#if this man slays this hard one more time I will never recover | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

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Met Gala

a/n Right so because I haven't yet recovered from all the strokes I've suffered from seeing that man slaying so hard. Here is something that hopefully will help. Enjoy and as always all the love is so appreciated!🤍✨

summary: very much self explanatory. Pedro and actress!reader attending met gala.

dress references: option one, two and three because like a true woman I can't pick...

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Talk about life-changing experiences. When you auditioned for The Last Of Us, you never truly believed that you could get it. You were a freshly baked actress who had successful shows in the past, but nothing too explosive. People turned their heads towards you when they just came out, and then you were back to being nothing. Fighting for the spotlight was quite something, and even if you never cared for it much, it was still important for you to do justice to the characters you got to play.

So to say that the whole experience that The Last Of Us brought to you was new and unfamiliar would be an understatement. It was your ultimate breakthrough. The opportunities were flooding in from all directions, and most of the time they included much more than just acting. Yet all the background noise aside, this was where you found your second family. People who were way more than just costars or screen buddies. You often joked with Craig that he had ruined acting for you. That no matter where you went and what you did, you would always be missing the crew of The Last Of Us.

"I still think that it's unfair that we are in separate hotel rooms", Pedro said while trying to set his phone up on the table. You two had flown to New York from different locations. Both of you were occupied with your own projects now, meaning that you haven't seen each other in a couple of weeks. The relationship between you two sparked so quickly that within a day of knowing him, it already felt like Pedro had been a lifelong friend. He was one of those people who just radiated happiness and kindness. One of those people you knew was going to leave an imprint on your life.

"If we were in the same room, I doubt we would make it onto the carpet, P", Pedro couldn't see your face fully. Your phone faced the ceiling as you tried to put on some fake lashes. All Pedro got was a glimpse at your hair full of rollers. And even that was enough to make his heart a little more jittery. Pedro had missed you. More than missed you. You two had been together every day while shooting TLOU. Always laughing. Always talking. Renting a different Airbnb to stay in if you stay in the current location for a longer time. Needing that much more than a cold hotel room. That also meant that the dynamic got rather domestic between the two of you. Waking up with you, having breakfast with you, and driving to set together. No matter where or what you did, you were always together, and that was something that ripped at Pedro's heart on a daily basis now that you two had gone your separate ways to do individual projects.

"I will have a migraine before I send him off. All I've been hearing is Y/N this, Y/N that", Coco, Pedro's stylist and one of your friends now, cut in, making Pedro let out an obnoxious gasp. "That is so not true. How dare you!", he exhaled, placing a hand over his chest offensively. But hearing your laugh on the other side of the phone was all he truly needed; Pedro felt his body at ease. "It's okay, P, separation anxiety or not, I still love you", you moved more in the frame, and Pedro instantly caught your eye. Beautiful as ever as you smiled at him. But he just shook his head, keeping up with the character, "You two are working against me today, mean ladies", before you three burst into a laugh together.

"Is Bella driving with you?", you asked once again while still fidgeting through your makeup bag. "No, they will be going earlier on. Want to avoid the chaos that builds when more people come in", you hummed at his answer. Perfectly understanding it, because the amount of paparazzi at the Met Gala was quite literally a sea. Add celebrity after celebrity climbing the infamous stairs, and you have a recipe for the chaos that is filled with endless flashing and screams. So knowing that they would be there before it all went wild eased your nerves slightly. Just deep down, you wished you could do the same thing. Fearing the moment you would have to step out of the car. What if you tripped? What if something broke? What if you messed up?

As if sensing the worry rising within you, Pedro picked up the conversation once again, "Is someone coming with you?". Pedro was worried as well. Not that much for himself, even if he wasn't a huge fan of events so flashy, but for you. Even in The Last Of Us premieres, he had noticed the way your body would run cold, and anxiety threatened to take over. He was always there to subtly bring you back. Give you something to focus on. Whether it was his hand that would rub patterns on your back, his knee that rested against your shaky leg, or his finger reaching out to playful poke your side so he could take your mind off it.

You hummed, "Yeah, Blake said he'd be there just in case", Pedro nodded his head even if you couldn't see it, satisfied with the answer. Blake was your manager and best friend. Pedro got to meet him more than a couple of times and, in all honesty, liked him. It was that extra layer of calmness that lingered, knowing that someone he also trusted would be there. Someone who had been with you through the years and who knew how to handle things if they suddenly got complicated.

"Are you excited?", you took your phone in your hands, getting a closer look at the man who Coco was fussing over. "To see you? Yes", Pedro chirped, and you rolled your eyes instantly. "You're a shameless flirt. I saw that you painted your nails". Pedro quickly showed both of his middle fingers to the camera, quite literally flipping you off. "Oh, thank you, love", you said, laughing as he quickly lowered his hand as he too realized how it looked.

Pedro was about to speak up when someone called out your name, pulling your attention away from the phone. "I'll have to go", you flashed Pedro a sad smile. "They want to tape my titties", "And I'm not getting behind-the-scenes footage?", Pedro leaned in closer, bringing his phone practically to his face as if he somehow was going to get a better look at what your stylist was going to do. "Pedro…", you laughed as you shook your head. "Will I get to see you putting on your pants?", you teased him back. Not wanting to end the call even if the lady was already waiting for you. Pedro only threw you a sheepish smile. "Who said I'm wearing any?", and once again all you could do was let out yet another laugh.

That was two hours ago, yet it seemed more like a lifetime. "Breathe, before I'll have to drag your past-down body up the stairs", Blake joked, noticing how you were running your hands up and down the fabric of your cover before moving to run your fingers over all the different beads and lace layers. "I'm just nervous", you admitted, looking through the car window. Smiling wasn't the hardest part. Most people would probably think that you're ungrateful for not wanting to go. Many would do anything to attend, but you were never a huge fan of being in the spotlight. All eyes on you sounded more like a nightmare than a dream. The thought itself made your body shiver.

"It'll be okay; pose a little and drink a lot", you rolled your eyes at him. You loved having him by your side. Not understanding why most people hate working with their best friends or family. It was such a liberating feeling knowing that you could trust Blake fully and that when you didn't feel like handling some things, he could easily do it without you since, at times, he knew you even better than you did.

Pedro knew that he was going to be there before you. Coco had told him that you were still in the hotel right before their car took off. He wasn't lying when he said that he was excited to see you. Most of his nervousness was centered around that. He knew that nothing had changed between you. If anything, things were okay, but he would have preferred to see you before the event and have a calm moment together instead of being thrown into madness like this.

He posted like he always did. Knowing well how to capture the attention of the crowd. Flipping the cameras a couple of times to show off his nails, just like he had done with you. Time escaped you in moments like this. It was always hard to tell if you'd been standing in front of the flashing lights for ten minutes or an hour. Your brain only focused on angles and poses, but then the shouting at the bottom of the stairs caught his attention.

Pedro turned to look to the side as you moved to step out of the car. He was sure that people were going to have a blast looking at his reaction afterward, but he couldn't help but look. You two purposely hid your outfits from each other. Well, at the start, you had thought about going matching and even doing the same designer, but you quickly realized that it might raise too many speculations. Pedro couldn't help but smile a proud smile as he watched you glide through the carpet. A goddess. That's what you were in his eyes. No one could come close to you, and sure, you could call him biased, but to him, you were the most beautiful female here tonight.

"Get pictures of Y/N; that's the real diamond of the night", he shouted, moving both of his arms to show you. Making you snap your head toward him. Your cool posing face was quickly replaced by a shy smile as you bit your lip. Of course, he was having a blast showing you off. "Mesmerized and speechless", he muttered to you when you were almost within reach. "Hello, daddy", you whispered as he took hold of your hand, guiding you up the steps leading to him. Pedro tilted his head laughing, saying, "Hello to you, mama". You doubted that you were thinking straight. He looked so good. The slick-back hair. The red color. You were an advocate that pink was the color Pedro owned, but red… Something about the red made all the systems shut down for a split second.

"I understand now why this was hidden from me", Pedro said, moving a step back from you so he could take your whole outfit in. He shook his head, almost in disbelief. "Don't", you warned him, trying to keep a smile off your face. This man knew how to get under your skin. He had made you redder than a tomato, even on set. Complimenting you even if you were in nothing but a baggy shirt with your hair messily pulled back. "Especially when you rolled up looking like this", you glanced down at the black shorts that he was rocking. "Where was my warning that the slutty knee was going to be on display?", but Pedro didn't say anything as he grinned, stepping alongside you. Pulling your body closer to his. His arm curled around your torso. Firmly pressing into the central boning of your dress. You could feel the warmth from his palm seeping into your tummy. He was standing just slightly behind you, but you could still see his outfit.

People were going crazy, and keeping a straight face while you posed was getting harder, especially when all you could hear were people screaming your names as an occasional they look like a couple, they must be dating. Are you together? Are you in love? Flouted around. Oh, he was going to drive you insane, and he knew it. Enjoying every single moment of it.

And even if it seemed almost impossible, Pedro stepped even closer to you and leaned in, pressing a kiss on your exposed shoulder. Your body froze for a moment. The butterflies burst inside you. If you weren't red by now, this definitely send you over the edge. You two were supposed to keep it chill. Not to bring too many eyes your way, but this man had other thoughts. Ever since the production started, people have been talking that the chemistry between you seemed way too good to just be acting. That the touches you two shared or the looks that lingered had to be a disguise for something. But then it would all mellow down as Pedro would be seen as a loving father figure to Bella or Nico. You had to find a balance. A light kiss could be brushed off as a sign of mutual respect. I don't know… mutual something?

But no… At that moment, it seemed like only you were thinking about everyone else's opinions. Pedro kissed your shoulder once before leaning back in to brush at least a couple more feather-like kisses along your skin. "Pedro", you muttered. Moving your hand to rest on his leg, you said, "You'll get us in trouble, you little shit". Your fingertips just about reached the exposed skin of his thigh as you grazed your nails over it. Pedro let out a muffled growl, "And you care?".

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your lips. The PR team was going to rip both of your heads off tomorrow; you were sure of it. But feeling him so close felt good. The smell of him. The way you could feel his breath on your skin. You moved to look up at Pedro, his body reacting to your movements as he lowered his gaze. Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, you couldn't hear anything; it was just him and you. Pedro leaned in to place a kiss on your temple, and the crowd of paparazzi exploded. There wasn't a second when not even one camera wasn't going off. People were trying to surround you and get pictures of you two from all the different angles.

The screams pierced through your ears, making you take a light step back into Pedro. One of the photographs got way too close, and when the flash finally snapped, you quickly turned your head away from them, shifting towards Pedro's chest. He was quick to lift his palm to cover your eyes as an initial reaction before he stepped in front of you, shielding your body with his. You gave him a little smile as you blinked a couple of times, trying to get the stinging feeling to go away.

"You're okay?", he asked softly, his arms not letting go of your body as he looked around trying to find Blake. He nodded at him the moment he noticed the male approaching. "I'm fine, thank you", you knew that you needed to finish with the pictures and just go up, but being exposed to them all was the last thing on your wishlist. "Come on, let's get…", Pedro was ready to just walk you up, but you quickly took his hand into yours. "Smile", you mumbled quietly as you stepped from behind him, refueling the chaos once more, but this was just how these things worked, and you had to pull through even if you could tell that Pedro was silently fighting this decision you had chosen.

Your hands were trembling when you finally made it up. You had close to no recollection of what you talked about in the handful of interviews that you had. Just thankful to be in a little, private area away from all of the people now, even if you could still hear them all shouting. Not many people lingered here, and for that, you were thankful. Closing your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself a chance to breathe.

"You are too stubborn for your good", you slowly opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of Pedro standing in front of you with a glass of water in hand. "No bubbles?", you joked as you place the glass to your lips. "So your heart would explode and I'd be the main suspect? No, thank you", Pedro shook his head, urging you to drink some more. "Careful, Javier Pena just jumped out", you teased him, and Pedro nudged your shoulder playfully.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?", he asked you, carefully moving to push a strand of hair behind your ear. You wished your body wasn't as responsive as you felt yet another shiver slip past you. "I think you showed it, detective", you said, tilting your head to the side. Pedro read it as an invitation to press a kiss on your shoulders again. This time, however, he took his time, knowing that the corner he had chosen was far enough for you to stay out of sight. It was like he was painting a picture on your skin, the pattern snaking from shoulder to neck, right behind your ear. You desperately want to run your hands through his hair, but you know that if you messed with it, there would be no going back, so you gently place your hand on the back of his neck. Scraping your nails gently.

"We can't", you remind him, yet you don't pull away. Quite the opposite, bringing him even closer. "I haven't seen my girlfriend in two weeks", Pedro reminded you bluntly, hands now firmly holding onto your waist. "Tiny detail. They don't know you have a girlfriend". The lines had been blurry between the two of you from the start. There was a lot of respect there. Before more romantic scenes, you would always sit down and talk about each other's boundaries. Things one and the other were comfortable doing and not. The communication between the two of you was like no other. It was easy. It was comfortable. It made you feel safe. So when you fell into bed together after a particularly steamy shoot, it didn't surprise you all too much. But even that felt right, and after long conversations, you decided to give it a go. You both had some shit experiences with your past relationships, which made you both pretty weary of long-term commitment, but you were willing to give it a chance, and that was all that mattered.

That had been going on for six months now, and no one besides your managers knew. It was odd telling them even before you told your families, but you needed to have a damage control system ready to go off the moment something slipped up or too many speculations started to linger. And it wasn't that you were scared of people's reactions. Most of them wanted you married already, not to mention the need for you to have kids and finally make Pedro a real daddy. It was all sweet, but you two wanted to do this for yourselves. To enjoy the time together without anyone and their mother trying to dig through your lives and write endless amounts of articles about every move you too took together.

"We need to find Bella", you muttered, pushing lightly onto Pedro's chest. Knowing that you needed to stop him before he lost his cool and you would have to walk around with freshly formed hickeys. Pedro rested his forehead on your shoulder and said, "I asked Blake to look for her", "Well, that makes sense why he's not here, huh", Pedro let out a chuckle even if he shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear innocent.

You quickly smoothed down his coat, straightened his black tie, and pulled at the edges of his shorts. "Alright there, trying to get my pants off so quickly", he said, and you pinched his leg playfully, making him step away from you. "Watch it, Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal or we might just sleep in separate rooms tonight", you said, pointing a warning finger at him. But Pedro didn't seem to feel threatened, as he wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling it closer to him so he could kiss the tip of your finger.

"We both know you won't take away my pleasure of taking that boobie tape off you", that was enough to send you into another fit of laughter. You had no clue why that thing mesmerized him so much, but there hasn't been a time since you started dating him that he hasn't participated in that procedure. "You, sir, are so weird", standing up, and fixing up your clothes, you tugged at the top of your dress to feel a bit more comfortable, "Sure, but you love me, so who are we fooling?", Pedro offered you his hand, which you gladly took, leaning closer into him. "Let's go find our kid before I go grey from all the worrying".

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #javier pena x reader

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kindestofkings · 6 months

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photographer era [2]

my lovelies this is a long one so get yourself a cuppa and hopefully enjoy!

inhalerdublin

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inhalerdublin A huge honour to be bringing our show to @officialslanecastle this summer to support the one and only @harrystyles. We should definitely shower for this one X

See you there.

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inhalerfan1 man this is so cool

yourusername WOOO ill get the boas !! @joshjenkinson_ @bobbyskeetz @elijahhewson @ryanmcmahon_15

bobbyskeetz oh lets maybe not do that

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inhalerfan2 such a mood lol

yourusername posted on their story:

elijahhewson posted on their story:

yourusername posted on their story:

yourusername

liked by evehewson and others

yourusername these lads are about to SLAY Slane castle !!

📸 are all me baby ;))

inhalerfan1 AHH they were so so great

inhalerfan2 oh come on look at that first pic of eli, if thats not love I dont know what is !

inhalerfan3 they are making it hard to not ship em inhalerfan4 that your honour is two oblivious people IN LOVE (liked by bobbyskeetz)

inhalerdublin

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inhalerdublin We’ll never be able to fully recover from the experience of playing Slane Castle yesterday. Thank you to @harrystyles for having us open for him in such a legendary place. And to every one of you who sang our songs back to us.

See you in November Ireland x

📸 @lewevans and @yourusername

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lewevans some gig!

thescriptofficial Scenes !!!!

inhaler2 inhalerry photo when? (30 likes )

inhaler1 @username you take the best pics of them please please go on tour with them!!

(liked by elijahhewson,bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon_15 and joshjenkinson_)

inhaler2 will ONE of you close the deal , for the sake of your fans !! joshjenkinson_ @elijahhewson for the fans.... inhalerfan3 so unserious you forget they just played SLANE

harrystyles, anthonypham and lloydddddddddddddddd followed you!

yourusername

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yourusername photos of THE harry styles that I took... me cause I met harry styles over the weekend

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ryanmcmahon_15 your supposed to be our photographer

bobbyskeetz welcome home cheater

elijahhewson is one lead singer not enough for you ??

yourusername ..... yourusername you start dancing like that THEN we'll talk elijahhewson 💔💔

lloyddddddddddddddddd coming for my job but the pics are so good ill let it slide

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elijahhewson

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elijahhewson was a good weekend I'd say

yourusername wow yes well done that caption reaffirmed how cool you are !!

yourusername YOU JUST PLAYED SLANE YOU CAN BE HYPED evehewson such a loser

joshjenkinson_ did you do it for the fans ??

ryanmcmahon_15 👀👀 bobbyskeetz 👀👀 yourusername he did it for the fans FINALLY

inhalerfanupdates

inhalerfanupdates photos of eli and @ yourusername have been leaked over the last few days .... are we still saying they're just friends?

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inhaler1 if I didnt think they were in love before I sure do now

inhaler2 literal evidence of my parents in love <33 inhalerfan3 for real I feel so passionately about these strangers

yourusername

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yourusername slow down more like .. go down/ soft sound/ midnight/ car lights ....

my idiot (lovable) friends are now my employers cause im joining them on tour in europe ahhh, a professional photographer some may say

bobbyskeetz war is fucking over we got ya

ryanmcmahon_15 about time!! gonna be lethal

lewevans ohh yeah cannot wait to see you in action!

(liked by elijahhewson,bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon_15 and joshjenkinson_)

yourusername too kind <33

yourusername posted on their story:

liked by elijahhewson

trumanblack just followed you!

authors note: ahhh part 2 which will probs flop, shes a long one! hope y'all enjoyed, please please enlighten me on your thoughts <33

#inhaler band #elijah hewson imagine #inhaler dublin #elijah hewson fanfic #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson #fake instagram #fake insta post

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ghostsbeetle · 1 year

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Can you write something about Wesker having a soft spot for Chris pls

Pretty pls, that'd be pretty slay of you king

*bats eyes at you*

You're lucky I love you, son >:( /lh

CW: Cursing, weapons, a somewhat graphic description of bones crunching (cus uroboros), and injuries

I accidentally made it angsty whoops

Enjoy!

➽───────────────❥

How he loathed Chris, how he absolutely despised everything the former rookie had done to stand in his way. It made Wesker sick to his stomach.

