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murdochmysteriesimagines · 4 years

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Peculiar - Llewelyn Watts

Request: Hi I was wondering, if you’re taking requests, if you could do a Detective Watts where the reader is the coroners assistant and, though only being a year younger than Watts, has working at the morgue for 20 years. It’s set during Concocting A Killer and she meets Watts for the first time? I completely understand if you are unable though.

A/N: Details were omitted or changed for the sake of simplicity. the core of the story remains the same however.

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You walked up the morgue stairs without looking away from your notes. Feet familiar with the path to go on unassisted, leading you to the appropriate cabinet to retrieve more paperwork. Automated like a factory machine, eyes uninterrupted as papers were added to your pile. The storm outside released another applause of thunder, the walls would vibrate depending on how close its origin was. This time only the second light on the upper level flickered slightly.

“Strange.” You resumed with the standard routine, equipping a pen at your desk and added further ink to your notes. Ensuring there was equal spacing in between each word and parallel to the other, any imperfections unacceptable. The clock ticked by in its predictable rhythm, refusing to skip a beat or interrupt your concentration. That mentality would not be mutual for all beings you would be forced to interact with in the coming hour.

Unplanned like the rain, footsteps echoed throughout the halls, forcing you to become distracted and place a vowel three millimetres away from its intended location. The sound of leather shoes was still audible over the ripping of paper.

They steps were heavier than average, meaning that Detective Murdoch with his characteristically light step was not approaching. He would not com without reason, that being his profession or wife, neither present within the morgue today. No other detective was scheduled for attendance, most preferred interacting with the other doctor to yourself; reasons unknown to you. It could not be Doctor Ogden; her feet were owned by a woman and the shoes that screamed down the hall belonged to a man. Doctor Ogden was not required in the workplace today regardless, making her unannounced arrival unlikely. The sound was getting closer, but it had more weight you would wager it was the big belt Inspector Brackenreid. The Englishman who almost got cathartic enjoyment from swearing within earshot of you, always amused with your reaction.

These shoes made their own sound, the owner unknown, an invader into your sanctuary. Years of repetition gifted you with the knowledge of knowing when the stranger entered the room.

“Good afternoon.” You did not say a name, for you did not know who it was.

“Good day.” He spoke behind you; his voice was calm. You still occupied yourself with rewriting the discarded page. Usually you would be polite, stand to greet people and face them like father had taught you when you were a child. But this man did not comply with the plan, so you did not stand up.

“Doctor Ogden I presume?” He positioned himself behind you against a wall. He was mannered enough not to stand over you big too ignorant to plan his arrival. You denied his accusation. You were not Doctor Ogden. You were Doctor y/l/n. That identity was stated to the stranger as you took to your feet, abandoning the redraft of the paper temporarily.

“Who might you be?”

“Detective Llewelyn Watts.”

He moved his slightly wet jacket to show his metal accessory given to him by the city, his eyes fixating on your face while you studied it. “Your badge is upside down.”

He looked down for confirmation, surprised. “So it is.”

Opting to hide it back behind his jacket rather than correct the error. You grunted; Detective Watts ignored you, more interested in his own affairs. “I was wondering if I could have a meeting with the departed Mr. Daniels.”

You operated on a Thomas Daniels last week, his body had yet to be released to the family.

“On what grounds?”

Detective Watts leaned towards you slightly, only halting his observation momentarily to retrieve a item from his pocket. When his hand re-emerged it gripped a small, thin knife, thankfully pointed towards the ceiling and not you.

“Testing a theory.”

“Hypothesis.”

“Pardon?”

You turned to lead the Detective down to the freezer. “Hypothesis, a concept that allows for further investigation. You are here to test a hypothesis.”

The Detective followed you to the large metal door that hid the bodies, allowing you to open it uninterrupted. “I suppose I am.”

You re-emerged with the dead in question, pulling the white cloth that preserved his dignity and exposed Mr. Daniels to the occasionally flickering lights above.

He was a younger gentleman, barely in his twenties but already robbed of life. After almost two decades however, such realities failed to influence you. “What hypothesis do you wish to test Detective.”

Watts let his eyes linger onto the deceased, still pointing the knife away from you.

“This is supposed to be the murder weapon,” he waved the dagger in its place, “I suspect otherwise.”

“The Mr. Daniels case is Detective Pryde’s, not yours Detective Watts.”

