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sunshineseguin · 3 years

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take me back to the night we met || mat barzal

pairing: mathew barzal x fem!reader

summary: months after the end of your relationship, mathew still struggles to come to terms with losing you. he sees you everywhere and in everything he does. what sticks with him the most is the night you met.

warnings: break-up angst, alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety & a near panic attack, swearing, mentions of sex (nothing graphic), possible grammatical errors, flashbacks are in italics!!

word count: 6,371

author’s note: i wrote this fic inspired by the song ‘the night we met’ by lord huron so i definitely recommend listening while reading! i wrote this fic as a standalone and don’t plan on writing a second part. feedback is always appreciated, i read everything even if you put it in the tags.

check out my players list & prompt list if you’d like!

Mathew knew it wasn’t a good idea to go out, especially on a Sunday night with an early practice in the morning. The season was about to start and he knew he had every reason to be just as amped up about it as his teammates. He should be cheering with them and drinking beers carelessly like he wouldn’t regret it in the morning. Yet, he couldn’t. The regret that he was already carrying on his shoulders was enough to last him a lifetime. Instead, he was gulping down whiskey on the rocks like it was water and he was stranded in the Sahara Desert, wallowing in his own self pity as he had been for months.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Anthony who gave it a squeeze. The blonde smiled, but it was one of sympathy, his bright blue eyes swimming with concern for his best friend. Mathew almost scoffs.

“How ya doin’, man?” Anthony asks and glances towards Anders who’s watching them both closely.

The raven haired male simply shrugged half heartedly in response. He knew his captain was worried about him, the whole team was for that matter. He hadn’t been right for a while and nearly closed himself off completely. He didn’t join in on the playful chirps at morning skate or reply to Anthony’s invites of golf with the boys. He didn’t go to the team cookouts. He barely mustered a reply when Trotz was ripping into him for being so unfocused. The guys were starting to realize they only ever saw him on the ice or drowning himself in the hard stuff at the bar. He was a walking shell of the man he had been a year ago.

“What happened, Barzy?” Anthony sighed, moving to stand in front of his friend so that he could meet his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Mathew saw a notification pop up on his phone that his Uber was approaching, giving himself the perfect opportunity to get out of his best friend’s inevitable interrogation. He knew the team was only going to let this go on for so much longer before sitting him down and making him talk about his feelings. He was already dreading all of the things Anders had to say but hadn’t yet. He tossed back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, not even feeling it burn its way down his throat with the amount he’d already consumed that night. He stood from his stool, a bit unsteady on his feet as he pats Anthony on the shoulder leaves him with few words before heading out.

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t help me.”

The bar was definitely over what capacity should allow that night. The bar was swarmed as people shouted their drink orders at the poor bartenders who were scurrying around like mice. Patrons were spilling out onto the dance floor, packed in like sardines to the point that you could hardly move. You pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering worthless apologies to people who weren’t even listening as you desperately searched for your friends. You’d lost them over twenty minutes ago and had lost all hope in finding them.

You were starting to feel claustrophobic amidst the sweaty bodies pressed against you, chest growing tight the longer you spent in the crowd. It felt like the walls were beginning to close in on you as your head grew fuzzy. The Long Island Iced Teas you’d been consuming since you got there three hours ago certainly didn’t help. You forced your way through the crowd and to the exit of the bar, shoving people who wouldn’t move as you tried to get air into your lungs.

You stumbled out of the doors to the bar, ignoring the odd looks people heading inside sent you. Your knees felt weak as you braced yourself against the wall. Hand shaking, you pressed it to your chest to feel that your heart was rapidly pounding away. You closed your eyes and did all you could to focus on your breathing and get yourself to calm down. You hadn’t had a panic attack in some time, sophomore year of college the last you could recall, having learned what triggered them and how to keep the panic from overcoming you.

Mathew was standing farther down, away from the never ending flow of people coming and going from the bar’s entrance. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the street with a scowl. He and Anthony were supposed to be leaving together, walking back to their shared apartment building a few blocks away. The blonde male had been busy when Mat stepped out, chatting away with some pretty redhead who’d caught his eye early in the night. He was about ready to make the walk by himself if his friend didn’t show himself in the next five minutes.

He saw you out of the corner of his eye, alone and trembling without so much as a jacket. He looked around to see if anyone you might know was near, but no one was paying you any mind. He was overcome with a sense of worry as he stared at you, not knowing if some sleazebag slipped something in your drink or if you had some kind of medical condition. He found himself moving closer to you and asking, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just-” you stated breathlessly, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, “I just need a second.”

You stood there for another moment until you had yourself composed, finally standing up straight when it didn’t feel like your knees would give out anymore. You weren’t expecting to open your eyes and find the person attached to the voice that just spoke to you still standing there. His hazel eyes were filled with worry as they flickered over your frame. You were too busy gawking to notice his genuine concern.

“Did something happen in there? Do you need me to call someone?” the handsome stranger asked, his gaze finally settling on yours.

“N-No,” you stuttered sheepishly, clearing your throat and blinking quickly as if that would make the nervousness go away. “It’s lame, actually, I lost my friends and… The crowd was a bit much.”

Mathew’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he knew something traumatic hadn’t happened and a laugh passed through his lips. He offered you a smile and replied, “Yeah, that is kind of lame.”

You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes, feeling your face heat up slightly. He laughed again and shook his head a bit, saying, “I kid, I kid. This place does get pretty rowdy on the weekends.”

“Not to be completely cheesy but, I take it you come here often?” you asked with a smile, wrapping your arms around your middle as the cool New York air started to seep into your skin. The adrenaline from your near panic attack had kept you from realizing how cold it was out and you’d left your jacket inside at your table. Hopefully one of your friends would grab it despite the drunken escapades they were partaking in.

“Pretty often, yeah,” Mathew grinned at the question. He was sure you hadn’t intended to use it as a pickup line, yet he found himself hoping there was genuine interest laced behind your words.

He shrugged off his black bomber jacket when he noticed you shivering and held it out to you. As you opened your mouth to protest, the look on his face told you that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. So you took the item from his hands and slipped in on with a gracious ‘thank you’ once you were swallowed in its warmth.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Mat,” he replied while shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

It was silent for a moment between you, neither knowing exactly what to say. Mathew didn’t know if you were intending to head back inside and enjoy your night. While he was more than ready to go home ten minutes ago, he was now enamored by you, and wanted to do anything to stay in your presence. Usually, he was quick witted and able to charm a girl with a few simple words. In front of you he was drawing a blank, afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring you off.

Seeing you shyly toy with the ends of his sleeve, a nervous smile curling on your lips as you looked at his feet had a surge of confidence flowing through him. He offered, “Would you want to grab a coffee? I know a place that makes the best homemade crepes.”

The memory hit Mathew like a freight train as he stepped out of the doors of the bar. He was left staring at the wall, at the very spot he spoke to you for the first time. He couldn’t feel the dull ache in his chest, having numbed himself with whiskey that was far too expensive. He turned to walk down to the street to wait for his Uber, but stopped short as he caught a glimpse of a woman walking by.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared after her. It was as if time slowed down, everything moving in slow motion but her. Everything was as he remembered from that night. The way her hair was styled, the dress that stopped halfway down her thighs, the heels that echoed in his head with each step she took. What shook him to his core the most was the jacket sported on her shoulders. From the night he first gave it to her, she would always steal it, claiming it looked better with most of her outfits than his own. He never argued, because he agreed, and he would never turn down a chance to see her in his clothes. It was you — unmistakably you.

Mathew’s feet started moving on their own accord behind you. It was like you were running away, until he realized it was him who was moving in slow motion with the people around him. The streets were bustling with people of all likes, experiencing the enticing New York nightlife. He was weaving through the crowd, calling out your name, desperate, broken and begging you to put back together the pieces of his broken heart.

You kept walking and Mathew was trying his hardest to catch up, but was like with each step he took his feet were growing heavier and heavier. He let out a strangled, frustrated cry as he yelled out your name once more. Suddenly, he was knocked to the side, stumbling over his own feet and nearly falling into the street. He turned to look at the man who just rammed into him carelessly.

“Watch where you’re going, you prick!” he shouted after the man who paid him no mind, receiving a few dirty looks from others.

It was then that he realized everyone was moving in real time again. His breath hitched in his throat as he spun to search for you in the crowd. You were gone. Deep down, he knew you had never been there in the first place. His mind was playing another dirty little trick on him, as it did so often the last few months. His guilty subconscious tormented him with images of you, making him watch you slip away time and time again. The hollow feeling deep within him only grew with every hallucination.

He turned his attention to the building he’d found himself in front of, and if the visions of you weren’t already torture enough, the universe had just thrown something else into the mix. Yet, he found himself making his way up to the door, the bell chiming above his head as he entered the quant diner. He takes a glance around, seeing an old couple at a table on one side of the building and a man by himself at the bartop, a laptop open and headphones in as he had a quiet conversation on what Mathew assumed was a Zoom or FaceTime call. He drops his head and walks to the familiar corner booth then slides into the seat and cancels his Uber.

A moment later, the waitress approaches the table. Mathew meets her eyes and embarrassment floods through him as he takes note of her sympathetic smile. He’s seen the smile a thousand times now from anyone who had an inkling of what he’d been going through.

“Coffee?” she asked softly, knowing the answer before he could even muster a nod.

You slide into the booth, sighing in content as the warmth from the building seeps into your bones. Mathew slides in across from you and the two of you share a shy smile as you meet eyes. Never before had he been so nervous to take a girl out. Maybe it was because you weren’t like the others. You hadn’t thrown yourself at him the first chance you got. You didn’t seem to know who he was or his status in the social hierarchy of the people in Long Island. It was refreshing and terrifying all at the same time.

You both look up as the waitress walks over with a bright smile on her face and asks what you’d like to drink. “Coffee,” the two of you say at the same time. Mathew’s face visibly turns a light shade of pink, and in turn you feel a rush of heat traveling up your own neck. The waitress smiles knowingly.

“Cream, please,” you add.

As the waitress turns to Mathew he says, “Black is fine.”

It’s silent for a moment as you both wait for the waitress to return with your drinks. Your eyes are floating around the diner, taking in some of the unique decor and 80’s flare with a modern twist. Mathew watches you closely and decides he quite likes the way your eyes shine under the glow of the baby blue neon lights. He takes it upon himself to start pointing out some of the historical decor in the building. It’s your turn to admire him and how his eyes light up when he talks about something he finds exceptionally appealing. His lips are curled into a smile as he spouts off facts to you about each item he points out.

He pauses his rant about people not appreciating The Beatles enough when he sees you grinning at him. He smiles sheepishly and diverts his gaze to the steam rising out of the coffee mug just placed in front of him, asking, “What?”

“Nothin’,” you replied with a small shrug, smile never leaving your face. You stirred a splash of cream into your own coffee and quizzed, “I take it as you come here often too?”

Mathew felt his ears grow hot but he still managed to muster up a confident smirk and lifted his eyes to meet yours, “I said best homemade crepes didn’t I?”

“That you did.”

“I usually end up here after a night at the bar and I need to sober up. People say coffee doesn’t work but it sure feels like it,” he explained, “Plus, they serve breakfast twenty four hours.”

The way your eyes lit up when Mathew said that had butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He listened as you went on a rant about how breakfast was underrated and you’d kill for pancakes for dinner over a steak most nights. From there, the conversation between the two of you flowed effortlessly. You learned how the other liked their eggs cooked and what your drink of choice was. Your favorite colors and favorite scent of body wash. Being with Mathew made you feel as if you’d been sleeping all of these years and were just waking up. Never had you felt so drawn to someone in the way that you were to him, and him the same. Any other night, if he had met a girl in the fashion that he’d met you, he would have had you in and out of his apartment long ago. He wouldn’t be on his third coffee refill with a plate of perfectly cooked strawberry crepes in front of him.

Mathew learned that you hadn’t been in New York long. You’d moved about two months ago and had a fashion design internship with some fancy company he’d never heard of. You were looking to build your own empire in the business. With the way you exuded yourself now that you were comfortable with him and talked with so much passion about your dreams, he didn’t think you’d have any trouble. The drive you had to build a future for yourself wasn’t something he was used to hearing from the women he surrounded himself with.

The famous athlete, something you learned about him in between bites of food, was used to women throwing themselves at him and his teammates. Some of them were just looking to brag that they slept with an Islander, others had more devious intentions. They were after the money Mathew tried his hardest not to spend recklessly - the gifts he could potentially buy. Some wanted his last name, to be in with the WAGs and flaunt their relationship all over social media; to rub it in the face of others that she got what they so desperately wanted. It was part of the reason that he never exclusively dated, too afraid that there were ulterior motives behind sultry whispers and sly smirks.

The diner that had previously been significantly busy when the two of you got there had now cleared out completely. You and Mathew hadn’t realized how long you’d actually been there until you took note of the empty tables. Your waitress was standing in the corner against the wall, looking like she was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while she waited for you to leave. You and the Centerman had been so lost in each other that you hadn’t realized hours had passed and it was nearly two in the morning.

“I guess we should get out of here, huh?” you asked, hoping the gorgeous man in front of you picked up on the suggestive tone of your voice.

It didn’t seem like he did though with the way his shoulders slumped and he mumbled, “Yeah, I guess we should.”

As Mathew fished his wallet out, he felt you gaze burning into him. You weren’t ready for the night to end and you were hoping he was thinking the same. He looked up and locked eyes with you, holding the stare as you raised a singular eyebrow and a coy smile curled on your lips. Realization crossed the chiselled features of his face and he gave you a smirk before throwing down a good amount of cash on the table. He slid out of the booth and held his hand out to you, giving you a small bow as if you were royalty.

“M’lady?”

Mathew chokes on the very breath in his lungs, his eyes burning as he stared down at the cold, untouched mug of coffee in front of him. It’s no longer black, now a light chestnut color but the splash of cream he’d subconsciously added to it. He had picked that up from you because ‘only psychopaths drink black coffee, babe’. He switched back of course. This was the first time he let himself slip up and fall back into a habit that used to be so comfortable with you.

He swallows thickly and stuffs a generous amount of cash into the black checkbook, far more than what the coffee was worth. He pushes himself out of the booth and avoids the waitress’ eyes as she comes over to collect the payment. He can’t even muster a smile as he mumbles out a ‘thank you’ and exits the diner. Lori, the woman who always gave you the best service there, is left to sadly stare after him. She knows better than to ask what happened to the sweet girl who always used to accompany him.

Mathew walks a couple blocks down to his apartment building, trying not to remember how you’d clung to his arm. How your giggles echoed down the empty streets and your perfume swirled around him. When he closed his eyes he thought he could almost smell it, wondering if traces of you were lingering on the jacket hanging heavy on his shoulders. He still remembers how it felt to have your hands wrapped around his bicep and your hip bumping his as you walked pressed to his side. He enters his building and the feeling is gone as quickly as it came.

He walks into his dark apartment and thinks that it feels colder and colder every night that he comes home alone. He can’t help but take note of your missing pile of shoes by the door that he always used to chirp you for. He hangs his keys on the hook and his eyes linger on the empty spot beside it. He walks past the couch on the way to the bedroom and tries not to think about how bare it looks without the hoodies you used to steal from him littered about.

He strips into his boxers after brushing his teeth and climbs under the chilly sheets. He’s turned on his side, staring at the vacant spot beside him. He can see you there, messy hair splayed out around you and your face smiling back at him. He reaches out and grabs the pillow that used to be deemed yours, pulling it into his chest tightly. Your scent is long gone from the pillowcase, yet he still buries his nose into it and squeezes his eyes shut as if that will bring you back.

As he begins to drift off to sleep, his mind once again tortures him with visions of you. How you stumbled into his apartment the night you met as a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. You undressed each other on the way to the bedroom, clothes scattered across the floor. Your skin was hot against his as he laid you on his bed for the first time and worshiped every inch of your skin. He remembers your breathy moans in his ear as he filled you up and rocked into you, slow and deep. Your limbs were tangled as you came down from your highs, your head on his sticky chest as he ran his hand over the tangled hair on your head.

He remembers whispering, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” and you replying, “You’re something special, Mathew Barzal.” The two of you fell asleep like that, with Mathew thinking he could spend forever with you wrapped in his arms.

Mathew awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and a weight sitting heavy in his chest. He’s still clutching his pillow as he turns over and looks for you instinctively. When he’s once again faced with the empty space beside him, his heart drops. He flips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. It’s the same everyday that he wakes up, replaying the day everything changed like a broken record in his head.

Your whirlwind romance with Mathew happened unexpectedly. While the two of you did click instantly, you certainly weren’t expecting it to be so serious so fast. He was a famous hockey player who was on the road most of the year. You thought, at most, you would be someone he called when he was home in New York because you were convenient. Instead, you got the fancy dinner dates and spontaneous trips to Philly when he played the Flyers. You got a bouquet of flowers at your door when he was off on a roadie. You got to meet Anthony and enjoy quiet nights in just drinking beers and mocking shitty reality TV. You had moved into his apartment almost completely after only four months without either of you really realizing — yet neither of you stopped it.

The relationship you had with Mathew was unique. It was something people dreamed of and hoped to find. You were Twin Flames; two halves of one soul that united. You fell for each other so hard and so fast it made you dizzy. Before you knew it, a year had passed. You’d completed your internship and your boyfriend was a rising star. You had built a strong foundation in New York and it was potentially where you could put down your roots and live out the rest of your life, yet you had bigger dreams and plans for yourself. Something you hadn’t been completely honest with Mathew about.

You were scared. Scared of the unknown complications and challenges you could face. The two of you had moved so fast you were having trouble differentiating between fantasy and reality — if this is really what you wanted. What if you settled down in New York and Mathew was traded to a different team across the country? What if he decided he didn’t want you anymore in a few weeks time, leaving you high and dry? What if you didn’t really love him and you were just convincing yourself that you did? These questions had been plaguing you for weeks, especially when he was away, and it was becoming too much. So you did the cowardly thing and you ran from it.

It was nearing the Stanley Cup playoffs and the Islanders were well on their way to securing a spot, so most of Mathew’s focus had been on hockey. It never bothered you because it was his career. It’s what he did for a living and what he loved, so how could you fault him for that? The roadies seemed to fall closer together and last a little longer. Mathew now knows that’s why he didn’t notice your things slowly disappearing from the apartment then, and he still beats himself up for not realizing that you were slipping away.

He’d been on one of those seemingly long roadies and his flight came in early that morning from Tampa Bay. While they came out victorious, the games had been rough and Mathew was sore. He couldn’t wait to decompress and cuddle up with you for the few days he had off until the next home game. As the Uber pulled up outside the building, he felt exhaustion overcoming him and wanted to sleep the rest of the day away.

He walked through the door, lugging his duffel bag and suitcase, a sigh leaving his lips at the fact that he was finally home again. The ease he felt was quickly replaced with panic and confusion when his eyes landed on the suitcases in the foyer. His blood ran cold in his veins as he dropped his bags and called out your name with a panicked tone. The apartment remains silent so he quickly makes his way to the bedroom, pushing the door open to find you sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out the window. His own rapid heartbeat is pounding in his ears as he pulls at his tie and moves towards you.

He drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, his eyes full of concern as he meets your tear filled ones. The pads of his fingers are rough and warm as he takes your hand in his own and whispers, “Why are your bags by the door, baby? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” your voice breaks as you reply, bottom lip wobbling before a sob wracks your body.

Mathew quickly pulls you into his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head as you cry into his game day suit. Dread fills his body, having never seen you so upset. His heart is in his throat and he feels as if he’s going to be physically ill. He holds you like that, kissing the side of your head and whispering words of affirmation until you can compose yourself. You pull back from him and wipe your wet cheeks but he keeps one hand on the side of your head and the other on your waist.

Then you drop the bomb on him.

You explain that your internship was never a permanent plan to stay in New York. You have a flight in four hours that leaves for Paris. A one way ticket taking you to the fashion capital of the world to start your career. You found a job opportunity so perfect that you’d be stupid to pass up. Mathew wants to be happy for you. He wants to jump for joy and celebrate with you, but you hid this from him. You did exactly what he was afraid of and shared with you within hours of your first meeting. He’s filled with disbelief and anger instead.

“This was your plan the whole time? You hid this from me the last year we’ve been together?” he exasperates, moving to his feet as he starts to pace the room and tug at his hair.

“Everything was so good with us I didn’t want to ruin it. I was going to tell you, Mat, I swear.”

“When?!” he shouts, feeling guilty for a moment when he sees you flinch, but the anger overpowers it. “Because it looks like to me you were just going to leave without so much as a goodbye!”

You shake your head, and squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes as the tears start to well again. You argue, “I knew when your flight was coming in. I wouldn’t just leave you like that.”

“But you are. You are leaving me like that. You clearly have your mind made up about this and didn’t bother telling me,” he rebuttals, “You let me believe for a year that you were in this. I’ve given you one hundred percent, despite the hardships. What did you give me, huh? Fifty at best?”

You’re quiet, not wanting to admit that you hadn’t been all in on the relationship like him, even though you acted like it. Really, you’d had one foot out the door the whole time. Mathew’s voice shakes as he stares at you from across the room and says, “I love you. I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

A choked sob wracks through your body at his words and you cover your face with your hands. You knew he was in love with you, even the blind could see how head over heels Mathew Barzal was for you. He starts desperately rambling about how the two of you can make it work. Yes, long distance is hard, but he believes it’s worth it — believes you can love him like he loves you if you’ll take the risk. Why else would you have spent a year with him if some part of you didn’t think so? You put up with his relentless hockey schedule when you had every reason to walk away and live your life like the other twenty somethings you surround yourself with.

You disagree though. Long distance would only complicate things further. The different timezones would be unforgiving to your conflicting work schedules. Mathew often didn’t get long enough breaks to be able to fly out and see you and it be worth it. Plus, an international flight once a month, maybe more? It sounded like a good idea but eventually his wallet would suffer. You certainly couldn’t do it with the salary you were starting at, nor would you risk losing your job by unimportant travel to see a man. It was a negative and closed off way of looking at it on your part, but for both of your sake, it was best that way.

“It’s impossible…”

“It’s not impossible, you just don’t want to try!” Mathew yells, unable to care that his neighbors have more than likely heard every word of your argument.

“Mat, I have had the best year of my life here in New York. I’ve made memories that I could never in a million years forget. You are a part of that. I love you, God, do I fucking love you, but admit it. This was never meant to be long term. Not with the paths our lives are taking. We were never meant to last forever,” you stand from the bed and stare at him across the room, pleading with him to look at it from your perspective. You wanted to leave this in a good place, friends possibly, if he could accept what this was at face value. Two people who loved each other very much, but weren’t meant to be. The cliche ‘right people, wrong time’.

Mathew couldn’t though, he wouldn’t. He was blinded by a rage that he had never felt before. You had wasted his time — a year that he could’ve spent entertaining pretty girls who threw themselves at him for a quick fuck. Partying with his teammates and friends and reveling in his success that was only growing with every game he played. He finds himself wishing he had left you alone that night outside of the bar and just gone home. He lets the fury coursing through his veins take over, and with his fists shaking at his sides, he grits out in a low voice, “Get out.”

His words don’t shock you. You don’t know what other outcome you hoped would come from this. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain that shoots through the center of your chest though. He won’t even look at you, hard gaze concentrated at your feet with his jaw set tight. You fight the urge to go to him. Wrap your arms around him and take it all back. Promise him you’ll stay even though you’d be sacrificing everything. It wasn’t fair to you, so you force your feet to carry you out of the bedroom and out of his front door for the last time. The sobs come once you’re in the elevator, then again in your friend’s (who was nice enough to give you a ride to the airport) car while they held you.

A few seconds after Mathew hears the front door shut, he’s tugging at his dark hair and letting out an agonizing shout. His breathing is ragged as he paces the room and debates running after you, but what would he say? The argument seemed final. You were set in your plan to take off to France and he couldn’t change your mind — he couldn’t make you stay. So he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut and allows himself to feel the heartbreak, a guttural sob passing his lips.

Mathew closes his eyes and sucks a deep breath into his lungs as the memory fades. His heart is heavy in his chest as he reaches over and retrieves his phone from the bedside table. There’s a text from Anthony sent in the early hours of the morning, asking if he’d made it home safely. He doesn’t reply, instead opening the Instagram app and pulling up your profile.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks at your most recent picture. You changed your hair, a slightly different cut and a different color, but you’re just as breathtaking as he always thought you were. You’re sitting at a cafe with a cup of some fancy brew in front of you and the caption is in French, something about dreams coming true. Though, he’s not focused on some silly caption when he can’t take his eyes off of you. You look happy, wearing a smile he used to see when Anthony or one of your friends would sneak a picture of the two of you. Regret floods his body, the memory of the day you left still fresh in his mind. He thinks about liking the post just to tell you that he still loves you and he hasn’t forgotten about you. He exits out of the app before he allows himself to succumb to that urge.

He forces himself out of bed and into the shower before he’s late for practice. He mulls over in his head whether he should text you or not. He knows you more than likely won’t reply with how things ended all those months ago — now that you’ve moved on and you’re happy without him. He wishes he could too, yet he carries so much guilt for the things he said and allowing himself to have his heartbroken in the first place. He misses you like hell and the never ending visions of you plaguing his mind only makes it intensify.

Mathew heads to the rink in silence. He doesn’t speak to his teammates in the locker room and goes through the motions of practice in a daze. He’s not there completely and everyone can see it in his eyes. Anders is planning to pull him aside, Trotz insisting they have a talk and threatening to bench number thirteen until he gets his shit together. Mathew can tell. No one has tried to speak to him and Anthony keeps throwing him a side glance every few minutes. He prepares himself in the brief post-practice shower.

“Barzy, mind hanging back for a sec?” his captain asks as the other guys begin to filter out of the room.

He huffs out a sound of agreement while fishing his phone out of his duffel bag. His mom usually texts him a few times a week so he needs to let her know that he’ll give her a call later. He nearly drops the device as his eyes hone in on one message. Anders is talking but his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears he can’t hear him. He clicks on your name and feels every nerve in his body ignite at what the text message says.

