – it seemed unfair that she suffer with the knowledge but you break her heart with every word.” Seungcheol sighed and opened his eyes again, gaze hardening. “What you do with this knowledge is up to you. But if you break her heart any further, I will break you.”

You were blissfully unaware of your best friend’s actions. In fact, you hadn’t seen him since lunch. You had been preoccupied with making the slides of your film studies presentation more, –well–, presentable.

The courtyard was a perfect spot for drawing inspiration for slide designs: the fresh air did wonders to your brain and the constant distant chatter of your fellow students served as white noise. You were on a roll. 

Who knows, you thought to yourself, maybe Jihoon will even grace you with his proud smile when you show him the presentation.

Suddenly, a strange feeling filled you. You habitually glanced down at your wrist – the cat was standing on his hind legs, as if trying to peek over a fence to see what was in front of you. Like he was expecting his owner back from a long trip.

“So it really is you,” you then heard his voice. 

Your head snapped up to look at Jihoon standing right in front of you, his eyes trained on his own wrist – miraculously uncovered this time, the usual black band crumpled in his other hand. 

Your voice and words betrayed you, they left you fighting in the battle field all alone. You gulped. Instead of acknowledging his words, as if doing so would make the situation disappear, you turned your laptop his way. Your voice wavered as you told him, “I made some changes to the slides. Thought it would look better if we made them prettier. What do you think?”

But Jihoon kept staring at his wrist as if you weren’t even there. How could he not stare at the spotted cat he’d spent all these years mindlessly glancing at, following, and talking to in the moonlight? The cat who had once stood for a broken dream now stood for a new hope. 

Finally, he tore his eyes from the cat – the mark of you – and looked at you instead. There was something so incredibly sorrowful about the look in his eyes, you could barely fight the urge to cry. He didn’t bother to do the same. 

A tear slipped down his cheek as he shakily breathed out. “You could’ve told me, (Y/n). Why wouldn’t you– Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid,” you confessed, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d want to know. Not after what she did to you.”

He scoffed. “You watched her lie and break my heart and it never occurred to you to just… tell me? To just say you were the one? That I was looking the wrong way?”

You wanted the ground to take you away. It would’ve hurt less than this confrontation. All of these eyes curiously watching from a distance, the whole campus witnessing him breaking your heart – it was too much. Even if he was right to be mad. 

“Jihoon…”

“What were you so afraid of?” he wondered, frown deepening and voice raising by the word. “That I would reject you in favour of her? That she would stop being your friend because you foiled her plans? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but she’s clearly not a good friend so why are you still siding with her?!”

“I’m not!”

“It sure seems that way!”

You glared at him. “I stopped talking to Eunmi the minute she told me what she had done!” 

Jihoon expression softened at your words. So did yours. You sniffled. “I had already let her go too far because she was the only friend I had when I first came here. She was the only friend I had known. I didn’t want to lose both my best friend and my soulmate. I thought–” You took a deep breath and avoided his eyes. “I thought if I couldn’t have my soulmate, I’d at least have a loyal friend who wouldn’t let me feel lonely. I was mistaken.”

Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. His arm dropped, his eyes following as if to make sure the spotted cat remained. 

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered once again before stepping closer, crouching to your level. He sighed once more. Then you felt warm fingers around your wrist. “Had you told me–”

“Just reject me and be done with it,” you begged. “Don’t make this even worse. I deserve my heart shattered, but at least make it quick.”

He frowned. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Then finish quicker. I still have a presentation to–”

“Had you told me,” he started again, more assertively this time, his hand holding yours tightly as if to anchor you to him, “I would’ve rejected her and run to you back then already. I would’ve believed you without any hesitation. But seeing as that didn’t happen,” he sighed and you braced yourself for a proper heartbreak, “I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

Your heart stopped beating. At least it felt like it did. Your eyes widened while searching his. Instead of a scowl or a frown or a glare, you found yourself on the receiving end of a fond smile. 

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?!”

“As serious as Seungcheol is about breaking me if I break your heart,” he promised with a soft laugh. His fingers still never left your hand, only sliding down to lock with yours.

You groaned and closed your eyes in despair. “...He’s the one that told you.”

“I’m glad he did,” he laughed, “because I don’t think you would’ve told me for a while, and I certainly wouldn’t have figured it out anytime soon.”

“We’re both dumb, aren’t we?” you mumbled, finally opening your eyes again once the embarrassment faded. 

“Complete idiots, the both of us.”

“Soulmates,” you joked.

“Soulmates,” he confirmed with a laugh.

You still wondered though. “Why aren’t you more mad at me?”

He shrugged and sat down next to you, shoulder to shoulder, on purpose this time. “I thought I was at first. But I don’t think you’re at fault for what Eunmi did to me. You were just trying your to be a good friend.” Seeing your sheepish smile, he nudged you playfully before whispering, “Plus, I’m not entirely sure I could take Seungcheol in a fight.”

You laughed. “I guess that’s one perk of being his friend.”

Jihoon smiled. “He seems like a great friend. I like him better than I liked Eunmi.”

“I do too.”

“What do you say we give this a proper try?” he suggested, holding out his hand for you to take, the doodle-like cat on his wrist full on display.

You smiled. When you lifted your hand to meet his, the fluffy cat rushed to meet his spotted one where your skin touched. Their noses pressed together happily, the cats nuzzling into each other’s necks after finally meeting each other after all this time of being so close but never close enough. 

“I’d like that,” you told him and he breathed out in relief. 

With the awkward distance out of the way, sitting beside him didn’t feel as nerve-wracking as it once had. It felt natural to be in his presence now. You wondered if you’d be drawn to him soon, just as your soulmate marks were drawn to each other.

“How did you find me here anyway?” you asked him after a moment of silence.

He shrugged. “I followed the cat. Figured that if Seungcheol was right, the mark would lead me right to you.” He gestured around. “It did.”

“Huh.” You pursed your lips in thought before giggling. “I guess I should’ve tried that when I was looking for you earlier.”

“Earlier? Today?” he wondered.

You remembered your laptop all of a sudden, pulling it closer to the two of you. “I made some changes to our presentation. I wanted to show you and then we could maybe work on it a little. Hold on.”

“Right now?” He seemed amused at the idea when you nodded. “Sure, we could do that. Or, – hear me out –, we could go on a little date to make up for lost time.”

But as tempting as that sounded… 

“The presentation is due tomorrow morning, Jihoon.”

He grimaced. “Brunch date tomorrow then?”

“... I could fit that into my schedule.”

Note: I only wrote this so I'd have an excuse to later write cute university boyfriend / soulmate Jihoon fics as sequels lol

[bigskydreaming]

My TW fandom experience:

*Everyone watches the exact same episode where Scott McCall says what if we dont kill people tho and after much deliberation, its agreed lets not kill people this episode and this is the only reason most former villains and fan favorites stick around and become the pack's new besties instead of being written out of the show due to the pack's initially proposed solution of Ready Set Murder*

Most of fandom: Well that was terrible. He's literally the worst. They should've just killed the villains, problem solved, why is he so dumb. Inquiring minds want to know.

Also most of fandom:

*writes fics where nobody cares what Scott says or thinks because they all agree, he's literally the worst, so dumb, why is he even here*

*fics remain mysteriously populated by all the characters everyone says the mains should absolutely have murdered to fix all their problems and the only reason they didnt in canon is Scott insidiously mind-controlled his friends into non-homicidal compliance*

Scott fans: .....hang on. I'm confused.

Most of fandom: What's confusing dumbass, literally why would they kill the villains that are hot and white and shippable instead of just making friends with them so that sometimes they can get married and have kids? Its called letting people change and grow, even mass murderers deserve redemption arcs. Also I dont know if you know this but murder is bad, plz read more books. LOL why are Scott fans like this.

Scott fans: Wait. But didn't all the characters want to murder that villain you made the central character and one half of the hero pair of 70% of the fics written last season? So who said what if we dont kill people tho and got everyone to change their votes from Ready Set Murder to Redemption Arc Marriage and then maybe babies?

Most of fandom: Umm, Stiles? Obviously. LMAO. Do you even watch the show?

Scott fans: Okay, but Stiles was the one who pitched Ready Set Murder. It was his plan. So who was like what if we dont kill people to Stiles, so that then he said wait guys lets not kill people?

Most of fandom: Oh that was Peter. They have a special bond. He gets him.

Scott fans: Right. So did Peter sell Stiles on the whole lets not kill people thing before he killed his niece and then like ten other people? Or was it after that.

Most of fandom: Before. No! Wait. After! Yeah, it was after that.

Scott fans: Got it. So who said what if we dont kill people to Peter to get him to agree lets not kill people which he definitely did since he definitely did not continue to kill people all the way to the end of the show?

Most of fandom: .....Deucali....

Scott fans: *squint one eye*

Most of fandom: .....heo....?

Scott fans: *squint both eyes*

Most of fandom: Derek! Right, yeah. Derek, it was definitely Derek.

Scott fans: Oh okay. Derek said lets not kill people to Peter. I'm assuming after he killed Peter, since I mean, it wouldn't make much sense for him to be all hey what if we dont kill people to Peter and then literally kill Peter haha. We can at least agree on that much, right?

Most of fandom: I don't know that we can, actually.

Scott fans: Well, let's just say that it was after he killed Peter and thus after Peter came back. Which does make sense, I guess, I mean, at least that was also after he gave his pack the Go Kill Lydia assignment for their werewolf homework....

Most of fandom: Whoa, whoa, hold up. That has nothing to do with any of this. It was a totally different situation because Derek didnt WANT to kill Lydia, he HAD to kill Lydia. She was turning into an evil murder lizard, what was he supposed to do?

Scott fans: She quite literally was not.

Most of fandom: Okay but see he THOUGHT she was, which is basically the same thing.

Scott fans: Is it tho?

Most of fandom: Yes. Look, he was like, 60% sure it was her and that's over half sure so that's a reasonable conclusion to make at that point. Anyone would have made that mistake.

Scott fans: Except for Scott. Because he's so much dumber than everyone else.

Most of fandom: Yes! Exactly.

Scott fans: So when Scott said what if we dont kill people to Derek, and stopped him and his pack from killing Lydia, because murder is bad and Derek even agrees, its not like he WANTED to kill Lydia, he just HAD to kill Lydia because she was probably an evil murder lizard and what else was he gonna do.....Scott only said and did that because he was too dumb to come to the conclusion everyone smarter than him would reasonably come to....which was that Lydia had to die, even though murder is bad and she was maybe potentially not even technically an evil murder lizard?

Most of fandom: Right. So it doesnt count.

Scott fans: But it was good that he stopped them from killing Lydia though, right? Cuz everyone likes Lydia, and also, she wasnt actually the evil murder lizard, that was Jackson, and also, they turned out to not actually need to kill Jackson to stop him from being the evil murder lizard?

Most of fandom: ....yes but no. Like yes to all of that, but he was still wrong, is the point. So no.

Scott fans: So -

Most of fandom: Look I dont think you're getting it?! OMG, okay. I don't know if I can dumb it down any further, but lemme give it one last shot. 1) Murder is bad. 2) Even hot white villains deserve redemption arcs. 3) And Scott is terrible. There. Its really that simple lol.

Scott fans: Okay. So everyone deserves redemption. Any character can be better if the other characters give them a chance. Even mass murderers.

Most of fandom: Right.

Scott fans: But Scott is irredeemable. There's nothing that can make him any better so other characters shouldn't even bother giving him a chance. Because he's terrible.

Most of fandom: Also correct.

Scott fans: Because he's always saying murder is bad and what if we dont kill people tho.

Most of fandom: YES. Finally. Now you're getting it. Honestly, what was so hard about that.

[starryevermore]

sweet memories ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Either 3 separate ideas or all together into one: (for Knives out/Glass onion. Any character but probs best for detective Blanc)

● Getting drunk/tipsy and reminiscing their time in their training 

● Blanc (?) and reader on a case and one of them gets severely hurt and it’s a choice of whether they continue to chase suspect or help the other 

● one of them trying to re-enact what theoretically could have happened on a case, person b paying no attention to this, and suddenly person A is in front of them trying different death methods. Someone walking in and being horrified. Person B saying sorry, person A saying it’s normal. - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

summary: you and benoit reminisce on your relationship. 

word count: 1,613

warnings?: minor spoilers for glass onion, maybe slightly out of character benoit, established relationship, fluff, gunshot wound, mention of murder, not proofread

Benoit Blanc had not changed much since you had last seen him, you mused. Still had his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Still had a brain that run a million miles a minute. Still managed to impress you with every single thing he does. It was almost unfair, how perfect the man sitting across from you was. At least he had one fault that you knew of. At least you could still pull out the fact that you’ve beat him at every single game of Clue you played against him. He always hated when you did that, arguing that he wasn’t good at dumb games so it wasn’t fair to keep holding that over his head. But with that sparkling twinkle in his eyes, you knew he didn’t really mean it. Benoit was a teasing man—around you, at least. To the rest of the world, he was the world’s greatest detective. But to you, he was ole Benny, an awkward fella who was a far shout from the greatest at anything. 

“Ain’t seen you in a while,” he said, looking at you over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip of his drink. He set the glass down, smacking his lips. “You solve any good mysteries lately?”

“Nothing as great as you,” you said. “I mean, showing the world that Miles Brown is a complete nitwit? You’re really taking that whole eat-the-rich thing to heart.”

Benoit waved you off, shaking his head. “It was dumber than a game of Clue. Man didn’t even have the ability to come up with an original murder. Stole all his ideas from everyone.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least you finally won a game of Clue,” you teased, leaning forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Never thought I’d see the day. Someone should put that in the history books, you know. Benoit Blanc: World’s Greatest Detective, Bested by Clue Except for that One Time.”

“That’s a terrible title for a book. Nobody’d pick it up.”

“I would.”

“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one writin’ it.”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink. “Someone’s gotta expose you as the dork you truly are. Everyone acts like you’re some James Bond type o’ figure. They deserve to know you’re more of…I don’t know. Who’s the silliest character you can think of?”

Benoit hummed. “Clark Kent?”

“I said silliest character, not the character you’ve got the hots for!” you laughed. 

“Oh, come on! The whole glasses disguise? Seriously? No one ever thought, hey this guy looks kinda sorta similar to Superman? I refuse to believe that!”

