#I wish I remembered more details but I only remember the broad strokes and the existential dread of a big red line across the bed

[ask-artsy-oncie]

(he doesn't know that Falin would act out human sacrifice scenarios with her dolls as a kid)

Dungeon Meshi modern AU that exists solely so that Kabru can grow up with fashion dolls and the Sims. For his enrichment.

[babyangelsky]

Two Worlds: Novel vs. Series (Part 1)

A few days ago, I mentioned that I had begun reading the novel for Two Worlds because I was curious about the changes that had been made for the adaption. Truthfully, I've been curious about it since the special and enough people liked my post to encourage me to put this together, so here we are!

Few things. Firstly, the official English translation of the novel is only updated through chapter 7 which equates to about episode 3 of the series. Approximately.

Secondly, good god is it convoluted so to make things easier on myself and on you, I'm going to break down the changes to each world in two separate posts and not jump around which is what the novel does.

Thirdly, if you'd like to read the novel yourself, the first seven chapters are available for free here! It's the official translation and updates are a bit irregular but it is being updated! Trigger warning for discussion and sometimes graphic mentions of suicide. Please proceed with caution.

I also have to thank @thainovels for being so lovely every time I've asked them for help. What are the odds the novel updated the day after I asked you for help finding a complete version?!

This is gonna be LONG so to spare your dash and anyone who doesn't wanna be spoiled, I'll begin under the cut.

World 1, aka our starting world in the series

Okay so, broad strokes. One of the biggest differences between novel and show so far is how much time we spend in Phupha's perspective and indeed, in perspectives other than Phupha's or Kram's. We really only get Kram's perspective in the chapters dedicated to World 1 and he's barely appeared in the chapters dedicated to World 2 so far.

This author also really loves to go on a tangent which kinda bugs me in a "I'm a writer too and I wouldn't do things this way dammit" sort of way and while that's my own cross to bear, objectively it does pull focus from the main plot and make the story more confusing than it has to be. Although I do appreciate the insight into the other characters.

How Things Start Off

Unlike the show which opens with Kram painting by the river, the novel opens with Kram trying to make friends with Phupha. At this point it's unclear how long Phupha has been staying at Kram's house but it doesn't seem like it's been very long.

In the show, Kram is the grumpy one who doesn't wanna talk or hang out and Phupha is the more open one, but it's flipped in the novel. Kram is a lonely lil ball of sunshine and he's excited to make a new friend and Phupha's generally very grumpy about his circumstances.

Kram also calls him "your grace" which I suspect is what the translator chose to use in place of "khun chai" since Kram also calls him that in the show a few times. I really wish the show had kept this detail because unlike in the show, Kram uses khun chai playfully and eventually affectionately. It's also worth noting that he doesn't call Phupha "phi" despite their age difference because he doesn't want to create distance between them.

Their first bonding experience is going for a walk just like in the show rather than walk aimlessly in the forest, Kram takes him to see the waterfall that is so central to our story. The locals refer to it as Moonshadow Cave.

We learn that Phupha is afraid of heights (and very traumatized) because of the circumstances surrounding his mother's suicide. He opens up to Kram about it and also tells him why his father sent him to stay with Kram and his father.

At one point, Kram steps onto a little ledge around the back of the waterfall and gently coaxes Phupha to join him so they can see the view. But remember, Phupha is afraid of heights and traumatized so after a few moments he panics and goes to turn back. But he turns back a little too quickly and stumbles and ends up face to face and very close to Kram.

SO THEY KISS ABOUT IT. Maybe it's adrenaline, maybe it's horniness, who knows! Certainly not Phupha!

It's getting late so they come down from the mountain to go home. Kram's head is spinning from the kiss, he's confused, he can still taste Phupha. Phupha's confused too, he doesn't know why the hell he kissed Kram, and just as he's in the middle of telling Kram that it was just the adrenaline and didn't mean anything, they hear something rustling in the tall grass.

The Tiger Incident

Yep. The thing they hear is a tiger smack in the middle of having a deer for dinner. Here is the first of two or three major plot points (so far) that were cut from the adaptation entirely.

They come across the tiger and even though they try to move as quietly and slowly as they can to get away, they don't get very far before the tiger notices them and starts chasing them down. As they're running, Kram falls and hurts his leg. Kram knows of a small cave where they can hide, and They manage to duck into it just in time. Fortunately the entrance is too small for the tiger to follow them in there so they're safe but homeboy is still waiting outside to eat them, so they're forced to stay there until morning or until he gets bored and leaves.

Kram and Phupha snuggle together for warmth because of course they do and in the middle of the night, Phupha realizes that Kram has a fever.

The next morning, Phupha sees that Kram hasn't gotten any better so he decides to go and get help for him. Luckily the tiger is gone, so he leaves the cave and marks himself a path so he can find his way back. When he exits the forest, he sees Kram's dad and a group of villagers talking amongst themselves. They'd been looking for the two of them since they hadn't returned from their walk and are very relieved to see Phupha.

Phupha tells everyone what happened and they go back for Kram, and this is where things get very weird. He notices that the branches he broke to mark his path aren't broken anymore and when he and the villagers arrive at the cave, the weeds that were covering the cave entrance are thicker than they were before. And Kram?

Kram is fucking gone.

He is straight up gone. He is not in the cave where Phupha left him despite being sick and unable to move because of his injured leg. Phupha obviously begins questioning his sanity as a search gets underway.

Fifty people including police search the forest for two entire days to absolutely zero avail. Kram is nowhere to be found. It's like the forest swallowed him whole and Phupha is feeling so guilty and Kram's dad is being so kind and not blaming him at all and it's all very fraught.

The search is paused on the third day because of heavy rain but that's not about to stop Phupha. He needs to find Kram and he's in the forest desperately wracking his mind for every last detail of the path he took from the cave and the surroundings while rain is pouring down on him. He thinks he might've found the right spot and sees a cave, but passes out before he can reach it.

When he wakes up, he's back at Kram's house being tended to by Duandow, Kram's childhood friend (we'll get to her in a bit). First thing he does is ask about Kram and miracle of miracles, KRAM HAS BEEN FOUND AND IS OKAY! His leg wasn't broken and he's in rough shape after not having any food or water for a couple days but he's expected to make a full recovery.

Duandow tells him that the cave Kram was found in--the one Phupha passed out in front of--was in an area that had already been searched by the police and that the locals believe that dark magic blocked the entrance to it, which is why they hadn't been able to find Kram before.

If that sounds really goddamn weird to you, THAT'S BECAUSE IT IS. Something fucky is going on with this forest but there are absolutely no answers I can give you as to the why and the how. The novel hasn't given us anything yet.

Phupha and Kram

Another huge difference between the show and the novel is just how much the relationship between Phupha and Kram progresses and how physical it actually is. In the show we only get a few kisses and some snuggling but they go a lot further in the novel.

A lot further.

After the tiger and the fucky forest trauma bond them, they're hanging out on the mountain near Kram's house one evening and as they get to talking and open up to each other some more, they're interrupted by a swarm of fireflies. Kram tries to catch one for Phupha but can't quite manage it, and somehow they end up very close together again.

SO THEY KISS ABOUT IT. AGAIN.

Not only do they kiss about it, clothes start coming off and things start getting hot and heavy before Kram's dad calls up and interrupts them. He doesn't actually see anything (since they're horizontal and shielded by the brush) but he does notice the state they're in when they come down.

Which leads me nicely to the painting.

The Nude Portrait

Remember the nude portrait Kram did of Phupha? In the show, it comes about after Kram accidentally paints Scarface Tai. Phupha sees the painting and realizes how skilled Kram is and hires Kram to paint him.

In the novel, Kram shows Phupha a spare room where he stores all his works and as they're looking through them, Phupha comes across a nude portrait Kram had done of DUANDAOW. KRAM'S CHILDHOOD FRIEND.

Kram tells him that she had agreed to pose for him one day so he could practice painting figures, as all artists do, and Phupha gets all quiet and grumpy and jealous about it. So what does he do? Hire Kram to paint a nude portrait for him like the one Kram had done for Duandaow.

If you'll recall, this is pretty much what happens in the show when Tai asks Kram do paint a nude portrait of him. He gets jealous because Kram had done one of Phupha and asks for one just like it. It seems like the writers reworked that bit since they also wrote out that Kram had done a portait of Duandaow.

And that's not all they reworked.

The painting session with Phupha in the novel begins the same as it does in the show. Kram is doing his thing while Phupha looks all pretty with his cloth in the river. But just like the nude painting scene with Tai, Kram starts getting distracted because of how good Phupha looks.

And I just have to say, the author always makes a point to describe how beautiful Phupha is, but I especially appreciate them taking the time to tell us that Phupha has lovely ample breasts and pretty nipples. Especially because wiping sweat off those lovely ample breasts is what brings Kram so very close to Phupha for the third time. Except this time, they don't just kiss about it.

THEY FUCK ABOUT IT. RIGHT BY THE RIVER. AND THEN GO RIGHT BACK TO THE PAINTING SESSION WHEN THEY'RE DONE.

In the show, this painting scene is where we get their first kiss but as you have seen, beloved reader, we are several kisses in by this point in the novel

Dilok

It's after this that we cut to Kram's dad's perspective for a bit, and I only mention this because it's so goddamn funny and also serves to highlight a few of important points.

The man is just so endearingly oblivious. He saw how disheveled Kram and Phupha were when they came down from the mountain as I mentioned above and assumes they fought each other after having an argument. This man interpreted two horizontal silhouettes moving together as a FIST FIGHT. He assumes they're angry at each other when they won't even look at each other.

THIS MAN THINKS KRAM AND PHUPHA ARE FIGHTING TO THE DEATH EVERY TIME THEY GO UP TO THE MOUNTAIN AND COME BACK LOOKING SWEATY AND FLUSHED AND RUMPLED AND IF THAT'S NOT THE FUNNIEST THING GODDAMN THING I'VE EVER READ I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.

In one instance, Dilok catches Phupha leaving Kram's bedroom early in the morning and believes Phupha when he tells him he "fell asleep" after he and Kram "talked" all night. Dilok even thinks to himself how proud he is that they're so mature and communicate so well! I love Dilok so much, you don't understand.

That aside, however, his hilarious misinterpretation tells us that unlike in the show, Kram and Phupha are fucking on the reg. And bear in mind that Kram still technically has an ash exchange ceremony coming up with Duandaow but before I get into everything with her, I wanted to share this passage where Dilok happens upon both her and Phupha's portraits because it says something important about Kram's relationship with Duandaow. Also because I love it.

Duandaow

Duandaow's presence is yet another major difference between the novel and the show.

The show doesn't tell us a whole lot about her. We know only that she has an ash exchange ceremony coming up with Kram and that when she realizes that Kram has feelings for Phupha, she takes herself out of the equation so they can be together.

The novel gives us so much more. She's featured prominently when Kram disappears in the forest, she cares for Phupha when he passes out, she appears every time Phupha goes to her grandmother's store to get medicine for Kram, and of course there's the fact that Kram painted her.

She has been in love with Kram her whole life. In addition to getting her history, we learn that they've known each other since childhood and that they were very close since they were the only two children in the village that were the same age. And it's partially because there's no one else for either them that being with Kram is a foregone conclusion to her and it's why she assumes that's the case for him as well.

She confesses to Kram and he responds with something along the lines of "Who would I love if not you? It's just us here." It's not an "I love you, too" but she takes it that way. Kram literally has no one else so his response may seem sweet but to me, it reads as him accepting on some level that there's no other option and settling.

I do think he cares deeply for Duandaow but I don't think he's in love with her. Several things drive this home for me (including that passage above) but the one that stands out the most is actually when they lose their virginity to each other.

It happens one day after they go swimming together (at the infamous waterfall I might add). She makes the first move and he hesitates at first but he gets swept up in the moment and it's all very shy and sweet. Thing is, after it happens, Kram keeps things strictly friendly between them. So much so that she thinks the whole thing got wiped from his memory.

And this sense of "who else if not you" persists pretty much their whole lives up until this point. They have an ash exchange ceremony coming up because why wouldn't they? There's no other option. Oh, the comphet of it all.

She isn't stepping aside for Phupha because she doesn't realize there's something between him and Kram. She notices something there that makes her suspicious but those suspicions are nebulous at best. It never occurs to her that they could have any relationship beyond friendship because why would they?

The Other Love Triangle

Phupha has had silent, one-sided beef with Duandaow ever since he saw that painting of her. He's polite to her but just barely, he doesn't make any effort at friendliness or real conversation. He's jealous and he has good reason to be, because he and Kram haven't declared any feelings for each other or had the "what are we" conversation.

Not only that, there is an ash exchange ceremony coming up. Phupha has no idea what that ceremony is until he asks Kram's dad one day and Dilok tells him IT'S A MARRIAGE CEREMONY. Show!Kram had some nerve getting pissy at Phupha for having a fiancee he didn't tell Kram about when Kram had one too!

Here Phupha is, so very in love and in a very physical relationship with Kram, and then he learns Kram is about to get married to someone else. He doesn't know whether Kram returns his feelings, he doesn't know where he stands, there's been no hint of calling off the wedding, so what does he do?

He takes himself out of the equation just like Duandaow does in the show.

Phupha chooses not to confess his feelings to Kram, he spends one last night snuggling him, and then he takes the L and quietly goes back to his life in Rattha.

Oh, what's that you say? You wanted some salt in that wound? How about the fact that KRAM GOES THROUGH WITH THE CEREMONY AND MARRIES DUANDAOW?

More? HE ONLY REALIZES HIS FEELINGS FOR PHUPHA AFTER HE'S ALREADY GONE AND ONLY MARRIES DUANDAOW OUT OF OBLIGATION AND BECAUSE PHUPHA IS NO LONGER THERE.

It's a MESS and there is no resolution for it because the novel translation isn't done!

*screams*

Tai

You might have noticed that I haven't really talked about Tai and that's because he only shows up once in these few chapters we have so far. The ones that take place in World 1, that is. But boy howdy does he come in with a bang when he does. Literally.

When Phupha hires Kram to paint him, Kram asks him to take him into the city as payment. There's an arts festival happening and Kram wanted to go so he could show off his dad's paintings.

Everything is going lovely, everyone is having a good time. At least until Duandaow shows up and Phupha turns into a salty salmon about it but we already talked about her.

The brand new chief of police has been asked to make a speech to inaugurate the festival and a short while after he gets on stage to make it, there is a bang. It's followed by screams and a second bang.

Tai showed up at the festival, shot an officer in the gut, and then killed the chief in cold blood to get revenge for the chief recently killing his father.

Bedlam ensues. People are screaming and terrified and fleeing the scene and Tai is looking to flee the scene too, but it just so happens that Kram is blocking his escape route. Tai shouts for him to move but something comes over Kram and he's not budging. Doesn't matter how much Tai threatens him or how much Phupha pleads with him, Tai belongs to the gang that killed his mother and he ain't moving.

My boy doesn't move even when Tai points a gun in his face. That's how much he hates this man and everything he represents. And Tai fully intends to kill him, but there's a moment where he locks eyes with Kram and something shifts within him.

There's a shot, but because we switch to Duandaow's perspective in that moment, we don't know exactly what happens. We know only that the shot missed and that Phupha rushed to hug Kram to his body and shield him from the shot.

Kram was in point blank range. There was no way in hell that shot missed unless that's what Tai intended. But that's all we've gotten of Tai in World 1 so far so there hasn't been a chance to dig into anything more.

The Stabbing of Viroj

There's one more thing I wanna mention, which also happens to be the stopping point for the translation at this time.

In the show, in World 1, Phupha's biological father Viroj gets attacked after Phupha and Kram go talk to him about the incident in the gallery with Tai and the conversation Phupha had with his father.

In the novel, that conversation with Adisak and Phupha's aunt and stepmother takes place right after Phupha goes back to Rattha and for the subsequent conversation with Viroj, Phupha is obviously alone.

The circumstances that precede the stabbing at a little different but that's a whole other tangent so I'm not gonna get into it. The rest of it is largely the same as in the show.

Someone breaks in, stabs Viroj, Phupha hears a scream and comes upon the scene, he has the realization about his hemophilia, he calls an ambulance and the police.

Only a few details are different. In the novel, he does actually manage to call for help but help never comes so he decides to take Viroj to the hospital himself. Unfortunately Viroj dies before Phupha can take him.

After his death, Phupha calls his dad Adisak to tell him that someone killed Viroj and to ask him to call for help. Adisak does, and when Phupha gets a call from the paramedics asking for more information, the paramedic asks where the patient was stabbed.

Problem is, Phupha never told Adisak that Viroj had been stabbed. Phupha immediately suspects that Adisak knows more about the attack than he let on and was possibly even behind it.

This is as far as the translation has taken us so I have to stop here. Sometime before the finale I'm gonna write up part two to this absolute saga, which will be the differences between World 2 in the novel and show.

