#and Vincent playing it absolutely cold

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

235. Witchfinder General (1968)

[teenageclown]

Bfs redesigns and rewrites 1/2

"goth" which in my rewrite is indeed not a goth like in the og, where he was an alt boy. He is a punk, I wanted him to match his not goth-like personality but tree-hugger free anarchist :) since he was chinese canonically, but white in the og (boos) I made him darker Changed his name from FeLiX (ewewew no offences to Felixes I love you guys <3) to Hanhua which in chinese means cold and peaceful, since he's a trans dude he took this name after his uncle, that had similar personality to him. He's a major in arts and plays in a band on a base guitar and attends local DND games

And Vincent, whose name stayed the same (or prep for people not that invested into that shitty webtoon) his father is American and Mother Singaporean, he's the head of the student council :] he has a girlfriend he's not very fond of, although he loves her, that is more of a platonic love than romantic but as he comes from a christian strict family, he has been though that's the right thing, to calm his feelings and stress, he often gets breaks from collage saying he's sick and goes to gay bars to taste the "forbidden fruit" where he falls in love with some guy prolly Jock or Han but still didn't write it

They all eventually get together butttt I still didn't write how and when

I absolutely fucking hate boyfriends webtoon with my whole heart so I've been rewriting it since 2022 and I treat them as my own creations essentially.

[canthavetoomuchchaos]

every sam and darlin fic I read is so depressing 😭😭

can we get a fluff one where sam finds darlin in his clothes 🥺

The scream I scrumpt- absolutely you can Anon!!!!

Sam x Darlin

Tw: none, but do say so if that is wrong!

"I am not cold, let me set that straight first. I was just...tired of my own clothes, and yours happened to look more appealing..."

Sam was tired, sent on yet another errand for Vincent, not that he minded. He got home, fully expecting his mate to be playing their video games on the couch, or even just scrolling through their phone.

He was not expecting an asleep darlin in his dark red flannel and sweatpants. Sam huffs and quietly walks in front of his darlin, a smile slowly appearing on his face.

"now what on earth could have warranted this i wonder..?" He mutters, squatting down next to the wolf's face, huffing as they twitch and make a weird face.

He turned to admire the rest of them, now noticing the small goosebumps crawling up their legs where the sweatpants rode up, making them look like country Aladdin. He frowns and looks around for a blanket. Not finding one he opts for, unfortunately, waking up the peaceful wolf.

"Darlin....hey...you're getting cold out here, c'mon" they grumble and shove their face further into the couch cushion, a small frowny pout on their face.

Sam thinks his heart is going to implode.

"...darlin, cmon..." They huff and open their eyes a little, grumbling about being cold.

"I am not cold...let me set that straight first. I was just...tired of my own clothes, and yours happened to look more appealing...and warm..." Sam nods, acting like he believes them.

"right...well, why don't you come to bed then, and we can be 'not cold' together hm?"

Now how could they say no to that?

[gh0ulixs]

Dating the Sinclair Brothers

ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ

Bo Sinclair

♡ The absent attachment type. He seems distant, emotionally and sometimes physically. It's the one way he knows best to show he cares about you.

♡ Likes it when you spend time with him at the service station. He'll sometimes play music on the old radio of his, going about his duties as you sit comfortably on the counter. "Almost like a pretty little trophy" as he claims.

♡ As hot-headed as he can be, he will instantly apologize big he even dares raise his voice at you. You're the only one in the house that can cool him off.

♡ Doesn't like you near Vincent or the Basement. He wants you to himself and also not dead, so he will always find ways to keep you occupied or away from both of those things.

♡ Will flirt with any man or woman to get them turned to sculptures, but God forbid you try flirting with someone else. He'll be pissed, and will make sure to show you who you really belong to afterwards.

♡ Calls you things like Darlin', Sugar, Doll, etc.

♡ Likes it when you cook for him. He'll always get seconds of whatever you make, no matter how simple or complex it is.

Vincent Sinclair

♡ Slightly codependent on you. He's always attached to the hip with you, never wanting you to leave for too long or be out of sight. If you're going out on the town, he's going too. No questions asked.

♡ Very insecure about his face. It takes a long while for him to fully trust you enough to take his mask off. Once he does, shower him with praise- he'll absolutely melt.

♡ He overworks himself often. He'll spend hours, even days at a time working on sculptures. You have to remind him to eat and take breaks, and even that takes a little bit of coaxing.

♡ He's very jealous. He hates it when you spend a little too much time with either of his brothers; worrying that they'll manage to steal you away from him. He will never out right say it, just sulk and give you the cold shoulder until you figure out what's wrong.

♡ Calls you thinks like Sugar, My Muse, Love, etc.

♡ Doesn't like it when you watch him work. He'll always try and shoo you out of the basement so you don't get scarred from what goes on down there. Even if you insist you're okay, he keeps his ground firm.

♡ Makes you little things out of Wax.

Lester Sinclair

♡ The sweetest man alive. He always helps you with anything you need- Need help with dinner? He's suddenly an experienced chef. Car troubles? He'll take a look and get Bo to help if he can't figure it out. He loves showing you he cares by lending you a hand.

♡ Brings you back bones from the animals he finds. It makes him so giddy to watch your eyes light up as he hands you the newest trinket he found.

♡ Jonesy loves you. He makes jokes about her loving you more than him, and takes you with him when he walks her.

♡ Doesn't get jealous very easily, although he's a tad insecure that you find his brother more attractive. Just shower him with love and assure him it's okay.

♡ Calls you things like Pumpkin, Angel, Sweetie, etc

[valkyyriia]

Hello! If the request are still open I’d like to make one 😊 This is my first time requesting something so I apologize if I missed anything 🙏🏻

I’d like to request Comte as the suitor(established relationship) and rain for the prompt. Thank you 😊

A Deluge of Feelings

Words: 1401 CW: None | SFW Tags: Fluff, Non-Sexual Nudity, Google Translate French, Spoilers for Comte's name, Minor Characters from Comte's Route Prompt: Comte + Rain Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain / Reader

Note: Absolutely no worries Hikari! There's a first time for everything 😊 Glad to have another Comte enjoyer here! He's my favorite suitor!

I had several other ideas for this fic that I ended up stashing away for a rainy day (pun fully intended). I really do love Comte. ♥

Also posted on AO3 here.

When you left for the ball earlier this evening, the sky had been clear; nary a cloud in sight. The sun had been near setting when you had climbed into the carriage, its rays painting the evening sky with gorgeous shades of peach and orange. You made a mental note to ask Vincent - or Leonardo, if he felt productive - to try to paint a nineteenth-century Paris sunset for you one of these days.

So when you heard the telltale rumbles of thunder in the distance soon after arriving, it caught you - and your partner - by surprise. You had been talking to your friend, a nobleman's daughter by the name of Claudine, when the manor's windows rattled from the shockwave. Rain began to fall in light droplets, a soft pitter-patter cascading against the roof. Your partner, the ever-elegant Comte de Saint-Germain, quickly made his way to your side.

"Claudine, it's always a pleasure to see you," he greeted the other girl amicably. She curtsied and addressed him in kind, before excusing herself with a cheeky grin in your direction. Your response was a not-so-ladylike roll of the eyes, your own attention returning to the nobleman by your side.

Le Comte watched her walk off, his brow furrowed. The way girls behaved was still a mystery to him, even after God knows how many centuries of life. He would always be doomed to wonder in this regard, he supposed. Some things weren't meant to be understood.

Returning to the matter at hand, Comte placed a large hand on your back and drew you close, kissing your temple and murmuring into your ear. "We should try to get home before it gets any worse, Ma Chérie. I don't want to stay out and risk you catching cold or us getting stuck in town."

He swiftly guided you towards the doors of the manor house to call for your carriage. The rain, however, had other ideas. As you neared the door the soft droplets turned into a torrential downpour; sheets of rain fell from the sky like gauzy curtains, obscuring all but the brightest of lights. Water ran in dark, snaking rivulets across the cobblestone paths,

The pureblooded vampire exchanged a quick word with the coachman by the door. The watery onslaught was so deafening you were unable to make out much of what they were saying, but you assumed it had something to do with the carriages.

After a moment, your hypothesis was confirmed. Comte turned to you, an apologetic smile on his face.

"We won't be able to take a carriage back to the mansion in this weather, between the flooding and the low visibility. The coachman isn't certain they'd even be able to make it to the city's residential district with how bad it is," he said, kissing your forehead. "For now, we should just try to enjoy ourselves for a bit longer and hope the rain passes by."

The two of you returned inside, le Comte remaining by your side this time. He continued to greet the other nobles who approached the two of you, his hand secure on your hip. You stood by him, a placid smile on your face as you played the part of a nobleman’s partner.

Soon, you found yourselves dancing together on the ballroom floor, enjoying each other’s company as you waited for the storm to subside. Unfortunately, it seemed as though there was no end in sight. The rain continued to pour, quickly dashing any hopes you had had of returning home tonight. Normally this situation would bring you stress, but you found the thought of being stranded in town for the night didn’t bother you that much. You were with Comte, and you knew that he would stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Le Comte checked his pocket watch, a graceful frown marring his face. It had gotten quite late already, and with no sign of the rain letting up, your choices were dwindling. At your questioning glance, he smiled reassuringly.

“These things happen. We can predict the weather, but we can’t ever be fully certain how it’s going to be. It’s no matter,” Comte spoke, lovingly brushing a stray hair out of your face. “We will just have to brave the weather and head for a nearby inn, I’m afraid.”

Before you could speak up, you were interrupted by a familiar, loud voice.

“Ah, Comte de Saint-Germain,” he said. You immediately recognized this as the Duke de Guermantes, Comte’s friend and Claudine’s father. He smiled at you, greeting you as well.

You knew the Duke de Guermantes rather well, all things considered; he was the father of one of your only female friends in this time period, as well as a friend of Comte’s.

“Monsieur le Duc,” you replied in kind with a curtsy.

He turned back to le Comte with a friendly smile. “I see the two of you are stuck in town for the evening, non? The carriages won’t run in this weather.”

“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Comte agreed with resignation. “We had hoped the rain would let up long enough for us to return home, but I suppose le des intempéries had other plans.” He smiled amiably. “We were going to brave the outdoors soon and go to one of the inns nearby for the evening.”

The Duke de Guermantes shook his head dramatically. “I think not! I would make quite the poor host to force one of my dearest friends and his partner leave the safety and comfort of my home in un orage. Non, you shall stay here for the night.”

Le Comte’s features were painted in surprise. “Are you certain? I would hate for us to impose on such short notice.”

“Nonsense,” the Duke waved him off. “I shall not hear of it. You could never impose.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Comte said. “We are very grateful for your hospitality.”

Soon, you were both shown to a guest room in the Duke’s manor. Rain still beat against the windows, drowning out any other sounds.

