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adascore · 4 months

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CAPTAIN OBVIOUS

pairings: lionesses x lioness!reader

warnings: sarina scaring the hell out of us. fluff.

author’s note: I know this isn’t how captaincy is announced, but all of this is fictional anyway so it doesn’t even matter :)

masterlist

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''Is everyone in?'' Sarina asked, scanning the room to ensure the complete attendance of the squad and necessary staff.

A few heads nodded at the manager. ''Good.'' The Dutchwoman concluded.

''Before we talk about the upcoming game against North Macedonia, I would like to say something else.'' Sarina began the team meeting, her gaze lingering on Y/N.

The player curiously turned her head to Mary, who was sitting next to her. The goalkeeper merely shrugged in response.

''I didn't want to do it like this, but I think this is the only way to get my message across… Y/N, can you please come stand next to me?'' Sarina's invitation sounded more like a demand, leaving the striker slightly confused at the stern tone.

Y/N hesitated for a moment but stood up, making her way to the front of the room as requested by Sarina.

Glancing at her teammates, she found it challenging to read their expressions. Some were nervously biting their nails, while others were avoiding eye contact altogether.

Strange, the striker thought.

Sarina maintained her serious tone, making Y/N's heart race with anticipation. ''We have noticed some issues lately…'' The room fell silent, everyone's eyes fixed on the player, who was growing more bewildered and scared by the second. She tried to recall any recent incidents that might have triggered this discussion.

''The communication on the pitch, the communication off the pitch, the passes, the attacks… it is all anyone has been talking about on this team.'' The coach's vague explanation was making her worried, because it implied people had been speaking about her to Sarina.

''It forced us to reassess your position in this team.'' The Dutchwoman continued, maintaining her stoic stone.

It was a difficult task to make the Lyon captain nervous, but Sarina was doing an amazing job so far. ''My… position… on the team?'' Y/N spoke slowly, not quite knowing what to make of all of this.

''Yes, we're sorry to tell you this,'' she turned towards Arjan, their assistant coach, who handed her something the player wasn't able to see, ''but you are our new, official captain.'' Sarina's expression did a complete 180, a big grin on her face.

The room erupted into cheers, her teammates bursting out laughing at the player staring at their coach in stunned disbelief.

''Wait, what?'' Y/N mumbled as Sarina handed her the captain's band.

''Did you really think I was going to kick you off the team?'' The older woman exclaimed, surprised her player actually fell for it.

Y/N awkwardly chuckled. ''I mean- you sounded super serious! You should become an actress or something.''

''Congratulations, captain!'' Her team engulfed her in a group hug, feeling pats all over her head.

''I was wondering why none of you were looking at me.'' The newly appointed captain said, everything making sense now.

''I was having such a hard time,'' Ella sighed, before glancing over at Mary, ''you were awful!''

''What? Tooney!'' The goalkeeper exclaimed, clearly offended.

Alessia chimed in. ''You kept hiding your face cause you couldn't contain your smile.''

''I'm just happy for my friend!'' Mary defended herself, trapping Y/N in her arms.

Some of the girls made ‘Awh'-noises, dramatically swooning over the striker-goalkeeper duo.

''Took you long enough to figure it out.'' Mary teased, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

Y/N scoffed, slightly offended. ''How was I supposed to know?''

''I'm roomies with the captain.'' Alex proudly stated, her eyes sparkled with pride as she side hugged her roommate.

''That's not fair! Alex already has an advantage over everyone!'' Georgia interjected, loudly.

Y/N frowned. ''I've been captain for like 2 seconds, what are you talking about, G?'' She chuckled, befuddled by everyone's enthusiasm.

''You'll understand what I mean when she's suddenly being a lot nicer to you.'' Georgia explained, making wary eyes at the blond defender.

Lucy approached her and grabbed the captain's band from her hand. ''Come on, put it on.'' She held it open for her so Y/N could easily slide her arm through.

As soon as it was tightly attached to her arm, the entire room broke into cheers again.

''You wear it well, Skipper.'' Lucy teased with a playful grin.

She felt someone hugging her from behind. ''Congratulations, darling.''

''Thanks, Jill.'' The new captain smiled, glad her older teammate was happy for her.

Girls like Jill, Ellen, Alex, Lucy and Jordan had been there since she first joined the England team- it was a special moment for them as well to see their younger teammate take over the reins of the team.

''Congrats, sweetheart. You deserve this so much.'' Ellen embraced her, her fellow striker grinning from ear to ear.

''Thanks, El.''

''Speech! Speech! Speech!'' A couple of the girls (Ella, Georgia, Keira and Leah, to be specific) started chanting.

Y/N chuckled at the impromptu request for a speech, feeling the weight of the moment. She raised her hands, signaling for a moment of quiet amidst the cheers.

''Okay, okay!'' She began, a genuine smile on her lips. ''First of all, I want to thank Sarina, and whoever decided this, for giving me this huge honour, and for trusting me to lead this incredible team. I know to some people it's just a band, but I do feel a responsibility to lead by example and for me this means so much more.''

She paused, letting her words sink in. ''I joined this team when I was 18 years-old, and I've experienced so much already. I just want to thank all of you, and also the teammates that aren't here today, for making this such a beautiful group of people and for making this genuinely fun to do. I'm lucky to have you guys as my teammates.''

Her gaze swept across the faces of her teammates, feeling herself getting emotional. ''I will continue to do my best. This isn't just about me, it's about all of us. We're here to support one another and to enjoy all of this together.''

''I'm looking forward to the rest of the year, and it might be to early to say this, but fuck it,'' she chuckled, resulting in laughter from the entire room, ''this summer is ours!''

The meeting room echoed with applause, and somehow she ended up in the middle of a group hug.

Sarina and Arjan watched on as their team celebrated together, content smiled on their faces.

''This is the team.'' He told his boss, a confident tone.

The Dutchwoman nodded. ''This is the team.''

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #engwnt #lionesses x reader #engwnt x reader

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inbarfink · 8 months

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Among the various readings and interpretations of What the Hell is Up With the Ending to the DHMIS Web Show - one of the more interesting ones (from my perspective, at leas) has always been that it’s all a metaphor for repeating patterns of trauma and/or abuse.

As in, most of the narrative of the DHMIS Webshow has been some sort of surrealist metaphor for Roy being an overcontrolling and manipulative parental figure for his son and his friends

And then the ending shows them finally escaping his influence -

Only that without a frame of reference for just how screwed-up their upbringing really was and without any healthy way to process their various traumas, they end up being in danger of just replicating his abuse on their own. Either on each other or maybe on the color-swapped characters who can, like, represent their own children or something.

And so the vague ending of the Webshow is an open question, yes, the trio might’ve gotten physically away from Roy’s influence - but are they free from it mentally?

Or are they doomed to snap back into their old familiar world?

And the interesting thing about this is that like… that could be what the Web Show is about on a metaphorical level. But in the TV Show, with its greater emphasis on interpersonal conflicts and the characters - the idea of our main trio unknowingly replicating the abuse they live under is not just something we can hypothetically ruminate on. It’s something we can actually see, something we can actually feel.

Like, the first thing that made me think of Yellow and Red’s interactions with Stain Edwards.

This is basically the closest the Three of Them can get to being parental figures within the confines of the Format. He starts out as such a sweet and curious child-like being, his title for himself is literally ‘the Forever Boy’. And, well…

Red and Yellow are just so uncomfortable with his curiosity and thirst for adventure that they basically immediately try and stomp it right out. And that’s like a whole big thing about DHMIS, isn’t it? The way that children’s edutainment and the education system actually curbs children's curiosity and desire for learning so they can better memorize easily-digestible simplified concepts and Respect Their Authority Figures.

You know, it’s the whole thing with…

And that’s kinda how Red acts with Stain? He’s a lot less violent and more subdued about it - but he also discourages the little guy from asking questions and wanting to explore the world.

And he is trying to push him into fitting more into the Format. And, like, managing his life like the Trio’s own life is managed by the Format. First more generally into what being part of the DHMIS main trio is supposed to mean (‘just sit here and something will happen’) and then eventually literally turning him into something he didn’t want to be.

And from our more familiar perspective, it’s clear that Red Guy really just genuinely thinks at this point that sitting passively and Waiting to Be Taught At is how things are Supposed to Be and can’t really imagine things going any other way. He is honestly just trying to get Stain to understand how their life is supposed to work. (Well until it starts becoming about making a new Duck)

And it’s also clear to us how much Red Guy is motivated by just unaddressed grief about Duck and wanting to avoid conflict with Yellow Guy, who's a lot more explictly lashing out at Stain in his grief

"What's the matter with him?" "Nothing. Just don't look at him." "What? Where can I look? I can't look at him, can't look over there..." "No, if, if you want to look at stuff, just tell me and I-I'll make a list. Of where you should or should not look..." "Seems like a weird system..." "Yeah, well, you seem like a weird little...thing with...and you don't even... the other guy at least had his own clothes"

But looking at it from Stain’s perspective, taking aside our understanding of Red’s character and motivation. This is just an authority figure giving him a nonsense set of rules and then lashing out at him when he questions it. Never giving a deeper explanation than ‘this is how it’s supposed to be’ and basically punishing his curiosity.

Kinda like, well, how the Teachers tend to interact with the trio.

And then there’s Yellow Guy who’s just totally lashing out at Stain through the whole thing, because, again, he can’t process the grief of losing Duck. Because his environment did not give him the tools to properly process that trauma and he has no healthy frame of reference to grief and that’s kinda...

Yeah, that’s just what I was talking about. Stain’s subplot in ‘Death’ is just Yellow and Red having not interrogated their abusive environment and not really dealing with their trauma and thus repeating the patterns of the Teachers on their new child-like figure.

Which then culminates with either Duck killing Stain in the name of preserving the status-quo of the format (“there’s only supposed to be three of us”) or with Stain having internalized so much of what Yellow and Red (but mainly Red) taught him about what he’s supposed to be that he was willing to kill in the name of the Format - and then slotted in perfectly in the unadventurous, unquestioning role of Duck.

And this lil narrative is especially interesting if you believe any variance of the David Theory. Because Yellow and Red were mainly motivated in their mistreatment of Stain by their Grief about a ‘dead’ family member. Which could mirror Lesley's trapping and mistreatment of the trio and her own motivations.

But I think this idea of mirroring and repeating patterns of abuse are reflected in more than just this one episode. It’s also reflected in the way Red and Duck tend to mistreat Yellow.

Because while Yellow doesn’t slot as neatly into the Child position like Stain did- his simplistic naïveté does mean he often plays a Child-like role in our favorite Forced Family dynamic. And the way that Duck and Red can often condescend to him can… very well mirror the condescending way the teachers address all three of them.

Especially when you also consider the similar manner both the Teachers and Red + Duck react to Yellow being fully charged in ‘Electricity’. They are all so nervous about Yellow breaking away from his supposed ‘role’ as the Stupid One.

And they especially all seem so very insecure about the idea that Yellow might be smarter than they are.

And that’s, you know, also an aspect of children’s education that tends to actually harm children and their curiosity. This desire for ‘respect’ towards authority figures and this egotistical need for teachers and parents to always be smarter than their kids - causing them to subtly or bluntly punish children for just being clever or inquisitive.

It’s, you know “I’m the adult, you are the child. I am supposed to be the Smart and Knowledgeable one and you are the one who must be taught. And you need to play your role!”

Again, that seems to be the whole thing in ‘Time’.

Here it’s a lot more subtle and less openly hostile, but Yellow can tell that just like that Insurance Teacher, Red and Duck’s egos have also been hurt by the fact that they might not be smarter than Yellow Guy anymore. And he considers going back to the role he’s ‘supposed to be’, even though being fully-charged seems to feel better for him (‘this doesn’t feel wrong’), just for them.

That’s almost literally a child giving up on a pursuit of knowledge just to placate his parental figures.

And then, you know, his refusal to do so and his assertion of his own ability to make decisions for himself (his own maturity, "they're not in charge of us anymore" "Maybe they never were") is directly what leads to him ascending and disassembling not just the trio’s dynamic but the very structure of the Format.

