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#there’s just something about feelings having a life of their own - unchanged by the hits a person can take
thevenstar · 1 year
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i don’t know if i can do this without you. you are stronger than you know. and we cut to tk rising his chin and doing so with no hesitation, making his way towards a future that won’t have her in it. and we got gwyn telling him you’re surrounded by love, except it’s a dream and it’s not her but him, ever the embodiment of that side of his soul that always wanted to surrender to the affection around him without fearing it’ll be taken away. and we got a marriage proposal with teary eyes and shaky fingers and not once him shying away from it, from how raw and easy to hurt it all made him. we got him clinging to carlos with both hands and putting his heart in his fist unflinching at the possibility of him crumbling it to dust, because he doesn’t care when it feels this good to do it. and we got him reaching out for carlos as soon as he wakes up from a coma, already noticing he isn’t breathing and flash-like quick to remind him to do so. it’s been months since they last saw each other but it doesn’t matter, it’s so easy to understand him because he never stopped. and maybe it really is all about how people leave you except when they don’t, not really. not if you loved them.
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Same as it ever was 1
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can't catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.
Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner
Note: Hope yall like this one!
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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Everyone knows to keep their head down when Mr. Hansen walks through the department. As often as he already has a gripe in his belly, he is just as likely to be looking for a victim to accost. You keep your head down as you sense him trawling the bullpen, his figure a speck at the corner of your eye.
You keep an ear pricked, call it paranoia, but you've witnessed the sort of suffering he can rain down on the unexpecting. You browse the spreadsheet, carefully inputting numbers cell by cell. You withhold a sigh, not wanting to give away any clue of your existence.
"Kendra," he leans on the blonde's desk, his other hand on his hip, "pretty name…"
She thanks him. The new girl is always his favourite novelty. It's these moments that make you even more thankful for the obscurity that comes with age. And more disgusted by the unchanging behaviour of creepy men.
"There's this conference next month, good experience for a temp," he offers, "what about it, sweetheart?"
If it was any other man, you might clear your throat to let him know you can hear him. To remind him of professionalism. Too dangerous. You feel a twinge of pain at letting the twentysomething flounder against his undeniable proposal.
"Far away so… we'd have to fly out," he continues and you shift in your chair unthinkingly. You can't help it, you've been there, you've had to smile and fawn, to pretend your skin isn't crawling. "...pack something pretty."
Your elbow hits your pen and it rolls off the edge of your desk. You wheel back to grab and dare a peek over at Mr. Hansen in his predatory posturing. His eyes are drawn to you and he squints as he rolls his tongue behind his lower lip. Shit.
You sit up quickly, repressing a groan at the pang in your lower back, and roll up to your desk. You cradle your face, hiding behind your hand as you scroll and pretend to be enraptured by your screen. You doubt you're enough to distract him from the beautiful blonde.
"They got room service up in Gaines," he continues, "think about it."
He taps two fingers on her desk as he pushes off. You expect him to strut back to his office but continues his walk of the floor. You shrink down and curl your shoulders, looking at your cold coffee in desperation. A good excuse to get away from your desk but you can already hear him rebuking you for getting up just for another cup.
You click to the next sheet in the file as he nears. You stiffen as he comes behind you, holding your breath as you wait for him to pass. You feel him pause and hear the subtle scuff of his sole. You nearly jump as he puts his hands on your shoulders.
He leans in, his overpriced cologne tickling at the migraine in the back of your brain. You select a cell and pull up a report for comparison. He watches you work without a word, hands firmly on your cardigan.
He shoves away suddenly and claps his hand as he twists on his heel.
"Alright team, back to work," he demands as if the whole floor must be rapt by his presence, "no fucking around."
You let out a breath of relief. You glance over at Kendra as she gives a cringe at his back. You want to commiserate but you'd hate to make her feel more awkward.
You wait until you're certain Hansen is in his office and take your half-finished coffee to the kitchen. You rinse it out and dry it before placing it on the tray of the machine. You put a pod in and select the size, standing back with crossed arms to watch it brew.
You hear someone behind you but don't look over. The shadow approaches the fridge and pulls it open, taking out a container seemingly at random. You turn your head and blanch at Mr. Hansen as he cracks the communal carton of milk meant for coffee and drinks directly from it. You try not to show your disgust.
"Morning," he swipes the back of his hand across his mustache, "want some?"
He offers the carton as you grab your mug and shake your head, "no, thank you, sir."
"On a diet? Keeping the dairy low?" He wonders before taking another gulp then looks at the label. "Ugh, who the fuck ordered skim?" 
You muster an awkward smile. You've never been good at office politics, you don't pander, you just mind your business and so your work. A good day is when no one bothers you.
He puts the carton back without closing it. You retreat slowly, realising he's between you and the door. You try to sidle past as he reaches into the fridge again. He steps back, nearly into your path and examines the tupperware. You stop short as you recognise the worn teal lid; it's your leftovers from the night before, your name clearly labelled on the top.
"Huh," he peels back the lid and smells the chili, "smells delish…" he dips his fingers to your shock and sucks it off shamelessly, "hell of a cook." He says, a tinge of red in his mustache.
"Uh, thanks, I should–"
"You should?" He arches a brow, "you should… keep your nose out of my conversations and focus on your own work, right?"
"I don't know what you mean–"
"I saw you. Squirming like a caterpillar," he snaps the lid back into place and tosses the whole container on the bin beside the fridge, "look, I know at your age, there’s not much excitement but it doesn't mean you needa eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."
"I didn't–"
"I get it, you're jealous, your ass blew up after the kids and your husband hasn't looked at you in years–"
"Sir," you say affronted but more stung by the accuracy, "please, I wasn't–"
"Oh, yes, you weren't listening because you have a deadline," he steps closer and wraps his hand around your mug. He wiggles it free of your grasp and you let him, "I moved the budget review to tomorrow morning so…" he pauses and swigs the coffee while snapping his fingers with his other hand, "snap, snap on those expense reports."
You stand, stunned and shamed. He spins nonchalantly and strides out, still sipping your fresh coffee. You let your head fall back and groan. Not only are you out the extra caffeine boost but you have to call the babysitter.
🗄️
You don't mourn your lunch as you likely wouldn't have the time to eat. You spend it outside, below the awning of the building as rain pours over the edge. You have your phone in hand and a needling in your skull. This sort of weather always gives you a headache.
On the fifth try, Pete picks up and you swallow a sigh, "hey," you say abruptly, checking your watch.
"Hey, what's up? I had to leave a meeting," he hisses low, out of breath.
"I'm sorry, I just need to know what time you're expecting to be home. The sitter can only stay until seven but I have to stay late–"
"Late? Honey, you know I can't guarantee I'll be there. I'm working my ass off tryna get this thing off the ground. Grinding–"
"I know, I know, but we could use the overtime and… I don't really have a choice."
"Can't you do tomorrow?"
"Pete, it's one night–"
"One night? It's a call I'm not making–"
"Please," you beg, "we need the money, you know we do."
He puffs and blows a raspberry, "shoulda told that sitter to stick around…" he grumbles.
"We can't even afford to pay her for the extra," you mutter.
"I fucking know–"
"Don't swear at me," you warn, "if you hadn't bought that damn corvette–"
"Not doing this again. I'll be home at seven. Happy?"
You roll your eyes, "yeah," you lie. Happy, no, that's not something you feel anymore.
"Pete," a female voice purrs and he hushes them.
"Got it, Anita," he clears his throat, "tell them I'm on my way back."
"Sorry to keep you," you chew your lip, "I'll let you go."
"Sure," he scoffs.
"See ya tonight," you soften your tone, "love ya."
Click. The call ends and you're left dangling. You pull your phone away and look at the screen. No point in using up the last of your break, you might as well just go back to your desk.
🗄️
Your vision glosses as you stare at the messily painted portrait of a house and tree. The sitter sent a picture of Simone's latest artwork and tugs on your impatience to get out of there. You wish you could be there to pick up your kids and hear all about their day. 
Most times you spend the hours after work cooking, cleaning, and trying to rein them in. You're not fun like Emma, their sitter, you're always the voice of reason, the strict ruler of discipline. You send back a heart and black the screen.
Another person packs up for the day, once more tightening the chain that attaches you to your desk. You lean forward, your head pulsing as the brim of your vision blurs. The advil did nothing against your migraine.
You hold your forehead as you squint at the numbers. This is going to take forever. Pushing a budget meeting up one week surely is a personal attack. You need to work on your poker face, you can't do this again. You're too old and tired.
You yawn and fight to keep your eyes open. Maybe Pete can do bath time. You almost snort at that. Right, and hippos are bright pink and friendly.
You shake your head and lean back, trying to stretch out the kinks. You hear the elevator. Eventually you'll get there. 
You look around, realising the desolation of your predicament. Not too many people left, at least not those without offices. You roll each ankle, arches achy just from your low heels.
Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It's six-thirty. You let it go to voicemail and save your file for good measure.
You think of having another coffee but that will only make your head throb and your night sleepless. Well, more than usual. 
Your cell starts to jitter again. You're agitated as you snatch it up. It's 7:03. Emma's number greets you in blaring white digits. Dammit, you already know what's going on.
You answer, saving again as you wheel the chair back and reach into the drawer to fish out your purse. You keep the phone to your ear as you say 'hi' and struggle to get your jacket on. Pete!
"Hi, um, I'm still waiting for someone to show up–"
"I'm so sorry, Em," you shut off the monitor without bothering to boot down, "Pete said he'd be there. I'm on my way now."
You step around your chair, nearly tripping over it and push it in behind you. You rush across the office in a clomping gait, half-running as you weigh coming in at 4am and convincing security to let you up early. You continue to apologise to Emma as you promise to be home as soon as you can.
You hang up and dial Pete. As you near the elevator, his voicemail plays and you sneer, hitting end and dialing out again. You poke the down button several times and wait for an answer.
"Pick up!" You growl to no one.
"All done for the night?" A lilting taunt brings you around to face Mr. Hansen as he runs a small comb through his mustache, "you work fast."
"Mr. Hansen, I… I have an emergency–"
"Ah, so you're not done," he tuts, "I figured you'd be used to working fast. I'm sure the old man only last about five seconds, huh?"
"Sir," you bite back your offence, "my kids–"
"Aw, mommy's running late for supper. Let me guess, the dead beat can't even boil water."
You want to shriek. Can this man not shut up? This day just won't end and it's really all his fault. You're welling up and about to explode.
"Please," you utter.
"Oh, come on, you got exactly what you wanted, didn't you? Kids, a husband, the whole nine yards," he tucks the comb into his front pocket, "didn't anyone ever tell you they stop fucking you once you pop at a couple watermelons?"
You gulp. What is happening? Your throat tightens up and your eyes glaze. It shouldn't bother you, he's a gross old pervert but what are you? A bitter and sad old woman.
"You're not going to cry, are you? A strong working lady like yourself? Nah, you can hold it in, for the kids. You got a daughter don't ya, you wouldn't want her to see you break–"
You take a step towards him and stop yourself, palm itching to smack him. You raise your chin and bat your lashes. 
"I'll finish the reports at home. I need to go take care of me kids," you fight to keep your voice steady.
"That's the thing about you moms, always the martyr, always looking for special treatment cause you let a guy drop a load indoors," he sneers, "and you're just gonna raise a couple of brats to go off and live the same boring lives."
"Stop," you croak.
"If you're gonna cry, just do it," he goads, "huh, maybe it's menopause kicking in early? All that stress–"
"Good night, Mr. Hansen," you say curtly and face the elevator just as the doors slide apart, "I'll have the numbers done. I promise."
"Oh, I know you will," he snickers, "but you still owe me. For being such an understanding boss, you know?"
You turn around and grimace in confusion. Owe him? He winks and smirks back, "say hi to the kiddos for me."
The doors shut and you close your eyes, hanging your head in defeat. You're going to be up all night, less than ready for the review and certainly unprepared for Mr. Hansen. You can only hope by then he finds a new target.
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Guile & Guilt (Ch. 04)
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Link to AO3
MDNI/18+
THE SAME DAY
Pidge offered to let you shower and change in her room so that you could be warm again and in clean clothes. You took her up on it, eager to feel the hot water and steam heat your skin.
Roger was already snoring, dead asleep on the sofa in the living room, and Johnny - or Soap, as Bekah had named him - disappeared into his room for a bit, looking for his own shower. He was absent while you and Pidge tried the cake samples from the Stiff Peaks bakery. She gushed about the flavors and the use of spices in the cake and its icing. You even got a few moans of culinary approval from Hamish whose high standards were impossible to reach. All in all, it felt like a success.
So why did you feel so empty? It was more than just the text from Bekah. There was some piece missing, something you got wrong and needed to fix. But, what could it be?
Johnny had confessed his feelings to you, and his kiss had felt… well, it had felt like a kiss should feel. It was the kiss that every young person imagined they might experience one day when the softness of someone else’s mouth finally found their own, their tongue icing the flesh of the other’s like a knife through a creamy, sugary glaze. The heat of their wet lips burning their edges, locked into a primal embrace of ownership and consumption, eating without feeling full. Devouring and yet becoming hungrier, increasing your appetite, gorging on the sweetness, until finally…
Johnny’s door popped open and he came to join you in the kitchen. His eyes went to you before eventually settling on Brigette,
“So? What’s the verdict, then? Dinnae meet the mark?”
“Sure,” Pidge smiled at him, “Right on target, you wee nugget. Good thing I sent you then.”
Johnny nodded to you, sitting in the bar stool next to yours at the kitchen counter. He gestured to you,
“She kept me in line, so she did. Would’ve gone for the chocolate myself.”
Pidge nudged you,
“Aye, what’d I tell you.”
You offered the other half of the cake to him, passing him your fork. He took it, cocking his smile into a mischievous grin,
“You’d have been proud of your wee hen here, Pidge. She made a pretty convincing bride. Might have to recruit her for our next mission. Be needin’ some espionage.”
Pidge laughed without even glancing up at him, her voice full of bitterness,
“So, havin’ you and da’ throw away your life on spyin’ wasnae enough. Should be my best friend, too?”
The whole room went cold. Johnny was mid-chew when he heard his sister’s comment, and he spat out the cake into a napkin in disgust. Pidge cut him off before he could say anything,
“Don’t forget to give little miss James Bond here a ride to her fitting tomorrow. I’m off for my shower,” she squeezed her brother’s forearm, seeming to understand that she had hit a nerve. He did not respond to her words nor her touch.
Johnny turned inward, closing off from conversation. You tried to coax him back out,
“Hey, here’s your phone. I think you missed a call.”
Without saying anything, he took the phone from you. He flipped through the message, and his expression remained unchanged.
“Gonna steal some of tha’ stew Hamish has been hidin’. You want in, thief?” He asked you, reaching for the pots and spoons before cracking open the freezer.
“Aren’t you gonna go to the pub?” You asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible.
He froze in place, holding the pot by its handle, locking eyes with you,
“No, not unless you wanted to do dinner with me, lass. Cravin’ samosas?”
It was a test. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t, but here you were, playing games. Could the party boy resist a party? You were about to find out.
“Yeah,” you nodded, “Maybe a little. We could get take away.”
“Brilliant,” he grabbed his keys and followed you to the door.
Now that night had settled in, it was too cold in the Jeep. You held your arms right to your body and tried to shield yourself from the wind. Johnny dug around in the back and dragged out a camo jacket with his name tacked onto the chest.
You put it on and it swallowed you, warming you up from the inside out. The fold of the collar flapped just under your nose, letting you smell his orange, woody scent. There was something else, too. Gunpowder. You smelled like fireworks and winter citrus.
“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it tighter around you.
“You make it look good,” his smile was bright and full of innocent praise, “Warm enough?”
You nodded, suddenly shy. You regretted your decision to drag him out of the house again. You should’ve kept him all to yourself, covetous and selfish like a hoarder, locking him in like a shorn Repunzel, playing like Circe with her pigs. But, you didn’t want to be Circe. You wanted to be Penelope. Permanent, as impossible though it may have been.
Was he Odysseus? Or Narcissus?
The car park was packed. He dropped you off at the door and you waited for him to find a spot in the back. He pulled the keys out of the Jeep and did a bit of a jog to catch up to you.
He commented on the crowd,
“Match is on. Rangers and Aberdeen. Whole town should be out tonight.”
You made a quiet noise in assent, not knowing enough about football to comment.
He held the gate open for you, and you walked through the smoky, crowded courtyard. Ettrick’s had tons of outdoor space, and the tall heat lamps made it cozy despite the nip in the air.
Inside, the noise hit you like a punch. It was a small space and the din was overwhelming. Warmth and bodies and smells tumbled over you like a wave. Johnny pulled a menu from the host stand, positioning himself as a barrier between you and the chaos.
He had to lean in close to you for you to hear him,
“Samosas, yeah? And we gotta do the chicken khorma. It’s top notch here, lass. Trust me.”
“Sure. Sounds good,” you smiled and watched him look around for the host.
Just as he rounded the corner, you heard a loud shout,
“MacTavish! You made it,” Lachlan’s voice carried through the crowded bar and you watched Johnny’s face light up in recognition.
He shook Lachlan’s hand and Bekah came up behind him, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, which he returned, just as tightly. They chatted together for a moment until you saw Lachlan look over Johnny’s big shoulder right into your eyes. He waved you over, and you tried to control your face. So much regret. But, you made your bed and now you had to lie in it.
“Hey, babes,” Lachlan and Bekah hugged you as well. The tall, handsome man made a point to leave his arm around your shoulder when you pulled away, “You can’t miss the game. We told Johnny you’re eating in, no complaints!”
“Yeah,” Bekah clung to Johnny’s heavy arm, “We’ve got plenty of room. Come have a seat.”
“Well…” Johnny started to make an excuse, giving you an out, but the look on his face was so earnestly disappointed that you interrupted him,
“Okay, thanks.”
You followed her to the table, and Johnny fell in behind. The waitress took your order. You watched the game, and you fell into a quiet lull. The room was bursting with energy, and you watched as Johnny slipped into the excitement. He fed off of the highs and the lows of the match. He barely touched his food, and you ate alone. He was right about the khorma. It was delicious. You wrapped up your leftover samosa and put it near his plate. He’d find it eventually.
You pushed your chair out and stood to leave. He turned to you and caught your hand. You stared at his hand and he stared down at it too, dropping it after a breath, forgetting himself for a moment,
“Where you off to, bonnie?”
“Ladies’ room. See you in a bit,” you ducked out of the crowd and into the bathroom for a moment, trying to get your thoughts together in the silence.
You washed your hands and avoided the mirror until you had to look. Then, there it was, the embroidered “MacTavish” across your chest, a little too ironic.
You took a deep breath and went back out into the fray. The Rangers scored, and Ettrick’s went wild. Bekah and Johnny held each other by the arms and screamed with joy into each other’s faces, nearly leaping over the table in celebration.
Johnny’s focus on her was so intense, the look in his eyes so full of fiery admiration, you could barely look at them. He could have Bekah. There were no rules against her like there were for you. You shouldn’t have had the nerve to even consider that he might choose you. How could he go against the wishes of his own sister? How could you?