“Not everyone is as brilliant as you, Benny boy,” you said. You took another sip of your drink. “God, I hate Superman. Remember that one time, when we were working a case together? The jewelry heist case?”

Benoit’s face turned red. He probably didn’t like thinking of that case very much. You couldn’t blame him, if you were being honest. You didn’t like to think of it, either. “You know I could never forget that case.”

“All I really remember of it is bein’ in the hospital. They had stupid Superman movie playing all the time. Man of Steel, or somethin’? I used to like it before, but god, a guy can only watch that shit so many times before it gets annoyin’. I swear, if I see Henry Cavill put on that super suit again, it’d be too soon.”

“I’d prefer to remember it as the day I realized I love you,” Benoit said. 

You let out a laugh. “What, it took me being on my death bed to realize you loved me?”

It had been a complete and utter disaster. It wasn’t often that you and Benoit worked together on a case. But this was a tough nut to crack, so Benoit invited you along, telling the client that if she wanted the case to be solved, it was imperative you be there, too. The client hadn’t really been willing, but recognized she had no real choice in the matter so she bit her tongue. After all, she wanted to make sure she was not the victim in the jewelry heist. 

Things had gone well enough, if you were being honest. After a few false starts and some misleading clues, you and Benoit were close to triumphant. But neither of you could have expected the suspect to have a gun, much less use it. 

He’d been aiming at Benoit. You panicked, your blood running cold. Before you could even think about what you were doing, you jumped and positioned yourself between Benoit and the bullet. It struck you, lodging itself in your side. You screamed as you fell, hitting the floor, hard. 

Pain practically blinded you as you reached up, touching your wound. When you pulled your hand away, it was sticky with blood. You lifted your head, seeing Benoit falling to his knees, his hand covering your wound, applying pressure. You twisted your head the best you could, watching as the suspect ran.

“Go,” you whispered. You couldn’t manage to make your voice any louder. Took too much energy. “You’re gonna lose him. We won’t get another chance like this.”

“I can’t lose you,” Benoit said. 

“I’ll be fine, go get him.”

“Don’t make me leave you,” Benoit whispered, leaning over you, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

“It was an emotional moment!” Benoit argued. “It ain’t strange for things to be revealed in times of high stress, you know.”

“I know,” you said. You reached over, grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I just hate that it took you so long. To think we might have gotten together a lot sooner if I told you I loved you when I realized.”

Benoit let out a laugh so loud it practically shook the walls of the kitchen. “Oh, come on. At least when I realized, it had a sort of morbid romantic edge. Yours was just me being an idiot!”

“Well, I love when you’re an idiot.”

It was the early days in your friendship. You and Benoit had often worked together back then, honing your detective skills, bouncing ideas off each other. It felt less like a job that way. It felt more like playing a game of Clue (despite Benny’s aversion to the game). In any case, it was more fun that way. Plus, it gave you and Benoit a chance to develop some more unconventional methods of solving cases. Which is exactly what you were doing. 

You and Benoit were working out how the victim may have died. You had narrowed down to a few different murder weapons that might have been it, but you and Benoit couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened. So, it was only natural that the two of you ran through some different scenarios in an effort to narrow some the possibilities. 

That was how you ended up straddling Benoit, who laid on his back on the floor, his hands above his head as if he were surrendering. Your breath caught in your throat at the position. You liked it—you like it a lot. But you forced yourself to ignore the thought about what it may be like if you were in this same position with a little less clothes. You had to remain professional. You had to. 

You raised your hand holding the prop knife, acting like you were going to drive it through Benoit’s chest. As you brought it down, the fake blade pushing itself into the handle, you frowned. This didn’t make sense. The victim had been fighting back, and this position didn’t give much opportunity to do it. “No, I don’t think it was like this. Here, trade places with me.”

You lifted yourself off of Benoit and laid on the floor. Benoit straddled you now. Your breath hitched as he reached down, his hands closing around your throat. 

“The victim had injuries on her hands, like someone’d been tryin’ to pry her hands off of ‘em,” Benoit said. 

“When the killer couldn’t do that, they kneed her in the stomach,” you continued, bring your leg up, pressing your knee into Benoit’s stomach. 

“And then—”

The door opened. There was a shout. Benoit lifted his head, his face tinted red as he looked at the person who walked inside. 

“Oh, god!” the person said. It was your client. Fuck. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t-to see anything!”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Benoit said. “We’re just tryin’ to act out the murder!”

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your head to look at her. “Totally normal. All the professionals do it.”

“I-I’ll leave you it then…”

She left as quick as she came, shutting the door behind you. As you and Benoit looked at each other again, you felt like your face was burning. 

“Um, so that seems like it was the way it happened…” you mumbled. 

“Right, right,” Benoit said, getting off of you. “Uh, with that done, we should start narrowing down the suspects, then.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

Because, holy fuck, how could you be in a position like this and just expect to continue on as normal? 

“If you love your idiot so much then, how ‘bout you join me in the bath, then?” Benoit asked. “Gets a bit lonely in there, you know.”

Your snorted. “Fine. But we’re not staying there for a week, alright?”

“I’m sure I could convince you otherwise.”

“We’ll see.”

Oh, how you loved your silly little detective. 

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

I just want Severus being a protective dad to Harry. Like,

(or, some conversations i think should happen.)

Year One

Severus: It’s not me, Harry.

Harry: But Dad, you like magical shiny things -

Severus: Harry. Go bother Professor Quirrell.

One book later…

Severus, storming through the castle on a rampage: WHO THE FUCK HIRED THAT TURBAN BITCH WHO TRIED TO KILL MY SON?!

Year Two

Harry: They’re going after Muggleborns. Like Mom and Hermione.

Severus: *pen snaps in his hand under desk* Hm. I’ll take care of it, Harry.

In Mcgonogall’s office later with her and Dumbledore…

Severus: My son is coming home with me whether you like it or not. And I’m inviting every other student too.

Dumbledore: We have everything under control.

Mcgonogall: Severus, I hate to break this to you, but four thousand students are not just going to follow you home.

Severus: *laser eyes ignite* They will if I offer them free A’s and no homework. And I think you’re forgetting that my son is the Chosen One, Minerva.

Mcgonogall: Bitch if you think I won’t slap you -

Dumbledore: *snores loudly*

The rest of the book later…

Severus: You are never allowed to speak Parseltongue again.

Harry: Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form?

Severus: *mocking Harry’s voice* Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form? We won’t, you idiot! I only do that for incredibly dangerous missions or to get some goddamn alone time!

Harry:

Harry:

Harry:

Harry: *starts to tear up*

Severus: Oh no. Oh no no no. Harry, no, don’t cry, not the crying, I didn’t mean, fuck, love, no, I, Harry -

Year Three

Harry: Dad, um… Professor Lupin invited me for tea.

Severus, without looking up from drawing smiley faces all over graded tests: Yes, yes. Go see him. Don’t be late. And tell him a good strong “fuck you” from me.

Half a book later…

Severus: I can’t believe you laughed at that paper’s comment on my nose.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: I did not marry James Potter and Lily Evans so our son could make fun of me. I have not dragged myself through thirteen years of your incessant crying and misplaced sarcasm to have you laugh at my nose. I could have killed myself Harry. You could have grown up with Petunia.

Harry: Dad, I’m sorry -

Severus, huffing and dropping down in his chair and turning his back on Harry: My only son. A traitor!

Harry: *groans*

The other half of the book later…

Severus: SIRIUS. THIS IS WHY YOU LET ME COME UP WITH THE PLANS.

Sirius: Snape -

Severus: SHUT UP YOU FOUL-BREATHED HEATHEN. COULD YOU NOT HAVE HAD THE COMMON DECENCY TO AT LEAST CLUE REMUS IN ON YOUR LITTLE PLAN?

Remus, stepping in front of Sirius: Now, Severus -

Severus, angrily pointing at them: NO! NO. HE’S YOUR HUSBAND, THAT MAKES YOU COMPLICIT. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?

Hermione: Uh, guys? Full moon?

Remus and Sirius: Shit.

Severus, already rolling up his sleeves and tugging his idiot son and said idiot son’s idiot friends out of the Shack: Come meet James, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. They’re not that bad, she said…

Year Four

Severus: No.

Harry: I didn’t put my name in there, believe me, but Dumbledore says -

Severus: Fuck Dumbledore. I’m your father and I said no.

Harry: Dumbledore says there’s wards -

Severus: No.

Harry: But -

Severus: No.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: No.

Most of a book later in Severus’ office…

Harry, curled against Severus’ robes: Dad, he just… and Cedric… he’s back… it’s all my fault - *bursts into tears*

Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head* Nonsense. I’ll protect you, love. You’re gonna be just fine. And Voldy dearest can just fuck right off if he thinks he can get to the son of James Potter and Severus Snape and Lily fucking Evans -

Harry: *laughs wetly and wipes his eyes and nose on Severus’ robes*

Severus: *withholds disownment*

Rest of the book later in Dumbledore’s office…

Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -

Severus: *whirls around and points angrily* NO. I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT ALBUS. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES MY SON HAS NARROWLY AVOIDED DEATH IN YOUR SCHOOL? I WANT MORE SECURITY PROTOCOLS AND I WANT THEM NOW.

Dumbledore: *face scrunches up like a lemon* You want me to… what, Harry-proof the school?

Severus: *crosses arms over chest* Yes.

Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -

Year Five

Severus: She did what.

Harry: *swallows nervously* Um. Nothing, Dad, just a blood quill -

Severus: A FUCKING WHAT NOW?!

Five minutes later…

Hermione: Harry? Why is your father cussing out Professor Umbridge and hexing her luggage when she’s not looking in the courtyard?

Ron: Yeah, and why’d I see him pay Fred and George like five hundred galleons in the hallway back there?

Harry, watching his father literally throw Umbridge down the steps while still shouting curse words in languages Harry didn’t even know existed: *facepalms*

Most of a book later…

Harry, sobbing and limping towards Severus: Dad… Dad, she killed… Dad, Sirius… *sobs brittlely*

Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head and pushes him gently into Remus’ shaking arms* Nonsense, love. Now, where’s the stupid veil?

Remus: *points trembling finger*

Severus: *nods sharply*

Severus: *returns ten minutes later dragging a soaking wet and violently shaking but otherwise fine Sirius Potter Lupin behind him* Found him.

Remus: *immediately pulls Sirius into the filthiest kiss of his life*

Severus: *wrinkles his nose* You’re welcome.

Harry: *laughs wetly and buries his face in Severus’ robes* Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you -

Severus: *awkwardly pats head* Um. Sure.

Unseen epilogue we all wanted…

Severus: I now pronounce you Dumb and Dumber.

Harry: *nudges Severus* Dad.

Severus: *huffs* Husband and husband, whatever.

Sirius: *grins devilishly and dips Remus back in a kiss*

Harry: *claps enthusiastically*

Severus: *gags to hide his face as he wipes away a tear*

At the reception…

Harry: *puts a flowercrown of lilies on Severus’ head*

Severus: I’m disowning you. You’re no longer my son. Enjoy homelessness, bitch -

Harry: Mum and Dad would like it.

Severus, now bright red and squeaky: Ah. Well. Fuck you.

Harry: *leans his head on Severus’ shoulder* I love you, Dad.

Severus, grumbling: You suck, kid.

Year Six

Severus: Give me your wand.

Harry: Dad -

Severus: Give me your wand.

Harry: Dad, Draco deserved it -

Severus: *shoots up and leans over the desk* Harry James Potter Evans Snape. No one deserves what you just did. What you just did was moronic, stupid, and above all, cruel. I know you’ve heard the stories about your idiot father and you know better than that, Harry. You are better than that. And if you want to make your parents proud, and I know you do, this incident will never be repeated. Do you understand?

Harry, in tears: Yes, Dad.

Severus, through gritted teeth: Yes, what?

Harry: Yes, I understand and I won’t do it again.

Severus: *sits back in his chair* Good. Now give me your wand.

Harry: *hands over wand*

Harry: *sniffs*

Severus, sighing and standing up: Come here.

Harry: *shuffles into his arms*

Severus: *kisses his head* I love you, kid.

Harry, sniffling: Mmph.

Severus: *closes his eyes* And I’m proud of you. We all are.

Harry: *laughs wetly and shoves his face into Severus’ robes* We’re proud of you too, Dad.

A quarter of a book later…

Harry: Hey Dad, I found this awesome book and I don’t know who wrote it but -

Severus: Give that to me, Harry.

Harry: But Dad! This thing is literally the only reason I’m passing Potions at all -

Severus: I know. Because you told Minerva you want to be an Auror. Now that, Mr. Potter, is a fucking lie, and you shouldn’t be taking Potions anymore. So. What do you really want to do?

Harry:

Harry:

Harry:

Harry: I wanna be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Severus: There you go. But bitch, if you get the position before me -

Harry: Dad -

Severus: And if you tell anyone who wrote this book I swear to Merlin I’ll make sure you meet your parents far earlier than expected -

Harry: The Half-Blood Prince? Why? Do you know him?

Severus:

Severus:

Severus:

Severus: I’m raising a dumbass.

Half a book later…

Harry: *bursts rudely into Severus’ office* Dad, Draco -

Severus: I know, Harry.

Harry: No, you don’t, this time I’m actually -

Severus: I know, Harry.

Harry: Dad, he’s -

Severus: *finally looks up from grading papers* Harry. I know. It’s okay.

Harry, sputtering: It’s not okay -

Severus: Harry, love. I don’t lie to you.

Harry:

Harry:

Harry:

Harry: I know. Okay.

Severus: *looks back down at his papers* Just don’t be dick.

Harry: I do not -

Severus: *raises his eyebrow*

Harry: Yes, Dad.

Three quarters of a book later…

Severus: So. Harry. I heard you’re dating Ginny Weasley.

Harry: No. Nope. I’m not.

Severus: I see. Well, either way -

Harry: Oh no.

Severus: Oh, yes. We need to have this conversation; you’re a growing sixteen year old boy. Of course, as your body grows there will be things -

Harry, bright red: No. No no no. Oh my god, Dad -

Severus, maintaining intense eye contact: When two or more people love each other very much, like your parents and I did -

Harry: *bolts right up* Dad, I will go to the Astronomy Tower and throw myself off right the fuck now if you don’t shut up, I swear to Merlin.

