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danwhobrowses · 1 month

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So a thing happened on Critical Role this week (campaign 3 ep 91), we're gonna talk about it - a long talk - so if you haven't been caught up and don't wanna be spoiled don't keep reading okay?

One of the disadvantages of being in a different time zone is that after fretting all morning, going to work, thinking 'it's 7am maybe it's done now' I had to sit in my office for a stressful final half hour murmuring don't do this don't fucking do this don't you dare fucking do this!

I already was worried for everyone given the cliffhanger last episode, and the 5 hour length made me further worried as players kept being knocked down by Otohan Thull - already frightening in base form but now with an even higher AC and empowered. Then Sam Riegel had to do what he does best, a devastating sacrifice where FCG blows himself up to take down Otohan - Ludinus' No. 2, harrowed for being proficient in slaughter, defeated by no assassin or warrior but a cleric saving their friends. We've been well past 'get off the moon' hours with this one, but now there is an impact on every one of the Hells to think about, which is what this will be about.

FCG Though he is dead there is still stuff to talk about with FCG's death. A common debate right now is the potential of the Reincarnate spell; while the wording of the death implies that FCG's current body is irreparable there is a chance that a 5th Level Druid Spell can fashion him a new body, one of flesh, bone and tongue. The body itself needs to be dead for less than 10 days so there is wiggle room to gain the necessary components too if the top brass of Exandria turn it into a fetch quest. There is argument on both sides though; if FCG comes back does it undermine his sacrifice? Perhaps, but there's no incentive for the Hells to not try. Reincarnation hasn't quite happened in Critical Role yet - Since Molly/Lucien/Kingsley was kinda different, he kinda had the opposite, different mind same body - so it'd be a refreshing new option and also a way to redesign FCG without having to create a whole new cleric (because they definitely need a cleric) with a whole new skillset that the Hells will need to warm towards before the final battle. But at the same time, the soul has to be willing. FCG was content with his sacrifice, and in the arms of the Changebringer would he go back? I'd like to hope so if it's an option, it'd also entertain a whole new character arc for him as a 'real boy' - plus Matt and Sam don't have to fully abide to the D100 rule of what race he turns into. Of course, I like this angle more than needing a new character, because I like happy endings and it makes narrative sense that the Hells would claw and bite to pull him from that sweet goodnight. It would also validate a reason for the Hells to align with the gods, because if divine favour comes into play and the Gods decide against helping Bell's Hells' greatest advocate for saving them then they are foolishly and callously forsaking key players to their survival, FCG reincarnating with the help of the Gods would play a big part in the Hells standing with them rather than losing faith in them, and even with friction between the Titans & Temults and the Gods from the past they would have a common enemy. Still living or dying can have varying effects on the other characters.

Ashton From the moment Ashton met FCG they wanted to make sure this little bot would be okay, that they'd learn to value their life and be able to thrive. While part of that did happen, Ashton is likely going to feel like nothing's changed since Bassuras; knocked out by Otohan and when awakened a friend is dead, another person they couldn't protect.

Before the shard, I think Ashton would very easily fly off the handle, in their anger they'd blame everything including themselves and maybe even consider leaving themselves, it probably have made them more self-destructive too. Now though I'm not so sure, nobody would hold it against them to waver a little on their promise to take care of themselves in a burst of grief, this was after all their best friend someone they looked after like a little brother, and while I can see Ashton quietly and angrily grieving I can also see Ashton double down on trying to keep their promise, making sure that FCG didn't go out like a martyr and that it won't be in vain. FCG reincarnating would assist in Ashton's character drive too, since I feel like they would detest any replacement cleric because it's not FCG, they may also be less abrasive towards the gods if they came through for them and proved that they care - at least to the Changebringer, think they'd still throw copper at the Dawnfather given the whole Angel incident.

Imogen As the nominated leader of Bell's Hells, many will probably look to Imogen Temult for action, the problem is she has her own mother issues to deal with too - and I'm not entirely sold that Liliana has fully made a turn just yet, only that she won't hand over the Hells to Ludinus. FCG's death is gonna produce a lot of guilt from Imogen though, she was detesting the fact that she had to play dead at 1HP while Otohan cut down her friends again, she will likely blame her inaction which in turn may push her to be more aggressive in combat.

At the same time, I can see her being one of the more gung ho characters to push towards the Reincarnate option, perhaps even going as far as to accost or lambast anyone regardless of alliances or rank who she feels isn't as committed. Imogen has been in the position of loss before, and knowing that FCG had a connection with FRIDA she would likely compel herself to fix it rather than have to deliver the bad news. Regardless of whether he reincarnates though I feel like Imogen may look towards some more defensive spells, and maybe through Liliana try to tap into the powers of an Exalted to try and match the power she saw from Otohan, a risky endeavour for sure but FCG took an even greater risk for them.

Orym Orym is probably the toughest of the Hells to read when it comes to FCG's death. There will of course be a deep sadness at the loss of a friend, but I would also sense a...not bitterness but discontent that this is how it went down. Otohan killed his family, he kept fighting her until he could no longer stand because that's what they would've done, and now she's dead but it doesn't make it better, he wasn't the one to do it, he didn't even see it, and the one who did is gone with her. When Bor'dor was killed, Orym coldly reminded himself that 'we're at war', but I don't think he can justify that way with FCG, the loss was greater than the catharsis.

The death also has to turn attention to his deal with Nanna Mori. Many have pointed out that there is a lot of technicalities that may prolong, void or complete the deal; it was never specified how many times the Hells could return from the moon to continue the deal, but at the same time they did technically return from the moon to Exandria safe and sound via the Secret Backdoor. Still, Mori is his best friend's grandmother, there could be leeway on that matter too and even if he does have to commit to the deal (which I call 'Fatekeeper Orym') it's never been explicitly said that Orym needs to constantly attend to Mori in the Feywild, only that he has to be her caretaker and answer her beck and call. However, FCG's death will likely provide a sobering thought that his deal with Mori was perhaps voided, unless there is one more thread he can have her pull. When it comes to seeking options to bring a friend back, I would keep a close eye on Orym - it's not the first time Liam's resolved himself to be damned before.

Fearne Fearne will likely be a linchpin if the Hells seek out Reincarnate. The spell is exclusive to Druids and if Keyleth isn't on hand to do it the task and pressure will fall to her. It'll be interesting how she reacts, I don't wanna say she'll be the most positive of it because she'll certainly be upset, but I can see her being optimistic even if it's to also convince herself, the one who is most encouraging to find a way. As a shipper I of course want her to be the one who comforts and gets through to Ashton while they grieve but if she also is key to his reincarnation that also adds to their slow-burn. Outside of that, FCG's death may also lead into learning about Mori's deal with Orym, which will probably anger her that Orym kept it from her, there is also the fact that having FCG's life in her hands may bring back bad memories of Bassuras and Whitestone. One must also especially worry about her Asmodeus calling card, the Prince of Lies does nothing for free and I still feel like Klask was planted in her path by Asmodeus' (and maybe even Athion's) titan-seeking design.

If FCG does reincarnate though, I could see her friendship with FCG being even greater than it was, since they'll both feel a greater zeal for life - it may also make her feel further distant from her Evil vision, since she will have saved half her friends rather than risked killing them. If not though, Fearne may have to play mediator for the new cleric and may also be pushed towards freeing up more slots for healing to provide more support for the Hells in future battles.

Chetney It's gonna be an interesting one for Chetney too, from one perspective you could see him thinking that FCG traded their life for his; he died, he made peace with that, but then the one who revived him died. Chetney's more personal mindset has often been cloaked in secrecy, perhaps as one of the least open of the Hells despite many claiming him as the Heart of the group, so I wonder if Chetney may harbour some Survivor's Guilt for what happened.

I can see Chetney being the one to keep his emotions close to his chest, even if FCG were to reincarnate he would perhaps try to shrug off that he always knew it'd happen anyway. That being said someone who remains stoic and unwavering may prove a positive or a negative to the group, depending on the person or their interpretation of it. If a new cleric comes along though I could see him being additionally protective of them, having been the new guy before.

Laudna We should all be worried for Laudna right now. The recent 4SD already revealed that Laudna's 'close to the brink' and I'm pretty sure this is the brink. The aftermath of the Otohan fight will likely push each of the Hells to get stronger, since had they hit harder or been able to take stronger blows it wouldn't have come to this, but that will mean bad things when it comes to Laudna, as she may seek to gain power the only way she thinks she can - through Delilah. After all her last two levels went to Sorcery and did little in the fight, whereas her Warlock class Eldritch Blasts hurt Otohan fairly decently, such a thing can linger in the mind for Delilah to manipulate.

It'll be telling if they do try to Reincarnate him whether the damage will have been done already to Laudna, and that the joy of bringing him back turns to tragedy of Laudna losing herself further, as it often does it will fall to how she leans on Imogen, and how open about it she'll be to her. If FCG is lost however, we may have to keep a very close eye on Laudna being next.

Bell's Hells As I mentioned with Laudna, FCG's death will have made something apparent and clear; despite everything Bell's Hells need to get stronger. Even at Lv13, even with Exalted powers, Fey bargains and Titan shards they still just barely escaped a TPK, and granted they were weakened and worn out but no fight is guaranteed to ever be fought at 100%. Otohan may've been the toughest General of the Vanguard but the other Generals - the Weavemind, Zathuda and the Dominon of Cruft Commander - are still not ones to take lightly, Ludinus is still not one to take lightly, and if Liliana is going to be used by him to become a vessel for Predathos, that cannot be taken lightly. Bell's Hells may need to look towards enhancing their stats as well as their equipment, the harness is still a factor too which can boost them all with enough enchanted items at their disposal. An interesting one would be if Otohan's backpack ends up in one of the Hells' hands; many beforehand have talked about Orym being an Echo Knight but I would personally like to see Ashton take it, since it is powered by the Potion of Possibility like their own Dunamancy powers, it's possible (eheh) that they may align in some manner and could you imagine Ashton + 3 Echoes all raging to get All 4 Dunamancies? Otohan's swords may also provide unique properties for Chetney and/or Orym to use. Reincarnation or not I feel like that may be the Hells' next plan once it's discussed whether to attempt Reincarnation and they're off of Ruidus, gathering allies will likely also be something to prepare for for the final battle given how Otohan stated that they have 'enough Ruidusborns' for their plan. As a group it is difficult to tell if this will strengthen or weaken them, it could strengthen them in a 'never again' way like the Nein, but they were also very enthusiastic about bringing Molly back - it drove them through several arcs - FCG however often was the Hells' beacon of hope and the self-imposed attempted therapist, without that the Hells will either have to put it upon themselves to go the extra lengths or they'll close further in on themselves. If FCG does reincarnate I feel like it would definitely strengthen them mentally but if not I am not so sure.

It shouldn't come to a surprise that I will hold onto the Reincarnate potential so that the Hells can get back their friend, but rest assured I'm worried for all of them right now, there are crossroads ahead.