You were right next to the back door, so you made your exit. It was a long walk back to his room, and you were nearly frozen by the time you got there. Rodger was still snoring away, and Pidge’s door was closed. So, you stripped down to just your shorts and a tank, and you crawled into bed, defeated.
TWO HOURS LATER
“There you are, mhèirleach! You had me worried sick,” the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice and his heavy weight shifting onto the mattress pulled you from your sleep.
You groaned, trying to deter his attention. He smelled like the bar, and himself, but mostly the bar. All you felt was guilt and shame and you wanted it to stop.
“Are you alright, lass? Why’d you go? I would’ve taken you back.”
“It’s fine,” you mumbled.
He didn’t reply. You fell back to sleep, starving for something you couldn’t eat.
…BEFORE MORNING
You awoke to a strong nose and jaw nuzzling your hair and neck, taking long deep inhales of your scent and breathing heavy. Johnny had his arm snaked up through the bottom of your shirt, his huge hand sticking out of the crew collar, holding you firmly against the base of your clavicle. His thumb was feeling the crescent curve where your throat met your body, over and over like he needed to memorize it. Like he wanted to find it again in the dark and know it was one and the same.
Was he awake? You couldn’t tell. You could tell, however, that his cock was pressing hard between your thighs, the fabric of your shorts shoved out of place by the fabric of his boxer briefs, straining against the thin cloth.
“A bheil thu milis, a mhèirleach?” Are you sweet, thief?
You decided that no, he wasn’t awake. He knew you didn’t speak Gaelic, and you had no idea what he was asking. Yet, your body seemed to. It recognized his aching timbre, its dark dulcet layers folding over your senses like silky caramel.
His hand retraced its path, sliding back through the valley of your breasts, exploring southward, finding the gaping waistband of your shorts and your lack of knickers under them. Upon discovery, his big body rocked into you, his thick rod riding into your thigh, begging for relief. A ragged, shuddering sigh left his lips and you felt it race across your skin.
“Feumaidh fios a bhith agam.” I need to know.
His words all slurred together. You were too busy melting under his hand to care for a translation. His wrist finally dipped low enough for him to slip one thick finger into your wet heat, soaking itself there like a wick in wax, coated and milky.
Your breath stalled. You couldn’t breathe in, nor out, and you felt your pussy clench around his knuckles, kissing his fingertip as he slipped it back out. Then, you watched as he slowly brought it to his lips, right next to your face, and you saw him feed himself with your slick, sucking it off of his skin, licking the knuckles of his fingers, eager for any missed drops.
Wild, crazed pleasure mixed with cold guilt in your chest. So, you called for help,
“Johnny?” Your voice was just above a whisper.
He breathed into your neck again, and then his tone changed. His language changed. He changed.
“Mm,” he whispered, “Sorry, thief. You stole my covers.”
With that excuse, he took some of the blanket from you and turned back over, breathing deeply again, leaving you there in a million little pieces.
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Chapter 05
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demonwoman · 11 months
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creatures in the bath - part ii
synopsis - you beg aki and kishibe to help you stay off of public safety's radar. needless to say, the deal they came up with beneficial to everyone
a/n: yay part two! for @public-safety-network's spring fever collab. all da smut is here
wc: 3.2k // pairing: aki x fox fiend!reader, kishibe x fox fiend! reader
cw - biting. scratching. mentions of blood. female bodied reader. reader has white fox ears, a tail, and tattoos (but no other descriptions beyond that). soft aki (slight dom). meaner dom kishibe. gore - mentions of monkeys and ‘animal’ violence. oral sex (f and m receiving). slight monsterfucking (dude you are a hybrid creature, there’s no getting around this warning). slight blood play. reader’s never had human sex before so she’s not used to certain terminology. spit kink. squirting. choking and mild breath play. mentions of scent (not abo, just like…human scent in general)
part 1 here!
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Aki’s face paled when Kishibe fished a bag of blood out of his trench coat inner pocket - he silently questioned why his senior would even carry such a thing. But when he handed it to you, you sniffed it curiously before poking the bag open with your nail, and were pleased to find it was something edible to you. Not as tasty as Aki’s blood - but it would have to do. You quietly licked and slurped the bag until it was empty, handing the bag politely to Kishibe. 
“What is the real reason you popped in, ___?” Kishibe’s gaze remained unchanged as you stared back at the taller man. You twirled your hair between your fingers, trying to come up with a way to present your situation. 
“Well..in all honesty, I sensed Aki���s presence nearby and I…” you ducked your head, feeling a flush of heat creep up to your cheeks. “I n-need help. I know the hunters will be disappointed to see me in this state. But I would rather die than be chained to your division at this time.” You pleaded, looking at Aki. “Can you please ensure that I can live on my own, free from the eyes of Public Safety?” Your swirly irises met navy ones as you clutched his yukata in a desperate plea. 
“Why do you want to get away from Public Safety so badly?” Aki asked, pangs of sorrow hitting his chest. “I thought you liked humans when you were in devil form.” 
“I never said I liked humans.” Your hypnotic irises narrowed at him. For a moment, he saw Makima’s eyes in yours, and a chill ran through his back. “That was Public Safety propaganda. All devils hate humans. Some of us just tolerate your presence more than the rest.” You folded your arms, lips pursed in a pouting gesture. “I needed a way to get out of the division’s eyes, and I found this human woman in my forest, clearly injured. I was prepared to eat her for sustenance, and she did not stop me. It confounded me, why someone was so willing to die. She told about her pathetic life, and how it led to her wandering in the forest - hoping for nature to finally end it all. We struck a deal: I would inhabit her body, and she would finally die when I no longer needed her ugly body.” Your lips curled into a disgusting smirk, one that made Aki recoil a bit in fear. 
“You…think your body is ugly?” Aki gawked dumbly. 
“Of course it is.” You gestured at your chest, the sleeves of your yukata so oversized that your form was obscured almost entirely by fabric. “The body provided to me is functional and healthy as I see it. But that’s all it is. It’s hideous to me, otherwise.” You rolled your eyes. 
“Fox,” Aki spoke slowly, clearing his throat. “You–” 
“You must be fucking joking.” Your neck snaps over to the source of the verbal jab. Kishibe snickers, shaking his head. “You picked an unnaturally beautiful woman as your host and you call her body ugly?” The corner of his lip ticked up into a small smile. “That’s not very nice to ___. It’s too bad she didn’t see it before she made that deal with you.” 
“What are you talking about?” You spit. “She came to me, dying from thirst. She was a pathetic soul when I found her, and I would’ve eaten her just to give her a merciful death.” 
“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Fox.” Kishibe chuckled, before sitting down in the corner of their shared space. “___ must’ve been a looker before you saw her on the brink of death. Your markings don’t take away from her beauty.” Popping open the cap on his flask, he took another sip of his lukewarm alcohol. “Anyway, I think we can help you out. But what are you willing to offer in return?” 
“I will kill any devils that cause trouble in this area, just to keep you hunters away from looking for me.” You clasped your hands together, emulating a pose you had seen when you were watching two humans get hopelessly lost in the forest. They were praying to some deity you didn’t ascribe to, but in the moment it seemed like a good idea. “I will do anything, please.” 
“Anything?” Both men looked at each other, sharing a gaze you weren’t familiar with. Kishibe’s eyebrow quirked up as he silently communicated that he was willing to do something Aki may have hesitated to do on his own. 
“Anything.” You repeated emphatically. 
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You yelped as a hand pulled you up by the collar of your garment, like grabbing the scruff on a kitten’s neck. The fabric was cutting into your neck, making you choke as Kishibe picked you up. You scrambled and whined as he tossed you on the large futon on the floor haphazardly. You let out a little “oof!” as you crashed into the soft bedding, but you sat up, confused and now a little angry. 
“What was that for?” You snarled, getting on all fours to try and stand up. But you were met with dark blue eyes again as Aki squatted down to meet your gaze. He slowly inched in to close the space between you and seal it with a kiss. Warm, slightly chapped lips met yours as he deepened the gesture, cupping your chin with two of his fingers. A soft noise escaped your lips - one you did not recognize initially, but a curl of heat began to blossom in your thighs. 
“Let me take care of you, okay?” He whispered, pushing you so you were resting on your back comfortably. “You liked me, right? You let me summon your head - you said before you only let the pretty ones use your head, right ___?” A moan bubbled in your throat before releasing as he nudged your legs open, not even bothering to undress you. The yukata was easily opened in the front, as he parted your thighs. 
“Y-y-yes!” You whined as he began to press languid kisses in your inner thighs, close to your sex. You didn’t understand why it felt good, human intimacy was largely lost on you - but Aki’s kisses were heating up your core. Before you could comprehend what was going on, a thin and long finger slipped into your folds, making you gasp. 
“I wanna make you feel good.” He whispered, letting his finger gather some of the slick oozing from your pussy. “Just as a thank-you gesture. Who knows if I will ever see you again, right?” He kissed a spot that made you jerk and moan again, before sliding in his index finger slowly. Aki immediately curled it upwards and your legs twitched in response. All you could do was whine and whimper. 
Your eyes squeezed shut, as he stuck in another finger and began to scissor you open. The soft squelches of your pussy were pleasurable to both you and him - you managed to open your eyes slightly to see Kishibe in the corner, lazily sitting on the floor. He was palming the bulge in his pants - you realized then that this had been a premeditated gesture. Aki reached up to fondle your breasts with his free hand, brushing your nipples in a brief gesture that made you shiver. His fingers pinched your nipple with just enough pressure to harden them, but never enough to cause you pain. 
“Focus on me.” Aki quietly commanded, as his fingers pulled out and were replaced by his tongue. Aki’s tongue was careful but powerful, making a mess out of you as he alternated between licking and kissing your folds. Your eyes shifted out of focus and he alternated between making a sloppy mess of your clit, smiling when he heard your yowls and whines grow louder. The pleasure built steadily and slowly, curls of heat spreading to your legs and in your stomach. Aki could see your tail out of the corner of his eye, twitching and quivering. The muscles in your stomach began to shudder as the pleasure became almost unbearable - there were no words coming out of your mouth, only incomprehensible mewls. 
“I-I-” you stuttered, trying to catch your breath. You were unable to comprehend all of these feelings, but then the coil inside of you snapped. You felt something gush as you cried out, clutching the soft bedding behind you and convulse in pure pleasure. Aki licked you clean just as meticulously as he had brushed your hair earlier - he made sure to leave no drops wasted. You sat up slightly to see him smile and wipe his lips with the back of his hand. 
“Did that feel good?” He asked in a tone so sincere, it almost hurt. You nodded, a dopey smile stretching across your face. Aki scratched your fox ears again, and your tail wagged affectionately as you nuzzled into his cuddly gesture. 
“I think you understand what we would like going forward. So, are you willing to return the favor?” You heard Kishibe’s voice, and your fox ears quirked up again. You heard him panting and breathing heavily, still palming his tented pants. You looked at him, and then Aki, who continued to pet you and scratch under your chin. 
“I want Aki first.” You stated confidently, taking Aki by surprise. With a renewed vigor, you pounced on him, knocking the air out of his lungs briefly as you pinned him down on all fours. Your tail swished back and forth and you ripped his yukata open to see something stiffening in his boxer briefs. You yanked his underwear down and peered curiously at his cock, poking it with an unsure finger. 
“What is this?” You peered at his cock, flushed red and leaking fluid from the tip. Two prominent veins traveled from the base upwards, with a neatly trimmed bush of dark hair led up to his abdomen. 
“I-it’s my cock. You have to suck it, baby.” Aki’s voice pitched up an octave when you inched in closer and licked his cock with an experimental touch. He moaned as you let your tongue unfurl longer, to the point where you could wrap your entire tongue around his length in a curled shape. Aki’s whines were cute to you, and your tail kept wagging appreciatively as you began to move your tongue up and down, and take the tip in your mouth. He tasted fresh and clean from the onsen, with a hint of saltiness that you could not get enough of. His moans continued to drive you to go faster and faster, not caring about his protests. “Fuckfuckfuck--you’re doing so good–aahh!” Aki’s hips bucked into your mouth and you dug your nails into the lean muscle of his ass for something to grip, making him hiss in pain. You drew some blood, he could feel that much. But the overwhelming sensations continued to build to a point where he couldn’t take it anymore. 
“I’m g’nna c-cum!” He panted, his abdomen tensing painfully. You had no idea what he was referring to, you were focused on chasing the pleasure of tasting him and ingraining his scent into your memory. Aki let out one last shout, and warm milky ropes splashed into your open mouth and fell out, dripping all over his cock with your saliva. It took you by surprise, but once you took a taste of his seed, your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You slowly retracted your tongue back into your mouth, only poking it out slightly to take little kitten licks of his cock and suck the tip until it was all clean. 
If you had known how delicious human male seed was, you would’ve asked for it more often from Aki and your other favorite patrons when you were still a full fledged devil. You looked at Aki - hair mussed, his pale skin flushed with sweat. A tear leaked from his face, due to the pain you inflicted earlier. You reached up to press a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, catching the salty tear in your plush lips. You were about to pull back, satisfied until you felt a clothed chest behind you, and the slurred words – 
“My turn.” 
Your tail was grabbed by Kishibe’s harsh hand as he turned you around to face him. You yelped in pain, as the nerve endings were particularly sensitive back there. He had taken out his leaking cock from his pants, the tip leaking with pre. But he remained fully clothed otherwise. You smelled the alcohol on his breath from earlier, which made your nose wrinkle in disgust, but he gave you no time to think. He pinched your cheeks to force them open, and he gathered enough saliva to drip it slowly into your mouth. 
“Swallow.” He ordered, and let go of your cheeks, now puffy with how hard he had grabbed you. You knew better than to disobey, so you closed your mouth and swallowed. It was intoxicating to you, and you opened your mouth again to show you had swallowed what he had given you. 
“Good girl.” He purred, and your heart skipped a beat. Something about hearing the senior hunter praise made you perk your ears up and your tail twitch in excitement. “I wanna see what that tongue can do, sweet.” Kishibe murmured, and you nodded again, tucking your hair behind your ear before kneeling down at eye level with his cock. But he wanted to waste no time, so he shoved your face right into it. 
“Mmmf!” You made a muffled noise, but you opened your lips and let your tongue extend and curl around him again, treating his dick the same way you treated Aki’s earlier. Kishibe let out a long drawn-out moan, grabbing a fistful of your hair and guiding you to take him deeper into your throat. He did not let you control the pace this time, he worked fast and hard to fuck his cock until it hit the back of your throat. You choked and struggled for air, but he didn’t let up. 
“Tap my thigh if it becomes too much, sweetie.” Kishibe grunted as he thrust his hips relentlessly. “Fuck, you feel good.” He kept his brutal pace, the intensity almost too much for you to handle, but you did not tap out. You were growing to love Kishibe’s taste as well - while Aki had a clean, pristine taste, he tasted muskier and more earthy. You began to reach down to touch the spot Aki had focused on earlier when he was eating out, yelping when you found that nub and began to rub it. Kishibe’s thrusts became sloppier and he began to grunt and moan more until viscous ropes hit the back of your throat. He came a lot more than Aki did, filling your mouth with his thick seed. He pulled you off his cock by your hair, making your lips suction off with a loud pop! sound. 
You peered at him in awe, eyes hazed over in desire. You swallowed his cum gratefully, the gulping noise of your throat making him finally crack a smile. He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, before feeling up your tits with his free hand. Your body slumped over, as the energy from earlier slowly sapped away. Kishibe took his opportunity to get a taste of what Aki had earlier - he grabbed your hips, thumbs circling the skin where your waist met your hips and his tongue slipped into your pussy with a practiced ease. 
“Haa–wh-what are you d-doing?” Your breath was interrupted by short, staccato-like moans as your legs began to twitch and convulse again. Kishibe did not respond, he only let his tongue fill you up and swirl around, gathering every little taste he could. “Just claiming what’s mine, doll.” He grunted, words muffled as he pulled his tongue out to nick your clit with his canine. You shrieked, reaching down to pull his hair but he smacked your hand away, his lips and tongue just attacking you with no reprieve. The only noises you could make were breathless, incoherent babbles, as the feeling from earlier returned. Kishibe’s fingers dug into your skin, he relished getting to feel how soft and pliable you were to him. You were a breakable toy to him, and he was loving every second of it. 
After what felt like an eternity of buildup, the same heat from earlier snapped, a red hot rubber band that rippled into crescendos of pleasure. A scream ripped from your throat as more fluids sprayed from you - Kishibe was getting a real thrill from overstimulating you until you were a babbling, stupid mess. When he finally pulled away, you could see a layer of fluid spread over his lower jaw, lips glossed with your sheen. He ruffled your hair into a mess, and smiled at you once more, a real one. Not a withheld gesture, like you and Aki had seen earlier. Kishibe finally let you two see him when he was unrestrained - and you liked how his scar pulled his mouth into a bigger grin than he was letting on. 
“Pretty little thing.” He murmured against your skin, before pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “We’ll get Makima off your tail, promise.” Your eyes drooped with the lull of sleep, and you fell to the back of your hands, before settling and curling into the fluffy comforter on top of the futon. Aki adjusted the covers so you would be warm and cozy, and you curled into yourself, your tail tucking itself in. The two men chatted quietly about things you didn’t understand, stuff about reports and other human frivolities. But sleep claimed you quickly, and within minutes you were dozing peacefully. 
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When Aki and Kishibe returned from the airport, they were greeted by Makima and two lackeys in a car. They were surprised to see her make a personal trip to see them, but Aki did not question it. 
“Mission successful, I take it?” Makima sweetly smiled. 
“Yes, ma’am.” Aki replied curtly. Makima stepped up closer and her nose crinkled slightly. 
“I thought you fought the Snow Monkey Devil, Aki.” She spoke softly, her tone shifting subtly. 
“I did, ma’am.” 
“Then why do you smell like a fox?” She tilted her head, her unblinking eyes sending a chill down Aki’s back. 
“We..ran into a fox outside our room. The creature wandered into the bath next to the garden, but it was harmless. I took it out.” He replied - he didn’t want to discuss the details of the deal you had made earlier with him and Kishibe. In exchange for peace in the neighborhood, they had promised to not mention your reappearance as a fiend. But he did not want to lie to Makima directly, so he opted to keep certain truths to himself. 
“Ahh, I see.” Makima turned to Kishibe, her nose scrunching again. Kishibe smelled too heavily of alcohol and cigarettes for her to pick up your scent on him - smart move in hindsight. 
“Well, welcome back. I hope the fox was not too much of a bother.” 
taglist: @litepowee @dearestgojo @carnaldesired @hoeakawasupreme @brujaovermoxy @itoshisoup @p00pdev1l @drunkenlion @stariwrites
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thequeenofthewinter · 8 months
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Wife Worship Wednesday
It's not WIP Wednesday anymore. It's WWW. (Thank you @saltymaplesyrup for the name and consider yourself the first tag ;) ) It's soft. It's fluffy. I have melted into a puddle. Enjoy.
Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @rainpebble3 @paraparadigm @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @blossom-adventures @frankensonnet @tallmatcha @gilgamish @snippetsrus @changelingsandothernonsense @rose-like-the-phoenix @archangelsunited @friend-of-giants and anyone else who wants to play along. <3 I know there are more, but I'll leave some space for others to tag. Go team, go!
