#and *I* don't want a stranger listening to my conversation with my mother about ME dying prematurely

[im-tempted]

I need them out of my fucking house

[blackjackkent]

Jaheira is Not a Deadbeat

I am, as always, deeply in love with the kids' ambient dialogue while waiting for Jaheira to come inside. And it's time for me to have Opinions.

FIG: I saw her! I swear! RION: Are you sure? Maybe it was just a laborer holding a shaggy grey mop! FIG: Be serious, Rion! Who puts braids on a mop?

FIG: She'll be here any second. Maybe she's sneaking! RION: Doubtful. We'd hear her knees cracking.

And of course my favorite:

RION: Enough, Fig. There's no point getting your hopes up. She'll be back when she's back. FIG: You don't think she will! RION: I know she will. But we'll wait a little longer, if you like.

😭😭😭😭

Rion absolutely knew perfectly well what she was supposed to do from Jaheira's instructions. She just didn't want to. She's been hanging on to the desperate belief that Jaheira was going to walk through the door and make it unnecessary - and, as it turned out, she was right.

OK, fuck it, I'm doing a post about this now. :P

Despite what the Tumblr BG3 fandom would have you believe, Jaheira is not a "deadbeat mom." Is she a parent with emotional constipation issues and way too much time at work? Sure. But so are plenty of other parents on both Toril and Earth. It's SUPER clear from the way all the kids (including Rion) talk to and about her that they LOVE her and she has been an enduring presence in their lives, and that her recent disappearance was both unusual and devastating. 

There are books she reads the kids up in the bedroom! Fig is so excited to announce she's back, indicating that the absence is not a normal occurrence! Jhessem has convinced herself they share a bloodline! Jord got to go to the market with her as a boy! These are not the circumstances of children who do not give a shit about their parent or vice versa!

The devnotes about Jord’s conversation in particular do not show a picture of a man with ill-will towards a mother who felt it customary to abandon him:

JORD: I tended to it. I just let it... thrive in its own independence. You know, same way you raised us. (Devnote: Well meant potshot at his mother, no malice in it) JAHEIRA: I raised you to be a sweet and kind boy. What happened? JORD: I watched what you did instead of listening to what you said. (Devnote: Amused, gently mocking his mother) JORD: This house has taken in a lot of children over the years. Mother dear was sometimes more commander than, well... mother dear. (Devnote: Smiling, explaining why he and Jaheira trade barbs. No criticism, just understated affection)

It is, perhaps, worth noting at this point as well that Jord - and Rion, and Fig, and even Jhessem - speak with that teasing, mocking tone towards Jaheira… but so does she - towards the people she cares most about, including you as the player. The kids are acting as they have learned, and words like this can and should easily be read as gestures of affection. And they clearly trust Jaheira enough to bring this playful rudeness to the fore without fear of it being misconstrued or turning into hostility.

And if they are like Jaheira in this way, they’re also not going to be comfortable showing the real depth of their feelings in front of you, the player character - who is fundamentally a stranger who has just walked into their house. Why would they? Jaheira clearly doesn’t; indeed, even her more serious conversation with Rion only takes place outside where even the other children aren’t listening. 

Perhaps most significantly, I truly don’t understand how anyone can interact with Tate for even a moment and think that Jaheira does not have a deep, if often unspoken, bond with the kids she raises:

JAHEIRA: I hope you were hibernating, little cub, I can’t think of another reason you wouldn’t come down to say hello. TATE: Jaheira! I d-didn’t… didn’t w-want to see if you were r-really dead. They said… JAHEIRA: Who said? TATE: Jord and Rion. They didn’t think I c-could hear… JAHEIRA: You little sneak-thief. Well, they were wrong. Look! Not dead! I just… had a few adventures.

She is so soft and gentle with him in a way that she is with no one else, a way that indicates that she knows him and how his personality is different from the others. And he in turn has clearly been utterly devastated by the idea that she might be gone.

Take, as well, the evidence provided by Minsc when he is present in these conversations! There’s plenty of evidence to indicate the degree to which Minsc is guided by Jaheira’s behavior - to the degree that a doppelganger wearing her face was the key ingredient to binding him temporarily into the Cult of the Absolute. And Minsc - far more comfortable with emotion than Jaheira, at least in some ways - is clearly very affectionate with the kids as well:

FIG: STAND ON YOUR LIVER! MINSC: It is stand and *deliver*, little Fig. Though I think I like yours better. You bellow like a true berserker!

JHESSEM: A fine day to you, saer. Are you known to this court PLAYER: Eh? JHESSEM: Ugh - play along, would you? MINSC: Lord Boo is most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady! Word of your grace has spread far and wide among the hamster houses. (Devnote: Swooping in to preserve the child's make-believe after the player ruined it.) JHESSEM: Enchanted!

MINSC: Boo is also very well! And happy to see *you*, Rion. RION: And I him. Enough that I’ll let him keep his lumbering, sweaty steed inside.

Would Minsc have taken it upon himself to have such a comfortable relationship with these children if Jaheira did not? I doubt it. He’d be friendly, certainly, but this familiarity goes a great deal beyond that.

And as for Rion herself - it's definitely reasonable to assume that she's had a strained relationship with Jaheira as she's grown older. (I have a lot of headcanons about this for my specific worldstate canon, but even just sticking to the game canon, it definitely seems like that's the case.) But leaving aside that - can you blame her for being upset at this particular moment?

As far as Rion knows, her mom was recently emotionally devastated for an indeterminate reason. (Minsc's apparent death. None of the kids are surprised to see him arrive, so clearly none of them knew he was supposed to be dead - but also there's no way that Jaheira didn't look afterwards like someone hollowed her out from the inside.) Then, without further explanation, she disappeared for what appears to have been several months (again, clearly not standard procedure), and after weeks of no contact, sends a seven-word message indicating she is about to die.

How exactly is Rion supposed to feel at this moment? This is an incredibly emotionally fraught circumstance, and if it's precisely representative of her overall relationship with Jaheira I will eat my hat.

Also - much is made by the game, by Rion, and by the fandom about that seven-word message, but if you try to chastise Jaheira about it, she gives further context:

PLAYER: Only seven? That’s cold, Jaheira. JAHEIRA: The cleric who cast the Sending was wounded. Should I have sobbed on her shoulder?

Jaheira was caught in a no-win situation. Trapped in the Shadowlands, a terrifying ordeal all by itself, with a gaggle of Harpers she had to protect, many of whom had apparently been injured by their encounter with Ketheric Thorm. If the only cleric she had access to was wounded, this was before they reached Last Light and met Isobel. 

Jaheira had ZERO reason to hope at this point - but she also still felt her own inescapable responsibility towards the people under her command. To send a longer and more emotional message would have been to put strain on her injured comrade and also risk making it very clear that she felt the situation was hopeless. The Harpers very well might have broken and scattered, condemning themselves - and, frankly, many others, given their crucial contributions to the final Act 2 fight - to death.

And then she lives, against all her own expectations, and returns to the city. And her dialogue reflects her conflict over this fact as well: 

JAHEIRA: I have given you much reason to think that Harpers hoard secrets like precious stones. But I promise you, this was not some intrigue. Just, ah… plain and simple foolishness. As if by keeping clear of my family, I might keep them clear of the cult in turn. And if this fight were to go against us, well… they had already done their mourning. Why visit it on them twice?

She then goes on to discuss the city and her place in it - and relates it directly back to her kids as well.

JAHEIRA: I was wrong to think I could keep my children from this fight. They’re Baldurian born and bred - the only damned reason I root myself in this place. This city is a cesspit. An open sewer of the soul, that taints us with its filth and churns us out when all that is good has been stripped away. It also happens to be their home - and so it is mine. Ugh. That might be the first time I have said that out loud.

If Jaheira wanted to disappear and leave her kids to handle themselves, she would have done it a long time ago. It wouldn’t be hard; she is fully capable of vanishing into the wilderness never to be seen again - and in truth, there’s every reason to believe she would be considerably happier to do so… except that it would mean leaving her children behind. They “root” her in Baldur’s Gate despite all of her previous inclinations and everything that comes naturally to her, and everything she does is guided ultimately by the need to protect the city because it is their home.

And that, my friends, is love, a love that she shows even if she does not know how to voice it.

TLDR: Jaheira's absence in the Shadowlands was definitely not a normal occurrence, and her kids clearly love her deeply and were devastated by her apparent disappearance. That she is a woman who keeps herself far too busy with work and has no idea how to express her own strong feelings does not, has not, and never will make her a "deadbeat."

[jacevelaryonswife]

Hiding all of our sins from the daylight | Part Two

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary: Even if you were willing to forget what happened, when you saw the prince that morning you knew that your relationship would never be the same.

word count: 3.191

tags: slight angst and adult themes

masterlist — previous part

A bond germinated between the prince and you as the days went by. There was no sin in your conversations, but a servant could never be friends with a nobleman, and above all: a woman could never be friends with a man. Although you believed that the existing dynamics with Jacaerys Velaryon did not fit into any of the previous options. It was your duty to be available to the prince of Dragonstone for what he wanted, and at the time, he needed a thoughtful listener.

"I don't want to fill my mother's head with my worries, even though I know she would listen. She is the queen and we are at war, it’s not time for this," was his justification.

The trust between you has developed slowly.

How are you feeling? Do you want to say something? Do you need anything?

It was the questions that guided the days following the incident with the wine. Over time, the prince began to report his dissatisfaction with the black council, either because of the way the queen didn’t let him act or how the other lords did not respect her enough.

"I just want to be useful for her cause, but she sees me as an incapable little boy," he shouted one of the times that the queen did not allow him to guard with Vermax.

"The queen cares about your safety, my prince. She suffers enough from the death of Prince Lucerys, she doesn't want to risk your life.”

“I'm not going to die!”

"You can't guarantee that, my prince."

And despite sometimes regretting not being formal enough in your answers, the prince showed satisfaction in the sincerity of your words more than once. Obviously no mention of your conversations with him was made for the other girls, you found it too dangerous.

And if there was anything beneficial for you, it was the opening that Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir gave so that your thoughts and feelings were also exposed. Superficial at first, experimental, but that became more intimate over the weeks.

"I try to keep myself constantly busy to ease my concerns about the war, but it's not working as I would like. Every night before bed I think about the worst,” you confessed a day after dinner, during the hour of the bat.

“Me too.”

The conversations became routine during breakfast while you cleaned his chambers and after dinner when you helped him sleep. Secretly, those were your favorite moments throughout the day, although you didn't want to admit it for a while.

The only problem with intimacy was to make you forget your place.

Sometimes, almost, an unweighted response was almost directed to the prince. Other times the physical comfort seemed to extrapolate while you smoothed his dark curls, although he did not manifest discomfort. He never did, actually. Maybe that influenced your behavior around him, especially when he began to reciprocate the attempt of comfort, touching your hand with nothing but respect and delicacy, although firm enough to be felt while you confessed your fears to him.

It was dangerous to allow such closeness to the prince.

You were no stranger to the stories of servants who fell in love with their lords, reciprocated or platonic, it was not something you sought to fantasize, promising yourself that you would immediately move away in the first different twinge in your heart. Although, dealing with feelings was not that simple.

That night, the prince was enthusiastic about the diplomatic experience with the Freys, telling every detail of the conversation accurately. He seemed quite proud to be useful, even the frown present in his feature in the last few days had disappeared.

“When I was a child, Viserys told me the Iron Throne would be mine one day,” Jace commented with a rare smile these days.

"He told?" You asked, knowing very well that it was true.

"A long time ago, before his health got worse, I think I was six years old," he replied on the other side of the table, keeping his smile open.

"Have you ever imagined yourself there?" A silly question, you thought.

“Sometimes, especially before war. Now I feel like I'm cheating on my mother,” his face hardened softly as he looked down.

"You are the heir of the Queen, it is not wrong to imagine your future," you tried to comfort him with the obviousness of the situation, although you understood what was going on in the prince's head and heart.

“I know, but just seems wrong,” he countered, looking at you. “How about you?”

“Me?”

"Have you never imagined yourself being the Queen?"

That made you chuckle. "There is a barrier that people like me should not overcome, even in thoughts," you almost laughing at him.

"Please, everyone has thought about sitting on the iron throne," he leaned totally against the chair, watching you with frowning eyebrows and a smile on his lips. as he totally leaned against the chair.

"I never thought such a absurd," you reinforced.

"I doubt it, have you never thought about being a noblewoman?"

"Of course I thought! I would be pleased to be the ugly daughter that no lord wants to marry, so I could enjoy my position without having only my side a decrepit old man as lord husband. But the Queen? I've never dared so much."

He laughed loudly and his eyes almost closed. "Well, I think it's a good plan, but I believe you would be a fine Queen."

That took you by surprise.

The absurdity of the statement made your eyes widen and your cheeks warm up. "And you will be a fine King," you replied with a giggle, doing little of what he had said - even you believed faithfully in your own statement.

Suddenly, you felt his gaze endure on yours in a different, more intense way, as if... he was seeing you, totally seeing you.

And that made your heart warm.

No, no!

“I must go, my prince. It's late,” you stood up immediately. "Do you need anything?"

He took a while to respond, shaking his head negatively. "N-no, I don't," getting up to accompany you to the door. "Listen, I- I have to say something to you."

Your heart was beating faster than usual and continuing in the presence of the prince did not improve the situation. You didn't know why you felt so suddenly affected, but you imagined that it was the ideal time to reassess the proximity to him.

“I would like to thank you for the support in these weeks, for listening to me,” he said.

"You don't have to thank me, my prince, it's my duty," you exhibited a restrained smile, holding your hands in front of your body.

“I know it's just-“

The previous look that made your heart warm returned, however, more nervous, afraid as he approached you. His hands held your face gently, not giving you time to move away before he leaned over to touch your lips. You froze in place, not being able to move a single member, even after the prince had moved away with terror in his eyes.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't want to disrespect you, I promise," he said in despair, faster than he intended. "This is not going to happen again, I-

"It won't," you said, heart almost coming out of the chest, "We can't do that, Jace, I'm your servant- that-"

"It was my fault, I'm the one who has to beg for your forgiveness, I dishonored you," he almost spoke too loudly, almost.

"You didn't dishonor me!" You exclaimed as if it were obvious. "But that can't happen again. You are the heir to the iron throne and I am just a servant of low birth, there is no hope for us," your voice almost failed.

When Jace's eyes found the ground, his posture changed, the nervousness turned into something you didn't know how to identify, even though your own anguish was still very vivid while your heart beat fast.

"It's unfair," was all he said when he looked at you again.

“Indeed.”

A squeeze formed in your chest every second that your eyes remained connected, along with a restlessness that you did not know resided in your body until now. No, no, no...

In a bold attitude, you held his hands, uncertain of what to say, uncertain of what to do and uncertain of what you felt for him. It wasn't possible. Nothing, not a single word came out of your mouth while your heart beat faster and faster.

You shouldn't, you knew that, but maybe... maybe...

It was your turn to approach him, cautiously, absorbed in the brown of his iris and the way he mirrored your look.

There was no hurry to meet your lips this time, nor does it take long to be reciprocated. It was the kind of affection that women should have only with their lords husbands in the intimacy of their chambers, not with the prince of the kingdom whom you served and could harm yourself if you were caught.

But it seemed so right.

Your heart pumped soft fire through your body as the kiss gained layers, encouraging you to intertwine your fingers with his. It was not lascivious or obscene, but it involved your body during the act and made you float in the sweetness of his lips before it came to an end mutually.

Your hand slid to the side of his flushed face, smoothing his cheek gently. Even though part of your mind dealt with the turbulence of the situation, the other was delighted with the fullness of serenity.

"I've never been with a woman," he murmured about your touch, reluctantly. "I never wanted to ruin a woman outside of marriage."

Oh. That took you by surprise.

In fact, that brought you to reality again, but without the previous panic.

"You did it right," you comforted him with a restrained smile, feeling nervous. "There is no shame in that."

"I know, but I don't feel secure thinking about it."

Honestly, you didn't know what to say, but you knew that that situation could take a dangerous turn if it were prolonged. He could not consider such an act even for a second, so you just said goodbye to him immediately.

"It's late, you should rest, my prince."

The storm in his eyes almost snatched you together, but there was still prudence in your mind. There was no dispute on his part, allowing you to be involved by the coldness of the corridors until your rooms shared with the other servants. Although sleep wrapped around your body quickly, the prince stole your dreams with memories of what had happened.

When the nightingale time came, his image seemed almost palpable to your eyes. All you could remember were the lips of the princes against yours, the proximity, the softness of his hand, the way he looked at you.

It was dangerous.

All that was dangerous.

Especially for you. Nurturing an additional affection for the prince of the kingdom was a path of no return for ordinary people. There was no hope for you. There was no future between you. He would marry a lady of a important family and have little princes while you would perform your duty serving the next royal generations.

Even if you were willing to forget what happened, when you saw Jace that morning you knew that your relationship would never be the same.

"Good morning, my prince," was all you said when you entered his chambers.

Judging by the way the prince's gaze found yours, you believed he thought the same. “Good morning,” he replied in front of the window.

You left the breakfast on the table and went to organize the luxurious bed - unkneading the sheets and squeezing the pillows without looking at him while doing your work. Even though it was a rational attitude, the smell that emanated from the fabric transported you directly to last night, to the warmth of his lips, to the comfort of your hands and to the soft fire that warmed your veins.