If you've read this far, thank you. You're lovely and I love you. ❤️

[demolitionistic]

how do you die and come back and not come back changed?

how do you cope with running, fleeing, dying, and then wake up and find that you are back where you once where? sure, the details are modified, but the broad strokes are the same.

joe wakes up and finds himself soon in a warped mirror image of what he once had and what he wished he had had, all at once. he has a mother now, but they need money. he has to take on the same job. he still looks like tong, can't seem to escape being his shadow, even when tong's not there. ming is there, and has for some reason taken an interest in him. again. but at least it's not the possessive obsession from before. he misses him, despite himself. he wishes he could let go.

sol's back, and thankfully doesn't seem to recognize him. but then he goes to the apartment. he doesn't know if he wants him to recognize him or not. they are all there with him, in one way or another, again. doesn't matter, not really, not when joe is still stuck inbetween the three of them and the debt. the debt that joe's mother took upon herself to pay for the medical debt of the son who doesn't remember her. who is joe, but is not her joe, but now tries to be.

at least wut is there, and he clearly cares enough about this joe to ward him off his earlier fate. but it is, like ming said, because they seem to see joe in him. and well, he is joe. he was joe. he is joe now. he might not be joe, but it doesn't take away from the fact that he is joe. in a way. still, he is joe. but you don't come back from that unchanged, you don't don a new body (not new enough) and a new family and remain the same. but how can you change? there is no room for change when you still look the same (like him, like tong) and bear the same name and need to do the same job as you once did. as joe once did. he is still a stuntman, he is still joe, and joe is more of a symbol and less of a person than ever. he is joe and by being joe he will always be seen as joe. which joe? whichever is needed. people are interested in him now, for being like joe but not for being joe. he is sought after for his likeness to himself, not for being him. how do you cope with that?

how do you cope with being right there, only you're not, because if you were they wouldn't treat you this way. treat you the same way, a new way, and the old way they treated him. you. joe. and it is too familiar and it is too foreign and he didn't want this but he cannot leave. he needs this job, he needs the money. rather, he needs his money, but his money isnt his anymore. nothing that is his is his anymore. his flat is not his, it is ming who seem to have lived there since he left, it is sol who still visits it seems. and now he has to answer for why he, joe, are in his, joe's, apartment. and joe was never really his, joe's, before the accident, and now even less so. joe that was seems to belong more to the ones around him than to the joe that is.

i wonder if sol will, too, see joe that was within joe that is. especially since he is looking at his back, now. with the mask covering his face, will joe be known? as whom? will he only actually be seen when he is covered and hiding? when he does not want to be? and what would actually be preferable, i wonder.

do you want to be a ghost, or do you want to be unrecognisable?

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

She hugged him. “One more thing I have to get through, then it’s over, I promise…” Her pulse raced. Mom took a few deep breathes. Izuku did his best to match. And then: “It got to a point… Where I honestly didn’t want to be alive anymore…”Shuddering, he gripped her hand like his life depended on it. The shock knocked words from his head. Only primal fear remained.“I h-hated myself. For being weak, wrong, a bad mother, a bad partner…” she forced out, breath trembling with each word. “I hated your father for loving me, attracting all these crazies to me, and not being able to stop it. I said a lot of things to him I regret.” Her arms wrapped around his head, cradling him like before. “And I hated you. For compounding it all.”Izuku was already too numb to react.“I fell in love with you later, and I love you know. I don’t even remember when it happened because once it was there, it was like it always had been.” She caressed his cheek. Then she kissed away the stray tears that escaped. “But there was a time, some awful time, looking at you in that box, where I wished you would die… Because maybe then… Maybe it would be over.”

One of the hardest parts of writing Inko’s big confession in Dekugate was balancing the detailed backstory I had ready to go, with making it sound like something a real person, let alone this specific character, would actually say. The original version of this moment was much longer and more detailed, but it was basically just exposition. Here, i cut most of the detail in favor of the broad strokes, focusing instead on Inko’s emotional state both back then and in this moment explaining back then. Instead of exposition to fill in the reader, it becomes a moment where a mother is painfully recounting one of the lowest moments of her life, even though it’s something she wishes she’d never have to deal with again, because she believes her son deserves to know the full picture. Not to guilt him or anything, but this trauma has shaped their whole relationship, even if he didn’t know it. But it’s also to reassure him that she loves him and understands the hardships he’s going through.

[the-cryptographer]

where did i leave off with asoiaf storm of swords? guess we'll go in pov character order:

Jamie: wish we had gotten a little more of him following tyrion's trial tbh. know why narratively we didn't get to see his thoughts on it until he showed up to rescue tyrion but it's a little awkward that he's in King's Landing while this is going on and having exactly zero thoughts about it in his pov sections (or maybe we should consider it a pov choice meant to highlight his self-centredness lmao).

idk, I very genuinely adore him and genuinely adore most of his scenes but I do think he's kind of a fanon killer for me. I really like his relationships with both cersei and brienne, but canon does it so well there's nothing i particularly want to add or change. he's definitely got a like... a cheating husband kind of mentality about this love triangle tbh. which isn't to say that his relationship with cersei is legitimate or that he and everyone wouldn't be way better served by running off with bri. it's more just he's a character tbh totally committed to the bad choices he's already made and his relationship with bri is more daydreaming about what it would be like to have made different ones than an actual committing to change. idk, quality of the writing aside, very not surprised that the broad strokes from the tv show revealed were sleeping with bri and then immediately going back to kiss and/or revenge himself upon cersei. but tbh doesn't really take away from how wholly touching it is to see him go back for brienne to rescue her from vargo hoat in this book.

I guess other things of note is I did genuinely feel bad for cersei grieving her son's death and jamie walking in and not really understanding her pain and just wanting to fuck. i remember people complaining about this scene in the show being rapey and, mmm, it was definitely like that in the novel. but i think the most important part is really the juxtaposition of this scene with the one later where cersei is trying to force herself on /him/ and how he manages to successfully rebuff her where she could not when the tables were turned. which also matches very well with him being the only lannister sibling to successfully tell tywin to fuck off about marrying him off to someone. he is so uniquely empowered in the family dynamic compared to his siblings and he's completely blind to that privilege and it's kinda amazing.

and the relationship with loras! idk, i don't have much to say about it, but it's absolutely favourite of mine to see him look at hotheaded idiot bb loras and talk about how much it's like looking in a mirror.

Catelyn: I really admire the commitment grrm has to not skimping out on cat's end of the story and the exhaustive plans that rob has as his next move after meeting up with the freys. Like, yes, they're about to die, but you wouldn't know it for how extensive their future planning is and the detail put into their plans for after this wedding.

also really admire grrm's commitment to almost making me like cat and then reminding me at the last moment that she's still the incredibly vindictive woman she always was. idk, her not respecting rob's wishes to name jon his heir was definitely masterfully placed.

Arya: don't have much to say about her. just really enjoyed sandor being weirded out by how bloodthirsty she is.

Tyrion: the jank with this character remains so high. it is all kinds of satisfying to see him kill tywin at the end of this book. but otoh the femicide is...

I think tbh the place I feel most let down by the narrative is that at no point during shay's testimony at his trial does tyrion or anyone consider she might have testified against him not for money, but for her own safety. it's not that I think shay has to be an entirely altruistic or faithful person, but frankly if cersei or tywin tell her to do something (be it publicly humiliate tyrion or privately fuck tywin) they might give her gold for her cooperation but if she doesn't cooperate she's probably looking at getting beaten or killed. the lack of narrative acknowledgement of this and her playing the whore to tysha's madonna is extremely uncomfortable in a narrative that usually does more interesting things with gender tbh.

Davos: I actually really loved davos's sections! Was not expecting this, but I ended up feeling way more positively about him and stannis and melisandre than I had on previous reads. Him saving edric storm was great! I got kind of teary eyed at him telling stannis about the sos from the wall, and reminding that being a king isn't only about taking the throne, but a responsibility to protect the realm and its ppl. and I really have to appreciate that it's at this point that the conflict between himself and stannis and melisandre can be put aside because they are all in agreement.

also this is like... unwarranted speculation that everyone else has probably already said, but i think the azor ahai story kind of explains a lot of the end of the tv show. like... it seems sort of clear that melisandre mistook stannis for the prince of dragonstone and azor ahai reborn - who would save the realm from darkness in the others - as she'd seen in her vision, when it was really a vision about jon. and we also have dany's prophecy that she will be betrayed a third time 'for love'. so i think it was probable the original ending of this story was meant to be jon killing dany, his beloved (like azor ahai) to make the sword of fire that could slay the great other and end the crisis at the wall. which does not exactly fix the problems people had with the femicide or with the potential climate change allegory, but at least would have been like... narratively built up and foreshadowed and not total character assassination.

Sansa: yeah, idk what to say except that all the scenes with sansa and lysa and petyr fuck hard. i am super into this creepy old man kissing her as part of his sexual obsession with her mother. love watching her be disillusioned and offended by how completely he has played her. love him knowing this and handing her the knowledge and understanding and power to play the game as something other than a pawn. the snow castle replica of winterfell. the persephone pomegranate moment. really top notch stuff. A+

Jon: should have stayed in that cave with ygritte

Daenerys: yeah, i think having come this far in dany's story i can say pretty confidently that the discourse about how she's a bad white saviour did her dirty. like... yes, she is a rich white saviour that has a limited understanding of how to empower and help the people she is claiming to help. but that's not some gotcha. it's pretty much the entire point of her story. spies and assassins infiltrate the ranks of the freed slaves following her. the government she set up in the first city she 'liberated' immediately fell back into corruption and slaving once she left. she frees people who have no economic alternative but to sell themselves back into slavery, and then is all shocked pikachu face about it. and none of this really changes the fact that she did all of this with good intentions and out of personal empathy as someone who was once sold as a child bride herself. it all plays a big role in her decision to halt her conquest at the end of this book in order to actually face the challenges of governing.

idk, i do think it's fair for poc fans to be disappointed that grrm decided to write a story about a failed white saviour rather than from the perspective of grey worm or missandei for instance. but tbh that is not the perspective most people seemed to be talking from and it's just made a lot of complaints about dany as a character look in bad faith imho.

Bran: his chapters continue on and idk he's a really sueish character with an entourage of characters who are emotionally committed to him for reasons i don't understand. but i will say i did think it was very narratively clever and fun chapter to hear meera tell the story of the tourney at harrenhal.

Samwell: tbh most of my feelings about sam's chapter are going on ao3 and seeing someone be angry at him for like playing saviour to gilly with the implicit argument that she should be be given more agency and dues. and... i understand because i myself am a little offended that he's in a position to score pussy for 'saving' her based on no personal merits other than him being a man in a position to help her and being kind. but... ngl i think i just sort of have to appreciate him being kind - and not superficially so - when a lot of the people around him are not? and to be frank i don't think gilly would be better as a bamf strong confident woman who doesn't need support from the people around her. she is in a disempowering position and it's imho dumb to treat that as not what it is. i think it's realistic and not a personal failing that she needs outside help to extricate herself from her abusive situation, or that she would think kindly of sam for providing that help when a lot of people frankly would not have. and i have to say i like that sam acknowledges that she is very brave for the things she is doing, and the risks she is taking - braver than him even! - despite the fact that none of them are a particularly masculinised show of bravery. idk, there are a lot of uncomfortable things about this part of the story to chew on, but there are also parts of it i'm finding unexpectedly refreshing.

[kaijudyke]

hello my friends! as you may or may not be aware i have a healthy obsession with the ballad of tam lin, and today i would like to talk to you about the abundance of parallels between tam lin and star trek deep space nine s02e22 the wire! i will be summarizing the ballad for you so you do not need to be familiar with it! strap in for a long analysis and join me under the cut 💖

1. a summary of the ballad in broad strokes

(all excerpts in this section from child 39A)

tam lin is a scottish folktale about a young woman named janet who goes to the forest of carterhaugh, which is known to be guarded by a fairy called tam lin.

O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there.

(janet is aware of this, and goes anyway. one of my favorite running themes in the ballad is janet being incredibly headstrong and cocky.) she picks a few roses, he appears and tells her to stop, she stands up to him, and they end up sleeping together (and, ostensibly, falling in love). she returns home to her father's castle pregnant. her father and the other men at the castle are very concerned about her pregnancy, but she defies them and tells her father that this is her own responsibility and that she'd rather be with tam lin than any human nobleman:

If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame, There's neer a laird about your ha, Shall get the bairn's name. If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.

janet goes back to carterhaugh to pick abortifacient herbs and terminate the pregnancy, since she believes she and tam lin will never be able to be together. tam lin reappears and asks her to stop, and she asks him to tell her more about himself (in many versions she asks him if he's a christian), looking for any reason not to give up on him:

"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, Amang the groves sae green, And a' to kill the bonny babe That we gat us between?" "O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says, "For's sake that died on tree, If eer ye was in holy chapel, Or christendom did see?"

he tells her that he's human like her, but was taken by the fairy queen as a child. he also says that the fairies pay a tithe to hell every seven years, and he's worried this time they're going to sacrifice him. he tells her how to save him: she must be at miles cross at midnight on all hallow's eve, when the fairies ride by, and she must pull him down from his horse and hold on to him as the fairies change his shape several times.

"They'll turn me in your arms, lady, Into an esk and adder, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I am your bairn's father. "They'll turn me to a bear sae grim, And then a lion bold, But hold me fast, and fear me not, And ye shall love your child. "Again they'll turn me in your arms To a red het gand of airn, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I'll do you nae harm. "And last they'll turn me in your arms Into the burning gleed, Then throw me into well water, O throw me in with speed. "And then I'll be your ain true-love, I'll turn a naked knight, Then cover me wi your green mantle, And hide me out o sight."

(the exact details of the transformations vary between versions, but some of the most common shapes he has to go through are adder, newt, lion, hot coal, and burning iron. if you're interested in the variations, i highly recommend this page!) once the transformations are done, he instructs her to wrap him in her green cloak, after which the fairies won't have a claim to him anymore. janet follows his instructions and successfully saves him, much to the dismay of the fairy queen.

2. janet, julian, and their relationships

whichever version of tam lin you are reading, janet is a character with a ton of agency. she has no qualms about encroaching on tam lin's territory (in fact she tells him in no uncertain terms that the forest is hers), and there is some indication that she might have gone to carterhaugh specifically because she wanted to sleep with tam lin; she's said to be wearing a green dress, and since the color green was associated with the fae, wearing green to a fairy wood is pretty clearly inviting their attention. (in medieval literature, green was also sometimes associated with love and sex.)

it's not hard to draw a parallel between janet's decision to pursue tam lin despite the danger he represents and julian's immediate fascination with garak in past prologue even though (or rather because) he suspects him to be a spy. also of note is that janet and tam lin's relationship begins with an argument, where her willingness to challenge him seems to be what draws him to her. one of my favorite retellings, by james p. spence, emphasizes this:

‘I'm here tae guard these woods, tae see that naebodie nor nothing disturbs their peace.’ ‘An was it ma father that gave ye such a job?’ ‘Naw it wasnae.’ ‘Weel, there ye are then. It should be you that's asking ma permission tae set foot in these woods, because it is ma father that owns them.’ Then the young man's face rose up intae a smile that seemed many a long year since it was last there. (scottish borders folk tales, james p. spence, p. 114-115)

i'm sure i don't need to tell you that this is reminiscent not only of garak and julian's fondness for debate but of the way cardassians show romantic interest. more than that, though, i think there's something to be said for the way these relationships are treated by other people in the characters' lives. janet's father and his knights are troubled by her pregnancy, and they clearly think she should be with a normal, respectable man, preferably one of said knights, given that she feels the need to remark "There's neer a knight about your ha / Shall hae the bairnie's name." (child 39I) in the wire, when julian tells jadzia he wishes garak would trust him, she replies "why should he? it's not like the two of you are really friends." julian's friends do not understand why he spends so much time with garak—a cardassian, a spy, an outcast, someone who can't be trusted.

in both cases it's easy enough to see where they're coming from; being pregnant out of wedlock with a fairy's child is certainly not an ideal situation for a young noblewoman to find herself in, and it's remarkably foolish for a starfleet officer to have regular lunch dates with someone he believes to be an enemy spy. but janet and julian are both stubborn, and more interested in what's adventurous and exciting than what's good for them. (remember that, like janet knowingly going to pick roses in a forest guarded by fairies, julian wanted the position on ds9 because he wanted to try his hand at "frontier medicine"; misguided as he may have been, his thirst for adventure is the reason he's even on the station to begin with.)

3. fairyland, the obsidian order, and enabran tain

in the ballad, tam lin is abducted by the fairy queen when he's a child. she takes him to a magical realm where he feels no pain and is far removed from human worries.

And we that live in faeryland, No sickness know, nor pain, I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. (j. holm, verse 32)

garak has been enabran tain's protégé since he was very young. as an operative of the obsidian order, he's been trained to be cool under pressure, to play his cards close to his chest, and to avoid sentimentality and attachment. the plot of the episode hinges entirely on a device implanted in his brain that keeps him from feeling pain. to save his life, julian has to remove the implant, metaphorically rescuing him from fairyland and the influence of the queen who stole him away from the human world. the fairy queen is very possessive of tam lin and very disdainful of his feelings for janet; in many versions of the ballad, after janet successfully rescues him, the fairy queen remarks that if she'd known this would happen, she would have plucked out his eyes and replaced them with wood, or taken his heart and replaced it with stone.