Your annoyance was clear, arms crossed and tone unmistakable. First, he arrived unannounced then he interferes in what is not technically his. Watts either failed to notice or did not care for your mood.

“The ironically named Detective believes his guilty man used this weapon to kill our patient. He has refused any contrary voices.”

You decide not to ask how irony was involved; focusing on the issue he presented. Your voice picked up as you pulled the cloth down lower Daniels cold corpse. “I shared my concerns with Detective Pryde.”

“So, I’m not alone with my doubts.” Watts eyes went to the newly exposed stab wounds.

“Detective Pryde said a coroner’s input was not required.” Your gaze stayed in the Detective, “He called me a fool.”

“And you are a fool if you believe whatever that brute decides to brand you as.” His tone remained stoic, but the genuine nature of his words pulled your guard down. Not many in the constabulary part from Murdoch and your subordinate coroner granted you such a privilege. “Would you be interested in my input Detective Watts?”

He looked up from your evenly woven stitches. “I would.”

He passed the knife to you. Without hesitation you started.

“This isn’t he murder weapon. It’s an inch too short and lacks serrated edged.” When the hilt touched your fingers, the information spewed forth unrestricted at Watts’ beckoning. “Furthermore, the blade is too thin for such a scuffle, it would be bent or broken if it was used in such a stabbing.”

Looking back to Detective Watts, he was enraptured by your informal lecture. He leaned into you and consequentially over the body. You forced yourself to remain stationary, fearing reprisal.

“All of that and Pryde doesn’t value your input.”

You were unsure if it was a commentary on the situation or a direct question. Since it was phrased as the latter you provided further information. “My father had me as an assistance when I was a child. Mother left the same time and he had to keep an eye on me outside of classes. I worked through university and inherited the position when father moved on.”

The Detective remained silent, so you continued.

“The city changed regulations and Doctor Ogden was hired.”

“Does that bother you?” Watts took the knife back and into his pocket. “Having another doctor on sight. My observations show your profession tends to butt heads.”

You shook your head.

“I have worked here my entire life so I’m the superior. Most would be resentful over that and my younger age, but Doctor Ogden is different.”

Doctor Ogden lacked jealousy in relation to you. She would vouch for your skill to condescending police officers or dismissive detectives. Pryde’s recent activities one of the few instances of working around the Doctor.

“She invites me to dine with her and Detective Murdoch sometimes.”

You started lifting the cloth back over Mr. Daniels when the Detective spoke up. “Perhaps she won’t be the only one.”

“The only one to do what exactly?” You inquired while smoothing out the creases in the fabric. Watts decided against explaining himself as your mind was on perfecting the blanket for the deceased; opting to make another attempt at a later date.

“Thank you for allowing me to take a moment out of your time Doctor.”

“You are welcome.” Not the response Watts expected, but it seemed to strangely fit your character.

“Would you like me to keep you informed of any developments, seeing as you helped in my investigation?”

You stopped playing with the cover and looked up at Detective Watts. Becoming an informal accessory to an already concluded case was highly irregular, bringing with it unknown consequences. However, that would imply that Detective Watts would visit the morgue once again. Hopefully on a planned arrival next time.

“I would Detective Watts, thank you.”

He tipped his hat before moving away, almost tripping on his own feet while walking backwards. “I shall return when I have worthwhile news.”

Then he ran off. Speed walking out of the morgue, appearing odd to anyone else except him. You slowly returned to normality after your eyes stopped lingering on the spot the Detective last occupied. Realizing you would have to start the process of redressing the dead as wrinkles magically multiplied without your supervision. You drew the cloth back, exposing the deceased so you could restart your ritual once again. Muttering to yourself in the process. “What a peculiar Detective.”

#murdoch mysteries #murdoch mysteries imagine #murdoch mysteries fanfiction #reader insert #imagine #fanfiction #llewelyn watts x reader #llewelyn watts imagine #llewelyn watts

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

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Temptation

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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She couldn’t fight it. It stirred in her dreams like a plume of smoke; dark clouds hazing over everything and blotting out the interior of the residence she had been in. One second there had been cool stone and carpeting beneath her feet, with pillars to uphold the structure and doors that she knew lead to a garden, and the next she had been thrust in no-where. There was vertigo; no up or down, no east or west, no sense of direction and nothing below or above. Only gloom, and herself.