Suddenly, you found yourself wanting more.

The subtle spark quickly turned into a fire, making you want to dive into bed and be surrounded by his smell, wanting to be kissed again in a sweet way, wanting his body pressed above your...

Wanting to make love to him.

Seven hells. No, it couldn't be.

The realization of the fact clouded your mind.

You felt nothing but the burning between your thighs, not even the repetitive call of your name by the prince. You wanted it, you wanted it, you wanted it.

You shouldn't, you shouldn't, you shouldn't.

In all these years you have performed your duty to the kingdom without any ambitions. Now, you believe you deserve enjoying a great pleasure and a great sin.

That's when the hand on your shoulder along with a call brought you back to reality.

"Are you okay?" The prince asked behind you.

There was nowhere to escape. And honestly, you didn't want to.

Taking him by surprise, you held both sides of his face and leaned over to capture his lips in a sweeping and demanding kiss, contrasting with the softness of the night before. Jace immediately corresponded, tying your waist and bringing your body closer to his. There was no fear in the way your lips moved or with the lack of distance between your bodies, on the contrary, you deepened the kiss and wrapped a hand behind his neck, breaking any space between you.

He reciprocated the vigor with the same intensity, savoring your lips as if they were the only thing that lacked him in life, almost pulling the air out of your lungs. You felt surrounded by the dragon fire and silently prayed to the Mother for your body to burn.

“I dreamed with you all night,” he whispered close to your lips, holding you close.

“Me too,” you slitted the apple from his cheek with your thumb. His lips were red, swollen, shiny and so tempting...

When you were about to lean again, knocks echoed from the door and made you jump back immediately, resuming your attention to the bed while the prince went to the breakfast table.

It was the Queen herself, talking to the prince of Dragonstone at the same time that you made a greeting to her.

“I wish to speak alone with prince Jacaerys.”

No other command was needed. With one last greeting, you left Jacaerys' chambers with a racing heart and trembling steps, as if walking on embers. The consequences of your actions would be disastrous if discovered, you were not foolish, but you couldn't help but want more. And can't you help but think about how that happened?

When did such a feeling arise and develop?

It was the questioning that guided your rest of the morning, the whole afternoon and the beginning of the evening. The duties kept him away from you, fueling concerns about a possible worsening for the queen's cause. Because of that, you decided to occupy yourself in the only way you knew: working.

You swept, cleaned, aired and washed until you were tired and coughing because of the dust.

At the end of the additional service, you went to the rooms shared with the other girls to clean yourself and be presentable to him, hoping to be able to see him during dinner.

It was insane, you knew that, but you couldn't help it. You wanted it, despite what it would imply.

And when thinking about what to enjoy with the prince would result, you realized something too serious to be ignored. What if you generated a bastard? Oh gods. Where were you with your head? How did you consider losing your maidenhead with a prince of the kingdom? It would be a scandal! You would be ruined! The queen would send you away, maybe to Essos at worst.

Nothing was effective to keep those thoughts away from your head, especially when you held his dinner with trembling hands. Everything got worse when he offered you a wide smile when entering his rooms, making you freeze briefly before walking to the table and greeting you with a reverence.

“Good evening, my prince,” you forced yourself to say.

“Good evening, my lady,” he replied humorously. "I missed you."

No, no, no.

You smiled insecure and looked down, unable to answer back.

“What's wrong?” He asked when he went to your meeting.

What should you say?

“I can't do that,” you chose to be brutally honest. "I can't get pregnant, I can't have a-" you couldn't say such a word, not in front of him, and you prayed that he wouldn't feel offended.

Unfortunately, his jaw closed and the posture hardened. Heavens.

"... a bastard?" He asked in a strangled voice. "I would never impute such a burden to you."

Your heart squeezed while remaining silent, too nervous to say anything. He seemed angry, creating a fear in your mind about the dragon's fury.

“And I would never dishonor you,” he added, holding your hands as his brown eyes warmed up. But that was Jacaerys, your prince and your friend who would never hurt you.

“I know,” you agreed with a nod and intertwined your fingers with his, being able to breathe relieved at last.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine," you assured him with a soft smile.

"Eat with me, I don't have a big appetite."

You knew how to identify an order when you heard it. Of all the sins done and thought of in the last hours, sharing the meal with a prince was not so excruciating.

Sitting in front of him, you took a piece of bread and soaked it in the mushroom broth, watching him drink a generous sip of mead. None of you said anything for a while, leaving the noise of the violent sea wind that crashed against the walls of the castle being the only sound so far.

"What are we going to do?" He just asked.

"I don't know," you replied sincerely. "I think we should go back our dynamics, we can't be more than we are," your voice was lower than usual.

“I like being with you,” he said.

“Me too, Jace, but there's no hope for us,” you held his hand. "This will only break our hearts."

Although painful, that was the only truth that existed. He would never be yours. He would never abandon his duty to the kingdom for you, the opposite was just daydreams and songs invented to make ordinary life less gray. You were and would continue to be a servant and Jacaerys Velaryon would be just a sweet memory of something that could never happen.

Because that was just the order of things.

——————————————————————————

taglist: @hxtd @fkanitta @ladyofvelaryon @llynx7 @briarrainsstuff @jhepolie @dani-says-stuff @vavafaure1994 @fallenangel161 @naive-daydreamer @uhnanix @yrcbhu5wdv

a note: I know it take a while, but I really put all my efforts in here!

[yesimwriting]

If you do, i hope you write for benefict.

Hes the superior brother

Love you 💋 (i feel bad in ending a request without saying some sort of goodbye, it feels rude)

anon i feel u, ending asks always feels so awkward lol

anyway!! happy bridgerton release weekend!!

there are no season 3 spoilers in this!

----

Once upon a time, this had been nothing more than a story your sister would whisper to you long after you were meant to be in bed. She'd tell you about everything: the members of the ton in their finest clothing, the beauty of the balls, the swell of the music, and the charm of the potential suitors.

Now that you've debuted, and the world of formal gowns and evening dances has become a part of your reality, you wonder if your sister meant to exaggerate. Maybe it had been part of some grand scheme to make you desire what she never did--a husband with a high enough rank to redeem your family name.

It wouldn't have mattered. Your sister didn't need to sell you the fantasy of finding a husband. After some poor investments injured your family's fortune and your formerly perfect sister married someone your parents considered beneath her, you decided that they had experienced as much heartache as they could bear.

The final straw was your mother passing in childbirth. The stress had aged your father, who constantly worried about what would become of you and his name when his time came. You made the decision to never add to his worries, not with your father constantly reminding you that you are your family's final hope.

And while you've made your peace with planning your future around preserving your family's name, you never expected for the process to be so overwhelming.

You thought it'd be easy to take a moment to indulge in the atmosphere. To listen to the soft swell of the music, to watch the crowds enjoy their dancing and conversation. The first suitor found you before you could fully process what you were seeing. The second came right after, and since then, the men have been multiplying.

Perhaps you'd be able to appreciate the practicality of their presence if they weren't so focused on winning your attention through their questions.

"I've always wanted to raise my children in the country, and you, Miss..." You manage to provide your full name before another young man cuts in. "How many children would you like?"

You blink. "Oh, um, children are a blessing, I suppose I'd--"

"Tell me, are you one of those women that allow novels to take up their time?"

"I like reading," you admit easily, "I don't know if I'd say it takes up my time, but I do--"

You're cut off yet again, "You seem oddly familiar. Remind me, is your family from the city?"

Never did you think you'd miss strangers asking you about your desires for your future children. You're not ashamed of your family, not by any means, but after your father's public financial issues and your sister's chosen match existing outside of society, your parents made the choice to leave this world for some time.

They presented the excuse of traveling, then they claimed that your grandmother was unwell and in need of constant familial care, and then the ton stopped asking. The world moved on, forgetting their scandal in favor of more relevant gossip. They might have never faced the potential uproar of returning if it hadn't been for your mother's friendship with Lady Danbury, who offered to make you her personal guest this debut season.

"Excuse me." The attention shifts away from you as the band of suitors fall silent. You blink, turning your head to look your savior in the eye. He's taller than you expected, with deep brown hair and soft eyes that briefly make you forget that you exist outside of your novels. "I was wondering if you'd join me for a dance?"

Your lips part, but there is no response. You blame it on the man waiting for an answer--he had not so much as asked for your name before inviting you to dance and that--and his--his smile and his eyes--they're distracting. Bright and familiar in a way that reminds you of the easiness of childhood.

"Unless, of course," he begins, "Your next dance has already been spoken for?"

The others had been too distracted by their desire to turn what they perceived as a stranger into something more digestible. They wanted to assess before allowing themselves to be seen dancing with you at the first ball of the season.

One of the other lords raises his chin slightly, a precursor to an intervention. The thought of having to let go of your ability to escape brings you back to. "No," you manage, "No, it has not." The answer feels more jumbled than it should be. You're meant to be a lady--a mature lady that does not turn bashful at the first sign of attention. "I'd be delighted to join you for a dance, Lord..."

His eyebrows briefly pull together as he responds, "Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton."

Bridgerton. It hits you with no warning. The summer afternoons spent--much to your mama's horror--running through the gardens, the conversations in the library, the birthdays, teas, and large family gatherings.

Benedict Bridgerton is standing in front of you, asking you to dance. If the version of you that used to hold onto the every word of her sister's stories could see you now, she'd faint of happiness. While you were always closest to Eloise, often joining her and Penelope as your parents spoke to the older Bridgertons in the foyer, the first boy you ever wanted to imagine in this situation was Benedict.

Your feelings for him might have been defined by the innocence of childhood, but they were also painfully obvious. Your only saving grace was the fact that Benedict never looked at you long enough to notice.

"Then...I'd be delighted to, Lord Bridgerton."

He offers you an arm. The other men are forced to give you the space needed for you to approach Benedict. Your movements feel hazy as you step forward. This reunion has been fun, and extremely satisfying for your childhood self, but you really should mention that you know him. He'll likely go back to viewing you as a child, which is okay. It's not like he'd marry you. After the way you disappeared on his family after the passing of his father, you'll be lucky if he doesn't hate you.

Benedict guides you forward, the music coming to an end as the pairs already on the floor begin to still. "Forgive me if the intrusion was unwelcome."

The comment surprises you as you step back. "Unwelcome?" His lips press together as he places a hand against your back. The uncertainty does not suit him. "You do not have to worry about misstepping." His eyebrows draw together, and you realize your misstep. Benedict does not remember you. A lady should not encourage any man, suitor or otherwise, to speak so freely.

"I mean--" You pause as a soft melody begins to play. "All I meant was that I value honesty. If you were to unintentionally say something that you viewed as too transparent, I'd sooner appreciate your candor than pass judgement." The words tumble out, too jumbled and heavy for a first dance. Instead of responding, he watches you. "A courtesy I've often relied on. Clearly."

Benedict shakes his head once, a smile you'd like to believe is as good humored as it seems tugging at his lips. "No, no--for the sake of transparency, I was just thinking that I didn't expect to enjoy our conversation as much as I am."

The response immediately burrows into your chest, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. In the moments it takes you to recover, you're surprised that you don't miss a step of your dance. "And what were you expecting?" The question feels too sharp and sudden. "For the sake of transparency."

You're not sure if the joke has run its course, but Benedict seems to ease at it. "I was expecting...an escape from the mamas attempting to find me for their daughters."

Benedict's admission is stiff, his eyes focusing on something just beyond your shoulder. You would have never imagined that the eligible men had their own version of feeling trapped by the confines of politeness and societal duty. Despite Benedict's lack of malice, the mental image makes something in your chest ache. The thought is oddly endearing. A hovering mama, inserting herself in her daughter's affairs, guiding her through finding a match.

"I did not mean to offend you--"

"No," you shake your head, forcing yourself to think about what you do have, "No, it's not you. In fact, I was just thinking that I was also in need of an escape."

Benedict steps forward, continuing to lead you through the dance. His expression softens at your response. "Then it appears we've helped each other."

The music swells to its climax. The song will end soon. "It appears we did."

You match another step, careful to remember the dances your sister made you go over before arriving at Lady Danbury's home. "Unless your mama was part of the pack hunting me down."

"Pack?" You repeat, forcing yourself to feel your amusement more than your grief. "I did not realize I was in the presence of a bachelor so eligible, he's quite literally hunted by a frenzy of mamas desperate for him to speak to their daughters."

Benedict laughs at that, the sound fighting to be more restrained than it actually is. Your awareness of your surroundings isn't enough to keep you from laughing with him. "That's not how I meant it."

"I know." A beat passes, and when the glowing feeling slowly but surely growing in your chest doesn't dissipate, you continue, "Actually, my mama's not here." It's as close to getting the words out as you can get. Not gone, not buried, just not here. "I am here as Lady Danbury's charge."

The music comes to an end. Some quality of his expression that you can't translate shifts. "Really?" You nod. Okay, Benedict now knows who you're staying with. It's time to confess who you are. Your lips part, but Benedict beats you to it. "I know who you're with, and I still don't know your name."

An undeniable question. You swallow, preparing to force out your own name.

"Benedict." At the sound of his name, he turns his head. A young woman you vaguely recognize from your debut approaches him. "I think I should need some air, brother." Oh--his sister. A Bridgerton who's closer to you in age--Francesca. You tense, waiting for some sense of recognition to pass over her. She barely glances at you, her body language stiff and uncomfortable.

Benedict seems to pick up on her worry. He allows her to take his arm. "Alright...I'll escort you." He looks over at you, expression apologetic, "I'm--"

"It's alright." You mean it. "Go, help your sister. You've already helped me more than I thought possible."

Benedict nods, offering you a parting glance as he escorts his sister away from the floor.

What were you thinking? Discussing an appreciation for honesty and transparency while actively keeping a secret from him? Perhaps Francesca's appearance was a sign that things are better off ended there.

Benedict's aversion of mamas implies that he is not ready to be married. He has no plans on courting you, and you may very well go the rest of the reason without speaking to him. The thought of getting to keep your secret, of not having to find out if Benedict holds the fact that after his father passed and your family moved, you didn't write to him or his family against you, is a blessing. It should make you happy, but instead, it only magnifies the hollowness of your chest.

----

i want to write a part 2 for this something BAD i love bridgerton

[the-kr8tor]

Starlight and Seafoam

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW food mentions, TW death, CW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>> CHAPTER 11

The street is bustling and teeming with people as you pay for the new mortar and pestle that you've been saving for a long time. The coins clink on the counter as you drop it on the wood. You hate to see your hard earned money go but you're glad that you have your very own mortar and pestle in exchange.

“Careful now it's heavy.” The old shopkeeper smiles at you.

“I've got it, thank you!” You heave the heavy stone in your small arms, waddling towards the door, struggling to open it with both arms occupied, a kind gentleman opens it for you and you smile politely, your mother didn't raise you to be rude after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome.” The stranger says with a gruff voice, his large frame casts a shadow over you, fancy clothes making you gawk. Gold threads sewed into the finest cloth. His brown eyes only spares you a quick once over, tufts of chestnut hair flowing in the breeze, chiseled face turning towards the shopkeeper.

Walking out of the store, the door shuts closed behind you. Eyes still glued to the rich man, someone taps you on your shoulder.

“Careful, kid, that one can and will buy you if you don't stop gawking.” Sherry, an old neighbor of yours warns you. Her husband shushes her, eyes rolling at her gossiping. “Don't you shush me, Mickey, I'm right y’know!”

“The bloke's right there, love!” Mickey whisper shouts, he turns towards a customer, scowl disappearing, smiling politely over the vegetable stand.

You notice some people whisper too, from the butcher across the street to the florist on your right. Their main topic is the mysterious rich man in the store you just left.

Sherry clicks her tongue, slyly beckoning you over, whispering close in your ear. She smells of lettuce and cigars.

“Listen, girl,” you nod, trusting the adult. “you better get home ‘cause word around town is that wanker right there is a skin trader.” She says the word with malice. “See his fancy dancy clothes? He got ‘em from selling children like yourself.”

“What's a skin trader?” You ask, eyes wide and concerned. The mortar and pestle gets heavier in your arms.

“Didn't dear old mum warn you about ‘em?”

“Stop scaring the poor child, Sher.” her husband warns, busy with a line of customers while his wife gossips with a thirteen year old.

“This ‘ere is a private conversation, Mickey!” She turns back towards you, “Jus’ be careful, kiddo. I like you, you've got ‘em magic hands with them herbs. I don't want you gettin' sold off to a noble house, yeah?” you nod, “Stay away from him and you'll be good.” Shrugging, she pats your head.

“I don't think my mum would sell me.” You say with a small voice, fingers grazing over your necklace that's tucked under your blouse.

She scoffs, “tell that to little John, he was sold off for a bag of coins a few days ago.”

“Sher.” Mickey warns as your blood runs cold.

You know John, you've played with him a few times even though he runs his mouth like a sailor. Now you know why you haven't seen him around town. Nerves alight, you stay away from the shop's door.

Home calls for you, but you still have other errands to run.

“I've gotta go, thank you, Sherry.” You start to walk away with heavy strides and worry written on your face. She won't do that right? You thought. She loves me like her own, she can't— won't do that to me.

Mickey calls you back, “oh Y/N, grab a few of these for you and your mum, yeah? I know they're your favourite.” he smiles, putting a handful of cherry tomatoes inside the mortar.