"But had I kend, Tam Lin," said she, "What now this night I see, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, And put in twa een o tree." (child 39A, verse 42) 'Had I but kend, Thomas,' she says, 'Before I came frae hame, I had taen out that heart o flesh, Put in a heart o stane.' (child 39B, verse 41)

much like tain tried and failed to mold garak into the perfect emotionless spy, the fairy queen very literally wants to remove tam lin's ability to feel love, because his emotions make him harder for her to control, and in the end are what lead him to escape her clutches entirely. garak and tam lin are both saved by the same thing: their transgressive love for their rescuer, and the fierce, unconditional love they receive in return.

4. hold me fast and fear me not

the central event of the tam lin ballad, of course, is the transformation scene. i'm sure it's what makes the ballad stick in people's minds; it certainly is for me. there's something so deeply romantic about the phrase "hold me fast and fear me not," and about the idea of loving someone so much that you'll hold on to them even as they turn into a beast in your arms. the wire doesn't have as literal a transformation scene as tam lin, but i would argue that it certainly has one.

after julian removes garak's implant (which we can equate to pulling tam lin down from his horse), garak goes through withdrawal. he becomes, by turns, depressed, and angry, and spiteful, and violent. throughout the episode, we see him try to drive julian away. he refuses his help; he insults him; he tells him contradictory stories about his past, all designed to shock him; when none of this succeeds at discouraging him, he physically lashes out.

julian, however, doesn't budge. he isn't fooled by the shapes garak contorts himself into. he takes every change in stride, never wavering in his determination to save him. every person garak claims to be, julian accepts. like janet defying the fairy queen for love of tam lin, he goes as far as to enter cardassian territory and seek out enabran tain in order to save garak's life. when he believes he's about to die, garak tells julian he needs to know that someone forgives him; "i forgive you," julian says, "for whatever it is you did." whatever kind of beast garak is—whatever kind of beast tain has turned him into—julian will not let go of his hand. he will hold him fast.

He grew into her arms two Like iron in hot fire; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her heart's desire. (child 39D, verse 31)

the basic structure of these stories is the same: the main character finds out that the person they love is in immediate danger due to something they went through when they were younger, which fundamentally changed them as a person and is also keeping the two from being together. unwilling to lose their love, they brave the wrath of a powerful villain who's controlled this person's life for a long time. there are undeterred by the frightening changes the person goes through. in the end, they are victorious, and their beloved is free.

5. my dear doctor, they're all true

a closing statement: tam lin is a folktale. like any folktale, there are many, many versions of it, often contradicting each other. there is no definitive version of tam lin (though child 39A may be the most famous). you're free to read every available version of the story, finding meaning not only in the most commonly reoccurring themes, but also in which parts of the text speak to you. like garak's contradictory stories about his life, while it's hard to say whether any one element is true, every element tells you something—about the story, or about the person who tells it. my view of these story parallels is heavily influenced by my own personal interpretation of, and feelings about, the ballad. as it should be.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Death Threats

Summary: What if the people threatening Barba went after you, too?  

Warnings: Angst. Injury. Fluff. (I realized the timing puts this in the episode Heartfelt Passages, so that was a busy day for poor Rafi.)

Dedicated to @teamsladsandgents​ for inspiring me to get stabby.

2,256 words

You thought he punched you, the man in the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors chimed open and he was striding quickly but casually from the building that you realized you were bleeding.

The inch-wide slit in your shirt took a moment to start bleeding in earnest as you stood in shock, time frozen along with your body. Then thick, dark amounts of it began streaming through your fingers.

The elevator doors were sliding shut before you thought to stumble out with your last ounce of strength—to scream for help—before your body sank to the ground, leaving you alone in your metal coffin. You tried to sit up again, but it hurt and made more blood come out.

You couldn’t reach the elevator buttons.

You were so tired.

The funny thing was, you weren’t afraid. Just disappointed. You always thought you’d turn into an action hero if you were attacked—that adrenaline would awaken some ferocious, hitherto unseen warrior within, like Jason Bourne.

But it all happened so fast.

It was over before you noticed a blade in his hand. Over before you processed that he had said something to you, just before that dull punch in your gut.

“That ADA you’re fucking sticks his nose in the wrong people’s business.”

It was strange that you weren’t thinking about your mom or your best friend of ten years. As you pressed as hard as you could to stem the bleeding, you didn’t see your whole life flash before your eyes. The only thing on your mind was your boyfriend of the last several months, the sarcastic lawyer who kept so many walls up, and the petty argument you got into earlier about his canceling lunch plans again.

None of it seemed real. Didn’t seem like the way the story of your life ought to end—bleeding out in an elevator.

It was getting hard to concentrate on what to do next.

OK. The buttons wouldn’t work. Too far to reach.

No one can hear you scream.

Phone.

Your phone was in your pocket, but you had to take one of your hands off of clamping your gut to reach it. Blood streamed through your fingers—so much blood from such a small hole. Your hand was too slick with it and shaking to grab hold of the phone. If you could get it, you could call 911.

“Work, you fucking hand,” you thought. You thought that was an undignified last thought. It should be something profound. Poetic.

But no. Your last thought was going to be swearing at a Samsung.

Tired.

You never remembered if you managed to get the phone from your pocket or not. It didn’t matter anymore.

The last thing you remembered thinking about was Rafael finding out you were gone, his eyes red from mourning. Blaming himself. You wished you could tell him… If you died, you wouldn’t be there to cup his cheek, to make him smile again. To tell him what you whispered to the dark elevator, alone.

“It’s not your fault, Rafi.”

***

The man’s name was Felipe Heredio, a lieutenant of the BX9 street gang. There was already a warrant out for his arrest when he stabbed you. ADA Rafael Barba identified him in a lineup as the man who was stalking him only an hour after a neighbor found you lying in a pool of blood. The fact that he was already in police custody might have been relieving to you if you were conscious. You might have felt proud that it was Barba who ensured he was arrested.

And your heart might have broken when Barba’s phone rang, and his entire world stopped.

***

Rafael’s eyes were red from crying when you woke up with oxygen tubes in your nose, and your hand cradled in his. Your throat hurt more than anything else, oddly, which you would later learn was from being intubated for surgery.

The first word you croaked upon regaining consciousness was, “Sorry.”

A collection of empty coffee cups was scattered around the feet of his chair so he could stand vigil for however long you had been out. His eyes were not only red and wet, but bulging with that jittery, over-tired, caffeine anxiety.

You knew how busy Rafael was. That it was a weekday (technically, it was already tomorrow), and he’d have court in the morning. What you didn’t know, because he didn’t want to weigh you down with his world, was that Barba had already mourned one death today, and that one more loss might break him.

You were sorry for causing him so much trouble.

Rafael was having none of it, of course. He tried to keep his voice from shaking when he told you, “Why in god’s name would you be sorry?” followed by barking, “Stop that—don’t try to sit up. Nurse!”

His bedside manner was well and truly atrocious.

The next hour was a dizzying blur of nurses checking your vitals and helping you use the bathroom, then answering a uniformed officer whose questions you could barely understand through the morphine haze.

When it became clear what had happened and why, Rafael became unusually quiet. All of his follow-up questions and complaints of, “is this really necessary? Can’t you do this later?” fell away. He slumped in the visitor’s chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours, but in pensive silence until the officer finished, leaving you alone except for the security detail at the door.

Then the apologies came. The heavy confessions that he’d been receiving threats for a year, and this was all, all his fault. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the morphine drip dulling everything, you might have been pissed off that he knew this might happen and kept it to himself. He kept so much to himself, you had to read about his cases online to know what was going on in his life. But his face—which you always thought babyish, with his smooth cheeks and lips ever-ready to flash a sarcastic smirk—was drawn, making him look old and haggard. He was too serious, too raw to possibly blame him.

“I’m so sorry for putting you in danger. I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he choked. “I’ve been getting threats since I indicted those cops, and I haven’t exactly been on… anyone’s good side. I should never have started dating you.”

Like a slap in the face, that sting made it through the morphine. You jerked your hand out of his.

“That came out wrong. It’s true, though. I was selfish to think I could…” He gave a melancholy sigh as he sank back in the chair. “It will be safer if we keep our distance from now on. This will never happen to you again.”

You never imagined you could get stabbed and have your heart broken on the same day, or that the latter would hurt worse.

“Then what are you even doing here?!”

“I had to know you were OK. But as long as I’m getting death threats—”

“Wait, wait. You’re saying you’d rather give up being with me than give up a legal battle with powerful enemies?”

His eyes widened and he stared like a deer in the headlights, only where the deer was an insensitive workaholic, and the headlights were the blinding rays of truth. It wasn’t even a surprise that he hadn’t thought of it that way—this was every fight he’d had with an ex just before they broke up with him.

“I, uh—”

You grabbed his face and dragged him down into the softest kiss, which was not what he was expecting. He almost yelped (though it melted into a whine) when his fiery hot, coffee-flavored lips hit your cool ones. When he pulled back, lips wet and parted, his brow furrowed in confusion over still-widened eyes.

“You are… the sweetest.” Your hand lingered on his cheek as you gave a doped-up-on-painkillers smile. “The most selfless, noble… bravest… amazing man I have ever met. I love you so much.”

“I… what?”

“Rafael”—your thumb lazily stroked his cheek—“I know how much you care about me. Even though you’re married to your job and it’s frustrating as hell sometimes, I’ve never been insecure that you don’t love me enough. I know you never tell me about your cases because you want me to be able to sleep at night. You worry about me too much. And you always look so nervous whenever I leave, like you think I’m never coming back this time.

“So the fact that you would sacrifice your own happiness before you’d let an injustice go unanswered… that’s incredible. You do nothing but give a voice to the voiceless all day, working yourself to the bone without considering the cost to your personal life. You’re like a superhero, ADA Barba.”

A short breath of a laugh escaped his lips as his hand came up to the side of his face to cover yours. His eyes were watery, and he looked like he was about to break down again as he bitterly whispered, “A superhero who almost got you killed.”

“I’m not leaving you, you know.”

“Cariño. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t—couldn’t…”

“Nothing’s going to happen. It’ll be OK. I’m not leaving you alone.”

A tear wavered precariously close to the rim of his eyelid until he turned away, rubbing his face. It was gone when he turned back. “You could have died because of my fucking work! I’ve never given you the time you deserve. How do you still want to be around me?”

“Hey, someone has to be there to protect you when you get yourself in trouble,” you grinned.

Rafael Barba couldn’t take any more. He bent over the hospital bed and wrapped his arms around you, doing his best not to snag any of the many tubes coming out of you or put any weight on anything below your diaphragm, but hugging you to him as tightly as he could. You felt his trembling breathing in your hair, and hot wet spots pooling on your neck.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Your free arm closed over his back, stroking his broad, tense muscles through his shirt. “I’m really glad I didn’t die,” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to feel scared now that he was here. “I didn’t want to die yet. Not like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed in, and his arms tightened protectively. “You have no idea how terrified I was. I’m so sorry…”

“Shh,” you whispered. You clung to him, soothed by his familiar cedar and citrus scent, fainter now after a long, harrowing day, mixed with the masculine smell of sweat.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I love you more than anything.”

Soon—too soon, because you wanted to continue talking—you drifted to sleep in his arms. And once again too soon, you woke up with your entire abdomen on fire, and nurses bringing you pain medication. Rafael was still there, half asleep next to you in the narrow bed.

He didn’t leave you.

Even if it put you in danger, he would rather be beside you, making sure you were OK than cutting you out of his life and hoping the bad guys got the memo. He couldn’t put you through that pain, even if he could do it to himself. Especially when you pondered aloud to him whether you’d survived because you were thinking about him—that you refused to die before seeing him again, knowing what a wreck he would be.

Recovery was long, and interspersed with doing nothing but fall asleep when you’d rather stay awake, and not being able to sleep at all. Rafael (and his security detail) moved into your apartment when you were released from the hospital so he could take care of you—as grumpy and bossy and sarcastic as his bedside manner might be.

You swore you were going to sign up for Krav Maga or Cobra Kai or something once you could exercise again, since apparently you were not a secret knife-fighting ninja deep down. Next time, you wanted to be a badass who could fight back, and never let anyone harm your overzealous ADA when he kicked the hornet’s nest.

Eventually, you would convince him that it wasn’t his fault that bad guys had acted like bad guys. And he would convince you that taking care of you wasn’t a burden—that the emergency time off from work was worth it. He started replacing “sorry” with “I love you.”

In the end, while you wouldn’t say being stabbed was a good thing, or that you’d choose to be stabbed again if you had the option, it did ensure Heredio was put away for a long, long time. It left you with a cool scar, and a new catchphrase for expressing your displeasure—“I’d rather be stabbed again than do the dishes!”

Fine, it also left you jumpy and made your chest tight whenever you found yourself alone in an elevator.

But most importantly, it brought down the walls Rafael had been keeping up around himself. He talked to you more. You talked to each other more. And he remembered to—on occasion—take time out of his heroic, selfless life of battling injustice, and selfishly spend it with you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @delia26 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @storiesofsvu​

[hoe-doroki]

flotsam, jetsam, lagan, and derelict

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Iida x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 1.5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Your ship was a sturdy one—or so you’d always thought. You weren’t naïve enough to realize that your ship didn’t have a number of holes in it, depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts to name a few. Sometimes they broke through planks, splintering the wood in moments of tension or grief, maybe separately or maybe all at once creating a fall hazard yawning open on your deck. Sometimes they were quieter, bits mold spore collecting on the framing or rust on the sheet metal, leaving you mysteriously enfeebled until you stumbled across an infestation of the stuff and knew what had happened. In either scenario, you’d scramble for more wood, more steel, the sturdiest you could find to rebuild the rotted out sections of your boat. And almost always you could rebuild, restore before you began to sink.

But that was all for naught if the person doing the fixing—the captain—couldn’t steer.

You weren’t sure if it was the slow decay sneaking up on you again or if there’d been some greater break today, but your boat wasn’t just in disrepair—it was crashing. You were hitting rocks that were saying that you weren’t good enough. That you never had been good enough and would never be enough. It was something that you heard every day of the sound of the waves, but today it was thunderous. Deafening. The noise was screaming in your head and you were screaming back—you weren’t sure for what. Did you want salvation or did you want cessation?

“Y/N?”

You blinked your living room back into existence. There was a show on the TV, you had no idea which on what program. Iida had chosen it. Maybe your eyes had been on the screen, but they’d been unseeing, your ears plugged with water, locking you in with your thoughts.

“Are you cold?”

You weren’t. In fact, you were sweating—your hands, your armpits, the back of your neck. As steadily as you could, you shook your head, working hard to keep your face placid. Your boyfriend was sharp and he’d notice if your face exposed your inner turmoil.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice pressing. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t felt the tremble that he’d spotted immediately—it was just another way that your body was betraying you. “Mhmm,” you intoned, trying to act as though your attention was rapt on the TV as you shoved your damp hands under your thigh.

“Then are you sick?” Iida asked as he leaned forward to get a better look at you.

Your façade began to break. Your breathing was getting heavier and you didn’t feel the usual comfort you did when your boyfriend was this close, giving you his attention. You felt splayed, quartered, and scrutinized while you just wanted to be able to board yourself up somewhere small and hidden.

“Please, Iida,” you whispered, looking down at your lap. “Please just watch your show.”

“Watch my—” Iida grabbed the remote and turned off the TV promptly, giving you even more of his attention. “Y/N, I insist you tell me what’s wrong.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes tight as they too began to feel hot. “Nothing.”

The word came out so quiet while everything inside was still crashing, shouting. You weren’t good enough and now you were a liar too. You couldn’t even have a movie night without devolving into a shaking, sweaty mess. You couldn’t steer your boat without leaving flotsam and jetsam, lagan and derelict in your wake, portending a shipwreck.

“This doesn’t look like nothing,” Iida said, putting a hand to your shoulder.

The trembling had vibrated up your whole arm and uneven gasping was rattling your chest. Every effort you put into stamping it out, rebuilding your mask with eyes a little too wide, lips a little too quivery was torn out of your hands. Your grip was failing.

“Okay, stay right here,” Iida said, pushing off the couch. “I will procure a paper bag.”

Iida was back in a flash—had he used his quirk or were you just that far gone?—unfolding a paper bag and holding it in front of you.

“Breathe into it.”

But you were frozen. Your hands had gone numb under your thighs, the trembles now feeling like the rattling of a skeleton’s bones. No flesh, no muscle, no life—just shaking and air forcing itself into your body only to squeeze right out, rejected before it could find your blood, your marrow.

Iida held the bag to your mouth and pressed a large hand to the back of your neck, trying to settle your heaving, your capsizing. Your blood felt light, carbonated as tingles spread through your whole body. They felt like bugs or tiny splinters trying to find something vital and fleshy to sink into and ruin.

But you could also feel Iida’s hand stroking up and down your neck, the top of your back. Slowly, you began to hear him say, “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” Eventually, you remembered what the word meant as you grabbed hold of the wheel again, and steer away from some of the rocks.

You didn’t know how much time passed. It felt like forever and nothing more than a second frozen in time. What did time matter when you were this detached, this unmoored?

“What was that?” Iida asked as he pulled your bloodless hands out from under your thighs, rubbing them in his. “God, Y/N, that was terrifying. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—” you tried, but the word was all breath. You swallowed thickly and tried again, still nothing more than a whisper. “I never say anything.”

Your boyfriend stared at you, open mouthed. “This has happened before?”

You looked down, shame putting distance between you and his blue eyes. “A few times but…the lead up happens…sometimes. It just doesn’t…it’s not like I know when it’s going to end up like this versus when it’s going to be normal.”