It is beyond Ulfric’s comprehension how Dahlia is able to talk him into taking her out into the city proper, but she does so anyway. How and when has he ever been able to say no to her? It is as if she is the only one able completely disarm him, leaving him defenseless against the magic of her spell.
Wild winds whip past both of them with strong currents, but the sky is fair if a bit grey. For now, if the snows hold off, he will continue to allow her to lead him on this little stroll. Her arm in his own is far too warm for him to want to let go of just yet, and she deserves something nice after all that has been happening to her. It is barely enough for him to keep up with himself.
Life has been hitting her from every direction and buffeting her with storm after storm, and she has taken it all with more grace and poise than he could have ever expected from her. As Ulfric looks at her now, Dahlia’s head is held high, and there is a smile on her face despite the state she was in mere moments ago. There is a strength in her which insistently persists, resisting the violence of the harsh realities that try to tear her down. But at what cost?
A stray strand of hair falls into her face, blown there by the cold winter wind. Gently, he pushes it behind her ear; however, it has not escaped his notice that the dark shade of brown she wears has been spotted with more and more grey as of late. Would that he could take the weariness from her bones, the difficulties, and frustrations and bear them all for her in her stead. The outer vestiges of her youth are fading, wilting like petals in mid-summer, but despite this, her spirit blooms brighter than ever. And it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He will guard it jealously, protecting it in any way he can so that at least she might continue on mostly unchanged. It is far too late for him. But if he can bask her in vibrant warmth—inch a bit closer to the brilliancy of her song—then perhaps he can burn just a little brighter as well. Divines know how,  but she has a way about her which makes him feel more alive despite the deadened, grey winters of Windhelm and the bleak melancholy of his past.
Dahlia smiles at him, and noticing that he is looking at her, squeezes his hand. “What?”
The corners of his lips slowly upturn, mimicking her expression. “Nothing.” 
Ulfric brushes her off and looks away, but she has always been stubborn and never one to let something lie—not when she can coax it out of him. “No, you’re clearly thinking about something. You had this look as if you had bitten into a particularly sweet snowberry. Were you thinking about the coronation, High King Ulfric?”
He shakes his head simply. “I was thinking about you.”
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wafflebloggies · 3 months
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the long con - part 6/7
a Don't Feed The Muse/Captain Disillusion crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
*
The Captain didn’t like waiting. He had a lot of patience for a few, very specific things, but everyday hold-ups were painful to him, stumbling-blocks in a path that he liked to be sharp and zippy, eventful and efficient as possible. As he sat with his legs crossed neatly under him and waited, chin perched on one curled glove, as he looked out over the quiet, rain-washed front parking lot of the Darnes Memorial Hospital and watched the cars swish back and forth through the thinning drizzle, he found himself having some trouble with a thought. It was a small enough thought, and it was only this; that it had been a long time since he had stopped, and considered exactly where that path was heading.
There were so few constants in the universe. Unchangeable laws, nodes that were simply always there, that could be depended upon, no matter what. The Captain had one, just one, a human who had once-upon-a-time been new and frightened and hopeful and just a little desperate, who had been struggling without a voice, who had needed to be heard.
Bright points of memory, glimmers of strange feelings, need, loss, triumph, joy, pain. A long night, not rainswept like this one but bright and full of stars, and the sun rising for the first time ever, glowing over the water. He didn’t like to think about that.
The echoes of a happy crowd, smooth metal walls, the reek of smoke. Their music, their voices, Alan’s elated grin. The bizarre rush of being home at last, of being in the right body, so perfectly in sync and so proud of his human that he felt like his chest was going to explode. He didn’t like to think about that, either. One of the very best memories of his life, maybe the best, and he didn’t like to think about it. The sheer stupidity of this concept hit him all at once, like one of his own supernatural twinges of feeling; sharp, arresting, startlingly painful.
Okay. Enough.
He stirred, shook out his hands, tucked them into his pockets. The Captain didn’t really feel extremes of temperature like humans did, but he felt cold tonight, as if the gentle July breeze could neither reach or warm him.
The way Alan had looked at him- hadn’t looked at him- in the shuttle. It kept replaying in his head like the most vivid, horribly well-focussed 4k vignette, stuck on loop. Alan had looked away like there was nothing left to talk about, nothing left between the two of them but a routine that had lost all of its meaning a long time ago, like all Alan had the energy to do was to put up with it, put up with him, the way things were.
The Captain couldn’t pretend it was sudden, or new, or that he hadn’t realised that there was a problem. Now, that he was forcing himself to sit and think at last, it was amazing how clearly it laid itself out. That sometimes, now and then, more and more often over the years, he pulled himself up and knew that it was all slipping, that something between him and his human was weird and out of kilter and heavy and wrong, that somewhere in the bright buzzing supernova of his soul he knew what it was but couldn’t bring himself to reach for it, conjure it into full, stark, dangerous life by admitting it was there.
So he’d gone on. All the while, preaching to the entire Internet about creative integrity, the importance of clear-thinking, of honesty, of the potential for good or bad inherent in any really powerful human idea, he’d slowly lost his way. Cradling this secret burden, letting it have its own way in everything even while he refused to acknowledge it existed at all, it had grown like a monstrous leech, feeding and swelling on every moment he’d ever felt apart or purposeless or alone.
As vicious cycles go, his had been a doozy. He had felt just that little bit worse, just that tiny bit more sick at heart, with every sign he was growing more and more isolated from humanity. From his human. Exerting control, pulling his self-awarded rank, treating the pantomime of a pecking order they’d agreed on as a quick explanation as if it was real and binding, these things had started to feel good, a way of saying no, no, you can’t get away that easily. I won’t let you. This is what you get, for trying to leave me all alone.
If he’d wanted to feel in control, Alan's Navigator video had hit his illusions like a truck. For the Captain, it had been a beautifully written, meticulously crafted, forty-one-minutes-and-twenty-eight-seconds-long torpedo, a nuclear strike straight to the heart of any idea he might have clung to that he could forcibly commandeer all of Alan’s creative spirit for himself. He still remembered, far too clearly, the slow cold disquiet that had crept over him as he’d watched the rough cut, how the dread gnawing away at him had grown into panicky fury. His better feelings, how deeply impressed he’d been by Alan’s work and craft and accomplishment, drowned by the scrabbling frantic voice inside, selfish and scared, yelling no, this isn’t right, it needs to be about us, it needs to be about ME.
If Alan could create without him, succeed without him, make whole worlds that didn’t even revolve around him, what was he going to do? If Alan didn’t need him, what was he for?
Well, wasn’t that just the two-point-four-million-subscriber question.
The hospital forecourt was nearly empty. Down below, just visible out by the edge of the lot, his shuttle was parked across three spaces with a couple of confused nurses and a doctor standing huddled curiously around in the drizzle, taking pictures of it on their phones. Up above, the long flat rectangle of the overhang that protected the front of the reception, so stark and clean-white from below, was weathered and puddled on its roof with water from the storm. Here and there vivid clumps of green moss had bedded into the dips and splits, the cracks and fault-lines grown long and spidery with time.
The Captain wasn’t quite sitting on the roof- thin air was comfier for him to sit on, and a lot more sanitary- but he could still feel faint warmth radiating from the wet surface, a leftover from the heat of the day. He uncrossed his legs and sat up, stretching, flipped back his hood in a moody shrug, touched his boots to solid concrete and walked slowly over to the edge.
*
The automatic double-doors swished open as Mark walked towards them. The noisome antiseptic odours of the hospital fought and lost against the fresh welcome smell of rain and blacktop, earth and gasoline. He stepped out into the parking lot, and stopped.
The lights overhead, the flat concrete overhang above the entrance, the parking spots for emergency vehicles, the shaggy silhouettes of the palms planted out front in the turnaround- everything presented a quiet, lonely, comfortingly normal scene. No horrible arguments or insane twists of normal logic out here, no sickening reminders of his guilt, only the wet warmth of a late, late night, ordinary cars swishing by on the ordinary road beyond.
Mark took another faltering step, snatched a quick, hunted glance over his shoulder at the empty reception area still visible through the yellow glass, then fixed his eyes on the road and started to walk, fast, holding a tight breath as the exit booth and the thin strip of sidewalk beyond got closer and closer and a strained, mindless relief started to swell up in his chest-
“Where are you going?”
Mark swung round, the breath he’d been holding hissing out of him in a kind of ghostly yell, already knowing exactly what he was going to see and already holding out his hands, warding, accusing. “Stay away from me.”
The Captain raised his eyebrows. He was standing square in the middle of the front parking spot, not that far from Mark, in a place where he could not possibly have been a few seconds prior, as if he’d dropped there from space. He didn’t move, but those keen bright eyes had Mark fixed dead.
“I know what you are,” said Mark. The long, horrible night seemed real only in a series of bubbles, the road, the fight, the crash. Out here with the fresh damp air and the long rolling clouds of drizzle beating against his shoulders the hospital didn’t feel like a thing that had just happened, Anthony with the nurse carefully checking him over, Anthony dozing on the metal cot, Anthony’s hand warm and alive in his.
The Captain didn’t look as if he was particularly afraid of Mark making any great revelation. He looked slightly amused, in an annoyed kind of way, shaking off the drizzle that was beading in his hair.
“Are you... sure about that?”
“I’ve- I- I know about things like you. Things that- look identical to other people but- they’re like fucked-up copies of them, or- or- Jesus, I didn’t believe it, but I get it now. You’re- you’re not human.”
“No,” said the Captain, patiently, “and usually, I’d be like, wow, that’s an astute observation, what gave it away? The mask? The silver skin? The way I can do this?”
He snapped his fingers, and a glow bloomed above them, became a flat smooth rectangle of light, a screen floating in nothing above his palm. It played a couple of seconds of a shrieking cartoon fish before collapsing into bright sparks as he waved it away.
“You know. That’s the kind of thing I’d say, if I was feeling particularly asshole... ish. But we’re all having kind of a weird night, and I don’t think that’d be helpful right now, do you?”
Mark watched him, every movement, like a rabbit hunched down in a field might watch an approaching lawnmower.
“I hate these places,” said the Captain, with a distasteful glance at the hospital behind him. “Human workshops, it’s so weird. Fixing machines is easy, the parts either go back together or they don’t, but no, you guys had to be special, you decided to go ahead and build yourselves these bizarre, flabby bodies out of meat.” He made a face. “With absolutely zero quality control. Okay, ten out of ten for aesthetics, but just a complete logistical nightmare when you have to actually get in there and do anything. I don’t like how fragile you people are, I don’t like thinking about it, as realities go, I’d much rather pretend it doesn’t exist.”
He shrugged.
“But… confronting reality is kind of my thing. So, I’m gonna ask you again. Where are you going, Mark?”
“Home,” said Mark. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else. The Captain didn’t blink nearly as often as Alan did and it was very hard to ignore, here in the low light, that there was a very slight reflective quality to those sharp green eyes, a faint and eerie gold mirror to each passing swish of headlights as the Captain watched him back away, another step towards the road.
“Right, so, that’s how this story ends?”
“I- I don’t know what you’re-”
“You got into trouble, we happened to be in the right place at the right time. You were lucky, your friend’s okay, you’re okay. And I get it, let’s be real, you sitting in there all night isn’t going to make him... un-concuss himself, there’s no point in hanging around. You get to go home, and anything weird that happened at the con, stays at the con. That’s how this all wraps up, right, Mark?”
Mark said nothing. He was gripping his backpack straps hard, tightly enough that his scraped-up fingers throbbed with the pressure.
“Or,” said the Captain, quietly, “you could talk to me.”
“I can’t. I can’t- talk to- anyone,” Mark managed, weakly. “If Anthony knew- if anyone knew-”
The Captain held up his open hands. “Hey, Momma Disillusion didn’t raise no snitch, okay?”
The whiplash, the sheer ludicrous surprise caught Mark so much off guard that he snorted and somehow coughed burning spit up into his own nose. He choked, laughed, crammed both of his palms viciously into his eye-sockets, and then his legs gave out and he sat down hard on the low wall of the bed of palm trees, his thin shoulders shaking.
*
The Captain blinked, thrown. A quick and thorough planner, he’d had several outcomes to the situation lined up in his mind, ready to go, but none of them involved the stricken, wet noises Mark was now making into his hands. He didn’t generally do well with human emotions, whether handling them in a regular everyday context or dealing with their potential extremes. He glanced back at the hospital’s double-doors, hoping Alan, or failing him, anybody, might be within grabbing distance. There was nobody in sight but the night porter, a faceless silhouette behind the reception’s big battered perspex screen. He was on his own.
Very uneasily, he sidled up to Mark like someone might approach a skittish horse, and sat down next to him on the damp bricks. With the air of a trainee bomb defusal expert making their first advance upon a live incendiary device, not at all sure what they were going to do once the cover was off, he patted Mark, extremely awkwardly, on the shoulder.
“Can you… not do that?” he hazarded. “C’mon, that’s not gonna help anything. There’s no crying in critical thinking, Mark.”
Mark didn’t really seem to hear him, which was probably for the best.
“I nearly killed him,” he gasped. “He could- have- died. It’s my fault. This is all my fault.”
The Captain looked out over the wet forecourt, the blacktop glimmering under the stark overhead lights. He looked at the various vehicles, the messily-parked and tidily-tucked-away, the transport vans and the folded wheelchairs in the shelter by the door, all the signs of human emergency and human routine. He looked at these mundane things, at the wet halos around the lamps, the palms leaning by the sheltered entrance as if they wanted to be in out of the rain, and then he looked back at Mark. His expression was strange, unguarded and troubled in a manner that would have made Alan look twice, wonder at.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” he said.
Mark lifted his head, looked helplessly at him. He said nothing. Behind the bluish reflections of his glasses his eyes were wet and sore and frightened, the eyes of an animal caught in a trap, all limits past, a captive wild thing that would tear itself to pieces for a way out, any way out.
“Personally, I believe that knowing how to tell what you think is true, or what you want to be true, from what actually is true, is the most important skill you can have,” continued the Captain. “You seem pretty sure you know what’s really going on here, just like you seemed pretty sure like, two minutes ago, that I was some kind of Twilight Zone doppelganger cryptid type deal. But we’re sitting here, and we’re talking, so maybe you’re not really that sure about the second part. And if that’s the case, maybe you don’t have the first part totally one-hundred-percent in hand either.”
As he spoke, he took a moment to see Mark, actually see him, the way humans couldn’t. The way he really was. So small and alone, frightened and desperate, too hemmed in to be hopeful, even now. Isolated, in a way that felt like clawing panic to study too closely, and above it all the... thing, the nameless unknowable thing that had brought the Captain to a standstill even at the centre of an auditorium stage. The great dark pall of choking invisible fibre above and behind and through him, gripping ravenously at him wherever it could touch, a looming swell of black reeking chaos and twisted clots of golden noise and hungry, hating eyes. The Captain took it in for a fraction of a second and looked away fast, shaking it off with an inward effort, shutting down the part of him that could see like that, never so grateful that he was able to, that he’d learned the knack.
He shuddered, despite himself.
Alan was the worrier, the second-guesser, the overthinker. The Captain, his magnified mirror-image in this as in so many other facets of his character, was, in a word, impulsive. Brave and reckless, he tended to plunge resolutely ahead, and once a problem became clear to him there was nothing in the universe that could stop him from pulling it apart, solving it, making it right. The painful mess he’d created might have been growing for a long, long time but he felt it now, and he was keenly aware that the only reason he’d been finally forced to confront it was the horrendous shock of Friday’s incidental contact, something so slight and coincidental it could so easily never have happened, so that with a tiny change of circumstance he might never have looked up past the bright stage-lights and felt the ghastly chilling brush of this thing, this metaphorical shroud of doom overshadowing one wretched human who reminded him far too much of something he’d tried for fifteen years to forget.
“We had a… pretty close shave, earlier tonight,” he said. He found it a difficult thing to say, and he must have sounded unwilling, uncomfortable enough, because Mark blinked, and when he spoke he sounded more like a person who was capable of being curious, capable of listening- capable of anything, beyond being driven along by the reflexes of his miserable terror- than he had so far.
“You did?”
“Yes, me and- Alan. We nearly crashed. It would’ve- been nothing, an inconvenience, for me, but Alan-”
The Captain found it very inconvenient, and in fact almost impossible, to finish the sentence. He tried a couple of times, staring up at the soaking palm leaves, waving gently against the floodlights. A bright night, the sun over the water. White nothingness, black and gold.
“Alan is... human. Just human. And the fact something could happen to him is the… hardest reality I’ve ever had to face. I think if anybody can appreciate what that feels like, right now, it’s probably you.”
Mark swallowed, painfully. He took a minute to pull off his glasses and scrub them punishingly on the hem of his sweater, push them back onto his nose, swiping his hands across his damp, colourless face. The Captain watched him, quietly, watched this sink in.
“You know what I do, Mark. I break down illusions, and I’m telling you that something has its- its eyes on you, and I mean that in a…” He hesitated. “You know movies, right? I’m talking like a, a Lord of the Rings kinda way. But, again… that’s not really a surprise to you, either, is it?”
He got to his feet. Mark looked up at him, his fingers plucking at the straps of his backpack as if they were far too tight.
“How much do you know?” he croaked.
The Captain shrugged in the direction of his shuttle, around which there was now a small crowd of five off-duty nurses and doctors, three confused pedestrians, and a night-guard poking it with a stick. He smiled, and there was something of Alan in the expression; tired, genuine, kind.
Human.
“Come on. Let me give you a ride home.”
*
The rain had worn itself out at last, and the clouds were thinning. The shuttle cruised along, high above the long empty dark spaces of the Everglades, full of invisible life under the swamp-dark surface and the velvet fields of reeds, the roads spidering out like arteries between towns, the brighter sprawling splotch of the city on the horizon, black and gold.
Mark’s voice was quiet, but the Captain had shut off his mixtape, and his voice carried in the cool, soft-humming cabin. He sat in the passenger seat with his hands folded neatly on his backpack and told the Captain how at the very end of a terrible day a package had turned up on the front porch in a dented courier box, a cocoon of cardboard and staples and layers of inky aluminum foil, a sticky Tupperware at the centre all wrapped up in tape like the prize in the middle of the world’s grossest game of Pass the Parcel. No name, no explanation, just… a thing, a half-deflated pathetic handful of a thing, black goop and slow laboured sucking in and out that made your head hurt when you listened to it, that made you want to throw it and help it and tread on it and listen, all at the same time.
And a voice, that talked in his head.
He had wondered if he’d gone crazy. He’d wondered if anyone else could have heard it, but somehow he hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone else. In his house, in his room, he’d sat and talked to Anthony and heard its wet telltale sounds in the closet just feet away and he’d said nothing, even though part of him had been desperate, dying to tell. The thing had… advised against it.
The thing seemed to have had a whole lot to say, one way and another. As the time had passed, as it had grown, it had seemed to know so much he’d never even told it, about himself, about the channel.
About his mother.
It wanted to help. It could help. It could do him a big favour. He had ideas, he had the channel, but what use was that, when nobody cared, nobody was listening? It could make people listen, just like he, Mark, was listening to it right then and there. It could do so, so much more than that. It could…
At that point in the telling, Mark stopped, and the Captain, glancing his way, caught the bright guilty flick of the eyes behind his glasses.