I miss you. I’m coming home.

tagging the gc bc I love them @bricksatlandyswindow @butgilinsky @barzysthighs @babytkachuks @dmonchld @anxietyandtacos @sortagaysortahigh

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butgilinsky · 4 years

Text

you don’t understand, poppet // dm

warning; language i think?

summary; being severus snape’s daughter makes your time at hogwarts just slightly difficult

word count; 5.8k+

draco x snape!reader, dad!snape x daughter!reader

this doesn’t follow the harry potter timeline!

you don’t remember how exactly you ended up here, sneaking out of draco malfoy’s room at a despicably late hour, trying to flatten your hair while making sure that your sweater was put on the right way.

it was one thing to sneak in and out of draco malfoy’s room every once in a while, but this had been the third time this week, and it didn’t help that it was starting to get harder to sneak out so often.

the two of you had been sneaking around for longer than you could recall at this point. you hadn’t kept track, too busy tripping over yourself when you saw the blond boy smile at you from across the room. despite the two of you being a secret from everybody in the school, it was hard not to pick up on the longing gazes and the giggles that neither of you could hold back when the other was put under a microscope.

you hadn’t always been the best friends with draco malfoy, but you couldn’t deny the fact that the slytherin boy had taken your heart in his hands with little to no effort. if it were completely up to you, with no complications sitting in the forefront of your mind, you would’ve announced to the entirety of the school about you relationship status with draco long ago.

though, that proved to be anything but an option, given that the head of slytherin house was not only a less than tolerant man, but also your father.

it had been nothing less than expected for you to be sorted into slytherin. being severus snape’s only child, and living up to the family name, it was inevitable for you to sport silver and green during your time at hogwarts. you were well versed in potions, given that it had been your father’s area of expertise and you had nothing but an abundance of herbs and liquids lying around the house when you grew up.

most people were never given an opportunity to see severus snape’s fatherly side. the part of him that would read you to sleep, the part of him that had him leaning over the edge of his bed to pull you up after you’d had a nightmare. nobody ever saw the side of him that was reserved entirely for you, behind closed doors and almost never on the hogwarts campus.

they all knew him to be the hard ass professor that took away house points far more than he awarded them. the one that assigned surprise essays when someone pissed him off in class. snape wasn’t seen as the fatherly type, though you and a few of the professors at hogwarts knew that wasn’t necessarily the case.

he was hard on you, there was no doubt about that. he had always been hard on you, ever since you were born. it was no secret to you that your parents were never in love with one another. your father’s heart belonged to someone that didn’t want it, and you had been the product of a way to forget about that.

he didn’t show you any special treatment while you were in class, or if you stepped out of line, but you preferred it to be that way. you hated your first few years at hogwarts, since it had mainly consisted of your housemates blowing you off as the favorite of the house by default. that, along with the few times that you found out kids were spending time to get into your father’s good graces.

you had quickly isolated yourself, sticking your nose up at the kids in your house, and ignored by kids from other houses. it had taken you three years to allow yourself to slip into a steady friend group, guarding yourself from more people than you initially intended.

and now here you were, trying to tip toe down the hall back to your room where you’d have to sneak into your room as quietly as you possibly could. you made the mistake of thinking you had made it safe and sound by the time you reached your door once, but your roommate had run off to your father the next morning and told him that you had been out after hours.

that wasn’t a fun conversation to have at seven in the morning.

you were surprised to see draco on the other side of your door early the next morning, knocking with a grin plastered onto his lips. your disheveled hair and narrowed eyes allowed him to know that you had just pulled yourself out of bed, completely forgetting about the quidditch match that you had promised to attend. slytherin wasn’t playing this morning, so most of your house would be sleeping in as late as possible.

it took you all of ten minutes to get ready, throwing on an old sweat shirt that was very much not yours, though you weren’t sure who the rightful owner was. draco wasn’t going to tell you that it was his, one you had stolen from him a few months back when crabbe had spilled pompion potion down the back of your robes.

you hadn’t even made it out of the hallway before you almost ran into your father, who stood tall and rigid in the middle of the hallway, eyes void of emotion as he looked between you and draco.

“where are you two off to?” you rolled your eyes, stepping around your father and continuing your path out to the front of the building.

“to the quidditch game. care to join us?” you pushed a smile forward, cocking your head to the side as you and your father had a silent argument.

he had been suspicious about your behavior for a few weeks now. he’d caught you out in the halls after hours several times, though you were always quick to whip up a believable lie. that is one thing he wished you hadn’t inherited from him; the ability to be sneaky. you were. good liar, and he was to thank for that.

he shook his head slowly, lingering his gaze on draco for just a moment before you were gripping the boy’s elbow and tugging him in the direction of the pitch.

you sat beside draco during the game, not being able to ignore your father’s burning gaze on you practically the whole time. draco noticed the heavy gaze on the two of you as well, restraining himself from reaching out and showing you any form of physical affection.

the two of you had to do everything in secret. if anybody found out, your father would find out, and that was the last thing either of you wanted.

your father liked draco, sure. he was the stereotypical slytherin student at hogwarts, which was bound to bring the two of them together. he sucked up to the right people at the right time, and wasn’t falling over himself at the sight of harry potter like most of the school usually did.

but it didn’t matter how much your father liked draco. at the end of the day, you had his voice ringing in your ears, reminding you that you were, in his words, “far too young to be making decisions that will dictate the rest of your life’. you always rolled your eyes when he repeated the phrase you’d heard from a very young age, but now it was dictating just how you truly lived your life.

you were close to being caught one afternoon, pinned between draco’s frame and a wall with his lips latched onto your neck. if it wasn’t for your keen hearing and the faintest clicking of shoes, you might have exposed your hidden relationship. but you were able to push draco off of you just in time, running around the opposite corner of the hall and leaving the flustered blond to be found by your father, all alone in the middle of the hall.

then there was the time you were late for class, your tie ever so slightly loosened and crooked. you were panting softly, though it was assumed that was from rushing down the hall to get to class. this is a time when most of the class expected you to receive special treatment, barely receiving the bat of an eye for being late to your own father’s class.

that assumption was wrong.

“late, miss snape?” you felt your breath catch itself in the back of your throat, nerves building up at the tone used to address you.

“sorry, professor, i was-“

“ten points will be deducted from slytherin.” you felt your shoulders sink when the slytherin portion of the room groaned at their entire house being punished from your mistake. “take your seat now.”

you slid into your seat, catching a glimpse of draco’s gaze for just a moment. he smirked, not half bothered by the point deduction since he knew it was because you woke up later than you had intended, having to rush back to your own room to get ready before class. you rolled your eyes, though your lips tugged up into a soft smile that had his heart thumping in his chest.

halfway through the class and you had been completely lost. you were barely following, which had been a surprise to everyone in the class, especially hermione who sat beside you. the two of you weren’t the best of friends, but you found it easier to work together since nobody had been better at potions than the two of you.

so when you poured too much lethe river water into your cauldron, you threw your head into your hands and tugged at your hair.

“struggling?” your father stood at the end of your desk, hands folded behind his back as he quirked up an eyebrow at you.

“no.” you grumbled softly, moving to grab your cauldron so you could pour it out and start again. you were beat to it, the man before you grabbing it in his own hands and pouring the contents onto your desk right in front of you.

you jumped back, trying to avoid ruining your robes with the large amount of liquid, but ultimately failing. your sudden movement and loud gasped had surely caught the attention of everyone in the room.

“papa!” your eyes were wide, filled with shock and a twinge of hurt as you stared up at him in disbelief.

“start again.” he dropped the cauldron onto your desk and spun on the balls of his feet, eyes scanning across the room to test anyone to say something to him about his previous actions.

when everyone turned around and tucked their nose into their own books and recipes, you were left to clean up the mess with a newfound distress weighing in your chest. you had lifted your wand to clean up the mess, hoping to get rid of the liquid spilled across your desk quickly before your father was calling back to you without even sparing you a glance.

“and don’t even think about using magic to clean your mess, miss snape.” your wrist paused, not even having time to conjure the charm before the rest of the class was looking at you, once again.

you had gotten up to leave the class as soon as you were dismissed, ignoring the incessant calling of your name echoing between your ears. you had almost made it the entire way out of the room before you felt your feet glued to the spot, your muscles unable to move, which meant your escape was no longer possible.

the charm that your father used on you lit a fire in your chest. he hadn’t done it in years, choosing to address the problems between the two of you in different ways. the two of you played dirty when it came to fighting with one another, but gluing your feet to the ground beneath you was something that never failed to get underneath your skin.

“y/n.” you sighed when your father stood before you, waiting for the rest of the kids to file out of the room before he allowed you to move from your spot. “what’s going on with you lately?”

“me? what’s going on with you?” his eyes softened, detecting the hurt in your voice and in your question. the two of you had never had this silent feud go on for so long. usually it was a few days at most, but you were teetering the line of a few months now, and you weren’t sure how much more embarrassment you could take.

“you’re keeping something from me.” you groaned, screwing your eyes shut as you racked your brain for another quick response. “and don’t lie.”

“it’s not a big deal, papa. it’s just not something i want to talk to you about.” you hoped it was enough, hoped you could circle around him and slip out the door without more of an interrogation.

you were wrong.

“did i do something?” you felt your shoulders fall at the question, feeling defeat creep into the back of your mind.

“no, you didn’t do anything. i promise.” you took a step towards him, allowing your arms to snake around his abdomen before squeezing gently. “i love you, papa.”

“i love you too, poppet.” his voice was soft, barely reaching your ears.

you were able to slip away then, making it halfway towards your next class before you were being tugged into an empty classroom. you were closed in between a familiar frame and the door, locking you in your place.

“close call, huh?” draco’s hand fell to your cheek, thumb softly stroking the soft skin of your cheek as his lips turned up into a smile.

“really close.” you smiled widely, eyes falling down to his lips just before they pressed against yours.

you had been sitting at dinner when you were being called into your father’s office, having to put your plate aside and excuse yourself from your conversation with draco and crabbe.

the familiar scent of peppermint filled your nose upon entry, a soft excitement bubbling in your chest when your father turned over his shoulder with a knowing look.

“cuppa?” you nodded eagerly, already feeling your tastebuds stand tall as they awaited your favorite tea.

your father always made the best peppermint tea.

you had taken a sip almost immediately after he’d set the cup in front of you, humming in delight while he circled the desk and leaned against it. he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes boring into yours as you sipped your tea.

“are you keeping something from me?” you brought the porcelain cup away from your face and narrowed your eyes.

“yes.” your eyebrows furrowed at your own voice betraying you.

“why were you late to class today?”

“i woke up late.” he narrowed his eyes at you, surprised that was truly the reason. he had expected your secret to come tumbling out by now.

“have you been sneaking around with somebody?”

“yes.”

“who?”

“draco.” you slapped your hand over your mouth, unsure of why you were spilling out these truths until you caught sight of the small bottle that sat beside your father’s kettle. “you put veritaserum into my tea!”

“you’re right, i did. how long have you been sneaking around with malfoy?”

“a few months.” you groaned at your inability to lie to him right now. your lies had been the only thing saving you from your father’s rage for the past few months.

“were you ever planning on telling me?”

“no.”

“why not?”

“i doubt it’ll last.”

“why’s that?”

“because nobody wants to spend the rest of their life with me!”

your father stated at you then, finding himself at a loss for words. you didn’t truly believe that, did you? surely you would’ve told him that. surely you would’ve been able to realize that that isn’t true in the slightest.

“why would you say that?”

“because it’s true.” your voice was soft now, eyes falling to your hands that were folded in your lap.

the heavy feeling in your chest pinned you to your chair. you had never admitted these things out loud, always finding the embarrassment far more intimidating than you were willing to face. it was also common knowledge that your father wasn’t the most emotive person, keeping most of his life experience and thoughts on almost every single subject known to man, to himself.

“poppet-”

“i don’t want to talk about it anymore, papa.” you pushed yourself to stand up from your chair, the lump forming in your throat taking all of your focus in order to swallow it.

“y/n, just talk to me!” you shook your head, moving to wipe away the single tear that dared to roll down your cheek.

“why? so you can tell me that i’m too young? that i don’t understand anything about life because i’ve barely scratched the surface of what life has to offer? i’m tired of hearing that. i’m tired of being told that i don’t know what’s good for me because i’m too young.”

your cheeks were wet with tears now, your voice slightly scratchy from the strain you’ve been putting on it in the last few minutes. snape’s lips parted, his mind racing in order to try to find the words to say to you in order to make all of this better.

“you don’t understand, poppet-”

“to hell with that, papa! i’m set to graduate soon!”

“graduation has nothing to do with your ability to make decisions for yourself!” you froze in your spot, staring at the man who was now seething in front of you.

his breath came out in heavy sighs, his chest rising and falling with the beat of his anger as he watched you sink in front of him. your shoulders fell, your tears cascading down your cheeks as you stood there at a loss for words.

your mind reeled, thinking about every time he had told you something similar. within seconds, your mind was filled with your father’s voice overlapping itself, tumbling out excuse after excuse as he drilled it into your brain. he didn’t trust you to make large decisions. life changing decisions.

“you’re merely a young girl who thinks that she knows what she wants, but you don’t. you don’t know the trials and tribulations life is going to put you through, and if you think that that little twit malfoy is going to stick by your side, then you’re wrong.” your bottom lip wobbled just before you clamped your teeth down around it so it would still.

you looked down at your feet, allowing him to continue his lecture of how you were unfit to choose the life you were going to live. you knew how your life was meant to go, and how it would play out, more than likely.

you would be handed off to a boy that your father saw as fit, no doubt a boy that was physically and mentally capable of caring for and protecting you. you knew that your father wanted you to be safe and respected throughout your life, but that didn’t mean he trusted you to pick who you would share your life with.

it had been a philosophy he’d taken from his youth. he didn’t want you to experience the world that he had to endure, and although you appreciated that, you weren’t him. you weren’t going to follow his footsteps that closely, but he had tuned you out when you tried to assure him of that.

when he stopped, words halting on the tip of his tongue while his eyes were locked onto your defeated and shaky figure, your eyes locked with his once more. you saw the flicker of guilt in them, but you also watched that flicker fleet quickly, replacing itself with the same absent look he often held.

“it’s getting late. you should head off to bed.” you nodded once, turning on the balls of your feet to step back out into the hall, fully intending on bolting straight to your dormitory.

“y/n!” you turned just before making it fully out of the door, turning over your shoulder to lock eyes with your father once more. “don’t even think about stopping by that boy’s dormitory on the way.”

the tears spilling down your cheeks had been far too much for you to wipe away. it would have been useless since there had been a build up in your eyes large enough to refill an entire lake if prompted to.

“well if it isn’t our favorite snape.” you ignored the weasley twins’ comment, walking straight past them without so much as a glance in their direction.

you were able to dodge both of their frames, sliding between the two of them successfully. george had caught sight of your wet cheeks, but had no time to ask about them or point them out to his brother before you had turned the corner and disappeared from their sight.

you thought you had made the cleanest getaway you were capable of, just as you were colliding into another figure, too busy staring at your feet through burred vision to notice the boy walking towards you.

“bloody hell, love, you just about ran me over just now.” you had mumbled out an apology, turning to duck out of his way and move around him before he could see the tear track on your skin, but it had been too late.

he had reached for your cheek out of habit, moving your head back ever so slightly with every intention of greeting you with a kiss in the middle of an empty hallway. he stopped at the damp feeling on his fingertips, and the sight of tears leaking out of your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

“oh, love. what’s happened?” you shook your head, reaching for his wrist to pull his hand away from you in an attempt to save yourself the embarrassment. “darling, please. who’s at fault for making my pretty girl cry like this?”

“he knows.” you squeaked out, voice weaker than you had originally thought it to be.

draco’s eyes widened ever so slightly, partially out of fear of how snape would eventually confront him about the newfound news, but also because he knew how much you tried to avoid this very scenario. the two of you had been as carefully as you possibly could be, and now you were in front of him, sobbing in the middle of the hallway.

“i reckon it didn’t go well.” you shook your head slowly, not being able to stop the built up of fresh tears in your eyes. “let’s get you to bed.”

his soft voice, along with the way he wrapped his arms around you brought you a sense of needed comfort. he walked you back to your dormitory, threatening both of your roommates in order to get them out as soon as the door opened.

they scurried out, not sure what was happening but surely making a mental note of taking this straight to snape in the early morning. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much, too focused on the sound of your father’s voice still swimming between your ears.

you spent the night in draco’s arms, spilling every detail of the conversation between you and your father. it pained the boy to hear the quiver in your voice as you spoke, having to pause every now and again to choke out a sob in between words. he stayed by your sight for the entire night, arms wrapped around you while he listened patiently.

he didn’t try to talk you down, or assure you that everything would be alright. he knew you hated empty promises, and truth be told, he didn’t know if it would all be okay. all he knew for sure was that he was going to fight for you if faced with the decision.

you had developed bags under your eyes over the past few days, feeling more defeated and exhausted than you did during exams at the end of every year. your shoulders had fallen more often than not, eyes void of the glint they usually held. you only ever smile behind closed doors when draco would pull out all of his tricks to bring the very action out of you.

the last thing you wanted to do today was to stare your boggart in the eye.

you hadn’t been the first to go, which had been slightly uplifting, though the anxiety continued to bubble up in your chest as you waited to stand at the front of the queue. it had been comical when your father tumbled out of a wardrobe while neville stood at the front, shaking at the mere sight of your father.

your classmates, especially those you shared a house with, had expected you to find the sight more amusing. they expected you to laugh or even crack a smile at the sight of your father in high heels and a dress, but you didn’t. you had ben too worked up about what you were about to see. what the whole class was about to see.

“alright, miss snape. wand at the ready.” you nodded slowly, raising your wand in front of you as you anticipated the next few moments.

you casted a glance at draco, who had already had his turn moments ago and stood just off to the side with a reassuring smile. you tried to shake the nerves from your head, but when the creature before you took the shape of your father, seemingly two feet taller than he actually stood, you felt your heart thud harshly in your chest.

he loomed down at you, gaze as cold as it usually was and shoulders squared. his hands were folded behind his back, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he stared at you with the utmost disappointment in his expression.

“pathetic little poppet.” you felt your breath hitch in your throat, completely forgetting about the full room of students that stood around you, watching the entire thing as it played in real time. “a disgrace to the name i’ve so graciously awarded you.”

your lips parted, the spell sitting on the tip of your tongue, but held back by your lack of focus. you had forgotten about the assignment, forgot that there was a way to end this experience now and forever.

“far too young and weak to make lifelong decisions. you’ve relied on me your entire life, did you think that was going to come to an end anytime soon?” you clamped your lips tightly shut as tears stung your eyes for the first time in several days.

you hadn’t spoken to your father since the conversation in his office. you avoided his gaze in the great hall, and he avoided picking on you in class. the two of you had an unspoken agreement that you would keep your distance from one another, far too tense to try chipping away at the ice for now.

“you’re never going to be able to-”

“riddikulus!” your head whipped around, casting a gaze across the room just in time to catch your father lowering his wand, a mortified expression displayed clearly across his face.

the room was silent, not even professor lupin had something to say on the subject. that is, until he clapped his hands together and told everyone to grab their things and hurry out of the room.

just before draco walked out, your father pressed a firm hand to the boy’s chest and held him in place, telling him to stay put for the time being.

draco had been waiting for the man to call him into his office, or keep him after class one day. he had expected this lecture long ago, and was surprised it had taken this long for the head of slytherin to make that step.

there was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air, nobody knowing how to break the thick blanket of tension that laid over the three of you. draco didn’t think it was his place to speak first, figuring there was far more to solve between the two of you than the small role he played in it all.

“malfoy, i’m going to say this one time and one time only.” draco nodded, his own nerves bubbling up to the surface at how much of a mess he had made for himself by falling into a relationship with severus snape’s daughter. “one step out of line with her, and i’ll make sure you never forget who you’ve messed with.”

he had expected much more. more interrogation, or threats leading up to an inescapable command to break it off with you right then and there. draco hadn’t expected him to give in so easily, not even expecting an acceptance for years to come.

you hadn’t expected it either, not seeing a future where your father allowed you to choose these things for yourself. you were sure he’d wed you off to a man you had little to no interest in for the rest of your life. never did you imagine him to stand here and give draco his blessing, even if those weren’t the words he used.

“yessir.” draco nodded quickly, scared that if he took too long to accept the sliver of sentiment, that it would be retracted quickly. “i would never hurt her, professor snape.”

“you say that now, boyo, but i assure you-”

“papa, please.” your voice, although soft, carried across the room and brought both of their gazes over to you.

“you’re dismissed, malfoy.” draco sent you a questioning glance, surprised to see you nod within seconds, giving him the silent cue that it was okay to leave you alone with your father.

when the door shut behind the blond, your father was taking steps towards you, eyes casted down at his feet as he searched for what to say to you. he knew he stepped over the line the other night, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit it to you just yet. he was still having trouble accepting it himself.

“papa-”

“just, give me a moment.” you nodded, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you waited for him to find his words. “i shouldn’t have put veritaserum in your tea. i shouldn’t have said all of those despicable things to you the other night, and i should not have told you that you can’t make decisions for yourself.”

you nodded, not knowing how to respond to a thing like this. you knew your father wasn’t one to admit when he was wrong, but there still hadn’t been an apology that you were able to accept or reject in his train of thought.

“it was wrong of me to trick and treat you like that. i shouldn’t have done it, and it won’t happen again.” you nodded again, still keeping your lips pressed together as his eyes drooped with sorrow. “i’m sorry.”

“i just wish you trusted me with my own life.” you were shocked by your own words, seemingly holding the weight of the word in them.

“i do trust you, poppet. i trust you, i just,” he stopped to breath out a heavy sigh through his nose. “i fear that you’ll make the same mistakes i made when i was your age.”

“i wont.” you shook your head carefully, taking the small step that allowed you to wrap your arms around your father’s frame. “i’ll be careful, papa. i promise.”

“i know you will.” his voice was soft as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly to his frame. “but i was serious about what i said to malfoy.”

you laughed gently into the fabric of the man’s shirt, feeling his own chest bubble with a low laugh.

just as the two of you unravelled yourselves from each other, you turned towards the door to make a swift exit by each other’s side. however, the sight of multiple pairs of eyes peering in through the window that led into the hall had elicited a soft growl from the pit of your father’s chest.

you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of kids scattering away from the door, leaving the same blond boy that had just been in questioning with wide, apologetic eyes.

“i tried to get them to leave, but nobody would listen.” your father huffed, muttering a small ‘thanks’ before turning to you and telling you to make sure you weren’t late for dinner.

when he left, leaving you and draco standing in front of one another, you let a large smile spread across your lips. draco mimicked it, allowing himself to relax at the sight of you smiling and joyful once again. just as he made a move to reach for your cheek, his hand was clamped down back by his side involuntary, and the two of you were looking down the hallway at your father.

“i’m not going to make it that easy on you, malfoy.”

though he had kept his promise to not make it easy, keeping a close eye on the two of you for the remainder of your time at hogwarts, he accepted the love affair between you and the blond boy.

you were head over heels for the boy, and he for you, and even your father was capable of picking up on that. so when draco stepped up to your house one evening, two years after graduation and while you were away at work, he sat down at the table in your kitchen, your father wasn’t surprised.

draco, despite your now lengthy relationship and his ability to develop a strong relationship with your father, was still slightly surprised to see a grin, though small, spread across the man’s lips. your father had been waiting for this, wondering when draco was going to step up to the plate and drop to one knee in front of you.

he was there for it all, smiling and even wiping a stray tear from his eye when you legally bound yourself to the malfoy boy. though he had been sour about your new last name, he would learn to deal with it. he would also learn to deal with three little ones running around with the very same name.

he was partial to favoring the eldest, a boy with hair as black as his grandfathers, and the same name to prove the relation. your father would mess about with his three grandchildren, claiming that severus had been his favorite, but you were the one to blame. though, that wasn’t entirely true. he loved all three of them all the same.

as long as you were happy, so was he. and you were the happiest you had ever been.

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco #harry potter #severus snape #snape x reader #tom felton #draco malfoy x reader

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spinster-sisters · 3 years

Text

Sunflower. Final LTY

warnings: smut and general sexy times, also cheating so theres that

a.n: Hey guys this took 2 days to write but i will say after finishing this that consent is sexy

also this is longer than i intended

ALSO IVE SAID IT BEFORE AND ILL SAY IT AGAIN THIS WHOLE RELATIONSHIP IS FUCKED AND NOT AN EXAMPLE OF A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP

REPOST FROM MY OLD BLOG

You are sitting on the corner of a couch in a dark hazy room, you held your knees to your chest and your head lulled onto the back of the couch. There was music floating gently in and out of your ears, you couldn’t make out the lyrics over the soft hum of chatter in the room but you are much too drunk to care. Your body seemed too heavy to move, but once again, you didn’t mind at all. You shifted your eyes slowly around the room observing the human-shaped masses moving about the apartment or slumped into chairs like you. Normally you would feel anxious to be this vulnerable in a room this crowded, but not now. This wasn’t a “party” exactly, more of a throwback that escalated more than anyone thought it would, but still, there was nobody here who you wouldn’t call a friend. Of course, that includes him. You had always hung around in similar circles so it wasn’t surprising that he was here. But It left a sour taste in your mouth to think of the last time you came face to face.

“Fuckkkkk,” groaning you finally forced your body into a more upright position. Your body was protesting madly as the weight of gravity seemed about 10 times more powerful than average. There was a dull ache in your back as a result of the position you previously lay in so you hunched your back forward to try and work out the knots. Your eyelids were just as heavy as your head as you lifted them to scan the room more severely once more. Who were you looking for? you could have sworn that just a few seconds ago you were looking for someone. But none of the figures in front of you seemed to be what you wanted.

You didn’t have time to continue this train of thought before the fuzz in your brain lulled you back onto the couch once more. Your eyes remained open, drifting in and out of focus in one spot on the opposite side of the room. It wasn’t until one of the figures began moving your way could they seem to take in an image. Who was this guy? your drunk brain asked itself. “I think I know him,” you thought as a small pout of concentration crossed your face as the man got closer and closer. It wasn’t until he was standing directly in front of you, smiling at your clearly amusing look of confusion, that you were finally able to place his face. The pout was swapped for a drunken smile.

“Jaehyuuun!” you called slurring the final syllable of his name lifting your arms into the air. Gravity brought your arms crashing back down onto the couch beside you and you were about to push off the couch in an effort to stand up before Jaehyun placed a gentle hand on your shoulder pushing you back down.

“Don’t try,” His smile widened, “You’re just going to fall over"

You only half registered his words and were repeating them over and over in your brain trying to make some sense of them.

"you’re going to…You’re going-…You’re going tooooooo….” your mind trailed off once again

During this time Jaehyun took it upon himself to sit down next to you. The dip in the sofa through your balance through a loop and you almost toppled onto the floor again, saved only by the wild flailing of your arms in the process. As you resituated your self cross-legged on the couch facing the man, all thoughts once again seemed to leave your head once again. Your mouth hung open the slightest bit trying to regain the thoughts that occupied your head moments ago. You raked your eyes up and down the smiling man grasping at straws of thought, and for the first time, you noticed the glass situated in his left hand. He pushed the glass twords you.