“Hold on a second,” Iida said a hand chopping in front of you. “What do you mean by normal?”

“Just…” You shook your head, hearing you’re not good enough and why are you even bothering him smack from side to side as you did. “Thoughts. About myself. Usually I can handle them.”

“This is handling it?”

“No!” you said, frustration and pique spilling out of you. “This is obviously not handling it! Usually I can just navigate through it and live another day.”

“Okay, okay…” Iida said, voice quieting as he seemed to realize that he was pushing you towards a gangplank that was already in reach. “Is there anything that I can do?”

A million thoughts popped into your head of the things you wanted. You wanted to be held, reassured, given water, touched, loved. But the language for that dried up on your tongue and the only thing that made it out was, “No.”

Iida sat with that for a second, sharp brows angling in on each other. Then he sat back, looking determined. “An insurmountable challenge only looks that way because you have not yet seen the finish line,” he declared. “There’s always something we can do.”

“We?” you asked, risking a glance up at him.

“We,” Iida repeated confidently. “You and I, we make a we. And if you think I’ll let this happen again, without trying to do something about it, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“But…”

You shook your head again, wishing that the simple language that Iida used, the simple vision of your problems that he seemed to have was anywhere near the truth. You’d only let him see the shiny hull, the exterior you’d worked so hard to polish over the years. He knew nothing of your many layers of disrepair, the self-loathing that had, in fact, kicked in the very floorboards you stood on, until there was very little ground at all.

“I never know when it’s coming. It just happens and I have to be ready for it all the time.” Tears welled in your eyes and you tried to blink them away. “It’s so exhausting.”

“So let me help,” Iida said as he brushed his tears away.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

Iida looked at you, eyes sad but smile warm. Then he lifted you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you. Deep voice muffled in your neck, tickling behind your ear, he said, “Does this help?”

It took a second. Your body was tense, wanting to reject the comfort in favor of more pain. Wanting to let you hate yourself because it was what was familiar and, even in the coarse hold of self-loathing, the familiar felt safe. Like you’d fallen for your captive and you were trapped playing both roles.

But he kept holding you, rubbing your back and breathing in a slow, even tempo. You could feel your sailor’s knots relax your contours falling against his as the pressure of his broad body grounded you. “Yes,” you breathed. “It does.”

“Good,” Iida said, adjusting so that you were just that much closer. “Then it’s a place to start.”

[teaandatale]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @geekynerddemon who so lovingly wished for me to finish Layer on Layer. And though I haven’t been able to do so, I thought I would whet your appetite with a preview of Part 1 of my 2 Part Epilogue.

Please note this is a rough draft & subject to thorough revisions when I get the writing muse under control again.

Layer on Layer: Epilogue- PART ONE

“You see one painting, I see another, […] it’ll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it’ll never strike in any deep way at all but—a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you.” ― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

Despite the scorching heat radiating from the sudden summer outside, Steve had turned the AC off while the sun blazed in through the windows of the loft’s living room where he’d been painting. He had his music turned up and he was humming as he worked.

Peggy had given him the custom made easel, sturdy, adjustable, gorgeous, no doubt pricey, as a gift. He’d been painting so much that Peggy had deemed it necessary he have an easel at her place, a designated space to work since he spent so much time there anyway. She had claimed is a selfish gift after he voiced concern about her being too generous, assuring him she looked forward to watching him paint from the comfort of her couch. And she often did, taking breaks from her work by watching him mix colors and paint broad strokes.

The first thing he had painted at his new easel was for her, another detailed flower arrangement, just for her.

After unveiling the final product of Ana’s anniversary painting, which reportedly made Ana cry, happy tears Jarvis assured, she had given Steve a tremendous hug and after their double date dinner, they discussed art for a long time, their significant others at their sides sipping tea opting to discuss the dessert spread instead. He’d been so happy and warm to sit there among her friends, her make-shift family, accepting and open to him. How he could possibly love Peggy more he didn’t fully understand other than that he was learning he did it with every passing day.

Not long after that, Peggy started suggesting dates at more art museums and galleries. She watched him paint and encouraged him to do it more broadly. To show his work. To do more commissions. He wasn’t sure about all that, but he did start to paint more and more. He’d started even transferring images out of his therapy journal into oils. He’d done several, even brought one in to show his art therapy group. They encouraged him to make a series, to show his stories on canvas.

Steve swirls his paintbrush into his yellows, ochres melding with browns.

He’s deep in concentration getting her warm brown eyes just right, the right shade, the touch of a knowing glimmer in them. He remembers the first time they locked eyes, across her bedroom, just down the hall from where he stood right then.

He’s so deep in concentration, he doesn’t think twice at the sound of the front door opening and then when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey Peg, aren’t you late?” he asks distractedly without looking up.

“She sure is,” a voice that’s not Peggy’s startles him. He nearly drops his palette, tipping it over and paint gets on his bare chest.

He looks up and sees Angie.

“Sorry!” she cries out, and he notices she’s not looking at his face when he sets the palette down, trying to wipe at the pint on his skin. “Wow. This is a look. Go English!”

Steve blushes, grabbing his rag and using it as a make-shift cover for at least part of his bare torso.

“I thought you two were meeting at your hotel for drinks,” Steve said, reaching over to the couch for his shirt. Angie is still staring when he slips it on.

“We were but she was running late. And so when she didn’t show I thought I’d see if we got our wires crossed and see if she was here. Sorry for scaring you. I still had my key, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Peggy just got caught up or stuck in traffic. You know how her work is.”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, she’s always going at a hundred miles a minute.” She stepped further into the room until she was right in front of the canvas. “You’re painting Peggy! You’ve been painting a perfect portrait of her half-naked looking like a Greek God. Unreal.”

Steve blushed further. “It’s hot in here but I prefer the breeze and the sunlight filtering in while painting so I turned the air conditioning off.”

“Oh don’t apologize, Steve. This has been the best surprise to walk into. I can’t imagine how Peg handles coming home to this every day.”

“We’re not living together.”

The yet goes without saying.

She giggled. “Yeah and when’s the last time you were at your place?”

“This morning,” he said defensively.

She just smirked and continue to devolve into giggles.

“You’re an amazing artist. That looks just like Peggy, down to that spark in her eye. I might need to hire you to paint me.”

He laughed. “Free of charge Angie. Friends and family plan.”

She grinned. “You’re as sweet as a button, you know that?”

“Can I get you something? Water?” he asked, already headed into the kitchen.

“Water’s good.”

They say down in the living room together chatting.

“How was your flight? Did you have press today?”

“Yup. Did a few of the morning shows. I have a late-night show appearance tomorrow afternoon that I’m pretty excited about. I can’t believe they’re having me on it!”

“We’ll have to record it. Peggy and I have been watching every episode by the way. But we’re a few behind because I have to wait and watch them with her. But you’re our favorite!”

“Aw, shucks. I cannot believe you got Peggy watching network TV.”

He laughed. “No I got her to use Netflix. You got her into network TV. She says you’re the most believable, though she always figures out the plot twists before I do. Are you giving her spoilers?”

“No way! And give away the impact of my performances before she sees them? That’s definitely all English. How’s she been? Super busy?”

“A little, but less so recently. She had a busy few weeks before her conference with the EU but she’s been keeping a regular schedule lately, coming home for dinner most nights.”

“Guess I just got unlucky with my timing,” Angie replied. “But I’m glad Peggy’s been taking some time for herself.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen Peggy in all sorts of ranges of stress in the last ten months. He’d been so glad that she’d been taking more personal time off, delegating, taking care of her well-being, seeking out his support when she needed it. Of course she was a busy woman. That was a given. But she always tried to make time. She always took the effort to stay present when they spent quality time together.

She’d gone out of her way to support his painting. They’d spent so many evenings out, sipping wine and swinging by the latest “hot” opening only for Peggy to proclaim that his work was much better, more moving, worthy of his own showing.

He still wasn’t all too sure about the whole artist career, but he loved how supportive she had been. How much she cared. How much she believe in him. It was nice to know if nothing else, he had a fan in Peggy.

“I’ve been trying to make sure she’s been taking care of herself better.”

“Good. I already know how good you are to her. She’s always happy to talk about you. I wouldn’t have believed it before actually meeting you.”

He shrugs off the compliment, after all he didn’t want the praise for just being there for someone he loved. Besides she deserved it and more.

“Maybe she’s got held up in a meeting. I’m sure she remembers our reservation,” Steve said after another fifteen minutes without hearing from her. “I’ll try to call her again.”

He didn’t catch her, but he did leave her a message reminding her of their reservation and that he and Angie would meet her there. Steve changed quickly in Peggy’s room and then the two of them hailed a cab. Angie filled him in on some L.A. gossip and some stories of her cast mates. He liked how bright and bubbly Angie was. He liked hearing stories of how she and Peggy became friends. How Peggy had always believed in Angie becoming an actress, and how the two always had each other’s backs. He liked knowing there were people apart from himself that cared so much for her.

They were early for their reservation, opting for the bar while they continued to swap stories. He checked his phone once they were seated but there were no messages. Angie convinced him to split an appetizer as she was starving and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Must be some hell of a meeting English is stuck in for her to respond to my texts for like five hours.”

Steve hummed, checking his phone.

“Wait. What did you say? You haven’t heard from her in that long?”

[imaginesbymk]

“My Girl Who’s Not Really My Girl, But Is My Girl Anyway.”

The Pacific One Shot

Summary: Snafu opens up to the guys and tells them about you, how you two are hook up buddies, and he ended up falling in love with you before enlisting in the war. After he returns home, you two make it official.

Pairing: Merriell “Snafu” Shelton x Fem!Reader

Non Requested

Tags: swearing, ethnic slurs, smoking, my shitty attempt at writing implied smut (not too detailed), mentions of war violence

Word Count: 1,753

Author’s Note: snafuuuuu!! i don’t write smut as its stated in my rules, but i thought i’d give this one a try lmfao and verdict: i’m not continuing on doing so because to me writing smut doesn’t suit me. likes/reblogs/feedback needed & appreciated <333

THE boys ganged up on Peck - but for a good reason. Peck was a man who mesmerizingly gazes at a photo of a chorus girl he met and fell in love with while his wife waits for him to come home every day, and is also the man who had gotten their mortar rounds with his own ripped poncho, resulting in getting a fellow marine killed after running to retrieve new ones.

Snafu was the first one to call him out for it. When it came to mentioning girls and whether or not each of them had one, Snafu was definitely going to be next to at least mention a name, or coat himself with a comment, and so he did.

“I don’t care what you think!” Peck exclaimed, annoyed by everyone, especially Snafu. “It’s not like you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Oh?” Snafu said, grinning. “I got a girl waitin’ for me to come home back in Louisiana.”

“Really?” Eugene raised his brow, showing a hint of curiosity that his friend never opened up about it until now. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

He shrugged. “Nah. Well, she’s my girl who’s not really my girl, but is my girl anyway,” Snafu paid no mind to the twisted confused looks on everyone’s faces, he just continued lighting his cigarette with his filthy hands completely worn from the battle.

“What does that even mean? Is she your girl or not?” Jay D’Leau asked.

“We just fuck around, but we’re not together,” Snafu spoke with the cigarette lit in his mouth.

“Not surprised,” Leyden says. 

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s not like you could hold down a girl for more than a week,” Peck says.

“You don’t got a say in shit, Peck. You carry a photograph of a Chorus broad while your wife dreads the day you die in the hands of a fuckin’ Jap,” he snaps. “I’m the luckiest son’a’bitch there ever was.”

“What’s her name?” Hamm asks.

THE tiny storage closet could fit up to only two people at a time, one if they were to bend over to get a hold of supplies from the shelves and bottom drawers. In that particular night was that storage closet used as a place of privacy for the extroverted Snafu, named Merriell back in Louisiana, and his girl who’s not really his girl, but is his girl anyway: you. Y/n.

People would have definitely heard you, whether they were walking past or were simply far away inside any seminar. The door to the closet was literally being pounded on by your back hitting against it with such force, after all. As for Merriell, he couldn’t give two shits. He’d let all of Louisiana hear you to let them know you belonged to him at that moment.

“You’re way too good at that,” you caught your breath moments after, straightening your dress despite its now developed wrinkles. Your hair was no longer neat and styled, but you did your best to fix it without a mirror.

“You’re experienced and lustful when you know what you’re doing,” he said so confidently. 

“So when are you leaving?”

“Next week. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Merriell put his shirt on, exposing a bit of his chest from the buttons down, and realized you weren’t paying attention to his answer. “Ya hair’s fine, girl.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t wanna walk out there and catch people staring at me, wondering what the hell happened to mess up my hair.”

“Oh they’ll definitely know what happened,” Merriell smirks. “They’re gonna know you walked inside a closet and got drilled by Snafu Shelton until the cows came home.”

You chuckled. “Snafu? Are you sure you want people to go along with that nickname?”

He grins. “As long as I go along with it first.” He tightened his belt, shuffling a bit around the enclosed space of the storage closet.

You ran your hands down his chest. “I’ll write to you.”

Snafu chuckles. “Don’t get serious on me now. I’ll be fine. And don’t write to me,” he then went ahead to button his shirt.

You frown. “Why?”

“It’s a waste of paper.”

“Don’t you wanna keep in touch? Or don’t tell me, you’re planning your proposal to some girl up north?”

“No girl. But there’s nothing we have for each other but a good fuck, that’s all.” And he opens the door, letting you walk out first. He followed you behind, wishing he could hold your hand. 

OK. Perhaps that was a lie. He saw you more than a good fuck. He saw something in you that gave him a bigger motivation to make it to the end of the war, to do his part and come back home. He was gonna miss catching a whiff of your strong perfume that would make him cough and crinkle his nose from his sinuses deteriorating. He was gonna miss how your hair was in his hand as he played with it while cuddling at a movie theatre. 

He was gonna miss you.

NIGHT fell when Snafu hopped off the train. Louisiana was still the way it was when he had left it. The same old calls from food stands, chatter from one group to another. It was nothing new, but it was home. 

He stopped to take a moment first. He didn’t want to wake up Eugene, who had been fast asleep in his seat. Knowing he had something to say before bidding a farewell to his friend, he bit his tongue and kept walking towards the exit.

Snafu, of course, didn’t expect to have anyone wait for him at the station. No family, no friends, no girl. So... what now? He thought. Just find yourself an old man as your chauffeur home, grab a beer and a bowl of peanuts.

“Damn, you look like a lost puppy, Snafu.” Snafu froze in his tracks. He shifted his weight from his duffel bag slung over his shoulder to turn himself around, to find you standing out from the walking crowd. 

A sight for sore eyes.

“Shit, you’re here. As loyal as they come!” A smirk appeared on his face due to the surprise unexpected surprise, even referring to him as “Snafu”.

“You really think I wouldn’t be here waiting for your ugly ass to come home?” you teased. 

“That’s four years of waiting,” Snafu points out. “Maybe five. Shit, you are loyal as they come.” You smile, your eyes twinkling like Christmas was happening way too early near the end of August.

“I have my parents’ car. They told me to bring it back by nine o’clock. I just want them to give me a later curfew, y’know? At least now that you’re home, I have a better reason to borrow it more often.”

“Well all I wanna do is pop a cold one once I stretch my fucking legs. I felt sick from the train ride home.”

“Motion sickness? It’s just one way.”

“A mixture of smoke and onions stunk up the whole boxcar.”

You made a face at that comment, and walked Snafu to your car. He stayed in the passenger seat even though you had pulled up to the house and shut off the engine. You both sat in silence for a moment. 

“Should I even ask how service was?”

Snafu answered your question by changing the subject. “I really missed you, y/n.”

Cocking a brow, you gave him a look. “You insisted for us to not write to each other.”

“I missed you, whether we wrote to each other or not.” Snafu looks ahead of the night through the opened car window. “It was hell out there. I felt like all of Louisiana could hear it. But I knew I would come home to see that pretty lil’ ass of yours again.”

You chuckle. “Snafu-”

“Merriell.”

You frown. “I thought that’s your name now.”

“It is... but when you call me by my Christian name, you chase the loud noises away.” It didn’t matter if that was a metaphor or if he was starting to hear things that could cause a trigger in his senses.

Either way, you just had to ask, “Merriell, is everything right?”

Snafu- Merriell- looked at you. “Yeah. I mean, I think so. Y/n, I think I’m in love with you. Is that all right?”

“Anything that’s been goin’ on between us is just fine, Merriell Shelton.”

“I’ve been in love with you ever since we started foolin’ around. I didn’t think much of it. I always thought a new broad would occupy my thoughts a week after, but each week passes and all I did was look forward to seeing you and you only.” 

Sighing, you take his hand that was rested on his leg. Merriell came to realization that this was the first time you two ever held hands without it leading to sex right after. Physical intimacy, indeed. “Merriell, I had a feeling our hookups would turn out into something more.”

“Really?” he asks.

“We were there for each other no matter what. It’s like I found my ride or die - y’know before you rode out of America for the war trying not to die.”

Merriell stroked your hand with his thumb, his eyes locked onto yours. “You were always my girl. Someone special.”

“I wasn’t really your girl to begin with,” you laughed. “But I also wasn’t anyone else’s, either.” Merriell leaned in, kissing you deeply. None of you pulled away until you had to catch a breath. “We waited a long time to do this again.”