Comte stepped up behind you, his hands deftly picking out several of the pins holding your hair up. As your hair came loose of its confines, his fingers gently combed through the strands. You sighed into his touch.

Comte’s hands slid down to your shoulders and he kissed the top of your head.

“Je t’aime,” he murmured, turning you around in his arms and brushing a hand against your cheek. “I am sorry we could not make it home tonight, Ma Chérie.”

You smiled back at him, leaning into his palm. “It’s alright, Abel. I’m happy to go anywhere so long as it’s with you.”

Le Comte’s golden eyes were filled with an indescribable deep emotion in response to your words. His hand drifted to your chin and tilted it up, his lips crashing into yours for a hungry kiss. He soon broke away from you, grimacing in discomfort.

You frowned, your hand cupping his cheek. “What is it, Abel?”

He just shook his head in response and took your hand in his, pulling it from his face. Your eyes widened in understanding.

“When did you last eat?” You murmured.

His eyes drifted to yours and he smiled knowingly. “I’m not hungry,” he murmured. “Not for anything but you, at least.”

Your cheeks flushed, but your frown deepened. You went to step away but his other hand came to grasp your waist and hold you there.

“It will pass, as it always does,” he assured you. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.”

You turned back around and began to unlace your dress. You were surprised when his fingers joined yours almost immediately, assisting you in shedding the garment. His fingers lightly skimmed over the skin that was now laid bare before him.

“You are beautiful, Ma Chérie. I still find it hard to believe that in the endless sea of eternity, I found you.” He kissed your bare shoulder. “However much I should like to ravish you this evening, I fear we must get to bed,” Comte sighed. “We still have to head back home in the morning and I think we should not abuse le Duc’s hospitality.”

With a pout, you agreed and crawled into bed with him, nestling against his warmth comfortably. He kissed your forehead. “Bonne nuit, mon amour,” Le Comte whispered. “Je t'aime, maintenant et pour toujours.”

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother

@fang-and-feather @candied-boys

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[cybercore-creations]

All good things

Summary: Life played him for a fool again, he was stupid for thinking he'd get a single good thing

Tw: Suicide, Kidnapping, implied Stolkholm syndrome

He thought everything was okay. He thought you finally accepted this was where you were staying. Giving him a kiss every morning, helping Vincent with the sculptures, taking Jonsey on walks with Lester. You didn't scream or cry anymore. Didn't have to be locked up. Everything felt normal. A normal spouse, A normal family, A normal life.

But nothing ever went right for Beauregard Sinclair. He could never have a normal anything. Never had one normal thing in his life.

Maybe it was hopeful thinking or straight denial. Just playing pretend. But he didn't expect when he entered your shared bedroom to find you with bleeding wrists and one of his knives weakly clutched in your hands. There was no note. No closure. Not a simple thing to tell him it wasn't his fault.

You didn't have to say it, but he knew it was his fault. He shouldn't have kept you alive. Shoulda just threw you in the museum like everyone else, but he didn't. You were a spitfire from the beginning. That's what he liked about you. He never expected a victim to hot wire Lester's truck and try to run him over but there you were smiling as you pushed the old thing as fast as it could go. He laughed when you'd slammed your face onto the steering wheel when he shot out the tires. It wasn't even a sadistic one, he genuinely found it funny.

You saw the man. He was distracted, looking off into the distance, probably trying to find you but you hit the gas hard. The pedal slammed to the ground as you changed gears (He always liked someone who could drive stick) Bo heard the truck before he saw it. The loud rumble of the thing much too old to still be driven. It was like second instinct as he hopped out of the way, shooting out the tires. The truck spun out and all he heard was "FUCK" and then the slam of your forehead on the uncoushined wheel accompanied by a "ow"

His eyes drifted towards the now bloodied silver band on your finger. You were supposed to get married. You'd been in Ambrose for a little over a year when he popped the question and he remembers the bright smile before squeezing him tight. The memory would make him happy but instead he felt nothing but betrayl.

As the night draped itself over Ambrose, The two of you found yourselves perched on the rooftop of the old, weathered church. The stars above twinkled like glitter strewn across a velvet canvas. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the only sound that echoed through the quiet night was the faint chirping of crickets. Bo took your hand in his, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know, Peaches, I've been thinking about a lot lately" You raised your eyebrows "And what does that thinking gotta do with Hun?" He fiddled with the ring in his pocket before taking a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. "Our future together. How I wanna turn ya into Mx.Sinclair." "W-What?" You stuttered. "Peaches, the second I laid eyes on you went you came in for that fan belt, I was hooked. Every second since then I've been falling harder. So uh, will you be my spouse?" He pulled out the ring, hands shaking. You grabbed onto him. Squeezing him tightly, he could feel your smile against his shoulder. "Absolutely. I wouldn't want anything else."

He went soft and he absolutely hated you for it, well thats what he tried to tell himself when he ran to your side trying to find a pulse. It was obvious you'd been gone for awhile. Blood was already dried on some places and your body was cold to the touch. He was frozen in time like one of Vincent's statues as he stared before he dropped to his knees. Bo let out a scream. A noise so deep in his chest that it didn't even sound human. An animalistic sob that you could probably even hear the town over. The one good thing in his rotten life was taken from him

"I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU." He yelled. Tears now rolling down his face. "Why did you have to leave me?"

[melancholicmaze]

Quick and unorganized thoughts on Re:Zero Arc 9 Chapter 2. I don’t know if I’ll do something like this for every chapter, I just had a bit more than usual to say about this one.

Spoilers ahead

I really liked seeing Olbart again. He mentions that he’s on the verge of death, and I gotta say…. I hope he’s right. 😭 I also laughed at the visual of him scratching himself with his feet. What a silly old man, you’d almost forget he’s an irredeemable monster.

I’m not crazy about Moguro’s survival, it feels cheap considering we likely won’t see him again in any substantial capacity. Perhaps when Vincent reinforces Subaru in the future? But that role could’ve been given to another. I’ll wait to see what Tappei does, but not a fan rn.

I REALLY enjoyed the Otto section, absolute highlight of the chapter for me. He’s cold, cunning, and is willing to walk a path of thorns for an optimal outcome. And Ana of all people being the one to recognize that he’s playing the role of the villain is amazing. I really enjoyed seeing her call Otto out. It’s not at all surprising to see that he’s considering the political ramifications of the past two arcs. And he ponders the question I had after Priscilla’s death. Will the election proceed with four candidates now? Or will there be a fifth? (Melty?) Really interesting stuff. And sage council mention! Really excited to see them again, but I also dread it.

I enjoyed seeing Otto worrying that Emilia and Ana had gotten too close. His original plan regarding Priscilla was to arrange for her removal from the selection. And his only regret was that her loss hurt Subaru and Emilia. He’s purely logical, he’s cold, and absolutely going to be an ideological foil to the rest of the camp going forward. And that combined with the spica matter? Shit’s gonna go down. I love seeing the contrast between his reaction and Petra’s. Hopefully Otto’s fuckery is a focus of this arc. Emilia camp’s Russel fr

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hello 👋 I hope you had a wonderful day !! , can I please request People from SDV, SVE and RSV react to the Farmer snap , the Farmer snap because somebody had hurt their love ones and their friends or somebody could had done something stupid that could had got them hurt with the others and the farmer save them before that could happen, maybe there was an argument that escalated to far too ,the farmer having enough didn’t yell in anger but remain calm and cold and somewhere quiet with the blinks stare in their face, making the whole situation feel unsettling and cold by just a few words and the farmer quickly apologize going back to their usual self , because to be honest do you really want to fight with the person who have the power of defeating army’s of monsters and doing some crazy things with it too!! , I hope you have a wonderful day 😃.

Hey hey, dear anon 👋 Thank you so much for the question, hope you're having a good day too! 😊❤️

I apologize, but I can't describe absolutely everyone, as all the people with vanilla Stardew Valley and with two global mods comes out too many for one ask (60+ people). Still hope you can enjoy the little HC! Thanks again 🫰

_________________________________________

"You're dead, man. Rest in pepperoni." Oh, trust me, the famous trio of Abigail, Sam and Sebastian know very well how fierce and menacing Farmer can be. And Farmer don't even need to yell for that, just the sight of them makes the blood freeze in their veins. Sam remembers that he once suggested a stupid and dangerous venture to Abby and Sebby, and though no one got hurt, Farmer scolded Sam a lot. So the idiot who was an asshole for Farmer's partner is very unlucky.

Oh, a free show? Great, 'cause Pam's TV just broke, so that scandal will keep her busy. She'd rather listen to Farmer put some out-of-town punk in his place than try to find something interesting to do in a trailer. True, if Farmer's injured friend is her daughter, Penny, then Pam will take part in a heated discussion with all the fury and profanity herself.

The way the Farmer had snapped loudly and unexpectedly at the idiot tourist during the Stardew Fair, who - unbelievable! - was offering Jas, Vincent, and Leo a cigarettes (a cigarettes?!) made the poor kids wince and squeeze closer together. Without stopping to wince, they watched as Farmer chased the frightened tourist away. But then the Farmer's angry look immediately softened as they turned to the children and offered to treat them to ice cream. The young Farmer was a little embarrassed and guilty that he was swearing right in front of the kids (Jas almost cried). But the delicious ice cream helped the kids forget about this unpleasant moment.

Oh, Shane's just in time to sneak a packet of crisps in his hoodie from the Jojamart warehouse, because the way the Farmer just morally destroys some out-of-town loader/colleague from Joja is a real show that won't end any time soon. And there's just the right snack to crunch on - like in the cinema! Even cheers for Farmer when Shane hears the reason for their snap. Hell yeah, fuck em up, Farmer.

Depending on the situation itself, Robin and Demetrius will behave slightly differently. Of course, they are surprised by Farmer's sudden outburst of rage, but when they both recognise the reason for it, they will side with Farmer, remaining fairly calm. If the idiot nearly hurt Maru and Sebastian, Robin herself will be as furious as a mama bear, and her husband (and other random people present) will now have to contain the rage of two people already. Nobody mess with Robin's children.

Harvey was extremely surprised that such a calm person like Farmer could get so furious with someone. Local doctor of the Pelican Town could understand why Farmer was so upset, but it was unnecessary to make such a loud scandal, whatever that stranger does.

June has seen a lot of different people in his time playing the piano. And so it is now, at Ridgeside Village. Most of the people who walk through the main lobby of the hotel are nice and quiet, with a few rude types. However, the hotel visitor that nearly pushed Farmer's friend down the stairs was simply out of line. It's a good thing that Farmer themselves happened to be nearby and were able to stop the rascal. June is not a fan of scandals and didn't really understand the reason for the whole situation, but even he is pleased when the scoundrel got what he deserved for his disgusting act. Well done, Farmer.

Richard doesn't know what made Farmer snap at one of his hotel guests like that, but will ask them to deal with everything outside his hotel. Sorry Farmer, nothing personal, but the other guests are nervous about the tense situation.

