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accio-victuuri · 9 months ago

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an analysis : Xiao Zhan + The Moon & Sixpence 🌖

as usual with xzs videos like the one just released, you can make an entire thesis into the possible meanings of every chapter and frame. add it’s relation to xz and if you’re a pro, go deep into the techniques they used in shooting and editing. this one tho is centered around the theme of “the moon and sixpence” which is a book xz recommended before. I saw a few articles linking this to the elements on the vlog and so i looked into it.

i have lightly talked about some elements from the vlog yesterday but focused more on the quotes that appeared and the music chosen.

it’s been years since he mentioned this book and he didn’t even say that it’s his all-time-favorite. for example, the van gogh elements, we expect that already to be a recurring theme. as well as the moon, but this one has another connection to it. i am honestly curious where his headspace is at, and why, in this specific point in time he felt so close to the message of that book or some parts of it.

let me start with a synopsis and the book is available on googlebooks if you wanna try it out like i did. 🔖

with the plot alone, you can get a sense of why he would like it. at the time he read it, he was not yet the superstar xiao zhan that we know now. and this is why i guess he related to it more now. especially the sacrifices he has to make for the path he has chosen. this was evident in his GQ cover story interview where he compares himself to his other friends and how they have normal lives. the books is written in the first person POV of narrator who is looking into the stockbroker turned artist Charles Strickland. you get to see the thoughts of the narrator and how he views the main character of his story. the way i see it, the narrator is “Xiao Zhan the person” and how he sees “Xiao Zhan the public personality”. this concept of two sides to him was opened up in his esquire cover story and i can’t help but think it relates to this story.

i will be heavily quoting passages from the book that attracted me and i personally thought relates to xz. this is my personal interpretation only.

The greatness of Charles Strickland was authentic. It may be that you do not like his art, but at all events you can hardly refuse it the tribute of your interest. He disturbs and arrests.

the story starts of with this line and well isn’t this one way to describe xiao zhan? he has always been described as authentic and the “real deal” as far as idols and actors go. not many people are expected to like him or be part of his fan club and chase him — however, one thing is clear: he disturbs and arrests. his popularity is something that is unheard of and many artist and companies try to replicate. he is a disturbance to the norm in c-ent and why he is a constant target. it’s his biggest asset and liability. something like MFW and stepping out of his home is also expected to attract all kinds of attention. He is aware of that.

“His faults are accepted as the necessary complement to his merits. It is still possible to discuss his place in art, and the adulation of his admirers is perhaps no less capricious than the disparagement of his detractors; but one thing can never be doubtful, and that is that he had genius. To my mind the most interesting thing in art is the personality of the artist; and if that is singular, I am willing to excuse a thousand faults.”

this is in the POV of the narrator, describing the artist he is writing a book about, Charles Strickland. the message of this quote is similar to the one i mentioned above. xz is not perfect and people, specifically his fans should accept that. it’s what makes him more real. through his wins and losses, he is still xiao zhan.

“It is a salutary discipline to consider the vast number of books that are written, the fair hopes with which their authors see them published, and the fate which awaits them. What chance is there that any book will make its way among that multitude? And the successful books are but the successes of a season. Heaven knows what pains the author has been at, what bitter experiences he has endured and what heartache suffered, to give some chance reader a few hours’ relaxation or to while away the tedium of a journey. And if I may judge from the reviews, many of these books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to their composition; to some even has been given the anxious labour of a lifetime. The moral I draw is that the writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of his thoughts; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.”

this next passage makes me think of the projects he has done and what it must feel like for him. there are a lot of dramas/movies that come out every year and what we repeatedly hear from xz is that he only wishes to bring good works. something people will enjoy and appreciate— never mind the popularity that comes with it. he just finished filming a big project LOCH which i can only imagine is so stressful to him. and now is working on another historical drama.

he is someone who immerses himself in the character and once it’s done, it must be a huge weight off his shoulder. like what is said — seek reward in the pleasure of work and in release from the burden of his thoughts.

“Then, what in God’s name have you left her for?’

‘I want to paint.’

I looked at him for quite a long time. I did not understand. I thought he was mad. It must be remembered that I was very young, and I looked upon him as a middle-aged man. I forgot everything but my own amazement.

‘But you’re forty.’

‘That’s what made me think it was high time to begin.’

i think this one is pretty self explanatory, how he started in the entertainment circle a little bit later in his life. compared to his peers. but the answer was simple to him as it was with Strickland, in his case, “i want to sing.”

‘I tell you I’ve got to paint. I can’t help myself. When a man falls into the water it doesn’t matter how he swims, well or badly: he’s got to get out or else he’ll drown.”

this message seems similar to the one quoted on the vlog about about the rivers and small streams. in this one, it emphasizes how one should not be afraid to take the small step of “swimming badly” in hopes that someday they will wade the waters more efficiently.

“But here was a man who sincerely did not mind what people thought of him, and so convention had no hold on him; he was like a wrestler whose body is oiled; you could not get a grip on him”

If there was something in this book the describes XZ so perfectly — it is this one. I think he is not devoid of over thinking about what people say or being a people pleaser. but in recent times, i am seeing a change in him and how he is more calm. a freedom in the way he speaks, the truths he is no longer holding back. he is not afraid to be different anymore.

which led to that GUCCI outfit. LOL! 🤣🤣🤣

‘Look here, if everyone acted like you, the world couldn’t go on.’

‘That’s a damned silly thing to say. Everyone doesn’t want to act like me. The great majority are perfectly content to do the ordinary thing.”

so true. a great majority wouldn’t and couldn’t do what he does. just looking at the chapters in the vlog, from going to a distant place and dealing with the MGW chaos. after that, being only afforded a small time to decompress and sit. to enjoy the sunset. that’s what his life is.

“I don’t pretend to be a great painter’, he said. ‘I’m not a Michael Angelo, no, but I have something. I sell. I bring romance into the homes of all sorts of people. Do you know, they buy my pictures not only in Holland, but in Norway and Sweden and Denmark? It’s mostly merchants who buy them, and rich tradesmen. You can’t imagine what the winters are like in those countries, so long and dark and cold. They like to think that Italy is like my pictures. That’s what they expect. That’s what I expected Italy to be before I came here.”

i would guess this is how he sees his work. he never claimed to be the best, you can see that with how he always mentions wanting to be better. he wants to give the people a positive view of life. which i can clearly see from the vlogs even, makes you wanna go where he visited.

“A man’s work reveals him. In social intercourse he gives you the surface that he wishes the world to accept, and you can only gain a true knowledge of him by inferences from little actions, of which he is unconscious, and from fleeting expressions, which cross his face unknown to him. Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem.”

another one that i think describes xz. his little actions that we see reveal his true self —- the gentle, funny and dorky xiao zhan which is a contrast to the character he sometimes has to portray. it’s when we talk about his duality, the way he was posing and “game face on” for GUCCI but when he did the interview you can see the dorky xiao zhan 😂

there are times that xiao zhan merges some of the qualities of his celebrity side and i think it’s perfectly person. it is a huge part of his life, and the way i see it, his experiences only make him a better person.

“I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage.

They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known.

Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history.

Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs.

Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth.

Here at last he finds rest.”

read that again. it’s a lovely way to put into words what i imagine is something that not only xz goes through. we know what kind of environment and country he lives in, i’m not trying to get political but you get the point. being a celebrity or public personality like him is vastly different from how it is with the rest of the world. i have always admired how he handles it all with grace, how he he willingly accepts the responsibility and burden of being who he is. and that’s why i was also surprised by his answer when asked about a parallel world and he answers about a superpower where he can make it possible to have no disputes in the world. being in that place, with lots of people around, from different parts of the world probably made him think more about this topic. aside from eating pizza and being his usual beautiful self, he was thinking about some serious issues too.

chapter 1 was about going to a distant place but not really, there was something in that place and experience that feels like a home he longs for.

alternate explanation, this can also mean him living his life as a graphic designer, and then spreading his wings into a different industry — being the place he has sought. but considering the time this was released and where he is now at life, i’m thinking it’s more of the former.

so busy yearning for the moon that he never saw the sixpence at his feet. 🪙

this imagery at the end of the vlog + the coin he holds + the quote fits so well together. the way i see it, XZ is doing both. he appreciates the moon, he looks up to it but he doesn’t miss to see and hold the sixpence. it’s why he is holding on to it, in some, it was even rolling on it’s own towards him. and it’s not just the proverbial sixpence. he is seeing and appreciating his surroundings —- the egg he ate, laundry, bike etc.

as a fan, this is actually comforting to me. the book itself is not the happiest, which makes sense cause xz prefers melodramatic to downright tragic stories. but it shows a realistic view of what some goes through to pursue their dreams. it’s not as glamorous as what we see on tv or the internet. but the end of the vlog, shows that xz is keeping a balance. he is not just busy looking up at the moon— he is also living his life.

-END.

I first knew about the connection of the vlog to the book via 辉夜姬不叽 and i got hooked into writing something about it and reading the source material. i also liked @resonancewitness interpretation of the vlog, particularly the lines in starry starry night.

#xiao zhan #halfway through making this i thought about why i made it in the first place lol i just got so fixated #reading the book was lowkey therapeutic for me cause it has some good passages about love too ^^#i can’t believe xz made me read book lol thank you xiao laoshi 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️#i absolutely love the intellectual hipster side of xz never change please

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everybody-loves-purdy · 5 days ago

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I don’t get why people think people hate Bramblestar just because of the Moonkitti video. I hated him for years before that- it didn’t even affect my view on him ‘cause I hated how boring of a POV he was and how he was so easily manipulated and how he treated the three after their parentage was revealed.

There are many reasons to dislike him that have nothing to do with Squilf. Heck, for a while I hated both of them equally (former Ashfur stan).

Honestly I think it could be down to having a scapegoat, and it’s probably not an intentional thought process for most. If they can conveniently blame people not liking their fav on one specific thing and paint everyone under the same brush, then they don’t have to think or fight about as to why people may have other reasons not to like him other than “it’s because Moonkitti said so” and then completely dismissing her video as just bias (which in itself is very disingenuous).

Granted moonkittis video did most definitely bring the topic of him being an abuser to a wider audience, but a few videos about it came out before then and online discussion about the matter had been pretty rife, she most definitely wasn’t the first, I made a post a post about that topic myself within days of reading SqH when it was released lol. Furthermore a question they should ask themselves is, if Moonkittis video is really that terribly produced and full of bias, then why did so many people connect with it the way they did? Although I guess the answer for that is along the lines of they love Squilf and/or Moonkitti. And there’s been no major pushback against the video as far as I am aware that hasn’t contained biases, like the one TikTok that was going around that was very popular in pro brambleclaw circles that contained claims that Squirrelflight is what drove Brambleclaw to train in the dark forest and that she intentionally used him to make Ashfur jealous (something that is specifically proven false by Twilight). I think it’s very hypocritical personally to claim the Moonkitti video had biases but then turn around and share that and claim it has none.

Also think it’s kind of funny how this 4 year old video is still being blamed for the dislike for Brambleclaw. Apparently no one who watched and agreed with it has thought critically about a character who is still very prominent in the series for 4 years.