Severus: Good. Now, about protection -

Harry: I’ll do it.

Severus: So you’ve said. Madame Pomfrey has -

Harry: *throws his hands up in the air* I’m not even dating anyone!

Severus: *gives him a look* Of course people will be lining up eventually, you are the Chosen One after all.

Severus: *gives Harry a once-over and smirks*

Severus: Though I do wonder how you plan to defeat You-Know-Who when you can’t even sit through a discussion about the protection charms your mother cast when she sacrificed herself for you.

Harry:

Harry:

Harry:

Harry: OH MY GOD DAD THAT’S NOT FUNNY -

Severus: *giggling manically*

The rest of the book later…

Harry: Dad. No. Please, no.

Severus: I’m sorry, Harry.

Severus, externally: *looks at Dumbledore* Avada Kedavra.

Severus, internally: That’s what you get for hurting my son, you shitty old bitch.

Year Seven

Hermione: Harry, you need to talk about it.

Harry, setting up a tent “successfully”: Talk about what? I’m fine.

Hermione: *sighs* Your dad.

Harry: Okay. You wanna talk about your Obliviated parents?

Hermione:

Hermione:

Hermione:

Harry: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Ron: *accidentally knocks the tent over*

Meanwhile, Severus…

Severus, staring blankly at the Carrows: What son.

Carrow #1: *sneers* Your son. Harry Potter.

Severus:

Severus:

Severus:

Severus: You think I raised that idiot?

Carrow #2: That’s… actually a fair point.

Severus: *huffs and crosses his arms over his chest*

Severus: *flips hair*

Severus, internally: Damn right it is, bitch.

Severus, externally: See? Obviously not my son.

Carrow #1, snickering: Plus no one would ever sleep with you.

Severus: *turns his head slowly so he can glare right into Carrow #1’s eyes*

Severus, in that dangerous, painfully slow drawl of his: Of course not. Carrot.

In Mcgonogall’s office at three a.m….

Severus: Where is he?

Mcgonogall: I don’t know, Severus.

Severus: But he’s alive, right?

Mcgonogall, sighing: If he wasn’t we’d have heard by now.

Severus, pacing: Right. Right. He’s fine. He’s fine. Har - he’s fine.

Half a book later…

Severus, poking his head into the Gryffindor common room at like two a.m.: Hello? Y’all coming?

Ginny, stepping forward while the rest of Gryffindor rallies behind her with small bags and pillows: Yeah.

Severus, creeping into the Hufflepuff dorms: Marshmallows? You guys ready?

Hufflepuffs, in perfect chorus as they gather with blankets and stuffies: Yes, Professor.

Severus, knocking on the Ravenclaws’ doors: Yo, smartasses, it’s time.

Luna, hugging a stuffed white rabbit with the rest of Ravenclaw behind her: Hi, Professor.

Severus: *heart melts a little bit* Hello, Luna.

Severus: *leads them all to the Room of Requirement under a mass invisibility spell*

Severus: *gets them all settled for a long-term sleepover*

Severus, straightening up: Okay. Anyone want goodnight hugs?

A few pages later…

Severus: You have a list for me?

Draco, handing over a piece of parchment: It’s alphabetized.

Severus: Hm. Thank you.

Severus: *reads list*

Severus: Get Zabini to put Zonko’s products in the bed of everyone on this list. Have Pansy get the rest of you prepped on the plan. If you’re all still on board, that is.

Draco: *shrugs* We may be Slytherins, sir, but we’re not cowards.

Severus: *eyes suddenly shiny* No. No, you’re not.

Most of a book later I think I haven’t read them in years…

Harry: You killed him.

Severus: *pleads with his eyes*

Harry: How dare you stand where he stood?

Severus, internally: FUCK why do I have to be the tortured one??? Kiss me, James said. Marry me, James said. Let’s have a kid, James said. This is all his fault. I swear Jamie when I die I am going to kill you. You fuckwad -

Severus, externally: *starts shooting harmless spells at Mcgonogall*

Quite a bit later…

Severus, internally: Fuck, I hate snakes. Why is that my Animagus? I already have this shitty tattoo and I’m in the snake House why do I need to die by a fucking snake too oh look my son’s here that’s humiliating

Harry, overwhelmed with tears: Dad -

Severus, internally: I’m fine go away jeez

Severus, externally: *gurgles*

Harry: *flurries his hands around Severus’ body uselessly*

Hermione, exasperated: Harry, move.

Harry, blubbering now: *whimpers* Mione -

Hermione, wand out and pointed at Severus’ wounds: Harry, move.

Two minutes later…

Severus, freshly healed and more than a little pissed off: Now let’s go tell that snake ass motherfucker to go fuck himself -

Harry, clinging to him desperately: Daddy you can’t -

Severus: Like fuck I can’t. That slimy ass shitwipe killed my spouses, tried to kill me, and has gone after you for your entire life as if you don’t have enough shit to deal with already so yeah I’m gonna go murder him.

Harry, burying his face in Severus’ robes: Dad, I have to go.

Severus: No, you don’t.

Harry: It’s the right thing to do.

Severus: Since when I have cared about the right thing?

Harry: Since always.

Severus:

Severus:

Severus:

Severus: You’re grounded for the rest of your life after you survive this.

Harry: *laughs wetly* Dad, I’m not gonna -

Severus: *kisses his forehead* I love you, Harry.

Harry: I love you, Dad.

*dead silence*

Hermione: Harry. We have to go.

Harry, whispering: Keep them safe, Dad.

Severus, also whispering: Of course, love.

Idontevenfuckingknow later…

Voldemort: Harry Potter is dead!

Everyone: *crying*

Severus, internally: The fuck no he’s not like you could kill my son.

Severus, externally: *stares at Voldemort*

Five minutes later…

Harry: Expelliarmus!

Severus: I KNEW IT

The end…

Harry: Hi, Dad.

Severus, tugging him into a hug: You’re grounded forever you fucking idiot.

Harry, grinning and hugging back: Yeah, I figured as much.

A little bit after the end…

Remus: You did a good job.

Sirius: You really did. I can’t say I’m not surprised.

Severus, internally: I can’t believe I saved your life you fucking dick.

Severus, externally: I know.

[beigehearts]

Yandere adult trio when you break up with them (as in they were pretending to be innocent boyfriends but then you’re like okay bye) drabbles

CW: physical abuse

Hisoka

You’ve been thinking about this for a while, his behavior has gotten out of hand. He’s so protective and possessive that you can barely have a conversation with someone on the phone without him sitting right next to you. As much as you love him, you can’t keep living like this, with him constantly asking you where you’re going or what you’re doing even if you’re just getting up for some water.

When Hisoka gets home from whatever it is he does outside, you ask him to have a seat across from you at the dining table. He raises and eyebrow but does as you ask.

“Is something wrong pet?” He slides down in the chair and bounces his leg.

Hesitantly you clear your throat and nod, “You know I love you right?” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips when you ask, and he hums a yes.

“I’ve tried talking to you about this but you’re not very receptive...” You look down at your hands in your lap. “It’s hard to be around you now that you’re so... protective. I think it would be bes-”

He cuts you off with a cold voice, “To break up?”

“Yes. I’ve already packed my stuff so I’ll be leaving tonight.”

He stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over. “Don’t say such dumb things, you’re smarter than that y/n.”

Something in his usual sweet self has changed, dramatically. His eyes are icy and his facial expression expresses something of... malice.

“Hisoka I’ve been telling you I want to break up. I need to break it off at some point.” Your heart begins to pound as he slowly makes his way over to you, his shoes clicking against the ground.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” He’s standing behind your chair with his hands on your shoulder. His grip begins to tighten until you wince in pain.

You jump out of your seat and away from him, “Why are you acting like this?!”

He chuckles, until it turns into full on laughter. “Why am I acting like this? I’ve given you so many chances!” He begins to walk towards you, and with each one of his steps forward you take one back. “This is ridiculous. Just say you’re sorry and this conversation will be over.”

“No!” You yell at the top of your lungs, “I’m leaving tonight, no- no, I’m leaving now!” You turn on your heel and book it for the bedroom, grabbing your bags. When you turn around though he’s standing right in front of you. A frown is very present on his face.

His hands grip your wrists and you drop all of the bags. Before you can react he’s on top of you on the bed. You writhe in his grasp but he’s too strong. His grip on your wrists are only getting tighter by the second and you’re sure that your hands are purple by now.

“I said apologize. You didn’t listen. Do you really think you can just leave? You must be dumber than I thought.”

Illumi

His family has just become too much for you. And quite honestly so has Illumi. Illumi is obsessed with you becoming the perfect spouse, and perfect house servant for him. His mother is constantly on you about the way you act or speak. Quite honestly the only time you get a break is with his grandfather and occasionally his father. Everyone else in the house including the butlers have something to say about you. Except for Killua but he hasn’t been home in many months, maybe years.

You’re sitting on the bed while watching Illumi shine his needles. He’s surprisingly very interested in keeping them clean. His back is to you while he sits on the floor.

“Illumi.” You call out. He doesn’t respond but you know that he’s listening. “I don’t think this is working for me anymore. I wish I could say I have the same feelings I had for you at the beginning but I don’t.”

He stands but stays silent so you continue speaking.

“Maybe in the next two weeks I can get my stuff out of here and, I don’t know... Find an apartment somewhere.”

“And who will open the gates for you?”

His words cut through you like a knife.

“Huh?” Is all you can manage.

“Who is going to open the gates for you? No one will open them unless I tell them to.” He turns towards you and his eyes bore into your own.

“You won’t do it?” You ask, almost scared now. You’ve never been scared of your boyfriend despite his occupation.

He shakes his head, “No.” He sighs and begins walking towards you until he has a needle touching your forehead. “It seems my kindness was not enough for you. I really did try to be nice to you. But it seems that training is in order.”

You scramble back on the bed, your hands are clammy and your feel a bead of sweat trickle down your face. “What are you talking about?”

The hand that was holding the needle against your forehead falls to his side. “You can comply, or I can use force.”

Chrollo

He’s never home and you never see him. You’ve asked him so many times to try to come home more often and he never does. The both of you have begun having arguments when you do see each other, it’s just no longer enjoyable for you. He is coming home tonight but is leaving in the morning, he hasn’t been home for 3 weeks. You’d rather not break up with him over the phone, you feel like he deserves better than that.

It’s 11:43 pm when he gets home. He walks over to you on the couch and kisses your forehead, which only makes this harder. “Sorry I got home so late, things ran a little long.”

You nod and he flops down next to you on the couch with a big sigh.

“Hey Chrollo there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

He cocks his head towards you, “Of course darling, what is it?”

You clear your throat and sit up straight, turning towards him in your seat. “It’s just that you’re never home, and when you are home we just argue.” He nods, listening to your words intently and letting you speak. “I need someone who is available to me and honest with me, you don’t even tell me what you do when you’re gone for weeks on end.”

His silence motivates you to keep speaking, “I don’t think that either of us are getting anything out of this relationship. So I think it’s time we break up.”

He sits up and smiles, and you’re left very confused by this.

With that big smile on his face he says kindly, “No.”

“Excuse me?” You stutter.

He leans forward and runs a hand through your hair. “I said no.”

His words make you angry, this is always how the arguments start, with him just flat out disagreeing with you. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. We just argue, Chrollo we are breaking up.”

You stand and move to leave the room but he grabs your hand and pulls you into his lap. When you try to stand up again he secures you in place with his arms.

He leans in close to your ear and whispers, “If you ever say that again.”

A chill runs up your spine and your blood runs cold.

“I’ll kill everyone you have ever loved.”

[stickyy]

Can I have a gn reader x Aizawa? Maybe a college AU where Aizawa doesn't know how to handle his crush because he was awkward when he was young and ended up a bully who was handsy. Thank you!

EEEE this is my first ask so i hope you like it anon! :D thanks so much for requesting!

DISCLAIMER: i do not condone or encourage any of the behavior outlined in the following text. this is a work of fiction, and should be treated as such. :)

wordcount: 2299

warnings: dubcon, verbal abuse, slight dumbification, forced oral sex, brief mentions of gagging/vomit (doesn’t actually happen), aizawa is an law student asshole, quirkless!AU, ooc? more likely than u think

notes: im not like a writer so when i put this in word count and saw it was 2k words i gasped-

MIDTERM

Without a doubt, Aizawa’s the smartest student in your Civil Procedure lecture. You admire him; you’re both first years, but he already has an incredible work ethic and results to show for it. He works two part-time jobs to help pay for school (alongside his impressive scholarship), studies into the late hours of the night (mostly due to his being kept awake very loud roommate), and, despite a bad habit of regularly showing up to your 8 am class slightly hungover, still manages to produce the top marks in the class. 

You’re envious of him, because you’re the exact opposite. Your tuition is paid in full by your parents, you have a wonderfully quiet apartment all to yourself, and you study as best you know how, only to practically fail every assignment. You wish you could be surprised, but the material is a dreadfully bland concoction of boring procedure and esoteric theory that you rarely get further than three or four pages into a chapter. You want to like law, you really do, but there’s something about the intricacies of drafting lawsuits that goes in one ear and out the other. It’s no surprise that you sought out Aizawa’s help, desperate to at least pass the class with a decent grade. 

You wish you hadn’t. 

You don’t understand what you do that bothers him so deeply, but something about you coaxes cruelty from somewhere dark inside of him. You always scurry towards the back of the lecture hall to grab a seat next to him, doing your best to be quiet and unassuming, but he shoots you a venomous glare or a soft flurry of harsh words. And you get it, to an extent- some days you walk into class chattering a little too loudly on the phone, and on others you loudly shuffle around in your book bag to try finding the notes that you attempted to start for this lecture (if you even brought them that day). You know it’s annoying, but you also know you don’t deserve the downright verbal abuse he throws at you for it.

“It’s hard to take notes if you forget your textbook. Try being prepared for once,” he’ll sigh as he slides his textbook to you. Like a good student, he took notes for lecture the night before, but it still took some convincing for him to spare you his textbook.

“Do you ever shut up?” He’ll interrupt you as you babble about your difficulties understanding the most recent lecture. You want to retort, tell him off for being rude, but the words die in your throat; he radiates an annoying apathy that makes you doubt the efficacy of anything you say to him.