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daydadahlias · 1 month

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What’s your stance on the Ashton hate right now?

ok so i've gotten a few asks abt this now and i will concede and answer this one because i love the insinuation here that I can have a stance like I'm a politician or smthn <3 thank u for voting and for this platform <3

I'm also going to take the opportunity to say this is entirely my stance, not what i think everyone should believe or i think is the "right" perspective or blah blah yada yada disclaimer disclaimer. no one come at me saying I'm forcing my beliefs on you. you catch my drift. if you disagree with me, that's your prerogative and i frankly just don't care very much.

that being said <3 lock in for a jessay <3

if we're being entirely honest, I think people in the modern age - especially twitter users - actively seek out reasons to be upset. they crave drama like bees crave honey. especially when it comes to ashton tbh. the man can't breathe right without people claiming he's being problematic so I don't put a lot of stock in general in anyone's opinions of him but my own, especially bc I'm in fandom for my own enjoyment, not for anyone else's !! so it doesn't much matter to me what they think of him. i don't value their opinions!

if you'll notice, fandom is a lot about curating your own special little bubble and here on tumblr, literally no one is talking shit about ashton that i follow. it's literally just on twitter that I've seen any hate because twitter is a cesspool filled with chronically online social justice warrior bullshit :) and there's a reason I'm not on there often.

i think hate like this is just point-blank stupid because, as I've said before and I will say again, cancel culture is fucking fake ! it is literally not real and it is invented by people who have miserable sad little lives and want to self-impose their issues and hypocritical views onto others to pretend that they're doing good in the world when, in reality, they're making it that much worse!!

now, don't get me wrong, i really don't mind someone saying to their fave, "hey, this thing you said was hurtful for X reason, maybe you could consider that in the future :)" but I've already seen people saying ashton should kill himself sdfghjk so ! i don't care much for any opinion they have because they undermine their own arguments by telling people to spread kindness by spreading cruelty. it's frankly moronically hypocritical and embarrasses me every time i go online and see it.

as for the actual reason ashton's getting hate right now, i don't personally think it's as big a deal as people pretend it is. and this is getting into my own personal perspectives of things and please feel free to disagree with me on this because i know it's a Hot Take, but i can believe and support victims while simultaneously thinking that anonymous twitter allegations are mostly bullshit.

all allegations against All Time Low were entirely anonymous from a twitter user with no evidence/support/timeline (and, yeah, a random user said there were "97 allegations" but when people asked where she got that number from, she literally admitted she made it up and deactivated her account. but that didn't stop people from just fucking running with the number) and when ATL threatened to press charges for defamation, all of a sudden this anon user disappeared with no further comment. but twitter went wild - as it often does - and completely exaggerated all the actual information given.

twitter spreads misinformation like a disease. that's just the truth. and im certainly not saying all allegations that originate on twitter are fake because they aren't but i am saying that people online need to support victims at the same time that they actually start thinking critically about things. twitter acts like it's "guilty until proven innocent" instead of the other way around.

that being said, i don't personally support ATL because i didn't listen to their music before so this doesn't affect me and - if there is the chance they're abusers, i don't really want to listen to them. But that doesn't mean i tell people to turn them off if they like them or something, or tell them to stop being fans. because it doesn't affect me and i, frankly, just don't care. people need to learn that supporting the artist and supporting the art are two totally different things. you can listen to a song you like without knowing every allegation the artist has ever faced. also, if we stopped listening to every song made by a problematic artist, I'm afraid there would be very little music left.

that's where this brings me to the fact that people are throwing around insane accusations like that ashton supports rapists which is a fucking insane thing to say about a) people who arent even confirmed/charged rapists and b) over the fact he literally just played a song by them? he was DJ-ing for an emo/pop punk night? people would have been shocked if he hadn't played All Time Low??

also, I'm sorry but are you going to boycott every single person and establishment that plays one of the biggest pop-punk bands ever?? if you walk into a store and hear it playing All Time Low, will you never shop there again?? where is the line drawn?

and finally, the whole thing pisses me off because people use it as an excuse to say that they stand with victims and that ashton is actively harming victims by playing All Time Low when, I'm sorry, but no the fuck he's not ?? and, in my opinion, this is actually does MORE harm to victims than it does good? it's all just performative crap to make yourself look "woke".

and, excuse me, but what have you actually done to genuinely fucking support victims other than tell some random rich man who you don't fucking know that he should kill himself for DJing at an emo night?? using all this time to "cancel" Ashton Irwin's privileged cishet male ass could have been spent actually raising awareness about rape or helping actual real life fucking people in your community? this level of vitriol doesn't help anyone. it's pathetic.

this is just my real problem with the internet in general is that people act like hate inspires kindness and education when it does the exact opposite.

so, that being said, i just think the hate against ashton is small-minded and embarrassing. it doesn't mean anything at all. and I'm going to keep enjoying tumblr where people aren't pathetically insane (they're funny insane) and we can just learn how to fucking enjoy things because the world is too ugly right now to not find beauty in SOMETHING, goddammit! i am in fandom to have fun. not listen to people bitch and moan about their uninformed, damaging views of what social justice is.

and i will also spend my time in my real life genuinely supporting victims of assault and abuse instead of just pretending i do on fucking fandom social media.

#mic drop #i said what i said #and i will say no more <3 #if i get any more asks abt this <3 i shall not engage #but this one's for u anon #now back to ur regularly scheduled program #also ok i'll just say once again #i love ashton #and that's not going to change #so im going to keep posting abt this guy dfghjk #dont expect a public denouncement of him any time soon #pigeon #anon #tw negative #tw hate #tw all time low #tw atl

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idolatrybarbie · 8 months

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the world tipped on its side

chapter five - satellite

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 5.1k

rating & summary: explicit | you reflect on the concept of love.

warnings: smut, swallowing like a champ, references to past physical injury, reference to frigid parent dynamics, dead parents, reader has a disability, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, emotionssss, pathetic!frankie moments.

notes: @wannab-urs gin hurt my feelings so now everyone must suffer next chapter but enjoy this while we're here. i kind of think this is trash garbo but (at the time of queuing this) i'm in a weird headspace coming back home for the first time. also it's late and i've been traveling all day so i'm choosing to ignore myself. goodnight and enjoy.

Friendship. That’s what this is.

Friendship with a man who called you the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Said that you’re so beautiful it’s scary. Who you had just sex with.

You don’t see much of Frankie on set, except for the few chaste and directive conversations between you, himself, and Ashton. In those moments, the very last thought on your mind is whatever is going on with you and him. It’s work, that’s the priority. Not that you give a shit about the movie, but it’d be nice if everyone wrapped and returned home in one piece.

Every time you try and talk to him, someone else pulls you away. This goes on for the first two days of filming in the woods. You don’t know what this is—this pull that keeps you circling him, even if you never quite seem to gain on Frankie in the chase. The sun and moon, bouncing light between each other at all times. You’re trying to figure out which role you are playing.

You catch him in a personal moment on day four, just getting off the phone with someone behind a production trailer. He looks momentarily startled, but not deterred by your presence. A good sign.

“Hey,” Frankie says. He sounds exactly like he did over the phone.

“Hi,” you return. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yeah. I figured,” he says. “I mean, me too. Just with the—” He’s motioning vaguely at the helicopter parked thirty feet from you.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I don’t want to do it here. Maybe you could come over, or…”

“I’ve got my daughter this week,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Oh, shit. Right. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Things are just really…tight right now. Time-wise.”

The pager at your hip buzzes. Ashton calling everyone back to set.

“I’ll call, okay? I promise,” Frankie says. The words make your chest cold and you hate it. This is selfish, surely. The man has a kid, for crying out loud. Who are you to deny or resent dad duty?

But you do. At this moment, you really do, wishing that the small being he has called his pride and joy would cease to exist for an evening. It’s horrible, so you nod and that's that. Back to work you go.

You wait until the end of the week. Frankie does not call. You hate, hate that you’ve been reduced to the girl in movies that would pine over the phone and wait for that special boy to call. Because really, are any of them all that special? Is Frankie?

Sure, he touched you and it felt like a match to your insides, but does that mean anything? You’re out of practice. He’s the first person to pay you any mind in that way since you became disabled. The more you think about it, really think about it, the more the argument for Frankie Morales falls apart.

Mia comes over on a night where missing Sam makes her heart ache a little too much to be alone, bringing with her a shitty bottle of rosé. You’re half a glass deep when she starts to ask that needling question, What’s wrong? And finishing the bottle by the time you sigh as an answer to her asking for the millionth time. You agreed to be open after the—spat? Blowup? Long overdue reuniting best friend fight?—but it still takes some time. She is prying open a mussel to find a very shitty prize.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not, and it isn’t,” Mia says, a frown on her face. Your lips stay sealed in a pout and she turns on those evil, adorable eyes. “Tell me.”

You hold out for about five minutes, some action flick moving quietly across your flat screen before you finally give in.

“Jesus! Fine,” you relent. “It’s like being waterboarded.”

Mia grins with satisfaction before her face snaps back to sober (as much as one can be after a whole bottle of wine) seriousness. “Spill.”

“You’re going to say it’s dumb,” you say.

“You’re projecting.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I slept with Frankie.” A bomb explodes on screen, illustrating what is most certainly happening inside Mia’s skull at this very moment. “Yeah…”

“Was it good?”

“Mia!” you scold, swatting at her knee.

“Hey! You can’t blame me for asking. I love Sam but I have eyes,” she says. “He reminds me of all the guys we went to school with that have photos with fish on their Tinder profiles.”

“You’re terrible,” you sigh.

“You know it, baby,” she smiles. “So you slept together. What next?”

“We haven’t talked about it.”

Mia holds her tongue for a moment, trying to formulate this sentence in the least explosive way possible. “Do you want to?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say.

“I have to ask. You’re not exactly the talk it out type of person anymore,” Mia says.

Ignoring that, you say, “He’s busy. I’m busy. I hate it.”

“Call him,” Mia tries.

“Did that. Not really an over-the-phone kind of conversation,” you say.

Mia hums thoughtfully. “Okay, well. Try it out with me first.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re going to say to him, say it to me. I know exactly where your mind is going with this—oh no, he has no time for me. Is it even worth discussing this matter that is very important to me if I project unimportance from the other party onto my feelings?"

You don’t say anything, willing another bottle of wine to appear next to the empty one on the coffee table.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong. It’s what you do,” Mia says, confidence in the way she straightens up against the couch. And she isn’t wrong, but maybe you aren’t either. Frankie isn’t her. Frankie isn’t your best friend. He’s friendly, and you fucked.

“Okay, fine,” you say. You focus in on Mia’s eyes, imagining a different pair of them staring back at you. “I just—I want to tell you that what happened…was a first. In a long while. And I don’t know how to say it like a normal goddamn person, but—”

You can’t focus, words flying out of your mouth too fast for your tipsy brain to keep up. Your feelings are a jumble in your head, a vintage game of Scrabble lost to time. Mia’s not Frankie either. You’d have to explain it and provide all this context that you can’t even put words to for her to understand. For this to feel any ounce of real. Frankie would simply get it. But he won’t, because at this rate you’ll never get to tell him.

“I don’t know,” you sigh.

“Well I can’t make you do anything. I know you, and you’ll do what you think is best. Even if you know the alternative might be better,” Mia says. You can’t help but laugh. “I kind of get it, how your dad felt? When we were at school.”

The mood turns. Not sour, not quite the same. Your living room has a palpable edge ebbing through it now, carried through the occasional waft of alcohol between you, Mia, and the open, empty bottle.

“Do you remember him when we were in college?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Your dad? Of course. He was so, I don’t know—hands-on? He was around way more than my parents were,” Mia says.

He showed up every third weekend of the month with a few containers of leftovers; macaroni pie, frozen meatloaf and mashed potatoes, fresh tomatoes from his garden.

A man who only softened when you elected to up and leave. A man you resented until the day he died. A man you still resent, deep down in your soul. Yet you miss him.

The first time your heart’s been activated in years to throw you off assured feet and your first instinct is to run home to Dad. He lingers in your car, in the way you hold the gravy boat at Mia’s Thanksgiving dinners; his gloves are what you wore in the months of a tiresome film shoot amid an unending New York blizzard.

You hate him. He loved you. For the sixth time this week, you ponder driving home to clean up his grave. You can’t right now, because of work. Maybe when the summer’s over. The leaves will have started to fall. The headstone could use a good power wash.

“Where’d you go?” Mia asks.

“Hm?”

“You disappeared on me for a second,” she says.

“Thinking,” you say.

“Mm, don’t do too much of that. You’ll break your brain.”

“Already broken.”

“That’s too bad,” Mia smiles. “Had some pretty great thoughts sometimes.”

��Sometimes?”

“All the time,” she corrects. Mia gets off the couch, taking a minute to steady herself. “I’m calling a ride.”

“Excellent idea,” you nod. “See? Look at you. Responsible, quick-witted. You can do the thinking for the both of us.”

“Slow your roll, Romeo,” Mia cautions, staring into her phone. She looks up at you. “The night is still young. I’m only going home because you’re dry.”

“There’s a reason you keep alcohol at your place and I don’t,” you say. There have been some days, far behind you now, where you might’ve just drank the pain away. Certainly not the way to go.

She leaves you with another laugh and a smile, promising to text you when she gets home. The apartment stills as soon as the door shuts. You almost open it again, reaching for the knob to lean out into the hall and call Mia back. You don’t, instead letting the quiet envelope you. This doesn’t feel the same as the loneliness that would lurk in the shadowy corners of the room. Your lamps finally feel tall enough to reach those spots, dawning light on them and banishing the feeling.

You let yourself sit with it. Not lonely but alone. This isn’t permanent and it’s not a death sentence, as uncomfortable as it feels right now. Mia is there, along with an assortment of friends whose names you’ll have to dust the cobwebs off of soon. Even if Frankie never calls, you’ll be okay. A bittersweet realization for this dull and itching moment.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you pass the bathroom, you pause. You watch yourself, not in judgment like the last time. Plain observation. You blink three times in one minute before moving on.

It’s odd, looking without really looking. You’ve oscillated between dissection and avoidance of yourself for the last handful of years. This is a new skill to build. Look, there she is. A blink in passing.