Marlon and Lance had to work hard to calm the unexpected anger of the ever-calm Farmer and keep them from hurting one foolish upstart from Castle Village. Both adventurers can understand their young fellow adventurer, but also remind the Farmer of the rules and code they swore an oath to when they stepped into the adventurer's shoes, and one of those rules is to protect people, not harm.

Oh, man... The same rude teenager who decided to tease and insult Vincent is now listening to the tirade of not only a furious Farmer, but also Jodi, joined by her friends Caroline and Olivia. The moms of the town are not surprised by Farmer's rage, they themselves would lose their temper if someone was hurting the local children (especially if they were their own son/daughter!).

Magnus doesn't usually use magic to intimidate. But the case in which a pale Morgan was hiding behind Wizard's back was the exception. The Farmer may have been the first to stand up for Morgan when some creep started bullying the kid, but Magnus would be the one to have the last word, giving the bully a good lesson. A couple of flying fireballs were enough to make the insolent man cowardly run away. Morgan has no need to be afraid, as neither their friend Farmer nor their teacher Magnus will let the child be bullied. Wizard is not surprised why Farmer snap, he would do the same.

Both Penny and Maru were naturally displeased when some idiot tourist threw a soccer ball at the two of them. But the girls even felt a little sorry for this tourist, when Farmer, in a fit of worry for Penny and Maru, and rage, frightened the idiot so much that it seemed that dumbass was about to cry.

To be honest, Jio, Daia and Kiwi are a bit disappointed. Why? Because they thought they would finally see the true power and fighting skills of the Farmer, the savior of Spirit Realm, because they have never once seen Farmer in battle. The young hero was masterful at using mere words to make the enemy retreat and apologize for bullying Farmer's friends, but Belinda's followers expected a battle. Sigh, boriiiiing...

Sophia and Victor don't know what they were more afraid of: the big bully who teased the pink-haired girl, and Victor too (as he was trying to protect Sophia), or Farmer, who drove the big guy away from them with the fury of a honey badger. They clearly hadn't expected that the Farmer could be so... intimidating. But Farmer is still a Farmer, after they returned to Victor and Sophia and apologized for the sudden outburst of aggression.

Considering that Louie and Ariah was being, to say the least, sometimes not very polite (mostly Louie) but calling them such words was clearly unnecessary on the part of some rich guest. Young Amethyne was even more surprised to realize that someone other than their family and servants were defending them. And with such fury. A Farmer?

Speaking of his family: of course Maive will not tolerate such behavior from her guests, and therefore, having found out the reason, she will kick the insolent guest out of her mansion. The Farmer will stay, but Madame will give them a stern and warning look, saying, "Don't try her patience." Sonny and Irene thank Farmer for standing up for Louie (albeit a little aggressively).

[heichou-dancho]

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered by Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people who have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma hit me hard.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.

[thistleation]

Hi lovely blog and art, just chiming in to say I also think Beatrice is ruthless and that she is portrayed as ruthless in warrior nun, she shot a tranquilizer dart in Ava's neck. Like I guess she expected the other to talk to her and convince her of going with them, but ofc ofc she's the one that not only thought about the scenario in which Ava resisted and tried to escape, she arrived there with a solution, mind you, a swift solution that removed agency from Ava. Also she she asks Vincent is removing the halo would mean Ava would die, she's talking about it like she's discussing the weather. Seeing as she was a nun, I was actually expecting her to be like 'but father Vincent we can't even consider that, because the value of human life bla bla, and this is a innocent human life that got caught in the middle of it all', instead cold as ice sister Beatrice's response to the possibility of killing Ava to retrieve the halo was: 'but the politics though' it actually made me laugh. I mean she was raised by diplomatics/politicians ofc she has concepts like 'optics, church PR' in mind. That actually made me realize that even before being a nun, she's above all, a devoted warrior. Above her supposed catholic ethics and compassion is her absolute, unwavering commitment to The Mission. Beatrice is ruthless and I love that about her. Because after Ava, that ruthlessness, that devotion, all of her skills have shifted and she's loyal to Ava with that same ruthlessness

Yes exactly!

I think all of them can be expected to have a certain level of cavalier attitude towards death as any of them who've been on more than a handful of missions can be expected to have killed in the line of duty.

Beatrice though has her upbringing that plays a role as well.

She's been taught from an early age that her feelings are wrong, and her coping strategies for that trauma are repressing her feelings and cold, emotionless logic.

I don't think S1 Beatrice means to be cold and callous, I think she's quite empathetic underneath, even then. It's just that she's so used to trusting the moral aspect of her actions to the church.

Again, her feelings, her judgement can't be trusted — she's been told as much since childhood — so instead she relinquishes those to a higher authority. And what higher authority is there than the church, the literal embodiment of God's will on earth?

And so Beatrice instead focuses on the tactics, the strategy, the logical breakdown of any situation as a problem to be solved, trusting that the problem that was put in front of her was put there by the church and God and is therefore morally right to solve.

Beatrice only focuses on the line.

And eventually, when the situation gets messier, when her love for Ava grows stronger and stronger, and she finds her personal priorities have shifted because she's finally, finally found something for herself to truly live for, that line is still there, and Beatrice can see it clearly.

I'm fond of saying that one of the sexiest things about S2 Beatrice is that she's prepared to turn her back on the mission and let the world burn if it means saving Ava.

There's this post I saw a good while back that said there's an appeal to being loved by a villain, because a villain can put you first, can choose you even if it means thousands of others die, where a hero can only ever put you second, after the greater good.

Beatrice will put Ava first. Before anything else.

I think she realizes that towards the end of S2. I think it scares her, and I think that's partly what led to the "would you come with me" scene.

But in the end when it comes down to it, she still makes the decision. Fuck the mission and fuck the world if that's what it takes, she puts Ava first.

And I love that for her.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 8

Part 8/? | Ao3

Thanks for being cool with my Elucien Week hiatus! Early update this week then back to my regularly scheduled Thursday updates.

Thanks as always to the lovely @witch-and-her-witcher for being my beta! <3

Feyre tucked the massive duvet beneath her chin as she watched the first rays of dawn’s light crest over the hills through her window. She nestled down further into the bed, fighting to keep the light chill of morning from seeping in. She wondered what it might be like to wake up regularly next to Rhys, his body always seeming to run hot and fiery, or perhaps that was simply her reaction when her fingers had found his skin in her mind. She sighed.

She had barely slept, too many thoughts in her mind to shut her eyes for long. The more she’d thought about it, the more she was convinced that she understood her part to play in all of this.

She was here, given magic and presented as half human, to be a bridge between Calla and the fae. She was sure of it. She could help ease Calla in, acclimate her to what Prythian was like and how well Feyre had been treated here since she arrived.

Vincent had told her in the coffee shop that day that she would play a vital role, though that already seemed like years and years ago now.

Things have already been set in motion that cannot be stopped, and you will be instrumental in carrying out any possible future where everyone is free.

Sure, the circumstances were not ideal, and she knew absolutely nothing about Calla’s personality or background past that she hated the fae enough to kill one of them, but Feyre held out hope. She could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.

Before the sun fully rose, Feyre gave up on resting, choosing instead to sit at the small table by her windows until the rest of the house woke. She grabbed the large book on the Winter Court, flipping it open and beginning a cursory look through it. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, looked incredibly young, just like Tarquin. She supposed Tamlin looked young, too, but he had an air of time-weathered experience about him that the other two lords did not. She flipped to the appendix, searching for the histories of the court. There was only a small blurb on the page about Kallias being made High Lord–

Installed during the time of the blight; replacement for the High Lord Johvnik upon his death due to complications from the blight, along with the High Lords of Summer and Day.

That meant Tarquin had been a young installment for the rebellion, too. She hadn’t reached Day Court yet, but she wondered if their High Lord was the same. Two, maybe three, young males, at least by fae standards, installed far before their time after witnessing the deaths of their fathers. A book of Vincent’s she’d read had stated the magic usually coursed through family lines, but sometimes jumped generations or bloodlines entirely for someone more favorable. Kallias looked as cold as the ice he ruled over, pale, sharp features accenting an otherworldly beauty.

She practiced honing the ice for hours, wrapping it around her fingers and pushing it out and back across the small table until she accidentally put small cracks into the surface. Marking her place and setting the book aside, she jotted down a quick reminder to grab the book on Autumn today, too. She didn’t really need the background on the powers, but she remembered what Lucien had told her: he’d fled here. She wanted to see what she could find in the histories of his court.

Once she pulled on clothes and made her way downstairs, Lucien, Tamlin, and Calla were already awkwardly sitting at the table in silence.

There wasn’t a single sound in the room except the quiet scraping of silverware on plates. Calla was in Feyre’s normal seat, so she pulled out the one next to Lucien, sitting down and piling her plate high with food to hopefully allow Calla to see it was safe to eat. She knew how many times growing up she’d heard the rumors that if you ate food offered by the fae you would be taken under their control.

“Good morning, everyone!” Tamlin’s eyes shot up and Lucien stifled a laugh into his tea at the forced enthusiasm in Feyre’s voice. Calla looked up, startled, and Feyre could see that she did look a bit healthier now that she was in clean clothes with her hair tied back. “It’s looking like it's going to be lovely out today. Perhaps we could take a stroll later?” She cut into her food emphatically and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. Lucien looked like he was about to start cackling at any moment, and Feyre kicked him beneath the table.

“Oh, uh, yes. A stroll around the property would be, uhm, very nice,” he fumbled trying to recover.

Feyre sighed, but Calla’s eyes were on Feyre’s plate. She looked back to her own and even took a small bite of the eggs. It was good enough for Feyre.

Tamlin cleared his throat and looked at Calla.

“You look…clean.”

“Gods be good,” Lucien murmured under his breath, receiving another swift kick and a look from Feyre.

“Thank you.” Calla’s voice was quiet, but Feyre could sense the undercurrent in it–the fear, uncertainty, and hate. She had lived with Nesta all her life–she knew what it sounded like when someone was trying their best to use propriety to stifle the emotions below. They might have their work cut out for them.

The rest of breakfast was quiet and intensely awkward, but Feyre noted Calla had eaten some things, so she was willing to call it a success. Lucien left first, barely mumbling a lackluster excuse. Tamlin’s wide, nervous eyes had found Feyre’s over the table and she’d nearly laughed out loud before nodding at him, giving him permission to make his excuses and go, leaving the two women there alone.

The second the door shut behind him, Calla’s eyes were on Feyre.

“You’re human!”

“Yes, well, half,” Feyre corrected, constantly reminding herself of the need to maintain her story.

“You just looked to fit with them so well yesterday, I didn’t notice until this morning. Are you a captive here?” Feyre nearly choked with laughter.

“No! Gods, no. I fled here. So did Lucien. For us, Spring has been a safe haven.”