“You wouldn’t fail every assignment if you actually studied. Or maybe, you’re actually just stupid?” He’ll quip as you clutch your paper, a red ‘47’ scrawled in the upper corner of the page littered with your professor's critiques and question marks. By contrast, Aizawa’s paper is pristine, donning a singular red mark of ‘98, nice work!’.

With a well placed glare and the sour baritone of his voice, laced with exhaustion, it’s always enough to make your stomach drop from shame and embarrassment. Under normal circumstances, you’d never allow anyone to speak to you that way, but your grade was a dire situation, and with the midterm upcoming, you forcefully swallow your pride and ask him for his help.

You have to beg, but Aizawa agrees to tutor you the day before the midterm. This grade is a make or break for the class- if you do poorly on this exam, you’ll have to drop the lecture to salvage your gpa, putting you half a semester behind your peers. It’s motivation enough to deal with his poor attitude, and the two of you end up reviewing in an empty studying room on the top floor of the library. You began the session alert and determined to catch up, but studying with him shows you just how far behind you are. The textbook sounds like foreign poetry coming from his mouth; Aizawa is nothing short of eloquent when explaining the complexities of something as boring as filing lawsuits, and you spend most of the two hours spent just zoning out, completely unable to focus.

“You’re just wasting my time at this point.” The break in his cadence snaps you out of your trance, unfocused eyes meeting his tired ones, slightly lidded in annoyance, “Are you even trying to remember the material? Or are you just expecting me to spoon-feed it to you?”

Your throat catches, forcing you to swallow a lump as you attempt to ignore his words. 

“I am trying! I just don’t understand why there are two approaches, is all,” You whine, flipping back through your sparse notes to find the section that contained the explanation. 

“I went over that almost 3 chapters ago. If you were paying attention, you would’ve stopped me by now. It’s hard to believe that you even got into this school, if this is how you studied in high school. Did your daddy pull some strings with his buddies in admissions?”

Your eyes narrow, searching harder for the correct section in your notes. That’s a pretty low blow, and even if he’s not completely wrong, it still stings. You now know for a fact you didn’t even read this part of the text, but you keep your eyes trained on the page. At this point, you’d do anything to avoid looking at Aizawa, lest you begin to cry.

“Don’t be an asshole,” is all you can muster, voice shaking with unshed tears, “Would it kill you to be a little nicer? It’s hard to focus when all you do is insult me.”

“It’s hard to focus?” He repeats, his tone a sickly sweet mockery of yours. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s my fault. You’re a lot dumber than you think, if you even think at all. The midterm is tomorrow, and we’re just now getting into chapter five. Don’t get mad at me for actually trying to study; if I was holding your hand through it all, we’d still be on chapter one.”

Your vision blurs and a single tear hits the lined paper of your notes, causing the ink to blur as the drop absorbs into the page. You clench your jaw and take a breath before standing up, opening your backpack to put you things away. You didn’t have to take this abuse, you could study on your own. Even if you did poorly, you’d have some of your dignity left.

“It’s pretty rude to just walk out on someone trying to help you,” Aizawa says after a moment, closing his notes shut. “Not only do you give me a headache every single morning, but I try to tutor you and you want to leave without even thanking me? I’m busy, you know? I take time that I don’t have to spare just help your sorry ass out, for free, and you’re not even capable of learning anything from it.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and move to leave, but you find yourself face to face with Aizawa, his tall frame blocking the door, arms crossed over his chest, and a thoroughly disgusted expression plastered on his features. 

“I should charge you a fee, just for completely wasting an afternoon. Absolutely ridiculous,” His tone is a juxtaposition to his demeanor; he sounds more amused than annoyed, a jeer underlying the words. It makes you feel sick, and you’re suddenly grossly aware of the fact that you're alone with him, the only method of escape blocked. It feels dangerous, and you want nothing more than to be at home, alone and safe.

“H-how much?” You stutter meekly, eager to appease him. “I don’t really have any cash on me but if you have Venmo-”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” Your heart starts to jackhammer against your ribcage and panic sets in. You’re frozen in place, unwilling to ask him to elaborate. You may not be very bright, but you have a good idea of what he’s going to ask for, and you can think of a million things you’d rather do instead.

“I know your pretty little skull is practically an echo chamber, so listen closely, okay? We both know that no matter how hard you try, you won’t be ready for the exam by the end of tonight, and I have to work in an hour and a half. So, if you behave and do what I ask you, I’ll let you copy my exam answers tomorrow. Understand?”

You’re silent, paralyzed by fear. A part of you wants to run, desperately, but your mind drifts to the midterm. You know that without any help, you’ll surely fail.

That’s how you end up on your knees in front of him, tears finally streaming down your face from choking on his thick cock. 

“That’s it,” he groans breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as his head presses back against the door, “I knew you were good for something. I bet this is how you convinced your other teachers to give you a passing grade, huh? A few cocks down your throat-fuck, to save your gpa, I wouldn’t put it past you, dumb slut.”

You hate this- hate being reduced to just a mouth for him to fuck. You hate how he sneers down at you, his eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. You especially hate the treacherous way your spine tingles and heat pools low in your stomach at his amused growls and degrading remarks. He’s just as cruel with the way he fucks into your mouth, disregarding your comfort entirely, hand in your hair roughly guiding your head over his length. He’s almost painfully thick, stretching your lips wide, tickling the recesses of your throat in a grotesque way. You try to wiggle away slightly, just to take a small breath; you’re beginning to feel dangerously lightheaded. You begin to pull your head away but he thrusts his hips upward, holding your head down and  forcing your lips to wrap around the base of his cock.

“S’okay, baby, just relax that empty little head of yours, no need to breathe right now,” he sighs, watching you struggle against him with a smirk, watching the fear bloom in your chest and your mind buzz with the lack of oxygen. Your thrashing shifts his cock in just the right way and you violently gag, eyes widening with the painful sensation. You’re almost convinced he’s going to let you pass out, right before he yanks you off of him. You cough violently, gagging a few more times, drool spilling out of your mouth.

“Throw up on me and a failing grade will be the least of your problems,” he growls, and the threat is a sobering reminder of how fucked up this is. You meet his expectant gaze, and reluctantly return to the task at hand. You can hold out just a little longer, you tell yourself; his hips are beginning to move on their own accord and you know he won’t last much longer. All you have to do is hang on and it will all be over soon.

You know that he’s just a bully, that you’re just doing what you have to do in order to pass this class, that you’re worth more than your grades, that you aren’t stupid- but the dark part of your mind questions if he’s right. Maybe you do belong on your knees, because what do you know? Maybe you are just a dumb slut; there’s no need to study if the only thing you’re good for is swallowing.

The shameful thought forces a new torrent of tears to pour from your eyes, gagging once more on both your tears and his cock, and the look of pure despair on your face pushes him over the edge. Aizawa yanks your head from his cock with a curse and you flinch as his hot cum hits your face. There’s a lot of it, the viscous seed slowly dripping down your face. The sensation is downright disgusting. You feel dirty and used, your throat sore, knees burning, lips swollen from his brutal assault. He presses the tip of his cock on your cheek, smearing his load all over your skin with a cruel laugh.

Through your panting, you keep your eyes closed for a little bit, hoping that maybe this is an awful nightmare and you’ll wake up in your dorm, with an extra day to study and a little more hope in your heart. 

The sound of a camera shutter rips you from your fantasy, opening your eyes to see Aizawa grinning at his phone. You’re too shocked to say anything, only staring at him incredulously from your position on the floor in front of him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know?” He hums as he tidies himself up and grabs his bag. “So photogenic, I’ll be able to get off to this for weeks. Who knows what good you’d be if you were dumb and ugly.”

You didn’t notice that you had stopped crying, but the fresh tears and sound of your own sobs call your attention to fact.

“Try and clean up before you leave, alright? I know you’re a little too stupid to remember, but I don’t think it’d be a good look for you to walk around covered in cum.”

The door clicks closed, and through your sobs you look around at the room, only to notice that there aren’t any tissues left laying around. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

(But at least you get an A- on your midterm.)

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

Hey. I saw your reblog of a cool post talking about how Sansa won’t be winning the North by being “polite and singing songs and asking nicely“ and how violence and brutality are in the North, after all Robb didn’t get the Umbers approval by asking politely but by having Grey Wind eat Umber’s fingers. And i Love how in the tags you said the North would never choose Sansa. If it came down to it they would choose Arya. They most certainly would. No one ever complained that Robb wouldn’t exchange Jaime for Sansa. But they are furious to hear that ”Arya” (we know it’s Jeyne) has been wed to the demonic Ramsay Snow. The only reason Sansa was “chosen” (she wasn‘t) in the fake season of the show was because fucking Dumb&Dumber have a massive favoritism for her and Sophie Turner. Gosh it was so disgusting to see that filthy coronation (that looked just like Cersei signifying Sansa’s tranformation into Cersei 2.0) and fake Jon being forced to say she’s the best for the North. And what is all that dumb bullshit about how Northern Independence is the “best thing and necessary for the North”. Anyway in the books they definitely would not choose Sansa and certainly not if she were like her show version (who I am shamed to have ever liked. Now I loathe her with every part of me).

@whitedragonwolf4961

Sorry for the wait for my reply. :)

D&D had massive favoritism when it came to Sansa, or should I say, they had a very obvious bias towards the Lannister's, and Lannister adjacent characters. You can see it in how they whitewashed the whole family, even Cersei (D&D hardly ever whitewashed female characters, usually only male characters, as they would typically make female characters darker) and how heavily focused the show was on twincest and then making it so Jaime went back to her out of love (If Jaime does go back to the same place Cersei is IMO I don't think it will be about his love for her, but to stop her). Like just because Jaime and Cersei and Tywin were killed off, it doesn't mean they weren't D&D's favorites. Also let's not forget about the two Lannister adjacent characters: Sansa and Bronn. Two characters that were unfairly rewarded endgames that they didn't deserve. Sansa became Queen in the North through nepotism, did absolutely nothing during the war, except complain, didn't care that Rickon died, was going to execute Arya, and could have gotten Jon killed over telling his secret, and could have started a war between Dany and the North, yet she becomes queen? Then we have Bronn. Like sure he's helped Jaime and Tyrion out for a fee for several seasons, but he would have killed any one of them for the right price. He's a mercenary. Yet what does he get? A position on Bran's King's Council as Master of Coin, and is given Highgarden. He is now Lord of the richest and most fruitful kingdom in Westeros. Kind of seems a little convenient there. IMO Lannister favoritism.

I used to love Sansa on GOT as well. She was one of my favorite characters through seasons 1-4 (imagine my surprise when I realized how much D&D whitewashed her from the books, hence why I liked both her character and her arc in those seasons). I even quit the show for a couple of years after S5 because of what D&D did with Sansa's storyline. Like I was watching that episode with my mom and stepdad and I was a sobbing mess. I even used to believe in the whole Northern Independence BS and even believed Sansa should be Queen in the North (mainly because of how she suffered, which IMO I think that was the point. Instead of giving Sansa a proper leadership arc, they make her suffer horribly, so people think Sansa deserves a big reward for that suffering.) However, watching S7 really changed my perspective (mainly because she was legit trying to execute Arya) and I began looking at Sansa's actions in S6 and they just rubbed me the wrong way, like her behavior only made sense if she was trying to sabotage Jon, and actually hoped to come out of that battle as the only Stark left, looking like the hero (whether that was the intention or not, or if it was just bad writing we'll never know). Then I read the books after S7 and I realized just how much was different, especially the characters, and I further realized how many character arcs Sansa was given from other characters by D&D and how it made absolutely no sense to me that Sansa would be Queen in the North at the end of the books. But now I'm like you. S8 made me detest Sansa Stark. And I'm not the type of person to go around hating characters. My only other exception is Scott McCall from Teen Wolf.

Anyway, it's funny, I'm sure Stansa's look at me and think I've always been a Sansa hater (I'm not even a book!Sansa hater, I'm Sansa critical, as it's the Stans I detest) and that I never believed Sansa would become Queen and blah blah blah, but they are dead wrong. But I think this really points out how different the books and the show are and because of this, it's highly unlikely the endings will be the same in the books as the show, especially when it comes to characters like Sansa and Arya and Dany.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

“I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.  

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.

[rodeoxqueen]

AWAS

CHAPTER ONE: BE NOT AFRAID 

“Dante and Vergil return from Hell to tie up loose ends from their year-long absence. While they seek a sense of normalcy, the fates send them anything but.”

Contents: Violence, Blood and Gore, Brotherly Banter, Explicit Language, Slight Angst 

Rodeo’s Two Pieces: 

I'm very excited to show y'all what I have been working on since hell, November of 2020. Thank you kindly for sticking around.

Back to the present, where the world turned on its axis for months without the weight of the blood of Sparda upon itself, the tides had changed.

In the midnight, had the stars laid witness to the damn near impossible. A portal had opened from the underworld, and two brothers stumbled out. Clutching their swords, Dante and Vergil reunited with the human realm.

How long had it been? Of endless violence and humorous quips thrown at the other, as the years of the gnashing of teeth smoothened the rough patches of their disjointed childhoods?

“We’re back, Verg.” Dante chuckled, arm over his brother’s shoulder.

“We are.” Vergil echoed. The obnoxious weight fell off of him and landed on the ground with a thud.

Dante had got on his knees and kissed the earth that they now stood on.

“Don’t be a fool,” Vergil said, staring at the moon. After years of wanting to become one with Hell, he tilted the false king’s crown to admire the clear sky.

Dante rolled to the ground, sighing in relief.

“We’re back.” He repeated. His brother nudged him with the Yamato.

“Get up. We must find our way back.” Eyes closed and a grin across his face, Dante let the wind pass through his bloodied and matted hair.

“Now we sound like a real team.” Vergil scoffed.

After a few moments, Dante got back up. They had arrived back from Hell to a cliffside overlooking a city that was not Redgrave.

“I assume you have unfinished business in Redgrave.” Dante nodded.

“I sure do.”

The portal became a forgotten relic, the Sparda brothers nowhere to be seen, their demonic presence known to the world.

Dante was known for many things, but mainly for how much of a constant he had remained in everyone’s lives. Never changing, staying the same as he was, an unstoppable force of sarcastic expression.

And also a huge manchild.

Vergil rubbed his temples in frustration.

“Dante. When I referred to unfinished business, I was clearly referring to your shop.”