“Thank you!” You smile, “It's her favourite too!”

“Aye, I know.”

His wife slaps him upside the head, “the fuck you mean ‘you know?’”

You leave before you get stuck in the middle of their argument. In your peripheral, you see the well dressed man leave the store without buying anything, he walks over to Sherry and Mickey. You don't stay long to hear their conversation.

—

Despite hurrying home, you end up walking towards the cabin with the sun already setting. Leaves crunch under your foot as you yawn, but your smile stays on your lips, happy enough that you have your newly purchased instrument in your arms, even though it's extremely heavy combined with the old canvas bags on your shoulder full of supplies you and your mother needed for the rest of the month.

Finally seeing the small cabin makes you weary, wanting to lay down in bed until she calls you for supper. Based on the smoke billowing from the chimney, you guess she already started cooking for dinner.

The heavy door creaks open as you push it open with your shoulder. “Mum, Mickey gave us cherry tomatoes! And you can't believe what I just heard—”

You freeze in the doorway, your mortar and pestle falls in your arms, clanging loudly on the wooden floor, it splits in half as the cherry tomatoes tumbles out of the mortar.

There he stands, the same well dressed man handing your guardian that you call mother, loved like your own mother, hugged like your own mother a bag of coins. They both pause in their movements.

The man cages you with his stare, an unreadable expression on his face, hazel eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth, turning it to crimson.

“Mum?” you frown, tears brimming in your eyes.

She can't, she won't but she still did it.

“Y/N, this is—”

“How could you?” You ask, broken, heart left split in half like the mortar on the floor.

She looks at you apologetically, hand reaching towards you instinctively. Your home seems to suffocate you.

The man exhales sharply like he's in pain. “I passed by her a few hours ago. She looks just like—”

You don't let him finish.

Bolting away with only the clothes on your back and the spare change in your pockets, you run as fast as you can without looking back.

“Love?” Hobie says it tenderly that you thought he was calling for someone else, again. “Love?” He calls a bit louder.

Hobie wakes you up back to reality, back to his hold. His thumb wipes the tears sliding down your cheeks, eyes glazing over. He sits on the edge of the pool, the fire next to him warming his drenched clothes whilst you float with only his hand anchoring you near him.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers.

You twist around in the water, arms placed on the ground next to him, fingers twisting around the frayed thread on his pants. Chin resting atop your elbow, you watch the fire crackle and burn timber.

Hobie's hands slide over to your nape, caressing softly, hoping it would make up for what you've lived through. He knows it doesn't, but he still wants to try.

After minutes of silence and listening to your soft sniffles, the warmth of the afternoon sun and fire illuminating your deep frown and tear stained cheeks. Hobie breaks the quiet.

“MJ—” for a second you thought he's calling you by her name again, and it shatters your heart all over again. “She…she was—”

“Don't tell me just because I told you mine.” You look up at him with sadness underneath your eyes. “Only tell me when you're ready.” He nods, squeezing you in thanks. “I told you mine because someone else has to know, just in case—”

Hobie knits his eyebrows. “In case of what?”

In case I die, in case I decide to stay on the island and you leave. In case, in case. You have a lot of them but you spare him the heartache. He'd do the same. Someone has to know your story, that's how you can live forever, you remember her old words.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He understands, “alright, keep your secrets.” flicking his eyes down, he observes your fingers mindlessly playing with its thread. “Stop tryin’ to take my trousers off, you can just ask.”

You chuckle softly, the first time he's heard it since you sobbed in his arms a week ago.

“You wish, Hobie.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, eyes closed like he's in prayer. “I wish Y/N would just ask me to take my trousers off.” He laughs, almost not finishing his own joke because of it.

You pinch his leg, earning a yelp from the pirate captain. “You always say something that ruins the moment.”

“You were chuffed though”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looks towards the beach right in between the trees. “It's finally low tide. C’mon, scuttlebutt, I've got somethin' to show you.” He stands up, giving you a helping hand.

“I swear if it's another pair of crabs fucking—”

“That was one time, get up or we might get stranded.”

“We're already stranded.” he frowns at your words.

You've been down since the night you cried in his arms. He's worried, properly so, used to the embers in you, used to the loud banter, it's only right that he worries. You're on your last legs, everything that has happened managed to catch up to you, and for him it's crawling up his neck like a swarm of ants, biting and nipping at him. But you're the priority, his priority, if you fall then he would tumble harder, landing on his face with a sickening crunch.

He doesn't mind, not finding it cumbersome, because you'd do the same for him too. Or he hopes you will.

Hobie has tried everything to make you feel better, caught fish the right way even though it made his blood boil with impatience and frustration. Shot at a seagull with the last of his bullets for a variety of meat that only made you sob for how tough it was. Not even chocolate can brighten your mood nowadays. He even postponed leaving the island until you're back to your usual self. But he knows you two can't stay here forever or the ants might finally reach his head, gnawing at his cheek, eating through his skin. Or worse, kill the fire inside you.

As a last resort, he has thought of a plan, although it's a gamble, a toss of a coin, whether or not it might make you feel worse or better then it all depends on how he acts. Hope is his main choice of weapon yet hope can kill you too.

Hobie huffs, crouching down to face you. His voice is soft. “We're not stranded, we're leaving tomorrow but before we do I have somethin’ to show you.” You look up at him with a frown.

You don't even want to leave anymore. What's waiting for you once you get on land? Nothing, nothing's waiting for you, just more longing for a family you might have and you might never have. And you're frightened at what awaits you.

“Do you want to really leave?” You ask forlornly.

“As much as I love our days here surviving, we have to leave eventually.” He's not sure either, he wants to stay with you but he has responsibilities to the crew and you. He knows you can't stay here or he might never see the fire blaze inside you again. “All I know is my crew might be waitin’ for us, yeah? Now get up.”

Might and Us, the words are a mind killer for you recently.

“Y/N, I know it's hard,” he cups the back of your head. “But you have to stand up, could you do that for me? I'll walk with you the entire time, I promise.”

“What if—?”

“Don't, remember what I told you? Don't let ‘em kill you for the second time.” His eyes bore into you. “Please? C’mon you even got me sayin’ please.”

With an exhale, you manage to clasp your hand in his. Hobie lifts you up to your feet. Water sloshes as you leave the pool, clothes drenched, air making you shiver.

“You hang around me too much.” Hand still in his, he leads you out to the eastern side of the island. “You've become too polite.”

“Is that supposed to be horrible?” Hobie takes his hand away for a moment to grab his vest that's hanging from a branch. “You're not even that polite.” he drapes it over your shoulders, taking your hand back in his hand.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, his scent clinging to you like the heat on your cheeks. You put your arms inside, wearing his vest proudly like a medal. Laying your cheek on his shoulder, he laces his fingers around yours, squeezing it tenderly.

It all seems natural to you now, all the wordless affection and care that you both act upon. You know this won't last the moment you two leave the island. So you savour it as much as you can, letting all of it linger in your mind, tucking it away until you need to relive it along the way.

“I'm polite,” you walk on soft leaves to grainy sand, the low tide providing a way towards a smaller island with rocky terrain. The sun beams just behind it, it's a beautiful sight but Hobie's eyes are on you. “If I want to.”

“Sure you are.”

He moves your intertwined hands behind him so he could exchange it with his unoccupied hand, holding you close. Like a moth to a flame, you half embrace him, hand on top of his waist, grasping softly at his skin, memorizing every indent. His warmer hand rests atop yours, while the other has managed to snake around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Like broken pieces of a shattered glass, you fit together.

Hobie drowns in all of you. Your scent and touch leaving a mark on him, not like a scar that says that you've hurt him in the past, no, it's much more like a wound, a wound that he'd gladly let fester just so he can revisit you, revisit how you look like when you smile or cry, revisit how your soft palms touches his marred flesh.

He'd poke, prod and bleed the wound just to feel your touch again.

It's a lot harder to walk entangled together on the sandy bridge that connects your island to the other, but you two don't seem to mind as you leave your footprints on the sand.

“We have a couple of hours to explore before high tide or we'll get stuck here for an entire day.”

Would that be so bad?

You hum, “explore what?” Voice muffled by his shirt, he rubs softly at your upper arm, warming you.

“You'll see, I know you'll like it.”

“Great, you're gonna kill me.” You joke monotonously.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair. “I'd do it on our island instead.”

You chuckle, “how would you do it?”

“Stake to the heart.” You almost didn't understand him whilst his face is buried in your hair. “Classic.”

“Or you could choke me with the pomegranate seeds.”

“You'd like that, huh?” you can feel his smirk atop your head and you swear he kissed you faintly like a feather landing on you.

“I don't mind dying by fruit. Better yet, death by chocolate.”

“I'd mind, it would be hard to do that. Just think of the bloody logistics.” you two stop walking, finally reaching the tiny patch of land.

“For a second there I thought you didn't want me to die.” He leans away, hand still clasped in yours.

“That too.” You smile at him genuinely. Hobie enters the crevice in the wall, jagged rocks against his calloused hands. “C’mon then.” He holds his hand out to you and you don't hesitate to take it.

“Oh you're definitely gonna kill me.”

His laugh bounces around the cavern as you two shimmy towards the light at the far end of the tight alcove. Darkness soon envelops your vision. His piercings shine, acting as your guide. Like a ship to a lighthouse.

“It's a bit dark, Hobie.” Your voice echoes, concern laced in your voice. Not questioning your trust in him but concerned for what the dark could reveal to you.

“I've got you, just keep holding on to me, yeah?”

You sniff a reply, the dampness from the stone makes your nose itch from the musk.

Your feet splashes on a puddle, almost yelping at the sudden wetness. He holds on to you tighter while the rocks scratch at your back.

Hobie pauses before making way for you to pass through, making sure you don't trip on the way out.

The light almost blinds you as you finally make it to the end. Eyes adjusting, you squint at Hobie's gleeful face.

“We're here.”

Just behind Hobie is a massive ship, half of its hull is missing, mast broken, white sails fluttering aimlessly. There's something eerie about it, from how the sun's light filters through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, to the chipping golden paint that decorates the sides; barnacles have made a home on the broken bottom and crabs skittering away to its crevices. The sodden wood is inflated from the currents, wear and tear evident on its oak. It's gorgeously morbid when you think about the people who might've perished right there.

“Whose ship is this?” Your words echoes and bounces off the cave. You'd be lying if you didn't think it was the revenge for a split second, if not for its unfamiliar figure head, you'd collapse right on the spot.

“Don't know, I think It's navy but it doesn't have their flags so probably a merchant ship.” He comes closer to you, palm brushing over yours. “Look over there.” He glances behind you.

Turning around, you see several tally marks on the wall, an indication that someone survived. You glide your hands carefully over the marks, eyes curious and in disbelief.

“I counted, they were here for six months.”

You whirl around, “six? Fuck.”

“They got out though.”

You knit your brows. “How'd you know?”

“Come with me?”

“To the ship? It looks like it's about to collapse any second.”

“I tried climbing it, it's stable.” Hobie reaches for you, and again you take his hand.

“If I fall I'll blame you.”

“Thought you're good at climbin’?”

“Houses and trees, not a dilapidated ship that's more than ready to be scrapped. That thing looks older than us combined.”

“Fine, I'll climb up first and I'll help you up. Deal?”

“Christ, fine, but you owe me the rest of the chocolate.” you watch him climb a crate, effortlessly reaching the ledge of the deck, hauling himself up quicker than you thought. “Show off.” You say under your breath.

“Heard that.” Hobie peeks down, “the chocolate's all yours, now get your arse up here.” he crouches down, hands at the ready to help you up.

Copying his movements, you jump up, he immediately grabs you. Putting your foot up in a crack for leverage and with Hobie's help, you manage to get up onto the deck.

You sit next to him, stretching your wrists.

“See, not too bad, right?” The wood creaks right as he says it. “Maybe we shouldn't sit or stand on the same floor board.” He stands up but before giving you space to lessen the strain on the old wood, he helps you up once again.

“Thanks, I can stand up on my own y’know.” Yet you still take his hand.

“I know, I just don't like it when you're on the ground, you always look like you're about to bite my ankles.”

You laugh and he smiles triumphantly. The sound echoes, it reminds Hobie of the days spent together on the revenge.

“That's true, It takes every bone in my body not to.”

He smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head at you. “I have to show this to you.” He exclaims excitedly. “Just be careful of where you step.”

You pause in your movements, “shit, alright.” testing the floorboards, you slowly clamber your way towards him. “How'd you even find this place? Did you go spelunking without me?”

“Found it on our second day, thought you wouldn't like to see a broken ship like this so soon.”

You smile softly at him, heart reaching towards him and he thinks he chose right.

Hobie opens a barrel, “Look at this, found it when I actually explored the place.”

You take a peek inside, hands leaning on the barrel. “Dried pomegranates? Look at that, your murder weapon.” flicking your eyes towards him, a teasing smile on your lips.

He huffs with a grin, hands placed on his hips. “So violent. You've been hanging around me too much eh, captain?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that, Captain Y/N. It has a nice ring to it” chuckling, your hands instinctively inch over to his. He meets you halfway on the rim of the barrel, pinky intertwined with yours. “You wanna sleep separately from now on? Since we spend too much time together and all that.”

Hobie scoffs, sucking in his teeth. “Please, you can't sleep without me now.”

It's true, you've spoiled yourself with his warmth next to you every night.

Rolling your eyes, feigning offense, you change the subject. “What's with the pomegranates?”

“They planted it, using their own supplies.”

“Cute, they left a piece of themselves on the island.”

“More than that, because of ‘em we get to eat the fruit they planted. They helped us survive.”

You shake your head, “no, you helped us survive. You did all the work, Hobie.” Taking his hand, standing toe to toe with him, you stare at his eyes for too long that you drown in his eyes. “I never got to thank you for…everything. Thank you, captain, truly.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Warmth emanating from you, eyes sparkling under the sparse light and sand clinging to your hair, he feels himself carve your name on his skin; right next to hers, right next to the scar she left.

“I rendered the great Captain Hobie Brown speechless. I think I deserve some kind of medal for that—”

Hobie cups your cheeks with both hands, leaning in, the act has you shutting up immediately.

You hear wood cracking underneath your feet. You were above deck then a second later, you're groaning on the floor, laying on his chest, facing a skeleton.

“Oh fuck!” You flinch back, Hobie holds you in place with a hand on your waist. Straddling him, you look at the decaying skeleton on the floor. “Shit—” you notice the body under you. “Oh shit!” Holding his face, you roam your eyes for any visible injuries.

“You should write poetry, you have a way with words.” He says with a wince, peeking at you through his eyelashes, he pats your thigh and you get off his aching body.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, checking the back of his head for blood, thankfully you find none. Panic sets in your bones, crawling on all fours, you smack his leg.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Hobie sits up, with his legs moving, you can finally breathe.

“I thought your legs—” the wood creaked above, eyes widening at the barrel tethering on the edge, threatening to fall.

With Hobie still shaky from the fall, you grab him quickly, dragging him away from the falling object at the last minute before it collapses on both of you.

He grips your arm, staring at the space where you two were just in a second ago. The heavy barrel now occupies it, dried pomegranates spilling out from the split wood.

“Holy fuck.” He heaves.

You drop next to him, sliding down on the rotten walls. “Holy fuck is the right word for it.” he cranes his neck to look at you. “Death by pomegranates.”

You two watch your faces morph into a smile then into a grin and then to full blown laughter.

The loud noise scares the crabs away, dust flies around and there's splintered wood laying on the floors. Despite it all, you and Hobie continue to laugh. His head laying on your chest, hand around your middle and the vibrations from his chest making you laugh harder. With your hands around his torso, fingers splayed on his back, the both of you meld together in laughter.

“Mystery solved, that's how I could die by pomegranates. Take notes, Hobie.”

He inhales before leaning away, “you saved my arse.”

“Well you saved me too, we're even.”

Hobie thumps his head on the wall just like you have. His hand searches for yours while he stares at the skeleton left next to the barrel.

You find him first before he does, immediately weaving your fingers around his, you smile despite the near death experience.

“How would you do it?” He breaks the quiet.

“Do what?” you turn your head to look at him, he's calm, face relaxed.

“Kill me.”

“Hobie—” you groan.

“Humour me, love.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “poison probably.”

“Poison? Really?” Chuckling, he clasps your hand. Your stomach somersaults at the simple act.

“Mm-hmm, I figured that I can't possibly fight you, I can't shoot you so I'd do it in a subtle way. So, poison.”

“Fuckin' hell, I'll never let you cook.” Hobie turns his head towards the skeleton again like it would suddenly stand up and attack.

“You never let me cook anyway.”

“It's because you always burn it.”

“‘It's because you always burn it’” you mock his tone, “fuck off.”

Hobie guffaws which makes you laugh too.

The laughter subsides once again, he taps your thigh, leaving his warmth embedded in you.

“He has a nice hat,” groaning, Hobie stands up, stretching his back, giving you a glimpse of his skin.

You turn away, watching the pomegranate seeds tumble down. “Who?”

“This bloke.” He bends down, taking a tricorn hat off the dirty floor. “See? There's even a bird on it. Is that silver thread?”

“Let me see.” You stretch your hand up, he lifts you up with one tug.

“There, stitched around the bird.” Hobie points at the fading design.