Oh, the thing had had a lot to say. Perhaps the things Mark didn’t tell him out loud, sitting there in the flickering neon semi-dark, were every bit as important as the things he did. How the thing had seemed to know every twist and turn of his thoughts, the fears that had a tight hold of him, how it had grown bigger, stronger, grown eyes and teeth and little black tendrils like soft creeping tongues, the more he’d worked on the channel and written and planned with only this secret, only the idea of it, in his mind.
How it had always, always known when he was hurting the worst, when he had the least power to argue with it, when it could say the things that Mark had slowly started to believe were true.
That everything depended on him, and the channel was the only thing that he had that could be of the least use, that Anthony didn’t care and couldn’t be reasoned with, Anthony mustn’t be told because Anthony only wanted to hang on to the channel just the way it was, useless, Anthony was selfish and Anthony was a bad friend, how Mark was all alone with such an unfair burden and nobody could really understand except the thing that knew all of this, knew every pit and recess of Mark’s stunned, grieving heart. By slow chemical action, by drips and touches and tiny bites, the thing had quietly worked on the stormy mass of Mark’s natural fear and anger, tugged it gently out of Mark’s lessening control, fed it with its own poison.
For all that the Captain was inclined to be, for all that could be said of him; thoughtless, stubborn, full of hubris and contradictions- he knew humans. He knew, in his own way, how they thought. Despite his wealth of knowledge, he was endlessly surprised by the world he’d adopted, the infinite variety of the peculiar bipeds that called it home, and he was sharp and observant, and he could listen. He knew enough, because of at least one specific and vital peculiar biped, to grasp at least some part of humanity’s inner workings, and from there to feel out Mark’s state of mind; why he seemed so shattered, that this was not the work of one bad night or one terrible event but of days, weeks, months.
The shock of the accident, the painful relief of being able to tell anybody about this incredible, frightening, insidious thing, when he’d been playing a part for so long, when he’d almost grown used to allowing his better impulses to be tangled up and stifled under such a load of macabre secrecy. The spaces around Mark’s words, the way his eyes seemed to have an almost magnetic relationship with the shuttle carpet. The complicity he felt, the regret.
The guilt.
It wasn’t hard for the Captain to follow how Mark been reconciled, slowly, step by easy step, to the idea of betraying his best friend’s trust. He, himself, had slowly reconciled himself to things that felt worse, since in his case there was no malevolent alien being in his closet, no third party to blame. Mark had been primed towards accepting a sort of torturous sucker’s bet, and he had promised to give the thing whatever it asked for, on the strength of a hope it had held out to him like a baited hook.
As he came to the end and stopped talking, the Captain reached for the HUD and brought up the landing protocol, the simple directions Mark had given. He waved it away, sat back.
“ETA like, three minutes.”
Mark blinked, sitting up a little straighter, gazing out over the swell of roads and lights as the shuttle leaned and dipped. “I, uh… holy shit. Yeah, I can see- there’s the church, and the Publix… this is so surreal.”
The Captain snorted. “Let’s hope this is as surreal as it gets.”
“You-” Mark paused, the HUD and the lights below reflected in bright jagged specks of blue in his glasses as he turned his head. “You believe me, don’t you? About all of this crazy shit.”
“Look, my zip code’s in lower Earth orbit, my desk lamp talks to me, and I have an off-and-on... situationship with an interdimensional, corpse-stealing goddess. ‘Crazy’ is an extremely subjective principle.”
“Right. I guess I should have caught on to that around the time the spaceship showed up.”
“It’s a shuttle. There’s a difference, it’s for ground-to-exosphere travel only, you’d find that out pretty quickly if you tried to take it into space-space. I don’t want to nitpick, but it’s like holding up a, a rollerskate and calling it a jet-ski, it just kind of gets to me, you know?”
Mark lifted his hands in a silent deflection, or at least an approximation of the amount that he cared. He watched his neighbourhood growing beneath them for a little while, and then said, “The other you is way better at talking to people, isn’t he?”
“There is no other me. You’re thinking about it all wrong. There’s me, Captain Disillusion, and then there’s Alan, a person. We’re not talking Nietzsche here, it’s pretty simple.”
“You’re not a… person.”
“Don’t be... personist. I’m a completely separate entity, okay? Physically, spiritually… legally. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. Your creative partner, you know, short-stuff in the flannel, he just so happens to be human, which just so happens to be the norm around here, there are nearly eight billion of you, after all. Dante had Beatrice, Picasso had Olga Khokhlova, David Lynch has... that one guy he never shuts up about. A source of inspiration, a- the living embodiment of your reason to create.”
“You mean, like a m-”
“Ah-dah-dah! Don’t. Not the M-word. Can I park here?”
“Where- no, that’s our roof! Park on the lawn!”
“Egh. Ditches, lawns, do you have any idea how hard it’s gonna be to get all of this… nature stuff out of the treads? It’s not like I can just take it to a Superwash.”
With rather poor grace, the Captain flicked a couple of switches, corrected his course. As gently as a roughly five-ton craft can really do anything, the shuttle nosed down with its landing gear outstretched like a trio of chunky yellow deer-legs, nudging aside the black ghosts of sycamore branches that skittered and slid past the windshield glass as if they were trying to feel for a way in, and settled on the Mayhew lawn.
Mark unbuckled his seatbelt, but the Captain pointed an emphatic glove as he reached for the gullwing release, stopping him in his tracks.
“Oh, no. You stay put. This is hero stuff, kid.”
“Sorry- ‘kid?’ I’m twenty-four.”
“Wow, okay, Methuselah. Come on, there’s digital film formats older than you-”
The Captain might well have been set to argue the point, but one look at the grim flat line of Mark’s mouth and the absolutely mulish set to his thin shoulders told him that perhaps this wasn’t the wisest tack. He stopped himself, deflating with a sigh.
“Look, it’s not really about that. With everything you’ve told me, I think… we should at least try to do it my way, okay? I’m a superhero, and maybe I haven’t exactly been… acting that heroic, lately, what with my cranky attitude and my… potentially irreparably damaged personal relationships, but you’ve trusted me this far. You know, all of this stuff-” He waved a hand, sending a ghostly scurry of images chasing after his fingers, faint cycles of motion in the dark cabin, like film trailing loose from a projector. “It all means precisely bunk when you get down to what’s really important. At the end of the day, you gotta give me a chance to use the one real superpower I have. The- the one I guess I’ve... always had.”
Reluctantly, Mark sat back in his seat. From here, the house looked fine, neat and quiet, the windows dark, the climbing flowers that grew thick on the trellis still in ghostly bloom. Just an ordinary two-storey family home, nothing about it that would suggest to any outside eye that something other lurked within. Nothing about it on the outside looked, or would look to a stranger, how it felt to him; how barren and chilling it felt despite the attachment and the care he still held for the idea of the place in his heart. His home, his family’s home, where four had become three had become two had become… one.
“What are you going to do?”
The Captain was watching the house, too, feeling absently through his pockets. In the low light the colour of his jacket looked ashy and golden and bright by turns, changing in patches as the shadows of the trees and slanting street-lights shifted it back and forth.
“I’m just gonna try to… explain.”
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lonelyasawhisper · 2 years
Text
Interview with Kaz Utsunomiya (2018)
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Scans by 亚基拉鱼, translated by 走路帶風的Mia to Chinese and then by me to English.
Kaz Utsunomiya has the closest relationship with Queen in Japan. Having gotten acquainted with the band when he was the London correspondent of Music Life (ML) magazine, he subsequently became close friends with the band and has since maintained contact both publicly and privately. It is his old friend, DJ/music critic Imaizumi "Snoopy" Keihimeko, who is exploring these secrets of Utsunomiya. She dedicated her youth to Queen, and it’s because of this band that she pursued her current career, making her a representative of Queen fans.
Interview and writing: Imaizumi Keihimeko
In 1986, I went to London's Wembley Stadium to watch Queen's final tour - The Magic Tour, after which Mr. Kaz Utsunomiya took me to their private party. The adrenaline from the concert alone made me so excited that I couldn't sleep. As for the party, I couldn't believe that I was going to the unimaginably extravagant world of Queen. Richard Branson's restaurant at Kensington Roof Gardens was reserved for the party, and a slew of well-dressed celebs were already there. I remember the band members coming in late. Next to Freddie was Elton John, who soon began to play the piano, and members of Duran Duran were present as well. Everyone was chatting to each other, but I was staring at Freddie. I was so terrified to be near him. Being a silent wall was the better option.
And Mr. Kaz was still the usual Mr. Kaz, he is able to chat with ease. This state he’s in won’t ever change, no matter if he is drinking at a party, drinking at home, or at an interview. He hasn't changed a bit since the first time I saw him in 1979. This is the secret of his foothold in the overseas music industry, it is a kind of charisma. I hope to become the female version of Kaz one day. I am conducting this interview with my gratitude to my elder Kaz Utsunomiya over the years and the unchanging spirit of a fangirl.
As the man who has the closest ties to Queen in Japan, what does Mr. Kaz think of the movie "Bohemian Rhapsody"?
Kaz: No expectations at all at first. It is Dexter Fletcher, whom I already know, who started the project. But there was a falling out due to a quarrel, and another director was found. But in the end, Dexter went back. His wife is a Lithuanian actress, who is also renowned for making folk costumes. When I went to Lithuania, I happened to meet Dexter and he said: "I wanted to do it, but our opinions clashed, so I was fired. The band is very serious about the project. Everyone is also very cooperative. We could have made something good. It’s a pity." He is a very good director, and I also feel that it’s a pity. Dexter still went back in the end. Elton John's "Rocketman" was just in its preparation period. After filming, he went back and finished it. Although it was only a trailer, it was quite a surprise.
Why did Dexter quit his job?
Kaz: It's not that he’s at odds with the band. This movie is mainly about the band's story, but also about Freddie and to portray the character of Freddie. The members of Queen must know their own people. In Dexter’s view of Freddie as an outsider, his goal was to respect history and aim for accuracy, but the band did not want to make a documentary, and this probably caused a disagreement.
I’m once again going to ask, how did Mr. Kaz and Queen meet?
Kaz: We were not friends at first. I only learned later that we went to the same university. We first met at ML interviews. They were very kind to me at the time, and Roger and I would meet frequently after that.
What was your impression of their debut?
Kaz: Although I generally believe that Queen is a band championed by Japanese fans, in fact, they had already gained considerable attention before coming to Japan, and also had hits. At that time, their US tour with Mott The Hoople as their opening act was canceled due to Brian's illness, creating a bad first impression. NME and Melody Maker criticized them as outdated glam rock, unlike Deep Purple. Subsequently, as soon as they went to Japan, many fans greeted them at Haneda Airport. They received a warm welcome from everyone and fell in love with Japan, which became their home from home.
They must have been upset by the negative reviews in the UK. I imagine coming to Japan was great progress for them.
Kaz: I think all four people in this band have an excellent sense of balance. All four of them can write songs, and each member’s songwriting corresponds to respective popular trends. All members can sing and write. Everyone has hits. They are very democratic.
Any anecdotes when you accompanied them on their Japanese tour?
Kaz: I first came to Japan as a staff member of Watanabe Music Publishing House, and then took them on on the advice of Jim Beach (manager). For a while, they always went to LEXINGTON QUEEN (a famous disco) in Roppongi, where the band was surrounded by all kinds of artists, and it didn't feel like they were in Japan at all. Gary Numan has a pilot's license, and if Queen is in Japan, he would fly over by himself for a week. JAPAN also came to Japan at the same time, and consequently, LEXINGTON was very lively.
Have the four of them ever had any heated arguments?
Kaz: None on tour. Often in the studio. I forgot which album it was. I went to Ridge Farm’s recording studio. As soon as I entered the restaurant, I heard them arguing loudly. Of course it was about the music. The discussion was sparked by their desire to make good music.
According to Rami (Malek) who played Freddie in the movie, Brian said that Freddie is the mediator in the band. Mr. Kaz, do you agree?
Kaz: Snoopy, you should know. You also interviewed Freddie.
He was shy, and although he was the lead singer, he cared deeply about others. Whenever he came to Japan, he always bought gifts to express his gratitude to people who took care of him, like Mr. Itami (bodyguard). Just as Charlie Watts united the Rolling Stones on principle, so did Freddie. Before the show, the four of them would always gather round in Freddie's suite before setting off. Although he doesn't care to manage trivial and logistical things, he pays attention to things related to spirits and morale.
Has Mr. Kaz ever seen John after his retirement?
Kaz: About twice. When Michael Jackson died, John suddenly messaged me on Facebook: "Are you Kaz?" At first he was very cautious, and said that “if you are the Kaz I know, then you should know my address and phone number” (laughs). When he was sure it was me, he sent me a photo of Michael and Freddie. It was taken during Queen's US tour, when everyone went to the house where Michael lived with his father in Encino. Freddie was in contact with Michael at that time. They showed him "Another One Bites The Dust" and Michael predicted that it would be a hit if it was released. I guess they originally wanted Michael to sing it.
Is John not ever coming back to the music business?
Kaz: It seems that there is no desire to stay on his part anymore. It doesn't mean that he does not have any yearning for or nostalgic attachment to Queen. I think after Freddie passed away, he just decided not to perform anymore. He still lives in his old home, and on Sundays he still seems to go to the nearby news stand to buy The Sunday Times (laughs). He now has less hair and gained a little more weight, but still very healthy. The doctor who delivered my son is also his doctor, and every now and then, I would hear from the doctor that John made some visits.
Is it true that Roger chose the English name for Mr. Kaz's son, Yusei-kun?
Kaz: Yes, it's Rufus. Roger's second son is also called Rufus. It seems to be named after the black musician he likes. The first king of Wales was also called Rufus.
It’s only because of you that I met the band!
Kaz: You've also met Roger's eldest son, Felix. I took him to Radio Nippon just to see the Snoopy show. But I rarely go to the radio station’s broadcast studio.
I appreciate it!
Kaz: The manager also made Snoopy cry, I forgot why. But I think you were nervous. (I remember it clearly! I was careful about the next question.)
Tell me about Freddie, how was Mr. Kaz when Freddie died?
Kaz: I happened to see Jim Beach at the famous MATSUHISA restaurant in Los Angeles at the time, and he told me "Freddie’s going to announce that he has AIDS tomorrow". I thought that was the case. I said that we would meet again very soon. But when I got home, I received a message from Snoopy on the answering machine: "Freddie has passed away". I rushed to call Jim, he was speechless......
I received the news of Montserrat Cabelle’s death today.
Kaz: Really? Today’s a special day. I have a good relationship with Roger and John. We often went out for drinks, but I have never been with Freddie. He said that I'm such a gentle person that he shouldn't take me to Shinjuku II Street or places like that, but he still took me there occasionally. He was such a caring person. When did this happen? It should be the tour after Live Aid. In Munich, he called me to his room. He said: "Kaz, you have a good relationship with Roger and John, so I’m not going to worry about it anymore". From then on, he would call me for a drink at his place every now and then.
What did you all drink? (The fangirl asks)
Kaz: Champagne! Minako Honda also came to the show in Frankfurt, because Brian is her producer. This is Brian's job. Later, when recording in London, Freddie suddenly showed up and came to see the live show, because it was Brian's production. It’s a courtesy visit, he was polite and courteous like that.
Mr. Kaz helped write the lyrics in La Japonaise from the album with Montserrat, right?
Kaz: When he was writing the lyrics, he asked me whether I could go to the studio to come up with some ideas for the Japanese lyrics. I was working at Virgin (Records) at the time, and they soon started working at the SARM studio in Notting Hill next door. In retrospect, Freddie's face had already started to show jaundice. Prior to this, Freddie had just bought a new home in Earl's Court. He wanted to build a Japanese style garden and asked me to help. I quickly called several Japanese restaurants and finally got in touch with a landscaper in Manchester. Freddie wanted to build a carp pond and a gazebo, demolish the walls and bought some stones. The horticulturalist didn't know Freddie at all. Seems like he lived under a rock, but that's good in a way.
Mr. Kaz, what kind of person do you think Brian is?
Kaz: He is a scholarly person, very meticulous. Since the formation of Queen, maybe since he had the sense to, he probably has already started a diary. What did he do on this day in over 20 years ago? One can look for all of it in his diary. Moving into the digital age, he might even have made an electronic version. I think his diary is very good. Brian and Jeff Beck are both perfectionists who hate cutting corners, recklessness and skimping soundchecks. But both of them do things slowly and are too cautious, and it takes them twice as long to just get out of the hotel room.
After Freddie's death, Queen's songs have been covered by all kinds of singers. Which musician do you think performed best, Mr. Kaz?
Kaz: Definitely Adam Lambert. Maybe if Freddie had known Adam, he would like and approve of him very much. Adam also respects Freddie very much when he performs. For example, in certain parts of the performance which simply cannot be without Freddie, recordings of Freddie will be played as a tribute to pay respect. I think Adam is doing the best job.
What do Brian and Roger think. Do they think Queen is still active?
Kaz: At the very least in the form of Queen+, yes. They feel that Queen is to be treated with heart and sincerity in the name of Queen. With so many iconic hits and the ever-selling greatest albums, Bohemian Rhapsody is the most memorable song in the hearts of Brits. From this perspective, it is great to have a suitable lead singer to carry on the legacy of good music. Adam is very impressive, and Queen's two members also respect him very much.
Mr. Kaz, what does Queen mean to you?
Kaz: Without Queen and Clash, I wouldn't be who I am today. To be able to work in the British and American music industry for such a long time, I am extremely grateful to them.
Thank you very much.
Please do not hesitate to correct my translation if you see any discrepancy between this and the original Japanese transcript!
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mental-health-advice · 4 months
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Hello. I'm wheelchair-bound and need most things doing for me, which is fine since I've been physically disabled since birth, but I fear it has had a damaging effect on how I mentally approach relationships.
1) With family, mostly, I've been told that I'm self-absorbed, because I have tell them what to do (i.e "Can you get a drink for me?" because I can't walk into the kitchen and pour myself a cup). I've been told to think of others' needs and wants beside my own a lot, and that people have things to do that don't include caring for me (like doing the laundry) and this upsets me often because these remarks, and when people don't do things for me a short time after I've asked them - both of these things make me feel like they don't really care for me and would prefer it if I was easier to care for. Also, when they talk about something like going on holiday, I wonder out loud, "What about me? I'm responded to with "The world doesn't revolve around you" and the fact that I hold my sister back from experiencing the world, like, say, going abroad because I don't like going out (in part because public infrastructure is very inaccessible) and, if the outing doesn't revolve around me (going out to buy myself new clothes, for example) I feel like a dead limb everyone's trying to drag around - I'd rather stay in where the WiFi is.
2) With regards to other relationships - friends and romantic relationships - I worry that my needs and interests will make a prospective friend or boyfriend stay away from me or loose interest in me very quickly because they are both things that many people will find uncomfortable and unsettling; given my needs, I didn't grow up with the usual taboo surrounding what people do on the toilet, and openly talk about it. I have a special interest in industrial accidents and nuclear technology, too, because I like learning about the things that go into making defective buildings and the laws surrounding them. That said, my interests are quite unchanging, and I worry that people will loose interest in me, or tire of me talking about the same thing all the time, and leave me. This makes me panic when I see or hear my friends doing things with other people, because I think they want to no longer be friends with me, since I can't/don't want to do the same things as other people at my uni because my needs mean basic necessities (i.e eating, drinking and going to the toilet) are very time consuming, and I don't have interest in talking about things that are considered normal.