“Here I think you’ll need this to get home tonight” The kind smile still not leaving his somewhat blurry face. It was only after his words did you realize how thirsty you were and how dry your lips are. you practically lunged for the drink, grabbing it with both hands to steady yourself and taking large gulps. The water was cool and gave some relief to your spinning head as you sat back, letting the half-full glass rest lazily on your leg. Your eyes filtered around the room once again before they came to rest on him as they always seemed to do.

“Taeyong,” seemed to be the only thought your brain could hold onto at the moment.

Even in the dark and smokey room, he glowed. There was a thin sheen of sweet on his body (It was very hot in the room) but to what would have been a surprise had your drunk brain realized it, he looked remarkably sober. Your eyes drifted in and out of focus once again vaguely in the direction of him.

Jaehyun turned to follow your gaze. When he saw the target his dimples pushed themselves forward into a smile before he shook his head and turned back to you, giving your dazed face a once over then pushing himself off the couch.

You noticed his actions for the first time after this sudden movement and adjusted your head to look up at him, frowning once again. An arm (Which turned out to be yours) lifted to grasp onto the man’s arm.

“Where?” was the only thing you could slur out at the moment.

“Just to walk around” He reasoned politely with your now drooping form. His words sounded distant and foggy, but you understood them none the less and nodded exaggeratedly before releasing your grip on his forearm.

Jaehyun turned to leave, leaving you in a similar position to before he arrived. The glass that he handed you was now empty and rolling smoothly from your hand onto the carpeted floor where it landed with a soft clunk.

You sat there for what seemed like hours but was likely only a few minutes. The shapes around you moved gently as the moments ticked by. Every breath you took seemed to hum in your whole body just as slow as the minuted ticked by. Your eyes slowly shut once again, mind trailing to and from the sounds of the people, and your breathing became heavier and heavier.

“hmm” your brain though.

“I’m sleeeeeepy” you drawl in your head.

Just as your mind was about to drift into something like sleep, your body was shifted once again by the couch dipping beside you. There was a buzzing in the front of your head as your eyes forced themselves open once again.

This time you had no problem focusing on the person before you, and the sour taste you felt earlier returned as well as your pout. It was Taeyong. He was looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze. Your face blushed as the heat began building in your body, as it always did when he looked at your for too long or too hard. Taeyongs eyebrow raised slightly at your expression. He reached out a hand. His warm palm landed on your already burning cheek. Your mind was swirling once again as if you took two more shots. It continued to swirl with indistinguishable thoughts as his mouth moved to form words. It took your brain several moments to realize he was speaking to you and you only caught the tail end of his sentence.

“-doing, baby?"

Confusion spread through your features once again, making it clear you had not understood his words. Taeyong didn’t seem to mind that as he didn’t repeat his words, only allowing his hand to fall to your jean-clad knee which was still cross-legged in front of you on the couch. Its heat radiated from the spot just as it did when it was on your face. Taeyong scooched closer to you and shifted his hand to the underside of your knee to extend the leg over his lap. Your body responded without your mind by heaving the other leg to rest over him as well.

His eyes shifted forward to face the room as his fingers began swirling figure eights over your leg. His touch was soothing the furrow on your brow as you relaxed slowly from his touch, your body sinking lower and lower into the couch.

The water Jaehyun gave you earlier seemed to be allowing glimpses of clarity in your head as for the first time you realized how late it must be getting. You were beginning to lull back into your drowsy state, with the added comfort of the soft touch on your leg. But it seemed Taeyong had different plans. However slow your mind was at the moment it took you no time at all to recognize the feeling of his hand sliding up your leg. You watched the hands journey and instinctively squeezed your legs together as his hand drifted up your body leaving a buzzing trail all the way. It came to rest at the top of your thigh, where your hip met the base of your leg. Your eyes finally snapped to his own where they still looked out into the somewhat crowded room. One finger tapped on the spot, wordlessly commanding you to allow him access to your core should he so desire.

Taeyong seemed to be toying with the idea of acting farther by rubbing his hand slowly from the outside of your leg to the inside of your thigh, one finger brushing repeatedly against the seam of your jeans that ran along your hot core, which twitched every time he did so. It was clear that he could feel the reaction your body gave him, and the smirk that made its way onto his lips was evidence enough. Taeyong, though he regularly asserted his "ownership” over you by leaving dark unmistakable marks on your neck and chest and bruises on your hips from his tight grip, was usually strongly against even sitting next to you in public, much less shove his hand down your pants. The tiny sober part of your brain spoke in a quiet voice in your head.

“Do you want Taeyong to finger you in front of all your friends?” Your mind went back and forth between the two options as his hand sank lower, coming to rest securely between your now slightly pulsing heated and your thigh, rubbing his pinky slightly up and down creating friction so close to where your body wanted it. He was waiting. Waiting for you to inevitably say or do something that would allow him to continue, solidifying that he had you in his grasp once again.

It was clear the turmoil in your head was causing you a lot of distress. It was clear he made up his mind about wanting this, to do whatever he was going to do here and now. But you were still on the fence, you would normally follow his lead no questions asked and a good part of you wanted to see where this was going. But nevertheless, the sober part of your brain seemed to be growing louder and louder with each passing second, playing his last words to you over and over in your head. How many of them were true? all if it? None of it? Which did you prefer? your head swam with there questions, going back and forth to many times to count.

Finally, it was clear to you which side had won. You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. The room had finally come completely into focus, all of the noise and chatter returned to your ears. Pushing your self up with your hands you swung your legs away from him. The spot where his hand had been felt stingingly empty, but with your head now clear the only thought that occupied your head now was those moments a few nights before.

“you know what the best part is? It will fucking stay that way, cuz I know that right now you are just eating up all the attention I am giving you aren’t you, you pathetic bitch!”

You heard the small noise of surprise that escaped him as you pushed your self away from the couch. Taking the room with a new stride your located your target and moved to meet them. Jaehyun stood with a few friends talking causally. He turned to look at you when you reached the small pack where the conversation came to a pause.

“Hey, I understand if you don’t want to but I think I had a bit too much to drink and I don’t think I should go home alone, would you take me?” You asked with a plastered smile on your face. This honestly wasn’t true, you felt more awake and aware at this moment than you had in years, but walking around alone at night didn’t sound like fun. You know Jaehyun thought he was being subtle when his eyes flicked over to the man still sat on the couch, but you caught it none the less. They flicked back to you, gave you a once over, and then he smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, sure. I was going to leave anyway.” He spoke in his usual powerful yet soft voice. You had a feeling this was a lie but now was not the time.

Jaehyun was the first to move, taking a step forward, placing a hand on your lower back as he passed, and lead you through the hazy room to the exit. The two of you maneuvered through the room and around furniture before landing at the front door. Jaehyun reached out and opened the door, wide enough for the both of you to step through. In those moments that the door closed behind you, you braved one last look at Taeyong who still sat dumbfounded on the couch.

“Not so pathetic now am I,” You thought triumphantly as the door clicked shut.

———–

That night that Jaehyun walked you home, would turn into many. And as the school year drew to a close and graduation approached you found yourself in a new relationship. The first stable one you have had since high school. Jaehyun, who was once best friends with Taeyong, seemed to have no problem leaving that part of your lives behind and neither did your friends. They all saw Jaehyun as a massive improvement in both temper and manner, and you had to say you agree. You still saw Taeyong from time to time, it’s not as if you didn’t still have many friends in common, but they were rarely extended longer than a quick glance in each other’s direction. It would be a lie to say that a part of you didn’t want to run to him, but then in those moments, Jaehyun would appear in your apartment carrying take out a rented movie and those thoughts would leave as quickly as they came.

Jaehyun was just better for you, his kisses were sweeter and his eyes kinder. Enough so that on the day of your graduation it was him that earned a hardy handshake from your father and a kiss on the cheek from your mother. At that point, you had only been dating him for a few months, but he seemed perfectly content appeasing your parent’s dreams for an ideal son in law.

And that was 4 years ago. You and Jaehyun had moved to New York not long after the end of your time in college, both of you only briefly spending the summer with your parents and saying your last goodbyes to your childhood homes. You don’t know why you choose to stay with Jaehyun during this time, but it leads you to your perfectly content life you have here today. You are now 26, engaged to the man who took you home those years ago, living in a decently sized apartment in a nice neighborhood, with a good job you have held for the past 2 years, and everything in your life was perfectly content.

Jaehyun had proposed earlier that year at the restaurant you went on your first night in New York, and though no plans have been made as of yet it has not stopped your mother from absolutely gushing over the two of you calling constantly to check up on “any possible new developments” As it happens, your parents love Jaehyun just as much as the day they met him face to face. Your heart warmed when you thought of your life, a wonderful man, a good job and a promising future in both. Job is best summarized as a traveling salesman for a larger company in the city. You spent the majority of your time at the office, making calls and setting up meetings with clients, but about 2 weekends a month you would fly out to a different part of the world to meet up with your clients and make sales. It really was the perfect job for you, as it rarely ever went wrong.

Accept for today, however. You had missed your initial arranged flight in business class and had to pay out of pocket to reach your destination in the least comfortable and most noisy part of the plane, and as your flight was to pairs, it wasn’t exactly a short ride. After arriving, very jetlagged and in need of a nice bed, your luggage was lost at the airport and you had to stay well into the night trying to find your things. After finally giving up on the search you made your way to the hotel, only to find that this particular hotel did not allow guests t check-in past 11 pm. (A stupid rule honestly) and you would have to wait till morning. With your phone on its last few percentages, and stranded in a foreign city you staggard your way into a small cramped bar at the end of a street, planning on finding a place to charge your phone enough to find a cheap motel for the night.

Your bones cracked as you landed yourself in a barstool and the end of the bar. the only things you had with you were the items in your carry on and a note from the front desk of the hotel on when to arrive the next morning to check-in. The cushion of the seat was soft and plushy but it did nothing to soothe the aching in your body. You cant speak french, so when the bartender approached you, you only gestured vaguely to the now-dead phone in your hands. It seems the round looking old man understood as pointed to an outlet at the end of the bar.

All of the stools around you were empty, so you felt comfortable enough to put your bag down to plug in your phone. It was after you saw your phone flash a blue blinking light did you allow yourself to relax onto the bar. Yours propped your head up with your hand to look around the room. It was nice enough, seemed clean and no one looked suspicious. But despite these things you could help but feel restless. You continued to shift in your seat and glance around the room.

Soon the tinkling of the bell that signified the arrival of a new customer sounded. You looked up at the sound, but the figure who entered could not be seen through the small crowd of older men sitting by the door. Your eyes drooped slightly and closed, finally feeling the weight of the day. A few seconds passed before a hand landed on yours.

Your eyes flung open as you yanked your hand away. After the initial shock, you looked to where your hand once lay, where the new one still sat waiting. The hand was eerily familiar.

No, there was no way.

Your eyes quickly followed the slope of the arm, up to the face that only visited you in your most private thoughts.

Taeyong stood before you.

He kept his eyes on your own as he lowered himself onto the stool next to you. His eyes bore into you, in the same way, they had before, and with the same intensity, they never seemed to shed. You still sat rigid in your seat, mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. Your eyes broke the stare when the flicked over to your phone that was still charging on the wooden bar. Your first reaction was to call Jaehyun, but your brain stopped itself before making the move. He would be asleep anyway. You looked back to Taeyong and allowed yourself to really see him for the first time.

It was his smell that hit you first and filled the air around you, and it clouded your other senses just as it always had done. He wasn’t the tallest man in the world, yet his commanding presence allowed him to loom over everyone no matter their height. It briefly occurred to you that you could just get up and leave, but it was this same domineering energy that enticed you to stay rooted in your seat. He was dressed nice, in a crisp button-down and slacks, and his hair was styled neatly to the side allowing his whole face to be visible in the dim lighting of the bar. And he glowed just as radiantly as always.

Whatever intensity that you were using to study his face, he was returning to you with equal vigor as his eyes raked down your figure several times.

Finally, he was the first to speak.

“How are you” he spoke, much more casually than the situation required. He turned to face the bartender and waved him down.

“Umm, Ok?” You forced out much too long after he asked the question.

“Good, good. I'mdoing well myself."

Taeyongs voice sounded like you were old friends catching up at a weekly brunch, and quite frankly it pissed you off. Who was he to sit down and act like you hadn’t seen him in years or that the memories were good ones? You turned in your seat to face him with your whole body, one hand still plastered on the hardwood. You sat up a bit straighter.

"Wait a minute, hold on- what exactly are you doing?-” The words built-in force and volume as you continued. Taeyong, who never had any trouble reading you, placed a feather-light hand on your once again. Your hand twitched in response but did not pull away. You could feel the familiar heat he gave you start to burn in the places where his hand made contact. And yes, he succeeded in quieting you.

The bartender approached, spoke a few words in french to Taeyong, and to your great surprise Taeyong responded in french as well. Though you don’t know exactly what was said, it was easy to guess as the older man moved to begin making whatever Taeyong had ordered. He now turned his attention back to you and raised an eyebrow, encouraging you to continue.

And after a moment you followed the instruction. You took a deep breath and spoke,

“How are you here right now?” seemed to be the best way to phrase your confusion.

“I live here now,” He said plainly, as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How?” was what you went with next.

“Well, after graduation I got an internship at a global bank. After 3 years, they needed someone in Paris, so I came. And here I have been for the past year.” once again far too casual for your liking. you thought of asking what he was doing in this particular bar on this particular night before it occurred to you that bankers often worked strange hours.

“So you have been living in Paris for a year? And I am just now hearing about this?"

"Did you want to know?"

His words were heavy. Much heavier than their initial meaning, and he looked at you with a kind of genuine curiosity you had never seen in him before. The honest answer was kind of. At the beginning of your time in New York, you would often find your self wondering what became of Taeyong. You still spoke to many of the old friends you made in college and had subtly expressed this interest to those closest to you. You almost expected them to tell you if anything big happened to the man. Nevertheless, you shook your head no.

He gave you a look that simply said "You can’t lie to me” but he didn’t push the subject any further.

“So what have you been doing?” He asked back in his casual tone, taking a sip of one of the drinks the bartender had just places in front of the two of you. You were in no way here to get drunk but decided to sip on the drink nevertheless. You stared straight forward, placing both hands on the bar as you responded.

“Um, working mostly. Here on business, you know?” You tried speaking in the same casual tone, but it sounded much to forced to be genuine.

“Right,” He responded. It sounded somewhat distracted. Out of curiosity you looked back at him and found him staring intently at your left hand, or at the ring would be a better way to put it. You don’t know why but you felt slightly embarrassed. You flushed a little and shifted your hand away from his gaze. He seemed to finally realize he was staring and looked up to meet your eyes.

“So you are-"

"engaged, yeah” It felt extremely wrong to let him say that word, so you beat him to it. He arches an eyebrow inquisitively and asked.

“To?”

You didn’t want to admit it. Your life in New York seemed so far away right now and the last thing you wanted was for Taeyong to be aware of it. Your head dropped to stare at the wood grain as you responded.

“Uhh, Jaehyun” You didn’t know what to expect from his reaction, so you spoke hesitantly and barely above a whisper.

“Ah”

There was a flash of something dark in his eyes, and for a second he looked much more like the man you knew back in college. But he did not seem to want to speak about it anymore. Instead, he took another deeper drink, and you followed suit. The two of you sat in a tension-filled silence for several minutes. The hum of noise from the bar patrons was not enough to drown off the thoughts racing through your head. You glanced up at Taeyong for a moment. He looked deep in thought, and it was this that made you noticed how different he was. He looked fuller, his eyes and cheeks looked less sunken in and his body a tad bit more toned than he was before, and most of all his glow was different. Before it was a red haze that made your heart race, and now it was a golden glow that stoped all thoughts. These differences would have been indistinguishable to the untrained eye, but you, who had spent so long gushing over every inch of him could spot them clear as day. You probably knew his face better then he knew it himself.

It was here that it occurred to you that you were likely a bit different as well, in what ways you did not know, but you had a suspicion he could point them out. Taeyong moved to speak and was only able to get the first few words out.

“Look, I-” The tone of his voice was enough to tell you what he was going to say, and it was too unlike him for your liking

“Taeyong please don’t apologize” You could explain why but you wanted those memories of him to be intact, and if he apologized it would change the way you saw those moments together. He looked taken aback but pressed on.

“I just want you to know, that you meant more to me back then than you will probably ever know.” He took another drink and looked straight ahead. You found this to be a hard revelation to follow.

“Funny way of showing it” you murmured more to yourself than to him. But he heard you nonetheless and followed up his previous words.

“I am aware that I was awful, and you won’t catch me making excuses for the way I acted. I was selfish and cruel to everyone in my life. I always wanted more than I had, even if I couldn’t stand the idea of losing something. I guess the best way to put it is that I wanted you to need me but I didn’t want to need you.”

His words were genuine, that you could tell. But you didn’t know if they made you feel any better. All they seemed to do was prove that you weren’t enough for him. This seemed to show on your face, and Taeyong was oh so good and reading you. He did not speak, he just reached out and grabbed your hand tightly. His warm fingers burned in comparison to the cold metal of your ring. But you could only seem to focus on the heat. His hand firmly grounded you in your place when your head felt like you were going to float away.

After a few more moments he lifted his hand just enough to gently circle his fingers over the back of your hand. The action felt so familiar. He always had a habit of “Petting” your, whether it is your hand or your face. You suppose this just proves he isn’t that different from back then after all. The things he did that made your heart ache for him remained the same.

His hand began ghosting it was up your arm, leaving a gentle buzz wherever he touched. Your heart fluttered, which it hasn’t done in a long time. Fuck. Why is it that he still had this power over you, even when he wasn’t trying. It wasn’t fair. You had always known that he would always have a place in your heart. But you never knew how large of a part it was until his hand moved onto your back rubbing it in circles. You leaned into his touch.

With his other hand, he finished the rest of his drink.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?” He asked, finally addressing how late it was.

“My hotel won’t let me check-in.” You replied distantly feeling the tickle of his hand. He looked conflicted for a moment then spoke.

“You can stay at my apartment for the night if you would like.”

You both knew what would happen if you said yes. There was no way it wouldn’t. You thought of Jaehyun, and how good he had been to you, and how he would feel if he knew that you had even seen Taeyong. You mulled it over for several minutes. But the soothing hand on your back somehow pushed all thoughts of your fiance from your mind.

Finally, you took one last swig from your drink.

“I would like that."

——-

it did not take long after that. Taeyong paid for the drinks, insisting after you pulled out your wallet. The two of you exited the bar, hand in hand which felt a tab bit too natural.

When you arrived in the apartment (a verrry nice apartment) there was very little pretending. You removed your shoes as he had done and waited for his command. At this point, you had submitted to the idea of needing him. He just filled you with a desire that no one else could. Taeyong reattached your hands and lead you over his shoulder, through the dark rooms. Every step forward left you with more and more anticipation, you needed this so much.

The door to his bedroom was pushed open. It was large and elegant. Beautiful furnishing and a soft glow emanated from the lamp next to his bed. But you weren’t paying much attention to the room, instead, you were watching him. From the view of his back, you could tell just how much he wanted this too. He released your hand and continued to walk forward, rolling his shoulders as he did so. He is so beautiful, even when you couldn’t see his face. you felt a magnetic pull to him, leading your next actions. Taeyong moved onto his bed, he situated himself on in the middle, his back resting on the headboard. He looked at you so intently, so expectantly, as though he could see right through your clothes. Which, you had to remind yourself, he had seen you completely bare before, many times.

"Will you strip for me, baby?” He phrased it like a question, though there was no doubt you would do it. The only nickname was enough to bring your to your knees, but you stayed standing. He didn’t tell you to kneel. The first layer to come off was your sweater, which concealed the thin shirt you had on underneath. Next was the shirt itself which you did not hesitate to pull over your head. You suddenly thought of the tattoo on your ribs, the one that had angered him so much before. Your breath hitched, not wanting him to leave you again. But he showed no sign of anger. Instead, his desire only grew in his eyes.

The bra you chose for the day was nothing special, just a plain pink color, but he looked at you like you are the only thing in the world. His eyes were hungry and needy, willing you to move faster. But his actions did not betray his composure, but you could see the outline of his dick starting to strain itself against his slacks. And if your brain was functioning properly you would have noticed how your mouth watered.

“keep going Baby, its been so long since I’ve seen your body.” He cooed at you.

You unbuckled your pants and slid them down your legs and stepped out of them. You were dangerously close to throwing yourself at him but more than anything you wanted to obey. You unclasped your bra and let it fall to the floor. Your naked chest was now bare. The cold air nipped at your skin, causing your nipples to harden. You blushed a little dusting of pink, that only burned brighter at his next words.

“I wanna see your pussy baby” He remained, growing somewhat impatient. The words caused heat to flood to your core making it wetter and stickier than before. You hooked your finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down. His smirk grew into a wild smile and the sight of arousal glistening on your heat. Taeyong used his finger to motion you onto the bed and you followed quickly. Your body was burning with both slight embarrassment and desire, but with your ruined panties still hanging from your finger you clambered onto the bed. You kneeled in front of his relaxed fully dressed figure. And though he was situated below you, you felt so small as his eyes raked up and down your body. His wicked smile never left his face as he reached out and took the soaked pink panties from your hand. He held them tightly in his hand and motioned you to straddle his waist. Which you did obediently. Your pussy was now resting directly on the tent in his slacks dampening the fabric. He groaned out slightly at the feeling.

“Your so wet Baby, your dripping on me. Who made you this wet baby.” He spoke in a coddling voice, as his hands came to rest on your naked hips, swirling from there down to your ass, giving it a tight squeeze before trailing back to their original position, never letting go of your panties. You squeaked in response to the invading touch.

“Baby, that’s not an answer”

“It’s you,” you said in a small voice.

“Speak up baby, I can hear you” He teased. Rolling his sinful hips into yours. The rough surface of his pants rubbed against your clit and you nearly choked.

“It’s you Taeyong” you spoke with a little more force. This seemed to appease him.

“That’s right, me, not anyone else.” He spoke definitively. You knew what he meant. He was referring to Jaehyun, who is likely just waking up to go to work about now.

His words were eerily familiar. Your mind flashed back to the night when he first saw your tattoo and the screaming match that took place. He had spoken to you the same way. Possessive, reminding you who had all of your desire, who could make you feel better than anyone else and how much you needed him.

But you didn’t have time to think about that because Taeyong attached himself to your lips with his own pillowy ones. The sensation of kissing Taeyong was just as intoxicating as it always had been. He took the lead and pried open your mouth with his tongue. His hands firmed their grip on your waist, and the wet spot from your panties felt sticky against your side. His tongue slipped it’s way inside your mouth, exploring it in the way he had always done before. He even tasted the same.

Your mind was going cloudy as your mouths moved in sync. Just as you had found your rhythm Taeyong broke the kiss. He practically threw you onto your back and move to loom over you. You yelped loudly in surprise, but once again he did not give you time to react before folding your legs to your chest and holding them in place. His entire attention was focused on your glistening pussy, raking his eyes over it over and over again. He leaned back only long enough to set your panties down at the top of the bed, before returning to the previous position. Using one had to keep your legs in place he used the other to brush over the sticky surface, which twitches at the touch.

“Aw, baby, look how pretty your little cunt is.” He remarked before sliding his middle finger into your hole. You moaned loudly, not expecting the feeling of being entered so soon. The juices from your arousal eased his way as he pumped the finger in and out.

“Still so tight to, when was the last time anyone fucked your right?” He asked, but did not expect an answer through the moans as he dived into your core, his tongue finding its purchase on your swollen clit. You squirmed violently in his grip, keening and mewling all the while.

“Too long apparently” He mused coming away from your cunt just long enough to say the words, before diving back in swirling his tongue around your folds, his finger still pumping quickly letting more juices flow. In those brief moments, you could see his face, it was already dripping with your arousal making his lips look plumper than before if possible.

He continued the ministration with intensity, adding another finger into your hole, and occasionally nibbling slightly at your flesh. You practically screaming yourself hoarse as time went on. You were so aroused you could feel the juice the wasn’t lapped up by Taeyongs Tounge drip onto the bedcovers below you.

’“You’re making such a mess” He growled into your core. The vibrations from his words traveled into and up your body, causing you to latch your hands into his hair. Without breaking his stride Taeyong momentarily released your legs only long enough to detach your hands from his hair and hold them by the wrist together, then using the same arm hold your legs back in position. The slight discomfort was nothing compared to the burning in your tummy, which was knotting itself tightly waiting to come undone.

“Tae-” you were going to inform him in your now hoarse voice that you were going to cum any minute, however, he beat you to the punch once again.

“Trust me, baby, I know"

of course, he did.

Your movements were now much more restricted but you could only writhe when he pushed a third long finger into you stretching the limits of your cunt. He continued to suck on your bud harshly, but it was the feeling of the three fingers moving inside you at a deliberate pace, pushing against your walls oh so deliciously that caused the knot in your stomach to snap. You came hard, your entire body convulsed as Taeyongs finger pumped you through the feeling, drawing out the waves of pleasure radiating from your pussy. Your eyes squeezed shut as you cried out in a broken voice.

To soon the feeling passed. You lay there damn near lifeless, but that didn’t stop Taeyong from lapping up all of the arousal from your cunt, which twitched in sensitivity every time his tongue made contact. You involuntarily moved away from his mouth, but he wouldn’t let you move until he had lapped up every last drop. Finally, he gave you the relief of moving away. The tightness you had been holding finally releasing. You opened your eyes just enough to see him lean back on his heels and slip each glistening finger into his mouth, one by one, and suck them clean. You burned with embarrassment and tried to hide your face, but you had nowhere to hide with your hands still being restricted. Finally, he looked directly into your flushed face and gave you a lopsided smile, his face still covered in a sticky gleam.

"Sorry baby, you just taste so good.”

After his words, he finally released you from his arms. Your legs were a little sore, but you couldn’t care less. You were exhausted enough to fall asleep where you lay, but of course, Taeyong wouldn’t allow that.

Finally, Taeyong unbuttoned his shirt and threw it away. You were so transfixed by him. He was just so god damn beautiful and looked radiant in the dim light. You were so busy staring you barely noticed him undo his pants and pull his dick out his boxers. It looked painfully hard and red, and you moved to sit up to take it in your hand, but you were pushed back down. Taeyong pumped his dick a few times, spreading the precum down his length making it shine.

“Ah, ah, ah Baby. No time for that, I need to remind you how it feels to be fuck by someone who knows what they are doing.” The subtle jab did not go unnoticed. But fuck if you thought about it for more than a second with the anticipation of being filled up, rose in you once again. Taeyong pushed your legs up once again, and though your joints protested you did not.

He gave his dick one more pump, before leaning over you and lining himself up with your entrance. He leaned especially close into your ear, speaking into the shell of it and whispered.

“Do you want me, Baby? Want me to fuck you like you deserve"

The words flooded your aching heat with arousal once again.