You can barely make out the emblem, its beak barely there and wings almost indistinguishable. The silver thread weaves around it, the only fully visible thing.

Brushing the pads of your fingers around it, you tilt your head at Hobie. “I think it is, and it's incredibly filthy. Put it back, it's been here for more than twenty years or more.”

“How would you know?” He stares at you, perplexed.

“Judging from the decay,” you gesture around the skeleton, figuring it's too rude to point at it. “and adding the fact it's exposed to the elements, it's been here a long ass time.”

Hobie’s eyes brighten, “you fuckin' bookworm.”

Sticking your tongue at him, cheeks warm, “How'd you know the survivors got out of the island then?”

He shrugs, hands still holding the musty hat. “They left a note on top of a couple of graves just behind the ship.”

“Bullshit, now you're just making shit up.”

He chuckles, the sound similar to a giggle. “‘m not lyin’, cross my heart!”

“Sure, and I'm a selkie.” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue, “I'm going outside.” You begin to walk away, finding the space stifling from all the dust and death that surrounds it.

He quickly places the hat on top of your head and you jump away, flinging it off your head then throwing it at the perpetrator.

“What?” He laughs, “It looks better on you! He clearly doesn't need it anymore!” joking, he tries to put it on you again and you push him away as a warning.

Your smile betrays your true emotion. “Don't—”

“Alright” Hobie surrenders, placing the hat back where he found it, hands next to his head, he slyly inches towards you.

“Thank you, now can we go? High tide’s coming—”

He suddenly lunges for you, picking you up as you yelp and wiggle in his arms. His arm is underneath your knees, the other is around your torso, hands placed right above your ribs. You drown in him once again. Cackling, he walks towards the hole in the wall.

“Put me down!” you bunch up his shirt in your hands, “Hobie!”

“What? I'm taking you outside, it's clearly not safe here, love!” Your squirming has him holding onto you tighter. He grins widely, carefully squeezing out of the broken hull and into the light and fresh air.

Being this close to him, you notice the small dimples on his cheeks. Restraining yourself from poking it, you can't help but stare up at him like he's the sea himself. Deep and full of secrets, secrets that you're more than willing to dive for. A terrifying force on the surface but once you're underneath the tides, you see his true self, all the love he harbors for the people, all the hate that has made him who he is.

With his waves crashing against you, he smoothens your edges with his touch, if you're not careful, he'd erode you until you're nothing but a speck of sand.

Hands atop his shoulders, Hobie stops laughing the second he sees your eyes gleam over, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half moons on his skin. He doesn't mind, he'd let you mark him if that's what you truly want.

“You alright?” He whispers, staring down at you like the sky above, beautiful and out of reach, a cloud soft and fleeting, stars that guide him in the night. A hurricane that has sunk ships. He thinks he's one of those ships.

You wonder if he used to look at her like this too. Your hold on him loosens.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say, voice quivering. His face goes slack, eyebrows furrowed. “Like I'm her, you know I'm not her.”

You've struck him with lightning.

You leap off his arms, wobbling on your feet. He stretches his fingers, ghosting over the shape you've left.

“What do you mean?” He asks even though he's afraid of what you're going to say.

You smile bitterly. “I remind you of her. And I'm not her, Hobie.”

“I— where is this coming from?”

Sniffing and shaking your head, “nevermind” you begin to walk towards the exit.

“Y/N,” Hobie grabs your hand, letting go immediately when you flinch like he has burned you. “Not bloody nevermind, what's wrong?”

Gwen and Hobie's arguing finally escapes its cage, their angry words thrown at each other have finally eaten through the back of your head, revealing a wound that hasn't closed. Together with the numerous times he has called her name instead of yours, you collapse under all of it.

He loves her and not you.

You avoid the swirling greys, arms crossed, head down, staring at your worn out shoes. It's better this way you think, cut it off like a lame limb before it spreads to your heart. You're letting him go, and it pains your soul to do so.

“You only like me because of the circumstances.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hobie's not mad at you, he's angry at the conversation and the idea that you've dug up.

Does he? Does he only like you because of her? Did he only let you in at the start because of her? He only knows what he currently feels for you right now.

“You like me because of the circumstances! If we weren't stuck here together you wouldn't be.” A thunderstorm has broken through.

“After all this time together do you really think that?” He asks the question for you and for himself.

Your hands shake, tears almost spilling over. You don't let it, not in front of him. “You tolerate me.” twisting to face him, you regret the words you've thrown, but it has to be said or the relationship would've been built on lies and love for another. “You called me by her name when I fell and when you slept. I–I don't know, Hobie, I really don't know.”

There it is, the knife that was made to split skin and bleed. Instead of Hobie holding it, it's you. But he helps you bury the steel in his body, helping you twist it, helping you bleed him.

“You were there?” You nod, “I— you do remind me of her… it's uncanny sometimes.” You stifle a sob, head held up high. “And I don't fuckin' know, Y/N. All I know is I like you despite the bloody circumstances.”

Hobie closes his eyes, rubbing it with the heels of his palms. “I'll see you back at the island.” He leaves, and you just watch.

Falling to the ground, you hug your knees, letting it all crumble around you.

—

You haven't slept, bags under your eyes, headache pounding in your head, the sound of soil getting dug out behind you has become a comfort not a nuisance.

You haven't looked at the source of the sound since he started, letting his quiet curses and groans fill you with sadness and guilt. With the sun rising, and a new day coming, you sit up, palms raw from your clenched fists.

He tried to do something nice and you threw it back at him with venom.

Heading towards the shore, kneeling down, you let the salt wash over the crescent wounds. Wincing at the stinging pain, you lift your hands away from the water, lingering, watching the sun rise with heavy eyes. The humidity stifles you, choking you almost.

You clutch at your chest, imagining that your necklace is still hanging around your neck. Wishing for the comfort it brings, but the gold isn't there and the only comfort you have is now cold around you, avoiding your presence since yesterday. The closest thing you have is the pearl in your pocket, so you place your hand inside, rolling the smooth edges around your fingers, letting the cool surface ease you.

With a shaky sigh, you trudge towards the grove, grass grazing along your legs, you stand stiff at the sight.

Graves, he's digging graves.

Covered in dirt and sweat, Hobie digs a hole in the ground using a sharp stick. Lips wobbling, you let a tear fall before wiping it away.

“Hobie.” You call his name softly, voice breaking. He doesn't look up, you notice his arms shaking from fatigue. “Hobie.”

He pauses mid dig, “what?” Asking sharply, his eyes are dark, worse for wear. “Don't ask me to stop, Y/N, because I won't.”

“I was gonna ask if you needed help—want my help.”

Hobie tosses a stick at you, “this is the last one.”

Nodding, you grab the stick from the ground. Jumping down the hole, you wordlessly dig across him. The rough wood opens the scratches on your palms, dribbles of blood rolling down like the tears you've shed.

“Is this Finn's?” you ask with apprehension.

Nothing.

“Ned’s?”

Still nothing, he swallows thickly.

“Mine?”

Hobie stops, sighing, “Do you really think I can do that just because of yesterday?” Do you think he is a monster?

“No. I was trying to lift the mood, I realize now it's in poor taste.”

“I would have laughed if we weren't digging a grave.”

“Graveyard humour.” you say flatly, stabbing the ground, digging even when your palms bleed, even when your blood falls inside the grave.

Hobie exhales, eyes heavy with fatigue, dirt underneath his nails.

“You want to stay.” he says with certainty, cutting the uncomfortable silence.

“I do.”

“You won't survive here alone.”

“I know.”

“Then we'll come back here, once everything is said and done.” He looks at you, “we'll come back here.”

“Hobie—”

His eyes flicker down to your hands, the stick now red from your own hands. “You're bleedin’”

With concern he drops the makeshift shovel to cross the small distance, slowly taking your hands away from the tool. Your skin clings to it like the roots of a tree.

“It's fine.”

Hobie clutches your hands, palms above your own, trying to stop the bleeding. “No, it's not.” No, you're not fine.

“It's just from…everything. I'll clean them so they don't get infected.” you try to leave but he still holds you tight.

“I'll clean it.” Let me help, please. He screams inside his head. Just this once, let him stop the blood instead of the one bleeding you dry.

You glance at him, lines marring his face, grey eyes laid upon a bloodied field. Lips pursed into worry.

“Alright.”

—

The silence makes you squirm in your seat, watching the waves on the shore, you let him clean your hands, trust him to clean your wounds.

Hobie carefully wraps your hands with a tattered part of his shirt. He smells of the familiar herbs and soil, eyes glued to your bandaged hands, he finally speaks.

“She was killed in front of me.” His voice lacks the usual tone, grief weaved around the sentence. “When the black helion sailed next to us I knew that she was already gone.”

You look at him, it's the least you could do.

“She called for me while Mathias had his sword right next to her neck. And I cowered under the deck until she asked with a smile if she could see me.”

Listening with tears in your eyes, Hobie avoids yours.

“The second I showed myself…he cut off her head. At first I thought it was her last attempt at hurting me, seeing her dead. But after a while I… I think she wanted me to be the last thing she ever saw because she grinned like she used to when she saw me.”

He raises his head to meet your tearful eyes, “Mary Jane, that was her real name.” He chokes before inhaling deeply. “An orphan like me but she got the wrong end of the bloody stick.” He spits the words angrily. “She wanted an out, that's why she went to Mathias. We fought when she told me she was navy, but I knew…I think I just didn't want to believe it.”

Your heart breaks for him.

“I want to avenge her not just for MJ but for everyone else who got the wrong end of the bloody stick. Thirty of my men died that day, I can grieve for them everyday for the rest of my life but it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.”

Hobie lets your hands go softly on your lap.

“It's better to be angry than to wallow in myself. They wouldn't like that if I did so I let myself be angry for their sake.”

You reach for him, surprising himself, he welcomes your touch. Holding his face like you hold the entire world in your palms, you kiss the corner of his eyes softly, encouraging him to cry.

Laying your forehead against his, you whisper the words to him like a secret shared between two lovers.

“Let me be angry for you just this once, e–even if it's just for today, let me carry it for you. And I'll be angry for you if you ask. Just ask me, Hobie.”

“Just for a minute.” He whispers back.

“Alright, just for a minute.”

Hobie drops his head on your shoulder, hiding his face from the world, arms enclosed around your torso, you let him cry.

—

You help Hobie bury the empty graves. Pomegranates and colourful flowers on top of each one except for the three at the very back. You whisper goodbyes to each one, giving Finn's, Ned's and the crew he lost with extra attention and extra love.

You leave a bar of chocolate on top of Finn's grave, his name written on a piece of driftwood. ‘beloved friend’ you've written under his name then you realize it's not enough to describe him, so you write ‘best chef in the world’ next to it, laughing to yourself once you finish it.

“I think he'd like it” Hobie said whilst he places the folded sail on top of Ned’s empty grave. He wrote next to his name, ‘a shit lyricist but a good friend, beloved by everyone’ and you sobbed wetly at the words.

You just stare at the graves for the men you killed, imagining them rotting under it. They were once children, you thought, but you don't regret it, because you lived because of what you did, lived because of what you endured.

Just as you're leaving the thicket, giving the crew one last goodbye, you watch Hobie write her name and you leave, giving him privacy.

You wait for him patiently under the trees, right next to the raft full of supplies you've gathered. Eyes downturned, cheeks stained with tears, you hear the rustle of leaves from behind and you don't mention the missing necklace from his neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

No.

“Yes.”

Hobie goes around the raft to push, you copy him.

“Is that—?” He stops, hand above his eyebrows, shielding it from the sun. “Holy shit.”

You follow his line of sight, perplexed, until you see five figures waving wildly at you.

“It's them” Hobie looks at you with relief and you almost weep once again.

“It's them.”

A/N: Before you all get mad at me for Miguel, all will be revealed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 2. The Botanist

Summary: Why must everything be consequential when the little joys in life are more satisfying? Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 1,546 Listen to: feelslikeimfallinginlove -by Coldplay A/N: Don't forget to leave feedback, please! -Danny

Dear Diary,

I knew of the existence of gossip columns before coming here, but my mother thinks they're cruel, so we don't read them. Here, however, the Queen is an avid reader of Lady Whistledown's weekly paper, and I must confess I'm thrilled with its contents, although she's keen to see me and my siblings at the ball, to brutally humble us one way or another.

My anonymity gets taken from me this Friday, but I plan to get a taste of real, unadulterated freedom today.

Wish me luck.

Benedict and Colin have been forced to take Francesca and Eloise for a promenade now that Anthony is too busy being Kate's husband to tend to his unmarried sisters, and Colin is, for some reason, happy with the arrangement.

They encounter Penelope Featherington, initiating a conversation Colin is more than keen to join. Benedict tries to, but soon enough he loses interest, much like with everything else in his life, and he decides to walk the nearby areas while he waits. 

He's nursing a headache, unable to sleep away yet another intoxicated night. Everything is too loud and bright, and he wishes to crawl back to his studio and sketch the day away, forgetting all about the wasted hours. 

Dull, yet ridiculously absurd, that's how everything feels for him. The ton lacks change, modernity, and most of all, appeal for men such as himself. Is it too much to ask, having at least one interaction per season that doesn't make him want to fake his own death? 

Why must everything be consequential when the little joys in life are more satisfying? A homemade pastry, Francesca playing the piano to perfection, the warmth of another body pressing against his, the shivers and sounds of his lovers when he touches them exactly how they like it...

Ruffling leaves interrupt his delightful thoughts. Benedict spots a person behind the bushes and grins, walking up to them. He tilts his chin and squints to try and make sense of the scene before him. A boy with the largest hat he's ever seen cuts fistful after fistful of weeds and flowers, thrusting them into his satchel and making noises of delight when spotting a new one.

"Stop this instant, young man!" He says in the voice he uses to mock Anthony's scoldings.

A high-pitched yelp comes out of the boy as he stumbles and lands on his butt, the movement makes his hat fly out of his head and reveal a lengthy, soft-looking cascade of hair. Benedict's eyes widen when a rather feminine face is revealed. 

"Good lord," he stammers, rushing to aid the stranger. "You're—"

The girl covers his mouth quickly, scowling as if he were the one misbehaving. Benedict almost believes it, with how she hurries to her feet, making him feel guilty for intruding in her moment of private joy. She picks up her hat and pushes her hair under it as she speaks.

"That wasn't funny! Why would you scare a stranger like that, have you no manners?"

"Have I no manners?" He gapes, standing up and backtracking to the path clumsily. "I'm not the one cross-dressing in broad daylight!"

"Lord forbid a woman has hobbies!" The lady squeezes the gardening scissors she's holding while gesturing. Benedict notices she's not wearing gloves, but her hands look soft and cared for. "Do you consider a dress a comfortable thing to wear while gardening?"

"Why are you gardening at Hyde Park?" He questions, torn between mirth and bafflement.

"I'm a botanist." The girl climbs over the bush and joins him on the path. 

Benedict eyes her with interest, she's much too young to be unattended like this. Maybe she's a maid enjoying her day off. "Really? Who do you work for?"

"None of your business, is it?" She says, cleaning the dirt on her hands using her trousers. She mutters something in what seems to be Italian before looking back at him. "I'm just picking flowers. To press."

"Those are weeds."

"Well, they're pretty weeds and the are no rules against cutting them, are there?" The stranger pulls the hat lower, almost as if trying to conceal her face.

"I wouldn't know," Benedict stares at her, fascinated. "You have an interesting accent, never heard it before." The girl is suddenly quiet. Benedict takes a step closer. "What's your name?"

"That's also none of your business."

He smiles crookedly. "That's not very kind."

The girl slips her scissors into her satchel and smiles tensely. "My apologies, good sir, what I meant to say is: You hold no right to obtain the knowledge."

Benedict laughs. "You're incredibly funny."

Her smile softens, adorning the lady's face in a way that makes his chest flutter. "What's your name, sir?"

"I'm afraid you lost the privilege to learn it after your bold display of ill-breeding," he says in a tone that is much too pleased.

"Fair enough," she concedes, a playful spark in her eyes. "You think me a critter, then?"

"Quite," he responds bemusedly. "You live in bushes."

"Then you better leave my home before I bite you," she replies.

"I will," Benedict has never seen this girl at balls, and her trousers are the right size for her, so she's not from the ton. Therefore, she must be his next conquest. "But I'd like to see you again."

The girl snorts loudly. "You might." She turns and leaves him there. 

Benedict stands in quiet contemplation as his headache slowly comes back, wondering if he just hallucinated the whole exchange.

You fan your face aggressively while waiting alongside your sister for your brothers. Your parents are with Queen Charlotte, they are to enter the ball before you, and then you and Marie will be escorted by two of the Queen's sons.

You don't like entering places last. It has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with your clumsiness, all those eyes on you are the quickest way to ensure public embarrassment. Marie squeezes your bicep and smiles. "It'll be alright, Y/N. Just... picture them all naked, like Mom says!"

You wrinkle your nose. "What if I spot someone handsome and I picture them naked? No, that would quicken the process of humiliation..."

"You're bringing it upon yourself with those thoughts," your sister chastises. 

The twin brothers walk into the room looking almost yellow in the candlelight, and you can tell immediately why they took so long. "Dear heavens, did you have to go drinking the night before this wretched ball?" You approach Rowan and fix his lapels.

"The Princes wanted to show us the city," Richard says with a silly grin.