Calla’s jaw dropped open. “They didn’t coerce you?”

“More like I turned up one day out of the blue and coerced them, and they now mostly tolerate my presence while I eat their food and organize their library.” Calla looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. “They truly aren’t bad once you get to know them. I am sorry about the welcome you received from us. We haven’t been at our best.”

“I deserve it. I killed your friend.”

“You did.” Feyre wouldn’t deny it, but as Calla looked up into her eyes, searching for some sort of absolution, Feyre knew without a doubt that there was more to the story. They had given Feyre a chance when she’d come to Spring. Before that, Vilja and Vincent had both seen past her limitations as a human and given her a chance to be more. Feyre could do the same– she could play her role, support Calla here, and allow her to see that the fae, that Tamlin, could be different than what she’d grown up believing.

She reached out and took Calla’s hand, and the hope that filled her eyes nearly knocked Feyre over.

“Come on, I know where the kitchen hides the good treats.”

Calla was not at all what Feyre had expected. In fact, she reminded her a good bit of Nesta–so much so, even, that her heart would occasionally ache at a simple gesture or turn of phrase.

Two weeks into her being in Spring, Feyre had warmed to Calla considerably, though things between Calla and the males were still awkward at best. The tension had melted a bit once Tamlin had told Feyre how he was taking care of Calla’s family. Without hesitating, Feyre had passed the message along. She wasn’t entirely sure of the background, other than what she’d gathered from Calla’s appearance when she’d shown up, but the relief in her eyes at hearing the news told her enough.

Calla wasn’t kind or warm or inviting, but Feyre, strangely, found she respected that about her. She’d never had a female friend before, and she often found herself not knowing what was normal or appropriate, though she got the feeling Calla might have been feeling the same. Feyre enjoyed Calla’s sharp edges, though, even when it could be frustrating at times. She found it made bantering with her in order to bring her out of her shell a bit easier, too, since she didn’t feel like she needed to treat her like something breakable.

“Gods, why is everything here so formal? These dresses feel like sitting on eggshells.” Calla slumped back onto the bed in Feyre’s room. She’d just burst in through the door while Feyre was drinking her tea and reading.

“I’ve told you, Calla, all you have to do is ask Alis for different clothes.”

“Alis doesn’t like me, Feyre. Not like you.” Feyre turned from her seat by the window to see Calla spread out on the bed where she’d dramatically thrown herself, holding back a laugh as the great tulle monstrosity she was wearing puffed up around her.

“Well, I didn’t try to set a trap for her.”

“I told you a million times, it was for Tamlin.”

Feyre laughed, pushing the seat back and standing up, placing her bookmark gingerly into the book on Autumn to hold her place. She’d gotten much better with wielding ice, along with the powers of Summer, Autumn, and Spring, though she had to practice solely at night now. Calla had a propensity for barging into Feyre’s room without knocking. Clearly.

She sat back on the bed with Calla, leaning into the tulle poof. “I’m sure she’s forgotten all about it.” Calla sent her a doubtful look. “Just ask her.”

“I just want tunics and pants. Why must you be so tall?” Feyre had tried lending her clothes, but Calla was a good six inches shorter than her.

“Oh, you know. Closer to the heavens, and all that.” Calla shoved her. She was brusque and speculative and distrusting, but Feyre liked her anyway. Oddly enough, she could see that Tamlin and Calla did, in fact, have some attributes in common.

Originally, she had planned to warm Calla up to Tamlin, using herself as a buffer to make both him and Spring seem more appealing. But somewhere along the way, Feyre had genuinely accepted that she wanted to be her friend. As much as she loved Lucien and Tamlin, she also liked having someone around who wasn’t all muscle and testosterone. She still attended their near-nightly ritual on the porch, laughing and training her fire magic with them. She’d invited Calla, but she always refused, choosing instead to stay in her rooms after dinner. She knew that, from Calla’s window, she could see down onto the porch. She wondered if she ever watched them. Regardless, Feyre wouldn’t stop extending the invitation to her–she knew how that loneliness could eat someone alive.

“Why don’t we go out in the gardens for a bit?”

“Tamlin’s out there. I saw him out of my window before I came in here.”

Feyre sighed. It had not been going well. “Won’t you give him a chance to be your friend, Calla? He truly is a kind male.”

“I just don’t know where to begin. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly.” Feyre couldn’t exactly refute that claim.

“Tamlin is…he has a lot that he is dealing with. He is gruff, but he is kind. Not so different from yourself.”

“Yes, but I’m not asking anyone to be my friend.”

Feyre shot her a look. “He took me in here when he had no obligation to. He offered to let me stay without me even having to ask. Hospitality is the same on either side of the wall, you know. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of being polite.”

“I wouldn’t know; it’s not like I ever went anywhere.” Feyre wasn’t necessarily shocked. She’d guessed that Calla’s background had not been the same as her own if for no other reason than her occasionally grating manners.

“Listen, when I traveled with my family before coming here, I was polite and friendly with the lords and ladies whose houses we frequented for my father’s trade deals. In return, they offered shelter and food and kindness. In a way, this isn’t so different.”

“I don’t see how this could possibly be the same.” Feyre gritted her teeth, trying not to be irritated, but it was like arguing with Nesta, and she could practically feel Calla digging her heels in. “You needed to be brought here because of the terms of the treaty. Tamlin knows this, and he’s trying his best to be polite and accommodating as a result. He’s being hospitable because these are the terms. Make sense?”

“You aren’t exactly staying for free, though. He’s got you working in his library, right?” Feyre was not unfamiliar with the deflections either.

“I practically had to beg him for a job so I could feel like I was pulling my weight. That was for my benefit, not his.”

Calla hummed, but seemed to deflate a bit.“I just…I don’t know the first thing about him. Or Lucien. They aren’t exactly forthcoming. And what about the masks? Why aren’t you wearing one? Is this a fae thing?”

Another thing Feyre had learned about Calla was that she had energy to spare, always near vibrating with the need to be doing or saying something. Feyre had wondered when the masks might come up. She wasn’t honestly sure how Calla had waited this long.

“The masks are part of…” she sighed, looking for the words, feeling the light clenching on her throat already waiting to grip her at a moment’s notice. She swallowed heavily.. “There is a magical sickness on these lands. There was a surge of power during a masquerade ball fifty years ago, and the masks got stuck. Obviously, I wasn’t here, so I don’t have one.”

“So, it’s like a curse from a witch?” Feyre cringed as her throat involuntarily clenched and was glad Calla wasn’t looking at her.

“Sort of. It’s complicated, but the fae have their magic bound. The sickness keeps them from their full power.”

“But what about–” A knocking at the door saved Feyre right in time. Both women sat up as Tamlin poked his head in.

“Oh, hello. I was just looking for Feyre.” He looked at her. “A word over lunch?” Feyre nodded, standing and helping pull Calla up. “Calla, you’re welcome to join, too.” She blushed a bit at the direct attention but shook her head.

“I might actually lay down for a bit. You two go ahead.” Feyre was immediately suspicious, knowing Calla was the last person on earth who needed time to lay down, but she let it go. As they all exited the room, she noticed Calla lingering in the hall as though she were trying to wait them out.

Interesting.

The noonday light was spilling into the dining room as they entered, taking their normal chairs. The staff had made some small sandwiches and laid them out with fruits–Feyre still hadn’t gotten over how delicious the food was here. She was thrilled to find they were the creamy, rich egg mixture that she adored so well, and she loaded her plate with more than she needed along with a heaping portion of melon.

Tamlin laughed and she shot him a look. “I don’t need your judgment, Tamlin. Your food is better here, and I’m going to enjoy it.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture and chuckled again.

“Your food is my food, Feyre.” He dug in, too.

“Where's Lucien?”

“In his office. I checked in on him before I came to get you; he wanted to finish a few things before lunch.” She nodded. “How are things going?” The hope in his voice made her heart ache. He’d been trying so hard to keep it leashed, still warring with his emotions on the subject of Andras while also noting the time the curse allowed was growing slimmer by the day. She did not envy him this position.

She slumped dramatically back in here chair. “I'm trying to get her to come around. Would it kill you to be a little more accommodating towards her?”

Tamlin frowned. “I am accommodating. She’s staying here and I am feeding her, am I not?”

Feyre growled. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“What am I supposed to say, Feyre? Hey, lovely day. Have you, perchance, thought about falling in love with me? He shoved his plate away, glowering.

“Stop being so dramatic. I am working on it, but you have to put in some effort, too. Just small conversation. Get to know her, maybe?”

“Fine. I will try.” He looked every bit of his five centuries as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Have there been other problems at the borders?”

Tamlin grimaced. “More creatures have been funneling into Spring and causing problems.” He looked exhausted. She knew he and Lucien were constantly out patrolling these days with the other sentries, staying out of the Human Lands now that Calla was here, but still staying busy enough with the threats Amarantha sent.

“I keep trying to get her to explore and show interest in the court, but perhaps I shouldn't be if it's dangerous.”

“Well, that’s actually one of the reasons I asked you down here. I wanted to give you something.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Me?”

He nodded. “Things have been more dangerous, but you've been training, and I don't want you to find yourself in trouble out there.” He pushed a small box across the table towards her. She took it softly and brought it to her, opening the top slowly.

“Well, it isn’t going to bite you.” That friendly exasperation in his voice gave her cause to smile. Though he’d never be the most open person, they had warmed up to each other in the time she’d been here, especially since Andras. He was not a bad male, he simply had a hard time expressing things. She recalled the stern look of his father and brothers every time she had the thought, and figured it wasn’t too hard to see why he was the way he was. In fact, it was likely a wonder that he wasn’t much, much worse.

Inside the box sat a lovely leather arm band, clearly meant for the smaller wrist of a woman. It was dainty but strong, the leather worked to perfection by an extremely skilled craftsman. Pressed into it were whorls and shapes that looked like smoke and clouds, surrounded by small dottings of stars.

“I know how much you like to look up at the stars at night when we’re outside. I just thought it suited–”

“It’s perfect, Tamlin. Truly, it’s so lovely.” The emotion threatened to choke her.

“When you press that inner button here, it produces a small but sturdy knife. I had it made for you. You’re getting better at training, and I know you have daggers, but I wanted to make sure you had something that was tailored to you.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She could count on one hand the gifts she’d received in her life. The shell from her father, her first set of paints, the ring from Rhys. The clenching of emotion in her chest felt nearly painful, and she could feel her eyes burning as she looked up at Tamlin, still looking uncertain at the head of the table.

“I, uh–” he cleared his throat. “It’s a thank you–for being here. For…well, doing all you’ve done,” he said. Feyre nodded frantically, trying to pull the tears that were welling in her eyes back in. “For helping how you can and for being a friend to us. Oh, Feyre, don’t cry.”