"Yes please, fill me up Tae, please” the last word came out more like a whisper than anything, but he heard you nonetheless. And he did not need to be told twice. In one powerful thrust, he pushed all the way into you. You didn’t have to voice to cry out but instead released a sicking mewl.

“Fuck” was the only thing that came out of his mouth before he pulled out and repeated the action. Slowly he built up a steady pace. It was not as fast or rough as you expected, but more of a steady deep movement, but it left you breathless nonetheless. Every single movement stretched your walls, and you would feel every inch of him moving in and out. It was blissful. You could have stayed like that forever. But the need for release was growing in you with every thrust. It seemed like Taeyong agreed, picking up the pace and angling himself to hit the special spot inside you with every thrust.

Now you were keening with every thrust, releasing a whimper every time. in your current position, you couldn’t move to meet his thrust but you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, which he didn’t seem to mind. The weight of his body was heavy on yours, and you could feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten beneath your fingers.

“aw, baby, you feel so fucking good. You like the way I fuck you?” he asked in your ear. You only moaned in response, trying your hardest to stay composed. but that didn’t last long when Taeyongs hand came down to rub circles into your swollen and abused clit. It hurt, but in such a pleasurable way. You threw your head back.

“You gonna cum already baby?” he asked, the rasp you recognized so well returning to his voice.

“yes, gonna cum…..” was all that you could force out. Your stomach was clenched so tight you felt like your pussy was trying to keep his cock inside you. You felt so good and full.

“Its ok baby, you can cum” He punctuated his statement with a particularly hard thrust that reached deep inside you.

And not long after you felt yourself unravel for a second time, only this time it lasted much longer. The waves of pleasure didn’t stop coming as he milked the feeling of your walls clenching and pulsing around him. His cock was throbbing too, just as much as your walls.

“Aw, baby you feel- feel so fucking good"

those were his last words before releasing inside you. You could feel the oversensitivity seeping in and you could hear the cum squelching out of you as he rode out his own orgasm before pulling out.

You both lay there panting for a bit, holding onto the moments before one of you would move. This time you did it first, pushing yourself up onto your arms and looking at the heavenly sweat coated man laying on top of you. Taeyong took one last deep breath before pushing himself up as well. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on your temple before speaking.

"let’s get cleaned up.”

The drew you a bath and helped relaxed your aching body. When you were clean it was him that dressed you in your discarded shirt on the floor.

That night you fell asleep in his bed, with his naked back pressed firmly against yours, and his arms wrapped tightly around your body.

In the morning you awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. You heard his gentle breathing in your ear, still, sound asleep. The clock on the nightstand read 7:24. You were expected to check into your hotel in an hour. You looked down at yourself as you sat up. The ring on your finger glinted mockingly, sighing you got to your feet. You would rather not be here for the inevitable conversation when he wakes up.

You moved quickly around the room, gathering your things and dressing yourself fully. There was one problem, you couldn’t find your underwear. After searching for a few more minutes and a scare from Taeyongs stirring you gave up on the idea of getting them back and left.

Going back to the life that you turned your back on that night.

#nct smut #taeyong smut #nct scenarios #nct timestamps #taeyong scenarios

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shinidamachu · 4 years

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So here’s the thing...

From day one, I knew Hanyou no Yashahime was created to profit off childhood nostalgia. In fact, some people pointed that out quite exhaustively. I have always been aware of it. Still, I gave it a shot (and was super excited to do so). Why? Three reasons: Inuyasha, Kagome and the child born from their love.

I also knew there was a real chance Rin would be the mother of Sesshoumaru’s twins, but I gave Sunrise the benefit of the doubt. Which is why I watched the four episodes on an illegal site, just in case they were playing me.

That’s what kept me going. That, and the certain no matter who the mother was, it would only be revealed at the very end, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it too much and could just enjoy whatever glimpse of Inuyasha, Kagome and Moroha I could get.

And boy, did I enjoy it. Moroha is everything I needed her to be and more. And it was really fun to see this super creative fandom making theories and being so active here every saturday. I had a great time.

Unfortunately, as for this saturday, this wasn’t the case anymore. When I first got the spoilers it was Rin in the tree, I started to mull it over, but decided not to make any judgements until I watched the episode myself, so I could get to my own conclusions.

Here’s where I am at: I have been getting strong vibes from episode four that Rin is, after all, the mother. Granted, the fact that the narrative have been hitting so early and so strongly toward this path can also mean the exact opposite, for the sake of plot twist, since it’s one of the biggets mysteries of the show.

However, there is no actual confirmation at all. So Sunrise waves to Rin being the mother while simultaneously not officially confirming. That way, Sessrin shippers are getting the content they want and the antis still stick around because as long as there is no official confirmation, there is still hope it’s not Rin. We had already called out that would be their game, though: profiting off both sides. I just thought they would drag the issue until the very end instead of straight up writing Sessrin fanfiction.

This is just disappointing, and that’s coming from someone who had very low expectations from this sequel. I’ve seen people complaining about the art style. I’ve seen people complaining about the plot(holes). I’ve seen people complaining about the characterization (me included). None of it was a deal breaker to me, because I’ve never expected too much. All I wanted was for them not to follow the path where one of the main characters had children with someone he meet when she was a child and saw him as an authority figure for the entirety of their relationship. It baffles me that apparently it was too much to ask.

So if this is what Hanyou no Yashahime really is: Sessrin fanfiction, then I’m not the audience for it. And I hate to feel they’re using Moroha and Inukag as baits to keep me watching. I hate to feel like they’re not doing Inuyasha and Kagome any justice. Again: Inukag and Moroha are the reason I ever started this show to begin with, so it’s just not worth it to feel this uncomfortable when I can get the bits that truly interest me through Tumblr posts, gifsets and youtube videos.

I promised myself I would drop it as soon as it stopped sparking joy and today was it for me, so that’s what I’m doing. I might be right, I might be wrong. Maybe by some miracle Rin isn’t the mother in the end of the day. I just really don’t have the energy to stick around until we finally find out, anymore. They were never going to see my money anyway (not that it would make any difference), but my time is far more precious. I don’t want to be invested in this if I’m so certain it will end badly.

And this isn’t about ship wars. In my headcanons, Sesshoumaru was always asexual. Sure, I also saw a lot of potential on his relationship with Kagura and I would have loved if they had gone down this road, too. The truth is: I never cared enough for Sesshoumaru to actively ship him with anyone. But I do care about his character development, which Sessrin would inevitably ruin. And I care about the little girls watching this show, growing up to think this is a healthy kind of romance.

All of that being said: I don’t feel like watching Hanyou no Yashahime anymore. Sessrin shippers can have it, it was clearly made for them. I can see myself writing Moroha on my future fanfics for sure, but as far as I’m concerned Hanyou no Yashahime is not canon and nothing anyone say will ever change that.

There’s still probably some Hanyou no Yashahime in my queue. After that, I intend to refrain from reblogging original content from the show. I don’t want to be a part of it, so I’ll probably only reblog fanarts.

For those of you who will still watch the show, good luck and enjoy yourselves. Other than keeping track of my daughter Moroha, I pretend to ignore it completely and that means I won’t be making any negative comments on it, either. This is my issue and I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. I will still be very vocal against Sessrin, tho. If that bothers you, feel free to unfollow or block me, it’s the healthy thing to do and I promise: no hard feelings about it.

To be very clear: this post is not me trying to tell people to stop watching something they like. This post is me venting and getting some heavy shit off my chest. I can give the show a second chance later if I change my mind or if the mother is confirmed to be someone else, but right now this is it. Thank you for reading.

PS.: I won’t be replying to any comments of this post.

#This whole thing was the cherry on top of a truly awful week #I feel like I deserve a break and that's why I'm pulling a Joey Tribbiani and putting this story in the freezer #It got to scarry #Sidposting #Hanyou no Yashahime #Hanyou no Yashahime Spoilers #Yashahime Spoilers #Anti Sessrin

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killingeveperspectives · 4 years

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Perspective: Did Villanelle’s character arc in Season 3 get lost in translation?

Killing Eve Season 3 became something of my object of fascination by the odd disjointed experience I have watching it. It feels like it makes sense at first, but the whole lot is rather off. The more I revisit it, the more it appears that what we see on the surface is but an attempt at telling a very different story. But precisely by failing to convey their intended story (Or not committing to), the authors inadvertently created a slate with enough inconsistencies that it fits any rationalization the audience wants to impose on the final product. Its lack of clarity and internal logic made it adaptable to several points of view. I can impose the interpretation that Villanelle was given an irreconcilable redemption arc, or that she is still a psychopath and it will still somewhat work.

However, when the season is consumed stripped from our expectations, there is a dissonance between the narrative and the other elements of storytelling which sends mixed signals, especially in the most developed storyline in the season: Villanelle’s character arc. In the midst of this confusion and inability to get a hold of the character, I tried to grasp the intent of the author instead of the material itself. Upon reading interviews with Suzanne Heathcote, Sally Woodward and Jodie Comer, many of my initial interpretations of her arc were challenged. They seemed to never seek to rectify Villanelle’s psychopathy or nature, but to explore her deep need to belong. There seemed to be an awareness towards the truth of the character, and the journeys they have been on so far. It appears that their idea is that her impulses are her true self and the tension arises from the inescapability of her own nature and its exploitation, which becomes the sole designator of her worth as a being. This is indeed much more interesting than what I initially interpreted. So, I want to revisit Villanelle’s character arc with new eyes... in more detail... and see if I can find something new.

Villanelle’s initial motivations set-up a “ Self-affirmation” arc, not a Redemption arc

Initially, the show seems to set two main motivations for Villanelle: a search for autonomy and a search for belonging, which will prompt her desire to become a keeper and find her family. Objectively, her motivations set up a journey for authentic self-identity.

The opening wedding sequence is a good way of introducing her search for autonomy. Six months after Rome, Villanelle is gold digging her way through life, still very psychopathic of her. This is the first time we see Villanelle exist without a parental figure and without the tight control of ‘The 12’, and it turns out she is doing just fine. Where her wedding represents her agency and autonomy, being dragged into ‘The 12’ by Dasha has her sitting in the back of the car like a moody toddler. Her relationship with ‘The 12’ is infantilizing, controlling and coercive. It does plant the seeds for her struggle by visual storytelling, which I dismissed for a silly comedic effect.

Villanelle seems more aware of the power plays behind her bargain to come back, contrasting with her previous aloofness. This time, she seems keen on cutting her own part of the deal which is to become a Keeper (which oddly never involves getting the names of ‘The 12’). Her request is so absurd, and their agreement to make her a keeper so obviously fake, that it shows how Villanelle is truly unaware of the magnitude of what she is dealing with and how little leverage she actually has. But her effort to carve some degree of freedom and agency within her world is an authentic motivation. Her overall disinterest for the job also helps to solidify the idea that she is dreading being controlled, and only agrees to perform the kills as part of her promotion process. Which should not be confused – although it easily is – with a lack of enjoyment in Killing. In fact, Villanelle thoroughly enjoys herself in the kills she performs before Episode 5, be it improving on a relic, stealing a baby, or scaring hiccups away. Villanelle isn’t opposed to killing, she is tired of being ordered to kill. As welcomed as this development is, in many moments her motivations could be mistaken by childlike Villanelle just being capricious.

Parallel to her self-affirmation comes a search for a sense of belonging. This is a deep foundational motivation for the character that had always been in the subtext of the show. There is a fascination towards family and normal life in Villanelle, that she tries to recreate with those she “loves”. Arguably not even the character can articulate this urge, so when Season 3 sets to explore it, it feels forced. Villanelle seems intrigued by the gratuitous affection the baby elicits in people, including those that don’t own it, leading her to kidnap the baby as an experiment, then literally toss it away. It did not elicit in her the gratuitous affection it elicits in everyone around her. She is a psychopath. When the baby is reunited with their father, she is once again puzzled at the happiness in the dad’s face. The baby belonged to him. Did she ever belong to someone? This question will lead her to seeking her own family, taking her to Russia.

Being so far removed from the events of season 2 and considering that Konstantin and Villanelle’s scene was completely overshadowed by the subsequent events, I found it hard to add weight to this motivation. A large part of the audience is understandably eager to learn about Villanelle’s past, however there wasn’t enough development to justify why the character wanted to learn about her past. Instead, she enunciates her newfound fascination with babies, without elements or events to convincingly move the character in this direction.

Villanelle’s journey home: nuanced and conflicted story telling got lost in translation

I have broken down how I believe this episode not only retcons her background, but soft retcons Villanelle’s psychopathy and her entire character – and I still believe in practical terms it inevitably does - but it’s a shame, because the episode in itself doesn’t. It’s all about perception and expectation tainting interpretation. The writer’s original idea was to have the audience go on a journey with Villanelle to this disconnected corner of the world, as she is surprisingly charmed by the oddity of what she finds. It was the perfect escapism from her claustrophobic world of ‘The 12’. We wrestle with the nature x nurture question as Villanelle wrestles with it herself, we feel at home, we connect with the family and feel rejected and deceived as Villanelle does herself. This episode was written from Villanelle’s perspective alone, she is the voice telling the story, we are literally asked to see it from her eyes:

But there is a catch: Villanelle is an unreliable narrator. The writer did plant elements that challenge Villanelle’s narrative, mainly as glimpses of other characters perspectives: Bor’ka has a normal loving drawing of his mother on the fridge; Pyotr likes his mother alright and challenge’s Villanelle’s perception of their mother meanness, by stating Villanelle herself used to be mean to him, implying a connection between the two; the husband reveals that Tatiana still cries every night because of the whole thing. All of which becomes the core problem with this episode: Villanelle is an unreliable narrator but we don’t perceive her as such because of our emotional investment in the character. Who is to say Villanelle’s tendencies and behaviour didn’t genuinely scare and tear the family apart and without knowing what to do after her husband died, Tatianna abandoned Oksana in the orphanage, despite genuinely suffering from the decision? Tatianna is a very flawed mother and Oksana is a very troubled child, both these realities are valid and interconnected, in the most nuanced, emotionally challenging and complex episode of the entire show.

Underneath Villanelle’s standpoint, Suzanne Heathcote managed to hide a sensible and honest perception of that family’s complicated past: the heartbreaking reality is that deep down, despite all the layers of pain, trouble, blame, shame and guilt, both characters wished it was different and they could somehow connect, but the truth is that they were, and still are, unable to. Thus, both characters were speaking their truths, however we are not afforded a chance to truly see her mother’s perspective because we are stuck in Villanelle’s world and Villanelle has empathy for no one (Except for her little brother but I don’t want to beat on this dead horse). Despite her manipulative and violent behavior towards her family, from where Villanelle stands - and within her own perspective rightfully so - her mother was simply neglectful, abusive, and worse: saw her as something alien. Thus, having her mother admit her own “darkness” was so important: This darkness I carry belongs to you, therefore I belong to you. Ingenious. Upon revisiting this episode, I truly appreciate it as a showcase of the potential of Suzanne Heathcote’s writting, with beautifully crafted storytelling that seems straightforward at the surface but invites us to dive deeper. Unfortunately, this gem is lost in translation.

The episode was all about how Villanelle made sense of herself and her past, not about what really happened, as the writers claimed they didn’t want to excuse Villanelle’s actions nor erase her psychopathy. It wasn’t about the authoritative writers explaining Villanelle’s past to the audience and deliberately painting Villanelle as a child tortured into becoming a monster because of her upbringing… the problem is that it feels like it was. And when later you add Dasha’s abuse to the mix, the retcon of her psychopathy is irresistible to the audience, but the creators are not naïve and especially as the word “psychopath” seem to have vanished from their vocabulary, when previously it was the selling point of the show; something doesn’t add up. Killing her mother marks a turning point in Villanelle’s character arc, and here things start to get complicated...

Killing her mother sets Villanelle in an identity crisis but what is it exactly?

When Villanelle gets rejected, she kills her mother and sets the house on fire mirroring the orphanage arson. In the train scene, we see Villanelle wearing her mother’s clothes and listening to crocodile rock while crying, smiling, jamming, reminiscing. Despite her efforts to wrap herself in the elements that symbolize the moments she felt like she belonged with that family, she is still alone and there is a lot of pain – fair, psychopaths are not painless. But what that scene represents for Villanelle is an enigma, and I believe not Jodie Comer, nor Suzanne Heathcote, nor anyone, actually knows what this scene is really supposed to mean emotionally for Villanelle.

I want to contrast this scene with another scene in a movie where we watch an actress cycling through many emotions in a long shot as she listens to music: the final 2:30 minute long take in Portrait of a Lady on fire. The scenes parallel each other, and kudos to the unafraid acting of Jodie Comer and Adele Haenel. However, there is a key difference between the two: Celinne Sciamma (screenwriter and director) knew exactly what she was looking for and walked the lead actress Adele Haenel through all the emotions she would be evoking, their succession order and meaning. All the emotions conjured in the scene were carefully crafted in the audience throughout the entire movie, generating a deep connection and understanding of the characters, the story and its symbols, that culminates in an apotheotic cathartic release. That scene was not just a beautiful, emotionally loaded scene: it had intent, it had a clear meaning. And from there on is where Villanelle’s emotional scenes start to break apart.

The display of a person suffering through emotional pain will obviously evoke feelings of compassion, care and empathy in the audience, but this level of immediate reactive connection does not equal an understanding of characters’ emotional reality. It’s important that audiences not only know that the character is in pain but what that pain means, even more so when you are exploring the boundaries of emotion in a character that has a fundamentally different subjective experience than the audience. Given the lack of build up and more extensive exploration of the mother and daughter relationship, it’s not only harder to add the appropriate emotional weight as it is to understand it’s ramifications. Thus, despite lots of tears, Villanelle remains an emotional black box after coming back from Russia.

On the other hand, there is this interesting motif with Villanelle that death brings freedom: once a person is dead, they cease to have a hold on her, allowing her to reinvent herself. For example, when Eve hurt her in the season 2 finale, she kills her to break free from her hold. In her own words: “I’m so much better now my ex is dead”. This motif is again brought up in her conversation with Bertha Kruger in episode 04. As Villanelle tries to reinvent herself after killing her mother and whatever that meant, she learns she was being tricked by ‘The 12’ and that her promotion was a farce, bringing her full circle. She went through these journeys and still didn’t break free: she was still controlled and still rejected, thus her only solution was escape literally and metaphorically.

Her mother rejected her because of her violence, which is precisely the only worth ‘The 12’ see in her. Both of her Nemesis reduce her to the same image: she is a violent kid that kills. Thus, her shifting relationship with killing becomes more interesting when it is framed as a desire for self-affirmation and not as a rectification of her nature as the result of a new found moral compass and compassion, which places Villanelle in the same territory as traditional female assassin characters before her. She is reclaiming her identity, from her past and from her subjugators, hence the motivation to not kill could be seen as a deliberate act of rebellion. However, it is unclear how concrete this motivation is, given that she does indeed keep murdering, and how it interplays with the emotional changes we are shown the character is going through, altogether making her distancing from killing narratively elusive.

Character development couldn’t commit to a narrative, going from nuanced to disorienting

Part of the charm in Killing Eve is what is left unsaid and implied, but nevertheless registers, connects. This relies on the smart use of character expositions and film language to efficiently get the audience on board with the character’s world organically. All previous season’s made good use of monologues and dialogue to flesh out the world and specially characters. In Season 1, Villanelle was explored and developed through excellent dialogues, and in Season 2, when exploring her intimate inner reality, the writers opted to use the AA meetings for a direct exposition via a monologue that tied together previous visual and narrative set up elements.

This type of efficient character exploration doesn’t lend itself well to the nuanced layered exploration the writers set out to do in season 3. And still, they stubbornly committed to it, withholding characters from fleshing out information through dialogue, while overplaying ‘show don’t tell’ trying to convey character’s inner realities with fragmented elements scattered over a disjointed plot, thus relying heavily on the actors to create a semblance of coherence out of the cacophony. I truly believe this choice was extremely detrimental to the season, since it created unnecessary challenges for the main goal which was character exploration. The result is an unsettling gap between the writers’ vision of the characters and their arcs, and what we, the audience, experience.

I want to take a moment to explore examples of storytelling choices that I found confusing in developing Villanelle past episode 05, by taking a look on her 3 murders after she comes back from Russia.

In the Romania kill, we see Villanelle sitting on the bed halfhearted, downgraded into taking this job after her promotion debacle. The title card links us back to the scene in the beginning of the episode when she realizes she was conned. This is bullshit, this job is bullshit, and yet she has to do it. All elements are underlying the conflict in her search for autonomy, but then the song in the background evokes sentimentalism, underlying Villanelle’s growing feelings, subtly implying she feels bad about the act of killing. The scene composition sends mixed signals. Then it cuts to Villanelle ready for the kill with the upbeat recap intro music playing (????), she can’t focus, gets stabbed and cut to an angry tear-eyed Villanelle stitching up her own wound in the bathroom floor, fleshing out how she felt used and that she wants out. Then for a moment, the scene gets more intimate and she says - or even confesses? - she doesn’t want to do it anymore. We look down to a defeated and vulnerable Villanelle underlying the characters impotency or is it a moral struggle? The entire sequence purposely avoids committing to whether she failed because she didn’t want kill, or because she couldn’t kill. These two conflicts have completely different implications in interpreting and understanding the character development, but we remain in the limbo, confused as to what it could be.

To make matters worse, both these motivations: quitting ‘The 12’ and stopping killing, will be flipped when Villanelle pro-actively asks for a job and decidedly kills Dasha (who survived out of plot contrivances luck ). The scene with Helene is also interesting. When Villanelle meets Helene there is a conflict around identity and belonging. A particularly childlike Villanelle is again falling into tears as Helene breaks into her personal space with an embrace. Villanelle gives in to the embrace then pulls away at the mention of the word monster. That is not the identity Villanelle wants, nevertheless it feels good to be accepted. Then Villanelle asks an exasperated Helene for another job, not before being reminded she is a child, again powerless.

“Look what you made me do” playing in the background.The song alludes to the power domination she is under and her motivation to break free, but the entire scene alludes to her conflict over her self-perception and belonging with Helene as a mother figure. I’m nor sure I follow what the character wants, I’m hanging on a spiderweb on the wall, Villanelle is crying, and can we please stop torturing this character into feelings for five minutes? Who is this reformed character? Jokes aside, there is one message that emerges, which is Villanelle doesn’t want to be a “monster” (violent killer, or more subtly violent in general) but she is forced to do it. This scene does succeed in softening Villanelle by emphasizing this new narrative leap following her seeming new found conscience: that Villanelle was made into a violent woman, but she is not naturally one. Her brutality is not transgressively hers anymore, it is a burden imposed onto her, which again places Villanelle’s character back into the comfort of the place designated to violent female characters: sad broken woman went murderous. Which stands in sharp contrast with Villanelle characterization so far, and what made her character iconic in it’s own right. The only way to make this narrative work is assuming killing her mother erased her psychopathy and gave her the whole bag of feelings and empathy. But if episode 05 fails to sell that, then the following episodes feels like tumbling down a rocky narrative slope. But the seed still lingers on my mind after reading paratext from the creators and cast: if you’re not trying to retcon Villanelle, then what does this all mean?

Rhian’s murder is a pivotal moment in Villanelle’s arc that fell into obscurity by jarring storytelling. Here the narrative seems to finally address the elephant in the room: when push comes to shove, can she control her violent impulses, which, no matter if inherited or cultivated, became a core part of herself? The ballroom tea dance effectively distances Villanelle from killing, but Villanelle and Rhian’s exchange show things aren’t so simple. More overtly so, Rhian and Villanelle subway brawl is all about giving Villanelle a chance to fully articulate the conflict around her subjugation to ‘The 12’ and her self-agency. Villanelle beats up Rhian, which could symbolically represent her refusal to be an obeying “sheep”; but, despite trying to get a grip of herself, her nature takes over and she kills, which could represent the uncontrollability of her impulse. Thus, the interaction between these two scenes, ballroom dance and Rhian’s kill create a conflict surrounding Villanelle’s nature, self-control and capability to change that goes beyond the central conflict of each scene alone. Interesting, better explore it late than never, right?

The next scene seems to give us the resolution of this conflict, as Villanelle exits the subway, marching forwards, defiantly looking at us while we hear “Nothing matters if you bury it deep” in the background. It sends a message that Villanelle ultimately embraced her nature, and perhaps herself, and by doing so symbolically broke free from the oppression, emerging victorious. One could say she found her mojo back by killing on her terms. However, this never has any effects on the character, Villanelle is still as conflicted about her self-identity and still expresses her desire stop killing when we meet her again in the final scene as if her march after killing Rhian never happened. so what was the writers trying to say with the Ryan’s kill sequence when, despite disconnecting and contradicting the previous and following scenes with Eve, it seems to have no effect on Villanelle herself? What narrative are the writers committing to?

Villanelle’s character arc: the faithful translation of a uncommitted vision

Villanelle’s character arc, not that it is her privilege, gets muddled by deliberate ambiguity, character isolation, confusing motivations, and overall disconnected narrative as the writers refuse to commit to a vision. Thus, set-ups, pay-offs, conflicts and cause-effect are muddled, devoiding the character development of tangible meaning or aim – nuanced or otherwise. Despite it all sort of working moment-to-moment, it’s hard to keep up with what is being established overall, the ever shifting and clashing elements making it impossible to crack these characters and their journeys. In threading the fine line between the said and the unsaid, Season 3 had its characters bottling up so much that we are alienated from them. Simply saying “something changed inside her, and she is facing lots of things” doesn’t mean anything. Having the character state that she doesn’t want to kill (be it in general or for ‘The 12′) only to have have your character still actively killing both for ‘The 12′ and for personal reasons and ignoring the conflict it creates, shows the character’s motivations don’t mean anything. Villanelle was in search for an authentic self-identity but in the end who is she? What was this journey all about? Honestly, fixing Villanelle to allow a romance no one really knows.

So my overall impression is that Villanelle’s character wasn’t lost in translation because there wasn’t any coherent vision behind it, but a succession of floating undecided moods and motivations tied together by powerful performances that leaves you feeling like Villanelle was redeemed. Thus, the audience - and arguably the cast and creators - are left relentlessly rationalizing Villanelle so the character doesn’t fall apart. Some see Villanelle truly in love, some see her as obsessing, some see her as emotionless, some see her as a pastiche, some see her as blossoming into her true self, some see her as two different characters (Oksana/Villanelle), some just think she cries a lot, some think she is remorseful, some think she isn’t, some believe she is a psychopath, some think she matured, some think she was never a psychopath and some think she is outright cured. No one fully grasped what is happening with Villanelle, not because her character is complex beyond comprehension but because her character remained conveniently inaccessible. Ultimately, Villanelle’s character growth is a mystery the show teased at but did not commit to crack.