"Showing you the city brothels, more like," you say disapprovingly. "Not that I have anything against those girls, but you don't know what kind of care is given to them here, at least in Genovia we have protection rubbers. Did they provide you with those?"

Richard makes a face. "I'm not sharing the details of my intimate life with my older sister!"

"That's a no, then," you roll your eyes. "Idiots. Our parents taught us better than that."

"We drank the wine and you took the flush of it," Rowan teases you. "Fanning your face does nothing if you don't relax, you know?"

Before you can continue bickering, the doors open signaling it's time to make your entrance. The youngest Princes come to you and your sister and offer their arms, gracefully guiding you into the space.

The ballroom is lavishly decorated to appeal mainly to you and your family. The servants have pear flowers adorning the pockets of their jackets, and the colours of your flag are carefully utilised in bouquets, carpets, and silk arrangements all over the room to pay homage to your culture. 

"This lot may be a bit prickly but they certainly have an eye for decore," you mutter to your companion forgetting it's not your sister and receive an awkward, discontented chuckle at your thoughtless comment.

You blush even more and do your best to keep a calm attitude and avoid the faces in the crowd, for the first minute you stand at the top of the stairs, embarrassed but contained, you wait until your sister and brothers are standing beside you, and then, having no option but to acknowledge your hosts, you look at the crowd beneath you. 

In the first five seconds, you do well enough, which is already a victory for you, but then your eyes spot a tall man looking at you with horror and you recognize him from your walk in the park. The squeak that leaves your lips is so loud and guttural that there is no way to hide it in a cough or a sneeze, not that doing any would help you recover your poise.

Your brain, faced with a fly or fight situation, decides to fight in a way that has never done before. You speak to the crowd. "Eek—! I-Incredible crowd of beautiful people!" You say to all the staring faces. "Thank you for welcoming us into your lovely country!"

You kick your sister's foot urging her to either talk or move, and since she's too shocked to speak, she turns towards the steps and takes Richard's arm to join the crowd, glancing at you over her shoulder with concern. 

Rowan steps in and offers his arm to you, smiling but just as dumbfounded as your sister. "What was that?"

"Do me a favour," you whisper in mortification. "If you see my hand empty, place a drink in it."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@Booknerdlife @djsporks @lght-roastcoffee @marii-ren @mythical-goth @omgsuperstarg @creepytoes88 @sarahskywalker-amidala @23victoria @shadowolf993 @squirreljoe @babypink224221

[moonacrefarm]

anticipating love

summary: sometimes the only way up is backwards.

contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n

authors note: i think i rewrote this like four times. editing this one was so difficult bc i was never satisfied, i'm not used to writing dialogue and all of it felt unnatural </3. for this chapter, i was listening to home by danny knutelsky... i'm not sure if you can tell that was the vibe i was writing with... enjoy!

series masterlist

previous part | next part.

05. a secret place to hide

"You can live your life, you know?" Your mother's hand caressed your hair as you laid in her lap. Since the last time Bradley visited you’d avoided him, holing up in your room or Hard Deck during it’s off-hours. You found yourself taking advantage of the sights San Diego had to offer if it meant avoiding him. Your run-in with Bradley had seemingly shaken you up more than you thought. 

You pushed yourself up, leaning on her shoulder as you watched a movie. 

"I am living my life, though?" You riposte. 

She gave you a look and sighed, surrendering to you, “Look, Penny called. She needs help working tonight. Would you please give her a hand?” 

You narrowed your eyes at your mother. You knew her like the back of your hand and you could sniff a scheme out. “Did you hear the conversation I had with Bradley the other night?” 

She held her breath for a second in deep thought. 

Before she sighed, “Yeah I did.” 

You groaned, throwing your head back on the couch. You’d been found out. 

“Only a little bit! I didn’t hear a lot, just you scolding him.” 

“Does Penny actually need help at the bar or is this just another scheme?” You raised a brow at her. 

“She actually did call for help. Her server called out sick last minute and tonight a ship is docking.” 

You stared. “Why does this feel familiar?”

“You know we can’t schedule when the fleet comes in.”

“There’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.” 

Your mother and Penny had always been team Bradley Bradshaw; they even placed bets on when you'd be married. The worst part? They weren't wrong. You'd done everything but date, including sharing every first with each other. 

“Neither of us can guarantee Bradley won’t be there tonight. So you might have to break the cold war you have going on.” 

“Might?” 

“You weren’t hiding it, you were avoiding him. I’ve never seen you drive yourself around this much.” She laughed at you, slightly coughing at the end. 

She turned to face you, "You should talk to him..." She said softly, leaning her tired body on the couch as you faced each other. 

"I don't want to. Not with…" You looked away from her, "Not with everything going on." She sighed before smacking you on the arm. You yelped as you tried to soothe the pain away. Glaring at her as she smiled. 

"Do I look like I'm dead yet? You might as well lay me in the coffin with your attitude. I can still smack some sense into you." She guffawed, you joining her laughing fit soon after. 

“I’m not saying to talk to him tonight. With the boat docking his detachment might not even be there, but your aunt has managed to run a very successful bar. You’re in his territory, there’s always a risk.”

“Oh risk my ass, North Island isn’t that small Mom.” You huffed, you both laughing. 

You thought about it for a second. It seemed like a very loose scheme, one where they’re placing bets on Bradley being there tonight. Your mother wouldn’t throw you into anything that made you genuinely uncomfortable, but she is more than willing to give you a push. 

“Just one ship docking?”

“God I hope. Anyone who isn’t married is gonna be bar hopping once they get their land legs back.” 

“I’ll go help her. I’ll call her on my way down there.” 

She nodded looking at the TV and sinking in the couch. The chemo had taken its toll this time, her breathing a little faster, her body a little smaller, but she was fighting. “Are you sure you won't need me tonight?” 

She looked back up at you, “Your father will be home in a couple of hours, by the time you leave I’ll be in the kitchen scolding him into how to make proper lasagna.” You smiled at her. “He must be so excited.”

“He doesn’t even know yet.” 

The sun hung slightly above you, finally coming down into the view but not quite evening yet. Penny had stopped by to pick you up suggesting that you could spend the night at her place anyway. 

You took a deep breath and sat in the passenger seat before you could talk yourself out of this. 

“I’ll man the bars, you dish out the drinks?” Penny’s voice pulled your attention, her hands around the steering wheel. 

“I’m much better at customer service anyway.” You told her with a grin. She reached over and pinched you lightly on your side. 

“I do appreciate the help. I don’t know what it is but this must be the third time I’ve asked you to help on boat night,” 

“Fourth Pen.” You interjected, she continued anyway. 

“Details details…,” She waved her hand at you, “You're the best waitress I’ve had.”  You chuckled to yourself and leaned your head on the window. 

She was quiet for a few moments before asking you, “So, your mom and Simpson worked things out again?” 

She was prodding lightly. She was always weary of navy men and had never fully trusted your father. 

Your parents had never fallen out of love, but when they separated your father was busy climbing ranks. The constant time apart and they didn’t know how to live with each other anymore. Besides the issue of neglecting his family, your father wasn’t very affectionate and no matter how hard your mother fought, he was stubborn and a straight shot. He was blinded until he got what he set out for. 

What made him a great pilot made him a horrible husband and father. 

You shrugged at Penny, “I’m not sure. I think mom’s cancer plays a part in how normal they’re being. I can’t say though. You probably know more than me.” 

“Hmmm. But you live with them, you see more.” 

“I do, but…you know Dad’s never been the one to have a range of emotions.” 

Penny let out an airy laugh. “You’re right about that hon. That man is a piece of concrete if I’ve ever seen one. A true military man.” 

She sighed, pulling in front of the bar. You both crawled out, the Hard Deck loomed over you two. The building seemed twice its size and you’d need the room for tonight. 

“Alright, one boat docked, and maybe the usual crowd. Did your mom warn you about tonight?”

You nodded. “She warned me about the boat and about Bradley.” 

Penny smiled brightly. “Perfect. I can prepare you for mermen, but I can’t prepare you for a Bradshaw.” 

You shooed her away as the first bar patrons came in. Settling in a booth and flagging you over. 

You looked at Penny, and she looked at you. Both nodded at each other as the sun sunk lower into the skyline. 

One thing about the Hard Deck, it was only open after 5:30 pm. Not a minute sooner and not a minute later. The first thirty or so minutes were quiet. 

Until a group of shored fish popped in. Once you saw the first group you knew more were sure to follow. The sun had set and you had been running around the bar all night. As the shift went on, you realized you hadn’t seen Bradley’s detachment. 

There was a solid chance they wouldn’t be here tonight with how crowded it was and their training. 

“Penny, two whiskey sours and a craft beer please.” 

“Coming right up darling.” 

You leaned on the bar a bit, standing between two empty stools and letting your body sag. You hadn’t played waitress like this since your last restaurant job. You caught your breath for a second before Penny plopped three drinks in front of you. 

“Do you need your break?” 

You shook your head no. The buzz from keeping busy kept your mind so preoccupied you didn’t have time to think about anything else. 

“I’ll let you know when Penn.”

She nodded at you and served a couple more beers to the guys waiting. 

Dancing through the crowd kept you on your toes. Time had passed that threshold where most people weren’t worried about decorum or balance. No matter how alert you were, someone always caught you off guard. 

A bar-goer stepped back into your space, catching your shoe and you braced yourself as you tried to regain your balance. A couple more stumbles pulled your weight to the side, your gravity off balance and the tray going with the momentum. 

Until two arms engulfed your frame. 

Gently, they pulled you upright, one hand jutting out to grab the tray out of your hands. As you righted yourself, you noted said hand lingering lightly on your waist, “You alright?” Bradley leaned down to ask you. 

Him and his darn height.

“I’m good Bradshaw.” You fixed your shirt and readjusted your apron. One deep breath in and you went to grab the tray of drinks. They had only slightly spilled. Hopefully, they’d be too drunk to notice. You’d give them a 10% off when you closed their tabs out. 

“You sure?” He asked, turning the tray away from you. 

You huffed at him. “Yes, I am sure. I promise.” 

His eyebrows rose and gently he set the tray back into your hands. “Careful bugs.” You nodded once more before carrying on for the night. 

You could feel his eyes on you the rest of your shift, didn’t matter where you went in the bar or where you went into the crowd. Bradley’s eyes found you with ease. 

“You talk to Bradshaw tonight?” Penny asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Somehow, this all feels a little familiar…” You gave her a small side-eye. 

“Aye, I’m not letting you off the hook this time. I’m paying you to work the whole shift.” 

“Okay okay… I’m not gonna run away just because he looked at me.” 

“I know you won’t, you would’ve ran as soon as he walked in here.” The side of her mouth twitched. “You also don’t have your car.” 

Reminded of your shameful past, you took your restocked tray and carried on for the night. 

Bradley nursed his drink until his group was ready to leave, pulling away from them and promising he’d see them tomorrow. He set his eyes on you. Your chest slightly rising and falling from exhaustion, your bangs framing your face, and a couple of other strands out of place.

You could feel his warmth and he pulled up on your side. 

The bar had quieted significantly, the majority of the group's bar hopping elsewhere or down at the beach. 

He sat on the stool and watched you silently. You didn’t make a move to speak to him, trying to close the register and get the last of the tabs shut out. His watching you didn’t make you uncomfortable. Did you want to face him after the heart-to-heart?

Yes, but also… absolutely not. The feelings that were crawling themselves out of their graves were overwhelming and you didn’t want them pouring out again. 

“You finish up that last tab, I can check out the rest,” Penny said from behind you. 

“Are you sure? I’m already doing it.” 

“I’m sure.” She nodded at Bradley, “I might be a little late closing, think you could give her a ride Bradshaw?” 

The scheming commenced. 

“It’d be my pleasure.” His grin lopsided. 

Him and his darn grin. 

“I’m staying at your place tonight? I even promised Amelia.” 

“I never said you were going home. Just might get there a little earlier than me.” She smiled slyly, testing the waters that were you and Bradshaw. “‘Sides, I wouldn’t come between a promise between you and Amelia. Strong-headed that one, I wouldn't dare.” 

You huffed, “Alright, this register is checked out,” You looked at Penny, “I'll do the final count.” 

Turning to Bradley, silence suspended between you both, Bradley smiling lightly while looking at you. 

"Got a starin' problem?" You jested. 

He smirked at you, "If I do?" Your eyes narrowed as he laughed. 

"Don't mind me taking in the view." He grinned, a slight flush on his ears, "You're dressed real purtty' tonight." He added with a mock southern accent. 

Your face ran hot again. The tips of your ears bloomed red as blood rushed to your face. Bradley looked at you again, reaching for your bags and throwing them on his shoulder. "How have you been?" He inquired, holding the door open for you as you walked. You weren't sure what to answer; how had you been? With everything going on, you hadn't had time to process it all. 

"Alright?" You trailed off. "As good as I can be." You said sardonically. He read your body language, deciding not to prod any further. "And you?" You questioned back. The awkwardness finally settled in. His shoulders tensed. "About the same." He stilled. You watched him fidget with his lip, something he did when he wasn't sure what to do. "About back then..." He started. This time, you didn't stop him. 

“I meant it when I said I’ll come to you. This time, let me do the heavy lifting.” “Bradley, what does that even mean?” 

“It means I’ve seen a future with you for years and always ran away out of fear. We’ve waited for ‘later’ to come for years, I’ve waited for years. When you’re ready, whenever that is, I’ll be here.” He paused for a breath, opening the car door for you and leaning on the frame of the car, “I was the one who left…I think it’s only fair that this time I come to you.” Your breath hitched as you regarded his hazel eyes, firm in resolve. It almost sent you stumbling. 

After a few beats of silence, he ushered you in the car. Climbing into the driver seat and starting the engine, pausing for another moment, “Do you know Penny’s address?” 

Your belly laugh ran out in the cabin of the car. Watching as his ears tinged pink. 

“Wasn’t the best ending to a confession of love was it?” 

“No…” You teetered off, “But it was very you.” 

He frowned, “I don’t think I’m starting off very strong here.”

“Maybe not, but you Bradley Bradshaw are the one I’ve chosen over and over again, you and all your fumbles,” You leaned over the center console of the Bronco, “I’ll tell you what Bradshaw, sweep me off my feet one more time and I’ll be yours forever.” You kissed his cheek tenderly. 

The back of his hand grazed your cheek and you leaned into it. “I know we have a lot to work out, but I don’t want to fight it anymore, you’re here…and that’s more than I ever had of you before.” He flinched. 

“They're gonna have to pull my teeth out if they try and ship me off anywhere where you aren’t.” You laughed again. 

“I’ll let you come to me this time.” You kissed his knuckles. “You were always best for me, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds, “This time, I’ll make sure I’m the best I can be for you. I promise Bugs.” 

You two pulled apart for a couple seconds before you registered the sound of the engine, “Do I need to type in the address?” 

Bradley groaned.

[doberbutts]

I think the terms TMA/TME work best when they're used as rules of thumb, rather than expected to function as strict categories. They're often helpful, but occasionally they can become obfuscatory, and there are edge cases where they can't be neatly applied. In those cases, they should be set aside, but with an understanding that they will be brought back into conversations when helpful.

To give a personal perspective - I'm a trans masc individual who has, upon occasion, experienced misdirected transmisogyny. I was on T for 5 years, then came off it (partly due to health problems, partly due to starting to identify as nonbinary rather than as a man) and began presenting in a more feminine manner, and people would regularly mistake me for a trans woman.

When people thought I was a trans woman, I did notice an increase in hostility, harassment and unwelcome advances from strangers. Groups of men would shout at me in the street, mothers would glare at me and physically pull their children further away from me if I came near. I also started getting catcalled and couldn't enjoy a night out in a club without being groped. I'd experienced some of these things as a trans man and as a girl, but probably never at such a high frequency or so intensely.

I definitely think I got a taste of transmisogyny and people do still assume I'm trans fem from time to time. But I still wouldn't describe myself as TMA. I don't shout it from the rooftops, but if it feels relevant in the context of a conversation, I will say I'm TME. Because I think the terms are about overarching dynamics, rather than whether or not an individual has ever faced a single instance of transmisogyny.

For me, there was always a sense of distance between myself and any negative experience, that came from knowing they'd misread my AGAB - "that lad just called me a chick with a dick! How funny! I'd be so lucky!" / "You're harassing me for using the female showers at the gym when I am literally menstruating. Are you going to stop being a creep, or do I have to show you my bloody tampon?" There's a degree to which I can sidestep or disavow their idea of me in a manner trans women can't.

I also don't know what it's like to deal with many other elements of transmisogyny, or deal with it as an overarching narrative in one's life rather than a freak episode.

I think it's fair to say I have at times been a grey area and I could use my experiences to argue against the validity of TME/TMA, but I don't want to do that. I don't like it when the terms are just used as a way to say AFAB/AMAB while being perceived as less problematic. But I think it is helpful to have little shorthand reminders about specific power dynamics that do have an impact in our communities. I have absolutely seen transmisogyny play out in queer spaces, both online and IRL, and I think it's worth having vocabulary that emphatically reminds people to check themselves and to not assume they don't have internalised bias against trans women just because they're trans masc.