“Yeah? And I was referring to this.” Dante bit into another slice of pizza, practically moaning.

Vergil sat ramrod straight, sitting awkwardly in a pizzeria. The two were the elephants in the room, both slathered in demonic gore and toting swords. People either gawked or left the establishment.

“You are still an idiot after all this time.”

“Yeah, and I’m also still hungry.”

“Surely your business is more important than this.”

“Meh.”

The blue devil waited for him to finish an hour later, the long-held bill lengthening after months of his absence.

Of course, he had to have indulged a few pieces of his own. It was nothing like the gaminess of demon flesh he had forced himself to sustain upon. It was almost melting in his mouth, unlike the resistance of the shank of a demon. He was never one for vegetables as a child, Dante even more so. Yet the crunch of the toppings was well-received to Vergil, deprived of basic human sustenance for a few odd decades.

However, he found it unthinkable Dante would continue to indulge himself in this for as long as he did.

The door reopened and closed once more to reveal the broad daylight of the streets. Clean, pristine, the sounds of cars and people filled in the crisp air.

Vergil’s boots walked upon a paved road for the first time in ages, man-made and unassuming concrete with stubborn weeds growing from the crevices. No mouth-having crimson blooms that grew to a man’s height. Just simple creatures that fell softly to his weight on their fragile stems.

He had never been here before, where Dante claimed to be his home.

“What’s after this for you, Vergil?” Dante asked his brother, swiping a few demons out of his way.

Vergil, also in his triggered form, huffed a dismissive sigh.

“You know, you should stay with me. Devil May Cry’s always got a spare couch to crash on.”

“Why would I do that?” He slashed a horned devil in two, spewed in putrid green blood. Dante chuckled, knowing there was hesitance in his voice.

“Because I’m offering, big brother. When’s the last time you’ve had a place to call home?”

“I believe you know the answer to that question.” Vergil slid onto his knees under a crouching demon, disemboweling it from top-down. A final gunshot rang his ears, a noise he had to get used to with Dante’s reliance on firearms.

Dull thuds and a flash of red, Dante stood above his brother, offering a now-human hand.

The horde was cleared away like dust on a counter, gone with the wind. Vergil and Dante stood in silence, two children again.

The younger pulled his brother up, insistent stubbornness in his eyes.

“I didn’t hear a no to my offer, Vergil.” Vergil sighed, releasing his hold of his brother’s hand.

“You did not hear a yes either.” Dante chuckled, following his already-leaving brother.

From the past to the present, Vergil’s answer had been neither, never spoken of what he was to do after everything. Yet here he was, now the latter of the two when it came to guidance.

There were many ways the two could have made their entrance to Devil May Cry and have it be a smooth transition back from months of Hell. Dante kicking down the door with a loud “I’m back baby!” was simply not one of them.

Vergil saw that a familiar dark-haired woman was sitting on the desk, absent-mindedly waiting for Trish to return. A girl who once blamed him for her father’s corruption, now a woman with no heed to his presence.

Lady had dropped her nail file, eyes wide at the sight of the two brothers.

“Dante,” Lady whispered as if she was greeting a ghost.

“Yep, it’s me. In the flesh.”

“Dante…”

“Did you miss me? Love what you did to the place.” Dante commented at the cleaned-up shop.

Her face of still confusion warped into anger.

“Dante!”

“Oh boy.”

The next thing he knows, Vergil watches his brother get lectured like a dog. Standing up yet with the attitude of a man in a fetal position, Dante let himself become used to the sound of their tirades once more.

“You had the audacity to give the deed to Morrison. Crazy bitches?! Really!” Dante shrugged.

“I mean if I barked up your tree all day you’d be calling me a-”

“Hey, Lady.” Trish walked into the shop, icily glancing at the two brothers.

“Look at what the hellhound dragged in.” Lady pointed to Dante and Vergil.

“Oh please, I could smell them from a mile away.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Hell doesn’t have any spas. Shame we couldn’t freshen ourselves up before coming here.” Dante sassed. Trish gave a pointed look.

“As much as it was nice to do some hot girl things, we could put Dumb and Dumber to good work.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lady gave a toothy smile.

“How do you think we got this place managed? Money. Money that you now owe us.”

“Hey! I never said you had to do anything.”

“You’d be real upset if we didn’t do anything either, Dante.”

Finally, after sitting through an eternity of harsh words and steep bills, Dante had more than ever landed himself in shambles. Again. At least he was liberated to take a shower. After Vergil of course.

He was surprised to find that the water was still running, and even more elated that it was hot water. Man, maybe paying the bills was a good thing. It felt like ages of grime and gore had been swept off his skin, his hair finally a familiar stark white. In the steam of the bathroom, he breathed out relief.

When he stepped out, he was surprised to see Vergil laying on his bed completely asleep. Usually uptight and composed, Vergil curled in on himself wearing some of Dante’s clean sweatpants that caught dust from all the months they were gone.

With a smile on his face, Dante chose the couch for once and didn’t complain.

They all deserved rest, Dante taking his nap with a magazine on his face. Future Dante could deal with this.

He never expected there to be any neater ends than the frayed knots he left in his human affairs. Yet, he wasn’t alone this time. Neither of them was.

The next few days, Dante gave his nephew a call. Well, more like Nero called him and Dante finally picked up.

Vergil had gotten up after days of practical unconsciousness, foreign to the comfort of a bed, a place to stay, yet much obliged to remain where he laid.

He came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes still. Dante’s voice was muffled until he was in the same room, Dante speaking through the phone to his son.

“Hey, your old man’s here.” Vergil shook his head, having no interest to answer, yet Dante kept waving the phone in his face.

Taking the phone, Vergil heard his son take a breath.

“Hey, Vergil. Nice to see you back from Hell. Um, can’t imagine that was a fun time.” Nero said, unknowing of how to speak to his stranger of a father.

“Indeed.” Dante face-palmed, sitting with another one of his accursed magazines.

“Yeah, um. I have your book.”

“Hmm.” Nero sighed.

“Do you want it back? I’m coming over soon for business reasons.” A hint of desperation and embarrassment from Nero went over Vergil’s bedhead.

“That would suffice…”

“Alright-”

“Thank you, Nero.” Vergil blurted, seeing Dante mouth the words “say thank you.”

Nero stopped for a minute, a few moments of silence on Vergil’s side.

“No problem...Vergil. I got to go. Take care, alright?” Vergil hmmed as a response. The line went dead.

Dante’s grin immensely irritated Vergil, a man who was incapable of second-hand embarrassment.

“Stop that. Wipe that expression off your face. You wanted a conversation with me and Nero, there you have it.”

Dante propped his face up with his hand, a cat that ate the canary.

“Nah.”

Vergil growled in annoyance.

Unfortunately for Dante, and luckily for Vergil, bills had to be paid and jobs to be done. Morrison had arrived a few days later, pleased to see an old friend returned from the underworld. Walking in, he was barely surprised that the shop had returned to a pig-sty appearance.

“Morrison! Nice to see you again.” Dante welcomed, sitting at his desk. Vergil eyed the unfamiliar man, reading through a book.

“Got a new job for you boys. About time you got those girls off your backs about having your little vacation in Hell.” A familiar smell of cigar smoke traced the air, Dante leaning back on his chair, intrigued.

“So Morrison, what nasty demonic critters does this gig entail?” Dante asked, arms crossed.

“There’s a demon runnin’ around towns, causing a lot of trouble.” Morrison placed a photo down, blurred and poorly taken. Although, the grotesque purple skin and rippling eyes on its body didn’t leave much to admire.

“Huh,” Dante mumbled. Vergil examined the picture.

“I’ve never seen a demon like this before. Sure is ugly, though.” Dante noted, pointing at a flat and angular head, pallid yellow eyes that bulge out of its sockets on the sides, and needle-like teeth in multitudes.

“My sources say it’s been going North, the last town they passed was here. Just this morning. It’s making some distance, I’d get to it as soon as you can.” Morrison revealed a map, a red circle around a certain landmark.

“It’s scaring the shit out of people and causing some casualties to be contained.”

“Alright, we’ll take ‘em.” Dante stuck his hand out, expecting cash. Morrison tutted, patting Dante’s shoulder.

“You’ve been spoiled, Dante. Nah, you’re gonna bag this son of a bitch and then we can talk about payment.”

Dante groaned, taking the job. Morrison tipped his hat to Vergil. Vergil glared in return.

“It’s been nice catching up with you boys.” He called out, leaving the shop.

The door thudded as it shut, and the two were alone once more.

“Well, we just got our get-out-of-jail card. Come on, let’s get going.” Dante grunted.

“Must you complain about everything?” Vergil muttered.

Outside, it was late morning with a slight breeze. The familiar sounds of a motorcycle came to Vergil’s attention.

Dante had sat on Cavalier, expecting Vergil to get on.

“Must you rely on that garish thing?”

“It’s too bad you can’t fucking teleport somewhere you’ve never been. Get on the motorcycle.”

Dante patted the seat, Vergil obeying for once.

“Ready for your first job?”

“More than you are.”

They tore through the streets of Redgrave, going north.

The sun rose and started to fall, endless roads leading through towns and cities that paid them only a slight turn of their heads.

The map’s glaring red bullseye had become a dead-end of sorts, the two resorting to walking instead.

Redgrave had always felt muggy with the air of hell creatures around. Here, in this unmarked territory, it had felt clearer. But also more unsettling, the idea of a demon scuttling about more of an awful surprise.

They felt consumed by the empty streets, busted in windows, and vacated shops and residential places in their lonesome wandering.

Something before had wiped this location clean of humans, and now something else was lingering in its place.

“This area has been abandoned.” Vergil walked over giant cracks through the ground, leading to a deserted town.

“Not surprised,” Dante answered, thinking about a certain tree, “good thing we don’t have to deal with any more civilians.”

A buzz in his blood reminded Dante that something was certainly there. The alleys were a perfect spot for creatures to linger, waiting for prey.

As below, so above. A ringing through the air was quickly parried by steel. Dante’s sword stopped a shower of needles from stabbing him, a stray one cutting the side of his cheek. It jolted him as a creature bounded the rooftops of the buildings, a hulking mass of reptilian skin.

Vergil raced after the creature, having blocked all the assailant’s long-distance attacks. Claws dug through the tiles, running on all fours from rooftops to silently treading the paved roads.

It’s clearly after an objective.

Dante chased after the beast from the ground, firing shots at the agile demon. Vergil jumped buildings, gritting his teeth at the demon’s inherent ability to evade and attack back, dodging tail spikes.

The streets all lead to the town center, where a fountain long cleaved in two from giant roots, stood.

Dante and Vergil came across the demon, purple skin stretched over its pointed bones, facing a cloaked individual.

“Hey, pal-” Dante was shushed by Vergil, the two standing a distance away from the hunched-over beast, much taller than either of them when standing on its hind legs.

Neither of them had expected another person in this area, clearly an oddity in the shambles of civilization.

“Famulus. Servant of Raphael.” A rumbling growl echoed in the night in response.

“I’m obliged, filthy halfling.” It hissed, crouched over and leaning to leer to the monotonous voice.

“You will tell me where he is.”

“His brothers may have underestimated you, but my master has known of your presence. Sending his best, I, to exterminate you.”

The person said nothing, as all that was all that needed to be said.

“Looks like we found it’s been searching for,” Dante mentioned, alerting the attention of the formidable monster and unassuming humanoid.

Glazed-over eyes narrowed with bloodlust met the twins as they readied themselves for anything.

“I will bring Raphael the heads of Sparda, once I am done with you.”

The hooded stranger turned their head to the two. With their face void of any expression, the twins had no idea what to think of them.

A pulse went through the air, Dante and Vergil’s skin jolting at a sudden warm wave in the air. Milliseconds after, a rotating ring of golden energy rattled through the stones, passing through the spaces in the pavement that lead to Dante’s boots.

Vergil and Dante were thrown like ragdolls meters away by an unseen force, Dante hitting the ground twice and rolling to a stop as Vergil stuck a landing with the Yamato through the floor.

A golden sphere surrounded the bruise-colored demon and the humanoid, who cocked their head in a disinterested manner, glaring at the taller creature.

Dante touched the wall before them, warm and pulsing with life. Despite the magnitude, he noted how it didn’t seem to hurt him, only pushing back from his own applied pressure.

Vergil paid it no mind, conflict occurring right before their eyes.

Famulus lunged at the smaller person who dodged, hands grappling at a giant maw, throwing its body to the barrier.

Tail spikes unfurled and bristling, Famulus’ hackles rose.

On hind legs, the demon stood well-over the miscreant, who allowed the beast to come to them. No matter how fast Famulus struck, claws phased through the empty air where it expected pliant flesh. Even swipes of its giant tail between quick strikes and heavy blows had been easily dodged.

A rain shower of blade-like projectiles flew at them, their body dropping down to avoid several. Dozens stuck above where their head was, a near fatality.

A needle whistled as it was caught by a calloused hand, palm tightly wrapped around the quill aiming for their chest. Several had torn through their cloak, nearly pinning them to the ground. They let out a startled noise, moving themselves up.

Famulus ran at them, prepared to rip them apart while they were down. Surely a cowardly move than preferred, but a move nonetheless.

They whipped their head around, jaw gritted. The same clutched quill was thrown like a javelin straight into Famulus’ snout.

Pulsating pain and white-hot agony made the beast screech, purple flesh burnt and smoking.

They shook themselves free of any spikes, clad in ancient robes. Nothing a common human would wear now. Even a demon could tell something was off about this one creature in human skin.

This was no common miscreant come to place vengeance upon its master. Raphael had requested Famulus to obliterate this insect as if none of his lord’s underlings could defeat them.

You shall return them to their grave, Famulus. A low gravelly voice rang through the demon’s head, a present message. The snake-like eye in the middle of its forehead rolled back and returned when its master’s command became silent.

“Yes, I shall.”

The foe stiffened as if they had gotten the answer they had been looking for. Famulus knew that. And like the devil it was, it goaded their curiosity.

“You will never make it to my master’s domain. I will gnaw on your bones, putrid being.”

If only if Famulus knew that there was no goading a foe that was already plotting several paces ahead.

Lashing out, a meter-long arrow-like appendage was fired at them once more while the demon began to collect its true power from the air around it.