It had only been herself. As she tossed and turned; twisted and grasped at the nothing trying to get a grip on something, a figure began to materialize through the endless shadows. They were no taller then she, and their build slender. A hood obstructed their face, but they wore a brightly colored red lip stain against their grey freckled skin. A light haloed around them, but it was neither blinding nor particularly bright.

“What is it you desire?”

It was an echo; and although they moved their mouth, the words felt like they were vibrating all around Essätha; through her, inside of her. She clenched her teeth in hopes of stopping the rattle in her teeth, and clutched at her temples.

Her mind was instantly a playground; brutalized and vandalized. This had been nothing like Master Sadris Vodamire; who although caused much discomfort with his prying eyes, tore into her head like a rampant monster. It was like filthy hands groping; touching where they did not belong, taking without asking.

It searched, and as the violating sensation made Essie whimper and claw at her scalp, she observed glimpses of things and places, money and faces, people and animals.

“I could offer you a promise” the voice promised, velvety and sweet as any seductive mistress. “I can give you what you want most. In exchange, all I ask of you is to relinquish one small thing. That which is mine already, that you and your friends have in your possession.”

She didn’t have anything that didn’t belong to anyone else! Okay… that was not entirely true, but none of it belonged to anyone else for a while now.

Softly, the speaker compelled, “You must leave it beneath the roots of a Devil’s Roosewood tree. There I will find it.”

A beaded necklace appeared unwillingly to the forefront of her thoughts. Its pearl-like spheres were made of a pinkish-purple tinted wood. An amulet hung from it, presumably meant to be displayed upon the throat so far as jewelry went. It was made of an ambery-red metal no one recognized in the party; and was embezzled with gemstones. Adela recognized a few of them as decorative precious jewels, but others even alluded them.

What did the abandoned pendent they found lying in a creekbed have to do with any of this?

“That is none of your concern.”

Essätha struggled to open her eyes at the testiness of the voice to stare the individual down, but she no longer could. She could not will them to open, and the rampant path of strange and random photographic memories she didn’t even remember continued to invade her like a hurricane.

“Do you hunger for money? Mountains of it; as far as the eye could see?” the voice teased, offering visions of plentiful piles of coin and jewels, stacks of monetary notes and wages.

“Perhaps a lust for freedom?” A strange parallel; worlds and planes stacked on top of each other, easy to access at the touch of a finger.

“Or strength?” Tools and weapons; rings and tomes. “Glory?” Dozens upon dozens of people, crying out her name in the crowd, their faces written in expressions of awe and adoration. “A paradise to call your own?” A castle, expansive and fortified; surrounded by wildlife and trees, with the lapping sound water somewhere past the treeline.

“No?” chimed the voice; not waiting for an answer, but sounding… disappointed. “Immortality? To be human? No, not that, either. My, you are a tricky one. So complacent in your mundane life. You want things, but what are you hiding; what do you want more… what does your heart long for the most…”

Essie did not know if it was her own impulses, or the endless pursuit of answers that brought up the lonely figure, with their face turned only slightly towards her and the massive furry beast at their heels.

“Oho. What an interesting surprise. I thought different of you. Not many crave love as badly as they think they do; people tend to lean more selfishly to power and fortune then they believe themselves capable. But you crave that acceptance; that warm embrace, that spark that fills the empty, lonely voids inside your soul. You believe one man can make you that happy?”

The question was taunting; mocking her more then inquiring. It didn’t need an answer. No amount of true and honest love could ever fix all your mistakes, or unbreak you, or change you completely into someone new, or even lick all your wounds and make you perfect or change the world.

But it could change your world. Soften your negative outlooks; have a genuine conversation with someone, have someone reliable to lean on that could lean on you, too. It was intimate trust; going the extra mile, selflessly offering all that you had expecting nothing in return. Being vulnerable to another and knowing they would do everything in their power not to hurt you; that they would try to catch you when you fell, and pick you up when it can’t be helped. A bond of acceptance, of respect, of teamwork.

Loving Amon was worth more then all the bounties and rewards they could be offered. It was freedom; as open as the sky was vast. It was the strength she found inside every day. It was the fame of those moments when he stopped and stared at her, and so quietly said her name that she felt like the only person in the room. It was his arms around her; feeling of home and protective shield from every wounded word she’d ever heard. It rendered the idea of immortality obsolete. She felt eternal under the blanket of his heavy-lidded eyes.

Like a leech to blood, the figure offered a Cheshire grin Essie could not see. She had found her jackpot; her vulnerable weak spot to strike.