This isn’t against anyone who likes Brambleclaw by the way, I do definitely see why he appeals. I personally do really like him up until the second half of TNP! But I really hate how Moonkitti is used and treated as a boogeyman by certain Brambleclaw fans. This poor woman has been harassed to hell and back and is constantly slated by a certain section of fans. Like yeah treating a woman who has done nothing to you except not like your fav like the Antichrist and characterise anyone who has similar views to her as some kind of mindless Squirrelstar or Moonkitti worshipping drone isn’t really going to get anyone on your side.

Don’t get me wrong if a popular creator accused a favourite character of mine that I personally thought was morally good of being an abuser I would be upset too. I totally understand that. I’m not blaming people for being upset but I am blaming them for the ways certain people are channeling this upset.

#flight of the sacred eagle

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hollandorks · 2 years ago

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transcendent -- motn oneshot

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

a/n: Hi! Long time no see! In honor of motn's one year birthday/ anniversary (I first posted on March 21, 2022), I decided to give you guys a little treat...without further ado, here's (most of) ch. 30 from Bruce's POV. I'm using the taglist from the last chapter of sitn, so let me know if you want me to remove your tag!

***this chapter is NSFW. 18+***

Series Masterlist

word count: 5670

Bruce was drowning himself in the Batman.

He couldn’t stop seeing the blade slide into the soft flesh of y/n’s stomach. Even before that, he’d gotten her beaten and stabbed and drugged and kidnapped–he was no good for her.

He craved her warmth, her company, more than anything, but he was a danger to her. She had almost died because of him.

So he stayed away, a punishment for himself and protection for her.

Working had always been his solace, so work he did. Every night he threw himself into the protection of Gotham and its citizens, even when he hadn’t slept in two days, when he hadn’t eaten in hours. He absorbed the blows of criminals like they were his own punishment. The pain kept him awake, kept him grounded…

Kept him away from her.

Alfred’s words still haunted him. Every time his eyes closed for a second, he heard the words. You deserve someone like her. You are good enough for her.

But he wasn’t good enough for her. Not even close.

Bruce took a deep breath in through his nose and held it, then went back to documenting his night in the Gotham Project journal before him. He ignored the mess around him. He’d set everything back up…eventually. Right now all he needed was the one table and computer. Everything else could wait.

A flash of memory–pain and guilt and so much anger–and he pushed it away.

The elevator started rattling its way upwards. He ignored it like everything else and kept writing. Probably Alfred, coming to chastise him some more. He deserved it.

He barely felt the chill in the air against the bare skin of his chest as he wrote. It felt good. It kept him awake. He needed to stay awake, because sleeping was dangerous.

When he slept, there was only blood and pain and death.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Bruce.” It took everything in him not to respond to her voice. If he ignored her she’d leave him alone. At least, he hoped. He kept writing as the video feed from his night played on. But of course she wasn’t deterred. “If you don’t talk to me I’m going to–I don’t know, put itching powder in your armor. Paint your mask pink. I don’t know! Look at me.”

He let out a breath of a laugh. He couldn’t help it. He briefly imagined her, frown on her face, sitting cross legged painting his mask pink, a smudge of paint marring her cheekbone.

She stomped closer to him and took him off guard by shoving him. Hard. His instincts kept him still, body absorbing the movement like it was nothing.

He took another slow inhale, then turned and paused the video.

He was a plant turning to face the sun after days of rain. He was drawn to her, to her warmth, her light. It was an impulse, an act of nature, something he couldn’t control unless he really tried. She was the brightest spot in the dim underground, the warmest thing for miles.

But Bruce kept his face cold, distant, as if the sun didn’t exist near him.

“If you don’t stop brooding, so help me–” She paused, eyebrows drawn together like she couldn’t think of another serious threat as bad as itching powder or pink masks. She pressed her hand flat against his sternum. Her touch was searing hot, almost uncomfortably so. He grabbed her wrist but couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He needed her touch like oxygen, and his body knew it.

“You can’t avoid me forever. I’m not quitting my job until you talk to me.”

His eyes narrowed as his heart stopped. “You’re still quitting?” he said, when really he wanted to shout, No!

“He speaks!” she said with a little twist to her lips, something like pride in her features. “I promised I would. But not until you stop being so–so–I don’t know, broody. I already told you I wouldn’t let you shut me out. I gave you time. Too much time.”

He still held her wrist. “I’m not brooding.” He let her go as if burned and turned back to the screen. He pressed play so he could go back to documenting his night. “I’m working.” She was too close to him. He needed her closer. He needed her to go. He needed her to stay. He needed–he had no idea what he needed, only that what he wanted and what was best were two completely different things.

She reached around him and smacked the button so the video stopped again. She shoved herself between him and the screen, forcing him back a few steps. The warmth of her was like a flare in the night. Her sudden invasion of his space took him off guard.

“You’re brooding, and it’s because you almost killed me.”

He couldn’t help his flinch, the words landing like a physical blow. He’d been doing–not well at ignoring it, exactly, but he’d been able to ignore it some. There had been so much blood, blood that still stained his hands–

“Go ahead,” she said, interrupting the memory. “Feel bad about it. It sucked. Is that what you want? Me to never forgive you? Me to hate you? To call you a bad man? A murderer?”

His breath came in panicked gasps. This was what he deserved but it still hurt. It ached. She wouldn’t let up, each of her words landing with such precision he half-expected to see blood blooming from his bare chest. She poked him right in one of the sore spots. Her eyes flashed. “Fine. You’re an asshole, I hate you, and I wish you would die.”

The pain of the words washed over him. He trembled even as his eyes narrowed. He knew her. She was going to make a point with all of this, he knew she would. But there was still that small part of him in the back of his mind that let the words hurt.

“Oh, is that not what you wanted to hear?” she continued scathingly. Her voice was pitched higher than normal and she was breathing just as heavily as he was. “Fine, how about the truth? It wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing to forgive. There never will be. I don’t hate you, so you can’t hate yourself. In fact, you big, dumb, stubborn asshole, I still love you.”

The words dropped like stones within him. He opened his mouth even as she glared. He didn’t know what he was going to say–that he loved her, that she shouldn’t love him, to leave him alone, that he wanted to kiss her. Before he could speak, she was jabbing her sharp little finger into his chest again.

“No! I’m not done. Since you’re finally listening. I don’t care if you–if you feel differently. If you see me as a friend. Or as just an employee. Batman’s partner. I don’t care! Even if it’s–fucking crazy! Because I’m in love with you, and I want you to know that you are still worth being loved. I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re a good man. Nothing will change that in my eyes. Do you get that? Nothing. You fucking stabbed me and almost killed me and I still fucking love you!” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and over the apple of her cheek. She swiped at it quickly, still glaring, still breathing hard.

I still fucking love you.

Bruce shoved away from her. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair.

The words were too big. Too much. The love he felt for her was overwhelming, especially since it was destroying her. He was dangerous, and he would get her killed sooner or later. He’d been lucky that she hadn’t died, that he hadn’t killed her. But there would always be another chance for that, if she stayed close. If he let her in. If he let her love him, he would get her killed.

Everyone he loved ended up dead, after all. Just look at his parents.

He walked over to his motorcycle, still on its side from his fit of rage weeks ago, and righted it just to have something to do with his shaking hands.

He had to make her see. She had to understand how dangerous a thing like his love would be. How dangerous it already was. “I almost killed you. I almost killed you.” The words were blades as they ripped from his throat.

He blinked, and she was in front of him. Her hands were blazing hot as she put them on either side of his face.

“I don’t care,” she said fiercely, the words utterly convicted. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you.”

“I’m not a good man, y/n,” he whispered. To his horror, a tear fell from his eyes. He loved her so much, and she loved him, but the universe was cruel and had already tried taking her from him too many times. It was for the best that he stayed away, that he pushed her away.

“You are,” she said. “In your heart, you’re a good man. Even good men do bad things sometimes.”

The hope, the love, shining on her face was too much. “You don’t get it. I’m–I’m no good for you. You deserve someone who is good. Not someone made for the shadows. Not someone…angry like I am. Someone who won’t put you in–”

“Stop it!” she said sharply. She grabbed his face again. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, he did. “I have seen the darkest parts of you, Bruce Wayne. And I am not afraid. I have seen the worst parts of you and I am still right here. I’m angry too. I’m–I have been just as complicit as you have in all of this. I killed James Maxwell. I–”

He shook his head vehemently as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories. “No,” he said. “You’re not like me at all, y/n. You’re too good.” Even the darkest parts of her were brighter than the lightest parts of him. He was made of shadows, made to stay in them, made to stay out of the light. And she was the sun, trying to burn those shadows away. But there was no light without shadows, and he could never be the brightness she deserved. Not ever.

“I love you,” she said. “Every part of you. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way about me, I want you to know that. You make me feel safe. I love every part of you. ”

He shuddered at the weight of the words. “You shouldn’t.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” she asked with a small smile. His mouth twisted. Never. She’d never listened to him, and he loved her for it. “I love you, even though you’re impossible. And stubborn. You have to stop blaming yourself. I’m alive.”

“Don’t you get it?” he said. His voice broke on the words. “Don’t you see? I love you and I almost killed you.” His hands pressed flat against her back. He shook against her. He was coming apart at the seams, all of his grief and darkness pouring from him in a wave. Didn’t she see? “All these people I’ve been trying to save, and I would have let all of them die if it meant saving you.”

She stared up at him for a beat, mouth parted in surprise.

And then she kissed him.

It was a reflex to kiss her back, a starving man confronted with a feast for the first time. Her lips tasted like salt and he couldn’t tell if they were his tears or hers. He pressed her against the work table, hungry for more, his fingers spreading against her ribcage and her back, trapping her against him. Her warmth completely stole the chill from the air and he almost groaned into her mouth at the sensation.

She made a soft noise and his mind went hurtling back to her on the floor beneath him, black dress wet with blood, her eyes on his as she told him she loved him even as his blade tried to steal her life.

He pulled away, the memory turning the salt on his tongue metallic like blood. “I can’t,” he whispered, anguished. “Every time I look at you, I see your blood on my hands. I can’t do this.”

But oh, how he wanted to. How he needed to.

He forced himself to go to the elevator and make his way upstairs. A shower–a cold shower. Then he could go back to work. Maybe he’d even go sleep at the signal tower. He couldn’t be near her, couldn’t corrupt her anymore, couldn’t be confronted with the blood on his hands anymore. Her blood. His blade.

His body went on autopilot like it had so many other times in the past weeks. Alfred would probably call it a defense mechanism.

He shed his boots inside his bedroom then went for the makeup wipes he had stashed everywhere. He let his mind go blank. He couldn’t–wouldn’t–think about what y/n said.

But of course she wasn’t giving up. She appeared in the doorway to his bedroom within a minute. He loved that about her, he always had, but at that moment all he wanted to do was hide like a child under his blankets and not come out for anything.

“Bruce,” she said. He pointedly turned away from her. “Bruce, you can’t just–”

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

She stepped up to him and once again placed a hand on his bare chest. She traced one of his scars. Physical proof of his anger, his violence, his darkness.

“I don’t care. Please look at me.”

After a long moment, he murmured her name. It was all he could manage. He was scraped raw inside, every nerve and every emotion laid bare.

“Look at me,” she said. “I’m alive. There’s no blood on your hands. There’s nothing I need to forgive you for.” He looked down at her. Her expression was still fierce, still convicted. “I can’t believe you almost killed me and didn’t tell me all of this sooner, you fucking jerk.”