Yet, he couldn't deny the fact that he had once truly cared about him, about their team. Even if it was a ploy orchestrated by the agency he worked for once upon a time. The emotional connections he had with his team hadn't completely fizzled out. Heretofore the duo had been almost unstoppable.

He will never forget the numerous times Chris had saved his life and vice versa. It was this connection that had brought him to a still. He stood before his erstwhile colleague.

The taller man towered over the once STARS rookie now turned esteemed BSAA agent. "It seems I may have underestimated you, Chris," his voice came out as a low growl, watching as he scrambled to grab his gun. Wesker was much too quick, however. His leathery boot struck the weapon and caused it to go sliding across the floor. "It's a pleasant surprise to see you're still in the fight. I taught you well."

"Cut the shit, Wesker!" Chris rasped. He was still clearly recovering from his afflictions, "tell me where Jill is!"

The blond man's expression turned into one of disdain, a scowl crossing his features. His hand made a sickening crunch noise as those familiar black tendrils popped out of his skin and along his arm. "You know, you trusted me once." He quickly grabbed Chris by the neck, picking him up. His cat-like eyes narrowed as the man writhed in his grip.

A sharp gasp escaped his throat whilst he was hoisted into the air, "you betrayed our team! You were working for Umbrella the entire time!" The sound of his voice echoed off the thick, stony walls surrounding them both.

"Do you think that means I never cared about you?" Wesker's eyes only narrowed further, "you'll never understand, Chris. I was merely following orders. Just as you are now." After a few more seconds, he dropped Chris, allowing him to catch his breath. He watched intently as the younger male gasped for air. "I may have had my ulterior motives for the events that transpired, but I appreciated having such hard workers under my thumb."

Chris seems almost shocked by this revelation, his expression betraying him. Wesker had once been his captain, yes, but not on any account since the mansion incident had he believed his former leader cared. He had thought of him as nothing but a double agent, a back-stabbing snake.

"Like I said, you will never understand." The man stepped over to where the gun had slid earlier, kicking it back to Chris without hesitation. He knew that Chris wouldn't try anything stupid. No, not at all. "You should quit while you're ahead, Redfield. I know your tenacious nature may make it difficult, but I'm warning you now," he paused and clenched his jaw, "if you continue to stand in my way, I will make your life a living hell."

With that, Chris was left sitting there, mouth agape but no words coming out. This hadn't been the first time Wesker let him off almost scott-free... if you don't count the injuries he left him with. He managed to get up to his feet, examining the gun in his hands.

"I'll find you, Jill. I promise."

➽───────────────❥

(Bonus sort of fluff but also angst because I'm insane)

When Wesker found his former colleague slouched on the ground, he hadn't expected to feel a sense of responsibility for him. In all technicality, yes, this was his fault. The things that had caused Chris to fall unconscious were his doing, his monstrosities.

He easily lifted the man up by his arms and slung him over his shoulder. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Maybe deep down it was because he wanted to be the one to kill Chris. He wanted to see the look on his face as he took his last breath. But, nonetheless, he would somehow help the BSAA agent recover from his wounds. He easily carried Chris away on his shoulder.

Once they were in a safer place, Wesker set Chris down and began to examine his wounds, starting with his head. He checked for any bruises or other external damage. When he found nothing too serious, he turned his attention to his arms. Still, nothing too severe. Nothing a green herb wouldn't fix, anyway.

His red, cat-like eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. He lifted Chris's shirt up and was met with the sight of a hefty gash spanning across his torso. Despite all the terrible, gruesome things he had seen in his life, he couldn't help but wince. His teeth gritted together almost instinctively.

"This is much too severe for just a first aid spray, or herbs," he said, though he knew no one could hear him. He pulled out a spray and brought it up to the wound. His finger pressed down on the top, causing it to spatter over Chris's skin. The wound was now disinfected, and it stopped the bleeding, but without being given proper medical attention it could leave a profoundly nasty scar.

With no hesitation, he got up and scanned the area for a needle and thread of some sort he could use. Once he did, he stitched up the injury with trained ease, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. He didn't worry about wrapping it in bandages, he knew the stitches would hold. Even if they didn't, the wound was disinfected and there was a very low chance it would become an issue later on.

He sat down and let out an exasperated sigh. "How many times have I saved you, Redfield?" His voice was a low murmur that only he could hear. He pulled his sunglasses off of his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "You're lucky."

There was a long silence between them. Chris had still been unconscious this entire time, and Wesker was mulling over their years of work together. A slight twinge of guilt tugged at his heart when he started thinking about things too much. He had so many mixed emotions about Chris, and yet it was his fault he was here and injured in the first place. On one hand, he hated Chris for being unable to understand his motives, but on the other…

He snapped out of it. He got up to his feet and left Chris sitting there, propped up against the wall. It was nearly time for him to make his debut with the Uroboros virus. Excella would be waiting, and Sheva would catch on soon as to Chris's whereabouts.

Wesker put his sunglasses back on and, in a quick stride, made his way to the temple. He cast a final glance over his shoulder to Chris and noticed the man was starting to stir. Not wanting to be seen, he went his own separate way.

#chris redfield #albert wesker #chrisker #resident evil #fanfic #this brought me much pain to write I'm so bad at chrisker fluff #ily though

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sometimesrosy · 1 year

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The 100 2023 rewatch ep 1.4

Murphy's Law

Man I wish Wells had survived. I wish we could have seen who he became. :(

The wall has been built. Good for them. Clarke is outside it in the growing graveyard, mourning Wells. Finn sneaks up on her telling her what to do. (shouldn't be out here) says the guy who spent another night exploring out in the woods. Oh he got her something did he?

And she's charmed by the art supplies. It makes her remember Wells who was trading his own stuff to give her supplies. NOW she starts blaming her mother. I mean, fine it's her mother's fault, but oh she realizes what she can do to make her "feel it." Vengeful child. And feel it she does. The first terminated signal in over a week. She is freaking out over Clarke maybe dying.

Meanwhile, Monty needed a working wristband for the comm signals. "Well be talking to the Ark by nightfall." Monty's such a sweety and so competent.

Look at those delinquents working hard building walls. Look at Murphy being a dick to the kid who stumbles. Look at Bellamy being dad bellamy and teasing little Charlotte. OMG WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU MURPHY??

I forgot he peed on that poor kid who wanted a water break. WHAT A DICK. How in the world did they redeem him. But they did.

O is leading Jasper out into the woods. And she gets grabbed. By one of the Johns. Then he trips and sees Wells' severed fingers. Hello Trauma capital T.

Dick Kane is tracking Abby and wanting to know why he's going to Mecha. She lies and says someone has strep. "We don't want another outbreak." And he backs off. She lies again saying she'll keep him informed. Mecha has Raven fixing the tincan. No pressure regulator and they can't ride in the shuttle.

The metal knife from the drop ship. The grounders didn't kill Wells, it was one of us. Bellamy points out there's more than one murderer in the camp. Ooooh. Bellamy and Clarke conflict. he wants the news quiet. Keep people afraid and they'll work for him. Fear of the grounders is building the wall. Don't even know who's knife that is.

OH really? JM. John Murphy. The people have a right to know. SHe goes RIGHT to Murphy and blames her for killing him. He of course denies it because he didn't. AND BELLAMY believes her. "I don't have to answer to anyone!"

Come again? Asks bellamy. And he says the knife and fingers were found together. Poor murphy. He really didn't do it. The kid he peed on wants him floated. "It's justice." She says revenge isn't justice. WOW that's a lot of delinquents jumping Murphy. O wanted to stop it. She was a lot less blood thirsty in season 1. I wish we coulda stuck with that.

Clarke is saying they can't string him up

Oooh. this is graphic. Clarke says Bellamy can stop this and the peed boy says Bellamy should do it. They start chanting his name. And Clarke says she saw him in the woods and she knows he's not a killer.

OMG they actually drop him. THat is awful. Awful. WOW>

HOLY SHIT. I forgot how HORRIBLE that was in the immediate reveal that Charlotte did it.

Horror on top of horror on top of horror. That's how this show dragged us in. We never had a chance to recover or even process one horror before finding another.

Meanwhile Bellamy REALLY does not want to do this, but he's going with the crowd. He's NOT in control, but he's afraid that if he stands against them he'll lose control.

Nigel's "little bird" needs a pressure regulator. What for? Regulating pressure. She says she has her mother's sense of humor. And she doesn't move machine parts. How bout some moonshine and herb. She tries to pimp Raven out to the chief of electrical. Her mother would have taken that deal. In fact, she did, many times. We forgot about Raven's history, didn't we.

"I was just trying to slay my demons, like you told me."

Little girl never learned about metaphors and symbolism. What that little girl could have used was a good ENGLISH TEACHER!!! That's right, an english teacher could have saved Wells. lol

Bellamy blames Clarke. If she didn't tell then those idiots would still be building the wall. Meanwhile he wants to save Charlotte the actual murderer. "Giving the people what they wanted."

Now Murphy is trying to get the delinquents to string up Charlotte. "It's okay to string me up for nothing but when this little bitch confesses, you wanna let her walk." And Murphy slams Bellamy and tries to get the girl. This is jam packed.

Clarke and Finn run off with Charlotte into the woods.

UH OH. The arc medical unit. There's a lot of kids not doing so well. Oxygen deprivation. Raven can't get the part. Nygel has the part, and Abby is going to take care of it. I actually always wanted to see Nygel on earth. She would have been GREAT as a villain. Trading morphine for a pressure regulator.

Charlotte tries to hold Clarke's hand and Clarke is MAD. "Clarke she's just a kid." "She's a killer. Look at me, you can't just kill someone to make yourself feel better."

Finn found a bunker for hiding.Art supply store. "I can't believe you kept this place quiet." Clarke agrees with me. Repurposing and sharing with the group. He bribes her with colored pencils. Jerk. They're using a shit ton of candles. Wasteful.

She thinks if she hadn't told none of this would've happened. Finn says she couldn't have known. "Bellamy knew."

Kane's mom Vera. It's funny whose names i remember. The magic earth tree. It's just a bonsai. Nygel tells Kane about Abby. She sucks. Great villain. He calls her a plague on the ship.Oops theres the morphine.

Clarke fell asleep on Finn's shoulder and she grins, she's got a crush on the worthless jackass. And Charlotte's gone.

Bellamy has found her. It's Charlotte hunting season. Bellamy is trying to help her. "I'm not your sister." She's got your number B.

"Listen to me Charlotte. I. Won't. Leave. You."

She calls for Murphy.

Raven and Abby fixing the shuttle as we wait for Kane to come. She finds out that Kane knows the morphine is gone. They're gonna be here in five and Raven needs 20. "Only one of us needs to get to the ground. 300 people will die if you don't." "They'll float you." "Then they'll float me."

Bellamy is carrying Charlotte over her shoulder before running into the cliff. Here comes murphy. He's ready to take a few of them with her. Clarke arrives. "This has gone too far."

Murphy grabs her and holds a knife to Clarke's throat. A trade for Charlotte. She wants to trade herself. She's feeling guilt. So she jumps over the cliff.

Bellarke's first lost child.

Now Murphy is like, "bellamy..." and bellamy is going to bet him to death. "he deserves to die."

"NO! We don't decide who lives or dies, not down here."

This is when they become partners. "We need rules."

"And who makes those rules? YOu?"

"For now WE make the rules. We banish him."

Bellamy is with her. Threatens him if he ever sees him in camp again. And says the other four can be with him or die with Murphy. THey choose Bellamy.

Finn is all emotional. And useless I might add.

Raven racing against the clock to regulate pressure. And Nygel gave her a bum part. Great villain. She sees a space suit. oh that will work.

Abby tells Kane that she's trying to save "all of us." He arrests her and continues the search for Raven Reyes WHO has just taken off in a rusted tincan. She floated HERSELF bitch.

Clarke and Bellamy speaking to the collected Delinquents and nodding to each other. Partners.

Monty has gotten the wristband working. Morse code. OH no. It fried every last wristband. Fried them all? Then how did they use the wristband in season 3??? Oh it might have been one of the ones the took off before.

Meanwhile O is rewarding "brave" Jasper with a kiss. He picked the wrong girl to have a crush on, I tell yah.

Oh UGH. Finn is destroying the bunker because "we're dead to them." we're not alone. YOURE Not alone. No it was Finn who kissed her not Clarke who kissed finn. Now they have their love scene. Meh. Short.

With his girlfriend Raven coming down AS they're doing it.

Rude. Honestly what a soapy mess. Clarke and Raven shoulda gotten together and left Finn out completely. Damn right.

Anyway. That's a jam packed episode. Very dramatic. High stakes. Life and death on the small scale with the delinquents and the large scale with the Ark.

The hanging scene was BRUTAL. Like it was really violent. And the Charlotte reveal was a gut punch. The acting has stepped up big time. (I still don't love O and Jasper, I never really did, but everyone else.)

Murphy is absolutely despicable in all conceivable ways. Clarke is desperate. Bellamy is floundering. Finn is just standing around doing nothing while Bellarke does it all... sorry, he's judging. He does that. Raven is a super star. Abby is determined. Kane has a stick up his butt but he honestly does think he's doing the right thing, although he's still a dick. Monty is a genius. Jasper is terrified. O is a lot kinder in this episode. She loses that later, too bad. We got a lot of worldbuilding for the Ark in this episode with the politics and blackmarket and health crises and Raven's backstory.

I'm actually really enjoying watching this show for story OUTSIDE of Bellarke. There's a lot that I've forgotten.

#the 100 rewatch 2023 #murphy's law #sorry i'm late with this i had a busy week and didn't get the chance to watch.#hopefully i'll get to watch the next episode today too

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demonslayedher · 2 years

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Japanese Sword Production Lore As It Relates to Kimetsu no Yaiba – Part 2 of 4

You are an eager young Nichirin swordsmith named Teppi. By reading this, I am putting you to work. We will focus primarily on the transformation of Shoujouhi iron sand into the lumps of steel which the swordsmen select after surviving the Final Selection, but there will be other Swordsmith Village nerdery throughout. These posts are meant to be read in sequence. See here for the master list of parts & additional Nihonto resources. --

Tataragawa takes you deep into a mountain forest, likely the shadiest spot on this whole sunny mountain. You hear the hum of bugs and a series of distinct, rhythmic thumps, thunk—thunk-thunk-thunk---thunk---thunk-thunk-thunk, and your anticipation builds. “Where’s the secret workshop?”

“We’re in it.”

“Huh?” you look around in all directions. It’s so secretive you can’t even see the building! But you’ve come so far around the mountain that there must sometimes be rain here, as you can spot clouds in the sky. No metal anywhere to be seen, except for the ax which Tataragawa picks up.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Uh…” you say, continuing to look for metal.

Tataragawa begins chopping a tree. Thunk---thunk-thunk-thunk—you are confused and very curious—thunk—thunk-thunk—and it falls with a rustle. He inspects the branches, then chops them to thick, roughly uniform sizes. After arranging the small logs, he hands the ax to you. “Like that.”

“Like what? Like the ax? Is this a Nichirin ax?

“Chop the wood. Get it all this size.”

“Ehhh!?”

He isn’t one to retort, so after some awkward silence, you accept the ax and start chopping. He gives you pointers on your technique, as if swinging an ax around is hard or something. Very soon your back feels it, though, and when you pause for a break, he gives you a sharp poke to the ribs. “Is that all the stamina you’ve got? I’ll send you back if that’s all you’ve got, I can’t use you.”

It’s a test! “No, sir, I’m fine!” you insist, and then get back to chopping. After you’ve chopped more than it seems the two of you can carry, he arranges it neatly and binds them together into two bundles. He helps you put one on your back, and then he drops the other one in your arms. As you’re carrying all of it and struggling to look where you’re going, you notice the sunshine get brighter. It doesn’t feel you’re going back to the iron sand, though, so why is the sunlight stronger again? As you look up, you notice something missing. “Ah,” you say, “the trees are thinner here.”

“That’s right. We’ve only given this spot nine years. It’ll be another couple decades before it’s recovered.”

“Recovered?”

“We’ve spent centuries chopping wood here for charcoal. We’ve always had to assume we’d need it for centuries.”

“You can’t just buy charcoal?”

“Every charcoal farmer has to do the long work of forest management.”

“I’m not a charcoal farmer, though,” you mutter too low for him to hear.

“The Shoujouhi iron sand, as well. It’s finite. We can’t hope it’ll last long enough to exterminate the demons—we have to make it last.

You’ve never seen a demon. A part of you likes to think they never existed, if not for all the chilling stories your mother has told you. She never ran out of stories, and she wasn’t one to have much imagination. The connections felt tenuous, though, between that sheet of gravel and the swords that slay those demons. The wood in your arms feels even less connected.

Nightfall at last comes to Youkouzan. You see the buildings of a tiny village, with one enormous house at its center, a roof raised maybe two or three times higher than any building back in your home village or the one you lived in before. You suppose this is where an esteemed man like Tataragawa lives, maybe he even has to stay this far away so that Master Tecchikawahara wouldn’t spot such a big house and get jealous, but he leads you behind that building to a storehouse. You leave the wood there with the others like it, and then follow him to a smaller hut, from which wafts both the scent of wisteria incense and the scent of grilled fish.

“Oh, there he is.”

“Teppi! Look at those nice long limbs!”

“Good to have you, good to have you!”

You smile. It’s good to be appreciated. Tetsuhiro scoots aside and lets you sit down by the sunken hearth everyone is circling around, he hands you a bowl of millet and some chopsticks while Tetsumotonaka slides over a teacup and fills it up. As hungry as you are, the millet looks disappointing. Nothing would had hit the spot better than a bowl of fluffy white rice. However, just then, Tataragawa slaps a slice of something so big and bright yellow in your millet that you get startled and let out a yipe. “What is this?” you say and pick it up with your chopsticks.

“Takuan.”

“Eh!? Pickled daikon this big!?” you exclaim, and then look over all the vegetables on communal plates. They’re all huge, and they look delicious.

“Eat up,” says Tataragawa. It feels more like a warning than a welcome.

Notes & Vocabulary: Okuizumo has long since practiced sustainable land resource management and resource-recycling to support its iron production, as this is an inherently damaging undertaking (if you’re thinking of Princess Mononoke, yes, a lot elements of that movie were based on this area’s iron production culture). However, they’ve been very successful allowing the land to replenish itself, like giving the charcoal forests 30 years to cycle out and recover while being used as mushroom growing sites, or engineering terraced rice fields against the previously mined mountains. It can be difficult to grow rice with the run-off pollutants during active Kannanagashi, but hear you me, the local Nita-mai rice they grow in the later fields is an award-winning variety of tasty rice, and it’s local soba has an even better reputation. I can almost cry thinking back to the last meal I had in Okuizumo because every bite was so tasty and pure, every vegetable was so abundant with its own flavor. That said, although many theorists in the Japanese fandom have wondered if KnY’s Swordsmith Village is hidden in the mountains of Shimane, I don’t support this theory because this region is known for its cloudiness. On another note, charcoal powder can be used in vegetable farming to help control soil moisture, which I thought might be necessary if the area around Youkouzan doesn’t get much rain. (I chose to feature Takuan only because dream!Takeo bugs his big brother Tanjiro for one of those in Chapter 56).