It missed the mark, sinking into the ground to have the intended target land upon the blunt end, balancing coyly. Several more jabbed at the barrier, sticking into the protective sphere as the cloaked being ducked and turned to avoid scythe-like claws and disemboweling long-distance attacks. Famulus struck a blow that surely meant death, supposedly cornering the prey, until they vanished in thin air. A hazy afterimage materialized and faded away, swiped into nothing.

Immediately, they appeared to the side of the demon, who just began to rear its head to perceive this teleportation.

Legs bent as they were parallel to the ground, they drop-kicked the reptilian brute, scaly skin rippling at the impact.

Famulus’s neck snapped the wrong way, letting out a moist creaking noise as the body stayed stubbornly rooted to the ground. Incapacitated, it could not stop the smaller fighter from leaping onto a begotten tail spike from the ceiling of the barrier, yanking it, and falling back down to its capitulum.

The hooked and jagged arrowhead bit through toughened flesh, securing them to the flat of its head, glowing hand pressing against the middle eye, the key to finding Raphael.

A once distinguished demon, Famulus lashed its head about like a common beast. The joints in its neck realigned, sickening crunches with each segment joined.

Pushing their energy into the convulsing eye, Famulus felt its connection to its lord become not of its own.

Paralyzed from the sensation of a pulling force, tugging away at flesh, and seeping their own life force into it, digging into its mind, Famulus’ muscles twitched and convulsed like an animal to be dissected.

Famulus snarled to itself.

The veins leading to the spike stuck in its head pulsed, conducting electricity straight to the open palm. A strained cry left their mouth as they relented their hold.

The final twist of its head thrashed them off to hit the ground.

Flashing images of a lair, of an iron throne, flashed through its mind.

Famulus had failed to hide his master’s location. And with that, its murderous intent grew.

Despite the finality of its fate, its tail swished with anger and boiling rage to either do the job or keel over in defeat.

The thief got up with little grace again.

Its many eyes had noticed the bloodstains within their cloaked form, old wounds from recent battles. There wasn’t much damage left for them to take.

No one could dodge the Mjölnir.

Dante felt the hairs on his arms stand at full attention. Brows crossed, the older Sparda swiped through bits of his hair that lilted up from their slicked-back position.

“Hey, do you feel that-”

A beam of dark lightning was emitted from Famulus’s tail, striking straight into the opponent’s chest, shards of pure energy slicing through the air with a symphony of cracks rattling the street. Several pebbles flitted off the earth, scorching hot.

The lightning was overpowering, the cries of the stricken muted, body curling to itself with arms stiffening at the chest.

Dante and Vergil both believed defeat was imminent, preparing to have to take out the demon themselves.

When the flashes of demonic power died down, Famulus had witnessed the impossible.

Even with the golden shroud having been faltered, the thunderstruck figure had not been smitten.

Famulus’s needle-tooth grin dropped at the turn of events, rearing back on all fours.

Black lightning danced off their skin, flickering yellow sparks onto the cobblestones.

“No one of that stature could be capable of such an atrocity, and still be human.” Vergil thought to himself.

Famulus was the strongest of the Pessulum litter, demons that nursed from the deadliest of storms to emerge the top of their species. The demon had killed bigger and stronger with less than it had exhibited today.

And now, this runt of a creature had stood against it with no fear, not even close to death? Taking its strongest attack with no problem?

A rush of fear chilled its electrified veins. Stories of the being, whispers amongst Raphael’s underlings, its master’s own grinding teeth at the news of his brothers and their sudden falling, proven true by the might of this mysterious being.

Famulus would live with no merit to his name, scorned by Raphael, seen as less by its inferiors.

“If that does not kill you then I will!” Famulus jumped, claws extended like scythes to slice flesh to ribbons.

Clumsily taking one step forward, tense arms fought back to form one hand pointing to the snout of the devil, the other to the skies.

The thunder was released from its subjugation, deafening annihilation.

A blinding beam of sheer gilden lightning shot right into the demon, many opaque eyes centering at the color of death. Through the other hand, thunderbolts went off like firecrackers into the atmosphere, exploding rapidly and chaotically.

“Holy shit,” Dante exclaimed, sparks dancing off the paved path and flittering in the air.

Vergil ground his heels to the ground, the frontward force of the explosion pushing against him.

The blow sank into purpled flesh, veins and nerves turned from putrid black to nearly white, keeping the demon trapped in the air, still positioned to pounce and disembowel. Famulus didn’t even make any noise, the renowned servant burned alive.

Seethingly hot, with the very air molecules shaking at the display, the twins watched skin and bone become ash and dust. Killed by one’s trump card.

Not even a fallen tail spike was left, the aftershocks settling the twice-over-cremated remains scattering to the wind.

The redirection of the lightning strike had taken a toll on the hooded figure, who straightened up shakily, face revealed for all to see.

A pair of eyes were two suns in the dead of night, a contrast to the light blue ones that perceived them.

Standing alone, centered by destroyed store windows and melted streetlights, they seemed impassive to their might. It was as if they weren’t just blasted with lightning, where their fabric was scorched the only evidence of the offense.

Dante and Vergil didn’t know what to do, not knowing if this person would attack them as well.

They stayed where they were, the moon right above their head, shining around their crown of messy hair.

“Be not afraid.”

Voice hoarse, their mouth moved differently than to the words they just called out.

Before the twins could think of anything to say, the figure beyond them collapsed.

Vergil was silent, still processing all of this. Who was this person? What were they looking for? Who was Raphael?

Dante rushed forward, heavy footsteps raising ashes from their resting place.

Vergil followed, the Yamato ready to be unleashed at any hesitation.

Dante turned them over, noting the strange force surrounding them had remained. As if someone larger was there.

A human face from under the worn, textile cloak greeted them, exhausted and at peace with unconsciousness.

Two lines dripped down their face from their nose. Bleeding crimson, a human above all. In-and-out, slow breaths moved their chest just enough to know they were alive.

“A half-demon?” Vergil questioned himself.

“If they killed the demon, do we have to split the cash with them?” Dante blurted. Vergil raised an eyebrow at the inquiry.

Before he could retort, Dante had lifted them, their stature dwarfed in strong arms.

“Let’s ask them when they wake up.”

“Dante, you are not bringing that thing back.”

“You’re right. I’m not. You are. Open a portal.” He said with a shit-eating grin.

Vergil reluctantly did so, the Yamato ripping open the fabric of space. He would regret this, he was sure of it.

[krabmeat]

𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: Dream, Sapnap, (next are only mentioned) Quackity, Wilbur, Schlatt   𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: politics, toxic friendship, mentions of chaos, mentions of bloodshed, mentions of drunkeness

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

this fic is for @mcyt-sh1t ‘s 100 follower event!! congratulations to her, they deserve each and ever follower and i am so damn proud!! thank you for being such a kind and wonderful moot :] anyways, this fic is based off of the song I Know Him from Hamilton, enjoy fellas!

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

“They say, WilburSoots yielding his power and stepping away.”

Dreams' eyebrows raise in surprise from the sudden information that his good friend Sapnap had laid onto him. He wasn't up to much, just rummaging through the chests of the community house in search of something to snack on before he had been as shocked as he was.

“Is that true? I wasn't aware that was something a person could do…”

At the moment, not very much is in his mind but yet he still had the mental capacity to spit out that lie. Of course he and Sapnap are friends, but Dream knows when to keep his thoughts to himself regardless of who it is. He was actually surprised that Wilbur even allowed some sort of democracy in L’manburg. Everyone thought from the very start of that country that democracy wasn't going to be a recognized thing in L’manburg, evidence being Wilbur self proclaiming the role as president as well as his announcement of a presidential election that clearly was intended to only have his party as a ballot option.

“I'm perplexed! Are they going to keep on replacing whoever's in charge?” 

Sapnap leaned casually against the wooden walls, shrugging his shoulders in a confirming manner. 

“If so, who's next?”

Dream reminisces on the pitiful and downright irritating faces of L’manburg, mentally looking through them like looking through a closet of shirts. Coming to a conclusion and chuckling to himself before making his thoughts vocally known to his friend. 

“There's nobody else in their country who looms quite as large!”

“Well actually,” Sapnap speaks up after listening to Dream ramble, getting bored of his astonished tone already. Reaching into his pocket and taking out his hand with a folded up piece of paper within it, handing it to Dream. He takes it curiously, unfolding the slightly yellow paper. It smells of forest dirt and ash, making it safe for him to assume that the paper probably has information on the infamous L’manburg inside. As the paper folds away from the contents inside he is met with two smug mens profile, smirking into Dreams porcelain mask. The face on the left hand side of the paper does not surprise him, Wilburs smile with his signature beanie whilst also sporting the ever so iconic L’manburg uniform. The face on the right however, made his eyes go wide underneath his mask. Another man sporting a beanie but this one a dark gray with white letters spelling “L A F D” on the seam. A tanner complexion than Wilbur, his eyes hidden behind plastic sunglasses and to add on to his less formal apparel a navy tracksuit to tie the man together. 

“Alex Quackity?!”

Dreams head shoots up from the paper once the information is processed. The news is making him more and more curious about the situation. If there weren't any other parties in the running then Dream would have just stayed out of it since he and L’manburg had already settled the country's independence and didn't think it would be a fun place to further toy with. Dream glances back down at the paper and back up, tipping his head to the side at the vaguely familiar man unde the campaign name ‘SWAG2020’.

“I know him! That can't be? That's that- little guy who spoke to me.”

This surprises Sapnap. Dream usually doesn't go outside of the people he knows and trusts, but at the same time Sapnap doesn't know Dream's general true intentions.  “You've met Quackity? When did that happen?” Dream paces along the flooring, supposedly thinking about the details on Quackity he remembers. 

“All those years ago. What was it, eighty-five?”

Of course the two haven't known each other for that long, but Sapnap doesn't know that. He's too loyal to his friend to question the obvious lie though, so he stays silent. In the meantime, Dream beams in astonishment.

“That poor man, they're going to eat him alive!”

Both of them have limited information on Quackity, but Sapnap ignorantly decides to not acknowledge the fact that Dream is more educated despite only being told the information seconds ago.  “What are you even talking about, Dream? You were always saying how dumb you thought the L’manburg guys were. And now look at you, talking sh*t about their opponent already. Who's dumber, just pick one!” When Sapnap decided to talk back to him, that was his first mistake. The second was his attitude, and his third was questioning his intuition. Dream barely spares him a glance or words, yet he puts just enough annoyance in his responsive,  “You.”  to catch Sapnap off guard and make him upset and confused. But this was something that Sapnap deserved. He shouldn't have questioned Dream because Sapnap knows full and well that he is and will always be below his friend. Dream's back is turned on his upset friend, now thinking out loud to himself.

“Oceans rise, empires fall. Next to Wilbur they all look small!”

The man himself walks by the community house, shades propped up on his head while wearing the exact beanie and tracksuit from the poster. Dream smiles as wide as cheshire underneath his mask, rivaling the smile design already present on his mask.

“All alone, watch them run. They will TEAR each other into pieces! Jesus Christ, this will be fun!” 

The idea of this would normally be appealing to Sapnap. Chaos and bloodshed is traditionally up his alley, but he doesn't wish to participate with Dream. Still confused and upset, Sapnap exits the community house quietly after hearing the hysterical laughter of Dream. ‘Yeah, he can keep himself entertained.’ Almost as frantically as he looks, Dream searches and rummages messily through the chests of the building keeping an eye out for a book and quill. Eventually when he finds it, he quickly scribbles down a letter that will be sent to Quackity soon after. Dream mainly addresses the elections, asking for details on his views and intentions to gather as much information as he could. Dream was going to play with the elections, and he knew just the drunken, horned man who he needed to get roped into the democratic situation. Dream finishes the letter with simple five words sucking up to Quackity. Simple work, but intended and is already fitting into Dreams plan perfectly.

‘President Alex Quackity,

Good luck!’

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 508

I mean, shame on me for allowing myself to get my hopes up that the show might have turned a corner last week. I should know better by now.

At least Young Ian’s back. And Marsali had a nice moment. And that’s about all I have to say about this episode that’s positive. I swear to fuck, this show hates Claire as much as the author of the books does. Where the fuck is the lead protagonist, show? Can she come back? Can she get a story line of her own that’s more than just a random scene every few episodes, please? And can Bree please be given something to fucking do that doesn’t involve Roger, Jemmy or rape? Does Fergus still even live on the Ridge?

But yeah, I guess let’s just all watch the episode twice so our dumb lady!brains can understand that Matt’s stupid silent movie gimmick was actually ~ArT~ and not, you know, a stupidly bad creative choice. Seriously, fuck that guy.

I can’t tell you how much idgaf about watching Roger teach. Also, Bree’s like his students’ age since she was in college too. So really all this bit is doing is to make me skeeved out about their age difference.

“Can you tell me why anyone would go to the trouble of burying one?” he said, condescendingly, like the doucherocket he is. Do not disrespect Young Ian like that, asshat.

“People live and die by their words.” *gestures to the beautiful shitposts on this hellsite* sure jan dot gif.

I already want to fastforward.

Would 100% rather sit through a lecture on suspension bridges than watch silent movies, tbh.

Hate the title card. Hate this whole gimmick.

Hate.

HAAAAATE.

Roger got hanged. Roger was dumb, Buck was an abusive and toxic fuckwad. But still, Roger got hanged and this is how we find out he’s alive and how he was saved?

It should be this big emotional moment. It should make me feel a thing in spite of myself. But nope! Gotta do this fucking silent movie thing. Which is hilariously terrible. And I laughed at it the whole time. In a mean and judgey fashion. What a craptastic creative choice. Whoever’s idea that was is a fucking idiot. *stares at a certain pompous af showrunner*

Ok but for real though, does LJG just like live in North Carolina now? Why is he always around, besides, you know, so we don’t forget he’s a character who exists.

For real though, he lives in Virginia and gets more screen time than fucking Fergus and Marsali who live fucking next door.

At least writing this recap is gonnna be quick and easy since they waste so much time re-showing the stupid silent movie footage.

Yes, I know, they’re trying to show Roger’s PTSD. Which involves flashbacks. And gradually turn it to color once he’s like come to terms with what happened and starts to move forward. But the execution is so bad that the whole arc is wasted because it’s just so poorly done.

Oh hey! A Claire and Bree scene! I love those. Except oh wait, it aggressively fails the Bechdel Test.