He let out a soft noise but didn’t smile. “I’m no good for you,” he said again. But he could feel himself losing the fight. Her proximity was a heady drug, and he craved it, just like he craved the love she was so desperately trying to give him.

“Bruce, I killed a man.” Something flashed across her face that looked a lot like guilt. Bruce wanted to take the feeling away from her, to carry it for her, to make sure she never felt it again. “I killed a man to save you,” she said again. “And here you are, beating yourself up over almost killing me when it wasn’t even your fault. If anything, I’m no good for you.”

He pulled her closer and breathed her in. “I don’t care,” he said. “I should care, but I don’t. Not when it’s–not when it’s you.”

“Don’t you get it, then?” she said softly. The love in her eyes was so intense it was a physical caress against his face. He unconsciously leaned into it. “That’s what I feel about you. I don’t care about any of it.”

He saw how clearly she meant it. She didn’t care. He tried not to let the hope take him over, but it crested on a wave and threatened to pull him under. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for doubting her, sorry for loving her, sorry for all of it.

But there she still was, patiently waiting on him. She was stubborn, even when it came to matters of the heart. He stared at her in wonder. She loved him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Except for maybe not telling me that you loved me sooner.” She gave him the lightest of kisses and then closed her eyes. Her next words were uncertain. “Do you mean it? Because I’m going to be so pissed off if you don’t.”

He huffed a laugh and then groaned. “Yes.”

And this time he let himself give in. He let himself trust her. She was so much stronger than he realized, so he let himself fall into her, into loving her. She could hold him. She could carry the weight.

Her kiss seared through him. He groaned into her mouth, and then again as her hands started exploring his bare back and chest. Her touch lit him from within. He expected to open his eyes and see flames. It was overwhelming, the love and desire he felt for her. He had never felt this way for anyone. He had never expected to feel it, either.

He pulled away with his eyes still closed. He rested his forehead on hers and simply breathed her in. “Every time you touch me, it’s like–like I’m on fire,” he said softly. “It’s too much. It’s not enough.”

Her hands stilled their exploration and rested on his back. “I thought you didn’t want me, all those times you didn’t want me to touch you,” she said. “But I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you.”

“I never said I didn’t want you,” he said. He kissed her again to prove his point. “That night you first kissed me–” He groaned as her hands slid up over his ribs and around his neck. Tangled in his hair. He couldn’t think with her touching him like that. “–I wanted it to be your choice, wholly your choice. Not because you were upset at work, or because you were drunk. I have never stopped wanting you.”

Instead of responding, y/n kissed him again like she was desperate. Like she was afraid he’d walk away again. The fire in his blood built into an inferno.

“Touch me, Bruce Wayne,” she murmured against his lips. Those goddamn words, he thought hazily as he moaned and backed her up to the edge of the bed. He had never known desire like this. He lifted her so her legs would wrap around him and their bodies nestled together perfectly. He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her. Her eyes were blown wide with desire, which only built the fire within him further.

“I love you,” she said as his lips sought out the soft flesh of her neck.

This time, when the words rose to his tongue, he set them free. “I love you,” he said against the fluttering pulse in her throat.

“I’m so mad at you,” she said breathily. He went still. Had he done something wrong? Then she groaned and ground herself against him. The movement was so unexpected that his hands fisted in her shirt. “I’m so mad that we could have been doing this sooner.”

His expression cleared, and he laughed. “I love you,” she said as she kissed him again.

“Touch me,” she told him as one of his hands scraped against her breast over her shirt. “Please.”

He was already lifting her, keeping her against him exactly as she was. “You’re a bully,” he said against her neck as he held her up with one hand and fumbled with her shirt with the other. His tongue traced her lower lip.

“If I had known that bullying you into talking about our feelings would–” Her words cut off with a moan as his bare hands glided up the skin of her ribcage beneath her shirt. “–lead to this, I would have been bullying you every single day for weeks.”

He kissed her again. She belonged in his arms, he thought. She belonged against him just as she was. He never wanted to let her go. “Well, maybe that would have been worse,” he said pragmatically. “The doctor did say absolutely no sex for six weeks.”

Her legs clenched around him. His breath left him in a rush at the sensation, and she was still clothed. He realized he might not survive this, because his heart already felt as if it were about to give out and they hadn’t even properly begun yet.

She seemed to realize the effect she had on him and, with a wicked grin, clenched her thighs again.

He had her pinned against the bed with his body in half a second. His hips settled against her like her body was made for him, and she let out a moan that almost made him burst into flames, it was so hot.

“Hey–” she said, pulling away. “He told you what the doctor said?”

Bruce rested his elbow on the mattress behind her while the other held her by the ass. His hand flexed on its own accord. She was so soft. “Like I said before, meddlesome old man.”

He didn’t want to talk anymore, and especially not about Alfred. Not when y/n was spread below him, her body just begging for him to touch and taste it all over. His eyes roamed over her form for a split second before he bent his head to kiss her again. She squirmed underneath him.

He wanted to devour her.

He gave in to the urge and yanked her shirt and bra off. Her breasts were perfect, so he paused to kiss them, give them the attention they deserved. Her skin was so soft, especially compared to the calluses on his own hands. The small noise she made when his mouth touched her skin encouraged him to do more.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to feel good, to know how much he wanted her, to know how much he wanted to swallow her whole in the flames of his desire.

Somehow his body knew what to do. Without thinking, he knelt and pulled down her shorts and underwear until she was entirely bare before him.

His mouth went dry at the sight.

“Jesus,” she said on a breath as his mouth drifted across her inner thigh. He kissed her higher, experimenting to see how she’d react. “Fuck.” He was on the right track, then. He kept kissing higher and higher, stopping before he reached the place he really wanted to taste.

His gaze snagged on the angry scar on her abdomen. The one he’d given her. Reverently, he lowered his head and kissed the puckered skin.

He looked back up at her, hoping she could see everything he was feeling, because he wasn’t sure how to say it out loud.

Then he lowered his head once more. She moaned the moment his lips touched her and her fingers tangled in his hair. Something about the sensation coupled with the taste of her on his lips made him twitch in his pants as he moaned against her. He paid her back by slowly, slowly sliding a finger into her wet heat.

She growled impatiently and it was so endearing that he smiled.

“Please,” she said, polite yet bossy, so he obliged with another finger. Every response he pulled from her with his mouth and fingers informed his movements. The louder the sound, the more she liked what he was doing. He experimented with movements, learning her body slowly but surely. He let his tongue circle her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, seeing if she liked it when he curled them.

He’d had no idea that tasting her, pleasing her, would be so…erotic. He could climax just from this, he decided, especially with the sounds she was making.

He didn’t know how long had passed when her entire body suddenly shuddered and the noises she made changed. He could feel her clenching around his fingers as she shook.

“Fuck,” she said as she heaved for breath. “Fuck,” she said again. She was so utterly beautiful spread out before him, her body loose with her pleasure. Her body trembled again. Her fingers fisted in his hair. “Bruce–”

He watched her come down from her high, feeling pleased with himself. He had done that to her, had made her look and sound like that. Even inexperienced as he was, he had made her feel good.

She sat up suddenly, still completely naked, and yanked at him until he understood what she wanted. He stood to his feet and stared down at her. He watched her look at him, eyes roving hungrily over his exposed abdomen, before she pressed a kiss there that made him impossibly more turned on. She kissed one scar–the one from the night they met–and then the scar from the night she’d been kidnapped. Her eyes lingered there for a moment, her expression softening.

Then a wicked gleam sparked in her eyes as she rubbed her hand over him through his pants. His hips bucked involuntarily. She stared up at him and the sight was so erotic he nearly came right then and there. His mind spiraled forward to things her mouth might do to him and–

And what came after.

Something he’d never done before.

He suddenly felt unsure. Would she expect more from him than he could give? What if it wasn’t good for her? What if she knew he’d never done anything like this before? Would she care?

“I–” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Y/n stroked him through his pants again and all thoughts briefly left his head. He clenched his fists and tilted his head back because simply seeing her naked on the bed before him was almost too much to handle.

She didn’t notice his hesitation, unbuttoning his pants swiftly and pushing them down over his hips almost greedily.

He caught her hands in his own. “I–I’ve never done this–” His face was hot with embarrassment. “I’ve never–”

“Bruce,” she murmured gently. “It’s okay, we don’t have to–”

“No,” he said, then breathed a laugh. She’d utterly misunderstood him. Couldn’t she see–couldn’t she feel–how much he wanted her? “I want to, I just–”

She took that as permission to rid him of his underwear next and his words choked off. “I want to, too,” she said. Her eyes lowered. Her lips parted as she took him in, licking her lips absentmindedly. God, her mouth. She tore her eyes away from his nakedness and locked her eyes on his. “I’m yours,” she said simply. “However you want me. Even if you want to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, her hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked again. There was a wicked glint in her eyes.

He grabbed her hands again to stop her. “Play later,” he growled. Because he really didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted her, all of her.

She laid back on the bed with a soft sigh and watched as he fumbled in the nightstand for a condom.

He saw her watching and flushed again. “I…may have gotten these before the gala.” He tore one open with his teeth. He tried very hard not to think about how embarrassing it had been trying to find the right kind and how he’d had to call Alfred when the sheer amount of choices had overwhelmed him.

She laughed. “Feeling cocky, were you?” she said, with a pointed look and a wink.

“I was–Let’s just say–” He swallowed. He turned his focus to putting the condom on, trying not to seem too new at it. When he looked at her again, his gaze roved hungrily over her naked body as he said, “The night didn’t go like I’d wanted.” He got on his knees on the bed and nudged her legs apart. He settled between them, body trembling in anticipation. “I have never stopped wanting you,” he said again, softer this time. He leaned down and kissed her deeply.

“I’m yours,” she whispered against his lips. He pulled away to look down at her, already deliciously disheveled, his cock pressed against the soft flesh of her lower stomach. She squirmed slightly, making him twitch against her. The desire was going to kill him, he realized.

“And I’m yours,” he echoed softly as his hands explored the soft curves of her. Did she know how beautiful she was? How perfect she was? How much she had changed his life? “I love you,” he said, savoring that he got to say the words to her at all. That he got to mean them.

And then finally, finally, he pushed into her, sliding in like a puzzle piece designed specifically for her. And she said, “I love you,” as they connected, both of them moaning quietly at the contact.

Bruce practically shook with the need to move as he held himself still above her. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers. “Is this okay?”

“No,” she said, and a weight dropped in his gut. Of course he was doing it wrong. Of course he– “I–more,” she said, the word almost incoherent. Her legs wrapped around his waist and with one easy movement, her hips shifted and he sank the rest of the way inside her. For a moment, he saw stars. She must have too, because she moaned his name and squeezed him more tightly against her, a small tremble moving through her body and into his.

Again, his body seemed to know what to do, and his hips moved. She wasn’t close enough–he wanted her all over him, every inch of her against every inch of him. He grabbed at her waist and lifted her so that he somehow slipped even more deeply inside her. She cursed, drawing a smile from his lips. Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes hooded, her body soft against him, all around him.

“Extraordinary creature,” he said just to make her smile. It worked, and seeing the expression on her face made his heart twist in his chest.