What should I do?
Hey there,
I cannot even begin to imagine how difficult things must be for you – even on the best of days! It sounds as though you feel as though at times you are a burden to others and especially when they say things like you are self-absorbed and the world not revolving around you. These comments must hit hard and especially as you cannot help the fact that you are physically disabled and need help with a lot of daily living things.
I am wondering if it would be beneficial for you to have a home carer, someone who is dedicated to helping you and caring for you to help to not take the pressure off others as such, but to allow them (family/ friends) to do things they want to do and to help you feel less like you are taking up so much time from them. For example, having the carer being responsible for how you can get around when family/ friends go on outings instead of always relying on those close to you to make things work and be easiest on you. I am not in anyway suggesting that your family are not doing a fantastic job with you or are not caring people, just that it can really help to take the pressure off all when you have a dedicated carer for yourself as then you and others can focus on what’s really important in life instead of having to worry about all of the logistics.
In regards to friends or being in a romantic relationship, I cannot promise you that all friendships/ relationships will go to plan (it’s like that for all people) but it can at times be helpful to try to get the other person to initiate or start the conversations with you, allowing you to then focus on what they are saying as opposed to talking about you and your interests if you feel or are worried you may bore the other person. I do admit though, it is so much easier to talk about and focus conversations about what you know best (you and your own interests) but a part of being in a friendship or relationship is learning new things about the other person and broadening your horizons about other things that may be happening in the world and/ or what is happening for the other person/ how they live and such.
I know that you mentioned that you do not find it interesting to talk about things that may be considered as ‘normal’ but it’s also important to know that every person is very different to other people and so ‘normal’ can be different for all. So due to this, your way of living may not be that far from normal as compared to other people despite your disabilities and the only way you may find this out is through conversation with other people and learning more about them.
I really hope that this has helped a bit and please od let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!
I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!
Take care,
Lauren
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threadbaresweater · 7 months
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Hi Lin, I just read your piece 'still' involving nanami kento. I am here with metaphorical hat in hand and gratitude in my heart for you being so kind enough to share this with the rest of us.
Straight on from the beginning, I began getting immersed and visualized those time lapse videos you would see of the sky in it's numerous shades and colours. You were able to contain an era in so few words but they did not feel vague in the slightest. The love you portrayed was one I don't often see in the spotlight but usually pushed to the 'end' of a story so this was a very refreshing experience.
My favourite non dialogue line of yours would have to be 'You lie there in comfortable silence for a little while, drinking in the gentle rays of morning sunlight, the birdsong outside your window, the warmth of one another, and suddenly you're that young twenty-something again'. It just tugged at my heart strings as the thought of changing but some parts of yourself remaining unchanged is both a sadness and happiness I wish to continue experiencing when I reach middle age (spending that alongside another hits harder to the feels 😅).
Overall, this felt like a love letter to aging and everything that comes with it. I played a lot of songs while reading it but the chorus in 'Yet To Come' by BTS fit well as I played it in the background. I am now following you and hope to see you around Tumblr for many years to come 😊
Hi! This might be the single most wonderful ask I've ever received. Today has been an incredibly tense, emotional ride, and to come home and find this waiting for me gave me a much needed lift.
I wrote this because my own family is growing up, and I've been a little melancholy about it (as I am about everything in my life, tbh). It's so bittersweet, and the emotions I'm experiencing in my own life translated so nicely into fiction, especially with Nanami, who I feel would have made a wonderful father and husband. And I'm so happy that the overall feel and mood of the piece came through. I do feel that love should be celebrated at all ages and stages- but especially when it grows old, when it grows familiar, when it grows as natural as breathing.
I'll have to check out the song you mentioned! I'm not sure I've ever heard it before, but I appreciate the rec. I'm sure I'll find it fits just perfectly into my little story.
Thanks again for the sunshine! It means a lot that you'd take the time out of your day to drop in. 💜
Take care!
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any59 · 6 months
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ok but going back to my post from a while ago about one of my main frustrations with the Barbie Movie and it's ending and how as a creator the whole "ideas live forever" dichotomy not being compelling enough
I think the real reason is not that I'm a creator and I want and need for once to just be the created. I think it's that it's the wrong choice for the film. Whenever you have a movie that has this "magical" character who ends the movie by joining the friends they made in the "normal" world, it's either because they don't fit in their original world and have reason to want to leave it behind as a sort of reverse escape fantasy, or because their world is now too different from what they want and need and by staying in the "normal" world they find the fulfillment they now know they need. Barbie doesn't have either of those things. The closest to an outcast is Weird Barbie and while it's hard to tell where her role is in the community at large, she is obviously quite content and has no problem with her life. Our Barbie is "stereotypic" Barbie, she has tons of friends and things to do. All of the Barbies (and the Kens, in their own way) do. They all have jobs and roles in the community and purpose; everyone in Barbieland has raison d'être, which is essential for life. When a "magical" character feels the need to leave for the "normal" world, its because now or originally, they lack purpose in their world. Barbie didn't and wouldn't.
In the tags of my first post I compared the Barbie Movie to the Last Unicorn because there's a lot of similarities there. Of needing to leave your perfect home to go find something bigger than yourself and change it to save everyone else and preserve who you are, but then being fundamentally changed by it against your will. At the end of the Last Unicorn, Amalthea returns to live with the freed unicorns, back where she belongs but distressed because despite the other unicorns having spend a few decades trapped in the foam of the ocean, she is the only one to truly know sadness. I understand why she left but I've always felt it was the wrong choice, that she grew up away from the other unicorns and was far too changed, that she should stay with her friends who had proven themselves to be ride or die. In the Barbie Movie, Barbie leaves where she belongs to go live a life that, honestly, is what a lot of other people think she should lead and which she goes to because the woman is super easily influenced by peer pressure and a handful of more "leadership oriented 'Barbies'" think it's a good idea for her. She left Babieland, was changed, but came back to a place that was similarly changed. She is not Amalthea, who was changed and goes to return to the unchanged.
Anyhow I started writing this and then realized my initial thought of "why should Barbie leave for the real world, the idea that living as an idea would now be unfulfilling falls flat for her because she comes from a place where the ideas all have a reason to be" had way more to it but it's raining something awful and my head fucking hurts so I'm gonna just tag this as barbie movie and hit post
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motownfiction · 1 year
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flatlands
And once again, it’s a move that keeps Sam from love.
He’s twenty-nine, the year he’s supposed to be getting scared. At least, this is all according to his mother, who looks at love and marriage much like she’s living in the middle of Pride and Prejudice. Status and security. Sam always jokes that his mother is a feminist until he mentions he might not want to get married. Then it’s all about finding a wife (and it’s almost always a wife) and making sure she’s little more than Mrs. Sam Doyle, the mother of the children he’s not so sure he wants, either. These days, he can’t stop thinking about all the things he doesn’t want. Even their figments are getting in the way.
This time, he thought he could have loved another woman – the second woman in all his life. Valerie Gaynor, a pretty woman with long blue hair and mischievous eyes … the best kind of eyes, the ones that say you’re going to get into trouble, but you’re going to be so kind and generous about it. They met in the music store. Valerie was buying a copy of London Calling for a friend who just discovered that music is good; Sam was just taking a walk down the only aisles he’s ever felt comfortable in. She’s five years younger than Sam, about ten times as brash, and considers herself on the move. When she and Sam met last winter, she was twenty-three and in the middle of her first year of graduate school. Master’s in ethnomusicology from Michigan. Apparently, she’s another one of those geniuses. Apparently, Sam has a type.
And they could have been in love. Some days, Sam thinks he really did love her. Some days, when he would sing that Monkees song at her (I love her, Valleri!), he knows he did. But then, Valerie got the letter. Philadelphia’s calling, and they’re offering her an Ivy League Ph.D. in the thing she loves best.
Well. The thing she loves second best.
She asks Sam to go with her, but he says he can’t go. That he loves her (Doesn’t he?), but he can’t leave home. It’s home. His whole life is here. Always has been. Valerie’s quick to remind him that it’s been a long time since his whole life was anywhere. His best friends moved out of state five years ago. His sister is raising two little kids; his brother has a little daughter. Valerie knows how he feels about his mother (complicated). And besides, Sam is the manager of a record store. He can do that from anywhere.
But he just won’t. He just won’t, and he sends her packing on her own.
He’s not sure why anyone would live in Philadelphia unless they had to go to school there. As he tells Valerie, even Boyz II Men had to bring Motown into the City of Brotherly Love (which he feels less and less lately, but he’s not going to admit to that – not to anyone, much less the woman who’s about to leave him behind). Valerie just rolls her eyes and reminds him that Boyz II Men signed with Motown, and they still had to move to Philadelphia to have their hit. She says it’s all in the way you look at it. Sam knows there’s something for him to get, but he refuses. On principle.
Valerie asks him if this is really what he wants. To live in the Midwest forever. To live in the flatlands of the U.S. To eat butter cake and Jell-O salads at every birthday, retirement, and graduation party he ever attends for the rest of his life. To always live a stone’s throw away from his old high school. Flatlands, she calls it again, as though Sam didn’t pick up on the metaphor before. Flatlands. Static. Unchanging. He gets it.
But he’s not going anywhere. These flatlands are his home. The place where he’s always been most like himself. The place where he’s always liked himself most.
He’s not done choosing himself.
When Valerie kisses him and turns around for the last time, he’s sorry, but not for staying.
He doesn’t understand why she would want to leave.
He doesn’t understand why anyone leaves.
(part of @nosebleedclub december challenge -- day xiii! i’m behind, which is to be expected at this time in the semester 😭)
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ulircursed · 2 years
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munday: your muse vs you!
tagged by: the dash, last week
take the test here!
andrei’s type: ISTJ-T, the logistician
introverted - 78% observant - 70% thinking - 79% judging - 83% turbulent - 81%
eri’s type: INFP-T, the mediator
introverted - 79% intuitive - 63% feeling -66% prospecting - 71% turbulent - 82%
what are some differences between you and your muse?
I feel I’m much less organized and methodical than Andrei is, preferring not to stick to a tight, unchanged schedule (though a to-do list does help my spotty memory, haha). That makes me less productive, because the mere existence of a goal doesn’t always motivate me very much. At the same time, that tends to make me more patient with other people who may be struggling with similar issues or just need a little extra time, which is more than can be said for Andrei, at least when he’s in charge of making sure something goes smoothly.
Compared to me, Andrei is more neutral towards conflict. He’s not thrilled by it, but neither does he fear / shy away from it. I, on the other hand, have a hard time handling conflict without simply giving up my side of the fight. It’s to the point that I even find it difficult writing it for him, which I do hope to work on improving.
I’m not nearly as resentful as him about the past; really, it just seems like there’s enough stuff going on in life in the present to not let go of what’s already said and done, right? On the other hand, I do tend to worry about the future more than he does — in part because he still doesn’t really consider himself as having a future, while I do, but... eh, I’ll still consider this a point in his favor.
I have never tried to kill my siblings or my dad— Ok in all seriousness, I guess after growing up, I try harder to communicate with my family about my concerns or issues before they come down to stuff like ‘I don’t know how to solve this problem short of patricide and there’s no one I can turn to ask for help so I’m just going ahead with this plan’ (rip Ring). My siblings and I also have good relationships that do not involve attempted murder, so I’d say I win this one :relieved:
I... like to think I’m kind of a fun person... hopefully. Andrei is basically Mr. No Fun Allowed, from a pretty young age, and even if he’s maybe showing signs of loosening up around some people here, maybe letting himself smile a little more, he’ll never... crack jokes or anything like that.
what are some similarities between you and your muse?
While I do take sentiment into account when it comes to people (and to an extent, so does he! he just doesn’t admit it as readily, even though it’s not necessarily a bad thing), I’m also fairly logical and enjoy analyzing things (as people who’ve seen me crunch numbers during events might note, haha). Neither of us are the best at strategizing or seeing the big picture, and I’d probably lose to Brigid too if I tried to fight or set a trap for her, but hey, we try!
We are both pessimistic by nature and tend towards caring about other people’s perceptions, as well as being critical of ourselves. Honestly, there’s a reason the whole ‘I’ve never done anything worthy of being praised’ thing in Oosawa Ch.42 hits me hard every time I read it.
This is a point that I feel I’ve extrapolated for Andrei from the manga, but is in large part affected by my own personality — our lack of natural adeptness in a leadership position, as well as dislike of being a leader at all. We would be better at an supporting/advisory position in a team, and while I’ve been fortunate to have the chance to occupy those kinds of positions throughout my school career (and sort of in my career... career? i’m probably still too much of a greenhorn to be considered much support yet though) and was able to apply myself well, Andrei gets the short end of the stick with his canon position, which only adds to the perceived hopelessness of the situation for him.
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devil-kindred · 2 years
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a million ways to grieve (and yet silence always speaks)
Admiral Hackett attends a private memorial for Commander Shepard, and says goodbye to the daughter he never got to know.
read it on ao3
In the immediate aftermath of SSV Normandy's destruction, little changes. And why should it, when news has not yet reached anyone in Citadel space? Life continues on, yet unchanged: Conrad Verner raves on about meeting the illustrious Commander, Captain Andersson continues to wade through a space system's worth of paperwork and encrypted files, and Hannah Shepard finally - finally - sets up an official meeting for her daughter and for the father who's only been but a single FTL call away. She types the message quickly, having had the words for so long she knows them by heart, and hits send.
It is a message that goes unread— the network still yet unaware of the loss of one Commander Manon Shepard, first human Spectre and beloved captain of the SSV Normandy.
To: Manon Shepard From: Hannah Shepard
Manon,
With the whole Saren debacle and it’s ensuing chaos, it’s been hard to find the time to write this. I’ve always told you that you’d meet your father someday, when you and we were finally settled enough for it to be possible. And I can’t think of a better time than now. Reports say the Normandy is due back to citadel space in two days time— meet us at the park area near La Huerta at 1400 hours. We can’t wait to see you.
Love and safe travels,
Hannah
In two days time, Hannah Shepard and Steven Hackett will wait— Hannah bearing hazelnut lattes, Manon’s favorite, and Steven with a ship friendly plant and a stuffed plush fish he’s held onto for far too long. The meeting time will come and go and they will wait with a growing sense of dread as the news rolls in.
Manon Elise Shepard, first human to join the N7 ranks; Commander of the SSV Normandy. Hero of the Citadel. KIA.
A week out from the devastating news, the Normandy crew will host a memorial. One unlike that of the press-filled, alliance propaganda stuffed affair crawling with recruiters— and news crew vultures alike— disguised as Manon’s final send off. It will be a private affair.
One with invitations extended only to the Normandy crew, and those whom she held dearest. An invitation extended to Hannah for a private memorial held at Joker’s apartment— Manon’s own personal quarters having long since been scrubbed of any trace of her— and she will acquiesce, uncertain even as her mother if she would be truly welcome, but insist that an invitation be extended to Admiral Hackett as well.
If the crew think it an odd request, they are polite enough not to say otherwise.
It will be a somber affair to be sure, yet still full of love as the crew share tales, one by one, of Manon’s escapades. Of her bravery, of her unerring desire to help others, and of the way she always made everyone on the ship feel nothing less than welcomed. How she turned them all from strangers, into a family.
Hannah will be saddened, but smile even in her grief— talking animatedly about Manon as a child. Of how she both endeared herself to everyone on the station and drove them up the wall in the same breath. Yet always, at the heart of everything she did, was a desire to help.
Steven will, at first glued to Hannah’s side in a manner that quickly suggests that they were perhaps more than just fellow military personnel to one another, wander listlessly through the living room— moving from photo to photo with a drink in hand though it’s remains untouched. He'll find himself lingering before a photo of Manon, dressed in a white shirt with a faded logo— something about an “initiative”— and pair of bright blue sweatpants perched atop a table in what he he'll have no doubt is in the Normandy’s mess.
“Like that one, huh.” Joker’s voice will be somber, yet enough to give even someone with Steven’s experience a start. “Most people, Lieutenant Alenko included, are drawn to that one.” He'll say, waving a hand towards the lieutenant himself, standing with Hannah near a photo of the commander taken on Noveria: Manon dressed in full gear, peering out at the whirling snow with a mix of wonder and determination.
“But not you, I take it.”
“Nah, this one’s always been my favorite. It’s one of the few times we ever saw Manon— I mean, the Commander—“ he'll backtrack, but not quickly enough for Steven to realize that he’s grieving just as much as himself, if not Hannah. “… She didn’t get the chance to sit back and just… take a few steps away from her role. I mean, yeah she’s always Commander Shepard no matter what. But late nights, between missions, between planet and system hopping… she’d come down to the mess and sit with the rest of us. Tell jokes and stories, check in with everybody on the crew. She’s… she was,” he'll correct, voice wobbling. “A good person. A great one even. Better than all of us combined.”
Joker will shift from foot to foot in the ensuing silence, feeling both unburdened and heavy as a stone at the same time.
“She was really something special, Admiral.”
Steven wil nod, almost imperceptibly, and wait until Joker moves along to pull a small data disk from his pockets. One containing footage of him with an infant Manon in his arms and Hannah at his side— on the one and only family vacation they’d ever had. He will hold another in his hands, one full of everything he’d ever wanted to say to her, and place it on the table as the tears begin to break free.
He will leave the memorial without another word.
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amouxcreationx · 2 months
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Game Of Thrones: Reborn As Pokémon( Xerneas )
Description:
In a world where the faith of the Old Ones, ancient and faceless gods residing in the green wood, once thrived among the First Men and the Children of the Forest, a shift occurred with the Andal Invasion. The Faith of the Seven gained prominence, leading to the destruction of weirwoods in the southern realms, except for the Isle of Faces guarded by green men. However, in the North, the faith in the Old Ones persisted, with every castle maintaining a Godswood and a heart tree adorned with mysterious faces.
Unlike other mortal gods, the identity of the Old Ones remained elusive, represented only by weirwood trees, sometimes resembling a horned deity. The rulers of the First Men, instead of adorning themselves with precious helms, chose antler helms, considering them divine symbols connecting to their bloodline origins.
Enter Jay, who, after a reincarnation, unexpectedly becomes the God of Life, Xerneas, inadvertently revitalizing the faith in the Old Ones. This sets the stage for a story exploring the clash of ancient beliefs, the resurgence of a forgotten faith, and the mystical journey of a Pokémon deity reborn in a world torn between dead and living.
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Chapter 1:
Once upon a time, there was a guy named Jay, just your average college student leading a pretty ordinary life. But one weekend, he decided to watch the last episode of the Game of Thrones series. Now, Jay had mixed feelings about the ending. He wasn't thrilled with it, no matter which way you looked at it.
If Daenerys survived, well, she went on a crazy killing spree due to her extreme emotional issues. That wasn't exactly a happy ending. And if she was dead for good, why did Jon have to go into exile? Jay thought Jon could've made a great king with Bran's guidance, the guy they call "the Broken."