Trans women are a boogeyman in popular culture and the collective unconscious in a way trans men never have been (at least, not to anything like the same extent). Trans women face an intensity of monstering that I think most people won't understand unless they spend a lot of time sharing space with and listening to trans women. The rapid adoption of TMA/TME feels like an attempt to fast-track that understanding en masse. Maybe it's a bit clumsy, but I do think it's having an impact and important conversations are happening. I don't know if the terms will stick or fall out of use. Having been in the trans community for over a decade and seeing how our vocabularies evolve, I'm inclined to think they'll stick around for a few years and then largely disappear. But I feel that while trans women are finding them useful, we need to be respectful of that fact.

Idk sorry to rant in your askbox, I wanted to give my two cents. Feel free to ignore lol

I'm going to be a bit blunt here: in the span of time I've been off tumblr to, you know, sleep... I've gotten 20 different asks trying to convince me to like the usage of tma/tme and also several transphobic asks about my top surgery. The transphobic ones I blocked and deleted because I'm literally 3 weeks out and will not be dissuaded. But I'm simply not willing to continue arguing a point I've made very clear that I don't love the usage of this particular theory the way it's currently being used.

You can like it for yourself. I have said this over and over again. I do not like it for me, and do not think it is accurate for my life or my experiences or the reality that is what I have to go through on a regular basis. True to everything else that I've posted, I don't really care what you call yourself. If you want to call yourself TME and you believe that framework works for your experience, more power to you. Just don't label me that, because I don't think it works for mine.

Trans women are absolutely a boogeyman in a way that trans men often aren't. That is, unfortunately, one of the ways that hypervisibility is such a curse. Everyone knows what a trans woman is, and a good majority of those people also think the only good one's a dead one. That's bad. That's transmisogyny, and we should ally with trans women to help fix this problem.

Also unfortunately, as trans men become more and more visible to the world, instead of facing mass erasure and dying in silence or escaping to live in stealth, trans men are also beginning to become a boogeyman as well. Now we are a social contagion, a craze, with rapid onset gender dysphoria, mutilating ourselves and ruining our precious bodies, carving out our wombs, simultaneously debasing ourselves and also becoming predators lurking to snatch daughters up and forcefeed them our ideology, betraying women by becoming a mockery of men. What's worse, we tend to politically close ranks with trans women and cis women alike so it's harder for transphobic lawmakers to divide and conquer as they're used to with cis men, so instead they have to demonize us to prevent any further allyship.

That's the conversation trans mascs are trying to have.

Genuinely, I do agree that trans women face an othering that most people do not grasp without understanding transmisogyny theory, which is why I think everyone should have at least a basic understanding of it. But I also think that's true of many other demographics, and that if we want to get out of the pit that bigoted society put us in, we've got to work together to do so. It was, after all, the combined efforts of Marsha P Johnson AND Storme de Laverie that brought us out in the open. And among me friend group, we have people from all different races and backgrounds and genders and more locking arms to ensure the safety of each other, wanting to understand and know each other, lifting each other up.

[emblemxeno]

Sorry king gotta rant. Why does Bernie having trauma mean you can't dislike her? Where's this energy for Rhea, who lost her people and mother? Catherine has good reason to support Rhea since she saved her fucking life but she doesn't get that pass. Dimitri is mentally ill as hell but I don't see Bernie stans defending him? Oh because Bernie didn't hurt anyone else? Okay, what about cyril? The 14 year old boy who was saved from SLAVERY brings up his surrogate mom a lot. Who did he hurt? Why is Bernie's annoying "funny footsteps" ass where the line is drawn? Everyone in 3h has trauma! People can hate whomever they want don't get me wrong but don't act like your favorite traumatized waifu is above criticism while characters like Rhea get dragged through the fucking mud. I guess trauma is only valid if you support the emperor.

Valid feelings imo anon.

I have come and gone on how I feel about Bernadetta, because it's extremely apparent what she was written as: a character whose major gimmick is meant for surface level laughs and entertainment, with a backstory intended to endear her to the audience.

But therein lies many issues I have.

---One support conversation with Byleth, and she says she's fine around them, for no discernable reason according to her. Her entire support chain, including her Goddess Tower scene, is her all but saying "I can't and never could do anything without you professor!" That's a problem 3H has in general because it has no idea how to intentionally write an actual developed relationship. It's why the Lions' intense homoeroticism within its cast, along with Ferdinand and Hubert, are the most common ships outside of Byleth centered ones, as those effectively stumbled into gold.

Comparatively, most other romantic chains-where love/marriage/a relationship was blatantly intended-fall flat because they shove a lot of it into the A supports (sometimes the B rank ones too), which also has to complete the support chain's arc, making one/two conversations tackle two different and delicate topics at once.

I know people are critical of Awakening and especially Fates having romance being hamfisted in the S ranks, but at least you can complete a support chain's story in those games without the shoddy lovey dovey aspect being required reading alongside the conclusion. It's unavoidable in 3H, and also makes many characters look like shitty, emotionally immature people in a meta sense because they can have these near-confessions-of-love with different characters simultaneously due to it being in the A ranks. Not in a cute polyamorous way, either, no just ludicrous.

I digress though, because this affects Bernadetta for me specifically because it's such a rough backstory that it fails to get me to suspend my disbelief that she can suddenly become comfortable with a very speficic stranger to the point of falling for them. Compounding that with a military academy, events, and eventually a war? Yeah, no, it makes no fucking sense.

---Simiarly, as you say, the music that accompanies her supports makes the revelation of her backstory feel insincere and vacuous. Now, I praise similar kinds of writing in games like Engage with Alfred, for example, where learning a very important detail recontextualizes everything you know and have seen about the character. With Alfred, knowing about his illness and losing his father at a young age, it shifts the entire thought process about his supports, story scenes, Firene as a whole, etc.

The difference between him and Bernadetta though, is the sense of respect. Perhaps it's due to Alfred being plot important, but Alfred is written in a way that signals "I, the writer, respect my work, respect the character I'm putting time and effort into, and respect the audience who is consuming it." Alfred has funny music scenes too, but it's never at the cost of making a joke of his trauma. His muscle worship is funny to listen to, his fitness/health regimen is nutty, his overly enthusiastic personality is entertaining, but none of this is at the expense of his vulnerable points. There's hardly, if any, instances of him being forced into changing who he is, altering his beliefs and lifestyle, or being made into a perennial punchline.

Bernadetta, on the other hand, is almost always treated horribly by the support writing. Yelled at by Edelgard, forced out of her room by Ingrid, beat up by a rabbit in Petra's support, accosted by both Ferdinand and Hubert, carried against her will by Caspar, etc. The only supports where I can comfortably say she's treated all right is with Dorothea, Leonie, Raphael, Seteth and Alois, and even then, a couple of those are reliant on a character getting backstory/teachable moment in between her screaming.

It boils down to "Haha, look at this kooky situation that Bernadetta found herself in because of her shut-in personality, what will happen next? 🤪", meanwhile the whole reason why she's like that is because was violently abused by her father and a childhood friend of hers was nearly beaten to death. The backstory itself, doesn't even recontextualize everything the way Alfred's does either, because now all I think when Bernadetta's screaming is "wow, this is fucking gross and potentially triggering for people who also hate having boundaries crossed due to trauma."

And this is the same game that gave us Dimitri's story arc lol. Then again, most of the female characters in 3H have some garbage writing attached to them, soooo...

---This is personal, but I also just can't jibe with Bernadetta conceptually.

Her part one design is okay (aside from the "wow crazy face Bernadetta cuz she's scared haha! 🤪), but her part two design is kinda horrid.

I don't like her voice at all, though that's not an indictment of Erica Mendez at all (she's great as Deirdre and Lianna). It's the direction and character concept, I just hate high pitched squealing and screaming, no matter the voice type, it hits my ears in the worst way.

She's pretty cool as a unit, due to the vengeance builds and having a good spell list if you wanna go a magic route, but... that's about it.

I don't know if I hate Bernadetta herself, or even really dislike her, but I do vehemently hate the concepts behind her and how she's written.

Really, I think people should feel how they feel about whatever character. And I agree, I think it's kinda BS how certain characters are treated worse than others because their personalities are "more annoying/less endearing" despite also being in similar situations.

[seattlesea]

Lorien Legacies Characters as Things My Family and I Have Said (part five)

Nine: God the smell in here is making me want to die John: Then go outside Five: Then die --- Maggie, writing a book: Can your breathing get cut off if there's a heavy weight on your chest? Adam: Yeah Maggie: Cool Adam: That's how they killed people in the old days, by stacking a bunch of rocks on their chest and suffocating them Maggie: Okay a 'Yes' would've been fine --- John: Finish your food Nine: I'm going to go home and take the fattest shit you've ever seen do not make me eat more --- Eight: I'm psychic, I can see into people's futures. I see in your near future that you're going to get sick Eight: *coughs in Nine's face* --- Adam: Did you eat? Maggie: Yeah. A strawberry Adam: That's it? Maggie: Two strawberries --- Six and John: *talking about spirit animals* Six: You'd be a swan John: Because I'm so graceful? Six: No cause you're white --- Sam: I was actually really good at orchestra in school, I was first chair on the cello Six: *puts her hand to her chest and gasps* Oh my god! Sam: What? Six, sarcastically: What a cool story! --- Six and Marina: *having a normal adult conversation* Eight: My black olive just rolled across my laptop --- Nine: Dirty mother... John: *giving him a dirty look with Ella next to him* Nine:...Of...Jesus --- One: Hey what're you gonna be for Halloween? Adam: I dunno yet what about you? One: I was thinking of being a witch Adam: Oh that's cool One: Yeah maybe you can be my broomstick so I can ride you all night Adam: WHAT- One: What, is that bad? Would you rather I be a pirate and you be a sword so I can stick you in me? Adam: *screaming* --- Ella: *touches a gross blanket* Ew Marina: What? Ella: It's giving me the ick Marina: The what? Ella: I'm acoustic --- Six: Bitch, I do NOT lift to be called a lipstick lesbian --- Five: *staring at a candle* Eight: What are you doing? Five: Trying to light myself on fire with my mind --- Nine, in public loud as hell: Yeah I'd fuck young Elvis Strangers passing by: *giving him grossed-out looks* Nine: What? You would too Nine, muttering: Prudes --- Sam: Look at my skeleton animal collection. I can a bat, I got a rat, and I got a cat Hannu, sadly: But no hats --- John: *celebrating his birthday and opening gifts* Five, silently crying: *places a couple wadded-up singles in front of John* That's all I got --- Six: You know it would've been easier if you just took the highway Marina: But...the trees... --- Adam: I'm gay John after taking Adam to a Fall Out Boy concert and watching him sit on the floor with three empty couches: Cool --- One and Six: *Talking about the ped@ at their job* Six: He's the reason there's an 18+ age limit --- Five: Despite popular belief, I will be going to Heaven because Satan will be jealous someone has a fatter ass than him --- Sam teaching the Lorics to make cereal: Okay first gather your things Lorics: :) Sam: Then, you put in your milk Daniela: Huh? Lorics: :) Sam: Next, you add your cereal Daniela: Hell no Lorics: :) Sam: Then drizzle in your honey Daniela: Bro WHAT Lorics: :) Sam: And finally, put it in the microwave Daniela: WHAT THE FUCK Lorics: :) Sam: And then you have cereal Lorics: Yay Daniela: I'm going to kill you --- Marina: So what is credit score? Sam: *ten minute explanation of credit score, payments, debt, and loans with examples* Marina:... Sarah: The loophole so the bank can't lend poor people money to stop being poor Marina: Ohhhh --- Nine: Damn, dude, I really don't know anything about you. I only know like your favorite color and animal, the music you listen to, your favorite movies, how you dress, your favorite coffee flavor, your personality, your deepest fear, your address, your entire backstory, all the people you like and hate, and your habit of needing to use a straw with every single drink or it doesn't 'taste right' John:... --- Eight: Damn I'm thirsty Adam: Then go drink water Eight: I can't, I'm fasting Adam:...Well I think you're supposed to drink water if you're running around all the time Eight:...

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton Covers AMAZING Magazine | Issue 4

Actor, author, playwright and new mum Zawe Ashton adds another string to her bow: supervillain. As she joins the Marvel Cinematic Universe, she tells AMAZING about her love of poetry, getting physical on the set of The Marvels and the unwavering support of her own parents.

Zawe Ashton is no stranger to playing the antagonist. From her very first film role as rude schoolgirl Bianca in 2009’s St Trinian's 2: The Legend Of Fritton's Gold, to playing the intimidatingly cool Violet “Vod” Nordstrom in four seasons of student sitcom Fresh Meat and – more recently - as the rejected Julia Thistlewaite in 2022 period drama, Mr. Malcolm’s List, Ashton has a knack for taking on characters who appear unlikeable on paper… and making audiences fall in love with them. However, for her latest role as Dar-Benn in The Marvels, she had to go full villain.

“Very little can prepare you to have to embody an antagonist at this level, in a Universe that is literally not known to anyone – like our Space - and to make it real and impactful,” says the London-born actor, a new recruit to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. “There's something deeply humbling about having to return to the sandbox; you have to go back to the playground and that was something I was not expecting. You have to indulge in adult play and it’s surprisingly vulnerable. I know that there are gamers out there, there are cosplayers out there, there are adults who have managed to keep that level of childlike play going and I respect it so much. There's a self-consciousness that can take over if you are not careful. Trying to react realistically to a laser coming towards you is not something I’d done since I was seven years old, and I had to get to that level of childlike confidence to just delve into the imagination. Once that was all clearer, the villainous elements came so much from the physical world, with costume and hair.”

For 39-year-old Ashton, adult play will likely become a more frequent fixture in her life, thanks to her most exciting new role – as a mother. She welcomed her first child in 2022 with fiancé Tom Hiddleston, her co-star in the 2019 revival of Harold Pinter's Betrayal on London’s West End, later transferred to Broadway. “What has genuinely surprised me about motherhood is how much I don't feel ready to talk about it,” she laughs. “And this isn’t to shut down the conversation. I have gained so much insight from public people who have this incredible candour and this disarming, relatable dialogue about it very early on, but it's something that I am just dedicating time to absorbing. I’m listening rather than expelling energy. That genuinely has surprised me, because it's something you want to shout from the rooftops about; it's the most unparalleled, most important role in my life. The surprise has been how quiet I want to be about it. Maybe that's also me as a writer and this is something that will come through the pen at some point.”

Ashton attended London’s Anna Scher Theatre School from the age of six and was a member of the National Youth Theatre, before getting her degree in acting at Manchester Metropolitan University, but writing has always been significant in her life. She won the London Poetry Slam Championship in 2000, becoming the event’s youngest winner, at 17. “I may have been knocked off that pillar long ago, but in my head I'm still the youngest,” she laughs. “I love poetry. I had not written for a really long time; during the pandemic I lost a huge chunk of my creative soul when it came to putting pen to paper, which was really scary and was clearly the fallout of being in survival mode and feeling quite fearful. People's attention spans just went all sorts of different ways, didn't they? It was very hard for me to read, and it was very hard for me to write, which is very strange for me.

“More recently, a friend of mine from drama school who I used to do open mic nights with in Manchester – I used to perform poetry and she used to sing - asked me to write a poem for her wedding. I had a few moments where it was really tough, but I did it. I love her and I'm so happy for her, and being inspired enough to get a poem out and read it aloud really opened the floodgates. So, weirdly enough, I've been writing a lot of poetry recently and found a new love for it. I will always continue to use poetry as a way to understand the world. It's just so much part of who I am.”

For Zawe's full interview and shoot, order your copy of AMAZING issue 4 now. The Marvels is out now.

[oxymorayuri]

𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝟷𝟺

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝘩 »

𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝐿𝑎𝑤 ✘ ♀ 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: ほろば　いさ子

Story: The princess of Tanata

(Long Fic)

➽ Click on this link to see all chapters.

Spoiler: nope

Warnings: nope

slowburn with plot

Wordcount: 4535

Text in italics emphasizes the reader’s thoughts

Bold and italic text emphasizes Law's thoughts *~*

Tagging: @slytherinambitious - @sassyyassi - @norasincubi - @cottoncandyloverrrr - @one-piece-frvr7

Being so deep in your thoughts, the voices of the two others sound like you're underwater. You haven't followed the conversation for a long time and you don't bother to join in as if it were just a normal day...

You can see a few servants working in the distance. Gardeners tending the plants and others going about their duties. Everyone has a smile on their face, the day is beautiful and life couldn't be easier.

So why do you want to leave?

As if you had some kind of urge. Your stomach feels heavy, as if you've eaten stones, but it's your gut that wants to tell you something. You just don't know what. You've always wondered why it's so important for the holy child to stay on Tanata. Why do we avoid the world?

Your reflection in the teacup shows you your tired eyes. You racked your brains all night but all you got from it was a nasty headache. Barely audible, you exhale deeply out your nose… who can give you the answers to your questions? With your head low, your eyes go carefully to your grandfather.

"Grandpa, can I ask you something?"

The conversation between the two stops abruptly and they both look at you, almost surprised.

"Of course my child, tell me, what's on your mind?" Your grandfather leans back, with a worried look on his face but with a touch of skepticism in his eyes.

"Did mother wanted to leave Tanata with my father back then?" Your voice a little colder than intended. Was she forced to stay too?

"No." The king laughed as he ran a hand through his beard. His gaze was distant, as if he had remembered something.

A little unsure, you try not to lose your composure. The king realizes that you are serious and clears his throat.