She laughed, wiping furiously at the tear that had escaped, sniffing and holding herself back to her normal standard. She knew how hard it must have been for him to say the words, to pull that sort of emotion out–two people who had never quite learned how to care for others, becoming friends and being uncomfortable about it. She laughed as she straightened back up, strapping the leather cuff onto her wrist.

“Thank you so much. You’re a good male, Tamlin. I am glad to call you a friend, and I am happy to be here.” She put her hand on his and smiled, pulling a small one out of him in turn. “I’m working on it, and I won’t give up. So you can’t either.”

He nodded, and they returned back to their food as if nothing had happened at all.

The next day, Calla was suspiciously absent from her job harassing Feyre while she worked in the library. She'd grown used to her nagging presence asking questions while Feyre filed and organized the books.

Feyre wasn’t generally inclined to make friends, and she’d had very little practice with it in her life. She often wondered if she was being too brash with Calla, and in the same turn, wondering if she swayed too far and seemed fake in her quest to be unnaturally enthusiastic. Trying to maintain a friendship with her was hard and exhausting at times.

She did, however, enjoy answering Calla’s questions about the fae, creatures, and the history of Prythian. Sometimes she didn’t know the answer, and she also liked that it gave her an excuse to learn more about Prythian and its inhabitants. Every bit of information she gathered, either by Calla’s neverending questions or of her own accord, brought her one step closer to Rhys.

She was also nearly done with organizing the vast collections, probably only a week or so away from completion, but she did need to acquire some additional shelves from Tamlin first.

It had just been Calla and Feyre at dinner the previous night, Tamlin and Lucien both out patrolling. They’d made small talk before Feyre tried to weasel out of her where she’d gone during lunch.

“How was your nap?” She’d eyed Calla as she’d asked it, and noted that way Calla’s cheeks had blanched slightly.

“It was fine. I was feeling a bit under the weather, but am feeling much better now!” The fake enthusiasm was eye-rollingly bad. She was perhaps the worst liar that Feyre had ever met, save for Elain.

“Mmhmm. Did you find the nap productive then?” Feyre’s best guess was that she’d snuck into the library to look for something she felt she shouldn’t be looking for. After their conversation yesterday, she’d likely wanted to know more about the curse. But Feyre had looked personally through all of those books. Not unlike the members of Spring, it seemed the books couldn’t share about the curse or Amarantha either. Calla had likely left disappointed.

Calla cleared her throat. “Yes, very productive. I am right as rain again!” She shoved the last of her food into her mouth. “What are Tamlin and Lucien looking for on these patrols?”

Feyre decided to let it go for now. “Creatures, mostly. They look for any disturbances in the woods that aren’t supposed to be there.”

“Like the Bogge?” Feyre had explained what she knew about the Bogge to Calla the other day when she’d stumbled upon a particularly gruesome picture of a scene, post-Bogge, in one of the library books.

“That’s likely one of them, but there are many others, from what I understand.” Feyre remembered her dreams about the horrid creature that often held her down, breath smelling of corpses and talons breaking her skin.

“What about a Suriel?”

“A what?”

“My mother used to warn me of them, like a bedtime tale.”

“I’ve never heard them talk about that one, nor have I read it. But we can look in the library later, if you’d like? I’ll be there all afternoon since I trained this morning.” Feyre had slipped outside with the rising sun to go through her training before the males left. Lucien was still kicking her ass regularly, but she was getting better and faster, and her fire magic was “frighteningly good”, according to him.

“Sure, I’m thinking of taking a walk in the gardens while you work, but I may stop by after.” The women pushed out from the table, staff already appearing to clear their plates as they left.

That had been hours ago, and Feyre hadn’t seen her since.

She did, however, hear the scream echoing across Spring’s grassy hills from all the way inside the library a few hours later.

By the time Feyre had sprinted outside, Tamlin and Calla were already on their way back up the hill to the house, both covered in dark looking blood; Tamlin looked pissed as hell, and Calla looked like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

“What the fuck happened?” Feyre yelled, running over to the two of them and meeting them halfway.

“Someone was out where she had no business being, and was attacked by a group of naga.”

“Calla was attacked by naga?” Feyre recalled those horrid, half-serpentine creatures, bent on killing and with a rampant thirst for blood.

How was she alive?

Calla didn’t appear to be injured at all, other than a few scratches on her face, but Tamlin was holding his arm which was still freely bleeding.

“I said I was sorry, now let me help.” Feyre tentatively stepped back as though watching firsthand as the world shifted. Calla was speaking to Tamlin in a soft voice that she had never used on him before, coaxing him nearly kindly into the manor and offering to help.

Tamlin acquiesced with a quick nod, the two of them turning to the house as Feyre fought to close her mouth. Tamlin looked back at her over his shoulder as they walked, and she snapped her jaw shut to nod encouragingly and give him a thumbs up. She thought she saw a shadow of a smile as he turned back.

Lucien ran up next to her, then, coming from the nearby woods where he’d been doing a closer patrol.

“What happened?” But Feyre had already begun to put the pieces together.

She whirled on him. “Tell me you did not send that girl into the woods to find a Suriel, Lucien Vanserra.”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed and grimace. She’d taken the time when she’d returned to the library after lunch to look the creature up.

“She could have died,” Feyre hissed at him. He held up his hands and smiled, though still looking guilty.

“But she didn’t?”

“Is it out of your system now?”

“Yes,” he responded, and Feyre relished in him looking very much like a boy being scolded.

She pointed a finger at him, pressing it into his chest. “You owe her an apology. What would we do if she died, Lucien? Will you go to the Human Lands and die next?” The panic seized Feyre abruptly then at how close she might have just come to losing her best bet at reaching Rhys. “She’s fragile. No more gambling with her life for your amusement. This ends now.”

“Yes, yes. Fine.” He grabbed her around the neck with his arm abruptly and ruffled her hair, a habit he’d picked up since Andras had died. Feyre fought him halfheartedly until he let her go, her hair flying into her eyes.

“No more potential murders, hmm?”

Lucien shoved her as they walked back to the house.

Calla came into the library the following morning, head bowed and looking a little ashamed of herself, while Feyre was marking her way through a stack of books. She had a book wide open on the table in front of her though, and she pressed a finger to it as she read aloud.

“The Suriel, an old and wicked creature, but willing and able to answer any question you ask of it–” Feyre looked up and caught Calla’s wide, apologetic eyes in hers. “ — if you’re stupid enough to seek them out.” She slammed the book shut. “What were you thinking?”

Calla ran up to the table and sat across from Feyre, taking her hand. “I had to know more. And you clearly couldn’t tell me, and Lucien wouldn’t.”

“Ugh, Calla. You could have died.” Calla, to her credit, looked guilty.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. I was asking Lucien some questions but he couldn’t tell me the answers. He told me he wasn’t a Suriel, and so I asked him what that was. He told me it was the only one who would know whether or not I could go back home.”

That asshole.

The verbal lashing she’d given him yesterday suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

Calla must have seen the scowl on Feyre’s face. “He apologized to me this morning. I could tell he felt bad. I told him I wouldn't tell Tamlin, so you don't either.” This was a surprise for Feyre. First, fixing Tamlin’s hurt arm, now defending Lucien. She’d almost be tricked into thinking Calla was warming up, but she fought her smile, afraid to break the gentle magic starting to warm Calla to Spring and its inhabitants.

“You didn’t have to trick me by asking slyly at dinner, you know. First, we’re friends, and you could have just told me. Second, you could always have just come up here to look it up.”

The silence hung in the air. Calla refused to meet Feyre’s eyes, and she continued. “There are so many books up here about creatures, perhaps some forewarning would have kept you from being so reckless.”

Calla gave Feyre a pained, beseeching look, and something clicked into place. All her questions, her inquiries; she’d never touched a book past looking over Feyre’s shoulder at pictures.

“You can’t read, can you?”

Calla’s voice was whisper-quiet, and she didn’t meet Feyre’s eyes. “I never learned. We lost all our money when I was still a child. We–I didn’t have the resources–we were just surviving–and then it was too late to teach myself.”

“I’ll teach you.” The words were out before Feyre could stop them, her heart aching for Calla. “Let me help you.” Calla did meet her eyes then.

“You would do that? Why?”

“We’re friends, Calla. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

“I haven’t had many friends, Feyre. I don’t exactly know how it works.” Her laugh was hollow, but the truth rang so close to Feyre’s own heart she couldn’t help but understand.

“Me neither. We don’t have to do what other people do. Let me help you.”

“Only if you let me teach you how to shoot in return. I’ve watched you shoot a bow and it’s awful, Feyre. Who taught you how to use it? A two-fingered blind man?” Feyre scoffed and shoved at her, but Calla was smiling again.

“Did you catch the Suriel then?”

“Yes, though it wasn't very helpful.” She played with a strand of her hair as she walked over to the plush couch and slumped into it.

“It told me ‘Stay with the High Lord, human. That’s all you can do. Do not interfere; do not go looking for answers after today, or you will be devoured by the shadow over Prythain.”’

“That’s it?”

“Then the naga showed up. I cut the Suriel down, but the time cost me. They were right on my tail, about to kill me when Tamlin showed up.” It was the first time Feyre had heard her speak of him with any sort of pause, and there was a sort of reverence and appreciation in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “It was stupid of me, but I had to know.”

“It was stupid, but I am glad you got what you were searching for. Hopefully, we can keep you away from the violent creatures of the woods now?”

Calla nodded, and Feyre was ready to put it behind them. “Come sit. Let’s see what you know.”

As it turned out, little more than the basics. Calla knew her letters, and she could somewhat sound things out from them, but the technique was clumsy, and her handwriting was worse. Feyre decided they’d work on writing first, hopefully the repetition and technique would ultimately help with her sounding things out.

She walked to Lucien’s empty study, grabbed a few different rolls of parchment and some pens, and came back to the library. Calla watched as she wrote out different lines on the first piece of parchment, then, satisfied with her job, sat back and passed the paper to her.

“I want you to sound these out, then I want you to rewrite the sentences. Five times apiece should be good. If it helps you to write them out the way you sound them out, do that too.” Calla nodded.

“Thank you for this, Feyre. Please don’t tell them I can’t write. They already think I’m enough of an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Calla. But I won’t tell them.”

“Fey…fey-ree. Hm. Oh! Feyre? Feyre…is..the kind–kindest. Feyre is the kindest….f–friend.” She got it, smiled, then glared. “Humble of you.”

Feyre laughed and motioned for her to write it, grabbing her own piece of parchment from the stack. She hadn’t written any of her dreams down in awhile, though she still had her journal. Everything felt like a secret kind of magic to her, every clandestine meeting with Rhys in her dreams something sweet and small and just for her that she wanted to hold close to her chest forever.

She looked at the parchment under her hand, pen poised to write but unsure of what to say. She missed him–his touch, his voice, his smell. She longed to have his elegant fingers pressed against her again, the comforting presence of him wrapping around her like a sun-warmed blanket on a blustery Spring day. A thought occurred to her, and she pressed pen to paper and began to write. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, the words flying out of her like a bird on a breeze.