Merriell leaned in again, closer this time that he could go on top of you. He whispered against your lips. “And thank Jesus H. I’m back.”

You both kissed for a couple of minutes. It stopped abruptly when you remembered where you two were at the moment. “Shit, sorry. My dad could have opened the blinds. You should come inside for dinner. My mother would be thrilled to see you in a uniform.”

“Shit, I’m already meeting your folks?” he curls his lips to a nervous grin. “I know damn well ya Dad’s gonna stare me down across the dinner table.”

“As long as you don’t tell him that I call you daddy, too, then you’ll be fine.” You earned a laugh from Merriell Shelton, and you two got out of your car and both walked up to the front steps, holding your boyfriend’s hand.

THE END

[olivinesea]

Off Souls, pt. 2

Part 1

a/n: I won’t deny it, shit is dark. Would it make it better if I told you there was a little light at the end? Like a candles-worth. There’s violence and drinking but I don’t think it needs any major warnings. ~4.8k (idk why they keep getting longer)

Everybody feels bad.

Hotch tried but couldn’t get back to sleep. Frustrated, he rolled over again, punching his pillow as if that was what was keeping him up. His mind was stuck, spinning on the image of Emily standing outside his door. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned up worse for wear, excited to show off her battle wounds. He’d never turned her away before and the lost look on her face when he had earlier filled him with guilt. He worried he’d done the wrong thing. He’d been told that boundaries were healthy and asserting his needs wasn’t an act of vengeance. But maybe that didn’t apply to their relationship. Where did he set a boundary on someone who felt like an extension of himself?

As soon as he saw the sky fading from black to gray he got up, showered and went to find her. She didn’t answer and when he opened the unlocked door he saw her unmoving form on the bed. A spike of fear seared through him before he noticed her breathing through a slightly open mouth. She was just passed out. He grimaced and left her alone to sleep it off.

Later in the morning he brought her coffee and a bagel. She again didn’t answer when he knocked. He opened the door and found her still in bed. Curled on her side, she had the covers pulled up over her head, only her face exposed. At first he thought she was still asleep but saw her blink as she stared at a spot on the floor.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he entered the room. He sat down opposite her on her roommate’s bed and held out his peace offering. “I brought you some breakfast.”

She slowly looked up at him, her eyes dull. He wondered just how much she’d had to drink last night. He didn’t think he’d seen her this hungover before. He waved the coffee enticingly, hoping the smell would help.

“Hazelnut oat latte. Triple shot,” he coaxed.

She stared at him for a beat before closing her eyes and rolling to face the wall.

“No thanks,” she muttered.

He frowned. He had been sure she’d come around with a little food and caffeine. She always had in the past. Maybe he had made a bigger mistake than he realized. He dropped his hands to his lap and tried to think of what to say.

“I—I’m sorry about last night. It’s just—“ he fumbled for the words. He hadn’t been mad at her exactly. He understood falling back on a familiar crutch. He also had spent too much time trying to fix problems with alcohol. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t yet figured out it wouldn’t work. He was just exhausted by it. He didn’t know how to explain that her late night appearances brought him back to other nights, less friendly, more damaging. Nights with a different pair of fists banging on his door, seeking him out for a different purpose. Those nights had left him feeling small and broken, his only coherent thought a wish that it would be over soon. Every time she startled him from sleep reminded him of his life before, when the only peace he could imagine was death. He couldn’t say any of that to her.

“I was just tired.” He knew it wasn’t enough. He knew in different circumstances she would be pushing him for more. Instead all he got was silence.

“Emily?”

“It’s fine, Aaron.” Her voice was muffled by the comforter and hard to make out.

“What?” He heard but he was not sure he understood.

“It’s fine. Just go away.”

That one he understood like a slap in the face. Still, he hesitated.

“Leave. me. alone.” Her voice was flat but the words were crisp. He’d really done it. He pushed her too far and now she was done with him. It was a bitter thought but he felt secretly relieved to discover there wasn’t a bottomless well of forgiveness after all. His worldview now resettled, he found the next steps were easy. He got up and placed the rejected breakfast on her desk, not stopping to push papers into piles for her like he might have the day before. It wasn’t his job to make order from her chaos anymore. He looked at her briefly before he closed the door. She was just an irregular figure under the dark blue covers, still and silent. He didn’t hear her start to cry as the latch caught behind him.  

Emily spent the day in bed. She spent the next day in bed as well. The entire weekend she subsisted on water and a few energy bars stolen from her roommate’s stash in the bottom of the closet. She wasn’t really hungry anyway. It took energy to be hungry and she barely had the energy to keep breathing. As she lay there staring at the wall, she couldn’t stop the images from the party filtering through her mind. What started as only flashes of memory crystallized into a damning portrait. Soon, she knew exactly what had happened and how she should feel about it. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead she felt numb.

The few times she got up, she found dark bruises forming on her arms and thighs. They made her feel nauseous so she covered them with long sleeves and sweats. The scrapes on her hands and knees weren’t anything special so she ignored them after picking out some gravel. There was one injury she couldn’t cover or ignore. She had thought it was dirt and scrubbed at the purple spot along her jaw before hissing in pain. She looked at it again and saw it was a thumb shaped bruise. Turning her head slowly she found matching marks on the other side of her jaw. Her stomach dropped as the memory of it overwhelmed her.

She understood that she wasn’t going to get away, that none of her limbs were taking direction from her anymore. So she did the only thing she could think of—she spit in his face, her only remaining defense. He grabbed her roughly and squeezed until she cried out, promising to break her jaw if she did it again.

“Wouldn’t that be a waste?” he had whispered, mouth far too close to her ear.

Emily stopped looking in the mirror after that. It didn’t matter what she looked like anymore.

In a way, everything that had happened at the party was only a confirmation of the person people already believed she was. She had been intentionally reckless, willfully making all the wrong decisions every step of the way. She had been mad and she had done what she knew would piss Hotch off the most. She understood why he turned her away like he did. She had actually been a little surprised when he showed up the next morning. It was only as she was listening to him try to form a stunted apology that she remembered he didn’t know what she had done. He might have seen the broad strokes but she was sure if he knew the details he’d blame her as much as she blamed herself. She didn’t want to see the disappointment and disgust he was sure to feel upon learning. Better to push him away. She didn’t deserve a friend like him anyway.

By the time Monday came around, she was completely convinced of her irredeemability. It was okay though. If she was worthless, she didn’t need to bother trying. She rolled out of bed and pulled a dark hoodie on over her leggings. She shoved her feet into her sneakers, hooking a finger behind her foot to pull the heel tab up. On her way out the door, she swept whatever was on her desk into her bag without looking and headed to class. When she got there she sat in the back and didn’t even pretend to take notes. She picked at her fingers and half-listened to the lecture. When the professor started prompting discussion she slid down in her chair, hoping to disappear.

Normally on Mondays she met Hotch for lunch before their shared afternoon class. Out of habit she walked towards their favorite dining hall only to stop short when she caught sight of the back of him. He had missed a spot when brushing his hair that morning, a big chunk of it sticking up. She would have loved making fun of him for it but she hung back, letting the distance between them grow. She felt her heart beating quickly, a wave of fear constricting her chest. If he saw her, he would try to talk to her. If he talked to her, he would ask what was wrong. And if he asked that—well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen then. She had been meticulously building a wall around the details of the party. She might not be able to escape what happened but she could bury it. It was too soon though, everything was still too close to the surface. A concerned look, a gentle question from him could easily bring it all back up. She would rather be friendless forever than have him know how badly she had fucked up.

He looked for her. Against his better judgement he found himself hoping to bump into her in the hallways or on the way to class. He knew she was done with him but a small piece of him held out hope that she might change her mind. He didn’t deserve it. He had been selfish. He had always been selfish. Always asking for more understanding, more forgiveness than he himself was willing to give. All schoolchildren learn the golden rule: treat others the way you would like to be treated. He thought he’d like to be treated kindly but for some reason he could never make it work. He was always upsetting people, making his mother cry, making his father angry. His very existence seemed to be an insult to order. He broke everything around him—rules, dishes, his mother’s heart. She had whispered that to him one night, after the storm of his father’s attention had passed.

“Please, won’t you try harder? You’re breaking my heart.”

He had been eleven and knocked over a glass of milk at dinner. He had just started a growth spurt and his limbs were suddenly long and difficult to keep track of. He hadn’t responded, only bitten his lip to stop from crying while she splinted his broken fingers. He did try harder but it was never enough.

He was an adult now and could rationally view the things that had happened to him as just that—things that were done to him, that he had no control over. He knew now that he hadn’t caused the drunken rages and hostile silences. He knew it was wrong that the only affection he had gotten at home had been the twisted love of a soft hand wiping blood from his face. He knew in his mind that it wasn’t his fault. But he believed, in a deep, unreachable place in his heart, that it was. So he hadn’t been surprised when Emily turned her back on him, finally tired of his weakness.

He spotted her in class, seated in the back, hood pulled up and face pale. She stared vacantly at the board at the front of the room. Her fingers twisted in her lap, nails digging roughly into skin. He willed her to look his way but it didn’t happen. He desperately wanted to undo the past few days. He wanted to tell her about the blueberry scone he tried that morning. He wanted her to laugh at him when he mispronounced the German terms in their psychology textbook. He almost walked over to sit next to her but he was too afraid she would tell him to go away again. He sighed and headed to a seat on the opposite side of the room. Class began and he did his best to pay attention to the review for their upcoming test. The next time he risked a look in her direction, her seat was empty.

Days turned into weeks. She got better at avoiding him. She arrived later and later to class. Sometimes she didn’t make it to class at all. She started eating in a different dining hall. Not as good as Powell; the food here seemed like it sat under a heat lamp for too long. She wasn’t hungry anyway. Nothing tasted right and she’d started feeling sick most mornings. The vodka she drank every night probably wasn’t helping. She was vaguely aware this was a bad habit to indulge but she wasn’t able to sleep without it. Each time she laid down, the images she’d been working so hard to push away returned to taunt her. They played in her mind like a movie and she screamed at the foolish actress to be smarter this time but it never changed. However, if she could get enough liquor in her system, she fell asleep too quickly for the movie to get started.

One day she sat at one of the tables in her new dining hall ignoring a cold slice of pizza in favor of iced coffee. She considered whether she should start spiking her coffee. It would be a risky move. She didn’t interact with anyone closely enough to worry about getting caught but she also didn’t want to completely flunk out out of school. Doctoring her midday drinks seemed a short road to disaster. The only thing she could imagine that was worse than what she was doing now was going home to face her mother, a college dropout and certified failure.

Still, the idea was alluring. It would soften the edges of having to be around all these people. She’d become jumpy, shying away from any contact or attention. She was always on guard, searching the crowds of students for danger. Though she'd watched that night replay over and over she wasn’t sure what he looked like. Now any medium-tall, blondish-brunette, dark eyed man could be the one. She hated the feeling and was upset with herself every time she froze like a rabbit before a wolf.

Deep in thought she didn’t hear anyone approach. She only noticed their presence when a hand ran across her shoulder blades, lingering a moment before the owner sat in a chair opposite her. The recognition was immediate. She wondered how she couldn’t remember his face before now, the details were all so familiar. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“I thought that was you.” He smiled as he said it, as if they were friends meeting each other casually.

She didn’t say anything, barely even breathing. She could hear her blood rushing around in her ears, unclear on where it should go to escape this nightmare.

His smile grew though his eyes were hard. She could see now that they were blue. A dark blue that looked black in the shadows.

“It’s the silent treatment, is it?”

She wondered what he expected. He must have been unaware of the rage burning inside her or he wouldn’t be so relaxed. If only she could make herself move.

“Well, pout if you want to. I don’t mind a little attitude.” He reached out his hand and tilted her chin up, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip. She wanted to bite him. Her brain was yelling at her body to react, but just like with the girl in her memory, it was useless. Fear had taken over.

He smiled again as he let go. “I’m glad I found you. You left without saying goodbye. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” It was a threat and he looked into her eyes to make sure she understood it. She glared back but it was too obvious who held all the power. Satisfied he stood up and started to walk away.

“Oh,” he stops, “you left your shoe. Come by whenever you want, Emily. I’ll make sure you get it.”

With that he was gone, passing through the doors and out of sight. She barely made it to a trashcan before throwing up. She hadn’t eaten much over the past day so it was mainly bile, painfully burning her throat. When she straightened up there were people staring at her, disgusted. One girl turned to her friend and made a rude comment that Emily could hear just enough of to know they thought she was drunk. She flipped everyone off and stalked away. She didn’t bother to clear her table, grabbing her bag and heading out a different exit.

Hotch tried his best to remain focused on school. He knew she was avoiding him and reluctantly did his best to make it easier on her. He spent more time in the library (a place she would never go without him) and was careful to sit towards the front of classes they shared so she could hide in the back. He didn’t venture to her side of the dorm building though he had been tempted to ask her roommate how she was doing. From what he could see, not well. It hurt his heart to ignore her but he wanted to respect her wishes. She told him, very clearly, to leave her alone so he would. Classes kept him busy enough and he fell back into old habits—forgetting to eat, staying up all night studying, not talking to anyone for days at a time. He was too young for them to be called frown lines but his face was developing permanent grooves around his mouth and between his eyebrows.

He was walking towards the library when he saw her. She moved quickly, head bent, hair flying wildly behind her. She was visibly angry and people moved out of her way on the path. As she got closer, he thought about stopping her, insisting on offering whatever comfort he could provide. She was past him before he even finished his thought. She didn’t see him standing on the side of the walkway.

She didn’t see anything through the all-consuming rage driving her forward. She wasn’t sure where she was going but she knew she needed to hurt something. She could see his smug face floating before her and she wanted to break it. If she could, she would kill him without hesitation. But she couldn’t. She was too weak. Too weak to even say anything to him when given the chance. This unpleasant thought slowed her down. She was reminded that all this had happened because of her. There was no point in hurting him when she would still be the same person who was naive enough to let this happen. The only worthwhile person to hurt was herself. She was the real problem. With that realization, she changed direction, heading back to her dorm and the bottles she’d hidden there.

It took talent to maintain a level of inebriation that kept her just beneath the surface of reality without destroying her physically. Here she couldn’t feel enough to care, every responsibility and unwelcome emotion just slid away. She could walk to class (when she bothered to go) without feeling people’s eyes on her, oblivious to their judgement. Sometimes she got tired on the way and laid down on a bench or under a tree instead. Occasionally she fell asleep and was out until the chill of sunset woke her. Part of her knew this would be the end of her but if she was being honest, that was probably for the best. The world didn’t benefit from her presence, it certainly wouldn’t notice her absence.

Even in the permanent fog she had been cultivating, Emily could tell something was off. She didn’t want to believe it. She had been desperately hoping it wasn’t true. She was late all the time. The word ‘stress’ didn’t even begin to cover how she had been feeling. There were a dozen explanations that didn’t involve this. Please, please, she begged, anything but this. On the sixth week she caved to her paranoia and bought a test. When she asked for a pack of cigarettes to go with it, the clerk gave her a disapproving look.

“Hoping for the best!” She tried to sound cheerful and gave the sour woman a wink. Inside, she felt all her organs turning to stone.

She found a gas station with a single stall bathroom. This kind of thing couldn’t be done in a dorm bathroom shared by half a dozen girls. Not unless you planned on letting everyone else know too. She paced as she waited, ignoring the knocks on the door. When enough time had passed she took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes and sending one last plea into the universe. When she looked down at it everything went black for a moment. She steadied herself against the graffitied wall, breathing through her nose before looking again.

Positive.

She bit down on the back of her fist to keep from screaming. Whoever was at the door was knocking again.

“Fuck off!” she yelled back. She looked at herself in the mirror. Get a grip, Emily. She had to get out of there. That was the first step. She would figure out the rest of it after that. She realized she was still holding the plastic test, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. If only she was strong enough to crush it, pulverize it until it was only a harmless powder. She wrapped it in several paper towels, shoving it deep into the trashcan so no one would accidentally see it. Not that it mattered. Did anything really matter at this point? She felt a wave of hysterical laughter threaten to consume her. She had to move faster.

She slammed the door open, making the impatient knocker jump. That gave her some small satisfaction as she sped through the convenience market and out the door. She had gotten the cigarettes open before she got to the end of the block. It took a couple tries to get one lit, eventually having to pause to be able to coordinate the necessary movements. She felt a thin chemical relief immediately begin to soothe her. She was never a big smoker but she’d always found them comforting in times of crisis. The smell reminded her of summer nights and the burning of the smoke in her lungs helped distract her from the thoughts that were trying to consume her.

She walked rapidly back to campus, chain smoking the whole way. She couldn’t focus enough to come up with a plan. She could barely wrap her mind around the reality she was now facing. She felt her skin crawl with the knowledge there was something growing inside her. Something unwelcome and alien. Horrible, undeniable evidence that all her memories were real.

She reached her dorm building but wasn’t ready to go inside. She felt trapped already, she couldn’t bear the idea of being surrounded by walls and people. She collapsed onto a ledge running around a planter beside the entryway. Switching off between worrying her fingers with her teeth and taking drags on her cigarette, she tried to reason her way to calm. She leaned her elbows on her knees and examined the concrete between her feet, trying to remember what people did with problems like this.