And I think, it’s not just that Red and Duck’s treatment of Yellow mirrors the way the teachers treat the Three of Them - it might be a result of it as well. With how condescending the teachers are towards them in general, bullying Yellow is their way to assert some sort of maturity and intelligence for themselves. It's super-fucked up, but this is how they internalized expressing what ‘intelligence’ is supposed to look like. And they have no frame of reference for a way of feeling smart or in control that doesn’t involve shutting someone else down. Because that's what literally every authority figure does for them all the time.

Now, do I think that means that our trio is doomed to mirror those patterns? That they will always inevitability repeat the horrors they go through on each other and others? Well, just like with every ‘cycle of abuse’, it can always be broken. But it will take some actual understanding and self-awareness and personal healing from the trio.

And without this, they’re not just trapped within the Horrors physically, but also spiritually as well. Without it, no matter if they do manage to run away, on some level, their journey will always end up back at home....

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bi-bard · 6 months

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Coming Back for You - Toby Nealey Imagine [I Came By]

Title: Coming Back for You

Pairing: Toby Nealey X Reader

Word Count: 2,004 words

Warning(s): **HEY, LOOK HERE!!!** kidnapping, hostage situation, mention of abuse (physical/emotional, but ultimately vague), mute reader

Summary: Toby finds himself in a far more dangerous situation than he ever meant to be involved in. However, he is saved by an unexpected source. Now, he is determined to return the favor.

Author's Note: I meant to write a story about this character a long time ago, and someone just recently reminded me of it, so I figured it was better late than never.

Also, I'm adding lore to Hector's story so that this story makes sense. I'm just gonna ask that you don't question me about it and just let it exist.

Toby Tag List: @dream-this-nightmare-over

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The first thing I heard was a thud on the floor.

At first, I assumed that it was just Hector moving around. But that wouldn't make sense. There was no sound after the thud. Hector always made a point to tell me when he was home. The door would shut and then he would call up to me. Or he would have warned me beforehand that he was bringing home a guest, so I could make myself scarce while he enjoyed his evening.

Once I knew that it wasn't Hector, I walked to the door. I don't know what my plan was. To confirm my suspicions, find a phone so I could call the police, try to plead for help, or simply warn the poor soul that had been unfortunate enough to come in. Maybe it was all of the above. Or maybe I had just gotten so lonely that facing down some burglar felt comforting in a way.

My hand paused on the doorknob. I stared at it.

Hector's words rang in my head: "You are not to leave this room until I come and get you. No matter what."

I had learned better than to not heed his warning. Not that he would ever call it a warning. If I had to guess, then I would say that he probably saw it as an act of protection or love. However, I liked to avoid guessing about him. He never liked when he believed that I was assuming things about him.

I had been a permanent guest in Hector's home for a few years by then. A silent presence. I never knew what I was meant to be in his mind. But I guess at some it didn't truly matter anymore.

I was to the point that I could barely remember a life before him. I just knew that I had one... and that I was never getting it back.

I could still remember the times when I would cry every night, sobbing as I shook. I would beg him to just let me go... or to simply kill me and let me have some peace. He didn't like when I did that. He said it made him feel bad for merely offering me a better life. I don't know if he had truly forgotten that he less offered me this life than he forced me into it or if he was just trying to ignore that he had taken me from my family.

It didn't take long for me to learn that he wanted silence from me. I had trained myself to be silent. Quiet at all times. I communicated in nods and head shakes and pointing and kind, gentle smiles that seemed to quell Hector's anger for the time being. It was just less of a reminder that I wasn't truly who he wanted me to take the place of.

It only took a few more sounds of the creaking floor for me to say hell with the consequences. I opened the door slowly and leaned my head out through the doorway. I couldn't see anything from there.

I slowly walked down the stairs, taking note to avoid the creaking steps. I paused, waiting for some sign of a person. There was nothing.

And then, there was a crash. A distinct sound of someone stumbling over something and then falling.

It was coming from the basement. My heart dropped. I had been avoiding the basement for a long time. It made me think of my crying and my begging. I didn't like being around it.

I quickly opened the door, seeing a man hurrying to stand a few steps away from the bottom.

He looked up at me. I squinted at the feeling of his headlamp shining in my eyes. He had all dark clothes on. He was a stranger. Definitely a stranger.

And he looked scared.

I knew what he had seen. I had seen it too.

My head perked up when I heard the gate opening.

It was as if every reaction after that was instinctual. I never considered myself a hero or anything great, but I found myself focusing on nothing more than getting that man out of the house.

I ran down the few steps between us before grabbing his hand and dragging him upstairs with me.

I was quick, as quiet as ever as I dragged him up the main stairs and up to my room. I pushed him inside and quietly closed the door. I continued shoving him to the window. I pointed at it, trying to get him to go to it.

There was a time when the window was sealed. I had managed to get it undone a long time ago but learned better than to try to get out through it. Pavlov's dog and all that.

"Is he... Is he keeping you here," the man asked.

I didn't have time to answer his questions, I just pushed him again.

"How long have you been here?"

I waved him away.

"(Y/n)! I'm home," Hector called from downstairs.

I panicked, pushing the stranger again. I was silently begging him to go. Save himself.

He finally listened to himself, opening the window and beginning to climb out. He turned around in the windowsill.

"I'm coming back for you," he promised.

"(Y/n)?" Hector called again.

"My name's Toby," the stranger explained. I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to figure out why he needed to tell me that. "I'll... I'll be back."

He quickly climbed out of the window. I shoved it closed as soon as I knew that he was out of it completely. I took a deep breath before going to step out into the hall. I walked down the steps, stopping a few steps from the bottom.

"There you are," Hector said. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, furrowing my eyebrows in the hopes of acting like I didn't know why he would be asking.

"Good, good," he muttered. He looked flustered. Worried. He knew that someone had been there. "You can go back to your room."

I nodded again, turning and going back up the stairs.

I let out a shaky breath as soon as my door closed behind me.

Toby was the first person I had seen other than Hector in a very long time. I found myself scared. Terrified. But I couldn't quite figure out what I was scared about. Was it the idea of Hector finding out that I had let some stranger escape after seeing his secret? Or the idea that I may never see Toby again and all that he said about coming back had been a lie? Or was it fear over what life would be like after I finally got out of that house and back to the real world?

I thought that I was going to have time to forget about Toby. I thought it was best to lose the hope early. Some part of me believed that it was going to save me from some pain in the long run.

How foolish of me.

The next night, I heard a noise downstairs again.

And again, I knew it wasn't Hector. He had left for the night. He didn't give me many details, just that he was going out.

I heard the stairs creaking as someone walked up them. Closer and closer to my door. I backed up toward the wall behind me, pressing my hand over my mouth.

It opened slowly.

On the other side of the door was Toby.

My hand fell away as my mouth fell open in shock. He was there. He came back. He was telling me the truth.

"It's okay, it's just me," he held up his hands. "I'm here to get you out."

I furrowed my eyebrows.

He held out his hand. "Come on."

I stared at his hand. There were a million and one ideas going through my mind. I gave up on the idea of being saved a long time ago. I knew the pull that Hector had. I knew the position of power he was in and after so long being in that room... in that house... I just gave up on hoping.

What was I meant to do when someone was finally giving me a chance?

I couldn't get myself to move.

"We don't have much time," Toby said, walking over to me. "We need to hurry. I... I have a place for you. A safe one. We can get you some food and clothes and stuff. And then, we can go to the police and you can explain what happened. Then, the basement gets found and no one else gets hurt."

Wow. He had thought the whole thing through.

"Please... come with me," he pushed one last time, hand outstretched.

I took a deep breath before slowly placing my hand in his. He grinned and started pulling me to the door. I only stopped him long enough for me to pull on some shoes.

After that, Toby dragged me back down the stairs and outside of the house the same way that he had supposedly come in.

After making it through the house and the garden, Toby started running down the road.

I tried to keep up with him, but it had been a long time since I had needed to run any kind of distance. It was also the first time I had truly been outside in years. The cold air made my lungs burn and my legs felt as if they were going numb underneath me.

But then, I felt a smile forming. The first genuine smile I had experienced in so long that I had forgotten it had existed. Along with that smile came tears. Tears of relief as I felt myself finally becoming free again. It was like chains were falling off of my body with every step I took.

I don't know how long we had gone before Toby finally slowed down. I just knew that I didn't recognize anything in the world around me. I continued walking with him, looking around at all of the buildings surrounding me. I never thought about how much the world around me had changed while I wasn't looking. It was overwhelming.

"So, umm... we're gonna stay with my mom. Just until we track down your family," Toby explained. I found my steps slowing down as I watched him. "She... She'll be alright with it once I tell her what's going on."

I stopped completely. Toby was forced to stop when I did because he still had his hand in mine. He furrowed his eyebrows at me.

"What is it?"

I stopped, still unable to form the words that I needed.

"You're safe now. I promise. He's never gonna-"

Toby stopped talking when I stepped forward and hugged him. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, shutting my eyes as firmly as I could. I felt his arms wrapping around me. He kept mumbling that I was safe. That he was going to keep me safe.

"Hey," he muttered. He pulled back, hands touching my upper arms. "We should keep going."

I nodded, letting him reach down and grab my hand again.

We didn't have to sprint away again. Instead, we walked. We walked in a comforting silence.

I took a deep breath. The air was crisp. It was cold against my skin. I never knew how much I would miss a feeling like that until now.

The only part of me that didn't feel the cold of the world around me was my hand. It was warm, Toby's hold on it serving as a protective shield of sorts. There was something about his touch that brought me a sense of peace that I had never known. One that I may not know for a long time after that night when I went to the police.

But I could cherish it for the time being.

And I could love it for the time being.

And that felt like it was good enough for now.

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#imagine #fanfiction #x reader #i came by imagine #i came by fanfiction #i came by x reader #toby nealey imagine #toby nealey fanfiction #toby nealey x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfiction #george mackay x reader

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literary-illuminati · 6 months

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Book Review 62 – The Ballad of Perilous Graves by Alex Jennings

This is the latest book I never would have heard of if it wasn’t for an award nomination (WFA for Best Novel, in this case). Overall, I was left dearly wishing I had liked it more than I did – it was so thoroughly soaked in imagery and references to a whole milieu I only barely know enough about to catch all the references flying over my head. Unfortunately by the final act the whole thing just collapses into a mess of spectacle without much in the way of connective tissue or context.

The story follows Perilous “Perry” Graves, his kid sister, and his best friend/crush Peaches (who is clearly an ersatz Pippy Longstocking but for some reason this is almost literally the only reference the book doesn’t explicitly acknowledge). They live in Nola, a fantastical alternate New Orleans full of zombies, animate graffiti, sky trolleys, and music that is indistinguishable from magic. After the magical songs that sustain the city escape/are stolen, it’s up to the three of them to get them back before Stagger Lee (the song) hunts down and kills the others for his mysterious partner. There’s also an extended subplot with Casey, a recently returned Katrina refugee in what seems to be our world, discovering that his and his cousin’s graffiti and other art is very literally magic and can come alive when he isn’t looking. Things just generally get messier and harder to explain from there.

Above everything else, the book’s a love letter to New Orleans. The sheer fascination and affection Jenning’s has for the place just about oozes out of every page. The geography and the culture and especially and overwhelmingly the art. Now I know barely anything about modern pop music and even less about classic jazz, but Jennings is either a massive fan or an incredibly confident bullshitter, and either way it’s an absolutely loadbearing part of the book – famous jazz musicians appear as magicians and ghosts, snatches and stanzas of different songs are quoted liberally, and of course the songs themselves are the driving engine of the plot. I, at least, just kind of let all the references wash over me and try to figure them out from context, and also started listening to the namedropped songs as I read. But even without really knowing the subject, the sheer love for the culture that just suffuses the book is really incredible endearing. Which is good, because it’s absolutely the main actual draw here.