#killing eve #killingeve #killing eve review #killing eve analysis #killing eve season 3 #killing eve s3 #killingeveperspectives #ke #ke s3 #villanelle #villanelle analysis #killing eve retcon #villanelle retcon

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veryveryverytemporarily · 4 years

Text

Perfect

Sort of a match for robron week 2020 day 1. And chapter 1 of 2 chapters.

Ao3 link here.

There must have been a reason why Robert arrived at the age of twenty-one still a virgin; some half-formed idea that your first time was meant to mean something and then it had gone on longer than he ever intended.

Of course, the press had loved it; hanging onto the railings outside the TV set where the teen drama that made him famous was filmed. Cameras flashing with one single purpose; to catch a shot of the purity ring that he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He slowed from a run to a walk and reached for the ring where it still hung on a chain around his neck, leaned against the sea wall that looked out over the bay.

There were seagulls. He watched them soar over waves whipped up by the east coast winds. They looked happy enough – happy and carefree.

There was a frantic whispering behind him. Automatically he pulled his hood up and hunched his shoulders, waiting until the sound of footsteps receded. A glimpse of ankle socks and black school shoes on the newly tarmacked promenade, followed by a shrill voice screaming, ‘It is him; I told you!’

Alone again he clasped his hands together. His palms were sweaty, and not from the run; it was a big day ahead.

‘It’s too much pressure. If anything, it encourages more focus on the physical side of things; not less,’ his mum, Sarah, had said once upon a time. She hadn’t known he was listening outside the door. She’d held up a tabloid which had his picture on the corner of the front page, caught in the garden messing about with a hose pipe, the water gushing over him. He could see the headline still: How long can teen heart-thRob keep himself cool as temperatures rise around him?

He was fifteen at the time.

‘He should be able to live like a normal kid!’

But what was normal? How was he supposed to know even?

His dad thought the ring protected him. And his agent had loved it, pointing out the positives of a wholesome public image.

And then anyway everything had changed. His Mum had died. He’d painted on a smile for the cameras while the blackest times played out behind the scenes. Then there were the fights, and well, he’d been suspended from the show age seventeen, and he’d never gone back.

For a while there’d been Katie, and even though he wasn’t sure why anymore, they’d both agreed to wait until the wedding, and he’d thought he’d been redeemed. Even got a role with the Shakespeare Youth Company, a chance to relaunch his career.

But the paparazzi had got a picture of him leaving a hotel with the older woman in the fur coat, and she’d lied, and said they’d gone the whole way. Andy was waiting to take Katie away, the distance with his Dad became a chasm. He stopped showing up for rehearsals.

And now, a couple of years on, here he was.

He followed the smooth inner circle of the ring with his finger tip, elbows still resting on the wall. The tide was in. Maybe today was the day, he thought: How easy it would be to just unfasten the chain and let it fall into the cold grey waves, and after, to just turn around and walk away.

***

‘Where did you say you were staying?’

‘Filey.’

’At this time of year? And you’re staying in a youth hostel, did you say? Is there even one in Filey?’

‘A hotel.’

‘Well, who’s paying for that, love?’

‘It’s a job, like you’ve been banging on about? A photoshoot; all expenses paid.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Paddy should join you.’

‘Mum, I’m seventeen, not seven. I’m fine. A couple of days and I’ll be back.’

Ever since she’d seen the dating App on his phone, she’d been on his case, doing his head in. So, what if he wasn’t old enough; he’d downloaded it more out of curiosity than anything. And anyway, he’d only used it once or twice and then deactivated, not because she was right, but because he’d got tired of turning down weirdos and pervy older blokes.

He walked into the dining-room, cutlery and linen laid out for breakfast service, sat down at an empty table. He flinched at the rare sighting of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, where seagulls divebombed hapless walkers hoping for scraps.

‘…a flawless family hotel with a reputation for fine cuisine…’ Adam had read out loud on his phone as they waited to say goodbye at the coach station the afternoon before. He’d sucked his teeth. ‘Does that mean they have like really small portions?’

Aaron frowned over the breakfast menu, then asked for toast.

The photographer, Marc, had already sent scouts over a week before on a location search; the remote outdoors he wanted, sand dunes and haram grass, most of all privacy. And yes, he did know this was Costa del Yorkshire, but the natural light and the ambience were perfect for what he had in mind.

Aaron had caught up with him yesterday when he arrived, but he hadn’t met the model yet.

He was examining his plate with something approaching alarm, when the blond came in through the garden door; freckles, long hair, long limbs in a blue tracksuit.

He turned back to his breakfast, prodded cautiously with his fork at something on his plate that looked suspiciously like black pudding.

‘Need to put a name to perfection? Allow me to introduce myself.’

His eyebrows shot up; the blond was attempting to chat up the waitress.

He turned his chin discreetly so he could listen in.

From the corner of his eyes he could see that he’d raised both arms, curling his wrists to show off his biceps which as far as Aaron could tell were nonexistent.

‘See those guns? Those are for the ladies,’ the blond said, leaning way back in his chair. And then he puckered his lips and planted a kiss on his sleeve. ‘So, if you’re a lady, you could be in luck.’

Aaron either coughed or choked.

When the blond looked round, he banged a fist against his chest, indicating his plate.

Good for the waitress that she seemed quite savvy. She spoke with an Eastern European accent, gesturing with her pen.

‘So, what’s under the table, then?’

‘Oh, that’s for a special occasion. But play your cards right, and your name might just get added to the guest list.’

‘Let me know the date of the occasion, and I’ll pack my magnifying glass,’ she answered.

Aaron snorted again, this time he didn’t try to disguise it.

Their eyes locked, the blond with steely accusation as Aaron turned down the corners of his mouth.

What a dick!

Arrogant - but not just that, the whole conversation had been a complete car crash.

But it was none of his business, he had more important things to think about. He inhaled a mouthful of tea, decided on one more piece of toast, and then checked his phone to see if Marc had sent a message about when they were due to start.

***

Back in his room, Aaron put on some black eye liner, picked up his key card and put it in his pocket, then pulled up the handle on his makeup case and wheeled it into the hall.

What he really wanted to do was work in the film industry; a chance to use his skills in silicone prosthetics.

‘First, I’ll take a cast, and then make a replica, and then paint it,’ he’d explained to Adam that time he’d asked him to be a guinea pig.

‘A cast of what?’ Adam had asked nervously.

‘Well not that, obviously! Your arm will do, you numpty! It’s a project, right, for my portfolio? And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t….’

He’d kind of blushed. It was a long couple of years ago now since there’d been that confusing time which had eventually led to him coming out. The time he’d tried to kiss Adam, which still made him cringe inside when he thought about it.

‘It’s alright, you idiot. I still love you, okay,’ Adam had said. ‘I think deep down I always knew even if you were in denial about it. And now you’ll be able to find a nice bloke, yeah?’

Which was easy enough to say; he’d waited while all the kids at school moved on from one crush to the next, and then started to date. Until he felt like he was the only one still wondering what it was all about.

Then when he’d started college, all at once a load of blokes started to hit on him, and he’d agreed to see the ones he liked, and started exploring and enjoying the physical side of things.

But he still hadn’t had an actual relationship.

‘Honestly bro! You’re so picky! No one’s perfect, you just need to give someone a chance, yeah?’ Adam had said.

But what if there was someone perfect? It was just a feeling; but what if somewhere there was someone meant just for him? Wasn’t that worth holding out for?

He took the elevator up a couple of floors.

It had been his tutor’s gig, but then he’d got ill at the last minute and asked Aaron to go in his place. Male model, glamour, he’d said, then added hastily, not boudoir or anything like that, while Aaron felt his throat flush threatening to spread up to his face. ‘And it’ll be good to have something else to put in your portfolio with that…’ he’d hesitated as if he was searching for the right word; ‘…prosthetic. So, make the most of it.’

‘Bro! Is he gonna be ripped?’ Inevitably Adam had teased him about it. ‘What if it’s love at first sight?’

He’d ignored him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his stomach right now. He knocked on Marc’s door, waited until it was opened, then stepped inside.

A big double bed dominated the small room. There were prints scattered over it of local bays and coastal paths supplied by the scouts, and Marc’s laptop open with the fan blowing hard. Above the headboard there was a glowering seascape of a fishing boat in trouble over turbulent waters.

There was an old-fashioned dressing table with a folding mirror opposite the bed, and on the upholstered stool in front of it, sitting the wrong way round with his elbows balanced behind him, was the blond from breakfast.

Aaron turned back to Marc.

Even before he’d got the question out, he knew the answer; but it was too late, and anyway, by then he’d decided to enjoy it.

‘Where’s your model, then?’ he asked, looking searchingly about the room.

He saw the blond half close his eyes.

***

‘You know that meme…the one that goes …oh hello it’s you… it’s going to be you…’ he said later, on the phone to Adam.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, basically, it was that... only this was…goodbye, it’s not you…it’s not going to be you…’

‘Oh man! I suppose you could just come back.’

‘Nah, I’d better see it through.’

The thing was there was something he hadn’t told Adam, something he felt he shouldn’t tell because it wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t really his place. And a model and a makeup artist, well, before anything else there had to be trust.

***

Trust? – His very first job and he’d blown it.

Of course, Marc had introduced them and Aaron found out who the blond was; Robert Sugden - he remembered something about a teen on a daytime TV show when he was in primary school.

‘Are you sure he’s qualified? How old is he? Looks like a twelve-year old.’ Robert asked.

‘Basically, your fan base, then.’

‘Why, are you planning on joining? Succumb to the inevitable?’

Their eyes locked again, just like at breakfast, until Robert looked down at Aaron’s makeup case.

‘What products are you using? Dior? Guerlain? M.A.C?’

‘Erm, Wet n Wild, and just Boots own brand, really. It’s alright.’

He thought back to the weekend, trying to slip disposable lip wands in his pocket while Adam turned on the charm with the girl at the chemists.

It was Marc who broke the impasse.

‘We’ve got an hour until the transports here. Just get it done. And remember Aaron, raw and natural, alright?’

And then he’d gone, leaving them to it.

Aaron sighed.

So the model wasn’t what he’d hoped for. The best most generous description he could come up with for this one was your boy next door type - and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

But he needed to put that behind him now. He needed to stop thinking of Robert as a person, and focus on him as an art project; nothing more, just something to put in his portfolio.

He checked the lighting around the mirror and unzipped the makeup case. Robert sat forward, eyeing his reflection, a finger smoothing down an eyebrow.

He chose a nude primer for the blond’s eyes to start with.

‘Swivel.’

‘You what?’

‘Just move round to face me,’ he snapped.

He squeezed out some of the primer onto his finger tip, took a breath and started at last, dabbing the make up on under his eye.

Finally, they were both quiet.

He gently worked the primer into the corner of his eye, then blended down just onto the cheek bone, while the blonde looked up at the ceiling with green eyes that changed every so often like turns of a kaleidoscope.

Now he was actually this close, the thing that struck him was how good he smelt. He must have showered, sat there now in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, smelling like a field of flowers, or like strawberries and melon, like those cups of chopped fresh fruit that you got with a plastic spoon from the chiller in the coffee shop at college, when you had a hangover.

‘Close your eyes a mo...’

He put some primer on his eyelids, picked up a brush and started to work it softly into his deep sockets.

The other thing was his skin. However reluctant he was to admit it, it was impressive. Fine, and poreless, just few hormone pimples on the T-line, he guessed his age around twenty. And then the glorious 3D effect that only freckles can bring, so you feel you’re looking into a sea of gold.

He sat back. He wouldn’t use primer on that, just some sheer foundation with uv protection and bronzer. Nude lips, he swallowed, shimmer on his eyes and eyeliner gel. Looked back at his jawline again.

He would need to blend down his throat.

He grimaced, he should have already thought of this. Rookie error.

‘Can you take your T-shirt off?’

‘And careful!’ he warned as the blond reached back pulling it up over his shoulder and off over his head.

It wasn’t a hot day, maybe it was where they were sitting with the sun coming in through the window pane, but the temperature in the room seemed to suddenly soar. And that fruit cup smell, now there was something sharp and tangy about it, making his mouth water when it was still hours to lunch.

He noticed he was wearing a chain, it seemed the safest thing to look at. There was a ring on it; and then he saw the writing. ‘True Love Waits.’

He blinked. He’d never seen one before, but he knew what it was instantly.

It was so unexpected.

And then the things about Robert that had jarred all at once seemed to make more sense; the awkward chat up lines.

His mind flashed back to breakfast; so when the blond had said, ‘That’s for a special occasion,’ he wasn’t joking; he’d actually meant it!

Robert had raised his hand around the ring, his eyes watching Aaron’s face.

He thought about saying something - something along the lines of... Look, I don’t judge, alright? Whatever people choose to do, or not to do, as long as it feels right for you and doesn’t hurt anyone else. But somehow he couldn’t quite say them aloud.

‘You’ll need to take it off.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chain. ‘Maybe keep it in your pocket?’ he added gently.

He watched his long fingers move to the catch of the chain, then open it.

Of course he was still a dick. It wasn’t as if the ring made him a better person, or a worse person.

But it did make him a more complicated person.

And then Robert had turned again towards him, holding the ring out.

‘Will you take it for me? I won’t be able to wear it on the shoot, and I need someone to trust with it,’ he said. ‘Can I trust you with it?’

Aaron swallowed.

‘Course you can, course!’

#robron week #rw2020 #robron fic #my fic #chapter 1/2

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kusunogatari · 4 years

Text

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Four | Artificial ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Pretty in Pictures ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

“Tch…!”

With a far harder throw than she intends, Ryū pelts her phone against the top blanket of her bed, the mobile bouncing harmlessly against the plush surface.

She just gets so sick of this…!

Rather than the bed, she sits at her desk, burying her face in her hands as elbows rest atop it. She’s not even sure why this particular phone call is setting her off so badly. It’s just another party she’s being advised to attend by her agent. She’s been to more than she could ever count since she was fourteen and her contract was first drawn up.

But her temper has been rather...short lately. Or maybe her patience is a better word. She’s just so fed up with all of...of...this!

All of it!

The fake people, the fake smiles, the fake friendships...even her fake relationship. It’s all so obnoxiously artificial. While she’s been slowly waking up to this reality for a while now, it’s really been sinking in the last two weeks.

The last fourteen days since she nearly committed suicide.

For whatever reason, all the worries, all the thoughts she’d been holding back over the years had come to a head. Something about the charity auction and dinner had lifted it all to the surface at once, swirling in her mind like a whirlpool that dragged her down into the deepest depths of the depression she’d been trying desperately to deny. Her brain had latched onto how performative it all was. How much that bothered her. All the scummy people there to throw what looked like fortunes but were really drops in the bucket to make themselves look better than they were. It had left her feeling so sick, so...hopeless.

Then it had bled into the fragility of her own position. How her marketable looks and aesthetic could only last so long...how beauty and allure would fade, and then what? She’s been built into an image, but...what would she have left when that image changed? How much would she lose?

...and who?

A desperate walk for air and clarity had instead led her to the bridge near the hotel, the rushing waters a tempting way to let everything be washed away.

...but that was not to be, a stranger happening upon her. She’d nearly fallen in surprise, but he’d caught her, saved her, pulled her back to solid ground.

For a time she had no idea who he was...but managed to track him down with a little help from her assisant. She still only knows him by Tobi, but...he’s unlike almost anyone she knows.

He’s obviously not of the ilk she’s usually kept tethered to: rich, chic, sophisticated, fake. He’s a real person, with real struggles and problems and faults. Not like the spoiled brats she’s been forced to grow up with, complaining about nothing while those like Tobi struggle to survive. Hiding behind masks of marketing and social media. Appearing flawless, but hiding nasty, shallow realities behind their smiles.

It makes her so nauseous...but Tobi has been a crack in the dam. A knothole in the fence she’s been kept in for over a decade, giving a glimpse of the other side. While she’s still getting to know him, and maybe she should be skeptical of strangers...she can’t help but feel slightly attached to him. Largely, she suspects, because he saved her life (inadvertently or not), but also because he’s been a breath of fresh air socially. No pretenses, no one-upping, no grovelling (ugh, she hates when people do that…). He’s just...normal with her. Nothing like anyone she knows...except maybe her father. But even Jiraiya has his moments. Even now he still tends to baby her a bit, clearly a bit stuck on her being his “little girl”.

...she can understand it. Her career robbed them both of her growing up normally. Trying to cling onto that makes sense, really.

But it all comes together to exhaust her...she’s not her own person. Hasn’t been in over a decade. The facade is falling apart, she’s too tired to keep it up, she needs…

...a break.

The party is scheduled for tomorrow. Rather late notice compared to most social functions she gets roped into, but doable. Apparently she already has a fitting for a dress and professional makeup applications scheduled for her.

But the more she thinks about it, the more she makes up her mind.

She’s not going.

And she’s not telling her manager. She’s tired of the man’s grip on her, and maybe doing something of her own volition for once will help it sink in: she’s not just his plaything to make money with. She’s allowed to say no.

So, instead, she retrieves her phone (by now calmed down enough to feel bad for throwing it) and sends Tobi a text.

Are you doing anything tomorrow?

She can already hear the angry complaints: from her manager, her agent...Itachi. But damn it, she wants to make her own decisions for once! Nearly plummeting off that bridge has made her realize how much of her life needs to change. And she’s going to start changing it now.

A few minutes later, her mobile gives a buzz, and a few taps show a reply from Tobi.

Nothing important, no. You need something?

Her mouth settles into a determined line, quickly messaging back, I need an excuse to dodge a party tomorrow, and I think going to see a friend is good enough.

A bit of silence, then another reply. Haha! Standing up your snobby friends? I approve! Name the time and the place, we will do whatever you want.

A kind of giddiness overtakes her, a smile finally pulling at her face. Tobi is such a sweetheart. So much less rigid and ridiculous than anyone else she’s usually stuck with.

I’ll mull it over and let you know - nothing too drastic, just...a break from the drama.

She feels a lot better, now. Maybe...slightly nervous because she’s never been the rule breaking type. But damn it, she needs a break.

No one on her team - no one at all, really, except Tobi - knows about what happened on the bridge. Knows how low she got, how low she’s been. It feels like a facade she can’t drop. That if someone were to find out how close she’d been to jumping, they’d lock her up in a psych ward. She doesn’t want anyone fussing, but...she also wants a breather.

...she especially can’t let word get back to Jiraiya. It would break his heart. He’s already lost his wife...losing his daughter would crush him.

The thought alone makes her feel terribly guilty: how much she would have hurt him. But...she’s not going to get that bad again. No...things are going to change.

Even if that change is going to be painful...she hopes, in the end, it will be for the best.

With her plans arranged, she goes about her evening before turning in, a smile on her face as she slips into sleep.

Come morning, she’s made up her mind.

Have you ever gone rollerskating?

Tobi’s reply is a bit slow. That’s really random. Why?

I’ve always wanted to learn. Can that be what we do today?

I guess so, sure.

Sorry...I just need to do something NORMAL today.

No apologizing. It’s your decision! But I’ll warn you now...I don’t know how either. So when I fall on my ass, you can’t laugh.

Then you can’t laugh at me, either!

Grinning at her phone, Ryū then goes ahead and looks up the nearest roller rink. There’s one on the west side of town...that should work pretty well! She texts Tobi the address and they agree to meet there at noon.

Her dress appointment is at noon, and her makeup at three. Looks like she won’t be making those...

This almost feels like those playdates her mother used to take her on when she was really little: a bunch of kids brought together for an activity and to run out some energy while all the moms looked on. A reminiscent feeling of excitement builds in her chest.

This is exactly what she needs.

After a quick breakfast and picking an outfit, she gets in her car and starts making her way there. GPS guides her until she pulls into the lot. As it’s a Saturday, it actually looks pretty busy. Realizing she doesn’t know what Tobi’s car looks like (or...if he even has one), she instead heads inside and starts to shoot him a text to let him know she’s here.

“Hey!”

Jumping, Ryū turns to see...he’s already here! “Oh! Hey! I was just gonna text you - you haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“Nah, got here a few minutes ago. Trying to decide how badly I want to embarrass myself,” Tobi replies with a grin.

“Well, everyone will be laughing at both of us, I assure you. But I’ve always wanted to learn how to do this, it looks so fun…!”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

They each pay for their admission before heading into the belly of the building. Most of it is taken up by the actual rink, but there’s also a place to sit and eat, to get your skates, and an arcade.

“Hungry?” she asks.

“Meh, not yet. Let’s give this a try first. Then we can have a pity lunch to nurse our inevitable wounds.”

That gets her to laugh. “Good plan!” At the skate counter, Ryū starts with the two-side roller skates rather than the single line of wheels on the roller blades. Surely that will be easier to keep her balance on.

Tobi, on the other hand, goes right for the blades.

“Feeling daring?”

“I figure I might as well go all-in,” he shrugs.

“You’re braver than I am, heh.”

Sitting on nearby benches, they swap their shoes for the skates. Still seated, Ryū gives them a testing roll against the carpet. “...oh boy…”

“Hey, it was your idea!”

“I know, I know! I’m just nervous.” She flashes an uncertain but excited smile. Clinging to the back of the bench, she hauls herself to her feet. For a moment she wobbles, but then regains her center of balance. “...okay...that’s not so bad.” As for how to actually move...she has no idea. Lifting a foot, she tries to take a step...and nearly crashes as her other foot bears all the weight and starts to move backward. “Oh sh-!”

Tobi, still seated, manages to grab her arm and steady her. “Easy!”

Color floods her cheeks, hoping no one saw that… “S-sorry.”

“You apologize a lot, you know that?”

“It’s...a bit of a reflex.”

Of course it’s then a gaggle of kids come zooming by, stopping as they spot Ryū’s trouble. “Hey! Need some help?”

She chuckles sheepishly. “Um...maybe…? How do you...go…?”

“Ya gotta push your feet out!” a little girl offers, giving a demonstration. Rather than moving her feet back and forth, she sweeps them out to the side. “So ya push!”

Ryū watches, blinking. “...so...like this…?” Cautiously abandoning her hold, she tries to mimic the motion. At first, she wobbles rather dramatically, arms flailing like a cartoon character to maintain her balance. But then she starts drifting forward, body getting accustomed to the leans. “...oh...wait...I-I think I got it?”

All grinning, the kids swarm around her, cheering her on as she practices on the carpet. Once she makes a few passes back and forth, she looks up to Tobi, grinning widely. “I’m doing it!”

He just snorts, still sitting. “Okay, good. Now you have to teach me.”

For a moment, the kids pause as they look at him.

“My friend and I have never roller skated before,” Ryū offers. “But he said we could learn together! He’s Tobi - I’m Ryū!”

The kids’ wariness then seems to ease, and they start encouraging Tobi to his feet.

“Now, uh...I have a bit of a bad leg. So go easy on me,” he asks, wobbling much as Ryū did as he gets going. But slight infirmity aside, he manages to get the hang of it after a few passes. Ryū can’t help but giggle as the kids give a cheer at his success.

It’s Tobi’s turn to give a shy smile. “...well. I haven’t fallen yet.”

“No, not yet. But we’re still going slow on the carpet.”

They agree to practice a bit more, the flock of children disappearing back to the crowd on the rink. Soon enough they’ve mastered the carpet.

Time to try the smooth wood of the rink.

“...can I ask a stupid question?” Ryū offers as they approach one of the gaps in the wall to board the rink.

“Sure?”

“Can I hold your hand? Just to help, uh...steady myself?”

She knows that might be a bit weird. While she herself considers Tobi a friend - maybe not yet a close friend, but a friend nonetheless - she also knows the gesture might be a bit...forward.

But to her surprise, despite a small pause, he nods. Gripping his hand and weaving their fingers, Ryū takes the first step. And oh boy is it slippery. “W-whoa, okay, uh…” Hanging onto the wall, she lets Tobi follow behind her. Once they’re both a bit steady, they wait for a gap before merging onto the outermost layer of the rink.

They’re slow, and people keep passing them, but...they aren’t falling. Synching up their steps, they find a rhythm and start gliding smoothly in an oval around the outside.

Realizing she’s actually doing it, Ryū’s expression brightens, a smile lifting her lips and eyes shining with childish excitement. How long has she wanted to do this, and now she’s just...doing it! She made a plan, and stuck to it.

...when was the last time she was able to do that?

From the corners of his eyes, Tobi watches her, expression unreadable.

They do a few passes before agreeing to peel back off. Breath a bit elevated with adrenaline, Ryū looks to Tobi with uncensored joy. “That...was amazing!”

He laughs, not...really seeing the appeal of going around and around in a circle. But it’s making her happy. “Should we eat something?”

“Yeah!”

It’s mostly just pizza and the like, so they settle on splitting one. Sipping her soda, Ryū watches the other skaters from their elevated table along the edge.

“So, why roller skating?”

“Huh?”

“Why was roller skating what you picked to do today?”

She chews her straw, thinking. “...I dunno. Just seemed like fun. Kids used to skate on the street I lived on when I was a kid, but...I never got to do it. My mom always said I was too young and that I’d get hurt, and then...we moved after she died. I kinda forgot about it. But I think I just figured it was one of those childhood things I missed out on with how I was raised. So...maybe it was a bit immature to ask for it, but...I wanted something normal. Something boring.” There’s a pause. “...that really makes me sound like a privileged jerk, doesn’t it?”

“Psh, no,” Tobi assures her, waving her concern aside. “I’ve never done it either. Just depends on how you were brought up.”

“I guess so. But I mean...asking for something normal and calling it boring. Do I sound rude, wording it like that?”

Another wave. “No. You said it yourself before: you live in a fake world. Wanting something that feels outside that...bubble is your right. Don’t worry about it. Any time you need a break, just let me know. We’ll do something boring.”

His reply makes her laugh. “Want to do some more?”

“Ah, I’ll wait. My leg’s a bit sore.”

Worry immediately colors her expression. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine. You go, I’ll watch. Don’t fall, hm?”

“I won’t, I won’t…” Giving him one last glance, Ryū then abandons the table and heads back out onto the rink.

Once she’s gone, Obito grabs a pill vial from his coat pocket, popping a pill and washing it down with soda.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

And as he promised, he watches her do her circles, slowly getting more confident and extending her movements. They even play a game she participates in, getting eliminated about halfway through. Even in her defeat, sitting in an alcove along the rink, she’s pink-cheeked and grinning.

...she really is having a blast, isn’t she?

He can’t help but be a bit envious of that. Of getting so excited over something so simple. But...well, she has reasons to be. Her life - while in some ways so much easier than his own - is still riddled with problems. Getting a moment to get away from that seems to be doing her a lot of good.

Eventually she comes back, sitting with a gasp to catch her breath. “Man...I’m tired! I didn’t think it would be such hard work, but...my legs are sore! How’s yours feeling…?”