“Emily?”

As soon as she looked up into Hotch’s worried face she started crying. She dropped her head into her hands, nearly burning herself. He was the last person she wanted see. She had been working so hard to stay away, to keep her failure to herself. There had been many times over the past weeks she had wished she could find him and beg for his friendship. She’d fantasized about lying, creating elaborate stories to explain her behavior. But she had been too afraid he would see through her. Now he was going to find out anyway.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” He knelt down in front of her, placing his hands cautiously on her knees. “Hey, talk to me. Please?” He pulled the half smoked cigarette from her fingers and crushed it on the ground beside them. She was still sobbing even though she was pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to hold the tears back by barricade. He waited, staying very still and watching her closely. She slowly calmed down enough to take a few shaky breaths. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and avoided his eyes, looking instead at the hole forming in the toe of her sneaker.

“Emily.”

She shivered involuntarily.

“Look at me.” He gave her knee a little shake of encouragement. The look on her face drove a knife through his heart.

“I really messed up, Hotch.” There was no point in trying to hide it now.

He waited for her to say more.

“I—I—“she stuttered, starting to panic.

He got off the ground and sat next to her, pressing against her side the way she had done to him so many times before. He took her hands between his much larger ones, holding them gently and hoping he was doing the right thing.

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.” He tried to sound encouraging and not let the fear he was feeling show in his voice. He was truly alarmed seeing her like this. She was so strong, so fearless. Whatever was going on was not going to be easy to deal with.

His solid presence helped ground her and she relaxed against him a little. She closed her eyes, unsure where to start.

“There’s…a lot.”

He squeezed her fingers encouragingly.

“You remember the night I…when I woke you up?”

She felt him stiffen and she stumbled on quickly before he could change his mind and leave.

“Something…happened. At the party. I was being stupid and I—“ She starts crying again. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her, trying to read more between the phrases she was giving him.

“Oh Aaron. I’m pregnant.”

She folded in on herself again, too ashamed to look at him. The pieces finally fit together—the way she had looked like someone had dragged her down a street, how out of it she had been the next day. He felt a piercing self-hatred realizing it had taken him so long to understand. He had failed her and he would never forgive himself for it. But right now he needed to focus. He didn’t know what to say so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her upright and gathering her to his chest. She wept into his collar while he smoothed his hand over her hair, again and again.

“It’s going to be ok,” he said, gritting his teeth and praying he could make that true. His mind raced ahead with possibilities—the top of his list was breaking the neck of the asshole that had done this.

She pulled back a little to look at him, finally calm enough to be wary. He looked at her evenly, ready to accept whatever justified anger she was going to direct at him. She only bit her lip and looked away.

“I’m really sorry, Em,” he said, his voice tight. “I should have been there.”

“Do you hate me?” She spoke so quietly he almost missed it.

“What? No, of course not. Why would I hate you?”

She sighed. “You’re mad.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Please, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

She looked at him closely to see if he was lying.

“I’m not mad at you Emily.”

Mad for her maybe. Mad at himself, definitely. Furious with whoever did this to her. But not at her. The thought that she believed he would be angry with her for being attacked made him sick.

She didn’t look completely convinced but he’d never lied to her before. Accepting that he meant it, she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She’d take what she could get. She was too tired, too afraid to question him further.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he added fiercely.

It was so easy to make promises at nineteen. He didn’t mean to lie.

~Part 3~

[raccoons-inked-quill]

Stroll to Ingloslaght

Desc:

After months of being rejected for his morbid countence,the creature seeks revenge for his woes,now proceeding to Ingloslaght, to end the one who had this disaster all begun.

On his way,however,he stops for directions from a man seemingly in a bit of a predictament, having lost his glasses,a perfect and treasured opportunity to converse sans considering his frightening appearance

Author notes:

My God i wrote this like. Months ago and then got stuck hdhdhd. I may continue as a second chapter later? But I left the ending a tad open ended since I got stuck on it so long.

For weeks I treaded amongst the depths of the woods ,my grotesque figure hidden from the likes of man's gaze by the fortunate shade. And for what reason must I so meticulously lurk in these dreaded woodlands, woven through thorns and branches,to preserve my sight from humanity? The very burning passion that has kept me on my feet ,who's written words regarding myself have sent me on this prolonged travels. It was this man himself,by the name of Victor Frankenstein, whom had so cruelly sculpted me into my detestable shape. And it was that very man I treaded onwards in hopes he will be sought out. That for being forsaken to dispose existence upon me in this wretched condition by his own hands,he will pay with the likes of his own life.

After such  travels, my fruition drew closer. I arrived to the borders of Ingloslaght. What an enlightening  concoction had ignited within me then. I was grappled and willingly overtaken by rage and euphoria,but yet a vaguely present melancholy festered  despite my wishes for it to abstain.

Then proceeded a new realization within me. I knew the man by name,but not by his appearance. Only scarce remnants of the man I remember. Youth still very much blessed his visage, yet at the same time,he in no manner was remotely vigorous. The man held a starking contrast in the fact that he nonetheless appeared entirely unkempt  and teetering on the brinks of life and death much too early if his youthful features stood true.

It was by these aspects alone I must go by,as all else in my mind I only recall as a blur,and that leaves me a far too broad description. 

My conclusion, was that I must  temporarily reveal myself in order to acquire where the fool resided. I had an inkling of an idea given by the brief details provided in his journal. He attended university, and his teachings he received was made up of atleast two professors. Krempe and Waldman. This aside,I knew I soon will be forced to inquire to someone amongst mankind,likely by force given I know well enough my looks will not provide me to any civil conversation.

It was by this thought my vehement dedication was temporarily stunted by dread.

I was moved to only scratch the brinks of the town,and could not bring myself to any confrontation even when opportunity seemed fit. Everytime,I found myself grow close to presenting myself,only to draw gingerly away. The only hope that spared my sense of confidence was that I came closer to enacting out this deed when I thought out my motivations, of avenging myself by the fated and horrid death of Victor Frankenstein . 

For once life granted me a faithful advantage,one that had so fortunately removed the need to inquire upon a member of humanity with the complexities that came with force. Whilst making my typical rounds around the outer trails of Ingloslaghts nature,I stumbled upon a pair of glasses that had evidently not been there long,as there was a lack of dirt and cracks upon it that would not be possible if it were there for more then a day.

I glanced forwards,and immediately met whom I assumed to be their owner. I froze in my posture as the young man had glanced upon me,surely certain that he would remark in terror upon my ghastly form. Then enthrallingly,he only smiled politely. He spoke in a language I couldn't seem to make sense of,so I had quite discomfortedly added that I could not make sense of him in my native tongue. To yet more of my surprise,he seemed to  light up upon hearing it,recognizing it as if it were his own.

"Sir! Hello,it seems I may have to request of you some help,if you don't take it as too much a grievance. I seem to have misplaced something gravely vital,my glasses,and I was wondering if you had caught sight of it."

I couldn't seem to place my finger on the particular origin of his accent, but I had assumed it to be to some form of a French speaking country. I picked up the glasses from where they lay perched in the ground,my grasp on them light.

"Afraid not." I responded.  

"Do you think it will be much trouble to you on your own ? It seems that you've been rendered utterly blind without them,it will be of no trouble to my time to lend aid."

The man's eyes took a final glance at the ground below,as what I had considered to be  his  last resort. Of course, the poor soul had resigned his search  and looking displeased but nonetheless unsurprised,he sheepishly nodded.

"I assume I'll be forced to manage,I have a spare somewhere at home." He concluded with a faint disappointment 

"I think I may have caught sight of a glimmer not too far off the trail here,some sort of glass."

This statement had gotten his attention,as he ever so slightly had tilted his head in intrigue

"Oh! Would you mind to show me where you'd spotted it?"

I cheerfully obliged, indulging him in the lie I had swiftly constructed. It would be simple and quick, I reasoned, to quickly converse with this man about the whereabouts of my wretched creator. I had thought to myself that he hadn't appeared much older in comparison, a part of me took an unnerving familiarity in him,thus I assumed this reasoning to be a fair explanation. 

He wobbled forwards,his balance faltering on more than one instance. If not already clear by his absent remarks acknowledging my form,the way he had stumbled forwards in absolute obliviousness to his surroundings had distinguished it well enough. Easily I took pity upon the fellow,as he unlike Delacey hadn't frequented the ability to navigate without the sense of sight.

Evidently he was mildly displeased with the aid,more in resent towards having come off needy. He made certain it wasn't in direction towards myself,as the faint polite smile had returned to his face when he had looked upon me.

"I apologize,you must find yourself vexed to be so suddenly tied to these tasks. I hope I haven't burdened your walks,or whatever finds you out here in these trails."

"I reside not far off from here,in not much more then a humble hut,but it is a temporary abode. There is no place i find myself long."

"Ah,a traveler,I presume?"

I analyzed this title placed onto me,and found it a fair summary. Since the Delacey's,there is truly no place shall I find myself confined,I must always be in travel,to preserve myself from the likes of man. A tinge of frustration had emerged within me,and once more i was reminded of what I was in need of doing.

"I suppose so. But there is.."

I had struggled to put to proper words,a fair description to my enemy without revealing suspicion in such open malice.

"Someone,in which I plan to visit."

He nodded once more,that grin still on his face,strangly its formal politeness presented as if it were something he had long rehearsed,as if he found the intricacies of small talk alike to following the script of a play.

 Although I found my task to be in dire need of proceeding too,I felt the desire to converse further. As it is with no other  since Delacey I had experience to even a brief casual exchange as this. I took graciously to not waste the rarity of the moment,where I would not be taken in my grotesque glory,but as if I were no more revoltingly significant then any other human individual.

"I must ask myself,it is rare that I am to witness any other walk amongst these parts. What is it that has  lead you here?"

He trailed down to look upon his hands, which rested a leathered notebook in one and a  twirling quill in another,spinning with a repetitive motion.

"It is these parts that my dearest friend Henry has frequently visited and discussed fondly of. He is a man who partakes immensely in the pleasures of its nature.

I cannot repay the abundance of compassion he has recently displaced upon me. I am not too well in demonstrating my care,as passionate as it comes. However, I reckoned it would please him if I had sketched out these places,as a souvenir."

"I may confess,that I often am lead to consider my life nothing more then wretched,but it is in nature in which none are spared of its serenity that I find peace. I am certain he will find much appreciation in it permanently preserved. Do you mind if I see it?"

He chuckled then,clearly happy i had taken interest ,and he had shifted from his rehearsed nature to something that appeared to be more geniune. 

"Certainly! Though I haven't quite finished nor fixed its mistakes,and I can't seem to do so in my current condition"

I took the notebook from my remaining free hand,my other still enveloped around his  glasses to prevent revealing their shape,which I reckoned he would distinguish in the blur.

Haphazardly, I had found myself on his stated works. Of course,there on the page remained an illustration that had captured the epitome of our surroundings embodied by a diverse array of ink strokes. I smiled on it fondly,taking much fascination in its dedication. In this admiration I found a sense of tragedy. What anomaly had I befallen then! 

Mankind had possesed the likes to bring into reality  the upmost wonderous of creations,how fascinating do I find this feeble man's illustrations,of which intricately demonstrate the scenery before us embodied with its own sense of beauty. More on this I reminisced,beyond that of this particular man. How oft had I become to being moved by the words of Milton and Goethe,which they had just alike he before me, in their own manner intimately captured the complexities of the world accompanied by their own beauty. It was by mankind's creations  had built the backs of my own character, and made a good expanse to my knowledge. How cruel is it,then,that just as capable of bestowing this lovely artistry,that one outlier had fabricated the wretch that is myself, exempt from the beloved due to how morbidly I was devised.

"Im more than certain your friend will find themselves pleased,you have an immense talent.  I hope you dont find this rude, may I request on you a favor?" 

The man grinned still ,pleased by the praise,but had once again paused to construct a response to what had followed.

"You may,i suppose i do owe you one for the troubles. Though I am not sure if I am in position to do what you request."

"Its simply no more then a nagging question"

I had looked towards him to say this,and again I had been struck with a surreal distant familiarity to this man's features. Infesting my mind with an entourage of haunting explanation. The frail face of the man,in the same nature of distant memory evidently young yet prematurely frail and worn. "Have i irked you?"

The man interupted

"It is not thus,no manner have I been disturbed,rather simply I am lost in a rather unrelated contemplation"

"What must that be?"

I found it proper then to ask,as much I had appreciated the time spent in engaging conversation, I must not let the topic at hand i had brought myself forth in confronting this man to be forgotten so wrecklessly. It would be soon enough that one would tire of this conversation and he may request of a continued search in his spectacles that I held within my hand to his lacking knowledge.  

"Do you know of a Victor Frankenstein?"

"Know of?"

Theres a bewilderment in his voice.

"I am Victor Frankenstein."

In this abhorrent revelation, the glasses, once held quietly in my grasps, cracked from the palms of my despicably putrid hands,piercing skin. A putrid nature only given to me by the young man before me. This wretched boy's countence,by no surprise to his timid nature,shifted to a cowardly form. A realization,though not yet of my identity.

"Were those my glasses?"

He remarked,distressed.

In this flurry of a moment,I came to a response. An excuse no less,the boy would continue to live in obliviousness. 

"Id stepped on them,it seems,I'm dreadfully sorry to that."

"Oh,thats-thats-uh..rather unfortunate."

He had come to a loss of words, he was quiet,his hand now anxiously squeezing his arm in what was presumed an unconscious effort by cause of his ever growing anxiousness.

"I  do have a spare at home though I really would hate to inconvenience you more with this task at hand then I already did. Though I think its a rather potent risk of me to try and return by my lonesome. My vision is absolutely poor,and without them I am rendered close to blind."

I was fairly indecisive, this man before me. That whom brought upon  my miseries,now by his lonesome was in evident need of attendance, mine specifically as we stood alone,although in that lies the issue that the wretch stood none the wiser that  I am vehemently scorned by his faults.

I should find this a perfect opportunity in evoking destruction, of letting out my more cruel nature that he too held to creating by his neglectful devices.  Yet all the same,I was hesitant in acting forth my vengence. Perhaps,if I move him further off from the sights of the town,I may find better opportunity and courage in his killing.

"I can attend to that. Though if you may see this option fit,I would have drastic preference that I am to partake in the sceneic walk. I am alike you an admirer of nature,and one whom does not fair well amougst the vast crowds of townsfolk. "

He gave no verbal reply to this,instead,he gestured out to extend his arm,to which I obliged in holding rather awkwardly. Off we had proceeded,towards the depths of the woods to which no man would follow. Perhaps,my hesitancy would leave me then.

[mybg3notebook]

Additional Scenes:

Death protocol and comments on dreams

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

In these “scene posts” I will explore the scene of the title looking for the information in the dialogues. What I will be looking for is how much Gale “lies”, how much lore is provided, and any extra detail that may be of our interest to highlight. At the end of these posts there are summary points for those who don't want to read the whole post.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in this (post) while disclaimers about Context in this (one).

Protocol Scene

After skipping all the annoying protocol, we can reach to the most important part of it: the comments afterwards.

Gale: [...]I assume you have some questions for me. Only fair to warn you I've precious few answers to spare. I apologise if it sounds thankless. It's just that some secrets simply cannot be revealed. 

[If Tav used the tadpole successfully before] Tav:[perception] I've seen the darkness inside of you, remember? I already know. [success]Gale: You don't know. Not really. But after all you've done for me, I do suppose I should be at least a little bit forthcoming. [Failure] Gale: There is no knowledge in a glimpse of darkness. My secrets are still my own. 

Tav: [persuasion] I brought you back to life. A few answers is the least you can spare me. [success] Gale: I... I suppose that after all you've done for me, I should be at least a little bit forthcoming. 

Gale: Tell you what, I will answer one question that you may have. To the best of my ability. If I can. 

Over and over and over Gale is very explicit that he has secrets he can't or doesn't want to share. This is why the “great betrayal” concept in the revelation scene feels so cheap in my opinion. Gale never denied that something very wrong was happening with him. He certainly opens a bit more once he is brought back to life and tries to compromise in saying something more. We can clearly see his resistance to it. 

Tav: I simply want to know what it is you're keeping from me Gale: I'm dangerous. Not because I want to be, but because of... an error I made in the past. [before gale speaks of his loss] It makes me dangerous – even in death.  You brought me […] [after gale speaks of his loss] I told you how I sought to win the favour of Mystra. I did this by trying to control a form of magic only one wizard ever could. I failed to control it. Instead it infested me. It makes me dangerous... even in death. You brought me […]

Tav: Why did your projection say that many lives depended on your resurrection? [before gale speaks about artefacts] Gale: Because it was the truth, and the truth is a great motivator. I'm dangerous. Not because I want to be […] [after gale speaks about artefacts] Gale: When I told you I needed powerful magic to keep my condition under control, I didn't tell you why. Well, here is part of the why: I'm dangerous. Not because I want to be […]

[After using the Tadpole successfully] Tav: the darkness inside you, what is it? Gale: It's magic from another time and another place. It is something that is beyond me, yet inside me. That makes me dangerous... even in death. 

Tav: Actually, nevermind. If it makes you this uncomfortable, I won't insist.  Gale: That's... well, that's very kind of you. If the roles were reversed I don't know if I'd have your patience.