Wherever you go, there you are. Get used to it.

Back on the studio lot for the rest of the week, you don’t see Frankie. The occurrence becomes less and less significant as the days pass. You almost delete his number from your phone altogether. Almost.

At lunch, you go through your phone to his contact, finger hovering over the trash button. In the end, you decide against it. It’s a number you might need for work. It’d be a pain in the ass to have to go down to payroll for his contact information—like you don’t have the digits memorized. Mia joins you at some point, minutes blurring together as you eat in pleasant silence.

Shooting goes over almost two hours because of rain leaking through the roof onto a set piece. You get home close to midnight. The street lamps bathe everything in a warm glow. Puddles have collected in the divets of the road, water reflecting the artificial light alongside the cold moon.

The elevator ride up to your floor should be like any other. Your instincts know better. Watching the digital numbers change as the metal box ascends, your stomach flips in your gut. You’ve always been acutely aware of the environments you found yourself in, bullshit meter finely tuned to warn you when shit was about to hit the fan.

It’s an instinct your father grew and nurtured in childhood. Because of him, all hard edges and unreachable wells of emotion. He was iced over solid. You found yourself carefully skating over that surface, around and around again for years until you left.

When the elevator doors open, you half-expect to see him standing there. Risen from the grave like a corpse from your dreams. The wall of shiny metal parts into two, and you see someone. Not your father. The breath caught in your throat flashes from crisp to boiling, a tube of Icy Hot slathered across your lungs.

You’ve never told Frankie where you live. So what is he doing here?

Before you’ve even made it to your door, you ask him.

“Thought I’d missed you,” he supplies as an explanation. “Or that you were ignoring me from inside.”

“I can ignore you from outside, too,” you say, setting your bag down. Taking keys from your back pocket, you avert your eyes as you get a grasp on the one for your front door.

“Listen,” he begins, watching as you turn the lock. “I—”

“Look, Frankie. I don’t have time for this. Or you, or your games.” Turning the handle of the door and pushing it open, you grab your things and step inside your apartment. “You said you’d call. You didn’t. End of story.”

“The phone works both ways,” he says. You try not to be shocked at the audacity.

“Well this,” you say, pointing between the two of you, “doesn’t.”

You’re shutting the door when he gently rests a hand on the reinforced wood.

“Please just—let me explain?” Frankie asks. You don’t close the door but don’t open it any wider for him. At that, he says, “Thank you.”

Glancing behind you to find the living room clock, you say, “You’ve got two minutes.” Two minutes to midnight.

“I wanted to call, but I—” Frankie cuts himself off. “I was a coward and that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry. I don’t usually feel this way about people. Not in a long time.”

His words are scratching at your heart. You hold your steely gaze against him, ignoring your insides slowly melting behind the door.

“I really like you. More than I’ve liked anybody. More than I like myself most days. That night in Florida was confusing for me. You wanted me there, and I wanted you. And then you said it was scary and I realized just how terrifying it is. This is.” Frankie takes a breath. “I didn’t want this to be weird. Didn’t want to box you into a corner with all of this shit I’m feeling because that isn’t fair and—”

He’s been avoiding focusing on you, instead staring at the nice tile scuff between the doorway and his boot. Frankie looks up, words playing straight on his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost when all he’s looking at is you.

“And now I’m some fucker on your doorstep begging you to listen to me tell my sob story.” From the sounds of it, that’s the last thing he wants.

“Sometimes things don’t work out. That’s life,” you say. You’re telling yourself that this is the smart decision. Ice him out and your heart stays safely in your chest. Close the door and he’ll forget all about you.

Frankie’s eyes are wide, expression raw. He isn’t observing or puzzling over you, he’s barely hiding anything on that face of his. Frankie is bleeding emotion all over your door. You want to take him in your hands and kiss it better. Lick the gore from his mouth, words crimson and dripping off his chin.

So you do.

Setting your bag down in the corner, you open the door wider to see all of him. He stands tall, all broad shoulders under his slubby blue button-down. You’re kissing Frankie before you can consider anything else. He takes ahold of the frilly sleeves of your blouse to pull you closer.

Licking at your teeth, Frankie walks you backward into the apartment. The door is still open. You maneuver around and press your back against it, closing with a thud. He breaks the kiss to murmur another apology against your cheek. You let him, pushing your tongue back into his mouth again.

Gripping the hair that sticks out at the nape of his neck, Frankie moans into the kiss.

“Are you—? Can we?” he asks, whisper-quiet. “Should we?”

No. Yes? You aren’t sure that it matters much anymore. “Do you want to?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

The kiss is gentler from there on, moving through the front hall and living room with Frankie attached to your face. He almost trips himself taking his boots off. You both make it to the bed, thighs catching at the edge of the mattress. Lying down, he joins you. This is immediately better than that shitty motel, and you haven’t done anything yet.

Frankie moves onto his side, distracted by your lips as he works at the front zipper of your pants. You move your hand to join his, pulling the silver tab down over metal teeth like you’ve done a couple hundred times by now. He huffs in a wordless thanks, pushing your pants down until they are bunched at your ankles. You toe them off along with your socks, leaving you in nothing but underwear from the waist down.

He’s looking at you like an eclipse, utterly fascinated. You begin to shrink in on yourself under his gaze, but he gently runs the pads of his fingers over your cheek. You lean into the warm touch, three matches dragging against your skin to set your face alight.

Frankie kisses down your body, undoing a few of the buttons that sit over your chest. He doesn’t take the shirt off of you, instead pushing it up as his lips kiss over your stomach. You jerk, the soft feeling sending a jolt through your body.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please touch me.” You hate that you’re begging, but love to hear yourself do it.

Frankie does too, moving his mouth over you as he keeps your underwear on. He licks at you over the lycra material, soaking the already damp fabric where your clit sits beneath it. Dipping his tongue low against the gusset, he slips two fingers under your waistband and tugs it away from your skin. The panties peel off of you.

Frankie bunches them in his hand, leaving them beside him on the bed. Without warning, he’s on you again—really this time. He licks at your cunt fervently, like this is the last chance he’ll get to give head. You close your eyes and pull his head closer to your body, small moans slipping past your lips.

This is still a bit of an apology. The thought comes to you amidst your fuzzy haze as you drip onto his tongue. Frankie groans below you, taking your right thigh in one hand and hoisting it onto his shoulder. He’s attached to you again, a different set of lips.

Most of his attention is focused on your clit, his tongue swirling at it between moments when he presses it flat against the whole of you.

“You’re always so sweet for me,” Frankie mumbles. “Wet and pretty. D’you like it when I fuck you with my mouth?”

“Yes, fuck—always,” you sigh.

Dragging him up by the hair, you kiss him again. You need to before you say something stupid. One hand is held softly at your jaw while Frankie’s other hand works you over, pressing hard against your clit.

“God.” Your heart is racing underneath your skin, beating too fast to be quite comfortable.

Frankie’s so close and everything smells like him. Frankie and sex; two things this room has never been exposed to in your tenure here. You should make a candle.

You scratch at his chest, half-hoping to draw a bit of blood as you whine his name.

“Yeah honey? That good? Nice and slow, or—?”

You nod and he slips a finger inside of you, pressing against the front wall of your pelvis. This returns you to begging for more, for anything. For him.

At the edge of an orgasm, Frankie’s fingers leave you in search of a condom. You reach out to the drawer of your bedside table, yanking it forward. Amongst a stash of pens, sticky notes, and batteries is a handful of them. Frankie takes one and opens it up, sliding the latex over his cock. One day, you’ll get your mouth on that thing. Right now you both have other plans.

He works his hand over himself a couple of times before sinking onto the mattress with you. His arms cage you in at either side as he slides in slowly. He’s only halfway inside you when you nod to yourself, a hum barely audible.

“What?” he asks.

“Noting that you’re a missionary type of guy,” you say.

That pulls a laugh from him, morphing into a squeezed moan as you hook one leg over Frankie’s hip. He’s pushed the rest of the way inside of you, breathing heavily at the surprise.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Would that be so bad this way?” you ask. It’s hard to keep up the sarcastic banter when you’re so full of him.

Frankie sighs. “No.” The word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips, the force moving you up the bed half an inch.

What you would give to have him fuck you into the headboard; pound you into the mattress. He can’t, shouldn’t, and seems to know it already. Frankie grants you your wish of laying on you though. Just lightly, a feather of a man on top.

Frankie’s cock kisses the end of your cunt before he pulls out again. You hold onto him, pressing him closer as you keep your face in the shadow of his neck. Picturing the scene, pants off and shirts on, almost makes you laugh. Another punch of his hips fucks the thought from your head as you sink your teeth into his skin. Frankie hisses, losing his rhythm with a slight stutter.

“Do that again,” he says, waiting. You do, kissing at the tender skin of his throat this time before you bite him. The flesh between your teeth is soft and elastic, pulling away from his body.

In Frankie’s absence, your appetite has grown. Maybe that’s what it is: starvation. Waiting for days to get your fill once again. You need him inside you—in your cunt, under your skin, between your teeth. You would devour him if he’d let you.

“You feel so fucking good.” His words come slow, contrasting the small gasps he pulls from you on every thrust, leaving you breathless. Frankie is holding you in almost a cradle now. Claustrophobia settles between your bodies deliciously, the world shrinking down to a pinhole as he fucks you.

It doesn’t quite feel like fucking, though. The way Frankie touches you is too soft in some places, and the way he’s looking at you is killer. His eyes flash with that unexplainable thing, stirring your stomach as you feel your peak again. This is a murder. He’s returning the favour.

The next kiss Frankie gives you is bruising. The heat of your skin against his boils over, the oxygen blur caused by your faulty lungs and the slap of his hips against yours doing you in. You come with a groan, panting into his mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

“So pretty when you come,” he says beside your ear. “So pretty always, sweet thing.”

He pulls out of you, jerking himself off through the condom over your body. You shake your head, removing the thin piece of rubber. You pick up where he left off, spitting on him and stroking Frankie’s cock with the tight circle of your hand.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and loud. “Honey, slow down. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” Testing, you give him a kitten lick at the tip of his dick.

“Oh god.”

You shake your head. “Just me.”

He comes with a few more strokes, striping your tongue, your lips, your chin. You let him go to gather it from your skin onto your fingers. It’s only a little shiny here in the half-dark. You can feel Frankie watching when you press your index past your lips, tasting more of him.

He groans. Again, he says, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Frankie lays down on the empty side of the bed. You brace for his after-sex questionnaire, but the conversation never comes. He rolls onto his side to face you, slipping his arms around your torso as you face away from him.

Eventually he asks, “You still like me being here? Now that it’s here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Florida, it’s a vacation. This is a little more…” Permanent. Memorable.

Whenever you went home for the summer, your childhood bedroom plagued you with thoughts and memories long buried of your amateur firsts. Your brain still sort of worked like that—you’re sure that if you went back to your old unit in California, the handful of PAs and dolly grips you spent nights with would be one of the first things on your mind.

“Yeah,” you say, answering the question. “This is better.”

“Better?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mumble into the pillow.

“Too late,” Frankie says.

You sigh. “How can you be the coolest guy ever and an absolute donut at the same time?”

“You think I’m cool?” he asks.

Unlike him, you’re honest. “Unfortunately.”

Frankie hums, the rumble of his chest sinking into the bones in your spine easily.

This is all easy. Listening to him breathe, letting him in your space, falling asleep against him. If you weren’t so thoroughly fucked and tired, the simplicity would freeze you, desperate to scramble away. All you can do is lay there, falling asleep in his arms.

When you wake up, Frankie’s gone. Again.

Something painful seizes your chest, an icy claw poking razor-sharp fingers through the slats in your ribs. The sheets on the empty side of the bed still have the faint glow of body heat. He must’ve left recently, or maybe he’s still up. You can catch him before he puts his boots on and walks out your front door—out of your apartment, out of your life.

Franke interrupts your thoughts when he returns to your room, a mug in his hand.

“Did I wake you?” he asks. His morning voice is low and gravelly. A feast for the ears.

“No,” you shake your head. “I thought you left.”

“Moved my boots. They were getting dirt on your nice carpet.” Right. You remember him leaving them somewhere in your apartment. “I made coffee.”

“I’m okay.” You let your breathing even out as he sits back down on the bed with you. “We should…talk.”

“That’s all we ever do,” Frankie says. “Well, that and…” The other thing you two are so proficient at these days.

“I mean really talk. About this,” you say.