The next morning, Tataragawa tells you to bring the wood to the charcoal pit. You inwardly gripe. Not only are you not a charcoal maker, you have no idea where anything is. You open up what you think was the right storehouse, only to find a pitch black room of black, black pillars. They’re even taller than you. What are these things?

“Pardon me,” Tetsuhiro says as he passes by you. He picks up a stack of pillars like they weigh nothing, and when they rustle against each other they sound vaguely of windchimes. These things are hollow, also as if—yes!! Now that he’s brought them out into the light, you can confirm they are charcoal!

“Eh!? I’m going to make these!?”

“These? Hahaha, oh no, we’re already using these. You’ll make the small charcoal.”

“Oh, good. That startled me.”

“It’s all the same process, heating up the wood to get rid of all its water and acids and volatile parts, anything that’ll make smoke. Anyway, a word of advice.” “Sure.”

Tetsuhiro leans in so close to you that his mask is shadowed. “Don’t ruin it.”

Burning wood can’t be that hard, you hope. But you take Tetsuhiro’s advice to heart and want to avoid making mistakes. Charcoal is important in forging swords, you know this much. It burns at a hotter temperature and for longer than wood does, without it, the metal would never be pliable enough to fold.

But would you ever need so much of it? You cannot help but find this dubious as you kneel before the narrow opening of a kiln made of stones and clay, and full of branches the same as the ones you’re carrying. Tataragawa looks to you and says, “Go on in. Sit those things down.”

“You’re not going to close me in, are you?”

“Should I?”

“What?”

He acts like he said nothing and nudges you inside. “Stand them up right there.”

(Note: This is not a tatara charcoal kiln, just as neighborhood one I was lucky to run into in Nara.) “Like this? Alright.”

“Tighter! More compact!”

You adjust it to his liking and are relieved to come back out, though you are now covered in pitch black dust. After a few more rounds of putting in the branches, the other workmen begin sealing the entrance with clay, and Tataragawa strikes a match. You recall Tetsuhiro’s warning and ask him, “How do we burn the burn without burning up the wood?”

“Like this,” he says, flicking the match inside.

You scream. “How could you do that!! That’s wood! It’s all going to burn up!” To your horror, the other workers are adding more fire. “All that hard work and it’s just going to fall to pieces!”

“Is he touched in the head?” one of the workers asks another.

Tataragawa is a patient teacher and explains, “What’s going to burn away is all the parts we don’t want. As long as we deprive it of oxygen, they won’t burn away what’s quality.”

“Oxygen?”

“Air, my boy. ‘Carbon’ is another word we’ll use a lot around here. What we’re doing is carbonizing the organic materials in an environment without oxygen.”

He’s lost you a bit, but you respect the authority he speaks with. Kind of makes you think of how swordsmen use the flow of air throughout their bodies to fire themselves up. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing as they seal up the entrance of the kiln. After that, Tataragawa sends you to the Takadono—the big building that was in the middle of the village, saying Tetsuhiro will put you to work there.

Notes & Vocabulary I have so many more thoughts about charcoal and its lore in KnY. --

“Pardon me—whoa!!” you call out as you nearly lose your step.

“Watch out over there, Teppi-shounen!”

“The floor—the floor’s a pit!”

“The floor’s already done. We’re working on the twin caves now, come help us out.”

Before you know it, you’re working alongside Tetsuhiro to construct a stone arch, the same size as the one the team across from you is making. The ground beneath you feels like fresh clay, and you give it a stomp.

“Watch it, watch it,” Tetsuhiro cautions you, “It’s still volatile. Well, I guess we laid enough clay that it’ll hold you up anyway.”

“Clay on earth?”

“Clay on charcoal on gravel on rocks and rough sand and logs.”

“What in the world for?”

“It’s to manage heat insulation and drying. We have to make all this below the furnace to stabilize it.”

“The furnace is underground?”

“Haha! No, it’ll be up at the same height as the door. We’ll get there.”

You sigh into your sweaty mask. That ‘we’ included you.

Between the two hollow caves, everyone worked together to build a pit lined with rocks and filled with charcoal. You’re beginning to understand why everyone needed so much of it, this pit is about as deep as you are tall. Every other space of the deep floor which isn’t hollow or rocks or charcoal needs to get filled with clay. As part of your work, you are given a hoe and shown to the soft earth to hack through and stomp. “First is earth,” says Tetsuhiro, “Second is fire. Third, the Murage.”

“But when’s the metal?” you grumble.

Tetsuhiro didn’t hear you, as he is stomping barefoot in the squishy wet earth. “It’s got to be soft enough to be pliable, but strong enough to stand up to the fire.”

You stay at this furnace construction for three full days, and then Tataragawa has sent for you. You wonder what for, as nightfall is approaching.

Notes & Vocabulary Based on the Tatara furnace model at the Okuizumo Tatara Sword Museum, which is based on the one at the Nittoho Tatara site.

If I haven’t drilled you over the head with Okuizumo area’s importance in sword production enough yet, this society brought back Tatara production in 1977 after it was discontinued in the late Taisho Period. Japan was getting its iron and steel needs met more cheaply with Western imports and methods, but the tamahagane steel necessary for making Japanese blades can only be produced with the Tatara method. Nowadays, they still produce the ore which swordsmiths throughout Japan use, although production is very limited due to how labor intensive it is. The “first is earth, second is fire, third is Murage” is a phrase tossed around in Tatara production.

It’s well after dark once you arrive back at the charcoal kiln. What in the world would Tataragawa want with you now? It’ll be too dark to see anything so black in there, and your back is aching from all the work on building the floor back in the Takadono. There was still so far to go before reaching the proper height of the door, you’re bound to be put to work again there tomorrow. You want to sleep! No, first you want an onsen to dip into!

However, you notice heat in the air as you get closer to the kiln. You ponder why, when the door opens and Tataragawa pulls you in. “There you are! I had to get started without you. Come sit over here where you can see.”

“Sit where—ah!! It’s still on fire? It’s been three days!”

“Now’s the time we’ve got to watch it! You’re not colorblind, right?”

“No! I see and appreciate all the colors of Nichirin—”

“Good. Stick your face in there and learn those colors,” he says and pushes you nearly inside a hole in the clay door. You yipe, the flames inside are roaring and you’re afraid your Hyottoko mask is soon to match. Tataragawa goes on, “It’s still got a ways to go. Still more impurities to burn off. We’re adding oxygen now to heat it faster. Go too slow now and it’ll remain impure. Go too fast and it’ll all break.”

“It all just looks like fire though—”

“Let those colors talk to you. The color of the flames tells you how much air to feed it.”

“But… but it’s all just flame-y colored…”

One of the workmen standing nearby shakes his head at you as he leans on a rake. “Did you really grow up in the Swordsmith Village?”

“Are you a Fire Man or not?” adds the one next to him.

“You can only learn by experience,” says Tataragawa. “In time, you’ll be able to read the colors, it’ll tell you what it needs. You listen and tend it. It’s like a hallowed dialogue.”

You’ve always thought of dialogue as being sounds, like words, and maybe the clanging of your father’s hammer and the sizzle of steam have been a dialogue with metal all along. If metal speaks, then maybe fire is something to read. Learning to read was hard at first, but it opened a new world to you. You quietly peer into the holes of the clay, anticipating what it will teach you.

Not that you expected to spend the whole night staring, though. Just as you really want to start nodding off, Tataragawa pokes holes bigger and faster, making the burn more violent. Everybody is rushing about, yelling at you to go grab the ash, more of it, MORE OF IT, and then at some hour you weren’t aware, the sun came up. With all this rushing around it’s like you got stuck being ordered around by midwives attending a labor! Finally, Tataragawa orders the whole opening of the kiln town down, and he tosses you a rake.

“Hurry and get it out. Cover it with the ash and clay mix to cool it down. But be careful—exposed to all this open air, it might ignite.”

You stand before the opening, where the other two workers have already been pulling piles of gleaming red and orange and black sticks through the opening and across the floor; intense heat radiates from everywhere, but especially from right in front of you. You recall Tetsuhiro’s warning not to ruin it, and then charge in with your rake.

Notes & Vocabulary Tanjiro would have gone through a very similar process in making charcoal for household use. How much money would that labor had earned Tanjiro? See here for some breakdown on that.

-- Have you ever been more tired in your life?

Somehow it’s evening again, and the charcoal is all out of the kiln and cooled. You wish to curl up and sleep in a bed of it, if only that wouldn’t crush it all. Tataragawa places a little piece of it in your hand. “Here, that’s for you.”

“What for?”

“Keepsake. You made it.”

He’s right, you kind of did. But he’s also kind of wrong; you probably never placed your hand on this piece before. The tree deserves the credit for making it, it worked years to build that. But, as you ponder it in your hand, you might it remarkable how utterly transformed that piece of a tree has become. Nature never would had made that, it took craftsmen acting on it. You smile under your mask, then pocket it to take it home.

You don’t know where home is from here, though. For tonight, you return to the building where everyone eats and sleeps together, and you are so exhausted you can barely keep your eyes open. The other craftsman find it funny and are poking you until Tetsumotonaka speaks up. “Leave him be, sleeping will be good for him.”

“Tetsumotonaka-sa-a-a-n!” you cling to the shoulder of this man, the only one who hasn’t put you to back-breaking labor. “That’s why we’re in luck having you around, you’re so nice!”

At this, everyone bellows with laughter, and he seems bashful. You’re about to speak up in his defense when Tetsuhiro explains, “You haven’t heard? The reason he’s lucky is because his wife gave birth to a Kakushaku-no-Ko.”

“Eh!?? You mean, a kid with red features!?”

“I’ve got a little myself, but his are brighter,” Tetsumotonaka says, turning his head and pulling at his muddy reddish locks. “You can even see it in his eyes.” “Eh!? Eh!? No fair! Your family’s taking all the luck!” you shake him, and everyone laughs again.

“Weren’t you just saying I was nice?”

“His family’s been working the bellows for generations, it was bound to pop up in their bloodline,” says Tataragawa. “The baby’s a sign of the fire gods’ favor on them.”

“Huh. Then why not have your wife bring the baby here? We barely got all that charcoal out without it going up in more flames—”

“Idiot!!”

“Never speak such words!”

“Ssssh! She’ll hear you!”

You’re still so sleepy that you can hardly make sense of the dogpile you’ve found yourself at the bottom of, with fists pounding you over and over like you’re a hot slab of iron. Maybe you really did fall asleep in that bed of coals and have turned into a sword. You almost accept that so whole-heartedly that you disassociate from the world, until Tataragawa settles everyone down. They all seem chuffed, but he’s more sympathetic to your ignorance. “Boy. You ever hear that the god of iron production is a woman?”

You picture a burly woman with a cute face and revealing clothing winking as she pounds a hot sword. You swallow hard and answer, “Nope.”

“She gifted us with the knowledge of iron working, so we have to keep her happy. And she’s the real jealous type.”

“Re-e-e-eal jealous,” adds Tetsuhiro.

“That’s why women are never allowed here.”

“Tetsumotonaka is lucky it’s been long enough since the birth in his house, otherwise he’d still be tainted.”

“Wait, so is he lucky or unlucky? Shouldn’t it be a good thing he had a Kakushaku-no-Ko?”

“Who are we to say how women’s minds work? While we’re in the Takadono, we all belong to her.”

A silence falls on them all, like they are thinking back to profound religious experiences. That furnace still needs to get built, and you get the feeling it’ll be a long time until you’re allowed to go home.

Notes and Vocabulary: I choose not to use her name because Gotouge avoids naming specific, existing Shinto or Buddhist deities in canon (and I think that was a wise and well thought-out choice on Wani-sensei’s part), but the jealous goddess of ironwork is named Kanayago. Ironically, she is associated with wisteria.

Kakushaku-no-Ko (Red Child): Haganezuka calls Tanjiro a Kakushaku-no-Ko in Chapter 8 and then no one ever calls him that again, ever. I have some more thoughts about it and what it means for the Kamado family.

#kny nerdery #SWORDS SWORDS SWORDS #kny fandom theories and meta

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selenelovemoon · 1 year

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Introduction to this Blog and Mental Health in this world

Feels kind of self-centered and weird to be writing about myself like this, but then again I do feel like I'm pretty cool.

Anyways, enough of my rambling. Hi. I'm Selene. Not to spout a ''woe is me'' but I have been through a lot of bullsh*t. There are a lot of things that have happened in my life that have made it hard for me to function in society. And I started to think, that surely I'm not alone? There are other people out there going through worse things than me, things of the exact nature, or just all-around terrible sh*t. Hence why I created this blog. A lot of times, as things were happening to me I would look for help. I sought a genuine connection. I had friends, so that was my first option, I would talk to them, say I'm not doing well and basically uttered a cry for help to them. Unfortunately, the most I got out of it is a ''I'm here for you'' without actually getting any help? There was no affection. There was no support. Just a statement that they would support me. When this happened with my closest friend, it hurt. A lot. However, I kept asking every single friend I had for help, but none of them offered any actual help.

So you know, I was devastated. But that's not the thing that bothered me the most. After recovering from the sadness surrounding these events I sat and pondered why no one is willing to open their heart. Because that's one thing about me, I have always worn my heart on my sleeve. I am openly emotional and I sincerely look for connection. Yet no one I met or had known was willing to just be a human to the fullest. Each and every person would never tell me their troubles, they all acted as if they didn't have any negative experiences or emotions. It's not like I met these people and tried to be their therapist. It was after months of friendship. They would simply act as if it's normal to bottle everything up. Play a role society wants them to play. I had never felt like this. I couldn't comprehend it. So I tried to. I looked up journals, and I searched the world wide web.

''Why are people so scared to be emotional?''

And what I found was weirdly devastating.

A lot of the sources I found informed me, but some I found to be a little too shortsighted. However, a reoccurring theme was that people fear the consequences of being seen and heard because they had been through traumatic events within their lifetime. These occurrences are what they used as evidence that they should be afraid to be themselves. As to protect themselves. I mean, this made sense to me because I had been through the same. But I didn't use it in that way. What baffled me is that I had met dozens of people and tried to connect with them and they all shared this same trait. So how come? Is everyone traumatized to an extent? I am not a scholar. I am not an academic. But my answer is yes. The way the system is set up inherently traumatizes people.

Men are told to ''man up''. Women must fit a certain role, dress a certain way, all-around look a certain way. You're told these things as a child. You're told what to do. There is nothing wrong with order. There is nothing wrong with having a system. I am not going to get into politics here, but one SIGNIFICANT and PREVALENT issue that the current system has is that we ARE TOLD HOW TO FEEL. No matter how girl boss slay queen you think you are, you have emotions, and you will never fully be content unless you feel those emotions. Unless you feel heard.

In this system you are not heard, you are told to figure it out. You are told to just go to therapy and fix it. If you're depressed, you're a freak and should keep it to yourself. Are you an inherently anxious person? Stop being so weird and on edge! Just relax! That's the attitude the current system promotes.

''Figure it out''.

I could keep ranting on. I could keep going. I have a lot more to say. I have a lot of lived experiences. I have seen a lot of people go through the worst possible events because of how little people cared because they were culturally programmed not to. The entire point I'm making is, that I want to, even if no one sees my posts, advocate for better mental health awareness, share my lived experiences, and make it so someone out there feels heard. So someone out there knows that they're not alone. I pulled myself out of the gutter. I did all the things necessary to go from suicidal to functioning and content. But I still see the same things that happened to me happen to kids and adults all around me. And I'm worried. I don't pretend to be some guru, some all-knowing woman who has seen it all. I just hope that I can help someone somewhere. And honestly, I need a place to vent.

#mental health #mental illness #mentalheathawareness #mental instability #mental abuse #mental ill health #rant #anxiety #depression

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turtle-paced · 3 years

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is Daenerys a slaver? Because even if Dany fred the Unsullied, they were still in an enslaved mentality. She could have screamed Freedom a hundred times for each slave in Astapor they would still think they own her, and yet she keeps them. And so are her "handmaids" slaves. She thinks of them as servants and only servants. SHE NEVER THINKS of them as actual people after "freed".

So wouldn't she be a slave owner (manly because of the unsullied)

Short answer: no.

Long answer:

By this logic, nobody, nobody, can free slaves without fully psychologically healing them of all the damage their time in slavery has caused them.

There's going to be psychological injury there. It's going to be long-term. The freedpeople are going to have to work hard to unlearn some of the habits that got them through their period of enslavement, even when it falls short of actual psychological illness. Recovering from the various injuries of slavery does not mean they are still enslaved. And suffering PTSD from traumatic events is not slavery!

It's also rather dismissive of the agency of the freedpeople. Who bloody well understand that they were freed from slavery. The very first thing Dany did for the Unsullied was give them a way to choose freedom. Inasmuch as she could make herself understood to a few thousand people on the spot.

"Unsullied!" Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. "Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see." She raised the harpy's fingers in the air... and then she flung the scourge aside. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Dracarys! Dracarys!"

"Dracarys!" they shouted back, the sweetest word she'd ever heard. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

- Dany III, ASoS

Dany deliberately throws the symbol of a master aside, shouting freedom! Following the Unsullied's conspicuous refusal to obey the orders of their long-time masters, their collective decision to follow Dany's instruction even without the scourge seems to indicate to me they knew perfectly well what was going on, and decided accordingly. Dany struck the first blow and took the first step, which made it easier for these thousands of people psychologically conditioned to obedience to at last rebel en masse, but rebel they did.

Similarly, in ADWD, we see that the freedpeople have been starting to organise themselves - as we find out when one of their leaders is murdered.

Rylona Rhee had played the harp as sweetly as the Maiden. When she had been a slave in Yunkai, she had played for every highborn family in the city. In Meereen she had become a leader amongst the Yunkish freedmen, their voice in Dany's councils.

- Dany II, ADWD

There are structural issues with the worldbuilding here, I reckon; GRRM's not developed this aspect of post-slavery organisation very much. Local resistance is better hinted at in Volantis with the Widow of the Waterfront (another society with slaves who for some strange reason think Dany's doing good work, with all the freeing of slaves), but this is an issue with GRRM's worldbuilding more than it is with his characterisation of Daenerys.

For another notable example of the freedpeople knowing what's what:

Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, "It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."

- Dany IV, ASoS

Which also puts the lie to the idea that Dany never thinks of the freedpeople as people after she frees them. She's asked a genuine question of Grey Worm. Asking about his name and his choices about it might be deeply personal, but it inherently recognises his identity and his ability to make decisions about his identity.

Similarly, Dany's handmaids are not her slaves. It's not articulated clearly with her Dothraki followers, who were with her before Dany clarified her position on slavery, but that's why we have Missandei.

"This one will stay," the girl said. "This one... I... there is no place for me to go. This... I will serve you, gladly."

"I can give you freedom, but not safety," Dany warned. "I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed."

"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, in High Valyrian.

- Dany III, ASoS

Dany can't offer a good choice here, but Dany's not a god. She can't make it so the slavers will give up without a fight, she can't wave her hand and make a living for everyone she frees whether or not they follow her, she can't guarantee anything. So she gives Missandei what she can - a choice, with information about the risks. The choice was the thing Missandei wasn't offered in her previous "employment".

Dany is a feudal noble. It comes with some problematic social attitudes - shared implicitly or explicitly by just about every other noble character in the series, to a greater or lesser degree.