He moved against her, her fingernails biting into his shoulder blades, one of her hands tangling in his hair. And again, the sensation coupled with that of being inside her sent a jolt of desire through him so sharp he moaned. She smirked then did it again, making his cock twitch inside her. He’d had no idea that someone pulling his hair, of all things, could be so sinful.

He shifted his grip on her hips so he could lean his head against hers and drink her in. She moaned, approving of the new angle, and he stole the sound off her lips with his own. He paused to keep himself from going over the edge too soon. After a moment, he started moving again, hips bucking into her, the slide so easy and perfect it drew sounds from deep in his chest.

Faster. Harder. The more he moved, the tighter the desire deep in his gut coiled, making him moan her name in ecstasy.

He’d had no idea sex would be like this. He’d had no idea that loving the person you desired, that having them love you back, made it so much…better. Would it always be like this? He hoped so.

Her muscles tensed around him, her back arching as he moved. He was right with her on the building wave of pleasure. It built and built and built, her noises becoming desperate, pleading, until she shuddered around him. She clenched around him, the sudden tightening sending him over the edge right behind her.

His vision went white, her name on his lips, and the moment exploded into perfect ecstasy.

It was transcendent.

“Fuck,” y/n said quietly as they clung to each other. He rubbed small circles into her skin where he held her.

Bruce was too stunned to speak. She giggled at something, fingertips brushing his face before he captured them and kissed the tips. Then he leaned down and kissed her lips. The kiss deepened, and that feeling of transcendence built.

He had never loved someone like he loved her. He hadn’t even known he was capable.

There was a warmth in his chest now, like a piece of the sun itself was lodged there. He was aglow in its warmth.

“I love you,” she murmured when he pulled away. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Okay?” she asked, suddenly seeming almost self conscious. He kept grinning at her. Okay? Was he okay?

“Better than okay,” he murmured as he stood. It was the biggest understatement he had ever made. He threw the condom in the trash can next to the bed. “Are you…okay? Did I hurt you?” She had seemed to enjoy it as much as he had, but he had no baseline to compare the experience to.

She stretched languidly and smiled dreamily at him. “I am way better than okay.” He grinned at her again as he pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants. She watched his every move, eyes sharp as they trailed over his body. He felt a swell of male pride at that, enjoying that she was looking, enjoying that she was enjoying the sight of him. Enjoying the possessiveness in her gaze.

She rolled to her side and used her hands for pillows. Bruce couldn’t help but stare at her breasts and the curve of her hip as she moved. She was his, this extraordinary creature, and he was hers.

The warmth in his chest carried him to her to brush a soft kiss against her temple. She sighed happily as she stretched again and stood. She smiled over her shoulder, corners of her eyes crinkling, as she stepped into the bathroom.

Bruce thought about how desolate he’d felt just an hour before. How…alone. Guilty. Desperate.

And now…now y/n was naked in his bathroom, her love buoying him and lightening the load of his guilt.

A smile spread slowly across his face.

#motn #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #motn oneshot

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littlemoondarling · 10 months ago

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A critical review of a Wendigoon video, pls read it all if you're interested and pls be civil♡♡

Uhm so we all know wendigoon right? Beloved horror youtuber, for good reasons too, his videos have such a comforting vibe that I rewatch them whenever I'm feeling depressed, but recently I got to thinking about a couple of things and they are making me.... slightly uncomfortable with his videos.

The first and biggest thing comes from this video which is about the game "Faith: the Unholy Trinity" which is a game about demons, possession, baby sacrifice, exorcism, etc. All told from a very Christian pov (as most media tends to be) which is no problem, the problems start when we delve a little deeper into the uncomfortable implications about the main possessed girl Amy and her story.

Tldr, she started volunteering at a what is clearly supposed to be an abortion or neonatal care clinic where a demonic cult uses it as a front to sacrifice babies for the evil causes... which idk if you can start picking up on the very concerning implications of that.

Now Wendigoon spoke with the creator of the game who explained that the (what I will call) corruption route that the mc goes through is to make it clear that someone doesn't just get possessed by demons, that they have to go out of their way to get to that point.

And we know that Amy was a good girl before she volunteered in the abortion clinic, which when u visit it (starts in the video at about 2 hours 12 mins) it is made clear immediately that it is not... great.

You first see a letter from the owner who tells the who I assume is the secretary to notify him before returning any calls from the health department because they don't want another "surprise inspection" (the owner is revealed to be a demon and a cult leader btw :))

When you walk further into the clinic, you are met with a disturbing and grotesque demon (which is usual for a horror game but please try to see how the underlying message is clear) where a cop (who is 100% a good guy and hasn't been indoctrinated into the cult) helps you int defeating it. There are also stretchers covered in the blood of the sacrificed corpses under them. It is also made clear that they are injecting the women who seek treatment there with a substance to make them hallucinate and so they don't wake up during the "procedure".

And if you want to get a secret ending, you have to go back and fight a demonic lady who unleashes demonic babies at you who look a whole lot like fetuses but that is just my opinion.

The whole game revolves around a demon cult leader who made an abortion clinic to use the 'babies' as sacrifices and to experiment on the women. If that isn't the most right-wing reactionary Christian pro-life talking points, idk what is.

The issue is that Wendigoon doesn't address the blatant demonising of neonatal care/abortion clinics and the disgusting pro-life implications that are baked deep into the game's DNA, he just keeps praising it and it's creator without batting an eye at any of this. And the comments don't even acknowledge it!

This isn't to cancel wendigoon or anything, I've just been thinking about this specific video for a while and I want to get my thoughts somewhere bc I personally didn't see much talk ab this.

#youtube #youtube drama #wendigoon #faith: the unholy trinity #pro life #pro life rhetoric #ugh #there's also alot of us-centrisim in his videos but i don't expect anything more from youtubers tbh #calling other cultures' cryptids 'just another bigfoot/ lochness monster“ is a bit iffy #but it's not my place to talk ab it #im pro choice in case you were confused #oup i forgor to add tw #tw abortion #cw abortion #tw possession #cw possession

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steggyfanevents · 1 year ago

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#steggyweek23 is July 23 - 29, 2023!

What is Steggy Week?

Steggy Week is a celebration of the Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter ship.

How to join the fun

pick a theme (as many as you like!)

make a fanwork based on that theme

post it on the theme day

tag it with #steggyweek23 and @steggyfanevents (and share to our collection on AO3 if you want to!)

Fanworks can be anything: fic, art, graphics, gifs, videos, playlists, moodboards, headcanons, meta, and more. If it’s pro-Steggy, we’re happy to see it and share it!

Don’t feel like making anything? Try compiling a rec list, or sending a few prompts. Comments and shares are always appreciated too.

Themes and prompts

Day 1 (Sunday) - Headcanons and meta Share a theory or an opinion, or post a fanwork on the theme of a treasured headcanon.

Day 2 (Monday) - WIPs and updates Post a new chapter or the latest part of a series—or share a snippet, sketch, draft, or preview of what you’re currently working on.

Day 3 (Tuesday) - AUs and crossovers You asked for this one! Our most popular write-in theme. Carter and Rogers in your favourite space-themed franchise? Regency-era romance Steggy? We want to see it all.

Day 4 (Wednesday) - Family and friends Fanworks featuring at least one other character besides Steve and Peggy. Family, friends, or both? You decide.

Day 5 (Thursday) - Missing scenes and favourite moments Show us a moment you love—or a moment you wish we’d seen.

Day 6 (Friday) - Multiverse/What If…? Our most popular returning theme, chosen by you! The possibilities of the multiverse are infinite.

Day 7 (Saturday) - Free day Anything goes! See some suggestions from our poll below.

Music/lyrics

old!Steggy

Slice of life

Undercover

Going on a mission

Battle couple

Mutual pining

Words and quotes

Hurt/comfort

Outsider POV

Chris and Hayley in the real world

Partners/The Right Partner

Modern

Role reversal

#steggy #steggyweek23 #type: announcement #steve rogers #peggy carter #agent carter #captain america

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bluedalahorse · 4 months ago

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Hi Blue!! I’m very interested in the pro choice fic! What is it about?

Okay so this was a post season 2, written pre season 3 fanfic I was working on, and it was quite angsty! Essentially Sara turned out to be pregnant, and decided to get some abortion pills and take them far away from home. She asked Rosh for help, and although Rosh was pissed at Sara, she decided she’d help her all the same. Felice (who was also not talking to Sara) ended up on the journey too. Felice, Rosh, and Sara were the three POV characters, and there would also be bonding, but also a lot of uncomfortable moments and moments of tension, too.

I think I wrote this one in part out of spite, because there were anons arguing that a teen pregnancy plotline would be oh nooooooooooo the worst thing ever, and I was like, hang on, I can actually see one being done well? And fitting into the themes of the show? Since so much of it is about parent-child stuff and cycles of generational trauma. So I started writing.

You can read the beginning of the story over here at this post.

I’m going to include two more excerpts from the story below the cut, just for fun.

Rosh explaining her reasons for helping Sara:

Rosh’s Phone

Messages with Ayub

Rosh: I’m going to be a little further out of range than expected

Rosh: but Sara’s still with me and she hasn’t done anything worrisome

Rosh: you and Simon good?

Ayub: the video games are keeping him busy

Ayub: but he’s pretty pissed you’re hanging with Sara right now, after what she did

Rosh: we’re not exactly hanging

Ayub: I know

Ayub: well. I don’t know. You can’t tell me the details. But I trust you.

Ayub: and I can look after Simon for both of us

Rosh: look I’m pissed too

Rosh: but she came to me, and she asked me to do this favor

Rosh: and I figure I’m being loyal to the part of Simon that wants to keep Sara safe

Rosh: I have to take over that for him, because he has to be angry with her right now

Rosh: and you’re going to stay with Simon and that’s how you and I are going to look after him

Ayub: three musketeers, baby

Ayub: do you think they’ll ever forgive each other?

Rosh: I don’t know

Ayub: I don’t know either

Ayub: …so weird

Rosh: right?

Rosh: anyway we’re ending up at some rich girl’s vacation cabin. Long story as to why but pray for me.

Ayub: I will be disappointed if you don’t come back with china teacups and raised pinkies and opinions on artisanal cheese boards

Rosh: shut up

Ayub: I mean Simon’s going out with the prince of Sweden, you may as well hook up with a golden coffee mine heiress

Rosh: shut UP, when have I ever gone for a posh girl

Rosh: also coffee doesn’t come from mines

Ayub: not with that attitude it doesn’t

Rosh: oh god our best friend really is going out with the prince of Sweden

Rosh: so weird

Ayub: SO WEIRD

Ayub: …do you think he can get us tickets to the Eurovision Song Contest? Or maybe the Stanley Cup?

Ayub: asking for myself

—

Felice and Sara have a really complicated conversation, content note for discussions of upsetting relationship dynamics (incomplete, but you’ll probably get the idea)

Sara plans to sleep that night with a piece of bar soap tucked into her pillowcase. She’s careful to slip it into the pillow she brought with her, instead of one of the pillows she’s borrowed from Felice. When she packed the soap into the very bottom of her backpack this morning, she wrapped it up in a scarf first and then zipped the scarf into a makeup pouch. Whether she’s hiding it from herself or others, Sara doesn’t really know. The soap is the color of eggshells, and weighs about as much as eggshells in her palm. Sara stole it off of August’s sink a few days before they all met in the field with the gun. If he knew about the soap, he never mentioned it or teased her for it.