For Jay, there were just too many unnecessary deaths that messed with the emotions of fans, from the beginning to the very end. But, with a not-so-happy heart, Jay decided to call it a night. After all, he had to wake up early for class the next day.
Little did he know that this would be his last night as a human. When he woke up, he had become something else entirely—a Pokémon.
In the realm of dreams, Jay found himself entangled in an unusual sensation as he attempted to move. An invisible force seemed to bind him, rendering him immobile. When he struggled to open his eyes, an impenetrable darkness surrounded him, and his mind blanked. A mysterious vision unfolded before him—men gathered around a peculiar tree, praying in diverse languages that Jay miraculously comprehended. As time passed, he witnessed others, growing old while he remained unchanged.
A peculiar figure, a short human, and green beings with horns, worshipped an enigmatic tree in his vision. Intriguingly, diverse groups formed pacts beneath a white, peculiar tree, and Jay sensed a connection to his own knowledge. Amidst the dreams, a young man with white hair and violet eyes, accompanied by noble ladies with identical features, appeared. A colossal, fiery beast soared through the sky, dispelling Jay's doubts. The realization hit him: these were not mere dreams.
Meanwhile, in the Gods Eye River, powerful ripples emerged, and the Isle of Faces witnessed an extraordinary event. The heart tree bathed in an ethereal green glow, illuminating the entire island. A divine aura enveloped Westeros, heralded by the joyous cries of animals and birds. The green men knelt in prayer as the tree transformed into a majestic quadrupedal creature, stag-like with four pairs of antlers. Its body was adorned with gold-trimmed legs and vibrant markings, and its eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity.
As the transformation unfolded, the creature, Xerneas, radiated seven colors, signifying the sharing of eternal life. The river celebrated, the forest rejoiced, and a melodic scream resonated like a soothing symphony. In that moment, Jay, now awakened as Xerneas, gazed upon the strange men kneeling before him and could not help but ask, "Where am I?" The epic scene unfolded as the deity of Life emerged in a world forever changed by his presence.
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Chapter 2:
Surrounded by a dense wood, Xerneas found himself in the company of mysterious beings, each adorned with antlers on their heads, kneeling in reverence before him. Their numbers exceeded fifty, and as Xerneas surveyed the scene, he realized his own body emitted a radiant glow, pulsating with an ethereal energy. The revelation struck him that he was no longer human, yet an inexplicable calmness enveloped him, guided by the soothing energy that seemed to emanate from the very essence of the world.
As Xerneas took a step forward, each footfall transformed the ground beneath into a vibrant canvas, adorned with blossoming wildflowers. His newfound ability to awaken and stimulate nature with his mere presence intrigued him. A tranquil aura enveloped him, and the very air seemed to resonate with the shared joy of the world, echoing the happiness spurred by his divine existence.
Moving with purpose, Xerneas walked gracefully towards the kneeling green men. With each step, the wildflowers bloomed and the air became filled with a revitalizing energy. The beings before him remained in a reverent posture, their hearts resonating with joy. The closer Xerneas approached, the more he sensed the genuine happiness emanating from these enigmatic creatures.
As Xerneas drew nearer to the expectant green men, a profound uncertainty settled within him. The weight of their anticipation hung in the air, demanding a response. He felt a profound connection to the visions that had unfolded, a realization that he was a deity, revered by these enigmatic beings and all living forms in the vicinity.
Speaking in the ancient tongue through telepathy, Xerneas addressed the green men with a voice that resonated like a calming melody, "Greetings, children of the wood. I am... uncertain of what I am and why you revere me so. The visions I have witnessed suggest a connection, but the details elude me. Can you shed light on my purpose and the reason for your devotion?"
The green men, still in their reverent posture, gazed up at Xerneas with a mixture of awe and respect. Among them, an elder figure rose, his voice carrying a reverence that echoed through the sacred grove, "Great Old one, deity of Life, your arrival was foretold in the whispers of the wind and the rustling of leaves. You are the embodiment of nature's harmony, a force to be revered. Our people have awaited your presence for generations, and now, you stand before us."
Feeling a sense of confusion and a desire for clarity, Xerneas decided to walk past the kneeling green men. As he did, his view expanded to the Gods Eye River, where fish leaped joyously in a greeting of their own. The very essence of nature seemed to celebrate his presence. He proceeded toward the riverbank, catching a glimpse of his reflection.
The river's inhabitants, the jumping fish, observed in silent reverence as Xerneas gazed upon his own reflection. In that moment, a single word surfaced in his mind, "Pokémon?... Xerneas!" He endeavored to etch every detail of the majestic creature into his memory, seeking to understand the truth of what he had become.
As he immersed himself in contemplation, the once lively river grew silent, the fish seemingly attuned to the sacred nature of Xerneas' thoughts.
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Chapter 3:
As Xerneas continued to gaze into his reflection, the realization struck him like a thunderbolt – he had become the living embodiment of a crossover between two distinct worlds. The tangible reality surrounding him defied the boundaries of his former existence, making it increasingly challenging to convince himself that this was not a mere dream. Every detail, every sensation, felt undeniably real, blurring the lines between the fantastical and the familiar.
With a sigh, Xerneas raised his head, fixing his gaze upon the awe-inspiring aurora that adorned the sky in celebration of his divine presence. The vibrant hues danced in the heavens, a testament to the harmonious connection between the ethereal and the earthly.
In an impulsive gesture, Xerneas extended his gold-trimmed leg towards the calm river, a silent invitation to traverse its waters. The green men gathered along the riverbank, their eyes filled with curiosity and a touch of concern, as they witnessed their revered deity preparing to depart.
With deliberate steps, Xerneas ventured into the river, the water parting with a tranquil grace to accommodate his divine passage. The green men, their faces reflecting a mixture of awe and uncertainty, observed as their god walked upon the liquid surface. The river remained calm, paying homage to the deity's ethereal connection with nature.
As Xerneas neared the midpoint of the river, he turned his head to acknowledge the gathered green men, their forms blurred by the mist rising from the water. A moment of anticipation hung in the air, and then, with a subtle shimmer, Xerneas vanished into the mystic veil of the river.
At the other end of the river, emerging from the mist, Xerneas found himself amidst a group of fishermen who stood enchanted by the celestial spectacle unfolding in the sky. The radiant Aurora painted a breathtaking tapestry above, casting its vibrant hues across the heavens. The fishermen, lost in the beauty of the cosmic display, remained blissfully unaware of the towering presence approaching them.
Xerneas, standing at an imposing height of ten feet, advanced silently, his majestic form just twenty feet away from the unsuspecting onlookers. Like a gentle breeze, he traversed the riverbank without causing a ripple, his existence blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings.
Without alerting the fishermen to his presence, Xerneas continued his journey. In the distance, the formidable fortress of Harrenhal loomed against the horizon, a testament to the historical tapestry woven into the fabric of Westeros. However, Xerneas was drawn to the embrace of the woods near the God's Eye River, where the whispers of nature beckoned him forward.
As Xerneas ventured deeper into the woods, the vibrant tapestry of nature unfolded around him. The air was thick with an ethereal energy that seemed to draw the very essence of the forest towards the deity of Life. Soon, he found himself surrounded by a congregation of wild animals, each approaching him with a gentle curiosity, devoid of any hostility.
The animals, sensing the divine presence of Xerneas, stood together in a harmonious display of unity. Wolf pups, their playful spirits evident, approached the towering deity with a sense of innocence. Great elks, majestic and regal, bowed in silent reverence, acknowledging the sacredness of the moment. The forest echoed with the haunting melody of a wolf pack, their collective howls resonating in a symphony of nature's song.
Squirrels, agile and nimble, added their own notes to the melody, creating a harmonious blend of sounds that seemed to dance with the rustling leaves. Fireflies, like living stars, illuminated the forest with their soft glow, guiding Xerneas through the enchanted realm.
As the deity of Life walked forward, the wild animals accompanied him in a majestic procession.
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Chapter 4:
Under the morning sun, a playful breeze danced through the air, carrying the scent of the nearby Gods Eye. Shira, a spirited 10-year-old girl with a love for adventure and her fisherman father's crafted bows, found herself in search of a moment of freedom away from her mother's watchful eyes.
With nimble fingers, Shira, a free spirit known for giving her mother frequent headaches, located a hidden bow within her home. Seizing the opportunity when the others were away for fishing near the Gods Eye, she quietly stepped outside to indulge in her favorite pastime.
The radiant daylight illuminated her path as she strolled through the surroundings, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Shira's gaze settled on a small wild rabbit peacefully grazing on the grass. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she readied a bow, a makeshift creation capable of launching arrows with youthful enthusiasm.
However, as Shira aimed at the unsuspecting rabbit, her arrow succumbed to the whims of the wind, veering off course and falling to the side. Undeterred, the determined girl, fueled by her adventurous spirit, decided to chase after the rabbit. A playful pursuit ensued as the rabbit, now alerted to Shira's presence, darted towards the safety of the nearby woods.
Shira's agile feet carried her through the terrain as she persistently pursued her furry target. The woodland became a labyrinth of excitement and mystery as the chase continued. Yet, in the midst of her pursuit, Shira suddenly realized that she had lost her way.
The little rabbit, cornered and with no escape route, huddled in the shadows. Shira, momentarily disoriented, looked around, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and determination. The forest, filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and the distant call of birds.
As Shira continued to look back, her initial pursuit of the wild rabbit became a distant memory. The dense foliage of the forest had swallowed her surroundings, and with each step, she found herself straying further away from the familiar paths leading to her home. The daylight filtered through the leaves overhead, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor as Shira became increasingly lost in the woods.
Unbeknownst to Shira, deep within the heart of the forest, Xerneas rested near a concealed cave. Anticipating the veil of darkness to descend, he patiently awaited the opportune moment to continue his journey through the land. Aware of his own formidable powers, Xerneas exercised caution since he is just transmigrated, choosing to avoid direct contact with humans until he could harness his abilities to their full potential.
His resting place, surrounded by vines and tall grass, veiled his presence, ensuring that he remained undetected by any passing humans. The cave provided a sanctuary, guarded by vigilant wolves that patrolled the outskirts of the veiled area. Inside, a collection of leaves, meticulously gathered by industrious squirrels and birds, formed a comfortable nest for Xerneas to rest upon. 
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Chapter 5:
The once bold spirit of young Shira began to wane as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows throughout the woods. Her eyes welled with tears, fear encroaching upon her as the once lively forest grew eerily silent. Desperate to suppress her emotions, she fought back the urge to cry, clinging to the shreds of courage that remained.
The onset of twilight brought a momentary reprieve, as a myriad of fireflies emerged, their gentle glow dancing in the dimming light. Yet, the fleeting comfort was shattered by the haunting howls of wolves, their distant cries resonating through the now ominous forest. Shira's heart pounded, and a shiver ran down her spine as the wolves closed in on her position.
A black wolf, its eyes gleaming in the gathering darkness, approached Shira with a low growl. Panic seized her, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The encroaching pack surrounded her, closing the distance with an air of hostility.
Unknown to Shira, Xerneas had been aware of her presence from the moment she entered the woods. However, he hadn't anticipated that the young girl would venture deeper into the heart of the forest, reaching dangerously close to his secluded resting place. Concerned for her safety, Xerneas decided to intervene before the wolves could harm her.
With a melody-like voice that echoed through the stillness of the night, Xerneas unleashed a soothing call. The wolves, informed of his benevolent intention, abandoned their aggression and retreated to his side. Shira, bewildered yet relieved, watched as the wolves withdrew.
However, Xerneas had hesitated to reveal his true form to the young girl. Yet, with the child's safety at stake, he decided to step forward, his entire being bathed in an ethereal glow, transitioning into a majestic battle mode.
Shira's initial fear transformed into a mixture of awe and wonder as she gazed upon the resplendent deity before her. Slowly extending her arms towards Xerneas, her eyes remained fixed on the magnificent being, captivated by the otherworldly presence that radiated an aura of both power and benevolence.
As Xerneas approached Shira, the young girl extended her arms towards the majestic deity. With a graceful movement, Xerneas lowered his head, allowing Shira to touch the ethereal creature. In that moment, a surge of energy coursed through her, and her tearful eyes transformed into gleams of joy. The connection with Xerneas left her feeling lighter, revitalized, as if she had tapped into a wellspring of life itself.
With a gentle lift of his head, Xerneas began to walk, leading Shira in the direction from which she had come. Overwhelmed by joy, she hesitated at first but soon found herself following the majestic creature. The distant howl of a wolf echoed through the woods, urging her to keep pace.
Throughout the journey, Shira attempted to engage Xerneas in conversation, her youthful curiosity bubbling over with questions. However Xerneas remained silent, his gaze fixed forward.
As they neared the exit of the forest, Shira's eyes widened with joy as she saw a search party assembled at the forest's edge. Men, including her father, were readying themselves to venture into the woods in search of the lost child. Shira's heart skipped a beat, torn between the newfound enchantment of the forest and the familiarity of her family.
In a sudden, solemn moment, Shira noticed that Xerneas was no longer by her side. The forest guardian she thought had vanished, leaving her to face the reality of her return.
The search party, comprised of fishermen's and a hedge knight, spotted Shira and rushed towards her with a mix of relief and concern. Her father, a blend of emotions, embraced and scolded her. Shira responded with a smile, her gaze occasionally drifting towards the depths of the forest where Xerneas had disappeared.
Unbeknownst to Shira, Xerneas watched her departure from a distance, his ethereal form blending with the foliage. As the girl left the enchanted woods, he prepared to embark on a new journey, weaving his presence into the tapestry of nature and life.
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Chapter 6:
As the child, Shira, along with her people, left the enchanted woods, Xerneas observed from a distance, hidden by the mist that enveloped him. Sensing the genuine concern and care of every creature that had gathered around him during his brief stay, Xerneas felt a profound connection with the inhabitants of the forest.
The great elks and deers, their majestic forms bowed in a gesture of reverence, silently conveyed their respect to the departing guardian. Wolves, in their pack, howled under the moonlit sky, their mournful yet respectful voices echoing through the woods. Even the birds, concealed in the darkness, screeched their melodic farewells to Xerneas.
Though he had spent only half a day among these beings, Xerneas could sense the depth of their attachment and the sincerity of their emotions. Every creature, large or small, had come together to express their care and gratitude.
With a graceful stride, Xerneas walked away from the gathering, disappearing into the mist that he had conjured to shroud his presence.
During that night, a strong mist descended upon the region surrounding Castle Darry and the adjacent river. Most men had retreated to their homes, unaware of the mystical presence weaving through the mist. Those who dared to venture outside found themselves disoriented, lost in the sudden emergence of the ethereal haze.
Xerneas, concealed within the cloak of mist and darkness, moved with a graceful elegance towards the distant Vale. The night provided the perfect cover for the legendary Pokémon, allowing it to traverse the land unnoticed. With a speed that rivaled even the most formidable Pokémon, Xerneas effortlessly covered vast distances, leaving a trail of mist in its wake.
Before the first light of dawn painted the horizon, Xerneas stood near the top of a mountain, overlooking the vast expanse of the Bite. The bay, a large inlet off the north-eastern coast of Westeros, separated the southern coast of the North from the northern coast of the Vale of Arryn. The Neck ran along the western edge of the bay, and the islands known as the Three Sisters lay within the Bite.
Though the mountains of the Vale were known for their inhospitality and challenging terrain, Xerneas, as a Pokémon, effortlessly navigated the peaks. With a graceful leap, it soared through the mountain range, the strong mist cloaking its movements.
Descending from the lofty heights of the mountain, Xerneas moved towards the Bite, its ethereal form hidden within a cloak of mist. The fish in the bay seemed to part, creating an unusual and mesmerizing path for the legendary Pokémon as it approached the waters of the Bite. Boats bobbed on the surface, their fishermen unaware of the mystical presence drawing near.
A sudden wave accompanied by the emergence of a strong mist stirred terror among the fishermen. The sea, once calm, now danced with unpredictability. Yet, amidst the chaos, the presence of Xerneas remained concealed. Xerneas bypassed the ships with an otherworldly finesse, not causing a ripple in the water.
As Xerneas crossed the vast expanse of the Bite, it moved with a purposeful elegance. The mist clung to its form, a protective shroud that masked its presence from those who sailed the bay. The Three Sisters, nestled within the waters of the Bite, bore witness to the silent passage of the guardian of life.
Leaving the bay behind, Xerneas continued its journey towards Moat Cailin, the once ancient stronghold of the First Men.
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Chapter 7:
In the heart of the vast marshlands known as the Neck, there lived a unique and resilient people called the crannogmen. Their villages, fashioned from reeds and thatch, perched upon floating islands amidst the mire. These humble abodes were a testament to their resourcefulness and their intimate connection with the untamed landscape that surrounded them.
The crannogmen, so named for their distinctive way of life, were a humble and poor folk. Their existence revolved around the bounty of the marsh—fishing and frogging providing their sustenance. Their villages, though modest, held a certain charm, their structures blending seamlessly with the marsh's natural beauty.
Legends and rumors surrounded the crannogmen, some suggesting that their smaller stature was a result of intermarriage with the mystical children of the forest. Others, more skeptically, attributed their size to the harsh reality of poor nutrition. Yet, the truth lay hidden in the veins of every crannogman—a trace of the ancient bloodline of the children of the forest.
Despite their modest living conditions, the crannogmen held steadfast to the faith of the old ways. In the South, where the influence of the Faith of the Seven and the Andals took root, the crannogmen remained a beacon of the ancient beliefs. They were disparaged by outsiders with derogatory names like "frogeaters" and "mudmen." The ironborn, ever known for their seafaring conquests, dubbed them bog devils—a testament to the crannogmen's resilience in the face of persistent challenges.
Notoriously difficult to conquer, the crannogmen maintained their independence and their unique way of life. The ruler of these marshlands, House Reed of Greywater Watch, held the reins of leadership.
In the midst of his journey towards the North, Xerneas felt an inexplicable pull, a calling from the heart of the woods that compelled him to halt his stride. Turning to gaze towards the source of the mysterious energy, his eyes penetrated the dense swamps and thickets, reaching the region nestled between the Flint Cliff and the Neck.
There, beneath the ancient canopy of the woods, Xerneas beheld a poignant scene. A group of people, their faces etched with both despair and hope, had gathered around a heart tree. Their fervent prayers resonated through the air, a solemn chorus that conveyed the weight of their emotions. Among them, a couple stood, their hearts heavy with grief, as they beseeched the gods for the recovery of their child, who lay stricken by the relentless grip of the greywater fever.
The onlookers, though weak and wearied, offered solace and support to the grieving parents. In the heart of this somber assembly, the oldest Weirwood tree in the region stood sentinel, its gnarled branches reaching towards the heavens. Xerneas, an observer, felt a profound connection with the devoted souls who sought solace beneath the sacred tree.
As the collective energy of the gathering manifested in a quiet symphony of prayers and cries, Xerneas sensed an ethereal force gathering around him. His antlers, adorned with an otherworldly grace, began to radiate in seven colors that shimmered through the mist. The mystical aura of the Weirwood, coupled with the fervent devotion of the people, kindled a deep sense of attachment within the legendary Pokémon.