But she's not a slaver.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #daenerys targaryen #a storm of swords #a dance with dragons

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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Ironclad

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of this fun filthy little fic in which you and your beloved Ironhead are awaiting a sex toy shipment... and in the meantime he decides to improvise with military equipment!

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Will, light bondage, rough sex, roleplay, knifeplay (but no blood at all), gagging (sort of, nothing too intense lol) Request: Voters chose this option as the winner of my little drabble fic poll!

Word Count: ~1.7k

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

“You know I’m gonna get what I want.”

Never in all his life has Will sounded so dominant. This isn’t the first time you two have indulged in some roleplay, but something about this whole enemy premise that he has decided to bring to the bedroom today... makes your man’s big dick energy even more prominent. Each word that spills from his luscious pink lips is a bomb going off in your wet little cunt.

He’s so savage and strong, and you shudder in silence just mesmerized by the pearl ridge of his teeth and the flickering slick of his tongue. Play the role of the prey that the monster in him lives to hunt. Ironhead knows the best way to rile you up is to torture and taunt.

“Bitch, the war has already been won. All the damage is done,” he goes on. Gloating over the contrast of him being all suited up while you’re lying in bed with no clothes on. Lady parts covered in nothing but lacy pink frills whereas he’s got a thick pair of pants over his cock to hide that it’s now raging stiff. “There’s just one piece of intel that you need to give. Give it up and then maybe I’ll think about letting you live.”

But—but why is that theoretical death threat so painfully hot?!? To indulge in this game you decide that you ought to say something so you summon up all the little resistance you’ve got. “And what if...”

“What if what?” Will quickly interrupts, merciless about shutting you up. Blue eyes dart to the crotch of your panties—he likes what he sees, the damp spot of arousal so noticeable it’s nasty. His gaze is so sharp it could cut. “What if you’d rather keep your mouth shut? Oh, I’ll find ways to get you to give in to me like a good little slut.”

Yeah, okay, you don’t even have balls but somehow you just busted a nut.

Now he’s leaning low over the bed, bringing his flawless face down so close to your own that the sight and the scent of him knock you right dead. Ever since you first met you knew that was the power of Ironhead.

“Like I said,” he snarls husky and deep slaying you even more with the sound of his voice, “bitch, I’m onto you. If you won’t play nice and tell me where they’ve hidden the key, you leave me with no choice. I bet it’s hidden somewhere on you. And I’m gonna search this pretty little body, till I get you to surrender to me... just the way the naughty slut inside you wants to.”

For a second you just lie there stunned, struggling and failing to recover from how hard those words hit your cunt. Unable to believe that this sex god wants you as his wife.

As you’re reeling from feeling so blessed, something then compels your gaze to drop from his face to his chest. To the dark wooden hilt of the weapon Will Miller wields best. At the center of his well-stocked vest is a knife.

For some reason you cannot stop staring at it as he hovers above you and then slowly lowers himself to the mattress with sturdy knees straddling your hips, storm-blue eyes fierce and sparkly and snickering darkly and licking his lips. You have never been so damn aroused in your life.

Reading your mind, searching for all the signs to scope out every unspoken thought he can find... Will then reaches to grip the handle of his blade. It’s the hottest move he’s ever made. And that shit would feel dangerous, if only it weren’t for your level of trust. You trust this man so much. Always have in each game that you’ve played. His dominance makes you feel safe and your only true home is the heat of his iron embrace and his soft loving touch.

Always soft, always so full of love, even more so when it’s raw and rough. You don’t doubt that’s what’s in store tonight and already you can’t get enough.

Leans down over you close. He’s so gorgeous it’s gross. Lets you ogle his breathtaking beauty, while teasing you rudely, the tip of his knife tracing over the outline of your lingerie which has you wrapped in delicate lace and dainty little bows.

For a second he pauses to drop a whisper of a kiss on the tip of your nose—blink and you would’ve missed it—so soft it’s a ghost. All the hot hazy energy buzzing throughout you and bringing you ecstasy gathers right there at that spot on your skin where he kissed it. It’s his favorite way of reminding your inner slut how much he loves her and treasures her although she already knows.

Now that you’ve been reminded, he’s back in the game on the hunt for that make-believe key and determined to find it. Here he fucking goes.

“Now let’s see what the enemy’s hiding,” Will sneers, and it’s music to your slutty ears. You’re already surrendering right fucking here. Even if you wanted to fight him there would simply be no hope of fighting.

Nonetheless when he slides the sharp metal tip under the strip of fabric at your cleavage and jerks it upward till the skimpy lace snaps, you can’t help but let out a shocked gasp. Just what he had planned with this blade, you should really have realized—it wasn’t so hard to anticipate—yet now that the move has been made, it comes as a surprise. No surprise that it feels fucking great. Intensifies the flood between your thighs. Brings you up to the highest of highs.

Some small part of you suddenly feels a bit sad though. This is your single favorite set of lingerie, one of many gifts that Will had gotten for your recent birthday. And this savage tear isn’t something that you can re-sew.

“Will...” you whine as the corners of your pouty mouth turn down low.

He won’t let you continue. Quickly silences the little brat in you. He slams that door. “Did I tell you to speak, whore?”

... Oh. Fuck if that doesn’t make your already soaked pussy juices flow.

“That isn’t what this filthy fucking mouth is for,” your man reminds you in a quiet growl that thunders like a roar. He’s such a motherfucking king. “If you won’t tell me what I want to hear then you don’t get to say a fucking thing. You understand?”

You bite your bottom lip and bob your head as all that you can do is yield to his command.

“Mmm, I don’t think you do,” he rasps, reaching to take your hips in his firm grasp, so he can make sure you won’t move then as the cold blade meets the fabric of your panties and rips them right fucking through. “I think there’s still a little fight in you.”

There really isn’t as you need this man inside of you. But in this game you’re playing you pretend as best you can. Pretend that you’re the mortal enemy of this god of a man.

Will lets his weapon clatter to the floor, now that it’s done its work of shredding up your lingerie so he can have you spread before him like a whore. He reaches up then to strip off the heavy scarf that he has tied around his neck but just why he’s removing it you’re not quite sure...

Don’t have to wonder very long. Next thing you know he’s wrapping it around the lower half of your face like a gag and fastening it strong, to make damn sure he doesn’t hear another word off of your tongue.

He’d thought of using it to blindfold you—that would’ve been fun too—but damn are you glad that he didn’t ‘cause you want to witness every kinky thing he’s gonna do.

“That’s better,” he says wickedly and you’ve never been wetter. “Now if you ever want to stop or tell me no, you blink three times real slow. You got that?”

Nod your head, swooning at how the captain never fails to have a system to ensure your safety and consent in bed. He’s just so good at being bad and that’s why he is the best fuck and biggest love you’ve ever had.

He kisses the tip of your nose once again, proud of how well you listen and all ready for the real fun to begin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna make sure that every other part of this pretty naughty little body stays nice and still like it should.”

Next thing you know he takes the carabiner off his vest and the torn shreds of lingerie spread on the bed and somehow in a matter of five seconds—how exactly you can’t even reckon—fashions a contraption that keeps you securely hooked onto the bedframe. Both wrists pinned above your head and fastened to the wood. God, he is so good at this game. So fucking good.

Now you’re all bound and gagged and naked... and at last Will can go hunting for the prize he wants and take it.

Said that he’s searching for some kind of key. Said that he thinks you’ve got the jackpot hidden somewhere on your body.

By the ‘jackpot’ he means G-spot. Obviously. And in all the nights you’ve ever been together honestly, he’s hit that and every goddamn spot you’ve got.

You’re sure tonight will be no different and you’re already exploding at the thought. You’ve never been so hot.

In this role that you’re playing, the secret you’re keeping is locked. Ironclad.

But it goes without saying... that really you’re just desperate for this sex god to unlock the floodgates of your tight wet cunt with his glorious cock. So fucking desperate to get fucked. And so you do tonight and it feels so good to play roles so fucking bad.

All the equipment on his vest rubs up so rough against the soft flesh of your breasts, as he plows into you and powerfully unlocks the core of pure passionate pleasure in your cunt and in the heart that pounds for him within your chest... fucking like mad... and it’s the motherfucking best. Without a doubt the best sex you and Ironhead have ever fucking had.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

Masterlist

Tag List – Join Here!*

*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

@itsme-autumn @rebelwrites @happyhunnams @band--psycho @witching-hour @est11 @edonaspanca @ughdontbeboring @neverland14353 @starbooty @coffeequeenxx @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @justme2042 @awesomenatalia @auroraariza @rochyu @coffeebooksandfandom @inlovewithcharliehunnam @turner-cris @thesuicidalflower @chrmdnbeautiful @xladymacbethx @holl2712 @snow-white-74 @moonlight-fern @stitchesbystults @lilacyennefer @magic-room @sunflower12335 @trishmarieofficial @smoochesfroggos @o0idk0o @flaireandsynch @littlebennettwitchsblog @got-to-love-a-badboy @noneofyourbusinessssblog @notquitecannon @wayward-avenging @travistheaussie @helloheyhihowdyheya @christycarnell6 @dinopin @leathercladmenfics @magictehnique @amberembers @addcrastinator3 @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @foreve-free @midnvght-lies @wiccanash @batmanb @xbreezymeadowsx @louisianalady @perhapstan @beethebuzzbuzz72 @boredintheglade [hit the 50-tag limit – list to be continued in a reblog of this fic]

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sezja · 2 years

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Febuwhump Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet Triggers/Content warnings: Major character death

Guydelot's blood is still pounding in his ears as he sprints through the autumn-dappled trees of the North Shroud, going as fast as he can; it was chance alone that he overheard a pair of Adder scouts mention the intel that Nourval and his cronies were lurking in the relics of Dalamud. He'd taken off running and hasn't stopped since. Vorsaile'd yelled something after him, but damn the man anyway - he's an Adder, after all, and not a damn one of 'em cares about Sanson.

Sanson. Sanson. I'll be there soon.

All that matters is getting there before the Twin Adder does. Getting past the sentries shouldn't be too hard, right? Then it's just Nourval...

I never should've agreed to bring the bastard along. This is all my doing, ain't it? He'd been the one who laughed at Nourval's boldness, tricking the Order into sending out a unit to search for the damn tome... or, as it turned out, just to get him an excuse past Baelsar's Wall. Sanson hadn't wanted to bring a civilian along, but-

Guydelot clenches his jaw so hard his teeth creak. He's gonna put an arrow right into Nourval's smug eye. What he wouldn't give to have Eve here, though; he couldn't afford to wait for her to turn up in Gridania. Couldn't take the time to go ask Jehantel for more last-minute advice. No, it's down to him, just him, but then, maybe one man can slip past the defenses better than two...

An arrow punches into the ground at his feet, and he skids abruptly to a stop. Two archers emerge from seemingly out of nowhere.

Damn it all. He'd gotten careless.

"Drop your weapon," the nearest calls, leveling his own bow at Guydelot's heart. "Your friend yet lives, but do aught careless-"

Guydelot draws and fires, cutting the man off with an arrow to the throat. He hadn't aimed; anger and instinct hone him into a weapon he scarcely recognizes. Sanson. Fear makes him cold; he prepares to turn his bow on the remaining archer-

But by then the enemy has already recovered from the death of his companion, and fires an arrow of his own; it takes Guydelot in the shoulder. Any lower and it might have pierced his heart, not that he suspects he'd feel it, with his heart already one desperate ache; he scarcely feels this one, though the blood pools around the arrow. He wrenches it out, not hesitating to fit it to his own bow and fire.

The alarm has sounded, though, and even with the slaying of the two sentries, his path has grown harder.

Damn it all. Rolling his aching shoulder - he'll patch that up later - he dives into the hive.

A skilled bard, a skilled archer, but he's only one man; he's no Warrior of Light, no hero skilled at picking apart armies. By the time they drag him before Nourval, Guydelot is riddled with arrows and the ungentle kisses of blades and lances; his coat is more red than turquoise.

It's nearly worth it, just to see Sanson again.

Sanson's eyes are awful, too painful to gaze into for long; the despair in them is painful... yet Guydelot can't look away. How could he?

I've doomed us both, Chief. But I couldn't stand by and do nothing. You understand, right? I couldn't just let it happen.

He'd say it if he could, all the things he's never said. He can't seem to find words. Pathetic, a bard without words...

"Well! This is unexpected. I hope you weren't sent to deliver the Gridanians' answer," Nourval says, kneeling down to get a closer look at the battered bard. "I had hoped you might have more care for your friend."

He's my whole godsdamned world, and there's not a damn thing I can do to save him.

Guydelot manages to spit in Nourval's face. Grimacing, the man wipes away the glob of spittle and blood, then stands. "Well. Not an official messenger then, I suppose-"

"Nourval-" Sanson's voice, strained. Terrified; has Guydelot ever heard him truly frightened before now? "Nourval, you don't truly want to do this-"

"He's no use to me," Nourval explains, as though speaking to a child. Horror prickles over Guydelot's skin as reality dawns: Nourval means to kill him, before Sanson's eyes. Until the Adders move, Sanson still has use as a hostage... at least until Nourval realizes they have no intention of playing along. Does he even know the Adders don't have the journal?

Oddly hilarious, that. Good thing he'd hidden it. Now no one will find the damn thing.

"Please," Sanson tries again, struggling against his bonds. "Nourval, please don't harm him; he's only-"

"I suggest you look away," Nourval says, almost kindly. Almost.

But Sanson can't. And neither can Guydelot.

"Sanson-"

And then the lance pierces his heart.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #febuwhumpday2 #febuwhump2022 #my writing #/swings bat

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herinsectreflection · 3 years

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Faith, Buffy, Dreams, and Secret Kisses

This is one of my favourite scenes in the series. Partially because it’s just my personal jam - I admit that I am Fuffy trash, and I have a real love for dream sequences. Buffy had great dream sequences, but this is where they take a step up. It’s a precursor to Restless in this regard and others. It feels weighty and meaningful, but also a little off and incongruent with itself, in that way that only dreams are. Lines are exchanged that don’t quite follow as direct responses to each other, clashing in interesting ways. It’s packed with foreshadowing, metaphor, and other juicy things. And beyond that, it’s a conclusion to Buffy’s entire arc this season about dealing with her shadow self, and it leads to what I think is the single most romantic moment in the series. I want to talk about this scene and unpack some of what I think it’s saying.

First of all, let’s talk about the setting. We’re in Faith’s apartment, bought for her by the Mayor. Essentially, the villain’s lair, where the two Big Bads plotted their evil plans against our hero. But it’s also a set where we saw most of the bonding and semi-familial love between Faith and the Mayor. A place of both evil and love. And for Buffy, a place of trauma. This is where she makes the decision and takes the action to kill another human. I don’t think she was unjustified in doing so, but it’s still an immensely traumatic act for her, and I think she loses a little part of herself when she does it. The location is very much a reflection of Faith, and Buffy’s relationship to her. I don’t think Buffy loves Faith romantically at this point, but I think she cares about her, and remains concerned about her, and I think it’s fair to call that a kind of love. Faith is also evil, a figure of betrayal but also temptation to the “dark side”. And she is also a figure of trauma, clear deep-seated trauma that she fails to resolve, and just gets worse over the course of the season. Buffy is essentially inside her own relationship to Faith, inside a stadium of sin, trauma, love, and shattered glass. Faith looks out of the broken window that they fought through, and we are reminded that their relationship too is broken, unrepaired, littered with the detritus of conflict. There’s no going back from this - even in dreams that window remains broken, and their relationship will always have this damage.

The props too are an interesting choice. TPN’s video on Graduation Day pointed out the painting of a giant snake with a man’s head on the wall. More conflicting feelings here - the Mayor is Faith’s closest connection to humanity and love right now, and also the reason for her betrayal of Buffy. Her redemption and damnation. We also see boxes of various things piled up - including the crossbow that Faith stole in Bad Girls. The image of packing up a room into boxes makes me think of moving away as a student. We must remember that Buffy is graduating today, on the verge of packing her life away and taking it somewhere else, and this reminds us of that.

The first thing of real substance we see is the cat, which jumps up on Faith’s bed. This is one of the aspects of this dream in direct conversation with Restless, where a cat symbolises the Slayer - a specifically feminine, solitary predator that stalks the night. In Restless, we cut to Miss Kitty stalking the camera from shots of the First slayer stalking Willow. Here though, the intercut images are between the cat and Faith, lying bruised and helpless in a hospital. The cat (and the Slayer) is, as far as Buffy is concerned, not a danger but a creature in need of help.

Buffy: "Who's going to look after him?" Faith: "It's a she. And aren't these things supposed to take care of themselves?"

They’re very clearly talking about their respective approaches to slaying, and to life in general. Buffy tries to encourage ties to humanity, telling Faith back in Revelations that she is on Faith’s side. Faith retorts that she alone is on her side, and she repeats that sentiment here. But Buffy is obviously proved right - Faith is lying almost dead because she rejected all help and care.

Buffy: "A higher power guiding us?" Faith: "I'm pretty sure that's not what I meant."

If the cat is the Slayer in this conversation, then the “higher power guiding us” could refer to the Watchers. It makes sense that Buffy delivers this line with a little wry smile, given that she’s just resigned herself from the Council. This allows a little bit of ambiguity in their debate - Buffy has taken on a little bit of Faith’s advice in emancipating herself and so making herself as the Slayer more self-reliant. The show agrees that that too is the right move. A little independence is good and healthy. What Faith means when she talks about “taking care of herself” is not self-reliance or independence, but emotional hardness and self-marooning to avoid hurt. This is something that Buffy will continue to struggle with for the rest of the series. Faith is kind of right when she states that the Slayer is alone and must take care of herself, and it’s up to Buffy to find a healthy way of dealing with that.

"Oh yeah. Miles to go - Little Miss Muffet counting down from 7-3-0.”

The scene shifts a little, and we get some foreshadowing for Dawn (Little Miss Muffet), and for Buffy’s death (730 days from now). This is done with the the lighting too, as Faith faces the camera, and the light of the dawn hits her face, in a shot extremely similar to the end of The Gift.

Interestingly, Faith is repeatedly used in this way. In This Year’s Girl, Faith talks about “little sis coming” as she and Buffy make the bed in her first dream. In Restless, that scene gets a callback (”Faith and I just made that bed”), in a scene that ends with the most anvilicious foreshadowing (”Be back before dawn”), as well as a callback to the 7-3-0 line (”Oh, that clock’s all wrong”). In Graduation Day, Faith refers to Buffy as being “dressed up in big sister’s clothes”, however to me Faith has always felt more as being the “little sister” in this relationship. She looks up to Buffy yet is also deeply jealous of her. She wants to be Buffy, to have her friends, her life, the love of her mother. She’s kind of a precursor to Dawn in this respect, so it makes sense that she’s a prophet for her coming.

Slayers having prophetic dreams is well-established, so it makes sense that a dream shared by two slayers would allow them to prophesise a little further ahead in time. Faith hints at this, remarking "Sorry, it's my head. A lot of new stuff.". You have to wonder what other “new stuff” Faith is becoming aware of. Perhaps a new perspective on everything Buffy’s been saying all season. Sharing a mind temporarily is often helpful in seeing another’s point of view. Faith does seem unusually thoughtful as she looks out of the broken window and remarks "They are never going to fix this, are they?".