I mean... really... No matter the conditions, the context or the option picked, Gale can't be more repetitive about three facts: he has secrets, he is really dangerous, and there are 'catastrophic' consequences if we don't help him with the artefacts. None of them are a lie. This is also why I think the party scene is very unpolished: it doesn't acknowledge the fact that Gale already said a lot to some Tavs who explored and pushed Gale to speak, and the scene is presented as a conflict or a “betrayal” when there was none, specially for the case of Tavs who pushed Gale to speak. In either case, Tav is aware of what's happening with Gale: they know everything in broad strokes, or they respect his privacy and know little but they know that what Gale hides is a very dangerous secret. This is why I think calling Gale a manipulative or coercive character is very misunderstanding.

Tadpole Dreams

Dream 1

Gale feels well and healthy despite the terrible symptoms that Tav and their companions shared the previous night. However, Gale is a pragmatic person: this is not just luck and he makes it clear in his opinion:

Gale: What I saw surpassed the vivid. The voice was too true, the touch too tantalising, I can tell you felt the same. Sought out in the night by.... what? An illusion, or a promise? […] let's agree that at the very least there was the lure of a promise. The touch, the kiss, the everything... Did you relented or resisted? […] The dream wasn't just about power, it was about desire. […] It was an expert, this apparition. First the seduction, then the spurning, then that teasing souvenir. 'You are not ready, I will return when you are'. That's what I was promised. We have some restless nights ahead of us. 

For players who pushed Gale to speak during the Loss scene, it's easy to suspect the person he is dreaming about: Mystra. The relationship with Mystra can be guessed during these comments after the dreams. We know that the dreams represent our companions' desires and wishes for power, and they have, in most cases, a sexual connotation. When Gale speaks about the kiss, we can assume that, same as what Shadowheart explicitly said, he slept with his dream person. So, if the player gets the Loss scene before the second dream, Tav will be quite aware of Gale's relationship with Mystra. Again, this is never acknowledged in the 'revelation' scene. 

Dream 2

In the second dream, Gale is darker and bitter. 

Gale: Good morning. I'm sorry, but I'm not in the best of moods. I tire of these dreams. Dreams. The word implies desire, but we're being played for fools. These are nothing but delusions. 

Tav: I recall you being a lot more enthusiast after our first collective dream

Gale: I never said I'm not among the fools.

Tav: The power we're given is real, and there's no denying that.  Gale: It’s not because they’re real, that they don’t deceive. Give it candy and a child stops asking questions.

Gale: These dreams are too good to be true, and I can tell you why. Because their promises are perfect, and in perfection lies their flaw. It's the tadpole reading our every desire, but they don't read between the lines. They don't know some things are impossible. They don't know that... They don't know. 

Tav: Gale, who is the apparition in your dreams?

Gale: She's... It doesn't matter. I just know her to be unreal. 

Tav: What's impossible about what you're been shown? Gale: Forgiveness

3- Tav: I'll leave you to your ruminations.  Gale: Remember: these are nothing but delusions. Don't let the illithid's close readings persuade you of good intent. 

[If Tav can guess it's Mystra after the Loss Scene] So it's Mystra you see. Of course it is. 

Gale: I... why, yes. Clearly the tadpole isn't the only one who can read me like a book. It's indeed Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. I told you that I lost her. Lost her favour and lost so many of the powers I took for granted. What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence. Mystra has not changed her mind about me. That's how I know our dreams are delusions.

[If Tav cannot guess it's Mystra] Tav: [Persuasion] Come, you can tell me. We're among friends here.  [success] Gale: Very well. It's Mystra I see. And yet it cannot be her. There was a time when I would have believed - but no longer. Things were different once, between the goddess and me. But things have changed. The parasite has plans for us [...]

This scene, for those players who can be lucky enough to trigger (it has the lowest of the lowest priorities), removes part of the apparent “shadiness” in Gale. He repeats clearly that he dreams of Mystra, which should immediately make aware the player that this has sexual connotations since these dreams are about desire and power, and Gale also expressed this in the first dream about the kiss. We also discover that what Gale desires the most is not power, but forgiveness. This is why I personally see him as looking for power not as a means but as a goal: Gale wishes to save himself, to remove the “orb” from him, and to be “one with the weave”. The more powerful he would become, the closer to Magic and the goddess he would be. 

However, Gale is a pragmatic, realistic character as we saw in the Ceremorphosis scene: he won't lie to himself. He is very aware that forgiveness is beyond reach. He may have believed it be possible when younger, but he repeats once more that this concept we saw in other scenes: he is aware that whatever he had before is over.

Summary:

During the protocol scene Gale explicitly says, once more, that he has secrets. 

He explains that he is dangerous, even in death, despite not wanting to be, reinforcing the idea that his consumption of artefacts prevents something very 'catastrophic' from happening.

If the protocol is triggered after the Loss scene, he will explain that an old magic 'infested' him.

During the comments after the dreams we learn that the dreams represent desire and power with sexual implications in most cases (if not all).

After the second dream, Gale expressed his scepticism about the dreams. He knows his dream person cannot be Mystra.

We learn that his most intense desire, reflected in the nature of the dream, is forgiveness, not power. Let's remember these dreams can't be fooled. They show the deepest desire/wish for power of the dreamer.

If this scene is triggered after the Loss scene, we learn that Gale is always aware of Mystra's disappointment because he can sense it in the Weave every time he casts magic.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[notveryglittery]

far (1.2)

summary: everything’s just right. until it isn’t. wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, platonic anxceit warnings: injuries, fighting, zombies, typical minecraft danger author‘s note: i really can’t be stopped, huh? thank you so much to @blinksinbewilderment for beta’ing this for me! this ends the first part of the au but i have so many more ideas :) enjoy! 

mice on venus (1.1) | far (1.2) (you are here) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) ao3 line (to edit later)

— — —

Roman wakes up late and is devastated to find out that Janus and Virgil left just before sunrise. No one will tell him why they left or what they were going out looking for and it just makes his mood even worse. It doesn’t help that he’s put on official bed rest; Logan is actually posted outside of his door to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Roman picks slowly at the breakfast Patton had brought up to him: it’s eggs, bacon, hash browns, and apple juice which are a lot of his favorite foods but they just don’t taste right. The whole day feels off and he’s not even halfway into it.

Eventually, the scrape of a chair breaks through the monotony of his morning and he looks up, curious. Patton bursts through the door, barely carrying a jukebox.

“Dearest, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Roman exclaims, trying to get up and help.

“Nuh uh,” Patton tuts, “stay put.”

Roman begrudgingly settles back into bed as Patton manages to set the jukebox down on Roman’s desk by the window. Roman would recognize that disc anywhere and his face lights up as the first notes of Far begin to play. Patton beams back at him before hurrying out of the room again. Roman closes his eyes and leans back, letting the whimsical sounds wash over him.

When Patton returns, it’s again by carrying something heavy up the stairs by himself, and Roman’s worry spikes. This time, Patton drops the load unceremoniously on the floor and it clangs noisily. The sunlight glints off of it and Roman realizes it’s his shield, in obvious need of redecorating.

“Who fixed it?” He asks, wondering how in the world it got done so quickly.

“Janus found a bunch of iron ore in that ravine and Virgil made sure to put it in the blast furnace to smelt overnight!” Patton explains, dripping a tiny bit of what looks like Slow Falling onto it. It is just as heavy to lift but once he has, he gives it a careful toss towards Roman, who catches it as it floats gently down to him. “I asked the armorer how long it would take to repair. He said no time at all as long as I brought back some berry shortbread when I came to pick it up!”

“Patton,” Roman says very seriously. “Did you make berry shortbread?”

Patton giggles. “Yes, honey, and don’t worry, I made enough for dessert tonight.”

“Come here!” Roman shouts which just makes Patton laugh harder.

As soon as Patton is in arm’s reach, Roman pulls him in and down for a kiss. It’s sweet and brief because Patton can’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” he mumbles, brushing his lips across Roman’s cheek as he stands back up.

“I love you!” Roman declares. “It’s been so long since I repainted this!” He tilts the shield in his lap so he can get a better look at it. “I’m making sure there’s a spot dedicated to you this time!”

Patton blushes and busies himself with retrieving Roman’s art supplies from his storage. “You don’t have to do that…”

“Don’t have to,” Roman agrees, “I want to!”

Patton sighs fondly as he helps to get Roman set up with a sturdy place to work. He’s meant to keep his leg elevated which makes this all very awkward but they do eventually sort it out. As soon as he’s comfortable, Roman is mixing colors to get just the right shade. He starts with broad strokes to get a base down; at least, that’s what Patton assumes. Far still plays happily from the jukebox and everything is just right.

— — —

Everything is not just right and Virgil is pretty fucking sure they are going to die.

“What did you do!” He screeches over the sound of what must be at least twenty zombies bearing down on them.

“Might’ve lingered too long ‘round a spawner,” Janus grunts as he swings his axe into a zombie’s chest.

Virgil answers with a wordless, frustrated scream, plunging his daggers into a zombie’s face probably more times than is necessary. He loses track of how many mobs they kill (because of course a handful of skeletons and creepers join the fray). Eventually though, they do get enough distance between them and the monsters that they can block the path and take some time to breathe.

“Was there even any good loot?” Virgil asks.

Janus tosses his pack onto the ground between them. Virgil goes through it and finds cocoa beans (which is the main reason they’re exploring, so that’s nice), two golden apples (holy shit), and a name tag (as if they don’t have enough of those already). He runs a hand through his hair which is a huge mistake, actually, because they are still grimy with blood. He takes a few moments to clean himself off as best he can. In the time it takes him to do so, Janus has leant against the wall and fallen half-asleep.

“Let’s stay awhile,” Virgil suggests, because if he makes it sound like he’s the one that wants to rest, Janus is less likely to take offense. “That fight took a lot out of me.”

Janus blinks at him, slowly. “Whenever you’re ready, then.”

He dozes off so quickly, Virgil would dare to think that Janus actually trusts him with his safety. They’ve come a long way, he supposes; from Janus nearly stranding them in the Nether to Virgil being the one he usually invites along for scouting.

Virgil has long since accepted that they’re cut from the same cloth: homes in dangerous places and suspicious of new faces; the type to stab first, ask questions second; someone who will defend the things and people they love until their dying breath. Virgil remembers how terrified he had been when he and Roman leapt into the portal after Janus. He remembers watching it shatter behind them, remembers praying for Logan and Patton’s safety, remembers begging Roman to be careful, please, I can’t lose you again—

Virgil shakes his head. He wipes stubbornly at the tears gathering in his eyes and curses his brain for reminding him of these stupid memories in such sharp detail. He focuses instead on his breathing and keeping watch while Janus naps. They’re at least a day’s journey from home now; they’d gone caving at sunset to avoid the monsters above ground. The plan is to try and find new land but with only three days to do so, Virgil doubts they’ll be so lucky. He doesn’t want to go too far and risk missing Roman’s first day back on his feet. He’s absolutely going to go too hard and Virgil really wants to be there to see it. He stifles a laugh at the image but the muffled noise still wakes Janus up. He stretches, groaning as a few bones click in the process.

“Feeling better?”

Virgil just barely resists rolling his eyes. It’s strangely endearing that Janus thinks Virgil doesn’t see right through him. “Yeah, I’m good to go. Should be sunrise by the time we get back to the surface.”

They follow their torch path out and sure enough, sunlight shines through the cave entrance as they approach. They pick up where they left off, Janus marking his map along the way. The day is hot, regardless of their travel through a birch forest and taking advantage of all the shade. For Janus, it’s nothing compared to the heat of the Nether, but Virgil has to shed his layers which leaves him feeling vulnerable.

The only interesting thing to happen during this part of their trek is finding a new village. They gain favor with the inhabitants when they patch up the cracking iron golem. They make some trades, replenishing their food supply in exchange for ore and coal; it helps lighten their loads which should keep their energy from waning too quickly later on. The villagers have extra beds so Janus and Virgil stay there for the night.

Day three begins bright and early with Virgil insisting they start heading home. Janus agrees more readily than he expects but maybe he, too, doesn’t expect them to find much in what little time they have left. It’s easy going on the way back, since they’re familiar now with the land. Virgil wishes he could explain why they make the dangerous choice to continue traveling through the night. He wishes he could figure out how they both make such a stupid decision.

Janus is hot on his heels, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Virgil is barely pushing through the pain in his calves. They had been holding their own, quickly taking care of any mobs that came too close. It had been fine until, of course, Virgil accidentally looked at an enderman. The screeching had filled the night air, scaring Virgil right out of his skin.

“Sorry!” He had shouted, as if apologizing to the creature would do any good.

Janus grabbed his wrist, pulling him deeper into the woods. “Too many monsters,” he had explained.

They’d been running ever since. Virgil’s lost track of how long but he can’t hear the enderman anymore so he can only hope they’re in the clear. Thankfully, they’re officially close enough to home that he begins to recognize various landmarks: one tree with blue ribbon tied around the trunk, a pitfall trap just outside their torch grid, and finally —

Virgil slows enough that Janus darts around him and nearly breaks the gate from how quickly he slams into it.

“I hate nighttime,” he snarls, “at least I could trust the Nether to always be dangerous!”

Virgil wants to laugh but he can barely breathe. He follows, closing the gate behind him.

“Hey,” he says, trailing Janus to the house. “Hey, we kind of got what we were looking for.”

“I’m so glad we almost died for some cocoa beans.”

“We would’ve been fine!”

Janus levels him with a glare that would shut anyone else up. Virgil, because he is insufferable, keeps going. “Besides, you’re gonna see Patton smile and it’ll all be worth it.”

Janus almost trips, over absolutely nothing. “Shut up!” He hisses, turning away so that Virgil can’t see his face. His absolutely-no-doubt-about-it blushing face.

Virgil does so this time but only because they’re at the front door now. They enter quietly, well aware that it’s the middle of the night, and not wanting to wake their companions. Someone comes thundering down the stairs anyway. Virgil moves away from Janus because he knows exactly who would make that much noise and—

Sure enough, Patton appears and throws himself at Janus. The latter’s face goes bright red and Virgil smirks at him.

“You’re home!” Patton exclaims, pulling back and hugging Virgil next. Janus busies himself with his pack. “We were so worried!”

“Aren’t you always?” Virgil asks.

“‘S night,” grumbles Logan from the stairs. Virgil’s heart skips when he looks to find his partner rubbing at his eyes, hair messy from sleep. “Why’re you travelin’ at night?”

Virgil drops his stuff and scoops Logan into his arms. “Didn’t wanna be away from you anymore.”

“Shhhh,” Logan pats Virgil’s cheeks, “shh, too tired for that.”

“To bed, then,” Virgil proposes. He waves at Patton and Janus before helping Logan back upstairs and to their room.

Patton hovers a bit as Janus puts away everything he and Virgil had not only taken with them but the things they had found too.

“Did everything go okay?” Patton asks eventually.

“As okay as usual.”

“Find anything neat?”

Janus hesitates before he turns and presents the pouch of cocoa beans. Virgil’s voice rings I told you so in his head but he can’t even be mad because, without a doubt, Patton’s smile has in fact made every trouble well worth it.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

Time passes at Laxton, and following her frank talk with Dorothea, Elizabeth understands a little better what married life will be like.

Word Count 1878

A/N NSFW and NO UNDER 18s

12b A Very Personal Revelation

Dinner was a pleasant affair, and conversation flowed freely as all related to each other what they had done for the day. John begged for attention in order to relay who was to arrive the next day to stay overnight or longer for the ball.

‘Lizzie, the MacDougal family will take a suite in the west wing for two nights. I believe you are good friends with young Miss Rosanna?’

‘Oh that will be marvellous. I look forward to hearing all about her new beau. I understand he will come for the ball, for his family live very close’ She felt her heart lift with joy at the thought of sharing confidences with her childhood friend.

‘That is so, my dear.’ John replied ‘Tomorrow we also expect the Beaumont family, whose daughter I understand to be a friend of yours, Miss Amelia. They will stay for longer as it is a tedious journey back to their estate north of the city. I’m sure you will be pleased to have someone closer to your own age to spend time with’ Amelia beamed happily.  She was also looking forward to seeing the Mc Dougals, for as well as Rosanna being her sister’s particular friend, her brother Scott was her age and the two of them had played together as children. She didn’t think it proper to mention her fervent wish to see him, but held it as a secret known only to herself.

The time after dinner was spent in a similar way to the previous night, with Dorothea again playing so they might practice their dancing, followed by Elizabeth playing in order for her sister to sing. Lady Charlotte was in good spirits but again retired early to conserve her strength, closely followed by the rest of Elizabeth’s family. Again she was permitted half an hour without her chaperone in the company of John, Tom and Dorothea. This was a mixed blessing, for although she enjoyed her friends’ company, she longed to be alone with John. She could act as she might when they were married, but being observed was not ideal.

They played cards – this time an ordinary game playing for matchsticks, and after a while Tom and Dottie fell to arguing over a particular hand. Elizabeth gave John a longing look and leaned closer to him, reaching out to touch the back of his hand.

‘John dear, much as I am content with company, I long to be alone with you. Can we not engineer some diversion before Morag accompanies me to my room?’ she whispered. ‘I cannot fathom why father still persists on her being present when our betrothal is set’

‘Your father is over cautious, I think, and your mother likewise’ he murmured back in a low tone. ‘When we are wed this will seem but a short time, but I too wish to be alone with you.’ He looked over at the other couple, still bickering. He tapped on the table and they fell silent. Tom looked over at him, frowning slightly.