Moved by an invisible force, Xerneas took a deliberate step forward, the mist swirling around him as he advanced towards the Neck.
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Chapter 8:
That fateful night, Lord Howland Reed returned to his seat in Greywater Watch with a heavy heart, accompanied by his wife. The woods had become a place of solace for him, a sanctuary where he sought the guidance and compassion of the old gods. His men, too, had joined him in this sacred pilgrimage, gathering beneath the oldest Weirwood tree in the region to offer prayers for his only son, Jojen Reed.
Greywater fever had swept through the marshlands, claiming the lives of many, including some of Lord Reed's loyal men. The disease had taken hold of Jojen, casting a shadow of despair over the Lord's heart. The woods echoed with their desperate prayers, a chorus of sorrow that reverberated through the mire.
In the midst of their collective plea, a soothing sound, almost like a celestial melody, reached Lord Reed's ears. Intrigued, he and his men emerged from their homes, drawn by the ethereal sound that seemed to permeate the air. To their astonishment, the swamp that had long been veiled in mist started to clear.
In the visible eyes of the gathered folk, a transformation unfolded. The once murky and somber landscape blushed with the vibrant hues of revitalized grass. Trees, dormant for years, began to grow before their very eyes, stretching towards the sky in a display of newfound life. A gentle breeze swept through the mire, carrying with it a sense of renewal and hope.
As the enchantment continued, the people felt a change within themselves. Bodies that had aged and withered now seemed to reverse in time. Grey hairs darkened, and those who had succumbed to illness experienced a miraculous recovery. An ethereal energy, soothing and revitalizing, invaded their bodies, knitting together the fabric of their beings.
The transformation extended to the once murky waters of the swamps. Clear and pristine, the water bodies revealed their hidden beauty. Trees bore fruits, a symbol of the newfound fertility that had graced the land. Fishes leaped in joy, their scales shimmering in the now-clear waters.
Tears of joy streamed down the faces of the people as they beheld the miracle unfolding before their very eyes. In the clearing mist, every man and woman dropped to their knees, overwhelmed with gratitude for the blessing bestowed upon them by the great old ones. The air resonated with heartfelt thanks, a chorus of voices raised in awe and appreciation.
In the distance, a silent observer watched the jubilation unfold. Xerneas, the guardian of life, remained at a respectful distance, his majestic form dimming as his antlers returned to their neutral state. Xerneas having witnessed the genuine gratitude of the people, decided to resume its journey towards the North.
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Chapter 9:
Xerneas finally arrived at Barrowland, a place filled with rolling hills and numerous barrows. It was already night, but Xerneas was determined to reach the woods ahead before taking a break. Despite the darkness, he pressed on without looking back, driven by a purpose that he couldn't quite understand.
All he knew for certain was that he was heading North, and a confidence surged within him as he began to explore his legendary Pokémon abilities, testing out his powers. The only thing he hadn't tried yet was his destructive side, but he felt a strange resistance within himself, a hesitation to unleash such power.
To avoid drawing attention in the human-populated area he anticipated crossing, Xerneas cloaked his presence with mist.
Xerneas soon arrived near Torrhen Square, the home of House Tallhart. The area was situated by a large lake, surrounded by woods. After quenching his thirst from the river but not necessary just out of habit, Xerneas made his way towards Wolfswood, where he planned to take a break.
Moving cautiously, he had to pause from time to time, sensing the presence of humans. He waited for them to move away before continuing, relying on the mist to disguise him. If someone did catch a glimpse, they might just mistake him for an adult elk, thanks to the mist serving as his veil.
Once within the woods, Xerneas released a soft call, summoning his subjects. Soon, a pack of wolves, wild leopards, elks, and even snakes gathered around. Xerneas hesitated at the sight of the snakes, knowing that, as a Pokémon, he was vulnerable to poison and personality based scared of snakes. Nonetheless, the creatures led him deeper into the forest.
On a hillside outside the castle walls, the ranger Will stood before Ned, knowing his sentence was death for claiming to have seen White Walkers. Ned, wielding his family's ancient blade named Ice, carried out the punishment as his sons, even young Bran, watched. After the grim task, he shared a lesson with Bran: "Our way is the old way. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." When Bran questioned if the deserter truly saw White Walkers, Ned assured him that they were creatures long gone for thousands of years.
As they journeyed back to the castle, the group encountered a dead stag on the road, partially disemboweled. Theon suggested it might be the work of a mountain lion, but Eddard dismissed the idea, stating none lived in the area. Further investigation revealed a rare dead female direwolf, killed with a stag antler lodged in her throat. The female had died after giving birth, and her five pups huddled nearby for warmth.
Approaching the dead direwolf, a sudden growl echoed from the woods. More than 50 wolves emerged one by one, creating a terrifying sight. Eddard Stark, along with his castle's master-at-arms Rodrik Cassel, urged Bran, Jon, Robb, and Theon to retreat. Despite Jon's insistence on staying, Eddard pushed him to go with his siblings. As they retreated, they noticed many elks standing alongside the wolves, an unusual sight.
While they withdrew, Eddard sensed the presence of Xerneas, barely visible through the trees. For safety, they refrained from making any sudden moves, as the overwhelming number of wolves gave them no advantage. Xerneas slowly emerged from the woods, approaching the dead direwolf. He then turned towards where the Starks had retreated. Xerneas appeared to express satisfaction, perhaps even a metaphorical smile, as it dawned on him that he was an early participant in the intricate game of thrones that was just beginning to unfold. His antlers began to grow, shining in seven colors. His entire body glowed in green, and the once lifeless direwolf started to show signs of life. Slowly, it rose and bowed in the presence of Xerneas. The Xerneas then turned towards the forest, leading the direwolf and her pups, guarded by a massive pack of wolves and a group of elks.
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Chapter 10:
When they got back to Winterfell, Eddard Stark noticed an unusual surge in wild animals, especially a large pack of wolves surrounding them. To tackle this, he ordered his men to organize a hunting party. However, what puzzled Eddard was the wolves' restraint; they didn't attack, despite having the upper hand in numbers. This defied the usual behavior of wild animals.
Adding to the mystery, Eddard and his son Bran both sensed something extraordinary. Eddard could vaguely see a glimpse of Xerneas, a mystical presence that brought a calming effect to his mind. Bran, even without seeing Xerneas, felt a strong attraction to the forest when the wolves closed in.
That night, an unusual dream enveloped every Stark, even Jon. Despite sharing the dream, they were separated, unable to reach each other. Arya's screams echoed through the dream as she dashed through a mysterious forest, causing panic among her family.
Jon, prompted by Arya's cries, tried to follow the sound but couldn't get any closer. The same was true for Robb, who also heard Arya's distress. Meanwhile, Sansa hesitated to move, standing before a non-hostile yet intimidating wolf.
Eddard, navigating the dream world, was unaware of how he ended up there, staying vigilant. In his journey through the forest, he encountered a black wolf. Though unarmed, Eddard remained cautious, but the wolf gestured a direction, perplexing him. Despite uncertainty, he decided to follow.
As Jon drew closer to Arya from one direction, Robb approached from another. Eventually, they found Arya, captivated by a wolf standing before her. The wolf, seemingly guiding them, started moving, prompting the Starks to follow. With no other choice and the dream feeling eerily real.
Soon, they spotted Eddard being guided by another wolf. They called out to him, catching his attention. The family gathered together, and Eddard embraced Arya, who was frightened from being lost in the unfamiliar forest. Eddard, astonished by the presence of his children in the same dream, listened as they shared their confusion upon waking up in this strange place.
Fear gripped them all as they pondered how they ended up in this mysterious realm, guided by peculiar wolves. Sansa, led by a grey wolf, was the last to join the group. She ran to Eddard, seeking comfort and safety, and tearfully hugged him, overwhelmed by the sudden and bizarre environment surrounding them.
Suddenly, a massive albino wolf, a dire wolf, emerged from the forest, putting everyone on edge. Eddard instinctively positioned himself in front of his family, ready to protect them. The wolves that had guided them earlier hurried towards the dire wolf, who surprisingly showed no signs of aggression, easing Eddard's tension.
The dire wolf began walking in a specific direction, prompting the Starks to follow cautiously. As they trailed behind, they discovered Bran standing before a peculiar dead tree. The tree, no taller than 12 or 15 feet, appeared lifeless amid the surrounding woods. Eddard approached Bran, who seemed mesmerized by the energy emanating from the dry tree.
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Chapter 11:
Eddard called out softly as he approached Bran, who remained oblivious to their presence. "Bran..." he said, but Bran didn't respond, captivated by the dead tree. Eddard, growing increasingly concerned, took hold of Bran's hand and led him along with the rest of the Stark children. The atmosphere around them felt tense, making them all nervous.
Even as Eddard tried to get Bran's attention, Bran's focus remained fixed on the dead tree. Eddard, more worried, turned Bran's face towards him and said, "Bran, look here..." Finally, Bran spoke in an emotionless voice, "Father, the Old One is awakened." Before Eddard could inquire further, the entire dream abruptly ended.
Eddard was the first to wake, startling Catelyn with his unusual sweating and unresponsiveness. Worried, she tried to rouse him without success, prompting her to call for servants and inform Maester Luwin about her husband's condition. The maester examined Eddard but couldn't determine the cause.
Growing increasingly anxious, Catelyn sought comfort from her children, only to find them in the same mysterious state. The helplessness she felt deepened as her pleas went unanswered. With the assistance of servants, Catelyn moved her children to a common hall for Maester Luwin to examine, Jon included. Despite her reservations about Jon, she couldn't deny her concern for his well-being. Filled with uncertainty, she could only offer prayers to the gods as she rushed towards the Sept for solace.
Upon returning from the Sept, Catelyn found no change in the situation. Servants were bustling around, aiding Maester Luwin in examining Lord Eddard and the Stark children. Feeling utterly helpless, Catelyn walked over to Eddard, knelt beside him, and began fervently praying to her gods, desperately hoping for a response.
Suddenly, to her surprise, Eddard nervously got up, causing Catelyn to stagger back. One by one, each Stark child slowly awoke. Overwhelmed with happiness, Catelyn couldn't hold back her tears. She embraced Eddard, who was visibly confused by the sudden gathering around him. The other Stark children, except for Bran, who remained in a daze, also started coming to their senses.
Confused and trying to make sense of the situation, Eddard turned to Maester Luwin to learn why he and his children were gathered in the hall so abruptly. The maester explained that they had experienced something akin to sleep paralysis, yet different in its own way. Eddard looked at his children, who seemed to share a silent understanding of what had occurred.
However, Eddard noticed the absence of Bran. Concerned, he scanned the room and, unable to find Bran, turned to Catelyn, asking, "Where is Bran?" It was at that moment that everyone realized Bran was missing from their midst. 
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Chapter 12:
Servants and guards mobilized, launching a search for Bran wherever they could. Unbeknownst to them, Bran had already reached the Godswood. Although he was no longer in a daze, nervousness consumed him. He couldn't comprehend why he was compelled to move toward the Godswood, and he was puzzled by the fact that the guards didn't stop him from entering at night. Oddly, they didn't acknowledge him at all, as if they couldn't see him. Undeterred, Bran continued to walk along a cracked stone path until he stood near the ancient weirwood tree.
Bran's gaze shifted nervously between the weirwood tree and the surroundings. Suddenly, he noticed the red leaves of the weirwood falling one by one, a slow and unnatural descent. The phenomenon extended to the other trees around him, their leaves dropping inexplicably, intensifying Bran's unease.
As the leaves continued to fall, the once vibrant Godswood became lifeless. The ground was now covered in fallen leaves, visibly drying up. Bran, bewildered, picked up a dry leaf, watching it disintegrate into dust in the air. The entire area was transformed, the fallen leaves turning to dust and dissipating with the wind.
Just as Bran grappled with the strange scene, servants searching for him entered the Godswood. However, upon entering, they momentarily forgot their purpose. The once lively Godswood had become a dry, desolate land, sending shivers down their spines. They looked around in disbelief, unable to comprehend the eerie transformation taking place in the sacred Godswood.
Witnessing the unusual spectacle in the Godswood, the servants hesitated to venture further and instead hurried to inform their Lord about the strange happenings. Eddard, upon learning about the situation, wasted no time and swiftly ran towards the Godswood. His children and men followed suit, puzzled by their Lord's sudden urgency.
Observing Eddard's unexpected behavior, those who caught sight of him also joined the rush towards the Godswood, driven by curiosity and concern. Eddard's mind echoed with the haunting words spoken by Bran in the dream: "Old One is awakened.".
Before they could reach the Godswood, a miraculous transformation began to unfold around Bran. His eyes widened in astonishment as the ground beneath him bloomed with radiant flowers, and silky green grass sparkled in the moonlight. Even the dry trees surrounding him began to bud leaves, transforming into lush and vibrant greenery.
Bran couldn't believe his eyes as he witnessed this extraordinary sight. His gaze then fell upon the once-dry weirwood tree, now undergoing an even more miraculous transformation. The tree adorned itself with golden leaves that emitted a gentle glow in the night. Overwhelmed, Bran took a step back, struggling to comprehend the surreal scene.
As others reached near Bran, they too were left dumbfounded by the breathtaking spectacle. The only word that echoed in the minds of every man and woman witnessing the miracle was "Beautiful.".
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Chapter 13:
In that moment, all concerns and worries were forgotten as every person in the gathering marveled at the extraordinary scene. Eddard stepped forward towards Bran, his gaze fixed on the ancient weirwood tree in their castle. The tree now bore golden leaves that emitted a gentle glow, and even the carved face seemed to be smiling.
The mysterious happenings left everyone puzzled, unable to comprehend the why behind it all. Suddenly, some men and women couldn't contain their overwhelming emotions. Kneeling with tears streaming down their faces, they began cheering, exclaiming, "My God has answered my prayer!" The collective realization swept through the gathering as people noticed not only the enchanting sight but also the transformative effects on themselves. They felt younger, and ailments that had plagued their bodies were miraculously cured.
The awe-inspiring atmosphere prompted everyone to kneel, as they believed they were in the presence of a divine power that had answered their prayers.
Even those who had doubted or turned away from their faith found themselves kneeling, overcome with regret for their disbelief. They prayed fervently for forgiveness, acknowledging their ignorance and seeking redemption. The same sentiments weighed heavily on those who had converted to the faith of the Seven; they felt ashamed for betraying their original beliefs and hoped for forgiveness as they knelt in prayer.
Suddenly, the sky burst into a mesmerizing display of colorful auras, eliciting cheers from the gathered crowd. It wasn't just the people who celebrated; birds and animals joined in, singing their own songs of reverence to the divine presence felt around them.
Among those from the South who had followed their lady to the North, including the Sept priests and followers of the Faith of the Seven, a deep longing arose. They wished fervently for their own god to manifest, to erase any lingering doubts about their faith. Struggling to maintain their resolve, they clung to their kneeling positions, but with each miraculous sight before them, their hearts wavered.
For some, the overwhelming display of miracles shattered their belief in the Seven, as they felt the presence of a real deity answering the prayers of true believers. Overcome with emotion and confusion, they cried out for forgiveness, unaware of the truth behind the inexplicable events unfolding in the Godswood. 
Catelyn, who had always found the culture of the Northmen strange, had grown accustomed to their ways. Despite her discomfort, she braved the unsettling Godswood to join her husband. Her desire had always been for Eddard, a spiritual man, to follow her faith. She perceived the North's religion as less organized and fairly simplistic compared to hers.
However, in the midst of the vibrant Godswood filled with prayers, cheers, and lush surroundings, Catelyn's perspective shifted. The once unsettling Godswood now emanated a sacred atmosphere, with the weirwood tree glowing in a gentle golden light. Feeling the blessing in the air, Catelyn's reservations melted away. Her gaze fixed on the weirwood tree, she went down on her knees, realizing that her faith should not be a barrier but a conduit for the blessings upon her family, her husband, and her people.
It was the same for her children. Sansa, who had once favored her mother's gods over her father's, had a deep appreciation for the intricate beauty of the Faith of the Seven. She loved the statues, the leaded glass pictures, the fragrance of burning incense, and the magical play of rainbows over altars adorned with precious stones. Her fondness for detail drew her towards the southern faith.
However, in the present moment, Sansa discovered a newfound beauty and reality in the Old Gods' faith. The Godswood, once less appealing to her, now held a certain power and charm. She was the first among the Stark children to kneel alongside her mother, and the others followed suit. 
[
Hey, everyone. I know many of you have been disappointed by the slow release and lower word count lately. Sometimes, authors can get a bit lazy, you know? They need some motivation. So, I've decided to add this fanfic to my Patreon. For those who want early access with a bulk release, like 2-3 chapters combined twice a week, you can choose my premium membership.
But remember, it's unedited content, which might differ a little from the Webnovel release. And guys, it's a donation and motivation for me to complete the story. For those who are okay with a late release, I might release 1 or 2 chapters once a week. Take care!
link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX
]
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Chapter 14:
Robb, who had always favored the way of the North like his father, acknowledged his mother's faith but leaned more towards the traditions of the North. Until now, he had never considered the existence of gods to be real, but the events unfolding in the Godswood made him reconsider. He felt glad to remain true to his legacy and traditions.
While Arya, who had always been a free spirit and didn't favor any particular beliefs, found herself drawn to the divine presence surrounding her. She felt something deep awakening within her, though she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Despite her uncertainty, she found herself enjoying the experience.
Bran and Rickon, who had once been scared to approach the Godswood, were now completely captivated by its beauty and the overwhelming presence they felt.
The phenomenon wasn't limited to Winterfell; it extended to every major and minor house with a Godswood in their castles. Traditionally, these spaces were seen more as gardens or places of retreat rather than spots for communing with the Old Gods. However, everything changed.
Lords, nobles, commoners, and even foreigners gathered around the Weirwood trees, experiencing the profound sharing of eternal life by Xerneas. On that day, many who followed other faiths began to believe in the Old Gods, their hearts touched by the transformative power of the divine presence.
While near the Dreadfort, people began to gather around a weirwood tree adorned with golden leaves, experiencing the sharing of eternal life. Among them was Ramsay, whose eyes gleamed with interest. "Our way is the Old way, and Our God is the Old Gods" he proclaimed. As he approached the weirwood tree, Ramsay sensed a surge of strength coursing through his body making him smile more.
In Reach, at Highgarden, Margaery and her grandmother Olenna watched the weirwood tree with keen interest. Margaery couldn't quite grasp why the phenomenon was occurring, but she found herself captivated by the beauty of the sky adorned with auroras and the golden weirwood tree.
However, Olenna, observing Margaery's fascination, had a different perspective. She whispered slowly, "Gods are coming back."
Meanwhile, Mace Tyrell and his son remained transfixed, their gazes fixed on the sky. They were afraid to look away, fearing they might miss something crucial unfolding in the celestial display.
In the Westerlands, at Casterly Rock, Tywin and his men stood gazing at the weirwood tree, a sight that seemed to defy the ordinary. Tywin, usually stoic and reserved, felt an unusual sensation of youthfulness washing over him. He sensed a connection to the weirwood tree, though he remained silent about it.