This is perhaps my favourite line in the scene. It’s a slight mislead, as it comes right as we get a flash of the cat-as-Faith in the foreground. So we assume it’s a reference to her own injuries, which she is expected to never recover from.

But the Faith that’s talking isn’t looking at her own body. She’s looking at the broken window. The symbol for her broken relationship with Buffy. She has become us, the audience, looking at Buffy and Faith and saying “boy, those crazy kids really are never going to work it out, are they?”. It’s true for Faith, it’s true for Faith&Buffy, and it’s true for Buffy herself. When that knife entered Faith’s gut, all three were irrevocably changed forever. You can never put back the life you had before after it’s broken like that. All you can do is take what you can work with, and try to make something new.

Buffy: "What about you?" Faith: "Scar tissue. It fades. It all fades." Buffy confirms that the previous line was not about Faith specifically by asking “what about you”, in a lovely expression of concern. After everything, Buffy does still care about Faith. Faith’s reply of “scar tissue” is an obvious reference to the literal wound she is now carrying (emphasised by the shot of the knife that Buffy sees afterwards), but it’s interesting that she gestures to her face when she says this. It feels like a reference to her entire self. If we accept Faith as Buffy’s shadow self, then “scar tissue” is an accurate description of her. As Buffy herself says, Faith is who she could be if her life was worse (or, perhaps, who she would be if she allowed the tragedies of her life to rule her). She is the part of Buffy’s unconscious self that is revealed after receiving violence. She is the physical proof of trauma. The self that remains after pain.

Buffy: “Is this your mind or mine?” Again, hitting that note of symbiosis; emphasising how inextricably tied these two characters are. The lines between their psyches are blurred to the point of no longer existing. This is such an intimate moment, almost sexual, with Buffy and Faith unable to tell where their own mind ends and another begins. Imagine the intimacy of that - entering another’s mental space and allowing them into yours, so wholly that they become one and the same. It becomes a mutual recognition of unity and shared pain, and an affirmation of the eternal divisions between them.

I love the ambiguity of the “human weakness” line too. One way we are invited to read it is that Faith is doing a heel-face turn, and intentionally giving Buffy the means to defeat the Mayor. But we’re not allowed anything that easy, to wash away Faith’s sins with a quick redemption before the climax. Faith has miles to go before she can achieve that. It’s just as likely that Faith is talking about herself, and the human weakness that led her down a dark path, or that Buffy is talking about Faith through the Faith in her head, or Buffy is just working it out on her own, etc, etc. This is the information that saves the world, and I like that it remains an unknown. A permanent “maybe”, just as Buffy and Faith’s relationship is.

Buffy: "How are you going to fit all this stuff?" Faith: "Not gonna. It's yours." Buffy: "I can't use all of this!" Faith: "Just take what you need. You're ready?"

As the scene reaches its climax, we see the most obvious recitation of the season’s themes. S3 is about Buffy coming into conflict with her own shadow self, and here the show tells us how she does that - by taking what she needs. I mentioned earlier that we saw the crossbow from Bad Girls, from the “want/take/have” scene. Here, Faith is telling her the same thing, but in a more healthy way. She cannot just hedonistically consume everything like a crazed id-monster, but she also cannot deny herself things that she needs.

Most importantly, the “stuff” they are referring to is Faith’s, but as Faith says, it’s also Buffy’s. Everything that Faith is, Buffy is too, because she is her shadow self. Buffy must recognise this, accept it, and incorporate the shadow self into her own identity. She cannot be consumed by the shadow self and simply become Faith, allowing her shadow to consume her conscious personality (”how are you going to fit all this stuff?”). Instead she must recognise her dark mirror, and take the healthy parts, and integrate them into herself as an individual (”take what you need”).

It is at this point of healing and merging between Buffy’s self and shadow self that Faith reaches out, almost touches her in an action that feels so tender, and Buffy becomes conscious. She literally becomes her conscious self by making peace with her dream (unconscious self). She stands up, and walks over to Faith’s bed. This is the moment that their relationship all season has been leading to. She leans over, and places a kiss on her forehead.

This kiss is everything. It’s an act of thanks, as Buffy realises Faith may have given her what she needs to save the day (at the cost of Faith’s one familial figure). It is an act of service, as Buffy literally gives Faith the kiss she asked for when they started to fight in Graduation Day. It could also be an act of forgiveness. We know from I Only Have Eyes For You that forgiveness, Buffy learns, is done not because somebody deserves it, but because they need it. Faith at this point probably does not deserve it, does not want forgiveness (she wants to be punished), nor can she recognise it in her current state, but Buffy gives it anyway, adding another layer of heartbreak. It is given not for any purpose, but for its own sake.

Above all though, this is an act of recognition. We must consider the previous forehead-kiss that these two shared, back in Enemies, and Faith’s words directly before: “What are you gonna do, B, kill me? You become me. You're not ready for that, yet.” And in Graduation Day, just after Buffy stabs her: “You did it. You killed me.” And her words in the dream, just a few seconds ago: “You're ready?"

Now I don’t think that Buffy stabbing Faith to save Angel is morally equivalent to Faith voluntarily killing people to help an evil guy become a big snake. I don’t think the show wants us to think that either. But the line is firmly blurred. Angel says in Consequences that the act of taking a life will change Faith irrevocably, and Faith agrees. She sees herself as tainted from that point on, and if Buffy took her life, she would be tainted too. And though it’s understandable and morally defensible, there’s no doubt that a part of Buffy - her innocence - dies on that balcony when she sticks that knife in. That act is forever. The choice to do violence is permanent.

So when Faith says “you killed me”, she is saying “you have become me”. She identifies a common nature in them. And when Buffy kisses her, returning it in the exact same way as when Faith first said those words, she is saying “I know”. She recognises and responds to Faith’s mirror by holding up one of her own. She matches similarity with similarity. She is finally “ready” to assimilate her shadow self, and does it by telling her shadow self that she sees her, and that she was right.

The beautiful part of all this is that it is silent. Faith would’ve been aware of their unification in the dreamscape, since it was happening in both of their heads, but she has no way of knowing about this. I wonder if Buffy would ever tell her. I doubt it. This is the core of the Faith/Buffy tragedy. This is why I find this relationship so compelling. Buffy performs this act of recognition and devotion entirely in secret. It is a stolen kiss and a private confession. A whisper made to a sleeping lover. A letter written, sealed, stamped, and set on fire. It is an act of love and tenderness made entirely for its own sake, without witness or reward.

This is the single most romantic moment of the show for me. In this show that in many ways about how when nothing you do matters, all that matters is what you do, what could be more romantic than this gentle kiss that changes nothing against this aching hole of violence and betrayal between them, but exists anyway, just because Buffy felt it needed to be done. It’s a silent moment that nobody but Buffy and us are privy to. Neither Faith nor the rest of the world will ever know it happened, but I know I for one will never forget.

#btvs #buffy summers #faith lehane #graduation day #fuffy #s3 #meta

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b1ancastar · 3 years

Text

-His sad obsession- yandere!douma x reader

WARNING-Gore read that your own risk

Pain

Pain is all you felt right now. You had managed to slay the demons but it almost has cost your life, once more. Though this time was different, this time you were sure death would come upon you. As a tear slid down your cheek, your eyes closed, unknowing of the tall figure in the woods.

Douma stood there, looking at the sad, pathetic demon slayer under him. He bent down checking to see if you were alive, there was a faint breath, and a faint heartbeat. Humming he decided to not leave you there to die, but to bring you to his cult, in order to see if you could provide information for that man.

Soon you found yourself in a room you didn’t know of. You moved around, all you felt was pain. The only thing you could do properly was sit up. You took note of the room around you, it was nothing like yours, this room was much nicer. You would feel bad for ruining even the smallest of things.

The door opened revealing a woman in her mid-twenties. She timidly approached you, as if she was scared to see you awake. You both said nothing as she checked you over. She walked out then came right back with a bowl of soup in her hands. After she put it to the side she gave you a look of pity and left you there, alone, again.

Douma gave his happy smile to the lady after she came and told him you had finally awoke, even though he had only taken you in a week ago he was dying to see what you were like. He knew the truth that once you were no longer of use that he would eat you, but held hope that you could stick around for a while.

He made his way to your room humming the same hum he had when he had found you in the woods. He thought it to be hilarious that you were a demon slayer, supposedly a strong one that had come to death so easily, if it hadn’t been for him, you would be long gone. As he made the turn to get closer to the room you were in the smell of blood that you had seemed almost gone. Then he stood outside, wondering how his first impression should go.

You glazed up hearing the door open, at first you were confused, wondering who the strange looking male was until you saw his eyes, engraved in them was upper two, this gave it away that you were face to face with a upper moon, fear took over, though you were smart you weren’t on the stronger side when it came to demons, but everyone knew by now about the moons that the creator of demons had made in order to make a power system.

You had been so lost in thought that you failed to see him kneeling in front of you. As you left your trace you tried getting into an awkward defense laying down. You had no idea what he could want with you, anything you told him could be used against you, with a chuckle he started to talk,

“You know, you are hurt so this little defense won’t help you, but what’s your name.”

Silence

“If you don’t tell me I’ll force it out of you.”

He soon had a harsh grip on your face, as his nails started to dig into your cheeks you managed to mumble your name, his old smile had returned and he clasped his hands together.

“That’s a wonderful name, I will go on and tell you to make yourself at home, you will be here for a while.”

You watched as he cheerfully walked out, closing the door behind him. You raised your hand to your cheek, feeling some droplets of blood from his nails, your tears came back and you just wanted to disappear.

It had been another week, you had almost fully recovered and hadn’t seen the upper moon since the interaction you had the week before. You hoped that you could sneak yourself out of here once you fully recovered, you knew it would be hard, but you were willing to risk it. As long as you limited the interactions you had you wouldn’t feel bad about leaving, though it did confuse you how you never saw the woman from before you hoped she wasn’t eaten.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the doors of the room you had been in. Reaching to slide them open they felt they were locked. You started to shake them, hoping someone would hear and open them, soon your heard footsteps coming to your room, through when you saw the shadow on the other side the smile soon faded.

Douma stood outside your room, he felt the joy soon turn into fear. He reached to unlock the door, and pulled you out and started to drag you ignoring the struggling you had. Subconsciously he started to grip even harder ever since your first conversion he was itching to know more about you. But you're desperate, cries soon broke and his unhearing ears. Glazing back he saw how he had almost snapped your wrist, pity in his eyes he loosened his grip and kept going to his warship room.

“You know (Y/N), I still haven’t given you my name, yet I know yours, isn’t it funny.”

After he didn’t get a response he kept going,

“Well I supposed I should give you my name, it's Douma. Now I need to tell you some things once we get to my room, more like rules now that you’re a part of his cult.”

You stood there in shock as he gave his rules, you were to not leave your room without someone, you had to spend at least an hour with him, and you were to stay here, forever. This means your plans of escape weren't going to work like you hoped, he said something about punishment but you had no idea what it was going to be all you wanted was to be home.

You soon spoke up, seeing his eyes widen for hearing you speak without being forced to,

“The lady who was here first, is she, you know, gone.”

His grin grew wider has he shook his head the pointed at himself,

“Yep! She’s a part of me forever now, she now has peace after such a hard life.”

As fake tears went down his face you shuddered, knowing that it could happen to you any given time. Soon he had someone take you away into your room and bring food, soon after you fell asleep.

It’s been so long since you saw the sun now, you had no idea why you were still here, why he kept you here, Douma was more or less crazier since you were here. He would eat his followers in front of you not caring if their blood was on you, his punishments were horrible, he’d dig his nails across you, he’d nearly freeze you if you fell out of line. You were broken. The old (Y/N) was gone, replaced with an empty shell. Though nothing prepared you when you became this monster, a demon the one thing you’d kill.

Now you were stuck with him, to become his sad little obsession.

#kny douma #kimetsu no yaiba douma #x reader #yandere #douma x reader #demon slayer

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officerjennie · 3 years

Text

Goodbye Kisses

(Prompted by myself on my birthday because help, I love them so much T^T) (Ko-fi and commission info in my blog header)

It mattered not how many times they said goodbye, each time still broke another piece of his heart.

There were times Jaskier had ample warning. Days or even weeks to steel himself, to play the brilliant actor he prided himself to be. Ample time to remind himself quite sternly what he was to his witcher, his noble white wolf, the man who had swept into his life with all the flair and cheer of a beaten and tired mutt and had promptly and oh so very rudely stolen his heart.

A heart that many had attempted to steal in the past, might he add.

Those blessed days, hours, weeks - whatever time he had to fish his heart back from his sleeves and shove it back in his chest to be guarded like it had never wanted to be - they were all that saved him from certain embarrassment and rejection. For every single time, no matter that he knew it would end, he allowed himself to be a fool and believe that their journey would go onward. That every morning he could wake up bleary and far too late to his witcher grousing over their late start. That every afternoon would find him practicing his lute and songs while he danced his way down whatever trail laid before them, following after Roach’s twitching tail and the regal visage of Geralt, the most dearest man to his heart.

It was not one of those times, however.

“Leaving,” was the only grunted explanation he got as Geralt brushed past him, Jaskier left blinking after him where he stood still in the doorway to the room they’d planned on sharing for the next few days at the very least. It took far too many seconds for his thoughts to catch up to him, the silly grin he’d had frozen on his lips, laughter caught and dying in his throat.

“Wh- hold on, wait! Garelt!” Jaskier danced a little in the doorway, unsure of whether to take off after his companion given his own stuff was still strewn all about their room - everything but the lute strapped to his back and the smaller of his coin purses that he’d kept to collect the connected bar’s patron’s generous donations at his performance. With great effort he stopped staring after him, sweeping wide eyes about the room, already mourning the loss of what he couldn’t grab in the next 30 seconds: the blackberry wine he’d been planning on breaking out this very night would have to be abandoned, as well as much of his clothes - oh, it would cost him a small fortune to replace them all, and his heart cried even as he ran about and scooped up what little he could before stumbling right back out the door, regretting that last pint of ale as it left him fumbly and even dropping some of the precious few things he’d managed to stuff in his arms.

It was a miracle in and of itself that he didn’t bumble into anyone on his rush down the hall and stairs, and another that he managed the door by himself with his hands and arms otherwise occupied. At least no grace from the gods was required to find Geralt, all Jaskier needed to do was head straight for the stable that was attached to the inn.

“Geralt!”

He spotted his witcher just as Geralt was swinging his leg up and over Roach, the mare already saddled and packed and grouchy from being awoken far too early for her liking. She tried her best to reach back and nip at her burden even as Geralt nudged her forward, stopping her only after a few feet when Jaskier stumbled in front of them.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Gesturing with his arms so full of precious belongings was a bad idea but that didn’t occur to him until after he’d already done it, and attempting to catch the turquoise and emerald silk shirt only made him drop something else. “Dropping everything I own in the muck and grime is what I’m doing apparently - that was a gift, you know! A gift from my mother on her sick bed. Sure, sure, she recovered, but that’s not the point of things, Geralt, some warning would have been nice!”

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh, well darling, I didn’t notice, what with the whole storming out and straddling Ms. Nips-A-Lot - hey! No!” Roach knew exactly when he sassed about her and proved the name right, Jaskier barely dodging one of her hard nips that was aimed at his shoulder. It was luck and luck alone that kept all the rest of his things in his arms and far away from the mud below. “I meant advanced warning, Geralt, half a minute is not enough time for me to pack. And the least you could do is help me!”

Geralt grunted at him, and it was only thanks to their years of travelling together off and on that Jaskier could recognize it as his impatient grunt - which only made him want to huff indignantly, considering it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get ready at the drop of a hat. But before he could properly huff at him Geralt slid off of Roach to help him.

Or...not. Instead of taking any of his stuff, or maybe opening one of the packs Roach was carrying, Geralt just oh so helpfully clapped Jaskier on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as he leaned down to meet Jaskier’s gaze - and just that simple act of holding his gaze had Jaskier’s heart in his throat. Melitele help him but those eyes would be the death of him. He could drown in the abyss of them, captured and held prisoner but hardly against his will, lost in a sea of amber and warmth many would think so unlike his dear withcer-

“I’m leaving, Jaskier. Not you.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, the fluttering thing in his stomach dropping like a stone. Well. Just like his witcher to put a damper on things.

“Too dangerous.”

“How is it any more dangerous than what we’ve already been through together?” Jaskier tried to not get too distracted when Geralt’s hand slipped from his shoulder and down his arm, still firm on him, making it unfairly difficult to muster up a decent argument as Geralt took his elbow and started to guide him back to the tavern entrance. “When we met I followed you straight towards a devil, remember? Sure it wasn’t an actual devil but neither of us knew any better-”

“Devils aren’t real, Jaskier.”

“-and I still followed you right along, and ended up perfectly fine! Oh, and remember the dragon? A dragon, Geralt, how on earth could anything out here in the middle of bloody nowhere could be more dangerous than a DRAGON?”

Geralt gave him a look that suggested he was being difficult on purpose. “I don’t slay dragons. There was never going to be a fight.”

Any further protests were put to a stop before they could continue, hardly even a stammered out start passing Jaskier’s lips before Geralt was opening the tavern door for him, giving a squeeze to his arm before dropping the contact between them. “Stay here, and out of trouble if you can manage it. I’ll come back.”

Normally, Jaskier would have made a fuss over the insinuation that he might gravitate towards trouble - because, really, it was the other way around. Not that the end results mattered much which way it worked. It came down to semantics, really, but Jaskier still would not have taken the insinuation without at least trying to set the record straight a little. But…

But his heart had not been normal of late, nor had his mind. And with no time to prepare for Geralt’s rather sudden departure he’d had no time to school his reactions, no time to remind himself how he’d normally do things: what he’d say, how exactly his hand or arm would flourish in gesture, what emotions he should allow into his tone without raising any sort of suspicion.

So it wasn’t exasperation that colored his tone, no played up hurt nor frustration to punctuate his words when Jaskier half-turned to look up at his witcher, breath almost catching at how even on a dreary day like this Geralt managed to look neigh on ethereal in his beauty - when all Jaskier managed to ask him was “When?”

When would he again be allowed to get lost within that heated gaze, time having little meaning, the world fading into the distance? When would his nights end in laughter rather than the drop after a performance, his high from the crowd leaving him at an incredible low, alone without his dearest witcher to keep his thoughts at bay and far away from the darkened sea they went to on their own? When would he know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his Geralt was safe and relatively unharmed, unmaimed at the very least, able to return to him at all?

“When I’m done.”

Ever the romantic to match his thoughts. Jaskier huffed out air through his nose, readjusting his grip on the mountain of things in his arms, Geralt’s blunt honesty cutting through his rather melodramatic mode decently enough. Not well enough to have him rid of all the rather sticky feelings that loved to pop up unbidden, but without the clouds that usually left him dampened in their presence all those sticky feelings left Jaskier feeling rather...wistful, and, dare he say, whimsical.

Perhaps his mother was onto something when she said his moods changed less like seasons and more flittered by like insects swarming in the summer heat.

If he had had perhaps even an hour to prepare for this goodbye, Jaskier would not have done anything so far removed from their normal interactions and behavior. But that time had not been given to him, and the warmth from Geralt’s hand could still be felt on his arm, and Jaskier’s heart was skipping beats in his chest knowing it was concern that had his witcher so set on going it alone - and seeing it clear as the dawn itself in those beautiful eyes of gold.