“Right,” he nods. Frankie sets his mug down, steam rising from the top. “I guess I do owe you a secret.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It doesn’t,” he agrees. “I want to tell you.”

When you told him about the accident, about everything that changed, you’d handed him this soft and precious thing of yours that no one else had ever seen. With the roles reversed, your palms itch. You can’t help but think that you’ll drop his.

“But you have to promise me something first,” Frankie says. “Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay? Please.”

“Okay.”

A long moment of silence draws on between the two of you as he stares at your bed sheets. Frankie’s mouth twitches, filtering through his vocabulary to find the right words. Then finally, he speaks.

He tells you about a region in South America called Tres Fronteras. About a phone call, a decision, a heist. The money, most of it lost to the unforgiving land and sea. Frankie lost a friend, a wife, and a life he was trying to carve out for himself. All for riches that were never going to be his.

“I killed people. I was good at it—that and flying planes. And then all of that ended with the service. For a while there I was…a bit of a trigger-happy coke head,” he says, almost rolling his eyes. Frankie can’t seem to look at you, the same way he couldn’t in the hall. “Took a long time to clean up my act.”

You understand what he meant on that beach, an apology waiting behind your teeth as you keep your eyes on him. You don’t verbalize it. Instead, you take his hand into yours. Gently, you squeeze.

“I guess you aren’t the only one squirrely about secrets,” Frankie whispers.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Frankie surrenders, face drawn when he meets your eyes.

“That’s not the person you’ve shown me. It’s not the guy that I see. We change. For worse or for better.”

You would be lying if you said that his admissions don’t unsettle you; that this is an easy pill to swallow. But you know him. You want him. He and you are cut from the same cloth in the end. This changes nothing.

“Which one do you think you are?” he asks.

“Worse.” But that can change. Is changing, even as you sit here.

“And me?”

At that, you smile. “Better.”

You want to tell him that the promise of seeing him had been one of the only things getting you through the slow, thick haze of summer. That the thought of him never calling was a little devastating, no matter how sad that sounds. You miss his touch and want his eyes on you always. You’ve never had such a quick turnaround in opinion about anything. It’s selfish, really.

“I’m kind of a bad person,” he says slowly. It’s half warning, half realization.

“Good and bad are concepts from make-believe. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“So what do you worry about?” Frankie asks.

“Reality,” you say. “My whole life is centered around making other people believe in something fake. Concentrating on what’s real? That’s been keeping me sane lately.”

Mia’s words. Frankie’s attention. That tangible feeling of warmth, different but the same, when you are around both of them.

“And you’re real,” you say before he can ask. “A bit of a fuck up, but so am I.”

“That must be why we get along,” Frankie says.

“Must be.”

You want to add you’ll be okay to that list of real things. You need it. You’d kill for it. Silently, with your head against the pillow, you make a decision.

tags: @wannab-urs / @anoverwhelmingdin / @iamskyereads / @for-a-longlongtime

#pedrostories #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: the world tipped on its side

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masterqwertster · 5 months

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Maybe 20. From the touching prompt list: bandaging/stitching up an injury. Do you think Ashton can get stitches with his skin?

No, I don't really think Ashton can get stitches. Not unless you're using, like, an industrial needle meant for poking through a lot of tough fabric. And even that feels a little iffy given the strength requisite to punch through means you're kind of running the risk of just straight up stabbing them with the needle and making things worse. But I have had a solution to No Stitches sitting on the headcanon backburner for a long while, so I'm thankful for the motivation to flesh it out. Also, this is going in Metamorphic

Sealant for My Wounds

Ashton is 13, almost 14, the first time he gets stabbed.

The wound sluggishly bleeds their wine-dark blood as they hold a cloth against it, listening to the others argue about how one is supposed to apply stitches.

“You've got to dip the needle in booze!” Zeeland insists.

“No, the booze is for the pain,” Sally argues.

“Yeah, you're supposed to put the needle in fire,” Bennet agrees.

“What?! No! Are you trying to burn them too?”

“We at least need hot water to clean the wound, yeah?” That one gets a general murmur of agreement.

Ashton lets the chatter about the best way to handle this wash over them.

It fucking hurts. A throbbing in his side with every heartbeat. The pressure to minimize the amount of blood escaping his body. He’s never been hurt like this before. A hurt that sinks into him, past the surface of his skin. Deeper than a scratch, a cut. Sharper than a bruise. What will it feel like when it’s not so immediate? Ashton doesn’t know, is half intrigued and half afraid to find out. And a little bit dreading when this will happen again. (There’s no if about it. Not in a place like Bassuras. Not when all he’s got going for him is a body that can take a hit and dish them out)

Eventually a plan of action is decided upon. The needle and thread are prepared, the wound washed, and the burn of stolen alcohol washes down Ashton’s throat. (It’s certainly distracting, that coughing burn in their throat. They’re not sure how anyone can enjoy it without being some sort of masochist)

Jeto has the needle while the rest of the group has hands on Ashton to hold him down. Getting stitches isn’t supposed to be a comfortable process, yet it’s one that the patient should hold still for. And they know that Ashton, despite his slighter frame, can out muscle any one of them.

It’s a tense moment as Aston waits for the first tug of a needle through skin. A moment that stretches… and stretches… and stretches, even as they can feel hands at their side, pressing against the wound, causing it to spark with pain.

“Just fucking start already,” Ashton grouses, getting impatient for it to be over already.

“I’m trying! The needle’s not going through your fucking skin!” Jeto snipes back frustratedly.

“...What?” Ashton whispers, fear slithering down his spine. If he can’t get stitches, how the fuck are they going to hold the stab wound shut so it can heal right?

“Just gimma a sec. Probably just need the right angle or something– Fuck. Shit. Piss,” Jeto curses, hands moving away.

“Jeto?” Ashton asks nervously.

“You’re fine. Needle’s just bent. Shit.”

Fuck fuck fuck. Is Ashton going to have a hole in their side for forever? They can’t close the damn stab wound without stitches!

“Give me the needle. I’ll do it myself, since you’re weak as shit,” Ashton panics, already pushing against the hands holding him down.

“First off, rude. Secondly, this isn’t about strength. Anyone else, and I could have jabbed the needle all the way in with the kind of strength I was using,” Jeto testily explains. “No, the problem here is you’re a fucking rock person and our needle isn’t gonna punch through rock.”

Ashton stills at those words, fears confirmed.

“...What do we do?” The words slip out, quiet and scared.

“Keep an eye on it and hope the caretakers give a fuck if it gets infected or some shit,” Jeto says in a practical tone with a shrug.

And they do. But it’s so fucking slow to heal, while any sharp moves or blows cause it to start bleeding again.

Ashton doesn’t find a solution until he’s left on the ground after a fight, watching his dark blood bind the dirt and sand into mud. Some strange instinct that never existed in him before insists he gather the earth bound in his escaped blood and return the whole mix to the wound it left. His rational mind screams that this is stupid and exactly how wounds get infected. But packing and plugging the wound with something to stop the bleeding isn’t that stupid. And at the worst, the wound will get infected and the caretakers will throw a fit about having to get a proper healer to fix him up.

And Ashton is an earth genasi, so maybe…

He follows the instinct. Scoops up the almost clay-like slurry and presses it into the aging stab wound, into the larger gashes this recent fight has left him with.

It doesn’t feel bad. (It feels right. The earth returning their strength, their health)

He doesn’t tell the others what he did. Ashton doesn’t want the lecture, the arguments, the proclamations of idiocy. It’s not like they know how Ashton’s body really works anyways. Sure, it’s the same shape as a half-elf’s, but they’ve all already seen that the stone composition of it changes things. So who the fuck gave them the right to judge?

The others find out. Of course they do.

But by the time they know, Ashton’s already found that those strange instincts were correct. Their blood mud sealed the wound, stopping the bleeding reopenings of the injury. And weird as it fucking is, their body seems to be integrating the mud, compressing and shoring it up into the same stone as the rest of them. Even small cuts heal faster with blood mud.

They call it fucking weird and strange (and creepy behind his back), but Ashton can’t find that he necessarily disagrees, even if it does make a strange sort of sense given his elemental nature. Mostly he’s just glad to have a solution for when he needs stitches.

So yeah. While I thought of the "blood mud to seal wounds" way before the titan blood reveal (actually back around when I first started writing Rockin' It, back during the Museum Heist), at this point, I'm kind of inclined to make it a titan blood thing. Ashton is just so wholly of the earth because of the titan blood that shoving dirt/mud in their wounds is helpful, like slip or sealant or daub.

#MQ&A #touch prompt #MQfic #rockin' it #ashton greymoore

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edge-oftheworld · 2 months

Text

thinking about the way when i interact with fellow aussies on here I see so much disappointment about how they didn't come here on their last tour. how sydney 5sos fans are a different brand of human i'm not really sure how to describe (we all freaked out when we went to the same concert lauren was at for example). thinking about how the australian leg of take my hand tour felt like it was almost its own thing, sandwiched between the gap after the bulk of the tour before it and that short gap before they announced the most recent tour after it--almost as if it was meant to bridge both of those tours. how they played in newcastle and on the gold coast and it wasn't quite cairns or coffs but it was a bit more than your state capitals headline tour. how, with the exception of the big four, we often don't realise how small our cities are on a global scale. there are only 27 million of us on this desert island.

thinking about how they wrote easy for you to say and had to perform it on tour six months before its actual release, it was so important to this setlist, to the vibe, and how it's about nostalgia and missing sydney and they finished the tour in sydney and it makes me wonder, i can kind of guess when the song means the same thing to me, how much it hurts to be able to perform here and yet not be able to stay for longer than a holiday. and yet they do do that for us, put on shows about as regularly as any other artist does. even if they didn't play splendour in the grass. or falls festival. even if it's been four years since fire fight australia, it was only months ago sierra was promoting beyond blue as a charity to donate to. friends of friends did some fundraiser for a youth centre in blacktown: maybe I have to look to see it, but I can see the impact they've left.

and then I see how happy they all seem to look when they've gotten a chance to hang out in australia. ashton covering songs in the heat. calum obviously having a blast. luke dropping sydney pics that were assumedly from before it got really hot, looking carefree, a familiar skyline and familiar urban graffiti. the way when michael arrived in perth for the first time after lockdown he simply had to tell us all right away. and i've always kind of seen them coming back here for good? heck, joel madden even assumed right on his podcast some of them might have already. the way ashton doesn't have a dog in the states, and how i've always seen him with an aussie. the way luke integrates seamlessly into the life and culture of the inner west area; and calum carries blue mountains vibes with him wherever he goes, as michael does with the sydney pop punk scene. we know brandy and sierra at least love australia--i was actually fangirling about sierra in their comments with the veronicas just the other day (bless them for deciding my comment was something that needed to replying to). while crystal does have a massive group of usamerican friends and family I can see her enjoying the vegan places in melbourne and brisbane (they're coming to sydney too. the inner west and parts of the north side are almost there) and maybe being a little more hopeful about politics. I can also see it being a really healthy place to raise lua.

maybe it's the hopefulness of an urban designer who sees the impact of art and culture and having people around who create for a living on our cities, but maybe I see myself in 20 years bringing my kids to see them play and being able to tell the story of a series of songs (red desert, efyts, whatever is next in the theme in the works for 5sos6 as well as the solo stuff like a lot of wfttwtaf and boy) and how they figured out what we all have to, how to find and create a place that's home to you--because it's actually a pretty likely event. and i love seeing the evolution from the 'let's get out' / 'worked every weekend just to get out of town' vibe of self titled and sgfg to now. I really do want them all to feel like they can relax now after so many years of working and depriving themselves of the love that comes from belonging (I do feel like we've heard more about it from luke and ash specifically) and I also get the subtle vibes of where that might happen. and how much it might hurt when they don't get to have that. what did they do for aussies? gave us hope that we could make it, in whatever we want to do and whatever success means for us. maybe it's just me though. for now. maybe i've got the expectations of someone who grew up unable to afford things like concerts mixed with the anticipation for this june. I hope i'm not projecting, but also, the empathy I feel when I see myself in someone is usually spot on.

so idk. one day i'm gonna design some really classy public housing made to unfuck the status quo and i'm gonna raise money to build it and sierra will write a song and say she's doing a donation to this charity in australia doing things about homelessness and the class divide and it's gonna help me fund it. that's just one option of something i can see going down that's not completely unrealistic if very very optimistic but it's how i live my life. but i'll go to a 5sos concert eventually. i'll play their songs i've arranged with an orchestra one day too and we'll do it impressively, noticeably. i don't really know what else i'm supposed to expect? I know my experience is worlds away from many people's. but these guys inspire me to create and I don't really need anything else to do that.