“Fine, I took some Advil. I’ll be all right. It just gets stiff sometimes.”

As he’s becoming familiar with, uncensored concern colors her face. “All right...I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about…?”

“I told you, it’s fine. Glad I got to do a bit. Maybe it’ll be good exercise for it.”

“...okay.”

“So, want to go again, or…?”

“I think I’ve had my fill for a while. What about you, anything else you want to do?”

“Nah.”

Finished, they turn in their skates and retrieve their shoes before heading to the door. It’s there they have to part ways.

“Hey...thanks for humoring me today,” Ryū offers, a bit bashful. “I had a lot of fun…!”

“M’glad. So...how many angry texts do you have?”

“No idea, I turned off my phone. I’m sure I’ll get earfuls from everyone later, but...for right now, this was more important. I...really needed today.”

Tobi looks her over thoughtfully. “...feel better?”

“Better than yesterday, at least.” She gives a tired smile. “...slowly but surely.”

“...good. Well, you better go hide for a few more hours, hm? And I need to get home.”

“Thanks for going with me.”

“Of course. Next time you want to be a rebel, let me know,” he grins, watching as she waves (Tobi returning the gesture) and returns to her car.

...well, that went better than he expected. Seems she’s starting to test her new boundaries, figure out what she can get away with and what control she can start taking back.

It’s only a matter of time before she starts questioning things beyond her schedule.

Obito grins to himself, checking his phone to ensure he didn’t miss anything important. But he finds himself distracted, remembering the look of wonder on Ryū’s face.

...it was cute.

...he’d bet a hundred dollars she’s never had that look when around Itachi. Just those artificial smiles to placate him.

And Obito can’t help but smirk at that.

Obito one, Itachi zero.

...okay this is actually really cute and makes me wanna get back into roller skating kjdhfgjh - that was totally random but maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something xD So this is meant to be pretty early in PiP: only about two weeks after the first bit I ever posted. Hence Ryū knowing Obito by ‘Tobi’ and not yet knowing he’s an Uchiha or anything. So just a lil bonding time for the pair of them ;3 Anywho I am...still a day behind (again OTL) so I’ma try to at least start today’s, maybe finish it in the morning and get back on track! Thanks for reading~

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #pretty in pictures [ au ]

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spartanguard · 5 years

Text

sick of love (1/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

A/N: This story was inspired by a tumblr post imagining a different kind of soulmate AU; I got inspired and ran with the idea. (original post can be found here.) Thank you to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this great event again!! Also to @sherlockianwhovian for making the INCREDIBLE art that goes with this! (and to @optomisticgirl for looking it over!)

The train slipped into the station, coming to an easy stop at the platform where Emma waited. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window as the door opened in front of her, and adjusted her hair accordingly, making sure her long blonde tresses hung over her shoulders and framed her face just so—but not so much that she was completely covered; she wasn’t Cousin Itt.

People began to stream out of the car, moving on either side of where Emma stood, not unlike water flowing around a rock in a river. She held her breath in an attempt to make herself smaller, in hopes that would make it harder for anyone to bump into her. There was a slight jostle to her leather-covered elbow, but thankfully, that was all. Soon, the last tourist had left the car, on their way to whatever pretentious bar was in this particular Boston neighborhood; Emma didn’t know and didn’t care, and was headed the opposite direction—her suburban apartment after a long day of fruitless work.

Emma shuffled onto the train and slumped into a seat, pulling her jacket just a bit tighter around her as she tried her best to melt into the hard molded plastic. The more she could hide or shrink, the better; the train was always packed this time of day, making it all too easy to get bumped or shoved into the next person, so the fact that she’d gotten a seat was perfect—even better, it was on the end, so there was only one seat next to her. Because if there was one thing Emma Swan hated, it was being touched.

Actually, that was a lie—she had loved it, once upon a time. But God, she’d been so naive.

The train quickly filled up. Emma tensed when someone sat next to her, but the suited businessman seemed more interested in his phone, and just as keen not to touch her. Even in a society that placed a high value on physical contact, there were still those who shied away from it, at least with strangers. Emma, though, did her best to keep away from everyone.

If her phone had more than 10% battery, she’d have her nose buried in it like half the other people on the train. Like her neighbor apparently knew, that was also a good way to ward off any unwanted contact. But given it’s mostly-dead status, and a desire to leave that little bit there in case Henry called, she’d have to content herself with people watching; hell, maybe she’d find the skip who’d gotten away from her earlier.

It was mostly people heading home from work, likely about to enjoy the balmy early summer evening on balconies or patios; if they threw a glance her way, they’d probably think the way she was dressed for late fall was insane—not many people wore turtlenecked sweaters, jeans, and knee-high boots in July, even in Boston. She’d gotten used to the self-imposed swelter by now, though.

But no one had eyes for her, thankfully, least of all the couple standing in front of her. They stood side by side, one hand each on the overhead rail and the other holding their partner’s. They had soft, happy grins on their faces and it almost looked as though they were having a conversation with just their eyes—and they most likely were. Because that was what happened when you found your soulmate.

She shivered involuntarily, despite the heat and her unseasonable dress. Gah, she hated that word: soulmate. Because, of course, the universe had picked that one perfect person for everyone. You didn’t have any choice in the matter; that’s just how it was. Great if you find them; sucks if you don’t—and even worse if you lose them.

As a kid, it had been a pipe dream for a touch-starved orphan like Emma had been. Everyone grew up knowing the stories: that when you found your soulmate, physical touch created an almost psychic connection with them. Thoughts, feelings, even dreams could be shared through skin, and it only got more intense the longer the relationship lasted.

And she thought she’d had that, once. Now? She’d sworn it off; there were more important things to worry about.

She blinked her eyes and looked away from the couple, lest she get too far down Memory Lane to turn back. She focused on the view of the city flying by outside the windows, the familiar landmarks telling her she was close to her stop. Each building was one tick in the countdown until she could get off and head home, where central AC, her son, and an ice cold beer were waiting.

Finally, the train slowed down and came to a creaking stop at her station. She waited a bit for more people to exit the car, including the annoyingly adorable couple (something she was all too familiar with in her own life), and headed back out into the temperate air.

And then she saw her skip, in the mass of people heading out of the station. Guess home would have to wait; good thing she saved her phone battery.

She took off at a sprint, waiting to shout the douchebag’s name until he had no time to react before she was on top of him, bringing him to the ground and pinning him there without an ounce of skin contact. If this asshole was her soulmate, she didn’t want to know.

(Or to know if anyone was anymore.)

A few hours later, she finally slumped into her apartment and sighed in the blessedly cold air. Then she sniffed; was that pizza?

“I ordered from Regina Pizzeria; hope you didn’t mind,” Henry shouted from the kitchen.

“Did you tip?” she asked, tugging on the zippers of her boots and stepping out of them.

“Of course; I’m not an animal.”

She snorted; he’d definitely inherited her sense of humor. “Good.” Her stomach was growling, but she needed to at least get out of her jacket before she did anything about it. It clung to her in an unpleasant manner as she peeled it off, the sleeves turning inside out as they clung to her clammy skin; she just hung it up that way, letting the sweaty lining air out.

Henry already had plates set out at their kitchen island-slash-dining table. “Thanks, kid,” she said as she walked past him to the fridge, pausing to ruffle his dark brown hair. “And sorry again.”

“It happens,” he said with a shrug. She winced at that, despite the chilled air blowing from the fridge as she grabbed her beer; she hated that he was so used to her inconsistent work hours, but was so proud of him for being self-reliant. She still wasn’t sure how she’d been blessed with such a fantastic kid, but that was why she did what she did—not just her job, but protecting herself. She couldn’t make sure Henry grew up safe and loved if she was too caught up in her own shit.

“Is your homework done?” she asked as she took a seat on what had become designated as her bar chair at the counter.

“Yup,” he answered, opening the box; plain pepperoni—their favorite.

“Show me after we eat.”

“I know,” he groaned, rolling his eyes a bit, and grabbed a slice. Every now and then, there were moments like that where Emma was reminded that her 11-year-old was growing up fast. But for the most part, he was still her little boy: smart, funny, and with the biggest heart she’d ever met. She wished his dad could see him.

Like they did every night, they talked about their days, but mostly Henry’s—she loved to hear about what he was learning and the things he did with his friends. No one had ever taken interest in her life, academic or otherwise, until she wound up with the Nolans, and she vowed a long time ago to make sure Henry always had an attentive parent.

“Avery had to go home at lunch; he got sick. It was gross, like you could see his—“

“Ugh, no—not while I’m eating!” (Lest she forget, Henry was definitely an 11-year-old boy.)

Henry sighed but plowed on. “Anyways, they sent him home and said he probably had a stomach bug, but he thinks it’s something else. He thinks he has lovesickness.”

Emma froze for a second, but not too long in case Henry noticed. He knew she had issues with soulmates and she tried her hardest not to pass them onto him. But lovesickness—that was something of a trigger word.

See, that was the other side to having a soulmate: if you went too long without physical contact with them, you got sick. Not just heartsick or lonely—physically ill. After a few weeks without touching your supposed true love, you started to develop flu-like symptoms that progressively got worse—the point of near immobility—until either you came back in contact with them or cycled all the way through it, your body mended but your soul a bit bruised.

It wasn’t uncommon to see notices in the “missed connections” section of Craigslist for people experiencing symptoms after a rare brush with their intended. Morbidly, it was also typical for old couples to follow each other in death, not being able to survive through the lovesickness that accompanied the loss of their soulmate after decades together.

She was pretty sure she’d been through it. Most people were confident in that distinction, but Emma still didn’t know, because lovesickness looked and felt an awful lot like morning sickness.

For the upteenth time that day, Emma shook her head, trying to clear away the ghosts of the past. “He doesn’t have it; you guys are too young.” The one perk to this whole cosmic system was that it couldn’t happen until after puberty.

“I dunno; he was pretty confident about it. Said he kissed Violet on the playground last week so he’s probably taken.”

Emma chuckled. “It doesn’t happen that fast. He’ll be fine. But maybe watch what you eat at school, okay?”

“Okay. Can I bring pizza tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

The rest of their nightly routine went per usual: Emma looking over his homework, forcing him to take a shower before she took one too, then watching an episode of Stranger Things before he went to bed.

Maybe he was getting too old for it, but she still tucked him each night. “Love you, Mom,” he murmured, already half asleep.

“Love you, too, kid,” she replied, placing a kiss on his forehead. Even if she shied away from that stuff herself, she never wanted Henry to miss out on those little endearments she never had.

She took one last look at him before leaving his room. He was getting so big, and looking more and more like his dad every day; but when he was asleep, he still looked like the baby she’d once rocked in her arms.

So that was why she protected herself. That was why she cut off physical contact as much as possible with anyone else. That was why she didn’t want to risk her heart like that again. Sure, she craved that kind of intimacy sometimes, but she’d made her peace that it a while ago. No lovers, no soulmates, just a few friends. Nothing that could potentially take her away from being the best mom Henry could have.

At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for 11 years. She didn’t want to believe anything else, even though she was keenly aware of the heartbreak that lay under everything.

She retired to her room and flopped down on her big, empty bed, falling asleep eventually.

And if she dreamed that there was someone to share that bed with...well, she’d talk it up to her brain being weird.

She didn’t do soulmates.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

“Seriously?”

“Oh, come on, Emma; it’ll be fine. You can play nice for one night.”

Emma sighed into the phone. Her sister-in-law, Snow—the living, breathing embodiment of peace, hope, and love—had a long track record of trying to surreptitiously shove eligible singletons Emma’s way. She was understanding about Emma’s avoidance of relationships and physical contact, and the need to put Henry first, but only to a point. By no means did she think that romantic love was the key to true happiness, but she herself had found her fairytale true love and its accompanying bliss; shouldn’t everyone experience that?

“Debatable.” And apparently, Emma would be subject to Snow’s fledgling matchmaking yet again at their weekly dinner. “What’s this guy’s deal?”

“Oh, you know how David picks up strays.” They shared a giggle at that; it was true—not only did David work at an animal shelter, but he had a tendency to pick up wayward humans as well, Emma being a prime example. She was 15 when the Nolans legally adopted her. “But Killian is—well, he’s like you.”

Both Emma’s curiosity and hackles rose. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not looking for a soulmate, either. So it’s not a setup or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” She’d heard that one before.

“It’s not!”

“Why do I feel like this is some sort of reverse psychology thing?”

There was a pause. “Was it really that obvious?”

Emma sighed again, chuckling slightly. “You know I know when you’re lying.”

“I know, I know. But you’re still coming, right?”

“Yes, of course.” One random guy wasn’t enough to put Emma off their tradition. Her only other option would be to sit at home by herself on a Friday while Henry was at a sleepover, and she wasn’t that lame, even if she was a 28-year-old single mother who hadn’t really socialized in over 11 years.

“Okay, good. See you and your wine in a few hours! Bye!”

Maybe someday, Emma would be able to soak up some of the effervescent optimism that her sister-in-law constantly bubbled. But today wasn’t that day.

Because now Emma had to pick a new outfit, and she was unusually annoyed. Given the muggy heat, she was going to let herself wear shorts and a tank top; David and Snow were the only people, outside of Henry, that Emma could let her guard down around, physically or otherwise. People only had one soulmate so there was no risk at contact there when David and Snow were each other’s, and even less so with David being her brother, even if not biologically; the universe may be a dick sometimes but at least it wasn’t gross.

But if someone else was going to be there, she’d have to wrap back up. These were the moments she wondered if it was worth it, keeping herself protected—if she died of heatstroke, it wouldn’t matter either way. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have normal human interactions with people, and it might not be so bad to go on a date or two—some kind of adult activity. David and Snow were proof that it wasn’t all bad, even if it was sickly sweet sometimes; she had more than a few moments of jealousy ever since they met, way back in high school.

But then the past would rear its head and she’d remember why she put herself through this. No, she was better off without.

She sighed and sadly pulled off the cute sleeveless blouse she was wearing. She didn’t usually do wear something so girly and was kind of looking forward to it. Although...the red flowers in it did match her jacket...

Giving it a shot, she tugged on a long-sleeved shirt, then slipped the blouse back on. The layered look was still a thing, right? And the blue background on the blouse matched her jeggings. It worked. She paused a bit to admire her reflection, then started to head out, grabbing her jacket and the wine from the kitchen before slipping on her gloves and heading out.

The AC in her old yellow Bug was cranked all the way up as she made the 20-minute trip to her brother’s house, tucked away in one of the nicer, if small, neighborhoods. She pulled into the driveway of their little bungalow and immediately groaned when she saw the car already parked there: an unfamiliar old Chevy muscle car that screamed “douchebag”.

Her mind’s eye was already conjuring the image of some alpha male gym rat, or worse, some preppy rich kid who was a third cousin of the Kennedys and made sure you knew it. She started bracing herself for a less-than-enjoyable evening in the mad dash between her car and the front door, lest she melt before getting inside.

But there was no one in the front room when she let herself in. “Hello?” she called out, carefully making her way through the house; crap, what if this guy had killed them or something? Thank goodness Henry wasn’t here. She started glancing around for blunt objects to use as weapons, until she remembered she had a full bottle of wine in hand; it’d be a waste of booze, but it’d do the job.

“Out here!” came Snow’s voice through the door to the back yard. Emma relaxed a little, knowing they were alive, but still didn’t let her guard down; that wasn’t something she did easily.

Although, looking back, maybe if she had relaxed a little, she wouldn’t have been so tense and focused on her family’s well-being that she skipped the last step down to the patio, making her lose her footing, drop the wine, and fall—into unfamiliar arms.

Her hair fell over her face in a curtain, both protecting her from and blinding her to whoever had caught her. But the jacket she could feel under her gloves wasn’t something David would wear this time of year, and those definitely weren’t her brother’s boots or skinny jeans.

“Woah there, lass—you alright?”

And that really wasn’t David’s English accent.

Instinctively, she let go of his (admittedly firm) biceps and fell backwards, definitely sticking her hand in the shattered glass of the bottle—she could feel it cut through her glove to her palm—but putting a good amount of distance between her and this Killian guy.

She hissed at the cut, and quickly brushed her hair aside with the other hand to inspect the damage. The glove was wrecked, but she couldn’t tell what of the red stuff on her hand was blood and what was wine.

Shade fell on her as David and Snow hovered, but the stranger was the only one who intervened. “Let me see,” he said, and rached for her forearm.

“It’s fine,” Emma tossed back, more out of habit than anything. It certainly stung, but her biggest worry was that she’d have an uncovered hand.

“Your hand is cut. Let me see,” the man demanded, his tone just commanding enough to jolt her. Who the hell did he think he was?

Before she could protest again, he grabbed her wrist and tugged it toward him—with another gloved hand. That was...unexpected. She finally dared to look at him, but all she could see was a mess of dark hair and a strong nose as he inspected her palm.

“It’s not that deep, thankfully,” he assessed, and even from this angle, she could see his thick brows furrowing in study. “But we should still clean it up.”

And then he looked up at her, and all her desire to tell this cocky asshole off was put on hold. Because she was staring into what were probably the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and that tender a gaze should not belong to someone she’d literally just fallen onto. He should be mad, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that usually what happened? But, if she was reading this correctly, he was worried...about her?

Did she hit her head, too? What the hell was going on?

She just blinked and gaped at him, until David stepped in front of her to help pull her up. She didn’t shy away from his touch, or the hug he gave her once she was upright. “I’ll clean up the bottle; you let Killian take care of you.”

“Okay,” she mumbled back, and followed Killian back into the house. It wasn’t until they were in the upstairs bathroom that she came out of her fog—more specifically, when he was pouring rubbing alcohol on her cuts. “Ah—what the hell?”

“I tried to warn you,” he replied curtly, then lightly dabbed at the mess with a hand towel. She noticed that he hadn’t taken his own gloves off yet, despite somehow managing to get her trashed one off without her noticing.

“‘S okay,” she muttered. He was almost clinical as he cleaned the (mostly wine) mess from her hand and applied ointment, though it didn’t escape her notice that one hand was noticeably stiffer than the other.

“Alright, I’m gonna wrap it up, but I might need your help; this requires a bit more dexterity than this thing can offer,” he explained, holding up the stiff hand.

“It’s a fake?”

“Aye; a good one, but not perfect.” Part of her wanted to ask, but she swallowed down her untoward curiosity.

They passed the roll of gauze between the two of them until her palm was covered, but she gave him a surreptitious once-over while they worked: he too was dressed in an unseasonable black leather jacket, the jeans she’d noticed earlier, and a navy oxford shirt with the collar popped, buttoned to his neck.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asked as he secured the end of the bandage; it was a tight wrap, but not constricting, making her wonder where he learned first aid.

He just smirked, which cut a dimple into the gingery scruff that covered his sharp jaw. “Does that mean you find me attractive, love?” he tossed back as he cleaned up the tiny mess they’d made.

She huffed; maybe she was right about her first assessment of this guy—what kind of cocky jerk said that? (Even if it was true.) “Not what I said. It was a question; not a statement.”

He put the bandage wrapper in the trash and then gathered the soiled towel. “I’d explain it, but I think you already know the answer.” His eyes traveled down her body much like she’d just done to him, then intensely met her gaze, an expressive eyebrow arched almost in challenge.

Something about him made her squirm, but she couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way yet. Or if maybe she really was sweating to death in this outfit.

He stepped toward her, and she sucked in a breath, instinctively moving away from him. “It’s alright,” he assured her, holding his hands up where she could see them as he continued toward the bathroom door. “Just going to toss this and head back outside.”

If the manner of dress weren’t enough, the fact that he was able to read her reaction definitely confirmed the fact: he was trying to avoid touch as much as possible, too.

“Yeah,” she answered, trying (and failing) to play it cool. “Uh, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, then turned and headed out of sight.

She sighed once he left. What the hell had just happened? What kind of guy just cleans wounds for people he doesn’t know, especially one who apparently held the same no-touching policy?

And why did she let him? She was no stranger to cleaning up her own injuries—at least, the ones that didn’t require a trip to the ER. She was a mom, for god’s sake; she was usually the one fixing boo-boos.

She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to shake some of these weird nerves off. Then actually shook—her head, hands, arms, whole body. It helped, but she still felt a bit off-tilt. And she didn’t even have any wine to help her deal with it. Fuck.

But she couldn’t hide in the half-bath forever, so she fixed her hair in the mirror and then headed back to the yard. Killian was already there, seated under the umbrella at the patio table nursing a beer. Dave was manning the grill while Snow picked up the bottle shards.

“Hey, let me help—” Emma tried to intervene, but Snow brushed her off.

“It’s fine; I don’t want you to get cut again. Just grab a drink and have a seat.”

Even though she couldn’t see Snow’s face, Emma was pretty sure it had a self-satisfied smirk on it. They’d probably just reenacted some romance novel trope and she could see another one about to play out—and Snow knew it.

Emma grabbed a beer from the cooler by the grill, making sure to quickly tease Dave on his mediocre grilling skills, and then turned her attention to the table. The smart thing for her would be to sit opposite Killian, keeping the full table and umbrella pole between them. But that would force Snow and David to sit opposite as well, and it was kind of an unspoken rule that they never did that; it made it too hard for one to grab the other’s hand and mentally share some piece of gossip or inside joke.

So Emma took her seat next to Killian, but made sure the chair was a respectable distance away from his. It was a little awkward at first, because he seemed just as (not) interested in conversation as she was, but there was still a heaviness to the air that had nothing to do with the humidity.

“Um, thanks again,” she started, not knowing how else to break the unsteady silence.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing it off with another sip of his beer. Whatever softness she’d seen earlier was back in hiding; she couldn’t really judge him for it when that was her usual MO.

It got quiet again, until David started yelling and jumping away from the flames shooting up from the grill.

“Fuck!” “Bloody hell!” they shouted at the same time.

David was fanning it with a potholder when Snow rushed to his side. “What the heck are you doing?” she chastised, then jumped forward and turned down the heat. “Are you trying to show off, you pyromaniac?”

The pair at the table snorted as Snow continued to lecture him about grill safety, even if they couldn’t hear half of it; the look on her face as she held tight to David’s forearm and stared him down said everything.

“Are they always like this?” Killian asked, his tone lighter than it had been a minute ago.

“Oh my god, always. And it’s been like this for 12 years.”

“Damn.”

Snow stormed off inside while David slunk back to the grill and pulled the steaks off of it.

“And they’re really soulmates?” Killian wondered, though she couldn’t tell if it was rhetorical or not.

“Yup,” was all she answered, and took another sip of beer.

Killian just hummed and stared at the condensation rings from his bottle on the glass-top table. There was something dark and faraway in his gaze; part of her knew it wasn’t her business, but a weird part of her wanted to cheer him up.

“Would you believe that those two are trying to set us up?” she said quietly and conspiratorially.

“Huh?” He looked up, blinking; it took a moment for his eyes to refocus on her. “Oh, aye; I had a suspicion.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or relieved at his indifference. “Yeah, they tend to do that. So, you might wanna get used to it.”

He took another long sip. “David knows my feelings on that matter; I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

Emma snorted again. “Dude, I’m his sister. He knows exactly why I’m not interested in anything and that still hasn’t stopped them.”

“And why is that?”

“I—” She cut herself almost immediately, because she was just about to spill her life story to this guy who she’d met literally half an hour ago. She didn’t even like thinking about all that, let alone discussing it. So why was she so ready to spill all her beans? “I don’t really like talking about it,” she finally said, in a small voice.

“I know the feeling,” he answered, just as somberly. “Cheers to tragic backstories?” He extended his arm to her, bottle leaning forward in invitation to a toast.

“Cheers,” she said back, clinking the glasses together (but holding back a bit in case of another shatter).

Typically, the idea of meeting someone with as much emotional baggage as she carried sounded exhausting; but with Killian, she couldn’t help but be curious. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to shun the idea of soulmates, but it was rare to go to the lengths that she and Killian were going to. She heard the tuts and saw the pitying stares from people as she went about her day, especially this time of year when it was so obvious. And she was usually good about not letting it get to her—all she had to do was see Henry’s face to remind her why she did it. She’d never met anyone else who did, though, and wondered a bit at what Killian’s reasons were.

But, as she reminded herself, she’d just met the guy; it was hardly appropriate to pry when she wasn’t about to reveal anything herself. Thankfully, Snow arrived at the table at that moment with a tray covered in food, and they dug into the meal, maintaining a casual level of chat the whole time. It turned out that David met Killian while he was out for a run; David was the crazy type to go out at dawn, so when he ran into someone else doing that, it took his notice and they bonded almost immediately. That wasn’t a rare thing in David’s life, but based on the bashful expression on Killian’s face, she could tell it was for him.

After dinner had been cleared away and the pie brought out, Snow declared, “Oh, this was so nice. I’m so glad you were able to come, Killian.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, milady; thanks for the hospitality.”

“Oh, don't mention it,” she waved off. “I just wish he could have met Henry, too!”

“Who’s Henry?”

��My son,” Emma interjected. Who would probably also try to pull Killian into their family sphere; he was a lot like her brother in that regard. “He’s at a friend’s tonight, but this is our weekly tradition.”

“I’m not intruding, am I?” He seemed worried all of a sudden.

“No,” the other three were quick to assure him. “Besides,” Snow continued, “it seems like you're fitting right in. You two seemed to be getting on well,” she added with a wink.

“Too much, Snow,” David muttered beside her, focusing on clearing dishes.

“What? I’m just saying—”

Gently, David placed his hand over hers and found her gaze. It was pretty obvious again to imagine the private conversation they were having, but it still made Emma feel like she was invading their privacy, so she went back to picking at her pie crust. A glance at Killian saw him doing the same.

After a long awkward silence that the couple was completely unaware of, David removed his hand and started gathering plates. “Well, I mean what I said,” Snow continued, albeit a bit less forcefully. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“I appreciate that,” he said softly, blushing a bit if she wasn’t mistaken—it was hard to tell in the shade of the umbrella if it was that, or just overheating. “I’ll be sure to bring better beer next time, too; is this really what you Yanks consider good ale?”

“I heard that!” David shouted from the open kitchen window.

“‘Yanks’?” Emma teased. “You sound like you just got off the boat from England.”

“I did,” he quickly replied. “In fact, it’s still docked in the harbour.”

“It’s been—what, a month?” Snow added.

“About that, yeah,” he confirmed. “And I still haven’t managed to find anything better than barley water to drink.” He glanced down at the label of his beer. “Sam Adams? Sounds like a ponce.”

“Mm, those are fighting words around here,” Emma threw back with a grin; she hardly even noticed how fast, or how easy it was, to slip into banter with him. “And I think we already know who won that war.”

“Yeah, but we got the good beer, so it’s probably a draw.”