With as much grace as he could muster with his arms ladened so, Jaskier closed the short distance between him and his friend. He couldn’t tell if it was shocked surprise that held Geralt still or not, or what kept him from jerking away as he’d always expected him to if Jaskier had ever dared to be so bold, but Geralt did not move back - and Jaskier found his lips brushing against the silver stubble on his cheek, rough against his own chapped skin but it barely registered against the thundering heartbeat that sounded in his ears.

A light kiss to his cheek was all he managed, and it amazed him long into the night that he found his voice past it all. “Be careful, darling.” Being so close to him Jaskier saw Geralt’s breathing stutter at the endearment, and like a good storyteller he took careful note of that and squirreled it away for later, leaning back away just enough to look up and catch the way Geralt was looking at him. “I’d hate to be a bard with no company.”

Upon reflection, getting to see his oh so completely and frustratingly composed witcher shift his weight nervously after such a simple thing was more than worth the slip in his own emotional composure. Even the muddied belongings were worth it when weighed against the delayed grunt of response, the flickering gaze towards Jaskier and away again, and the sudden start to Geralt’s movements that finally started him back towards Roach without another word.

Maybe goodbyes weren’t the worst after all if they involved such an adorably flustered boy (and, Jaskier thought, his own gaze flickering downward shamelessly, it never really was a burden to watch him walk away).

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #first time writing them T^T #i did it! I wrote it!!

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alj4890 · 3 years

Text

Angst Prompt

Requested follow-up to One Fateful Night

Part 2: The Dark Before the Dawn

A\N Sorry again for One Fateful Night’s angst. This picks up right after and goes a little into the future for Liam and those that survived the earthquake. It gets pretty dark in places and is long, but I think it ends on a hopeful note.

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @sweatyrysconnoisseur @motorcitymademadame

Masterlist

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Unable to speak his reasons why he couldn't do it, Liam left that in the hands of his father and Regina. He didn't want to face the people without Riley by his side, without Drake standing steadfast, without Maxwell's unfailing optimism, without Hana's gentle support.

He had simply lost the will to fight.

Olivia had returned with him to the palace. Neville soon followed, insisting that he would do whatever Liam needed him to. Kiara, devastated by Penelope's death had retreated back to her family estate. Rashad was sent to Domvallier to recover from his injuries. Bastien refused to take time off and was doing his duties from a wheelchair.

Liam ignored all of it. He went to his chambers and remained secluded from the world for days. He refused entry to anyone who knocked. He simply sat there staring at the few mementos he had of those he had lost.

He flipped through the photographs Maxwell had insisted on taking of the three of them through the years. He paused at the few his mother was in, wishing she was here now to tell him how to move on from something like this. She had encouraged his friendships with Maxwell and Drake, knowing he would need them to face life in the public eye.

And now he would never have them again.

Setting the old album aside, he reached for the key chain Riley had given him the night of the Coronation. Thinking of that night and their confessions of love only to be so cruelly parted...his head dropped as he carefully set it back on the table. Next he picked up the pearl he had given her. The plans and hopes they had while meeting in secret. It had helped him through every moment he was kept from her side.

He then lifted the photograph Anna had taken of them for their engagement. Liam's fingers trembled as they brushed against the image of Riley. Her smile so warm. Her eyes so filled with joy.

Reaching for a decanter, he attempted to metaphorically drown his sorrows. In one night he had lost everything he had held dear. How was he to go on from this? There was no enemy to slay, no way to find those he loved and rescue them. Nothing. Nothing except funerals to attend. Nothing but giving them to the cold, unforgiving dirt.

All he had ahead of him was visits to graveyards. He knew his father didn't have much longer to live. It would be just one more loss in his already devastated heart.

Death was what his life had become. He had feared that when his mother was poisoned. Many a night he would wake up crying at the thought of being completely and utterly alone. This long forgotten fear rose up within him, showing that it hadn't been a nightmare. It had been a premonition.

Dropping his head in his hands, he sobbed into the void that had become his only companion.

*****************

Armed with a key, Olivia forced her way into Liam's room. With the first of the many funerals coming up, she knew she needed to get him prepared. The public would be looking toward their king, needing to see him standing against the worst life could throw at him.

Her steps faltered when she saw him. He was slumped over in a chair. Empty decanters sat in front of him, a few tipped over on the table with drops of whiskey spilled out.

The tumbler he had been using had fallen to the floor. The remnants of his drink had stained the Persian rug. His clothes were rumpled. Nearly a week's growth of beard had darkened his sunken cheeks. Dark circles under his eyes completed the look of a man trying to escape his tormented thoughts.

Olivia had to harden her heart. There had always been something about Liam that brought out an unusual softness in her. But that was not what he needed. He needed order. A purpose. Something to get him to step back out in the world.

Grabbing his shoulder she shook him hard.

"Liam!" She snapped in a louder than usual tone. "Wake up!"

He opened his bloodshot eyes with a slight groan. He weakly raised a hand to his head while trying to escape her unyielding grip.

"Get ready." She ordered. "We've got things to do."

"What things?" His hoarse voice cracked.

She ignored his question.

He forced himself to focus on her bustling about gathering his clothes before going into his bathroom. He could hear her starting a shower.

She returned with a determined set to her chin. "Hurry up." She pulled him out of his chair. "We don't have all day."

He stumbled forward, catching himself against a dresser.

Olivia bit her lip as she watched him painstakingly retreat into the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, she bent to the task of straightening his room. Her gaze fell on the objects he had been using for his only source of company. Tears sparked her eyes when she noticed the photographs.

It wasn't fair. Liam might think he was the only one to suffer with his losses, but she was just as deeply affected. They had been her friends too. A family of sorts, one of her choosing after losing her own at such a young age. She couldn't help but depend on them. Maxwell had been the chipper, up for anything brother she wouldn't have thought she needed. Drake had been her sparring partner, always keeping her wit sharp for any upcoming altercation. Riley...

How had the one she never could quite see completely as her enemy become an actual friend? She had won Liam from Olivia, and yet...and yet Olivia had been grateful. If there was anyone in this world who saw and loved Liam like she herself had, then it was Riley.

And how could she not care for someone who did as Liam deserved?

It was all for nothing. Olivia was left alone once more. Perhaps even more so than when her parents had died. At least then she had been able to lean on Liam. Now he could barely function. It was now her turn to be the one he could depend on in their friendship.

He stepped out, pulling her from her thoughts. He stood there as if at a loss of what to do, whether he should even bother putting forth an effort.

Olivia brought him a jacket and held it for him to slip on.

"We'll eat on the road." She told him, giving him a push out the door.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"A few places." She told him. She glanced back behind her where Regina had remained out of sight. The worry on the Queen Mother's face eased some at seeing Liam out of his room. She nodded gratefully to Olivia before retreating in the shadows to report this small success to Constantine.

****************

Liam stared out the window as Olivia drove him through the capital. He ignored the people going about their day as if the world had not stopped. He didn't bother to focus as he used to on the state of the roads or on some of the older, historical buildings.

He simply didn't care. He figured it was only a matter of time before these things were taken from him too. The terrorists were probably lying in wait for when they could destroy the last of what had once meant something to him.

"I don't suppose you've spoken to anyone at the hospital." Olivia said, cutting through the oppressive silence.

Liam merely shook his head.

She waited in the hopes he would ask about Hana and Madeleine. She needed to see that the old, kind to a fault Liam was still there, only buried amongst his immense sorrow.

The silence stretched once more between them.

"I have." She said, fighting against tears of frustration.

He didn't move. He simply stared out the passenger window.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Madeleine's recovery is slow yet steady. The doctors believe though that her fair skin will always be marked with scars."

Liam didn't even blink.

Olivia grit her teeth. "Hana though has not been having an easy time."

Liam stiffened somewhat at that.

Olivia pressed on. She was determined to get him talking. Hopefully once he started he could get rid of the despair that was destroying him.

"Her parents want to take her home to Singapore but the doctors don't believe she is strong enough yet." She swallowed down her own lump of emotion. "When she was told of...of..."

Liam finally face forward. "Told of everyone dying on us? Told that I had failed in saving anyone?" His bitterness slashed across Olivia's stuttered denial at that last one. "Told that her life would never be the same again?"

"Liam, you--"

"I don't want to hear it." He responded.

"You must!" She yelled, hitting her steering wheel in her anger.

Liam didn't flinch. He didn't act like he had even heard her.

"Hana needs you! Madeleine does too." She turned into the hospital parking lot. "We all need you to--"

"To what?" He roared. "Give more empty promises that we will get through this? That we will find our way back?" He jerked his seatbelt off. "I respect them too much to lie to them. The last thing they need is a broken man trying to rally their spirits." He opened the door. "Find someone else, Olivia. I'm not the man they need."

"You are!" She scrambled out, tears falling down her cheeks unheeded. "Liam, we all need you right now. Friday is the first set of funerals. We need you there to help us say goodbye."

Liam walked off without a word.

"Liam, please!" She pleaded, chasing after him. "Even if you can't speak during the service, let those of us who love you help you."

He paused before gently pulling his arm out of her grip. "I'm sorry, but I can't do what you ask of me." His bright blue eyes were filled with tears as he raised them to hers. "I'm done, Olivia."

"Liam, you're allowed to grieve." She reached for his hands. "Take as long as you need. But your friends and country need to grieve with you."

"They won't after I inform them of my decision." He took a deep breath. "I'm giving it up."

"Giving what up?" She asked.

"Everything. The crown. The throne." He looked about. "I'm leaving this country and moving somewhere that isn't filled with memories."

"You can't!" Olivia grabbed the lapels of his jacket, shaking him in desperation. "You can't let the terrorists win! We--"

"Why not?" He bit out. "They might be the right rulers for Cordonia. My legacy has been nothing but death. My brother gave it all up because the pressures were slowly killing him. My mother died trying to do what was right. My father gave up the crown because he is dying. I've done nothing but bring death and destruction to those I love the most." He gripped her wrists and wrenched them from his jacket. "I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can." She followed him when he walked off again. "Just try a little longer."

He laughed bitterly. "Try? Why? My reign is already marked with uncertainty. I'm a king without a queen or heir." He released a deep frustrated breath. "What's the point, Liv? Every time I try, I get knocked down. Losing...losing Riley, Drake, and Maxwell..." He shook his head. “It is too much.”

"Promise me you won't decide anything today." Olivia pleaded. "Please?"

He ran his hands over his face. He looked up as if for divine intervention before nodding. "I won't hold the press conference today."

"Good." She relaxed some. She knew now that she would have to fight him these next few weeks over his decision. The last thing she wanted to see was his giving up on his destiny in the midst of his grief.

Slipping her arm into the bend of his she tugged him toward the hospital.

*******************

"Come in." Hana called out.

She didn't want anymore visits from her parents but couldn't bring herself to tell them. Hearing that her marriage prospects were now completely gone due to her injury had done nothing but bring her further into depression. Did they not see that what she had lost was so much worse than the lower half of her left leg?

Her dearest friends, her best friends, those that knew her better than anyone on earth were gone.

And I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get a chance to save them. Nothing.

Olivia smiled softly at Hana. "I brought a surprise."

Hana sat up straighter when she saw Liam sheepishly appear.

A sob burst from her lips as she reached for him to hug.

Liam's Adam's apple bounced a few times as he struggled to swallow his sorrow. He couldn't ignore her need for comfort and hurried over to hug her. Olivia quietly stepped out so they could grieve in privacy.

"Oh Liam!" Hana cried against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." She clutched the material of his leather jacket, wishing they would all wake up and realize this was nothing but a dream.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I couldn't save them." His tears began to fall freely. "I failed them, Hana. I failed you. I failed everyone!"

She pulled back and gently cupped his face. Blinking through her tears she shook her head. "You didn't fail any of us, Liam. You saved me and Madeleine. Bastien. Rashad and--"

He clung to her. "What am I to do now? Hana, you know I can't face life without Riley. How can I go on after this?"

"I don't know." Hana hugged him again. "But you know Riley wouldn't want us giving up on life." She glanced down at her legs under the blankets. "No matter how hard it is, she would encourage us to keep fighting."

"Hana, Riley was my life. My heart." He lowered his head into his hands. "She was my strength to keep moving forward no matter what was thrown at us."

Hana reached from some tissues, sharing a few with him. "I know. She gave me the bravery I needed to tell my parents that I was more than a marriage prospect for some noble. Now..." Her breath hitched. "Now I don't know what I am or what to do."

Liam moved off her bed and collapsed in one of the chairs by her bed. "What are we going to do?"

Her hand found his. "We help each other. Isn't that what we would hope Riley, Maxwell, and Drake would do if they had lived and you and I had died?"

He wished that had been the case. Not Hana, but that he had been the one Death had come for. He would gladly switch places with them, anything to escape this unending ache in his heart.

He felt Hana's hand squeeze his.

He looked up and saw her trying to be brave for his sake.

Liam didn't know if he could. "I've been thinking of abdicating."

Her lips parted in shock. "Abdicating!"

"Everywhere I turn there is a memory of them." He explained. "I..." He gave up speaking.

"They wouldn't want you doing that, Liam." She reminded him.

He knew she was right, but he couldn't think of moving on as if his very heart had not been ripped from his chest.

"They say when a person loses a loved one that they should wait a year before making a big decision." Hana said, lacing her fingers with his. "Maybe that is what we both should do. My parents want me to go back to Singapore, and I've been tempted to so I won't be reminded of everything."

Liam slowly nodded. "I wouldn't blame you if you did move back home."

"I think what I need is to be with you. Olivia. Madeleine. All of those we still have." She tried to explain. "I need those memories, no matter how much they hurt, to help me heal."

Seeing that he didn't know how to take her advice she gently squeezed his hand again. "Why don't we wait on any decision and just try to get through these next few days."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Did Olivia tell you to say something like that?"

Hana felt her first laugh in over a week burst out. It sounded hollow, as if her body had forgotten how to make the joyful sound. "She might intimidate me at times, but no, she didn't put me up to this."

His lips curved somewhat before settling once more into a thin line. He knew from her words and Olivia's that no one would accept his abdication.

*****************

Madeleine did her best to look presentable. She picked up the small mirror she had insisted be left on the small bedside table. Her eyes touched on the angry, red scars gracing her face and head. Her arm and legs bore others that were long and jagged.

Taking a deep breath, she fluffed the hair that had not been lost in the deep gashes to her scalp. Refusing to give in to the need to cry over something she had no control over, she smoothed her covers and waited to greet her king.

Olivia had shared with her what he wanted to do. Madeleine knew what the fiery duchess wanted her to say and act when she saw him. But she thought she knew how best to respond.

With plan in place, she looked up when she heard a knock to her door.

Liam came in at her bidding him to do so.

He didn't pause in his walk to her bedside like so many did when they first saw the extent of her injuries. She felt her proud façade crack at that. Only Liam would be kind enough to pretend there was nothing unusual about her current hideous state.

Her own parents had handled it horribly. Her mother had been unable to look directly at her without bursting into tears. Her father had bemoaned the fact that she hadn't been able to trap either prince or any other well standing noble before her looks were destroyed.

Just what any young woman needed to hear when awakening from a near death experience.

Liam bowed over her hand while placing a kiss upon her scarred knuckles. "My lady, forgive me for not checking on you sooner."

Madeleine swallowed before asking him to sit. "How have you been?"

His red eyes lifted to hers. "How do you think I've been? I've lost three people I loved. The country lost them along with Penelope and her family. Portivira is destroyed. The Sons of the Earth burned the royal orchard." He slumped in his seat. "I've lost everything, Madeleine."

"Not everything." She corrected. "I know I'm not Riley or Drake or Maxwell." She grimaced at trying to find the right words. "But I am here for you in whatever capacity you need."

"Thank you." He replied automatically. "Your dedication to Cordonia is to be commended."

"It's not--what I meant--" Madeleine closed her eyes briefly when tears pricked her eyes. "Liam, I meant I will be there for you. As a friend." Her nose wrinkled. "As odd as that sounds, I am sincere."

He nodded once more. "Thank you."

They both sat there lost in thought.

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you think I should abdicate?"

Madeleine's eyes narrowed in thought. She knew her next words could possibly be the most important of her life.

"Have you done something that could or has harmed Cordonia?"

His eyes widened some. "No."

"Do you no longer care for our people?" She asked.

"No, of course not." He muttered.

"Do you not wish to help them?"

"It isn't anything like that."

"So, your reason is something more selfish." Her green eyes hardened when they met his. "Like Leo, you decide to walk away when ruling becomes too much work."

Liam got to his feet. "It isn't like Leo's reasons! I lost the woman I was to marry. My best friends! Everywhere I turn I am haunted by what was and what could have been. How can I possibly fight Cordonia's enemies when I've lost my sources of strength?"

Madeleine sniffed dismissively. "Every person has lost someone that was their support. If everyone gave up when that happens then this world would crumble to dust."

Liam took a step back from her cold tone. "Madeleine, don't you--"

"Don't I what? Miss any of them? Are saddened by their deaths?" She allowed her sorrow to show. "Of course I do. I might not have been thrilled to be tossed over for Riley, but I would have had to be a blind fool to not notice what she did for you and Cordonia. The same for Maxwell and Drake."

Liam sat back down. "Then what do you think I should do?" He looked down while his bottom lip trembled. "Riley made me a better king."

"Then by all means think of her when you must make a decision." Madeleine told him. "Liam, for whatever reason, fate has placed you as King of Cordonia. You." She stressed. "We've all known you were the better ruler when Leo was our crown prince. It is a great burden, but one that you've never hesitated to carry."

He ran a hand over his eyes. "I wanted to do what I could for the country."

Her lips eased into an approving smile. "As all rulers should be." Reaching over, she patted his shoulder. "I know it won't be easy, but I can't think of anyone better to guide us into the future."

"I feel so lost." He admitted to her. "How can I guide anyone when I no longer have the ones who were my own compass?"

"You'll find a way." She said with certainty. "It may take time, but you will."

He sighed before running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Madeleine."

"For what?" She asked. "The earthquake was something no one could stop."

"I know." He stood up. "But I'm still sorry."

She nodded in acceptance.

Liam kissed her hand once more and promised to do better checking on her and Hana as he left her room.

Madeleine slumped back against her pillows when her door clicked shut. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she hoped she had somehow said the right thing to him.

Turning to bury her face in her pillows, she allowed the tears to be for herself, Liam, and those they had lost.

******************

That afternoon, Liam departed from Olivia and insisted taking a walk by himself. He went to the private beach and slipped out of his shoes and socks. Rolling up the cuffs of his pants, he began to walk slowly along the shore, allowing the waves to roll over his feet.

He flipped his collar up when the early fall breeze blew by, hinting at an incoming cold spell. He thought it served his mood perfectly. The summer that had once been his world had ended, bringing the cold cruel reality to crash down upon him.

His happily ever after had truly been a dream not meant for the real world. He should have known that he couldn't bring a fairy tale to life. It couldn't survive the cruelness of fate.

He continued his stroll while thinking of his visits with Olivia, Hana, and Madeleine. His conversations with them had only paused his decision. Even if he were to wait as long as Hana suggested before abdicating, what good would it do? He would still be unable to regain what he had lost.