#will add that i think if they were to move back here it would be something that would require work to be better than as kids #because it was never perfect for them to begin with and we do all deserve better than to pick the less uncomfortable uncomfortable option #fr though sierra + the australian music industry is just #like i really feel like she's at home there. more so than 5sos even #australia #5sos5 city #what am i talking about #i feel like it's just my experience really #official efyts post #nfattne tour brisbane #5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood #michael clifford #sierra deaton #almondmilkhunni #crystal leigh

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lovesosweeet · 8 months

Text

better left unsaid // cth

chapter zero

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn't know.

july 31st, 2018

LAX

orion

—

"Boys, time to board. Say your goodbyes." Matt, the band manager calls out. Really, he's only talking to Calum. Sierra and Crystal are joining the band for the start of the tour, while I'm the only one staying in LA.

Calum pulls me tighter into his chest, smoothing over the back of my hair. I'm crying and can feel wet splotches on his sweatshirt where my tears have fallen. I squeeze him as tight as I can, wishing more than anything that the situation was different.

"I'll see you when I get back," he says, his eyes swimming with a few tears he'd never let fall. "I love you."

I can't bring myself to lie and say he'll see me. I can lie by omission, but flat out lying is harder. Words just get caught in my throat. "I love you." There are a lot of other things I'd like to say, but I leave them unsaid, packed away in my brain, where they should be... where they won't hurt anyone except for me.

He peels back from our embrace just enough to kiss me. He wipes away my tears with his thumb and gives me a small smile. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, even when you're crying."

I blush and scrunch up my nose. "Flattery isn't getting you anywhere today, babe." Cal playfully recoils a bit, acting like that bruised his ego. "I love you. Go, board. I'll be cheering you on every night."

Calum kisses me once more and I try to memorize every detail of this moment. I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut that's begging me to wonder if this will be our last kiss. I can't think like that. Not yet, anyway. I memorize the way his chapped, but still so soft lips feel against mine and the weight of his hands on my cheeks.

"I love you so much. I'll call you when we land, okay?" He plants a kiss on my nose. "Did I mention I love you?"

I smile—a real, toothy smile. I even roll my eyes a little. Even in moments like these, he still finds ways to make me happy. "No, don't think so."

He feigns fake hurt. "I did!"

"Go." I gently push his chest.

Calum sighs. "I'm gonna miss—"

"Cal, mate, we've really gotta go," Ash comes up behind him and puts his hand on Calum's shoulder. He gives me a sad smile. I make eye contact with him and try to telepathically say 'don't forget your promise.'

"It's not easy to say goodbye to the love of your life, dude!" Calum yells to Ash. It feels like stab in my chest.

"She also literally just told you to go!"

"I'm gonna miss you too, babe. Now go!" I quickly peck him on the lips one final time before I unwrap my arms from around him and take three steps back. Cal looks at me sadly. "Go!" I urge again, laughing through my tears.

He slumps his shoulders a bit and ruffles his hand through his hair. "Fine, okay, I'll go."

I blow him a kiss and watch him shuffle sadly to the exit of the fancy private suite LAX had prepared for the band. I then realize everyone else is still here, waiting for their chance to say goodbye to me.

The next few moments are just more hugs and I'll miss you's, Crystal and Sierra giving me empathetic gazes and arm squeezes. I wish the boys luck and usher them to follow Calum.

"Go, go, go, I love you all and will miss you but you're going to Japan for crying out loud! Go have fun!"

Mike and Luke, along with their girlfriends and the rest of the band's crew, leave the room, but Ash stays behind. He pulls me into a bone crushing hug as soon as it's just the two of us. Before I know it I can feel his body quiver as he cries.

"Ash, please don't," I whisper, not wanting to start sobbing.

I'm met with sniffles and gasps and he tries to pull it together enough to say something.

"I love you, O. We all do. I know I promised, it's just—"

I step back from our hug.

"No. You promised." My words are harsh, cold almost. I'm not sure how I'm managing to look him dead in the eye and not crumbling in this moment, but I'm sternly staring into Ash's eyes like an angry teacher.

Ashton gives me what might be the world's saddest smile. "I know. I promised. I won't break our promise; it's not my place to do it. But god, O, I wish you'd tell him."

I look away. "I know you do. But I'm not going to. Maybe after the tour, we'll have to see how treatment goes."

He stops and starts saying something in reply a few times before Matt pops his head back into the room. "Ash, she's not even your girlfriend, wrap it up my man."

I smile at Matt before he exits again.

"I love you. Call me if you need anything — and I mean it. Anything."

I nod, knowing I'm not planning on sharing any of the nitty gritty with Ashton. I don't want him to worry more than he already will be worrying. "Of course. Love you too, now go!"

As Ashton leaves me in silence, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Calum.

From: bass boy 💕

i love love love you. i wish you could come with us, maybe next tour? you say the word and i'll fly you out wherever and whenever you want. i miss you already. xxx

read chapter one

—

a/n: uh, is this thing on?

hi. my name is zoe and i wrote a fanfic called "maybe" like 5 years ago (among many others) on wattpad but then i deleted my wattpad 3 years ago, and now i guess i'm re-entering the fanfic world? apparently?? anyway, i'm rewriting "maybe" and that's what this is but this time on tumblr bc no one is on wattpad anymore it seems.

this will feature cal's POV and bounce back in forth in time/place but i'll try to make it as clear as i can!!!

i love you all and thank you for being here <3

let me know if you have any thoughts or remember my old fics hehe

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #fanfic #fanfiction #5sos fanfic #calum imagine #calum fanfic #cth #5sos fanfiction #calum 5sos

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c-is-for-circinate · 2 years

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c3e34

I never stay up for the whole ep any more, so I am so tired, but my heart is so full of love and pain and it was very worth it.

Ugh the fact that it was Laudna, who walks so close to death, who is Imogen's first and most beloved, who's dead now. That Orym and Fearne both survived (and I'm so so glad and relieved to have them back! But Laudnaaaaaaaaaa), but Laudna who was still hanging on by a thread at the end of last week who's gone now.

My heart for the misery and desperation and horrible choice of who to rez, but also for the complete lack of recrimination afterwards. It would have been so easy to bite at each other, to turn on each other, but they have been so so firm and stubborn. (And there's this pervasive awareness throughout the entire group that we're treating Imogen like a grieving widow, that Laudna was her person. Laudna belonged to the Hells in the way all the Hells belong to one another, but she was Imogen's person, and everybody there knows it, and every single soul in that group would go down on their knees on broken glass rather than utter a single syllable to suggest this is Imogen's fault. That it's anybody's fault.)

Ashton, so goddamn dead-set on fixing this. Looking for a thing to do. Ashton who spent all of last episode from the edge of stress to the edge of panic, because chaos was unleashing around him and there was nothing he could do. (And we get that backstory story NOW, after all that, the story of a small, soft-bodied child surrounded by primeval chaos and horror that tore through everybody they knew and loved, that's the story we get after last episode. But Ashton's not even thinking about their own issues right now. Just living in them. Just steeping in those issues, determined to find control, to take control, to make things right by force, to not be held helpless to the murder done by an uncaring universe.)

Fearne, Fearne who broke my goddamned heart, because Fearne is always, always, always okay! Even when her parents show up out of nowhere and her whole backstory comes crashing in, she has a smile! It's a smile of murderous frustration, but it's still a sweet little smile and an unpredictable Fearne who nobody knows what she'll do next. Fearne who is not smiling, Fearne who is on her knees, who's shocked, who's sad, who's scared. Who's panicking on her knees, "I don't know what to do, Imogen, I don't know what to do." Fearne loves Orym so, so, so much. She loves this group, collectively, even more. She loves so easily and with such genial gaiety but it goes so, so, so deep and she was so scared and over her head.

I am thinking about Orym's survivor's guilt and I am thinking about Orym wanting to be done but having more work to do and more love to give, and I am thinking about Orym stabbing the point of his sword through a man's foot and saying, "I'm the nonviolent solutions guy". Thinking about a 26 intimidation check and a very tired, very very unhappy halfling, who could definitely be a powderkeg if he wants to be.

(Orym saying, the de Rolos. Keyleth. Orym who is the only person in this group who's gotten the story of the Sun Tree on camera, the only person who could possibly have the context for just what reparations, exactly, Vox Machina might feel they owe this woman. Imogen thought Delilah Briarwood was a minor evil deity. FCG seems to vaguely think she's still ruling Whitestone. But Orym knows, as much as anyone who wasn't there. Orym's seen the Sun Tree. He's heard the stories. His father-in-law was there, the last time Delilah Briarwood died.

In conclusion:

I think I'd love to see Keyleth being the one to rez Laudna. Becaue of poetry, yes, but also because of the spell. Druids don't get Raise Dead. Druids get reincarnate.

I want to see what becomes of Laudna, when her age and species and body's history unfolds itself into a new shape. All those things she thought could never change again, even if she wanted them to. Does Delilah back off, if Laudna's new body is not undead? Does she get worse?

#cr spoilers #c3e34 #no but seriously falling alseep directly on the keyboard #gonna go pass out

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12pt-times-new-roman · 10 months

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c3e65

Y'know, it only came up because I saw them in the art reel, but the Judicators do sound alarmingly like Cybermen.

"We... we spent every waking hour of every waking day trying to get back to you. And you came back with -- you have a boyfriend now? You had a little tryst? And you (Imogen) -- you have a new best friend, apparently? I thought about you every moment, and I thought you might've been dead... we didn't have downtime, we didn't have fun moments, we didn't go shopping, we didn't have threesomes -- we went to the middle of nowhere, we saved a fucked up town, and we almost had one of the Ruby Vanguard murder all of us. That was our fun time."

"We're not angry that you didn't suffer -- but it's going to take a while for us to recover." If you told me that, by episode 60, Ashton would be the Bells Hells' voice of reason, I'd laugh at you. But here we are.

Ashton says that he's feeling weirdly okay, Orym is frustrated and wants to move, and Laudna is... withdrawn? Angry? There are a lot of emotions going on, most of them conflicting.

They agree to split up for a day to go investigate different lines of inquiry -- Ashton and FCG want to visit Milo, Chetney wants to meet with Ajit Dyal. Afterwards, they plan to teleport to Zephrah to talk to Keyleth.

I feel like it needs to be restated that the temple of the Dawnfather in Hearthdale was built 30+ years ago because they were given permission to do so by wealthy landowners who bought a chunk of land and let them use it. They increased their presence in response to the solstice, yes, but in the end their prolonged presence there was the result of capitalism and wealth disparity.

We go first to the Krook House. Milo's workshop is in complete disarray -- most of their creations and projects have been disassembled because a lot of it just stopped working. "Wait, were your meds arcane?" ashton--

Ashton hands Milo a mystery note and a bag with some stuff in it. "How quickly can you do that?" "A day and a half." He hands over his hammer. "What are you plotting?" "I think I'm getting a real job. I think we're gonna save the world somehow, fuck it. I think we're gonna be some fuckin' heroes."

Ashton had a lot of time to think over the past few days. They thought about their life, everything that's happened. And they've decided that now is not the time to be worthless, now is not the time to be useless. He doesn't like having things to lose, but now he does, their time apart made him realize that, and he knows he can either risk losing them or he can go all-in with this new family.

They also call FCG out, gently, on their self-destructive tendencies. FCG agrees that if they start taking care of themselves more, the rest of the group will spend less time taking care of them (i.e. they won't have to stop them from sacrificing themselves at every turn), and that they -- between Frida and their newfound faith -- have found a reason to live.

Sometimes, caring for other people is the most punk thing you can do. Or whatever that one post said.

We go next to Imogen and Laudna. They go to visit Xhudanna, who has taken up painting.

"You don't need to listen in to hear my thoughts. I'll share them with you." "...can I kiss you?"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"I don't think you realize, you're such an anchor for me, and when you weren't here, I did such horrible things -- I'm worried I'm a bad person --" "I've heard everything inside you, Laudna, and you are not a bad person. I said you were my tether. Whatever you did, you can tell me." She recounts what happened with Bor'dor, that she was literally hanging on by a thread when she did it. His betrayal broke her, and she couldn't let him live. She says that she lost control, even though her inner monologue in that moment told her that she was holding on to control.

"He attacked you, first of all. Fuck him. And whatever happened with [Delilah]... we'll make it right again, okay?" "Can I be honest with you? There's part of me that thinks we shouldn't. We're about to face the greatest challenge of our lives." Delilah can make her stronger, and she thinks she can use Delilah.