I JUST WANT THE FUCKING WOMEN ON THIS SHOW TO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO THAT’S COMPLETELY FUCKING SEPARATE FROM THE MEN. ARGH.

Jocasta singing at Murtz’s cairn is a reminder that everyone should check out MDK’s music.

And her wearing the necklace Murtz gave her makes the existence of show!Duncan even dumber. Like oh hey, new husband, don’t mind me, just mourning my dead boyfriend and wearing his jewelry. But it’s totally normal since my niece-in-law still wears her abusive ex-husband’s ring.

Sorry, show!Duncan, but a more pointless character was never included. Show!Duncan wins the prize for most BeCaUsE tHe BoOk dumbassery.

Repeatedly showing what’s basically a snuff film is...a choice.

LJG has no sense of personal space when it comes to the Frasers. And it’s fucking creepy.

Oh look, another scene where all Claire gets to do is comfort someone about a man.

*BANGS FIST ON TABLE* GIVE CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP THE STORY LINES SHE DESERVES.

Jemmy aged like 3 years in the 3 month time jump.

Ok, I totally get why Roger hadn’t spoken yet. But once he did, the seal was broken. Not talking after he yelled to stop Jemmy, even a little bit, is just a dick move. Not that he’d be magically better. But he like refuses to even take baby steps.

CAN WE PLEASE GET THROUGH AN EPISODE WITHOUT A MUSICAL INTERLUDE. I FUCKING HATE THE CLEMENTINE SONG.

GRANNIE CLAIRE AND GRANDA JAMIE ARE MY FAVE.

OMFG AN ARROW. THAT CLEARLY MEANS...YOUNG IANNNNN!!!!!

So glad he’s back. So fucking glad. Yes, it means one more character to dilute how much time we can spend with any given person, but it’s a character that I like so hopefully he takes away from some of the time given to ones I don’t like?

Aaand Roger can’t even bring himself to try to talk to the guy who gave himself up in his place. Fuck Roger.

Claire does a better job at first than Jamie at picking up the vibes Young Ian is putting off, but like, for two people who are supposed to be emotionally intelligence, neither of them do a good job at first of really *seeing* Ian.

John Bell is really good in this episode.

Omfg Marsali has tarot cards. She’s like leaning full on into being the white witch’s apprentice and I fucking love her so much.

Also, the Hanged Man card is representative of self-sacrifice and martyrdom rather than like being actually hanged as a punishment. But whatevs.

Ok I think the reason Jenny yelling at Jamie to snap out of it in S3 bugged me where this scene with Bree yelling at Roger doesn’t is because sibling dynamic is completely different than spouses where both of them have gone through something unimaginable.

That he can’t even say anything here. Or give her any kind of sign that he’s still in there is a dick move. He *can* speak. He knows that now. So does everyone else. He’s actively choosing not to. Even to say that he just needs more time to work through his shit. No one’s asking him to be a chatterbox and totally back to normal.

Young Ian just sitting there while everyone else does grace is literally me at every family holiday.

Oh look, a wild Fergus appeared!

Ok, I never got the surveying thing. Wouldn’t the land already be registered? Since they were given the paperwork and shit for it from the governor? I know there was some bit about it in the book about keeping it after the Revolution but like, who the fuck else are they registering it with that would make a difference? The gov’t is still the English gov’t?

“But there are things you keep hidden from others. You and Claire both.” Ok, can he please be talking about time travel? I mean, I know he’s talking about his wife and their miscarriages, but I just want someone else to know about time travel already please and thank you.

HOW THE FUCK IS MARSALI STILL PREGNANT?! SHE’S BEEN PREGNANT FOR LIKE A FUCKTON OF TIME.

Fuck yeah not-Catholic-anymore-Ian. No grace, talking about the creator in a way that isn’t explicitly the christian god. Good job, kid.

My parents called me to say happy easter and I had to be like, uh, you remember that I don’t celebrate that, right?

Happy Zombie!Jeebus Appreciation Day to all the still christian people. And happy chance to have fun with burner zoom accounts named Elijiah to the jewish folks.

Jokes aside, the scene with Young Ian and Marsali was really nice and Marsali remains a fucking saint. It’s nice that Young Ian has someone who like actually gets what it’s like to find a home in a group of strangers.

Oh Claire, think more highly of your assistant. Also, what a clunky fucking way to be like oh hey, one of the emo!bros is gonna try to off themselves.

Ok but with the paper airplane now too, can we please show Young Ian finding out about time travel? Please?

Ok, but Claire automatically jumping to Roger wanting to off himself with her herbs... It’s making me judge both of them a little that neither picked up on just how clearly Young Ian was suffering. Like come the fuck on, y’all. It wasn’t subtle.

Also, can we please have more Adso?

SOMEONE GIVE YOUNG IAN A HUG! NO, NOT YOU, ROGER! SOMEONE GOOD!

Yada yada yes they both have been through something shitty and call me a biased asshole, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything about Roger and I feel all the things about Young Ian.

So Roger won’t talk when his wife begs, but he’ll talk when someone calls him on his bullshit. Cool. Cool cool cool. Nice dude.

NO ONE WAS ASKING FOR THE OLD ROGER, YOU TWATWAFFLE. THEY WERE ASKING FOR *A* ROGER. INSTEAD OF A ZOMBIE.

Again, there’s more to that tarot card than a literal hanged man, but whatever, show.

Oh thank fuck the episode is finally over. Expectations are back down in the gutter for the rest of the season. Please pleasantly surprise me, show, but I will not make the mistake again of thinking you’re actually gonna be consistently good again.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Do you think that the Russo brothers got a little cocky and lazy with writing while making Infinity Wars/Endgame, similarly to Dumb & Dumber when making S8 of Game of Thrones? I kind of got the impression that they just wanted to be over it and didnt put much coherent story arcs because they know a lot of ppl will watch anyways. Winter Soldier was one of the best MCU movies, Civil War was good, too, but it's frustrating that the things that were left unresolved were barely mentioned in IF/EG.

I think cocky and lazy are very poor words to describe The Russo Brother’s situation.

Dumb & Dumber were connected to a TV show that ran for 8 years, and if they didn’t wrap it up, they, and the actors, would continue to be committed to for anywhere between 2 and 6 more years.  They were connected to the show for as long as if was still airing and needed to get out.

The Russo Brothers are in an entirely different situation.  Chances are they made some deal with Marvel to be committed to Winter Solider and Civil War.  You have to remember that before Winter Solider, they were directing TV episodes.  This was really their first big budget film. They’re young and ready for their chance to prove themselves.

So, my guess is when everything with Joss Whedon went down the studio heads looked at each other and were like, “okay, who do we have on staff to fill in”.  The Russos wrapped up Civil War, which is kind of Avengers 2.5 and Kevin Feige was probably like, “these guys know how to balance out a ensemble cast, let’s just use them”.  And I can only imagine the Russos jumped at the opportunity.

Infinity War and Endgame isn’t a story of lazy arrogance.  It’s a story of two directors with a lot of studio notes finding themselves way over their head.

Winter Solider and Civil War, are much more grounded stories then either Infinity War and Endgame.  They’re espionage/spy thrillers.  Infinity War and Endgame are pure comic book fun.  You need to embrace the absurd, otherwise it doesn’t work.  And the Russos just don’t know how.

There is a reason Wanda and Vision are benched in Civil War and Thor doesn’t even show up.  Just like there is a reason it takes until the climax for Thor to join the battle in Infinity War and why Carol doesn’t show up until the end of Endgame.  They just don’t know how to write over powered characters, which is what comics are full of.

As for all the dropped character threads...let’s go through the main Avengers since it’s really their stories ending in Endgame, the rest will be picked up in later movies:

Bruce Banner:  Admittedly nobody knows what to do with Bruce, so I’m going to give the Russo’s a pass on this one.

Tony Stark:  Honestly got the best deal out of this.  Tony had to die, it was inevitable.  He gets the best send off.  He’s had the strongest character voice out of everyone thanks to RDJ.  They literally could not screw this one up, and they didn’t.

Clint Barton: Every decision about Clint has been bad since day one.  Again, I’m not blaming the Russos for this one.  Everyone at Marvel is at fault.

Natasha Romanoff:  I’m pissed off they killed Natasha the way they did.  I really am, but I feel like it’s the principal of the matter, rather than injustice for the character.

Natasha is another character that never had consistent writing.  I think her best characterization was in Winter Solider, but there honestly wasn’t much to her. She was just kinda...strong with a vague sense that she’s trying to make up for past crimes.  So, having her die for a greater purpose kinda makes sense.  But we never really saw what those past crimes were.  Now, if they decided to give her the dumb assassins story for the 5 years in between, reverting back to her old ways whenever thing falls apart, it might have worked.  But, as it stands, we have a character death that doesn’t really mean anything to her non-arc or to anyone else.

Steve Rogers: Now, Steve is tricky because you’ve got a lot of studio notes coming in.  At the end of the movie, Steve needs to pass on the torch of Captain America to somebody else because Chris Evan’s contract is up and has made a point to say he won’t even to returning for a cameo.

So, you the Russo Brothers are stuck in a predicament.  You don’t want to kill Steve, because you just spent the last two films directing him as your main character.  He’s your baby and you don’t want to see him die.  Besides, you already have to kill Tony and Natasha is on the chopping block because Scarlett Johansson’s contract is up too. The only reason it was extended was for one solitary stand alone movie. 

So, you have to come up with a reason for him to still be alive at the end of the movie, without any chance of him taking up the mantle of Captain America again, while still giving him the happy ending you feel like he deserves.  And then it hits you, time travel.  This story is about time travel.  Of course! Have him go back in time and be with Peggy.

You spent a lot of time in Winter Solider on the fact that Steve has never gotten over Peggy.  You drove home the fact that he never gives up.  And he and Bucky’s relationship isn’t so much about helping his friend as holding on the the bit of his past still alive and well, not old and dying.

A lot of fanon has been thrown Steve’s way in the fandom, but when you look at the canontical facts of the movies he’s in; Steve has never moved on from the past, and the narrative never asks him to.

Steve going back in time to be with Peggy and have his happy ending is exactly in keeping with the character the Russo’s wrote back in Winter Solider.

You don’t have to like it.  I certainly don’t.  But, it’s not a departure or sign of laziness.  It’s two creators who love their character and want to give him the happiness they feel like he deserves.

Thor: This is the only character where I truly leave it up to incompetence. The Russos just do not know how to write Thor.  The only creator who knew how to write Thor is Taika Waititi.  Let him be or lord and savior and give us another soft reboot in Thor: Loving Thunder. Amen.

Seriously, I have waaaaaay too much to say about Thor, so let’s leave that rant for another day.

In conclusion: The Russo Brothers aren’t a couple of arrogant jackasses that bought into their own hype and were desperate to leave the show to move on the better things they sure were coming their way.  What they were are a couple of relatively inexperienced filmmakers asked to conclude a franchise ten years in the making without full understanding of all of the source material and a pile of studio notes based on contracts and future story-lines well beyond their control.

And this is why comics are best adapted in TV shows.

Sorry for the long post.  I just have a lot of thoughts.  Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[kiingocreative]

Sign up for the newsletter at kiingo.com to stay up to date on the release of our storytelling book!

.

.

In his book Save The Cat, Blake Snyder posits that there are 10 primary movie genres (and thus story genres) into which most movies can be categorized. The genres include Monster in the House, Golden Fleece, Out of the Bottle, Dude with a Problem, Rites of Passage, Buddy Love, Whydunit, The Fool Triumphant, Institutionalized, and Superhero.

The Monster in the House genre is the classic horror genre. Snyder says, "It has two working parts: A monster. A house. And when you add people into that house, desperate to kill the monster, you've got a movie type so primal that it translates to everyone, everywhere." The goal of this type of movie is simple: don't get eaten. It's primal and it resonates with audiences. As examples Snyder offers Jaws, Tremors, Alien, The Exorcist, Fatal Attraction, and Panic Room.

The Golden Fleece genre is the genre of myth. It may follow the Hero's Journey paradigm and it may have a meandering structure. Snyder says, "The quest myth has been one of the more winning tales told around the campfire since, well, forever. … The name comes from the myth of Jason and the Argonauts and yet it's always about the same thing: A hero goes "on the road" in search of one thing and winds up discovering something else — himself." As examples Snyder offers Star Wars, The Wizard of Oz, Back to the Future, and "heist movies".

The Out of the Bottle genre covers movies where a character discovers and must grapple with the implications of some type of "magic". Snyder says, "The name Out of the Bottle should evoke the image of a genie who is summoned out of the bottle to grant his master's wish, but it doesn't have to be magic to be part of this wish-fulfillment genre. … Whether it's by divine intervention or luck or a magic being who enters the scene, it's the same device. For some reason or other, usually because we like the guy or gal and think they deserve it, their wish is granted and their lives begin to change." As examples Snyder offers Liar Liar, Bruce Almighty, Love Potion, Freaky Friday, Flubber, and Blank Check.

The Dude with a Problem genre is about the everyday person who finds themselves up against forces that are larger than they could have imagined. Snyder says, "It's another of the most popular, most primal situations we can imagine for ourselves. All of us consider ourselves to be an ordinary guy or gal, and thus we are drawn into sympathetic alignment with the hero of this type of tale from the get-go. Into this 'just an ordinary day' beginning comes something extraordinary." As examples, Snyder offers Die Hard, Titanic, and Schindler's List.

The Rites of Passage genre is about a character going through a fundamentally new stage of life. Snyder says, "These painful examples of life transition resonate with us because we have all, to a greater or lesser degree, gone through them. And growing-pain stories register because they are the most sensitive times in our lives. It's what makes us human, and what makes for excellent, poignant, and even hilarious storytelling." As examples he offers Lost Weekend, Days of Wine and Roses, 28 Days, and When a Man Loves a Woman.

The Buddy Love genre is the buddy movie. It's dual protagonists on a journey. Snyder says, "My theory is that the buddy movie was invented by a screenwriter who realized that his hero had no one to react to. There was just this big, empty space where interior monologue and description is found in fiction. And the screenwriter suddenly thought 'what if' his hero had someone to debate important story issues with?" As examples Snyder offers cop buddy pictures, Dumb & Dumber, and Rain Man.