When she was finished, the sun had moved across the sky and was already dipping across the other side. It would be time for dinner soon, and she had nearly four pages of writing completed. She looked at the first page.

Eyes– lavender, violet, indigo, stars Hair – raven’s wings, inky blue black, night sky, tousled, messy, soft, love to run my hands through it Hands – soft, warm, firm

It went on for pages and pages– every single thing she could recall about Rhys, both from dreams and from reality, written down so she could tuck it away into that journal. Not that it would matter, truly, but it was a comfort to see the words on paper, even just to read over it all and assure herself that it was real. That he was real.

Though, she had to say, she was beginning to speculate more and more that her dreams were not dreams at all, the connection feeling so lucid and tangible to her that it was sometimes hard to separate. Had she not been in Spring every time she awoke, she’d likely be concerned that she’d been traveling to see him somehow. The simple fact that the dreams –or whatever they were– had grown so much stronger and more realistic once she’d crossed the wall had not been lost on her, and she found herself wondering more and more often if they were somehow a connection they’d forged that first night at the ball.

She’d read about this in her books– daemati– a fae who had the ability to look into another’s mind, read their thoughts. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered if Rhys was capable of that, thinking back to how he’d seemed to know at every turn what she was thinking that night they were together. Had they connected that night? Had he been inside her head and known how serious she’d been about him? Was it truly fate that had brought them together, or was there some other magic at play that Feyre had no idea about yet?

She pressed the pen to paper again, writing quickly on the last page.

Daemati? She underlined it twice.

She then stacked the pages, shuffled them into place, and folded them into a small square, stuffing it into her pocket.

“Done.” Calla said proudly.

“Good. Read them all to me.”

Calla cleared her throat and straightened her back confidently.

“Feyre is the kindest friend. Feyre is the most ben—benev–benevolent half-breed I've ever met.” She shot her a look, then continued. “Lucien is t-tolerable most of the time. Tamlin is the Hig. Hig-huh.”

Feyre interjected softly. “High. High Lord.”

“High Lord’s name. We are in Spring Court.”

Feyre giggled and nodded, and Calla smiled in kind, looking far more confident than she had earlier as she handed Feyre her papers to see her penmanship.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Taglist:

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[aaaaaaaaaaaa-hey-its-jude-or-bee]

okok ik I should probably start that violinist!farmer x elliot but HEAR ME OUT ON PUNK METAL!FARMER----

Imagine like farmer being like this really scary looking guy, coming to the valley with those spike bracelets on and trad goth makeup/corpse paint, looking like a full on murderer, skull t-shirt, those ripped thigh-high pants and chains from My Little Halo and everything;;.....

..only to be interested in geeky/nerdy hobbies, like collecting Hello Kitty/My Melody plushies, paint, and is somehow really good with the ASS trio (Abigail, Sebastian, Sam) + young adults/kids in general

.......and also punk metal!farmer is like the same age as Harvey LMAO, just like 2 ~ 3 years younger...

Farmer's got like, long dark brown hair too, it's amazing how he doesn't break a sweat doing farm work; you'd think he's cold blooded

Farmer's so engaging with the general community of the valley too, despite his usual gothic appearance slightly scaring Jaz and Vincent, he's a kind fellow who helps around here and there.

He'd probably be one of the first to test a game Sebastian coded, help orchestrate a song with Sam (farmer played cello in highschool?), or do/give manicures to Abigail while chatting about ghosts,,

He doesn't leave out Maru either; albeit he doesn't talk to her much, and Jaz and Vincent just need to get use to his corpse paint- but he doesn't dare talk with the kids unless they're the ones to strike conversation.

(because he's tried once, and Jaz ran away to Penny LMAO) (embarrassment 101)

Alex's cool with him too; he plays gridball with farmer sometimes,, (if you can count farmer losing most of the time after round 3 of gridball because he's too tired)

Especially when farmer develops a crush on Harvey/Elliot too, like he's not that bad at hiding it, but he spends a lot of free time with the trio so obviously they notice LMAO

“You want... THE FAMILY MEDICINE DOCTOR??????”

“You tell him and I'm moving out-”

poly!harvey x elliot x punk metal!farmer too omg

obsessed with the extrovert x introverts poly trope tho

what if I was devious and added morris /j /j /j

Ok I have to go do chores now my parents are gonna kill me if I don't LMAO

- 🫚anon

I don't know if this is a request but I am gonna just wjsjsjs and then I'll like add stuff onto this later on to make this some sort of thing maybe depends,,,,, would go insane with metal punk farmer like absolutely, would go insane,

I deleted two entire paragraphs because I did not like how I written my ideas, so, imagine when you first arrive yeah? You need to befriend the older people first, and then the parents of stardew valley, doing things for them, running errands, so they'll talk about you to everyone else and become friends with you, they'll say you're nice and all that, and not as scary as you seem, so, you soon become friends, even though it takes a long time, with the others in the small town, and you have to slowly befriend the children, which takes a longer time, since they are kids and kids have the power of imagination, which, can lead to scary thoughts and images on whatever, so you have to be careful and ask their parents how you could possibly seem not scary, and so their kids wouldn't have to seem so scared around you, and act like they're walking on eggshells in their homes when you visit or when you're walking around town doing your own thing, since you just want them to be comfortable around you and not worry about you, since you're not scary and you're just wearing makeup you know??

Like that would be nice, I would also enjoy having a mod where you just need to befriend the older people before you could try and befriend the bachelors and bachelorettes, or even try and romance them, you need to get close with their family and friends before you could do such things, not sure how I'm gonna romance Harvey but you know what that's fine.

[authorxxxxxx]

Growing Old Together | Zlatan Ibrahimović x Female Reader

Summary : After so many years of playing football , Zlatan decides to retire .

Tw: insomnia , physical pain and tears , but mainly fluff .

English isn't my first language so if you spot any mistakes please just bare with me.

5k words : \

__________________________________________________

05 : 00 a . m .

He checked the clock at his bedside table for one last time , before he tried to sit up on the bed .

He was in pain .

He was in so much pain .

Everything in his body was in pain .

Every bone in his body was in pain .

His muscles were in pain .

The painkillers didn't do anything .

Nothing helped him .

' ' Try and get some sleep Big Man . Alright ? ' ' His manager said to him .

Well he tried .

He tried multiple times this week .

This month .

The last couple years .

He is in constant pain .

He loved football .

Football was his whole life .

But right now , at the age of 41 years old and after so many years of playing , he felt . . . Tired .

He turned his head right and stared at the woman sleeping peacefully besides him .

His soulmate .

His wife .

The mother of his two kids .

The Love of his life .

He got up trying to not wake her up and made his was in the living room to make the phone call .

__________

06 : 00 a . m .

She woke up and before she opened her eyes , her hands searched for warmth .

For him .

His side of the bed was empty and cold .

" Maybe he went for training . " She thought to herself .

She got up and made her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her kids and a coffee for herself .

' ' Morning . ' ' Her older son Maximilian said .

' ' Goodmorning honey . ' ' She said to him back while making him a toast just the way he liked it .

' ' What's dad still doing here ? ' ' Max asked her before making his way back to his bedroom .

' ' What ? ' ' She asked quietly while looking outside the living room .

He was outside at the balcony with his hair up like she loved , an open grey hoodie and black shorts talking to his phone .

She observed him for a couple of minutes while sipping the coffee from her mug and when he was done with the phone call , she walked over to him .

__________

' ' Is everything okay ? ' ' She asked him while looking up at him .

He grabbed her from her waist and kissed her soft lips that he so much loved .

After a while , when they parted their ways , he looked at her pink cheeks and her puffy lips , her beautiful eyes and caressed her face .

' ' You're worrying me . Is everything okay ? ' ' She asked him again while holding his arms .

' ' From now on , I'm all yours everyday and every night . ' ' He answered to her with a smile .

' ' You're retiring ? ' ' She asked him seriously .

' ' Yeah . I just did it and they gave me an opportunity for the head coach of the team and I took it . ' '

' ' I am so proud of you . Really . But are you sure about that ? ' '

' ' Yes I'm absolutely sure . I'm just tired . I'm tired of feeling pain everyday when I wake up . It's too much and I have trouble sleeping . I know it's gonna be difficult for the fans but I just can't do it anymore . ' '

' ' Why didn't you tell me anything ? I could have helped you somehow . ' ' She told him while tears escaped her eyes .

' ' How long has this thing going ? ' ' She asked him again but before he could say anything back , her sobs filled the quiet morning .

He embraced he in a tight hug for a couple of minutes to calm her down .

' ' I now it's gonna be hard for some people , because of the my past but I'll try to get better in the future . ' '

' ' Do not think about the past nor the future. Just enjoy the moments of the present . ' ' She told him before hugging him again .

' ' I love you . ' ' She said to him .

' ' I love you too . ' ' He said back .

That stayed like that for a couple of minutes .

' ' Dad ? Why is mom crying ? ' ' Max and Vincent both asked while looking at them trough their bedroom window ready for their parents to take them to school .

After that they both started laughing .

__________

Tags : @unimportantbabymilksharkte

[jadedbirch]

The Three Musketeers (2023) - Part 1: d'Artagnan

Directed: Martin Bourboulon

Starring: Vincent Cassel, Eva Green, François Civil 

First of all, you do not know the struggle we had to go through to even get our eyeballs on this movie! Only die hard Dumas idiots like me would have even bothered 🤦🏻‍♀️. Finally, we had to buy it from AppleTV. Anywho, below is my live blog of the latest French nonsense! I make a point of tutoring myself watching as many 3 Musketeers adaptations as possible, regardless of the psychological damage, and I kind of have high hopes for this one despite the fact that I can already tell they cast more for 20 Years After than for The 3 Musketeers. But I'm willing to pretend there are no good, young actors in France (because there's no other way to explain these casting choices) for the sake of my own sanity. The rest of my babbling and movie spoilers will be below the cut!

I see we start the movie in 1627, which already makes me laugh 🤣. The book famously starts in 1625 and then they time skip a year and a half into the future because I guess Dumas remembered that the war starts in 1627. Alex was the king of inexplicable time skips and I see the movie has chosen to stick to history rather than literary canon 👌🏻.

Everything is cold, dark, and wet. I have no idea what's going on, or who this blond woman is, or why d'Artagnan is coming back from the dead. But I'm always in favor of immortal abominations 😈.

It does entertain me that Eric Ruf, who played Aramis in an earlier French adaptation, plays Richelieu in this one. Nice touch.

LOL d'Artagnan gate crashing the musketeer headquarters all "I'm not Soviet, the French do not stand in line!" Anyways, he's authentically obnoxious, which I like, although clearly also 20 years too old.