"Liam?"

He paused and turned to see his father walking towards him.

"May I join you?" Constantine asked.

Liam gave a brisk nod before focusing once more on the waves lapping at his feet.

They walked on in silence for a spell. Constantine glanced every so often at Liam’s face, searching for any word that could possibly help his son.

"Who is next in line to the throne?"

Constantine stopped in his tracks. "Who is next in line?" His eyes narrowed in concern. "Why do you ask?"

Liam shrugged. "Shouldn't an unmarried, childless ruler know these things?"

"Son, you have your whole life stretched before you. Give yourself time to grieve and heal. Then--"

"My enemies are at the door." Liam snapped. "Even if I somehow survive them and whatever next hell Cordonia thrusts me into, I will still be without a wife or heir."

Constantine gestured weakly toward a set of lounging chairs. "Sit with me for a moment."

Liam's brief burst of anger turned to resignation when he noticed his father's trembles. Placing an arm around him, he helped ease Constantine down.

Liam took the chair next to his and focused on the ocean. He wondered how he could still find such beauty in it when it had been the final place Riley and Drake had lived.

"I'm going to abdicate, Father." He stated.

Liam was surprised by the silence that followed his declaration. He expected his father to be pleading with him to reconsider or furious for even thinking it.

Instead, he found his father looking more sympathetic than he had ever appeared before.

"I made the same decision when your mother was taken from me." Constantine admitted softly.

Liam's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Your mother was everything to me." His gaze became distant as he was once again in the past. "She was life itself, my strength." His lips curved into a bitter smile. "She never held back her thoughts and opinions on how we should rule." He met Liam's eyes. "I loved her with my entire heart."

Liam ran his hands down his face. "What," his voice was raspy, "what made you decide to remain king?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't one out of duty or believing anyone needed me." Constantine admitted. "My reasons were purely selfish. I knew the only way to find the ones who took my Eleanor from me was to be in absolute power." His hand balled into a fist at the memories. "For years, vengeance kept me focused on my kingly duties."

"When did it change?" Liam asked.

"It was actually you that opened my eyes."

"Me?" Liam's brow furrowed. "What did I do?"

"You were ten years old." Constantine's lips curved into a tender, proud smile. "Leo was his usual, rebellious self. He had just turned sixteen and was supposed to attend his first official ball. He was trying to get out of it when he found out he would be obligated to dance with every visiting nobles’ daughter, regardless of how attractive they were."

Liam's eyes narrowed as he tried to recall that night.

"As I was walking past the ballroom, I heard your gentle, yet firm correction to his behavior. You were reminding him what a good prince was supposed to do. Be there for his subjects. Kind. Understanding. Sacrificial." He chuckled again. "It was just the slap to the face I needed."

Liam slumped back in his chair. "That ideal is meaningless."

Constantine slowly nodded. "If I had heard it after your mother died, I would have dismissed it too." He reached over and placed his hand on top of his son's. "Time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds, but it does help in how we view them." He swallowed. "There were years where the very thought of your mother brought me to my knees. Her loss was like a festering wound that never eased."

Liam knew that feeling all too well.

"But now, though I miss her just as much as I did before; my memories of her bring me comfort." He squeezed Liam's hand. "They make me grateful for every single second I was allowed with her."

Liam blew out a shaky breath. "Well, unfortunately I can't find and fight the earthquake that took Riley. I don't see the point in being king for revenge."

"True." Constantine nodded. "But Riley, Drake, and Maxwell believed in you. They went on the unity tour for you, for your reign to be successful. Not for themselves. Not for Cordonia. All because they thought you and you alone were worthy to be king."

Liam swallowed a few times as stray tears fell from his blue eyes. "I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve their faith or..." He huffed while wiping his eyes. "I'm not worth it."

"They would say you are." Constantine swung his legs to the side and pushed himself up. "You remaining king is a way to honor them and their efforts to help you be the best one you can be."

Liam pressed his palms to his eyes as a sob tore through him. When he felt his father's arms come around him, he buried his head against his shoulder while shaking with his cries.

Constantine gently rubbed his back while promising he was there for him. That he wouldn't have to go through this alone, that he had him, Regina, and those of his friends that had survived.

Liam clung to him, unable to speak.

Father and son clung to each other as the sun set.

********************

The next few weeks had Liam attending and speaking at the funerals of those that were no longer with them. He didn't bother to try and mask his heartache in front of his people. The nation was touched by his honesty and mourned with their young king.

Constantine and Regina remained by his side. Olivia and Neville traveled with him to each graveyard. Hana and Madeleine were allowed to attend some of the funerals. Rashad stuck by their sides, even helping to push Hana's wheelchair.

Seeing them each time he took the podium reminded him of why he was doing this. His father's words about honoring his beloved and best friends gave him the strength to speak of the type of people they had been.

He didn't know how he got through those first few weeks. Though it took a great effort, he forced himself to get back to his duties. Routine helped him remain focused on what he needed to do and gave him opportunities to continue to grieve.

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Liam instead spent his efforts in rebuilding Portivira and in replanting the apple orchard. Out of respect and because he couldn't stand the thought of a ball without Riley, he canceled the rest of the year's planned balls and palace events.

With little chance to catch the king in a position that would bring about his downfall, the Sons of the Earth were soon desperate and making foolish decisions to attack during the daylight. Many were rounded up by Bastien's elite task force. Anton was found holed up in a long forgotten Nevarkis stronghold and died in a shootout with the king's guards.

After months of turmoil and uncertainty, Cordonia was once again in a state of peace.

Constantine lived long enough to see it come about. With his sons and wife at his bedside, he quietly passed away after telling them each how much he loved them.

Liam kept working. After two years, he hosted his first ball, an engagement one for Rashad and Hana. He had smiled and gave a sweet toast to the couple, all while remembering his own happiness he had once had with Riley.

As the years went by, he was able to think back on Riley, Drake, and Maxwell with a soft smile on his face.

Then the fifth year as king, he was approached by Madeleine.

"Liam, I think it's time for you to host another social season with potential suitors."

A denial rose to his lips.

She held up her hand to silence it. "I know, but you need an heir."

"There is already an heir. The throne goes to Olivia if I die."

"Liam." She huffed. "The crown needs to be stable. The people want to see you happy with a family." She shrugged her shoulders. "Cordonians are a sentimental bunch."

A family. That had been his heartfelt wish for years. Could he do that? Have one without his Riley?

"I will think about it." He conceded.

Madeleine smiled at him. "Good." She curtsied and left him alone.

Liam rocked back in his desk chair. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"My love," he whispered. "What should I do? You were the only one I could ever picture myself marrying. Mother to my children." His brow creased. "Am I ready to try to find something that can’t possibly compare to what I had with you?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could find the answer.

"Liam, dear?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at Regina.

She smiled warmly at him. "You fell asleep. Dinner is ready."

He apologized and rose to follow her out.

He halted mid step as the afternoon sun glinted on Regina's silver hair. The answer he needed was right there. He looked back up to the heavens.

His lips curved softly. "I understand. Though no one can ever compare to you, perhaps I can have the kind of luck my father had."

#king liam #liam x riley #olivia nevarkis #choices the royal romance #trr madeleine #trr hana #hana lee #angst prompt #request

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Just Friend Things|| Bex and Metzli

TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli and @inbextween SUMMARY: After being tricked into thinking Eloy was onto Metzli, Bex shows up breathless and in pajamas, worried sick. Emotions run high. Mistakes are made. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, Infidelity, Self harm (Mentions/Thoughts)

The second Bex got the user offline notification, she took off in a sprint. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Not right now, not yet. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. They need more time, she needed more time. She ran through what to do in her head when she got there. She wasn’t prepared. She didn’t have anything wooden and her magic was still recovering from the man in the woods and she didn’t even have a knife-- why didn’t she have a knife? She should have a knife. Bex was going to ask Mina to give her a knife when she got home. If she got home. No, she couldn’t afford to think like that. She would get home tonight, or she would get to Metzli, at least. And they said, they promised they’d do whatever they could to keep Bex safe, and maybe she was banking on that a little hard right now, but she knew Metzli would fight harder if Bex was there. If they were alone, they might just let him win, let him take them. But if Bex was there, they wouldn’t stop fighting. She hated that she knew that. She hated that she was using that.

She almost ran right past them, her vision narrowed to the front door of the apartment complex. She almost ran right past until she heard the grunts of pain and effort and Bex skidded to a halt and swerved around, facing the alley. For a moment, she got woozy. But she blinked through the blackness trying to eat at her mind and bolted into the alley. “Metzli! I--” but she was cut off by a yelp and a screech of pain, and then the figure that had been next to Metzli dissolve into ash. “I-- who-- what?” She stumbled over her words, her feet, knocking into a trash can. “Who was that? Was that him? Tell me what-- who was that?”

Metzli had felt eyes watching them for a while, even smelled the death that the vampire minion gave off as she watched them. Eloy wouldn’t stop, not until he got what he wanted. With an small army at his disposal, he had access to them, access to their life without ever needing to be there physically. But they had had enough, they stormed out of their apartment and followed the trail of death and copper to the alleyway where the woman hissed as they turned and realized she was found.

She fought valiantly, but never stood a chance. Not when Metzli was much older and stronger. If there had been any ounce of mercy in them, it was gone the second they found her stalking them. It was gone when she whimpered and begged, right until the stake went through her chest and made her dissipate into nothing. She managed to land a few punches, leaving a few gashes, but it wasn’t enough to stop her imminent demise. The adrenaline, the rush of the kill made Metzli pounce as Bex approached. Stake was raised to attack once again. Her scent of honeydew and lemongrass that they had grown so fond of, registered and they stopped.

“Bex? W-What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Metzli sounded frantic and searched for any visible wounds, no longer caring about what had just happened.

Bex stumbled backwards when Metzli whirled on her, hands held up in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked, “I’m sorry! I just-- you were-- you stopped responding and he said he was going to take you and I was here anyway, so I came, I ran! Because I couldn’t let him take you, I thought he was going to--” she lost her breath in the middle of the sentence, grabbing onto the dumpster next to her to keep herself from falling over as a dizzy spell came over her. Her gaze landed on the pile of ash now sitting in the alley, behind Metzli, and Bex remembered when Dani had slayed that vampire woman who had tried to eat Bex outside the library, and the ash that had settled onto Bex’s clothes, and she had been a person, and Bex had thought about her for a very long time after. She’d nearly forgotten about it, but she remembered now.

Frantic eyes went back up to Metzli. “Who was that?” she asked again, when her breath came back and so did her words, and she realized she was still in what would be considered pajamas-- short shorts and a tank-- and she thrown on the wrong shoes, she was wearing Mina’s trainers, and she didn’t even have a sweater and it was cold outside, summer giving way to fall in the north. “Was it him?”

Arms wrapped around Bex as she swayed, and Metzli pulled her close to them to keep her steady. Worry took over and it took everything in them to not apologize over and over again for nearly staking her. “You ran all the way here?” A sense of something, they didn’t know what, made their chest warm at hearing her say that. It was an act of genuine care, maybe even love. “It wasn’t him. Just another member.” Their voice shook from the sheer amount of energy pulsing through them, but they focused all of it on Bex. “Here, you must be freezing.” They removed their hoodie and handed it over. All of the gashes and bruises from their trek with Eilidh had healed, but they were replaced with new ones.

“Let’s get you inside. And then you can tell me what you mean when he said he’d take me.” Metzli hovered their arms over Bex and guided her to the entrance of the building. Navigating around the elevator and hallways, there were only two other tenants that had seen the pair and gave concerned looks, to which Metzli gave awkward smiles to.

They were thankful when they reached their door, quickly opening it and leading Bex inside. Yuca immediately trotted up to the two of them and meowed. She pressed her body against Bex and purred loudly, letting her motor of happiness run as she saw a familiar friend. Brushing past Bex, they grabbed a cup from the kitchen and filled it with water before meeting back with Bex in the living room and handing it over to her. “Please tell me what happened.”

Bex supposed she was probably in shock. Or panic mode, still. She took the hoodie from Metzli and slid it on, but her eyes stuck to the new cuts and bruises on Metzli’s body. They reminded her of the ones on Mina. She wanted to ask why they did this to themself, hadn’t they had enough of that from their childhood? Bex had had enough. She’d had too much, actually. So much she almost craved pain, now, when she knew she was doing something bad, something wrong. Sometimes it didn’t feel right not being in pain. Maybe that was why she demanded to hurt herself for others. To get hurt for others.

They were inside now and Bex looked up. Two people shuffling awkwardly by. Metzli waved, Bex stared.

She shuffled inside Metzli’s apartment and stood just there in the living room, near the doorway, where they’d left her. Yuca was purring and rubbing against her and she looked down at her, wondering why cats made that noise. It was a nice noise. She’d have to do some research on it. The glass of water appeared in her vision and she looked up, taking the glass. She didn’t drink any. Instead, she reached out and ghosted her fingers across the gash on their stomach. “Who did this?”

Their gaze followed the path of Bex’s hand to their stomach and the corner of their mouth twitched. Though she tried to keep her hand hovering, Bex’s hand eventually brushed the cut and they shivered “Not a bad thing, actually. Uh, that wolf I told you about. Her name is Murphy. We got a little rough.” Metzli didn’t go into further detail. Instead, they placed a gentle hand at the base of Bex’s lower back and ushered her to the couch. She looked so tired and scared, but her heart was steadying, and Metzli couldn’t help but be grateful for that. It had been so erratic and violent in the way it thrashed in her chest, but this was completely different. It was as if she had a new heart.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened? Like, what made you come here? Did master threaten you? Do I need to do something?” Metzli searched Bex’s eyes for answers, practically pleading. They were the one who was attacked but all they wanted to do was protect Bex. All they wanted to do was make sure she was okay. A hand slowly moved up to her cheek, but contact was not made. They took to letting it linger above her cheek and waiting for permission to give her small and gentle affections to comfort and quell any worries she had. If only it were that simple.

Taking a deep breath, Metzli looked Bex worriedly in the eyes. “Is your heart okay? After running?”

Bex withdrew her hand quickly at the mention of the other woman. “Right…” she mumbled, blinking away from the haziness in her mind. The panic that had been shrouding her falling away. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him. He wasn’t going to take Metzli away from her. Frank hadn’t taken Mina from her and Eloy wouldn’t take Metzli. Bex shook the thought away and let Metzli lead her over to the couch, sinking onto it, grateful to sit down. She hadn’t even realized how tired she was. Her legs were burning. She wasn’t much one for running. Jogging, sure, but not running.

“I--” she started, stopped. “He messaged me again.” She admitted quietly. She hadn’t wanted to tell them, hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, and she was fighting her instincts to keep it down, keep it hidden. She was trying, really, to be better. To tell people things. “Said something about coming to get you. And then he sent me pictures of you painting, and of your door and of you outside. And I just--”

She paused. Metzli’s hand was hovering near her cheek. The only person she let touch her face was Mina. She paused because she wanted to let Metzli console her. She shouldn’t want that. She reached up to take Metzli’s hand, instead-- a compromise-- and set it in her lap, squeezing. “It’s fine, really. It’s better. I’m okay.”

Again. Eloy had messaged her again. This was of no surprise. Metzli knew he was taunting those they cared about, but being faced with the reality of it didn’t make it easy to accept. He loved his games so much. Seeing the fear and distress in someone’s eyes excited him. And at one point, Metzli had shared a similar excitement over it. When they were much more deluded and brainwashed. Memories of that disgusted them and they hated themselves for it. Being consumed with self-hatred was out of the question though, and they focused on Bex.

“I’m okay, Bex. We’re okay.” Metzli squeezed her hand and locked eyes with her to show the life behind them. Gratitude washed over their features and they almost couldn’t help pulling her in for a tight hug. They refrained and took to just stroking their thumb over the back of her hand. “I won’t let him take me. I told you I’d fight, that we would fight, didn’t I?” The urge to wrap their arms around her grew but they stayed back. She didn’t have to say it, but Metzli knew she loved them. They couldn’t ask for more, not really.

Seeing the pain in her eyes made it hurt though, and the conversation from earlier resurfaced. Bex’s pain made their unmoving heart ache, and that was something Metzli didn’t know was possible. Mentally shaking their head, they tried to find something else to focus on and found that Bex’s apparel was a good substitute for their current conversation. “Are you wearing pajamas?” They chuckled at their teasing, hiding the enjoyment they felt from seeing Bex wear their hoodie.

“Yes, no, I know, I know, I just--” Bex started again, stopped. She needed to stop working herself up, these were some of the reasons her heart had failed. She needed to learn how to trust other people weren’t going to leave her or get taken away from her. She needed to actually trust them. She ran a hand over her face, through her hair, before shaking her head. “I know you’ll fight, I know. I just...I couldn’t help it. I got so scared.” That almost seemed to be a running theme, even with Mina. Especially with Mina lately. She kept going out more and more and Bex felt the disconnect between them growing and it pained her.

Bex looked up confused. “What?” Looked down at herself. “Oh.” She pressed her palm into her bare thigh. “I-- maybe. Look, I didn’t think I’d have time to change and get here in time to keep someone from trying to kidnap you.” She remembered how easy it had been for Frank to take her and how long it took Mina to realize something was wrong and how long it had taken them to find her, and the boy had been on her mind a lot, lately, and she couldn’t figure out why. Instead, she tried to find comfort in this moment, where no one had been taken and no one would be and Bex hadn’t been too late. She scooted closer to Metzli and rest her head against their shoulder.

“They’re cute pajamas, though, aren’t they?” she asked, leaning into the distraction.

Metzli laughed and held back a jolt when Bex made contact with their shoulder. They really needed to get used to a gentle approach. “You really think it’s gonna be that easy to kidnap me? I kicked ass.” The lighter undertones in each of their voices came to the forefront and it made it easier to navigate the conversation. Their head laid softly above Bex’s and they sighed happily. The past hour had been so hectic and fast, that letting themselves fall into something simpler and safer was welcomed. “She didn’t even get a decent hit in. Just a lame scratch.” The affection brought a huge sense of tranquility to the apartment, and they nearly kissed Bex’s head when they turned to raise it up and look at her.

“Very cute. They go well with my hoodie.” Another moment to tease, another tick towards a real feeling of safety. And then Metzli looked at their hands, still holding the other closely, not wanting to let go in case this wasn’t reality. Squeezing gently, another smiled formed and Yuca leapt onto Bex’s lap, pawing at her to give her attention. “The neediest little baby. She wouldn’t even leave me alone while I painted. But she’s actually the one who brought my attention to the woman. She hissed at the window and I finally recognized the scent. Yuca to the rescue.” Their free hand reached over and gave the feline the attention she requested, and the giggle that surfaced couldn’t be held back.

“I dunno, could be,” Bex shrugged, “I’ve never tried so how would I know? You seem like you’d get in my van if I pulled up and asked you to.” And it was mostly a joke and it should’ve been a joke, they were just teasing, but Bex couldn’t stop thinking about how easily Frank had taken her. Was it because she trusted him? Would she have been so easy to take if she hadn’t? Was it her fault for being too weak, too trusting, too something? Her skin crawled a moment and she pulled her feet up beneath her on the couch. “You have too many scratches and cuts.” She reached over with her free hand again and pointed to the gash. “Why do you let her do that to you?”