The dialogue also deserves a shoutout – both because there’s a fun line you can draw between the characters that talk like actual people and the ones that intentionally present themselves like cartoon characters, and also because it’s the first book I can recall reading this year where people speak in AAVE. Plus, as a matter of style, when songs or certain ghosts were speaking telepathically the book used a different font for what they were saying, which is the sort of flourish that I always like when it’s not too overused.

While the surreal, exaggerated sort of magical absurdism works very well for the setting of Nola, the plot is...just kind of a mess. You almost get the sense the book was written in one sprint and then never revised – the protagonists are constantly getting help out of nowhere exactly as they need it to solve their latest problem, and revelations of plot critical information exactly when it’s needed to keep things moving abound, whether there’s any setup or justification for it or not. The metaphysics that underpin Nola are all vague and confused, which really wouldn’t be an issue if the entire third act didn’t turn on on the villain being wrong about them. The end result is a finale that feels like a bunch of big set piece scene the author had been looking forward to writing without any real connective tissue linking or supporting them.

Also, like – it is a major part of Perry’s arc that a year before the events of the book he had a run in with a monstrous caricature of a Jim Crow era hanging judge, and it has traumatized him sufficiently that he had steadfastly refused to try and do any magic since. The judge is later revealed to be an escaped bit of living graffiti, with absolutely zero relevance or deeper significance, and never appears on-screen again. Which just feels like some sort of narrative malpractice, honestly.

I’m also just left a bit disappointed with the villain – or, specifically, the wasted potential. Like, the idea of The Storm as this primeval elemental force that wants nothing more than to drown the world is a pretty great villain for a magical New Orleans, honestly. And there was something there of graffiti and music and just art being this engine of joyous hubris letting the city exist in defiance of its inevitable doom – but you really have to dig to get at it, and most of the other personal plots and heroes journey stuff burying it was far less compelling to me.

Anyway yeah, in the end this very much felt like it was style over substance, but on the other hand the style was excellent. In the end I kind of feel like this was ill-served as a book? Not that it’s necessarily impossible to write a novel that’s mostly about music, but this was really begging for a medium that could include a soundtrack.

#book review #the ballad of perilous graves #alex jennings #sff #urban fantasy

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littlepieceofemmerson · 4 months

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The Break In

It wasn’t a lot at first, just enough noise to make me anxious A thump here, a creak there, but those little noises soon became bigger, making me aware of what was happening. What I originally thought was only the wind quickly turned into me fleeing my apartment and frantically knocking on the door to the right of mine. I didn’t know if he was awake, or even home for that matter, but the figure on my balcony was enough to send me into a panicked frenzy.

“Hey, you okay?” Brian asked sleepily, opening his apartment door. His hair was messy and his eyes held confusion.

“Hey sorry I know it’s late but-” I struggled to speak, shaking violently.

“Hey hey, slow down…tell me what’s going on.” He said, grabbing my shoulders.

“There’s someone on my balcony,” I said nervously. He was quick to pull me into his apartment. He locked his door and sat me down on his couch, he set a glass of water in front of me and wrapped a fluffy blanket around my shoulders before pulling out his phone to call the cops.

I sat silently, staring at the table in front of me, spacing out while he made the call, I was vaguely aware of him pacing the room behind the couch, flinching as a shatter was heard through the wall. Whoever was on my balcony had broken in through my window.

Brian sat down beside me while we waited for the police to arrive, occasionally checking in on me. That was something I loved about him, he was always so considerate when he was talking to me, making sure I was comfortable when he’d invite me to hang out with him and his friends, he’d even gone out of his way to pick me up from work on nights where I’d worked late. I never understood why he paid so much attention to me, but I wasn’t complaining.

As it turned out, the person who broke in through my window had spotted Brian while he was out and followed him home, only she’d gotten the apartment number wrong. I didn’t want to think about what she would have done if she had gotten the right apartment. After the authorities had arrested the intruder Brian walked me home. I stepped through the door and looked around at my trashed apartment. The woman had not only broken my window and pulled every book off of my shelves, but she lodged my expensive kitchen knives into the wall. I let out a shaky breath and went to grab the broom and dustpan before Brian grabbed my wrist.

“You know, you can uh…you can sleep with me tonight…if it would make you feel better.” He offered.

“Are you sure?” I asked softly to which he nodded.

We went back to his apartment and I sat down on his couch. “You can sleep-”

“I’m not taking your bed.” I interrupted.

“We could always share the bed.” He suggested quietly. My eyebrows furrowed a bit at his words. “It’s just. I've always kinda liked you. No funny business, promise.”

“Yeah. I’ve always kinda liked you, too.” I said shyly.

We went to his room and laid down under his covers. As I drifted off to sleep I felt his arms wrap around my waist. “Is this okay?” He asked, sleep evident in his voice. I rolled over and rested my forehead against his chest.

“It’s perfect.”

#synyster gates x reader #synyster gates #avenged sevenfold #a7xfanfic

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stardusthuntress · 1 year

Text

Angel Eyes

Captain Rex x femaleChiss!reader

If you don’t know the species, I recommend reading up on Thrawn! His species is incredible! (if you want to just get to reading this, common Chiss physical features are described in the fic, it's sometimes more fun to figure it out as you go, right? tried to make it fun for those who wanted that option)

Not really sure where this came from, just a random idea I had last night that had to be written down, so here ya go!

Summary: Post-battle, Rex discovers that one of his favorite informants (she/her) is a species he is not familiar with. He does his best to make her feel welcome and accepted for her uniqueness, instead of despite it.

TW: reader is described, but only by attributes common to all Chiss. But she is described as female (she/her pronouns, it's self-indulgent, okay?) and it is sorta about body dysmorphia, sorta... if you squint. I like to write about the stuff a lot of us struggle with, idk why exactly, but here ya go! It’s just fluff really, sfw, though Fives suggests there could be more to it if you want there to be 😉 important note it does describe a bit of a potential injury scenario! Tried to be as vague as possible, but there is one mention of "not much blood" and a potential concussion, so if you're squeamish this might not be the fic for you!

author's note: comments on the tense preferences are encouraged! I usually prefer to read works that call the reader "you", but this one came out as "she", no idea why. But what do you guys prefer?

Reader is a mercenary of sorts, helping out the republic where she can, bringing in info, fighting when and where she can, providing her skills as a trained warrior, medic, etc. Usually, she steps in when the Jedi can’t be there.

This time it’s a battle with the 501st. And something goes wrong (as always). As usual, Captain Rex is able to seize the moment and win the battle, and then it's just a matter of patching up the wounded and repairing the ship.

She always wears her helmet, with a dark visor so no one can see her face, only a faint glow showing the shape of her eyes, creating a powerful first impression. Given that she’s an informant, the men never asked questions, knowing it's imperative to keep her true identity hidden. But this time, the visor shatters.

She tries to hide her face when Kix shows up with a med kit. But he needs to see her face because of the damage to her helmet. She says no. So, to respect her choice (consent is ALWAYS important kids), he scans her. And his data pad goes nuts with alarms. He’s suddenly very concerned.

She knows it’s because her species isn’t in his database.

He doesn’t accept that answer. “Every sentient species in the known galaxy is in my database. Why do you insist that yours isn’t listed in my database?”

“You just answered your own question”

“Oh ha ha, very funny. You want me to believe you're from the Unknown Regions?”

“Yes”

“Alright, jokes over ma’am, you must have a concussion, I don't think it's even possible to get ships into or out of the Unknown Regions. Let me see your face — WOAH!” He lept back and she flinched away.

Of all the things he was prepared for, she wasn’t one of them. Blue skin with prominent arches on her forehead and glowing red eyes. He was stunned into silence.

That’s when Rex walked in.

He heard everything as he walked over, but hadn’t been fast enough to tone down Kix’s reaction.

“I’ll take it from here Kix, why don’t you tend to the men down the hallway”

“Uh, yessir” he was trying to hide his reaction. He’d been through enough medical training to know a reaction like his wasn’t going to make his patient feel better. He sighed, and went to pack up his gear.

“Here take this one.” Rex held out the med kit he was carrying “I’ll use the one you’ve already got setup”

Kix nodded, took the med kit, and headed toward the exit, pausing as he reached the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said “I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t realize the glow of your eyes beneath your helmet was real, I thought it was just a really cool effect. Not that the glow of your eyes isn’t cool! I just... wasn’t really expecting it,” he sighed, realizing he would do less damage if he just stopped talking. He nodded at the Captain, and stepped out of the doorway to the turret.

Now it was Rex’s turn to try to convince you to show him your face.

“It’s ok Rex, I’ve patched myself up after worse. You can leave the med kit, I’ll deal with it myself. If you could just grab my spare helmet from my ship, and keep the men out of here until then, that would be great.”

Rex sighed, and sat himself down, rummaging through the med kit. He had no intention of going anywhere until she was back on her feet.

“Let’s see, looks like the transperisteel shards from your helmet don’t have much blood on them. That’s good. Any minor scratches or bruises?”

“Rex, I appreciate it, but this really isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and as it just so happens, I’m the captain of this ship. Come here. Let me help you. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for us.”

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Waiting patiently for her to be ready to trust him.

She sighed. “Please don’t be surprised. I promise I don’t mean anyone here any harm”

“I know [your codename], I trust you with the lives of my men in battle, why would seeing your real face change that now? But we do need to get you patched up. And it could certainly be helpful to know why Kix’s med pad seemed so confused; if you're alright with explaining that to me. I trust you. Are you willing to trust me?”

She nodded and slowly turned towards him. "I do trust you, Rex" Her eyes were still trained on the ground, but he wasn't about to rush her. He knew how difficult it could be to process anxiety on the fly.

Gently, so gently it almost wasn’t even there, his curled index finger tilted her chin slowly up towards the light so he could check for injuries. Finally, her gaze flicked up towards his face, and he could see her bracing for impact.

But like he had promised, Rex wasn’t afraid, he trusted her completely.

And the look she saw on Rex’s face captured her attention. Where Kix had been startled and afraid, Rex was almost exactly the opposite. Eyes soft, brow uncreased, his eyes widened a little in surprise but not a bad surprise. This was an admiring surprise. Slowly a smile spread across his face.

“Perhaps we should call you ‘Angel Eyes’” he smirked.

She looked away, with a hint of a laugh. But her eyes flicked back to him almost instantly. Something about the way he looked at her made her not want to look away, not want to miss a second of the way he made her feel.

“And give up my reputation as a fearsome warrior?”

He laughed. “Na, just give 'em a run for their credits when they find out just how dangerous you are to the wrong person.”

She smiled.

“Well, the good news is your helmet seems to have absorbed most of the blow. There’s almost no damage that I can see, some minor bruising, but that's to be expected”

“Aww, an epic scar would have been fun though,” a small smile crept onto her face. He chuckled.

“But I’m not sure how to check for a concussion with your species. You wouldn’t happen to have some reading material or experience to help me out, would ya?” He winked.

You produced your datapad. “Mine should have my vitals from a good day to compare it to” she unlocked it, and handed it over. Trusting him to scan you, proving that this trust does indeed go both ways.

Rex gets her patched up and helped her clean up the remnants from her helmet. She’s still actively avoiding his men, and he doesn’t like that. This strong women, who is normally so confident and charming, is suddenly reduced to shyness and avoidance simply because her eyes are surprising. He doesn’t like it.

“Now, I know you’d rather we just go get your helmet and call it good, but that bruise on your cheek doesn’t need the pressure of a helmet on it for at least a few hours. And you need something to eat to promote the healing process and replenish everything your body just spent in battle. What do you say you accompany me to the mess hall? Besides, I’d like a chance to prove that those eyes are more stunning than anything, Angel Eyes.” He stood tall, pulling her to her feet, and extended his elbow for her to take, an invitation from the strong, calmly confident man.

She smiled, and placed her hand on his arm.

“Chin up, Angel Eyes. Let them see that burning fierceness I know those eyes hold”

She does and very soon gains her confidence back as them men treat her with reverence instead of fear.

Later, after a good meal, he sends her to take a nap. Selflessly insisting that she take his bunk for a quick nap while he finishes up paperwork. Her ship had been damaged in the fight, but he had his best men on it.