“Yours is not the easiest, but not the most difficult wish to achieve,” the lady hummed. “I can give you his heart. He can be yours, until your dying day.”

A fantasy played out beneath her eyelids, but it was one she’d had before. The table, their interwoven fingers, the sound of his faint chuckling and the soft impression of his mouth against her, wherever his lips could reach. Her throat, her cheeks, her lips so light and warm. She was almost dizzy, imagining it; the breathlessness from such a lingering kiss.

But then he pulled away, and the vision was not totally how she recalled it. The almost mechanical shape of his smile, like it did not belong there; painted on crudely, rather. The vacancy of his eyes.

Her hand went to her throat. She grasped at something hanging there, finding a heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck. Clicking it open, she could make out the strangely pulsating, beating shape within it as she squinted…

She did not want that. Her thoughts cringed, warding the nightmare away.

That was not her Lord Amon, and that was not the kind of love she desired.

“Is this not what you want?” the voice implied with a snappy tone, “is this man not the one you yearn for?”

Not like this. Never like this. He was not her m’lord; he was her puppet.

“Think of it,” the voice pressed, almost endearing. Shaming her almost, it cut the fantasy in two; blurring it out to reveal the dreaded future she feared. The solitary, winding roads. The isolated bedroom. The restless nights, tossing and turning. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No one to put faith in; to put faith in her, to push her forward. Alone, again.

She sucked in a shaky gasp, choking. It felt like first breath she’d taken in minutes, and she was choking.

The lipstick curled up into a twisted smile as Essätha found herself able to open her eyes, the dream melting and fading all around her…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spine stiff and rigid, Sulhadur leaned forward, running his tongue over his muzzle. “… What did she offer you guys?”

Everyone avoided each other’s gazes. Penimra shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence with a ragged cough, “Everything.”

“I did not know I even wanted some of the things they offered,” Pri’cha agreed, their expression mystified and mandibles parted.

“I had never seen the Drow before,” Adela whispered, leaning in to the table. “I think she was a Drow, anyway? Did any of you get a good look at her?”

“No, her hood was always up,” Rava stated.

Abe nodded. “Same for me.”

Essie kept her head down, and her mouth shut. Silence was safer.

“Well we can’t give her back the necklace; obviously it has some sort of value, and to a demigod of that sort of power…” Abe trailed off weakly.

Conflicted, Penimra offered out his trembling gloved hand. “Can’t we, though? We don’t know what it can do. It’s not our responsibility. Maybe she will reward all of us, if we put it back-”

“Penimra, that sort of trust is what got you cursed in the first place,” Adela commented tartly. She immediately seemed to realize her commentary, and slapped a hand over her open mouth as the warlock recoiled as though from a physical blow.

“Pen, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t.”

“I mean, she did make some good offers,” the cheeky wood-elf piped up, staring fixated at the necklace sitting in the middle of the round table. Her hand twitched, as though to reach for it.

The eldest paladin give her a firm but swift tap on the hand, glowering at her until she sat back, pouting.

“This isn’t up for debate!”

“You’re right, Pri’cha found it. They should get to decide what we do with it,” Pen eagerly stated, looking hopefully to the golden cleric.

“M-Me?”

“… We can’ trust them,” Sulhadur muttered, scratching his claws against his snout.

“This coming from the dragonborn who wanders randomly off into the woods, trusting the melody of some random desert music,” Penimra muttered with annoyance.

With vigor, the nobleman slammed down his fist. The action silence the entire table; turning towards the man with his clenched teeth bared like an animal.

“Stop arguing, all of you!” Amon grated out.

The exchange of glances across the table made the Briarton Protector deflate. Fear lit his eyes, and it took everything Essie had not to reach out and touch him, or take hold of his hand. As quickly as the rage had filled him, it seemed to disperse, but it left it’s lingering effects. The guilt in his shoulders; heavy. The stares that haunted him, past and present.

“… Before we make any rash decisions,” he continued on hoarsely, “like handing off this- this necklace that may have some potent abilities we’re not aware of, we need to know who this is, what this does, and why they want it so badly. Deities, or powerful beings, do not usually reach out to request things from mortals or their lessers. If it’s a test, I do not see why they would have a reason to act so…”

“Shifty?”

“A kinder way of putting it… yes,” he agreed, nodding solemnly to Abernathy’s words.

Nervously licking her lips, Ravamora eyed the amulet. “What do we do with it, for now?” she squeaked. “Who can be trusted to hold on to it?”