"Quite the opposite." His smile fills with pride. "She forced your father to stay!" He falls into laughter again. Your gaze goes over to Delia, who just nods at you with a soft grin. You wait silently for the king's laughter to stop.

"She told him, that she had a duty to fulfill, and not just as queen…" He shook his head with a melancholic smile.

"I was quite upset when she told him, 'she had a prophecy to fulfill'." His eyes find yours. It was the prophecy that the queen would give birth to the holy child. That she would give birth to you.

"But hey, what could I have done back then? After all, she was already the queen and I was retired." He throws his arms slightly in the air as if admitting defeat. He takes a deep breath and you hear the tone in his voice change.

"No matter what we tried to tell her, she ignored it and blindly trusted your father… I was surprised that your father was willing to leave his life behind, but I wasn't thrilled." His gaze drifted away. Yes, you are well aware that Grandpa wasn't exactly happy that his daughter, the queen, wanted to marry a foreigner. And you know that your mother was forced to listen to his lectures, but she ignored them all.

"At that time I asked her if she could live with the punishment for bearing the holy child, tainted with the blood of a stranger…" His eyes filled with sadness as he gazed into the void. "The punishment will come, I told her…" There was regret in his voice.

He blames himself to this day… He believes he gave the gods an idea with his words and brought out the misfortune. But you know, of course, that it was all down to the sick people. The greed in the pirates when they burned down the city and slaughtered our people… It wasn't the gods. They were demons in human form.

"She told me in her determined voice, that she would overcome any obstacle." His gaze turns empty.

Delia reaches for the king's arm.

"My king, you know it's not your fault." Your heart breaks a little. Everyone has lost many things, but the worst thing is, that your grandfather has lost his faith. He lost faith in the gods, in people and cut himself off from everyone.

It was only when you woke up from your coma that a renewed faith awoke in him. But this man, who is probably the wisest man in the world, cannot accept the fact that the gods did not send us these pirates as punishment.

"The gods had nothing to do with it. If the gods hadn't wanted it that way, Heraia wouldn't have given birth." Delia tries to remind him of the obvious facts. The huge man looked at her with a weak gaze. A look that is rarely seen in the king's eyes. Sadness, pain and blame.

You're thankful that Delia interferes in the conversation, because you're so scatterbrained anyway that you can't get a word past your lips. The confusion in your heart pushes you to the edge and if you were to speak, you would have to hear your own weak voice.

But that's not the only reason why you're grateful to Delia. Delia is the greatest proof that the gods were not responsible for the attack. After all, Delia is the Oracle of Tanata and as a child she heard the gods and saw your face. It's clear that the gods wanted it that way. It was just bad luck… a sad fate in your world.

"I'm sure the gods were looking for two very specific souls back then, and they were Heraia and Isaac… You know it, the eyes are the greatest proof!" Your eyes meet.

Long before you were born, Delia was the first to see your eyes and at the time she was very confused, because you didn't have eyes like everyone else. Here on Tanata, everyone has the same eye color, but you are the exception. You had your father's eyes.

"Your mother just did what she wanted. She listened to her heart, as she would say. She was reckless but I wouldn't say she made mistakes." He remembers her only too fondly.

How much he missed her, his daughter. There is silence for a brief moment and your grandfather closes his eyes. He finds it difficult to get the words straight in his head, because he has to admit that he made a mistake.

"I made the mistake." You draw in your breath, your chest fills until it squeezes. Tears are already gathering. Your grandfather never really talked about it, if anyone ever told you something it was mostly Delia. But no one ever talked about how your parents died. You know that they died in the raid, but you don't remember any of it.

"Parents have to be there, to protect their children and when you were in danger, she protected you. But I should have protected her too... but I couldn't." His fists clench so hard that his knuckles turn white. He can barely get it past his lips.

"Grandpa stop. Please…" you plead. The whole time you couldn't make a sound and when you spoke, your voice was almost strange and stiff. As if your voice didn't belong to you, but now? You can no longer watch your grandfather suffer and your voice takes on its familiar warmth. Even with sorrow all over his face, he doesn't shed a tear, he only feels shame.

"I was always proud of your mother. She fulfilled her duty in her own way."

You're all ears; Fulfilled her duty in her own way?

"So you believe that you don't necessarily have to follow that one path to fulfill all expectations?" Excited, you ask. You grip the armrests of your chair to prevent yourself from falling forward.

The king senses what you're getting at and exhales heavily. All the vulnerable feelings that were still visible on his face a short while ago, have turned into a serious expression.

"What are you getting at, y/n?" It's getting dangerous, he doesn't use your name often. You are visibly surprised by the change in tone and wonder what you said wrong. In a low voice, you try to explain yourself.

"You know, Grandpa, I can't shake this feeling that there's more out there. That my place is somewhere else..." Your voice almost trembles, you know that your grandfather won't like these words.

"What if there's something out there waiting for me. A much bigger task. I can't deny the world my powers." You muster up your courage again. You've always wanted to make the world a better place.

You remember exactly how lonely you felt when you woke up from your coma. When you found out that not only your mother but also your father and all his friends had died in battle. You couldn't understand how there were people out there who were so cruel.

You wanted to experience the world as your father had always described it. The wonders of the world, the different islands with their wonderful creatures.

"I don't want to hear about it!" he announced and smashed the table with his fists, which collapsed immediately. The food and your tea crushed on the ground and the maids quickly rushed to you, to clean up the mess.

Meanwhile, you and your grandfather stared into each other's eyes. His breathing quickened and his nostrils flared angrily.

"Your place is here y/n. It's always been that way and it will stay that way. There is no other route for you. Your mother was something else, but you are the holy child and must protect this place!"

You stand up angrily, your hands clenched into fists.

"But everything has changed! My father was a stranger, I can't use Haki… why shouldn't more things be able to change?" You squint your eyes.

"And who will protect the island if you're not here? How are you going to perform the ritual if you think, you have to chase after your foolish dreams?" His words come across as mockery.

He takes a step forward and comes close to you. A few shards of glass crunch unpleasantly under his shoes, but you are not intimidated.

"And what if I find a solution to this? Will you let me go then?!" You also take a step forward, you won't back down even if your chest is shaking in agitation.

You are already very frustrated and it's no surprise that it's now turning into anger. Your emotions get the better of you and your otherwise delicate features turn harsh.

The king looks at you with not a spark of emotion in his eyes. He studies the anger on your face. How your nostrils flare in small rhythmic puffs and your narrowed eyes wrinkle, but in your eyes he recognizes devastation.

He couldn't protect your mother, so he must protect you at all costs and if it meant locking you away, he would. He's not in a position to leave the country himself and he can't protect you from the things out there, even if he went with you. He knows that only too well.

Even if you were to find a way, which he has no doubt you would, he wouldn't let you go. He knows how sick the world out there is, you just don't realize it. He knows, from contacts unknown to you, how the world out there has developed and he wants to protect you from that, no, he needs to.

It hurts him that he has to oppose your wishes so strongly, but it's only for your own good, how can he make that clear to you?

"No." The growl in his voice goes through your whole body. You don't understand why he's so against it. Even if you find a way, he won't listen to you. He won't let you go.

You roar in rage and throw your leaf crown on the ground, between your feet and among the broken pieces of remaining teacups.

You turn your back on him and leave without saying a word. Tears roll down your cheeks. You don't allow him to see your weakness as you run away from the pavilion.

Your chest feels like it's running out of oxygen and as you run through the garden you press your hand to your chest to fight the feeling.

Some servants who saw you tried to stop you, to calm you down. They ran after you but you had no intention of listening to them, you didn't want to show your tears to anyone in this kingdom.

You would only feel bad if they knew that their beloved priestess was unwell. You are there to give people hope and life... you don't want to know how they would react, if they knew, that their holy princess cried because she wanted to leave the kingdom.

Arriving at your favorite spot, you drop to your knees in front of the stone bench, put your arms on the bench and cry with your face on your arms. You are alone here because hardly anyone comes here and even if a few people have seen you, they don't dare come any closer.

A princess should always laugh but all you can do is cry. You cannot, but be unhappy with the life you lead. You can only be yourself in your dreams.

"Hey y/n what's going on?" A woman's voice makes you look up. It's Nami looking down at you worriedly, just a few meters away from you. You quickly wipe the tears from your face and try to look as cheerful as usual.

"Nothing, it's all right." Your smile trembles and your voice tells Nami that nothing is 'all right' at all. She slowly approaches you as if she doesn't want to frighten a deer.

"Don't lie to me…" Her voice is very soft. She sits down on the bench and looks down at you. Your red eyes find hers and you can barely hold your gaze without tears running down your face. It's somehow relieving that you can cry in front of her, but why? Is it because Nami doesn't expect anything from you? Or because she is a stranger? Is it because you don't need to show her your sunny side? Your smile? An elegant wave? Your purity?

The words coming out of your mouth are so hard to understand that Nami has no chance understanding you. She strokes your head and tries to calm you down, but you can't get a comprehensible word out of your lips and in desperation you let your face fall back onto your arms, letting all your feelings out through your eyes.

How are you supposed to explain to someone how unfair you think your life is? Would they laugh at you? After all, you were born as a princess, in luxury and a lot of love on all sides. What if even Nami gets mad at you for your selfish thoughts?

Can you even express your true thoughts to someone when not even your family has your back?

It hurts Nami to see you so upset and she has the feeling that it won't be enough if she just strokes your head and waits for you to calm down.

"Hey y/n, I'll be right back okay? Please stay here until then and don't go away." With your face still hidden from her, you nod your head. You have no intention of leaving. Where are you supposed to go? This is the only place you'd disappear to anyway...

Your wimpering and bawling attracts the attention of Law, who is flicking through some books in his room. He is a little annoyed that someone is disturbing his peace and as he reaches for the window to close it, he dropped his arm again.

For a moment, he just looks down at you as you let out all your tears. Furious, you bang your little fists on the bench and mutter 'Unfair' under your breath. You repeat yourself over and over again as your voice becomes increasingly blurred in the sounds of sobbing. [A/N: lol like a lil disney princess]

Law turns and lies back down on his bed, one arm behind his head and the book in his other hand. He tries to concentrate on the book but by now your crying has turned into swearing and he can't really overhear your words.

"Stupid old man!" you grit your teeth angrily, your voice a little shaky.

"I'd even come back!" you shout "…I just want to see the world…" you add, slightly whining.

Then it was quiet for a little while... and Law became even more attentive. The silence somewhat rattles him.

His book makes a muffled noise as he closes it in his one hand and throws it to his side. With both arms behind his head, he considers whether he should look out of the window again… and then?

Does he lie down again? It's not as if he knew what he could do, besides, he had heard Nami before and that she would be right back with her. Nami is definitely the better supporter at this moment. His thoughts wander a little and he reviews the last few days.

The people here are all very peaceful, harmonious and a strong community. It's like being in a Fairytale. Even if these people are not exactly up to date in general, they are far ahead of the others in their own way.

The people who helped repair the Polar Tang were constantly amazed like little children. Technologically they are definitely inferior to the world out there but over the days Law watched you for his own interest, which wasn't even that hard or conspicuous.

You're like a public figure here, performing your duties regularly in the community. You help people speed up the harvesting from the fields, heal the kids on the street when they get hurt playing and regulate the weather. He was quite amazed when you put out the huge forest fire outside the city walls. The whole town was in an uproar and many volunteers were on standby to help. The Straw Hats, being the people they are, immediately offered to help and in the end Law found himself in the forest too.

Their job though wasn't to put out the fire, no… their job was to rescue the animals and evacuate everyone to a safe place, so that you can heal them all in the end.

You took over the fire and it was a real spectacle. You had stopped time of this huge forest fire and suddenly the forest was calm again. The crackling and blazing sound of the destructive flames was muted and all the helping hands found themselves in front of a 'frozen' wall of fire.

You stood beside him and the Straw Hats, calm and unconcerned, and with a snap of your fingers you had turned the fire into smoke and fumes, as if you had jumped ahead to where the fire went out. If that's not superior to the world outside, then Law doesn't know what is…

They go about their lives so naturally and openly, do they even know that her power could become a target out there?

He thinks about how nice y'all are… almost naive. Even though they are strangers, pirates even, the people of Tanata have taken them in like old, beloved friends.

How foolish.

Law's thought is not mocking but rather concerned. They are good people and he has learned a lot here, especially about medicine. Herbs grow here that he has never seen in his life, not even in a book. Chopper and he have helped the herbalists a lot and shared their own knowledge in return, for which the people here were actually very grateful.

It is quite refreshing for Law, that despite his identity and pirate life, he is not resented or judged in this Kingdom.

With his mind full of you, the black haired man decided to get up and take a look. Maybe you're already gone anyway and then he could stop thinking about you… but you're still there. Only you're not crying anymore.

You just sit quietly on the bench and look at the pond in front of you. Law tries to take a look at your face but you're sitting with your back to him. He can slightly see the side of your face and how your gaze goes to the pond. Your gaze looks blank, but that's all he can see…

You never thought your grandfather would be so harsh with you. Just what is that supposed to tell you? You can't shake the feeling that there was more in his eyes than just anger. You're not quite sure, but wasn't it fear?

Maybe you should just enjoy your time with them and when they leave, you'll keep this memory in your heart like an little adventure. But the thought still makes you sad. A dull ache appears in your chest and robs you of your joy.

How can I feel like this? Like I have to say goodbye to myself when they leave?

You sigh a little with a depressed expression as you stare into the reflection in the pond.

"Princess-ya?"

You flinch violently. You would have expected Nami, but not Law. Your body remains fixed to the front and you try to avoid eye contact, especially with Law. Somehow it makes you particularly uncomfortable that Law sees you like this.

You don't want to look weak… that would be totally not cool. You can hear his footsteps coming a little closer, but he just stands next to you. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but Law's gaze is fixed on the pond.

"Everything's fine with you." He asks you dryly.

It is at this moment, that you realize, that behind you is the Hera's palace and Law's balcony… He must have heard you… You're not really used to someone living here, because this area has been quite neglected for years.

"Yeah, sure, everything's fine and with you?"

"Liar." Came it promptly in a deep voice.

"Maybe so." Your voice harbored a wounded undertone. You hear him sigh and immediately tense every muscle as he takes a seat next to you on the bench.

Now you sit there, both of you with your eyes focused on the water. The situation is a little awkward for you because you don't know what to say. Silence is louder than anything else right now and you find yourself unable to make a sound.

What are you supposed to say either? And what if you can't stop talking? You don't want to have a complete meltdown on Law.

"You shouted earlier, that you would come back… Where do you want to go?" You glance over at Law.

Where do I want to go anyway? It's not like I have anything ready at the starting lines.

"I don't know. I thought I could come with you guys and you would let me out somewhere." You mutter the words a little quickly and fumble nervously with your hands.

"With us?" Law scoffs in surprise. "I don't think that's a good idea princess-ya." Even though he has a grin on his face, he furrows his eyebrows.

"But why?" Your words come out more desperate than you intended. Yayyy another one who wants to get in the way of your dreams.

"We're pirates, you shouldn't forget that. We are criminals." The depth of his eyes engulf you, as if he is looking into your soul.

"I know that." Any risk is fine with you and Law should have seen what you've got in store.

"You're a princess, do you really think you should turn your back to the crown and sail the seas with pirates?" He asks you almost challengingly, as if he wants to test you, as if he's eager to hear your answer.

"Absolutely." You turn your gaze back to the pond and whisper to him so that only the two of you can hear your reply.

"Here, I'm just the holy princess… but out there I can be whoever I want." Your gaze goes back to Law, who looks steady into your gorgeous eyes.

"I can be y/n… my own person." A slight blush settles on your cheeks as you look into each other's eyes. It all seems too poetic and intimate. Thalia may be able to say such things but somehow you find it a little weird.

Law leans down towards you, so close that you can take in his scent. You look up at him with wide eyes, but you don't have enough air to ask him why he's getting so close to you now. Normally you would push anyone else away from your face, but with Law you find yourself unable to move. His eyes move over your face.

"You've been crying." - "Well guessed." You laugh at him. You can well imagine how miserable you must look, after all, you gave it your all when you bawled.

"And now what?" He straightens up again, but his eyes are still on you. Before you can answer him, you hear a shout in the distance.

"Sorry y/n, unfortunately it took a little longer because Sanji couldn't stop cooking." The redhead came running to you.

"Hey Traffy, you're here too." she remarks casually. She's carrying a small picnic basket in her hand and you can already smell all the yummy treats hidden inside.

Your eyes light up as she opens the lid and the snacks sparkle at you.

"Awww Sanji made all of this for us?" A little tear gathers in your eye. Nami shakes her head with a gentle grin.

"No no, he prepared this for you! I thought maybe it would cheer you up a bit." She admits a little shyly. You are totally touched by her attention and jump into her arms.

"Hey Traffy, I'll take it from here, I think y/n needs girl power now." She winks at him as she pushes you in the back to shove you forward. You look down over your shoulder at Law, a little flustered because you were actually quite enjoying his presence but you can't bring yourself to say anything.

He just nods at Nami and without you being able to do anything about it, Nami drags you somewhere else.

See you next time, kiss kiss ♡

➽ Next chapter

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Change of Hearts Gen 1 pt.54

Madison settles on the sofa with Pumpkin after their vet visit. Paris heads to the kitchen to pour a glass of nectar. Madison pets Pumpkin, talking to her quietly.