The soap smells minty in a way that stings Sara’s nostrils. She breathes it in through the t-shirt soft layer of pillowcase, and even though her heart calms, her stomach tightens. Since Sara let a boy rewrite the way her body works, tension travels and transforms inside her in ways she can’t predict.

Of course Sara wishes that she could fall out of love all at once. Most of all, she wishes she could erase falling in love in the first place, for Simon’s sake. After the doctor at the clinic informed her, however, that she would need to take two pills over two days, and that her bleeding would diminish gradually over two weeks, Sara understood. She knows now that she is going to lose a piece of these feelings at a time, that their falling away will be like the erosion of a cliff, rather than a magician’s disappearing act.

When the morning comes, Sara wakes up to Felice sitting beside her. She is briefly hopeful, as Felice encourages her to sit up and hands her a glass of water, that the erosion is something Felice will understand, too.

They don’t talk much, at first. Instead Felice works the tangles out of Sara’s hair with careful fingers. Then, gradually, she begins to braid Sara’s hair, and as she braids she tells stories. There were a few other guys before Hillerska, all of them older. The first used to constantly pressure Felice for blowjobs. Another was a family friend in his first year at university; he was funny and liked to explain to her about the female authors he was reading for classes. He also called her exotic and kept trying to top off her wine glass when they sneaked away from their parents’ dinner parties. The last boy seemed kind and sweet—he had a dog he said he would die for, always texted her pictures—until Felice found out he was keeping a very blonde, very serious girlfriend a secret from her. The summer before Hillerska, Felice had to use emergency contraception after one of her hookups with the third guy. She had another girl buy it for her and smuggled the packaging off to a trash bin in a public park so her parents didn’t find it. She never told the guy.

Sara has heard Felice allude to other guys before, but never these details and personalities. She wonders if their other friends know the stories, and if so, why Felice didn’t tell her.

“Our friendship is still over,” says Felice, as she binds off the end of Sara’s new braid with a hair tie. “I’m just saying, I know it’s scary. I guess I don’t want you to be scared and alone right now.”

“Thank you,” says Sara, and part of her means it.

Another part of her is still at the back of the Bjärstad bus, the rough fuzz of the bus seats pricking at her legs through her school tights. Her fingers are numb and heavy now, just the way they were when she dialed the police that day. She was alone and scared, already. Still is. Sara accepts this as her punishment.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” Felice says. “About what was happening between you two.”

“I told you, I didn’t know how,” Sara replies. “I know it’s too late for anyone to forgive me.” The phrase I feel like the worst person in the world echoes in her thoughts. She closes her eyes against it, then opens them again.

“If you told me sooner,” says Felice, “We could have done something. I could have given you more time with Rousseau. Your real true love.”

Sara balls her hand into a fist and presses her knuckles gently to Felice’s arm. “Stop that.”

That’s the part that Felice doesn’t get—that the love is the same. Not in the vulgar way TikTokers claim it is, when they’re making fun of horse girls. Only the way there’s an addictive thrill in being the one person who can tame someone known for trouble.

That’s crazy, right? Sometimes Sara is convinced that she’s going crazy.

“I wouldn’t have let Rousseau get sold, at least,” says Felice.

Sara’s stomach lurches. It occurs to her, in that moment, that Felice doesn’t know what happened with Rousseau. Sometimes Sara forgets it herself, it’s so strange. Grand gestures happen in movies, not in real life.

“August bought Rousseau for me,” she says. “From those awful horse people. Not that I accepted—”

“He bought you an entire horse?”

“I said I didn’t accept. I don’t think he knows how to take care of Rousseau.” Sara presses the tail of her braid between her fingers. She presses hard enough to bring pain to her fingertips, so she can block out the image of her horse—whose horse?—alone. “And now he can’t learn how. Not since I… not since the police.”

Felice flops backward onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

“He bought you an entire horse. And you were squeamish about the riding pants we got you. So that’s why you let him do anything he wanted?”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Alright. You did report him in the end.”

“He’d done bad things. He hurt people. I had to.”

“So he got you pregnant. Did he try to like—I’m sure he told you it would feel better without a condom. So many guys say that.”

“He never said that. We were always careful. I think one of the condoms must have been defective.”

“You can be honest. Sometimes boys lie, or secretly slip stuff off or—”

“I’m not lying.”

Sara wraps her arms around herself and rests her chin on her knees. She isn’t exactly sure what she’s supposed to say, but she’s fairly sure that whatever she’s saying now isn’t what Felice wants to hear. Maybe the price of forgiveness is pretending she’s been a helpless victim all along. She’s supposed to recite lines about August like: He manipulated me and tricked me. He didn’t let me say no. I was screaming and he put his hands over my mouth. I couldn’t fight back.

That’s easier for Sara’s old friends to swallow than: I saw him take pills and I know he was lying to me about what he was doing but I also planned to ask him about it until he got help. I was sure I could do it because he wasn’t as far along as Pappa, and I know what far along looks like.

Easier than: to be quite honest he treated me like his princess and we took turns doing the rescuing and I liked that and it even kind of turned me on, okay?

Until August took the prince and princess part more literally. Sara keeps reminding herself that she drew her line there, that she was able to put her foot down and refused to go to Valentine’s with him and be publicly recognized for that reason. She reminds herself that she isn’t going to let the tabloids talk about her. That she doesn’t want to live in a toy castle even if the castle is real, even if sometimes it even seems like it would be easier living in a castle than anywhere else.

(August doesn’t actually want that either, right? His words and actions say he does, but Sara also knows his body now. She’s felt how his breathing relaxes in the brief moments that he stops holding himself to royal standards.)

#young royals #sara eriksson #felice ehrencrona #rosh young royals #asks

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msbhagirathi · 8 months ago

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IPKKND LIVE BLOG - Season 1 [Epi - 2]

Cooooommmmmmmeeee ooooooonnnnnnnn, letz start the second epiiiiiiiiii.

So we are starting right from where we had left them off. ANDDDDD BAAAAMMMM! Khushi jolts out of her (or rather their?) trance and realizes where her hand is, snatches it back. Pulling out Arnav from his trance as well.

I want you to focus on their expressions in the scene. Look closely, when she snatches her hand away from his collar. His gaze, instantly falls down to her hand and there's a moment where he steels himself and maybe even thinks that 'How dare she!'.

It's as if Arnav realizes that he needs to be angry and THEN all hell breaks lose, as he throws her out of his hands. He orders the head of his PR team to control the photos and videos of this 'scandal'. Khushi is locked in a room for interrogation.

Back in Gomti Sadan, the neighborhood aunties are gossiping about Khushi's absence. Buaji asks about the papers' whereabouts to Payal. But, Payal, already very nervous and tongue-tied, reduces to tears. I am surprised why did Buaji not see the change in her demeanor and most importantly her spilled tears. But, that's also not much surprising coz Buaji can hardly ever read Payal or Khushi's distress over anything that they seem to be facing alone, in the entire show. This scene also indicates that Payal has never been the rule-breaker kid, she's always been kind of a 'yes-man' to her parents.

Ohh! Did you notice how Khushi's voice sounds so off? Do you know why? Turns out Sanaya was sick with cold while shooting this sequence. She mentioned this in that interview with Mrs. Gul Khan, which was released right after IPK ended a few months ago.

Arnav instructs the team to interrogate Khushi and check whether a rival company (Re-Fashion? RI-Fashion? REE-Fashion? whatever, lol.) send her there to ruin his fashion show in exchange of some petty amount of money.

Payal's belief, of her Abhishek ji standing up to his family's demand of the dowry, breaks. She realizes that he is present there, knows everything going on but still refuses to speak up. She is heart-broken.

Was it only me or you also thought that the way Sanaya pronounced 'profession' is kind of-idk-intriguing?-sexy?-hot?-pata nahi choro (ok, leave it.)

Garima tries to associate the papers' absence to Khushi's absence. Payal has been caught like a deer caught in headlights.

Arnav comes to meet or rather to interrogate his wife 'that' girl, for 'answers'. Khushi requests him to let her go as she explains him that she landed there by mistake.

He is so adamant in throwing all the unfortunately familiar 'accusatory' questions. What was that 'Wipro-Fashion'? 'PRO-Fashion'? Whatever. See, many of you would disagree, here, but I think he is legit right in doubting her intentions, given the type of people he would have dealt with till now in this profession. Although, WE know, from Khushi's POV, that she is right, BUT that's the thing, he doesn't.

"Then let it (the marriage) break. Problems like these are nothing for girls like you. If one leaves, then trap another." ("Toh tut jaane do shaadi. Tum jaisi ladkiyon ka kya hai. Ek jayega, dusra phasaa lena.") And the BG score changes to something close to tandav beats. Maybe, just maybe he realized that he has struck a chord or crossed a line or fcked up real bad. It can be any of the three.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! The dreaded moment is here. Khushi retaliates but she does not realize the volcano in front of her, ready to burst out with hot, molten lava. She attempts to side step him but he grabs her by the arm and yanks at the dori of her blouse. Pearls scatter around, everywhere on the floor. Khushi is horror struck, devastated, horrified and all the girls watching this for the first time already knew what that meant. And hated Arnav for doing that to her for a long, long time.

See the irony, here. In the previous episode, we saw them together in that beautiful frame. No-one had any doubt of them being the alpha couple of the show. BUT. BUT. BUT.

After this scene, audience must have doubted, some might even have gone to the extent to declare Arnav as the villain. And later considered Shyam as the hero, coz of the way, he was introduced (we will come to that in that episode).

Hmm. I am thinking. Why did he let her go? Like? So....easily? After she pulled the ribbon from her hair and covered her exposed back, or rather her modesty. Arnav has frozen. At his spot. He isn't even moving a finger. (I will have to process this scene and then will let you know in a separate post.)

With this, the scene blurs and along with Khushi, we reach Gomti Sadan, where everything is eerily silent. Wait. Did we reach so early? Didn't Khushi take the whole day to reach SM? Then how come- ohh Guilty Arnav might have arranged a car for her to reach her home safely-Lol. Who am I kidding with? This is ASR, we are talking about. Let's stop with the wishful thinking.

Gomti Sadan. Gossips. Malign in their social image. A broken marriage. All of these are termed as a "Kali' (black ink) by Buaji. And who's at fault? Khushi. She talks of pulling off her braid and handing it to her. Basically, beat her ass off.

Buaji, I think, was never able to accept Khushi as her own child. She was always the only one to differentiate between the two. She was only the one who instigated Garima and Shashi against her. Although, Shashi had wholeheartedly accepted her as his daughter but Garima, often used to get manipulated into believing the worst, in Khushi.

Even now both Buaji and Garima are convinced that Khushi was, somehow, jealous of her sister's fate (that she was getting married) and so to malign it, she decided to sabotage the wedding by taking away the papers and fleeing out of everyone's sight until the wedding is called off.

Lol. Junior Engineer. And Buaji thinks, that's self-explanatory for them, having a right to ask for a dowry. Khushi explains herself. But, she is admonished by her (B-ji), for acting like a 'Dadi Amma', means trying to act above her age, by interfering in elders' matters.