Fives quietly approached the Captain as he sat at his desk, buried in his paperwork.

“I see there’s a woman in your bed Captain,” he smirks.

Still focused on the pad in his hand, Rex answers “yes, she took a blow to the head so I insisted that she — WAIT! NO! Not like that Fives! Dank Ferrik, what have you done,” his voice fades off into a tired sigh.

The other men in the room are trying and failing to keep their laughter quiet. He can hear them giggling behind their hands and datapads.

He finds a task that requires an ARC's supervision and sends Fives off immediately. But it’s too late, the damage is done. It took Fives one sentence to convince the room that the good captain had a love interest. He was never going to live this one down. But he was more concerned with how she would take it. It was hard not to fall for the woman after all. He knew from experience watching her in battle that she had a nasty bite when provoked. But she also adored the 501st, and his boys in blue would do anything for their beloved informant.

Kix was seated next to Rex. Having redeemed himself as she and Rex had passed the med bay on their way to the dining hall, boasting loudly about how she had saved the day when they walked past - to keep his men distracted from their own pain, of course.

Sitting not far from the Captain now, he glances at him, “She is one hell of a woman, Captain” he whispered.

Rex tried to hide the smirk that grew in the corner of his mouth at Kix’s words, but he couldn’t entirely suppress it. “Back to work, doc, I know you’ve always have more reports than I do to finish up”

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!

#captain rex x reader #oh captain my captain #zenith writes #chiss #Chiss reader insert #reader insert #captain rex/reader #captain rex x reader hurt comfort #rex x reader

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always-andromeda · 2 years

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Happy 500 to youuuu!!! You deserve each and every one of them and more! Can’t wait for 1k, 2k, 5k…. 10k…. HEHEEEE IT WILL HAPPEN I KNOW THAT FOR A FACT!! You write the BEST fics, nsfw alphabets, headcanons and drabbles on this whole site and I love reading (and re-reading) every piece you put out! Cheers! :D <3<3

Can I request Hurricane (Johnnie's Theme) for Klitzy?? Maybe it’s extra angsty because of his self-esteem issues making him think he’s not worthy of you </3

Author's Note | thank you dearly, anon! I am overwhelmed at your kind words and I do hope that my work continues to impress!! thank you for the request (I hope you're okay with me making it equal parts angsty and a little bit...freaky).

Warnings | mentions of masturbation, nothing else I can think of!

Timothy Klitz spends an ungodly amount of time getting ready in the morning. Analyzing every part of himself in his bathroom mirror, he specifically avoids the sight of his bare chest. That pale, lanky expanse that really makes him cringe.

Today he's finally going to talk to you. And, for once, he's not going to overthink it.

It’s ridiculous being this worked up over a single, measly little person. But somehow, he managed to do it. That’s why his bathroom routine has extended from a leisurely ten minutes to a grueling hour. That’s why he made his mom splurge on soap this time around, opting for a musky cedar wood scent that he figured would drive you wild. He doesn’t actually know what you would like.

So of course he has to resign to Eli’s advice on girls.

Eli tells him that he’s got the face of a God; “You could do porn with that face, if you wanted.” Eli had once reasoned with him.

That sounds like the joke of the century. He's nothing special. And a girl hasn't complimented him on his looks since he was in the second grade. And even then, that was from his mom when she dressed him up for his elementary school's Christmas choir performance. He can still hear her coo, "Oh, you look so handsome, Timothy!"He hopes that if you ever call him that, it's in a more mature tone. Not like he's a baby.

But if he can't just suck it up and actually talk to you, he's never going to hear that.

All he knows is that he has to stop living his life through the Sims. That is another matter entirely.

Yes, he may have possibly made you into a Sim. And yes, he possibly also made himself a Sim. And sure, he pulled the strings to make the pixel people fall in love with each other and eventually move in together.

At least he doesn’t…he doesn’t…oh, fuck it. He can’t even pretend that he doesn’t like to watch them woohoo with each other.

He wants to feel ashamed of himself when he jerks off as if he was watching actual porn. But he isn’t. Weirdly, it feels like he’s cum harder just from fantasizing about what might go on underneath that silly sheet than from actual porn. Something about those happy little Simlish babbles he hears as little you and little him mess around under the covers in the digital realm gets him going.

If you were his, he’d make you make those sounds all the time. Now that’s something Eli would truly laugh at him about. Klitz might not be ugly. But he sure as hell is pathetic, gross, and a coward.

He’s an absolute wreck as he walks past you in school, hands shoved in his pockets, shirt untucked (because only nerds tuck in their shirts, reasoned Eli), and hair combed perfectly.

And you looked at him first. Almost by accident really. But the second you caught his nervous little glance your way from behind those oval lenses, you couldn’t get over him. He was just...pretty. Almost bug eyed and innocent even though they only lingered for a few seconds.

You'd seen him around a little bit; vaguely remembering that he hung out with the teacher's pet and that one weird kid who's obsessed with porn. But he stands out from them, not only in height but in his quiet demeanor and little, side sweeping glances. Yeah, you decide, he's very pretty.

“Looking good today, Klitzy!” You call as he passes by.

And Klitz has to clench his hands in his pockets and stifle a barbaric yawp when he replies, “Oh, thanks. You too!”

But that doesn’t stop the smile that oozes onto his expression, growing so wide that he swears he feels his entire face caving in from how much his cheeks ache.

He’s never said a word to you before now. And yet you knew his name.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the girl next door #timothy klitz #timothy klitz x reader #timothy klitz x you #timothy klitz x y/n #klitz x reader #klitz x you #klitz x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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argentumcor · 9 months

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Uldwyn, Uldren, Crow, and Father Figures

One of the things that stands about the Sov siblings is that they don’t have a dad. They just have Osana, who is not a very good mother, being uninvolved and not affectionate (the fact Osana is not the mother kestrel in the story is another essay, but she isn’t). Considering the tech and how matriarchal the Yang Liwei seems to have been, given it adapted a monarchal matriarchy right quick in the Distributary, they might not have ever had a father outside the most bare biological sense. Osana might have opted for test tube twins. At any rate, no father is mentioned in any entry for the Sov twins. Not even a father figure.

I don’t think this was good for either of them, but I think it hit Uldwyn the worst. I spent a lot of time around young men in my time in the Army. The ones who didn’t have dads involved were obvious. They and a certain flavor of aimlessness and desire to prove themselves, a bad combo. Of course, men with involved fathers can have these problems, but it has a different feel to it.

We see this pretty plainly on display from Uldwyn when we’re introduced to him, all those years and a whole universe ago on the Yang Liwei:

Uldwyn grins messily at Mara over his opponent's shoulder. He's fighting a big, brutal woman from Gravity Ops, a woman who's had her myostatin genes knocked out so she can swell up into a giant plug of brawn. Uldwyn doesn't have a chance. He took the fight for the same reason he wanted to join the Amrita expedition—he measures himself by the bravery of his losses. By what he can survive losing. (Brephos II)

This is not a recipe for a stable young man. My uncle once told my mom “what a man wants most is for his father to tell him that he is proud of him.” You can argue that point if you want, but it is hard to deny the intensity of father-son relationships or the way in which they affect men as they grow from boyhood.

Uldwyn, and as such Uldren, had no such relationship. He didn’t even have a vague hint of it from what we can tell. Osana’s apathetic form of motherhood left him with Mara, who played a dual role of sister and mother- and filled in for some of the father relationship, badly. It’s too much pressure on Mara, I think, and it was really only a matter of time that their relationship became the ugly thing it did. Even if there had never been the cosmic powers and great wars, it would have gone wrong.

Whether this mess is just a function of their screwed up family or coming at least in part from the hyper-matriarchy of the Yang Liwei/Distributary isn’t clear to me. It was, at any rate, never going to be alleviated because of the Sov twins’ contrary independence and, later, the way Mara bound Uldwyn/Uldren to her when he struggled to become Awoken.

I imagine this made it all worse for Uldwyn by this...not really friendly to men environment in the Distributary:

...that the women should hold care and protection of the men and the others until more could be born. (Ecstasiate III)

It seems, based on this and the fact every single Distributary character we get a name for is female, that men were not allowed to hold any authority. How far this second-class citizen status extended is your guess. Interestingly, while men don’t seem to be inclined to hold authority in the Reef, it doesn’t seem they are blocked from it (Uldren is a prince, a title that isn’t mentioned in the Distributary, and holds authority as spymaster, while we have male cryptarchs, which are probably equivalent to Distributary eutechs, predecessors for the all-female techeuns) while they explicitly are in the Distributary. Could this have been a major appeal for them following Mara? Which would have posed a problem to those who didn’t want to leave, maybe not out necessity but at least culturally if men were...commodified to some degree.

So Uldren was living as a second-class citizen. He seems not to care overmuch when we do see him, being an independent sort who’d rather be in the wilderness (Hunter gonna Hunter), but we know he wants respect. He revels in praise. Mara’s in particular, but anyone’s will do. In the Distributary’s system, he wouldn’t get a lot, or if he did, it would be of the ‘dog walking on its hind legs’ sort. None of this helps his issues. No one has taken the time to teach Uldren the hard lessons, either, such as Saladin’s bitter lesson about mercy. He’s just sort of left to flail.

The rest is nearer history. Mara’s great destiny unfolded before her and he tried to tag along, win her attention and praise in increasingly insane ways, while she went her own way and grew colder. The Black Garden drives people insane and it exacerbated all of Uldren’s already existing issues. Things go wrong.

Then he becomes Crow. Crow, unlike Uldwyn/Uldren, is tossed a succession of potential father figures. First, we have the bad ones: Spider- he is getting off too easy for what he did- and then “Osiris”. “Osiris” behaves in a motherly fashion to him, and it’s what sold me on the rumor that this was actually Savathun.

It’s interesting to me that the mother figure Crow gets is a toxic one, but in a way opposite uninvolved Osana. Savathun finds herself caring about him, maybe a little out of the fact that she can’t actually love any of her real children (I wrote a one-shot about this whole dynamic). But she is a broken creature and a monster as well, and so her care for Crow is twisted, like every other mother figure in Uldwyn/Uldren’s life.

At any rate, enter Zavala and Saladin, positive father figures for Crow. Zavala, well, we all know how paternal he is. Saladin is harder and it’s a hardness Uldwyn/Uldren/Crow needed in his life. He tells Crow that it is not wise, or useful, to measure oneself by the bravery of one’s losses. He tells him mercy is a complicated beast. He demands self-discipline. He grants him authority and praises, soberly, his accomplishments for their practicality and contribution to the goal. After a long road of his own, he ends up sacrificing himself for Crow (yeah, maybe not much of a sacrifice it turns out, but it didn’t seem that way at the time).

No one, in Uldwyn/Uldren/Crow’s life, has put themselves between him and pain or danger before that point. It’s what a father should do, but no one has done it for him ever before.

So a lot of our boy’s life is influenced by the lack of father figures, and it is a major part of his current relationships and development. Would a lot of the trips we have seen with his story gone better if this theme had been kept in mind? Yes, but it is there, if unintentionally; it takes some doing to seize a story entirely for yourself, they are their own things, and better when you give them just the right amount of rein. The saga of Uldwyn/Uldren and the influence the lack of father figures had on him, and how that plays out for Crow, is an interesting story to tell and one that is well worth telling in this world of ours, frankly.

#destiny 2 #crow #father figures

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lady-de-mon-coeur · 2 years

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Since I told you it's over

I think it's my last drabble inspired by the events of the Chat Blanc timeline (but I can't promise anything).

A great thanks to @ariadsishereagain for being my proofreader, corrector and basically my co-author!

The title has been taken from a song performed by Stereophonics. Comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated.

The story is available also on ao3

"I don't love you... anymore..."

No no no. This wasn't happening. The love of his life wasn't standing in the rain before his mansion's gate, looking so tiny and so sad. She wasn't saying this to him. It was just a bad dream, a nightmare, like those he used to have not so long before his mather disappeared. All he had to do is wake up.