It was kind of amazing how quickly they fell into casual conversation, especially when she usually hated insincere smalltalk. Killian was funny and charming, and despite the apparently short time they’d known each other, always had a ready quip for David. It was kind of adorable seeing the way his eyes sparkled and the fine lines next to them crinkled as he laughed.

Wait, what? Admitting he was attractive was one thing—not like anyone could argue against it—but...being endeared to him? That was a whole other level of nope she didn’t want to deal with.

But then he told another joke and that concern was put back on the backburner.

Eventually, the evening wrapped up, and Killian cited work as a reason for leaving early. She kind of felt bad—ever since she’d mentioned the weekly tradition thing, she could see an uneasiness in his eyes that told her he felt like he was trespassing; she knew it because it was how she felt in most of the actual family homes she’d been in growing up, and for a long while at the Nolans, even after the ink dried on the adoption forms.

“I hope he didn’t feel like he had to leave,” Snow said, echoing Emma’s thoughts, while the two of them were doing the dishes—with no more threat lurking, Emma had removed her other glove and her jacket, finally feeling a bit cooler. “He’s still so new here, and I don’t think he’s had time to make many friends yet.”

Part of Emma wanted to protest on his behalf—she still remembered being so overwhelmed by the Nolans initial drive to introduce her to anyone and everyone; even to this day, she only maintained a few good friendships and only a handful of casual ones. If Killian was as skittish or uncomfortable in that regard as she was, he wouldn’t want to be paraded in front of half the city.

But she also knew how good it was to find that kind of connection and support with someone like she had with Snow; they were close even before the discovery of her and David’s soulmate status. Emma didn’t doubt he had friends back in England, but having someone stateside would no doubt make the transition easier; it definitely would have as a kid.

“Well, at least he’s got us,” she finally answered.

Friends. She could totally do friends.

Right?

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

thanks for reading! Hope you stick around for the next couple chapters!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

#cs ff #cssns 2019 #cs modern au #cs soulmates au #my ff #sick of love

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weeping-petals · 4 years

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Broken Clock Twice Tells Time

Word Count – 1,324

The Crystal Gems explain their relationship to Spinel, and Steven makes one more plea in her defense.

“Once a long time back, we lived together, knew each other.” Garnet moved about the kitchen, working on making a proper meal for Steven. At the bar sat the youth, with his arms folded and his head resting atop his overlapped elbows. Sharing space was Amethyst, in her usual form. “You know how things changed, when your father came along.”

Steven did his best to nod. He was very tired, and still couldn’t believe how much walking running he did in the past few hours. “He’s told me a few things.” He always wanted to chase the questions, but the forlorn look Greg wore whenever he pried to deep in the topic, always got him. “How great she was. The stuff they did together, some songs he wrote with her.” He caught a glimpse of Pearl – helping in the kitchen – frowning as she moved about.

“She misses mom, too. Doesn’t she?”

Garnet hesitated at the stove, before twisting the dial. “It has been years,” she began, before rotating. “It affected each of us differently, when Rose explained to us what she wanted, her intent. We didn’t fully grasp what would happen, and who you would be. It hurt.” She had to look away. “In time, we grew to accept it. Rose wanted to do something incredible, something never before envisioned. It wasn’t that she intended to leave us, but to bring you into existence, it was inevitable. She wanted you to exist, Steven. That’s what she desired, more than anything else in our long existence.”

Steven roused a bit and gazed at Garnet, eyes dazzled. But….

“What happened to her? Why doesn’t Spinel live here, with us?”

The glass bowl Pearl carefully moved from the cabinet, shattered on the floor. Utter silence for the longest time, the seconds dragged on as the Crystal Gems gazed. “I’ll get a broom,” Pearl mumbled, and walked away.

It took even longer before Garnet would resume. She assisted Pearl, by first plucking up the larger pieces – with her gauntlets.

“We sort of thought—” Amethyst began.

“I found a broom!” Pearl announced. She began sweeping. “We sort of thought she left. We haven’t seen her in years! And if that’s the way she wanted it to be—” She stopped, when Garnet set a hand on her shoulder. Pearl’s erratic sweeping had likewise scattered shards of glass over the floor. “Oh dear.”

“Spinel didn’t – couldn’t heal,” Garnet explained, to the best of her capacity. “She refused to accept Rose’s decision. The Spinel you saw, is not the Spinel we knew. She is a bent and corrupt caricature of who we once knew, and trusted.”

“A real jerk,” Amethyst concluded. “Which is why we don’t get along. Got it?”

Steven laid his head on his arms. And tried to stifle the yawn. He felt so grubby, how much sleep did he get? Not enough. “But she didn’t hurt me.” He had to say that. “She really wanted to talk – to me – and asked a lot of questions about… my interests. And what my powers were like. She knew about mom, and….” They were close. Spinel was broken. That’s what Garnet meant.

“How much did she tell you?” Pearl set aside the broom and leaned over the bar. “What did she say about Rose?”

Steven leaned back. “Not a lot. It’s a tender subject. I just, y’know, we talked about stuff. On the way to the temple. I got tired so she carried me, and that’s when I fell asleep.” Pearl looked really intense, and angry. He was a little more afraid of her than he was of Spinel.

“Okay,” Pearl uttered, in a sigh. She backed off, and sent her gaze over to the warp pad. Steven followed the stare, almost expecting someone to arrive. Nothing happened.

“Regardless,” Garnet resumed, “she’ll be contained, for her own safety. Mostly for yours, Steven.”

“What?” Steven yelped. “No, that’s not fair! You started the fight!” Then, tentatively, “Didn’t you?” Honest, that’s the impression he got. He wasn’t an actual witness, so maybe Spinel did refuse to give him up, or leave. That would’ve been bad. But she promised!

Amethyst nudged him. “You looked so dead! What do’ya expect? She peeved us off, and we weren’t about to strike up a conversation with how crummy you looked. Nah-uh, kidnapping is a direct invitation to getting socked in the face!”

“But she’s not dangerous! You’re making a big deal out of this, and I don’t see why. I was the one kidnapped,” Steven shot back. “I have a say in this!”

“Steven,” Pearl warned.

“She was nice, and we talked about… stuff, like Tapioca Ninjas and Crying Breakfast friends. I sang her a song, and she said it was beautiful!” He was slicing his hands through the air, accenting each topic. “At first, I was kind of scared, and it was messed up to snatch me, but she’s just weird and lonely. Kind of like Onion!”

“Trust us on this, Steven.” Garnet poured noodles into the boiling water and set the timer. “We don’t want to fight Spinel—”

“She’s kind of, eh, mean,” Amethyst grumbled.

“—And, least of all hurt her, or risk her hurting you or any one of us. The bottom line is, she’s unpredictable and beyond reasoning.”

Steven slammed his fists on the bar. “You let me keep centi, and she spit acid!”

Amethyst snorted. “Spine does worse than spit acid. Have you heard her jokes?”

“They’re an acquired taste,” Steven defended. “Just listen to me and what I’m tellin’ you! She promised there wouldn’t be any fighting. She didn’t want to fight, at all.” Amethyst laughed.

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“You’re not helping!” Pearl spat. She finished cleaning up the glass, and went around to Steven’s side. “I know this is hard to understand, and perhaps you caught a glimpse of the gem we… came to be close confidants with. But you don’t know the Spinel we’ve had to fight. Who she was, and who she… became. The person she….” Her voice trailed off and Pearl stammered.

Steven looked over, when a gentle hand laid over his. “It hurt to lose your mother,” Garnet accented, gently. “We loved her dearly, and she loved each one of us. For such a long time, we only had each other.” Pearl departed from the comforting circle. “Spinel was no different. But, I believe the ache she felt ran so deep, it altered the light refracted in her gem. Once, we were very close to Spinel, too, but we overlooked how badly she was fractured.”

“She can’t help the way she is,” Pearl croaked. Her back was to the others, despite that, it was apparent she was crying. “That’s why, we must do this for her, before someone is really hurt!”

“That’s enough for now, Pearl.”

Amethyst popped off the stool and raced away. The door of the inner temple melted apart, and the smaller gem disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” Steven squeaked. Distressed, he turned back to Garnet. “I-I, I didn’t mean—”

“This isn’t your fault.” Garnet stood back, and moved to check the noodles. “This is Spinel’s doing. She’s a variable we shouldn’t have to deal with, but it can’t be helped. Dinner will be ready in five.”

The conflict still twisted in Steven’s mind, but he barred another argument in Spinel’s defense. It shook the gems badly, and something in their faces gave hints that something more was at work. They could be right as well, getting poofed didn’t hurt gems; it was the way they began healing. At least, that was how Pearl explained it. At the same time, he didn’t want Spinel bubbled and locked away for… who knew how long. She wasn’t a monster, and aside for her ‘dislike’ (Steven was going with this word) for the Crystal Gems, she was nice.

That didn’t explain why there was a very Spinel like thing haunting the city.

#spinel #steven universe #fanfiction #su fanfic #spinel fanfic #steven fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #spinel fanfiction #garnet fanfic #amethyst fanfic #pearl fanfic #su fanfiction #fallen au

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sweatycatmentality-blog · 4 years

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suicide trial and error

A reflection on my past experiences living with an undiagnosed mental illness and the effects that my imbalanced state of mind had on my father’s own fragile mental health.

An all to common journey for families with members suffering from undiagnosed mental illness that leads to tragedy.

The story I am choosing to share is not one of happy times during my childhood. It is a tragedy for which I bear a great responsibility for. My father's death was completely preventable. The cause of his death shouldn’t be classified suicide - he was murdered by my lack of understanding of his disease fueled by the teenage narcissistic tendencies which were coupled with my own undiagnosed mental illness. I accept responsibility for my actions and only hope that sharing my experience will prevent this tragedy from happening to someone else.

My relationship with my dad was always turbulent. It was cyclical, based on his mood and my own. There were ups and downs, always fueled with admiration or hatred, never anything in between. I’d only realize later in life that this was because we both suffered from untreated mental health issues - specifically bipolar and depression - the love/hate cycles coincided with our manic and depressed episodes. During the manic episodes we’d bond over our far-fetched dreams, each feeding the lies to each other of what was possible instead of accepting reality. As quickly as those episodes came, the depression crept in. This was heightened by drug and alcohol addiction on my dad’s part. Me, well I felt isolated from everyone despite having the appearance of a social life. I dealt with the feelings of being unwanted, unsuccessful, a burden on my family and friends. I questioned everyone’s perception of me, giving weight to the hurtful things bullies in school said about me, not realizing that they picked on me not because of my looks or because my family wasn’t rich, but because they got the best reactions from me. My anger and sadness shined through.

During these low points I became hostile towards my family, I was filled with rage and angry at the cards I had been dealt in terms of my family’s lack of money and the embarrassment I had of my father and how he acted - totally unpredictable, would he be sober or messed up. I lacked understanding of mental illness and didn’t know how to be empathetic towards him, primarily because I didn’t realize that he had a disease which was undiagnosed until he was in his 50s. My inability to comprehend the symptoms of his *(and my own) disease made my relationship with him unhealthy and detrimental to the wellbeing of both of us.

I remember the first glimpse I had at the severe impact my awful, unforgiving, and uncompassionate attitude had on him was when I was in 9th grade. I sat at the kitchen table with my mom and dad on either side of me. My dad had cooked dinner, and like he always did when he chose to cook, he left the kitchen a complete disaster for my mom and me to clean up. I never understood how he could create such a mess and have no consideration for us having to clean it up. After he said dinner was ready, I always commented on the state of the kitchen to which he replied - I cooked, you all can clean. That was how it always went.

This dinner started out the same as it always did, we said grace holding hands. The words had lost all meaning at this stage of my life. I couldn’t grasp what it was to be grateful for the food we had on the table or the roof over our heads. I was a self-absorbed, ungrateful teenager and an asshole. I see that now looking back.

After saying grace my father said “Cha (his nickname for my mom, Charlotte) get me the salt.” This sparked a fury in me as he was clearly sitting much closer to the cabinet that the salt was in and I felt as though he thought he could command my mom to fetch the salt for him merely because he cooked dinner. That wasn’t part of the deal - we cleaned, and he cooked, we were not his servants. Before I realized what I was saying I blurted out, “Why don’t you get it your f***ing self.” Silence. The next few minutes were a blur, but I believe he called me a b***h before getting up and grabbing his keys at which point my mom and I pleaded for him to stay and sit back down. We knew he was going to the bar like he always did when my mom or I commented on his drinking or exorbitant spending. His reaction was always predictable - he was never wrong, that drink or that new tech-device that we didn’t need and couldn’t afford was always justified. I have vivid memories of mom standing between him and the door begging him not to go to the bar and I would apologize profusely (most of the time) to no avail.

This time was no different initially, he’d say to my mom to get out of his way in a deep scary tone which I knew far too well. The tone was that of rage and undeniable hatred towards us. Blaming us for disrupting a family dinner and causing him to go to the bar. Placing all the blame for the arguments on us and taking no responsibility in his role as the cause. This time when he charged for the front door in my gut, I knew that once he walked out that door everything in our lives would change for the worse. Upon his exit, I sensed that my mom shared my uneasy feeling.

Reflecting on the incident, I am sure she felt disappointment that I once again opened my mouth and threw a match on the otherwise painless dinner. Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut or just gotten him the damn salt myself, thereby conveying my disapproval of his commanding my mom to do his bidding but keeping the peace by still appeasing him by fulfilling that command. My mom knew that I was trying to stand up for her because in my eyes she never stood up for herself when he spoke down to her. However, this time I could see her sadness and annoyance at me. I apologized to her again, but the damage was done.

Some time passed and my mom and I sat silently at the table not touching our plates. The dread of not knowing how he was reacting to my attack was dredging up a mass of emotions inside me. I felt ashamed and contrite, but it was too late to express those thoughts to him. He would never listen to me anyways; he needed to cool down before I apologized to him. My mom called and called my dad but was unable to reach him. He had turned his phone off. At this point I knew something terrible was going to happen. I ordered my mom to get into the car - I was 15 years old so I only had a learner’s permit - we racked our brains as we drove around to the local bars or places, we thought he might go. My mom called all of his friends, but none had heard from him. Our worry heightened when I suddenly had the idea to check the local community theater shop/rehearsal space where my mom and he volunteered. He had a key. As we were en route I called the police and asked them to meet us there informing them that I thought my dad was going to kill himself. Of course, the dispatcher immediately asks where he is and I say that I think he is at the shop, giving them the address, then they ask if he has a weapon. I had no clue. I realized I didn’t know what he was truly intending and by what means. It was the first time I recall feeling a tremendous amount of guilt for how I treated him. I had caused him so much pain that he didn’t want to live any longer.

We pulled into the parking lot and saw his car, the cops weren’t there yet, but I ran into the shop. The door was unlocked and flung open to reveal my father on one of those lifts that utility workers use to fix telephone poles; a noose was around a rafter and the loop lay in his hands. He motioned to position his head through the loop and my mother, and I screamed for him to stop. We were pleading and apologizing, but he had no intention of stopping. This was how he was going to punish me for good. This was how he would make me learn the power of my words and the anguish and pain that they can cause. The cops entered and began asking whether he was armed, to which I screamed no and to f***ing help save him. They ordered him to come down and talk, always speaking in stern yet compassionate voices. Finally, he was down on the ground and they escorted him into the cop car. The cops said that he would be taken to a psychiatric hospital and held for 48-72 hours on an involuntary basis. After that a judge would inform us if we could seek to continue involuntary inpatient treatment based on his doctors’ opinions. Or he could volunteer to be admitted for continued inpatient psychiatric treatment - which of course he felt that he didn’t need despite his suicide attempt.

Over the next several years there would be more attempts at suicide, all of which would occur when only I was around to deal with it. It was as if he was trying to mess with me and to show me how awful of a person he thought me to be. In retrospect, I do acknowledge that as an undiagnosed and therefore untreated person suffering from the same disease as him, I played a huge role in his untimely death. All the attempts leading up to his successful suicide in 2008 were inflicted by my irresponsible frame of mind and inability to be empathetic towards his condition. I must deal with that awareness for the rest of my life and it plagues me every day.

I am sharing this story not only as a means of self-therapy, hoping that it will help me accept that I was not myself during the period of my life in which he took his life and that he too played a major role in his own self-destruction. I also hope that by sharing this tragedy with others that it will expose how prevalent mental health issues are in society for people of all ages and that without adequate diagnostic opportunities of our youth we will inevitably see more tragedies unearthed in our aging populations. Too many people go through life no knowing that their pain is due to chemical imbalances and can be treated. However even with increasing exposure to diagnostic opportunities, limited treatment options for the lower-income populations will continue to prevent those who truly need help from being able to receive it. We must do better as a society. We owe it to our youth to find solutions to make life easier for them to cope with. Life should be cherished and not taken advantage of. By increasing awareness of the prevalence of mental health issues in society we can only better the livelihood of all.

#mental heath support #mental illness #bipolar #depression #regret #suicide #drunk #self improvement #awareness #suicideawareness #crazy girl #moodoftheday

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paperclipninja · 5 years

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Younger post-ep ramble 6x09

After the very public outing of Liza’s real age last week, it was no surprise that this week’s Younger episode, ‘Millennial’s Next Top Model’, was all about the fallout. In true Younger style we were treated to some unexpected twists and turns, saw Kelsey take control at work and in her personal life and welcomed back my #1 mega-villain who I hate-love fiercely, Quinn Tyler. This ep was written by Grant Sloss, who is responsible for a number of my favourite episodes and lot of my fave moments in the series and one thing I am always blown away by is his ability to craft character interactions in which the sentiment and emotion are really palpable (plus the one-liners are always top of the game) and we certainly saw a number of those this week. Even though Liza is 100% responsible for the position she now finds herself in, my heart went out to her this whole episode and Kelsey, Charles and Diana’s show of solidarity right from the get-go pretty much sums up everything I love about this show.

I need to say upfront that while I know this episode is all about Liza, it is hands down my favourite episode of Kelsey’s in the series. In a time of real pressure and stress, we see Kelsey step up in the role of publisher, starting with the damage control team meeting in her office. I have big feelings about this opening moment, in which Diana proves why she is an actual Queen who rises above past grievances and now offers unwavering support of Liza while continuing to have zero time for Zane’s bullshit (the ‘well mercifully they have a paywall now’ to Zane’s New York Magazine tidbit was all of the yes). We learn of the deal with Infinitely 21 (was it just me or did anyone else get heart flutters at the thought of Kelsey, Diana and Liza being their brilliant selves and brokering that arrangement? Just me? Cool) and I have spoken of my love for the way this show parodies real life things but this might take the cake. Alexa, what are synonyms for ‘forever’? I just adore that it is very clear that Kelsey is in charge and that Charles and Diana are offering up potential solutions (Diana’s ‘rest her a bit’ is so in character I cannot. Between that and Charles’ thoroughbred thighs from season 4 I fully expect her to have a couple of horses upstate somewhere called Charles and Liza by the end of this series), meanwhile Zane clearly still hasn’t caught on to the fact that these three are not going to throw Liza under a bus.

Enter Liza as he’s ending his tirade about her poisoning the company (and lbh, what he is saying isn’t actually ridiculous from a business p.o.v but he’s talking about the best friend, girlfriend and (old) maid of honour of the people in the room) and it’s awkward af and pretty awful and I want to climb through my screen, wrap Liza in a blanket and tell her it’s all going to be ok. Zane’s extreme over-estimation of his importance in Liza’s life continues when he tells her that what he’s saying can’t be personal because ‘I don’t know who you are’ (worth it for Charles’ ‘Zane’ reprimand though amirite) and as I said after last week’s episode, I can’t even count on one hand the number of interactions Zane and Liza have had so yes Zane, that is accurate and nothing to do with her age reveal. At least once he discovered that Kelsey has known about the lie he FINALLY has a reason to be hurt (maybe? Still a little fuzzy on this one) and look Zane saying they’re all insane might be somewhat accurate but everyone in that room loves Liza and I love all of them so I felt personally attacked tbh.

Keeping with the stellar guest star casting this season, Shelly Rozansky (played by Annaleigh Ashford) is every kind of irritating as brand rep of Infinitely 21. Kelsey and Liza’s meeting with her, in which Shelly explains that 'the tea’ is that their authentic brand cannot be associated with Millennial’s inauthentic one (I love the moral high ground re: brand but I’m pretty sure Millennial doesn’t have factory workers making less than a living wage so…) and this very real ramification of Liza’s lie paves the way for one of Liza’s best moments on the show to date.

Taking that tea of Shelly’s and throwing it in her face, Liza’s monologue that 'everyone is pretending to be younger’ reaches it’s climax with the zinger, 'Millennial is not an age, it’s an attitude and if you can’t sell that, we’ll go somewhere else’, and Kelsey’s look of pride, same girl SAME. One thing I have commented on in the past is that as a '26 year old’ Liza rarely, if ever, really stood up for herself. The few times we’ve seen her do so have been as the forty year old who takes no crap from anyone (David, Charles, Don) so I am here times a million for strong ass Liza to finally shed that guilt, know her worth and be able to show this side of herself now that the lie is no longer in play (I feel like Diana will dig this very much).

Turns out Shelly was quite into Liza’s feisty outburst too ('what you screamed at me today, justifiably, we’re still friends promise…it resonated’ = award winning line/delivery combo), as she calls to let Liza know they’re going to unfreeze the partnership and asks Liza to be the face (and legs) of Infinitely 21’s Spring campaign. This phone call takes place in a very delicious looking cupcake shop where Liza and Charles are playing cards with his daughters in an all round delightful family situation that gives us a glimpse of the Miller-Brooks dynamic and makes the point that after a pretty terrible day, Liza is grateful to have this in her life to counter all the drama. I am also pleased to see that Bianca and Nicole have been located (meanwhile Caitlin, Beth and all of Josh’s friends remain stuck in the Upside Down or have become bunker people or something equally ominous I fear).

I am very into a number of aspects of this entire scene: a) Charles eating candy just up and gets me for some reason. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, but it’s akin to seeing him walking round barefoot, it confuses my brain but I’m pretty sure I like it; b) Bianca is clearly the fave child with her cute little, 'I won’t take your last bag of candy Liza’ (lol at Charles’ 'wow’ when Liza offers that up for the taking btw, he knows that’s a serious gamble) though I was 100% Nicole as a kid; c) those kids are so not sleeping after all that sugar so I hope they’re staying at Pauline’s, while Charles’ dad game is strong with the breakfast cupcakes and; d) Charles kissing Liza on the cheek as she takes Shelly’s call is so damn sweet (pun intended) and supportive and I love that Liza suggesting he go stand with the girls in case she starts crying again indicates she has been an open mess around him. It’s writing like this that I really appreciate when there is so much to fit into an episode, because it provides insight into the kind of relationship Liza and Charles have when there simply isn’t time to show it.

While Liza is drowning her sorrows in candy and cupcakes, Maggie is at the brilliantly cringy art exhibit, 'Masculinity Detox: A Softer Male Gaze’. Look I have to be honest, I was really happy to see Oded Fehr because he can play a skeeze with charm like no other, but I don’t know how I feel about this entire plot. I can only comment on it from a straight perspective, so I am aware that I’m not really in a position to express an opinion in relation to the impact of showing a gay character thinking it’s a good idea to sample a penis every ten years or so, but I certainly feel like it’s problematic. In relation to this character though, it is consistent with Maggie sleeping with Tommy Minetti (and his sister Tammy) as a result of Berlin’s 'Take my Breath Away’ (I don’t know why I remember that, I can’t remember what month it is yet this stuff is right there) and there is no denying that there were actual sparks between Maggie and Rafael in the loft, the palpable chemistry that Grant Sloss’ eps seem to draw out on full display.

Another dimension of Maggie that I love seeing emerge in this ep is that while she is usually a total badass in absolute control, every now and then we see that her judgement of character is just way off. There was Montana, those weirdo art collectors who actually collect artists and now this guy. I love that there’s a side of her that gets a bit blinded by flattery so she thinks 'what the hell?’ and the inevitable 'oh I CAN-NOT with this bullshit’ that follows, usually very publicly - Exhibit A: Maggie countering dirtbag Rafael’s, 'I’ll change you mind, I’m a flipper’ with a literal flip of the restaurant table once she realises she was simply another conquest. She seems so unflappable that these reminders that she’s fallible (I legit sometimes forget she’s not an actual super hero) are really great and maintains the 'flawed human’ aspect this show does so well. Honestly, other than Liza in a full tracksuit (sweat clothes?? I don’t know what it is in American but that cute pink sweat top and sweatpants combo) thinking they were being robbed and very confused by what had happened (so were we all lbh and Kinsey 9 LOL), it was Maggie equating sex with a man to being suffocated by a damp rug that was the highlight of this entire storyline for me. So damn funny.

Diana continues to have Liza’s back as she heads to the photo-shoot to steer her away from anything pleather (I may need a spin off of these two or some kind of one off special episode that’s just an elaborate Diana/Liza adventure, maybe rescuing Caitlin and co. from the bunker??), but not before we catch Kelsey still slaying it as a boss as she leaves a voicemail for the increasingly petulant Zane. Hearing her so firm and sure of herself is brilliant and the friendship vibe between Diana and Kelsey is peaking and I am loving every bit of it. I am so glad we heard Diana asking Kelsey how she took the lie, while Diana was able to forgive and move forward it would have been strange if we didn’t see her still processing some of it this week. Plus it’s Diana who points out that Zane’s tantrum is not because Liza is who he is upset with (and THANK YOU Kelsey for pointing out that Liza and Zane hardly know each other).

Rather than letting the whole Zane thing fester away, Kelsey continues to impressively show initiative by going to Zane’s and offering to cook dinner (which Zane knows is a lol and it’s not long before he’s cooking, so well played Kels) to give him the opportunity to ask anything he wants and she will answer honestly. Once a proper explanation of why Liza lied and why Kelsey kept it from him is given, Zane suddenly reverts back to being a rational human being which is a relief because he was fast becoming the worst (though his comment that they were all bad liars, what now?? Yes they be cray but their lying game is strong friend). I am not particularly invested in Kelsey and Zane as a pairing but I always appreciate good storytelling and writing, and revisiting the fact Zane told her he loved her in past tense was an example of both of these. In order for any kind of relationship between these two to progress believably this needed to be addressed and hearing Kelsey call Zane out on his shitty and manipulative behaviour was great, but even greater was seeing Kelsey drop her guard.

Opening up about being mad at herself too and that maybe if they were both more open about their feelings they wouldn’t have wasted so much time denying how they really felt; that she felt, no, feels, the same way, present tense; the resetting of the timer so she can finish what she was going to say instead of taking the option of backing out; the honest conversation…you know what all this is? Growth. Kelsey Lorraine Peters, I am just so damn proud of you because I am the first to admit that I was not sure this character could be redeemed for me after last season but here we are. The emotion for this whole scene, you could feel it and Zane’s, 'oh that timer was for food’ was fab, before he just casually drops in, ’ I love you, but stay out of my kitchen’. OK. Smitten mode activated.