Still, for the Guptas', specifically for Mrs. Garima Gupta, a broken marriage is worse than Payal getting married into a money-hungry family. Do you see it here? Getting MARRIED is of more importance than getting married into THE RIGHT FAMILY.

And as if all this admonishing and insulting is not enough, so, she kind of disowns her daughter. "Mat kaho hume Amma".

Khushi, who already had abandonment issues, guilt of being a burden to 'this' family, is now shell shocked. Someone please save this poor kid.

Buaji does it again! Hip, hip hurray guys! She again pulls up the orphan card and a non-refundable debt (of getting adopted by her brother and sister in law) card! What an awesome timing Buaji! Shut up Buaji. What? Shashi said this. Not me. I have manners, ok.

"Arre tujhse saga humara koi nahi hai." Payal's words calms Khushi to some extent. But, they are still not enough as we see that Khushi cannot sleep, and keeps tossing and turning, recalling her amma's harsh words.

She wakes up and opens their shop's door. Khushi is shown handling an LPG gas cylinder, an oil cannister and lighting a match stick, giving us the impression of her attempting to give up her life.

Precap starts. *quickly pauses it* I don't watch precaps. Spoilers. Don't like them. Bye. Such a stressful episode to watch.

youtube

P.S. : Remember the interview I was talking about? This is it. Please do give it a watch if you haven't already. It's so beautiful them sharing the off-screen things and being all nostalgic. You'll love it. :)

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polskasroka · 4 months ago

Text

The Promise of Eternal Oblivion

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hades (Supergiant Games Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Melinoë & Odysseus (Hades Video Game) Characters: Melinoë (Hades Video Game), Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Achilles (Hades Video Game) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Written During Hades II (Supergiant Video Game) Early Access, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father Figures, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ody can no longer run from his past, POV Odysseus (Hades Video Game), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Word count: 6,868 Summary:

The Lethe, the famous river of oblivion, is a tempting option.

Read on AO3 or below!

All’s said and done, at last. Chronos has been cut into pieces once more and hidden in the darkest corners of the Earth and the Underworld by all the gods who fought against him. The feasts have been thrown, both down in the House of Hades and high up on Olympus to celebrate the victory that has restored the once lost peace and balance in the world. It’s currently being rebuilt and reborn, now with Demeter’s and Persephone’s great aid. So is the House of Hades.

The shades are taking care of everything, with Dusa and Zagreus being in charge of the design choices. The latter wouldn’t be in that position if it hadn’t been for his mother’s power to convince the rightful lord of the house that it was a good idea.

Melinoë has also been offered to share the job with her brother and the maid but she politely declined, as she usually does. She prefers to continue acquainting herself with everyone around here and becoming more knowledgeable when it comes to what is where in her old-new home.

She isn’t the only one who was encouraged to stay at the House of Hades or return to it.

Hypnos did it without hesitation. So did Skelly.

Nemesis refused.

Hecate chose to stay at the Crossroads, for it had always been and would always be her home. Apart from that, she wants everyone to have that sort of safe haven ready in case anything went wrong once again.

Moros would follow Melinoë wherever she’d go and reside. That earned the House another child of Nyx.

Then, there was Odysseus, who had to consider all pros and cons of staying at the House of Hades or claiming his spot in Elysium. Certain that he’d have few to no things to do there, he accepted the invitation. Sentiments similar to Moros’ might have also affected his decision. However, Odysseus would follow the goddess to the edge of the world for reasons different from those of Doom’s.

It did sound great at the start, it really did. A change of scenery was meant to do good, especially when moving from the middle of magic woods to a house. One that belongs to none other than the God of the Dead, the King of the Underworld, at that!

And maybe it was a bit vain of Odysseus to be thinking such things but he’d once lived in a luxurious place like this. He’d owned it. He’d been a king.

That part is, however, a far cry from who he is now.

He does have responsibilities but they’re not overbearing. He’s not a ruler of men anymore. Not in the mortal sense, at least. He’s still a tactician, though. That particular trait got him a task, for the fulfilment of which he’d have to use his experience and knowledge to invent new ways of preventing the Shades from leaving the Underworld.

The task never ends, obviously, but Odysseus doesn’t really mind. He’s got a purpose, so he’s not sitting idly, spending his every waking hour thinking about his past. The scrolls of plans and maps always lying on his private desk efficiently pull his thoughts away from the heartwrenching things he’d done when he’d been alive. The gut-churning war crimes or sacrifices made that would’ve ended badly no matter what he’d done.

When the war against Chronos was being waged, the duties he’d perform for Hecate and Melinoë kept the intrusive thoughts at bay in a similar manner to how his current job is doing it. The difference is that the constant fighting was much more consuming. There never was a real break from anything. Now there are. Even Shades aren’t able to work all the time.

Odysseus desperately clings to the most recent plans that he’s been working on, even while leaving his private chamber, granting himself one of these breaks. He’s almost afraid to let the thoughts about his best blueprints go for fear of spiralling down a breakdown filled with guilt and hundreds of ‘what ifs.’

He would be so successful at that if he hadn’t exited that room.

The spell is broken once he steps out of there. There’s no going back now, although he wishes he still had that boldness in himself, so that he’d just turn around and crawl back into the safety of his own four walls.

It’s not Melinoë who’s making him want to return to the blessed solitude, no. It’s the cries that he hears and blood that he sees that make him want to do that. It’s memories of the ‘great war of Ilium’, as Moros once dubbed it, that feel like crashing against a stone wall. The memories evoked by the sheer sight of Achilles. And Odysseus hasn’t even heard him speak today yet! Now, that is a new record for him.

“We, um… don’t talk about me and bows,” Melinoë says, laughing a bit nervously. “Isn’t that right, Od?”

“Ah, the bows!” he replies cheerfully, not to infect the goddess with his sour mood. As he approaches them, he continues, “the Nightmare Goddess here has many talents and the bows seem to be her only weakness.”

“You’re much too kind.” Melinoë rolls her eyes.

“It can’t be that bad, lass. Come on, let’s see what we can do about that.”

Melinoë doesn’t see the way Odysseus’ eyelid twitches at what Achilles has just offered. The man in question does.

“I’m not sure, sir. I always shoot everything but the target!”

“Your brother used to do the same thing. I managed to teach him, so I dare say I can manage to teach you too. Surely, it can’t be impossible for some of us, at least.”

The only reason why Odysseus holds back whatever snarky comment he’s got ready is Melinoë’s chuckle. He can’t bring himself to ruining her moment of amusement.

“Why don’t you join us, Od?” she asks as if nothing happened. As if Odysseus isn’t gritting his teeth so hard, that they’d shatter were he not a Shade.

“I might as well.” He smiles his usual smirk at Melinoë but drops it once she’s not looking at him anymore. Instead, he looks Achilles right in the eye and says, “watch out for your heel.”

Odysseus would really like to be happy for Melinoë and maybe he is. He surely is proud that she’s actually trying to learn how to use a bow properly but he’s so mad at himself for not having taught her himself. The worst thing is that he doesn’t know what he’s been doing wrong this whole time. The bow just didn’t work out a couple of times and they abandoned the idea. And now she’s picking it up in no time!

And it’s thanks to Achilles at that, out of all people!

Ridiculous is what this is.

As if to add insult to injury, Odysseus has been suffering from nightmares recently.

It’s not that he didn’t have them earlier, back when the war against Chronos was still on. He did have them but they contained much different things. In those days, he’d dream about losing a lot. He’d dream about losing the afterlife he had at the hands of the Titan. He’d dream about losing the Crossroads and everything that he and the rest of their inhabitants stood for. And he’d dream about losing Melinoë.

Such nightmares had Odysseus wake up with cold sweat running down his spine.

Now that the dangers are gone, his mortal past is catching up with him. It’s also getting progressively worse, for he soon can’t remember a night without a nightmare. He thinks about telling the goddess about it, wondering if she could help cease the images and noises of bloody battles and the terrible events that happened during his 10-year-long journey home.

The arduous way back has a lot to offer in the nightmare department. So does the war. Every night, it’s as if his mind’s casting lots as to what kind of suffering it’ll inflict upon itself.

There is something that tops everything, though.

The memory of dropping that infant from the wall.

That horrifying and infamous moment looms large over Odysseus’ dreams. If he happens to have it appear in his sleep, the rest of the night becomes restless. It makes him sick to the stomach no matter how many times he’s relived those dreaded seconds inside of his own head.

Giving him sleepless nights is one thing. One day, he goes to walk around the House of Hades and lands on the top of the high walls that surround the place. Everything is perfectly fine until he looks over the edge at the floor all the way down at the bottom of the wall. His head starts spinning immediately and there’s suddenly no air left in his lungs (as if he needed it), and his throat’s all dry. His knees almost give out and he has to stumble backwards and sit down.

Breathing, albeit unnecessary, seems impossible for a good while and the tactician feels like he’s about to pass out, his chest painfully tight. Luckily, though with tears welled up in his eyes, he manages to calm down, one palm on his breast, the other trembling.

He’s visibly shook even by the time he comes back to the main halls of the House. He needs the safety of his chamber, even though he’s not high up on the wall anymore.

“Odysseus!” Melinoë’s voice pulls him out of his head and he stops, and turns around to face the goddess. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

WHAT?!

“Me? Never!” he announces quickly, confidently, gesturing with his hand in the air. “I could be working on the most time-consuming plans but I’d never purposefully ignore you, Goddess.”

When he’s done talking, his hand stays in the air for a while and Melinoë’s face gets shrouded in concern.

“You’re trembling, Od. What’s going on?”

Odysseus looks at her and then at his hand, and he quickly shoves it downwards, focused on not letting his façade break.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Melinoë folds her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

There’s a sudden urge to tell her that one thing he’s never told her. The one that haunts him in his worst nightmares and the one that broke him down back up on that wall.

“I…” he tries, he really, really tries, and Melinoë knows it. She hears the way that one syllable wavers. But he can’t let it out. Not now. Not here in the hall. “I haven’t been sleeping too well, Goddess. You see, now that the future is not that uncertain anymore, all the tensions from the not-so-recent times seem to be catching up with me and thus affecting the quality of my sleep. This shall pass soon enough, though.”

A half-lie. Not bad.

But Melinoë furrows her brows nonetheless. She still accepts that explanation and doesn’t pry further. Odysseus couldn’t be more relieved.

“If you say so. But if there’s anything troubling you, just tell me, alright, Od?”

There’s so much genuine care in her tone and the way she’s gazing at him that he knows he can’t tell her that it’s his nightmares that make him look like one of the undead from Ephyra back in the day. Not when she’s caring so much.

What would he even tell her? You don’t go to the Goddess of Nightmares and forbid her from giving you nightmares. That sounds highly disrespectful at the very least.

The nightmares don’t pass.

In addition, immersing himself in work and blueprints doesn’t help as well as it used to. Even receiving compliments from the Lord of the House or his son doesn’t aid Odysseus’ situation much.

The problem is that he doesn’t have anything to look forward to. While alive, reuniting with his family had been his driving force. Not too long ago, ending the war with Chronos was the ultimate goal that he and everyone around him shared. Now, making it more impossible for a simple Shade to leave the Underworld is a dead end job.