A few looks around the table, and most pairs of eyes settled on the Thri-Kreen, their curled antenna shooting up.

“M-Me?”

“You did find the pendent, Pri,” Essie whispered faintly.

“And you’re the one least likely to be swayed… Probably,” Sul pointed out.

Steadily looking around the group, the cleric clutched their claws together into little fists. They raised them up high and proud, announcing with vigor, “I will not let you all down!”

The Yuan-Ti sorceress glanced vaguely towards the amulet. For half-a-second, her clouded thoughts believed to see the disturbing locked, with the beating shrunken heart trapped inside it.

Swallowing, she looked down at the table.

Whatever the cost, it wasn’t worth it. Losing his very personality; the essence of who he was just for her to call him hers, it wasn’t worth the price. There was no value to be placed on who he was; as a man, and a friend, and a trusted companion.

If this is all there ever was, until they parted ways, so be it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rolling her denim pants up to fit within her bag, Essie could hear the heavy pacing of Amon’s boots, and the elevated sound of his breathing. She tried not to point it out, but Caesar seemed to be doing a fine enough job of that as it was. The mastiff trotted after him; claws clicking against the wood floors, and whined every chance he got up towards his master.

Tucking in a carefully folded shirt, she finally spoke up quietly, “Is everything alright, m’lord Amon?”

He grunted. She turned to glance at him, catching him wiping a hand over his face. His eyes were wild, and black hair mused from his fingers running through it previously.

“Fine.”

A frown pulled at her lips. She knew him better then that.

“Is… this about what occurred at the table?” she offered, cautious.

The nobleman turned to look at her, dazed. There was little focus in his eyes.

Scooting around on the bed, she placed her hands in her lap, remaining cross-legged. Essie offered a private smile, tilting her head to the side as she whispered patiently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His throat jumped, and he looked away. “I… uh…”

Gently, she patted the bed. He obediently obeyed the implication, taking a seat on the opposite side stiffly. It reminded her so much of the images from last night, that she had to hold herself back from flinching away from him.

“It’s okay you got frustrated,” she soothed softly, reaching out to lay her hand atop his. “No one’s going to hold that against you. We’re all a bit… wound up. It’s a hard decision to make, when someone offers you your deepest desires right in front of you on a platter.”

His gaze was too intense, staring right into her. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her palms start to grow sweaty. The ocean reeling her in; pulling her into the depths.

Again, he swallowed; his jaw working and shifting uneasily. Caesar, meanwhile, nosed his knee and whined; to which he didn’t respond to.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he finally uttered quietly. She beamed with encouragement, wrapping her fingers around his hand. “I forgive you. You’re allowed to feel your emotions, m’lord. I know you had no intentions on hurting anyone’s feelings. You’re understandably frustrated. I think nothing less of you. Maybe… we all needed a voice of reason to cut through the haze in that moment, anyway.”

Amon smiled thin, and with doubt.

Essätha did not move for some time. When he did not reply, she nervously began to remove her hand from him.

He instinctively reached for her; a flash of pain in his expression.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he breathed. Relief bloomed in his eyes, still locked on hers, as he held her fingers in his now. Almost regrettably, he regarded their hands, and gently placed hers back down upon the bed.

“I’m sorry I should… I should not make you feel like you have to comfort me.”

Her brow knit, and she reached for his hand. “Have to?” she echoed, “I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t have to do anything; but I like to. I like to hold your hand, and I like to make you smile.”

Together, their faces simultaneously took on a rosy glow. Amon looked away nervously just as she did. The eye contact was suddenly too much.

The inquiry nagging at the back of her head, however, continued to pester her…

“M’lord,” she murmured, clutching his digits anxiously. “I…” She swallowed, acutely aware that his gaze was back on her again; burning her. Her face felt hotter. The room felt deathly quiet, and she found it difficult to breathe. The only sound her ears picked up on aside from her heartbeat, was that of Caesar’s tail thumping eagerly against the floor, staring at them both.

“Are you alright, Essie?”

Gods, she hated how she adored the way he said her name. The way he spoke to her; concerned and tender and patient, made her insides feel like they were twisted into pretzels.

Sighing, she shook her head weakly. “No I…” She nibbled her lower lip; exhaled deeply, and tried again: “I thought I knew what I wanted most of all in my life, once. Like Penimra said; she offered me everything; the world at my fingertips, to bend and morph however I pleased, to be whoever or whatever I pleased… She said I could have had anything; given me my deepest desires…”

Her eyes drifted, slowly making their way to where their hands were on the comforter; clutching each other.