Meanwhile, Diana is no doubt enjoying Shelly’s disbelief that she and Liza are almost the same age about as much as a root canal and Lauren appears with a 'bowflex for your face’ to combat the 5 o'clock jowls. Side note: Lauren and Liza really need to have a convo asap because I definitely feel like Lauren is not ok with the lie since it’s been revealed. Scene of the ep goes to Charles walking into the trailer (with flowers for Liza *swoon*) while Diana is flapping that contraption, before he slowly backs away and I tell you, I was howling so hard I almost ruptured something. Liza’s hideous romper/scooter combo is just no on many levels, she clearly feels super unnatural and the photographer snapping Charles and Liza, who are not expecting to be photographed while her being made up to look so young obviously makes them look very far apart in age and a bit awks means that yes, the daddy/daughter dance vibe is strong, though that line made me vom in my mouth a little bit.

Between shoots our extremely excellent villain Quinn pays Liza a visit to show her support and her well-polling glasses. Her real talk that the good news about the publishing reaction to Liza’s lie is that 'eight blocks outside of midtown, nobody cares’, is what we were all thinking and is def to be filed under 'G’ for Gold. So naturally Quinn drags her into a completely self-serving NY1 interview (bless Liza for thinking they wanted to interview her) and I freaking love Quinn, she’s such a delicious character coz she’s awful and funny and pretty and a total smart ass. I stan.

Before we jump to the second part of the photo-shoot I have to say that the very obvious ploy to try and juxtapose Liza’s relationships with Charles and Josh felt like it was trying too hard and was mostly disappointing to me because it felt so forced. I want to be very clear that it has nothing to do with who I like Liza with romantically, it would have felt contrived regardless and was the only aspect of the episode that I felt could have been crafted with a little more nuance. Or maybe that was the point? Perhaps the obviousness was part of the humour of it *shrug emoji*

Either way, Liza is looking pretty exhausted when Josh turns up at the bar photo-shoot for reasons (whose name I am betting is Lauren Heller because there is no way he would just turn up and it is 100% in her wheelhouse to send him along after seeing the expressions on her face at the earlier shoot. I feel like this will def come out at some point and that really this whole shoot is serving to bring about stuff in future eps) and he doesn’t get to explain why he is there because he’s teasing Liza about being a model and I really do love their banter. Shelly has no idea what’s happening but she likes it and is thirsting pretty hard as she shakes his hand and I enjoyed hearing Liza talk about Josh as patient zero, her 'would you correct him?’ as she squeezed his cheeks made me smile. I know there have been a LOT of feelings about this scene expressed on social media, but I found the reminiscing, as Josh talked about how when he first met Liza he thought she was smart and sexy and he wanted to keep talking to her, really sweet (and quickly countered by his joking about being really drunk and it being dark).

I actually love this dynamic so much and if this show had moved these two properly into the friendzone I would be celebrating this as a pin-up example of how to show romantic-platonic relationship transition. I still may, because at this stage there is nothing to indicate that Liza is anything but committed to Charles and Josh gave no impression of pining for her IMO, but as an experienced TV connoisseur (aka obsessive tv show watcher) I am not naive enough to think that this interaction mightn’t be setting in motion a resurgence of the triangle. By the same token, I do not see any triangle in play at the moment and one thing this show does excel at is surprising us, so time will tell, but I am going to keep my faith in the writers to tell good, compelling stories that stay true to all the excellent characters and narratives they have in front of them, as they have done up until now.

While Liza’s colleagues aren’t going to throw her under a bus, Quinn is not only more than happy to, I’m pretty sure she’d drive the bus herself if it served her own self interest. Quinn saying that she found out about Liza’s lie the week before in The New Yorker article, ooomph, did you feel that? It was the wind being knocked out of all of us, along with poor Liza, as Quinn counters Liza’s suggestion that she knew the truth before she invested on live TV. It was evident fairly quickly that Quinn was using the interview as a campaign platform and Liza’s expression as Quinn betrays her so publicly is yet another credit to Sutton Foster’s incredible talent.

My Kelsey love was brought home this week when she met Quinn following the NY1 interview. She is unrelenting in her backing of Liza and unwavering in her stance to Quinn when she is asks her to fire Liza. From the moment she arrives Kelsey is so kick ass, she sees every one of Quinn’s attempts to bully her into getting what she wants and Kelsey’s, 'please don’t minimise the strength I bring to this meeting’ was such a hell yes moment. There is something so satisfying about seeing Quinn in a position where she needs something from Kelsey and Kelsey standing so firm. Kelsey’s 'are we done here?’ before walking away was such a power move and the transition into her own office the next day, with Charles reassuring her that she did the right thing, was wonderful. Seeing these two as equals, talking business with a bit of a mentor/mentee dynamic is a dream. It was on my season 6 wish list and I can’t wait to see more of it.

It is upon discovering that Audrey Colbert’s manuscript delivery cheque bounced and that Diana just heard one of the Jennifer’s, the sloppy one from publicity (this line, I swear and also I need to meet her), say her direct deposit didn’t go through that we discover Quinn has thrown the ultimate tantrum and pulled her funding and Mercurennial is broke.

Poor Liza feels that it’s all her fault, I’m sure partly because of the way her colleagues turn and look at her when she walks in the office and partly because it is, but Charles continues to play the role of ultimate supportive partner as they stroll down the street after work, pointing out that Liza attracted Quinn to the company in the first place (and we ALL know it was not the company she was attracted to). I am simple folk and Charles saying he’s spoken for as he put his arm around her made me melt into a puddle and if anyone is feeling concerned about Liza’s level of besotted, watch this final scene as Charles reassures her that, 'you know what’s great about the worst thing happening? There’s no place to go but up. Only good things ahead’. I may have actually died from the sweetness of the entire thing and Liza does exactly what any self respecting person would in that situation and kisses him before they walk off hand in hand. To live happily ever after…jokes LOL I mean it’s television and it turns out Infinitely 21 has the most efficient marketing team on the planet because their campaign is launched and whattya know, it looks as though Liza and her ex will be plastered all over the city.

File under 'O’ for OF COURSE.

#youngertv #younger tv #ramble #review #younger season 6 #6x09 #liza miller #charles brooks #diana trout #kelsey peters #team charles #tv

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theoceanthatdrownthemoon-chaldea · 5 years

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Nobu owned a Masamune, Kotegiri Masamune. One of her other sword was made by Masamune's student. From my memories of the list if sword she owned, no mention of Muramasa sword. As predecessor of Ieyasu Tokugawa, either Nobu didn't like Muramasa sword or find its value not worth possessing. Strange a demon king would prefer a divine sword and at the same time didn't get injured by it. She isn't a singular case though. Both X and Lion King are called demon king at some points but have divine/sacred weapons too. Even Salter's Excalibur doesn't change category from holy sword to demon sword. Maou Nobu used her sword to purify her enemies in one of her attack line. Artoria 'purified' Gilles' mental corruption with an Excalibur blast in Fate/Zero. As demon kings wielding holy (Masamune sword is considered holy and is part of Maou Nobu's sword as she once owned it) weapon for both 'good' and 'evil' purpose, there are currently only these two.

They really are partners, Nobu and Artoria.

I could interpret this as Muramasa's skills and crafts don't impress Nobu. Her sword doesn't have a definite name. While Muramasa signed his works, the majority of Masamune's sword isn't signed. This makes the contrast between a humble Masamune and a proud Muramasa. Maou Nobu's sword most likely purifies karma, resentment and fate per her claim of being enemies of gods, buddhas, all living beings and return everything to ashes. If she can achieve this feat then she really wouldn't need to care about Muramasa swords. Furthermore, the amalgamation of her swords is similar to the process of crafting Tsumugari Muramasa but requires significantly fewer blades. Maybe it's more fair to say Maou Nobu purifies by combining her power and her swords, a different method with the same result. Normally it could be a boastful claim but Nobu proved the futile of reliance on buddhas' protection as well as authority in life with brute force. Adding to that is her Maou form being something not entirely human anymore, a deity with human root. Since it's like that, she doesn't need a special sword to cut Buddhism concept. I still feel the presence of Masamune swords in her collection helped and if it ever goes up against a Muramasa, it'd always win. Not only Masamune preceded Muramasa, the legend that dictated the latter to be the former's inferior and in one version sentenced Muramasa to death ensures Muramasa's loss.

If Muramasa is Shirou's ancestor then he and his origin are bad to Artoria on a conceptual level. Masamune swords were created to repel Mongolian invaders and Artoria spent her life defending her country from invasion. Murasama swords' curse is rooted in their fame during the period of civil war. Specifically Muramasa swords were favored by the Tokugawa while being instruments in many of their loss and accidents. Artoria was betrayed and wounded by one of her knight, abandoned by many. Masamune is supposed to be holy while Muramasa cut indiscriminately. Artoria decapitated El Melloi with Excalibur in Fate/Zero to end his suffering. She took on the burden to kill a doomed man in agony and was greatly angered by the circumstance. More on point is her chivalry and ideal - opposing the strong for the weak. The heaviest offender would be trying to separate her from her ideals, dreams and wishes. Muramasa wants a sword that cut fate. It sounds nice but to sum it up it would works similar to Shiki's eyes. Termination of hatred and enmity could give ground for peaceful cooperation but the things that give cause to that enmity won't vanish from history. Even if it does, how many other things will vanish along with it? It's easy for outsiders to tell two fighting parties to stop. Who really reap benefits from this enmity severance? The 'winners'. This forced peace idea is twisted. Shimosa is a special case and normally pressuring people into giving up their feelings for the sake of the mass is cruel. I doubt it's a coincidence a line of his chant is ‘Unjust death meet here’ (In original JP, the kanji means untimely or unnatural death so it’s unjust because the death happened unlike how fate intended). What happened after one is separated from their fate? Cease to exist? Separated from their karma? It would work similar to how Buddha’s NP works, a.k.a. forcibly ‘save’ people from suffering/continued existence for this particular incarnation. If they haven’t attained enlightenment, could they reach anywhere? Or it would be considered fortunate for them to even get back in Samsara?. Kannon actually is the Boddhisattva most famous for choosing to remain on Earth to save people from their karma in a different method than this ‘cutting’. Again if Muramasa can cut karma, where does it go? Something imbalance to the world will happen.

The blade Muramasa gave Musashi is a demonic one but she sensed a divine aura from it when she first saw it. Musashi admitted to be unable to really appraise the sword and Demon isn’t far behind Divine in Fate so her assessment doesn’t hold against Muramasa’s. Since both named Muramasa blades brute forced the severance, they aren’t qualified to be divine swords. Who is there to tell Muramasa that his skills haven’t reached the divine realm yet? Confidence can fast track to self-bias. None of the line in the chant confirmed that he has forged a sword capable of severing the things he targets. His limit still stops at demonic sword.

In Shimosa, we killed 7 Orochis and 1 Shuten Doji. Tsumugari was found in one of Orochi’s tail AFTER it was killed. It has 8 heads. By killing 7 bunrei of Orochi and 1 direct descendant of it was a downscale recreation of legend. It depends on whether Shujen is considered a better or inferior representation of Orochi when compared to the bunrei. Nonetheless, not exactly 8 ‘heads’ were slain but similar enough to allow an imitation of Tsumugari to be summoned. If ‘Satan’ didn’t play Amakusa then the gods and the World certainly did. Saved for one, all the shinto priests who glimpsed of the real Kusanagi (Ame no Murakumo, Tsumugari no Tachi and Kusanagi no Tsurugi are names for the same sword) died not long after. Muramasa was right about using that sword not as a god killed him but the real reason could tie more to that real life curse than the punishment for using divine construct. Beside him, no one else see the sword so none of them died and he didn’t have any reason to elaborate on that.

That took my wandering from topic but from what I’ve seen, Muramasa, his craft, his lineage (Shirou) are tied to swords beyond realm of human but not yet reached the divine. His obsession which possibly is his origin of sword and his ideal of swords combined represent an end. There’s no mean for rebuilding or creation after that end in his ideal ultimate sword. He’s just one that obsessed with pursuit of perfecting his crafts and skills. Like swords, he is both necessary and unnecessary given the circumstance. Artoria didn’t know the value of Avalon but ultimately it would deny her an end she deserved. Masamune sword obey the will of its wielder just as Artoria understands the values of things outside combat prowess. What Muramasa stands for isn’t vital to Artoria.

Artoria’s protection from Morgan, her understanding of different values, her acceptance of the inevitable, her stubbornness keep Excalibur from becoming a demonic sword. Arondight, Excalibur’s sister sword was turned into a demon sword because of its owner’s grudge. He was raised by the Fairy of the Lake yet her protection couldn’t prevent either his madness or the blade’s corruption. Either Artoria’s mental fortitude or Morgan’s protection prevent Excalibur from corrupting. Or maybe Morgan’s evil is akin to the white Lion King’s idea of saving of humanity.

I’m trying to say that Nobu and Artoria have many things in common and due to their similar special circumstances can develop a bond and relationship on understanding and empathy.

#fgo #nobutoria #nobunaga x artoria

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fullmetalscullyy · 5 years

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this is a sequel piece to an ask i received from @ruikosakuragi as a lot of people were asking for a part two! this is the joys of camp nano; i don’t feel bad about doing a part two!

“date” au part 1 | part 3

Hair tickled Roy’s nose as he awoke. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of shea butter and buried his face deeper into the back of his guest’s neck. His hand tightened around her waist as he shifted, pulling her unresisting body closer against his. The skin of her back was soft against his bare chest, his hands flush against her stomach. Riza twitched underneath his palm and Roy smiled. Apparently, she had a ticklish spot.

“Stop fidgeting,” Roy murmured against the skin of her neck.

“I’m not,” Riza replied instantly, hands stilling atop his.

“It’s rude to lie,” he smirked. “Plus, I can feel it.” Riza sighed. “Hey,” he whispered in concern, pulling away. Riza turned once she was free from his hold, facing his chest rather than looking up at his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Riza, talk to me.” She never lifted her face to meet his eyes, opting to stare at his chest while her hands came to rest upon it while she spoke.

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

Roy’s jaw clenched. He would have made a joke about how he was just that good, like he would any other time, but things were different now. If things were to progress further in their relationship like he hoped, Riza would need him. Hopefully, not in situations such as this, but in general. There would be a different time for jokes.

He had never really been involved in too much of her personal life. He got bits here and there since they spent so much time together, but Riza was a private person by nature, so Roy never really got a glimpse into this other side of her.

Now that he had the opportunity, he wouldn’t squander it.

“I know, I’m sorry.” His hand lifted to her cheek, brushing the hair away from her face. There was something different about seeing her in this light. It was just pushing nine thirty and the morning sun was right outside his bedroom window. The curtains barely concealed it, the light pouring desperately through a crack in the material, catching her hair and turning it golden. “We’ll sort this today. I promise.”

“I hate this.”

Roy gathered her in his arms, pulling her body against his. He kissed the top of her head, readjusting his hold so that she could get comfortable. “I do too. Why didn’t you say anything?” he whispered. His worry grew exponentially with every passing minute, the more he thought about her current situation. The words in that text refused to leave him alone in the few hours they had spent together. As they had become even closer under his sheets, it was relegated to the back of his mind. Once they were spent, all it took was one look at Riza’s face to remind himself of why exactly she had come here in the first place. Riza sharing his bed was just a happy consequence.

He hadn’t intended it to escalate the way it had, but the air between them had become charged throughout their “date” last night. All night they had been flirting with danger during their fake date, so this morning was inevitable. Roy was thrilled, of course. When she had begun to tug his t-shirt over his head Roy was powerless to stop her.

“I could handle it –”

“I don’t doubt it,” he reassured her. “However, this isn’t something that should be taken lightly.”

“I’m not underestimating what he could do, Roy,” she replied, tone holding a bite to it as she gently pulled away from his embrace.

“Well, what then?” Riza was silent. “You said this had happened before, that it had escalated. Why not tell anyone?”

“Because I was too scared,” she hissed, the fire in her eyes burning into his own. The room was silent as he looked at her, watched her, felt his heart breaking for her. There was an overwhelming urge inside him, telling him to protect this woman at all costs and hold her dear, for she is a gem and he would never do better than Riza Hawkeye. Roy had known that for a while now, however it didn’t begin to set in until he held her in this moment. “I’ve been terrified… for the last three weeks,” she whispered.

Roy kissed her forehead. “Will you let me help?”

“I…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he whispered quietly, mistaking her silence. “I understand.”

“It’s nothing like that,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Then what is it then?” he asked gently.

“I never thought this would happen. After what he sent, I was too scared to tell anyone.”

Roy swallowed, hating what he was about to ask. “May I see them? As a friend.”

Riza paused, then nodded. As she sat up and reached for her phone Roy felt oddly honoured. This proved she trusted him enough, and while Roy trusted Riza wholeheartedly, it was nice to have it returned, especially in a situation such as this.

As Roy read through the texts Riza had received from Dickhead Dan (a new nickname which seemed wildly more appropriate and fitting than Stick Man Dan) his jaw clenched to the point of being painful. His vision swam as thoughts raged in his head; a select few detailing exactly how painful he would make Dickhead Dan’s demise.

“Promise me you won’t say anything,” Riza begged him. Roy snapped out of his thoughts. There was a pressure and warmth on his hand, which had gone cold the more he read. “Roy, please, you can’t.”

“Riza –” he began, feeling his anger rise. Not at her, but at the whole situation. She didn’t deserve this. Riza was a good person. She was kind, willing to help anyone, and an excellent, caring, friend “I can’t just sit and let this happen –”

“No,” she urged, crossing her legs and folding the duvet over her lap. The t-shirt she was wearing that Riza had borrowed from him was slightly too big, the neckline drooping forward a little bit. “You can’t, because this will not only make this worse for me, but for you too and I won’t have you dragged into it.”

She was right. If he took matters into his own hands it would just make things worse in the long run. Roy wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his cool the next time he saw Dickhead Dan. He didn’t need to be charged for assault and divert the attention away from Dan’s stalking.

But he couldn’t sit idly by and let this happen to Riza.

“All right.” He wasn’t happy, but in reality there was nothing he could do. If he couldn’t stop Dickhead Dan himself then he would do the next best thing, which was looking out and being there for Riza when she needed it most.

She released a long breath, obviously relieved he wasn’t fighting her on this. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to go to the station with you?”

Her eyes flicked away from his, then returned shortly afterwards. “Would you mind? I just – I don’t want to be alone. Just in case.”

“Of course,” he smiled, taking her hand in his. This was not the way he pictured the “morning after” their first time together to go, however this was his reality right now. All he could do was wait patiently and be understanding while Riza sorted through this mess – with Roy by her side, of course – and be there for her in case anything happened.

“Just for the record, the next time I see Dickhead Dan, I will picture every way in which I can make his death as painful as possible.”

Her lips quirked up at his new nickname for the bastard. “Dickhead Dan?”

“It’s more appropriate.”

* * *

The police took all the details they could from Riza regarding Dickhead Dan and his stalking escapades. At the mention of his name the two officers shared a look. Something told Roy this was not the first time Dan’s name had been mentioned to the police. Apparently, they had had issues with Dan before from his previous girlfriends.

They reassured them both that they would deal with it and advised Riza not to reply to any messages she receives from him. One gave Riza a phone number to call should Dickhead Dan contact her again.

They walked in contemplative silence back to Roy’s car. Riza ran through everything the officers said and Roy tried to plan the rest of the day for them so that it would take Riza’s mind off everything that was happening.

“Are you busy for the rest of the day?” he asked, hopeful her answer would be no.

His wish was granted.

Riza shook her head. “No.”

“What would you say to bowling?”

“Bowling?” Riza asked doubtfully, strapping herself into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. Come on, it will be a laugh.”

“I don’t see why –”

“Are you a chicken?” he asked, eyes dancing with amusement as he tried to rile her up.

“Not at all, quite the opposite. I would beat your ass at bowling.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You’re on, Mustang.”

Riza won, of course, however Roy achieved another victory. Riza laughed and joked with him easily, the events of last night and their trip to the station forgotten momentarily. It was like old times, for which he was grateful. One added bonus was when Riza won the last game. With an innocent look on her face as she bowled her third turkey of the day. Roy had jokingly scowled, but that quickly disappeared as she kissed his cheek, the barest hint of a smug smile on her face.

So yeah, just like old times, but now it was even better.

* * *

Roy cheerily whistled as he prepared dinner for himself and Riza. It had been a hectic week with work, so he had barely seen her. He had offered to cook dinner and he was currently trying his best not to burn what was in the frying pan while giving Riza a quick text to say dinner would be ready in about ten minutes.

Ten minutes came and went, and Roy frowned to himself. There had been no reply to his text. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned the heat down to the lowest setting to keep it warm. She was probably getting organised. The toes on one of Roy’s feet began to tap the wooden floor mildly impatiently as he sat on a chair at his kitchen table. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, reminding him that Riza was never late for anything, but it was gone as his phone buzzed, a text from Maes Hughes making him lunge for his phone eagerly.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and Roy turned the heat off completely. Removing his apron – a joke gift from Riza which read “being such a good cook even the fire alarm cheers you on” – he crossed his living room and pocketed his phone. An uncomfortable knot had appeared in his stomach and given his girlfriend’s more recent situation he had begun to fear the worst.

They had only been seeing each other for a little over a month, but Roy felt comfortable calling Riza that. After that first day together, they had both discovered that this joining felt like it had been a long time coming. Roy had wondered why they hadn’t done it sooner. The chemistry and draw to Riza had always been there, but he hadn’t acted on it to respect their friendship. Now, his life felt like there was a touch more colour to it, and it was because of Riza. Their friendship beforehand just amplified his feelings for her.

There had been no more mention of or interaction with Dickhead Dan and while that was concerning itself, he had shrugged and brushed it off, chalking it up to the police putting a stop to it. Riza had not mentioned them getting in touch with her regarding the status of her case, but Roy thought they maybe just hadn’t had the time yet.

How wrong he was.

Roy froze outside the door, hearing voices through the apartment door. His eyes widened in recognition, hands flying to his pocket as he quickly dialled the number the police officer had given Riza.

“You,” Dickhead Dan hissed as Roy entered Riza’s main room. Roy froze, his eyes instantly finding Riza’s to see if she was okay. She was unharmed, but clutching the front of her hoodie tightly, arms over her chest as it to hide it.

Hide it from him.

Roy’s world took on a reddish tint.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly. One of Dan’s cheeks twitched in irritation.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m her friend. Leave her alone.”

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t want you, asshole. Why can’t you take no for an answer?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Dan scoffed, muttering to himself.

Roy took a step forward, eyes homing in on Dickhead Dan as he begun to turn away from him.

“Roy!” Riza cried desperately. “Stop, please. Go home, I’ll –”

“Yes, Roy,” Dan sneered. “Go home. She doesn’t want you here.”

“Don’t speak for me,” Riza barked, the fear disappearing from her face to be replaced by fury. That was when Roy realised, she was scared for him, not for herself. Fists clenched by his side, Roy resisted the urge to punch Dan square in the jaw. The satisfaction would be exquisite however Riza asked him not to get involved in that way. The restraint in which he held himself with was incredible. “Don’t assume you know what I want. When we dated, you didn’t listen to me once. Couple that with your exhausting need to speak to me every second of everyday and controlling behaviour, that’s why I ended it. I want you to go, not Roy. He’s my friend.”

“More than that though, isn’t he?” Dan spat, face contorting in rage.

Riza shot up from her seat, rising to meet her stalker head on. “What has that got to do with you?” The anger in her voice was palpable, coating the room and heating Roy’s skin as he felt his own anger rise with hers.

“I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t need to allow shit.”

“Riza –”

“Dan,” she growled, defiantly standing up to him. “In what world did you think it was acceptable to sneak into my apartment, huh? In what world did you think it was okay to bug my home and spy on me? Did you really think I would welcome you with open arms after all this shit?!”

Dickhead Dan grabbed Riza’s wrist and twisted it painfully and Roy didn’t really remember much after that. He stepped forward, striding towards Dan as his fist reared back, landing a punch across Dan’s jaw. Riza kicked his knee and Dan stumbled forward with a pained cry.

How dare he touch Riza.

A loud banging on the door interrupted their altercation and Riza sprinted for the door. Two police officers took one look at Dan and removed their weapons from their holsters, training it on him.

* * *

“Dinner?” Roy asked quietly as he ushered Riza into his apartment. He placed her overnight bag by the door and locked it behind him, placing the chain across it.

“I’m not really hungry now,” she replied quietly.

“You have to try and eat something,” he urged gently. “How about a little bit? Not to brag, but I made it myself and it’s really good.”

That made her lips quirk up into a tired smile. “All right, a little bit.” As they ate Riza ate more than she had originally planned. “This is actually really good.”

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“Well, there was a reason I got you that apron for Christmas last year.”

Roy chuckled. “I’ve matured since then. I think you’ll find I’m cooking at an eighteen-year-old level.”

“Wow,” Riza replied sarcastically. “Look at you. Soon you’ll be able to do your taxes all by yourself like a real boy.” Roy snorted. No, there was a reason he kept Maes around, precisely for that. He was much better with taxes than Roy.

“You jest, but who will be laughing when you phone in a favour from out dear friend Maes Hughes because you’ve confused yourself,” Roy grinned as he watched Riza’s cheeks heat up.

“That was one time, thank you very much.” She skewered her pasta. “At least I can do mine like a normal adult.”

“If it were a normal practice, we would have no need to accountants in the world, and yet there are plenty.”

“Shut up,” she muttered sticking her tongue out at Roy, to which he grinned in response.

“You tell me to be quiet because you know I’m right.”

“No, I tell you to be quiet because you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Case and point.”

Roy pointed his loaded fork in her direction. “Payback for that comment with be just and swift.”

Riza snorted. “Don’t ask for the truth if you can’t handle it.”

“Valid point. If I’m such a pain in the ass though, why are you still here?” he questioned, waggling his eyebrows as he swallowed what was on his fork, awaiting her answer.

Riza shrugged, a smirk on her face. “Even if you are, you’re nice to look at.” Roy puffed up his chest proudly. “Not the best,” she added with a playful grin. “But you’ll do.”

Riza cackled and was out of her chair before Roy’s fork hit his plate. He chased her into his bedroom as Riza paused at the doorway, a very inviting smile on her face as she disappeared into the dark room with an excited grin. She squealed as Roy’s hands lay on her hips, spinning her around as his lips eagerly sought hers. The giggle was replaced with a moan and the outside world – along with their food – was forgotten as they fell onto his bed, searching hands pulling clothes off each other.

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