I feel like this is an AU that takes place before they invented soap and also dyes, which is hilarious because if they're going for historical accuracy, this is just what the plebs think looks "authentic". Why are these men all so dirty and old? At least they make fun of Athos being a thousand years old in the movie, but why is Jussac also so ancient? And still serving in the guards? Life expectancy back then was like 25, but surely no one would be serving in the army past the age of 50, which was like Ancient for the 1600s, even among nobility.

I must laugh at the fact that Athos straight up introduces himself to d'Artagnan as Athos de Sillegue, le comte de La Fère. So, I see we are just going to go there 🤭🤭🤭. This changes his story arc completely though, stay tuned for my whinging. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Absolutely incredible, legendary , A++, 11000/10: bisexual Porthos waking up in bed with a lady and a dude after a night of debauchery! Chef's fucking kiss! I forgive the fact that there are no young people in France.

Aramis, so far is very Murder Kitten. I do wish he'd wash his face more and do something about his guyliner (I feel like he should have just committed to MORE MAKEUP frankly because the guyliner alone is odd), but c'est la vie, I guess.

Plus one point for Athos getting wrongly arrested, minus twenty points for making Athos a Protestant WTF? And in what world would a nobleman of Athos' lineage get sentenced to death for stabbing an unknown woman? This is all so silly! (I do have to give Milady points for just like fucking with him so fantastically. Plus one revenge point to Milady.)

Aramis torturing a guy to save Athos is honestly 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 11/10 Murder Kitten, automatic plus one point.

This is all incredibly Dramatique, as much as it strains credulity. I love it when modern directors decide that they can write better "action" than Dumas himself. I'm just sitting here screaming "Why would you have that conversation where anyone can hear you!" Minus one point.

I must say Constance and d'Artagnan have a much more believable romance here than in the book. Plus 5 non-creeper points.

(Please I can't stop looking at how old all these Musketeers are 😅😅😅)

Okay so they've also given Athos a BROTHER. Who is part of a Protestant conspiracy. This is all so fucking crazy, I don't even know what to say. Am I watching the musketeers or La Reine Margot? 🤔

Incidentally, the King also gets a brother! Everyone gets a brother! J/K at least the King really did have a historical brother. Athos just gets fucked with in this movie a lot. Automatic minus one point for unnecessary siblings.

WHY must you all insist on having these super SECRET conversations in the middle of a public square where literally anyone can hear you? Minus one dumbass point.

And now d'Artagnan must go to England.... Alone? Because it's more heroic this way? Ambushed by ghost squirrels in the woods? Oh no, that's just Athos, lurking in the woods, as one does. "All misery comes from love." Thanks, Old Man Lush.

This revisionist tale of Milady's past is all very convenient but I FUCKING HATE IT every single time they try to do this in modern adaptations. Let Milady Be Evil 2023! But I see that you will not. Listen, it's not "feminist" to turn the villain into the victim. I'm so tired. 🤦🏻‍♀️ These misguided attempts at feminism really do not do her any favors, she has a lot more agency as simply the Really Bad Girl who just wanted money and power. Minus 5 points for not letting Milady have any fun and minus another 10 points for giving her an abusive ex-husband!

As for Athos, IMO it's always much more compelling to let him be the guy who tried to kill his beloved wife for betraying him, than to make him the spineless man who turns her over to the authorities for Handwavium. Yes, it's pretty fucked up. But it's much more humanizing and makes him a darker, more interesting character. And I will always maintain that.

(This movie is so fucking dark, all the scenes take place at night or in some cthonic tunnels or prisons ffs have mercy on my eyes!)

Oh dear, here we go again. Milady taking a Dramatique - and completely unnecessary - dive off a cliff. Only this time, we know she doesn't die because.... She can swim? And definitely will not have all her bones broken by that 1000 ft fall. Minus 20 points for lazy writing.

(My God, everyone is so dirty, you would think they never did their laundry in France 🤦🏻‍♀️)

Ironically, the only well lit scene takes place in what looks like the Notre Dame which is just very silly as that place is a sepulcher.

(Once again, we are advancing the plot by having super secret conversations conducted in the middle of the palace with an open door where anyone can see and hear you plotting 🤦🏻‍♀️ Minus one petty point.)

Okay, so poor Constance has been kidnapped, and our young hero (who is already a Lieutenant because he and his pals conveniently saved the King's life in a plot twist that was very necessary in other to return Athos to favor in this version) lies unconscious in the streets. They probably didn't even try to kill him this time because they know he's immortal. And speaking of people who just won't die, in a mid-credits scene, it is confirmed that Milady is indeed, very much Not Dead Yet. Surprise! The scene is now set for war in The Three Musketeers: Part 2: Milady.

In summary:

I tallied up my totally random points and ended up with a score of -51, which is Not Good, my friends.

Okay, so I've seen much worse? It's better than Atrocity in 3D, for example, which was just barely watchable as a film and as an adaptation. But they changed so much about the plot and some of the main characters, that it doesn't really feel true to the spirit of the book at this point, which is my main criteria for measuring whether an adaptation is successful. And the main reasons for that are because it's much darker and grittier and less fun than the novel. Which - Quelle domage!

I know that as an unrepentant Athos fangirl, I tend to be biased, so I was trying to be on guard (heheh get it?) for my own biases while watching this. But it's really difficult when Ya Boy is such an integral part of the novel as well as this particular adaptation. And so I must regrettably come back to what a shame it is that they've cast a 60 year old Athos (Vincent Cassel is 57 and he's a fabulous actor whom I've loved in many of his worlks), and I feel like they had to rewrite his character to be more age appropriate and less of the drunken asshole he is in Dumas' first d'Artagnan book. But that's the asshole I fell in love with, and will stan forever. Without him going around beating his servant, indulging his gambling addiction, and being a sarcastic pain in everyone's ass, it's just a completely different story.

Pros:

Hot Eva Green!

bisexual Porthos!

d'Artagnan is given a much less creepy love story with Constance (and I assume he will also not be nonconning Milady in this adaptation)

The King and Queen are much more humanized and sympathetic here.

Cons:

Visually really drab, everything is brown, everyone is dirty.

Very little humor unlike in the novel and some other adaptations.

EVERYONE IS WAY TOO OLD, which changes the feeling of the story significantly, and IMO for the worse, because these people are just not allowed to have fun, and subsequently, neither is the audience.

I will still absolutely be here for Part 2 because I am a masochist!

Grade: B- as a piece of art, but a C as an adaptation of the Dumas classic.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ghost Story

Jameson's masterlist (scroll down)

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CW: Traumatized whumpee/PTSD, references to past murder and torture, some dehumanization references, chronic pain, grief, a wee teensy bit of choking at the end

-

He fell asleep on the couch with a movie playing, Vincent Shield and Nat settled into armchairs on either side. Shield holds his water bottles like they'll vanish if his knuckles aren't white from the effort, and Jameson had watched him off and on, catching the way one hand shakes a little, the bouncing of his knee. The nearly visible craving for a drink that he tries to drown in juice and water and coffee.

They were there, when the movie started. When he wakes, they're both gone and there's a heavy blanket laid over him. That'd be Nat, always taking a second to do a good thing when she could just ignore it and no one would mind. His crutches are still leaning against the wall, waiting for when he gets up.

He can, vaguely, hear Trash Cat trying to break into a the cabinet in the pantry where her food is kept. The sound of her little paw trying to force it open despite the baby-proofing cabinet lock Nat bought is a constant soft thunk. thunk. thunk. thunk.

"Fuckin' quit it," He groans. The thunking sound briefly pauses.

Rrrrrow? Her little chirp is barely audible, curious and surprised. She must've forgotten he was down here. He hears her tap-tap-tap her way into the doorway, look at him, and then tap-tap-tap her way back to the pantry again.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

His eyes barely blink, working hard to squint and see the time on the clock.

2:45 am.

"Jesus fuck." His voice is a mumble, heavy with his exhaustion, as he rubs a hand over his face. There's stubble around the spaces where scars stay smooth and hairless, the cockeyed lift of one side of his mouth pulled always where a knife had been dragged like cutting cold butter.

Even goddamn better: his legs won't unbend. They stay curled, bent at the knees, throbbing agony down to his toes and up into his hips when he tries to straighten them. He can damn near feel the buckles from the braces he hasn't worn since he stabbed Brute to death. He can damn near hear Robert's echoing, rasping laughter.

He can't walk. He could hardly crawl.

He doesn't want to crawl around like a fucking dog anymore.

Maybe he'll just stay here til dawn. Why the fuck not?

The house is silent around him, with that particular empty weight of a home waiting for its people to bring it back to life come morning. A place between something and nothing, and Jameson isn't enough on his own to fill it.

He's barely a drop in the bucket of what you need to feel alive, at a time like this. Absolutely alone in the darkness, staring up at an old popcorn-style ceiling where a fan spins lazily, barely moving air.

Hey.

His head whips to the side at the voice, wide-eyed, pushing himself up on his elbows, heart pounding. There's someone in the doorway between the entryway and the living room, where Trash Cat had been before, watching him in shadow.

You passed out on the couch again. Gonna go to bed any time soon, or am I going to have to tiptoe around your dumb ass in the morning?

His head hurts. Maybe from having woken up from dreaming at the wrong time, it pulses pain with the same rhythm as his heartbeat, at the throb in his knees. They pull up even tighter, and he has to bite back a whimper he absolutely will not let out.

"... who the fuck-"

Call Mom, by the way. You haven't called her in like a week. She says you have 48 hours or she's calling the cops.

He collapses back against the arm of the couch, breathing slowly. His headache is taking over, wiping everything away but itself. Jameson closes his eyes.

Is he still goddamn asleep?

He counts to ten, breathing more slowly and evenly with each number. Then, on the final, torturously slow exhale, he cracks his eyes open again.

The shadow is still there. It hasn't turned into a person, only sort of smudged outline of one. There's a hint of blue jean seams down the legs, the suggestion of hair very much like his own. Even the glimmer of dim moonlight and streetlight from outside against a pair of hazel eyes.

Not that he can see what color they are from here.

He just... knows.

Just like he knows the taste of that voice, even though he can't remember having ever heard it in his life. It's a taste he's known his entire life.

Did you hear me, dumbass? I said call Mom.

"... who the fuck are you?"

Hey, so, while you're here. It's like he didn't say anything, or like the shadow is acting out the words of a script, not actually present or hearing anything he says. It moves, and Jameson flinches violently backwards only to see a beam of moonlight pass right through it as it goes past him, to the window. One grayish-nothing arm lifts, like peering through the blinds. I wanted to say... fuck. I guess just... sorry. About the other night.

"Wh-what-"

It was stupid. I knew you liked her and I still asked her out. That was really shit of me to do, Johnny, I'm sorry about that. You're just way better than me at getting girls to, like, see you...

"I d-don't know what the fuck you're talking-... who's-"

His head.