Meanwhile, Imogen doesn't know whether she wants to get rid of the moon's tether. Power is tempting, alluring -- maybe it's their destiny to harness it, maybe it's to challenge and reject it, but only time will tell.

There's something happening in the marketplace. People gathered around in a circle. A familiar voice. "We were never meant to be bound by their laws. We were always meant to rise above them." A hologram-like image of Ludinus hovers above the fountain, speaking of finally rising past the imposed destiny, of no longer being the "beasts of burden" to the gods but the driving force of future and fate.

Guards rush through -- "fuck, another one!" -- and pull a silver disk from the water. When they smash it, the illusion fades. In the crowd, there's mostly fear and confusion, this is adding to their anxiety -- a handful seem to be absorbing the words, but the wardens are hastily dispersing the crowd.

Lastly, Chetney, Fearne, and Orym go to visit Ajit Dyal.

Leading up to the solstice, ships from the north docked in Jrusar before heading south, but after it, there has been a steady stream of new skyships and soldiers.

When they ask about rumors, Ajit says that the people of Jrusar are afraid more than anything. The Quorum calls for calm, but it's hard to ignore the soldiers, and the "big red sign of impending doom." There's an alliance between Issylran militaries, the leader of Ank'harel (J'man Sa'ord), the Clovis Concord, and the Stratos Throne, and all of them are sending forces to the Hellcatch Valley.

There are rumors that everything has been organized by the Stratos Throne and that this is the start of a second Apex War; meanwhile, doomsayers are saying that this is the start of a second Calamity.

As far as enchantments go, many of the automatons running the gondolas have broken down, and multiple prisoners who had been bound by magic have escaped. This is mostly why Jrusar's local guards are on high-alert. The leader of the Ivory Syndicate was among those who were broken out.

The temples have been more reluctant than usual to open their doors.

They ask Ajit to point them toward someone who might know something about Old MagicTM, and he immediately returns from inside the hall with Deremon, a very elderly man who once tutored Ajit.

Chetney pulls out the El Crusty Vest de Ludinus (TM) and shows it to the pair. "This is very peculiar; I have no idea."

Because Ajit didn't hear Ludinus during the solstice either, they gather that hearing that message was related to one's proximity to the leyline nexuses. People who were close to nexus points heard the voice and had a chance of being teleported, it seems, which also means that there is a leyline nexus over both Emon and wherever Deni$e found Dariax.

From the Dyal Hall, the trio starts to head toward the Smoulder Spire to visit the temple of the Matron of Ravens. On their way, a scent catches Chetney's nose -- the most savory meat pie he's ever smelled. To Orym and Fearne, it's more of a stale grain smell. Following it, it becomes an overwhelming hunger, a bestial drive toward the source, like fresh blood on a hunt. Chet makes a WIS save and fails with a 16, sprints toward the source -- in a dark alleyway, there's a short man in a hood, and he tosses a pouch to Chetney -- he catches it, it's a herby, medicinal texture, and the moment he bites it the figure throws a silver net over him.

"Stay away, miss, this is official business!" Fearne immediately throws a spell at him for 31 damage. "It's just business--" "This is my business."

god, the fact that they're going for lethal force immediately and asking zero questions of this normal, leather-clad, dwarven dude they know nothing about is so incredibly telling. especially for Orym, who specifically goes for a gut shot first before tripping him.

"This is a problematic, cursed beast, and I'm going to bring him in." "I mean, you're not wrong, but he's our problematic beast." There's a bounty on Chetney's head, and this guy is intent on bringing him in, but notably he is not making any damaging attacks against Orym (who's blocking his path) -- he's just trying to push past.

Fearne approaches, asks if she can give Chetney a kiss with a 28 persuasion check, and casts stoneskin on him. Interestingly enough, she ignores the 100gp material component for the spell -- so I wonder if Matt is being more lenient with valued components this campaign.

Mister runs up to Chetney and uses fiery teleportation for the first time, which gets him out of the net.

"Tuyen sends her regards." This guy was hired by Tuyen Otwana, the shopkeeper of Prism Emporium -- the shop that overcharged him for a wood chisel, that he subsequently attacked.

As Chetney casts invisibility, I am reminded that we still have no idea why Chetney has the Shadow-Touched feat, nor why Imogen has the Fey-Touched feat. (If there's a narrative reason for either, which I have to assume there is.)

The dwarf picks up the net and misty steps away.

The trio continues to the Smoulder Spire, and climbs almost to its apex. There, they find the temple to the Matron of Ravens, made of a darker material and cleaner than anything else here. The doors are closed, but not locked. Inside, there is a singular figure who opens their arms to the trio. Orym leads them in. "What brings you to the Duskmaven's sight this day, little one?"

"I'm sorry -- I don't have anyone else to turn to right now. I'm having major questions of my faith, and the changes I see above have me worried." "You are not alone." "I am no stranger to death, and I have heard tales of fate. But the things I'm seeing frighten me. What's happening?" "The skein is tangled; the threads are not. The fear that you feel is felt by all... there is much sewn (sown?) -- confusion, distraction. They are doing what we all are doing: what we must do to survive. And our fates are intertwined; if they, if she, can see this through, they will see us through it with them. [How do you know that?] Faith."

The priest can still feel the Matron's influence, but that presence is different than it was before the solstice. She feels a "human vulnerability," and finds it both strange and comforting to feel that in something so grand. "She was like us once, so perhaps she has that vulnerability uniquely." "Do you know what her name was?" "There are none who live that do."

"She may not have the answers you seek, as we are in both a period of mourning and a period of preparation." "How much time you think we've all got?" "Come drink of the waters with me."

The priest leads Orym -- to pulls Fearne along -- toward the interior waterfall. Along the way, they notice that some of the interior lights are dark. She fills a steel pan with water, and offers it to Orym to drink. He leans down, closes his eyes, and drinks the (very cold, but refreshing) water.

The cold spreads through him as he drinks -- not uncomfortable, but cold. Fearne, Chetney, and the priest do the same; as the priest kneels, Orym thinks that he "is just looking for answers," while Fearne thinks loudly that she is "just feeding the root."

"Away from the warming light of the sun--" Is the Matron being portrayed as the opposite of Pelor? Is that what's happening here?

They all spend an indeterminate amount of time kneeling by the water, disassociating, listening to the sound of the water, the cold, the still, and they wonder if this is a piece of death herself. They feel cold, content, at peace.

When they emerge from this state, Chetney is visible, and the priest is gone. They open the front door to a crimson sky, a familiar crater, a beam of noxious energy firing into the sky -- inside the beam they see an orb, hear a scream that doesn't stop, a scream that encompasses the entirety of Exandria and beyond --

and they see a flash of a white porcelain mask, they emerge from their trance state. The priest stands before them -- "we are in a period of mourning for one of our own." That's why the temple's torches are low, why their doors are closed: they are mourning Vax'ildan, the Champion of the Matron of Ravens.

"How do we help? How do we help in the fight? How do we turn the tide?" "Faith."

Orym stoops down, takes a bit of the water from the pool, and smears it across the front of his shield.

The Bells Hells reconvene and share their stories. Laudna is visibly much happier than when they last saw her. Imogen gives Ashton an orange.

Orym would've heard things about "the Champion of the Matron" just as he would've heard about historical figures, and he'd know that the Champion had a tie to Keyleth, but Keyleth herself never mentioned him in front of Orym.

the Bells Hells don't even knows who the gods are. They don't know the difference between the Change Bringer and the Moon Weaver. Fearne doesn't now that Morri isn't a god. They don't know the difference between the Dawnfather and the Matron of Ravens.

And suddenly, the Bells Hells are debating whether they're trying to save the gods or trying to save humanity. Orym argues that those two causes are the same thing, but Laudna disagrees, and FCG agrees to too far of an extent. Imogen conflates a signal from a god to worship. Laudna equates leveling a block of a city to intervention of the gods. \

Ashton -- the most sensible one here at the moment -- says that there's a lot of conjecture about things that just happen. "I watched my parents get ripped to bits in a maelstrom of gods-know-what, I got thrown into a desert and picked up by shitty people and thrown into a fucking orphanage where I stayed -- more or less, what you'd expect. I fought a lot, I made friends, we did what we fucking could, and I fell out a window and woke up in a pain that has never stopped. And there were little sections ot my life where I prayed, and I begged, anything to all of them, any of them, and the only time they've ever spoken to me was the one who tried to fucking kill me less than a week ago. So, I'm here to save us, I'm here to save the people who live here, hell, I've had one fucking word I spoke to a fucking pile of earth that was more responsive and made me feel better and more connected to anything in my fucking life, that grounded itself more -- and you know what? I'm all for faith. I'm not gonna pick a god, they can pick me, they can pray to me, they can choose me more than I ever did to them."

I lied, Orym is the most sensible one. "History is littered with their positive influence here; but none of you would suggest wiping out every living being on earth because some of them are shitty. Some of them have done good, and I think that thinking black-and-white is comforting -- but it's a little more nuanced than that."

"Why can't i have faith in you all? Faith in Exandria, faith in you all, faith in those that came before the gods? The eidolons, the earth, the titans?"

There's a lot going on here, and Team Issylra is (deliciously) misinterpreting the eidolons and the Dawnfather's temple. They all have different opinions, and they're all hung up on the definition of "faith" -- but in the end, they agree that regardless of whether the gods are worthy of saving, Ludinus needs to fucking die. And that's something I can get behind.

I've said it before and I'll say it again -- the discussion of whether or not the gods should exist, of whether the should or shouldn't exhibit their power over mortal-kind, of whether mortal faith gives them life and power, of whether they are in control of fate -- all of it doesn't fucking matter right now. Those questions are ones that can be asked once this is all over. Because the Bells Hells know that, objectively, Ludinus' plan is evil, he is not the one who should fill that power vacuum, he needs to be stopped.

Fearne attempts to scry on Ludinus. As her consciousness extends toward him, she drifts in a liminal space with nothing to tether to, and she realizes that she is unable to scry on him. He has and is attuned to an amulet of proof against detection and location, the same item that shielded Caleb from Trent's eyes.

FCG attempts to scry on Liliana Temult. He focuses on the coin and sees its metal first become strands of hair, then become darker metal; his vision pushes through the coin and into darkness, which turns to redness. He finds himself in the familiar red dust storm that fills almost all the space around him -- but he sees Liliana walking, her hair and coat billowing in the wind. To her left is Ludinus Da'leth, and on the horizon, there are shapes -- structures, buildings... in the sky, a round body of a faint bluish-green coloration -- Exandria looms just beyond the dust storm above." That's all they receive.

They're on the SURFACE OF THE FUCKING MOON, on the SURFACE of RUIDUS ITSELF

It was like they were walking through a street. There is no distinction between home and building here -- it's just a street.

Laudna and Chetney think that this city was on the continent that got scooped up to form Exandria.

FCG asks the Changebringer whether Exandria is round, and she responds, yes.

The Bells Hells deduce that they need to figure out "how to ride [the beam]," that they need to find out how to get to the surface of Ruidus. Spelljammer, here we come!

FCG casts identify on the harness. "The funnel goes to the base of the neck, between the shoulder blades. It is designed, though it does not currently function, to take the essence of some sort of magic and funnel it to some sort of place on the wearer's body -- between the shoulder blades, on the neck."

Orym assumes that the device was designed to prolong Ludinus' life, because fey creatures are generally more long-lived than Exandrians.

Ashton finally asks the question of where Ira and Xandis are.

By sunset, Milo has finished the modifications on Ashton's hammer -- they have installed the immovable rod into the handle. "I'm not entirely sure what the properties of this are, aside from the fact that it's very unique, there's a refractory aspect of the crystal itself." Inside the sack was some amount of the refractory crystal they took from the Verdant Tomb, and incorporating it into the hammer has had some...... unforeseen implications.

Orym tries Caleb's sending stone. "Caleb Widogast. Bells Hells here. We survived -- where are you? Do you know what happened out there?" There's static fuzz, and no response. There is no indicator on the Treshi scry ball, and the Drixlich sensor points toward Uthodurn.

Imogen tries to cast sending on Ira. "Ira? Can you hear me, is this working?" With a 53, a familiar static of the "arcane forces in the sky."

FCG scries on Ira, but he makes his save. Ira exists, he lives out there somewhere, but he made his save.