But somehow he couldn't. Which meant it was a harsh reality, although it felt like a bad dream. And like in a bad dream, she turned around and ran away from him without looking back, and all he could do was to cry.

Then he literally could hear the sound of his broken heart. He thought it was something figurative before and never expected to know what it feels like.

A sudden sharp pain, as if someone was tearing up his heart. A huge cold emptiness, as if Marinette took away a piece of his soul when she left.

Weeks of pure happiness and ifinite bliss he never really expected to experience. He even asked himself sometimes, what has he ever done to deserve this. Ironically, it was exactly what he asked himself right now, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Somehow he managed to get free from his home, hoping it wasn't too late to catch up with her. He needed to know. If what she said was true, he had no other choice but to give up. No matter how it would hurt, no matter how heartbroken he would be, he would never force his lady to be with him.

All his life depended now on this tiny girl figure.

He could still vaguely see her, sitting on the top of the stair leading to a subway station. She looked even more sad and tiny than a minute ago. Why didn't she go away? Her shoulders were shaking - was she crying?

He longed to reach out to her, to put his hands on her shoulders, to hug her, to look her in the eyes and ask: what was that? Doesn't she really love him anymore? He still had a childish hope that if they were face to face, all the things she just said would turn out to be a dream. She would laugh and hug him back and ...

Oh no, how could I forget about them? Where people feel sad and heartbroken, there they always appear - purple butterflies sent by Hawk Moth. Of course, there it was, one of those sinister butterflies, searching for its victim. And what's worse - it headed towards Marinette, his lady, the girl he was so desperately in love with. Which probably meant that she might be heartbroken just as much as he was.

He couldn't let it happen. Not just because she was Ladybug. She simply didn't deserve it. He didn't mind that she just broke his heart. He had to protect her at all costs. She meant the world to him. His secret identity and what she would say if she found out - he couldn't care less about it right now.

Electric green light enveloped his body for a moment. Adrien Agreste, an obedient boy who wasn't allowed to go out without permission, was gone. Now there was only Chat Noir, a hero, always ready to save his lady, from whoever tried to harm her.

He didn't need much time to destroy the butterfly. It took him much longer to convince himself to finally lift his head and look at her.

She was staring at him with wide eyes, as if she's never seen him before.

He knew he messed up, and now he was waiting for whatever would come after such a revelation. But what actually happened surpassed all his expectations and caught him completely off guard. Her delicate arms thrown around his neck and her tear-stained face hidden on his chest. She was clutching at him as if he was the only thing in the world that could keep her alive.

"Thank you for saving me, Chaton," she said in a barely audible whisper. Finally hearing this petname from his lady's civilian self made a surge of warmth flood his heart. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight and tenderly.

"Everything will be okay, I promise," he said in her ear.

"You think so?" she said, still hiding her face on his shoulder.

"I'm sure of it. Please believe me. Don't cry," he said placing a kiss on the top of her head.

She finally looked up at him, smiling faintly through the tears.

"I believe you, Chaton," she murmured. "But tell me, how did you know..."

"I'll tell you this later. Now I must carry you home," he said taking her in his arms bridal style.

She pressed her cheek to his, her breath brushing his face.

"I love you, Chaton," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I thought it was for your own good."

Chat Noir didn't know how to react, he was too overwhelmed. There were so many things he didn't understand. But hopefully his lady will explain it all to him. He suddenly felt that everything wasn't lost . His lady was in his arms now, saying that she loved him, that's all what matters. If she only loved him, then they could fix everything. Whoever made his lady cry, will pay for it.

#ml fanfiction #ml chat blanc #adrinette #angst #break up #identity reveal

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mcalhenwrites · 11 months

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It took me far too long to realize that all the hard work had paid off and continued to do so, in regards to my writing. In the past, when I'd feel proud of a story or a scene, I'd immediately scramble back to, "Well, someone will read it, and they'll find the flaws, and they'll know I'm an imposter."

Every single person who writes - even those who've done it 50, 60 years - doesn't do it perfectly. That's impossible.

The definition of what makes "good" writing also varies per person. I personally love it when the writing style is a bit more poetic (you can see that influence slowly infiltrating my own work) and we hear details about the characters that give us more depth about their background and personality. Meanwhile, some people want that to be kept vague and for the story to cut to the chase.

I though my writing was too simple/basic, and I've been told my writing wasn't good enough for anyone to read in writing circles. I've been told my characters all fall into the same category. There's more history with this, but people read my fics and my original works and still liked them. I know these things weren't true then and they're especially not true now, but I was so insecure and afraid that I believed the negative commentary most.

I don't think being hard on myself was all that helpful, either. So none of that improved me. My methods of going about improvement did, but I might have done better at this stage in life if I hadn't let terrible people confirm my negative feelings.

(This isn't about criticism, either. I like concrit! But insulting someone's work or tearing it down in a public space for your friends to have a go just makes you a shitty person. It doesn't make you helpful whatsoever.)

I've also not been able to trust writing circles for years, which sucks. I have some friends who also write, but I'm typically pretty careful and don't do well integrating into new writing circles. Not really fair to the writers in them, so I've finally dipped out of trying to get involved in any until I figure out how to socialize without fearing that I'll end up the butt of all jokes.

And getting over that is hard, I tell you. Even now, I hesitate. "My writing might actually be all those things, and I'm defying reason by saying it's good." Only to then realize that if I wrote exactly like those people's favorite authors, but they knew it was me, it wouldn't matter how good it was. They were out to make fun. Maybe that stems from jealousy or just their own general insecurity that makes them need to drag down others with them. I'm sure some were not into whatever I was writing, but it's improtant to learn how to handle that without being cruel to the author and their work.

All I can really do about it is make sure that's the type of writer I never become. That's the best I can do: support writers by buying books, leaving genuine commentary on AO3, and enjoying my own writing journey.

I love writing. The joy of creating characters and worlds, of weaving them into words... I love that entire process so much. I told myself a year ago - when I took down all my writing from the public eye and locked my works in a private AO3 collection - that I wanted to focus on that for a while. It helped me so much to take a step back for about three months. I also don't mind that most of that stuff is still private.

I did leave up a couple of anon works, but only because I didn't want them to disappear at the same time that all my other writing did. (And those are still anon, and people don't know I've written them.)

These days, I still worry that even the writing I've set aside for publication will never take off, and that I won't have my writing career, but... that's never going to stop me from writing any of it. At this point, I don't think anything beyond a life-altering severe health issue or death is capable of stopping me.

This doesn't mean I doubt my writing quality! I think that the book industry isn't particularly great to begin with, and self-publication is complicated when you have to be your own PR person. What I write is also not for everyone. It's a little weird to say it's niche, as if that makes it special, but I just mean that it might only ever appeal to a small group of people.

I have to keep writing what's in my heart. But after all this time, I'm glad I'm still here, that I have always and will always write what I need to, for myself.

And it's also okay if I want to monetize some of it and share some of it for free, if I want to post or publish it because I think it's good enough to share. Libraries and book stores exist because people do that. We now have the internet to share our writing, whether it be original or fic, and I think that's a beautiful thing. (Side note that fic is just as valuable as original, and I don't condone saying one is better than the other. That's needlessly cruel to people who work hard on their writing writing, regardless of what they write. The publishing industry has its messes, but fics/fandoms do too, and you just have to find the writers who deliver what you like. If you exclusively prefer fic to original or original to fic, that's fine, just don't make your personal tastes a reason to insult millions of writers whose works you've never read. As an author of both and as a fan of authors who write both... I have a wider pool of writing to enjoy!) Anyway, I suppose I'll always fight some imposter syndrome, but... it's nice to also recognize my own skill level. It's nice to have others recognize it, too. I do think that helps a little. We all need some support and encouragement. We shouldn't forget our roots, but it's not necessary to take the journey through writing alone unless that's what we prefer. :)

#oh it did let me copy/paste something this long this time!#mcalhen personal

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angstmonsterwrites · 2 years

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I read a poem yesterday called "Under No Circumstances" by a K. Kiera in which, while I could heavily relate to alienated and routine-driven sense of pathos the author conveyed, I found myself growing sharply upset several hours after the fact with the way the piece approached the notions of personhood and regret.

Personhood:

It seemed to me that the author's idea of personhood was wrapped up in their difficulty in connecting with others--in feeling it necessary to hide anything less than palatable or just mundane. Maybe I'm being too pedantic, but my understanding of personhood is that it falls under something that everyone--even the most rotten asshole out there--has as a matter of basic human dignity. A person doesn't stop being a person or stop having value because they fail to connect with others in a certain way. Personhood is governed by the intrinsic value of the person; it is not something for others to bestow upon them. It is not derived from family or friends or culture. It simply is a value rightly ascribed to sentient, thinking, feeling life. The struggle the author was describing is probably better defined as one of identity.

That said, by defining the struggle with themselves as one of personhood...well: Tell me you've been emotionally abused or neglected from a young age without telling me you've been emotionally abused or neglect from a young age. Feeling like the entire essence of one's own being doesn't matter or never fits and the only reliable existential thing is the day-to-day routine certainly is one part of the fallout, and there's a non-zero chance that probably got to me as well.

Moving on to regret:

"I've done things there's no coming back from but then I came back from them." I think the thing that ripped me up about this line was that it was very clear in the context of the poem that the author or presumed speaker had truly not 'come back from them', nor really moved on from them. I got the sense of someone doing everything they could to avoid an honest confrontation with their regrets and grief; burying themselves in everyday routines (like wondering what's for dinner) in order to pretend everything was okay, while all of their being is constantly screaming at them that actually, nothing's okay at all. And that sense of avoidance was only made sharper in describing the putting up of a facade of being an interesting and "saintlike" personality, and in the statement that "...the walk home cures me of everything that has ever or will ever be wrong with me."

I have to assume the money spent "running away and mercilessly hunting down" themselves refers either to therapy where that same facade is the one who showed up--which makes the entire process moot--or in any number of unhealthy or "fill the void" types of habits.

All in all, "Under No Circumstances" reads like a despairing tragedy to me. It makes me deeply frustrated with the author/ speaker, who seems quite aware of their own avoidance, but is so married to it and their sense of defeat that they believe that's all that makes up their true identity, and they're willing to die that way. And it fills me with a dark rage at whoever carved so deep a wound, which the author only vaguely makes mention toward the end--"...and your childhood is over which is devastating but the monsters are gone."

I could probably go on about the undertone of self blame in light of that line, but it seems obvious to me that maybe the monsters of childhood are gone, but there's monsters still around nonetheless; patient ones that have taken up residence in the speaker's psyche, and are slowly killing her will to live.

For such a person, I can only hope they somehow find it in themselves to figure out more than what to make for dinner tonight. Because the long-term consequences of not doing so--to be polite, invites more trouble, whether they cause it for themselves or someone else comes along to hurt them. For such a person, I only hope they have someone who can see right through them, means them only well, and is adept at being gentle and respectful without ignoring the elephant in the room.

#musings

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crankynewt · 3 years

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Good for a Weekend (Helmut Zemo)

Masterlist

Summary: You were retired, a disgraced Avenger content living the rest of their life out in solitude. But Sam and Bucky's shenanigans dragged you back into the hero life and you found yourself face to face with the man who'd got you into this mess in the first place. The question is, however, is he really who you thought he was? Or are you just as crazy as him?

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader

Warnings: TFAWS Episode 3 Spoilers, Zemo (he's a warning), swearing, mentions of torture and experimenting (past), drinking, Zemo being semi-protective, I think that's it??

Word Count: 3.41k

Author's Note: Biting the bullet and writing this BEFORE Marvel does something to get us to hate him again. Also, ZEMO AND BLANK SPACE WORK SO WELL TOGETHER OMG.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You murmured, looking at the message from Sam flashing across your phone. Although you had stopped dead in your tracks, the chaos of the bustling streets of London continued around you. You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose, them having fallen down as you were peering at the screen of your burner cell.