The Whydunit genre is the mystery genre. The key is that it's focused on human nature and why humans take particular action. Snyder says, "We all know that evil lurks in the hearts of men. Greed happens. Murder happens. And unseen evildoers are responsible for it all. But the 'who' is never as interesting as the 'why.' Unlike the Golden Fleece, a good Whydunit isn't about the hero changing, it's about the audience discovering something about human nature they did not think was possible before the 'crime' was committed and the 'case' began." As examples Snyder offers Chinatown, Citizen Kane, Mystic River, and The Insider.

The Fool Triumphant genre is about the unlikely hero and their unexpected victory. Snyder says, "The 'Fool' is an important character in myth and legend and has been forever. On the outside, he's just the Village Idiot, but further examination reveals him to be the wisest among us. Being such an underdog gives the Fool the advantage of anonymity, and also makes everyone underestimate his ability, allowing him or her the chance to ultimately shine. … The operating principal of 'The Fool Triumphant' is to set the underdog Fool against a bigger, more powerful, and often 'establishment' bad guy." As examples Snyder offers Being There, Forrest Gump, Dave, The Jerk, and Amadeus.

The Institutionalized genre follows a cast of characters in the face of one or more institutions. Snyder says, "Where would we be without each other? And when we band together as a group with a common cause, we reveal the ups and downs of sacrificing the goals of the few for those of the many. Thus, the genre I call 'Institutionalized' tells stories about groups, institutions, and 'families.' These stories are special because they both honor the institution and expose the problems of losing one's identity to it." As examples Snyder offers Animal House, M*A*S*H, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and The Godfather.

The Superhero genre is about a character with superhuman abilities. Snyder says, "The 'Superhero' genre is the exact opposite of Dude with a Problem and can best be defined by its opposite definition: An extraordinary person finds himself in an ordinary world. Like Gulliver tied to the beach by the Lilliputians, a Superhero tale asks us to lend human qualities, and our sympathy, to a super being, and identify with what it must be like to have to deal with the likes of us little people." As examples Snyder offers Superman, Batman, Dracula, Frankenstein, Gladiator, and A Beautiful Mind.

Consider whether your story fits into one or more of Blake Snyder's genre categories. Are there any insights you can gain from the common patterns in the genre?

[teiasviago]

Show Jaime Lannister is the worst and I'm glad he died a pathetic cowardly death in the arms of one of the most cruel queens because that's what he deserved. Glad Brienne is living her best life after she met this amazing guy who treats her like the queen she is and she literally forgot that Jaime existed. Good for her.

Anon, this ask sent me down such a rabbit hole of thinking... I’m gonna dump all of it into this answer to get it out of my system so I can get back to my physics test and then drown myself in Assassin’s Creed II ^-^ Fuck show!Jaime and fuck D&D for giving me the opportunity to spiral.

As much as it pains me to to admit that show!Jaime is a literal monster, he is. And I think it’s hard for me to come to terms with that, which is why I saw this ask and then went, ‘Oh no, hate for my boi jam lan 😭😭’. But like. Jaime deserves it. And I invited it.

I really really hate negativity when it comes to my favorite characters but I had to look at myself and then at show!Jaime and come to terms with the fact that I had no reason to apologize for his actions nor excuse them. Book!Jaime would never do what show!Jaime did because he’s an entirely different character in a different place with a different writer at the helm of his story, and that’s just something I have trouble comprehending. It’s hard for me to separate the two.

Which is why I’ve only either joked, complained, or ignored season 8 instead of critically thinking about it. It’s too painful to think about Brienne without Jaime most of the time just because I’m so attached to their book counterparts and haven’t been able to look past that and see that, within the show, it’s better for Brienne to end up without him. I don’t need to have watched past episode 5 of season 2 to realize that the way show!Jaime was written didn’t leave room for him to look at himself and change. It didn’t give him the space to think that he got in AFFC. He just stayed with Cersei, left for a bit, had a fling, and then went right back.

I had to put myself in Brienne’s shoes, just for that moment, and I came to the conclusion that if someone ever did that to me I would not only not honor their “sacrifice” but fucking SLANDER their name and make sure everyone knew what a piece of shit they were. And you know what I’ve thought just now? Brienne would too. Only, not just with words – with her actions. She would just tell the truth, just as she’s always done. She wouldn’t sugarcoat it.

It really fucking hurts as a woman – as someone who looks up to Brienne as “someone like me” – to see all of her fucking agency be taken away. We are not men’s pawns. We are not their plot points. We are not their accessories. Women in the “ugly” archetype are not your “oh look we’re progressive” characters, we’re your “hey this is called realism and people like the actors who play the characters are hear to stay so write us like humans.” We are not here to be used and discarded as men like Dumb and Dumber see fit.

Brienne had dreams and ideas and goals and passions outside of fighting – outside of her vows. How many people don’t realize that the show erased the fact that Brienne’s big dream wasn’t to be knighted but to be surrounded by a family of her own, found or biological? The reason why the knighting scene is so good isn’t simply because Brienne was knighted but because it was that good and righteous and best-version-of-himself Jaime – the version we’ve barely seen in the books and very rarely on the show – was the one to knight her, surrounded by people who love her for who she is: a lady and a knight.

GRRM repeated, “She wanted...” at least two times, once in the context of Brienne wanting to have been traditionally feminine enough to have spend her life singing for people like her father and Renly. And D&D took that away from her and gave her what? A one-night-stand turned one-month-stand? It’s fucking despicable.

Anon, see what you’ve done to me??? You’ve turned me into my raging Brienne stan mode!!! 😳😳😳 This is why I have a “no talking in depth about GoT” rule imposed on myself ksjdhfsjdfhj. Anyways, I just think that the art someone did of Brienne slapping Jaime is really neat ❤️

[jbbuckybarnes]

Distant Connection - 1/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: a bit of angst, a lot of domestic fluff Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

Most days she was just sitting in the library with a computer trying to learn new things about dark magic. She knew she was able to use it but she knew nothing about it. There weren’t a lot of non-fictional books on it so she really needed to search deeper online.

With a blanket around her at all times, a book open on a page with nice visuals of red energy orbs and her laptop on her crossed legs she read for hours every day. The magic part of the library was completely hers. Sometimes Wanda came to look something up or an agent went through the library to find something that might interest them but other than that she was in complete silence.

“Getting smarter, little witch?” The dark voice scared the living hell out of her. And after a soft giggle and her adjusting herself again she answered “Theoretically? Yes. Practically? No...Why are you here? A soft smile came to his face “The others were just worried about you only being here and you only talk to me. And I’m also kinda interested in what you are doing here all day long.” he stepped towards her and his eyes fell on the open page of the book on the side table in front of her. “A lot of research about what my powers are and what they can do. It’s hard to find serious writings about it.” she said in a soft voice that clearly wasn’t very used to talking anymore. “Does it bring you some kind of...calmness?” he asked sitting down in the other chair beside her. “About my powers definitely. I don’t know about the rest.” she answered honestly. She just couldn’t lie to him. Even if she tried to, he would probably notice. “I might be bad at giving advice but if you wanna talk about it one day, don’t be scared to come to me. Okay?” he was equally honest with her. It felt weird for him to be that open, it’s not like he planned to. “I don’t think I’m ready for that right now. And I don’t know how my emotions might reflect onto my powers. I don’t wanna hurt you.” “If you want to try them first you can use the training room. It’s made for powers like yours and Wanda’s.” His smile was gone but there was a very genuine and positive energy in his eyes that made her nod.

“You look like you need a hug.” he said after looking at her in silence for a while and she gave a weak smile back. He pulled her over to the other chair, sat her down on his lap and gave her a big protecting hug. Her tense muscles visibly relaxed in this grip and she felt safe enough to close her eyes. She didn’t sleep more than a few hours per night since the incident which made her melt into his arms and fall asleep almost instantly. *Can someone please come to the library? I need help with our little witch,* he wrote into the group chat after somehow reaching his phone in his pants. Eventually, Steve came down the hallway silently and when his eyes met them sitting there all cuddled together he was a bit surprised “Since when are you two friends?” “I’m the only person here that she trusts at the moment. You know that.” he answered almost coldly, didn’t even know why he got so defensive. “What did you need help with?” the blond tried to get back on topic. “Can you put that blanket over her and her laptop into her room? I think she didn’t really sleep much since she got here.” he said looking down at her sleeping face that frowned. “Sure. Are you staying with her? Should I tell the team you’re out of order today?” he said caring as he is and got a nod back.

She jolted up with a deep inhale and arms instantly pulled her into a hug. “Everything is okay. You’re safe. Sssh.” His deep, soft voice made her relax again but couldn’t keep the tears she was holding back inside. “I can’t stop seeing her getting killed every time I sleep,” she mumbled and started shaking. “I know how this feels like but I swear from the bottom of my heart that it gets easier,” he said looking her straight into her eyes and taking her hands. “I can’t shake the feeling that I could’ve helped her if I had just trusted my powers.” her whole face was red by now. “Please stop putting yourself down. You can’t turn back time. Blaming yourself won’t help. With your power the chances that they wouldn’t have tried to kidnap you over and over again would have been low. I know this hurts but you need to hear it even if it breaks my heart seeing you so broken. You can do this? Okay?” He had her face in his hands by now and she grabbed him to hug him close and didn’t stop crying into his shoulder until she fell asleep again in his tight hug. She needed to be held by a person that understood and could keep her safe and there weren’t a lot of people like that beside him. But it also helped him to sleep better and longer with her being there. Something about her just synced up with him. Since she’s been in the compound in the last weeks, he just has more energy.

“I-I don't want to try my powers alone.” she said right after waking up and relaxing a bit the next morning. “Hey, it’s okay. We can go to the training room together. Okay?” laying his hand down on her upper arm. “Then I think...I think I should try now before I change my mind.” her voice was a bit shaky. He stood up and went around the bed to help her up and took her hand before walking towards the room in the compound that was power-proof with her. On the way there they walked by the common room door and Nat was close to say something but James gave her and all the others a death glare. Now that she felt a little bit of light he didn’t want anyone to dim it by breaking the mood.

He opened the big door, let her in and gave her a supporting smile. “I don’t know what I should do now.” she said in a weak tone. “Well. Let’s start with the things you learned about the most.” he suggested back. She told him to get closer to her in the middle of the room “Can I...can I try to help your trauma? I learned about healing and self-healing is out of my league but you...you deserve to feel better.” He was a little bit reluctant before giving her a nod. He trusted her. There was blue magic forming in her hands before she touched his forehead with two fingers and his eyes went black.

He could see her going through his memories, even the ones he doesn’t remember. She couldn’t delete thoughts but she could make them less prominent. It felt as if she put down the volume of the memories of a murderer and turned up the memories with the people he loved. He could see his sisters playing in their room, dancing with friends, doing dumb things with Steve, drinking with the HC boys, experiencing the 21st century for the first time, a girl telling him he made her feel better about being an outcast, recognizing Steve again, visiting the grandkids of his old friends, talking shit in Russian with Nat, pranking Stark, life in Wakanda, hugging the person that was currently looking through his brain like it was a flashdrive. “This is...beautiful.” he mumbled in positive shock before she put her hand off of his head and his eyes went back to normal. She was in shock but he noticed fast that it wasn’t because of her powers working. “You’ve seen so much horror.” her eyes began to fill with tears and he pulled her into a hug quickly. “I didn’t want you to see them. I don’t want you to destroy yourself to help others. I’m so sorry.” he mumbled against her hair. “I’m so sorry they did that to you.” she said between sobs. “Hey, let’s just do something that doesn’t involve other people’s brains and have you feel a bit better.” he would need to try and keep her mind off of it until she could heal herself.

She sat down on the floor, closed her eyes and her hands made movements he didn’t understand but slowly there was a ball of blue energy forming again that was plopping open like a bubble to show a flower. “I can materialize things from thought but it’s still hard to do.” she said a bit exhausted and with a weak smile. “Do you wanna continue or do you need rest?” he asked concerned, crouching down in front of her. “I think I’d like to eat something before practicing again.” she answered pretty fast. His face lit up “Well, let’s steal some pancakes then, little witch.”

“You can sit here on the table or over there. I’ll get you the food, okay?” he said coming into the common area again with the others staring at them. She went for the place he pointed out that was in the corner of the room and had a little coffee table arrangement. Wanda was the first to clear her throat and continue talking, she knew how weird it felt to her to be stared at as the new one with magic powers. Shortly after, James sat down in front of her with all the breakfast he could get. “Is there any names you want to be called. Little witch is quite a long name to always use.” “Harmonia or Harmony.” she said shyly knowing the others were there. “Where does that name originate?” he asked while starting to eat his pancake. “Harmonia is the name of the daughter of Aphrodite. Mythology.” she smiled. “I think it’s a fitting name.” he smiled back. She started putting things onto her pancakes while she listened to the others across the room. “Why are you so shy to the others?” he asked a bit more toned down. “I need people 1 on 1 to feel them out and see if I can trust them.” she said shoving a big piece of pancake into her mouth. “I’d suggest you start with Steve. He’s me in dumber and less deadly.” he gave a dumb smile and got a giggle back. When he looked over to the blonde he got a smile back. He is the only one able to hear them talk at this volume. “He’s nice, very understanding, but I can sense the insecurities he has when he talks sometimes.” she said very softly. James looked over to Steve who now pretended to listen to Clint. “What did you think about me?” he was interested now. “I was a bit intimidated. You have a cold layer around you but your eyes are soft. Even with the empty looks you gave me. I don’t know. You just seemed like the only one here that could truly understand how I felt.” she went silent, feeling like she said too much. “I know what you mean. This...invisible connection. Can’t pinpoint it exactly, you just feel like you get it.” he was already finished eating because he was listening way more than talking. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s super weird. Uuuh, is the magic still working? I don’t know how permanent it is.” she changed the topic. “It’s still working. Thanks for helping me remember more of the good things. All the memories of Steve being a dumbass were missed dearly.” he chuckled. “Well, now the outside fits the mindset. If his name wasn’t Captain America I’d probably call him big energy ball.” both started laughing. The rest of the room went silent because it was such a profound occurance to see James laugh and even more with someone they all still didn’t really talk to. “She just made a joke about me.” Steve smiled at his friend being happy. “Was it really that good?” Nat asked smiling at the situation. “She isn’t wrong. Let’s just say that.” he said with a one sided smile.