Fearne scries on Ira. She focuses, and connects to "the pulse of life around Exandria" -- Ira is deep within a clustered, red-dust storm, not among structures or others but alone, pushing through a maelstrom, a stronger storm than they've said, trudging through an intense red. A dark shape arrives and he presses up against it, leans against a massive, smoothed boulder, and ducks into an alcove. Outside the storm, he blinks, pushes dust out of the corner of his eyes. Another figure approaches -- thick, partially patchworkly-armored torso, a muscular humanoid figure of deep red skin, oddly textured face-- features sallow and smooth, one of the Reilora. They gesture, and Ira follows. Their features are different than the figure they saw Imogen summon, and different than the gith body Team Issylra found.

Using Orym's shield as a focus, Imogen invokes the staff, and teleports the Bells Hells to Zephrah. "It's... mid-day, a beautiful cloud-dappled sky. A beautiful horizon among brown and red stones, clusters of trees, pathways that lead through the mountains, grass fields, the mountains to the east... a precipice of a cliff that is woven through the peaks of these mountains, pastels, bridges and ledges that encompass the rustic homesteads that make up this community like the existence of this village is a gift from the land itself... a tall cherry tree sits on the precipice to your right."

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #long post

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darkdisrepair · 2 years

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cr meta: laudna, imogen, and rebirth

hello hello here are today's friday topics: SPOILERS OF COURSE

imogen's ritual contribution | laudna and growth | changed group dynamics | our father who art in heaven, [redacted] | and probably some miscellaneous things too

imogen's ritual contribution

first of all i will say that sam's idea to compel laudna back was smart mechanically, if it had worked, but horrible (not a horrible from him, but from fcg) to take away the agency they had just worked so hard to gain for laudna.

i'm glad imogen called him out on that, and gave laudna every choice she could have. i'm glad she didn't try and force her to come back (which, as debated by many critters) could have been very real as well. and very in character.

but no. she leads with this beautiful perspective of love, and purpose gained, and without saying it that is so much worth living for.

but with her low roll- i'm almost positive that laudna would not have heard her. yes, she heard them in the dreamscape. she remembers that. but i don't think she heard everything imogen said in the ritual, and that's so so so sad, though the sentiments of "i'll be there for you" rung so true throughout their time in whitestone.

imogen's "you know you saved my life," more than her "i love you," was heartbreaking and has stuck with me for so long.

it says more than i love you- it says in so many ways i love you and more, it says the same as percy's plea to pelor- "she is my heart and my judgement and the future i have chosen" because what is more romantic than being the person who helped someone find reasons worth living for?

but also- it's a glimpse into the huge breadth of sadness imogen carries with her, and continues to carry- the solitude. and i think we have a lot to explore with her mental health moving forward.

also, god bless critical role for letting marisha and laura hug each other and hold each other i just ;-; i was sad when they switched back but the CONTENT WE GOT when it was happening was perfection. a beautiful layer to the story.

laudna and growth

back when laudna said "the worst thing that could happen to me has already happened" it felt like she had processed a lot of her trauma- but seeing the episode today, i think this was her chance to make that sentence really ring true.

watching her walk through whitestone, and repaint those memories, holding the hands of her friends, feeling their support as she faced where she died- all it was beautifully done by matt and marisha and such a beautiful tribute to sharing trauma, but not letting it bury you- to let that growth take you further.

seeing her connect with whitestone, with the sun tree- it's a step in the right direction.

there are a lot of conversations that should be had. i wish the group had talked more, and dealt with shopping and catching the de rolos up less, but that means that there will be plenty to pick apart later.

but i can name so many conversations that will be heartbreaking later: laudna/fearne, laudna/ashton, laudna/orym especially. seeing fearne and ashton's quiet, almost timid love for laudna was a great touch as well.

it's interesting that as it stands, laudna's backstory, if it had a progress bar, is probably the closest completion. she's on the path to processing her trauma, and delilah lacks a connection she once had (whether she's still around is a great debate). i can see the last checkpoint be sealing delilah away for good, or restoring laudna's body to how it was before she died originally.

but that being said- she is also undeniably tied to imogen's journey. i can see her becoming a mentor, of sorts. they've been to laudna's home, and imogen was there every step of the way. when they travel to the taloned highlands, and imogen has to face her father, and the plains where she stands in her dreams, i know laudna will be there.

changed group dynamics (i lied it's mainly about imogen and laudna lmao i'm nothing if not an imodna stan first)

as a little aside to laudna's return- the group feels so complete and yet so different. especially laudna and imogen's relationship.

in many ways, they've switched places. laudna is the one outwardly showing her hurt- struggling to process trauma right in front of her eyes, needing support from her friends, reticent and unsure of herself.

and it's imogen, who provides the comfort. imogen, who advocates for laudna in the castle where she died, imogen, who holds her hand, imogen, who checks up on her.

imogen, who hides her pain from laudna.

because she doesn't tell everyone about the dream, at first. she hides her terror, of seeing eshteross in her dreams, because there is so much to do and people to contact and she can't let herself cry, because how could she put all of her sadness on laudna, when they're still in whitestone, when she was only dead a day ago?

she leans on fcg, this time, with her dreams, and it's strange, and laudna sees this and she's quiet. because she sees how imogen has grown. she can see that the group did things and grew ties to each other when she was gone, and it makes her wonder- what place does she have in the group, now?

finally:

our father, who art in heaven- lord eshteross

i love our orc grandpa and ill miss him so terribly. what a way to close out a halloween episode- i was terrified.

kudos to him for putting up a good fight, and for being so generous, and compassionate, and i hope he rests peacefully.

cr needs to post the cookie recipe though.

but more than that- otohan is becoming so SPOOKY, with her assassinations. she's so terrifying. so powerful, and deadly, with the toxin, and it's terrifying not knowing when she'll appear again.

because she's such a source of group pain. i don't think she's the BIG bad, because i think they'll be playing around with gods at some point, but damn she's putting up a good fight for that title.

overall, my favorite parts- imogen and laudna reunion, laura and marisha reunion, our milf lady vex'ahlia.

#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #campaign 3 spoilers #cr meta #critical role meta #laudna #imogen #imogen temult #imogen temult meta #campaign 3 #campaign 3 meta #bell's hells #critical role #imodna #cr imogen #laura bailey #marisha ray

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loquaciousquark · 2 years

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Scrambled, manic thoughts after that episode:

Fearne is the MVP by a million miles. Brilliant play, great smart spell choices, didn't take a single hit to compromise that Earthbind. I laughed out loud when Ashley was making stupendous call after stupendous call and then had to ask if she could concentrate on two spells at once. Mister mattered! Like, a lot! Amazing! I've been rewatching C1 very intermittently, and seeing Ashley grow from being so unsure in the Kevdak fight (and falling off like three roofs, not understanding opportunity attacks and just about getting herself killed, etc.) that to this confident, smart, tactical player tonight was awesome. She asked great questions and knew her spell effects. I think the only thing she missed was that when Mister's out, she should do a little extra fire damage. Awesome job.

Getting a moment's taste of Laudna made my heart hurt. I miss her so much! Assuming all goes well, I'm going to LOVE coming back to this arc and rewatching it, but right now I'm still so stressed.

Imogen's call to Ruidus is a really cool idea, but it really put her in a tough spot HP-wise. Those 12hp sure came close to mattering (it looks like she can wound herself with her own hit dice to make an attack as a free action? Unclear). I don't think the Blindness was the right call in the moment, but one mediocre choice in a sea of otherwise REALLY optimal party choices is a non-issue.

The usages of motes was INCREDIBLE. Negating that nat 20 on Ashton, turning that last Delilah attack into a natural 1--Matt must be bursting at the seams to see them using the tools he gave them so effectively. Absolutely clutch. The only bust was that Travis reroll to a 1 on the Inflict Wounds, but them's the breaks.

New Bells Hells logo is gorgeous.

Incredible fight design by Matt start to finish. A reduction to 0 making them pop back to the real world is so smart; it gives his sole villain increasing odds against an otherwise terrible action economy as the fight continues and makes her heavy hitting spellpower matter that much more. She's easy to hit, so she needs the spellcasting advantage and the lair actions to make it an even battle, but he still managed to create an amazing tradeoff between likely losing her lair actions as the fight went on with the tree getting damaged, but increasing her own odds against likely fewer and fewer PCs. It was incredibly effective to have the players leave the table as they poofed out.

I get what Orym was trying to do, but the dice weren't having it. Sucks that he didn't get to do much that battle. Still, Delilah using that attack on him likely saved Imogen's life. Good to see Ashton being SIGNIFICANTLY more effective here than against Otohan.

I could be wrong, but I think Matt is scripting this as the resurrection ritual. He said three successes and one failure as they moved through the shadows, and he was making them roll persuasion, etc. He's changed the rules for his resurrection rituals every campaign, but if this is similar to C1, ritual successes lowered the DC by 2 and failures upped it by 1. Assuming Laudna starts at a DC of 10 (or 11, depending on how he rules the Delilife), that drops the DC for Pike's straight roll to potentially 5 or 6. Good odds. Not foolproof. Maybe Sarenrae will give her advantage.

What a beautiful Destroy Undead. Again! Manipulating the action economy in the party's favor! So good!

Edit: coming back to add that I can't get over that Earthbind. While she could still move on the ground, it prevented tons of line of sight options Delilah might have had otherwise--Fearne & Imogen were able to duck behind the rock, Orym had cover in the tree. It also meant that Chet & Ashton were able to get right up on her with flanking, and Chet in particular being in melee with her forced disadvantage on one of her attacks that might have otherwise knocked Imogen out. It also meant she had to care about the melee fighters on the ground because she couldn't get away, and she's so eminently hittable as a spellcaster.

Man. This entire episode was great and when he ended it, I still threw myself back into the couch and yelled, "No!" Thank goodness there's no break next week.

One more edit: There is something beautifully poetic about Imogen using lightning to split right down the middle the tree that Laudna died in, the tree that was still holding her captive after all this time.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #quark rambles

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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I've also seen people say (on twitter of course lol) that Matt interjected deliberately and pointedly after Orym's family question which also feels a little wild to me, like there are "sides" between the cast and he's taken one. I don't think I've ever seen how far people in this fandom can run with something, so I'm surprised even though I shouldn't be. The Bor'dor discourse still also bothers me because in-game Laudna was simply not aware of the nod or anything else but what she wanted to do.

Hey anon,

I agree entirely, that this is conspiracy-level thinking. But ultimately I think what's more important is that if the ship I'd claimed to have desperately wanted for months became canon, and when the most recent episode that aired had the two characters in this ship canonically dancing together and one putting their head in the other's lap, I still found myself spending far more time talking about what a guy who isn't even attracted to either of the characters involved did ten episodes ago? I think I'd simply delete my account and walk into the woods never to return.

Like truly, I wonder, what is it? Is it that Imogen still hates Pate? Is it disorientation from the constant whiplashing between opinions depending on which character they've decided to hate this week, of which the rapid flip from "Bells Hells has a tight Found Family Bond, you guys are just haters" to "Bells Hells is on the VERGE of a BLOW-UP" is only the latest example? Is it because not only did Laudna say nothing about the Turn Undead from two weeks ago, but asked FCG specifically to Scry on Delilah and even seemed amenable to them asking the Changebringer for help on this matter? Is it because in that aforementioned dance, instead of doing anything to return Imogen's affections, Laudna just wandered off to make small talk with someone else? Is it because the cast cheered harder for Cyrillia/Novos? Is it because Imogen and Laudna didn't even bother to take watch together on Slival? Is it because nearly every opportunity onscreen seems like a lost one and the fans are running out of people to blame? Is it because the latest 4-Sided dive made it clear that there's been no planning, no intent, no change, and six episodes later still no out of episode conversation, and the Rose City Comic-Con Panel has no new information and is giving "contractually obligated"? Is it because more so than the ship, the people wanted it to be the Popular Ship, and it's not, because there's no connective tissue, none of the little moments that made up the magic of every past canon relationship on the show, just an accommodating blank canvas to play back whatever one is projecting onto it? Is it because if they keep blaming Orym, and FCG, and Ashton, and coins, and dice, and the DM, and the other fans, and every one else, they don't have to admit that they would rather be pining for the actually good slow-burn they dreamed of, instead of experiencing a Pyrrhic victory if ever there was one?