‘Need your help in Madripoor ASAP,’ the text read. You weren’t daft, you knew exactly what kind of lawless entropy happened on that Indonesian island and if Sam was asking for your help, that meant he was in some deep shit.

‘I’m retired,’ you replied, glancing over your shoulder out of habit. Although you’d been pardoned after the Berlin incident by the government, you were still a disgraced Avenger in the eyes of the world. All you wanted was to live the rest of your life out in peace, a future without the world-saving you began when you left HYDRA with the Maximoff twins.

You hadn’t chosen to become a human lab rat, tortured and exposed to the mind stone until you could suddenly hear the thoughts of others in your head. Telepathy and telekinesis were not necessarily the kind of special skills that employers wanted to see on a resume, but alas, here you were. Thankfully, however, you'd learned to block them out until necessary to violate people's privacy. Fighting aliens and other superpowered entities, including the people you’d once considered to be your family, were in the past.

‘Please. It’s Bucky,’ Sam messaged again. Those three words were enough to make your blood run cold and your heart stop. Bucky was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, and you would be damned if the ex-assassin was going to fall back into the clutches of evil.

With a sigh, you typed back ‘fine’ and began the trek towards your apartment. Your phone was vibrating again immediately, Sam explaining that they would be picking you up at a small airstrip on the edge of the city.

Three hours later, you were walking along a long, concrete runway, the harsh England wind attacking your body as you pulled your leather jacket tighter around you. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of a civilian jet rather than the military-esque vessels you’d become accustomed to. The steps were awaiting your ascent with an older man stood adjacent to the entrance.

“Ms.(Y/L/N),” he greeted. A thick accent laced his tone, one you couldn’t quite determine from the crackling of age in his voice. German or Russian, most likely, you deduced. Attempting to be polite despite your skepticism, you gave him a tight-lipped smile and handshake before the elder man gestured towards the stairs for you. Entering the jet, you turned right to be met with the familiar faces of Sam and Bucky.

“(Y/N)!” Bucky exclaimed, rising from his seat and embracing you in a hug. He held you tightly against his body, almost as if he wasn’t sure you were really there. The super soldier had taken a liking to you when the two of you stayed in Wakanda during your exile, both of you having a certain understanding of the other due to your shared experiences with HYDRA. The sergeant had become somewhat of a brother to you in your time away together. “What are you doing here?”

“Sam messaged me.” You replied, Barnes’ arms immediately releasing you as he whipped around to face Sam.

“You tattled on me to (Y/N)?” He scoffed. If looks could kill, Sam would have dropped dead from the darkness in Bucky’s orbs.

“Wait, if he’s okay then what am I here for?” You said, shifting your gaze to Sam as you raised a brow.

“You’re here to make sure that he stays in line.” Sam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as Bucky let out an exasperated ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath.

“Bucky’s fine, Sam.” You replied, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance as you glanced at the super-soldier.

“He’s not talking about James.” A new voice sounded from behind you, one both vaguely familiar but also strange. Whipping around, you were met with a face you’d only ever seen through a screen. Zemo.

“What the fuck is he doing out of prison?!” You exclaimed, looking between Sam and Bucky in utter disbelief.

“Bucky broke him out of jail!” Sam exclaimed, pointing a finger towards the super-soldier.

“Sam’s the one who pulled me into this mess!” Bucky pointed back.

“You two morons have reached a whole new level of dumbassery!” You exclaimed, keeping a cautious gaze on Zemo in the corner of your eye. “You broke out the man who ripped apart the Avengers out of jail and you let him do it?! The same man who killed King T’Chaka! Do neither of you remember what T’Challa and the people of Wakanda just did for us after we became enemies of the state?! I cannot believe that you would betray their trust and help this monster to escape!”

You paused for a moment, breathing heavily as you looked at the ashamed faces of Bucky and Sam in front of you.

“I’m sorry to-” You heard Zemo begin, you turned to face him with utter rage shining in your eyes. “No! The grown-ups are talking, you can wait your turn.” You scolded him, almost as you would a child but just a tad harsher. Grown-ups may have also not have been the best choice of words to describe Wilson and Barnes.

“I don’t want any part of this suicide mission!” You snapped at the duo, moving to leave.

Thirty minutes later, however, you were still on the jet, glaring into a pair of brown eyes as the four of you flew through the air. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you were still there, but Sam and Bucky knew you too well and pushed just the right buttons to convince you to stay. Sam needed you to tap into Zemo’s mind if need be to figure out if he was planning on betraying them, and you didn’t want two of the last people you trust getting themselves killed if you could prevent it.

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum were sitting across from each other, meaning that you got stuck sitting across from the Baron in silence. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, the darkness in your (Y/E/C) orbs not sitting well with the man.

“So, you read minds.” He began, rubbing his hands together anxiously. You noted the nervous tick and couldn’t help but feel amused at his discomfort, but your expression never faltered.

“You don’t need to make small talk.” You bit, your icy tone growing colder in every syllable.

“I’m genuinely curious, is all.” He began, pausing his fiddling to brush his hair back only to resume it once more. “It just seems like for someone with your abilities, you’re often an overlooked member of the team. You’re the most powerful, even more so than Maximoff or Banner, perhaps, yet you were never truly an Avenger, were you?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m retired.” You muttered, ending your glaring to gaze out the window. The way Zemo spoke about you was unsettling, especially considering how he felt about the Avengers. He seemed not to think that you were part of the team, similarly to Bucky, and that brought you a feeling of unease.

“And why is that?” Zemo pushed, your avoidance evidence that he’d struck a chord.

“Why do you care?” You scoffed, looking back at the Sokovian man, both annoyance and exhaustion present in your tone.

“Because I think you’re like me.” He answered, his tone becoming quieter. Zemo didn’t look at you with the same rage you’d seen in footage from 2016, nor with the amusement that he gazed at Bucky and Sam with. No, it was something different, softer and analytical, perhaps. You wanted to peer into his mind for something, anything to figure out what he was thinking, but he would likely feel your prodding into his consciousness. As of now, he didn’t seem to have any plans to betray you guys, and you wouldn’t be the one to give him a reason.

“That’s enough from you.” Bucky interrupted, rising from his seat to switch places with you, his brotherly possessiveness clear as day.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and Zemo provided the three of you with costumes for the roles you were to play in Madripoor. Yours seemed to have been designed specifically to be horribly uncomfortable, both in feel and the amount of skin that was exposed in the cool evening air. The three of you were making your way towards the glowing city shining in the distance, the nerves in your stomach rising with each step.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” Zemo explained in response to Sam’s protests over his own outfit. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname.” Sam said, looking at the picture of Conrad on the phone Zemo had just handed him. “Hell, he does look like me though.”

“And who am I supposed to be playing, exactly?” You questioned, still unsure as to what role you would be playing in this scheme.

“My partner,” Zemo said simply, an amused smile working his way onto his lips.

“What?! No! Nu-uh, I’m not doing that!” You protested, Sam chuckling at your denial of what was probably inevitable.

“Would you rather the alternative of all of us getting slaughtered the second we step foot into the city?” Zemo retorted, still humored by your resistance.

“Fine, but if you try anything I’m going to break your nose.” You gave in.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Soon, the four of you were making your way into a bar, Helmut’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist since the second you exited the car in a mock possessiveness. It was all part of the charade, you had to remind yourself, as the Baron kept your side pressed against his snugly.

Making your way up to the counter, the bartender didn’t look impressed to see the group of you there as he made his way over to you.

“Hello,” He began. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have a business to do, with Selby.” Zemo interjected before Sam could respond.

“The usual?” The bartender ignored Zemo and turned his attention back to Sam, who simply gave a curt nod in response. The bartender turned, grabbing a snake from a jar and slicing it down the underside with a blade. A part of you wanted to cackle, especially seeing Sam stiffen beside you, and you didn’t doubt that Bucky was having to restrain himself as well. Zemo didn’t seem surprised as the bartender pulled who knows what out from the snake and placed it into a glass.

“Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” The Baron commented, the bartender sliding Sam his beverage only to pour two glasses of a different liquor for Zemo and yourself.

“I love these,” Sam said, raising to clink glasses with yourself and the Sokovian man whose arm was still draped around you.

“Cheers, Conrad,” Zemo replied, smiling back at poor Sam. The three of you downed your burning liquor, Sam struggling the most out of the three of you, clearly appalled by the organ at the bottom of his shot. You could see Bucky give a little nod in the corner of your eye, knowing he must be finding this as amusing as you were.

A man soon approached Helmut from behind, tapping him on the shoulder before he turned to face the stranger, shifting you with him. When Zemo felt the little nudge, he immediately pulled you closer to him. You were even tighter against him now, so much so that you had to wrap an arm around him as well to stabilize yourself. It was almost as if he was trying to shield you from the man despite him knowing full well that you can hold your own.

“I got word from on high; you ain’t welcome here.” He spat, getting too close to the two of you for either of your likings. But Zemo kept his air of indifference while you instinctually moved closer into his side. It’s all an act, remember? You have to play the part of the clingy partner who would get frightened at such a rough man threatening you two. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo began, trailing off as he gestured to Bucky.

“New haircut?” The strange man asked Bucky, who merely glowered in response.

“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo finished, this time him being the one to get into the man’s face. Thankfully that was enough to send him away, most likely to Selby or this Power Broker who seems to be Madripoor’s own version of Big Brother.

You could feel Zemo let out a breath that you don’t think he even knew he was holding, giving a quick glance down at you before placing a peck on your temple. For the facade, of course. But what wasn’t fake were the butterflies rise in your stomach, something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were you… Flustered?

No, you reminded yourself internally. This was a very bad man holding you close, the same one who killed the former King of Wakanda and ripped your team to shreds. Not only that, but he hated all the Avengers, so why did he seem to like you? It doesn’t matter whether or not he likes you, he’s Zemo. But the more time you spent with him, the more intoxicated you became. He was starting to look more and more like your next mistake, and love is certainly not a game you wanted to be playing with him. Right?

The next thirty or so minutes were a blur. Bucky having to fake being the Winter Soldier to kick a bunch of men’s asses to finally meeting up with Selby, only for Sam to break your cover through a phone call and Selby quickly being shot. The four of you promptly exited the bar, attempting to remain inconspicuous until bounty hunters from all around started shooting at you. Bucky and Sam jumped forward, meanwhile, Zemo darted to the right, dragging you with him as he moved his hand from your waist to interlock your fingers.

You cut through alleyway after alleyway, hiding in the shadows as gunfire echoed around you. Eventually, you managed to catch up with Bucky and Sam, approaching the pair with your hand still in his.

“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice interrupted your mini-reunion, Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows as she ripped down her hood, gun fixated on Zemo.

“Drop it Zemo,” She started, Zemo raising his gun-holding hand before lowering the weapon to the ground. “You cost me everything.”

“Sharon, wait.” You reasoned, raising your hand as you slowly backed up.

“What, are you his lover now? His sugar baby or some shit?” She badgered you, causing your eyes to widen as you only just remembered that you were still holding his hand. You quickly dropped it, raising it to match your other arm as Zemo sent you a look that you couldn’t decipher. Oh, how desperately you wanted to look into his mind, but the little bit of sanity left in you told you to leave it be.

“Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead,” Sam explained.

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” Sharon replied, gun still pointed at your group.

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky questioned the blonde.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass so that you could save his ass from his ass and became a criminal with their ass.” She explained, pointing the gun at each mention of whoever's ass it was that turn. “Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up, so, I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

“Hey, don’t blow that smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam rebutted Sharon’s complaints.

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore - I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.”

“Listen…” You began. “Sharon, we need your help, the former agent only laughing in response. “Please.”

“This isn’t over.” She conceded, shaking her head at you. “I have a place in High Town, you should be safe there for a while.”

Sharon’s place was definitely nicer than yours is now, and you’re not even on the run anymore. She, thankfully, had a change of clothes for you to slip into, the soft material much a welcome relief from the tortuous item Zemo had you wearing.

While you were waiting for Sharon’s guests to begin arriving for whatever event would soon be taking place downstairs, everybody slowly filtered out of the room until it was only Zemo and yourself remaining.