Tyrion, unable to resist, walked closer to the glowing weirwood tree. As his hand touched the bark, he found himself experiencing visions of his tumultuous past and glimpses into a potentially troubling future he might experience. A deep voice echoed, saying, "My champion, come to the North and remain silent."
Before Tyrion could comprehend the message, Tywin's men, following his orders, forcefully dragged him away from the weirwood tree. Tyrion, visibly sweating, shot a glance filled with fear and anger at Tywin, but he held back, realizing nothing had transpired between them. Tywin, seemingly indifferent to Tyrion's ordeal, continued to gaze at the weirwood tree, lost in his own contemplation.
In Dorne, at Sunspear Castle, Doran and his family stood together, gazing up at the sky in wonderment. They were unable to comprehend the meaning behind the extraordinary phenomenon unfolding before them. Oberyn, embracing his mistress, remained fixated on the celestial display alongside Doran and his bastards.
Arianne, Doran's daughter, couldn't help but smile at the beauty of the sky. She found herself wishing that her future husband, the last of the Targaryens, could be as captivating as the sky was in that moment.
[
Hey guys, I've been a little busy lately. Anyway, if you want early access to my content, visit my Patreon. Good luck
Link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX
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Chapter 15:
In Dragonstone, Shireen, accompanied by her parents Stannis and Selyse, as well as Davos and his son, stood in awe beneath the weirwood tree. They had been drawn there by the commotion caused by their men, but now their attention was captivated by the glowing tree and the shimmering aurora in the sky.
No one could explain the inexplicable event unfolding before them. Shireen, only nine years old and curious by nature, approached the tree while her parents were distracted by the celestial display. Davos, noticing Shireen's movement, hurried towards her, calling out in alarm, "No, Shireen!" But it was too late—Shireen had already touched the weirwood tree's roots.
A surge of energy enveloped Shireen as the curse-like disease afflicting her body began to fade away. As she lost consciousness and fell into Davos's arms, instead of concern, Davos exclaimed in joy. Selyse, overcome with emotion, cried tears of happiness as she witnessed Shireen's miraculous cure. Stannis, his eyes moist with tears for the first time in a long while, turned his gaze towards the weirwood tree, his mind clouded with thoughts and emotions beyond words.
While in Kings Landing, at the Red Keep, Robert remained oblivious to the events unfolding outside the castle walls, lost in a haze of liquor and deep slumber. None dared to disturb him, fearing his potential wrath if roused from his drunken stupor.
Meanwhile, Jaime and Cersei stood together, observing the sky adorned with shimmering auroras, while the weirwood tree nearby emitted a gentle glow. Though their thoughts didn't race like others', they couldn't help but feel curious about the mysterious occurrence taking place around them.
In Winterfell, not everyone gathered in the Godswood. Jon, intrigued by a voice only he could hear, ventured outside the castle walls without anyone attempting to stop him. While he was curious about what was happening in the Godswood, it was the mysterious voice that drew him forward. He felt it calling out to him, compelling him to move.
As Jon stepped outside Winterfell, he encountered a lone elk standing nearby, as if waiting for someone. The elk seemed welcoming, inviting Jon to climb onto its back. Initially hesitant, Jon found himself drawn closer to the majestic creature. Before he knew it, his body moved of its own accord, and he found himself atop the elk's back.
Once Jon was settled, the elk began to move, heading towards Wolf's Wood. Despite Jon's initial uncertainty, he felt a sense of control return as they journeyed forward.
As Jon ventured away from Winterfell atop the elk, he found himself periodically glancing back at the castle, unsure why he felt the need to do so. This daring action was unlike anything he had ever done in his life. Suddenly, a massive wolf pack started appeared, encircling the elk. Panic surged through Jon as he tried to dismount, but his body refused to obey. It seemed he had lost control again.
To Jon's surprise, instead of hostility, the wolf seemed to be escorting him, guiding him in the same direction as the elk. Confused, Jon couldn't fathom the unfolding events. As they delved deeper into the forest, the voice he had been hearing became clearer, calling out, "My champion, come." Intrigued and bewildered, Jon became even more curious about what awaited him in the depths of the enchanted woods.
[
I know many of you are curious about what comes next. Well, you can access my early access on Patreon, where there are already 14 chapters available. The release for this week is over. Next week, then.
Link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX
]
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Chapter 16
As Jon journeyed deeper into the forest atop the elk, a dense mist enveloped them, obscuring his surroundings. He could no longer see the wolf pack or anything else beyond the faint footsteps. Despite his mounting nervousness, the elk pressed on, its steps steady and determined.
Trapped on the elk's back, Jon felt a sense of helplessness grip him. The mist shrouded everything, leaving him feeling blind and vulnerable. But then, amidst the mist, he noticed something unexpected—green sparkles dancing around him, like fireflies in the night.
As the sparkles multiplied, Jon realized they had no definite form. Intrigued, he reached out towards them, feeling a comforting warmth instead of a solid touch. Gradually, the mist began to dissipate, revealing the world around him once more.
Soon, he started to see more firefly-like sparkles illuminating around him, casting an enchanting glow over the woodland. The once shadowy forest seemed to transform into a dreamlike realm, filled with blossoming fruits and flowers adorning every tree and bush. Even the mosses seemed to emit a gentle radiance.
Amidst this surreal beauty, Jon began to hear a faint voice, causing him to question whether this was all just a dream. Yet, the forest around him felt undeniably real, teeming with life and vitality.
To Jon's amazement, he soon noticed he was being observed by a myriad of creatures—direwolves, deer, elks, squirrels, snakes, and more—all peacefully coexisting. He struggled to comprehend the sight before him, unable to reconcile the presence of such diverse and typically hostile animals, especially the direwolf he had previously seen dead in the woods. The inexplicable scene left Jon both astonished and intrigued.
As he turned to look forward, Jon's eyes widened in astonishment as he beheld something truly magnificent. Perched atop a colossal rock, bathed in ethereal light, stood a majestic creature unlike any he had ever seen. Its form was graceful and otherworldly, emanating an aura of ancient power and serenity.
With shimmering antlers adorned with radiant gems and a coat that seemed to shimmer with the essence of nature itself, the creature stood regally, its presence commanding the attention of all who beheld it. Its eyes, pools of wisdom and tranquility, gazed upon Jon with a gentle yet profound intensity.
As Jon stood in awe of the magnificent being before him, he felt a profound sense of peace wash over him, as if he were in the presence of something truly divine.
Jon approached the majestic creature atop the rock, he couldn't help but notice the reverence and loyalty emanating from the other creatures around him. They all looked upon the majestic being with hope and adoration, as if it were a deity to be worshipped.
Feeling his emotions intensify, Jon drew closer to the majestic creature atop the elk. However, their journey was abruptly halted when the elk came to a sudden stop. Jon realized, to his surprise, that he could move his legs freely. Without hesitation, he dismounted from the elk, only to find himself floating in the air as if weightless.
Struggling to make sense of the extraordinary events unfolding before him, Jon carefully descended to the ground. As he stood there, bewildered by the inexplicable occurrences, his attention remained fixed on the magnificent Xerneas and the wild creatures surrounding it.
With cautious steps, Jon began to approach Xerneas, his eyes darting around to ensure he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. Yet, in the next moment, his entire perception shifted.
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Chapter 17
Jon tried to look around, but all he could see was darkness enveloping him. Panic surged through him, causing him to skid and fall to the ground. As he struggled to rise, his vision abruptly shifted once more, and he found himself surrounded by towering red mountains, a landscape entirely unfamiliar to him.
Confusion clouded Jon's thoughts as he glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Suddenly, the piercing scream of a woman pierced the air, drawing Jon's attention to a distant tower. Intrigued and concerned, he hastened towards the source of the scream.
Approaching the tower, Jon spotted two knights standing outside, their gazes fixed in the distance. Curious, Jon approached them, hoping to glean some insight into the situation. To his astonishment, he beheld a younger version of Eddard Stark approaching the tower, accompanied by his banner men.
Jon remained rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend the surreal scene unfolding before him. As Eddard drew closer, Jon found himself at a loss for words, his mind reeling with disbelief. Just as he was about to address Eddard as "Lord Stark," the elder Stark passed right by him, leaving Jon stunned and bewildered by the inexplicable encounter
For a moment, Jon felt as though he couldn't comprehend why this was happening. He even began to doubt if everything he experienced was merely a dream. As his thoughts wandered, his attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of swords being drawn. Turning his gaze toward the gathering of men, Jon couldn't understand why this dream felt so real. For a brief moment, he remained rooted to the spot, observing the intense clash between Eddard and his banner men against the three knights who had joined the fray.
More importantly, Jon, who had always been proud of his sword skills, began to feel inadequate as he watched the bloody scene unfold before him. Swords clashed, blood stained the ground, and one by one, men fell in battle. As Jon watched, he noticed Eddard becoming increasingly cornered by his opponents. Without hesitation, Jon made the decision to run towards them, determined to join the fight.
As he approached, Jon reached out to grab a sword, only to find that his fingers passed through the blade as if he were a ghost. Confusion and frustration flooded his mind as he tried to understand why he couldn't grasp the weapon. He looked down at his arm, desperately trying to make sense of the inexplicable situation.
Then, he looked at Eddard, who seemed to be alone facing Arthur Dayne. Eddard appeared troubled by Arthur's incredible skill with the sword. Soon enough, Eddard lost his sword against Arthur's formidable attack. Jon didn't hesitate before running toward Arthur, only to pass through him as if he were an illusion.
Turning back, Jon observed Howland Reed sneaking up behind Arthur before piercing through Arthur's neck. For a moment, Jon was stunned. He didn't understand who Arthur Dayne was, nor why Eddard appeared so young. However, he did know that his father, Eddard, was renowned for defeating a legendary swordsman.
Slowly, Jon's thoughts began to piece together, and he realized he was witnessing events from the past. But what he had been taught about his father defeating Arthur Dayne seemed to be far from the truth. Unable to believe the revelations unfolding before him, Jon watched as Eddard swiftly ended Arthur's life before rushing towards the tower without looking back.
Without further hesitation, Jon followed Eddard's lead and sprinted towards the tower, his mind reeling with questions and doubts about the truths he had believed until now. [ Notice: Hello readers, there has been a change in the release settings. As with every public release, there will now be three exclusive content releases. So, here's a spoiler: Xerneas has unleashed a powerful thunder move accidentally. If you're curious, dive into the premium content on Patreon. Link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX ]
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denimbex1986 · 2 months
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'When words fail, there's always the Pet Shop Boys. In All of Us Strangers, their song Always on My Mind bridges decades of distance between Adam (Andrew Scott) and his parents (Claire Foy, Jamie Bell).
They're decorating a Christmas tree, hoping the Hallmark activity erases the awkwardness, when the song comes on. Adam's mum begins to sing along, the lyrics subbing for a full apology for absence. You were always on my mind.
After all, it's been a while: Adam's parents died when he was 10. Now in his 40s, he wanders around his old hometown to find his mum and dad in their family home, furniture and faces unchanged, as if no time had passed at all.
Catching them up on his life includes coming out as gay – his mum, surprised, says all the wrong things. Reality creeps in, even in this reunion between the dead and living: It's not how either side dreamed, even if the dream is so potent they've willed the impossible into existence.
"I think for so many people, particularly queer people, you can feel like a stranger in your own family," says Scott, who is gay.
"Even if they haven't directly rejected you, you just feel slightly different… [But] discomfort within a family and love within a family can coexist. It's pretty common."
Scott stars alongside fellow Irish actor Paul Mescal, who plays love interest Harry. He and Adam are two lonely hearts living in the same newly built London apartment tower, an ultra-modern space that is less haunted, than devoid of life.
"What's going on with Harry's family is actually slightly more insidious [than Adam's situation]," says Mescal.
"He's come out to his family. [They'd] say that they're very proud of him, but they actually don't truly accept him. Their acceptance of him is lip service, but they don't check in on him."
Written and directed by Andrew Haigh (Weekend; 45 Years; Looking), All of Us Strangers adapts Strangers, a 1987 novel by Japanese author Taichi Yamada, situating it within his world.
Japan is swapped out for contemporary London, the gay British filmmaker drawing out his repeated themes of modern loneliness and disconnection. While Adam and Harry are haunted to different ends, together, they try to push past pain and into something new.
An everyday, real romance – even with the ghosts
Chances are, many who see All of Us Strangers will enter the cinema with pre-conceptions of Scott and Mescal.
Both have become internet heart-throbs through zeitgeist-shaping roles on hit TV shows: Scott as the Hot Priest in Fleabag; Mescal as Connell in Normal People. Clearly bruised, Adam and Harry might not be as easy to crush on as viewers, but the characters soon open up to each other.
"It starts as a physical attraction," says Mescal. "They both want to have sex. But what I love about their relationship is that it feels very attainable to me from a real-life context. There are no big sweeping romantic gestures. And yet, the film is absolutely romantic.
"All these characters do is listen to each other and are there for each other. And that on paper sounds so simple. I think that's what the film was trying to say, that to love with courage sounds so simple on paper, but it's utterly radical and requires a huge amount of bravery. What they give to each other is their company, their total focus and attention."
Scott says the characters really see each other, and that leads to a lovely sense of intimacy.
"The most pleasurable things to shoot were where you see them enjoying the small things in life. Just having a shower or being asleep [together] – the tiny things that are so beautiful and wonderful to experience," he says.
"And that's even more of a balm for them because they haven't had it before."
Good grief
With this new intimacy, what flows out is the chance to express their hurt; for the first time, they both articulate a shared sense of grief.
Scott notes that grief comes in many forms, but we're not often taught about the minutiae of it, or given the tools for dealing with the trauma, agitation or feeling that you've been betrayed by the universe.
"Grief is such a… it's such a difficult thing to quantify and to categorise in some ways. I don't think necessarily that grief is always related to death or the loss of life," he says.
"We experience grief much more than we can recognise; the end of a relationship or the end of a phase of your life, or just something where you think, 'I don't have that anymore, and I can never get it back'.
"I think that's how I would quantify grief over sadness, something that is a place to which I can never return…."
Adam's ability to return home (filmed in director Haigh's childhood home, the current owner's décor luckily frozen in amber from the 80s) is enviable to anyone who has lost a parent. It's a mystical healing fantasy, where he's able to tell his parents the things he never got the chance to before they died.
Despite the immense pain of losing both his parents as a child, the film has a visceral hope that's threaded throughout; catharsis and grace can be found through connecting with others.
Mescal had first-hand experience with pain, fear and grief while filming when his mother became very ill and was then diagnosed with cancer.
"I wasn't able to process it at the time, but my body was processing it in kind of real-time," Mescal explains, adding that she is in remission and "is doing great now".
"Like in the scene when Andrew talks about the death of his mother — I was just going to work thinking I was fine. But something that I've learned about grief is that it's a physical thing and you can say that you're fine in your head, but it has to manifest itself."
Scott adds: "It's the expression 'the body keeps the score' — that's so true."
At one point, his character's grief does overwhelm his body, in a dancefloor release that becomes a nightmare as bumps of ketamine open the valve. He aches for days afterwards, less a comedown than an emotional hangover.
"Say whatever you want, but your body will tell you the truth."'
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floveslondon · 5 months
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Things I noticed/thought while watching GO S2 (again) Episode 5
Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Zira giving away books! After he specifically asked Crowley over the phone the day before to not sell any books, let alone give them away.
‘Maggie and Nina are counting on me’ But they aren’t are they? You want to make them fall in love with eachother so Heaven doesnt suspect you anymore, and you both can go back to the somewhat free life you had after Armagedon’t. So you’re doing it for Crowley and you. I think he’s justifying his fantasies, and believing those all too well himself.
Crowley’s thoughts after the magician says no: 4oh, go on then, give away ANOTHER book, I dare you’
Crowley in a fez and acting silly, glad we saw that, because it shows that there is still a lot of Angel!Crowley left <3
Crowley is so done with his husband when speaking French.
Mr Rossignol = mr Nightingale 😭
‘But you understood me’ I can only hear Lady Mary Crawley from Downton Abbey when he says that (also, Crawley!?!)
‘Only because for 250 years you’ve been wittering on about the plume of your imaginary taunt’ 🤣
Does Nina say ‘Bravo’ because she is reminded of her own relationship, because they do bicker quite a lot?
Poor pookie looks like he has been hit over the head, either because he hasn’t realised he loves Zira before this, or because he didn’t realise how obvious it is that they like each other. Oh to live in a world where anybody can love anybody…
That line ‘Smitten, I believe. You’re being silly’ The first part made me smile like an idiot, and then the second part gave me butterflies. The money I would give to watch this series again for the first time.
C+A in a heart on the blackboard <3
‘When you told my only friend to shut his stupid mouth and die…’ Goosebumps every time, damn David
Crowley testing if Jim/Gabriel really is telling the truth, because even if Gabriel was thick, he would still know that jumping out of a window is a bad idea. And now Jim was more than willing to jump to be able to help.
It hurts, my head isn’t built for that I know, do it anyway! Crowley how do you know that? Because you heard it from someone else, or because they wiped your memory when you fell, and had to do a lot of very painful thinking to get some of it back? I would bet on the latter…
Ooooh when they show the matchbox I can hear a fly buzzing!
‘Wait and see.’ NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN I am in your walls. Just kidding, I love you really, this is just perfect in its weirdness
Zira just sneaking a long glance at his thin dark duke, his body is fully turned away after e few seconds but he’s still looking, even though Crowley isn’t looking and is nearly out the door
Such a nice touch that people’s clothes change as they enter the bookshop, yet Zira and Crowley remain unchanged. Neil has said that there was a whole outfit planned for Zira, but Michael felt like he would keep on his normal clothes. Many people have also mentioned it is because even if the meeting is supposed to be a fantasy for Maggie and Nina, it shouldn’t have to be for them.
The exchange between Crowley and Maggie is weird, but I can’t put my finger on why…
Ms Cheng looking around before she enters the bookshop is so ominous, I don’t like it. Is she noticing the demons approaching, or is it something else?
Both Crowley and the metatron (next ep) mention the weird name for the coffee shop
The miracle for the clothes and the feeling better and knowing the dance works on Nina and Maggie, but when Zira wants to make them forget all about it, it doesn’t seem to work. Why is that?
Zira again shutting Crowley down, let him speak!
In my head, if it weren’t for the legion of demons outside of the bookshop, Crowley would be blushing so hard when being dragged to the dance floor and while dancing with Zira
I hope we get to see Crowley and Zira do the full dance, including holding hands and getting very close to each other <3
So cute that Zira only loosely holds hands with other people, but every mm of his hand touches Crowley’s
Majestic Jim is majestic, that suit and coat sure are something
‘That arch- traitor Crowley’ Archangel Crowley, is that what you meant Shax?
I want to know Zira’s suggestion!
Maybe Zira’s miracles don’t work on them because Nina and Maggie have too much love for Zira, and love is way more powerful than miracles?
Why does Crowley specifically call for Nina whether or not she’s coming? Why not Maggie too? Or just say ‘Everybody ready?’
Look at the rug in the bookshop and then go look at the rug when Crowley is cleaning up in the next episode. Here it is mostly red with a white border, in the next episode it is all white! I doubt it’s a continuity error, why did they do that 🧐
Episode 6
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