Bex jumped a little when Yuca crawled into her lap. She somehow still wasn’t used to it, despite living with three cats at home. Anya mostly stuck around Morgan, though she loved winding herself between Bex’s legs when she walked around the kitchen. And Moira liked Deirdre best, and Niamh was still a little tentative around the others. Bex let her hand brush over Yuca’s back. “At least one of you is looking out for trouble,” she cooed, scratching under her chin. She looked down at the hoodie she had on, Metzli’s hoodie. It was warm and comfortable. It felt nice. She turned to look up at them. “Did you have pets as a kid?” she asked, though she probably knew the answer.

Metzli snorted and would have most certainly blushed if that were possible from the bit of embarrassment they felt, but thankfully, death had its perks. “Only if you had a really good assortment of blood.” A sense of normalcy crept in, but it almost instantly receded as Bex pointed at their biggest wound. “What? I—uh, I—I don’t know. It just…” Their hand broke free and went through their hair, tugging slightly. Typical stem for them to do while under stress. “It just feels good in the moment. It’s fun. I used to be so scared of pain, that somewhere along the way, it started to feel kind of good, I guess.” Averting Bex’s gaze, they scooted away from her slightly and something akin to shame seeped into their skin. “Never done the tender sex thing. Most women I attract want to go as rough as possible. But, uh, I have been craving soft. Macleod was soft for a few moments, before we—before the attack. I liked it. But I don’t know if that’s her thing. And it definitely isn’t this chick’s thing.” They pointed at the gash and bounced their leg uncomfortably. “Why do you ask, anyway?”

When Yuca got exactly what she was looking for, she purred loudly. The sound always brought a sense of comfort to Metzli and they were grateful for her tenacity to make everything about her. But Bex made sure to basically play the reverse card. “No. No pets. Lots of dogs hung out on the roofs though. It was pretty funny. Yuca is my first pet. I found her as a stray with a broken leg. I couldn’t leave her to die, so I did everything I could to save her. Been together ever since.”

“Pretty sure I could just offer mine and you’d come,” Bex said, rolling her eyes. She maybe shouldn’t have asked that, but after seeing how badly Metzli had been torn up after their trip, she found herself adverse to the idea of seeing them hurt like that again, and here they were, doing it willingly. Bex didn’t understand it. Maybe she did. Maybe she should. Maybe sometimes she, too, craved pain, but she never got pleasure from it. It never felt good. She wondered if it was supposed to feel good. She knew she’d asked the wrong question when they removed their hand from hers and scooted away and she felt a pang in her chest, looking down at Yuca in her lap. “Sorry,” was all she mumbled. “Nothing. I-- It’s nothing.”

She tried to play it off by readjusting herself, moving Yuca further onto her lap as she turned and stretched her legs across Metzli’s, leaning back so she could look at them properly now. “I can’t believe you ever tried to pretend like you weren’t a giant softie,” she said. “I never had any pets, either. I didn’t even consider that that was something I could miss out on.” She stroked her hand down Yuca’s back, scratching lightly.

There was no response to Bex’s comment. The answer was yes, but that wasn’t something they wanted to admit. It felt inherently wrong to enjoy her blood so much. “You don’t have to be sorry. I just don’t think…I don’t think I get to have that. Love and tenderness. I’m too scared of it anyway.” Legs ceased to bounce when Bex laid hers across theirs, and without thinking, their hand glided down to rest at her shin. Her warmth was soothing, grounding even. So much so, that their eyes shut for a moment to relish in the connection. They shot open, blinking several times and Metzli recovered instantly.

“I’m not a big softie. I just prefer animals and art over people. They tend to be better than people. Much better. I mean, look at her.” Yuca continued to purr and kneaded at Bex’s stomach. She was happy and content. “She doesn’t have a single bad thought in there. Look at how much she loves you without even demanding anything in return, without needing to delve much deeper than the kindness of your touch.”

Bex took Metzli’s silence as her answer. She didn’t know why her blood was so enticing to them, really, but more so she didn’t know why that made her feel special. Maybe because it was something that made her special. Maybe cause it was something that made her feel like she had something about her that people liked more than others. Maybe it was just cause it meant she had something. “If you keep saying that then yeah, it’s gonna be true,” she shrugged. “I keep telling you it’s not, though.” Her eyes fell to the hand on her leg. “Why are you afraid of it?”

She rolled her eyes a little. “You kinda are,” she pointed out. “I never said being a softie meant for humans. You’re very soft, just for animals. And, well, I guess certain people.” Yuca nestled into her and she sighed. “I think she just likes that I’m warm, and is jealous you’re paying attention to me and not her.” She looked across at them. “I, um-- I’m glad you’re okay. Sorry I panicked.”

“Maybe I want it to be true.” Metzli snapped a little, not harshly or with malice, but just because they were quick to answer. “It’s terrifying having things to lose. I’m scared enough at the thought of losing you, Macleod, or Milo. And to have something as huge as actual, romantic love? There’s so many variables, so much to lose.” Finally looking at Bex, they locked eyes with her and gave her a weak smile. “Maybe that’s part of the deal. What makes it so strong and worth fighting for. Actually, I know it is because of how I feel abo—” They stopped and looked for any distraction they could find, but there was none to be found. “I’m just not ready yet. Maybe after I get my soul. So I can finally feel within it, and feel for the ones I love.”

Metzli flipped the bird at Bex and held it there as they stuck their tongue out at her. “Fine. I can be a softie sometimes. But only when people deserve it. ‘Cause animals always do.” Yuca balled herself up and laid sleepily on Bex, making Metzli’s smile grow considerably. “Don’t be sorry. I would have panicked too. Thanks for checking on me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you actually liked me and cared about me.” None of that was new information, but they always did have to try and keep every moment they could, light.

Bex flinched back, ever so slightly, but it was there. She understood exactly what Metzli was saying. Those reasons were the very ones Bex had run back to her parents when her mother came threatening the only people she cared to lose. The only people she’d ever loved. It was terrifying, knowing they could be taken away. She’d felt more in control leaving on her own terms, even if, in the end, it had had the same effect. She’d lost the things she loved and it had torn her apart. She understood being afraid of that. She was still afraid that losing Mina would destroy her. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to live without her. She knew wouldn’t be able to live without her, and that made the distance she felt between them hurt even more. “Okay,” she said quietly, “I’ll stop pushing it.” Even as curiosity wracked her. Who, she wanted to ask, feel that way about who?

She let out a short chuckle, reaching out and grabbing their finger when they flipped her off, tugging gently. “That’s rude, you know,” she stuck her tongue out at them back. “Who, me? Care? About you? Sounds fake.” She scooted forward a little and leaned her elbows against her knees, chin in her palms as she smiled up at them. “You’re a surprisingly likeable person, you know.”

Grateful that she had moved past the subject without question, Metzli squeezed her shin gently and debated on what to say next. She had flinched, and while it would go unnoticed by many, it wouldn’t, couldn’t go unnoticed by Metzli. Not when they analyzed every feature of her so carefully. “Don’t feel bad, okay?” They scooted closer, “You’re curious. You always ask questions. It’s only natural you do it with any of your friends. Even now, you’ve got lots of questions you could be asking. I see them bouncing around in there.” She didn’t have to know now, or ever. It was good she didn’t. Not even the vampire knew what they felt, what love and its many levels were. For all they knew, it was just a deep and never-ending love based on the platonic level.

“Right…” Metzli teased, taking their middle finger and poking Bex’s nose. Yuca didn’t even budge from her spot as the two moved. “You’re the one who ran all the way here to make sure I wasn’t kidnapped.” A grin grew bigger and bigger, watching as Bex leaned forward and spoke. Her words made a sensation similar to a drop and they took to laughing gingerly. “It’s all this charm. People can’t help but like me, you know? Plus, I got this award-winning smile.” They leaned forward, meeting Bex’s eyeline and nudged her forehead with theirs playfully and gently. “You’re pretty likeable too, I guess.”

“I think some people would call that being nosy,” Bex pointed out. “I don’t mean to pry, but I just want to ask a lot of questions. Sometimes I go overboard, though. You can always just tell me when I do that, okay? Cause I don’t exactly know when to stop.” And it was true. She’d apparently offended quite a few people that way and made a few more want to stop talking to her. She couldn’t help it. She liked to know things, and that included things about people. She almost would’ve hated the way Metzli could read her if it wasn’t so endearing. Mina could usually tell what she was thinking, too, just by the look on her face. The two hadn’t done much talking lately, though and Bex had to turn to look away for a moment.

Bex scrunched her nose. “Of course I came. That’s what people do when they care,” she stuck her tongue out again but froze, suddenly, when Metzli nudged her forehead with theirs. It was such a soft and affectionate gesture, and Bex couldn’t stop thinking about how they wanted someone to be soft with them, and it hurt, a little, she found, to know that no one was giving that to them. And it wasn’t fair, and they were so close, and she could give them soft, she could. She shouldn’t. She lifted a hand to their cheek and moved forward.

Time slowed down and it felt like the air around the two grew heavier. Anything that had happened not even seconds earlier was forgotten. Nothing else mattered but the feeling of Bex’s hand on their cheek, and the way her face moved directly into theirs. Metzli was still, unsure if it was actually happening. And then warm lips met theirs and they kissed back, moving a hand to cup her face in return. They kissed Bex. It was the sweetest kiss they’d ever received and they didn’t want to stop. For a few moments, they didn’t. But the weight of what they had done hit them like a truck, and they pulled away quickly.

“Bex—I—” Metzli stood up in a panic and began to apologize profusely as they paced. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to—I did, but I was never going to—and then…fuck!” They looked towards the door and then back at Bex. The urge to leave grew and they strode over to make their exit. “I’ll leave. Don’t worry. I’ll leave.” Hand gripped and turn the handle, pulling it open with a force.

The moment it happened, Bex knew it was a mistake, for so many reasons. It wasn’t fair to Mina, it wasn’t fair to Metzli, and she realized it too late. She was impulsive and emotional, but those were just excuses. Metzli jerked away and so did Bex and her face felt like it was on fire and she clasped a hand over her mouth and couldn’t look them in the eyes anymore. She barely even heard what they were saying, staring horror struck as Yuca leapt from her lap and raced towards the door. It was being flung open and for a moment Bex thought Metzli was demanding her to leave and that would make sense, wouldn’t it? She was just leading them on. That’s what it must look like. She loved Mina. She loved Mina. So why had she done that?

But then Metzli’s words sunk in-- I’ll leave, I’ll leave-- and Bex was confused and she stumbled from the couch and over towards the door, reaching for them before withdrawing her hand and clasping her hands over her chest. “No, wait-- I-- this is my fault-- this is your apartment.” She recoiled. “I-I’ll go. I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I’m sorry.” She shoved past them quickly, unable to turn and look behind her as she went. Vibrating.

What was she supposed to say to Mina?

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: metzli #domestic abuse tw #metzli #just friend things #infidelity tw #self harm tw

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

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I've had a really hard day today and I saw someone wanted more Jimary crack, so I decided to write it to cheer myself up. I hope three fics in a row isn't too excessive. (All credit goes to the anon who suggested this.)

‘She’s drunk.’ Joe said very matter-of-factly, lifting his wine glass to his lips, only to discover there was nothing left in it.

‘Very drunk.’ Replied Phoebe, reaching for the bottle nearby and giving them both a refill.

It wasn’t as though they had never seen Mary drunk before. She was usually all giggly and bouncy after a few drinks, perhaps more talkative than usual and, in Joe’s opinion, far less uptight. But they had never seen her like this; her eyes heavy lidded, downing her wine like it was water and clumsily swaying to the music that filled the busy lounge, stumbling every now and again to keep her balance. She was clearly taking her break up with Piers very badly.

‘Freddie’s livid.’ Joe murmured, glancing over at the singer who appeared to be deep in conversation with Peter Straker, but kept glancing over at the intoxicated woman who was trying to coax Brian into dancing with her, much to the displeasure of Anita. ‘Prepare yourself for a screaming match later on.’

‘I already have the popcorn ready.’

Mary eventually gave up on Brian and loudly announced she was heading into the kitchen for another bottle of rosé, almost stepping on Delilah as she staggered through the door. She surveyed the kitchen a moment, the room spinning as her alcohol consumption finally caught up with her, before she noticed Jim sitting alone at the kitchen table, trying unsuccessfully to uncork a large bottle of champagne between his knees.

She had always been a little jealous of Jim. Before he came along, she had always held out hope that Freddie might return to her one day, discover he wasn’t actually into men or something daft like that. But then this Irishman appeared, who wasn’t like Freddie’s other boyfriends; for the first time, it seemed like Freddie was in love and ready to settle down, happy in a way she had never seen him before. It had been hard for her to accept; but when Piers had finally had enough of her obsession and left her, she realised that she would never be able to properly move on with her life if she kept latching on to the past. She had to let Freddie go. She had to accept that, while they would always be friends, Freddie was gay and what they had all those years ago was over.

Jim noticed her hovering and looked up, giving her a small smile. ‘Enjoying the party?’

Mary hummed in response, going to the cupboard where the booze was kept and digging around until she found the rosé she was looking for. When she looked back at Jim, he still hadn’t managed to remove the cork and was quietly cursing under his breath in his thick Irish accent.

It was quite a nice voice, her inebriated mind told her.

‘You have a lovely voice.’ She suddenly said aloud, her words slurred. She wobbled up to him, heels clinking against the kitchen tiles as she unscrewed the top of the rosé bottle. ‘Where is it you’re from again?’

Jim blinked at her dumbly. He wasn’t used to Mary initiating conversation like this; she was usually so reserved. ‘Um, a town called Carlow. It’s near Dublin.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mary drawled and without any warning, she suddenly plopped herself down in Jim's lap, making him jump in surprise. ‘Ireland is sss-such a lovely place. Lots of sheep there.’

Jim’s face went red, and he carefully set the champagne bottle down on the table. ‘Yeah, I suppose there are.’

Much to his horror, Mary put the bottle of rosé to her lips and began downing the drink ruthlessly, not stopping until it was almost half empty. When she finally stopped, she carelessly abandoned the bottle next to the champagne and turned around to stare Jim directly in the eyes, her smile disturbingly wide.

‘You have beautiful eyes.’ She garbled, moving her finger as if she was going to poke them out, but she instead ended up giving him a weird boop on the nose. ‘And your arms are so big.’ She reached down to squeeze his bicep, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘I bet you’re really strong. Remember when you lifted me up at Freddie’s birthday party?’

Jim remembered. He was so plastered that night he had almost dropped her on her head.

‘Are you feeling alright, Mary?’ he asked warily, not comfortable with how close their faces were.

‘I’m wonderful, Jim.’ Mary giggled again, though it sounded a little manic. ‘I really, really want to dance. Will you dance with me, Jim?’

‘I’m not much of a dancer, Mary.’ Jim coughed, glancing over his shoulder in hope that someone might come through the kitchen door and save him.

‘That’s not true! I’ve seen you dance!’ Mary insisted, pulling at his hands, ‘come on.’

Jim didn’t have the energy to argue with her, already a little tipsy himself, and he allowed her to drag him into the middle of the kitchen, face filling with colour as Mary threw her arms around his neck and sagged all of her body weight against him. He realised rather quickly that if he let her go, she’d probably fall face first onto the floor and never get up again.

The next five minutes had to be the most uncomfortable of his entire life, as he swayed in awkward circles with his husband’s ex-girlfriend, mindfully trying to keep his hands off her waist. He wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed to every God in existence that someone would call him from the lounge and rescue him from this predicament.

Mary suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘Marry me, Jim.’

The Irishman stared down at her, eyes comically wide. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Marry me.’ Mary grinned at him, leaning so close that for one horrible moment he thought she might try to kiss him. ‘We can have lots of beautiful Irish babies together.’

Jim sighed. Next time they had a party, he was going to replace Mary’s wine with Ribena. ‘I’m very flattered by your offer, but there are two problems; I’m gay and I’m married to Freddie.’

‘Oh bugger.’ Said Mary, as if she had forgotten that detail. ‘You can still marry me though. We can run away to Cardiff together.’

‘Carlow, Mary.’

Her face suddenly fell and she stepped away from him, looking betrayed. 'Is it because of the cats?'

'The what?'

‘That's why you don't want to marry me, isn't it?’ Mary's lip trembled as if she was about to cry. ‘Freddie has cats and I don't!'

‘Mary, I’m going to get you some water.’ Jim replied, making a beeline for the sink.

‘No, don’t leave!’ Mary grabbed his sleeve, trying to tug him back. ‘Stay with me, Jim. I'll buy you all the cats you want!’

‘You’ll feel much better after drinking this.’ Jim said firmly, pouring a glass of water and turning around to hand it to her. As soon as he did, her lips were suddenly pressed against his own, arms locked around his neck so there was no escape as he yelled against her mouth in surprise.

‘Mary!’ he roared, as soon as she released him, half the water having spilled onto the floor during the struggle. ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?!’

Mary grinned; lipstick smudged across her face, so she looked like the Joker. ‘I’ve never kissed an Irishman before. Does that make me Irish now?’

Before Jim could even answer, she suddenly dry heaved; he grabbed her and stuck her head into the sink as she vomited up the contents of her stomach.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Freddie demanded, as Jim walked into the lounge, his shirt ruffled, a smear of red lipstick on his mouth and a very drunk Mary giggling uncontrollably in his arms.

‘Your ex-girlfriend asked me to marry her, then threw up.’ Jim replied, as if this was a normal occurrence. ‘I’m going to put her in one of the guest rooms so she can sleep it off.’

He turned and walked out of the lounge before anyone could respond. Freddie clenched his glass so hard it was a miracle it didn’t shatter in his hand.

‘I’m going to murder her!’ he growled, lunging towards the door, only for Phoebe to grab him from behind and hoist him up. ‘Let me go! That backstabbing homewrecker is trying to abscond with my husband!’

‘Take it easy, Fred.’ Phoebe said calmly, holding onto the man effortlessly. ‘You can kill her tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, we haven’t even had dessert yet.’ Said Joe, holding onto Freddie's legs to stop him from kicking. ‘I spent all fucking day slaving over that baked Alaska, you’re eating it whether you like it or not!’

Firstly, I am so sorry you are having a hard day. I feel terrible that whilst you are doing so much to entertain us with this outrageous crackship, you are not having a good time. I can just hope that writing these stories bring you as much joy as they bring us.

And now, the fic. I AM WHEEZING. First of all, I fucking love Joe. Even though we've never heard him speak, or ever listened to his words through his own perspective, I feel that your characterisation is so realistic. His dessert comment slayed me lmao.

And oof, Mary being drunk off her ass is my new favourite trope. And lmao her thinking that Jim doesnt want to marry her because she doesn't have cats😂😂😂 Leave him alone, Mary. He doesn't want to have irish babies with you.

And hahahahaha Freddie's reaction is as epic as I had envisioned. And god, this is another nightmare that Jim isn't going to recover from soon.

This is such a fantastic crackship, omg. I absolutely loved this💙💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

Also anon, if you ever want to talk, you can always dm me, if you are comfortable of course🧡

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #jimary #crack ship #anon writing #phoebe freestone #joe fanelli #brian may #anita dobson

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