“… But all I really wanted was this moment.”

“… This moment?” Amon parroted softly. When she did not reply, he squeezed her fingers gently. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry I-” flustered, she caught a glimpse of his face; vulnerable, soft, longing, and glanced away timidly, waving her free hand in the air. “I just- I mean- I only wanted your time,” she stressed, “I- I just wanted- want to s-spend my time with you to- to have your company-”

Fidgeting, she pulled at her hand, but Amon held her strong, but gentle. He waited for her eyes to find their way back to his.

“… You don’t think I want the same thing?” he whispered, grinning shyly. “I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

Essätha returned the smile, her pulse escalating. All she craved for, all she wanted to do right now was to throw herself into his arms. The block between her mouth and her heart was her brain, carelessly telling her that telling him the truth would be too much.

She promised me you, she wanted to scream. The enchantress witchy deity being offered me your heart, and your love. I know you’ll think I’m insane, but gods, I want to love you and be loved by you more then anything else in the world.

But not like that. Not that perverse, demented and warped reality.

The genuine warmth of his eyes, and the smile he wore now, that was her wanting.

“I wish she’d been right, about one thing.”

The hurt expression returned. “Right about what?”

If it could only be possible to capture his heart, in the right way. Slowly, with time, and with a lot of love. If only she could just be a little be braver, to tell him openly, how she felt.

“Oh just- about having more manageable desires,” Essie fretted with a short laugh. “Something attainable, within my reach.”

Between a mixture of confusion and amusement, the nobleman rasped playfully, “I thought you just said that all you really wanted was this moment.”

“It is! I do!” she burst out enthusiastically, holding his hand tightly, as though reluctant he’d pull away.

The same, brilliant smile; warm and enlightening. He leaned in closer unconsciously, closer towards her. The scent of pine trees and leather surrounded her, with a faded note of rosewater. Her eyes, unconsciously, darted all over him; to his chest, his mouth, back up to his all-consuming gaze.

She was the center of the universe once more, beneath his softly aglow night-sky regard.

“Me too,” Amon whispered, as though telling a secret.

She grinned brighter, feeling the butterfly-sensation swarming in her stomach.

Gradually, his gaze lowered; moving over her features, stalling. His eyes lingered a moment on her parted lips before jumping back to her eyes. They’d moved in closer, unintentionally, drawn in by gravity.

His voice trembled as he inclined closer still, murmuring, “You are far more beautiful here, right in front of me, then in any mirage hallucination she showed.”

Breath hitching, her lashes fluttered, waiting for the magnetic pull to drag him the rest of the way. She leaned in a little further as he did, her free hand reaching for him.

A knock at the door sent them hurtling backwards away from each other, mere inches away from contact.

Her heart was still thunder in her ears, muffling Sulhadur’s voice as he called out, “Everyone’s packed and outside; do the two of you need a hand still?”

“No- ahem, no, we’ll be out shortly!”

“I’ll carry some of your things for you.”

Cheeks burning, she glanced at Amon after hearing the break in his voice. He was looking to his faithful pooch, who huffed and laid their head upon his knee.

Had… had he just admitted to seeing her, in some of those fantasy-visions from the strange dream intruder?

Letting go of her hand, the nobleman silently pushed himself to his feet, heading towards the door with the mastiff trotting at his heels.

Essie pressed her fingers over her flush features, and her mouth. It was almost-had-been-too-close but was it really what she’d thought it had been? The moment charged with electricity, the softness of his eyes. Surely they hadn’t been that close. Maybe he’d been distracted by something, or had meant to… brush hair out of her face?

Removing her hand, she tried not to pout; or directly allow the Dragonborn paladin to see just how deeply blushing she still was as he entered.

There was absolutely, positively no way on earth his deepest desire could possibly be of her, too.

Right?

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards

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80srockher · 6 years

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Yuri on Ice Rewatch and Live-Commentary, Episode 1: Easy as Pirozhki!! The Grand Prix Final of Tears

*There are spoilers throughout. I also make assumptions that anyone reading has already seen the episode or has a grasp of the content.*

Source: http://yurionicescreencaps.tumblr.com

The opening scene is so pretty. Really sets a tone. I went in knowing nothing about the anime first go-around, so I found Yuri and Victor’s grow/glow-ups montages interesting.