Then, a very foolish idea appears in his head. One of the worst he could have ever had – reopening old wounds is never a smart idea.

So, even though he’s made peace with his wife and son after they all died, he’s started considering finding and seeing them again, all the while hoping that they are still able to recognise him after all this time. After all, the Lethe, the famous river of oblivion, is a tempting option.

Indeed, he hasn’t seen his first own family since that day. But although they parted in a friendly way, without arguments or resentment, Odysseus has been yearning for seeing his loved ones anyway. He’s never really come to terms with them having gone their separate paths. Maybe it’s selfish of him but letting go of people one loves so much is not a simple thing to do.

Odysseus knows it’s not going to end well but he commits to the idea anyway. Anything to sleep through the whole night and stop experiencing the war and his journey home every day, every moment he’s not too busy with whatever is on his hands.

But he can’t just go to Elysium straight away. Wandering pointlessly around that place in search for his family rubs him the wrong way, so he has to ask someone for help. It won’t be Hades, no. He’s dealt with his brothers before and he’s not going to tempt fate anymore. Or ever again, for that matter. But he can ask Melinoë. She should be able to help, especially now that she’s already spent some time in the Underworld and in the House.

Thus, Odysseus seizes the first best opportunity at making such an inquiry to the goddess when he happens to stumble across her in the garden she shares with her mother now. And since old habits die hard, the tactician often tends to the garden, for which both the Princess and the Queen are always grateful.

“Oh, hi, Od! I’ve just finished here,” Melinoë says, standing up and brushing the dirt off of her hands. “I’ll leave some patches for you next time.”

“It’s your garden, Goddess, and you don’t have to remember to leave it for me to care for anymore. Those days are long gone.”

“It’s still our garden. It’ll always be. But,” she sighs, “you haven’t come here to talk about our plants, have you?”

“In fact, I… I’d like to ask for a favour, if that’s not a problem.”

Melinoë looks at him incredulously, folding her arms. “Of course, it’s not. What can I do for you?”

“Let’s suppose I were to visit Elysium. And look for my wife and son.” Odysseus notices how Melinoë’s face lights up, so he continues before she can start. “Is there any way to know if they’d still… remember me?”

His voice breaks a little at the end there and he wishes it didn’t. The goddess doesn’t let him dwell on that for too long, though.

“The Shades in the Administrative Chamber will know. Or they’ll know which scroll we should read to learn what we want to know. O-Or what you want to know! It’s your private matter, after all.”

“Well, I’d be honoured if the Princess of the Underworld herself decided to accompany me to both the Chamber and the Elysian Fields,” he claims in a warm tone, one that’d convince anyone to do whatever he pleases.

He also bows his head and Melinoë can’t say no to it all. Not that she was ever planning to.

“Let’s go then!”

The Shades in the Administrative Chamber willingly help out the two after given enough information on the souls in Elysium they’re meaning to find. While they’re waiting for the right scroll to be obtained, Melinoë gifts Odysseus with a hopeful smile and a bright look and it does fuel his beatless heart with the happy kind of anticipation.

Soon, Melinoë receives the scroll and hands it to her friend. An aura full of gleeful energy surrounds him because he doesn’t want to think of the tens of reasons why his family may have already chosen to drink the waters of the Lethe. And all those reasons would be equally sensible.

Odysseus finds the correct line and his enthusiasm is gone in an instant. He lets out a long exhale and gives the scroll back to Melinoë who also reads the bad news. She then watches him turn his back to her and run his hand down his face. She returns the scroll to the Shades of the Chamber and walks over to Odysseus to lay a hand on his shoulder. He slouches slightly.

“Do you still wish to see them, Od? It’s not a problem for me to find them, even if they don’t… As long as you’re still willing to go,” she offers gently, kindly.

“Aye, Goddess,” he says lifelessly.

The majority of their walk to Elysium is shrouded in silence. Melinoë isn’t too surprised, considering the information that the scrolls contained. Odysseus is visibly tense and nervous, something he rarely allows himself to show. In fact, Melinoë can’t tell if she’s seen him this restless around anyone but herself.

She stops at one point and Odysseus follows. He looks at her and then to the front. A while ago, he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice two Shades a couple of steps before them, floating above the green meadows.

Odysseus glances at Melinoë again, his expression screaming confusion and disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Od,” Melinoë says quietly and watches him turn his gaze back at the pair of Shades. “I assume that they didn’t look like this the last time you saw them… did they?”

“No, Goddess,” he replies curtly. “They were… more whole, if that’s how I can put it. They looked more like I still do. Why has this happened?”

“There’s two reasons for that. The more forgotten the Shades become, the less they look as they used to, back when they were alive or when they arrived in the Underworld. Then, if they have no purpose, no duties that bind them or keep them motivated, they turn into those trusty green Shades. The latter is connected to drinking from the Lethe. After that, all they’ve ever known are these Fields,” Melinoë explains calmly, sensing how gloom’s gripping her friend’s dead heart.

“No sorrows or pain?”

“None.”

A shaky exhale leaves Odysseus’ mouth. It’s filled with some relief, though, and Melinoë hears that. It makes her feel a bit better about him and what he’s got himself into seeing.

“That’s why they have no motivation. This ever-present bliss of Elysium is what rids them of it. They have everything they could ever want, so why pursue something else?” the goddess adds.

“Will they stay in this… form forever?” Odysseus asks with the last embers of hope that he could dig out from his despondent self.

Melinoë hesitates, aware of how the Shade next to her is hanging on the edge of a breakdown by a thread. But he asks, so she can’t let his question stay unanswered.

“They won’t.” Straight to the point. “They’ll fade away, eventually, and their life energy will return to Primordial Chaos. Their essence will never cease to exist. But they won’t be reborn as the same persons.”

Heaviness fills her own heart as she hangs her head and stares at the green grass before her.

As soon as Melinoë hears Odysseus sniffle, she has to squeeze her eyes shut, so as not to let tears fall from them. Her own breathing wavers and she focuses on steadying it back to its natural pattern but still registers the air around her moving and the sound of the Shade next to her plopping down onto the ground.

Glassy-eyed, the goddess utterly pities Odysseus, the sorry sight he is right now. Hoping it’ll be at least a bit of comfort, Melinoë sits down next to him and lifts her hand to lay it on his back. She rubs at it carefully and then his whole frame shakes as he does his best to mute the sob that breaks from his chest. He’s got his eyes covered by a hand that he propped on his knee but Melinoë knows they’re at least as teary as hers.

“When they do fade away, they don’t even notice it. Nothing’s ever going to hurt them again,” Melinoë states reassuringly.

She’s met with silence, which Odysseus breaks after a while. “They drank from the Lethe right after we went our separate ways.”

So he read that entry in the scroll too.

A tear rolls down Melinoë’s cheek, hearing a weep rip itself from deep within his soul.

Odysseus doesn’t speak of his family ever again. He also doesn’t mention the encounter in Elysium and neither does Melinoë, for which he’s utterly grateful.

Days go by as they always do in the House of Hades again. There’s plans lying in front of the tactician’s eyes for most of the time, as he constantly draws his attention away from how his son and wife decided to forget about everything so quickly… But he doesn’t blame them, he can’t blame them. In fact, he thinks it was the most reasonable thing for them to do. They’d suffered enough once and they deserved to be free from those days.

The reality of it hurts Odysseus anyway. It always will.

It’s also yet another thing that’s going to be haunting him, weighing him down. He hates himself for dreaming not only about his mortal days but now also about that blasted stroll to Elysium.

Odysseus wakes up in the middle of every night. The nightmares seem to never be leaving him and he thinks he’s growing used to being torn away from his sleep while yelling and sweating cold beads along his spine. That’s when he knows that it’s no use going back to sleep because he’s not going to doze off again for another two or three hours.

So he revisits his newest plans and ideas, sitting at his desk with the chamber being illuminated only by a single torch hung up on the wall, next to him. In the dim light, Odysseus studies the blueprints, pondering over any possible changes or improvements. There is one concept that involves a wall and he’s feeling brave to assess it one night.

He digs it out from the pile of scrolls that he decided he would deal with later and spreads it across the desk. Holding the two sides down with his hands, he peers over it and an unpleasant sensation washes over him. He tries to weather it by swallowing and releasing a long exhale but it looks like it’s not going to be enough in the long run.

There’s that feeling of something clutching at his chest again and Odysseus blinks and attempts to compose himself because it’s nothing more but a scroll! A Great Tactician can’t be scared of scrolls, it’s absurd!

But it’s true.

Odysseus rips the plan into shreds.

Some other day, Odysseus wakes up with a thought of telling Melinoë about the most gruesome crime he committed during the war. He’s determined enough to do it as soon as possible before the courage leaves him and he’s left with that burden all alone again. He needs to share it with someone. He needs to finally feel better, lighter, and this must be the reason why he’s been coping so poorly lately.

If the goddess is not in her chamber, she is at the training grounds. Courtesy to Hecate, said training grounds look just like the ones back at the Crossroads. Melinoë wouldn’t stand it if they were different from what she’s used to.

So Odysseus heads exactly there but the closer he gets, the more familiar swooshes slicing the air he can hear. Curious and watchful, he peeks inside from the outside of the area and notices the goddess practising her archery skills. It brings a smile onto his face that disappears from there once he lays his eyes on Achilles who’s apparently still there to supervise Melinoë’s progress.

The tactician’s eyes grow cold at the sight and his fists clench tightly when Melinoë’s hit the mark and runs to Achilles to hug him, beaming with happiness and pride. Oh, she’d be a joy to look at if he weren’t there with her. Teaching her. Telling her how to shoot. Praising her for her first ever successful shot. Being there to witness it. Being there to laugh with her and return her embrace.

Odysseus should be there, not him.

When he storms off, all enraged and gritting his teeth, he’s got no chance of hearing how much Melinoë wishes he saw her do that and that her new goal is to better herself at archery even more and then show him how much she’s learnt.

The decision takes him a while to make.

Wanting to smooth out the process, Odysseus lists down all the advantages and disadvantages, both for him and for the residents of the House of Hades who are the most dear to him. Or one resident.

It’s rather sad to admit that the scale tips in favour of resolving to do the deed and finally be truly free. Free from worries and sorrows, and pain, and nightmares.

Odysseus knows it’ll terribly hurt Melinoë but he can’t go on like this anymore. He’s been trying to fight all those intrusive thoughts and remedy his terrible dreams and painful memories but nothing’s helped. Each day and each sleepless night are only making him more and more hopeless and desperate for a moment of respite. And the promise of eternal oblivion is something he’s found himself yearning for for the last couple of months or maybe even years.

The man of duty he is, the tactician doesn’t just leave. He makes an effort to inform everyone in the House about his decision and he’s relieved to hear their responses. The ones he’s talked to understand him but they’re upset anyhow. Maybe except for one figure who understands but is not too distraught. Odysseus is not too baffled by that, either.

He hasn’t told one particular goddess yet, though. And he doesn’t want to discuss this specific matter when he passes her in the halls. Instead, he asks her if she could visit him when she’s done with whatever business she has to attend to.

Odysseus also hasn’t told her about the infant yet. He doesn’t think about the possible repercussions. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

And it’s going to happen sooner than he’d like. It almost seems as if Melinoë resigned from doing whatever it was that she was planning on, and came straight to Odysseus. He shouldn’t be surprised – it’s not the first time such a thing’s occurred.