‘Can we not disagree over the hand we are dealt? Dottie insists that I am somehow cheating’

‘That is unfortunate indeed’ John replied ‘I am sure that Morag can hear every word and is much entertained’ He winked widely, and nodded toward the heavy curtains that were drawn over the doors that lead out to the gardens at the rear of the house. A look of understanding passed between the two friends, and Tom leaned over to whisper in Dottie’s ear. She gave a knowing look to Elizabeth and nodded. The two of them went back to arguing loudly, and John rose, taking his fiancée’s hand. Quietly he lead her toward the heavy curtains. He drew them aside a crack and silently opened the door to the evening air.

‘Tom will provide a diversion’ he explained ‘Not enough for Morag to want to enter the room, but enough for us to have a few moments alone. The night is warm and the moon is full’ Elizabeth stepped out into the night air and took a deep breath, closing her eyes in bliss. They did not move far from the door so that they might hear if they were called back in.

She realised how much she had felt stifled – the lack of social freedom, the stuffiness of the room, even the restriction of her clothes, her stays laced just a little too tight that morning. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders to guard against the cool air and John drew her into his warm embrace. The grounds had an air of enchantment as the moon cast its silvery glow, but the real magic lay in her fiancé’s arms. She sighed in contentment.

‘I never want this moment to end’ she said as she laid her head to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was not long before that was not enough, and she drew away to lift her face up to his for their lips to meet in a fervent kiss. They parted for breath and she felt her pulse racing. She heard him sigh contentedly.

‘I am fortunate indeed to have found you. My days were dull and lonely, and now I look forward to our future together’ Elizabeth felt a little thrill run through her, for in truth she was looking forward to being quite alone that night, thanks to Dorothea’s advice.

‘John’ she prompted ‘I spoke with Dorothea, and she told me much about the things we may do when we are wed’ In the moonlight she saw John’s eyes glitter as they locked with hers.

‘Is that so? What has she told you?’

‘She told me the particulars of how a woman comes to be with child, and how to postpone it’ He held her close.

‘I am glad you have someone of your sex to confide in. How do you feel about what she said?’

‘I am full of curiosity. She also told me that I should prepare myself for our wedding night’ She heard him take a sharp intake of breath and shift slightly.

‘Now I too am curious. Can you share what that might involve?’ His voice was a little hoarse and Elizabeth weighed her words carefully.

‘She told me that – that I should explore my body and discover what pleases me, so I may in turn let you know…’ her voice trailed away. John took a shuddering breath.

‘Dorothea has given you good advice. What can be done together can also be done apart - to some degree’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Should you prefer to keep some details to yourself until we are wed I would respect that.’ He fixed her with his gaze.  ‘You should know that I think of you every night when I go to my bedchamber, and in my mind imagine what it will be like when we are united in bliss.’ A delicious shiver ran down Elizabeth’s spine, but at that moment there was a movement from the curtains leading back inside, and Dorothea poked her head through.

‘You must haste back in, Lizzie, for your chaperone has knocked to signal you have but a minute or two left’ John pulled her close for one last kiss before they hurried back inside to answer Morag’s summons.

------

As she had done the night before, Elizabeth practiced undressing, now knowing something of what would happen on her wedding night. As before, she looked at herself in the mirror, this time with a sense of anticipation and expectation, and went to the bed where her nightdress lay ready for her.

She looked at it for a while, thinking that the long garment would impede the exploration of her body, and decided to slip between the sheets naked. She intended to put it on when she got up to relieve herself in the chamber pot under the bed before Jane came in and discovered her state of undress. She wondered if Jane would still attend her when she was married,. She had worked for the family for many years, and had looked after both her and her sister. She resolved to ask her mama the next day.

But now she lay between the crisp white sheets, skin bare to the fabric’s fragrant coolness, the weight of the blankets and coverlet moulding the bedclothes to her body. She felt her nipples tighten to hard little buds, as they often did when it was cool, but this was different. They tingled as she lay thinking of John, and she pressed her palm to a smooth globe, feeling the tip with her thumb. Although she brushed it but lightly, she gasped as it sent an electric shock through her, to her very core. She was undecided as to whether the sensation was pleasant or not, as it was very intense.

It was not as if she had never touched herself, but her mother had warned her against doing so, telling her it was not ladylike. Perhaps her meaning and intent was that she was too young, and now that she was to be wed, perhaps it was permissible. She remembered Dottie’s words, directing her to explore her sex, but she delayed a little, letting her hand wander over her soft flat belly, shivering in anticipation. Her hand found the wiry hair at her mound, and she went lower, parting her thighs and softly stroking upwards and inwards.

She knew that it felt like large fleshy lips, and sometimes between the times when she bled, she felt different there – slicker and more sensitive. It felt very pleasurable, and she closed her eyes and thought of her beloved John – his broad chest, his warmth, the firmness of his lips when they kissed, the spark that happened when their hands touched. Warmth and tingling expanded outward from her fingers, and she moaned softly, undulating and rolling her hips.

She continued to gently stroke and probe, discovering a place that felt harder than the surrounding flesh that gave her the most pleasure and which was very sensitive. She paid attention to it and could barely control her movements or the noises she made as the pleasurable sensations increased. Her heart pounded and she wondered if she might die from it, but she could not stop. Her body demanded attention and governed the pressure and speed her fingers moved.

She gasped as it all reached a plateau, resulting in a pulsing and intense tingling that left her shuddering, shaking and gasping. Her back arched and she trembled all over with the intensity before she was still and her hand fell away, a languorous glow spreading though her entire body. That hard little nub had felt for a few moments like the centre of the cosmos, sublime and exquisite. She lay panting and shaking, laughing softly. How much more might it be with a loving partner? How had this all been hidden from her? She felt as if she had been asleep and now woke to a new life – or she would at least approach it in the company of her betrothed. She lay a while thinking over all the possibilities that were now open to her, but soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

@sirbeepsalot​ @camillemontespan​​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Heat of the Moment | Word Count: 2743 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: John Marston (aka Handsome) x female reader

Tags: public sex, modern au | PART 1 of 2

Title pic by @the-neigh-sayer 💙

You sigh as you reach the bus stop. Just like the last couple of days, there's already a bunch of people waiting. Together with today's weather, even your flimsy summer dress won't do you any good. Packed with people, the bus will turn into a hellhole of bad smells and hot, unbreathable air.

When the bus arrives, you squeeze in with the rest of the waiting people. The few left seats are quickly taken, and you stay by the door, at least glad that you stand next to a pole to hold on to. The last thing you want is to lose your balance and be helplessly pressed against other people's hot bodies.

[[MORE]]

More travelers trickle in over the next two stops, and when the bus holds for the third time, there's some commotion behind you as a whole group of people is heading for the door. With the number of people shoved into the bus already, there's no space to let them pass, so you do the sensible thing and get off to let them out.

The woman in front gives you a thankful nod, but the following people don't care very much. They spill onto the street in front of you while others already push forward to get on the bus. Trying to make room, you back away too much and have a hard time getting in range of the doors.

"Excuse me, I need to get back on," you grunt, a little panic creeping into your voice. You can't afford to be late for work, and the next bus is 30 minutes out.

Pushing forward more forcefully than you usually would, you make it back to the door when it begins to close. "No, wait!" you shout, although you already see yourself walking through the blistering heat and getting yelled at by your boss for the millionth time.

Only seconds before the doors shut, a hand reaches into the space left, and the safety mechanism reacts, opening the doors again. The same hand reaches for you then.

"Come on, get on," a raspy voice says with some urgency, and you grab the stranger's hand. 

He pulls you into the bus, and you can't help but fall against him before the doors close behind you. Somehow he manages to take a step back to give you some room, and you hold on to the pole near the door.

"Thank you. I thought I'd be late for work again," you sigh before finally looking up at the stranger.

You're glad that you already thanked him since you wouldn't be able to say another word. The guy in front of you is extremely hot, not only due to the temperature. You're caught in his steel-gray eyes, and although one side of his face holds some scars, you can't get over how attractive he is.

"No problem," he says, "would be a shame for you to wait when you're the only person with a brain on here."

An older guy looks over with furrowed brows, but when the stranger fixes a mean stare at him, he turns around without saying anything. You wish you knew something else to say, but the stranger stays quiet as well. For the next few stops, you do a little dance where both of you move past each other to let other people on and off the bus until the stranger carefully tips your shoulder.

"That's my stop," he says, and you make yourself as small as possible so he can squeeze around you.

"Have a nice day," you say quickly when he's outside.

The doors close, but he looks back at you and reaches up to his head, doing a little wave as if he's tipping his hat. You think about him for the remainder of your ride, and when you constantly have to move out of the way, you realize how much the stranger shielded you from the people around you. It's a shame that you won't see him again.

-------

The next day is just as hot and the bus just as full. This time, you position yourself more carefully, though. You stay away from the entrance and find yourself a nice corner so you at least can't be surrounded. A little breeze comes through the open window, and your thoughts drift as the bus rolls on. You focus on nothing in particular, but then you spot the stranger at the other end of the bus, close by the door.

You do your best not to stare, but his mere presence makes you nervous. If he's on the bus two days in a row, there's a chance he'll be here every day. You couldn't stop thinking about him the day before, but you didn't have much to go on. Now you can watch him without him even noticing.

He's wearing a button-down shirt with so many buttons open that he might as well go without it. There's some dark hair peeking out on his chest, and his collarbones are so pronounced that you have the urge to nibble on them.

Although he's tall and narrow in the hips, he's got broad shoulders, and you remember how huge his hand was compared to yours when he pulled you onto the bus. His shorts hug him nicely, and you find yourself fantasizing about a way to lift the shirt and get a better look at him below the waist.

You're so occupied with ogling him that you forget to look away, and suddenly he turns his head, meeting your gaze. You see recognition hitting his face, and he smiles before giving you a small nod. You smile as well, trying to act casual, but your insides catch fire. You don't understand how the guy can be so goddamn attractive, even despite the scars. 

For the lack of a name, you began to think of him as Handsome the day before, and the way he smiles cements that name. As a decent human being, he looks away again, forcing you to do the same. Still, you can't help but sneak peeks at him, and once in a while, he does the same.

You begin to think that it's no accident on his part. He has to turn a little to even meet your gaze, and then he holds your eyes for a moment before looking away again. If you weren't so dense when it comes to social interactions, you might think he's flirting with you. When his stop comes around, he looks at you and does the same goodbye with his hand as the day before, only leaving the bus after giving you another smile.

Of course, you think about Handsome the rest of the day, and whenever work doesn't hold your attention completely, you come up with scenarios that might have you speak to him again.

The next day, you don't even care how many people get on the bus. You position yourself like the day before, watching the door. This time you see Handsome right as he gets on, and he might feel you staring because he finds you just as fast, smiling again. 

Today, he's wearing a somewhat torn band shirt that clings to his body, and since it's shorter than the shirt from the day before, you have a chance to check out his lower half a lot better. You thank an older lady who squeezes past him, forcing him to turn around to sidestep her. You unashamedly stare at his ass, and he's lucky you're not in range for a pinch.

You sigh so profoundly at the thought that the woman next to you gives you a weird look, but you can't really care. Handsome turns back around and looks over, and like the day before, you play this game of looking back and forth until he gets off the bus. In fact, you play this game for the rest of the week. 

You're beyond happy to find that Handsome does take the bus each day, and your days become a series of staring at him to remember every detail on his face and body, so you can think about him for the rest of the day. You're even tempted to take the bus on the weekend to see if he's there but manage to hold yourself back.

On Monday, you put a little more effort into your appearance than usual, and when you get on the bus, you go against your better judgment and stay by the door. As soon as it opens at Handsome's stop, your eyes are on him, and he smiles as he gets on.

While the other people squeeze farther in, he stays closeby and reaches for the same pole you're holding on to. "Hey," he says, barely audible in that scratchy voice of his, and a shiver tickles down your spine.

"Hey," you counter, not sure what else to say.

Handsome doesn't push for a conversation, though. He looks around the way he usually does while you're in a world of pain. You didn't think your plan all the way through. It's one thing to flirt with Handsome from a distance, but now he's right there. 

He's wearing another half-open shirt, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. He comes even closer whenever he has to make room for someone, cloaking you in a cloud of a subtle deodorant and something else that seems to be just him. You're more and more tempted to bury your face in his chest and stay there for the rest of the ride.

Caught up in the sensations, you don't watch yourself enough, and when the bus comes to a sudden halt, you fall forward. Out of instinct, you hold up your hand and end up putting it flat on Handsome's chest. He doesn't waver for a second, and although his skin is soft, you feel like leaning against a rock. 

"I'm sorry," you say, but it takes you a whole battle with yourself to take your hand away from him.

"Don't worry about it," Handsome says, and this time his smile has some more fire. "I don't mind at all."

It sounds like an invitation to touch him again, but although you're tempted as hell, you keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the ride. It's bad enough to be this close. Your body feels hotter from one minute to the next, and you wouldn't mind rubbing yourself against Handsome like a feral cat.

When his stop comes up, he leans in, his voice barely a whisper. "Always a pleasure."

His tone almost has you shiver, and you barely manage to answer. "Likewise."

He fake taps his non-existing hat, and this time he winks at you before getting out, leaving you with butterflies in your stomach. If you keep going like this, you might just die from a heat stroke or heart attack.

The next day, the bus gets so full that you have no chance to stay near the door. You get pushed to the other side of the bus, a foul mood taking hold of you. At Handsome's stop, you don't see him get on and wonder if he's not there today when he suddenly pushes past two other people, getting in your line of sight.

You're heart beats faster at his first smile, and you can't help but look away as heat rises to your cheeks. That night, you had a dream about Handsome. You had no problems with being near him, and after a while, you woke up so aroused that you couldn't fall asleep until you touched yourself to thoughts about the two of you doing the dirty with no restrictions whatsoever.

With the memories flooding your mind, you don't realize how the people around you move, and only when a woman with a stroller pushes in, you back away. A familiar scent enters your nose, and you find yourself right in front of Handsome. Somehow, this position is even worse than the day before. You imagine him putting his arms around you and pulling you close. He could whisper in your ear with that intriguing voice or kiss your neck.

You become so engulfed by the thought that it feels real, and a crazy notion inside of you makes you take another step back. With no more room between you, your ass presses right against Handsome's crotch. You hear a surprised gasp from behind you and feel that he's trying to step away, so you move with him, rolling your hips. You want him to know that it was no accident. Only then do you take a step forward again. After all, you don't want to make him feel uncomfortable.

The seconds tick by, and your heart begins to race. You're sure that you upset him, but then he moves right up to you. His chest presses against your back, and instead of his crotch, you feel his flat hand resting on the outer side of your thigh. You move your hip just a tiny bit, heightening the pressure of his hot hand against your skin. 

Handsome takes the bait. He runs his hand over your ass, and you feel his touch through the thin fabric of your dress. You lean back against him, assuring him that you don't mind, and he loses all inhibitions he might have had.

His hand squeezes the flesh of your ass before he dares to hike up your dress enough to let his hand disappear under it. His fingertips caress the insides of your thighs, and you hold your breath until he runs his fingers over your folds with enough pressure that your underwear might as well not be there. This time it's you who gasps with surprise, and Handsome holds still, waiting for your move.

All you'd have to do is take a step away, but instead, you squeeze your thighs together for a moment before spreading your legs to give him more room. Handsome follows the invitation right away. He runs his fingers back and forth along your folds until you roll your hips ever so slightly. Then, he presses his fingertips to your clit. You can't help but push against him, and when he begins to rub you in small circles, you have to bite your lip to hold in a moan.

You hold on to the pole next to you, your knuckles white from the tight grip. In a panic, you take a look around, but nobody seems to notice what naughty things you and Handsome are up to. You're torn between breaking this off before you embarrass yourself and riding it out till the end. 

Handsome's touch just feels way too good, and you feel his heartbeat against your back. You wonder if he's as horny as you are, but for now, he seems satisfied with pleasuring you. His breath is ghosting over your neck, bringing goosebumps all over your skin, and your nipples rise up, poking at the fabric of your dress. The slight rub doesn't help your situation at all, and with Handsome's constant teasing, your juices begin to flow, soaking your underwear.

It becomes harder and harder to stay quiet. Every touch heightens your arousal, and you can't help imagining what else Handsome could do to you. He sure knows how to make you crazy, and when you roll your hips with more desperation, his fingers speed up, relentlessly driving you over the edge.

You clench your teeth together, holding in your breath and your thighs press together around Handsome's hand as you come, your legs shaking. Taking deep breaths, you close your eyes for a moment, barely able to hold yourself up on the pole.

When you give Handsome's hand free, he caresses your thighs and ass, almost as if he's saying goodbye before taking his hand away completely. He still stays where he is, though, and you're thankful that you can lean against him until you find your way back to reality.

Handsome's stop is coming up, and when you take a step forward to give him free, he leans in, his lips gracing your ear. "Always a pleasure."

A shiver runs down your spine, and you don't find the nerve to say anything, but you still look after him. He gives you the usual goodbye wave and smile, and you have no idea how you're supposed to make it through the day after what just happened.

.... to be continued ....