“Can I ask you a question?” You spoke up, breaking the silence from your spot on the sofa as you glanced towards the Baron seated across the room.

“Ask away.” He smiled, taking a sip from the amber liquid in his glass.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said we were the same.” Your voice was quiet now, so much so that you weren’t sure if he’d even heard you. That is until he got up from his seat and slowly walked towards you.

“I never wanted to tear the Avengers apart, not until they killed my family. Destroyed my city… Sure, I didn’t like them, but I didn’t want to destroy them. It was all about vengeance.” He began, sitting beside you on the yellow fabric. “For you, it was HYDRA who ruined your life. You joined the Avengers because it was where the last people you had left were going and it was the easiest way for you to ensure the organization was destroyed. You never wanted the idolization that came with being a hero, and it was clear when your work was done that you had no desire to keep going. Everything that came after the Sokovia Accords was out of survival.”

“I’m not saying you're right,” you began, “but what would that make me, then? Insane? Cause that seems to be the running theory.”

“You’re not crazy, despite how rumors fly. Neither am I, really.” He began, eliciting a small smile from you at the last bit he added. “You’re a fighter, someone doing whatever it takes to get their agenda done. Whether that means breaking the law or joining the Avengers, nothing will stop you once you put your mind to it - it’s one of the things I admire about you.”

You pursed your lips as you focused on the amber fluid floating in its crystalline home, him taking another sip of the burning liquid. Your gaze shifted back to his face, and oh god, look at that face. Maybe it was the liquor in your system already or maybe your last bit of sanity was finally escaping your mind, but suddenly his past didn’t seem to matter anymore. You had plenty of red on your ledger as well, and the more he spoke the more you began to sympathize with him.

“So you admire me?” You smirked, crossing your arms as you tilted your head slightly to the right playfully.

“Why don’t you look into my mind and tell me?” He replied. Reaching out, you gently placed your fingers against his temple as you gazed into his consciousness. Flashes of magic and madness, ideas of a love that could be forever or go down in flames. You didn’t go searching deeper, because your own mind was racing. Would pursuing this be worth all the pain that could very well follow? No, not could, would. You’d be betraying your former teammates, but what did that matter much anymore.

Rather than pulling your hand away, you placed your lips gently on his, tentatively, even. He tasted of expensive liquor and a hint of peppermint, and you found yourself intoxicated. The kiss ended far too soon for your liking, him pulling away so his brown orbs could gaze into your own.

“So… What do you say?” He asked, cupping your cheek in his hand, you place your own over top of his.

“Why not?” You smiled back, reconnecting your lips to his.

“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.”

Taglist:

@fanfictionedagain @lam-ila @b0nnyzz @haydieenzzibug @cyanide-mustard @duchess-of-new-shire @the-chocoholic-writer @milenadixon @real-fbi @golddenlioness

#i feel so guilty writing this lmao #i hate liking zemo rip #helmut zemo #zemo #helmut zemo x reader #tfaws #marvel #baron zemo #helmut zemo imagine #daniel bruhl #mcu #tfaws imagine #bucky barnes #sam wilson #zemo x reader #zemo imagine

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delicrieux · 3 years

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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bajisbabe · 3 years

Text

[author’s note] song slap hard ASF, song so good it pisses me off—🎼😡 y’all better listen to it, too

# ‘CAUSE I WANT YOU TOO

“If you say I’m on your mind, you gon’ need to spend more time to prove it.”

drunk-ex!baji comes to your home

warnings: kissing, drunk!Baji, arguing, Baji is kind of mean, cussing, Baji is 23 here, angst ig.

synopsis: Your ex, Baji, gets drunk and comes over. You try to turn him away because you’re afraid to admit that he wasn’t at fault for the breakup, but he doesn’t leave.

song: say it (mashup) by tory lanez and sevyn streeter

You hadn’t thought twice when opening the door. It was late in the night, and you just wanted to answer the door and get it over with; to stop the loud banging that just wouldn’t go away. You turn on the table lamp near the couch as you make your way into the living room. Tucking yourself into a robe, you turned the knob and opened the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you asked groggily, “Who is it—?”

Long hair, yellow eyes, and bruised knuckles with a hair tie around the wrist. Your ex, Baji Keisuke.

For a split second, you wondered what you should do. But without thinking it through, you clutched the door and attempted to slam it in his face. But he shoved his foot in the door, smiling lopsidedly at you as he pressed in further. He gradually worked his way into your home with ease.

You felt a strange sense of fear in your stomach. You hadn’t seen Baji in months after your breakup. Although he argued with you when you two broke up, he hadn’t bothered to contact you since. You thought he had moved on, but here he was. Stumbling into your living room and taking a seat on the couch, his head lolling as he let out an obnoxiously loud sigh.

You watched him for what felt like an entirety, subconsciously flinching whenever he made a move. You thought to call the police, but to get your phone you would have to make your way past him. And you didn’t have the guts to try.

He took a moment to glance around your apartment, looking somewhat confused. You vaguely remember having thrown out quite a few items when the two of you split, so your place must have looked different to him now.

He slowly turned his attention to you, his expression blank as his eyes raked over your face. He mumbled something under his breath as he took a swig from the beer bottle that you hadn’t noticed before. It was practically empty, as he shook the last couple of drops from it into his mouth. Your brows furrowed, you never knew Baji to be much of a drinker. He let out a burp, smiling at you when he finally noticed that you had been watching him the entire time.

“Miss me?” He said.

You slowly shook your head, backing up a couple steps. But there was nowhere to go. You were inches away from colliding with the front door. And you didn’t even think of running, knowing that he could easily catch up with you even in a drunken state.

“Baji,” you started firmly, trying your damnedest to remain cordial. “I think you should leave.”

“Oh, you think?” He spat, turning and twisting the bottle in his hand. Watching with vague interest how the dim light catches on the glass. “That’s funny.” He lets out a crude chuckle, glaring at you.

You merely stared back at him, not sure of what to say. You two didn’t end on good terms, that’s for sure.

“Did’ja think when you broke up with me for no—fucking—reason?” He punctuates each word with a tap of the butt of his beer bottle on the armrest of your couch. “Hmm, (Y/N)?”

“Baji, please.” You frowned, crossing your arms and trying to appear unafraid. But your hands are shaking like crazy. “You should just go—”

“S’not my name.” He mumbles. He looks at you again. But this time, there is no malicious glint in his eyes. He is merely looking at you and nothing more. Not glaring, or leering. Just looking. “You know that’s not m’name.”

“Yes, it is.” You say quietly. “That is your name. And now, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, please—”

“Just stop it.” He says. He stands slowly, noticing immediately the way your shoulders hunch and you put your hands up as though you expect him to attack. He frowns at the sight, sucking his teeth as he approaches you steadily. “You know that’s not my name. You know my name… just say it.”

His large hand comes up to cup your face, you pull away. Your fingers fidgeting as you hesitate, thinking that you should push him away. Not that he would budge even if you did.

“Please, (Y/N).” His voice is soft and low. And he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. You haven’t seen those eyes—and that look—in so damn long. “Please.”

“Baji, you need to leave.”

“That’s not my name and you know it.” There’s a subtle bite in his tone, but his eyes are still soft. “Now, could you please just say it?”

“Baji,” you breath, clasping your hands in a pathetic attempt not to lose your cool. “I’m asking you to leave—”

“M’not leavin’ ‘til you gimme what I want.” He reaches forward, much faster than you can comprehend. You sputter and grab hold of his wrists, trying to pull him off of you. But he doesn’t waver. His palms squeezing your cheeks, a subtle ache in your jaw at the sudden pressure. “Scratch that, I wanna kiss. Gimme a kiss.”

You try to pull back, but he merely follows you. His lips closing in on yours while you shake your head, eyes blown wide as you desperately yank his arms. “Stop it! Baji, stop it!”

You felt scared. You had never felt this way with Baji before. Somewhere, in the deepest depths of your mind, you were terrified that he would win you over yet again. That’s the last thing you wanted. You and him broke up because you became known as his girlfriend and nothing more. His personality and presence was so big that it completely swallowed yours.

You just wanted to be your own person. And he didn’t understand that then. You didn’t expect him to understand now either. So you never bothered to mention it, not even during the argument that ended your relationship.

You had left him without a spoken reason.

“S’Keisuke. Not Baji… You know that.” He says quietly, his lips a breath away from yours, your head still trapped between his calloused hands. “Kiss me. Do it now.”

“Get off of me,” you cry.

You should’ve run. You know you should’ve. You should’ve at least tried. But you didn’t. Your thoughts ran rampant, and you found that your own subconscious was ruthlessly blaming you for this situation. Thinking that you didn’t really want to break up with Baji, and that you just came up with a reason out of the blue. Baji was a good boyfriend, after all. But it was more so about how you felt like an accessory to him, rather than an equal.

He was just so important, and popular, and—just everything.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. You just needed some time to yourself to figure out who you were, and it ended up being months rather than a mere break. Now that you knew your worth, you didn’t have the guts to come back to him and tell him how you really felt. You didn’t have the guts to bring a genuine conclusion to it.

You had unknowingly hurt yourself by not voicing your opinion. And you didn’t know it yet, but you also hurt him just as much by ending your relationship without spoken reason. The more you thought about it, the sicker you felt. You just wanted him out of your home, so that you had a second to think before you made a decision you would regret.

“What’s your problem!” You shout, squirming in his grasp. “You’re drunk! Just go home!”

“Yeah?” He bites back. “Duh! And guess whose fault that is?”

You blink, your struggling momentarily halted. Whose fault…?

“S’yours, if you’re wondering.” His voice is quieter than before. His eyes are boring into yours. “I don’t drink—didn’t. Not ‘til…” He trails off, but you know what he’s getting at. And your heart shatters at the realization.

He notices your expression, it’s conflicted but he misunderstands. From his perspective, your blank stare is degrading; like you’re looking down on him. He doesn’t like that at all.

“Like you’re doing any better!” He says, eyes narrowing. “You’ve got problems too, I can see it!”

You don’t dare to speak, knowing that you might say something that’ll only make matters worse.

“You don’t think I saw that shit?” He says, glaring at you. He tugs you just a little closer and you feel your resolve crack some in return. “The way you flinched—like I was gonna hurt you or something. I wouldn’t do that, you know that!”

“Just stop it!” You rasp, your hands clutching his.

God, you don’t want to blurt out the real reason behind your breakup. After hearing the shit he’s put himself through, you don’t have the guts to tell him that it was nothing he did that caused the breakup.

Tears are brimming in your eyes as you stare back at his frowning face. “Stop it, Kei—”

There’s a moment of silence. So silent that your ears ring. He is no longer looking at you with that hard expression. His eyes are wide, brows raised, lips down-turned almost in a pout but not quite. “Kei?” He repeats quietly under his breath, eyes lingering on your face. He can feel your skin warm under his touch. And the brief sound of your name on his tongue has his heart beating hard. “Go on… Say it.”

“Don’t wanna,” your lips tug down, the backs of your eyes burning. You were gonna cry.

“Say it,” he releases his grip on your face. His hand comes up to wrap around the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing over your skin. He can even feel your pulse thrumming beneath the flesh. “Say it, and I’ll go… Promise.”

You don’t believe him and rightfully so. You shouldn’t believe him. And even still, you find his name rolling off your tongue. You think at the very least, you can give him that. After your breakup caused him so much hurt, and you still hadn’t given him a good reason.

“Again,” he whispers. His eyes never leave yours. “Say it again.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” He presses, his grip tightening. You can feel him pulling you in; pulling you closer.

“Please, Baji—”

“You know my name.” He says, his voice lacking the strength from before. “S’only been a couple of months, you couldn’t have forgotten already.”

You see the sad look in his eyes and you break. Repeating his name just like he asked of you. And you don’t even get a chance to tell him the real reason behind your breakup as he places a chaste kiss on your lips.

Just one, then two, then three. Each longer than the last. And his grip is so strong that you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. But you don’t want to, and he knows it.