This theme song is… not my favorite. Maybe it’s the French horns? That and too much synth. I usually skip over it but want to give it a chance this go-around.

Heh, Victor and his gold blades to match his gold medal. And his European af haircut. Can’t remember the last time I saw an American past the age of 12 with bangs. No mistaking him for anything other than Eastern European.

Also, the poster on the left is for Victor, I believe. Can he pull his leg that high in the air? Was that featured and I forgot? I’ll be on the lookout for it.

Also, looks like Jean JACK made it to Sochi and placed third here too, lolz.

Yes, please listen to your coach, Yuri. Don’t poke the wound. Stay off the internets. ESPECIALLY the figure skating internets. What little I remember from when I used to follow the sport is that it’s dramatic, to put it nicely.

I keep getting distracted by the utter Euro-ness of the Europeans in this show. The cut of Coach Celestino’s suit is so Italian I weep. He’s too smooth.

Yuri’s name tag has his name in Cyrillic as well? Cute.

My first impression of Yuri was that he looks about 18 and that impression hasn’t changed. Perhaps it’s the glasses, but he def looks youthful. I’m also someone who’s been accused of looking a decade+ younger than I actually am, so I can sympathize.

Speaking of sympathy – Yuri caved to pressure, binged ate before the competition while mourning his dog, then bombed his first trip to the Grand Prix final. All in front of his idol. Damnity damn damn. Sorry, kid.

Is Cao Bin ever introduced on the show? Something else I forgot, maybe?

Now, when I first saw this poor child crying in the bathroom, that’s when I knew the series was going to be much different from the light-hearted anime about figure skating I expected. It got real deep real quick.

Yuri Plisetsky “The Russian Punk”. Is this something the in-universe media refers to him as? Because I only recall (JPN) Yuri saying it and only this once.

This screencap is during the scene where the journalist Marooka (sp?) is hassling Yuri about his future plans and instead of answering, Yuri can only stare at someone else’s puppy that reminds him of his dead Vicchan.

This baby is crying. Cry.ing. This has been a tough day for poor Yuri, overall.

And he talks down to himself so much. It’s all his fault he caved to pressure. He was an idiot to think he could meet his idol on the same playing field. He’s come so far and still thinks so little of his accomplishments.

So, I understand this “one year later” is not really accurate, lol. It’s just the new year following the previous season. I was confused initially about a number of soon-to-happen events before Yuri’s mental alter ego cleared it up.

So, per Minako’s voice actress, Yuri really is pronounced YOO-RI. Cute.

Four Continents is… not a Grand Prix competition? My figure skating knowledge is all rust now.

LOL, Minako does. Not. Play. And she wears a pinky ring. My God, that death grip on poor Yuri.

It’s snowing outside the train station when Yuri and Minako leave. So, it’s not unusual to snow in this region in March, but it’s highly unusual a month or so later. Man, hard to believe Yuri sat around for almost an entire month before the infamous video became viral. More on that, later.

So, based on everyone’s interactions with Yuri so far, the only person who cares that he didn’t make it to the World Championships is him. And he should care since he’s worked basically his entire life towards that goal. But, he doesn’t appear to have let anyone down but himself, though he doesn’t act that way.

So, the fact that the family hot springs is named “Yu-topia”… did that influence Yuri’s name at all, I wonder?

Ha! I wish I could have recorded the Japanese actor’s voice when he says this line. He makes Yuri sound so done with it all, lol. It’s the best.

Ok, so a number of very interesting and entertaining things happen in succession that I don’t feel like screencapping. No hug between the littlest Katsuki and the senior Katsukis, even though he hasn’t been home in 5 years. Fascinating. No doubt cultural (I’m guessing) but fascinating.

Yuri’s mom basically calls Minako a drunk. To her face. LOL. But I imagine no one can get mad at this sweet lady.

Minako calls Yuri out on his weight gain in front of God and everybody. Though, I think it’s more of a matter of his clothes no longer fitting due to said weight gain.

But, his parents don’t care. Eat more pork cutlet bowls, Yuri! Welcome home!

Vicchan’s shrine is where they also store the unused treadmill. Want to bet the only person to use it was Yuri?

Then older sis Mari-neechan appears with frosted tips. I can appreciate a character that doesn’t beat around the bush (a trait she inherited from her mother, I imagine). Welcome home, Yuri, but don’t sit on your ass. Start thinking about your next move.