Melinoë is perplexed immediately after entering the room and having the door closed behind her. With a puzzled look, she follows Odysseus and takes a seat on a chair opposite him. She searches his face for any indications regarding the matters he wants to tackle but finds nothing but deep concern and… shame?

“Something isn’t right, is it? It can’t be, look at yourself, Od. Is it connected with something or someone around the House?”

“No, Goddess. It, erm… involves my mortal days.”

He swallows and exhales. Then, he drops it, looking Melinoë straight in the eye.

Her mouth falls slightly open as she hears what he’d done. There is clear shock in her expression but then the goddess furrows her brows and purses her lips as if she’s pondering over something important or serious. It puzzles Odysseus, for he was expecting her to… to do what? She’s a goddess, she could know a thing or two about sacrifices that have to be made sometimes.

Will she understand, then?

“Why haven’t you told me about it before?” she asks carefully, quirking an eyebrow up.

Odysseus’ eyes widen.

“Well, I…” He’s at a loss for words – something that never happens to him. “I’ve told you all about my greatest deeds and I suppose I was worried about you changing the view you had of me.”

“You’ve told me about the… less great deeds too. I see why killing a mortal child can be something that leaves a mark on a man but gods aren’t the purest beings, either. I’m sure you know that. And I think I can imagine what it means to be made to choose while being pressed by a god.”

Melinoë sends him a little smile which he returns, remembering how she mentioned being forced to make such decisions during her nightly ventures to Erebus or Ephyra. But then Odysseus also looks at her in a way that she can’t quite read.

I see why killing a mortal child can be something that leaves a mark on a man.

Does she now? She said it with something akin to lightness in her tone. Odysseus can no longer hide his own incredulity.

“That moment is still haunting me, Goddess,” he admits wearily. “Every day and every night.”

Silence.

“I’m so tired of–”

The tactician doesn’t let his voice falter any further, so he just shuts up. Tears well up in his eyes and he hates it. Averting his gaze, he blinks the tears away but it’s to no avail especially now that Melinoë’s got up to come closer and crouch in front of him. She cups his face to wipe the tears away and then grabs his hands with hers and squeezes soothingly.

“I need to rest, Goddess,” Odysseus gasps out. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand all these thoughts and memories for much longer. You see, after you defeated that old bastard for good, I was looking forward to whatever it was that the Fates had in store for me. For us all.”

“But?”

“But the optimism died out sooner than I would’ve preferred.”

He tells her about his dreams and his nightmares. He tells her how the latter are only getting worse and worse, never asking Melinoë to change anything about that. Even the sheer fact that he’s telling her that the night terrors are constantly rendering him terrified and exhausted is something he never assumed he would be so open about to the Nightmare Goddess.

Odysseus talks about the walls he can no longer wander atop of. He talks about the torn plans and ideas that he had to forget because they included either constructing walls or getting onto the already existing ones.

And then, he speaks about the utter disenchantment that he was met with when he read the scroll about Penelope and Telemachus.

Melinoë’s radiating with genuine pity and it’s only making Odysseus feel worse. Her mood is visibly plummeting and it’s all his fault. But he can’t keep it all bottled up anymore. He has to let it out, so that she’ll understand why he finally wants to forget everything and claim his spot in Elysium.

“Od?”

His expectant look is enough for Melinoë to go on.

“I’m not making you feel any better when I practise using the bow with Achilles, am I?”

The question quickly pulls Odysseus out of his torpor. He takes a sharp inhale and stands up, pulling Melinoë up too. She doesn’t even notice when he embraces her and draws her close to his front.

“The last thing I want is you blaming yourself for that, Goddess. Or for anything that concerns me, for that matter. It’s him I’m mad at, not you,” he says firmly and feels Melinoë release a breath that she was holding.

“Are you sure? I can talk to him if you’d like me to,” the goddess offers, shrugging. Not a big deal.

“No.” Odysseus then lets her go and wavery words leave his lungs. “It won’t change anything. I’ve made my decision.”

“What decision?”

Revealing the news causes Melinoë to burst out crying and bury her face in Odysseus’ shoulder. He’s there to hold her while she’s shivering, hidden in his arms, clutching the fabric of his cloak. She keeps telling him that she understands but her weeping seems to be implying something else. It’s as if she wants to tell him that everything can be mended, as if that idea’s ready at the tip of her tongue, but such a proposition never makes it past Melinoë’s lips. They’re both perfectly aware of how stubborn he is. She’s taken it after him.

He explains to her why the Lethe is the only solution to the hardships he faces every day. He once again mentions the things he’s already mentioned – his past now going hand in hand with him – and Melinoë is truly listening, absorbing and analysing the information, in-between the sobbing.

Odysseus feared she’d start questioning him and convincing him not to do what he’s yearning to do. But she doesn’t.

To Odysseus’ amazement, she calms down as he keeps talking to her, rubbing her back in a comforting manner. Only then does the goddess truly start to realise the severity of the horrors he’s got to endure daily and nightly.

“Goddess, you’re the last one to hear it all from me because… I’d be honoured if you accompanied me to Elysium,” he adds in a hushed way.

“Do you want to go already?” Melinoë mutters gloomily.

“I’ll wait if you need a moment.”

“Thanks, Od.”

“Take your time.”

It’s Melinoë who starts talking about the pleasant memories of the past she shares with Odysseus. After all, if this is the last time she’s talking to him while he still recognises her, she may as well use it to reminisce, so that they don’t part in melancholy. Not that Odysseus would remember that for too long once they’re off to their own, separate fates.

The goddess’ heart sings when she mentions all the times she played hide and seek with Hecate and Odysseus would help little Melinoë find the Titaness. They’d all always laugh the alleged cheating off later. Melinoë also played the game only with him from time to time and once found, he’d chase her around the Crossroads, purposefully failing to catch her, only to make her smile.

He’s cherished Melinoë’s laughter since the first time he heard it. There was a time when the little goddess didn’t have many reasons to laugh, for nightmares tormented her and she woke up crying in her tent. And Odysseus was always there first, ready to console her and talk flowery words about his own past, prattling on about the challenges he’d faced during the war or his long journey home.

And Melinoë would always fall asleep, listening to his calming voice.

Just as she’s doing now as he ends one of his monologues with a joyous chuckle. It then fades away when the bank of the Lethe appears in the distance before them. They fall silent and the audible sigh that Odysseus makes has Melinoë’s heart sink. They don’t stall, however, and steadily reach the river, stopping a couple of steps away from its gently flowing waters embraced in veil-like mist.

The sight is beautiful. Breathtaking.

“I guess our journey ends here. Thank you, Odysseus. For everything. We wouldn’t have any of this if it hadn’t been for you,” Melinoë utters, her words shaky, as she’s stood in front of him, looking into his tired but pleased eyes.

“Likewise, Goddess. I must admit I never expected the afterlife to be this eventful.”

“But now it’s time to rest. You deserve it, Od. We’ve got our share of it already, so now it’s your turn. Go and enjoy it. Be truly free from all that haunts you.” She smiles but her lips tremble.

Melinoë can’t stop her teeth from clattering, yet somehow manages not to let tears fall from her glassy eyes. She sniffles and puts on a brave face. She shakes her head and then throws her arms around Odysseus’ neck, pulling herself close to him, so that he can embrace her too. He holds her tightly, as if he were to never let go for fear of losing what they have, the bond they’ve forged over the years that Odysseus has always been too cowardly to name or call out loud.

He almost says it then. Almost, since the words die in his throat and all he does is clear it, emotions overwhelming him.

Melinoë sniffles again and soon releases Odysseus from her arms. She then wipes her eyes and tells him that she’s alright. He rubs her arm comfortingly and the goddess mourns the moment he stops and turns around, unable to look at her.

He’s breaking her heart and his own in two at the same time. He knows it but he also knows that this memory, this sentiment will be erased in a moment. He’ll feel no more pain and he’ll finally be free.

That’s what he’s craving, so he doesn’t waste more time and walks away from Melinoë. She’s following him with her gaze, which is boring a hole in the back of Odysseus’ head and he almost can’t resist whipping back around and returning to her.

In fact, it’s when he hears her choke on a sob that his resolve breaks.

Odysseus has the goddess pressed to his chest in no time. She’s not holding back now, crying into the fabric of his clothes, gripping them in her hands not to let him go to that blasted river.

“It’s no use crying over an old bastard like me, Goddess,” he says gently, his own voice shaking.

“H-how am I supposed not to?” Melinoë hiccups and continues, muttering the words into Odysseus’ front. “After all you’ve done for me? After all we’ve been through?”

He wants to say something but tears suddenly roll down his cheeks of their own volition. He grunts to compose himself again but he still remains quiet.

Tell her, you fool.

… Or let her do it for you.

“How am I supposed to just let you go without you knowing how much you mean to me, Od? You raised me and have always been by my side… I could never dream of a better father.”

Something grips him from the inside. It holds tightly and then loosens up, making a wave of relief wash over him, making him cry with no more inhibitions.

Pulling Melinoë impossibly close, Odysseus kisses the top of her head and rests his chin there, weeping just as heavily as she is.

“And I could never dream of a better daughter, Melinoë.”

His heart shatters into small pieces, hearing the muffled cry that she lets out. One last time, Odysseus tightens the hug for a fleeting moment and then opens his arms only to see how downcast Melinoë looks.

He pulls himself together for her, though. He can’t allow it all to get to him. He can’t allow it to convince him to return to and stay at the House of Hades.

Having brushed the freshest tears off of his own face and then hers, Odysseus holds her by her shivering arms and Melinoë locks her eyes with his.

“It’ll be alright,” he tells her (and himself). “Go home now and enjoy the rest of your life, aye? No more tears, Goddess. Chin up.”

She nods, still snivelling.

“I love you.”

It takes all of Melinoë’s willpower not to completely break down right in front of Odysseus. It only feels more impossible when he lets her go again and turns around to wander off in the direction of the Lethe.

“I’ll never forget you, Od. I love you, too.”

When Odysseus glances over his shoulder, the goddess is there no more. He thinks it’s better this way, for this way, she won’t have to watch him do the deed. She won’t have to witness the moment his memory becomes blank.

With his fists clenched and his step faltering, Odysseus reaches the bank of the river Lethe. He sits down on the soft, grassy surface and exhales, staring at the spot where he and Melinoë stood only a while ago.

It’s one of the happiest things in his whole life knowing that Melinoë’s seen him as her father all this time. He wishes it was possible to purge one’s mind solely from bad memories.

But it’s not and the longer he’s there, gaping into the distance with longing for the goddess to return, the stronger the pain in his chest’s growing. And it can be over so soon. Freedom and rest are right there, waiting for him to take a sip. Melinoë’s not coming back and he really shouldn’t be thinking about how she must be feeling now, grieving alone.

Left there, without him to hold her and lift her up, so that she can confidently stride forward again and face another day.

Sitting at the bank of the river, Odysseus glances at his reflection in the lazily flowing water. He reaches out his shaking, uncertain hand and scoops some of the liquid oblivion into his palm.

So this is Elysium?

#hades 2 #hades 2 fanfic #melinoe #odysseus #hades 2 melinoe #hades 2 odysseus

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