He pulls away slowly, his eyes racking over your face again. He looks at you like he’s afraid he’ll forget what you look like. Or that if he looks away, you’ll disappear.

And he knows he’s being selfish by asking you again and again. But he can’t stop himself, having not heard your voice in months. His teeth biting at his lower lip as he runs his tongue over the flesh, trying to remember your taste.

“Can you…” he pauses, knowing damn well that he’s being selfish and stringing you back in. He knows he’s gonna win you over. He just knows it because he knows you. And he just can’t bring himself to stop. “Can you say it...just one more time?”

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji x reader #baji imagines #baji headcanons #keisuke x reader #baji keisuke imagines #cw kissing #cw drunk #cw alcohol #cw angst #baji x you #baji x y/n #keisuke baji x y/n #keisuke baji x reader

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raifenlf · 3 years

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Why Loki’s Sylvie Is A Mary Sue

So I am firmly in the camp that Sylvie on the Loki series was/is a Mary Sue. The last episode made me feel better and like maybe the show was doing a thing where they were faking you out that she was a Mary Sue only to show she was actually sort of a bad guy and I liked that. But all the recent interviews make me think the show wants to go back to her being a Mary Sue.

But I feel like when I call her out for being a Mary Sue people tell me what are you talking about, she’s not a Mary Sue, bad things happen to her, etc. But that doesn’t actually make her not a Mary Sue.

Also, before we start, I know some people find Mary Sue sexist. But I personally use the term for guys and girls. I don’t use the term to belittle women. I use the term to criticize a poorly written character.

And I know Mary Sue is often used to describe fanfic characters. But to me, this series is kind of like a fanfic because the writers took a character who had been in canon MCU material for ten years and then created characters around that character. So, I kind of review it like I would a fanfic. It’s very different than if the writers had created a brand new show with all of their own new characters.

Anyway, if you are not totally familiar with the Mary Sue term, then check this out:

I know the term Mary Sue probably means different things to different people. But I have always used these guidelines when I write my own fanfic to make sure my characters never come off as a Mary Sue.

This article really gives you a full scale of what a Mary Sue is. If you start reading it, you’ll immediately see why Sylvie is. But I’m going to take out the parts that most fit Sylvie just to highlight why I believe she is a Mary Sue. I apologize for this being so long.

Mary Sue Character Traits

Personality

Erm... what personality? The typical Mary Sue doesn't have one per se, because she isn't meant to be a character; rather, she's an entity by which the author makes cool stuff happen.

I feel like that is Sylvie in a nutshell. She doesn’t have a personality. I feel like even though she ate screentime, I still don’t really know her at all. The writers love to say she’s badass. That’s not a personality.

Sometimes when I am writing stories for fun and creating new characters, I like to take surveys as my fictional characters. Like the kind of surveys you’d see in a magazine, like personality types, what’s your dating style, etc. I figure if I don’t know what my character would do in any of those situations, then I need to keep working on my character. And if I was trying to fill out a survey pretending I was Sylvie I would have no idea what to answer because she doesn’t have a personality. She’s just “cool”.

What little personality a Mary Sue has isn't as important as how other characters react to it. No matter how shy or socially awkward Mary Sue is supposed to be, other characters will be inexplicably drawn to her

This is so Sylvie. Loki falls in love with her...why, exactly? He falls in love with her in the big Nexus event moment...why? Because she had a tough childhood? Mobius spends like two seconds with her in a car and goes from hating her to saying she’s his favorite Loki. For. No. Particular. Reason.

She's extremely persuasive; everyone finds her opinions to be better than their own

She enchants Hunter B-15 and then immediately Hunter B-15 makes it her whole entire life mission to back Sylvie up.

And occasionally she'll be a complete asshole...This can manifest itself in several ways...The author wants to write a badass but doesn't know how. This leads to a character who mistreats everyone around her and is never called out on her abrasive, casually abusive behavior.

Sylvie talked down to Loki and treated him like garbage for all of episode three, but it was never portrayed as a bad thing and we never got any impression Sylvie later felt bad for the way she treated Loki

The author doesn't know how to hold back the character, meaning that she will succeed at practically everything. This means that when she encounters rules or authority figures who would otherwise prevent her from doing what she wants to do, she rolls right through them (and they praise her for her "boldness" in defying regulations). If a bad guy is violent and aggressive, she can beat him by being more violent and aggressive (with all that entails). It's impossible for her to go overboard because she's protected by Protagonist-Centered Morality.

Sylvie is shown as a kid to immediately be able to grab a Tempad and run away. And she can kick ass way better than Loki, for no known reason. She is always able to fight back against the TVA when they attack her. And she can kill lots of innocent TVA agents but it’s okay because TVA bad, Sylvie good.

Skills

She will always be superior to the canon characters, regardless of what canon has established they can do or whether it makes any sense.

Whose skill was needed to defeat Alioth? Sylvie’s. Of course. Sylvie needed to teach Loki her skills in order for him to succeed (!). And again, she is literally called the superior Loki.

Relatedly, there's no effort to her skills. She never actually trains or learns anything to become more powerful; she just wins the Super Power Lottery, or is a freakish natural learner, or is just Inexplicably Awesome

We’re told Sylvie literally taught herself magic. She literally taught herself to enchant people. That. Makes. No. Sense. Like, I have so many questions. Like, why would it even occur to her to teach herself that? And how???????????? This is really lazy writing.

Canon Character Relationships

Mary Sue is often designed to hook up with another character, often as a form of Wish Fulfillment. This isn't that bad in and of itself (okay, it is kinda weird), but Mary Sue accomplishes this without any sense of realism. She just grabs her lover's attention straight away, and their relationship will never face any obstacles or tension; it's true love from the start and nothing else. The biggest giveaway is if the love interest is explicitly the author's favorite character, and she essentially "cures" him of all the angst that ails him (at the expense of his characterization).

Yeah, so...this one should be pretty obvious to anyone who watched the show. Loki literally falls in love with Sylvie immediately, and then he suddenly turns from “villain” to “hero” just because of loving her. And this was definitely at the expense of his characterization. And Loki just knows he falls in love with her. There’s not even any moments of hmm what do I feel for this person? It’s just true love, immediately.

She will be related to a canon character in some way. This (marginally) helps explain such phenomena as her being a Copy Cat Sue and other characters accepting her so easily.

Sylvie is a Loki variant. They use this to help explain why Loki is drawn to her and why their falling in love immediately “makes sense”.

Most characters give her more heed than they normally would. The good guys never stop praising her

Seriously, it was so over the top and OOC for Loki to gush over her. He literally tells her she’s amazing. They don’t even make it subtle.

Characters' previously established personalities change in reaction to her. Proud, arrogant gimps suddenly acknowledge her superiority in everything. Reckless youths will listen to all her advice. Responsible leaders will defer to her instead. Villains will obsess with her to the detriment of all else. Extremely competent characters will become stumbling buffoons who require her help to do anything. Sweet, mild-mannered characters whom the author doesn't like turn evil and insult her. They all become unnaturally focused on her in some way.

Again, Loki’s whole personality changed in reaction to her. He became a buffoon who needed her help to enchant the Alioth because of course he couldn’t do anything without her! Hunter B-15 goes from doing whatever the TVA said to fighting the TVA just because of Sylvie.

Story Elements

Mary Sue is without exception a single-person Spotlight-Stealing Squad. The entire story hinges on her existence; if you removed her, there would be no story.

Sylvie undoubtedly drove the whole story this season. It all became about HER meeting the TVA heads because of HER trauma. Loki’s life was only saved at the beginning because the TVA was trying to capture HER. And SHE was the one who started the whole multiverse (!).

Mary Sue is The Chosen One, even if the setting already has one. There are many ways she can accomplish this: she can be a Sailor Earth type who "shares" the position with the canon hero; she may be vaguely "destined to help the destined one fulfill their destiny" (i.e. do all the work except the final blow so that the prophecy is still technically correct); or the canon hero may be revealed to be a Fake Ultimate Hero all along. Being the Chosen One doesn't necessarily involve her being a God-Mode Sue, especially as authors become aware of the phenomenon and try to avoid it, but it does make her critically important to the world and allows her to continue stealing the spotlight without the "god mode" label.

HWR wanted Sylvie to come with Loki in the end, like she was chosen all along right alongside Loki. Like one of the most important characters in the entire MCU is now this character who we only met a few episodes ago.

Most Sues have an unusually Dark and Troubled Past. It's often used to create a Sympathetic Sue, but any type of Sue can have one

They tell us, over and over, how hard Sylvie’s life was because she was kidnapped by the TVA in order to create sympathy for her.

She almost never does anything wrong. In the rare instance that she does, it's usually; (a) a way for the author to disclaim her being a Mary Sue by introducing a single imperfection (that has no bearing on anything anyway), and (b) designed to show her smarts by making her feel instant remorse, and she'll be Easily Forgiven anyway:

So this one hopefully will not come true, as a lot can change between now and when the show is taped. But if the show goes on the way the behind the scenes team is talking, Sylvie immediately felt remorse for betraying Loki, and Loki has already forgiven her and is desperately looking for her. Ugh.

Alternatively, she is more than capable of doing something wrong, be it in general moral terms or something that goes against whatever code she abides by, and she maybe even frequently does so, but don't expect the other characters or the narrative to ever acknowledge or comment on it in any real capacity. If the other characters do call her out, expect them to be treated like they're the problem for daring to criticize her at all.

Mobius calls her out for killing people, but Sylvie immediately says he’s a bad person and then Mobius agrees, because, of course.

She will often suffer from Special Snowflake Syndrome; i.e., she has a trait or backstory that sets her apart from her group or race.

She is the only female Loki, thus making her the special one among all the Lokis in episode five.

Presentation

In visual media, the camera just can't stop staring at her.

The camera would follow her in fight scenes rather than Loki.

Mary Sue Tropes

Okay, so there are specific Mary Sue tropes that Sylvie is. One of those is Copy Cat Sue, which I think was referenced before.

Copy Cat Sue

A lot of fanfic writers...start to write something because of their passion for this character, but they find something about the character that doesn't mesh well. Maybe they're the wrong gender or are otherwise not close enough to the author's expectations...In any case, rather than put them through the Possession Sue process, they just get a Clone-O-Matic™ and out pops a Copy Cat Sue...the character might be intended as a replacement for the canon character, but without whatever icky traits the author hates. They'll then rob the spotlight, prove the canon character to be unworthy of his/her position, and either relegate the character to obsolescence or, perhaps, even remove them entirely.

Sylvie is basically a clone of Loki, she is a variant. But she absolutely robbed the spotlight of Loki’s, and they literally call her the superior Loki. I mean, they are literally not even being subtle about this. And there was a feeling by myself (and a lot of other viewers) that Sylvie might ultimately replace Loki in the MCU.

Black Hole Sue

Much like a black hole, this is a Mary Sue who "sucks in" the plot and characters to her. Characters will behave outside their personalities, logic will be defied, and rules will be broken for her sake.

Sylvie really does suck up all the plot and Loki definitely behaves outside of his personality just to fit the Sylvie show.

Jerk Sue

A Mary Sue who is mean or maybe even cruel, but are still treated as an ideal person.

Once again, Sylvie is basically a jerk all of episode three, but you’ve got Loki falling over himself to call her amazing in just the next episode.

Relationship Sue

A Mary Sue who exists to be the perfect mate for a specific character...this character has everything in the plot conspiring to enforce this One True Pairing...in Fanfiction, they are the perfect beloved of a canon character.

They literally have Mobius speculate that Loki falling in love with Sylvie is so extraordinary that it causes an entire Nexus event, that’s how huge this One True Pairing is (!). And Sylvie is the love interest of Loki, the only character who had been around before the beginning of the series

TLDR: Sylvie has all the tropes of a classic Mary Sue character. So calling Sylvie a Mary Sue isn’t being sexist or just randomly hating on the character. If you use common Mary Sue characteristics to examine the character, she just has too many of these characteristics to ignore.

#loki negativity #antisylvie #loki critical #loki criticism #antisylkie

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