Madison: Silly cat, I bet you'll stay out the trash now won't you.

She soothed the white cat as she pretended to scold her. She'd never admit it to her mother but Pumpkin had grown on her.

Paris watched from the side sipping her nectar. Madison finally gives her the attention she's been looking for.

Madison: What is it Paris?

Paris: You sound like Kason.

Madison: Yeah well that look is annoying me. You've been giving me that look since we left the clinic.

Paris: Then tell me what you talked about.

Madison: You could have just asked. Your such a child sometimes.

Paris: So I've been told more times than I care to hear tonight. Back to the conversation.

Madison: Mostly we talked about his wife. Did you know he was married to Mercury Medley. She wrote the "Journals of a Werewolf"!

Paris: Should I know who she is?

Madison sighs and goes to her bookshelf pulling out a book

Madison: Her! I bought you the collection like a year ago, which I'm sure you never bothered to read. She's like my favorite fantasy writer.

Paris: Kay mentioned that she was a writer. I didn't think she was anything to pay attention to. I'm pouring you a glass.

Madison: She's been trending on simstagram all weekend. Her father just died.

Paris: Makes sense why Kason hasn't been around much.

Paris finishes her drink and heads back to the kitchen for a refill.

Paris: So all he did was talk about his wife? He meets a hot stranger at the vet and he talks about his wife.

Madison: Well I mostly talked about her. I was starstruck, but we talked about their dog Comet and the potential for a book signing or a meet and greet. Mercury is writing a new book should be out by the end of fall.

Paris frowned

Paris: We're getting off topic here. Did he say anything else?

Madison: No.

Paris: What the hell is this guy a saint.

Madison puts down her glass

Madison: Paris I think you should stop. He seems like a genuinely nice guy. He's married, to Mercury no less and he has kids. Why wont you just leave him alone?

Paris: You think I should just back off?

Madison responds plainly

Madison: Yes. I think you should back off. Don't you think they are dealing with enough without your added shenanigans.

Paris doesn't respond, she just refills their glasses. Madison takes her glass and pours the drink in the sink and washes the cup.

Madison: I'm good, you can stay if you want. I'm gonna head to bed, I've got work in the morning and think about what I said.

But Paris wasn't listening, she was scrolling through the photos she'd taken at the clinic.

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[austinslounge]

You'll not have me sympathizing with that ugly ass bitch who is holding Austin's dog hostage all these years. Not that bitch who made shady comments when he was getting dragged for his voice. Not that bitch who was abusive to him! I don't like Kaia either but y'all don't bring Vanessa here to justify your hate towards her.

I love it when complete strangers on the internet who weren't even in a relationship try to re-write history or think that they know a couple's entire relationship based on rumors they've heard on the internet. 🙄

Listen, I go by an entire picture and things that I've seen with my own eyes in order to make up my judgment about someone, because people are usually multifaceted, and typically are not all angel or all devil. Most people are very nuanced and have many different levels to their personality.

Take a seat, because I have lots to say.

1) First of all, Vanessa isn't "ugly". If anything, she's probably more naturally beautiful 👀

2) You know that Vanessa is holding Austin's dog "hostage" how exactly? 🥴 Were you actually there when she and Austin had a conversation about the dog? 🤔 Let's just use common sense here for a second. If anything, she probably kept the dog after the breakup because she knew that Austin would be busy filming "Elvis" for months, and didn't want the dog to be jumping from home to home. No doubt, the dog grew very attached to Vanessa while Austin was busy working. Darla was living with Austin and Vanessa for years after his mother died, and it would have probably been more stable (and healthy!) for the dog to not be left for months without its owner. You do realize that Austin got sick right after "Elvis" filming ended, and then he also went right into MOTA filming right after right? If anything, Vanessa has provided a stable, loving home for the dog, especially since Austin doesn't have any immediate family members who could have watched the dog for him while he's busy filming on location. It's actually probably helped Austin that he doesn't have a dog to worry about or take care of as his sole responsibility while he's busy working and building his adult career in Hollywood.

3) Wrt to the shady comments.... I personally don't think that Vanessa should have been doing that. So I definitely agree with you there. I feel that when a breakup occurs in the public eye, it's best for both parties to take the high road and keep things civil. I don't condone Vanessa's shady remarks towards Austin or her petty behavior after the breakup. To me, it was dumb, unnecessary, and wasn't a classy way to handle a breakup at all. At the same time, I do recognize that people are only human, and that most of the "shade" she was throwing was coming out two years after they broke up, around the time that she was having to see him everywhere due to "Elvis" prep. Having to see an ex all the time after a breakup isn't always easy. To me, the fact that she was still triggered by Austin two years after a breakup reveals to me just how much she must have loved that man. You're not behaving that way unless you are HURT. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. While I don't think Vanessa behaved her best during this time, I still recognize as a woman how it feels to go through a breakup. This was a man that she loved for nearly 9 years. Perhaps the breakup came suddenly? We weren't there. We don't know what transpired or what things were said when they broke up. I'm not making any excuses for her behavior, I'm just sharing a different pov. I still don't think she should have behaved that way -- especially towards a man that she dated and supposedly loved for so long. It was petty, it was immature, it was uncalled for, but at the same time, can we really say that we've never been hurt by a breakup before and behaved in ways that probably weren't our finest moments? 🤔

4) "Abusive"? So, you're choosing to believe one or two random reports on the internet which may (or may not) be true, over a span of a nearly 9-year relationship? 🤔 Do you really think Austin (a man who has plenty of options) would have been with Vanessa for nearly 9 years if she had really been an abusive girlfriend? Are we talking about the same Vanessa who helped Austin with his sick and dying mother? The same Vanessa who was always so super supportive of Austin so publicly, was over the moon for him when he got the Elvis role, and who always posted sweet msgs about him publicly on social media? The same Vanessa who threw Austin birthday parties? Do we also REALLY think that Austin's older sister Ashley would have been so close with Vanessa (even had her in her freaking wedding!!) if Vanessa had really had a history of being abusive and a jerk towards Austin? 🤔 Think about that for a second. Do you really think Ashley would still be following Vanessa on social media to this day if Vanessa had really done something so utterly bad to Austin during (and after!) their relationship? Do you think Austin's mother would have loved Vanessa if that were the case? Are we talking about the same Vanessa who seemed to love Austin to pieces and couldn't keep her hands off of him? The same Vanessa who was there for Austin through his depression, through his mom's death, who supported him with love throughout his career? The same Vanessa that Austin looked deeply in love with and actually seemed happy around? That one?

5) Nobody is bringing in Vanessa to justify their "hate" for Kaia. (I don't "hate" Kaia btw -- I just don't think she's the right match for Austin) Some people just notice the stark difference in how Austin looked with Vanessa for 9 years, vs how he looks with Kaia in his "less abusive" relationship. 🙄

Look, you don't have to like Vanessa -- in fact I completely understand why some fellow Austin fans might even dislike her (she's done a few side-eye worthy things over the years imo). But to paint Vanessa with a huge wide negative brush like she's some character villain in a movie is just weird to me.

People have ups and downs. Sometimes, people say and do things they don't mean. At times, couples have fights. It happens. We weren't in the Aunessa relationship. We don't know every single little thing that happened.

All I know is what I see with my own eyes, and to me (to me), Austin looked far happier with Vanessa for years (and even Lily Rose Depp) than he has looked with Kaia. JMHO

I know some fans want to villain-ize Vanessa in order to make themselves feel better about the breakup or about his current relationship, but I'm just going by the photo and video evidence, and there is nothing that I've seen that gives me the impression that Vanessa was "Abusive" towards him. And unless Austin himself comes out and says that about her, all we're relying on is hearsay over the internet, especially when we've never seen any photo or video evidence of the sort, nor seen anything in Austin's body language to imply that in all the years that they were together.

[necromancer-at-abattoir]

Vivienne and Madoc angst part two

She had called him daddy on the day of the coronation. She had called him father when shooting bolts at him. Sometimes she acknowledged him, sometimes she acted like he was a stranger. In a way, however, they WERE strangers. Madoc realized with a start that he didn't know what her favorite color or foods were. He didn't know what clothes she liked to wear, he didn't know what she did for a living, he didn't know what music she liked to listen to. Well, she had never stayed for long. She was always off to some place, even when he tried to get her to stay. It wasn't HIS fault. 'Oh, yeah, look at this park! It's my favorite-Lincoln Park. My dad used to take me here all the time.' she said. Madoc raised his eyebrows. What? Her father? He'd never- Justin. Justin. My father. Justin.

It suddenly crashed into him. That even though he was Vivienne's biological father, the man who had raised her was Justin Duarte, and then he'd died, and there was no other man, because his one biological daughter had always avoided him, avoided acknowledging their bond. 'I loved playing catch with him. And when I was tired, he would take me for ice cream. Vanilla ice cream-my favorite. While Mom took care of Jude and Taryn.' Madoc bit his lip. He was very uncomfortable now. The car was very cramped. He wanted to get out and run away. (Run away? How odd. He never ran away from things. Emotional troubles-he pushed them down, not ran away.) Vivienne swerved to avoid accidentally running a dog down and cursed. (Push down, run away. Run down, push away). He had never apologized to them for killing their parents. His apologies came in the form of raising them as his own, insisting they live like the Gentry Faeries. Teaching them swordplay and strategies. Giving them ball gowns and faerie food. 'I don't really like killing. It's a you thing.' she said. 'Of course, you wouldn't know anything else, would you? You can only kill, pathetic monster.' 'Vivienne.' he said. 'I've had enough. Stop this.' She snorted. 'Of course. Run away from emotionally charged conversations. Always the Madoc I knew.' When she had yelled at him, about Justin and Eva, he had always yelled back and told her to shut up. Walked away. Distracted himself. He never cried. (Though he'd blinked quite rapidly when standing near Eva's cooling body. Very rapidly, more than usual.) 'I never-' he said, then stopped. He couldn't speak. Why couldn't he speak? (That was a lie. He couldn't lie.) 'You never WHAT?' Vivienne yelled. The car was going to fast for his liking now. 'Never WHAT, Madoc? Never wanted to talk about them? Yeah, you never DID acknowledge what you did to us.' 'I have you everything, but you never took it.' 'No you didn't. You took what you wanted from my mother and then took even more from the three of us. Took everything from the three of us.' 'Vivienne, please-' 'NO.' she screamed. The car slammed to a halt and Madoc lurched forward. 'Get out.' He blinked. 'What?' 'Get. OUT!' she screamed, blinking back tears. 'I don't know why I took you on. I never win. Just get out and find your way back. I don't care.' He sighed and got out, staring at the car zooming away morosely. And then he realized where he was. The house. The house where it all happened. He grit his teeth. VIVIENNE! Then it hit him-Eva would've done something like that. A silly, lighthearted prank-well, not really, but she would have done it in a lighter manner. He remembered Eva and her reddish brown hair streaming behind her as she squinted her eyes and threw her head back when laughing. She had been a perfect mix of Jude and Taryn-Jude's daring and cunning and Taryn's soft femininity. He knew that he was so dedicated to the twins because they reminded her of him-more specifically Jude, who could have been an adopted Vivienne. His own Vivienne, however, had his eyes and ears, but she also had Eva's brown hair and a lighter shade of her skin. And now Madoc really saw some Eva in Vivienne-her snark, her boldness, her carefree nature. And he wondered how he hadn't seen it before.

[petitelepus]

So, I've been seeing these kny match ups and naturally in curious about mine cough um4. So I guess, I just put up the type of paring I want and go from there.

Here's all about spife for a yandere/romantic match up (my gender preference for a partner is men):

I'm a rather positive person, who has no time to spare for those who wish to put me down. Although, at first it may seem like I'm revealing too much (which I sometimes do) I have my fair share of secrets and allow myself to be vulnerable with only those I trust– I tend to shrink back into my little shy hole if I think I'm too much. I like complimenting people, like to remind them to not put themselves down and be kind to themselves even if they make mistakes. I also like helping people because it makes me happy to see people happy (especially those who need to vent, I'm willing to listen and be the shoulder to cry on, even if I'm a complete stranger). However, I am also very emotionally sensitive (I get the urge to cry if someone I really like yells at me or lectures me about something I find funny even if they're trying to help as they make me realise I'm embarrassing or have embarrassed myself). I am assertive when I need to be, although in a calm and composed manner (I lose my temper when I'm frustrated though I think I do well under some pressure). I possess a strong sense of justice and FIRMLY believe in fairness for all and (usually) when I engage in deep conversations with my friends, I tend to pity those who suffer of the cruelty in the world and criticise those in power who choose to do nothing aka corruption. I am a FIRM believer that strength must be used to protect and help others and that people must have an open ear for the broken and hurt (I cry when people cry or for those who are misfortune and end up praying for them at times though very rarely). I am also quite lighthearted, though. I can laugh at myself if I make a mistake and will bring up the memory for fun times. And useless fact, I am a sweet tooth. In general, I'm a sensitive, introverted ray of sunshine who also will uphold their beliefs no matter what anyone says and despite the fact that I tend to be too lenient, I will almost always end up confronting someone. In general, I have been taught by my mother to always be kind to others because you don't know what they could be going though.

That was long. I'm curious to see who I get! Have a nice day (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

Hantengu is Yandere for you!

Hantengu was scared of you when you first met, but despite being a Demon, you showed him the benefit of the doubt because of how frail and pathetic he was to even look at.

He could deduce that you didn't see him as a threat, not yet anyway, no, you seemed to pity him. The moment Hantengu realized this, he knew he could manipulate you as much as he desired.

He makes you believe that nothing is his fault, that it wasn't his fault he was a Demon, or that he had to kill and eat people to live… And you believe him, because of what your mother said about not knowing what others have gone through.

Oh, you're such a Saint, surely you would pity poor innocent Hantengu! He hasn't done anything wrong, he swears, but people still bully and torment him!

Hearing him wail and cry and seeing him tremble so hard his teeth are clattering, they make you cry for his sake and they activate that protective nature of yours and that is exactly what the Demon aims for.

But Hantengu didn't expect to grow so fond of you. Normally he would eat anyone in your position, but you are strong, not some normal human, and he could use another bodyguard.

…But he falls for you and your chivalrousness, only when Hantengu falls for someone, he will become obsessed with them.

He has to know where you are and what you are doing every single second of the day. If you are gone too long or he doesn't know where you are, he starts to cry so hard and call out for you.

You think you must protect him when it might just be you who actually needs protection.

You're so sweet, he fears that other people might take advantage of that kindness of yours. Just like he does, but he is different! He loves you! What's their excuse!?

You're stunned when you first time meet his clones, and you can tell they are strong. That's when you start to realize that maybe there was more to Hantengu than you thought yet you still stay because they won't let you leave.

Sekido has to be careful around you because he has a tendency to snap at things, but he is obsessed with you just like Hantengu, and doesn't want to scare you off. He will tell you that you trust too easily, but when you ask what he means by that, he goes silent.

Karaku loves seeing and spending time with you. He is the most laid-back clone, but he loves having a good time and highly enjoys teasing you. You're just so cute when you get flustered, he could eat you up!

Aizetsu is probably the only one who feels awful about tricking you into becoming their own personal human, but he doesn't do anything to fix or make things better for you. In the end, he loves you also and doesn't want to let you go.

Urogi thinks it's hilarious how you actually believe Hantengu's innocence, but even Hantengu believes so also; so in the end you are both way too gullible. That works for him though.

The point is, Hantengu won't let you go and if it's a fight someone may want, his clones are there to protect him and his special bond with you.

I match you with Gyomei Himejima!

The Stone Hashira could sense you before he could "see" you. You radiated this brilliant, genuine, kind, and courageous aura, it nearly left him speechless.

He is happy to meet you and is crying in a matter of seconds, stating that he can "see" your "strength", whatever he meant by that. The two of you hit it off immediately and grow a strong bond of kindness and respect for each other.

You take an immediate liking to Gyomei, and you may feel like you need to take care of or help him because of his blindness, but he assures you that he can "see" fine on his own and how things had been that way since his childhood.

That doesn't help and it makes you cry, knowing how hard life must have been for him. The Hashira chooses not to tell you about the actual sadness and hardships he had to endure because he doesn't want you to cry anymore. If you cry, he might start crying too. This does happen daily.

You don't hold secrets from Gyomei and he feels honored that you trust him so much that you are willing to share so much about yourself with him. He makes small mental notes here and there to remember later, like your favorite book or what sweets you like most so he knows to get you some while he is out there hunting Demons.

Gyomei admires your strong sense of justice and how you want to see the best in everyone and everything... But this can make you gullible and he warns you about it.

You may get a little upset by his remark, but he just wants you to look out for yourself also and think of yourself sometimes first. You are still a human and not a Demon so you can get hurt badly or die even and he wouldn't know what to do if something like that happened to you. He doubts that he could ever heal from that.

He wants you to stay safe, but you want to protect people like he does and he knows he can't change your mind about it... So he makes a humble request to Master to let him accompany you on your missions when he doesn't have any.

This means Gyomei doesn't have much free time, but every moment spent with you is even better than those moments alone in his manor. He loves to hear how you describe things to him and how you laugh at the silliest things.

A day doesn't pass when Gyomei doesn't thank God for lowering you on Earth. He loves you that much and wants to spend as much time with you as possible.