Actually *loads headcanon* I suspect Mari doesn’t want Yuri to give up on skating. The longer he stays at home, the more quitting becomes a possibility.

So, the Katsuki family hot springs resort (Inn? Restaurant?) is the last one standing in town. Very OT, but I wonder if the hot springs are still an attraction at all and are perhaps, government-owned? Protected, used by tourists for a fee, perhaps? I think about things like that.

Having never visited a hot spring, and based on the setting around Minako while she watches the World Championships on TV, it appears to be a place for people to come, soak, and lounge and grab a bite to eat if the mood strikes. So, the Katsukis wait on people basically all day long. Gotta be exhausting work.

Yuuuuuko! The Madonna of Ice Castle Hasetsu! Yuri’s crush on her is hella cute.

A slight segue to Yuri’s perceived attraction to Yuko and what it could imply about his sexual identity. Per his labeling of Yuko as a “Madonna,” I figure Yuri considers Yuko untouchable, perhaps even “too good” for him. Yuko, just like Victor, is “ideal”. For someone as self-conscious as Yuri, comparing any romantic prospects against his two ideals was probably a convenient excuse not to get *too* close to anyone, male or female. That being said, he didn’t pursue Yuko. Alcohol loosened enough of Yuri’s inhibitions to eventually openly flirt with Victor, but this is still an important distinction, IMO. He pursued one of his ideals (in more ways than one, even going so far as to leave home to in hopes of becoming Victor’s equal) and left the other one behind.

Yuri idealizes/d Yuko, and comes to love Victor. He’s gay. Bi, at the least.

I don’t feel confident in applying any other labels, because I’m a straight. Yuri could fall under any number of categories as long it they include, IMO, same-sex attraction.

In actuality, Yuko is “introduced” to the audience as Yuri’s straight love interest, but that doesn’t last long. Cute and clever, show creators. Cute. And . Clever.

Then we find out, via flashback, a) how adorable they all were when they were little kids and b) Yuko wanted to see Yuri compete against Victor. Yuko has been a profound influence on Yuri.

So, Victor. This guy is in a class by himself. The animators obviously invested a lot of time in his movements. You can see why he leads the field even at 27.

Also, the creators had the nerve, the audacity, the unmitigated gall to compose an original opera aria for a cartoon. That was my next indicator that this was more than a cutesy figure skating anime.

The song really is beautiful, too. Probably my favorite in the soundtrack.

Who’s the last IRL skater to win 5 consecutive World Championships? Michelle Kwan, maybe? Who is Kwan’s male equivalent? Back then, probably Alexei Yagudin? May research. May not.

Anyway, Victor is the Michelle Kwan of YOI-verse lol.

Hmm. Here come the three brats. Good God. Poor Yuko and Takeshi lol.

So sweet to see Yuri’s childhood bully is his biggest fan now.

Sooo, Yuko’s triplets secretly record Yuri’s private performance, post it online (sometime before April 10, when Victor shows up), and things progress rather quickly from there...

Or do they? It appeared to me that Yuri caught up with Yuko at the rink the same day he returned home. Did he skate Victor’s routine for her that day, as well, or did it happen later? Perhaps the triplets waited a few weeks to post the video, or else it took a few weeks to go viral. Did Yuri turn off his phone for *weeks* to avoid the world?

Maybe he got home on March 30 and then the whole month of April just went to hell for him? The possibilities...

LOL, I’m so SO mad the title of the video is “Katsuki Yuri TRIED to Skate Victor’s FS Program”. Those brats.

This might be the most unattractive Victor’s ever looked. Severe close-ups aren’t flattering on anyone. Welp, down the rabbit hole now.

So, in the next scene it snows in April which doesn’t stop anyone from stripping naked to bathe in a hot spring, apparently. Or it just doesn’t stop Victor.

#moneyshot

I like this ending theme much better. It’s a head-bopper. The Instagram reel kills me.

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read through this stream of consciousness! No idea how long it may take me to get through the rest. I tip my hat to those who regularly and passionately participate in fandom. It’s a lot of work!

#yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #yuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #minako okukawa #hiroko katsuki #toshiya katsuki #mari katsuki #yuko nishigori #takeshi nishigori #celestino cialdini #yuri plisetsky #episode1 #myblogisMYsafeplace #hashtagskeepmefrombabbling #yoi rewatch #makkachin #vicchan #yoi

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