The pain is like a flash of lightning, bright white and chilled ice behind his eyes. He can't hold this sound back and whines like a goddamn animal as he curls up, hands up over his head, pressing his palms against his eyelids like somehow he can force the pain out of him if he only tries hard enough. The flashes keep sparking, again and again.

"Oh, God-... oh fuck, jesus-"

I broke up with her anyway. So, like. Sorry. Again. Can we not fight about shit like girls, anyway? I hate it. Who am I supposed to talk to if I can't talk to my brother, you know?

Tears run hot like tracks of sun-soaked water through desert down his cheeks. He's sure they'll leave rising blisters in their wake, as he chokes back one sob, and then another. His heart is twisted up in his throat and his legs are bent and useless, his hands hurt where his fingers are twisted into his hair, yanking at it ineffectually, unconsciously. "Please, it h-hurts, fucking stop-"

It's not your fault, Johnny. I was the idiot, you know? We had a fight, fights happen. I didn't have to leave it like that. I shouldn't have left it like that. Still. You didn't have to leave it like that, either. Takes two to fix a fight, right? You could have apologized, too.

There's a long beat of silence.

His headache starts, finally, to slide somewhere further back in his mind. It's still there, still a throbbing immovable force, but he can just barely manage to open his eyes.

The shadow is an inch away, staring at him.

Why didn't you apologize first?

He flinches backwards again, and the sharp spike feels like ice picks right through his eyes as his back arches, a tense bow of pain everywhere. An electric shock, discipline for the wrong thoughts, false memories clawing their way to the surface.

He hasn't worn a shock collar since training, but his body knows what happens when he remembers the life he left behind.

It punishes him anyway.

Why did you let me walk off by myself in the dark, Johnny?

"No-... no-... I s-signed up, I don't want you, I didn't want you anymore, it was t-too much, fuck, fuck off, fuck you, I didn't want to hurt anymore they promised I wouldn't miss you anymore, go away go away go away they took you out of my fucking head go the fuck away this hurts-"

Everything would be okay if you had stopped me. But you just let me walk away, like an asshole.

The shadow of his dead brother watches him with unsettlingly calm eyes, the thatch of his dark hair, the glint of teeth straightened by years of braces.

You let me walk away angry at you. You let me walk right up to him, didn't you? You never even tried to stop me from leaving. Who would I be if you hadn't let me die?

"Please... please, Hank-"

I was still alive when he threw me in that ditch near the woods, remember? Do you think I was awake? For that last hour or so? Do you think I was conscious? Do you think I was thinking about you?

The shadow of his brother might be smiling.

Do you think that I was still angry when he slit my throat?

Jameson pulls the blanket over his head. He can't think of anything else to do but hide.

The shadow can't find him here. The reality of everything he did, everything that's his fault, can't follow him this far into the warm darkness. The murder he could have stopped by being a better brother just one night out of a thousand belongs to the cold and the light.

It can't find him here.

It's ridiculous and childish and yet the voice goes silent, then, and his tongue goes numb. Seconds tick by, tracked by a clock Nat has on the wall. The quiet is heavy and Jameson fills it with every single thing WRU ever taught him.

His lips move mindlessly. He's never forgotten a single sentence. Every chant, every mantra, every constant repetition of his own lost humanity pushes the reality of what led him to it further and further away.

He keeps his eyes closed tightly, shivers in the chill of a cold white room entirely in his own mind, and whispers I signed up for it for a reason, I signed up for this, I was a slut with no future, I didn't want to be a person anymore, I ruined lives, it's all my fault, I'm better off this way, I don't have to hurt anymore, no one else will die because of me, I was made for this I was made for this I was made for this again and again.

The sense of the shadow watching him doesn't fully fade until he closes his own hands around his throat and tightens just enough to feel like a collar, just enough that he has to fight a little for air.

How long he stays like that, he doesn't know.

But eventually he realizes he can hear Trash Cat again, still trying inexorably to find a way into the cabinet where her food has been maliciously kept away from her need to constantly eat at all hours of the day.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Rrrrrow? Rrrrow. Thunk. Thunk.

He had a nightmare, he thinks.

Thunk.

Some kind of weird-ass dream. Something that tasted like a voice, frightening enough to have his heart beating and his body feeling wrung out and aching, like he was throwing punches in his sleep. Fighting something. Or fleeing from something.

What did he dream about?

There was a shadow, and hazel eyes, and a voice...

Thunk. Thunk.

Trash Cat apparently gives up. He hears her little paws tap-tapping along the floor as she tries her luck at shredding the toilet paper in the bathroom.

The nightmare's gone. He can't remember what was bothering him any longer. Still, his heart races and fear is a cold stone in his stomach. Fear and the sense that he has done something terrible. Something he can never make up for or take back.

He doesn't go back to sleep.

He waits, watching the ceiling fan spin, for the safety of dawn.

[salternateunreality2]

Imagine Lucrecia had 2 sons. First with Vincent that she later gave away for adoption and second with Hojo.

She knew she f up with the second one, but maybe the first one can live a calm and uneventful life in Banora?

The Jones family adopted Baby Lucent. He was a smart, pale little kid that constantly stuck his nose into things he had no business snooping on. He found out about how the Rhapsodoses let their nanny hit their son, and how Genesis and Angeal were science experiments gone wrong. He saw the boys form a bond, playing together and sneaking over to see each other in the dead of night.

Lucent always wanted to join them, but was rarely able to see them during the day, when it would have been acceptable to talk to them. He was too quiet when he watched at night, and it would have been creepy to introduce himself then.

Lucent was his parents' only child, and grew up knowing he was adopted. They loved him and did their best, even when he'd materialize out of nowhere around the house like a ninja, starting from before he could crawl. Or when he'd just happen to know things that no one told him. He knew the mayor was sleeping with the butcher. He knew who his bio mom was and that she was a Shinra scientist. He knew the people who spied on him every few months were Turks. He guessed that either he was a Turk child or a lab experiment or both.

His mom and dad had longed for him so much, and they really did their homework in raising him. They paid careful attention to his emotional well-being, and encouraged and disciplined him to the very best of their ability. He loved them immensely, and they him.

So when he kept getting top marks at school, they didn't hesitate to put him in online and university classes, or to scrape together funds to support him when he went to Midgar to study. He was advanced enough that he got admitted early and went around the same time as Genesis and Angeal enlisted.

He worked hard, and by the time the Crisis Core era rolled around, he had a medical degree and employment with Shinra. More importantly, he had access to records now, was fast friends with Kunsel, and was constantly being courted by the Turks, who he turned down every time.

It did take up until this point to confirm his suspicions about the slope of Sephiroth's nose and the funny way his bangs grew, but now he knew, and now, at 11:30 am on a Tuesday, it was time to meet his half brother.

Lucent coughed once, then finally knocked on Sephiroth's office door.

"Come in," said Sephiroth. "Oh. What does the old man want now? Blood?"

Lucent blinked in confusion.

"I'm not sure who you mean; I'm here to deliver the report for the 3rd class health statistics," Lucent said.

"Very well, you may leave it on my desk," said Sephiroth, returning to his computer.

"I also wished to discuss something else with you."

Sephiroth sighed and fished around for a pen.

"Did you want an autograph?"

"No, I want to know if you remember our mother."

Time seemed to freeze, and the temperature of the room dropped.

"Excuse me?" Sephiroth asked, cold as ice.

"Lucrecia Crescent, listed as a primary scientist in the Jenova project. Long brown hair, same face as you, probably died when you were a baby...? I just want to know more about her, if you have more information."

"Get out."

Lucent felt animal fear jolt through his veins, but he powered through. He wasn't known for letting curiosity go easily.

"I understand this is a shock. I will leave, but please contact me if you change your mind," Lucent said, placing his card and the forgotten report on Sephiroth's desk. He kept his composure as he exited, closing the door firmly behind him, walking calmly down to his office, and shutting his own door.

Then he slumped against it, shaking and breathing hard. He'd be a stupid man not to be absolutely terrified from the energy in Sephiroth's office. He didn't know how long he sat there on the corporate carpet, trying to calm his nerves and telling himself he did the right thing, but he was interrupted by his PHS ringing.

"Dr. Lucent Jones," he answered automatically.

"Commander Rhapsodos. Look, Jones, I don't know who you are or where you've come from, but on behalf of Sephiroth, I will give you exactly one opportunity to speak with me. If I don't like what I hear, I will kill you. Meet me at the coffee shop on Loveless and 6th in one hour." Genesis paused. "Just to make it perfectly clear, I will kill you. This is a company line and I know Reno or someone is listening in. I will kill any Turks if they follow you, and if you're working with them or any other group to take advantage, I will kill everyone involved. If you don't show up, I will blackball you from practicing medicine in Midgar, but it will be better than death."

*click*

Lucent let out a strained laugh. Genesis Rhapsodos might be dramatic in everyday life, but that was not an idle threat.

---------

Lazard watched as a man in a lab coat left Sephiroth's office. That couldn't be good. As soon as the man left, Lazard tapped on Sephiroth's door, knowing he would have heard him coming. After a few seconds with no response, he swiftly entered, shutting the door behind him.

Sephiroth was sitting at his desk, completely motionless, pupils blown wide, gaze fixed on a stack of papers topped by a business card.

This wasn't going to be a good day.

---------

Eventually, Lucent is vetted by at least 3 layers of Sephiroth Protection Squad members, supported by Kunsel, and breaks into the inner circle. With him on their side, he's able to help with Genesis and Angeal's degradation using his Turk inclinations and medical knowledge.

He brings Sephiroth to meet his parents, and they love him and adopt him immediately, laughing over his ability to appear out of nowhere and cooing over his handsome funky bangs. They cherish his awkwardness covered by learned manners, fondly remembering Lucent's teenage years.

Lucent keeps digging, becoming more and more horrified between what he uncovers and what he hears from Sephiroth. He is right that this can't continue, and he is right that something must be done about Jenova.

He, Sephiroth, and Genesis go to Nibelheim with a spunky little trooper and Angeal's puppy. Shit goes down, but they ultimately find themselves with an emo vampire.

Sephiroth smirks weakly from where Genesis is practically holding him up.

"Guess it's my turn to spring some shocking parentage news on you, big brother," he says, nodding his head at Lucent and Vincent's matching red eyes and pale skin. Everyone laughs, relieved that Sephiroth is going to be ok, Jenova is dead, and the little trooper pulled through after being yeeted into a wall.

When they return to Midgar, Vincent kills Hojo and the president, and after the dust settles, Sephiroth retires to Banora. He has dinner with the Jones family most nights, and when Genesis or Angeal is in town, they eat apples together.

Lucent keeps his job at Shinra, helping the trooper through his mako sensitivity and his transition to SOLDIER. He's always wanted to help people, and Midgar is rife with interesting and difficult cases.

Of course, he visits home regularly to see his family, often tagging along when Lazard visits Sephiroth.