This isn't about Bor'Dor, or Orym, and it's barely about Laudna. Unless a chemistry that has not yet existed comes into being in the next episode, they'll either post some other conspiracy theories about an episode from three months ago, or they'll make up some other bullshit Us Vs Them thing to get mad about that Laudna will again fail to validate for them in game, and then rinse and repeat on this miserable treadmill of their own making.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag

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ghost-of-you · 7 months

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What do you think about adult mashton? I want more of them together but they’re not giving it :(

Okay, hang on, not giving it is kinda a stretch, i will say I do miss the baby mashton selfies era, but I legit they're not allowed to sit together or else they go *judging intensifies*

And because usually they are the ones doing most of the talking, sitting them together would keep the focus on them too much or just distract the two, because they turn into a giggly mess when they are sitting together so it's better for productivity to not let them sit next to each other okosaksokas just take the latest Zach Sang interview, the focus stays with them a lot, because they are doing most of the talking, they randomly cut to Calum just because a lot of the conversation stays going back and forth Ashton and Michael, the podcast also had a lot of that back and forth with the two of them.

And we haven't gotten a lot of content on the 4 of them off-stage in a while, or like, candid moments like that one video of them playing heads up where Michael is laughing like Ashton is the funniest person to ever walk the earth, the tour didn't come with a lot of interviews, so it's hard to get something. And there's also the way that when it's the two of them there's no middle ground, they will either get DEEP or just go full chaos, which might not be something they like to do while promoting stuff. I mean, there's like, a never have I ever video where Ashton distracts Michael so much, Michael ends up hiding behind his plaque thingie to stop laughing, Ashton is out there making Michael body slam a table with how hard he's laughing in a random radio.

Honestly, my thing with them more recently is the way they talk about each other, yk? Sure, they don't they don't have that cashton soulmate shit or malum's I've known you my whole life thing, but they have such deep respect and admiration for each other. I'm always thinking about that interview last year where Ash is sitting on the arm of the couch because Michael's with that orthopedic booth and Ash is all "I saved a seat for you" and moves the pillow so Michael can sit and just stays behind him. Or the way in that interview from the day before the ono where Ash is all like "these guys allowed me to join the band" and Michael is all "WE WERE NOT A BAND UNTIL YOU JOINED JUST TO BE CLEAR". And just the general way Ashton talks about Michael as a producer and how great it was to work with him, how he takes EVERY chance he gets to say "oh did you know Michael is a producer? He produced our album isn't he great" and the way Michael just kinda, still looks at Ashton first. With them it's the little things.

#i do want a mashton selfie #i think we deserve it #aspopkasokaoskasokas #im obsessed with them okay #they are a fascinating dynamic over the way their connection is not as natural #so it looks like they had to work a bit to not clash that made them have a really interesting relationship #cus like you can see in the way they talk that a lot of things happen because they challenge each other to think differently #and its fascinating when we get little glipses of it #my comfort idiots are fond of each other #i was asked #anon 😌

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austinsgirl · 1 year

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Rather Die | Chapter 14

rating: pg-13, language

warnings: talk of pregnancy

word count: 2047

cross posted on wattpad

masterlist

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Two months later...

Victoria is now about 16 weeks pregnant, about equivalent 4 months.

Austin has gone with her to every checkup. Ashton goes when he can, which isn't often, as he's in crunch time for the new album with his band.

Vic & Austin have been getting along quite well for the baby's sake. Victoria gets urges to fight, or get snarky, but she holds back.

Austin on the other hand, hasn't been wanting to fight at all. In fact, he's been wanting to hold her hand, give her sweet kisses, and all of that mushy gushy stuff, but he knows it's not his place to do that.

They've agreed in a couple of months, Victoria will move in with Austin, making the final months of the pregnancy & the co-parenting easier on them.

Rumors have been speculating that they are a couple, as they're seen together quite often out & about. Thankfully, no one has seen them at the gynecologist office to speculate the pregnancy rumors.

The two don't know when they'll decide to tell the world on what's going on, but eventually they will have to, as Victoria can't hide behind baggy t-shirts & hoodies forever.

The dating rumors are a reason why they both got called into the production office today to speak with Sarah & Anna.

They all gathered in a conference room.

"So, a couple of reasons why we asked you both here today." Sarah speaks. "The film is currently in the first editing stages. There is an argument scene that had some missed marks and the lighting ended up being off a bit. So, we'll need to re-shoot that, and we'll schedule that here in a bit. Now, obviously, you guys have been seen quite a bit recently. Are you two friends now? Are you more than that? What's going on with you guys?"

Austin & Vic both look at each other, realizing that their producer and director are not in the loop of what's been happening since filming ended.

Victoria nervously laughs before speaking up, "Um, funny you should ask that. We um, we're having a baby."

Anna almost does a spit take. Both of them are in complete shock.

"You're what now?" Anna asks.

"Yep. I'm pregnant." Victoria rounds out her little belly over her baggy tee. "And, I decided to keep it as this could be my only chance to conceive with my reproductive issues."

"Now....how did this happen? Are you two?" Sarah asks, insinuating that they're dating.

"Oh! No, no. We're not dating." Austin says.

"We um, got into a heated argument near end of filming that lead to us, uh.."

"Hooking up." Austin cuts off Vic.

"Yeah. That." Vic says.

"Well...alright then. So, when are you guys planning to tell the media?" Anna asks.

Austin speaks up, "Um, were not totally sure. My PR manager, Kate, she suggests we do it soon before Victoria isn't able to hide it anymore. Don't know exactly what we'll tell them as we're not together but..."

"Okay. Well, that's one thing we did want to get clarified from you guys, was the relationship status." Sarah speaks. "I'm sure you're well aware of the media thinking you two are an item."

"Yes, we're aware." Victoria answers. "We're also aware of the cheating rumors because people know from mine & Ashton's Instagrams that we're together, but then I'm seen out with Austin more than my own boyfriend."

"Okay. So you two, not a thing. But you & Ashton, very much a thing." Sarah says.

"Yes, that is correct."

"And Eliana?" Anna asks, nervously.

"Oh, noooo. She's way out of the picture." Austin answers.

"Good, good. So, you're single, Austin?"

"Yes."

"Hmm okay." Sarah says thinking. "We really like seeing you both out and about. You know, it's good for the film. We we're hoping that maybe you two we're an item so we didn't have to do a PR stunt but, now knowing the whole situation, I still don't want to do that if there's cheating rumors involved."

"I get that it's good press, but yeah. I really don't want to deal with the cheating rumors. And having that will just give me a bad rep for my first film." Vic says.

"Exactly. So, maybe you two should put out a statement ASAP before the media takes it too far with the rumors?" Anna suggests.

Austin says, "Well, I don't really use social media, like at all. Maybe Victoria can make one for the both of us?"

"That would work. I mean, if you both did it, that would be best. Talk it over with your PR managers and make a plan, then have them get in touch with us. Sorry this meeting was so last minute and neither of them could make it in." Sarah says.

"Oh, no worries. We we're headed out this way anyways. My gynecologist is just a few minutes from here. We find out the gender today." Victoria says.

"Oh, that's so exciting! Anna exclaims. "What are you hoping for or what do you think you're having?"

"I personally don't care either way, but I think it's a boy. Austin doesn't really care either, but he wants a girl and thinks it's a girl."

"You'll have to let us know! Well, congratulations to the both of you." Anna says.

Victoria & Austin both say thank you.

"What does Ashton think of all this? Just wondering." Sarah asks.

"Um, he's really supportive. He's been by my side through all of it so far, except he's missed some appointments, as he's been really busy with his band. He's only going to get busier unfortunately."

"I'm glad he stuck by you, though. Most men would have ditched." Anna mentions.

"Thanks, I am too." Vic smiles

Austin lowkey rolls his eyes. He hasn't been the fondest of Ashton lately. Not just because he's jealous of their relationship, but also because he hasn't been putting in a whole ton of effort into being a part of the pregnancy.

Ashton will know when the appointments are, and yet doesn't schedule his recording sessions around them. It upsets Victoria every time Ashton has something to do with his band. Especially this time around with finding out the gender.

Austin hates seeing Victoria upset. She'll say it's fine, but Austin knows deep down it's not.

Victoria gets that Ashton gets busy, but she's starting to feel less important lately. She tries to play it cool, but she knows in her gut, that it's bothering her.

"Okay, so. When are you two free to do the re-shoot?" Anna asks.

"Um, I think we're both pretty open right now. Right, Vic?" Austin asks her.

"Yeah, I was looking into more roles, but then here comes along baby, so I stopped looking for now."

"Perfect." Anna says. "How about next Friday? So a week from today."

"Sounds perfect. What are we going to do about me showing? Obviously, Allison isn't pregnant in the movie." Victoria asks, curiously.

"Well, since you only wore that outfit once for this scene, we'll just change the outfit to something like you're wearing now or we'll hide your lower half behind something."

"Okay, that works."

"Alrighty, then. I think that's it." Sarah says. "Let us know what plan you guys come up with. I'd really hate for you to get all the bad press for cheating allegations."

Victoria responds, "I would hate that too. I really don't need that. We'll get in touch with them & they'll get in touch with you."

"Sounds like a plan. And let us know about the gender! Congratulations to you guys again." Anna says.

Austin responds, "Thank you. We'll definitely let you know."

Everyone says their goodbyes & Austin and Vic are headed off to their appointment.

As Austin & Vic step out of the building, they get bombarded by paparazzi. Sure, they've been papped before, but they've never been right in their faces.

"Are you two an item now?!"

"Where's Ashton?!"

"Are you cheating?!"

So many questions, the both of them chose to ignore.

Once they're safe in the car,

"We really do need to make a statement ASAP." Victoria says. "If they're going to be getting in our space and asking us questions directly, it's only going to get worse."

"I agree." Austin says. "I'll message Kate when we get to the office and see when we can meet or at least chat. Do you have a PR manager?"

"Honestly, no. I haven't super needed one yet. I've just been going through my actual manager at WME."

"I work within WME too. Maybe Kate can sign you onto her team."

"That would be great, honestly. It'd be nice having the same PR manager and team."

"It would be, especially with us having a baby & all."

"Exactly."

They made it to the gynecologist office & we're called back almost immediately. Now they sit waiting in the room for the doctor.

Victoria let's out a big sigh. Austin can tell she's upset Ashton isn't here.

"You good?" he asks, even though he knows she's not.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Vic..."

"What?"

"You're upset, aren't you?"

"No. What would I be upset about?"

"That Ash isn't here for this special appointment."

"Okay, fine. You're right. I'm upset. He should be here if he really wants to be supportive of me and this baby."

"I know he should be. It's been kind of annoying me lately how he seems to not be making any time for you."

"What do you mean? He makes time for me. He just has to get his album done before the deadline."

"Sure, I get having deadlines. But he knows when these appointments are, Vic. He can schedule his studio time around the appointments, or give up an hour or two to be here."

"I know. It's been really upsetting me that he doesn't seem to put more effort into being here. You know, I haven't seen him in a week."

"Because he's constantly in the studio?"

"Yeah. I've even offered for him to come over afterwards & he can stay the night, but he just says he's too tired."

"So, he's making up excuses now?"

"You don't know that, Austin."

"Sure seems like he is though."

"Are you all of a sudden not liking him?"

"No."

"Sure seems like you are though."

"He's fine. I just don't like seeing him hurt you. That's all."

"Why? Because you love me or something?"

"No. I consider you a friend now, and I don't like seeing my friends get hurt."

"Oh, okay."

Dr. Martin comes into the room and greets them both.

"How has everything been the last month?" she asks.

"It's been great! The morning sickness has calmed down. Haven't had any kinds of pain. I've been good." Vic responds.

"That's great to hear! How have you been, Austin?"

"I've been good." he smiles.

"Alright, ready to find out the gender?"

"Very ready." Vic says.

"Okay, go ahead and lay back. I'll get you all set up."

Dr. Martin gets everything set up & starts the ultrasound.

Austin leans on the back of the bed and watches the monitor with Victoria.

"Alright, so baby is looking good, measuring to about 16 weeks as we suspect. Heart beat is coming through nice and strong. And as for the gender..." Dr. Martin moves the scanner thing around to get the right angle. "Congratulations, it's a girl!"

"Are you serious?!" Victoria asked shocked. "I swear it was going to be a boy."

"I'm serious! Here's the legs right here, and then the buttock, then right here between the legs, if it was a boy, we'd see a penis, but there isn't one. So, yes, you're having a girl! Congratulations."

Victoria looks back at Austin, who is in utter shock, and grabs his hand. "Austin, it's a girl." she smiles up at him with tears in her eyes.

He looks down to her & smiles back, also with tears in his eyes, "Yeah, it's a girl. I can't believe it."

Austin has such an urge to kiss Victoria in celebration, but he holds back. But he does take in this moment where he gets to hold her hand, once more. Seems the only time these two will ever have any kind of physical touch is in moments like these.

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#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler one shot #austin butler smut #austin imagine #austin butler rather die #rather die #elvis #elvis presley #elvis 2022

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